Confidence

Confidence

Hehe... made a lil story where Eris helps Drifter be more confident... I just want them to share some sweet tender moments together, it's what they deserve :]

"Hey, Eris?" Came the Drifter's voice from over the old radio which sat upon the dusty table surface.

  Eris peeked her head up from the volume she was reading, sliding her nimble fingers across the pages and dog earing her place before shutting the book and returning the Drifter's call.

  "It is quiet late, is it not?" She greeted him.

  "Yeah, but I figured you'd still be up."

  "Indeed, I am." Eris replied. "What is it that you want?"

  "For you to come meet me somewhere."

  "Hmm... where?" She asked.

  "It's a surprise. Just meet me at these coordinates I'm sendin' over." He replied, his voice revealing nothing.

  "These coordinates, they are on Earth. Where are you taking me? Why all this secrecy?"

  "Like I said, it's a surprise, Moondust." He replied vaguely. "Meet me there in a few minutes. Trust."

  *  *  *

  "You wished to meet atop a cliffside?" Eris asked bluntly, approaching the dark figure ahead which she ascertained was the Drifter.

  The Moon's light gleamed off his wide toothed grin. "Yeah. Wanted to show you somethin'. C'mon,"

  He reached out and took Eris's hand, his grip tight but not painful, and walked them forward. They were still quiet far from the cliffs edge, but the Drifter made sure to be slow and careful as he guided them over to a large rock portrududing the somewhat clear area.

  "Why did you bring me here?" Eris asked as they sat beside one another on the hard rock. "And what was the purpose of coming so late at night?"

  "That," the Drifter pointed ahead of them, directing Eris's attention to the large glowing sphere which hovered high in the sky.

  The Moon was full and bright, bathing everything it could in it's soft white light, and sending the things that it couldn't into harsh and darkened shadows.

  "You admire it." Eris said, somewhat surprised by the awe reflected in the Drifter's grey eyes.

  "It's beautiful, ain't it?" He asked, looking back at her.

  "I did not take you for one to appreciate nature to such an extent." Eris admitted, her three eyed gaze returning to the Moon. "But yes, it is quiet a marvel."

  "Heh, yeah..."

  The gentle chirping of crickets filled the silence that made up the next few minutes, their shrill song one that Eris happily accepted in that peaceful moment.

  "Why did you wish for me to see this?" Eris asked, finally breaking the silence.

  After a thoughtful moment, the Drifter slowly began to tell her, "This is special to me... seein' the Moon so big and bright like it is tonight. I always come up here when it's like this, watichin' it for hours till the sun starts risin'. And I reckon I wanted to share this moment that's come to mean a lot to me, with someone else who's come to mean a lot to me, too." He looked over at her. "Does that make sense?"

  Eris contemplated his answer, the meaning behind it, the weight of his voice as he told her how much it meant- how much she's come to mean. She looked back at him.

  "Yes. That makes sense."

  "Does this mean anythin' to you?" He asked, hoping Eris hadn't caught the quiver in his voice.

  "On normal circumstances, had I seen this alone, it would be merely a feigning glance. A feeling which would be gone in an instant had it even arisen, a moment that would soon fade from memory and conscience." She studied the curves and dents of the Moon's surface. "But here, with you having shown me this?" She now studied his face. "Yes. It has grown to mean far more to me, than it ever would in any other circumstance, or with any other person."

  She added on the last part, curious of what the Drifter would do with it, how he would interpret the meaning behind the words.

  He squeezed her hand tighter, reminding her that her palm was still against his own, as he tangled their fingers together and cleared his throat.

  He was no longer looking at her, but had returned his eyes to the full bright orb ahead of them, his expression a mix of both joy and apprehension.

  "Why does your countenance reflect tension?" Eris finally asked after a few more minutes of cricket chirping.

  He remained silent. So silent and for so long, Eris wondered if he had decided to ignore her, until finally he said, "you ever have somethin' you wanna tell someone so bad, but you don't know how to say it? And your scared your gonna mess everthin' up with that person cause your so afraid?"

  It was Eris's turn to remain silent for a few long minutes, leaving the Drifter to listen to the sound of crickets.

  "I have found," Eris began eventually. "That the best cure for a situation such as the one you have suggested, is to acknowledge what you wish to speak. Otherwise, you allow that worry to burrow in your mind, letting it to dig deeper and fester longer." She kept her gaze on the Moon as she spoke. "If you trust this person, then speak to them your truth, Germaine. And do not allow your fear to get in the way of your conviction."

  The Drifter no longer looked toward Eris or the Moon, but instead moved to staring down at the cracked rock surface beneath them.

  "If you wish to have this time alone and in silence, I will leave." Eris offered.

  "No, no, stay. Please." The Drifter said, still gripping her hand in his own trembling one. "Just... gimme a minute."

  And that way they sat for some few cricket filled minutes, the Drifter staring down at the rocks, Eris studying the Moon and the way its soft light fell atop everything, glittering against the rocks scattered around.

  Finally the Drifter sighed. "You know why I brought you here, right?"

  "You said earlier that I had come to mean a lot to you." Eris answered.

  "Yeah..." he turned his face towards her. "And I meant what I said. You... you mean more to me than anyone else."

  Eris returned his keen gaze, their eyes locked on one another, daring the other to break the silence that followed with his confession.

  Without a word, Eris freed her hand from the Drifter's clinging grasp. She then grabbed his wrist and lifted both their hands, bringing his shaking fingers to her cheek, watching an expression of astonishment wash over his face. Then she took her hand away, leaving his hovering there, pressed against the eternal tears that flowed down her face.

  The Drifter sucked in a shivering breath and leaned closer to her. Their faces were so close, noses gently touching, until finally the Drifter leaned in a little closer, their lips touching in a soft kiss.

  Eris could tell he was scared, afraid to allow his emotions to guide him after all the pain he had already suffered through in his hundreds of years of living. When he kissed her, it was a nervous kiss, his lips only barely meeting her own, lingering there for a long and unfamiliar moment.

  He pulled away swiftly, taking his face from hers and pointing it away, refusing to meet her eyes or the glow of the Moon. Eris let out a dismal sigh as she stared back at the Moon once again.

  "Why did you do that?" She finally asked.

  "Do what?" He replied.

  "Pull away." She watched him turn his head back toward the Moon, it's light reflecting in his eyes

  "I... I didn't do it right. The kiss." He clarified, clearing his throat.

  After a moment Eris spoke again. "I believe you overthought the moment, Drifter."

  "What d'you mean?" He asked, his voice quiet, shoulders slouched.

  "I did not force you to kiss me, that was an act done solely by you and through your courage. I merely encouraged it when I brought your hand to my face." Eris told him. "You gathered your valor on your own, but allowed it to slip away when we touched, overthinking the way our lips met, and discerning whatever ways you believed you had done inadequately."

  "I don't understand..." The Drifter confessed.

  "You were brave enough to kiss me, and only failed by the end when you pulled away, allowing your nerves and overthinking, to get the better of you- to tell you you had done poorly, when the truth is quiet the opposite." She explained more simply.

  "It didn't feel strange to you?" He asked her.

  "It only felt peculiar when you pulled away in fear." Eris informed him.

  "Huh..."

  "Stop doubting yourself, Germaine. These anxieties will not help you grow, they will only hold you back. And now, if you wish to keep to your thoughts, I will be going." She started to stand until the Drifter reached out with asp-like speed, grabbing her wrist and looking up at her.

  "Please, Eris, stay."

  Eris considered his plea for a moment, noting the way he called her by her true name, not by any nickname.

  She sat beside him once again.

  Another moment of silence later and the Drifter had slid closer to her, their legs touching as he leaned into her.

  Eris watched him with curiosity, her eyes studying his face. He looked less nervous than he had earlier, and Eris spotted a spark of confidence within his grey eyes. He sat there, motionless, letting a few seconds pass them by before he parted the space between them and kissed her again.

  Eris stayed still, letting him kiss her as she noted the way he had come in quicker this time, his touch carrying more confidence. He stayed there, unmoving, letting the sound of crickets chirping pass them by. And just when Eris was sure he'd pull away, he brought his palms to her cheeks and pulled her tear covered face closer.

  Eris would have allowed that moment to continue on for quiet some time had the Drifter kept his face against hers, but eventually he began to slowly pull away, his eyes opening to study Eris's own. Their faces were still close, his hands still holding her cheeks, their eyes searching one another through the moonlight. Then finally, the Drifter's lips began to twitch up in a smile, Eris's doing the same, and in another moment he leaned in and began kissing her again.

  The moment was calm and tranquil, their warmth being shared as their lips unified, the Drifter touching her with a courage that Eris had not felt in him ever before. They were happy.

  They countinued that way, joyously sharing enraptured kisses and growing in their love and tenderness for one another, for a while longer, the Moon remaining bright, sending it's gentle white illuminance down on the two figures sitting atop the rock.

  The Drifter's courage grew thanks to Eris Morn, and they both obtained joy through it, pressing their lips together again and again, relishing in the taste, touch, and warmth through the night.

Soft lil late night smoochy sketch hehe

so sweet, and such a beautiful story :))

Closing Time

This piece began first as a private daydream, Later, it grew into a daydream shared with a newfound friend (@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese). With that came a wash of creativity over me that I decided, for once, to fully submerge myself in. The song that I imagine Drifter singing in this piece is titled “Martha”, and is sung by Tom Waits. You may listen to it here: https://open.spotify.com/track/75QoXqTlvBwuITzow9egCB?si=faa697d56fa84e32. The song that Eris imagines at the end — the trumpet and piano duet — is titled “Closing Time”, and is also by Tom Waits. You may find it here: https://open.spotify.com/track/7vYZWL2XhKratVh27IdgK7?si=ce1af40fab964e08 There is nothing violent here — only tenderness and kindness founded upon a moment of healing. I am not expert in handling tender moments between individuals, and sometimes struggle to describe them. I make up for it, perhaps, in metaphor. I’m always inspired by music, and I guess that’s where the daydream emerged from in the first place. I also cooked this up in a day which is absolutely hilarious (neurospicy brain things) Please enjoy. Comments are appreciated! *Note: I also don't have an Ao3 account (I'm in the long queue) so I'm just going to leave this parked here for now.

The door opened slowly with a gentle push, creaking loudly in response to decades of wear and neglect as it swung open and away from the Drifter. For a place that had been left largely forgotten and untouched, likely intentionally by its owner, any sort of movement and sound felt sacrilegious, like intruding upon a sacred space that should have, perhaps, been left alone.

Drifter breathed a heavy sigh as he hesitated to take a step into his old bar. It should feel like a place he owns, one that he feels welcome in, he tells himself. But the air responds otherwise — it is thick, musty, and overbearing, weighed down heavily by memories of his past, of old selves torn away and discarded, of ghosts rather forgotten, and of a time that no longer seemed accessible. It had been weighed down by the burden of change.

Why had he come here? A rhetorical question to himself, but one that occupied his mind nonetheless.

He had lingered outside enough. “Eh, gotta go in at some point, I guess,” he muttered to himself as he erected a wall of indifference once more. With soft and quiet steps, the Drifter finally stepped into the bar with a sense of trepidation that he wished he didn’t have to feel, especially for a place he once had some attachment to. Though he’d expected things to look different, he had to admit that the space of his bar — though theoretically the same as how he’d left it last — felt different. His heart skipped a beat as his senses became attuned to the apparent dissonance in the once lively (though chaotic) space he owned. After all, the mind can only prepare one so far — the heart, however, will always be tugged along, albeit unwillingly, in directions unwanted. For someone who had survived so much, who thrived on instability and change as a means of putting up walls and abandoning the past, it would seem that for a rare moment, the Drifter would finally admit to himself that he’d been subconsciously wishing for something in his life to, at least, remain the same.

The silence was piercing — ringing even. It was in stark contrast to a memory of a boisterous time once filled with excitement and activity. He could almost imagine it, but as he called forth that memory in his mind, the dissonance grew louder, more discordant. He found himself stemming the discomfort by fixating on the sound of his footfalls as it punctuated the silence. Grounding, as Eris had once taught him. Where these footfalls had once been crisp and confident, heard in tandem with the voices of comrades and enemies both lost in time, they were instead now faint and muted no thanks to the thick layer of dust that blanketed what used to be dry and clean wooden floorboards. As each step unsettled the caked-on dust on the floor, leaving imprints of his boots, the Drifter directed his attention to his footfalls and simply looked. Dust was gently being dislodged, then lifted, and finally fell off the tips and soles of his boots. He could feel it — that each step carried with it the burden of time laid bare for him to witness. Breathing in deeply, Drifter felt the discomfort ease ever so slightly, as he was finally reminded of why he’d come back to the bar in the first place.

To learn to embrace change while not abandoning the past. It was an answer to his question from before, but one that he knew, acutely, that its execution would not come as easily as hoped. Ideally, he would think the process into existence.

Before his mind could stray any further, he felt a buzz from the datapad tucked neatly beneath his robes. Drifter retrieved it, and smiled softly when he saw who the message was from.

EM: Germaine. You are not on the Derelict. D: Aw Moondust! Missing me already? You should just say so! EM: Answer the question, Rat. Where are you? D: I’m at the old bar. The one I used to own? From waaaaaaaaaay before? EM: It’s three in the morning, Germaine. What are you doing there? Are you alright? D: Catching up on old times, I guess. EM: I see. Would you like company? D: Yeah. Thanks, Moondust. See ya in a bit.

The gentle smile didn’t leave Drifter’s face even as he tucked the datapad back in its place. For him, Eris’s company was always welcome. But this was even more so true for today — with the weight of the past and of this space still holding him down like a Sisyphean boulder on his shoulders. Though he wasn’t expecting her to know more about it, or to help him lift it, he imagined that it would be nice to have her company while he worked through and unfolded the attachment to this place that he had long since buried. There was, after all, comfort to be found in the gentle intimacy of vulnerability they had since learned to share in time.

Just as he’d finished pondering, Drifter felt his arm brush against yet another thick layer of dust as he walked past a large, boxy object. He turned, and let out a tiny, silent gasp of awe as he came to realise what we in front of him — it was a piano. It had been such a long time since he’d played one, not to mention seen one in the first place. The piano was no Steinway, of course. Just an upright Baldwin that had been salvaged from way before. Drifter chuckled as he recalled just how out of tune it was when he had salvaged it, and how he’d managed to tinker with the piano enough that it at least sounded mostly reasonable. For a moment, he wondered if his work had stood the test of time.

There was a quietude that ached in the space around him, as Drifter took the time to take in the scene in front of him. Slowly, he took a few steps back, and gazed softly at the piano. The sight was, frankly, captivating. Moonlight streamed in from the holes in the roof that had since come to plague the bar, touching the piano ever so lightly. In these beams of moonlight, particles of dust travelling in the air were illuminated. For a space where its stillness initially bordered on suffocation, Drifter finally felt himself attuned to the sensation of the most minute movements. The way the breeze drifted in inconsistently, cold to the touch. The way his breathing shifted the dust travelling around him, visible through the rays of moonlight. The way the clouds cast shadows on the ground as they momentarily blocked the moonlight. He felt just a little better about being here.

Inspired, he pulled out the piano bench and sat on it. No one would have issues with someone playing a piano at the base of Felwinter Peak at three in the morning, of course. Drifter pulled his gloves off, placing them neatly on the top of the piano. He had done so instinctively, as if wanting to truly feel and reminisce the texture of the keys with his own fingers. As he swiped one finger gently across the surface of the piano’s unopened cover, he was reminded once again of change — of time and age. Parts of the dislodged dust now hung on the tip of his finger. The truth is, he didn’t have to do that. He could’ve simply opened the piano cover. Yet, for the Drifter acknowledging that presence of dust, feeling it, and shifting it away, felt like an active recognition and acceptance of a time long gone. Of change.

Drifter proceeded to lift the cover of the piano, which took a little bit more than a gentle struggle simply because of how long it had been left unopened. It inspired a simple metaphor in his mind — he thought of how the dust, when left undealt with, would work itself into the seams of the piano like a glue that seals all things shut, making it even harder to pry open. He visualized that momentarily in himself, with the dust that had settled into the seams of his own box that contained his past. It was, indeed, one that he was also struggling a little to open. He would try today, perhaps.

Beneath the cover lay the piano keys. Some were chipped, and some were stuck in a half-pressed position no thanks to the lack of maintenance. But for Drifter, it was, in fact, the same as he had left it — it had been untouched for decades, chips consistent with his memory, and the sticky keys were still, well, sticky. There was no fixing those, he remembered, chuckling to himself.

It would become clear eventually that for the Drifter, memory is a muscle, and muscle memory never fails. His hands naturally fell into position, and for some strange reason, prepared themselves in the key of D#. He pressed down on the keys ever so delicately — perhaps to him, they seemed so fragile that they might break under the weight of his burdens. But they didn’t.

He produced a chord in D#. It was, to him, extremely familiar. Let memory lead, let memory take charge, he told himself. The heart knows what it needs. And from there, he began to play a tune. He knew not what it was titled, or who had sung it originally, but he only remembered hearing it being played once by a visitor to the bar who had kindly asked for permission to play the piano. All he knew was that it was a golden age tune — a song from a time now long gone.

As he progressed through the instrumental introduction to the song, Eris stepped quietly into the bar, undetected. The Drifter was too immersed in the moment that Eris refused to even think of interrupting it. Gently and silently, she perched herself on a bar stool that was still intact, knees crossed, listening to his performance intently.

And so, he began:

“Operator, number please It's been so many years Will she remember my old voice While I fight the tears?

Hello, hello there, is this Martha? This is old Tom Frost And I am calling long distance Don’t worry ‘bout the cost

Cause it’s been 40 years or more Now, Martha, please recall Meet me out for coffee Where we’ll talk about it all”

The words fell out of his mouth so naturally like a confession sung aloud to himself. There was a genuine tenderness to his singing voice, a huge shift from his usually crass and rather loud expression, Eris thought. It felt like a warm embrace — not silky smooth, but with a little of a rough texture. Eris couldn’t help but recall the first time she ever placed her hand on his cheek, and how he leaned into her hand in return. That texture of his voice, for Eris, was reminiscent of the feeling she first felt when her hand brushed against his beard. It was comforting.

At the same time, Eris knew in this moment that her Rat was feeling more than just “old times” as he’d rather call it. If the lyrics weren’t enough proof of this, the melancholic instrumental lines that accompanied the song were. In this song was nostalgia tinged with grief — of love once found and later lost, of time spent searching to no avail. She took a look around the bar and was met with the same scene of moonlight the Drifter had seen earlier. If he feels it’s too much, he will know he’s at least surrounded by moonlight, she thinks to herself, reassuringly. He continues:

“And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose And, Martha, all I had was you, and all you had was me There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows And we saved them for a rainy day

And I feel so much older now And you're much older too How's your husband and how's the kids? You know that I got married too?

Lucky that you found someone To make you feel secure Cause we were all so young and foolish Now we are mature”

As the chorus fully set in, it was evident by now that Martha, for the Drifter, was Orin. The mood in the air was suffused with a warm, gentle longing to revisit the past, to catch up with an old friend, an old lover. Perhaps it might’ve seemed that the Drifter was singing this to or for Orin, but Eris knew better than that. Despite the clear dedication to Martha drawn out by the lyrics, Eris had no doubt that her Rat was instead singing to his memory of Orin and his experiences with her. He was, in some way, acknowledging the reality of his past — one that he had, at many times, tried to shut away with bursts of denial. The intention here was indeed very different.

A second chorus, then:

“And I was always so impulsive I guess that I still am And all that really mattered then Was that I was a man

I guess that our being together Was never meant to be And Martha, Martha I love you, can't you see?”

Eris heard the Drifter stutter a little on the last line. And then he paused for a moment, hands frozen in time. Finally, in the drawn-out silence, he said to himself, quietly, “I loved you, Orin. This dude who wrote the lyric’s still hung up on Martha. But for me? I don’t love you. I loved you.” Eris held her breath and clutched her Ahamkara bone closer to her chest as she heard the Drifter draw out the end of the word ‘loved’, clearly juxtaposed against the original ‘love’. She let go of that breath, and smiled. It was not that she needed reassurance — that safety and security had long been found in the foundation of their friendship and relationship. Instead, she simply felt a sense of pride for her dear Rat, who had finally taken steps to work through the grief he was feeling from his time with Orin and beyond. It was no wonder that she had grown to love this man so very much.

Picking up his playing once more, the Drifter worked his way through the final chorus, before concluding with the words:

”And I remember quiet evenings Trembling close to you.”

And with that, silence. Drifter exhaled — it was a heavy one, but also seemed to bring him relief, as if he’d finally come to terms with what it meant to let go. He removed his hands from the keys, and proceeded to place them by his side as he pressed them softly into the bench. He gazed upwards, looking through one of the holes of the roof where the moonlight seemed to be pouring in from. It was a tiny whisper directed at the ray of moonlight, but one audible enough for Eris to hear from where she was seated.

“Thanks for keeping me company through it, random ray of moonlight.”

Eris stood from her bar stool, finally making her presence known. And though slightly startled, the Drifter wasn’t shocked enough to whip out Trust — he had been expecting her after all, though he had frankly no idea how long she’d been behind him all this while.

“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling, while walking towards him, still seated at the piano. In turn, he scooted over to the side as an invitation for her to sit beside him. She does.

There was a moment of gentle silence — the air was no longer as still as it once was, and it was quiet enough that they could hear each other breathe almost in unison. She placed her hand over his, and he turned his palm over to intertwine their fingers together.

“That was beautiful, Germaine. How do you feel?” Eris asked, in hushed tones.

For a man of many words, the Drifter struggled to gather any for a proper response. He simply sighed, and squeezed her hand. There was a warmth in his gesture, as if to say, I’m working through it still, thank you for being here. She squeezed his in return, gently soothing, take your time, I'm here. With yet another sigh, he leaned over, and positioned his head on her shoulder, snuggling softly into the precious space that he’d already claimed to be his, multiple times. She turned to kiss him on his forehead, before simply leaning her head on his.

It wasn’t clear if he had started to cry, or was simply taking in the moment. That was meant only for Eris’s eyes, and not more. But if Eris had to say something about it, she would’ve described the moment as one: filled with echoes sounded from a duet between a wistful trumpet and a plangent piano; lights turned off after a long day; doors creaking closed, and then locked, gently; it is time to return home.

Lil sketch

😭😭💕this... is beautiful

I need the Drifter to kiss Eris, so badly, so I wrote myself a fic. well, and for anyone who also can't get them out of their head 😭❤️ warning for very minor spoilers for the new lorecard.

also on ao3

"Ready, Moondust?" 

The Drifter looks up at her, the magnificent figure, made stronger by tithes of dozens of faithful Guardians. 

Eris stares back at him, and for a moment he feels a wash of horrifying anxiety that she cannot, would not let go. That the power is too much to deny, that revenge was her new name, a title of a Witch Queen.

But she promised. She must. 

She breathes in. He cannot breathe. 

The circle lights up, Hive runes activating to the witch's calling. Eris chants, her voice echoing off the walls, scattering powerfully, rattling in the Drifter's brain. Her eyes never leave his face, and he looks back at her, willing to be her guide and beacon. A thread she somehow managed to tie around his heart. 

"Come back to me," he thinks. "I've been waiting." 

The seals of the witch's ritual begin to fall apart. They crumble to dust, taking away all that brought Eris to her new found power. Her wings crush to dust and bone, the spikes of her armour detach. 

The Drifter watches with reverence, eyes following the crumbs of chitin that drop from Eris' shoulders. She cries out as it releases her, and her cries are of regret and immeasurable strength. 

Her eyes are shining its familiar green, unobstructed by any fabric. 

The Drifter waits until the final streak of circle energy dissipates, and he rushes forward to catch Eris' body in his arms. She goes pliantly, surprisingly so, as he steadies her on the ground. His body jolts from the sensation, the weight of her in his arms. He longed to hold her, he would not fucking let go now. 

"It's all right," he mutters as Eris comes to her senses. The Drifter waits until she pushes him away, but it never happens. She clutches onto him instead, her hand curling around him. 

"Germaine…" 

Tenderness. Such tenderness in her voice. He wants to put his real name in her mouth, just to know what it sounds like from her lips, but this is good enough. 

"Eris…" 

She looks up at him. Her hair is a mess, her face is streaked with Hive darkness. He cannot think of another woman so strong, and so vulnerable. A secret she allows him to keep, because she knows he will. They have built themselves a raft of trust amidst the ocean of uncertainty. 

His hand cups her cheek. He thinks he might go crazy from the very sensation of her against his palm. 

"You've waited…" she says. "Despite everything." 

"Said I would." 

"You don't have to wait any longer." 

What she means is so many things. And he chooses it to be the one, he closes the miniscule distance until his mouth is on hers, and that's when the Drifter understands - it was all worth it. 

She is everything. Warm mouth and magic and trust. She is grief and vengeance. She is power and knowledge. 

She is the woman he wanted to kiss for so long. 

Eris kisses him back, mouth to his mouth, tongue to his tongue. Minutes, seconds, all loose their meaning, all bow to the queen no more. Their lips move, hungry and harsh, but then sweet and careful, before becoming hungry again. 

"You…" her words trail off when they pull away. No, he could never quite find the words either, so he smiles. 

"Yeah, Moondust?" 

His forehead rests against her cheek. 

But she only shakes her head. She smiles. Her fingers trail over his lips, then cup his face.

And it is then that the Drifter knows that he is hers. At last. 

I can so see this happening, not kidding omg 🥺🙏💕