#drifting in andromeda

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

Yk Silena's knowledge of magic is underused. I'm not talking about just charmspeak either, though that is one powerful ability in itself. I'm talking about the Mist manipulation stuff Hazel learnt, the kind the Hecate kids use. Silena WAS in the Titan Army. You know who else was in the Titan army? THE GODDESS OF WITCHCRAFT (and her children)

[cece693]

WHY SHOULD WE FOLLOW THEM BLINDLY?

pairing: percy jackson x male reader synopsis: Percy was conflicted, you were a traitor, siding with Luke to overthrow the Olympians, yet while the camp mourned the loss of the son of Hades, Percy was overcome with grief for the boy whom he liked. However, he will soon see you again—this time, persuading him to join Luke's side—and you're not above using petty tactics.

The campfire that had once blazed beside the amphitheater still smoldered in Percy’s dreams. Every night the wind off Long Island Sound swirled the ash into pale halos, refusing to let the embers die—refusing to let Camp Half-Blood forget that the son of Hades had stepped onto Luke Castellan’s ship of his own free will.

Chosen darkness over the gods.

Chosen to leave him behind.

Percy jolted awake, skin slick with sweat, sheets coiled around his legs like sea-wrack. Across the cabin, Annabeth slept in the other bunk, moonlight silvering the plane of her cheek. Guilt hummed beneath his ribs. She trusted him, believed his silence was grief—but each night his thoughts circled only to you. He saw again the Princess Andromeda easing away from the dock, you standing at the rail in borrowed armor, and that single backward glance: a flash of molten gold in your eyes before the darkness swallowed you.

The cabins had mourned in their own fashions. Chiron spoke of “lost potential”; Clarisse spat curses; Annabeth catalogued tactics Luke must have used to twist you. Percy said nothing. None of them understood the fissure running through him—how Sally’s death a month earlier had already splintered his faith, and how your absence levered the crack wider each day.

On the next night, you watched the camp from the treeline, wrapped in shadows and Hecate-wrought mist. Summer fireflies drifted above the strawberry fields; sentinel harpies glided in lazy spirals, blind to your presence. Luke’s final instructions pulsed behind your sternum: He’s the key. Show him the rot beneath the marble, the blood that oils Olympus’s gears. Break him, or win him.

Break Percy? No. You intended to free him.

You crossed the border unseen. The Poseidon cabin was cool, damp with the hush of distant tides. Seashell lamps cast a nacreous glow over driftwood beams. Percy lay restless, one hand still curved around Riptide even in sleep. When the cabin wards shimmered at your entry, his eyes snapped open, sea-green and stormy.

“You—” His voice fractured. “Gods, you can’t be here. If the harpies—”

You closed the door; your shadow elongated and slid across the latch until it clicked. “If they catch their golden boy harboring traitors?” Your smile tilts, half dare, half invitation. “They already believe you untouchable, Percy. Perhaps it’s time we let them choke on their illusions.”

He sat up, knuckles whitening on Riptide’s hilt. “Luke changed you.”

“Luke opened my eyes.” You correct him before stepping forward, lamplight revealing what months aboard the Titan’s fleet had carved you into—angular cheekbones, smoke-dark crescents beneath your eyes, a confidence plated like iron beneath skin. “He grieves you, Percy. Calls you the storm that could scour Olympus clean, if only you’d stop letting them shackle you to prophecy.”

Percy’s heartbeat flutters; you can almost taste the thunder-sharp jealousy sparking off him. “Luke’s no hero.”

“Oh, but he is, Percy.” Your tone drips honeyed mockery. “Brilliant, unstoppable—fighting for every camper Olympus tossed to the wolves. He sees the cracks in the gods’ marble thrones and dares to pry them wider.”

You let the words linger like expensive perfume, then study Percy as though deciding whether to pity or covet him. “Doesn’t it burn, knowing the gods would rather parade Luke as a cautionary tale than admit their own decay?”

Percy’s shoulders knot; salt wetness beads in the air, a brewing squall. “Luke betrayed everyone who loved him.”

“And Olympus betrays everyone it claims to love.” Your voice stayed velvet, blade hidden in the weave. “Tell me this: when your mother begged the gods for help—when she lay dying in that apartment while they debated non-interference—did your father lift a finger?”

The question lands like a blade. Percy flinches, sea-green eyes darkening like a storm. “Don’t talk about her.”

“She's the reason you fight,” you say softly, stepping close enough that his breath stirs the collar of your jacket. “But she’s also proof of how little they value you. Poseidon broke a centuries-old pact to claim you, but he couldn’t spare a fraction of that defiance to save the woman you loved most. The same council that hails you as their savior let her die—and then handed you a prophecy written in your own blood.”

You lift a hand, fingertips hovering near his jaw, not quite touching. “What loyalty do you owe them, Percy? To gods who dole out favor like drachmae at a rigged game, then call it destiny when mortals pay the price?”

Percy’s breath hitches when your fingers graze his jawline, but you don’t linger—you turn away, prowling the cabin as though inspecting a prize you might soon claim. Moonlight skims the fine leather of your jacket and catches on a nick at your throat, the faint crescent a blade left during one of Luke’s sparring sessions.

Percy’s gaze locks on that mark. “He did that?”

You hum, pleased by the edge in his voice. “Training leaves reminders. Luke likes to work close—hand on your shoulder, whispered corrections against your ear. He says I learn fast.”

The muscle beneath Percy’s eye twitches; the air thickens with brine. Good. Let him taste jealousy before he tastes freedom.

“You really trust him?” he asks, softer than the surf outside.

“I trust that he’d carve Olympus open if it meant keeping me alive.” You pivot, meeting Percy’s stare. “Can Annabeth say the same? Or will she kneel the moment Athena snaps her fingers?”

Her name breaks loose like a reflex. Guilt flashes across his face—memories of quests survived, promises traded in hushed midnight watches. You stride forward, cutting off the thought before it can shore him up.

“Annabeth loves you, yes, but she loves prophecy more. She loves the architecture of a heroic story—the boy who saves the world on schedule. The moment you step off that blueprint, she’ll love the blueprint more than the boy.”

The truth lands like salt in a fresh wound. Percy’s shoulders tense; guilt and anger knot in equal measure.

“Don’t,” he begins, defensive, but you press a finger to his lips.

You laugh, soft and cutting. “Annabeth,” you echo, as though tasting the word and finding it bland. “kneels at Athena’s feet, Percy. She’ll follow the owl wherever it roosts, even if it roosts on your grave. Her brilliance is a compass the gods forged for their own convenience. She’ll point you north toward their plan every time. And what does that plan promise you? A war you might win only by dying.”

Percy flinches, and in the tremor you hear the shatter of a belief sliding out of place. You press.

“Luke doesn’t want your devotion, Percy—he wants your rage. The part of you that watched your mother die and felt the sea tremble with it. The part of you that already knows prophecies are shackles disguised as glory.”

Riptide still lies forgotten on the floorboards. You toe the blade aside, then produce a slim drachma—all polished silver, stamped with Poseidon’s trident. “Heads,” you murmur, flipping it. The coin arcs between you, catching lamplight, flashing judgment. “Heads, you stay their dutiful champion. Tails, you carve your own destiny.”

The drachma lands on the back of your hand—trident up. Percy stares at it as though it’s mocking him. You catch his wrist, turn his palm upward, and drop the coin into it. “It’s rigged,” you whisper. “Every throw is heads to them. But with us?” You close his fingers around the drachma. “We melt the currency and mint new gods.”

Something in Percy breaks—not like glass, but like a tide-wall giving way. Jealousy, grief, and a bright, vicious hope collide in his eyes. When he exhales, the candleflames shudder; the briny tang of storm retreats, replaced by the ozone-sharp scent of a sea about to change course.

“What do I do?”

You smile, triumphant and tender all at once. “Meet me at the beach in one hour. Bring nothing that ties you to this place but your sword—Luke will be waiting offshore.”

He hesitates only long enough to glance at the bunk Annabeth has used yesterday. Guilt flickers, but you step into his line of sight, eclipsing it. “She’ll be safer believing you died a hero than watching you live a pawn.”

Percy nods—a single, decisive dip—and the cabin seems to sigh with the shift in fate. You lean in, brush your lips against the shell of his ear. “And, Percy? Luke may have taught me to fight…” Your fingers trail down his chest, claiming the steady drum of his heart. “…but I came back for you.” You turn, open the cabin door and walk away.

However, the cabin door is still whispering shut behind you when Percy’s fingers clamp around your wrist—salt-rough, decisive, impossible to mistake for the boy who once apologized every time he breathed too loud. He drags you back inside, wards sparking like struck flint as they reseal.

“Leaving already?” His voice is low, serrated at the edges. Moonlight cuts across his cheekbones, turning the sea-green of his eyes to deep, tidal jade. “You come here, rip my life in half, and think you can just…walk out?”

Before you can answer, Percy surges forward and kisses you, hard.

It is not the shy, sun-warm press of lips you envisioned long ago. This kiss tastes of riptides and broken oaths—of a storm surge pounding through a breach in the seawall. He brackets your jaw, thumbs digging just shy of bruising, and swallows the gasp he drags from your throat. Power hums under his skin; you feel it the way sailors feel depth in their bones—a pull that could drown or deliver, depending on his whim.

When he finally tears back, breath ragged, saltwater beads along his lashes like dew. “Luke’s name on your tongue,” he growls, “shouldn’t make me want to drown him. But it does.”

Your pulse spikes—part triumph, part danger. “Jealous, Sea Prince?”

“Possessive,” he corrects, voice dark as the trench beyond the continental shelf. “And tired of being the gods’ obedient weapon. You showed me that.” His grip shifts to the back of your neck, heat and claim in every fingertip. “Now you’ll show me everything else.”

A ripple of power answers the promise: seashell lamps flicker out, water condenses on the walls, and outside the breakers slam the shore in perfect rhythm with his pulse. The air smells of ozone and undertow, of something vast deciding to turn its teeth inland.

“Careful,” you murmur, though your own blood drums with fierce approval. “If you keep this up, they’ll call you the next great monster.”

“Let them.” Percy’s smile is a knife-flash. He reaches down—Riptide lies ready, bronze glinting—and snaps the pen into sword form with a practiced flick. But instead of angling the blade at you, he raises it to his own palm and scores a shallow line across the skin. Scarlet wells, bright against bronze. “Prophecies want my blood? Fine. I’ll spend it where I choose.”

He presses the cut to the nick at your throat—a mingling of salt and copper, oath and heresy—and you feel the cabin’s wards shudder as though something older than Olympus has been invited in.

[scriptumsempra]

Constellations

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC (no use of Y/N) Warnings: No major warnings. Just yearning, freckles, and a touch of denial. Summary: She counted steps to the stars. Until one day, she started counting freckles instead. A quiet night, a library glance, and a realisation that not all constellations live in the sky.

Six hundred fifty-five steps—give or take a breath or a stumble.

Fifty gone with the shortcut through the courtyard. Another eight, if her laces behaved and she didn’t have to circle back. She was headed to stargaze—naturally. The stars were the only thing she’d ever chased, but thank Merlin Arithmancy hadn’t been a total waste.

Six hundred seventy-four… six hundred seventy-five. Twenty more since she last counted— from the quiet of her bed to where the sky spun its silver thread. She was made of rituals. Same stones, same shortcuts, same breath held through the moving stair, same hundreds of steps. All for a bit of sky. The stars had always been her refuge. On quiet nights, she’d find herself counting her steps to Astronomy Tower, a borrowed telescope on one arm and ink-stained cuffs brushing the charts rolled under the other.

There was something infinite about the cosmos, something that made her feel small in the best possible way. She adored how the patterns connected across the night sky, drawing maps of stories and myths older than Hogwarts itself.

But lately—somewhere between Aries and Andromeda—her rituals began to shift. Her fascination towards constellations remained; if anything, it just took on a new shape : less chart, more chaos. It drifted from the heavens to something—or rather, someone—far closer. Less sky, more freckles. They were distracting. Not in an irritating way, but in a way that made her chest tighten every time he leaned in—no matter how close. They dusted his face like tiny stars—scattered across his cheeks and nose in patterns she itched to trace (if only her courage let her. But courage? That’s for Gryffindor). She noticed them once. Occasionally twice. His freckles were magnetic—subtle, quiet, yet utterly consuming. And perhaps worst of all: they looked too much like the stars she’d spent her days chasing. Those constellations on his face—She didn’t merely see them. She studied them. As though their arrangement might reveal something hidden. Sacred. Something no one else had thought to look for.

“You’re staring,” Sebastian said one afternoon in the library, his voice lazy, teasing, not even looking up from his parchment.

“I’m not,” she shot back—too fast, too unconvincing.

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward—too close, if you asked. “You are,” he insisted, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re finally falling for my devilish good looks.” She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush creeping into her cheeks. “You mean delusional.” But her retort lacked their usual edge, and Sebastian must have noticed because his grin tilted, then softened. Less mischief, more curiosity. “Alright, then,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “If you’re not staring, what are you doing?” She hesitated. Her gaze flicked—betraying her—to the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. “Nothing,” she muttered, far too quietly to be convincing. “Nothing,” he repeated, leaning closer still. His voice dropped, low and teasing.

A pause.

“Is this about my freckles?”

Her breath hitched. Fingers twitched. He caught her—red-handed. Say no. Laugh it off. Change the subject. But instead, the truth slipped through. “They look like constellations.”

Sebastian blinked, his playful smirk faltering. For once, he seemed genuinely taken aback. “Constellations?” he echoed, his tone softer. She nodded, her cheeks burning under his gaze. “Yeah,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “They remind me of the stars.” Beautiful. (Not that she’d ever say it out loud.) The silence that followed was deafening. She risked a glance, fully expecting him to laugh or make some witty remark. No laughter. No remark.

Instead, his expression softened in a way she rarely saw, his usual cheekiness giving way to something far more vulnerable. “Stars, huh?” he said at last, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest of smiles—soft, hesitant. Uncertain. Her heart stumbled, her fingers clutching the edges of her parchment in a desperate attempt to ground herself. “Don’t let it get to your head, Sallow,” she mumbled, voice lacking its usual bite. His grin returned, warmer this time, more sincere. “Too late,” he said, leaning back slightly but still watching her as though her words had carved a small, permanent place somewhere inside him.

Later that night, as she sat under the vast expanse of the night sky, her telescope pointed toward Orion, her thoughts lingered on him. It felt absurd, comparing freckles to the stars. But as she traced the familiar lines of the constellations above, she couldn’t help but think of him—

Of the patterns she’d memorised on his face.

Of the way he’d looked at her in the library, as though she’d just handed him the universe. Another six hundred and seventy-five steps. Another night spent chasing more than stars.

Astronomy was her favourite subject. And Sebastian? He was her favourite constellation.

[quaintobsessions]

the beginning / the end

Your eyes do not hide from my dizzying flit

into that teeming otherworld where you are tranquil topping a rock pillar

singing

and though the rippling deep shields wilder mysteries than the further reaches of Andromeda,

I recognise even the currents.

These luminescent creatures, the tones drifting from you as you keep watch, this is what I seek

yet it cannot outfate the parched world.

The surface approaches, velvet horn and limpets

I’m lost –

water drips from my fingers

I’m lost –

salt comes to rest on me

I’m lost –

even though I only just emerged from the sea.

[noisynaia]

𝑨 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆

pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader 

word count: 3.0k 

note: Fluff. Drinking. Colleagues to lovers. Mutual pining. Written for the lovely @pedrostories Secret Santa event ♥︎ My gift is for @always-andromeda , I hope you like it! It was so lovely to get to write for this blog again, and so exciting to share my first fic in a year and my first ever Marcus story! Thank you so much for the prompts, I tried to mix them both together, but it ended up dividing a bit from that first plan and turn into something else ♥︎

(This is the first fic I've written in a year and english isn't my native language, so I apoligies for any possible mistakes ♥︎)

The air hangs thick with the scent of pine needles and something suspiciously like cheap eggnog. The office is decked out in holiday cheer. Tinsel glints off the overly-enthusiastic Christmas decorations strung across the office, a jarring contrast to the usually austere environment. Twinkling lights are adorning the walls, and a massive tree stands proudly in the corner, its ornaments shimmering softly under the warm glow. Laughter fills the air as colleagues mingle, while festive music is playing in the background. It is the annual holiday party at the precinct, and the atmosphere is filled with a sense of camaraderie and celebration. 

You are standing near the refreshment table, a glass of spiced wine in your hand, watching the cheerful chaos unfold before you. Your gaze drifts across the room, landing on Marcus, who is in the midst of animatedly chatting with a group of detectives, his smile infectious, and his laughter like music to your ears. You have harbored a crush on him since the day he started at the precinct, and tonight, with him looking so dashing under the twinkling lights, that crush feels more potent than ever. 

Just as you’re lost in your daydream of Marcus’s charming smile, the sound of a familiar voice cuts through the festive din. It’s Harold, the department’s oldest and most verbose agent, and he’s making a beeline for you. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the new policies coming in next year,” he begins, his voice booming over the festive music. His passion for regulations is palpable, and his eyes light up as he launches into a detailed explanation of compliance protocols, the words spilling out like a torrent as you nod politely.

You try to interject, to steer the conversation towards lighter topics, but Harold is in full flow, oblivious to your subtle attempts at diversion. He recounts every last detail, his hands animatedly gesturing, as you mentally calculate the number of holiday cookies you could have consumed instead of standing here. You definitely need another drink to endure this conversation. Preferably something stronger.

As Harold continues his monologue, you glance over at Marcus again, still engrossed in his chat with the detectives, the laughter radiating from their group like a beacon. A small pang of envy hits you; how easy it seems for him to connect with others, while you’re trapped in this policy discussion. But just then his head turns and your eyes lock across the room.   

Time seems to slow as you feel the warmth of his gaze wash over you, momentarily breaking through the haze of Harold’s relentless chatter. Marcus’s smile broadens, a genuine connection sparking between you like the twinkling lights around the room. He raises his glass in a playful toast, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if the chaotic buzz of the party fades away, leaving only the two of you in that shared moment. 

You lift your own glass in response, the spiced wine glinting in the soft light as you return his toast. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on Marcus, your heart racing with excitement and a hint of nervousness. His gaze is warm and inviting, making you feel as though you’re the only one in the room. 

You smile back at him, but not as broad as his. He seems to notice, raising a brow in a silent question. Just then, Harold’s voice breaks through the enchantment, his monologue picking up speed as he transitions to the next policy. You catch snippets about “streamlining processes” and “regulatory compliance,” but your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t help but steal another glance at Marcus, who is still looking your way, seemingly unbothered by the raucous laughter surrounding him. 

You let out a little sigh, which Harold doesn’t seem to even register, as you try to focus enough on the conversation to hum along at the right times and ad and “oh, really,” at the appropriate time. But you can’t help but look over in the direction of Marcus again. You heal how your heart softly flutters in your chest as you watch him make his way through the crowd in your direction. 

“Hey there!” Marcus calls out, his voice cutting through the festive noise with a warmth that sends a thrill through you. He stops just in front of you, his gaze shifting from you to Harold and then back to you. a gentle smile lingering on his face.

“Hey,” you say back, your voice a mix of surprise and excitement, momentarily forgetting all about Harold’s policy monologue. You’re suddenly aware of how the spiced wine feels warm in your hand, and how the alcohol is warming you up from the inside. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Marcus asks, his tone light and polite as he glances at Harold, who immediately seems to deflate under the charming weight of Marcus’s presence.

“Oh, not at all!” Harold replies. “Just discussing the new compliance protocols for next year. Absolutely riveting stuff, I assure you.” 

“Oh, I can imagine. You must tell me about them after the holidays,” Marcus says, his smile is easy, and the way he leans casually against the table makes your heart skip a beat as he turns to you again. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you all night. I need to ask you about something for the report on the Sollery case.”

You can’t help but smile. There is no Sollery case, but you’re not about to correct him. Instead you play along, immensely grateful for Marcus’ graceful way of saving you from Harold’s relentless monologue. “Of course,” you reply, your heart racing as you revel in the attention. The warmth of the spiced wine seems to spread throughout your body, mingling with the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

You say a polite goodbye to Harold before he can dive back into another detailed explanation of compliance, the relief washing over you as you follow Marcus to a quieter corner in the other end of the room. The festive music swells around you, but it feels like a distant hum compared to the electricity crackling between you and Marcus.

“So, what do you need to know about the ‘Sollery case’?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice, eager to maintain the playful banter. 

He chuckles softly, his brown eyes shining as he looks at you, a slight flush is dusting his cheeks, from the alcohol you assume. He looks adorable. 

“You looked like you needed a rescue,” he replies, his voice low and conspiratorial, “and I just couldn’t let you endure another second of Harold’s riveting lecture on compliance protocols. I mean, I love the guy, but sometimes it feels like listening to paint dry.”

You let out a genuine laugh, the sound buoyed by the atmosphere around you. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I was convinced I’d have to start counting the decorations on the tree just to stay awake.”

Marcus grins, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad I could save you. I can’t let our brightest agent fall asleep at the Christmas party. That would be a tragedy.” 

He nudges you playfully with his elbow, and you feel your heart race at the light touch.

“And uhm, speaking of saving,” he continues, his expression turning slightly more serious but still warm, the flush on his cheeks  darkening just the slightest. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place after this? I have a bottle of whiskey that I think we could both use after the year we’ve had.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the invitation hanging in the air between you like the lighted ornaments strung above your heads. “Whiskey?” you ask, feigning nonchalance while your heart races with excitement. “What kind?”

“Only the best,” he replies, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I promise it’s not eggnog.”

You laugh, feeling the tension ease slightly. There’s something about the way he looks at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way that you haven’t before. “Well, I do like whiskey,” you say, your voice teasing. 

“Great,” he says, his smile broadening, and you can’t help but feel a swell of happiness at his invitation. This is more than just a drink; it feels like a chance to finally connect with him outside of work, away from the watchful eyes of colleagues.

You take a sip of your spiced wine, trying to calm the excitement bubbling within you. You stay at the party for a bit, chatting and laughing with your colleagues together with Marcus, the warmth of his presence enveloping you like a cozy blanket. After about an hour Marcus leans in a little. “Ready to get out of here?” 

You nod eagerly, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of leaving the crowded FBI office behind. “Absolutely,” you reply, your voice light with anticipation. The idea of spending time alone with Marcus makes your heart flutter, and you feel a rush of excitement as you both make your way towards the exit.

The cold december air hits you as you step outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the office, but it’s refreshing. Marcus walks beside you, his presence comforting as you both navigate the snow-dusted sidewalk. The streetlights shimmer against the night sky. You make light conversation as you walk towards the metro station. 

The city is alive with holiday lights, casting a warm glow over the streets. You can’t help but steal glances at Marcus as you walk next to him, the way he moves with a casual confidence, his laughter still echoing in your ears. The anticipation of what the night holds has your heart racing, a mix of nerves and excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

As you approach the metro station, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The previous bustle of the office party has now faded  completely into the background of your mind, and the intimate setting with just you and Marcus now feels charged with a new energy. You both descend the steps to the platform, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

“So,” Marcus begins, his tone light, “how are you spending your holiday season this year?”

You chuckle, leaning against the cool metal railing. “Alone,” you admit with a playful shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “Just me, some takeout, and a few too many holiday movies. It’s gonna be casual.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief mixed with amusement playing on his lips. “Alone? What about family or friends?”

“I mean, I have family, but they’re several states away, and I’d rather not deal with the holiday chaos,” you reply, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “Plus, my couch and a good movie sound pretty appealing right now.”

“Fair enough,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m spending Christmas alone too this year—just me and a stack of books I’ve been meaning to tackle.” He chuckles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

“You’re not going back to Texas over the break?”

“Nah, I decided to stay here this year. I love my family, and it would be nice to see them, but a lot happened back home before I transferred. Kind of left there heartbroken and I’m not sure I’m ready to go back just yet, even though I’m mostly over it,” he replies, glancing at you with a slightly embarrassed smile.

You nod in understanding, the weight of his words resonating with you. You open your mouth, you want to say something, even though you’re not even sure about what to say, but then the train arrives with a rush of wind and a clatter of metal on metal. You both step back, momentarily distracted by its arrival. As it slows to a halt, the doors slide open.

Marcus gestures for you to enter first, and you can’t help but notice the way he stands just a little closer than necessary, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. You step into the metro car and find a place to settle in, the metallic seats cool against your skin. Marcus sits beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, sending a thrill of excitement through you.

As the train starts moving, the rhythmic clattering of the tracks fills the silence, and you glance sideways at Marcus. He’s looking out the window, the lights reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment, you just take him in. There’s something undeniably comforting about being with him, an ease that feels almost electric.

“Is it your first time spending Christmas alone?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence, your voice soft. “It’s my first time, my first time spending the whole holiday alone…  I’m starting to worry it might be a bit lonely.”

He turns his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it is my first time, but it’s just a few days, right? I think it might be good though, to have some time to regroup. Plus,” he adds with a smirk, “I can’t wait to binge-watch whatever I want, I haven’t had time to watch a show in ages.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up easily. “True! That’s a definite perk.”

“And, you know, if I’m lucky, I might even get to finish that book series I’ve been meaning to read,” he says, an excited, almost boyish, glint in his eyes.

“What series?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“It’s a fantasy series,” he replies, his enthusiasm infectious. “It’s about dragons and magic and all that good stuff. I know it sounds really nerdy, but it’s amazing!”

You can’t help but let out a little chuckle, hiding your mouth behind your glove covered hand. He really doesn’t have any idea about how adorable he is, and it warms your heart. “Of course, you’re a fantasy nerd,” you giggle, shaking your head gently.  

 Marcus feigns offense, his eyes widening in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that fantasy is a very legitimate genre! It’s all about world-building, character development, and epic battles. Plus, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?” He leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but lean in too, drawn by his enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay, you make a compelling argument,” you concede, laughter still dancing in your voice.

“Seriously, you should give it a try. I think you will like it actually.”

“I might just take you up on that,” you say, your heart racing with the idea of sharing something with him. “Maybe I’ll start it over the holidays,” you reply, smiling at him. “I could use some good escapism.”

He smiLes at you, but you don’t get to talk more about it. The train begins to slow as it approaches your stop, and Marcus shifts slightly, his arm brushing against yours again. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a sense of closeness that makes your heart flutter.

As the doors slide open, you both step out into the crisp night air. The walk to his place is short but filled with light-hearted banter and laughter.

Finally, you reach his townhouse. Unlocking the door, Marcus leads you inside, turning on the light of the hallway as he closes the door behind you. He takes your coat hanging it on the coat hanger while you take off your boots before showing you to the living room. The cozy setting, filled with soft light and comfy looking furniture, feels welcoming and familiar.

Marcus moves to the kitchen, and you take a moment to look around. The walls are lined with shelves filled with books, and a few framed pictures catch your eye—some of him with friends, others of family, and one of him as a kid with a goofy grin on his face.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls out from the other room, you can hear the clink of glasses.

You settle onto the plush couch, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you as you sink into the cushions. The warmth of the room envelops you, and you can’t help but smile softly as you take it all in. 

Moments later, he reappears with two glasses in hand, a bottle of whiskey perched under his arm. “I hope you like it neat,” he says, pouring a generous amount into each glass and handing one to you. “Cheers to a surprisingly delightful holiday evening.”

You clink your glass against his, the sound ringing with a sense of promise. “Cheers,” you echo, taking a sip. The rich, smooth flavor warms you from the inside out, and you savor the moment. “Thank you for having me, and thank you for saving me from Harold earlier.” 

Marcus chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Anytime. I’d take a night with you over compliance protocols any day,” he replies, leaning back against the couch, his glass resting comfortably in his hand.

“Ditto,” you smile in response. You watch him, the way his eyes light up when he talks, how he seems to genuinely enjoy your company. The atmosphere is relaxed, filled with the soft hum of distant holiday music coming from his speakers. The tension you felt earlier at the party has melted away, replaced by a sense of ease that envelops you both.

“You know…” Marcus’ expression changes as he leans forward to put his glass down on the coffee table. “I was thinking… Since you are spending the holiday alone, and I’m spending it alone, and you said you were scared that it might get lonely…” He takes a deep breath before continuing and you feel your heart fluttering in your chest as you realize where this is going. “Maybe... we could make it a little less lonely together?” His voice is soft yet hopeful, and you can see the sincerity in his brown eyes.

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion. “That sounds nice.”

“It does?” 

“Yeah, it really does,” you respond, your voice steady despite the fluttering excitement beneath the surface. “I’d love to spend the holiday with you. It sounds… perfect, actually.”

A smile spreads across Marcus’s face, a mix of relief and joy that makes your heart swell. “Yeah, really perfect...”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, this would be the first of many, many holidays spent together.

[emilys-bangs]

Awww congrats on 200 followers lovely!!! You deserve it, I always find myself rereading your works! So I went to the first section Andromeda, saw prompt #1 “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.” and thought YES that’s an Emily prompt right there 🤣 I feel like Emily being able to immediately sense reader’s feelings would be super sweet. Like maybe it was rough case/day for reader, Emily steps up, and then starts rambling trying to distract reader so they’re both just laughing and even more in love by the end? Will also read whatever you want to write 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tysm lovely!!! It amazes me that you reread my fics, I'm so happy you like them🥹!! I changed a tiny bit of this at the end, hope you don't mind <3

Word count: 0.9k

Join my celebration here <3

You’re upset. It’s not hard to see—shoulders rising to your ears, your jaw set, the skin pulled tight over your knuckles as you grip the steering wheel. Add that to the lack of your usual easy chatter and Emily’s worried, absently picking at the loose skin around her nail as she tries not to make it too obvious she’s staring.

The case was hard on you. The two of you shared a room this time, so she was more in tune with you than she normally is. She heard the sounds of distress you let out in your sleep almost every night, the way you’d toss and turn on the bed for hours after. Emily didn’t say anything, held back her urge to talk to you about it, but she noticed the restless frustration building in you, the way you poured yourself into the case. 

It ended badly, and you’ve been quiet ever since.

She hadn’t argued when you grabbed the car keys, figuring you’d appreciate the small modicum of control, but it’s been almost half an hour and she’s grown uneasy from your still-tight grip on the wheel. Her eyes flick to your face just in time to see the tick in your clenched jaw.

Before Emily can think about it, the words are out of her mouth. “Pull over,” she says softly, breaking the stillness. “Let me drive for a while.”

You give no indication that you heard her; silence makes her words hang in the air, unanswered. Her worry increases when you don’t protest, simply pulling over and unbuckling your seatbelt. 

Emily gets out of the car and makes her way to the driver’s seat just as you’re getting out. She knows her gaze must be hot on your cheeks, but you don’t look at her. Instead, your gaze tips up, and she follows it.

The one road leading out of town is dark. Apart from the headlights of the car and a few spare street lamps, it’s swathed almost entirely in darkness, and the sky above you is lit up with stars.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Emily murmurs, desperately trying to draw an answer from your lips.

You hum noncommittally and move past her to get back in the car.

Helplessness crawls up Emily’s throat and settles there like a hard lump. She swallows tightly and gets into the car, briefly unmoored at her reaction to your reaction, unsure why it is that she so desperately wants you to be okay.

The silence is back as she drives off. From the corner of her eye, she sees you rest your head on the window and cross your arms, turning away.

Emily is an expert on body language—she has to be—but this time, she can’t sit and watch you drift away from her, further into your mind.

“Did you recognize any constellations out there?” She blurts out, then winces at the stupid question. 

You’re slow to respond. 

“Think I saw…what was that famous one called? The hunter?”

Relief floods Emily’s veins. “Yeah, Orion.” She nods, turning to get a glimpse of you. Your head is still on the window, but your body is tilted toward hers. Her next breath comes a little easier. “It’s arguably the most recognizable constellation in the Milky Way. It lies on the celestial equator, so it’s visible from both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres.”

“Okay, Reid,” you retort, but the gentleness to your voice tells her you don’t mean any malice. Emily turns and finds a small quirk to your lips; she bites back a smile of her own.

“Yeah, I was a big geek about the stars,” she whispers. Still am. Emily clears her throat. “When I was younger, I used to spend summers in a cabin up in the Alps with my grandfather. He had these huge books about stars and constellations.” You’re quiet next to her, but she sees the way you perk up and shift closer. She never shares her past—or any aspect of her life, really—with anyone, but it’s you, and if it makes you feel even a little bit better, she’ll spell out her whole life’s story for you to hear. 

“The sky was so clear there, it’s insane. I used to draw constellations on the back of my hand and try to search for them in the sky; I spent hours looking up until Grandad called me back. And for each one I’d found, he’d tell me a story.” A wistful smile pulls at her lips. When Emily turns and finds you staring with your head cushioned on your arm, her smile widens.

“Do you want to hear the story of Orion?” She asks softly.

She hears the low whoosh of air as you breathe in, then nod once. “Yeah,” you give her a small smile and warmth spreads all over her body, “I do.”

You’re asleep by the end of it, exhaustion claiming your body, but somehow, at some point, your pinky linked with hers. Both your hands rest on the console now, and Emily looks away from the empty road ahead of her. Your lashes rest on your cheeks, the tense lines of your face relaxing in sleep, and she squeezes your pinky before turning back to the road, her heart somewhat lighter.

taglist: @suckerforcate

[cobrakaisb]

end of beginning

summary: you’re back at camp half-blood after spending months on the princess andromeda and all you feel is the haunting of luke’s presence

featuring: SPOILERS for BOTL and TLO!!!, brief spoilers for the outsiders (just mentions of a quote from the book), 3+1, multi-pov: reader, luke, and percy, angst and only angst (i cried a little while writing)

word count: 2.4k

author’s note:guys, the end is near. there’s one blurb, and then the post heroes of olympus fic. so crazyyyyyy

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

connor and travis stoll

the hustle and bustle of the city was a nice contrast from the stifling loneliness at camp half-blood. most people wouldn’t describe the hidden oasis buried between the forest and long island sound that way. they’d talk about the camaraderie between cabins, or the sense of family within their own. maybe they’d emphasize the humidity, and the temperature controlled barrier which prevented major storms or severe weather. then again people like clarisse and annabeth, those with a warrior mindset, wouldn’t feel the cloak of loneliness as they’re too busy with clashing swords and grunts of pain characteristic only to the training arena. 

none of those things, however, were pertinent to you. so, when connor and travis invited you to the farmer’s market to sell the overflow of camp strawberries, you jumped at the chance to escape. 

“i can’t believe we made it here in one piece,” connor exclaims, closing the door to the van once it's in park. 

“hey! i needed to practice my driving at some point,” travis defends, meeting you and connor at the back doors. 

while the boys argue back and forth about who’s the better driver — you or travis — you start unloading the cartons of strawberries. the farmers market is already starting to get busy. between other vendors setting up their booths and the diehard organic hippies already perusing the options, it seems like today will be an eventful day. 

and you were right. 

your eyes catch on someone lurking a couple booths over from yours. the guy is tall and wearing a leather jacket, so he sticks out like a sore thumb while sifting through the oranges in front of him. you squint in his direction. he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t place it. he must feel someone staring, because he turns to face you. you gasp at the sight of him, dropping the small carton of strawberries in your hand. 

“you okay?” connor asks, approaching you. 

you shake your head, crouching down to pick up the berries before they get squished under someone’s birkenstocks. connor is right beside you, speeding up the process. you can’t help it when your eyes drift back to the direction where you saw luke, but the person is gone. 

you let out a sigh of relief, “sorry, had a moment of clumsiness there.” 

connor nods in understanding, “all good. besides, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you since i’m around. i know my good looks and charming personality make you nervous.” 

you laugh loudly at his words, shoving his shoulder before he can walk away to discard the ruined berries. 

annabeth chase

“the bookstore is just down this way,” annabeth exclaims, sipping on her drink from the cafe. 

you nod, mustering a smile as you follow her lead. when annabeth asked you to visit her over spring break, you were hesitant, but she was insistent. there was a lot of history between the two of you, most of it revolving around your traitor boyfriend, but neither of you mentioned it. and whenever the subject did get brought up, one of you quickly changed it. 

“they have so many books. and i think there’s even a record section too,” she explains, pointing toward the quaint bookshop on the corner of a street in san francisco 

the awning is a faded emerald green, and the white letters detailing the store’s name are barely legible. but you can tell that it’s well loved. there’s a large bay window where a young mother and her children are sitting, flipping through a picture book with a pig and elephant character. you stop in your tracks for a minute, letting annabeth get a couple steps ahead of you. 

that could’ve been us, you think, twirling the golden band around your finger three times. it should’ve been us. 

“you okay?” annabeth asks, stopping at the base of the three cement steps. 

you nod, taking one more fleeting glance at the little family, “fine. just lost in thought i guess. you think they’ll have a copy of the outsiders?” 

“probably. maybe in the young adult section,” she answers, opening the door. 

a bell chimes overhead, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter greets her warmly. annabeth stops to talk with her, while you hover awkwardly. it’s so clear to you that she’s built a life for herself, one outside of camp half-blood and her demigod status. she laughs at something the woman says, and you almost feel jealous of the fourteen year old. she’s lost so much, yet she has so much more. you can’t say the same. 

there’s no one else for you. he was the one. you’ve always known that, even aphrodite confirmed that a long time ago, claiming that you two were one of her favorites. that never seems to work out though does it? her favorite couples always ending in a tragedy: romeo and juliet, orpheus and eurydice, liam neeson and natasha richardson, and now you and luke. 

you won’t get a happy ending, that you’re sure of. 

“you didn’t have to wait, i would’ve found you,” annabeth appears, startling you. 

you wonder how long she’s been there — how long you've been staring off into space. looking down at her, you meet her inquisitive gray eyes. she’s trying to get a read on you, but you don’t want her to; it’s not what either of you need. 

you grip her shoulder, the one without the tote bag, and say, “let’s go find the outsiders.”

she nods, but somehow you know the conversation isn’t over as she leads you down the aisle. the store is fairly quiet, not many shoppers except for the family, a group of college students, and the two of you so it’s easy to navigate. the young adult section is even emptier, but it still makes you feel claustrophobic. the smell of books and the thick tension is suffocating you. the teen must feel the same way, because she’s the first to break it after picking up a book. 

“you don’t need to feel guilty. i don’t blame you,” she whispers.

you gulp at her words, tugging on your baby tee as you pretend to pull off a string. 

“neither does percy, or anyone else at camp,” she finishes. 

you nod, picking up a copy of the outsiders. the cover is black and white, featuring a photo of a boy in a leather jacket. his face is turned downwards, but you see him clear as day: brown eyes and a white scar. 

“you know what i like about this book?” you ask, but the question’s rhetorical.

“i like johnny’s take on the world. there’s so much good in it, but we get so caught up in the bad that we forget…we forget how beautiful it is,” you say, choking on your words as tears well up in your eyes. 

“i think he forgot that too,” you whisper, and you don’t need to specify who you’re referring to, annabeth just knows. 

she throws her arms around you, squeezing your abdomen tightly. you close your eyes, struggling to hold back the tears, but a few drip down your cheeks anyways. you sniffle, and she squeezes you even tighter. when she pulls away, you look over her shoulder. you swear you meet brown eyes and a white scar. 

may castellan

luke hated westport. everyone there was the same, entitled, stuck up, and selfish. all the houses stood in a line. each one an exact replica of the one before it: pocket white fence, pristine green lawn, and a faded blue siding. his house, or rather his mother’s house, was no different. 

everything looked exactly the same as when he returned at fourteen. her kitchen window looked over the front yard and main road. he can picture her standing there, washing dishes and mumbling unanswered prayers to a god who never cared. he hates how easily she fell victim to him and he hates how emotional it makes him. 

at same time, there’s something different about his childhood home. a place that should have been filled with love, warmth, and happiness no longer harbors the coldness and terror he always associated with his childhood. somehow, the house feels more homey. there’s a floral wreath hanging on the wooden door, hidden behind the screen. he spots a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen windowsill; their bright yellow petals starkly contrasting the darkness inside. the house almost looks lived in. if a neighbor were to walk by, they would never guess it’s inhabited by a crazy person. luke would never guess that, especially with the beat-up red pickup parked out front. 

wait, he thinks, doing a double take. 

he’s seen that red pickup before, but he can’t figure out where. he looks at the license plate, hoping that will give him a clue into the owner. it’s navy blue and yellow, a clear sign that it’s from new york and that alone makes luke think of you. 

he’s come to visit a couple times, and each time he’s almost gotten caught. at the farmers market with connor and travis it was pure luck that he startled you into dropping the berries. when he showed up to talk to annabeth, it was a coincidence that you were there too. (it’s not like he had silena beauregard keeping tabs on you or anything.) but even if he did, hypothetically have her reporting back to him about your every move, he never expected you to be at his mom’s house. 

the front door opens, and he can hear your voice ring out into the stillness of the neighborhood: “i’ll be back later this week, okay may?”

“shit,” he seethes, crouching down behind one of the neighbor’s suvs. 

he hears a commotion in the house, and watches as you wait patiently at the door. his mother must say something to you, because you smile softly and nod your head. he wishes he could hear her words, but he knows you’ll catch him with one move. 

that’s not necessarily a bad thing, says a small voice inside his head. 

he shakes his head at those words, curls bouncing from the action. he runs a hand through his hair, frustration and anger building up inside him. he ruined this, not you. and no matter what he truly wants, luke knows there’s nothing he can do to win you back. 

the creaking of the wooden porch stairs and slam of the screen door draw his attention back to what’s right in front of him. it takes a bitter laugh out of him; ironic how he’s longed for your proximity and now that he has it he’s ignoring it. 

you freeze at the gate, left hand on the hinge and right on your ring. your eyes dart around the neighborhood, looking for the cause of the noise, but you never find him. he watches as you release the breath you’re holding and twirl the golden band three times. opening the gate, you step towards the truck.

he waits patiently, not daring to move a muscle until your car pulls away from his mother’s house. even then, when the engine is nothing but a faint rumble in the distance, he doesn’t move. he remains crouched behind the suv for a few extra minutes, gathering both his courage and sanity. with a final breath, he gets up, fixes his jacket and approaches the house. 

“mom,” he calls out, knocking on the door, “i’m home.”

the door swings open and her arms wrap around him. she smells faintly of burnt cookies, but it’s overpowered by shea butter and coconut shampoo. she’s crying into his shoulder, mumbling about how she always knew it wasn’t true; that wasn’t her son’s fate. 

but she has no idea, luke thinks, that i break everything i touch.

luke castellan

percy hears your scream before he sees you.

it’s loud, shrill, and gut-wrenching. his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and bile climbs up his throat. 

i’m gonna be sick, he thinks.

percy faced a lot today. silena died. ethan died. annabeth almost died. now he’s stuck watching as you try to console luke.

you’re sitting beside him, bow and arrows haphazardly thrown to the side. there’s a cut on your shoulder caked with dry blood, and other bruises litter your body. he imagines that the pain from them is the least of your concerns. 

“it’s okay. you’ll be okay,” you keep whispering, cupping the older boy’s cheeks. 

luke grabs your left wrist, his thumb rubbing over your engagement ring. “i’m okay sweetheart. you’re gonna be okay.”

he approaches the two of you. it feels like he’s intruding on an intimate scene. percy feels a strange sense of deja vu when luke squeezes your wrist before returning his gaze to him. he wishes that he just caught the two of you sharing a vape instead of your final goodbye. 

“never again percy…don’t let it happen again,” luke croaks out. 

percy promises that he won’t, all while watching you. you bite your bottom lip, turning away from luke as you squeeze your eyes shut. he knows you're trying to be strong, but it doesn’t work as tears leak past your lash line and create tracks on your grimy face. 

“i love you,” luke whispers, and you echo the words right back. 

when his eyes close, percy swears that you’ll go with him, falling on top of annabeth’s dagger. but all you do is sit there, cradling luke’s face in your hands. you trace over his features: the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow, and the white scar. 

percy placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. you sniffle, placing luke’s head down gently onto the destroyed cobblestone. your fingers brush his curls away from his forehead, and you unclasp the necklace resting against his collarbone. it’s a silver chain with three clay beads and a golden ring to match yours. you pocket the jewelry, and force a drachma in his hands. 

wiping your nose, you get up from the ground, collect your bow and arrows, and head towards the elevator. 

percy thinks he should call out to you, beg you to face the olympian council with him, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“leave her. my daughter won’t be joining you percy jackson.”

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

[crimsononsnow]

House of Secrets

inspired by way to much tiktoks about this situation lol

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The Black family estate never truly slept. By day, it was a mausoleum of whispered traditions and cold-blooded elegance. By night, it breathed differently—shadows stretching long against the stone, candlelight flickering in gilded sconces, the hush of old magic curling in corners. And tonight, it held secrets within its ribcage, waiting for the moment they would collide.

Sirius crept down the corridor, feet silent against the dark wood. He knew every loose floorboard, every painting that stirred if you lingered too long. The house had tried to smother him since birth, but he had learned its weaknesses, the small defiant ways to move unseen.

At the turn near the library, he felt the warmth of Remus before he saw him, that familiar scent of parchment and something wilder underneath. His fingers brushed against the threadbare sleeve of his jumper.

"You’re late," Sirius whispered, smirking.

"And yet, here I am," Remus murmured back, lips quirking, eyes glinting in the dimness.

Before Sirius could pull him into the dark, footsteps. Another figure emerged, just beyond the reach of candlelight.

Regulus.

He wasn’t alone. A mess of untidy hair, round glasses reflecting the torchlight—James bloody Potter.

Sirius froze. Regulus did too. For a second, the silence was sharp enough to cut.

"Oh," James said, blinking. "Er. Hello?"

"Are you fucking my brother Prongs?" Sirius hissed.

"Shut up," Regulus snapped, a flush creeping up his neck.

Sirius turned indignantly to Remus. "Did you know about this, Moony? Oh, of course you know."

Then—another sound. From the opposite end of the corridor, two more figures drifted in, wrapped in hushed conversation. Andromeda, moon-pale in the dimness, a freckled, golden-haired Ted Tonks beside her. His hand had been at the small of her back, a brief touch before she stepped away.

Sirius barely had time to register this before another set of footsteps.

Narcissa. And—Alice Fortescue?

"Well," James muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is… unexpected."

A final rustle of fabric, and Bellatrix stepped from the darkness, Rita Skeeter’s painted nails curled around her wrist.

Silence.

Ten pairs of eyes flickering between each other. The air thickened, tangled with disbelief, realization, the weight of what this meant.

Bellatrix was the first to speak. "What," she breathed, voice all sharp edges, "in Merlin’s name is happening here?"

Sirius found his voice. "That’s my line."

Rita let out a slow, delighted laugh. "Oh, this is rich."

Narcissa’s lips parted in shock, her usual poise faltering. "Bella, you—?"

"Andromeda," Bellatrix cut in, eyes narrowing. "Explain."

"I believe," Andromeda said evenly, glancing at her sisters, "that we all have more in common than we thought."

Sirius let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant."

Regulus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster."

"Depends how you look at it," James offered. "Bit of a miracle, really. All of us sneaking about in the same house, for months, without realizing—"

"Shut up, Potter," Regulus muttered, but there was no venom in it.

Silence stretched again, but this time, it felt different. A truce. A fragile thread connecting them, woven through shared defiance, shared recklessness, shared rebellion.

Then, Bellatrix straightened, Rita still coiled at her side. "This never happened."

"Agreed," Narcissa said swiftly.

"Absolutely," Andromeda added.

"Obviously," Regulus muttered.

James grinned. "I don’t know, I think—"

"Shut up, Potter," Sirius and Regulus chorused, and for the first time in years, their voices didn’t clash.

No more words were needed. One by one, they vanished into the shadows, slipping back into their separate secrets. But something lingered in the air, something unspoken, something undeniable.

The house of Black had always been full of ghosts. Tonight, it simply gained a few more.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

[paintlesscanvas]

SPACE SNPTS . .

system names: the solar system, the abyssal dwellers, those that rove around on mars, the satellite system, the wormhole weirdos, the milky way, the universe, the supernova collective, the space invaders, the astronauts, team rocket, extraterrestrials, the space crew, the system that was taken by aliens, the collapsing galaxy, the nebula, the alien system, the binary stars, the collapsing stars, the chaotic cosmos, the globular cluster, the rocky orbit, the blustering asteroid, the astronomer collective, the royals of the universe, the dwarf planets, the runaway ship, the intergalactic committee, comet children, solar satellites, the [ number ] planets, the fallen rocket, stargazers, nasa, the remnants of a nebula, the stuck-in-space system, the crashed rocket ship, the shadow of a blackhole, those blinded by the stars, the nasa engineers, the infinite system, those that are lost in the void, the cosmic crusaders, the astral adventurers, the meteor shower, the [ planet ] collective, those on the moon, the rocket scientist system, blasting off, the astro-nots, those in awe of the stars, the aurora borealis, the earthlings, the constellations, the children of the moon, the telescope lurkers, the organisms in space, specs of stardust, drifting through the void, the silence of space

usernames: cryingcosmos, driftingdust, crateronthemoon, nogrxvity, lunarlove, astronomyyy, iamastar, cxsmiccrater, galaxygal, junipiter, kissedbystars, m00ndust, grrnantennae, beepbooop, totalatomizer, thebinarystar, inaufobeam, takenbyaliens, spaceismyplace, astrological, striinights, lostinthevoid, starsrfriends, cxsmicdxath, whereaminow, stuckinspace, lostintheship, 321blastoff, leftbehindinspace, cometchiild, nomorenova, leftoverspacedust, madeofstardust, eyesofstars, princeofthemoon, queenofmars, shootingstxrs, cloudofdust, moonpriints, solareclxpse, milkywaykid, galaxygaze, lostastronaut, astron0t, sweetstarrr, hesmadeofstars, earthtome, downtoearth, www.nasa.com, nasa_nyx, nasadevotee, httpsmooncords, tuneonthemoon, jarofstarrrs, farawaygalaxy, starringmytea, planetsinmytea, starryb0ba, spacekween13, qonstellat1ons, galactea, splinteredstarlight, lunarcloud, plutoprincess, marsr0cks, satellitesweeper, gleepgloorp, theinfinitevoid, worrrmhole, st4rg4zer, blackholebxtch, poppopplanet, fieryblazingsun, br1ghtsunrays, lasergunnn, keypadcodee, solarfl4re, stardustinmyveins, collapsinggalaxy, chaoticcosmos, andromedaaa, orbitingyyou, biiigdipper, liiittledipper, uursamajor, uursaminor, scalyscorpiio, gemeniiiii, totesatauras, capricornnn, slayggitarius, crabbycancer, aaacutius, actuallyaries, litrlyleo, vivaciousvirgooo, mystarchartsays, lusciousleo, princesspisces, mmaybemercury, vvixievenus, eeeeitsearth, eccentricearthling, imanearthling, themoonchild, memoriesofmars, jupiterstupider, joypiter, jupiiiit3r, putaringonit, ssoooossaturn, sillysaturn, ringsringsrings, uuuuranus, neptuning, neptwo, cuteopluto, ubersupernova, atomsplitter, microscopic, studyingstars, actuallyintheabyss, throughthetelescope, astroaroundus, lunarlunatic, solarspotsss, starsinmyheart, swirlsinspace

names: abyss, aloea, altair, andromeda, atlas, archer, arian, aster, asterion, asterix, astra, astraea, astrophel, atom, aurora, aquila, bael, bellatrix, blaze, burst, caelum, carina, celeste, celestia, comet, comette, constellation, cosmos, crater, dai, dawn, dipper, dorian, draco, dusk, dust, elio, eris, eclipse, estelle, estrella, etherea, flare, galaxy, galaxae, gamma, gem, grim, haumea, indus, ixion, janus, kepler, knox, lepus, leo, lucien, luna, lunar, lyra, lynx, merak, meteor, mira, moon, nebula, nebulae, nix, nocturne, noire, nova, orbit, orcus, pandora, pavo, phobos, phoenix, procyon, pulsar, pyxis, quark, quasar, ray, reid, rho, rigel, rinn, sawyer, sedna, sirius, skye, solar, solaria, star, stardust, starla, stella, steren, supernoca, tucana, uni, universe, ursa, void, vela, volans, zade, zaire, zenith, zeta

pronouns: space/spaces, planet/planets, universe/universes, nebula/nebulas, star/stars, shine/shines, shimmer/shimmers, sun/suns, gas/gas', heat/heats, burn/burns, void/voids, cosmo/cosmos, explode/explodes, float/floats, drift/drifts, dust/dusts, comet/comets, asteroid/asteroids, moon/moons, eclipse/eclipses, orbit/orbits, galaxy/galaxys, andromeda/andromedas, solar/solars, lunar/lunars, shootingstar/shootingstars, constellation/constellations, planet/planets, mercury/mercurys, venus/venus’, earth/earths, mars/mars', jupiter/jupiters, saturn/saturns, uranus/uranus', neptune/neptunes, pluto/plutos, supernova/supernovas, quasar/quasars, ufo/ufos, alien/aliens, rocket/rockets, fuse/fuses, spacedust/spacedusts, abyss/abyss’, nova/novas, lune/lunes, astro/astros, scope/scopes, void/voids, ray/rays, pulse/pulses, neutron/neutrons, atom/atoms, glow/glows, vortex/vortexs, wormhole/wormholes, celestial/celestials, telescope/telescopes, see/sees, vision/visions, swirl/swirls, beam/beams, infinite/infinites, eternal/eternals, silent/silents, forever/forevers, vast/vasts, gravity/gravitys, interstellar/interstellars, sunspot/sunspots

titles: the infinite, prn who shines in the night, prn of stars, whats left of a supernova, the big dipper, the little dipper, prn who walks on stardust, the comet, drowning in stardust, prn who made the prints on the moon, the astronomer, prns stardust, the lunar eclipse, the cosmos, bathed in the glow, dancing through saturn’s rings, the ursa major, the ursa minor, mesmerized by mars, the ship’s brightest laser, the shooting star, prn who is made of stars, the alien on the ship, drifting through space, the creator of constellations, the astronaut, prn who floats through space, a blazing sun, prn who explores the galaxy, the thing in the galaxy, prn that created stars, the one who made the milky way, the aurora borealis, the one in space, the endless, prn who floats, the big bang, prn who waits in the wormhole, prn who walks amongst stars, the dimmest star, the curious, the beautiful stars, prn who fixes the ship, a new star, prn who encounters an alien, the atomsplitter, the one who found a new planet, the stargazer, the one who landed on the moon, lack of gravity, a meteor shower, prn who searches in the stars, prn who looks through the telescope, the admirer of stars, a new constellation, the glow of a star, the exploration of space, the explosion of nebulae, the spark of stars, prn made of matter, the burning sun, a fiery meteor, the moons reflection, a planet orbiting, the cosmic collision, the light in the sky, the flash of a ufo, prn who gets captured by the beam, prn who meets the aliens, the brightest star in the sky, the center of the universe, the interstellar traveler, prn that studies the stars

[nothelena21]

"Random HEADCANONS of BLACK FAMILY members"

Pollux Black: He hates art and anything related to the non-aggressive expression of feelings. Ironically, after his death, his children found complete and incomplete poems among his books of ancient runes.

Irma Black (nee Crabble): She likes to sit and embroider in front of the fireplace in the living room, in the rocking chair in front of the window in her bedroom, or any place she finds suitable for doing so. Many of her children's clothes featured subtle embroidery done by her.

Walburga Black: Known for being a chaotic and tough-to-manage child who could always be found on the move... she found peace walking around her family's vast grounds... that small uncut grove of trees? a perfect place to hide for a while from Pollux and Irma.

Alphard Black: Being one of the most neglected children by his parents, he found himself drifting in and out of different hobbies that kept him busy enough to escape reality. One of them was sailing and cartography... there was something special about feeling the cold wind on his face and the salty scent of the sea in his nose that visibly relaxed him.

Cygnus Black III: Most of the family members were educated in different branches of art: painting, music, theatre... there was nothing that the young Blacks had not tried until they were the best and got bored of it long after. Except for him, of course. He found himself immersed in the world of sculpture for longer than expected, spending days and nights until he managed to finish beautiful works that he asked Kreacher to place in corners of the family properties or their gardens. Many of his later sculptures were inspired by Druella, his beautiful and beloved wife... and later his three little princesses: Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa.

Druella Black (nee Rosier): So small and thin since she was a child... her fragile aura and delicate figure were easy to associate with a ballet dancer. That was how her classes began... her golden hair was tied neatly, her delicate skin was adapted to the makeup of the plays she participated in, her wardrobe was filled with costumes and comfortable clothes for training and her shelf with dolls had to be enlarged to proudly display trophies and gold medals. One of her biggest dreams when little Bellatrix was born was to hope that she would become as interested in ballet as she was and that they could practice and dance together for hours.

Arcturus Black: A skilled hunter for as long as he can remember, he loved to go hunting for animals in dark forests with his frivolous father. Unfortunately for his flirtatious wife Melania, that only meant an entire room dedicated to the taxidermy of these animals and many parts of them placed throughout the house as decoration. The only time he saw a gesture of admiration towards him from his father was in one of those forests.

Melania Black (nee McMillan): Her wealthy but stingy family did not allow her to make large monetary expenses on a regular basis: only on special occasions were goods, decorations or ostentatious clothes acquired to keep up with the elegant and superficial pureblood society. Great was her surprise when, after marrying Arcturus Black, he gave her the freedom to do with her inheritance whatever she wanted as long as she did not exceed what her work provided them. Decorating the properties and gardens as she pleased became her favorite activity, and she found a challenge in making her tastes in decoration ally with her husband's taxidermied animals.

Lucretia Black: Since she was a child, nothing pleased her more than to climb onto the back of any animal that wouldn't knock her down before she could count to ten. That's how Arcturus made sure to build a stable for five brightly colored horses and an Abraxan that Lucretia took years to tame without the help of specialists in the field.

Orion Black: Much to the chagrin of his Arcturus, his only son loathed the firearms hanging on the walls and the taxidermied animals that gave him nightmares which meant the house elves had to change his bed sheets almost regularly. Instead, he found immense love in stringed instruments and the rhymes that flowed on their own into a catchy and emotional song. He could spend hours hiding in the attic where old portraits lay waiting to decay with endless layers of dust on their surfaces. The one where Eduardus Limette Black rested under an apple tree with a predecessor to the conventional guitar glued to his hands was his favorite... and where he learned most of the notes and musical combinations that would drive anyone who heard them crazy.

[thewordsofmars]

Andromeda

A Viktor x Reader One Shot

Content: You wished to see the stars just once more before your time was up. Viktor made sure your wish was granted.

Notes: Hello Tumblr. First post kinda nervous. I am fresh from AO3. Not sure exactly how to make the most of posting here, but I hope I am doing it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The grids in the sky, your paper is full of dotted lines and coordinates. Each night you would face the sky. Carefully mapping where each single sparkle moved as the night went on. If you were up there, you’d be able to make your journey past each new star, knowing the exact time each constellation was directly above you. You yearned for something more than this.

Late at night you dreamed of the stars. You dreamed of galaxies unexplored. But never would you be able to get there. Not in this life time. Not whilst you were riddled with disease, tired and bed-bound.

“I wish I could show you the stars.” Viktor sat at the end of your bed. Holding his hand up to the light and closing it, as if he were trying to capture the galaxies in his palm.

“You bought me to this place. You showed me the stars so I can sleep forever under them.” You closed your eyes and began to drift off. His hand settled on your cheek and you accepted its warmth.

“Hang on just a little longer… I can take you to them.” Viktor laid next you, pressing his forehead against yours gently.

“Tell me about the stars Viktor.” He pulled you closer, wrapping a hand around your waist. You nestled into his warmth as he began talking. Telling you about each corner of the sky he could see. The big dipper, Orion’s Belt, The Bird of Paradise, the altar and your personal favourite The Lady of the Chair; Cassiopeia. You just listened as he named them all, before eventually you fell asleep.

After that night Viktor was gone. Nurses couldn’t tell you what happened to him, all they did was remind you of the little time you had left. You’d seem him up there, intertwined in the constellations. Maybe he was nearby, or somewhere further away, like andromeda. You imagined he was waiting there, waiting for you to arrive so he could show you the stars like he had promised.

But he didn’t return… and you were running out of time.

That night you awoke in your sleep. You could move so freely, surrounded by stars. Your hands were shimmering in the light and you wondered if your whole body was glowing with them.

There he was, right across from you, glowing and reaching out his hand. It was as if he was his own constellation. The Herald, you would name him.

“I promised I’d show you the stars.” You marvelled at the sights in the night sky you were now a part of. Surrounded by connected, glowing silhouette’s. You didn’t want to leave this place; you were finally at home, at peace. But something was tethering you to the Earth. A gravity was pulling you back down, Viktor took your hand, it was him. He wasn’t ready to let you go, not yet.

“Viktor.” You took his hands in yours. “Let me go.” His expression was solemn, yet he still smiled, stars in his eyes captivated you. You wished you could stare into those eyes forever.

“I can help you now.” He said. Your limbs started to grow heavy, you were leaving this place, wherever it was. But you didn’t want to leave, not when you were finally seeing stars.

“No… you can’t.” You took your hands out of his. “My time is up, you have shown me the stars, your promise is kept. It’s time to let me go.”

Viktor pondered for a moment. You knew that he was hurting, he didn’t want to let you go. But back down there, you would be bound to the Earth once more longing for something so out of reach. When you died, you would be buried underground, where the stars would shine no longer. That wasn’t what you wanted. You couldn’t let go of it, not now that you had it.

He wrapped his arms around you, placing a kiss on your forehead. For a moment he just held you there and you felt lighter. The stars sang to you, the way Viktor had told you stories about the galaxies.

“If that is what you want, I will let you go. Is that your wish?” Viktor cupped his hands around your face, you were glowing. He wanted you to be with him forever. But the Earth weighed you down. Here you were consumed by constellations, beautiful as starlight.

“That is my wish.” You gazed into his starlit eyes once more.

“Then let me grant it.”

[crookshanksagentofowca]

Broken Heart

While Bellatrix’s rage and disgust at Andromeda’s betrayal were obvious to everyone, most of the world seemed convinced that she had managed to get through it without a broken heart. That, while she hated her sister for bringing shame on their family, she had no problems cutting her off and rebuilding her life as though Andromeda had never been part of it. She was hard and ruthless, everyone said, incapable of caring about anyone but herself and her equally cruel master. Narcissa knew better. She was unable to stop herself from crying, but everyone seemed impatient with it except for Bellatrix. Bellatrix was the one who would wrap her arms around Narcissa and let her sob into her shoulder for as long as she wanted, just as she had when they were children and Narcissa had had a nightmare. But even in the depths of her own despair, Cissy could recognize Bella’s. While her tears soaked Bella’s robes, she felt the wet heat of Bella’s dripping on to her hair. While she clung to her remaining sister, Bella clung back just as tightly to the point where it was almost painful but neither of them wanted to let go now that they knew just how far away a sister could drift if you didn’t hold on to them properly. The truth was that Andromeda’s departure had destroyed Bellatrix just as much as Narcissa, if not more. She just hid it better.

@black-sisters-microfic

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch14: Through The Ice

Me at 11pm in my time zone: I wonder if I can get through a second chapter before @flaming-thing wakes up in their morning. I've got like four hours?

Me three hours later:

Runaan could curse himself for being this foolish.  He should have been keeping a closer eye on their surroundings, a better control over his assassins.  Shame burned in his chest at the thought that a child had been the one to shush them successfully, and even that had come too late to actually save them.  He couldn’t shelter them all as they fled down the slope, the rushing snow forcing him to just trust they would all listen to his instructions.  The closest shelter was nearly down to the frozen lakeside, and he bodily dragged the elf nearest him into the lee side of the rock formation, only able to see once there that it was Ram at his side.

He had no real time to process what he was seeing when he turned towards the path before Prince Callum shouted “Aspero!” and began to blow back at the avalanche coming down on him, his brother, Rayla, and Andromeda.

What the hell had happened to Skor, then?  Ezran had been on his shoulders.

“He’ll never make it,” Ram said tensely. “No one’s got that kind of lung capacity, who knows how long the avalanche will last.”

The snow had blocked their path almost as soon as the spell was cast, and it was still rushing, spilling to the sides so quickly Runaan was already knee-deep in it. “We can’t get to them to stop it,” He said woodenly. “We will just have to hope he runs out slowly and they have time to move.”

Under the roar of the snow and how quickly their vision was obscured, he had no idea if it were true.  The minutes stretched on like hours until the sound receded, and he and Ram were able to dig themselves out and back to the surface of the snow.  Skor was clawing his way out of a drift on the other side of the path, past another rock.  He shook his head with his teeth bared when Runaan looked at him. 

“What happened to the prince?” Runaan demanded.

“Tripped.” Skor replied shortly. “Both went slidin’, Rayla had him.”

Rayla.  Where was she?  Where was the egg?  Skor was tugging Callisto out of the drift behind him, but there was no way the children had reached that shelter without leaving some sort of mark in the snow.  Runaan scanned frantically down the slope and spotted Rayla wrestling herself out of another drift and onto her feet.

Thank the Moon she was all right.  

“Is everyone okay?” Prince Callum wheezed from a little lower down. 

“Where’s that hiccupin’ juice thief frog?” Rayla snarled.

The toad appeared from the snow just before Runaan took a step down on the spot, and he just managed to pull his boot back and pick the little creature up.  

“He’s right there, and he’s okay!” Ezran said from even further out - on the ice. “We made it!”

Runaan let Bait down as they got to the edge of the ice, and he, Ram, and Ezran all seemed to notice the egg further out on the lake at the same time.

“I’ll go get the egg!” Ezran volunteered, and as he scurried to get it, Callisto grabbed Runaan’s bruised arm firmly enough to make him flinch.

Before he could ask what that was about, Callisto hissed, “Where’s Andromeda?”

Fuck.  Runaan glanced up the slope and saw no sign of her.  She’d been closest to the children when they began to run.  Had she been with them when the prince tried that spell to hold back the avalanche?  He had hardly been able to see.

“Runaan, over there.” Ram pointed out a hole in the ice, large enough for a grown woman to have fallen through. “The ice is thinning with spring.  Do you think -?”

An ominous crack brought all their attention back over to Prince Ezran, who was frozen with the egg in his arms as the ice began to crack under his feet.

Rarely had Runaan felt quite this helpless.  He glanced down at the ice near the bank, judging quickly that there was no way it would hold his weight, nor Skor’s.  Even Callisto would be terribly risky, and they couldn’t spread their weight out as much with one arm bound to their chest like it was. 

“Hold on Ez, we’re comin’ to get you.” Callum said firmly, and then glanced back at Runaan.

Something in him wanted to protest when the two teenagers - Callum and his daughter - began to scoot their way onto the ice, but it was the right choice.  They were the only ones light enough to maybe make it work, alongside Ram. “Help them.” He ordered the younger man. “All of you, stay low, spread your weight across the ice as much as you can!” He called out to them. “Callisto, Skor and I can’t cross at all, it won’t hold us, so be careful, because we cannot come get you.”

“We’ve got this.” Rayla promised over her shoulder. 

He really hoped they did.  A loud splash made him flinch and brought his attention back to the hole in the ice, where Andromeda had just burst from the water.  She gasped for breath and tried to grasp the edge of the ice, only for it to crumble in her hands.  Even her sickle, when she pulled it out, simply cut through the ice and continued to dunk her back in.

“If we don’t get her out of there fast she’ll freeze,” Callisto snapped at his elbow.

Runaan glanced over at the children, who were carefully getting into position to pass the egg hand to hand back to Ram and get it closer to shore.  Ram had them.  He dug in his packs for a rope and tied it to one of his arrows.  He would have to shoot near enough to Andromeda for her to see it and grab the rope, and then even if the ice continued to break, they could reel her in without continuously fighting the surface as she was doing now. 

When he raised his bow, his folly became clear, as his arm twinged and he nearly dropped it.  The moment he tried to draw the bowblade it became clear his purpose was impossible.  Runaan grit his teeth and switched hands - he wasn’t as precise a shot aiming with his right, but it didn’t matter as long as he could draw it.

He couldn’t.  His left arm simply did not have the strength. “Ram!” He barked, alarm rising in his core as he watched Andromeda continue to struggle to stay afloat. “Slide your bow back across the ice!  The binding is too tight, I can’t draw mine.”

Ram obediently rolled onto his side on the ice, carefully unfolding his bow from its place across his lower back, and slid it back towards shore.  Skor was standing closer and reached out to catch it with his sword, bringing it in closer range, and picked it up to hand it over.

Rayla cried out in the next moment and another terrifying crack split the air.  Runaan’s heart leaped to his throat for a moment.

Relief, for a second, that his daughter was okay.

Terror when he realized the egg wasn’t.

Guilt that he had noticed his own child before the one that might save the world.

Rising horror that it was underwater.

“How could you drop it!” Callum was shouting.

“You know my hand is messed up, I told ye not to throw it!”

“I just tossed it!”

“Runaan, Andromeda.” Callisto shoved him. “Ram has the children, focus on her!” 

How could he ignore this?  Runaan grit his teeth and nocked his arrow to Ram’s bow instead, and even that his arm failed to draw with actual aim. “Andromeda!” He shouted to her, praying she could hear him, though her movements were becoming frantic. “Hold steady, I can’t aim like this.”

Another burst of snow.  A splash of water.  On one side, a human man in a hunter’s clothes ran from the trees to join them on the lakeside.  On the other, Prince Ezran dove into the icy lake.

Focus on what he could handle.

Skor went for the human on the bank, and Callisto barked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m helping her, since it seems like you guys are all injured somehow,” The hunter said boldly, swinging a unique chained weapon around.

“It could reach her.” Callisto admitted, low and aside to Runaan.

Every second they were underwater was a countdown.  Andromeda had been in it the longest.  She needed help, but he couldn’t save her in favor of the egg; the Dragon Queen would kill them all anyway and the efforts would be in vain if it died.

“Skor, keep him honest.” Runaan ordered, and pointed to the hunter. “Do it.  Callum!” He called across the ice, turning his attention back to the children. “Your wind spell - clear the snow from the surface of the ice!  Maybe then we can see something useful!”

“The wind - oh, the wind spell!” Callum straightened up abruptly. “I can do that!”

He blew the snow off the ice as the hunter threw his chain weapon to the ice near Andromeda.  She couldn’t quite reach it, and no one saw Ezran at first.  As she clumsily twirled one of her sickles out to tangle it in the chain, Rayla and Callum bolted to another spot and Ram reported, “I see them!  Ezran has the egg!”

They weren’t out of danger yet.  Rayla and Callum darted to another unbroken patch of ice and she cut her way through it.  If she missed even a little, she could collapse the ice under herself as well, and Runaan felt sick in his core at the very idea of it.  He didn’t realize he was praying out loud until Callisto rumbled, “She’ll be fine, Runaan.  She’s a grown woman.”

She helped Callum tug Ezran and the egg out of the water and just collapsed there, lying down as he’d warned, her whole body heaving with exertion and anxiety and Runaan’s heart cracked in two as he saw it. “No.” He rasped. “She isn’t.”

Andromeda, across the ice from them, also managed to make it to the surface, and she coughed up water, shaking visibly, as the human stopped pulling on her to let her try and get her breath back.  She collapsed onto the ice once she could breathe again, visibly trembling. 

“Get her to shore.” Runaan snapped at the human and Skor. “Rayla, Callum, Ezran!  You three need to get to safety.  Stick to the ice that’s hardest to see through, that’s where it will be thickest.  How is Ezran?”

“He’s okay,” Callum reported. “A little sleepy, and really cold, but he’s breathing, not coughing up any water.”

“Keep him awake,” Callisto shouted. “Whatever happens he has to stay awake.  We need his body temperature up.” They were already shrugging off their jacket and packs and rummaging through them. “Ram, we’ll need your spare clothes!”

“I thought so.” Ram said as he tried to shuffle his way back to shore.

“Ram, wait!” Rayla called. “I’m gonna roll the egg to you, you need tae roll it to shore.  It’s too heavy to take with us, the ice keeps cracking more.”

At least that handoff went smoothly enough.  Callisto’s jacket was wrapped around the egg in place of the prince’s pack, and they pulled it away from the shore, tucked it into a small alcove of piled snow where it would hopefully remain above freezing.  Runaan shrugged off his own jacket - it was the largest one they had, and the prince would need a covering to change out of his wet clothes into Ram’s spares.

Andromeda made it to shore first.  She didn’t even try to stand upon being dragged onto solid ground, just let her sickle fall from her death grip and lay shivering for a moment.  Skor abandoned the tracker, kneeling beside her to help her sit up and wrap his jacket around her shoulders.

Ezran, Callum, and Rayla made it at the same time, and Runaan wrapped both boys in his coat. “Here, we need to get you two warm again.” He rumbled. “Callum, I need you to strip your brother out of those wet clothes.”

“You want to make him colder?” Callum protested.

“Water holds the freeze more than air,” Callisto explained urgently. “I promise ye, lad, the wet clothes will make him much colder than bein’ bare for a second will be.  Ram’s got a spare change of clothes for him.”

“It’ll be too big,” Ram said even as he handed it under the coat Runaan had wrapped around them. 

Callisto grunted. “Too big is better than wet in these temperatures.”

“Okay.” Callum said, after looking from Callisto to Runaan, and he set to work.  

Runaan left the boys in Callisto’s capable hands - well, hand - and turned to his daughter. “Rayla-”

He didn’t even get through her name before she burst out, “I’m sorry.  This was all ma fault, I knew my hand was messed up.  Callum’s right, I should ha’ just caught it with my other arm, but I didn’t, and now Ezran’s hurt and this all -”

“Rayla!” He cut her off, and felt the despondent look she gave him like a knife in his chest. “This was just the most recent in a string of bad luck,” He said firmly. “You were just the latest victim.  I’m not angry with you.” She was a child.  Her eyes were welling up with tears she so rarely shed.  She was a child. “We will talk more later,” He settled for saying, as there were far more urgent things to worry about than his decision. “For now, I’m just glad you’re safe.” He opened his arms and she leaned forward tentatively, and when he wrapped her in a hug she burrowed into his chest.  He crushed her tight to his body and closed his eyes for a moment.

He should never have brought her here.  The vitriol of the village against her for her parents’ betrayal wouldn’t have been worse than what he had put her through here in Katolis.  This was too much to ask of her - of any of these children.

“What about the egg?” Rayla asked quietly into his shirt.

Runaan glanced over his shoulder, blood running cold at how dim the egg shone. “I don’t know, darling.  I don’t know yet.”

“Andromeda?” She suddenly lurched a little away from him, still clinging but far enough she could look around for her friend. “Andromeda, is she okay?”

“Andromeda?” He prompted, and looked over to where Skor was holding a blanket up for the woman’s privacy, mostly from the children and the human.  They’d all been on the road together long enough that physical privacy was a bit of a pipe dream.

Skor frowned too and looked over the blanket at her. “Andromeda,” He rasped, and then abruptly dropped to one knee, draping the blanket over her. “Andromeda, talk tae me.  Stay awake.”

Fuck. “We need shelter, and a fire,” Runaan said firmly, glancing about at the group. “Ram, scout something out for us.”

“I’ll help him,” The human volunteered, cutting him off before he could even begin to voice anything else.

“You will stay where I can see you,” Runaan snapped back, hackles rising at the stranger moving too quickly near his wounded family. 

The hunter squared his shoulders and stared him down. “I can help.  Right now, we have the same goal in mind, right?  We both want the princes safe, and that means shelter, and a fire.”

“Humans lie,” Runaan spat, eyes narrowing, shifting to put Rayla behind him. “Why should we trust you?”

“I just saved your friend!” The human pointed at Andromeda, frustration making his movements jerky.

“Which is why you aren’t dead yet.” Runaan snapped back. “I don’t know why you saved her, which means it’s far from a reason to trust you.”

“You have my word,” The human argued. 

“Your word means nothing to me.”

“Runaan.” Callisto said sharply, and he looked over at his friend at the tone. “Skor and I are needed here, and so’s Rayla, for her packs at least - any extra clothes we can salvage for these two are somethin’.  Ram will need help.  Either he goes, or there’s no one left here to watch him anyway.  Ram can take care of himself against one man.”

As much as Runaan hated to admit it, with every nerve in his body screaming to eliminate the stranger from the situation to keep his family safe, he had to concede Callisto’s logic. “Fine.” He growled, glowering distrustfully at the hunter. “Go.” To Ram, he added, “Defend yourself by whatever means necessary.”

“I will.” Ram promised, and looked over at the hunter to arch a brow. “Come on then, pretty boy.”

“My name is Corvus.” The human said roughly as he began to follow Ram away, his boots crunching so much further into the snow than Ram’s.  Humans were so heavy-footed.

“It’s cute that you think I care about that.” Ram said blandly. “Come.  We have work to do.”

To the side, Skor was still urging Andromeda to talk.  Young Ezran was almost dressed again.  Callisto bared their teeth anxiously as Rayla dug through her packs, and Runaan kept his blades at the ready in case of anything else that might want to take advantage of their wounded.

Luckily, nothing did, and by the time Ram returned, both Andromeda and Ezran were somewhat back on their feet.  Andromeda leaned heavily on Skor, and Runaan simply carried Ezran to the cave their scouts had found.  The human had lit a fire while Ram reported to them.

As the child and the woman and all their clothes and the contents of her pack were settled around the fire to dry, Runaan finally took a moment to rub the stress from his face, arm aching, and wonder how much worse things were going to get.  If they failed here - if his mistakes led to the egg’s death before it could make it home - the best case scenario was that they all disappeared.  They could never go home.  That was the best solution and it felt like his heart ripping from his chest as he thought of Ethari, left alone in the Silvergrove.

The worst, though, was that they did return, or news of the egg did.  News of his failure did.  The dragon queen would raze Moonshadow Forest to the ground as the price for his crimes.

Even if the egg survived, he still carried the guilt for bringing Rayla along on this mission.  He had been trying to spare her a lifetime of pain and shame brought on by her parents’ abandonment.  It had been misguided.  Ethari had tried to tell him.  She was too young.

They were all too young to have the world riding on their shoulders, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to shelter them, the concept of a peaceful future truly did ride upon them.

He would not let this human fuck it up any more than he himself already had.  He narrowed his eyes at the tracker. 

Somehow, he had to make sure the egg survived, and the princes delivered it to Xadia - and that Rayla returned to the Silvergrove alive.  Andromeda deserved to go home alive, too - she’d been so looking forward to this season’s heat, to trying for a baby this year.  He had to try and get her that chance.

Everything really had gone to shit over and over.  As Callisto sent Rayla out to search for moonberries, sootheberries, and bogey berries, Runaan just watched her go and prayed that just one fucking thing could go right this time.

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request a scenerio where Ophelia and Steve introduce their sparkling to team beem,what would be the reactions of team bee, Knockout and soundwave?

Did a little tweak with this one, but you will still have those reactions!

Hope you enjoy!

Ophelia, Steve and sparklings

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Romance, Cybertronian reader

RiD2015

Things were calm in the scrapyard.

There was a steady incline in Decepticon arrests, and they even had time to relax with the longer breaks.

And as a bonus (mainly for Ophelia) Soundwave, Knockout and Breakdown had called in saying they were going to visit for a bit since they were in the neighborhood.

… So, we need to mess things up.

It had only been a couple of minutes that the Former Cons had arrived when a portal in the sky had opened up dropping two bots.

A small and tall bot had fallen from the now closed portal.

They groaned and immediately started arguing with one another.

Grimlock and Breakdown picked them up and separated them.

Bee asked who they were.

Both bots freeze looking at the team then simultaneously swore.

The small one asked for the two of them to be put down and they would explain.

The small bot waves. Pavo: “I’m Pavo, the big bot here is Andromeda, my sister.” Andromeda: “And we are from the future.” There is silence from the team. Steve: “The future?” Soundwave: “Possible?” Pavo nervously scratches the back of his helm. Pavo: “Long story short, we MIGHT have touched a relic we weren’t supposed to and now we’re here.” Andromeda: “But! Good news is that the relics effects are temporary and we’ll be returning to our time as soon as it wears off.” Bumblebee: “I take it you know some of us?” Pavo: “We know everyone here Uncle Bee.” Bumblebee: “Uncle?!” Andromeda slaps the back of Pavo’s helm. Andromeda: “You’re not supposed to say anything! Did Ratchet and Wheeljack sayings mean anything?” Ophelia: “Ratchet?! He’s okay?” Both siblings groan. Pavo: “This is going to be harder than I thought…”

Pavo as it turned out was more extroverted than his sister.

Often speaking on behalf of both of them.

But as it turns out, he did it because his sister was a bit timid around bots she didn’t know too well.

Pavo made a great impression on Sideswipe, Knockout, Breakdown, the minibots and strangely Strongarm.

Pavo expressed a lot of talent on training, sparing and filing.

The last one through a lot of bots off, but who were they to judge the younger bots’ hobbies.

The minibot looked familiar to the team, but didn’t say anything about it.

Pavo: “And that was the story of how I reign the champion of Hide and Seek for 4 years straight.” Sideswipe: “Bet being a mini defiantly helped with that.” Pavo: “I mean, I defiantly used it to my advantage, but never went too far with it.” Knockout: “Too far?” Pavo: “Yeah, like one time Mom got so mad at Dad for some reason, she hid from him for nearly 4 days straight. She only gave up because he looked like he was going to go through a nervous breakdown on day 5. She would have stayed longer if he didn’t do that.” Strongarm: “Your mom?” Pavo freezes a bit before brushing it off. Pavo: “Yeah, our mom’s the best.” He looks a bit somber. Pavo: “Even when she thinks she’s doing the worst, she’s the best mom we’ve ever had.” Breakdown: “Isn’t she the only mom you know?” Pavo squints his optics at him. Pavo: “You ruined the moment Uncle Breakdown.” Breakdown and Knockout: “Uncle?!” Pavo: “Scrap! Forget I said anything!”

Andromeda was a bit quieter compared to her smaller brother.

It took a while to get her to talk, but once she got used to them, she was almost as talkative as Pavo.

She got along well with Bumblebee, Drift, Grimlock, and Soundwave.

The taller bot showed a lot of interest in archive data slugs and fixing human machines.

Another weird hobby the bots found.

Andromeda: “You know you can call me ‘Meda or Dro is fine. Andromeda is a bit long.” Drift: “Is that what your family calls you?” Andromeda: “Sometimes, Dad and Mom change the nicknames for me and Pav every now and then. But they like using ‘Buddy’ the most.” Soundwave: “Parents.” Bumblebee: “Soundwave she doesn’t need to answer that.” Soundwave: “Parents.” Andromeda: “… I think I hear Pavo calling!” The group looked at the larger bot going to her brother. Grimlock: “I didn’t hear anything.”

The pair were a bit affectionate with Denny and Russel.

They refused to elaborate.

Russel and Denny just went along with it.

Russel got free bot rides and Denny had someone fix some of his stuff.

Win-win!

But there were two bots that the newcomers seemed nervous to be around too much.

Ophelia and Steve.

They nearly avoided them like the plauge and no one knew why.

… correction, one bot had a strong hunch why the young bots were not interacting with Ophelia and Steve.

Ophelia: “Sounds like you two have some great parents to be raising nice bots like yourself.” Pavo: “Yeah, they’re great and all.” Andromeda: “Dad’s a bit overprotective though.” Pavo: “You mean Mom is.” Andromeda: “No, Dad is.” Pavo: “No Mom is.” Andromeda: “Dad!” Pavo: “Mom!” Andromeda: “Dad!” Pavo: “Mom!” Steve whispering to Breakdown: “They were just talking and now their fighting?” Breakdown: “I think the humans have a saying for that.” Russel: “Yeah, siblings.” Ophelia: “Hey how abut we tone it down a bit.” Pavo and Andromeda: “Not now Mom.” Everyone freezes. THUD! Ophelia had fainted. Steve: “Ophelia!” Pavo and Andromeda: “Mom! Dad do something!” Everyone: “Mom?! Dad!?”

After taking the unconscious minibot to the medbay, the pair came clean about who Ophelia and Steve were.

There were all sorts of ranges of surprise and shock.

Most of the Bee team were just surprised by the news and got over it relatively faster than the others.

They had known Ophelia and Steve longer as a couple and didn’t seem so surprising to learn that they would have sparklings in the future.

Knockout and Breakdown, after the initial shock, were ecstatic.

Their little Ophelia had a growing family waiting for her in the future!

Bumblebee and Soundwave where the ones most in shock.

With Bee, he just couldn’t wrap around his helm.

He was still getting used to Steve being his best friend’s Conjunx and now hearing that they would have kids together, it just seemed so… so… he couldn’t find the words.

Soundwave was mainly in shock.

The little sparkling he once knew in his gladiator days.

The little sparkling who was the daughter of his best friend, turned leader.

The little minibot who suffered through the war and at the servos of her own father.

The minibot he had given to the Autobots because he knew another night on the Nemesis would be her last.

The little minibot who help bring peace to the war.

The minibot who had bravely started a small family after years of hurt and tears…

She deserved it.

She deserved whatever life she had with these young bots.

Soon Ophelia came around and Steve filled her in on the details.

Ophelia walks over to the two young bots with Steve. Ophelia: “So… I just heard you two are our… our kids. Is that true?” Pavo and Andromeda nod. Ophelia starts crying a bit, worrying the bots before she opens her arms. Ophelia: “I’m still knew to this whole ‘happy tears and hug thing’ but—Oh!” Pavo and Andromeda and dove right into her arms best they could. Ophelia didn’t care anyone and started crying. Steve joined in the hug lifting most of them off the ground. The hug stops as a familiar looking portal opens up. Pavo: “That’s our cue. See you guys soon!” Andromeda grabs Pavo football style and waves as the minibot starts yelling at her for the sudden scoop. They vanish into the portal, and it disappears. Silence. Soundwave walks to Ophelia. Soundwave: “Soundwave. Proud. Ophelia. Have. Family.” He gently wipes a tear before transforming and leaves the scrapyard. Breakdown: “Guess that’s our cue too. Bye!” Knockout: “I expect a visit soon Ophelia!” Both cars drive off. Russel: “Did you really name one of your kids after a bird?” Ophelia: “Constellations Russel. Constellations.” Grimlock: “Congrats! On the sparklings!” Steve feels like his faceplate is one fire. Steve: “Not now Grim…”

[emotional-support-carbuncle]

✨ Polyamory Week - Day 6 - Nature ✨

“Have I not kissed you as deeply as I have kissed him?” he asks softly. “Have I not held you? Told you I loved you? Have I not gotten on my knees over and over again to worship you?”

“Hades.”

Hythlodaeus’s voice, soft and warm, rouses him from his slumber. He grumbles a little, trying to pull him closer to go back to sleep — but Hyth just pokes his nose, insistent.

“Hades.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Andromeda…”

That draws his attention. Opening his eyes blearily, he finds Hythlodaeus lying on his side, propped up on his elbow. Glancing past him towards the other side of the bed, he finds it — empty, missing the woman who had fallen asleep there. Fear rising in his throat like bile, he hurries to sit upright, frantically scanning the shadows of the room, following the telltale trail of her aether to find where she’d gone. He has to fight the urge to start panicking, though the absence of any unfamiliar aether trails makes him relax a little as he follows the line to the open wall overlooking the sea.

Hythlodaeus’s hand slides up his arm, warm and solid, squeezing gently as if to remind him to breathe. It helps to ground him in the moment, to remind him that the times of horror are long past, that the two halves of his heart have returned to him and he is alone no longer.

The brilliant, swirling colors of her soul are stark against the night, though she is so hunched on the chair on the deck that he cannot actually see her body. He frowns, glancing at Hythlodaeus for an explanation — only to have his question answered for him when a sound reaches his ears.

A broken, half muffled sob drifts in on the sea breeze, and his chest aches.

Hythlodaeus is moving before Hades has even fully processed the sound, throwing the blankets off and clambering off the mattress with a singular determination gleaming in his eyes. It gives Hades pause — Hythlodaeus had always been a largely unserious man, but whenever it came to his Andromeda, to their Andromeda, he knows that Hythlodaeus would do anything for her.

He had already done as much, after all.

He seems to notice Hades’s hesitation, as Hades wonders if perhaps Hythlodaeus would be best served for this sort of thing — after all, he had never been a particularly comforting presence — but all Hythlodaeus does is frown slightly and wave him forward. He follows willingly, though he hangs back a little, skittish and uncertain of how much he will help this situation.

When they step barefoot onto the deck, they find her curled into a ball on the large sofa-like chair, sobbing into her arms as she hugs her knees to her chest.

“Oh, my love,” Hythlodaeus murmurs.

She gasps something awful, eyes wide and unbearably guilty as she looks up at the two of them. Hythlodaeus moves to sit by her side immediately, clearly intending to pull her into his arms, but she just tries to laugh, scrubbing at her face as she mumbles, “O-Oh, sorry, did I wake you? I’m alright, really, I just—”

“Please don’t lie to me, Andromeda.”

Hythlodaeus has always had such an incredible way of breaking through their defenses with one well placed, soft, pleading tone. It stops her in her tracks now, expression crumbling as she hides behind her hands with another coughing sob. He pulls her into his arms as Hades lingers a few feet away, unsure of himself as she starts to sob into Hythlodaeus’s pajama top, mumbling apologies under her breath like a prayer.

For a moment, Hades just watches them, slipping his hands into his pockets. Hythlodaeus cradles her, brushing her hair away from her clammy skin, peppering kisses to the crown of her head and her forehead. Every so often, he uses gentle fingers to wipe her tears, though more follow freely and show no sign of stopping. 

Hades only moves again when Hythlodaeus catches his gaze and frowns, gesturing with his eyes for Hades to join them on the chair. He sits beside her delicately, nausea sitting in his gut like a rock though he has no idea why until, as he reaches out to run a hand up her back in an attempt to soothe, she noticeably starts to cry harder, tensing up under his touch.

It stings, but he can’t blame her for coming to her senses.

After everything he’s done, it’s not as if he deserves her love. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, truthfully.

Clasping his hands together, he leans forward onto his forearms, staring out to sea to try and mask the hurt he feels. He can feel Hythlodaeus’s eyes on his profile, but he can’t quite bring himself to return it. If she no longer wants him, then this is a private matter, meant to be between lovers and not—

“I’m sorry!” she spits, sobbing still but reaching out to clutch at his arm. “I’m sorry, it’s not — I just — I’m s-sorry I’m broken!"

He finally looks at her, and though she is still hiding her face in Hyth’s shirt, her hand remains outstretched even as she drops it back to her side — an invitation, one that he clings to eagerly as he scoops her hand up and raises it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. She squeezes his hand tight in return, even as her body continues to be wracked with sobs. Reassured that she still wants him here, he turns his mind to what she said.

Hythlodaeus frowns deeper, tightening his hold on her as he says, “Broken? Darling, you’re not—”

“—Sundered,” Hades interrupts flatly, watching her flinch. “That’s what she means.”

The only confirmation of his statement is the way she cries that much harder, curling farther into herself in Hythlodaeus’s arms.

“But — I don’t understand what that has to do with anything? You’re still —“

“You can see it!” Andromeda cries, pulling away to sit up and rub at her face. “I — I know you can see it!”

And they can. She isn’t wrong. It hurts, sometimes, looking at her soul and seeing the dimness of it when he remembers how bright it once was, but he doesn’t… he didn’t know it was causing her such distress.

“I can see it in your eyes when you look at me!” she says, looking at Hades with such incredible pain in her eyes that he can almost feel it himself. “I’m not real! I don’t — I don’t feel real!”

Hythlodaeus runs a hand up her back, before brushing her hair away from her face. “You haven’t seemed different to me…”

“S-sometimes I forget,” she concedes, sniffling, staring at a knot in the wood rather than at either of them, “and I feel completely fine, but then I try to do magic and I can’t. Not like I used to — not like you can. O-Or I get tired long before you two do, and I hurt — I hurt so much more and for so much longer than I remember ever hurting!” She presses the heels of her palms hard into her eyes as she mumbles a final, “I’m not real…”

Hades is at a loss, watching her start to work herself up again. At the edges of his perception, he can feel Hythlodaeus reaching for him, aether gently seeking Communion. He reaches back and is met with Hythlodaeus’s concern and worry, bubbling up and overflowing. Love and affection twist together in the periphery as well, until Hades tentatively sends forth a thought.

What does she see when I look at her?

Hythlodaeus’s mood shifts, sadness and unease coloring his aether as images are projected between them. Hades sees himself as Hythlodaeus and Andromeda dance barefoot on the deck a few nights ago. He is smiling slightly, but he notices with a pang of remorse that his eyes are dim and unfocused, clearly noticing the difference in brightness between her and Hythlodaeus. A series of images follow — moments of them locked in an embrace or with their bodies entwined and, for the briefest moments, his eyes dim when her soul comes into view. 

He hadn’t realized how poorly he’d been hiding…

It is, with all honesty, something he has grappled with since their reunion. While she seems so vividly real, he sees the imperfection of her soul, feels the weakness of her aether. He’d struggled for a while, wondering if the hero wandering the star was more her than she was — but then he’d seen her throw herself at Hythlodaeus, had seen the way she wept in his arms when he finally returned to the Sea and to their side, and he knew, whole soul or no, she was herself.

Her memories within her soul make her who she is — not the strength of her aether.

He just has to make her see it, too.

“Love, look at me,” he instructs softly, brushing his fingers against her bare arm to get her attention. When her bright, starlight filled eyes meet his, he smiles a little and says, “Tell me what you remember.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting that line of questioning. “Of… what?”

Hades shrugs. “Anything. Everything. Of our life together, when the world was whole. When we first reunited, you told me you remembered, did you not?”

She nods, rubbing at her eyes again. “I did — I do.”

He reaches out and brushes a stray curl behind her ear. Unwilling to break contact, he cups her cheek, smiling a little when she leans into his palm. “So tell me.”

Andromeda hesitates, touching his hand on her face. “I…”

Still caught in the tides of Connection, he feels Hythlodaeus’s worry as he curls himself around her, kissing at the place where her neck meets her shoulder. Hades frowns as she flinches a little, though she does not pull away. Nuzzling into the crook of her neck, Hythlodaeus murmurs, “You could also show us, if speaking is too difficult.”

Tears well up anew in her eyes, and she shakes her head as her breath hitches again. “I — I don’t think I can anymore.”

“Nonsense.”

She blinks in response to Hades’ immediate answer, though he just smiles at her when she looks at him. He kisses her hand again as he speaks.

“Even the Sundered can Commune should they have the thought,” he says, kissing each of her fingers in turn. “That is one thing you have not lost.”

And together, he and Hythlodaeus curl around her, reaching with their aether — and she gasps brokenly when they Connect with her. It’s weaker than it used to be, no doubt, but it feels so warm and so right that it applies some kind of balm to his own heart that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. The twist of their energies — his, hers, Hythlodaeus’s — feels so much like the home he has been desperately chasing for eons that he shivers, something that he can see mirrored in his lovers.

Her emotions trip and fall over each other — joy, relief, sorrow, love, guilt, love, and love, and love — and his hand tightens around hers when she whimpers softly, overwhelmed by the swell of affection he and Hythlodaeus both direct her way. 

Her memories, bubbling up and overflowing, follow the same pattern as her emotions. Snippets of moments bleed into each other as her mind races — he sees their childhood, flashes of laughter and tears, their first kiss, bleeding into quiet moments in their young adulthood, studying and traveling and learning who they were and what they wanted. She and Hythlodaeus grow closer and closer over time, until she’s in his bed, kissing him, and then he sees himself accompanied with a fluttering warmth of infatuation, a budding attraction that had grown into a roaring flame shortly after his appointment as Emet-Selch. His breath hitches — he hadn’t realized where her attraction started, and as if she can sense his intrigue, she lingers there, on those memories. Her gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks, the only part of him visible beneath the cowl and mask (a part of him writhes with delight because he knew he’d noticed that and he hadn’t been imagining it). Another flash and she’s focused on his hands, and he gets a few glimpses of things that never happened but she’d clearly imagined, hazy around the edges, all to do with his hands on her body. 

Elpis swirls into view a moment later, beautiful and bright. He sees all the times she and Hythlodaeus spent their days running around there — days he hadn’t even known about, where they laughed and hid behind buildings and kissed each other breathless. The sensation of freedom colors her memory, as Andromeda had clearly loved the way she was required to walk around with her mask off and cowl down. His own face swirls into view next, from those forgotten days when he went to judge Hermes for the seat of Fandaniel. Despite the scowl on his face, the memory is colored with joy and that same fluttering warmth from before as she delights in getting to see his face. He remembers the way his ears had burned when Hythlodaeus insisted that he “show us your handsome face,” at the reception desk, and his stomach flips at the knowledge that they’d both been happy to see him like that.

And then he sees the garden, where they’d sat that one evening, as she and Hythlodaeus had confessed to him.

“We want you. Both of us.”

He can recall the way his breath had hitched, ears burning as he looked at her, wide-eyed and surprised, waiting for the punchline. 

“Azem, I…”

“Tell us what you want, O Honourable Emet-Selch, and you shall have it.”

“I — I want…”

He can feel her hesitation coloring the memory, and he remembers the way she’d seemed to deflate after a moment, when he’d hesitated because he still wasn’t sure this was really happening, wringing her hands and rambling.

“It’s alright if you don’t want — that is, if you want only one of us, we’d be okay with that, too. If you want only him, then —“

He’d interrupted her. 

“That isn’t — I’m just afraid to get between the two of you. That would… I want both of you or not at all.”

The phrase lingers in her thoughts as he slides a hand up the side of her neck, cupping her jaw as he presses a few soft kisses to her temple and the apple of her cheek.

His name falls from her lips on a breath that hitches in the middle as he leaves a trail of kisses on her skin.

“You have always thought I liked Hythlodaeus more than you,” he mumbles, nuzzling the soft skin of her cheek. “That is simply not true — it hasn’t been since we were quite young.”

She flinches, and the image of his own unamused face throughout the years flashes through his mind. He sighs, tilting his head to press a lingering kiss to her lips, and as he does he remembers every moment of bubbling warmth, fluttering sensations in his stomach and tingling in his fingers. He shares the breathless excitement when she looked at him in Elpis and told him she wanted him, that same excitement that pumps through his veins as she kisses him even now. 

“I lost you, my love,” he mumbles into her mouth, pulling back with a sigh. Cupping her face, he catches a tear that slips down her cheek with his thumb. “I lost you. I cradled your mangled body and wept on a platform overlooking the star as it burned. I didn’t — Andromeda, I knew where Hythlodaeus was and how to get him back. I have watched the shattered pieces of your soul scatter and regurgitate themselves all over every reflection. I didn’t know how…” Hades starts, and then hesitates, throat tight. When he continues, his voice is rough with barely restrained emotion. “I had no plan for you. I only hoped that, once your soul was in one piece, I could pluck you from the Sea and bring you home. I… having you in my arms is more than I could have ever dreamed. Once I lost to our dear Hero I gave up on ever seeing you as you were again.”

Her breath hitches as he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, and his chest aches at the sound. If he could make any one thing a reality here and now, it would be to ensure that neither of them ever experience suffering. 

But he couldn’t even do that when the world was whole.

“Have I not kissed you as deeply as I have kissed him?” he asks softly. “Have I not held you? Told you I loved you? Have I not gotten on my knees over and over again to worship you?”

She shivers when he says this, and he gets a flash of their bodies entwined, his hands and his body — a flash of his head buried between her thighs. He chuckles, heart leaping in his chest at the thought of repeating those actions, resting his forehead against hers.

“What have I done to make you believe that you are worth so little? Tell me so that I may rectify it.”

“I…”

[bybobbysbeard]

Clever and Beloved

Day 6 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: stargazing. read on ao3 read other days here

Roughly halfway between Las Vegas and Los Angeles, along historic Route 66, is a dormant volcano. 

It's called the Amboy Crater. At 250 feet tall, the basaltic cone stands like a sentinel, high above the surrounding lava field. The Crater is a national landmark, protected by the State of California. There’s a paved road, a parking lot, even bathrooms. The trail to hike up and into the crater is rated moderately difficult, and takes the average visitor one and a half hours. If it was daylight, Buck could stand on the rim and see for miles and miles. 

It’s also an unofficial Dark Sky site. 

Buck knows all this, because when Tommy told him the Perseids meteor shower was peaking this week, he immediately started researching. A few Wikipedia deep-dives later, he knows what the Perseids are (debris left behind by Comet Swift-Tuttle), who Swift and Tuttle were (two separate astronomers who discovered the comet three days apart in 1862), why the Perseids are called that (they appear to originate out of the Perseus constellation), and who Perseus was. Of course, that sent him into Greek mythology. 

He rambled the whole drive. About King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia, who boasted that Princess Andromeda was more beautiful than Poseidon’s daughters. About the sea serpent Cetus, sent by an enraged Poseidon to destroy their kingdom. About the beautiful princess, sacrificed on the altar of her parent’s pride. And Perseus the demigod. Clever and beloved by the gods, blessed with Hermes’ sandals, and Athena’s shield. He killed Medusa, and used her head to save Andromeda. In doing so, he won her heart. Or at least, her hand in marriage.

Tommy had listened to every word and smiled that scrunchy smile. He laughed at Buck’s commentary, and told him they had several movies of questionable quality to watch. He was looking forward to Buck pointing out all the inaccuracies. 

So, here they are. Stretched out in the bed of Tommy’s truck, pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Tommy has one arm tucked behind his head, staring up at the Milky Way wheeling overhead. His other hand is tangled up with Buck’s, calloused thumb stroking over his knuckles. 

A meteor streaks across the sky. For less than a second, there’s a line of blue-green fire, magnesium and ice igniting in a flash. Buck blinks the after-effects away. 

It’s August, but it’s late, nearing midnight. Neither of them have shifts tomorrow, and they’re both used to strange hours, so driving out to the middle of the Mojave after a late dinner on a random Tuesday isn’t as irresponsible as it sounds. Buck snuggles down into the sleeping bag beneath them and pulls the fleece blanket higher up his chest. 

8 years in California and he still forgets how cold the desert can get at night. 

Of course, Tommy notices his fussing. He tilts his head to catch Buck’s eye. “Alright?”

Another meteor burns overheard; friction overcoming the chill of deep space. This one flares out, a white fireball at the end of its trajectory. Catchlights scatter like sparks as the bright flame reflects in Tommy’s eyes. 

“Should’ve brought another blanket.”

“I can help with that. C’mere.” He sits up, urging Buck onto his knees so he can bunch the sleeping bag up against the truck's rear window. There’s some awkward shuffling, lit only by the light of the stars and the occasional meteoric flash.

His boyfriend ends up slouched against the truck, half upright, spreading denim-clad legs and guiding Buck to recline between them. Tommy straightens out the blanket with a snap of his wrists, letting it drift down over them gently. He tucks the top corners in around Buck’s shoulders and worms his own arms underneath the fleece to wrap around Buck’s torso. Warm fingers brush down Buck’s sleeves, finding his hands and directing their shared grasp into the front pocket of his hoodie.   

It’s cozy. Intimate and practical, the exact mix he’s come to expect from Tommy. He’s instantly warmer, heated through by the feel of Tommy’s chest against his shoulders, his hips bracketed by muscular thighs. Big hands curl over his inside his sweater. Their fingers slot together, rough knuckles and scarred hands, warming the little pocket of air and resting on Buck's stomach. He feels surrounded and protected. Cherished, in a way that no other partner has ever made him feel. Buck lets himself relax, going boneless in Tommy’s lap. His arms tighten, almost a hug, reaching that perfect, grounding pressure that sends serotonin surging in his brain.

Buck could stay here forever. Until the meteor shower is over, until the sun comes up, until the heat of the desert melts them into the sand below. 

Tommy shifts behind him, pressing the chilled tip of his nose to the back of Buck’s neck. “That better?”

The next meteor bursts into light, shooting towards the Earth. A short tail, in bright, vibrant yellow-orange. Iron and sodium. Perseus stands on the horizon, reaching up towards his queen, Andromeda.

“That’s perfect.”