#and how lonan... is god

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

harrison get thee to a therapist pt. 1:

“So what?” Harrison knows she could mean so many things. So raw. So indelicate. So tense. So like we’re a VHS set in reverse.  “This isn’t a big deal. No one was hurt.”

“You cannot come and go as you please in other people’s houses, Harrison.” She can’t even look at him. He could call her out by name again—Suzanna, Suzanna, Suzanna. She winces every time he does, plays it off as a sudden headache or a flighty twitch.

“Isn’t that what I do at your place?” he says instead, his throat heady with the need to scream, or perhaps cry. “Parade around as your son and then crash on the couch?”

“Harrison,” Suz says. Her eyes are pellets of amber, her pupils preserved in their warmth. As a child, Harrison climbed onto the bathroom counter, pried his own eyes open between his chewed fingernails. The colour was wrong, too light, too cold, too much like his father’s—and what was a father? God is as much a father as he is a traitor to his own sacrificial son. Harrison stood there for so long his eyes stung, and when his lid eventually snapped back in place, the world stippled.

“What?” he asks now. Where the hell is God in this dim bathroom? Sucked up in the fan? Hiding in shower drain hairballs? And where is his father? Both perpetually missing like a television remote, a set of house keys. That’s right. God’s not here—not in the olive wall paint, not in the patterned hand towels, not in the piranha portrait above the toilet tank, not against Harrison’s chest like he used to be. He’s the only one here in front of his mother, all seven of Mary’s sorrows etched into a man. He almost laughs. “And my name is kind of idiotic, isn’t it? Harry’s son—but I’m nobody’s son.”

“You’re my son.”

“For the last two weeks, sure.”

tonight's BODY BACK session excerpt!

[arcaneyouth]

i know i put angels and demons into a lot of my work but i will be real with you this has absolutely nothing to do with the religious trauma. angels were never a religious thing to me they were just guys with wings. people try to point at my angels and demons like "look see you are putting religious trauma in there" and i'm flattered you think so but i don't think you know a thing about me and my trauma. i put demons into my stories because the word "monsters" is usually used for a separate thing and i need a word that tells you right away this is some kind of creature that is by nature a bastard whether they want to be or not. cause monster is not a strong enough word for me. so they're demons

[noblesouls]

a study.

BASICS.

full name : olynna blackwood name meaning : helpful, researcher, comfortable nicknames : oly, nana. epithets : the beauteous raven titles : lady of raventree hall gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her sexuality : heterosexual date of birth : on the thirteen day of the first month age : seven and twenty years zodiac : capricorn place of birth : raventree hall, the riverlands, westeros accent : northern westerosi languages : common tongue, old tongue, high and low valyrian allegiance : house blackwood religion : the old gods

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : synnove karlsen height : 5′5″ eye color : blue/grey hair color : brunette with copper undertones dominant hand : ambidextrous

MEDICAL.

mental : n/a physical : n/a

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : eloquent & resourceful negative traits : opinionated & judgemental hobbies : reading, needlework, medicine, horse back riding

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents : ruling lord lonan blackwood & late ruling lady ilianna blackwood siblings : lord alton blackwood, lord samwell blackwood, lady alyce blackwood, lady melissa blackwood, lady ilianna blackwood extended family : tba spouse : n/a children : n/a pets : birdsong ( raven ), onyx ( friesian stallion)

FAMILY DYNAMICS.

house blackwood is an ancient one and as so they were expected to carry duty over anything else. it was why even though lord lonan had fallen for different woman and fathered a bastard he still married the woman chosen for him by his father. sealing his fate and that of lady ilianna for a miserable marriage. the new lady blackwood vent backwards in hopes to gain the favor of her husband, and when she gave him a son she almost thought she had him, only to learn his mistress had also given him a daughter not long after. but she did not give up, her children watched her break for a man that paid her no mind, and eventually she lost her life in the false hope of giving him another son. not long after mourning period and with no one else to deny him he married his mistress and legalized his bastards. now the power balance tips back and forth with the ruling lady fighting for her bastard born son to become lord heir, while the children of the first wife refuse to back down.

BIO.

olynna had been her mothers treasure, a soft chubby babe that cried rarely and laughed often. the second gem of raventree hall, gentle demeanor and rosie cheeks, her birth had been an ease, as if predicting the calming nature that would run through her veins. as she grew up it was clear olynna would be everything a lady was expected to be, soft spoken, witty, gentle, but the demeanor of any raven ran deep in her and she was also strong willed and opinionated. and while she had a tendency to please and listen to the careful path suggested for her, there were instances were her strong personality came to shine.

her role was clear, even though she was her parents beloved, she would marry to strengthen the alliances when the time came. but that wasn’t enough for her, learning needle point, how to rule a house, she demanded to learn politics and strategies, she took her lessons and asked for more, the more knowledge was poured into her the more she craved

her life came to a sudden halt when her mother became pregnant once over, the pregnancy had her sick and bed ridden, and not long after the babe had been born lady ilianna was not longer with them leaving olynna with the weight of a promise to always look out for her siblings. at the tender age of thirteen she took it to heart, leaving everything that wasn't their care to become second in her list

but the little piece they manage to find came crushing when his father did what olynna had been most afraid, decided to marry his mistress, which she knew would only be the beginning of the darkness that would surround their lives. the children of the first ruling lady of the house welcomed the new comers with resistance, specially olynna, whom would accept no other than her mother as ruling lady and so raventree hill became a war camp

oly against all odds grew older she grew into herself; smarter and beautiful, she began creating her own alliances, her own networks. a woman that supported her family, her siblings, her friends, loyal to a fault.

olynna has seen what love has done to her father, and it terrifies she could be the same way, love is something she deprives herself of and has pledged against it. if she could remain unmarried and dedicated to her healing, her main goal is simply secure her brothers seat.

CONNECTIONS.

childhood friends; perhaps someone who knew her when she was a wild little thing swimming in the rivers of the riverlands and running through the field, stealing her fathers horse early in the mornings.

a pen pal; perhaps someone she only came across once before in the years but they shared letters constantly through the distance and time

a betrothal; set perhaps by their parents by pure political strategy, or they could be a lord in search of their own ambitions. could be nothing more than this

[leechobsessed]

Walk You Home

Ella and Lachlan come face to face. 

characters: Ella Sagen, Lachlan, Lysander and Leila Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), Beatrice Viano (of @juliandev0rak), Julian Devorak, Nadia Satrinava pairing:  Ella Sagen x Lachlan Lonan / Logen words: 3.7k warnings: alcohol, sexual themes

Previous chapter, etre bleu series

The palace always prepares elaborate and delicious meals, and breakfast has never been an exception. On the table before her sits a variety of fruits, pastries, egg dishes and breads, which all look and smell delicious, but she hasn’t yet found the appetite to try any of it. 

She suspects that’s partially due to the aftereffects of alcohol, but mostly due to the butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of seeing Lachlan.

She had arrived only a few minutes ago and dropped into an open seat next to Julian, who immediately handed her a small glass filled with what she could only hope was Leila’s hangover cure. She accepted it gratefully as Leila introduced Ella to Lysander, the older Lonan brother. He gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement, before the countess pulled both his and Beatrice’s attention back to her with a question.

Lysander and Leila are seated next to the countess at the head of the table, with Beatrice next to Lysander, and Leila beside Julian. The seat across from Ella is empty.  

For Lachlan.

Ella inhales deeply and sets about pouring herself a cup of tea, adding a spoonful of sugar and stirring it into the steaming amber liquid, watching the fine crystals quickly melt away. She raises the cup to her lips and blows gently on it, examining the spread in front of her with the subtlest of frowns tugging at her lips. 

Why am I so nervous? She wants to see Lachlan, but she can’t imagine he’d want to see her, especially since she left him so abruptly this morning. Her stomach flips as she realizes he would assume she left because she didn’t want to see him. 

“Is nothing to your liking, Ella? Is there something else you’d prefer?” The countess asks, ever the perfect host, her eyebrows raised as she sets her teacup back on its saucer.

“No, thank you, this is wonderful,” Ella hurries as she reaches for a muffin, smiling at Nadia. “My stomach hasn’t quite woken up yet.”

“A bit too much fun last night?” Julian asks, the corners of his lips quirked up in humor.

“Perhaps,” Ella shoots back as he nudges the small glass he had handed her earlier closer toward her.

“Leila’s hangover cure,” he explains. “It might help settle your stomach.”

Doubtful, Ella thinks, but she nods in thanks as she tips the liquid down her throat in one swift motion. As she sets the glass back down, she nearly chokes on the elixir as Lachlan slides easily into the chair across from her, smiling shyly at her before offering a greeting to the rest of the table. 

Hiding her coughing behind her hand, she takes a large gulp of tea as the countess addresses the table’s new member. “Good morning, Lachlan. I’m so glad you were able to join us this morning.” 

“As am I,” he answers, smiling at his host before turning his gaze to meet Ella’s eyes, making her breath catch immediately. As the conversation around the table continues, the two of them continue to stare at each other, neither one able to come up with anything to say, but unable to look away all the same.

“It’s good to see you,” Ella finally manages, blushing at how breathless she sounds. She clears her throat, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Did you um, sleep well?”

The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a knowing smile, and he lets out a small chuckle before he nods. “I did, yes. A little cold when I woke up this morning though.”

Ella’s blush deepens as she opens her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Leila, who has left her seat to place her hangover cure in front of her brother. 

“Maybe we should get you more blankets then,” she teases. “Drink this. It will help.”

He lifts the shot glass up and inspects the liquid in it, giving it a sniff, then glances back at his sister, totally unconvinced. “It seems counterproductive to cure a hangover with a shot. Especially this early in the morning.”

“It's her hangover cure,” Ella explains as Leila sighs.

“It will help,” Leila repeats. “Trust me.”

Lachlan shrugs, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and handing it back to his sister. “So how long until this works?” 

“A few minutes. Then you’ll be good as new.” Leila says, giving his shoulder a squeeze before leaving them to return to her seat.

“You don’t need one?” Lachlan asks, an eyebrow raised at Ella in question as he leans forward to grab an apple from the fruit tray in front of him. She watches as his long fingers wrap around the apple and pull it toward him, cleaning it on the chest of his shirt, much like the one she has squirreled away in her palace bedroom. She pulls her attention away from his hands, blushing when she meets his eyes.

“I do-- I mean, I did. I had mine just before you came.” 

“A little too much fun last night?” 

“Something like that,” she responds, acutely aware the conversation at the table has dwindles to a dull murmur, and that all eyes are focused on them. She immediately lowers her eyes back to her plate, and keeps them there for the remainder of the breakfast-- well, almost. Every so often, she would sneak a glance at the man across from her, pleased and embarrassed that almost every time she did, his cool blue gaze was still on her. 

She can sense Leila’s gaze on the two of them as well, but she chooses to ignore it.

She knows that his willingness to make conversation with her may just be to save face in front of the others. But the fact that neither of them seem to be able to keep their eyes off each other gives her a glimmer of hope that he doesn’t regret last night, and that maybe he’s hoping to spend more time with her, too.

Gods, she hopes so.

“Countess, thank you for breakfast and your hospitality, but I must be getting back to the city now,” Ella says, nodding at the countess as she pushes back from the table, her eyes falling briefly on Lachlan as she does. 

“I’ll come with you, if that’s alright,” Lachlan says as he hurriedly joins her standing, pulling the attention of all at the table toward him. “I’ve been meaning to look around the town.”

He looks at Ella, as if asking permission, and she nods quickly, unable to hide her eagerness to spend time with him alone. 

“That’s probably for the best. Less likely Ella will get lost on her way if she has someone to accompany her,” Beatrice jokes, smiling at Ella, though she doesn’t see it, her eyes still focused on Lachlan.

Leila laughs, standing up from the table as well. “I’ll see to it that everyone makes it home safely. I need to head to the tea shop anyway.”

Lachlan breaks eye contact with Ella to frown at his sister. He opens his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by the countess.

“Perhaps it would be best if you take a carriage into town,” she offers. She waves to one of the servants standing by the veranda doors, who immediately slips back into the palace. “I’ll have one brought around for the three of you.”

As promised, the carriage is waiting for the trio as they reach the palace gates. Opening the door, Lachlan extends his hand first to Leila, then to Ella as he helps them into the carriage. He runs this thumb along the back of her knuckles as he guides her into the carriage, eliciting yet another blush from her as she steps inside. Lachlan takes his seat next to her, and they’re off.

They ride in silence for a few minutes, both Lachlan and Ella staring out their respective windows, Ella’s hand brought to her face in an effort to hide the color that appears in her cheeks every time the jostle of the carriage sends her body into his. 

Leila sits across from them, looking between them with a slight frown. She clears her throat, crossing her leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap. “So, Ella.”

“So, Leila,” Ella parrots, glancing at the magician across from her.

“Were you able to return the shirt you borrowed back to your suitor? Or will you be giving it back the next time you see him?”

Ella and Lachlan turn simultaneously to face Leila. Confused, Ella shakes her head. “Shirt? What-- oh,” she stutters as she remembers her encounter with her friend this morning, before breakfast. Blushing furiously, she turns her attention back out the window. “No, I haven’t returned the shirt.”

“I must say, I was surprised that you had brought a man back to your room, you’ve never made a habit of doing that,” Leila continues, her voice light and playful, but with an edge of mischief. “Was it anyone I would know?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

Ella sighs, shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak, not wanting to lie to her friend. She can feel both Lachlan and Leila’s eyes on her, but she ignores them both until Lachlan speaks up.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you holding onto it if it means he gets to see you again.” He shrugs, scratching at his stubble as the women stare at him. “Speaking from an outside male perspective, of course.”

Ella glances quickly at Leila, whose eyes widen fractionally at her with what Ella can only assume is realization. Guilty, she lowers her gaze to her dress, picking off an imaginary piece of lint. They sit in silence until the carriage loudly hits another bump, jostling Ella into Lachlan’s hip again. Lachlan clears his throat and finds a new subject. 

“Your hangover cure works wonders, Leila. Any chance I could convince you to make me some to have on hand?”

Leila tears her gaze from her friend and focuses on her brother, her grey eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

The carriage slows to a halt in the town square, and Ella vaults herself out of it before any more questions can be asked of her. The other two clamber out of the carriage after her, much more gracefully. Ella watches Lachlan thank the driver and pet one of the horses as Leila makes her way to her.

“Are you okay?” She asks, frowning. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I’m just tired,” Ella lies, shrugging. 

“I’m sure you are,” Leila smirks, nudging her shoulder. “You know, you can--”

“And I have a lot to do today,” Ella interrupts. “So I should be heading back home.”

“You’re not working in the clinic today?”

“No, I have to make more medicines today.”

“Okay. I’ll be at the tea shop if you want to stop by later,” she says, frowning as Lachlan comes to stand next to his sister, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. Leila turns toward him. “Are you coming with me?”

“I thought I’d walk around town for a bit, get some fresh air. I’ll find my way to your shop later.” He glances at Ella, who has her attention turned toward the crowd on the street. “It was wonderful to see you again, Ella.”

At the sound of her name, she turns back toward him and nods, offering a smile to both of the Lonan’s before she turns quickly and hurries down the street toward the market. 

She wasn’t lying; she did have lots to do today. The medicine cabinet at the clinic was starting to run low, and her own personal stores could use some refilling as well. She makes her way through the familiar stalls in the crowded market, buying ingredients she knows she’s in need of, wishing she had made a list, as she still finds her thoughts pulled back toward Lachlan.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking this morning, and Leila catching the carriage into town with them thwarted any chance they would have had to speak alone. Ella considers seeking him out at the tea shop later, but Leila would still be there, and she didn’t want to raise any more suspicion by disappearing with Lachlan again.

At her last stop, Ella pays for the remainder of her needed ingredients, and starts the familiar walk back home, still distracted. 

Twice, she almost turns down the wrong street, completely lost in thought. She turns finally onto the correct street, her hands and attention buried in her pockets in search of her keys. Finally finding them, she pulls them from their hiding spot and looks up, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees Lachlan, pacing back and forth outside of her home.

He runs his hand through his light brown hair and visibly sighs, glancing up from his feet to her front door, then both ways down the street. When he sees her, his lips part slightly, then tug into an embarrassed smile.

Immediately, instinctively, Ella smiles back, finding herself already walking toward her unexpected guest. She stands in front of him, playing with her ring as they look silently at each other, both unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she finally manages, frowning slightly. “How… did Leila tell you where I lived?”

“Oh, um, no. I asked someone in town,” he laughs sheepishly, dropping his gaze back to the street. “That sounds bad, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, kicking at a stone on the ground. “I.. wanted to see you again.”

“You did?” She asks, unable to hide her surprise.

“I do,” he says, raising his eyes to hers. “And I thought we should talk about last night.”

“Oh.” Ella tucks her hair behind her ear, shifting in her spot. There it is, she thinks. He does regret it. “Sure.”

“Only if you want to, I just figured it was, um, important,” he continues, pausing as she maneuvers past him, her body just barely brushing against his as she moves to unlock the door. 

She turns back to face him, offering a small smile. “Would you like to come in?”

He nods slowly, following her into her home. She pulls the door shut behind him, pointing to a set of hangers by the door for his cloak, then gesturing to the space in front of them. 

“This is the shop area. Or, it was when it was used as a shop. Now I only use the kitchen down here to make potions and medicines for the clinic,” she explains quickly, pointing to the open door on the opposite wall, feeling suddenly nervous to be alone with him without the confidence-boosting effects of alcohol. 

“It’s a very nice space,” he says, glancing into the doorway to the kitchen, then down the hall toward the back entrance.

“It was my aunt’s.”

“I see.”

“She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Oh.”

Ella blushes furiously, fiddling with her ring. “I’m sorry, you make me nervous,” she admits quietly, dropping her gaze to her hands in front of her.

“I make you nervous?” Lachlan laughs, though not unkindly.

Ella shrugs, his laughter pulling her eyes to his once more. “A little.”

“That’s not my intention,” he says as he holds her gaze, his lips still quirked upward in amusement. She clears her throat, motioning for him to follow her up to the living area.

She had always loved her aunt’s home, so she had made very few changes to it once Vivian moved out. The walls of the living area were soft, light green, with large windows to let in as much natural light as possible. A few different styles and colors of chairs to sit on were gathered around a large and colorful circular rug, and the room itself was filled with almost too many plants and books and artwork, giving it a slightly chaotic feel, and she finds herself repressing the urge to apologize to Lachlan for the mess. 

The kitchen upstairs was seldom used, since the kitchen downstairs was much larger, but it was one of her favorite places to sit. She remembers painting the bright yellow walls with her aunt soon after she moved in, which made the tiny room feel more open and welcoming. The kitchen was connected directly to the living area, only separated by a small, round, wooden dining table with three chairs, pushed against the wall. 

She directs Lachlan to the table, pulling out a chair for him, and immediately sets about making tea. With the kettle started on the stove, she climbs gracelessly onto the counter, sitting up on her knees to poke around the jars of tea leaves on the top shelf.

“I have quite the selection up here, is there a kind of tea you’d prefer?” She pokes around a bit. “I also have some cakes in the bread box over there, but they could be stale by now.”

“You don’t have to go through all this trouble, Ella, I don’t want to burden you.”

She frowns, glancing back at him from her perch on the counter. “You’re not a burden, Lachlan. It’s just tea.”

A frown flits across his features before he licks his lips, offering a shrug. “Whatever you enjoy is fine with me.”

She nods, selecting some black tea, just in case he was only being polite, and climbs back down. “How do you take your tea?”

“Usually with rum, but it feels too early for that.”

“I could use some rum,” she murmurs, pulling a clear bottle from one of the cabinets. “Especially since you want to talk.”

He opens his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the whistling of the kettle. Ella quickly sets the rum on the table and removes the kettle from heat. She prepares two large mugs of tea, leaving a considerable amount of room for the rum, then brings the cups over to the table and sets one in front of Lachlan.

“I’m sorry for leaving your room this morning,” Ella starts, taking her seat across from him. She watches him pour the liquor into his mug before handing the bottle to her. “I was… I panicked when I woke up, um, naked with my best friend's brother. Leila was right earlier when she said it wasn’t like me to spend the night with someone.”

She pours some rum in her own tea, keeping her eyes on the light amber liquid as she continues. “I was embarrassed, because I had quite a bit to drink, and I was assuming you had as well, and I didn’t want you to have to face me in the morning in case it was the alcohol talking when you invited me to your room.” 

“Ella--”

“Regardless of your feelings about last night, I, um. I want you to know I don’t regret anything.” She glances up at him, at his strong jaw, his bright eyes, his lips she now knows to be incredibly soft, and her face heats underneath her freckles. “I had a really enjoyable evening with you. Even without the sex. Um, but that’s not to say that the sex wasn’t enjoyable, because it was.”

She takes a deep breath and a long drink from her mug, feeling considerably lighter after getting that all off her chest, albeit more embarrassed than she’s ever felt in her life. She sneaks another glance at Lachlan, who sits unreadable in his seat across from her, and her face flushes even more red. “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted you to know I enjoy spending time with you, and I needed to get that out before you said what you needed to, in case you don’t echo the sentiment.”

“You did?” He asks, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

“I did, what?”

“Enjoyed spending time with me.”

“I do enjoy spending time with you.”

Lachlan smiles, the same full, crooked smile that had taken her breath away the night before. “I’m… really happy to hear you say that, Ella,” he says, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath throughout her monologue. He reaches across the table to take her hand in his, and runs his thumb across her knuckles, keeping his eyes on hers.

“In, um, terms of Leila,” Ella stumbles, distracted by the skin contact. “I feel like she has an idea of what happened, I think, but I’d like to tell her anyway. Just… not quite yet.”

Lachlan nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He clears his throat, removing his hand from hers to take another drink from his mug. “Well, you pretty much covered everything I wanted to talk about,” he says, chuckling around the rim of his drink. “I don’t regret anything, either. And I also enjoy spending time with you, even without the sex, which I too agree was enjoyable.”

Ella blushes as she laughs, standing up from the table to rinse out her mug. Lachlan joins her at the sink, setting his drink down on the counter and taking her hands. She melts into his arms as they snake around her waist, her hands settling on his chest.

 “I wouldn’t mind it happening again,” she breathes, her eyes focused solely on his lips.

“Is that so?” He murmurs, leaning down toward her, slowly, deliberately, as if asking for permission. She nods once, tilting her chin up to him, holding her breath as his lips brush against hers. 

It’s gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid she’ll slip away from him if he kisses her too hard. Ella pulls herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and fisting her hands into his hair. Lachlan moans against her lips as he presses her against the counter, no longer worried about being gentle as desire explodes between them.

All the feelings from last night resurface tenfold, no longer marred by the alcohol in her veins. He lifts her gently, effortlessly, by the waist, setting her on the countertop, allowing her a better angle to further deepen the kiss.

After a while, she pulls back slightly and smiles against his lips; not quite a kiss, but still a refusal to break contact with him. She releases her hold on his hair and lets her hands trail down his arms, resting on his biceps as she wills herself to create some space between them. 

She clears her throat, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. “I have a room here,” she says, biting her lip to hide her humor. 

Lachlan laughs as he lifts her from the counter, kissing her deeply before carrying her out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. “I was hoping you might.”

[shcdow]

WHEN  — ｡ ‘✧ 1845. 2nd august. WHERE  —  ｡ ‘✧ the ship’s brig. OPEN TO —  ｡ ‘✧ everyone aboard.

The edge of the musket digs into his ribs. That’s really the only thing wrong with recent events. By the fourth hour of guard duty, again since they’re all undermanned, it’s unpleasant enough to considering ditching his post. Ditch his rifle, too, why not? One might upstage a whole mutiny just to catch a break. What with the wailing, the whimpering, and now the intimate hard-on of a musket in his thigh, sleep doesn’t stand a chance. The deckhand twists again inside his blanket. Why insist upon the gun at all? It’s not as if he couldn’t tear out someone’s ear, needs must. Or, even better, say boo and watch them scatter off. Everyone aboard is hanging by a thread. Lonan doesn’t really take any pleasure in shaking it up, tugging until it breaks      but if it earns him some rest, then so be it.

Honest to hell, this entire thing makes him think back on the neverending night. Good times, all told. At least in unholy darkness you can count on one thing, just the one, but it’s damn near foolproof: sleep. Now the world had woken up again, with all its rable-rousing, childish painting of devils. These people and their revolutions, Gods, how ready they always go at it.

The shadow shifts, torso rising from the floorboards. His feet are pushed into other wall of the corridor, hands pillowed under his head. When he changes position, they arch like rope hinges ready to recoil and tap into the teak. Self-piteous, his gaze cuts to the person he is supposed to:

                                     A. — ⁕ guard ⁕ — your muse supports Dowling.

❝ If I were a betting man, I’d say this brings me less pleasure than it does you. At least your lot only got the one job, huh? Keep mum about Malachy. Now, me? I get all my old duties, and new ones on top of it. ❞ Might be wiser to keep this bite sheathed, lips pulled over the bite. That’s what Iles would advise him. Don’t make a stand until you see where the coup is headed. But that’s bollocks. Where are coups usually headed? It’s never about sides, about thorns. Only about saying the wrong thing in the dark. He tilts his head. Supplicant, supine. ❝ Look, ‘m sorry. The past days were ten lives too many for everyone. But we gotta be civil about it, right? ❞

                            B. — ⁕ move away for ⁕ — your muse supports Estrada.

❝ Five guineas Dowling won’t last a day alive. ❞

[juliandev0rak]

Slow Dance

In which Lysander and Beatrice try something new and only almost start a fire. 

characters: Lysander Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), Beatrice Viano

pairing: Lysander Lonan x Beatrice Viano / Vianan

words: ~2900

warnings: f l u f f oh my god so much fluff

notes: alternate title- vianan are too in love to focus on their dinner

It’s a brisk afternoon in Umbra, one that has Beatrice wishing she’d brought her gloves. As they walk through the city towards the market, she looks to her right, noting that Lysander is better prepared for the weather with gloves on, a scarf around his neck, and his collar pulled up against the cold. The hand he’s holding is warm but her other, which holds a large wicker basket for their groceries, seems to be turning a bit blue. 

When Lysander notices her shivering he halts his quick walking pace and reaches for the basket. She hands it over gladly and casts a warming charm on her cloak before sliding her hand into her pocket. With the threat of hypothermia halted, she’s much cheerier and swings their entwined hands as they walk. After living here for nearly a year she’s still not used to the cold, but she must admit it has its benefits, like hand holding.

“Do you have the list?” She asks as the bustling market comes into view.

“I memorized it. It felt unnecessary to carry around a slip of paper,” Lysander replies, noticing the brief look of worry in Beatrice’s eyes.

“Well I would like to be able to double check, we haven’t made this recipe before,” She frets, already trying to remember what was on the list she’d written last night. Did they need celery? Or was it carrots? Perhaps they should get both just in case.

“We haven’t made any recipe before.” Lysander’s smile fades as the crowds become more dense around him and Beatrice squeezes his hand gently to focus his attention on her rather than the people around them.

“You’re right,” Beatrice laughs. “We’ll figure it out, we’re both intelligent right? How hard can cooking really be.” 

“You say that, but I recall the last time you tried to cook something the house nearly went up in flames.” He stops in front of a produce stand and gives her a half smile over his shoulder to let her know he’s joking.

“Oh hush, it was just a little smoke,” Beatrice scoffs, dropping his hand so she can rummage through the vegetables.

“A little,” He huffs, remembering the way they’d had to air out the house after, the both of them running around to open windows and doors. Once the smoke had cleared the house had been freezing cold from the winter air, and the two of them had sat in front of the fireplace for hours to get warm again. It’s a fond memory now that he thinks about it, but one he’d prefer not to repeat. 

Neither of them have any cooking skill, Lysander from a life lived with servants and a cook, and Beatrice from lack of interest (and a fair amount of kitchen mishaps). But, like many things over the last few years, they’d decided to learn together. They’d found an easy recipe for roast chicken in a book, something that claims to be “so simple a beginner can do it”. 

“Did you know that onions are one of the oldest known vegetables? According to historical records they’ve been cultivated for thousands of years.” Lysander watches as Beatrice places onions into the basket. She carefully lifts them up to inspect them, though if she’s being honest she has no idea what she’s looking for. Do onions grow ripe?

“I didn’t know that,” Beatrice replies, excited as always to learn something new. “Do you know why cutting onions causes tears? It’s because they release an invisible gas which irritates the eye.” 

“I’ve never cut an onion before, I didn’t know they did that.” Lysander starts gathering potatoes into the basket, carefully counting out the amount they need. “I suppose we’ll need a handkerchief on hand during our cooking, just in case.”

“I’ll lend you mine,” Beatrice jokes, reaching into her pocket to flash her monogrammed handkerchief in his direction. The monogram catches her eye, it still has the letter V on it and she thinks, with a smile, that she should probably replace it with her new last name. 

“That is most kind of you, Beatrice, but I hope neither of us are brought to tears over this dinner.” He gives her another half smile then turns to pay for the vegetables. They spend the rest of the shopping trip trading facts and stories about cooking. She tells him about the time she tried to cook for her aunt as a surprise and somehow got a metal pot stuck to the ceiling, and he tells her how he tried to bake a cake with Leila and they used salt instead of sugar.

“I usually leave the baking to Leith,” He laughs. The comment reminds Beatrice of how wonderful it is that she’s part of this family now too. She has her own stories with Leila and Leith, and even Lachlan. As she listens to Lysander talk about his family with that affectionate glint in his eye, she feels very lucky to be included.

By the time they leave the market it’s even colder out and it looks like snow is on the way, so they hurry home. Lysander grows more at ease the further they get from the market, so while the grocery basket is heavier the mood is lighter. Beatrice stays close to his side as they walk the few blocks home, and the chill wintery air doesn’t bother her in the slightest. 

Lorcan greets them at the door, nearly knocking Beatrice over in his haste to greet her. She pets him between his ears and grabs the basket from Lysander so he can greet the dog. As Lysander pets him, Beatrice places the basket down and unlatches her cloak before reaching to help Lysander with his outerwear. Her hands gently unwind the scarf from around his neck and he uses her proximity as an excuse to kiss her cheek. 

Beatrice smiles and kisses his cheek in return before reaching to help him out of his coat. When everything is put away in its place she makes her way to the kitchen where Lysander is busy unpacking the groceries. He carefully lines everything up on the counter, organizing the vegetables by size and color. Beatrice smiles at his focused expression, holding back a laugh as he holds two carrots up to compare them so he can get the order exactly right. Finally, she decides she needs to interrupt him before he starts organizing grains of salt.

“So, where do we begin?” She wraps an arm around the top of his shoulders as she leans over to read the recipe in the book laid out before them. It’s quite a large block of text, and she hopes they’ll be able to pull this off. 

“We need to get the oven heated first, and boil some water for the potatoes,” Lysander dictates. 

“That sounds simple enough! You can start the fire and I’ll get the water heated in no time.” Beatrice turns to find a pot and walks over to the faucet to fill it with water.

“Perhaps we should do this without magic?” Lysander suggests, raising an eyebrow as he watches her put her hands on the side of the pot to heat it with magic.

“I think we need every advantage we can get, my dear.” She focuses heat into her hands and the water begins bubbling almost immediately. She’s always been good with water, but heating her hands too hot aggravates her scar, so she’ll have to settle for a simmer as a head start.

“We might as well have you heat the chicken with your hands,” Lysander jokes as he starts the fire in the oven. She sets the pot down on the stove top to bring it to a full boil then turns to gently ruffle the front of his hair to brush it out of his eyes. His hair has gotten a bit longer than he usually keeps it, but Beatrice thinks it suits him. 

“That might be how the fire started last time,” She says, chagrined. “I was too impatient to wait for the stove to heat up.”

“We’ll just have to find a way to pass the time while we wait then,” He says, pulling her into his arms. She wraps her arms around his waist and smiles as his lips meet hers. They kiss for a moment, warmed by the steam rising from the stove. Beatrice pulls away first, twisting out of his embrace with a grin.

“We should prepare the vegetables, there’s a lot more to do. Dinner now, kissing later.” She tries to take a step away but Lysander reaches for her shoulder, keeping her in place as he leans down to her again.

“Is that a promise?” Lysander teases, pressing one last kiss to her cheek.

Beatrice leans up to whisper in his ear, “Of course it is.” She pulls away, “Now help me chop these vegetables or we’ll never get this dinner done.”

She hands him a carrot and picks up an onion, trying to figure out the best way to cut it. The recipe said to dice them, and she does her best to follow those instructions. Her eyes start to water as soon as she cuts into the onion, and a single tear rolls down the side of her face. She wipes her eye on her sleeve and sets the knife down.

“Are you alright, Beatrice?” Lysander sets his knife down next to hers and reaches for the side of her face, turning her towards him.

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s just the onions. Remember how I told you they irritate the eye?” She tries to resist the urge to rub at her eyes, knowing that’ll just hurt them more. He seems satisfied by her answer and turns back to his task. 

“What a peculiar vegetable,” He mutters and Beatrice laughs.

“Cooking is dangerous.” 

“It is when you do it,” Lysander says, placing his neatly chopped carrot into a bowl. He reaches for another, not noticing Beatrice scowling at him. He looks so intently focused on his task again that she has no choice but to smile again at the crease in his forehead and the way he bites his lip slightly in concentration.

Half an hour later they’re placing the chicken into the oven. There’s been a distinct lack of kitchen mishaps so far and Beatrice is feeling quite proud of herself. She turns to Lysander with a grin on her face as he shuts the oven door, “We did it!” 

“Technically we haven’t succeeded yet, it still has to cook,” He says and she reaches a finger to his lips to shush him.

“Think positively, darling.” Beatrice leans up to give him a quick peck on the lips. They go to set the table next, deciding to sit in the formal dining room instead of the kitchen table to make things more fancy. Beatrice sets out silverware as Lysander folds napkins. He seems to be spending a long time folding them, and when Beatrice looks over she notices he’s folded the cloth into the shape of a bird.

“Where on earth did you learn to do that?” She asks, “You’re full of surprises.” 

“I read about it in a book once.” Lysander straightens the edge of the napkin and takes a step back, inspecting his work like an artist.

“Well, you’ve always been good with your hands...” Beatrice smirks over her shoulder at him as she returns to the kitchen, leaving Lysander to stare after her incredulously. He follows her a moment later and finds her sitting perched on the kitchen table, looking as if she was waiting for him. 

“You’ve become an incurable flirt, Beatrice.” Lysander takes a step towards her, his arms going around her waist. She giggles lightly and leans in to kiss the corner of his jaw.

“I’ve always been like this, you just weren’t paying attention.” 

“That is probably true,” He laughs, leaning down towards her, “but I certainly notice you now.” 

“You do.” Beatrice leans forward to rest her forehead against his and he sighs, gently winding his hand into her hair.

“I do.” 

Lysander leans in to kiss her then, and she melts into it as he pulls her closer. When he pulls away they stay with their heads pressed together, and she breathes in his familiar scent of earl grey. He’s still got his arms around her and after a moment, he starts to sway with her as if they’re dancing. 

He steps back from the table and offers her his hand, “May I have this dance, Mrs. Lonan?” 

She takes the offered hand and smiles, “Why of course you may.”

Beatrice gets down from the table and straightens her posture to the proper waltz position and Lysander echoes her movement as he begins to lead them in a circle around the kitchen. Despite the kitchen being quite spacious Beatrice nearly runs into a table as he spins her, the two focused on each other rather than their surroundings. Though they don’t have any music playing, she thinks dancing in the kitchen is much preferable to dancing in a ballroom. After a few slow turns about the room they stop, dizzy and a bit out of breath from laughter. 

Beatrice closes the distance between them again, her lips pressing to his in a more fervent kiss than before. Lysander kisses her back as he gently pushes her against the wall by the door. She hooks her leg around his to pull him even closer and he opens his mouth in surprise, giving her the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss. She runs her hands over his shoulders, careful not to touch his back, and wishes she could feel his soft skin instead of the fabric of his shirt. 

Lysander seems to have the same idea and he reaches to untuck her sweater from her skirt. His warm hands make their way up her cold skin, one moving up her spine, the other ghosting up the side of her waist. Her hands reach for the buttons of his shirt and she manages to undo the top few without breaking the kiss. His fingers just ghost under the curve of her breast before he suddenly pulls away, nearly biting her tongue in his haste. She looks at him in confusion as he stares around the room as if searching for something. 

“Beatrice, is the chicken burning?”

“We didn’t set a timer!” Beatrice rushes out of his arms and across the kitchen. When she opens the door of the oven she’s met with a puff of smoke. 

“Is it burnt?” Lysander peers over her shoulder. When the smoke clears they find the chicken is only the slightest bit burnt, the vegetables only a little blackened. “I think that’s salvageable.”

“I’m cursed.” Beatrice throws her arms in the air to punctuate her statement, trying not to be too disappointed that the meal hadn’t turned out perfectly. 

Lysander places the chicken on the counter to cool a bit and pulls her into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder. “I think it’s a perfectly acceptable first attempt.” 

“You’re distracting,” She huffs, but hugs him back.

Though the meal is a bit overcooked, they’re proud of the dinner they’ve made together. The wine is good, the conversation even better, and by the time their plates are cleared Beatrice is feeling better about the success of the meal. She regards Lysander across the table from her and sets her glass down so she can take his hand. 

“We make a pretty great team,” She smiles.

“I suppose that’s why I married you.” Lysander replies, his thumb running a gentle circle over hers.

“For my cooking skills?” Beatrice teases.

“Definitely not.” He responds so quickly that Beatrice can’t help but laugh. They get up to wash the mountain of dishes together, Beatrice washing and Lysander drying. As they work Beatrice can’t help but hum under her breath, the happiness bubbling out of her like the soap she’s using. 

“So why did you marry me then?” Beatrice asks as they start to put the dishes away.

“I love you, why wouldn’t I marry you?” Lysander looks a bit confused at her question, she finds his befuddlement entirely too endearing. He puts the last of the cutlery away and turns to look at her, watching as face blushes pink.

“That’s a good reason to marry someone.” Her voice has gone quiet with affection as she meets his dark eyes with her own.

Lysander takes a step towards her and pulls her in by the waist, “Why did you marry me?”

“You already know,” She murmurs.

“It’s always nice to hear it again,” He prompts her, and she doesn’t need to be convinced. She’ll gladly tell him how she feels about him, she never wants to stop reminding him.

“Because I love you, of course.” She smiles as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“That is indeed a very good reason to marry someone.”

[aftgficrec]

Hi! I was wondering if there were any fics about Andrew and Neil at the olympics?? Thanks

Ahhh, our boys are living the dream playing for the US Court at the Olympics (we see you, Andrew)! This ask specified Andreil, let us know if you’d like Olympics fics that focus on the other Foxes or Trojans. - A

We were like gods by icyvanity [Rated T, 1165 words, Complete 2016]

The US Court is comprised of former players from various college and professional teams. They face Japan in the last round of exy games, and when they win, Andrew has a shocking request for Neil.

Caught in the moment by bblamentation [Rated G, 927 words, Complete 2017] 

The first time exy is brought to the Olympics, the US court catches triumph, pride, and gold.

The first time Neil is brought to the Olympics, he catches strength, warmth, and embraces.

Silver bands by foxyroxi [Rated G, 1691 Words, Complete, Andreil Week 2019]

Andrew takes Neil Tokyo Tower after winning Olympic gold at the Summer Olympics 2020.

photography by whichlights [Rated G, 341 Words, Complete, Neilmas 2019]

Neil has an album of pictures from the Olympics.

Please tell me it’s just the fandom freaking out (chapter 3) by OneSweetMelody [Rated T, 16573 words, Complete 2016]

The Minyard/Josten Rivalry as told through social media.

(tw: suicide mention (Riko); tw: ableism; tw: violence; tw: homophobia)

Hello World by lolainslackss [Rated M, 22465 words, Incomplete, last updated 2019]

Everyone on the US national team knows that Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten hate each other, so of course they all think it’s hilarious to force them to share a room in the name of ‘team harmony’ for the entirety of the Exy World Cup.

An enemies-to-lovers/professional Exy AU

[kinda hiatus]

(tw: panic attacks)

NB: This is the Exy World Cup, not the Olympics. It does a lovely job of catching that large international tournament feel.

Tumblr

AFTG Olympics Headcanons by @hailtothepanek, [Not Rated, Tumblr, 2017]

suffice to say Kevin was not best pleased that the headline which should have read USA wins Olympic gold for Exy actually says USA national team’s Neil Josten comes out with teammate Andrew Minyard at Olympic final.

A deafening sound, andreil Tumblr prompt by @nickyhenmick [Not Rated, Tumblr Fic, 2016]

Ever since Neil knew his life was going to extend past his first year at Palmetto, he yearned to play Court. He didn’t care how long it took him to get there, or what color medal would be hanging off his neck, but he knew that one day, he would be at the Olympics.

Winning the Olympics HC, by @pipedream [Not Rated, Tumblr Headcanon, 2017]

Prompt: Imagine (Andrew/Neil) turning to each other on the court the second the last buzzer goes off and realizing they’ve won the olympics

Olympics Win headcanons by @lonan-rynch [Not Rated, Tumblr Headcanons, 2016

So it’s nearing NHL playoff time and since in my mind hockey and exy are basically the same thing I keep thinking of the time Andrew and Neil and Kevin are with US Court and win the Olympics 

Art:

Check out aftg Olympics fanart  by @i-am-weis here and here, by @requiemofkings here and a piece commissioned by @dasha-ocean (from deactivated account lisvanpiece) here. Find one by @lnmei here and by deactivated account zerganiii here. 

[nortain]

maiara  omaira  rowena   ---   silver,  telky

maia  grew  up  in  the  silver  courts,  as  house  rowena  is  closely  related  to  house  jacos   ---   the  house  of  the  late  queen  coriane.  in  fact,  maia’s  mother  was  cousins  with  coriane  and  julian;  they  shared  the  same  grandparents.  maia  and  her  older  brother,  regulus,  and  their  younger  twin  brother  and  sister,  paxton  and  sereia,  were  as  thick  as  thieves  with  the  young  princes  growing  up.  as  soon  as  maia  became  aware  of  the  scarlet  guard  operating  within  the  palace,  she  joined  their  ranks.  she  was  sentenced  to  death  when  maven  became  king,  but  escaped  with  mare  and  cal  after  cal  insisted  they  go  back  for  her.  surprisingly,  most  of  the  newbloods  like  maia,  as  she’s  sweet  and  personable. 

enya  aislin  fang   ---   newblood,  shifter

enya  was  able  to  cleverly  avoid  the  war  by  never  keeping  one  face,  or  one  name,  for  too  long.  to  this  day,  she  doesn’t  know  how  mare  and  cal  tracked  her  down.  after  she  and  her  mother  got  back  -  to  -  back  letters  thanking  them  for  their  service  for  enya’s  father  and  older  brother,  lonan,  enya’s  mother  packed  what  little  she  had  to  give  her  and  told  enya  to  use  her  gift  to  hide.  hide  and  survive.  enya  sometimes  thinks  she  prefers  life  in  canine  form.  people  are  so  tiring  and  complicated.  whenever  enya  can’t  handle  the  arguing  at  the  newblood  base  anymore,  she  shifts  into  a  large,  black  dog   (   or,  sometimes,  a  hawk   )   and  stalks  away  from  the  camp  for  a  few  hours  of  peace.

emereo  cenric  nerezza   ---   newblood,  seer 

reo  grew  up  in  a  village  that  even  the  silver  “gods”  were  terrified  to  step  foot  into.  the  small  vilage  named  circonia  sits  at  the  top  of  rocky  cliffs  that  overlook  and  unforgiving  ocean.  they  call  it  the  land  of  no  return  because  there’s  only  one  way  in  and  out   ---   the  other  sides  of  circonia  are  loomed  over  by  tall,  mean  looking  mountains.  and  the  circonians  believe  in  magic  and  myth  and  gods  even  older  than  the  silvers,  gods  that  are  cruel  and  vengeful.  thanks  to  the  silvers  fear  of  his  village,  reo  was  able  to  avoid  being  enlisted  into  the  war.  the  silvers  haven’t  stepped  foot  on  circonian  ground  since  before  the  war  began.  reo  only  left  with  mare  at  his  nana’s  urging.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

u know... 2021 rachel was onto something when writing feeding habits harrison... like she walked I could FLY bc how did I singlehandedly give that man every single problem that could exist after struggling to see him as flawed for YEARSSS & how did that new level of understanding become foundational to the harrison we all know and love (loathe)

[arcaneyouth]

How many of the gods actually like the one of the 8 kids with their magic? Are any of the gods jealous of another god's representative? (if it's not too spoilery)

Most of the gods like the kids! ...Mostly!

Mari absolutely ADORES Lindsey and thinks she’s wonderful! Mari also thinks that about everyone, but that’s not the point

Lonan sucks. His “type” for the kids he gives magic is just basically everyone who doesn’t get taken by the other gods cause he didn’t CARE. he picked abby at random. He doesn’t give a shit.

Ember likes Liam! He’s tough and takes no shit! However she doesn’t understand that “burn ALL OF IT TO THE GROUND” is not advice Liam will take no matter how much he wants to

Space didn’t actually pay a lot of attention to who he was picking? Phoenix asked him to choose Victor and he kinda just went with it. But he’s really satisfied with that choice and is super proud of Victor

Most of the other gods gave the kids advice or support when they met, but when Nerissa met Jules. She basically just went “you know what to do” and she was right. Jules is a really smart kid. She chose well and she knows it.

Castor has mixed feelings cause Shannon is kind of loud and blunt sometimes and a little intimidating in their opinion but like they don’t want to be rude so they’ve convinced everyone including themself that they like her 100%. They’re Just Norvous

Honestly I think the fact that Phoenix and Valerie stay friends after this is enough said. ....I think Phoenix is the one who put the most thought into who they chose which is WILD when they’re the most idiotic out of all the gods

Elowen regrets her decision of picking Cody every fucking day of her life.

As for jealousy, I’ve never thought about that! I don’t think they would be :0

[dustfeather-sphynx]

im not around on the fr scene much but after the seed and the sickness stuff i decided to write a letter. and then a few more. this is all of them compiled together in one post!

@unkorea @deadlanddisciple @jollyroger-fr @fusefr @majestyrising i just kinda pinged anyone who i remembered like getting lore? /shrug

To Mother and Father,

I apologize that I have not been able to write as much as I have wished. We have been busy--mercenaries are in great demand these past few months. Kalea would have written a letter as well, but she is exhausted. Our last job took a considerable toll on her.

It came to her in sudden pulses of awareness. A howl, long and loud, violently cut short. A blur of green rushing past her vision. The sudden panic becoming prickling needles under her skin, bubbling fear demanding release. She lunged forward, tearing down the vines that threatened to entangle her sister, teeth bared in distress and anger.

It seems to me that Sornieth is falling apart. I do not know what you have learned, but we have traced our way across Sornieth wherever we are needed and have seen devastation long and far. A maelstrom decimated the Sea, for days the wind in the Plateau was still, rebellions by the Furnace--we have even heard rumors that an Emperor has been making its way across the Lightweaver's territory.

She sensed the magic radiating off of Kalea--it was hot and nearly painful to be standing next to, sparks of energy sizzling off of the other imperial. She saw what Kalea was fixated on--a writhing mass of vines several yards away, flashes of midnight colored fur and steel whirling, the growling and snapping of the hounds being cut short as they fell one by one. Kalea's cry was full of anguish as she charged forward--"Mom!"

But the gravest news is that of armistice being shattered. Do you truly think we will go to war now? We are Plague--we survive, we spread, we thrive--and yet it seems like war now would only serve to kill us quicker. War now, when various flights prepare for war over petty slights? War now, when the beastclans wait to pick at our carcasses? War now, when the Shade even still continues to infect and spread across Sornieth?

The blade was swift and true--an old familiar extension of the wildclaw. Where it once had slew creatures of Shade, now it carved through thorny vines, pestilence pulsing through the plants. Mellori's snarl was cut off in a sudden gasp as a vine shot forward, piercing her side. She managed to whirl, cut it loose before it could grow more, but the damage was still done. Another vine surged forth, and then another, and then another--

I know it is unbecoming of me, to feel fear. I know it is unbecoming of me, a child of Plague, a daughter of the Bone Castle, to feel fear gnaw at me. And yet I am afraid. I wish I was home--an oddity, as home was always both the Castle and wherever the Pack may have roamed, and yet I miss the security of the flesh and bone halls. It is childish, is it not?

Light blinded Mellori as she stumbled, a shrill cry causing her ears to ache. Magic whirled around her, the vines falling away as they shriveled. The magic burned--a combination of her native Plague but also of shadow and arcane--but the heat died down to a comforting warmth as a large figure stood over her, teeth bared. A confused thought surfaced in the wildclaw's head, and her voice was quiet as she pleaded softly, "You must run. Please, leave me. It's not safe here, I can't lose you here, please go to the Bone Castle, please--"

Kyrja could sense the magic pouring off of her sister--it was more than Kyrja had ever seen her summon, more than Kyrja realized she could have summoned. An endless font of magic swelling forth from her twin as she screamed in grief and anger. Mellori's quiet words only served to further cause Kalea panic and the magic reached an almost blistering heat, cause Kyrja's fur to itch.

"Kalea. Kalea! Let me!" Kyrja cried over her sister's wailing, and Kalea shifted only to let Kyrja gently grab Mellori in her jaws. For a few moments, it seemed like the influence of the First Seed would break through and destroy them all, but Kalea's magic held it at bay, if only for moments.

"We must go." Kyrja said quietly, meeting her sister's gaze. The other imperial had an expression of grief, anger, exhaustion tracing her features and it made Kyrja's heart ache. The imperials took off, wings beating at the same time as the world seemed to no longer be holding its breath, rushing in to fill the gap that Kalea's magic had punched into the surrounding area.

They left the job unfinished, something they had never done before.

It does not matter anyways, even if I wanted to return home now. Kalea is exhausted still, the toll taken on our previous job being greater than any of us expected. And for Mellori...she is unwell. We are certainly in no shape to make the journey through the Wastelands to the Bone Castle, and yet...

But we are Plague, we will survive. So it is confusing why I am afraid for the Pack. Why do I wish to be home, in the safety of the Queen's influence, far from any conflicts Sornieth may be facing? Why can I not control the fear that gnaws at me? The fear that settles deep into my bones, the fear that coils at the base of my spine and sends shivers through my body. It is a feeling I am unfamiliar with. A feeling I do not like.

I miss you both. I love you both.

With all my love, Kyrja.

Plague dragons were told to master their fear.

It was the first lesson she learned--that fear was useful when wielded properly--able to pinpoint the location of a predator, heightening sense to allow for swift manuevers and quick strikes. But fear was also equally dangerous. It blinded, consumed, ate away at a dragon until they were nothing more than prey for others.

Kyrja was deeply, deeply afraid.

Grandmother,

I have not written often to you, and for this I am sorry. Kalea mostly does much of the writing to you, but she has not been well recently. Our recent job has left Kalea exhausted, and she has spent much of her time slumbering. I have made sure she still eats and drinks, and she is healthy beyond her fatigue.  

I write to you for ultimately selfish reasons, I suppose. I just wanted someone to speak with, perhaps, someone for advice. I know few dragons who know more magic than yourself, and I need help. The last job we had--it went badly, Grandmother. We were enlisted on the spot to help deal with an incident in Plague, and it went badly.

Grandmother, I'm so afraid.

Kalea stirred briefly, eyes blinking open wearily. "Kyrja..." She whined, and the larger imperial rushed to her sister's side. "What happened...?"

"We were attacked, Kallie." Kyrja whispered softly, as if speaking too loudly would harm her twin. "The Armistice broke, and we were hired to help contain some of the damages. The magic involved..." She drifted off.

"I don't hear the Pack..." Kalea said softly, "Are they well?"

Kyrja kept her voice steady. "Mom's gone hunting with them." She lied, and Kalea let out a peaceful sigh as she slipped back asleep.

I've never seen any dragon expel so much magic before. Kalea was like a star readying to burst--I was afraid she'd burn up, tear herself with all the magic she was giving off. And now she's near comatose, and I don't know what to do. She breathes, but she sleeps and I don't know if she'll recover. I don't have the ability to take her to a healer, we can't travel--

"Kalea! Don't overexert yourself," Kyrja said, her voice strained. Her sister staggered upright, trying to make herself stand, but simply couldn't hold herself up. She returned to her curled up position, letting out an annoyed sigh.

This time, Kalea was awake for more than a few minutes, able to eat some of the carcass that Kyrja had managed to drag back. She looked at Kyrja steadily as she finished--Kyrja noticed that she'd only had a handful of bites--before Kalea said, "Are you okay?"

Kyrja paused. She wasn't--not entirely, feeling like part of her was left bleeding on the sands of the Wasteland. She was weary and hungry and terrified--but Kalea couldn't know. Not yet. Not until she was stronger.

"Yes, I am."

I don't even know if this will reach you, and I suppose it is childish of me to reach out to my Grandmother, like a hatchling grasping at their mother's wings for attention. I just don't want to be alone anymore.

-Kyrja.

I don't know how to stop the bleeding it won't stop it won't stop it won't stop it won't stop

---

Her breathing is settled, thank the gods. I was so worried...

I'm glad my training from my childhood came so easily to the forefront of my mind. I'm no healer, but at least I was able to prevent her from bleeding out. Gods, I don't know what I would have done if she had died--

No, don't think about that.

---

There's only a handful of the Pack left. Almost all of the Steelhounds were decimated by the vines. Most of the wraith-hounds survived, taking more intangiable forms, but even then some of them were drowned out by the sheer Nature magic that permeated the area.

Gear is dead. Wire spends much of their time by Kalea's side. The Birds, as Kalea likes to call them, spends their time by Mellori. Lark took considerable damage, though I've patched her up as best as I can. Lonan is barely alive--although he seems as unconcerned as he can be. Much of him has faded away to a more spectral shape anyways. It seems he had more umbra wolf in him than anyone of us could have realized.

I'll have to go hunting soon.

---

Leaving Mom and Kalea alone was...terrifying. Linnet and a few of the hounds accompanied me, but much of what's left the Pack stayed to guard them. The scent of blood is still thick--Gods, any predator or scavenger could simply come along and kill us...

Stop being so afraid. You're Plague, dammit. You survive.

---

Plaguebringer must be looking out for us. Between myself and a few of the Packmembers, we managed to find a nest of dappled cluckers. They'll keep us going for a few more days at least. Kalea's eating, and I've been struggling to get Mom to eat.

---

I was right.

A scavenger--a few mirrors, likely clanless nomads searching for a larger pack to join--came across the scent trail. Unfortunately for them, they didn't expect to face an imperial at the end of it. They've left numerous injuries, but they're mild compared to what's happening to Mom and Kalea.

It seems silly--I know the Plaguebringer truly has little stake in our survival--but I left parts of the carcass out as an offering. I'm becoming more like a child every day.

My parents would be disappointed.

---

My name is Valkyrie, daughter of the Bone Castle. If you find this, please help me. I can't do this alone.

[leechobsessed]

Last Night

Ella reflects on what (and who) she did last night.

characters: Ella Sagen, Lachlan Lonan, Leila Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens) pairing: Ella Sagen x Lachlan Lonan / Logen words: ~2k warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied sexual activities

etre bleu series, previous chapter

There are three things Ella immediately notices when she wakes up.

One, she is hungover. Not hungover, but she can tell she had one too many drinks the night before from the throbbing in her temples and the sandpaper feel of her mouth.

Two, this is… not her bed. As she blinks the sleep from her eyes, she recognizes the soft and luxurious material of the sheets as those custom of the palace bedrooms. But these are not her sheets, and this is not her room.

Three, she is not alone.

From behind her, she can hear the soft breathing of the other person, feel their fingertips brushing against the bare skin of her back. The contact of their skin against hers brings a flood of memories from the night before; dancing, flirting, kissing, other things, all with—

Lachlan.

Ella’s eyes fly fully open as her mind races through the events that transpired the night before, trying to figure out how, why, she would allow herself to get drunk and fall into bed with someone she just met, let alone her best friend's brother.

Groaning internally, she pulls herself out of bed as carefully as she can and begins to silently collect her clothing from the trail that leads to the bed from the door. 

The curtains are open slightly, letting in just enough light for her to search for her belongings that have been scattered about the room. Next to the bed she finds her underwear, her dress thrown over a chair a few paces away, her shoes leaning against each other next to the door. The pieces of Lachlan’s costume follow a similar pattern, highlighting the short path they took to fall into bed. 

She quickly pulls her underwear on, grabbing his thin white shirt from the floor and pulling it over her naked body, not wanting to wrestle herself back into her dress and risk the noise waking him up.

After collecting any remaining dignity she can find on her way to the door, she allows herself a moment to glance back at Lachlan, who is still sleeping peacefully, his body turned toward her, his hand stretched toward the side of the bed she had just vacated. 

The sight of him makes her breath catch the same way it did the night before. His light brown hair is tousled just so, his eyebrows are pulled together fractionally, his lips parted ever so slightly. The sheet is draped over his hips, leaving his strong arms and shoulders exposed. 

He is, without a doubt, the most attractive man she’s ever seen. 

Blushing furiously, she hurries out of the room before he can wake up and catch her starting. 

She pulls the door shut gently behind her, exhaling fully once in the hall. Ella peers both ways down the hallway before setting off toward her room, her pace just shy of a run, hoping to avoid seeing anyone on her way. Much to her relief, this wing of the palace is empty this early in the morning, and she makes it to her room without being spotted. 

Once safely inside, she throws the clothing in her arms onto the floor before flopping gracelessly onto her bed, covering her face with both hands. 

“Gods, what was I thinking?” She groans, fisting her hands in her mess of chestnut waves, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she had been thinking much at all last night. She was usually cautious and careful, normally one to feel things out before rushing into anything, but from the moment their eyes met there was this… pull. A spark, an undeniable attraction. 

Until last night, she thought it was something that only happened in romance novels. 

But there she was, completely transfixed by a man she had just met, blushing like a teenager every time he looked at her, intentionally flirting back, melting into his touch, into his arms, into his kiss. 

And then there she was, falling shamelessly into bed with him, and shamefully sneaking out the next morning. 

Ella pulls her hands from her hair and sits upright, her cheeks burning. She jumps off the bed and stomps over to the vanity to start to wash the previous night off of her, to try to regain some semblance of composure. 

She leans on her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror; her hair is more wild than usual, her lips slightly chapped, her cheeks flushed pink beneath her freckles. 

She was sure Lachlan would understand why she left him this morning. They both had quite a bit to drink at the party, they had just met, and it didn’t mean anything. And, to state the obvious once more, he was Leila’s brother, and she was her best friend. 

She quickly conjures water into the small bowl in front of her, making it as cold as she can stand and splashes it onto her face, praying the chill will quell the blush that seems to be permanently plastered across her cheekbones. 

She watches the water drip off her nose and chin and back into the bowl, trying to push the thoughts of Lachlan from her mind. Every time she finds her thoughts drifting back to him — to his eyes, to his hands, his arms, his chest, his lips, his fingers — she splashes herself with more water, which does nothing to cast him from her mind, only succeeding in leaving her shirt soaked. 

“Gods, pull yourself together,” she mumbles, reaching for a towel just as someone knocks lightly at her door. 

Embarrassed at the fact her first hope is that it’s Lachlan on the other side of the door, she sets the towel down and frantically searches the wardrobe for something to quickly slip on to cover up the fact she’s still practically naked. 

“One moment,” she calls as a second knock comes, slipping on a long robe as she hurries to pull open the door. “Oh, Leila.”

“Oh, Ella,” Leila teases, leaning against the doorframe, her gray eyes alight with mischief. “You seem disappointed. Were you expecting someone else?”

Ella clears her throat, wrapping her robe around her more tightly, leaving her arms crossed over her chest. “Did you need something?”

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to see you last night, but I figured if I found you here this morning, I would have to believe you made it to the masquerade.”

“The word of your fiancé wasn’t enough?”

Leila waves her off. “Not the point.”

Ella raises an eyebrow. “You’re very chipper for someone who isn’t a morning person”

“And you’re rather dour for someone who is.” Leila retorts, smirking. 

“I, um, I may be a touch hungover,” Ella offers quickly, tucking her hair back behind her ear. 

“I figured that may be the case. Luckily for you, I have something to help with that lined up at breakfast.”

“Breakfast? Right now?”

“Soon. Nadia has asked breakfast to be brought out to her private veranda, and requested we all join her there. I can wait and walk down with you if you’d like?”

Ella shakes her head. “No, I know the way. I need to freshen up a bit first.”

“Yes, attending breakfast at the palace wearing only a linen shirt wouldn’t quite fit the standards set forth by the countess,” Leila says, still smirking. She stands on her tiptoes, trying to peer over Ella’s frame and into the room behind her before dropping back onto the flats of her feet. She leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Is he still in there?” 

“Who?” Ella asks, glancing behind her, her brows pulled together in confusion.

“The man whose shirt you’re wearing.”

Ella blushes, pushing Leila out of the doorway and pulling the door closed. “I’ll see you down there,” she says, retreating back into the room, leaving Leila laughing in the hallway. 

She could only assume the breakfast invitation was extended to both the Lonan brothers as well, and the thought of seeing Lachlan again so soon sets her cheeks and ears burning. 

Ella sits back down at the vanity, quickly grabbing a brush to try to tame her hair. As she yanks the brush through the curls, she hears something metal hit the floor. Confused, she glances at the brush before turning to look at the floor, frowning at the gold and emerald hairpin lying beneath her. 

She combs her fingers through her hair, looking for the rest that she had started the night with, humming when she doesn’t find any more. Accepting they were probably lost while she danced or when she removed her mask, she finishes brushing her hair, making a mental note to apologize to the countess for losing them. Once her hair has been dealt with, she heads to the wardrobe to find something more suitable than just a shirt to wear to breakfast. 

Lips pursed and hands on her hips, she surveys the clothing hanging in the wardrobe. Like every piece of clothing ever gifted to her by the countess, all of the dresses are beautiful and expensive, flattering to her figure, but not exactly her style. 

She pulls at the skirt of one of the dresses, absentmindedly wondering if Lachlan would like the blue or the purple, or if he’d prefer the neckline of this one over that one. 

As she catches onto her train of thought she freezes, reminding herself again that he was drunk last night, and he could care less what she chose to wear in the light of day. 

Letting out a frustrated huff of air, she pulls one of the more simple dresses from the hanger, a deep maroon dress, adorned with small gold details around the neck, waist, and ends of the long sleeves. She slips quickly out of Lachlan’s shirt and into the dress, sighing again as she examines herself in the mirror. 

She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ears, frowning at her reflection. He had called her beautiful, more than once, and she was sure the volume of alcohol he had consumed made that seem like a fact to him. Either that or he was trying to charm her into bed. 

Either way, it worked, she thinks, groaning. 

But the way he looked at her… the way he touched her… that couldn’t have all been the alcohol's doing. 

And... she hoped it wasn’t. 

She exhales, fiddling with her ring. There was just something about him; his charisma, this magnetism, a genuineness that she found irresistible. She wanted to find any excuse she could to spend more time with him, to get to know more about him, everything about him. And she wanted him to know that she found him desirable in more ways than just sexually. 

Although the sex was… phenomenal. 

Blushing, she pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. 

All she can hope is that he feels the same. 

And that Leila won’t kill her. 

Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes and gives herself one last once over in the mirror. She smooths the front of the dress as she stands up and exits her room, trying to suppress the nerves and excitement building in her stomach at the thought of seeing Lachlan again. 

[blessedmoonsoul]

ok im literally about to get on a long ass flight rn & im finally posting this cos it has been on my to-do list for way too long & it’s v overdue think of this as like a follow forever/long appreciation post for my beloved mutuals & friends. im making this cos ily all and u have all in some way you don’t realize really helped me not dread coming on this hellsite every day so in no specific order here goes!

@seimoneaugustus LEGS ❤ it’s funny cos we’ve only been mutuals for like what 9, 10 months?? but i truly do feel like I’ve known you for sooooo long cos like idk if this makes sense but i never feel even the least bit misunderstood when we talk & i truly have the best time anytime we interact either through pm’s, replies or whatever & i can’t wait to meet u irl (so i can fight you yes but mostly to finally taste your amazing cooking) you have an A+ taste in music & and an equally great blog you just are a really cool, fun & down-to-earth person, never change 💞

@beyshara ANA 💖 you’re literally the only online friend I’ve ever met & hung out with irl & everytime we do i just realize how much i really like just being with & talking to you whether we’re looking at cool art at the museum or watching amazing movies. our friendship means a lot to me & im looking forward to all our future hangouts ❤

@varxne CATHY 💕 my ghanaian sis i love your #relatable personal posts & hate your club lmao but seriously you make me laugh whenever we talk cos you are so real you don’t ever try to be anyone but yourself and that is such a gift cos your light shines through and makes my dash and my day a bit brighter thank you for existing 💞

@fifawomensworldcup MISELTA my naija spice 💗 you are also not on here that much anymore smh lmao it’s cool tho you & i have been mutuals foreverrr & you were the first person i talked to when tumblr introduced the personal messaging option (random ik but i remember) it’s always such a fuckn pleasure to talk with you especially when we vent together abt our annoying country & it’s even more annoying national teams lmaooo. im so glad i know you stay blessed sis 💞

@joshukimmich IVE 💗 you are literally never on here anymore i miss you tho i know you’ll rise when the buli season starts lmao anyway we’ve been mutuals for sooo long and you make the hell that is football tumblr a lot more bearable (though your nuts are…questionable to say the least) you’re truly one of my best friends/mutuals (who would’ve known a macedonian and a nigerian would somehow get along so well lmao) i cant wait for us to support (but also drag) our stupid club together this season ❤

@antoniorudiger AUDREY ❤ lemme start by saying you really were one of the first non-bayern football-related blogs i ever followed and tho i hate literally all your teams i have never once regretted hitting that follow button even when there’s drama with our clubs lmao. the nastiness of football tumblr is disgusting but it is always twice as bad for us fans of colour esp. us black fans & being friends and mutuals with you has really helped me have a great time on here despite the nastiness we face everyday. also i love screaming abt gorillaz with u lmao thank you for existing 💖

@kenyan-bitch REHEMA ❤ you are one of my earliest mutuals (3 years!!!) & i literally love you sm?? i like seeing you go off about basketball & analyse shit & the way you root for our thunder boys inspires me everyday to be a better basketball fan. seeing you on my dash always makes me happy you are such a gem & i am so glad i know you. stay blessed sis 💗

@finnapologist ROMI 💕 my sister wife in our marriage to john lmaooo i want you to know that w/o you i really would’ve never known about so many cool movies, tv shows like i was just scrolling through our conversations before i typed this & reliving our shocked messages on the best day of my life aka when moonlight won best picture & i just wanted to say thank you for introducing me to that amazing film in the first place. your love for beautiful cinema is such a gift & i hope you know that 💖

GOD my dad is yelling at me from downstairs to hurry up cos we have to get to the airport now ajsnksk

@transscorpio felix we literally watch the exact same shows & that is truly a testament to how great you are lmao but seriously tho you are such a great guy with an equally great blog 💕

@training-to-become-an-assassin my first bayern mutual ❤ you are also hardly here on anymore smh but truly being mutuals with you has been such a dream like you are so cool & you deserve sm happiness 💖

@mbappe anu aka literally the only bvbee i follow lmao we just became mutuals like a 3 months ago but i already lov u sm u are so funny & such a cool person to talk to thank u for existing 💞

@leosleogf mikayla you’re a star 💞 (i just wanted that to rhyme pls ignore me) but truly I’ve also been mutuals with you for a few months but i can already tell we are going to have the best time together in this hell called football tumblr lmao 💕

@fussballgoth here’s a FACT for y'all this blog is truly 1 of the best blogs in football tumblr and im not even exaggerating. berrak you are so funny & so cool & im so so so glad to know you & be mutuals with you thank you for all the laughs & for making football tumblr a lot more bearable 💖

@levvandovvska nadiaaa my lov 💕 being friends & mutuals with you has been a blessing you are such an amazing person & you always make my dash a little better everytime you’re online 💞

@wlwmomo jo!!! you’ve fully morphed into a kpop blog & i 100% support you and your iconic football sideblog as well lmao it’s always fun seeing u liveblogging on my dash during bayern matches & I’ll never forget the days when we used to cry over daddario lmaksnsk 💞

ok now i really have to go but i refuse to leave w/o shouting out these guys aka my faves who are just the absolute best

@solesoffire veda i know you’ll be back when buli season starts but i miss u ❤

@bayonsenoals dan you are so iconic ily but stop cursing my team! 💕💕

@vakhshi ayilah ily & your amazing blog sm 💞

@lonan-rynch desiree my first book tumblr mutual ily sis💖

& my fav blogs whose notifications of interactions (that sounds so weird but you get what i mean) always make my day

@kesus  💗

@filipeluis 💝

@coentro 💕

@foodball  💖

@alienrumi  💞

@paranoidgoddess  ❤

& thank you sm to all of you for following my trash blog!!!!!❣❣❣❣❣❣

[kat-of-the-night]

oh boi

So… some quick context for everyone else, Lonan was a character unit I created for a Fire Emblem DnD game me and my friends were cooking up. Long story short it kiiiinda fell through :’) but!!! I got a basic new story concept and 6+ new kids out of the deal 

so really 

who is the real winner here 

(its me)

(unfinished headshot doodle)

Lonan is a young, rebellious dark mage dealing with a rather unpleasant curse that leads to rather unpleasant days. High-key chaotic neutral. Widely despised by every other unit of mine. Somehow landed himself the position of retainer to the kingdom’s crown prince, a career he really didn’t want. Generally has no control over his life, quite literally.

anyway uhh i love him

I’m putting these under read more because yOU SENT LIKE A TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND OF THEM

On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

Pretty close to an instagram model. He takes long baths and steals soaps and fantasy skincare products from his cousin who hates him. Lonan grew up in a literal shack in the woods, so when he finally moves to civilization (aka to the capital of the kingdom) he discovers that, yes, regularly bathing CAN be a thing. Had to be physically restrained from taking a bath every single day.

What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

Uhhh without getting too detailed, I see him liking to keep it basic. Meat, vegetables, grains, and the occasional fruit. His diet growing up was incredibly basic, so he doesn’t handle complex or rich foods very well. Definitely nothing spicy, he couldn’t take it. Likes bread a whole lot.

Would eat a lot of apples just to be That Guy.

On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

What a weird question, to which the answer is- not very well, my dude. Not because they’re weird-looking creatures or anything. He lives in a fantasy world and sometimes other species just Be Like That. He would be… reasonably freaked out? Yeah. Escape plan would likely include blowing stuff up.

What song is 100% guaranteed to get your OC beyond turnt and will be sung loudly and embarrassingly, either in public or the shower?

Take Me Home Country Roads and Bad Reputation. Duality of man.

What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbors?

Existing. He is a very confusing and irritating enigma in general.

How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

Rarely, he's pretty alert and in the moment. He only zones out when he's bored and unable to do anything about it. As for things on autopilot… well, let’s just say sometimes he's locked out of the cockpit. And it usually ends up absolutely not excellent.

What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it?

Silver rings in an assortment of shapes predominately featuring skulls. He slips them on occasionally if he's feeling it, but they're mainly an impulsive and impromptu collection. Trashy? Depends. Tacky as hell? Definitely.

What’s your OC smell like?  no, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically.  Body odor? what have they been touching all day? When was their last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent?

Stolen beauty products smh

SLAMS FIST ON TABLE he smells good and clean because he actually takes care of himself and LIKES IT and everyone else can heck off

Probably has some sort of fragrance because he steals from his very feminine cousin. Critiques her on her shampoo selection and wants her to stop buying all that cherry blossom-scented crud. She isn’t happy and he is walking a dangerous line with her. 

Besides that, his day is… varied. Little to no activity for most of it. Touches old parchments and books a lot…? Can people smell like books? Unclear. Catch him later in the evening when he’s sparring and (unwillingly) studying the way of the blade and he’s probably not so fresh then.

[waywardunconventionallover]

Lonan’s Lament

Driving away and all I can see is your tear stained face...I’m sorry Opal...I didn’t mean to hurt you.... I’m not sure exactly what to say to you. You were my friend once, I’m sorry for letting her get in the way of our friendship....I do miss you.

I miss you, but I’m not willing to put my relationship on the line just to make you happy. You did get obsessive and it kinda freaked me out...I had hoped once upon a time that we would’ve been together, but I didn’t want to interrupt your relationship, even if it was open...I would’ve gotten too attached...I would’ve wanted you for my own.

I did want you for my own...I just thought maybe you’d give me that same respect...the respect I gave you...you said you’d give it back to me...I can see that you tried...but you need to learn how to take ‘no’ for an answer...

You didn’t do anything wrong in the beginning...

You were my friend once...

You were right...you were my friend, and she is controlling...

Please understand that if I were allowed to, I’d still keep in contact with you...long as you didn’t freak out again...I should have rejected you to your face...I should have talked to you from the start, and I’m sorry that I didn’t. But the past is the past for a reason. I’m moving forward. Are you even trying anymore? I hope you are.

I hope all is well on your end. I miss you most days. I ask my best friend about you...he says that you’re doing okay...I hope that continues...I want you to be okay...seeing you break down isn’t fun...

I know I don’t show it...but I do care about you.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

“Hm?”

“You weren’t thinking about her, were you?”

“Nah.”

“Good, she doesn’t deserve your attention.”

“...”

I pray to whatever god you believe in that you’ll be okay...

“LONAN!!!”

what the fuck does she want now?

“Yes?”

“Pay attention to me, or you can walk home!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be! You’re always spacing out, and I don’t talk for my health you know!”

surprising...

“I hear you.”

“Do you though?!”

I don’t really remember what happened after that...all I know is that I’m in a gurney...I hope she’s okay...I do love her after all...right?

I love her...I love her...I...I DO love her...she’s my girlfriend...I hope she’s okay...my girlfriend...I love you....shouldn’t I?

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

you’re in his DMs like “you have pretty eyes” and I’m telling him “your eyes are a private ocean meant only for you & the person lucky enough to look into them”