#I saw a flash of bronze and thought of you.

[graviconscientia]

Zinnia. Dark pink rose. Common Hollyhock. Blue daisy.

[wonjns]

backstage. ࿏

♡° pairing. . .  choi san x male reader

♡° genre. . . smut

♡° summary. . .  just good ole fashion, desperate, needy post-concert sex with san because he was just too much while performing for you to keep it in your pants. fully intentional on his end.

♡° includes. . . bottom!reader, idol!san, public sex, grinding, finger sucking, slight orgasm prolonging, unprotected sex (dont irl!!)

♡° wc. . . 2.6k

°A/N. . . this really came out of no where,, i just saw so many more concert clips coming out and i just needed to so badly because he is frustratingly sexy. hope you enjoyyy

san was hot.

so fucking hot.

and you absolutely hated him for it.

from the way his gorgeous bronze skin radiated under the stage lights and his razor sharp jaw flexed as he danced, his perfectly styled hair never seen out of place, to his devilishly sexy grin and the newfound bulging biceps that were proudly on display in the slim fit tank top he was dedicated to wearing every show.

ateez was only 15 minutes into their setlist and you were already fighting every urge to palm your throbbing dick under your jeans in front of the busy staff.

you received a number of privileges as the boyfriend, as did all of ateez's partners, such as your backstage access and first hand look at how the idol life was ran behind the scenes.

as a collective, ateez tried to not let too many of their current significant others backstage at one time in order to not disrupt the staff, who were very obviously annoyed by your presence. but you'd be lying if you said that kept a handful of you from swarming together towards the end of each show, horny and ready to jump your mens' bones as soon as they finished their final bow.

but alas, it was just you today - san's ridiculously aroused boyfriend with no company to distract him from holding back moans every time san thrusted his hips towards the crowd.

you probably wouldn't have been so bothered already if san hadn't approached you right before taking the stage, dressed in his black bomb-bag styled crop top, revealing just a teasing amount of his chiseled abs.

as expected, he refused to go on stage without his favorite tradition of a pre-show make out. however this time, it was something about the way he was wantonly moaning into your mouth that had a heat igniting your core faster than usual. the vibrations being sent through your body and into the cool steel beams you were pressed against had your pants tightening in no time. just when he had finally rocked his hips into yours, giving your hardened member pleasurable friction, it all to ended too soon as mingi interrupted to rush his bandmate on stage.

as he was being dragged away, san simply shrugged in your direction, smirking at your desperate expression. he flashed you a wink, along with his familiar i'll make it up to you look.

you were definitely gonna hold him to it.

and now here you were, pupils dilating with lust as you watched the monitor zoom in on san licking his teeth agonizingly slow while staring into the camera. he offered another one of his shit eating grins, and you almost came in your own pants untouched, disguising a breathy whimper with a cough.

you considered sneaking off to the restroom to rub one out so you could at least focus on the concert, but you felt paralyzed, unable to move or take your eyes off of the whorishly sexy choi san.

you needed him in a way that felt more torturous than ever before, but there was nothing you could do besides wait it out.

it was a grueling couple of hours - your cheeks so hot throughout the duration of the show that you actually thought you might melt. you could only handle one more of san's seductive eye rolls or the unbuttoning of his shirt before you finally gave in and went off to satisfy yourself.

but as all storms pass, you saw light at the end of the tunnel as you noticed the concert was finally ending. the boys offered the roaring crowd a bow and began to wave as they fled the stage.

you watched stagnantly as the guys ducked away into their dressing room, before bursting in there yourself.

immediately you spotted san, whose eyes were covered by his black cap as his head was thrown back - gulping down a bottle of water. his protruding adams apple teased you as it bobbed, covered in a reflective sheen of sweat that had you squirming in place. you cleared your throat at the door way, all eight of their heads turning towards you.

as soon as san saw you, he smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. he could instantly read your mood - knowing you all too well to miss how needy of a state you were in.

"hey baby," he spoke casually, nearly cut off as you rushed up to him and smashed your lips into his.

you sighed as you felt his plush lips envelope yours in a warm embrace, the need you felt causing him to taste even better than you remember. when he pulled back to disconnect your lips, your hands stopped him in place so you could continue laying a fury of kisses to his lips and honestly anything else your mouth could reach. you felt him smirking at the desperate act, along with the dramatic groans of his members behind him.

you could hear wooyoung grumbling something about how you two needed to get a room as san shuffled you back towards the door, holding you back by the shoulders to pause your insatiable actions. you couldn't even bring yourself to be embarrassed in front of the other members like you usually were. the only thoughts running through your head were the feeling of san finally touching your body, and his somehow still prominent cologne taking over your senses.

"relax babe," he cooed as he shut the dressing room door behind him when you both finally exited. "someone missed me, huh."

"oh my god, san. i need you, please." you shamelessly begged, knees feeling weak as his eyes bore down into yours. "somewhere, anywhere, just now. please."

he felt your hands shakily claw against his exposed, muscular collarbones, and you felt the vibration as he groaned. to no one's surprised, he was growing aroused at how pliant you were becoming for him.

before you knew it your back was pressed firmly to a different door, inside of a room you were too dizzy to even analyze as san's lips worked passionately against yours. his large hand laid flat next to your head against the door while you kissed him back with even more fervor, moaning when you let go of his neck to feel along the flexed muscles of his arm.

"so fucking needy for me, hm?" san mumbled against your lips as his free hand traveled up your shirt.

the coolness of his hand sent goosebumps along your body as he gripped your torso - both from the chill and from the excitement of his thumb grazing one of your nipples.

before you could respond, san dipped down to sink his teeth into the sensitive spot of your neck, causing you to moan loudly and nearly fall to your knees.

san immediately returned to your mouth, slipping his tongue inside to muffle your sounds while continuing to devour you whole.

"shhh, don't want everyone to know what i'm doing to you in here, right?" he warned. you could only whine in response, and he chuckled, the low sound causing your cock to harden beyond belief.

san continued to feed you sloppy, opened-mouth kisses, his tongue laving over yours only making you feel weaker. your ravaging hands hastily pushed the black cap off of his head to rake your fingers through his damp raven locks. he pushed his toned body fully against yours, and was most likely the only thing that kept you from dropping to the floor.

san seemed to pick up on the intensity of your erection as ground your hips forward, grazing his own bulge. he hissed at the pleasure, looking down before cocking an eyebrow up at you.

you usually loved san's smile, but you could only squirm whenever you saw it in this context, knowing damn well how much advantage he had over you.

"oh someone's really missed me."

he surged forward to place another searing kiss to your lips before gripping both of your cheeks between with his thumb and index finger, forcing your head to the side as he licked a slow stripe up your jaw while grinding his hardened cock over yours once more.

again, you almost spilled in your own jeans.

"san, san-" you could only repeat his name in a feeble tone.

your boyfriend knew you were begging for more without even needing to say much else, and it was boosting his ego through the roof. he must've also felt you shaking, your poor hands trembling as they needily roamed the patches of his sculpted body that his tank top allowed to be exposed.

your hands dipped underneath his shirt, not minding the sweat one bit as you felt the rippling of his muscles as you attached your mouth to san's neck, sucking salaciously on the thickness of his column as if he were the best thing you'd ever tasted - because he was.

the deep groan that he released in your ear only egged you on, taking the liberty to lick up his own neck before attacking his jaw, nipping to your heart's desires. you wondered how his skin could still be so supple after such a long concert, but he was constantly blowing your mind in all sorts of ways. this fucker really was perfect.

"prince, if you don't stop, i'm gonna have to fuck you right on that couch."

your dick twitched in your pants at his comment, hoping it was a promise rather than a threat. you had been so wrapped up in the phenomenon that was choi san that you hadn't even noticed there was a couch in the lowly dimmed room.

you lifted a leg to wrap around his waist, pressing your bulges together tighter, making you both dizzy. then, taking his earlobe inbetween your teeth, you suckled on it gently before releasing it with a pop.

"god, i don't think i want anything more than that."

the innocence, yet desperation in your feeble tone caused san to snap. within seconds his hands firmly grasped both of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up in his hold while attacking your mouth with his with much more intensity as he walked you over to the old leather couch and plopped you down on it.

san rose up to quickly strip himself of his tank top, hardly giving you time to ogle as his firm abs and chest before you teeth were clashing once more. you struggled to keep up with the overwhelming pace of his lips as he popped open your button-up shirt, yanking it off of your body.

without missing a beat, the black haired idol shimmied down your body, your loud pants turning to whimpers as he tugged one of your nipples between his teeth. he lathered your exposed nub with the warm wetness of his mouth, his cheeks dimpling at the action. he then tapped his fingers against your lips, you latching on to them without hesitation. obediently sucking his digits and swirling your pink muscle around them, you groaned at the slightly salty satisfaction.

san withdrew his fingers from your mouth once they were nice and coated, and began sucking on your other neglected nipple as his wet fingers went on to tweak the previous.

you were writhing underneath him, just like he liked it, not letting up on you until he found it necessary. when you finally felt him come to a stop, you almost whined out of discontent until you heard the sound of his belt buckle clicking.

shooting your eyes open, you observed as san swiftly removed his pants, aiding you in removing yours as well.

"oh my, look at all of this." san hummed once your jeans were discarded, eyes darkening upon seeing the wet patch of precum on your boxers. "did i do that, babe?"

"please san, just fuck me." was all you could manage, hands reaching out to grab him.

he lowered himself into your embrace happily, loving how your hands smoothed down his naked body while he rid you both of your underwear.

"you've been so patient, love. i'm so proud of you. turn around for me." your boyfriend spoke in a firm but sweet tone, hands helping you adjust yourself with your ass in the air.

thankfully, these little excursions of yours were nothing new, so you were practically already prepped for him. still, san didn't fail to knead both of your smooth ass cheeks in his hands, holding them steadily as he leaned down to lick a fat strip over your entrance for good measure.

you called out in pleasure, gripping the sofa arm for stability.

"mmm, taste extra good when needy for me," san groaned. "ready for me, baby?"

"yes, always ready."

when san bottomed out in you in one long, smooth stroke, you felt your soul practically project from your body.

it was like this everytime, without fail. the entirety of san's girth gliding inside of you, slowly working you open with languid, repetitive strokes was all you needed to tame the hormonal beast that raged inside you.

san's dancers hips never faltered once as he would rhythmically pull out and push into you, hitting that perfect spot in rapid succession. both of his hands held your hips as his strong thighs kept his solid rocking motions sailing.

throwing his head back, san lost his own motive of keeping quiet when he felt how tightly your hole sucked him in. it was hard for him to not lose his sanity with you, when your body consistently responded to him so beautifully.

he finally came back when he heard a meek "babe, i-i'm so close" from your tender lips. quickly, he pulled out of you. not out of punishment, but it didn't cease the frustrated whimpers from you any less. san readjusted hismelf to sit upright against the couch cushion, deliciously spreading his legs for just enough room for you to fit on his lap.

he helped you hover over him, a floodgate of arousal filling his eyes as he watched you bite your bottom lip while sinking back down on to him. you grabbed san's shoulders as you started to tremble once more, rocking back and forth on his lap before you begun to bounce, feeling the stretch at a new angle.

san returned to placing searing kisses on the center of your throat, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. you knew he was reaching his high as well when you felt his hips start stuttering.

"baby, come with me." he whispered, releasing a breathy moan as he thrusted his hips upwards to meet yours.

that was all you needed to hear before rolling your hips forward one more time, feeling the rigid pleasure of his abs as you released your milky liquids all over his chest. you felt him paint the inside of your walls shortly after, a synchronous moan emitting from the both of you.

plopping forward into his embrace, you shakily placed kisses along his shoulder and neck, running your hands through his hair once more as san wrapped his strong arms around you. too satisfied to worry about the stickiness between you too.

"shit, baby. i love you. you were so good, thanks for waiting." he panted, hints of his usual cheerful tone returning to his voice.

"anytime, babe. but god, never make me wait that long again." you replied, exchanging giggles between the two of you.

you suddenly heard a choir of foot steps quickly approaching the nearby door, both of you slightly tensing. neither of you had it in you to move, however, fully fucked and blissed out while enjoying each others embrace.

it was fine, the door was locked.

hopefully.

©𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐧𝐬 — all rights reserved

[meazalykov]

Her victory, my defeat

Salma Paralluelo x LionessesPlayer!R

warnings: sadness with a mix of love and hope :)

My nerves were suppressed when I stood by the front of the goal post, a corner kick for my team was being taken. The minutes were counting down until the end. I am in my dream, the dream that is starting to feel like a nightmare. 

I stood on the pitch, surrounded by a sea of cheering fans. It was the World Cup final—the pinnacle of my soccer career. Every ounce of sweat, every sacrifice, every early morning training session had led me to this moment. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the entire world had stopped to witness this match.

England vs. Spain. One of us was going to win. 

By us… I mean my beautiful girlfriend Salma, who plays for Spain, or me, who plays for England.

That realization before the game hit deeply. The thoughts of how our relationship would continue onwards, whoever won or lost, started to put pressure onto my feelings.

The pressure got more intense when the actual match started. Right now its the 104th minute and my teammate observed the pitch, deciding where to kick her corner kick. My mind flashed to all of our practices throughout these three years before the World Cup. The Lionesses’ and I poured our hearts and souls into every pass, every tackle, every shot on goal. 

As the corner kick was taken, I jumped high. I knew this was the highest I've jumped in my entire life. However, the ball barely slipped over my head. When I turned around, following the ball mid-air and noticed the ball in Cata Coll’s hands, England’s potential victory slipped through our fingers like sand.

The final whistle blew, and the deafening roar from the Spanish crowd turned into silence in my head. Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched the opposing team, aka my close friends, achieve their dreams. I am happy for them, but It felt like a punch to the gut. This is a crushing blow that knocked the wind out of me, my lungs felt closed in.

As a little girl, I dreamed of being here. I dreamed of being with the English and driving us to win the World Cup. I’ve imagined myself holding the trophy in my hands and smiling brightly, making my loved ones proud. 

The realization sank in slowly, like a cruel joke unfolding before my eyes. Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. We had come so close, we fought so hard, only to fall agonizingly short. The dreams we had dared to dream, the hopes we had nurtured, all shattered in an instant.

When I saw the Spanish girls jump on top of each other into a pile, I shook my head and walked over to the benches. I knew it was football, you can’t win them all. However, this is the one I wanted to win most. 

Taking my half pink half blue puffer jacket, I put it on backwards so the hoodie covered my face. Once my face was concealed, the tears poured down my dimpled cheeks.

I cried more because I wanted to be happy too. Salma Paralluelo, my lovely girlfriend who I fell in love with one year ago, just achieved her biggest dreams. I couldn’t look out of the hoodie and see her, but I hope she is in the pile of happy players and proud of her dreams coming true. 

My Barcelona teammates who currently play on the Spain team just achieved their dreams too. Being happy for them would’ve been easy if I wasn't on the losing end. I hope they don’t see me here, I don’t want them to pity me. 

Lucy Bronze and Keira Welsh, my teammates on the club and national teams, might feel the same way I do. 

The Spanish girls were in a state of happiness and disbelief. Salma stood up after having five players jump on top of her in the pile. She wiped off her jersey and hugged Cata Coll, who saved the ball in the last corner kick. 

Salma had the brightest smile, tears of joy nearly poured out of her eyes. She knew that she completed a goal that many won’t have the chance to compete for. 

Amid the sea of elation, a crushing realization went through Salma’s head. She felt her heart ache when she thought about y/n, the #1 love in her life. The h/c girl is somewhere in the stadium feeling defeated, while she is feeling ecstatic over her win. 

The Spanish girl tried her best to not let Y/n get into her head in the final. They’ve both agreed that during the final, they would both play as if they didn’t know the other. Which means that no feelings would get in the way of decision-making in the final. 

Salma’s eyes roamed around the stadium before looking toward England's bench. She saw Ona Batlle, her teammate on the Spain squad, comforting her girlfriend Lucy who played for England. The brown skin girl then looked ahead of the couple to see a girl with her legs crossed, puffy jacket on backwards to block her face, and her hands constantly going to rub her eyes through the jacket. She knew it was Y/n.  

At that moment, she felt the mix of joy and concern as she rushed over to Y/n, her own triumph momentarily forgotten.

In a quick second, she got lower in front of Y/n and wrapped her arms around her. Salma held her close, offering a silent embrace amidst the loud cheers. Y/n knew it was Salma due to her relaxing natural scent. She buried her face in Salma’s shoulder, the warmth of her touch offering peace while y/n’s mind went into chaos.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Salma whispered softly, her voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd. "I know how much this meant to you."

Y/n clung to Salma, the weight of her sorrow heavy upon her shoulders. Y/n felt terrible, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for dampening Salma's victory with her own pain.

“You should be celebrating. Don’t let my sadness ruin your victory. I’ll get over this soon.” Salma heard Y/n’s muffled voice through her jacket hoodie. The girl in the red jersey lightly pulled Y/n’s hoodie off of her face. The English girl’s red eyes, puffy cheeks, and long damp lashes were visible to her. Salma looked into her eyes and gave a sympathetic smile. 

Y/n tried to lightly pull her girlfriend’s hands off of her, knowing that she should celebrate the World Cup win instead. However, Salma resisted her pull and held her tighter, knowing that her presence would bring light to Y/n’s darkness. 

As the world celebrated around them, Y/n found solace in the arms of the woman she loved. Even in defeat, Salma and Y/n’s bond remained unbreakable. Y/n will go on to celebrate Salma and her club teammates' World Cup win, understanding that making it to the final is an achievement itself 

<3

[moondrop-writes]

Hiiiii! I hope you’re doing well! If possible could I get an Apollo x wife!reader scenario where like he always promised he’d never cheat and stuff cause he only ever had eyes for her but then she finds out about Will and is really upset until she meets him and thinks he’s super cute (in like a motherly way off. Bonus points if she used to be with Ares before he started dating Aphrodite and so that’s why she was so upset cause she felt like it was Ares all over again even if they’re still good friends)

Sorry if this is too specific or confusing or something 😅

i love TOA Apollo, and while i've never been really sure how to write the POV of a god, i think this is pretty fair considering his in-universe persona written by Rick. thank you for the request and no worries about specifics! also, my apologies if this is super long lmao

You wiped your wet hands onto the rag by the kitchen sink as the dishes you had just washed dripped. Normally, you'd dry them as well, but you were running low on time, and you didn't want to miss a crucial part of the night in order to fix little details like that. Smiling to yourself, you folded the rag and hung it up by the sink again.

The oven timer beeped just in time for you to get your apron on, and you grabbed your mits in order to safely pull the tray out of the oven. You placed it on top of the stove, the scent of the warm turkey filling your nose. Usually, you'd preserve such a thing for a holiday, but today might as well be one.

Tonight, was the night Apollo visited you once more, after several months in his human form trailing after some young girl, he seemed to take a liking to. Now he was immortal again and could see you after all that time apart.

You'd seen him within the first month at some point. You couldn't do anything though, because that wasn't him. It could very well be, but it wasn't. Lester was average, but it wasn't Apollo. You didn't want to sound shallow thinking that, but there was nothing connecting the god of the Sun to some fake New York teen.

And it'd been too long since then. He said it was for your safety, but you knew it was just because he couldn't stand for you to see him like this. You could tell by the way he walked that he was just as uncomfortable with his new body as you were. He looked like a baby deer, stumbling on tiny legs as it struggled to learn how to walk.

That was not your Apollo, your Apollo was graceful with a flashing smile that sent gusts of warmth up your arms. But his looks weren't all that appealed to you so many years ago. He might've been vain, but he was lovely too. He cared for mortals as the great Titan Prometheus had, and everywhere he walked seemed to cheer someone up.

He was rather dependent on his looks, but around you all that seemed to shy away. It was just you, mortal flesh and human blood, and him, golden blonde hair and a blinding smile.

In your head, you tended to akin Apollo to a star. Despite being one of the oldest Olympians, he seemed so much younger. His sister, Artemis seemed so much more serious and mature, and Dionysus had also seemed to understand his duty more seriously. Being the god of the Sun was more habit than it was a job to Apollo.

While the gods floated and stayed still in their palaces, Apollo roamed around. Each day when he rose and ran the sun, he saw places he might've otherwise missed. Everything wondered him, whether it be a small cave in Taiwan or a forgotten shore in Australia.

Stars were small, surrounded by dozens of other stars and radiating their heat and charm. You thought that summarized Apollo pretty well.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your thoughts.

Startling, you jumped up, rushing to untie your apron and hang it up in the hallway. In nothing but a pair of over washed jeans and a loose beige t-shirt, you pulled the door open, and finally felt like you could breathe again for the first time in months.

There Apollo stood, bronze skin and gleaming hair, a suspiciously bright red Camaro sitting in your driveway.

"Y/N," he breathed, voice as soft as a deer's mewl.

"Apollo," you answered, and leaped forward. He caught you easily, as he had always done, and pulled you close. Your fingers clasped behind his neck, grasping onto blonde curls.

His own hands found your hips, fingers slipping into the belt loops of your jeans to tug you forward. His nose was buried in your hair, and he pressed repeated kisses to the crown of your head.

He was dressed in his godly attire, bands of gold, an airy white tunic, and gold sandals. He looked like a supermodel next to you, but he held you as if you were true treasure.

You pulled back for a moment, only to pull his head down so his lips could meet yours, pressed together in a locking kiss.

It could've gone on forever, but mortals needed air, and you pulled away to breathe. With your chest heaving, he smiled at you as if you'd hung the stars. One hand lifted to cup your cheek and cradled your face.

"I love you," he said, voice soft and almost weak sounding.

"I love you too," you said, pressing your cheek to his chest. You felt something break in you when you heard the slow beat of his immortal heart. It was like a dam that finally crashed.

Your eyes filled with months' worth of tears and you hiccupped wetly against his skin. "I-I missed you so-so much..." you sniffed, trying to calm down your rapid breathing, "don't ever do that again!"

He gave a small rueful laugh and wiped at your tears. "I'll try," he said, and that was enough.

The two of you went inside, and he familiarized himself with everything again. You ate dinner, with soft talk of what'd you'd been up to the past few months. He was unusually quiet and kept glancing out the window to the sky as if it were going to disappear.

He followed you back to your bedroom and changed into some clothes that had been sitting in your dresser for months, awaiting him. You were in the bathroom attached to your room, combing your hair as he sits on the bed watching you.

You placed down the comb with a small clattering sound and turned to him. Your palms were flat on the countertop.

"What's up with you? You're...quiet," you ask, biting your lip. He blinks and runs a hand through his hair before standing and striding over to you.

He wraps his arms around you and hides his face in your neck. "Sorry, I... I've got a lot on my mind..." It was weird seeing him like this, so unsure of himself. Even before, when he would melt in your hands like putty and show his true self as a soft sweet husband, he was never uncertain. Not around you, at least.

You take his hands in yours and press a kiss to the inside of his palm. "Then confide in me. I'm here, and I don't plan on leaving."

He looks away and you recognize the expression easily.

Shame.

"Apollo," you say, a bit uneasily.

"Yes?"

"Tell me," You urge. He hides his face in the flesh of your neck again and presses a kiss to your nape.

"I made a promise, a while ago, and I broke it," he admitted, and you scoured your mind for a time where he'd done such a thing.

You held his hand, the new ring gleaming on your finger. Under Apollo's sunlight, it shone like a star in the night sky, but not even it could compare to the light of his smile.

He kissed your forehead, and said, "No demigod kids, I promise. Not even yours."

You laughed and swatted at his arms. "Be serious," you huffed, "and thank you."

"Mhm," he hummed, smiling against your temple.

Instinctively, you pushed him back, second-guessing your strength and gasping when he banged into the doorframe. He winced and held a hand to his shoulder blade.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head. "How old? No--how many? How--how could I have been so stupid?"

"Y/N..." he tried, voice breaking halfway through your name. It didn't matter, you were louder.

"No, answer the question!"

He closed his eyes, face twisted with distain as he cowered. The god, Apollo, cowering to the wrath of mere mortal.

He breathed in to steady himself.

"Five."

Your face contorted into one of anguish, then horror, then anger.

You cared not for the pained expression on his face when you pulled off your wedding band and flung it at him. He caught it and held it to his chest. "For fifteen years I thought you were loyal! But no. Did those years mean nothing to you? Could you have not waited another century for me to pass? God!"

You ran a shaking hand through your hair, and felt disgust rise within you.

"Please," he begged, but you were having none of it.

"Out!" you shrieked, "get out!"

He obliged, leaving you to fall to the floor, sobs falling from your lips.

It went like that for a while. A few weeks, you think. He tried, multiple times, but you didn't want to listen. How could you have thought he loved you? All those years of lies.

You didn't want to think about him. So, you didn't. You blocked all thoughts of Apollo out. That was until you were sorting through your mail and found one from a sender you weren't familiar with.

From, Will Solace, sent by Hermes Shipping & CO. to Y/N L/N

Curiosity taking over, you opened the letter, and began to read.

Dear, Y/N!

Hello, I'm sure my father has given you quite the issue, and I must say your anger is justified. I have not come to defend Apollo's actions but assist yours. I'm Will Solace, a half-blood son of your husband, my dad. He's been whining a lot at camp, but It's easy to tell how much he misses you. The whole time he was mortal he wouldn't stop talking about you. He claims that he's tried to talk to you, but you keep shutting him out, so I decided to take things into my own hands. You have all the right to ignore this, but I have a feeling you won't. As you're well aware, my father has had multiple demigod children since his marriage with you, which is wrong no doubt, all of my siblings agree. But I don't think he's talked to my mother once since my birth, and Austin said he hadn't seen him before camp since he was four, so, I think it's safe to assume he hadn't cared much for our mothers. But he did care for you. I know my dad, and I know how he used to be all those years ago, which kind of concerns me for you, but I'll stay quiet about that. If he stayed with you this long, then he plans to stick it out. I truly believe he cares for you, and if so, I'd like to meet you. If possible, please come to XXX cafe at 1:30 next Friday.

With care, Will Solace.

You didn't realize you were crying till teardrops were dripping off your cheeks.

With a racing heart, you walked over to the calendar. The letter had been later than probably intended, which meant next Friday, was actually tomorrow.

So, it came to the question of whether or not you would go.

You missed Apollo so much. He was right there, and you could hold him and have him as much as you wanted, but you pushed him away. You let your anger blind you, however justified it may be, and ran from the man that loved you most.

Then it was decided. You'd go. You'd meet Will, and you'd force Apollo to apologize.

Now that you were there, waiting outside the cafe anxiously, the plan didn't seem so fool proof. You flattened down the fabric of your summer dress and ran your hands along the strap of your purse, eyes searching for anybody that may resemble Apollo.

Will isn't hard to find, and like his father, the world seems to center itself around him when he's near.

His hair is blonde and curly, just like Apollo's, and falls over his ears and hangs just above his eyes. Piercing blue find yours, and sun-kissed skin shifts to show a blinding smile. You'd expected them to look similar, but not near identical.

He runs over, wearing a pair of shorts and a nice t-shirt, hand raised in a wave. He stops a few feet from you and holds out a hand.

"Will Solace, it's so nice to meet you. Apollo talks a lot about you," he says, eyes bright and cheery. You were sure you would've thought he was annoying if he was anybody else but knowing that this was Apollo's kid (your stepson? No, that was a weird thought) made it sort of endearing.

You found yourself smiling back as you took his hand.

"You mentioned," you say, clasping hands, "I'm Y/N."

"Let's go inside, shall we?"

Turns out, Will is very likeable. Every word is filled with genuine joy, and he listens intently. You can see the resemblance in looks, but he must get this side of himself from his mother. His nose twitches when confused, and his ears go pink when he's embarrassed.

You think it's cute, the way he opens himself up so easily to you. He finds hidden motherly qualities in yourself, that you weren't even sure you had.

That's how you find yourself inviting him to your house, where you fixed him some lemonade and grabbed some cookies from the pantry for the two of you to snack on as you sat on the porch.

Will finished his previous sentence, placing down a half-empty glass of lemonade. His brows are furrowed, and his usual smile is set in a deep frown. You wanted to rid him of it, and ease away any worries, as a mother should.

"Y'know, growing up without Apollo was hard, but I managed. It was my mother that was difficult. She was distant, hardly there. To be fair, she's famous, but it was still hard. She never made cookies--or made me lemonade. I... you're everything I wished for her to be."

When you stayed quiet, staring down at your lap, he stuttered to correct himself. "I'm sorry if that's weird---I, well, --" you tugged him close, cautious of the food.

He was pressed up against your side, and as soon as his skin met yours he melted, and let you hug him close and warm.

"It's not weird."

"Are you sure?" he said, voice quiet, unsure. It was the same tone Apollo had used.

"Certain."

He pressed a bit closer. "I feel like a baby," he laughed, "fifteen-years-old and I'm being held like a toddler."

"It's always good to be held sometimes," you say, rubbing your hand up his arm. He sniffed, and you didn't have to look down to know that he was holding back tears. How had the tone shifted so quickly?

"I'm sorry," he says, voice thick with emotion. He moves to get up, ears tinged pink, "I shouldn't be doing this. You're not even my mother--"

"Stop it. Calm down and relax."

He does, only after you have to forcibly tug him back down. He settles down next to you, and takes deep breaths to push away the tears in his eyes.

You don't know how long the two of you sit there, but your legs are beginning to cramp from being in the same position and Will is letting out soft snores against your collarbone. The sun is sinking into the horizon, and you try not to jump when he speaks.

"You're good with him," Apollo says, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

You frown, "you say that like he's a dog."

He looks away and shrugs, "I'm not good with kids, you know that."

"Neither am I," you huff, and your arms tighten around Will.

"I think Will has a different opinion."

"We all do," you say, and look down as Apollo gets closer. He settles beside you and whispers his next words.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I can do to please you anymore."

You close your eyes and sigh. "Just--stay, okay?"

He nods, "okay."

And he does. Apollo sits there until the sun is gone, his chin on your head, and arms holding both you and Will firmly. You're asleep before you know it, and he's hoisting you both up to bring you inside.

He places Will on the couch with a light blanket, before bringing you to your bedroom. He lays you down, and presses a feather-light kiss to your lips.

"I love you," he whispers, hand holding yours.

Unconsciously, your fingers tighten around his, and he beams.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 47)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (42) / Alexia Putellas x Character (11) / Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson Mini (4)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN put her hand on Alexia’s arm which broke her from her thoughts. They were standing out the front of the Captain’s apartment.

“She’s…like this. She’s not used to people helping,” YFN eased.

“She wanted me… go,” Alexia said in broken English.

“She didn’t want me to stay either and I’ve known her for two decades.” Alexia was still a little upset, but YFN was just glad Ridley hadn’t stayed with Ona at the bar. That would have been a mistake.

“She broke her hand…” Alexia trailed off.

It was aggressive, yes. But she knew Ridley, her intentions, what made her tick and what set her off. “She’s the most protective person I’ve ever met in my life,” she said softly. Alexia’s eyes met hers, curious. "We had a rough upbringing. She’s dealt with a lot of pain, physically and mentally. She’d never hurt anyone she loves…”

“I’m not scared of her…I know she wouldn’t hurt people. She’s very soft.”

YFN was interested at that. She never would have described Ridley as soft, though perhaps it was the language barrier. Alexia must of noticed because she clarified.

“She cares a lot about people…”

YFN nodded, happy that Alexia had seen that. “Yes. Yes, she does. She tries not to show it, but she really does.”

She saw Alexia tighten her hold around the teddy before she gave a smile and a hug to both her and Lucy before she left.

The ride home was silent besides the music but that was mainly because it was getting late, and YFN had an early flight. They were never happy parting ways. Lucy’s hand on her thigh tightened while YFN stroked the inside of her forearm. Her phone buzzed and she looked at it, a response from Ridley.

Riddles: *Sent a photo*

The photo was her hand in a partial black brace, wrapping around her wrist and two little fingers.

Riddles: Just a boxer’s fracture, same as usual.

YFN was all too aware of what that was, as she’d taken Ridley to the ER multiple times for it over the years. Having two black belts meant hard punches and broken bones. She was more concerned about her job though, as she definitely needed two hands for that.

YFN: And work?

Riddles: Off for a week and then I’ll be good with the movement and brace.

“Boxer’s fracture…” YFN murmured to Lucy.

“Oh, I know what that is.”

Of course Lucy would know. Her mind flashed to images of her boxing. “Have you ever had it?”

“Once. It’s painful but at least you’re not standing on it.”

“She’s used to pain, like you…” YFN replied and her hand found the scars on Lucy’s bad knee, tracing them with her fingertips in support. “Can I come and watch you box one day?”

Lucy grinned. “I’d love that. It can be pretty…angry though.”

“I know it’s where you get your frustrations out, love. I won’t distract you, I’ll just sit in the corner and watch you like a stalker.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Okay firstly, you’re always a distraction for me, but the best kind. And secondly, too soon on the stalker front.”

YFN chuckled and she leant over just far enough to kiss Lucy’s arm.

YFN: Are you going to let Alexia know?

Riddles: Do you have money on us or something?

YFN: You two are cute…besides the Ona flirting.

Riddles: What can I say? I’m a catch.

Ridley didn’t even try to defend herself because they both knew she hadn’t been flirting back. She’d just been herself. But herself was bad enough. She didn’t want to get involved in Ridley and Alexia’s unspoken thing, however she knew that if she were in Alexia’s shoes she’d want to know how she was.

Riddles: Before you message me again, yes, I will tell her. Safe flight and today was great, we should do it again soon.

YFN: Yes, please. Love you x

“If I didn’t know her, I’d be jealous you were flirting, looking at your phone all smiley like that,” Lucy teased.

“You know her, and you’re still jealous,” she teased back. Lucy pouted. “But it’s okay, I love you all jealous and moody.”

“God, Luce, it’s almost midnight,” she whimpered.

Lucy lifted her head, mouth glistening with excitement and eyes dark with lust. “Are you complaining, little one? I can stop right now-”

“No! No…I just…argh-” she reached down and grabbed her girlfriend, pulling her up on top of her until they were face to face, Lucy bracing her weight on her elbows. YFN dragged her head down and tasted herself on Lucy as their lips met and their tongues fought with groans and moans and excitement. YFN broke away but only for long enough to whisper. “No more teasing, just fuck me, Lucy.”

She reached down and grabbed her strap, lining it up while Lucy watched her face with wonder. She continued to watch her as she slowly rolled her hips and pushed the strap inside of her little Australian, enjoying watching her eyes roll to the back of her head and a moan escape her throat.

She leant down to nip her earlobe before whispering in her ear. “Yes, love.”

Lucy began moving her hips slowly in and out, and YFN could tell from Lucy’s ragged breathing and soft moans in her ear that it was rubbing her in just the right spot. YFN moved her hips with Lucy’s pace, intensifying the pressure of the strap on Lucy’s clit as she enjoyed the length of it moving in and out of her.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Lucy groaned as she fucked her.

Her heart melted. “Luce…I don’t want to leave either.”

“I want you to stay,” she grunted in between her thrusts.

“I want to stay…” she moaned in reply.

“You…argh fuck….you belong with me.”

“I do…” she whimpered. “I belong with you.”

Lucy’s mouth found her neck with passion, kissing and sucking marks into it. Oh, she was needy. She wanted to leave evidence she was there.

“Mine,” she growled softly in between the marks she sucked.

A shiver ran down YFN’s spine. One of her hands was in Lucy’s hair, the other unconsciously dragging fingernails up her back, gripping as she tried to hold herself together. Fuck, it was good. It wasn’t their usual rough, passionate fuck. No. This one was slow and steady, loving and emotional, hitting all of the right places. This was teamwork. Two lovers enjoying each other. YFN’s legs wound their way around Lucy’s hips as she braced her knees better on the bed to start a deeper, harder fuck. Lucy was still pulling out slower than usual, but she entered at pace, thrusting her hips and seemably enjoying the smack on her clit as their hips met with a wet slap. God, she was so wet. Even slowly, they could hear the sound of YFN’s dripping core. She could feel herself tightening the closer she got, Lucy’s glutes paying the price.

“Ah…fuck little one. Fuck you’re tight.”

At those words, YFN’s back arched and she whimpered, Lucy quickened her thrusts and the force in which she fucked her. YFN was a whimpering, moaning mess, clutching onto Lucy like a lifeline.

“Ah…ah…please don’t stop…Luce!”

“You’re mine.” Lucy growled as she again sped up. Fucking relentless, she was.

“I’m y…yours!”

At this point, she could only lay there, clutched to Lucy as she fucked her into the bed, getting her frustration out, her needs, her love, her obsession. YFN cried out her name as she came, Lucy fucking her through it and finishing shortly after. She slowed down until she was finished, undoing the strap and throwing it to the floor. Just as she was about to move away, YFN pulled her down onto her, Lucy’s sweaty body laying on her own as she held her there while they regained their breath. Lucy was the most out of breath, of course. Because it was late, it wasn’t long until they were sleepy, almost drifting off but just before they could, YFN spoke.

“Luce?” She whispered, just loud enough to hear. She wiped the sweat off of Lucy’s brow, pushing the hair off her forehead and tucking those little curly baby hairs behind her ear.

Lucy hummed in response, unable to speak as she hung in a space of lethargy and peace.

“I’ll never stop falling in love with you.”

YFN stared at the photos and couldn’t help the smile crossing her face. Lucy had posted several photos of their past few days in Barcelona together. The first, a picture on YFN half in the water that she didn’t know she’d taken. She remembered looking out over the ocean and it reminding her of home. The second was YFN and Narla having a nap together while Lucy had been making her monster of a sandcastle. Narla was laying flat on her side, her back pressed up against YFN, her head resting on her arm. The third photo was of course Lucy posing next to her sandcastle monster, little spade in hand and a proud grin on her face. Narla had photobombed that one. And the last photo was a selfie Lucy had taken from the bar that had herself, YFN, Ridley, Alexia, and most of the Barca girls in it also.

Lucy Bronze MBE: Love, love, love. *red heart emoji*

Lucy had also tagged her in her caption.

Her heart swelled and she bit her lip. Oh, Luce. She had never had someone so proudly showing her to the world, let alone someone with the amount of followers Lucy did.

Jordan Nobbs liked a post you were tagged in.

Alexia Putellas liked a post you were tagged in.

Caitlin Foord liked a post you were tagged in.

Caitlin Foord: Chickens *red hear emoji* *Australia emoji*

Katie McCabe liked a post you were tagged in.

Katie McCabe: Nice abs

Kyra Cooney-Cross liked a post you were tagged in.

Kyra Cooney-Cross: thanks for the invite

Leah Williamson liked a post you were tagged in.

Riddles liked a post you were tagged in.

Riddles: *fist emoji* *car emoji*

Keira Walsh liked a post you were tagge-

“YFN?”

Her head shot up and found Ruby, immediately blushing as she was just caught. She put her phone down.

“Hm?”

“We were just talking about the office space. It’s huge?!”

They were in their new office in London, and it was a decent size. There was a main, large room with individual desks and set up for everybody’s individual workstations, along with a kitchen, showers and bathrooms, and several separate conference rooms. Knowing exactly who ‘Joe’ was, she wasn’t surprised by the size of it, and just how much furniture and equipment were already set up.

“It won’t feel quite as huge when we have a few hundred people in here,” she laughed.

“A few hundred?!”

“I dare say we’ll be expanding pretty quickly.”

“What are the conference rooms for?” Bridget asked.

“I’m thinking we’ll have a roster and can use them for the groups we have for certain games. So you can meet as a team in there without disturbing everyone else, and we can book them for a certain amount of hours when they’re not being used for that.”

“Great idea!”

“Now does everyone have their car park passes?”

After confirming they did, they sat down for their meeting in one of the conference rooms.

“Alright, welcome, welcome to our new Lumos office. I hope you’re all liking it because it’s going to be home for a while. And as you’ll notice, we have each of the conference rooms set up for people to zoom in, as I understand we all live in different areas and travelling from Birmingham or Liverpool each day doesn't exactly make sense…however this week is an exception. I’ve spoken to you all about this and I’ll apologise again. We just need everybody in for the next three days because of the workload with the new staff starting tomorrow. You will all be paired up into your usual pairs and supervising the groups. Here’s our schedule for this week.”

She gave out their weekly schedule.

Liverpool vs Chelsea (Stamford Bridge, London): Sat 18th Nov 1330 – Bridget, Emily and YFN to supervise.

Everton vs Bristol (Walton Hall Park, Liverpool): Sun 19th Nov 1300 – Ethan and Daniel to supervise.

Brighton vs Arsenal (Broadfield Stadium, Crawley): Sun 19th Nov 1400 – Sam and Olivia to supervise.

Leicester vs Spurs (King Power Stadium, Leicester): Sun 19th Nov 1500 – Bridget and Emily to supervise.

West Ham vs Aston Villa (Chigwell Stadium, London): Sun 19th Nov 1500 – YFN and Noel to supervise.

Man City vs Man United (Old Trafford, Manchester): Sun 19th Nov 1630 – Matt and Ruby to supervise.

“Each pair will have eight crew onsite. Three videographers, three photographers, one interviewer and one editor. It’s your job as supervisors to make sure we’re using everyone efficiently to get the content we expect from so many people. Over the next few days, I’ll be very, very strict with the interviewers on techniques and questioning, and I expect you all to do the same with people in your field of work. We need to start off strong, having forty new people means that there’s room for error. We need to minimise that by ensuring we train the very well and we need to remember that we’re all still fresh and learning too. It’ll be an overload of information, but that’s why you will all be supervising for the first round. Depending on how we go, we may require supervision for a few rounds after, however we’re hoping to aim for that eight-person crew to be running smoothly without the need for the supervision.”

“What do we do if we think the interviewer is asking wrong questions or upsetting the players?” Olivia asked quietly.

“You immediately pull the plug. I’m going to want feedback from you all on all of the individual employees after your game, so we can make sure everybody is on the same page and the people who need extra time practising, get just that. Okay, we have just the one game on Saturday that Bridget and Emily will supervise with eight new staff. If I’m happy with our progress over the next two days with the new employees, then I’ll also attend and leave the rest of you to prep in the office for Sunday. Sunday will be all hands-on deck, full crews on every site as well as two supervisors. Our big game this week is Man City vs Man United at Old Trafford which Matt and Ruby are going to be running…”

YFN made sure she didn’t look at her phone again that day, and it wasn’t that difficult. She loved the logistics of her work. She and her original nine colleagues eagerly discussed their week ahead and brainstormed potential issues and how to overcome them. A few of them had to run down to get stationary, paper, whiteboards and more to fill the conference rooms with supplies and also just get through their day of exciting prep.

The next two days flew by, and the office already felt crowded, but in a good way. Like Javier’s bar. Everyone was excited to work and to learn. YFN had taken the time to get to know everyone prior to meeting them, thanks to the folders put together by Lumos management, and had split them into their groups where she thought it would suit them best. The planning and prep work was intense, but worked out to her satisfaction, even though her standards were high. YFN had even gotten permission from Chelsea to take her team out to Stamford Bridge to get to know it and so the individual teams could practise the best shots for photos, videos and more. YFN left them to their groups as much as she could, letting them work it out together and trusting the supervisors she’d put in charge. She spent a lot of her time at Stamford Bridge talking to Emma Hayes and her Chelsea coaching staff as they ran drills. A few of the players came over to say hi when they had a chance which was rare, because Emma was all over them.

Friday night came with expectation and nerves. They were in Lucy’s apartment with Leah’s stylists as Jordan hadn’t wanted to go to Leah’s place. Too many memories. Jordan and YFN had packed and enjoyed a road trip down for the night from Birmingham, planning on getting being naughty with some take out after the event.

“Oh my god, Ridley was right. This is amazing…” Jordan said as she exited Lucy’s spare room in her suit. YFN and Leah both spun around to Jordan who was now fully dressed and looking unreal. It was a feminine suit, but the first piece of clothing that actually fit her. The accessories were minimal, a silver bracelet, two rings and a simple ear cuff. Jordan’s hair was up, already done by the stylist and her suit perfectly matched Leah’s with its style.

“Are you comfortable? Ridley said you’d want to be comfortable…” YFN said.

“Ridley?” Leah asked.

YFN had explained who Ridley was to Leah previously, though it hadn’t stopped her jealously.

“She picked this outfit for me in Barcelona with YFN,” Jordan grinned, still proud and looking down at herself. “And she was 100% right, I’m very comfortable.”

Leah sighed, standing as she was just finished with her hair. They took a few photos together and they matched so well that YFN had to take a picture to send to Ridley.

Riddles: I said thank me later. It’s later.

YFN: Jordan said thank you for saving her life.

Riddles: I know a few ways she can make it up to me…

YFN: Put it away, Riddles.

Riddles: Aw, you’re no fun. I could pick her up and throw her all around the bedroom.

YFN rolled her eyes, ignoring the last message as Ridley knew she would. When Jordan asked what she’d replied, she only told her the first bit.

They all rode together in a blacked-out, chauffeur driven car and as they got closer, YFN was getting nervous to be alone for the photographs. Jordan felt bad, but she was Leah’s plus one after all. YFN wouldn’t have let her anyways. She was staring at her scar in the window of the car as they arrived, feeling a little self-conscious. Her mind was on Lucy, like it had been since she’d left Barcelona two days ago. Two days and she was already too drained at the feeling of aching without her. Jordan leant over and kissed her cheek, snapping her out of it.

“Just get past this and we’ll meet you inside,” she said before she got out.

Leah put a hand on her knee before she followed. “You look beautiful,” she said with a genuine smile.

YFN followed them. She focussed on the photographers watches and hands instead of the cameras, just as Leah had taught her to avoid being blinded by the flashes. She looked ahead of her and saw them together, their arms lightly touching each other’s backs for the photos. They looked beautiful and what’s more, they were both smiling as if they were together, as if they were happy, and YFN could tell it was genuine with the way they looked at each other between photos.

Once inside, she took a deep breath and the first glass of champagne that came by her. Leah and Jordan found her immediately, the three of them laughing about the aggressiveness of the photographers shouting outside, and the amount of celebrities inside. It was during their third drink to settle their nerves when they were approached by the last person YFN wanted to see.

“I didn’t realise they invited so many women to the Man of the Year award. A bit sexist, isn’t it?” Mark asked.

YFN saw Leah go stiff as she saw him. She hadn’t noticed that the last time they’d met him together.

“Women can’t show up in support for men?” YFN asked.

“You’re not here to support men,” he said, hard. “And I saw your latest little post online, YFN. You and Miss Bronze are going strong, are you?”

“Our relationship has nothing to do with you.”

Over her shoulder, her eye was caught by the sight of William and Catherine arriving to a multitude of camera shutters, blinding flashes and shouts of excitement. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t know she’d be here.

“It just makes it easier for me to prove your conflict of interest,” he shrugged. “But I do hope you had a wonderful time in Barcelona.”

“It was fantastic, thanks for the well wishes,” she replied, purely out of spite.

He didn’t seem to care as he’d already turned to Leah. “And it’s very interesting to see who you chose for a date tonight, Miss Williamson.”

Leah’s jaw locked. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I warned you-”

She stepped forward and cut him off. “My lawyers have sorted it. You don’t have anything to threaten me with anymore Mark. Leave.”

He smiled down at her. “You really think that is going to stop it just…slipping out? I can’t help a leak…”

YFN had no idea what they were talking about and from the looks of Jordan, she didn’t either. Mark looked at Jordan and his eyes went down her body and back up.

“Keep your fucking eyes to yourself. Leave.” Leah snapped. Leah never snapped. Jordan’s eyes widened.

“It’s a bit hard to when-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned.

She was standing half in front of Jordan which made YFN think it possibly had something to do with her. He stared at her a moment longer, enjoying the look on her face that was anger and potentially worry, when his attention was caught by something behind YFN.

“Ah, and as if to prove my point.”

A warm hand touched her lower back lightly and the smell of vanilla and bitter orange overwhelmed her as Lucy stepped past and protectively in front of the group. Her hand slid around her hip as she stepped past and took YFN’s hand, holding it behind her and linking their fingers. Lucy. Lucy was here. Lucy. Her body relaxed as she stared at the back of her perfect girlfriend with a look of surprise.

“She told you to leave.”

Mark gave a smirk and opened his mouth but was stopped by Lucy lifting a hand. “Uh uh. Don’t speak. Just fuck off.”

Mark looked like he wanted to argue before his expression changed to something along the lines of apprehension. She couldn’t see Lucy’s face so she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to get that reaction, but she loved it. She put her other hand on top of their already clasped hands in support. Lucy squeezed her hand. Without another word, Mark left, though not without throwing another glance Leah’s direction. Watching him go, YFN caught someone’s eyes briefly lingering on their little exchange in the distance. Catherine. They both looked away.

When he was at a safe distance, Lucy turned, her features shifting from intimidation to adoration as she saw YFN staring at her wide-eyed and unbelieving. She reached out with her free hand and touched one of her dimples lightly. They shared that unspoken word before her hand lowered and she looked at Leah.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Leah responded, her jaw locked.

“Hallo mate!” Jordan beamed and threw her arms around one of her closest friends. “You came!”

“You knew?” YFN asked.

Jordan pulled back, a little sheepish. “I didn’t know for sure. So, you found a flight then?”

Lucy looked at YFN. “Ridley helped me.”

She could have sworn her heart grew twice the size at the thought of Ridley and Lucy helping each other. She had hoped they’d get along and it was slowly coming to fruition.

She couldn’t help but look at what Lucy was wearing. It was an all-black suit, a well-tailored one too, and from the look of it, she was almost certain Ridley had something to do with that also. It was all a similar black besides the button up which was slightly darker and open almost halfway, exposing her neckline down to the space between her breasts, her black bra a little on show. And then there were the accessories, the rings, the necklace, the studs, the cufflinks. 100% Ridley. Lucy noticed her looking and gave a wink, doing some admiring of her own. She stepped closer so their bodies were against each other. They matched.

“Are you going to at least tell me what that was about?” Jordan asked, her focus on Leah.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Are you joking, Leah?” Oh, Jordan was upset. “You want me to start trusting you again, but you can’t be honest about something that obviously involves me?”

Leah’s eyes closed as she battled with herself. Jordan didn’t wait to see what eventually won out. She turned and walked away, towards the canapés.

YFN went to follow her, but Lucy was first. “I’ll talk to her.” She murmured and gave her girlfriend a lingering kiss on the cheek before she followed her, their arms outstretching to hold each other’s fingertips a little longer as she went.

YFN tore her eyes from Lucy and looked at Leah whose eyes were following Jordan. “Leah…you’re going to have to tell her eventually, otherwise I guarantee he will.”

“I know.”

“So, start with me, and only me. What was that about?”

“I need a drink.”

YFN linked her arm through Leah’s. “Come on then.”

Leah held onto her tight as they wandered to the bar. “It’s about a sex tape.”

[captainsophiestark]

Flickering Firelight

Luke Castellan x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Summary: Three snapshots of a relationship with Luke Castellan, before during and after the things he does for Kronos.

Word Count: 1,258

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed, leaning my head against my boyfriend's shoulder, both of us illuminated by the flickering light of the campfire we'd made on the beach. Everything had been so busy over the last week, and it was nice to finally have a moment just for us.

"Lotta new campers this summer," mused Luke, my best-friend-turned-boyfriend as of a few months ago. "We're gonna have a hell of a time with them in the Hermes cabin."

"Yeah. Hopefully it won't take too long for them to get claimed. Some of them have been pretty good about it, lately."

Luke just grunted, not really giving me a full response. I knew exactly how he felt about the Olympians and the things they did, so I let it drop.

"I have to say, it's nice to have everybody back, though," I said, gently changing the subject. I took Luke's hand in mine, gently tracing lines with my thumb. "The whole place just feels more alive with the summer campers here."

"True. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to getting them all back into shape in the sword arena, since I just know almost none of them practiced while they were gone."

"Now that is a show that I'd like to watch."

Luke huffed a laugh, and I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk that I absolutely adored, and which made my heart race.

"I've got a good feeling about this summer," I said, moving a little closer to Luke as I spoke. The smirk faded from his lips, replaced with a more thoughtful expression I couldn't totally read.

"Yeah. So do I."

****************

I hadn't seen the love of my life in a long time, and now we stood on opposite sides of a battlefield. And he wasn't really my Luke.

The flickering firelight of the burning city around me reflected off of gold armor, in the gold eyes I didn't recognize.

"Luke..." My voice broke on his name, turning into a hoarse whisper I hardly recognized. "Please..."

The only indication the man I loved was still in there was the slightest twitch of his eye. Time slowed as the monster that had brought him into this mess smiled at me, nothing like the mischievous grin I knew and loved.

"Nice try, little hero. But he's gone. And so are you."

I tried to raise my sword as Kronos advanced on me, but my arms were like lead. I was among the last defenders of Olympus, further out from the final ring my friends had made. I wanted to make a meaningful stand to try to stop this here and now, but as the seconds inched by, it became more and more clear that wouldn't be possible.

The last thing I saw was Luke's stupid sword Backbiter, with its bronze and steel blade, flashing through the air towards me, held by a monster using someone I loved as a mask.

****************

I sighed as I put my feet up on the stone ring of the firepit before me, leaning back in an extra-comfy lounge chair. The sun shone down on me, warming my skin despite being Olympus knew how far underground. Here, it didn't matter. I'd found paradise.

Based on the fact that Elysium still existed at all, I knew my friends had managed to succeed. It hadn't been too long after I'd first arrived here that someone brought news that confirmed it: Kronos and his Titans had been defeated. Olympus had won the day.

Sadly, I wasn't down here by myself. Too many friends were here with me, all of us dying in the fight and at least making it here together, as a small silver lining. We'd taken over a whole section of the place as our own secondary Camp Half-Blood, enjoying the peace here together while we could.

Some of us had even tried for rebirth, and more were headed that way. But I couldn't bring myself to leave. At least, not yet.

I kept waiting for what I was almost confident wouldn't happen, but I refused to move on all the same. Silena had made it down here, after all, despite being a spy for the Titans. She'd realized her error and made a change, helping our cause and redeeming herself enough for Elysium. Based on other accounts from above, Luke had done something similar. He'd also done much worse than Silena, but I still couldn't make myself give up hope of seeing him here too.

"Hey."

I looked up to find Ethan Nakamura, one of Luke's lieutenants who'd defected at the very, very end, looking at me from a few feet away. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he blew out a breath.

"Somebody's here to see you."

I frowned, then shot up straight in my seat as a familiar face stepped out from behind one of the residences of Elysium. Luke, looking more sheepish and unsure than I'd ever seen him in either of our lives, struggled to meet my eyes. I froze, hardly believing what I was seeing. It was him. Like he'd been before all this shit with the Titans.

He finally looked up, and his eyes were his own, all trace of that horrible gold gone.

Tears flooded down my face as I rushed forward, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. I sobbed into his chest as I held him, my Luke, somehow here with me after death when I never thought I'd see him again.

He breathed my name like he didn't believe I was real, his arms finally coming around me and holding me tight. We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, hearts pressed against each other. Finally, it started to sink in that he was really here with me, after everything we'd been through. I pulled back just a bit, so I could look him in the eyes again. Those beautiful eyes that I loved met mine.

"Luke..." I breathed, a smile lighting up my face. Slowly, a beaming smile spread on his own, mirroring mine.

"I- I didn't think you'd be happy to see me."

My heart ached at his words, and I leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek before meeting his eyes again.

"I wasn't happy with the choice you made, Luke, and a lot of bad things came from it. But you came back to me in the end. If what I've been hearing is right, you helped save the world, at the cost of your own life. And even at the worst moments, I never stopped loving you."

"I never stopped loving you, either. If I could go back, if I could do things differently-"

I put one finger to his lips, gently cutting him off before he could get too far down that path.

"I know, Luke. But you can't. None of us can do anything to change the past. So we might as well enjoy where we are now."

He nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips. I leaned up to press mine gently against his own, the kiss soft and sweet and everything I'd been missing since that last summer we'd had together. I let myself enjoy the moment, Luke's hands tightening on my waist, then pulled away.

"Come on," I said, trailing my hand down from his shoulder to take his hand. "Let me show you around, and then we can get some marshmallows and hang out by the fire."

Luke beamed. "I can't think of anything in the world that I'd rather do."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

Percy Jackson Taglist: @valkyriepirate

[anamelessfool]

Lil WIP of Chapter 15 because I guess each plot arc starts with a flashback

Primo [Irving] returns to the Ministry to follow through on his mother's final wish. He decides to stay for just a few days. Until he figures things out. Tags: Young Primo, Satanic Panic, 1970s Horror, Mystery Noir

Chapter 15: I Wanna Be Your Dog Comes Out Soon (Full Fic Here)

1972

They told Irving to wait, so he did. He watched the nun with pretty eyes and a firm walk sway down the hallway and out of sight, her heels echoing across the wide expanse of marble. He hadn't been to the Ministry since he was around ten, and even a decade on it felt just as huge as it was in his memory.

“Only for a few days,” he muttered to no one. Well, it wasn't no one, exactly. He adjusted the urn on his hip. Sister Nance, or at least what remained of her earthly vessel, had been there this entire time. When he packed up his car with items from the apartment he was certain he'd get evicted from. When he parked behind the diner. She was there, and he talked to her. “I'm leaving you here, then I'll be gone. But I'll stay just a few days.”

Nance had not spoken much about the Ministry with any enthusiasm until she got sick. Then it felt like that was all she could remember. She spoke about the grounds, the chores and how much she loved the garden there. She pulled memories from Primo that had long been buried by time. She said when she was there the words of her poetry poured out of her. The Void provided that, she said. It moved underfoot across the hallowed land, flowing deep below the Earth, eternal currents of limitless potential.

Ever since she left she said it was a struggle to write. Or, at least in her fading months, she felt that that was the case. She wanted to be there, after death, in the perpetual tides of creativity that ebbed and flowed from the Void itself.

He stood there for a few minutes more, debating how obedient he was going to be today. Perhaps if he walked just a few feet down the hallway, he would at least see if anyone was on their way and hurry back. He had a vague memory of the kitchen garden, of the cell he'd share with his father on his extended summer stays. Maybe a quick wander was in order, if only to see how the place had changed.

Irving strode a few feet down the hallway, admiring the sweep of stone archways overhead, the fifty year old hanging iron lamps fashioned to resemble globes nestled in batwings and claws. Through the walls he heard a bell ring from a distant tower, calling the congregation to what, he was unsure. He remembered a television program he saw, about some sort of convent or orphanage or someplace equally gothic and ecclesiastical. An orderly line of nuns in severe headwear processed while a bell rang. He thought back to his memories of his beatnik mother and wondered why on earth she ever thought that life to be appealing.

“L'amour est un oiseau rebelle, Que nul ne peut apprivoiser….”

A woman’s voice drifted down the hall. It was a familiar tune, from some origin unknown to Irving. It was one of those classical refrains, something that hinted at refinement and high art. He himself had the most crude understanding of both of those things, and yet the sound lured him forward.

“Et c'est l'autre que je préfère…Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît…”

Like a dutiful beast he moved towards the sound, stopping in front of a closed set of doors. Should he…open it? Couldn't hurt, he reasoned as he teased the door open. Worst case he could pretend to be lost.

A figure stood silhouetted against the crown glass panes of the choir room. It was a tall woman nestled in a luxurious red silk cape, her blonde hair thick and long down her back. As she sung to herself her hands were outstretched, longing. The gloves were tipped with bronze claws, flashing as the fingers beckoned an imaginary lover.

“Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime…Si je t'aime prends garde à toi…Prends garde à toi!”

She finished her song, chuckling to herself. Her voice was deep, low. It had a timbre to it that made Irving draw closer. She must have felt his approach, for as he stepped into the room she turned to face him.

He saw her skull.

He took a step back, jarred by the stark white on black. For an instant he thought it was her true face, but then after a few stunned blinks he realized it was a visage painted on her skin.

The eye was real though.

The whitened eye with the pinhole iris, staring. Dead but living, a step away from reality.

The Eye Knew more about him than he did himself.

The woman had an air of surprise that settled into a conspiratorial smirk. The eye burned. “Are you lost?”

“I think so. Sorry to disturb—”

“You did not disturb me at all,” she said. “I'm always available for my flock.”

“I'm not…actually…”

“Interloper then?” She stepped towards him with small movements of her feet that gave the impression of her gliding across the floor like a phantom. “Even better.”

She peered into him and seemed to drink up his silence, privately entertained by his puzzled expression. By the fact that even as horror flashed across his face, his feet moved him towards her. “I…am Mater Emerita Jocasta. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh.” Irving felt his face burning, and he knew from this point forward anything he said would sound stupid. “Is that…important?”

“What, the fact that I am the spiritual leader of this Church, Provider of our UnHoly Relic of the Void, Queen of Hell herself or the idea that I am pleased to meet you?”

“…both?”

She tilted her head with elegance. “I am more pleased to meet you.”

“I've come to…well…” he gestured to the urn under his arm. “My mother loved her time here.”

The Papessa’s brow furrowed, realizing with a soft frown. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“It's okay.” He smiled crookedly. “At least we got the ‘Meeting the family’ part out of the way.”

Jocasta paused. Her eyes widened, then she smiled broadly, her teeth almost bared. “You! Fiend!”

They shared a gentle laugh together. “What else can I do,” Irving said. “I'm Irving. Irving Olson.”

“I was certain your name was Primo,” she said. “You are Nihil's son are you not? You stoop like him. Pretending you aren't tall.”

“You were expecting me?”

Jocasta scoffed. “Nihil has done nothing but talk about you lately! You've come here to stay?”

“No…” Irving looked down, feeling a small smile on his face. “Are you and Nihil…”

“Close? Friends, yes. He is my mentor,” Jocasta said. Her face dropped into a smirk. She brought her hand up to the side of his head, drawing across his jaw with a single bronze nail. Irving felt the electricity shoot down his nerves through the touch of the cold metal across his face. “I prefer younger men,” she purred.

“I'm a musician too,” Irving blurted out for reasons beyond his own understanding. “Guitar. I sing…a little.”

“Oh? Runs in the family,” Jocasta said. “Your father inspired me to join. My first night in New York City, I see him play at a bar…” She sighed, wistful. “Haunting. Thrilling. I got off of one bus and onto another, bound for here.”

“But you did opera previously.” Primo found himself stepping closer to her, now nearly in her arms, growing in confidence.

“I was raised in it,” she said. “Throw a rock in Vienna and you will find an opera singer. It’s not that remarkable.”

The door opened and four figures stepped into the choir room. They were uniformed in black, their faces concealed by ominous metal masks. They didn’t settle on their feet like a human did, rather they simply stood there, hands lowered, their eyes shaded in shadow. “Yes, of course,” Jocasta said, as if replying to an unheard voice.

Primo held the urn a bit more tightly. “Who are they?”

“Oh them? Demons.” Her eyes narrowed in amusement. “Mass is shortly. You…and your mother are invited, of course. You get to see what I’m capable of. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I guess it would,” he replied. “I'm not staying here long.”

Irving thought he saw the smallest gesture of a lip bite. Of a seductive peek of the tip of her tongue across her painted lips. “Of course you're not. What is a few days anyway?”

He felt a sudden reluctance to leave.

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 8/? Rating: T Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

read it on AO3!

--

Lightning crackled, and between its wicked, lashing tongues something stalked her. Whispers in her mind. An old woman with dirty hair and golden eyes leaned over her. Was this waking? No. A dragon – the woman was the dragon. Things clawed in the dark at her feet, the roots of vining laurels that twined around her body, cut into her skin. She snarled as she ripped at them with calloused hands but the growth was rotten, disintegrating in her fingers. One drove into her shoulder like a needle into cloth and still the rest grew, choking, twisting, closing over her mouth –

Rosslyn woke with a gasp of air. The jolt sent a blinding stab of pain through her shoulder that receded into a duller agony, and she fell back to the pallet with gritted teeth, eyes scrunched shut to bear it. After a moment, a cold, wet point shoved against her arm, a snuffling weight whining at her to move.

“Good dog…” she croaked, searching for Cuno’s bulk with her uninjured arm.

This time when she tried to move, a pair of thin hands pressed against her bare skin to guide her back down. They felt like her mother’s. For a moment of vertigo, she tried to work out why that thought clenched like fist around her heart, until the memory of flames and blood reared in her mind’s eye, with her mother’s shadow framed against the kitchen door as Duncan dragged her towards safety.

Grief did her no good. Her eyes opened on the wattle-and-daub walls of a small room, not a traditional Ferelden roundhouse but a square design that might have been Chasind, unadorned and thick with the scents of dung, smoke, and the bittersweet tang of the herbs hanging from the rafters. She had been stripped to bindings and breeches, but the surge of panic quieted at the sight of her armour piled neatly against the chimney breast on the opposite wall, with the Cousland sword propped over it as if standing to attention. The fire in the hearth sulked in its embers and licked its heat against her face.

“Where am I?”

“Safe, child,” answered a gravelly voice. “Or, safer than you were.”

Amusement rang in the sound of it. Following the gentle urging of the stranger’s touch, Rosslyn turned her head to find the old woman from her dream, gaunt and hollow-boned, with a thin slash of a mouth and eyes yellow and sharp as crab apples. The sight somehow bolstered her, and with feeling creeping back into her limbs memory came too, the grey dark of the tower and the smoke-obscured battlefield below, the gabble of the darkspawn, a flash of agony and then bronze, bronze eyes pleading with her not to go into the dark.

“Alistair –” She brought her hand to cover her brow. “What happened? Where is he?”

“Taking out his fretting on the woodpile, the last I saw,” the old woman replied with a huff.

He’s alive. She tried to sit up again, but the movement pulled at her shoulder.

“Do not be so eager to undo my good work, girl,” her attendant warned. “You are in the Wilds, and will not suffer for another moment of lying still.”

“The Wilds?” It would make sense if this was indeed a Chasind hut, but the vast territory couched at Ferelden’s feet was nigh-on unmapped.

“I plucked you and your companion from the tower.”

“It was swarming with darkspawn.”

The old woman waved an indifferent hand. “Unimportant.”

For a moment, Rosslyn considered. Loghain’s desertion, the king and the Grey Wardens, the awful feeling of the horde itching at the inside of her skull, all of it like a dream. The voices had receded now, silent like an emptied hall, but the revulsion still crawled in her stomach. And the dragon…

She glanced sideways to her rescuer as she stroked Cuno’s ears. The woman’s age fit her like a mask; there was no frailty in her movements, and a faint aura of power hung over her, like the vastness of the sky on a clear night. When she was little, her father had told her stories of witches who lived in the Wilds, had even said once that Maric had met one briefly after Queen Moira’s death, and it was written in the earliest pages of the Cousland Book that it had been Flemeth herself who had torn down the walls of Bann Connobar’s fortress and left Sarim Cousland standing in the ashes to prosper.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Names are pretty, but useless,” came the reply. “Besides, one of your blood should know me well enough.”

“You are Flemeth, then.” For a third time Rosslyn rose, curling up to save the strain of torn muscles, and this time she made it to sitting, though she had to hunch over and cradle her injured arm with a dizziness that left her short of breath. After a moment she managed to flex her fingers, but the movement felt weak – too weak to heft a shield. Still concerned, Cuno whined and dropped his head to her knee.

“The army lost the battle, didn’t it?”

Flemeth nodded, her voice heavy. “The darkspawn were too many, and the reinforcements did not come. Those that remain are scattered and retreating as best they can.”

The rage awakened by the news did not burn as she thought it would. Instead, it sank to the pit of her stomach like a glob of molten iron dropped into a pool, quenched into a hard ball by the cold.

“The king?”

“He died in the rearguard.”

She closed her eyes, her sigh deep and marrow-weary. Everything was wrong. She had to find Alistair, to talk to him. Now that the business of sitting up had been done away with, her ears caught the regular, dull thud-and-clatter of metal cleaving wood. Another wave of nausea threatened as she pushed to her feet, spots dancing before her eyes, but Cuno brought his broad head under her hand to steady her, and she managed not to fall. Flemeth pursed her lips but did not intervene.

A new, female voice, rich and sardonic, interrupted the rhythmic chopping of wood as Rosslyn hobbled closer. Alistair muttered something indistinguishable in response that made the woman laugh.

“And tell me,” she mocked airily, “when you are finished turning all our store into splinters, will you take the axe to the rest of the Wilds and give them the same treatment?”

“Am I supposed to just sit on my hands and wait?” he demanded. “I can’t just do nothing, not when…”

“You might prepare for your departure, or perhaps a bath? ’Tis my understanding that kings are supposed to take care with their personal hygiene.”

A pause. “I’m not the king. I wasn’t meant for the crown – I don’t want it.”

“The people of Ferelden will doubtless be grateful,” the woman replied as the sound of chopping resumed. “’Twould seem they already have enough to worry them.”

“Listen, you have no – Rosslyn!”

The axe slipped from his hands as she flinched into the brittle winter sunlight, the metal head a dull thump against the ground. With barely an instant to brace herself against the cold that raked against her feverish skin, she was swallowed up in his arms, the whisper of her name by her ear as he pressed his cheek against her hair, every muscle tensed as if he suffered a mortal wound. Somehow, he had managed to miss her injuries; his strength took the weight off her shivering limbs, so she did not pull away. Despite the icy air he had stripped down to a simple linen shirt that had soaked through with sweat, and the scent of smoke and iron clung to him, rank but real; the fabric twisted under her fingers as she buried deep into the crook of his shoulder.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed.

Something fluttered behind her ribs, but she dismissed it. Blood loss. The concern of one as good as a brother. Behind him, the dark-haired woman who had been talking with him narrowed yellow eyes, her tanned arms crossed over a scrawny frame barely disguised by her layers of hide and crimson-dyed wool.

“I’m sorry about Cailan,” Rosslyn murmured, closing her eyes against the scrutiny.

A shudder ran through him, and he shook his head in lieu of anything he could voice. “It doesn’t seem real. We ought to be dead on top of that tower.”

“Do not wish for such things so easily, boy,” Flemeth scolded from the doorway.

“I didn’t mean…”

As Alistair pulled back to argue, he glanced down, his eyes widening in realisation at Rosslyn’s state of undress. His hands leapt from her bare skin as if shocked, colour climbing hot into his face. Flemeth had brought out a blanket, which he snatched with an apologetic grimace to drape around Rosslyn’s shoulders. More tired than amused, she wrapped it closer with her good arm.

“I told you not to worry so much, did I not?”

“I’m grateful, of course,” he stammered. “Very grateful. But why us? If Cailan had been saved – or the Warden-Commander – then –”

The witch cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I am sorry for your grief, but it must come later, in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. You still have your duty, and it must come first.”

To Rosslyn, the subtle emphasis on the word felt pointed. A Cousland was bound by duty, she had always been taught so, but in making her a grey Warden Duncan had stripped her of her name – and in so doing, forced her into another sort of compact entirely. Alistair twitched at her side as if wanting to reach for her, but the action halted before it began, and instead he clenched the fist, steeled himself, and straightened. It hurt, but in the way of an old injury troubled by cold weather.

She forced a breath. “What happens now?”

“The battle at Ostagar has bought you time,” the witch replied. “But the full might of the horde has not been defeated. It has always been the duty of the Grey Wardens to unite the lands against the blights.” She arched a brow. “Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

“I am only one grey Warden,” she retorted. “Barely. We would need an army to defeat the horde.”

Flemeth levelled a steady look at her, as if she could see the kernel of defiance, the shadow clinging to the memory of her father on the pantry floor and her mother poised with arrow nocked in the doorway, which snaked into her ear like a breath of cold wind. The Wardens were dead; no one remained to keep her in the Grey, no one who could execute her for desertion. The weight of the Warden’s Oath hung around her neck, untouched. Rhodri had explained the custom of sealing the blood of the fallen into a locket, to carry the sacrifice of those unlucky enough to not survive the Joining, and when he had handed her the dainty silverite pendant it had taken almost more strength than she possessed not to fling the barbarous trinket into the fire.

Daveth would have tutted to see her thoughts now; it rankled that a common thief might think her dishonourable. But then the last sight of Ser Jory’s face swam into her vision, the way the light left his eyes as his wife’s name gasped through bloodied lips, and her mouth curled. The Grey Wardens had no honour in the first place.

“Arl Eamon won’t stand for it,” Alistair said. The conversation had gone on without her. “He wasn’t at Ostagar – he still has all his men. And he’s Cailan’s uncle, a respected voice in the Landsmeet.” Something desperate wriggled in his voice. “We should go to him, let him know what Loghain has done.”

“What creeps upon Ferelden now is a threat greater than any one man can pose,” Flemeth warned. “Your priority must be the darkspawn.”

“But how do we fight them? Redcliffe won’t be enough on its own, and Highever –” He swallowed, glanced sideways at Rosslyn.

“The treaties,” she realised, and turned to both of them. “The Warden who took me into the Wilds said that they once had treaties that can demand aid from the other races during a Blight, but we couldn’t find them.” A darker thought took root. “And who’s to say if Orzammar or the Dalish would even honour such oaths anyway.”

Flemeth snorted. “They will honour the treaties because they must, and because I will give you what you were searching for.”

“You took the treaties?”

“The seal wore off long ago, I protected what was contained within,” she replied, offended.

“Then we’ll take them,” Alistair declared. “And we’ll get our army.”

“Someone will need to lead it,” Rosslyn pointed out. Her voice was quiet, but he flinched from it nonetheless and shoved a hand through his sweat-darkened hair.

“If we get that far,” he said.

Rosslyn hunched further into the blanket but let the blot of cowardice go. Perhaps, once, it would have been her concern, but he had been lost to her the moment she drank from the cup, and though the knowledge left a bitter taste in her mouth, like medicine it offered strength as well.

“So you are set then?” Flemeth asked. “Ready to move against the Blight?”

Rosslyn glanced up to the sun, low on the northern horizon and not yet at midday. “What choice do we have?”

“There are always choices,” came the mocking reply.

Across the small yard, the young woman who had been talking with Alistair let out a scoff. “Only for some of us.”

“Do not complain, girl,” the old woman snapped. “You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, here is your chance.” She turned to Rosslyn and Alistair, dropping the edge of biting humour that had clung to her manner thus far. “It has already been decided. Consider it repayment for your lives – I’m giving you Morrigan, my daughter, that which I value above all in this world.” Another scoff from Morrigan went ignored. “Without her, you will surely fail, and you must succeed.”

“Then we should start as soon as we can.”

“Are you fit to travel yet?” Alistair asked. His hand flexed towards her elbow, but the gesture cut short before he could touch her.

“As long as weight is kept off the injury, yes,” Flemeth answered for her. “Morrigan knows spells to speed the healing.”

“She’s a mage too?” He frowned. “Outside of the Wilds that will make her an apostate – it could be a problem.”

The witch canted her head to the side. “If you did not want the aid of us illegal mages, perhaps I should have left you on top of that tower.”

“… Point taken.”

“You need not fear for my safety,” Morrigan interrupted. Unlike her mother’s dry mockery, hers rang with glee, a songbird instead of a crow. “I am more than capable of outwitting those brutes the Chantry keeps leashed to its service.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “that attitude isn’t going to draw any attention at all.”

Her lips thinned. “I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination,” she said to Rosslyn. “’Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or if you prefer,” she added, with a pointed look at Alistair, “I will simply be your silent guide.”

Years of lessons in court etiquette schooled Rosslyn’s expression into one of indifference, shrugging off the bite in her temper caused by the now-pulsing ache in her shoulder.

“A silent guide is no good to me,” she replied levelly. “And you’re right that we’ll need supplies.”

“Then I shall gather my things,” Morrigan replied with a condescending nod.

She slunk away behind the hovel and in watching her go Rosslyn failed to notice Flemeth’s exit as well, silent as mist. Alistair watched her.

“We need all the allies we can get,” she told him, before he could complain.

“No, it’s not… Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m difficult to kill.” The wry edge in her voice held too much bitterness to pass as a joke, but one corner of his mouth tilted up all the same. He inhaled, then let go the breath. A wren called from the thicket beyond the clearing, a sharp chit-chit like a pair of marbles clacking together.

“Eamon will know what to do,” he said. “He’s one of Cailan’s oldest advisors.”

“Not his anymore,” she replied, as gently as she could.

He flinched. “Don’t do that. When we were in the tower…” He shook his head. “It wasn’t me they were following. None of this is supposed to be happening.”

She thought of the whisper that had snaked deep through her flesh as the darkspawn blood burned down her throat, her vision doubled on an image of blackened, crooked scales and a maw of sword-sharp teeth dripping poison. The weak sun faltered behind a creeping bank of cloud and even wrapped in the thick wool of Flemeth’s blanket a shiver grasped at her bones. Her injury throbbed. She held her tongue.

[umewisteria]

Writing Prompt #1

The sand was making a mosaic on his ruffled hair now.

His precious hat had been blown away in the sandstorm a while ago, while he ran to take refuge in the nearest dilapidated tent. He was lucky he had his scarf with him though, if not he would also end up with a mouthful of sand, which he had learnt the hard way in his first year of scavenging the desert.

It was his fifth year now, a seasoned veteran by the community of scavengers right here in the desert, characterised by his favourite scarf across his face, his name stitched on in red thread across a patterned design of the howling winds of the desert.

Today, Human’s job was to find rubies in the Almas Desert. The Desert was famed for containing precious gemstones in the crevices of the sand if you could find it. You could find more rarer ones like rubies, if you honed your skills well.

He had no one to compete with him as of now, the ability to detect the presence of gemstones was definitely a skill not seen as much, rendering their community one of the smallest of the scavengers. Even more so, those who were like human, able to accurately pinpoint the estimate location of a gemstone through weather conditions.

And that was exactly why he was now braving the sandstorm. He had felt a strong presence of precious gemstones right in the middle of a goshdarn sandstorm, and he wanted that badly. If he did not find a rare one anytime soon, he be eating sand soon.

Human grumbled to himself about the fact that he had to take extra effort to dust off the sand from his hair when he got back while looking through the sand, digging around for the gemstone.

All of a sudden, his hands felt a smooth surface, a gemstone clearly. Delighted by his findings, human was eager to pull the gemstone out before he felt that it was not small and it had no round shape. It had a handle, bronze to his feel. Now, that was wrong. Human felt around the shape, it was an hourglass.

Pulling on the two handles of the hourglass, Human pulled it out and found it to be a cracked hourglass, sand leaking from the hourglass through the crevices. Mumbling about the unexciting find of the day, Human was about to put the hourglass down when sand started flowing back into the hourglass. The sand around him whirled around human and flowed back into the sandglass, the crevices slowly closing together. Transfixed by the supernatural happening right before him, human didn’t notice that the sand was slowly glowing and the hourglass humming in his hand. As the last sand particle flowed through, a blinding flash consumed human and he could see nothing.

From here onwards, I think it’s quite open to personal interpretation or…this is how I envisioned it continuing by just a little bit.

When Hero opened his eyes, he found himself facing an empty corridor, a white spotlight shining down illuminating his dim surroundings through a hole in the ceiling. Bookshelves lined his sides, till he could not see the very end.

Was he in the afterlife? Human was confused. Bewildered even. Before he could let his train of thoughts take the express line, he saw a figure walking towards the spotlight.

Figure had a white fan with elaborate purple clouds all over, a thin layer of blood red coated the ends of the fan. The fingers and wrist of figure’s hand was full of bangles and a ring with flowers of daggers. (This figure is a supernatural being)

While this figure is my own imagination, this figure is very much open to personal interpretation whether it be the villain, a supernatural being or much more.

Hope it’s fun! First Time writing a prompt :P

[traveleroffarawayplaces]

Wind No- no don’t do it Wind… WIND!!!

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Twilight sighed as watched Wild jump off the tree for the seventh time in the last hour.

Currently, they were relaxing (as much as they could as heroes) in Wild’s time. They sat at a stable. A large open field sat around the stable where some wild horses grazed.

Wild was being the normal menace he is, was riding around the fields at top speed on one of his various horses, shooting monsters as he passed. Legend sat under a tree alongside Hyrule, both talking in hushed whispers as they too watched Wild trotting around. Sky had a book and was reading it next to Four, who was currently staring off into space with a thoughtful expression. Time and Warriors chatted as they brushed Epona’s mane, the horse snorting in pleasure. Wind was talking with some hylians at the cooking pot.

Twilight stared at Wind, the pirate talked quickly and waved his hands around. And just for a moment, Twilight thought he saw a flash of bronze, but when he blinked it was gone.

Strange.

Sky blinked blearly at the sunset. He heard his brothers around him talking as Wild gently stirred the soup. Suddenly, a crack sounded nearby like a stick being stepped on. All the links turned, hands on their swords. A small man stepped out with his hands up, he was muddy and ragged, as if he had been traveling trough several miles of mud and swamp.

“Hey, I didn’t mean no harm. I’m just tryin to find my way to castletown. Might you point me in the direction and I’ll be on my way.” He said in a heavy country accent.

Legend narrowed his eyes suspicious, but Time stepped up. Since this was his hyrule afterall.

“Well-“ Time started gestering the man over. But was interrupted by Wind as he hopped up.

“I know what direction it is! Come here,” Wind gestered the man over and the man looked at Time, then glanced at Wind and shrugged. Following Wind over to the opposite side of camp. Wind turned around a full 180 degrees, pointing straight ahead. “Castletown should be that way!”

Sky smiled at Wind’s enthusiasm to help. But he blinked quickly, thinking he saw something vanish into Wind’s bag. But he shrugged because that was probably something he was fiddling with earlier.

To say Legend was mad would be an understatement. He was livid. Legend growled as the bokoblin jabbed at him with a blunt spear. Black blood bled from its side where he had jabbed it earlier.

The monsters had attack them at the worst of times. One moment they were just relaxing and then the next, surprise attack! Several knights also were fighting them, as they were right at the entrance of castletown. (Legend was still a bit sour since the bounty. I mean come on! Legend was so worth more then they were paying. But also his hatred of knights. They never seem to do their job right.)

Wild had a nasty injury and Four was stumbling a bit, but other then that the others were holding out just fine.

Until it came.

It was dark and black. Blacker then night. It’s glowing red eyes gleamed from its stupid lizard skull. It should’ve been dead by now. Yet it was still standing.

And Legend just wanted to murder that little jerk.

It had hurt Hyrule, who currently was inside the castle, being forced to recover from the massive wound it had inflicted. It looked raw and red when Legend had seen it. Now here Legend was, shoving and slicing monsters onto his path to that annoying, pesky lizard.

Wind appeared by his side in an instant, helping him push back the monsters. The lizard’s head shot up, turning to face him. And it hissed. Legend distantly noticed the lack of monsters and saw a whole lot more land and monster dust floating in the breeze. But all that mattered was that little lizard son of a bi-

The Lizard’s red eyes roamed the battle field, before it promptly vanished. Legend stood blinking at the sudden lack of an enemy that he didn’t notice all the monsters dead around him.

Legend felt hands on his arm, and turned to stare at Four.

Four smiled and gently hugged Legend. Legend hugged back with less force. He saw his brothers around the clearing, Time talking with the captain, Warriors and Sky talking, Wild collecting every weapon he could, Twilight and Wind talking with the knights.

Legend blearly noticed Wind putting something in one of his pockets, but Legend didn’t fully process what was going on.

Hyrule sighed as Warriors, and Wind strolled ahead of him. He was lagging behind due to seeing something interesting, but Warriors had pulled him back. Telling him that they were there to get some groceries.

He had noticed Wind hopping off to talk with people, making a very short conversation before he hopped back and pointed to a stall with tips from the person. He seemed to just naturally be better at talking then anyone Hyrule had seen or really met. Maybe the only other person being Four on some occasions. Both being able to weave some pretty good stories and trick some high ranking officers.

Warriors pointed out a particular stall, noting the various foods that was splayed out and being sold. Hyrule caught up to Wind and Warriors noting that Wind had something in his hands.

Hyrule blinked, trying to see what it was, but it was gone. Shrugging, he followed Warriors and Wind up to the stall. Pointing out some fruits.

But he couldn’t help but notice that Wind looked a little.. too energetic…

Warriors sat at the table as Malon shuffled around somewhere upstairs. He grinned as he watched Four, Legend, Hyrule, and Wind quietly stare at each other with their cards up.

“You let your guard down. Boom. Straight.” Warriors grinned putting his cards down.

“We’re playing go fish though!” Wind exclaimed.

Four blinked at them. “I thought we were doing uno…”

Legend groaned, hitting his head on the table. It sounded so loud that Warriors was a little worried that he had knocked himself unconscious.

Wild cackled, a sound which caused Hyrule next to him jump. He threw a card down. “I nope your straight!”

Hyrule blinked at everyone. Not saying anything.

Suddenly, Malon’s father walked in and sat next to Wind. He regarded the state of everyone, Legend with his head down, Wild gleefully cackling, Hyrule looking around with a confused expression, Wind watching with the most nuetral face possible, Four who was staring at the cards all out on the table quietly, and Warriors who was currently priding in his win.

“Seems like this is going well.” He mused, chuckling at the display in front of him.

Wind grinned. “Yeah, this is fun!”

“Has anyone seen one of my rings?” Malon’s voice called.

“Nope!” Warriors called out.

If it was possible, Wind’s face got even more neutral and expressionless.

Wild was not the most organized person. But he sword that he had put a comet shard in his slate. as he searched, he came up with nothing. Groaning, he glanced at the night sky.

“You okay there?” Wind asked, twirling a small dagger in his off hand.

“Yeah, I thought I had a comet shard, but apparently not. I guess I’ll just have to get one later.” Wild grinned at the promise of adventure.

Wind smiled. “Of course!” His hand came to his bag, before falling short to just resting on top of the bag. Strangely enough, Wild thought he imagined a slight yellow glow emitting from the bag.

But if it was glowing, it had stopped.

Time watched Wind carefully. He had noticed Wind’s bag getting suspiciously full. They hadn’t come across any new towns but already Wind’s bag had a bunch of stuff and was slightly bulging.

Time had suspicions, but over the entire trip its seemed as if it has only grown. But strangely enough, Wind has not been buying anything for himself to keep.

Time had noticed it two switches ago when Wind’s bag was heavier. Time had thought nothing of it then, just assuming that maybe he has been keeping souvenirs and maybe rocks or something. But clearly something was going on.

Time was determined to find out exactly what.

Four’s known something’s been up since the start. Maybe it was when one of the daggers that he made vanished. Perhaps it could of been the way that Wind’s bag clacked and clinked together. Perhaps it was that wherever Wind went, things disappeared. He noticed when a man was searching for a feather that he had, he noticed when Legend somehow lost a shiny rock. (It really was only shiny as Legend said, he really didn’t care much for it.)

Four also noticed how Wind’s bag mysteriously got more and more stuff in it. He noticed how he always went to it after every conversation with someone.

One day, in Sky’s hyrule, Four decided to confront him.

He strolled up to Wind who was sitting next to his bag leisurely, watching Sky and the rest of the chain as they flew through the sky. Minus Time, Legend, Four and Wind, everyone was outside looking at all the different loftwings.

“Hey Wind!” Four cheerfully said, standing next to Wind. Wind startled, glancing up to Four quickly.

“Oh hello Four!” Wind responded with the same amount of cheer.

“You know, I’ve noticed something strange.” Four started. “It involves you it seems.”

Wind scratched his neck. “Oh really?”

Four grinned. “Yes. It seems that your bag there is getting quite heavy…” he motioned to it. “Much heavier for someone who hasn’t bought anything.”

Wind shrugged, Four could clearly tell he was getting a little nervous by how his shoulders tensed by the littlest bit.

“What do you mean? Its been the same weight as always.”

“Really, I highly doubt that with how much stuff its been getting..” Wind was sweating now.

“Okay fine!” Wind exclaimed. Legend looked over at Wind’s sudden outburst before he returned to his book uninterested and lazily turned a page.

“I’m a pirate. Its always been natural to me.. I’ve been uhh…” Wind trailed off, wringing his hands together.

“Stealing?” Four supplied, looking at Wind as he stared at the ground.

“Yeah…”

Four shook his head. “Of course. That makes a lot of sense. How long?”

Wind blinked at Four. “Wait you’re not.? Oh well uhm. Like the last ten switches? Maybe more..”

“Can I ask why you stole items?”

“I guess it was instinct? But also like.. I realized that this quest has to come to an end somehow… and well…” Wind sighed.

“You’ve been taking because its natural and because you want memos from this trip?” Four inquired, glancing at the slightly taller hero.

He nodded.

“I’m sure you can get some memos from other ways! Besides, we all might want a memo.”

They sat there, basking in the fresh air of Sky’s home. Watching their brothers flying in the sky.

[mightymizora]

Breath and Rosewater: Chapter 2

So apparently this has become multi chapter. In this, some attempts to get Gale’s voice… still only spoilers for act 1. Read the first one here:

It is the feeling of the first sip of water after a day’s thirst. It is a shimmering of ice on a scorching burn. It is relief, in every sense; the physical, the emotional, the knowledge that, for now at least, the hunger is sated. It is the moment when you wake from a nightmare, and all is still.

He told her only what he needed to. That there was a condition, and it needed magic, more magic than he could muster alone. She had questions, understandably, and he answered what he thought prudent; no, it is no real demon, as much as it feels like one. Yes, it is dangerous, truly dangerous. Yes, more answers would come in time. No, there is no other way. If there was, he would have found it. She was not satisfied with his answers, he could tell, but it was not the time yet to tell her more if, indeed, such a time would ever present itself. He said he trusted her. He meant it.

“I know these items were hard-won,” he offered. “And it will be no easier when more is needed to assuage my hunger, but… well. I hope I can count on you.”

A moment of fear, then doubt, and then acceptance and, finally, concern.

“Anything you need,” she had said, “And we will make it right.”

He then held off for as long as he could, trying to keep the sweat off his brow and hide the ever-worsening tremor in his hands. Well, it seemed only polite not to press the matter. Although they had found a fair riches of items that could be suitable, she had a habit of passing on some of the best of them to their travelling companions, and he could not deny that their use of them was tantamount to their success in not being eaten alive in this blasted wilderness. Then, inevitably, the sensation had become too strong. He had stumbled, and been unable to bring himself to his feet again. The sickness had reached through the black tendrils of the orb to his eye, burning up his sight and forcing him to his knees.

She had acted quickly; he barely had to say a word. She had looked around to see if the others were in reach and then, with a look of resignation on her face, pulled from her collar a beautiful bronzed necklace, set with a gem the size of her thumbnail. He saw her kiss the gem lightly, so quickly it was almost imperceptible, before sweeping it over her head and pressing it into his hands.

It is the feeling of a morning’s sun after a night of storms. A sip of warm tea in a blistering winter. It is a relief, yes, but the moments after the release has passed, he is left only with more questions.

“The necklace you gave me,” he asks later as they move out into the wilds once more. “It seemed important to you.”

“No, not really. It was fine to spare. We needed the other things. We didn’t need-”

She drops into silence and he can feel the pull into her mind. Before he can stop it, before perhaps he wants to stop it, he sees a flash of grey fingers, a large ruby catching a ray of light that looks so like the one he took from her. He sees the merest moment of a smiling face looking down on him, feels the warmth that he knows comes from a deep, familiar love. The image rips away from them and he is left looking at her with a question on his tongue.

“It wasn’t…” she starts, but her eyes flit to the ground. “I don’t think it was the same one. I can’t see how it could have been. But that cut, the way the light refracted through it, that’s a cut from Neverwinter. From the workshop we delivered to. There’s nowhere else on the coast that makes gems look like that.”

“Is it crass to ask you who-”

“My mother.”

“I see.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I just miss her sometimes. Wonder how she is, that kind of thing. She’s probably fine. I just wish I knew, you know?”

His face must have betrayed his feeling of shame, of embarrassment, as she forces a smile. “The necklace just reminded me of her, that’s all. There’s more important things. Are you feeling better?”

He thinks of his own mother. Eyrini Dekarios was likely tearing through all of his associates in Waterdeep trying to find more information than the sending spell he had managed. It seemed like enough words for now: Safe for now. Don’t forget to feed Tara. There are wards on the bedroom, don’t try it.

“Have you got word to her?” he replies, realising too late that he hasn’t answered her question. “A sending spell, perhaps?”

“To my brothers. But they don’t need my words. They need… well. They could have fenced that necklace.”

He smiles weakly. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Don’t be. Anything you need, remember?”

He hopes he will not have to hold her to that.

***

“Go on then. This is the moment you extort me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Isn’t that what all you adventurers do?”

“Aren’t you an adventurer too?”

It stands to reason that the first face she meets like hers would treat her like any other hoon. The other Svirfneblin is wearing leathers that seem far too new, too polished, and the dagger sits closely in its sheath. If she were to hazard a guess, she’d say he was kitted out less than a month ago, and was yet to spill any blood at all.

“Be that as it may, I know how these things work. You may have whatever you can find in my pack, if you can find it. It was weighing me down. That’s how they caught me. I’ll travel lightly from now on.”

She does not want to confess that she has already picked it over. “I’d rather know more about why you’re here.”

“You’re here, are you not? We’re not soul-bound to the Underdark.”

“I know. But you don’t seem like you belong here, in these wilds. So what are you looking for?”

He narrows his eyes, and looks past her to her companions. His meaning is clear enough. No outsiders.

She nods and walks with him, ignoring Wyll’s protests, and finds a spot by a crumbling statue that is out of earshot before she continues in their tongue.

“Well? Do you feel you can talk now?”

“One of my clan is missing.” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on where they left everybody else, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “A friend. I fear he is in trouble.”

He flashes a pendant, a design she knows well, splattered with blood in and ugly long streak. He spots her recognition, and almost manages a smile.

“I gave him this many years ago. Found it around the neck of some thug in the lower city a few weeks back. The trail took me here, and I believe it will take me further into the Underdark.”

“You will go on without provisions?”

“I can track more carefully that way.”

“Why don’t you join us? We have a camp nearby, and my travelling companions are talented fighters. We can help you look for your friend. It’s safer in numbers.”

His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “It’s never, ever safer with outsiders, sister. You should know that, at your age.”

***

The Devil comes to them at a fork in the road. He is handsome in a way that betrays him instantly, charming and seductive but without even the smallest hint of sex. She has read enough tales to know exactly who he is, but even still, the sight of him is enthralling and terrible and completely and utterly overwhelming. 

He seems delighted by her, prowling around her, offering her the kind of things that she thinks must be the first level of temptation, for those whose lives are devoid of the most simple pleasures; food, wine, warmth. Raphael seems amused that she refuses him, and it makes her angry that he must have considered her such a simple creature, and even more vexed that she enjoys proving him wrong. She has sung enough songs of deals with the devil, of lovesick maidens looking for the eye of their beloved and grieving mothers wishing to see their child again, great epics of those marked by vengeance and those lost to the flames. She has never thought about who she would be in those stories. Not until now.

She takes her time to speak to all of them after he deposits them back into the material plane. She is so unsure of herself. Before, survival meant quick instincts, the avoidance of the fall of an arrow, but with these tadpoles, survival feels more like slowly freeing yourself from tar.

“There’s no winning when you play with a devil,” Wyll says, “No matter how full the feast he lays out for you. No matter how tempting the offer. The cost is always too great.”

“I’ve always thought so too,” she says, but she can feel the blood in her cheeks rising. “There can’t be any reason to consider dining with a devil. Every story has the same end. But now… look at us, Wyll. Surely there are some times where it truly is that dire?”

Something flickers in him, she can see it, but he shakes his head. “Trust me, Glim. This is not something you want to consider. Leave him where he is, and be done with it.”

Gale however seems delighted in the prospect of it. “Are you as flattered as I am?” he says dryly, and she wishes she could flatly say no, but there is that creeping feeling at the back of her mind, beyond the wriggling of her parasite.

“Flattered, maybe. Intrigued, certainly. What does he want from us?”

“Our souls, no doubt. That’s the bargain, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But then why not push harder? He barely even tried to tempt us. ”

“You heard the man. Sometimes, the true delight is in the chase. The anticipation. He wants us desperate, he wants us needy. I say we see where the road takes us, and make sure our claws are just as sharp as his.”

The Devil comes to them, and he seems almost pleased. 

***

“I don’t know why you keep your hair like that anyway,” Astarion chides. “It’s hardly flattering.”

“It’s practical,” she says, pulling a dagger from her pack and checking it is sharp enough. She’s started to feel a curl against the edges of her ears, the sign that the time has come to shear off an inch or so. “Long hair means a predator can grab it. Underdark rule one. No long hair.”

“And what of the Drow with their beautiful braids? Are they constantly getting them snagged on minotaur tusks?”

“They are the predators.”

She can do this without the aid of a mirror if she wants to. She’s been doing her own hair for almost forty years, and it’s easy enough when you’re just running the blade as close to the hair as you dare, but when there is a mirror, why not use the mirror? Astarion’s spot in camp is always so perfectly put together; a small vanity station and fine bottles of wine, the candles placed just perfectly to shed the right amount of light, soft cushions, old books, and rich tastes. 

“Just… don’t move anything, will you? I do so hate people touching what’s mine.”

“You’ll not even know I’ve been here,” she replies, carefully approaching the glass. “It will be as if I am invisible.”

She shoots a smile to where his reflection should be. There is nothing.

Oh, she thinks. Oh.

***

She resents how intimate it feels.

The way Astarion’s hand cups her face as he bites just above her collarbone.

The way his body is pressed against her, over her.

The way his fingers move up her jawline to find purchase in her short hair and pull her head to one side, as if she is just another small animal. It crosses her mind that he is making a point of it, of making sure he can make her feel vulnerable, pathetic.

The way his other hand moves from her shoulder down her arm to pin her by the wrist, and the way she cannot push back against him even as she tries. He is already so much stronger than her, or maybe she is already too weak? There is a numbness setting in, but she cannot tell whether it is a way to survive or a warning that she might die.

“Stop,” she murmurs, but instead she feels the barest brush of his tongue across the leftmost puncture in her neck. She hears a moan. She can’t tell if it came from him, or from herself.

Her back arches, pushes against him, but he presses down harder, and that feeling spreads from her neck further into her chest and she wonders if this is how she dies, laid out on a bed of her own making. It seemed such a little thing, in the moment. Let him feed just a little. He would be stronger, and they needed strength, unity, they needed… she needed…

“Astarion, stop,” she manages, surprised at the hoarse note in her voice. He relents, finally, gasping for air as he moves back from her. She wants to stand and face him, but she is left winded, struggling for breath on the floor.

“That was… that was amazing,” he splutters, trying to regain that mask again, that air of the confident man, not the skulking monster. “I feel… I feel.”

She gulps for air again, managing to bring a shaking arm to her chest and enchant just a little more life into it. She locks eyes with him as things come back in to focus, and he has the decency to look just a little sorry.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

***

More nights than just this one, he has conjured the visage of his Goddess. More nights than just this he has pulled the weave to him, just to feel the shadow of her power on him once more. Would that there were words to properly describe the feeling of it. Would that he could commit it to song, to text, to poem or prose or paint or clay, but it was only possible to express through the manipulation of the Weave itself. The closest he could think of in words was the feeling of walking into a room just after a person with the scent of them on the air filling your lungs, or sitting in a warmed chair, or tracing your fingertips over the residue of a kiss. Nothing else compares, except for the majesty of her presence, the soft encompassing of all the senses, the pulse of the purest form of magic.

When he brings her face to being, she is giving him just a fraction of herself, he truly believes that. As if she was letting him kiss the hem of her dress, the outermost thread of her being. Just enough to allow him to bring her to life in a stillness, just enough to thread together the edges. It is a gift, and a gift he indulges in often. Too much, most likely, but has been a comfort to him for so many years now. Even in childhood, before there was an inkling of anything more between them, he would stitch together the fine thread of her face, bring her soft, fine features into being and gaze upon it with admiration. Desire came later. Now, what did he feel? Was there anything left underneath the regret?

“Ah, Mystra. The matron of magic herself.”

The image stutters, disappears, and he is left looking across to Glimmergris, who is standing with her arms crossed over her tiny body, a pale grey against the dimming light.

“You startled me. Sorry, I was… I was miles away.”

“Don’t let me interrupt. The light was bright, I was curious. It’s quite an ambitious desire, to have the Goddess of Magic balanced in your hand.”

He lets out a laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Just practising an incantation.”

She shakes her head. “There’s more to it than that. I know that look. She means something to you.”

There is nothing that he can hide from her. And, he has told her that he trusts her. He knows that he does. “I can’t quite describe it,” he finds himself confessing, “But there is… a need to see her, sometimes.”

“You sound like a smitten schoolboy.”

“Ha! Perhaps. It is a kind of love, in a way.”

“I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for. It’s been a long day. Your devotion is a thing of beauty, really.”

He wants to tell her everything, all of it. He wants to start from the very start of it, as the young boy finding the thrill of creation, to the youth in his books and the first time he felt her with him, that comforting feeling of being held in place just so. He wants to tell her of the first time that magic felt placed in his body, not something that was around him, but something that was essential inside him, and the first time Mystra revealed herself to him. He wants to find the way to tell her that story. He wants to tell her everything, but he finds himself reaching for something else instead. Something easier.

“Magic is my life,” he says, “I have been in touch with the weave for as long as I remember. And Mystra… she is that magic. She is all things, all magic. She is all creation.”

“All creation. Very poetic.”

“No poem or painting, no sculpture could do her justice. Only the fabric of the weave itself. And that connection to the weave. It is all music, all poetry, all physical beauty, rolled into one and expressed through the senses.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“Is that not how it is for you?”

She thinks for a moment, pulling her jacket closer around her and shaking her head. “It’s different, I think. Magic is music, poetry, art, beauty. They create the magic. I just channel it.”

“Fair enough - though in the end we’re still playing the same composition.”

She shakes her head and laughs, and he can feel himself smiling back. There it is again, that moment of silence shared between them. It is comforting, comfortable, and he doesn’t want her to leave.

“I wonder if…”

“If what?”

“Indulge me, will you?”

She is intrigued, it is written across her face. The veil of exhaustion seems to lift from her in an instant, and her eyes spark with a new vigor. He raises his hands before them, sweeping through a familiar gesture that feels as if it has been melded to his bones. She watches carefully, then stands close to his side and tries to mimic his stance, looking for him for reassurance that she is right. He gently pulls her hands to the right position and gestures for her to try. She does so with ease, of course. She does all of it with ease, repeating his incantation with an exaggerated diphthong in Ao pulling out an extra syllable from the word as effortlessly as she manages to pull a swirl of the weave to her being.

She inhales deeply, her eyes closed for just a second, whispering under her breath. “Estelrohe.”

It takes him a moment to recognise the word. Gnomish. Rose water. The senses are pooling together; sound, taste, touch, smell. It is warm, welcoming, inviting. To be cradled in the very hand of Mystra herself.

“Very good. Now picture in your mind the concept of harmony. That shouldn’t be too hard, I expect.”

She smiles wide, and he knows this part is where she will shine. The weave floods to them, a wave crashing on the tide of the moment as she is lit by soft purple light. She looks at him, the weave reflected in the deep blue of her eyes, the light dancing in the grey and blue tones of her skin, her scars, making her seem almost new.

“This is beautiful, Gale. Truly. What a gift.”

“How does it feel?”

“It feels…”

Her voice trails out, and her smile fades slightly as her eyes drop from his. He reaches through the connection of the weave and finds her again just as her eyes come back to meet his, her pupils wide enough to dive in as they start to blend at the edges in the power of the connection, of the weave passing between them. He swims through and into the edges of her consciousness, seeing himself through her eyes as he leans in to kiss her, a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth first as his hand cradles her face, a kiss planted on his hand before their lips touch and it is consumed in a hunger. Then, as quickly as he feels it, a new wave of emotion comes crashing down. Embarrassment. Shame. Dismissal. 

The connection falters, and he freezes, chilled, terrified. They are here in the grace of Mystra, and she can see it all, she knows it all. For just a moment, he expects some kind of retribution, some kind of acknowledgement, at least, of this transgression of her power… but there is only stillness. 

“I… I didn’t think-"

“Gale, I-"

“I just wasn’t expecting-”

“It’s okay-"

“But it is a pleasant image, to be sure.”

The Weave starts to fade away from them. In mere moments, it will be gone for good, and this connection they share will go with it. For now he can feel that she is ashamed, that she is embarrassed. He can see with his own mortal eyes that the confidence she usually inhabits had faded faster than the Weave was depleting, and that she looked cold, tired, and alone. He could not bear it. He had not known it until this moment, until the idea of disappointing her had become such a tangible reality, that he never wanted to bring her anything but joy ever again.

“It was most pleasant, Glim. Most welcome.”

The weave fades away from them, and they are left, two mortal souls, in nothing but the cold of an open camp.

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Ed. I am being extremely galaxy-brained rn, but what if Thalia & Alora kid!au for the childhood prompt: "meeting your new family after being adopted." You get to decide who's being adopted into which family. Happy Friday and hope this inspires you!!

ITS SO CUTE OKAY ITS SO CUTE AND I LOVE IT! Let me set the scene: Thalia, a new mage and disgrace to her family, is taken from home to live at the Circle. On her way to her new life, the caravan is attacked by brigands and apostates, and Thalia barely makes it out alive with her life. Terrified and injured, she barrels into the nearby woods, only to be discovered by a party of Dalish hunters. Clan Lavellan. Without anywhere else to go and terrified beyond words, she is brought back with them until it can be decided on what to do with her. And unwittingly she finds herself accepted amongst a small family unit within the clan, and in so doing, meets her future sister Alora :3 For @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: No warnings, ~1.1k words

Kindling | By Exalted_Dawn

Alora stared in startled wonder from just beyond the her mother’s shoulder, brown eyes wide and half-terrified. “-So she will be staying with us for a time, da’len.” The rough warm timber of her father’s voice barely managed to stir a reaction from her– maybe a mumbled affirmative of some kind, but definitely not more than that. Most of her attention was being absorbed by the red-headed girl standing stiffly beside him, looking all the world as though she might give way to heart exhaustion. She looked even more terrified than Alora did, and pale as bone. Blood flowed freely from a dozen different cuts that ran all across her arms and face, and her robes, what were probably once a deep bronze and blue, were now almost entirely brown in color, heavy with mud stain. Plainly, she looked a mess, like someone who had stumbled through a berry bush and caught half of it in her hair. But even then– that was not the most interesting thing about her. No. It was her ears.

Round. Round ears. 

Before now, if Alora had ever wanted to get close to a human, it meant sneaking into a passing town with Nellas for sweets. Never before has one stood squarely in the center of their camp– not alive and unharmed, anyway. How babae had managed to sneak her in-

Her mamae Haleira gave her a firm nudge in the arm, signaling her forward. To speak. Fenedhis, and say what exactly? “Uhm-” 

She looked to her father for help, still entirely unsure of what was happening. Was she even allowed to talk to this girl?

Something flashed through her father’s warm brown eyes. Something sad and heavy and clearly complicated. He approached and stepped between the two, his hand heavy against Alora’s shoulder. “Listen, da’len. Her caravan was attacked and her escorts slain,” he said, speaking soft. “The Keeper has ordered us to watch after her until we pass close enough to a shem settlement with a place to leave her safely. From what I understand, shas been through much, and she could use a friend. Do you think you could be that for her?”

Alora looked back to the nameless girl. Suddenly, she saw details she hadn’t noticed before– singe marks on her clothes beneath all the mud, and a redness beneath her eyes like the kind you get from crying. Bruises, too. 

Her lips pulled tight in a grimace, but without much else of a choice, she nodded and stepped forward. “Aneth’ara.” A cough from her mother. “Oh, uh, I mean… Hello? My name is Alora. What’s yours?” 

The girl dropped her gaze, cerulean eyes snapping to the ground. No answer.

Pleadingly, she looked back to her parents, but the look she got in return was enough to face her forward again. Creators, why couldn’t they have picked Nellas for this? She coughed into her hand and added, “I, uh, like the color of your robes.” 

It definitely wasn’t the most eloquent of introductions, but considering the situation, she had thought her response decent. Or at least reasonable. But awkward hesitance quickly turned to panic as the girl’s face pinched with something unpleasant, and to Alora’s utter mortification, her eyes began to well with tears. Rather than words, she was answered with whimpers– stifled behind a stiff lip for a total of a half-minute before it became clear that composure was no longer an option. Fat tears began to roll down her freckled cheeks, her shoulders bunched, and with hardly more warning than that, the girl collapsed in a heap and began to cry. 

~*~*~

It would be days before Alora ever got her answer. Before any of them did. Not her mamae or babae. Not Nellas, once he got to meet her too.

Alora had all but given up on the girl, referring to her as ‘her’ cause what else could she call her, when she received a finch-light tap on her shoulder. The ball of fire she had been concentrating on holding tumbled clean from her hands, fizzling into nothingness before it could even hit the ground.

“...You’re also a mage?” 

The girl’s voice was hardly louder than the meadow grass that swayed around where she sat cross legged on the ground. Alora practically jumped out of her skin to see her, let alone hear her speak. She hadn’t left the shelter of their aravel since her arrival three days ago, and Alora was certain that that was the first time she had ever heard the shemlin talk.

But now she stood there, in the clearing just outside of where her family was camped, dressed in a modest red wool dress that made her hair– now clean– practically glow. 

Out of pure dumb surprise at the sight, she nodded.

“And your family didn’t send you away?” she continued, almost seeming confused. Maybe awed. 

“Oh, uh, no…?” Alora lowered her eyes, cause she really didn’t know what else to do. The girl in front of her startled faster than a fennec, after all. Why she was choosing to talk to Alora of all people- “Why? Did yours?”

A wild guess and a panicked response. But to Alora’s utter shock, after a moment’s hesitation, the girl dipped her head. 

Alora blinked. “Oh.”

Overhead, birch leaves danced in the wind, rustling like the feathers of some giant green and gold bird, and for a moment, that was all she could hear. But just as Alora had accepted that– after all, it had been days without a single word from the girl with crimson hair, and in just this brief handful of seconds she had already gotten two whole questions– the wind died and its howling with it. And in its fading wake, just a single whisper.

“Thalia.”

Stupidly, she responded, “What?”

“My name,” the girl clarified, her cheeks going about as red as her hair. 

“Thalia?”

“Yes.”

Huh.

Unsure of what else to do, Alora nodded. “Nice to meet you. Do you… uh, want to practice with me?”

A pause. Then, maybe because she was also unsure of what to say, she simply nodded back. 

Thalia settled quietly beside her in the grass, barely meeting Alora’s eye. But sure enough, hands outstretched, a ball of fire sprang to life in the heart of her scabbed palms. A flickering mirror of Alora’s own. So together, they sat and held their flames against the dancing wind, and unknowing to either, kindled a family new.

[lifeofkaze]

A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 24: CROSS THE LINE

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

Tagging: @flareshogwarts

A/N: Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to my wonderful @kc-and-co

Orion had never minded being on his own, but with the prospect of spending Christmas with no one but his dismal thoughts for company, he had accepted his friends Murphy and Katriona’s invitation to their house in Kenmare gladly. 

Lizzie’s decision to return to Matthew had caught him unaware, to put it mildly. After her fight with Skye with Kenmare, she had picked up her bag and left without another word, and Orion had waited for her to come and talk to him in vain. When he had seen her next, she had been by Matthew’s side, his hand on her back and her engagement ring flashing on her hand. 

Katriona and Murphy were doing their best to distract him from his brooding thoughts, but Orion found it hard to share their festiveness, and kept mostly to himself. But giving his friends space was only part of the reason for his self-imposed solitude; every time he saw them stealing kisses under the mistletoe or cuddling up on the sofa, he was reminded of Lizzie and what he had foolishly thrown away, and every time, it hurt a little more. 

The end of the year came with rain and thunderstorms. Like most evenings, Orion was sitting on the ground in front of this window, listening to the heavy drops patter against the glass. It was a peaceful sound, and Orion was doing his best to capture the feeling, but in his head a storm matching the one outside was raging. He thought of the raindrops falling from the sky, how they were whipped about by the merciless winds. They had nothing to hold onto, to steady themselves. All they could do was fall. 

A knock on the door broke him from his gloomy thoughts. 

“Orion?” Katriona’s voice sounded from the other side. “Can I come in?”

The door opened and Katriona entered the room, a tray with two steaming mugs floating behind her. She cast a searching look around, shaking her head when she spotted Orion sitting on the floor. 

“I spent a fortune on the furniture, just so you know. Here,” she held a bronze, owl-shaped mug out to him, “everything’s better with some eggnog. Don’t worry, it’s vegan.”

Orion arched his eyebrows but accepted the mug anyway. “I wouldn’t exactly call eggnog vegan.”

“Just say thank you.”

The corners of Orion’s mouth twitched as he blew against his drink. “Thank you.” 

Katriona took the second cup - this one in the colours of the Caerphilly Catapults - and sat in the armchair next to the window. Both of them were quiet as they drank. A warm feeling soon spread through Orion’s body, and not only from the eggnog. Katriona’s presence calmed him; no matter how strong the storm was he was weathering, her friendship always was a fire to find shelter at. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you leaving night after night,” Katriona said after a while. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Orion contemplated her question, then shook his head. “I only wanted to give you and Murphy space to enjoy the Christmas you had planned.”

“Don’t worry, we’re enjoying it alright,” Katriona giggled, the slight flush on her cheeks telling Orion that this wasn’t her first eggnog of the night. Her chuckle faded as she set her cup aside. “Orion, I’ve known you for half my life. I can see that something’s wrong with you. More than usual, that is.”

Despite himself, her teasing made Orion laugh. “With the light of your friendship shining through the winter storm, how could there be anything wrong? I feel better just for knowing that you’re here.”

Katriona hummed in response. “But I’m not the one you wished were here right now, am I?”

Orion’s smile dropped. “No.”

“No?” Katriona said after waiting for him to continue. “That’s it, nothing more? You’re worse off than I thought.” She slid from her armchair and sat on the floor with him, gently touching his arm. “I’m here for you, you know that. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ll only judge you a little.”

This time, Orion didn’t laugh. 

“I made a terrible mistake,” he told Katriona quietly, before filling her in on everything that had happened since his return. How he had found out that Lizzie was engaged, and the surprising disappointment that had come with it; her warranted anger at him, and how they had rebuilt their friendship until Orion wasn’t so sure that friendship was what he wanted anymore. 

When Katriona heard about what Matthew had done to Lizzie after finding her keepsakes, her mouth dropped open in outrage, and she sighed deeply at the part that had come after. 

“It was foolish to hope, I know,” Orion finished his report, “but being with her felt like nothing had changed, and I genuinely thought she felt the same. I don’t know how I could be so wrong.”

Katriona was quiet, contemplating what she had heard. 

“I don’t think you were wrong at all,” she said eventually. “Lizzie changed after you were gone. We all thought fame had gotten to her head, but from how you describe it, it sounds like the old Lizzie is still in there somewhere.” 

Orion shook his head. “It’s not our place to judge who Lizzie has chosen to become. The only one she needs to be at peace with is herself. Only because the sun shines on us differently, doesn’t mean that she herself has changed.”

His voice had taken on a bitter ring. “The line I shouldn’t have crossed was plain for me to see, yet I did it anyway. I never stopped loving her, but by the time I realised it, it was too late for me to turn back. Asking for a second chance was gambling with fate, and here is what I got from it.” 

There was a short pause before Katriona snorted audibly. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re sitting here in your room, whining about your fate over vegan eggnog as if there was nothing you could do about it.”

Orion frowned. “The universe -”

“Screw the universe,” Katriona said vehemently. “Love isn’t a Bludger you have to dodge. You’re a Chaser, so go and chase after what you want. If you want to be with Lizzie, you will need to fight for her.”

“It’s not me she wants.”

“Aren’t you?” Katriona asked. “Because from how I see it, it was you she came to when she didn’t know where to go. It was you who got her to be the Lizzie we all love again. And it’s definitely going to be you who will get whacked with my Beater’s Bat if you let her go without so much as trying. You two, you aren’t finished with each other, and don’t tell me otherwise.” The look on her face softened. “Trust me, Orion. The odds of finding love like yours are so small. You can’t just give it up like this.” 

“Easy for you to say.” 

Katriona’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The love story between you and Murphy is one for the ages,” Orion explained, hating himself for the jealousy rising in his chest. “Your love burns so brightly that it eclipses everything. It always has, long before you even knew it. The moment you two met on the Quidditch pitch your stars aligned, and that never changed. Your story was always fated to be happy.”

Katriona set her mug down on the carpet with a heavy thump. 

“Listen here now, Mister,” she snapped. “I’ve sat and listened to your whining and convoluted nonsense for the better part of my evening, but now you’ve crossed another line. Don’t you dare act like Murphy and I didn’t have our own challenges to overcome, because we bloody well did. 

“So what if we never doubted each other? Knowing you don’t want to be with anybody else doesn’t make spending two years apart any easier. Do you think it was easy for Murphy to be impartial when his colleagues at the Daily Prophet were talking about me? Do you think it was easy for me to give up my dream of being a Quidditch player so Murphy could go and live his?” 

She paused to catch her breath. “For him, I would do it all again in a heartbeat, but you weren’t even here for all of this. So don’t you ever dare to go and tell me again that Murphy and I had it easy.” 

Feeling the truth of her words, Orion inclined his head in apology.  “Forgive me. Over my own misery, I have forgotten that there can’t be light without a shadow.”

Katriona seemed content with his answer. “Murphy and I worked hard for our luck. Nothing good in this world comes from politely asking for it. Luck is earned by the choices we make and the things we deem worth fighting for.” 

She rose to her feet, collected their empty mugs on the tray and walked to the door. As she was about to close it behind her, she turned to Orion once more. 

“You said the line you crossed was plain to see. Here’s a little wisdom for you, for a change - from my own experience, the exciting parts are always those that lie beyond.” 

[isleofsodora]

High Tensions (ch. 6 au)

There was confused panic within the Brotherhoods secret refuge, every single member was screaming incoherently, yet no one even knew why!

Thomas’ eyes were wide as he continued to stare in a perplexed fashion at his hands and arms, flashbacks of the ashen covered fields flooded his panicked and unsettled mind, the young man felt lost for breath as he tugged at the collar of his torn tunic, backing himself up against a wooden support beam as his heart continued to bash itself into his sternum. 

Percy rushed over and tried to help his dear friend calm down from another frenzied episode, “Thomas! Please breath! Please!” Percy protested with tear swelling eyes, Thomas couldn’t hear what his best friend was trying to say, everything seemed like a blur with sounds fading in and out, when Percy grasped onto Thomas’ hand the grey humanoid boy suddenly shoved the green eyed teen away, Percy yelped in surprise as his smaller chubby body was flung up into the air and soared into Ryan’s loft, landing on the neatly kept bed with a thump. 

Hannah shouted Percy’s name as she scrambled up the wooden ladder to check on Percy, Thomas stared blankly ahead of him as the twins and Ryan gazed with blanched faces, how did the Prince of the Gallows even do that?!

“Bill! Ben!” Ryan barked and made a motion with his hands, sending a silent message to the two tricksters, the twins nodded before they slipped silently around Thomas as Ryan approached him head on with his hands splayed out cautiously. “Thomas, I need you to calm down, okay?” Ryan spoke slowly while the grey boy continued to gulp for breath, Hannah helped tug Percy up and quickly checked him over for any injuries; and thankfully Percy didn’t have any, the two both peered over the edge of the loft as Ryan suddenly slung his arms around Thomas’ shoulders, pinning his arms so the twins could clamp themselves around his waist, bracing themselves as hard as they could. 

Thomas suddenly let out a guttural cry before he shoved Ryan off of him, the purple cloaked boy gasped as he felt his grip falter before he was swiftly shoved away, Ryan flipped over the table like a bronze coin while the twins watched with terrified eyes, “this is gonna hurt Bill,” Ben winced and his twin nodded, Thomas then turned his attention to the two heathens wrapped around his waist and sneered with glaring eyes. 

“GET BACK!!!” He roared with clasped hands above his head, the twins cried of fright and bolted right as Thomas swung his hands down, the chair that was right next to him took the blow instead, splintering the wood into hundreds of slivers, the twins gaped in terror with wide eyes, scrambling away as fast as their limbs would allow. 

Thomas growled before he crouched down, bracing his legs before he suddenly lunged forward, the twins screamed and hugged each other tightly, bracing for Thomas’ attack, then there was a sudden sharp smack that echoed throughout the large space, the other boys all gasped when they seen Hannah standing tall with her hand raised above her head, the grey humanoid blinked with surprise as his cheek stung fiercely, Thomas slowly rubbed his face before he turned onto a new target. 

“If you’re going to fight someone Thomas,” Hannah spoke slowly before she widened her stance, “then fight me,” and held up her hands, images of her brothers’ combat lessons flashed before her, remembering a scenario that was all too like this one, the day her father forced his own children to fight in the arena. 

Thomas sneered before he let out a cry, clenching his fists he took swing after swing at the white cloaked girl, it only amounted to his stress as he only contacted the nothingness of the air, Thomas finally halted and Hannah saw her chance, she dipped down as a fist flew right above her head and she delivered a hard blow to Thomas’ stomach. 

Hannah thought that her attack had worked right until she felt a pair on lean masculine hands clamp onto her forearm, she had let her guard down enough for Thomas to make a move. 

Thomas grunted as he suddenly yanked Hannah by her arm, the young man cried out as he hauled the girl completely off her feet and swung her like a flower filled sack right over his head, and slammed her into the makeshift table, the wood buckled and shattered from the impact, and Hannah let out a high-pitched scream of pain. 

The grey humanoid figure glared down at the trembling girl, Hannah felt tears spilling from her eyes and her mouth gaped open and closed, just like a Salmmønn stripped from the ocean’s waters. Thomas wrinkled his nose before he raised a clenched fist above his head, all he could see was another Royals armored head when something clasped itself tightly around his bosom. 

Thomas looked down and seen Percy looking back up with pleading green eyes, if anyone could snap Thomas out of this, it would be him. 

“Thomas please! It’s me! It’s Percy! It's me Percy!” The green eyed boy shrieked, the sky eyed teen paused as his heart began to slow down, seeing Percy back when he a child, Thomas blinked as his surroundings became more familiar, the thick layers of ash began to melt away into the cool sooty cobblestone floors and he glanced around, seeing Ryan and the twins gazing back with worried brows. 

“P-Percy?” Thomas uttered and the smaller boy let out a squeal of relief, Percy whimpered before burying his face into his best friend’s chest, crying happily that he broke Thomas out of his deranged trance. 

The young man stumbled before he collapsed onto an unscathed chair, holding his face in his hands as tears slipped past his eyes, “Percy…I-I’m so sorry-I’m sorry,” Thomas choked on his tears, Percy wore a small smile on his face before he rubbed his older brother figures back in a comforting way, Ryan and the twins then edged closer and soon eclipsed Thomas in a brotherly group hug, the sky blue eyed boy let out a laugh and hugged everyone back. 

“Where’s Hannah?” Thomas asked as he rightened back up from hugging Percy again, “r-right here…” someone uttered, the boys all glanced down and seen the white cloaked girl still laying on the floor. 

Thomas felt his heart drop to his stomach and rushed quickly over with the others, “oh no!” The grey teen gasped, “are you okay Hannah?!” And seen her nod slightly, “y-yeah…” she forced out, “just forced the wind out of me is all,” and gave a weak smile in return. 

Thomas sighed before he held out his hand, Hannah sucked in her breath as the young man gently hoisted her back up, but right as her spine straightened the white cloaked girl winced in pain, Ryan blinked as he seen splatters of deep crimson seeping past Hannah’s beautiful cloak. 

“U-um…guys?” Ryan pointed and the others all seen the deep red that has spoiled the girls’ attire, Thomas felt his heart sink even lower into the ground and seen Hannah nervously avoiding his worried gaze. 

“Hannah, please let me check you over, okay?” Ryan asked with a serious brow, the white cloaked girl faintly nodded and the deep blond set to work, tediously removing her cloak while the others watched on nervously, Thomas could only feel the guilt burrowing into his twisting stomach, if he hurt Hannah, then the others would be at risk too, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt Percy.  

Ryan cursed when he lifted Hannah’s tunic, seeing firsthand the laceration on her backside, the others all peered over Ryan’s shoulder and winced as well, Percy covered his mouth in horror, this was by someone else’s doing, not by Thomas' at all. 

Thomas gulped before he forced his tongue to move, “H-Hannah? Who did this to you?” He asked somberly before rounding the others, the young woman kept her gaze hidden as she stood promptly up, tugging her tunic back down before re-adjusting her cloak back around her shoulders. 

“I-I…I gotta go…” she muttered and tried to rush for the closest exit, but was stopped short when someone grasped onto her arm, Hannah glanced over her shoulder and seen Thomas staring back with solemn eyes, “Hannah, you need to tell me, who did this to you?” He pressed on, something flashed in the young girls’ eyes, and she look away, yanking her arm out of Thomas’ grasp she left the Brotherhoods hideout, disappearing into the night once more. 

The young men were all at a standstill, no one knew what to do next and they all stared blankly at each other, “well, this stinks,” Bill commented before Ben added in, “doubly stinks,” and the twins chuckled amongst themselves, Ryan glanced down sadly and Thomas still stared at the drawn cloth, unsure of what to do, should he go after her or not? 

Thomas felt a gentle tug on his tunic and looked down, seeing Percy flashing him a reassuring smile, “it’s okay Thomas, y’know Hannah, she’s tuff for a girl,” and Thomas smiled at his false younger brother, the grey humanoid then turned his attention to the scroll lying on the ground, Thomas shuffled closer before picking it up himself, he gazed at the strange lettering before losing interest, and tossed into a heap pile of junk. 

The young men helped Thomas to tidy up a bit before retiring to their own living quarters, as Thomas was adjusting the tables wooden pegs, he seen the gentle blue light begin to dance around his fingertips, “oh no!” he cried out, everyone froze and watched as Thomas returned back to normal, a breath of relief seemed to flood the entire space and Percy hugged his best friend excitably, “you’re okay!” He squealed and Thomas hoisted Percy up off his feet, spinning in place with his best friend in his arms. 

“Well at least you’re no longer a Lyetning bug!” Ben piped up and Bill laughed, Thomas furrowed his brow before setting Percy back down, the green eyed boy stepped back with a smile on his chubby face, Thomas nodded before he cracked his knuckles, “oh yeah?” He smirked before he suddenly rushed for the two nuisance twins, they both squealed and scampered away, Ryan watched from his loft with a smile on his face, everything seemed like it was normal, the twins were wrestling with Thomas while Percy cheered on his best friend from the sideline. 

Ryan’s smile faded as he recalled this night’s events, remembering exactly how angry Hannah’s injuries were and Thomas’ strange tranformation, almost everything seemed normal now. 

If only. 

[mellarkdandelion]

memories anew - clove and cato's story

Clove's life flashes before her eyes in fragments- every beginning and every end.

It all came back in flashes. 

***

When Nettelle Nightvale repeatedly called her name from the Reaping stage, Clove, after a lifetime of preparing, was confused why she didn't feel excited. Instead, all she felt was cold, solid dread in the pit of her stomach. Fear. 

Her eyes desperately found Cato’s in the crowd as she put on a confident facade. When their eyes met, his playful smile relayed a message Clove wished she didn’t understand. From the sea of District Two citizens, the words “I volunteer” tore from his lips just as Nettelle began to ring out a different boy's name. 

It was the beginning of their end. 

***

On the train, they locked each other in a painful embrace. 

“We weren’t supposed to be like them,” she whispered. “We don’t volunteer.” 

Cato and Clove weren’t desperate like the rest of District Two. If their names weren’t on the slips of paper, they would silently curse and go back to training, determined to be chosen the next year. Volunteering was never an option for them- they’d go like the reaping intended or they wouldn’t go at all. 

“I couldn’t let you do it alone. Not when we’ve spent our whole lives being a team,” Cato whispered into her hair. He pulled her closer. 

***

The image of Cato bloodied and beaten swirled through Clove’s mind as she laid in bed that night. She saw his once stoic face contorted with pain and misery, then convinced herself she could hear a cannon– the cannon– go off in her room. 

It was too much. Clove threw the blankets off her burning body, deciding that whatever happened from then on, there would be no more fear. No more being scared. No more doubt. She was worth more than anxiety and nightmares. Years of training meant an easy win, and she was determined to do just that. Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she locked away the last of the doe-eyed girl who loved simple things like reading and swimming; all that would be left is a lethal, sadistic Career who would be ready to take any life if it meant going home.

***

Golden locks bounced in front of Clove, mesmerizing her. Glimmer, she thought, a fitting name.

Her own brown hair was pulled back into a low bun and hidden underneath a bronze helmet. Feathers of the same hard material plated her chest, restricting her breathing. She didn’t mind the pressure, but the weight on the hollow of her neck forced her to feel each beat of her heart. 

Cato lightly stroked her arm as he climbed into the chariot. The beating grew faster.

“Why the scowl?” he asked. 

“It’s my winning face.” 

He studied Clove for a moment. “It suits you. But I think I like your smile more.” 

A smirk danced across her face, but she smothered it. 

***

The opening ceremony replayed in her head all night. The deafening roar of the crowd, the roses landing at her feet, the gentle brush of Cato’s arm against hers. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

We won’t leave this together, she thought. 

When her own feeble touch wasn’t enough anymore, Clove tentatively opened her door and ran across the hall. She gave a few quick knocks, but let herself in before Cato could respond.

Sleep dazed him. His blond hair was a mess, he rubbed his eyes wildly, and the muscles in his arm rippled as he shifted around. Clove decided, just for one night, she’d let herself like it. Enjoy it, even. 

“Clover?” his tired voice whispered. 

“My mind is too alive to sleep. I- I just- I need-”

“What do you need?”

“You.”

Cato smiled, more awake. He decided to pretend, just for one night, that everything was okay. 

“C’mere.” 

It was like the curtains had been pulled back. Her mighty and fearsome personality melted away in his presence, revealing the moony-eyed girl once again. Clove bit her tongue, mad at herself for breaking her promise; but his touch was exactly what she needed. The warmth from his strong arms, the weight of his body against hers, the comfort and innocence of it all. 

***

The interviews went as quickly as they came. She dazzled the crowd with her wits and sarcasm, but the frilly dresses and sparkling smile didn’t feel like her. She knew she looked amazing– she could tell by the way Cato didn’t take his eyes off her all night– but Clove didn’t care about wowing the Capitol. She had already wowed the one person she truly cared about, and Clove knew that whatever stunts she pulled in the arena would make far better television than laughing with Caesar Flickerman. 

That night, Clove didn’t even bother with sneaking into Cato’s room. 

“Why’d you have to do it?” she asked after elongated silence. 

“What?” 

“Volunteer.” 

“I told you, I wanted to do it with you as a team. Why, are you not happy I’m here?” 

“You’re just making it harder for me,” she traced the curve of his brow with her finger. 

“I… I don’t know. I guess I was too caught up in how I couldn’t watch you leave District Two. Not without knowing I’d be there to help you,” Cato confessed. 

Clove paused. “You don’t think I can do it? Win?” 

“Of course I do! But… who knows what can happen. You’ve seen the tricks and twists these games can have. The only way I could be sure you’d be safe is if I knew I could be there to take the blow for you.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

“It was stupid.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, because now…”

“What?” 

“Now if I do this it’ll be a mistake, not the beginning of something great.” 

Cato, against all reasoning, gently leaned forward. Clove’s lips found his, her hands gently resting on his chest. His hands tangled in her hair. They fit together like two things completely made for one another. Anything– anyone– else wouldn’t make sense. It wouldn’t feel right. 

Cato kissed her lips, then her cheeks, then the crook of her neck, then the prominent freckle on the tip of her nose he always loved so much. They kissed again, making up for all the time and words they wasted in the past. 

Clove felt too much. Anger, hope, desperation… but mostly– and horribly– love.

“It could still be a beginning,” she said once they finally broke apart. 

“Yeah. It could,” Cato agreed, but Clove knew it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter though, because for that night, it was the beginning of everything. 

***

Days passed in the arena and numbers dwindled. Glimmer, a girl that Clove actually saw herself caring for, shone in the sky next to a large number one. Tracker Jacker stings burned all over, causing her body to ache with a fever. Cato was in no better condition, but at least they were both alive. 

Under the cover of darkness their shaky hands found each other while they slept. It only felt natural. 

***

One night, Cato led Clove to the top of the cornucopia. They sat together, looking across the vastness of the arena. Their eyes met for a moment, and Cato broke out into a smile. 

“What?” Clove asked. 

“Your eyes. They remind me of home.” 

Clove stared into his oceanic eyes, a rarity for District Two unlike her own golden flecked ones. 

“Because they’re so common?” 

“No. Well, yes; but also because they remind me of all the times I caught your eye in Two, or tried at least.” 

Clove remembered all those moments. Blue eyes meeting hers from across the immenseness of the district, the way her stomach twisted with delight whenever they did. She stared hard into his eyes, wishing for just a moment that they were there again- home.

***

Without warning, Clove’s world was turned upside down. 

"Two tributes, if from the same district, shall both be crowned victors."

Cato found her eyes from across the lake and immediately flew towards her. He splashed through the murky water, arms reaching out. Clove, tears brimming in her eyes, found him in the middle. Their bodies met, connecting in an embrace that said everything they couldn’t. They sank to their knees, soaking their clothes entirely. 

Clove let out a shaky breath. Cato pulled away, brushing back the hair stuck to her forehead. He kissed her, quickly and passionately. He held tight to one of her arms and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She wrapped her arms around his torso. 

Their end had become a beginning. 

***

The feast came. 

They devised a plan quickly, knowing that they would have each other to rely on. Before they separated, Cato kissed her once on the nose, then on the lips. He turned around and headed off to the other side of the woods. Clove smiled to herself, victory within reach. 

When Katniss darted out for her bag, Clove seized the opportunity. The girls brawled for a moment; but Clove quickly pinned her down, drawing out her knives. She was ready to extinguish the girl on fire, taunting and teasing her like she knew the audience would want, but suddenly things changed. The oxygen was sucked from her lungs, tears forcefully squeezed out of her eyes, and the throbbing in her head became arrhythmic as all the blood drained from her brain. She thrashed wildly in realization.

Clove was locked in Thresh’s forceful embrace, being held four feet off the ground.

He slammed Clove down, her ribs cracking and head bouncing off the hard packed dirt. 

“What did you do to that little girl? You kill her?” Thresh bellowed. 

It all danced in front of her eyes. Marvel setting off after Rue. Her body being airlifted away. His picture in the sky. 

“No! No, it wasn’t me!” Fear flooded from the locked box in Clove’s stomach and out of her mouth like a tsunami. 

“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Thresh stormed closer, his enormous stature completely casting out the sun. 

A sharp intake of breath came from behind Clove. Katniss Everdeen, still sprawled out on the ground, watched the scene unfold in horror. The two girls locked gazes. The storm of Katniss' grey eyes flashed, then flickered to the heavy object in Thresh’s hand. Clove dared to follow her look. 

“You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?” Thresh snapped. 

“No! No, I- Cato! Cato!” His name tore from her throat with the weight of all their past behind it. She needed him. 

“Clove!” His reply was desperate. He needed her. 

Clove watched him break through the other side of the woods, but her eyes were drawn back to the danger ahead as Thresh brought down the rock in his hand. 

***

It all came back in flashes. 

***

In a second– in a flash– life is leaving Clove’s eyes. Cato is at her side before another moment passes. He holds her hand, gripping it desperately. 

“Clover? Clove, can you hear me?” he calls out. “Can you feel me?” 

Clove tries to meet his eyes, but can’t seem to manage. Something is wrong, she knows it, but her head hurts too much to figure it out. 

“Clove, please. Please, you can’t leave me.” 

Clove purses her lips, trying to form Cato’s name. She doesn’t want to leave. 

“Clover, I- I need you. I need you to hold on. Please!” 

Cato’s sobs grow louder, but she can’t quite hear it anymore. She can faintly make out the shape of his head, the outline of his blond hair, the radiance of his blue eyes. But really, the only thing that’s still strong is the feel of her hand in his. She doesn’t think that’s a feeling she’d ever forget. She wants to tell him that, but the broken parts of her brain refuse to get the job done. 

“I- I should’ve stayed with you! I should’ve been there!” Cato pounds his fists against the dirt next to her head. “Clove, please! I love you!” 

Clove's heart soars at this, but just as she figures out how to speak again, her breathing stops. The blood coursing through her veins comes to a standstill. The light finally leaves her. 

The cannon goes off. 

***

When Cato’s time comes, Clove is the only thing he thinks of. The moment the arrow hits his hand and he soars off the cornucopia, he’s suddenly home. He looks up into the snarling mouth of a mutt, but when he looks a little higher he sees toasted honey brown eyes with flecks of gold. The same eyes that he tried so desperately to catch for years on end in District Two. 

At least, in some way, his death is connected to her. At least, by some twisted miracle, his end is brought on by the eyes he wanted every beginning with. And maybe now, with another arrow soaring towards his head, the sound of a cannon booming through the air, and the warm eyes still in mind, it really can be the start of something new.

[thelastranger]

Hey ... you did say you were in a prompts mood ... could I get

- you went through my stuff and found the ring I was going to use to propose and how dare you go through my personal stuff that’s so rude and invasive but more importantly will you marry me?

Lydia/Ingvar marriage backstory ✨✨

It started out as most things did: with an innocent request.

Stefan had asked Lydia to grab a pair of gloves and the nearest house had been Ingvar's. While Ingvar's extra wide gloves definitely would not fit Stefan properly, all Stefan needed them for was "to keep my bloody fingers from freezing and cracking off like icicles," as he watched Hal and Jesper make ice sculptures.

Why Stefan would go to an ice sculpture contest without gloves was beyond Lydia's comprehension, but she didn't mind the excursion. Maybe Ingvar would be there; he'd been scarce the past few days and it would be nice to see him.

Lydia slipped into Ingvar's cabin and looked around the main room. Where would Ingvar store extra gloves? He didn't have a lot of chests or drawers in the entrance way. She slipped into the tucked away bedroom, heading for the side table by the bed where Ingvar kept his glasses in overnight.

There wasn't a pair of fur lined gloves in the long drawer, but towards the shadowy back, a piece of parchment tickled her fingers as she grazed a small wooden box.

Out of curiousity, Lydia plucked the paper out of the drawer, the quest for gloves temporarily forgotten. The parchment had her name on it and several lines that had been scribbled out. She peered closer at it, trying to read through the heavy lines. Something about her hand, maybe?

At the sound of the door bursting open, Lydia whirled around and nearly shut the drawer in surprise. Ingvar appeared, his steps uneven and frantic as he made his way into the bedroom. "Is everything all right?" Ingvar wasn't usually this ungainly.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes dropping to the piece of parchment in Lydia's hand. An indiscernible emotion flashed across his face and Ingvar was silent and still.

"Stefan told me you were searching through my house. What did you find?"

His back was turned away from Lydia as he rifled through the drawer, desparate to find something. Ingvar didn't give Lydia a chance to answer the question.

"I can't believe you went through my things."

"I'm sorry," apologized Lydia. She hadn't thought it would be a big deal with the drawer- they had always prided themsleves as being open and communicative as a couple- but if it meant that much to him, it wouldn't happen again. "I was just searching for some gloves and saw in the back-"

Ingvar stepped and pivoted back so he was facing Lydia. "I didn't plan for this to happen quite so quickly or in my bedroom, but I guess now is the time."

"What is happening?" The situation was changing so fast, Lydia could barely keep up with what was going on. First Ingvar was upset about the snooping and then this?

"Lydia Demarek, you're too nosy for your own good, oh so perceptive, and the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

Her hands flew to her mouth as she finally comprehended what Ingvar was doing. He opened a carved pine box and kneeled down.

It was a simple bronze ring, two bands elegantly twisted together with a dark emerald shining brightly in the middle. One band was engraved with a simple feather pattern and the other band had small trees encircling it.

"Why now?" was all Lydia could utter. He really was proposing to her.

"You found the ring box. I might as well not wait."

"No I didn't!"

"You mean you didn't see the box?"

"Not at all! All I saw was the paper!" "You're the best huntress in Hallasholm and you didn't see your wedding ring box!" Ingvar laughed and swept Lydia around in a hug, lifting her off the ground. When he put her down, Lydia pulled him close for a kiss.

After they broke apart, Ingvar shook his head. "I became an anxious wreck and ignored a month's worth of planning and I didn't even need to."

"I still haven't answered. You could try again in another month," suggested Lydia innocently. "Propose again and I'll give you my answer again."

"Does that mean that's a yes?"

Lydia grinned at her fiancé. "Yes."