#ft. hector

[landgraabbed]

[sealrock]

gate - for the generator drabble prompt!

cw: discussions & depictions of blood, violent death

(ty for the ask @gatheredfates!)

Two tombstones sat before me, weathered by harsh rain and blistering heat. This is my last stop for the week. I need not look at the faded inscriptions, for I knew who lay underneath the baked earth of the High Seraph's acre. Another tombstone in a forgotten corner of the field belonged to someone I once knew, someone who had gotten too close to my sister. I already gave my respects to him; I told him that his son, my nephew, was growing into a beautiful young boy who took after him. It's such a shame Nestor never got to see him. Father murdered him. Nestor was never a family member, but Mother treated him like one of us. I convinced Father to allow him a proper burial here, for it was what Mother would've wanted. Briseis will thank me later when her time comes. In about a week, that is.

Since I was a little girl, the vision of five empty graves troubled my thoughts. My father stood in front of them, shovel in hand. I gingerly knelt in front of my mother's grave and let my parasol rest beside me now that noonday sun had passed, the clear blue skies now a rich and vivid mix of reds and oranges. I emptied my bag of supplies, no longer heavy enough to strain the muscles in my shoulder now that I offered services to every tombstone. No one in the family would dare travel here during the dryest part of the day since the trek to the graveyard was taxing enough on the body without running the risk of heatstroke. But the threat of dehydration never stopped me. It's my duty to tend to the graves of the dearly departed, all seven and ninety of them. I clean the graves, offer food and drink, and weekly prayers for each, even if I only know a handful. Most have been here since before I was born.

"Hello, Mother," my words came out in a hushed tone, as if not to disturb the eternal rest of long-gone strangers, "I brought more Galbana lilies for you, fresh from your favorite florist. This year has been good for the flowers, I believe. They're much redder than usual."

I pushed the thought of how much they reminded me of blood from my mind. I used to see visions of blood as a child, gushing waves of blood that flowed from the grand entrance of my home towards the gilded gate that separated us from the outside world. My loved ones walked through that gate, not knowing what fate would hold for them, no matter my attempts to stop them. It became an unconscious habit of mine to walk through the gate first as if to spare someone else I care about the pain of death. People have called me overly superstitious, but they'd fail to understand the reasoning. It's futile of me to try, but try I must.

My mother, a beauty beyond compare with the name Hecuba, was ready to storm through that gate after one final argument with my father before he shoved her down the staircase. Her long and thick black hair obscured the disturbing crookedness of her neck. I was only eight years old when that vision, a 'shimmer' as my mother called it, troubled my dreams a few days before the incident. My mother knew what was about to occur, for she also had the gift. She accepted her death with a sad smile as I sobbed the tale to her, gathering me up into her arms and squeezing me tight. If I focus hard enough, I can still smell her elegant perfume of citrus and spices, and suddenly I'm a little girl again, safe from the outside world as long as I stay close to her.

I brushed away the dust and dirt from her grave and uprooted stray weeds. It's the least I could do for her, for she could rest assured knowing that her only surviving daughter was tending to her final resting place. I placed the lilies on the surface of her grave and lit a few incense for my prayers. My elder sisters lay next to her—well, one sister did. The body of the eldest remains missing from the wreckage of her final voyage at sea. My father fell to his knees and unleashed a deep, mournful wail at the gate of the manor when the tragic news reached him. My sister's treasured medallion necklace, a nameday gift from our father when she was twelve, was all that remained of her. His tears were genuine then, and he was beside himself more than he was at his wife's funeral.

I knew she wasn't dead, for I receive visions of her to this day. Even all these years later, my father refused to believe me. After a harsh slap to my cheek from his heavy hand one night, I was told to never speak of Andromache again. Andromache was dead, that much was certain since we had the memorial service, even if her grave held an empty coffin.

Andromache... My dear sister. That was the name she chose for herself. The inscription over her empty grave holds an identity she discarded, the identity our father spoke of with swelling pride and affection. The firstborn of our family, the spitting image of Priam, Andromache had our father wrapped around her finger the minute she came screaming into the world. Deiphobus and Idomeneus were too young to remember her, but Briseis and I idolized her as children—she could do no wrong in our eyes. As much as we adored our sister, Andromache ran away soon after our mother died. Her death had the worst impact on Andromache, and I caught glimpses as to why as I sat through my piano lessons the day leading up to the accident: fleeting images told me that Andromache witnessed everything. Father had forced Andromache to make it seem like our mother took her own life by leaving her to hang from the balustrade. Poor Deiphobus, just five summers old, found her body an hour later; his scream rings clear in my head to this day.

For two years, Andromache couldn't take the guilt of her actions, and her vow of silence ate away at her insides. She assumed we would hate her for participating in the act, for not saying anything about how our mother died. I didn't blame her; I told her what I knew and that Andromache had nothing to fear. But she left anyway. In the dead of night, she slipped through that rusty iron gate with nothing but a saddlebag of meager provisions and kissed my heated forehead goodbye. Andromache wouldn't look at the stream of tears that stained my distraught face as I frantically begged her to stay, my trembling hands pulling at her tunic with all my might. I told her she would die in deep water; she just smiled at me—the same way our mother did. She whispered this to me before vanishing into the inky blackness of the night, her hand gently pressing against my ribs, my racing heart pulsing against her palm:

"I will always be here with you, little sister."

Barely a fortnight later, we learned of a boat to Limsa Lominsa capsizing after a treacherous storm, a boat my sister was last seen boarding. My father would rest his tortured brow against the gate after each search party ended with empty hands. I never thought she had survived. The fact my vision turned out to be wrong gave me hope that Andromache would return someday. I wish to see her again. I desperately wish to see her push open that gate and pretend nothing happened. I want my big sister back.

"Forgive me, Andi, for I did not bring anything for you this time. Please accept my prayers of safety and good travels in exchange."

I conducted the same routine with the empty grave: I brushed away the dirt and pulled the weeds. I poured the drink and prepared the food. It's methodical and mechanical work. I forgot when I stopped crying. It must've been once I married my good husband and welcomed my beautiful son into the world. I no longer have time to cry. All I can do is sigh over how the two most important people in my life missed out on two wonderful moments I couldn't share with anyone else. Most people in my family believed me spoiled, that I clung to my mother's apron strings too tightly or hid behind my sister's towering form the older I grew. I can't help that I miss them. My brother Deiphobus, my equally clingy younger brother who thinks himself wise, chides and chastises me like I'm still a child. Idomeneus has no recollection of the people we talk about—they're ghosts without a face to him. 

Once I cleaned the graves, I began my last prayers, my hands squeezing the meat of my thighs beneath my dark-colored dress. The desert birds and insects seemingly fell silent around me in respect. A cool summer breeze fluttered through the low-hanging branches of a great willow tree, the scent of mourning incense tickling my nose. I prayed to the High Seraph that my loved ones were at peace; I failed them because my warnings were unheeded. A task like this would've fallen to the eldest child—that would be Briseis now. I'm not as close to Briseis these days, as much as it saddens me to say. We drifted apart through the years as I became a second mother to our brothers while she pursued other interests. Briseis wasn't ready for the strain of responsibility. And so she fought back against our father's rules at every turn. That's how she ended up with Evander. That was one of the many nails in her coffin.

I've become more of a surrogate mother to Evander and his brother Patroclus than an aunt these last few moons. It's in my nature to care for others—it keeps me from rattling my mouth about my 'hallucinations,' I suppose. Despite how far we've drifted, I still care for her. She's the only sister I have left. There's a patch of dirt next to Andromache's fake grave, and soon, it will be home to two more coffins. The images disturbed me: my sister and brother-in-law assailed by an unknown intruder. Black blood poured from their gashes and wounds, their faces twisted in terror. The trembling form of a shell-shocked Patroclus nudging them to wake up rattled me the most. He would be witness to the bloodletting.

I cannot do anything to stop it. They will come through the gate within the week and argue about something to Father. Father would punish them with death. I cannot warn Briseis, for I know what she'll do. Briseis will smile at me, half sad and half patronizing, and hug me gently. She's oblivious to what would happen to her. Her children will be orphaned and made to fight each other like dogs. The murders will never be solved, for I do not know who killed them. 

I sighed as I got to my feet, my dress covered with sand and clay. It's dusk now, I've tarried long enough. My husband will grow worried if I arrive home after dark. I must prepare myself to look after more graves of the ones I love soon. I have no other choice.

[xannerz]

posting wips b/c either it'll motivate me to finish them or move on

[mccleans]

categorising him as babygirl

[scftlightz]

(✉) ➶ ｡˚  °┊ cont. here / @illicitdream * made with beta

in response to him, she was silence but kept steady eye contact. taking a sip from her glass then letting it rest back onto the surface of the bar. soaking in the smooth but bold flavor that she admired before she spoke, " did you just read me? " her jaw slightly ajar as a soft laugh came from her. some where in his observation she was flattered. tazeen might have been the ' jump in head first' type, but she did think before. there was logic in her actions. " that sounds like almost all my friday nights. " it was partially a joke but true. she was well aware of what she signed up for and how it could effect her life.

hector had the agent's full attention as she was genuinely focused on his words. she might have been trying to pry but she was satisfied with his answer. in a way she admired it. her gaze softening at the end of his sentence made her tilt her head to an angle with a slow grin spreading. " oh is that right, hector? " she questioned, slightly squinting her eyes. when he received his drink she raised her glass to the same level of his, " and getting another piece of garbage off the streets. salut! " with a gentle tap against the rim of his glass, she developed a full smile before taking a drink. " how've you been? i thought i scared you off for a minute. "

[hector-reyes]

Born on a sunny November morning in 1960....

If Hector could, he would have transported himself back to the Bronx for his 28th birthday. For one morning he wished to wake up to the sounds of radios blasting in the early morning, the smell of his mother’s cooking, the sound of his parents getting along. He wished to feel the brisk breeze of a New York Novemeber morning, the tios on their way to construction jobs and tias getting themselves ready for shifts at the hospital or a day of cleaning other people’s homes. Just like his mother had done every morning of his childhood. He wished for the belonging, the sound of Spanish as the primary language, the deli owner on the corner, the abuelas playing their numbers. If he closed his eyes hard enough he was there and the sound of the flat top grill at the deli was sizzling behind him. If only. 

But despite this intense yearning, Hector still woke up with an ease on the morning of his birthday. His mom had insisted on him staying over so instead of music blasting, he had been woken up by his siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews. He knew it was a blessing, to have so many people who loved him, even if he was trying not to be pissed when one nephew accidentally elbowed him in the face trying to get out of bed. But after the scramble, he made it out of bed to find the table set with a full tres golpes meal, the smell of fried cheese and salami hitting him with such a sense of home, it was hard to want to be anywhere else. They sang Happy Birthday in English and Spanish and he spent half the morning on the phone as relatives from New York and DR called and sent their blessings. Hector knew that he was lucky. And even that was an understatement. 

And yet, despite it all, he was still waiting to hear from his father. He checked the mail for a card, ignored the look his mom gave him when she realized it was what he was searching for. He knew the call would come late, days from now if anything but he couldn’t rid himself of that yearning. So he tried to push it down, let his family showed him in love, picked out a good outfit and took his car out for a ride, already in search of the continued love he knew he’d get form the people around him. He was lucky and he knew that. Chandler was still alive and kicking and he had to admit that the idea of living with her had started to feel like an actual dream come true. A teenage prophecy and wish come to life. He had reconnected with Juliet in a way that had brought him back to himself. That had reminded him that even in his hardest times, he had never really been alone. And his new life had brought Eilowny, who, whether she knew it or not, had repaired his heart in ways he couldn’t even name. Heaven sent was how he liked to think about her. 

Hector knew that this life was his real life now. The life he had wanted. The baseball career, the money and fame, the pursuit of his one true passion. That life had ended and now lay before him a choice. He could wait around, wait for the killers to catch him and let his life end that way. Or he could try to live with the time he had. Make something meaningful out of it. Find a new passion. Find a new love to pursue. And maybe, finally, let the people who love him actually love him. It felt like too tall of a task but the closer he got to 30, the more he was learning. The more he was realizing. The more he had to live for. As he turned the corner, Shrike Heights Radio booming from the speakers, for a brief moment he felt in his chest, his heart and mind that maybe, finally, he was going to be okay. He was going to be just fine. 

ft. @bitcme @withncmercy @urdamage​

[kiwikipedia]

[wip] Barbie Trend but its my four Most Favorite Boys

[mikael-winters]

[adveanture]

tswift tag drops:  helen of troy,  ancient literatures  ( mixed canons )  pt. 2

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   paris.

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   menelaus.

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   hector.

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   andromache.

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   troy.

╰   ––––––– ✧   HELEN  OF  TROY!      :      ft.   sparta.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks):

7ft tall sulver-haired thembo of a fallen angel. was the literal sword of god until they killed him! reasons slightly unclear but probably sure to forbidden queer love! super caring for their friends. has one friend they have known for hundreds of years who they HATE but are bound to by the red string of fate. their sword is a part of them, they can sheathe it into a tattoo. they start out indistinct at the edges but as they have continued on through the campaign they have become more and more distinct. they became a flaming engine of justice to kill their friends shitheaded older brother who was following him. they have learned enough necromancy to allow other fallen angels to die, even though they typically cannot. they fly giant birds in to battle.

7ft tall beefcake wielding a sword as tall as they are. vengeful sweetheart

Imagine now: a fallen angel with beautiful gray hair and very big muscles. Now imagine them with a 9 ft sword. Now imagine them as a helmsperson of a pirate ship in a flowy deep-v pirate shirt. Now imagine they're dumb as a fucking rock. And finally, imagine that they killed god. Here, you have made Gable Skyjacks: sexiest podcast character of all time.

7ft tall nonbinary/genderfluid thembo fallen angel sky pirate who wields a buster sword. silvergrey hair with black/gold streaks as they regain feathers/memories of before their fall. back is covered in tattoos that hide the scars of their shredded off wings. killed God. toxic exes with lucifer. they are the keeper of several giant war birds who occasionally crave human flesh. they enjoy getting rowdy/smoking rope with their boys. they collect rocks that they think are neat. When anyone admits they are attracted to them, Gable trips over their words and absolutely swaglessly ends up sounding stupider and sexier by the end of the conversation; the will they/won't they and teasing they dish out to these (un?)lucky few is palpable. Sometimes the buster sword is on fire. They are immortal, they are cringe, they are trying to atone because they believe they are the reason the world is ruined.

Hector Hu is a priest. Gable killed God. They are not the same.

I want to thank my fellow Gable nominators for doing an outstanding job showcasing the beauty and gracelessness that is Gable Skyjacks. Fight hard and take flight my friends 💪😇

Nicky Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

One armed half-demon man with a sword (also a Dedicated, Involved, Loving Father). (Specifically campaign 2, where he is an adult)

[jazzies-stuff]

Getting back into it

ft. my fave Hector expression in the whole series

[httpsdana]

Master List

this is my master list. I write for more footballers and drivers but these are the only ones that I've wrote about till now

you can request from my prompt list

ps: please request for people other than Gavi and Pedri too

Football

One Shots

Pedri Gonzalez

Maybe I Am

Mine

Boys Night Out

Issues

Favorite Torres Sibling

Only For Me

Football Crush

Stop That

Pablo Gavi

Rage and Jealousy

Sunshine

Pretty Boyfriend

Soulmate

Not Meant To Be

Babysitter

Lazy Mornings

Coffe Date

Scent

Meeting the Fam

Madridista ft. Carlos Sainz

Softie

Offical

Sleepless Nights

Just Sugar

Interview

Insecure

Mason Mount

Stream

Fifa And Cuddles

Biting

Knocked Out

João Fèlix

Drunk Nights

Another Loss

Scared

Stay

Jude Bellingham

Secret

Kidnapper

Fans' Favorite

Heartbeat

Sal o Azúcar ?

Marcus Rashford

My Own

Teasing

Drunk Confessions

Photographer

Commitment

Paulo Dybala

Childhood Besties...Or Lovers?

Lucas Paqueta

Baby

Antony Santos

Unexpected

Hakim Ziyech

Our First

First Ramadan

Clingy

Eric Garcia

Perfect

Drunk In Love

Flirt

Bad Day

Cleaning Time

Idiot

Loved

Misunderstanding

All-Nighter

Ferran Torres

Favorite Medicine

Cure

Kylian Mbappe

French

The One

Tickles

Julian Alvarez

Champion

Alejandro Garnacho

Habit

Alejandro Balde

Braids

Clingy

Date

Erling Haaland

Kitten

Frenkie De Jong

Come Here

Achraf Hakimi

Oblivious

Rasmus Højlund

Crazy In Love

Danish Love

First Of Many

Hector Fort

Tattoos

Only Yours

Series

Ferran Torres:

Unspoken Temptations pt 1

Unspoken Temptations pt 2

Unspoken Temptations pt 3

Unspoken Temptations pt 4

Unspoken Temptations pt 5

Unspoken Temptations pt 6

Unspoken Temptations pt 7

Unspoken Temptations pt 8

Unspoken Temptations pt 9

Unspoken Temptations pt 10

Unspoken Temptations pt 11

Unspoken Temptations pt 12

Unspoken Temptations pt 13

Unspoken Temptations pt 14

Unspoken Temptations pt 15

Unspoken Temptations pt 16

Unspoken Temptations pt 17

Unspoken Temptations pt 18

Formula 1

Max Verstappen

Puppy Fever

Lando Norris

Attention

Post Shower Cuddles

Oscar Piastri

DNF

Surprise!

[gristlebloom-orchid]

Rating Flesh statement givers

Keiran Woodward 15/20 he's chill, like him Lee Rentoul 16/20 Sick fuck, I like the energy (minus one because he was mean to Angela and Angela is neat) Sebastian Adekoya 20/20 MY BELOVED SEBASTIAN PLEASE BE IN TMP I WANT YOU TO BE THERE SO BADLY Christof Rudenko 1/20 I would give you a zero by how much of an asshole you are but your name rolls off the tongue nicely. Be happy you have 1. David Laylow 18/20 You're great, love your view on life, I like you very much, hope you recover well from your encounter dude Gregory Pryor 14/20 Yes, but why you gotta describe poor Hector like that Mrs.Carlisle 19.5/20 I need to know your name PLEASE YOU'RE SO BADASS (minus 0.5 is for lack of a first name Jonny give us the name of Mrs.Carlisle I need to know) Craig "Greg Goodball" Goodall 16/20 Craig "I didn't want my last thought on Earth to be lowkey racist" Goodall (this line fucking killed me)(and it's ironic.) Ross Davenport 25/20 MY BLORBO YOU NEED SOME THERAPY I'D BE WILLING TO PAY I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY Dylan Anderson 12/20 Take care of your pigs well, love them, please. Kind of forgettable tho, not the statement, just you Mikaele Salesa 13/20 JONNY STOP WITH THE MICHEALS how do you even write his name (also I used to think he was a girl) Lucia Wright 15/20 girl you recorded a statement about meat on my birthday/pos ALSO GNOSTISM??? THAT'S FUCKING INTERESTING Jared Hopworth x2 19/20 Dude I like you but WHY DID YOU KILL YOUR BEST FRIEND if you denied your internalized homophobia you could've dated also you have 7 hands and that's canon now (Alex said it) also what do you look like for your creator and VA to go NUTS about you Bonus - Reese "Gristlebloom Orchid" [No last name] - 30/20 ANOTHER BLORBO WHY ARE MY BLORBOS DYSPHORIC BODYBUILDERS BUT I LOVE THEM (also ft him getting me a cool user) Bonus - Tyler 19/20 I just think he's meat. I mean neat.

[rysttle]

self indulgent oc doodle dump

here's hector and isaac who sometimes are sailors, sometimes a dragon and a half demon(?), sometimes divorced, sometimes suffering in tma au, sometimes just regular dudes, sometimes regular dudes with a tail

no further context just doodle dump nyeh-

ft arthur sometimes

Phew sorry for the worst compilation ever(jkjk unless),,,,

[meekmedea]

masterlist: time-travelling clemmie

basic premise: Clemensia Dovecote survives the second rebellion and returns to her 8 year old self. Follow her second chance at fixing things and preventing some deaths

A collection of all HCs and rambles for your convenience and hopefully mine too whenever I get around to writing this as a story

the post that started this all

blond(e) vs blond (ie. Coriolanus meets his match in the form of Livia Cardew)

a devasting realization (ie. Casca Highbottom gets yelled at by an angry/crying child about the games)

a peek into her friendships: Coriolanus, Felix & Iphigenia, Livia

Clemmie's second life - school edition (Welcome To 3rd Grade. Again.)

field trip gone wrong (ft. surprise guest)

Trio antics (ft. President Ravinstill)

Iphigenia Moss

Lady Themis (ie. Panem's version of Lady Whistledown)

first kisses & allergic reactions (do you ever steal a kiss and end up causing someone to go into anaphylactic shock ?)

school play - in which the kiss of death allegations continue

trick or treat - halloween in Panem

hector dovecote haunts the narrative

piano lessons with your favourite blond(e)

rambles: (1) Dovecote family lore, (2) romance(?), (3) ravinstill-dovecote friendships

[scftlightz]

ੈ♡˳┊closed starter for @illicitdream

she never thought the day she would collaborate with a consulting detective. it became clear that they both were tracking the same induvial but hector had a more in depth details. details they became vital which sparked their joint work. somehow, tazeen's chaotic work ethic worked with his and she was thankful for the blend. in result they both had a long but victorious case. from the evidence all the way to the interrogation, he was the partner she needed at the time. someone calm and collected to extinguish her loose but fired up persona.

letting a few days go by before considering messaging hector to celebrate, mainly because cases like the one they had can be draining. she was used to spinking back into work but she actually considered to rest this time. when she finally had the courage she sent him a message to meet at a hotel bar. being in another city, and having her hotel bill paid for by her job came in handy. since she was already there, she made her way down a few minutes early. she ordered whiskey but didn't touch it just yet. her intuition caused her to turn in her stool to meet with the sense of a figure behind her, " ay, i swear you should wear a bell. " placing a hand over her chest with a light laugh to relieve her beating heart. " i think we deserve a reward for our hard work. mainly you. you really came to the rescue. "