#hazel's snippets

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[avaetin]

"This is a favorite part???"

Well, yes. Hazel comparing herself to Bianca, that's never going away completely. 👀 And that's very real.

[vidalinav]

“You act like her father,” Mor says, her tone and stature much too stiff for a room full of colorful toys. Hazel merely wiggles on her belly, grabbing at a block... which is a much better reaction in his opinion than she has with Rhys. Hazel won’t stop crying at the sound of Rhys’ voice and it takes many of Nesta’s hugs and hushes, and Cassian distracting her from behind with funny faces, to get her to stop those watery tears. 

At least with Mor, Hazel only regards her with soft albeit distant curiosity. 

Cassian hands the block to the babe and she does what babies do best and instantly puts the toy to her mouth. None of the toys are small enough to choke on, he’s made sure of it and when he surveys the room, he supposes that this is what it must look like to parent. That’s true.  

Diapers and baby toys. Smashed peas and onesies. Blankets and that little bearsuit he needs to wash before Nesta comes back from her impromptu visit with her sisters. 

Cassian’s offered to babysit this time, though he’d be a bold face liar if he says he wasn’t waiting for the offer. To be welcomed in their home, to be a part of their space, to share and spend time..

Nesta and Hazel. His two favorite people. 

Though... they’re not his at all. 

Cassian’s not a father at all, but a baby sitter, and the way Mor says it--it’s not a friend’s gentle observation. You act like her father. 

“And that concerns you?” he asks. 

“It concerns me that you look at that baby like she owns your whole heart and Nesta’s still giving you the run around.” 

“Nesta has the right to make her own choices.” 

“Nesta would have been doing this alone, would have given birth alone, without any support if you hadn’t stepped up to care for her.” 

Cassian shakes his head, wondering if he should cover Hazel’s ears from the blasphemous words about her mother. But she only blinks brightly and kicks. She’s a wiggly worm and just as he suspected, she looks every bit of Nesta. None of the features of a one-night stand.  

None of his features, because that wouldn’t be possible. 

But she’s wearing a little onesie that he bought her covered in bumbling bees and the sight makes him warm all the way to his toes. Cassian runs his finger down her small foot. 

[blackbeeno3569]

Maybe it doesn't seem so but I am, actually, working on another page... At least some side story in meantime.

[curseofdelos]

2 & 6 for ask game !

2. Hazel & Nico in Tartarus AU

This is exactly what it says on the tin lol. Hazel and Nico fall into Tartarus instead of Percy and Annabeth at the end of MOA. Not much I can say here without giving away my secrets, but I have a lot of fun ideas for this one I'm excited to send off into the world <3 Also it's just really fun writing a Hazel POV fic <3

A snippet:

Hazel climbed to her feet, and looked around. The glass beach stretched inland around fifty yards, and then dropped off the edge of a cliff. She didn’t think she would be gone from the Argo II this long so she didn’t have any supplies, and they both lost their swords in the fall. Hazel concentrated on stygian iron and imperial gold, and managed to find Nico’s sword a short walk down the beach, but her precious cavalry sword was lost on the bottom of the Cocytus.  She had no weapon, no food or water, no nectar or ambrosia or unicorn draught. She was utterly defenceless.  Fuck. Hazel walked back to where Nico was still sitting on the ground and offered him his sword, but Nico waved her away. “You keep it.” Hazel blinked in surprise. “What?” “I hate to admit it, but… the jar took a lot out of me. My powers are weakened, and my reflexes are way too slow. Out of the two of us, you’re better equipped to fight right now, so you should be the one with the sword.”  Hazel couldn’t believe it. Nico loved his sword. It was one of the only belongings she ever saw him carry. “Are you sure you want to go through Tartarus without a weapon?” Nico let out a short, bitter laugh. “Of course I don’t, but the only way we’re going to survive down here is if we strategize and make sacrifices. Right now, you’re the better fighter, so you get the sword. I want it back when we’re done, though.” “Of course.”  Hazel certainly wasn’t going to complain about having a weapon, and especially having this weapon. Nico had allowed her to hold his sword before, although she had never used it in a fight. It thrummed with a power unlike any other weapon she had ever wielded. There was something about the stygian iron that made her feel strong, powerful. No wonder Nico never let it out of his sight. She wouldn’t either if her cavalry sword felt like this. 

6. 10 years later

This is one of the first fics I started writing for this fandom back before I started publishing stuff last October, but basically I wanted to explore what happens to Greek demigods after they leave CHB because I refuse to believe that they all just. die young. It was going to be an exes-to-loves solangelo fic focusing on them meeting again ten years after they left camp, while also exploring the lingering trauma they have from their time at camp, their relationships to their powers, their identities as demigods, and who they are now/want to be in the future <3

Not going to go into too much detail because while I don't see myself finishing this particular fic, I do like the ideas and their dynamic still so I might recycle them for a different fic in the future, we'll see what happens lol

A snippet:

Will dropped the pillow from his face. “Yeah, another rejection.” He sighed, leaning back into the couch-part and stretching his legs out across the bed-part. “Apparently someone else got there first, and the landlord already accepted them, so it’s back to the drawing board I guess.” Austin smiled. “You’ll find somewhere. There’s plenty of real estate in New York.” “I know. I just feel bad for mooching off of y’all for so long.” Kayla emerged from the kitchen with two bowls of cereal and plopped down onto the couch-bed next to Will. “Yeah, it’s such a tragedy that we have to split our rent three ways instead of two,” she drawled, handing one of the bowls to him. “Please, Will. Leave soon so we can go back to paying more rent!” Will rolled his eyes as he accepted the bowl. “Do you have to eat that here? I don’t want your crumbs on my bed.” “You’re eating here!” “Yeah, but I don’t care if I get crumbs on my bed.” Kayla shoved his shoulder, but made no effort to get up, and instead made a show of settling in. “You’re not the boss of me anymore, Solace. My apartment, my rules.” She looked Will right in the eye and took a big, slow spoonful of her cereal.  “Also my apartment,” Austin added, watching them bicker in amusement as he ate as if they were some sort of dinner entertainment. “Seriously though. We don’t mind you staying here. It’s kind of like being back at camp again. It’s nice.”

[pinestripe37]

If you’re still doing the WIP sentence ask game:

Blue, wind, sigh, eyes, and tree!

Thank you for the words, my friend! :D

Yup, still doing it and honestly feel free to send in words whenever. Lol I don't mind even if I'm not. 😅

Gonna post large-ish paragraphs for you because why not :D Also putting two snippets for a few of the words!

"A green fly and a blue fly are eating a piece of dirt together," Mistkit described the scene from where she lay watching the two shiny creatures. Her littermates exchanged disturbed glances. "That's.. uh.. interesting, Mistkit." Frostkit replied warily, seeming to force her whiskers to twitch in a gesture of cautious amusement. "That's disgusting," Graykit's flat mew cut in. Mistkit purred, no longer feeling bothered or left out as her siblings shared the carp near by but content to just be near them, listening to the purrs of exasperation and amusement that drifted into chatter. She took another glance at the flies, thinking that honestly, no matter what Graykit may say, the peaceful and close coexistence between the two insects was really rather sweet. She looked up. "They remind me of us," she purred. "That's it," Frostkit stood up abruptly, dropping her prey with a swish of her tail, "I'm not hungry anymore." Mistkit watched her stalk off to the medicine den before exchanging a glance with Graykit. "I don't blame her," he huffed.

~~~

A flurry of oak leaves outside the window. The wind lets them flutter inside. One lands on your desk across me… and I'm grateful for the company. But the sight of a leaf makes me somehow mourn them… Despite one being right within my reach.

"Maybe it's the way we used to chase them, and paste them to a board for a collage. We'd write on them the things for which we're grateful. Your list of blessings always beautifully large. I think it taught me how to thank the Lord genuinely. And if I made another I'd be sure to write you in."

I reach for the leaf as I figure it's never too late, and trail my pen across it, spelling out her name.

~~~

"I'm here for it," Olivia purred with a half-grin before holding me close with a sigh, "..I'm here for you."

~~~

The small cat then sighed. "I'm just saying we can care for each other regardless of clan of circumstance…" she glanced softly at Berryheart. "The way I'm not ShadowClan, nor you a WindClan cat, and yet it's my responsibility to be here for you now." "Your responsibility?" Berryheart scoffed. "Dragging herbs for a despised exile who wants nothing more than to have you out of her sight? I struggle to see how this waste of time contributes to your clan loyalty." "This has nothing to do with clan loyalty." Whistlepaw returned with a glance upward, "This has to do with a loyalty far higher. And it's never, ever a waste of time. May I look at your wound again?"

~~~

Hazel wasn't in the room as I opened my eyes, and I knew my friend was baking. Chocolate chip cookie scents wafted from the kitchen along with the soft sound of my friend humming the tune of a hymn.

~~~

As Mistpaw and Whistlepaw arrived near the Windclan camp they were met by a group consisting mostly of Whistlepaw's family, as well as the two ThunderClan cats. Mistpaw was surprised to see Appleshine among them, dashing up at Myrtlebloom's side. "Are you  two alright?" Oatclaw's mew was firm but his amber eyes revealed warm relief as he gazed at his daughter for a moment before the younger warriors pushed past from behind him and Featherpelt. "We were so concerned about you!" Fernstripe gasped out, her quietness sounding forgotten and brushed aside by emotion as her squeaky yowl trembled. Placing a tail-tip on the frantic she-cat's shoulder, Appleshine nodded beside her. "We've been praying for you," the ginger tabby added.

~~~

With a cold night wind blowing at my wool, the howl of wolves echoing beyond the trees, I angled my ears, listening to instead hear my Shepherd's soft hum.

"I will both lie down and sleep in peace…" With a sigh I settled down and tucked my legs beneath myself, breathing in gratefully as I leaned my weary head against His lap. "For You alone, O my Shepherd, make me dwell in safety."

[clumsyclifford]

hi bella!!!! i feel like it's been a while since i've been here this is crazy. anyway does happy or blush appear in your wip? -hazel

what's UP hazel maybe it has been a hot minute but i guarantee you both of those do appear just give me a moment to do a search

happy from 5sos doc A (9 results, surprisingly less than i anticipated)

“You’re full of shit,” Ashton informs Calum, a silly smile on his face. But it grows a little, warming up, and he adds earnestly, “I’m really glad you’re on our team this summer. I’m happy I met you.”

doesn't appear in 5sos doc B, which is. maybe says something about that fic plot. or probably just says that i definitely havent written enough of it lmao

happy from teen wolf doc (14 results!)

Scott shakes his head. “Stiles, what’s going on with you?” “Why do you think something is going on?” “Well, you’re…” Scott gestures, but can’t bring himself to finish the sentence the way he means to. Happy. Energetic. A lot like old Stiles.

blush from 5sos doc A (7 results, again surprisingly low)

Luke laughs. A blush colors his cheeks. “Stop complimenting me. You’re not being very convincing about not trying to seduce me.”

blush from 5sos doc B

Luke ponders this. "I guess so." He finishes his first mac and cheese and Michael swaps it out for the other one, fresh out of the microwave. Luke looks gratefully up at him. "Would you come with me?" Michael swallows. "Uh…" "I don't know anyone else and I don't know where anything is," Luke says, blushing. "But never mind. Sorry."

amazingly blush is nowhere in my teen wolf doc. my docs are surprising me left and right today huh

send me a word and i’ll search for it in my WIP!

[alvfr]

🌹 hii! Any Marvel content?

Btw the Rot snippet!! Amazing!

Aaah, thank you ❤️ And I thought for sure I had some Marvel-writing laying around, but I couldn't find it so I decided to act on my impulses and write this little thing I've had in the back of my mind for a while. It went slightly beyond a snippet, but I am who I am unfortunately. also I headcanon that xavier does not read minds unless permitted, which is in line with how this movie ended originally. paring: logan | james howlett/reader cw: fem mutant!reader, no use of y/n, set after days of future past, implied memory loss or time travel shenanigans, profanity, no smut wc: 1.9k

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

It is considered cliche to start a story with someone waking up, but that is nonetheless where this story begins. When everything you knew or thought you knew about the world changed. And out of every way your life could be turned on its head, you never thought it would be to the soothing tones of Roberta Flack playing on the radio. From the depths of your subconscious rose a tiny voice asking a question. What radio?

Roberta’s voice overpowered your internal one and became the first thing to wake you from a deep and comfortable slumber. Too deep and too comfortable, perhaps, compared to what you were used to. The same went for the bed — too soft and too warm and too nice smelling. A part of you tried to piece it together and failed. What bed?

For several long seconds before you fully woke, you pondered if you had died sometime during the night and woken up in heaven. More and more of your body stirred, though, indicating vitality. Including your eyelids that blinked open only to immediately squeeze shut at the incessant sunlight streaming in through the window. Faint alarm bells chimed in the back of your groggy mind. What window?

Still, not enough to break through to the rational part of your brain, you settled further into the fluffy pillow and closed your eyes again. A slight breeze tickled the back of your neck though and you twitched in annoyance. You twisted your head this way and that, but the tickling continued so you tried turning around to pull the covers up over your shoulder. Except you found yourself locked in place by something warm and heavy. Someone warm and heavy whose breath continued to tickle the back of your neck.

Your eyes burst open, and your entire body froze, not daring to even breathe. Your mind finally caught up to the unnatural warmth that came from the way your body slotted together with someone else’s in the large, comfortable bed you had never seen before. In a room you had never seen before. You twisted your head to peek at the person behind you, the one pressed flush up to your backside. With their hairy legs entangled with yours, with their scruffy face nestled into your neck, and with their muscular, heavy arm splayed over your midriff. 

First, you saw nothing but large tufts of dark brown hair, but your movement must have woken him. Definitely a him. Sun-blessed skin, a solid, rugged jaw covered in something that went way beyond a five o’clock shadow, and deep-set, weary eyes that remained closed for now. He grunted and groaned as if wordlessly admonishing you for disturbing his peaceful sleep, and his arm around your waist tightened. Much like yourself, he squeezed his eyes shut first and rubbed his face back down into the pillow and your neck, scratching his scruff onto your bare skin. Shockwaves spun through both your mind and nerve endings when he absentmindedly placed a kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, not really sure why you had not bolted from his grip. It was almost like that even if your mind could not comprehend what you were doing in this strange bed with this strange man, your body had no qualms about it. “What the fuck?”

“Hng?” the man grunted again and took several tries to blink his tired eyes fully open. Unfamiliar hazel eyes stared at you, and you stared back, watching his lip curl in irritation and his heavy eyebrows pull down to a scowl. Somehow, the sight of you did not seem to disturb him, quite the opposite, in fact, as he leaned over with eyes half-closed and kissed you right on the mouth. Soft, chaste, warm. Familiar in a completely unfamiliar way and gone before you could even comprehend what had happened. A sound vibrated through the man’s chest, almost a growl before he promptly closed his eyes and laid back down. “Hrmm.”

Every part of you burned, a hot blister running everywhere you still touched and where you had touched. Your mouth hung open from where his kiss had landed, a hint of wetness on your bottom lip that chilled in his absence. Both the intimate act itself and the strange nonchalance with which he did it made you want to implode. 

You held your breath, unable to either inhale or exhale, with your head reeling at the idea of being kidnapped by some weirdly cuddly pervert before his grip on you tightened and his eyes snapped back open. The confusion shone off of him, and you stared at each other, both unblinking and unmoving.

His voice came gruff and heavy with sleep, “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?”

His focus danced around the room, not settling on either you or the interior. He tilted his head backward in the direction of the radio but did not fully turn, probably because you pinned him down with the way you lay. “What year is this?”

“What year is this?”

Now he did turn around, flipping over so you fell back onto the mattress. The movement tugged down the covers, revealing his hairy muscular chest that your fingers itched to run your hands over, and you dug your nails into your palm instead because what the fuck? You didn’t even know this guy, and even so, you could feel the way your stupid body pulled toward him. 

For some reason, the man stared at the fancy radio that declared it was playing ‘Golden Oldies’ on the holographic display and let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Twenty-twenty-three?” he asked you as if that was the most important question where you lay half-naked in bed together. “Is this twenty twenty-three?”

The earnestness of his question made your own take the backseat for a spell. You sat up, noting how you had on an unfamiliar black t-shirt, and rubbed your face. “I thought it was, but with the way you’re asking, I’m not sure anymore.”

“Is everyone,” he swallowed, and you noted the way his throat moved, “alive?”

“Define everyone,” you mumbled, but something glinted on your hand, and you pulled it away from your face to look at it. That had not been there last night, either. A ring. A simple, nondescript golden ring. Almost like a wedding ring. “What the fuck is this?”

The man raised an eyebrow, seeming unconcerned, and ran a hand over his scruff. “Hey, no judgment.”

Ignoring him, you pulled off the offending object and gave it a critical glance. “Who the fuck is,” you squinted at the tiny text, “James Howlett?”

“What?” His panicked tone spoke volumes, and you turned to stare at him. Was he James Howlett? When you said nothing, his voice grew tighter. “What did you just say?”

He had frozen with his hand still up by his face, and you both noticed it at the same time. The disturbingly similar ring on his finger and you wrenched it off him before he could protest. It was the same cut as the one you had, just larger and thicker, and with a different engraving, this one containing your name.

“What the fuck?” you snapped and tore out of the bed, mind overriding your meddlesome body as you hurled the rings at him. Then followed with the books from the overfilled bookshelf by the window. “What kind of disturbed, twisted, pathetic loser are you? You kidnapped me to live out some—”

He dodged the incoming projectiles, sounding more weary than angry. “Hey. Hey! Calm down!”

“—stupid handmaid’s tale bullshit fantasy—”

The man grabbed a book from mid-air and yelled, “Hey! I didn’t drug you or kidnap you, okay? I’ve never even seen you before!”

“Right! Sure! You just happened to have a ring lying around with my name on it in case I happened to wake up in your bed for some reason? You’re sick, mister! Sick!” You reached for another book but grabbed hold of a picture frame instead and were about to fling it at him. Except you caught sight of the picture, eyes widening to an unnatural degree, and held it up. “What in the ever-loving reverse Stockholm syndrome is this?”

The picture showed you, in a wedding gown, next to him, in a suit. Remarkably realistic, down to the genuine smiles on both your faces and the flurry of confetti that rained down over you from beyond the frame. 

“Whoa, hey, I’ve never seen that before. Lady, listen to me, last thing I remember, I was in 1973 trying to fix the future.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane. You’re completely out of your mind! I’m leaving and so help you god or anyone else if you try to stop me! I’m a mutant, you know; I can kick your ass seven ways to Sunday!”

The man’s face locked somewhere between confusion and amusement from where he sat in the bed, surrounded by books and messy covers. It did not occur to you that you should have been scared of him before you strode across the room, heading for the door. Almost as if your body overrode that particular feeling, as if deep down you knew this man would never hurt you.

Your brain was fully onboard with the getting-the-hell-out-of-here-plan, however, and you tore the door open only to reveal a hallway you had never seen before filled with kids you had never seen before. All kinds of kids, really, some of them obviously mutants and some at least human-looking. The myriad of noises and displays of powers momentarily distracted you from the bald man in the wheelchair right outside the door that you were sure you had seen before.

“Good morning,” he said with a polite smile, fingers steepled in front of him. “I’ve come to inform you that we’ve regretfully had several students complain about noises from your room. Again. I must ask you, again, to please keep it down as long as you are staying here near the dormitories. I know this is an inconvenience, but the refurbishment of the teacher’s lodgings is expected to be completed within a few more days. We have, wisely as it seems, included several layers of soundproofing.”

“Charles?” 

“Holy shit, you’re Charles Xavier.”

“Language, Professor Howlett,” Charles fucking Xavier said with a raised eyebrow. To you. He called you Professor Howlett and you could not even think of a reply while he raised a wrist to check his watch. “Speaking of, don’t you both have classes to teach?”

You only stared and let out a strained whispered, “What?”

“Charles,” the man behind you — presumably James Howlett — repeated, and you heard the rustle of cloth as he got out of bed. He sounded breathless when he said, “You did it.”

“Did what, Logan? ” 

Okay, maybe the man was not James Howlett? Either way, he came to stand next to you but paid you little attention from where he stared at Xavier. Open-mouthed, in awe, relieved, happy?

When Logan said nothing, Xavier gave you both a short nod. “Just keep it to an acceptable volume, please. Everyone knows you are happily married; there’s no need to remind everyone quite as frequently as you are. And get dressed, please! Class starts in five minutes.” 

-------------

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[velarisnightsky444]

Accepting the Bond

Azriel x OC

a/n: This is a snippet from my Stargirl fanfiction. OC is Rhysand's sister, and she's accepting the mating bond with Azriel.

cw: smuttttt, fingering, oral, intercourse, brief allusion to past SA(not super obvious if you haven't read the fic)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

    Rhys got everybody out of the house early the next day, and I got to work on dinner. Steak, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and roasted carrots, plus a nice dessert of chocolate torte. It was the first real meal he had ever had. The first meal my mother had made for him when he came to live with us.

     Through the years, he would ask for it on every birthday. My mother and I would make it together.

       When I had finished cooking and baking the dessert, I set it all out on the table. I lit a few candles, and put a vase of flowers in the center.

     I took a deep breath, studying my work, then sent the okay to my brother's mind. Nerves settled in my stomach.

     I was wearing a cobalt blue dress, one that sparkled in the light. The bodice was tight to my skin, and the sleeves were sheer and loose. The skirt was loose, but didn't poof out too far. There was a slit in the skirt up my thigh. Underneath, I was wearing a blue set of lingerie that Mor had gone shopping for with me.

     After a few moments, the door opened. He must have winnowed to get here so fast. I took a grounding breath, trying to calm my heart rate.

      When he entered the room, I could feel the string in my chest go taut. He looked more handsome than I'd ever seen him. His curls were tamed, but still perfect. And his eyes . . . I'd always loved those hazel eyes. He wore a lovely suit, which made me think Rhys had instructed him to dress nicely. That likely gave me away. His shadows clung to him, but a few swirled over to me. 

"Hi, Azzy," I greeted quietly, a soft smile on my face.

"You . . . you look . . . " he was at a loss of words as he took me in, his eyes looking me up and down, then studying my face. "Breathtaking." The word was barely a whisper. A blush tinted my cheeks.

"Thank you," I uttered. "You look quite handsome, yourself." He glanced down at the table, looking at the food.

"Does this mean--"

"I accept the bond," I cut him off. "Yes."

      An expression of disbelief twisted his features for only a second, before tears began welling in his hazel eyes.

      He rushed towards me, and I could only laugh as he scooped me up and spun me around. I clutched onto him, squeezing him tight. When he set me back on the ground, I planted a kiss on his lips. He held my face in his hands, kissing me back. 

     When he pulled away, he got to his knees in front of me, hands gripping the backs of my thighs. I reached out, running my hand through his curls, and wiping his tears with the other.

"Evie, I swear I will never lie to you again. And I will never, ever, keep anything from you," he promised me. "And I swear to protect and love you for the rest of our lives. I will never let anyone lay a violent hand on you ever again."

     The thought of being protected and loved by him, forever, made my heart leap in my chest. To be with someone that I trusted--that I loved. It seemed too good to be true.

      Tears began to sprout in my own eyes as I stared down at my beautiful mate. He got to his feet, and held me close, kissing the tears away from my eyes. His shadows twisted around me, doting on me in excitement.

"Shall we eat?" I asked him. He nodded, smiling as he sat down at the table.

      I took his plate and shoveled some food onto it, then filled a glass of wine for him. I set it in front of him and sat across from him, serving myself next.

      The two of us ate in a comfortable silence, one of his hands reaching across the table to rest on top of mine. We seemed to be eating fast so that we could get upstairs sooner than later.

      But we ate dessert, nonetheless. The chocolate torte I made was absolutely delicious, if I did say so myself. It reminded me of my mother's. Though, I had followed her recipe.

      When we were done, I got to my feet and sat myself onto his lap, kissing him again. His tongue slipped into my mouth, massaging my own. One of his hands traveled down to grope my breast, and I moaned into his mouth.

      I whined as he pulled away, brushing my hair out of my face. I had wanted him for a very long time, but right now, it felt as though I needed him. If I didn't have him right now, I would die.

"Let's go upstairs," he suggested.

     I nodded eagerly, squealing as he got to his feet with me still in his arms, carrying me bridal style. I wrapped my wings tight around myself as he carried me up the stairs.

      He dropped me onto his silk, deep blue sheets, and climbed on top of me, his lips finding my neck. I moaned, my hands intertwining with his curls as he sucked, bit, and kissed up the tender skin. His shadows settled around me, stroking different parts of my body.

"I love you so much," I whimpered as he absolutely ravaged me. He pulled back, hovering above me, his eyes meeting mine.

"I love you, too," he whispered. "My beautiful mate." His lips met mine again.

      I began clawing at his shirt, trying to undo the buttons around his wings, but struggling. Eventually, I huffed in frustration against his lips, and used my magic to make his shirt disappear. His hand began trailing up the inside of my thigh, and I gasped, my back arching.

       I sat up so he could unzip the back of my dress. I lifted my hips so that he could pull it off of me, leaving me in the lingerie set that I had bought. His pupils were blown from arousal as he took me in.

"You look so gorgeous in my color," he grunted, eyes trailing up and down my body.

"Is this your color?" I teased with a smirk. "I just bought it because I thought it was pretty."

     He snarled, clearly not in the mood for my taunts, and yanked the bra of the set off to reveal my breasts. His finger circled my nipple, making my back arch off of the bed as I whined.

"No whining," he reminded me. He'd always hated my whining, even when we were kids.

     He leaned down, his lips closing around the nipple. I gasped as he licked and sucked at it, his hand groping and kneading my other breast. A few shadows whirled around the delicate skin.

"Az," I sighed in pleasure, squeezing my eyes shut. He glanced up at me, a smirk on his lips. His hand trailed down my side, resting on my hip. I bucked my hips desperately, letting him know exactly where I wanted him.

"Use your words, my love," he instructed.

"Please touch me, Az," I begged, my words a hushed whisper.

"Good girl," he praised, the words sparking more arousal through me. He smirked as he sensed it. "You like being praised?" I nodded, whimpering as he began circling my nipple again. "I'll remember that."

      His scarred finger began trailing up and down my core, over the lingerie. I gasped, throwing my head back at the sensation. I couldn't remember the last time I had been touched like that--so delicately.

       He carefully pulled the lingerie down, lifting my hips to get it off of me. When I was left bare beneath him, he took a few seconds to take me in.

"So perfect," he uttered, causing a blush to stain my cheek.

       He swiped a finger over my clit, making an indelicate moan fall from my lips. I would've been embarrassed had he not been causing me so much pleasure. He pressed down with the perfect amount of pressure, circling it with his thumb.

"So good, Az," I mewled, bucking my hips. He held them down with his other hand. "Want them inside, please."

"Whatever you want, baby," he agreed.

     His fingers swirled around my entrance. He sunk two fingers inside me and I gasped, grinding my hips. They felt so different than any other fingers I'd had inside of me. The texture from his scars made the sensation so much more pleasurable.

"Gods, Az," I moaned, clutching onto him. "Your scars feel so fucking good."

      He blushed, and I almost felt shame for letting the words slip out, but a shy smile settled on his face.

      He leaned down, licking a stripe up my core as his fingers continued drilling into me. I cried out, my hands gripping his hair and pushing his face closer. His lips locked around my clit, sucking with the perfect amount of pressure.

"Oh, Az, keep doing that," I begged, grinding against his face and hands.

        I was getting close, and he could sense it. He began sucking just a bit harder, his fingers moving faster.

       I let out a cry as I got right to the edge, then fell over as his fingers angled themselves perfectly. My moans were loud, and undignified as I climaxed on his fingers and mouth.

      He kept sucking my clit and fucking me with his fingers until I was shuddering from overstimulation.

      Then, he pulled away and crawled up to kiss me again. I could taste my release on his lips and tongue. I began to grope the bulge in his pants, desperate for him to be inside of me. He started to unbuckle his belt, and when he was done, I had no patience left. It felt as though he was taking them off slowly on purpose.

     I waved a hand, and his pants were gone, just as I had done with his shirt. I nearly moaned at the sight in front of me. His body was beyond perfect. And his cock . . . I wasn't even sure if it would fit inside me.

"Az . . . " I said nervously.

"If it's too much, we'll take it slow," he promised me, stroking my cheek.

       I pursed my lips and flipped us over so that I was on top. It seemed as though he was about to protest, so I put a finger to his lips.

"Trust me," I begged him. He sighed, but nodded and laid back.

       I smiled and lowered my mouth to him. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stand having him in my mouth. Not after what had been done to me.

       Instead, I licked up the underside of his shaft, my tongue trailing over the veins. He moaned and bit his lip. I felt a wave of excitement at how sensitive he was. I swirled my tongue over his tip, smearing the precum that had began to collect on it.

       When I felt comfortable, I lifted my head and took a deep breath. I straddled his waist and carefully lowered myself onto his cock. I gasped, slowly filling myself more.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his hands resting lightly on my hips.

       I nodded, biting my lip. I let out a moan as I finally sat down completely. He let out a hard breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Having him in me hurt, but it was a pleasurable pain. One that I knew I would crave everyday for the rest of my life.

"I'm fine," I uttered as I began grinding on him.

       He groaned, his grip on my hips tightening. Elio had never let me on top--he'd always stated that the male should be in control. So I wasn't quite sure what I was doing.

       But Az's hands on my hips helped guide me, helped encourage me. I rested my hands on his chest, running them over his muscles.

       His shadows settled on my breasts, playing with my nipples as I sighed in pleasure. One began swirling around my neck, focusing just below my ear.

       I braced my hands on his chest as I began riding him harder, causing a sweet whimper to fall from his lips. I smirked down at him. 

       His eyes were locked on mine, his thumbs stroking my hips. I whimpered as I got close to the edge again, and he could sense it from the way I clenched around him.

"Do you want me to pull out?" he asked me.

"No, please don't," I begged, throwing my head back as I nearly came undone.

"We'll cum together," he decided. I nodded.

      One of his hands left my hips, and his finger began circling my clit again. That was the last thing I needed to fall over that edge, just as he spilled inside of me.

       Our moans filled the room as we both climaxed, his eyes shut tight, his brow furrowed. I grinded against him a few times to draw out our orgasms, until we had wrung all the pleasure from each other.

      I collapsed on top of him from utter exhaustion, and he wrapped his arms around me, under my wings, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Do you want to bathe?" he asked.

"Too tired," I mumbled.

"Okay," he whispered, rolling me off of him.

       I protested as he got out of the bed and made his way to our bathroom. But he came back with a washcloth. He washed our combined releases from my thighs with the warm, wet towel.

       When he was done cleaning me up, he put the towel away and climbed back into bed with me.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. I nodded, humming contently. "Good." He pressed kisses to my face, then one to my lips.

       He pulled me into his warm arms, the two of us still naked. I decided this would be a lovely way to fall asleep, every night for the rest of my life.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Azriel Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @panther-girl-124 @tangled-sun @hawke1917

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @andreperez11 @isnotwhatyourethinking

Comment to be added to the Azriel and General Taglists!

͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

[morningwitchy]

blooming witch hazel and st johns wort - and a couple of pals. a snippet from the upcoming moth collection!

[willamaybeck]

pjo/hoo @/amusement park headcanons

idk i thought of this forever ago and it's been sitting in my notes forever, so here

piper throws up on a rollercoaster

percy cannot, for the LIFE of him, win annabeth a prize.

"let me show you how it's done, seaweed brain." she calculates how to throw and wins him a tiny stuffed trident.

rachel has to quickly pull grover away from his feast in the trash cans before someone sees

leo & calypso fix a broken-down ride

jason tries to convince thalia to do the bungee jump dive w him--she offers up piper instead but ends up doing it anyway

(she may or may not nearly strike percy w a lighting bolt)

hazel helps a little girl find her lost earrings and frank is basically in love

everyone realizes they "lost" percy & annabeth at the water park ;)

jason was sent to find them and boy--HE DEFINITELY FOUND THEM

frank accidently gives archery lessons

jokes about grover becoming the amusement park janitor

hazel kinda wishes nico were there but she knows he wouldn't have had fun

rachel & calypso befriend each other

piper gets a piggyback ride from leo & vice versa, as well

frank & grover are "guests" in a hypnosis performance

thalia finds this too amusing and takes pictures for the hunters to enjoy

percy & annabeth stroll around themselves for a while just being cute <33

jason mentions smth about nico being gay to piper (an aside, just a short snippet):

annabeth was trying to sneak up on piper w her yankees cap but now she stumbles back to percy by the restrooms and almost cries laughing.

"all this time we thought he had a crush on me, but it was you!"

percy is so mortified

calypso slaps percy when she first sees him (they were all kinda nervous about them meeting again, esp annabeth even tho she knew not to worry; if your bf can turn down a roman praetor for you w/o even fully remembering you, then you should be fine) but then she thanks him for leaving. he's not her happy ending, and she isn't his.

honestly, he was most shocked to see her wearing jeans

leo somehow catches a water ride on fire??

jason & percy volunteer to be in a sword fighting demonstration--somehow none of the mortal audience notices they discarded the prop swords they were given

piper & annabeth are slightly worried they're going to kill each other

calypso guarantees them this a "rather healthy" confrontation

"of course, verbal communication is the best way, but guys think differently."

grover has a picture of juniper in his wallet. rachel finds this incredibly sweet

leo jokingly volunteers to give grover's goatee a trim

no one appreciates the pun.

grover declines.

hazel almost uses golden drachmas as payment for her lunch and frank just can't help but laugh at her

jason & piper fly around the park

the aerial tramway is for chumps

piper fangirls very much upon seeing percy & annabeth's seat--midair snuggling and forehead kisses

jason calls down to thalia to be calm

she's gripping the ride so tightly

she wasn't even supposed to be IN the cart bc it's only fit for two people but rachel & grover pulled her into it

leo's super fuckn fascinated when learning to braid calypso's hair

he tries to copy piper's braids, but she has to inform him it's complicated due to her uneven hairstyle

thalia, rachel, grover, percy, & annabeth all eat lunch together and it's so comfortable.

thalia had never fully met rachel but now she's just crying from how rachel blatantly broke up w percy w/o even dating him

[avaetin]

Genuinely, I'm enjoying myself with the Primordial AU. And I think mainly it's because I've done to it what I would have wanted to see in the books. Like, my main issue had always been the lack of interactions between Percy and Nico, and Nico and Jason once they became friends.

Like in Percy and Nico's case, I can imagine them either keeping each other in check or just being chaotic together. And with Nico and Jason's case, I think that while they're the best of friends, they do bicker. This is a change I've wanted for Jason - that he can eventually joke and have banters. That, as their friendship progress, he becomes less severe with himself. Just generally, them being teens.

Bonus: Nico "I-wouldn't-kill-Grace-but-only-because-it's-against-the-rules" di Angelo, and his very indulgent boyfriend. This fic, in itself, is very indulgent tbh. But that's also why I keep it close to my heart.

[ask-till-lindemann]

@bitter-hazel

Sport Frei.

Sport Free.

Free. What a joke.

Young men and women reduced to guinea pigs to prove the unattainable. Superiority.

Before Mara had met him, she had come across the snippets of the interviews. Electric shocks and blood irradiation. Training from sun up to sundown. The cruel irony of ruthless competition within a team. Stone cold trainers who cared only for results and nothing more. Drug cocktails given under the name of "vitamins" that did horrific things to the body and mind...

There was a defect in mankind's pursuit of glory, and a price to be paid with an unwitting and unwilling currency. Till, Akheilos, Shadow, Werner, Tillie... all had had a hand in the birth of this piece. All had been subject to the trauma. And now they bared the scars of that trauma to the world, taking its dead weight from shared shoulders for the carrion birds to tear asunder.

She was proud of them all, and held a spark of righteous fury for them.

"How far in the process did you get before the legal team shut down the self-immolation?" Because she knew he would have been totally against the use of a stuntman. She knew he had to feel that pain to know he put his everything into the piece.

It's just how he was. Bold. Blunt. Unshakeable.

Sweet Mara. She knew him too well.

"It's not like I've never done it," he grumbled. "I have. And it's perfectly safe. Doesn't even hurt."

He shrugged.

"So I guess there was no reason to do it. All the hassle without pain? Where's the fun in that?"

No pain, no gain, right?

Sport Frei!

[tani-b-art]

South of Midnight, a third-person action adventure set in an original world of magic, monsters and giant, blues-playing skeletons. The game's debut trailer is a cinematic snippet introducing the protagonist, a young woman named Hazel, as she attempts to reason with an immortal specter on a dark dock. Hazel is hunting a monster — or, it's hunting her, as the trailer goes on to show — and she can wield bright threads of magic.

[yeyinde]

omg if you could, would you please write literally anything about soap?? If not then would you possibly write some jealous ghost? (,,: maybe the reader and Soap are really close and fuck around together and ghost just watches from a distance until it's taken a little too far and he does something drastic ? Reader and Soap are goofing around and end up in a compromising position and ghost just yanks them apart and at first they're like "that was so unprofessional I'm in trouble oh no" but it turns out ghost was just enraged with jealousy lmaoo

i absolutely write for Soap (and Price, and Alejandro, and Gaz, and "Alex"... honestly, all these COD boys got me simpin something fierce). 

i'm so sorry this took so long—i had a lot of ideas about Soap, but i mostly wanted two pining idiots in a pub! i tried to add elements of the Ghost request as well (messing around, blink and you'll miss it Ghost jealousy), but i really just enjoyed that almost comfortably claustrophobic feeling you get when you're with someone who ensnares your full attention until everything just completely goes away. that "oh, are we still in public?" dazed feeling.

i really hope you enjoy this! 🖤

tw: none, mostly just fluff and banter; gratuitous use of Scottish slang

Ghost’s Version

He slides you a glass filled with amber, eyes dancing in the low, golden glow of the pub. Fairy lights. They catch on the green in his irises; a boscage in hazel. 

There is something warm in the air—the taste of victory, of scotch (Price insists, buys two bottles, and offers up Maduro cigars to anyone who looks at him)—and you cling to it, wrapping your hands around this feeling, and tucking it close to your thudding heart. It's comforting. 

Everyone is together again. Price knocking his hand against Gaz's shoulder, loudly telling anyone who'll listen about the time the kid was hangin' out a helo. Fuckin' nutter. Laswell nursing a glass, pad in her hands. Ghost beside her, eyes drawn to the names of men you'll eventually have to go after flashing in his dark eyes. 

Gaz shoots you a glance. Help me, it says. 

Your return smile, a wave. No way. 

If you get close to Price now, you'll never get loose. You'll end up walking away with the taste of a battle on your tongue, scotch in your belly, and cigar smoke clotting inside your lungs. He always leaves you feeling dazed, whiplash sick. 

It's best to avoid your captain when his voice is a raw scrape, a wheeze, after yelling in the trenches for so long. 

It might, of course, be said bottles of scotch that permeate inside of you; a low heat in your belly. You feel giddy with it. 

"A'right, bonnie?" His voice is a thick fog in the morning. A blanket of white over the pastures. Sun peeking through. 

"Aye," you murmur, riding a very thin line between that confidence only being a shade away from drunk can bring, and coy—coquettish. Teasing. It's been like this all night. 

(Maybe even longer—ever since he knocked his knuckles to your shoulder, bottom lip between his teeth to stem a grin, and said, not bad for a bonnie lass.)

Soap's hand jerks. The glass scratches across the tabletop. 

"Oh, aye?" He thickens his accent, lets the twang of the highlands congeal in the space between you. 

"That's it, bonnie."

He's close—leather, plastic; he smells of polymer and oak—and the flecks of caramel in his eyes remind you of the sun. So close, you can feel the rays scorch your cheeks when he leans in, when his white teeth flash, blinding, in your periphery. 

"That right?" 

"We'll make a Scot out of you, yet." 

It happens in between everything. 

A break in the clouds between rainfall—turadh. 

That's how most things happen with Soap, you find. Small moments here or there; little snippets. They stack up slowly, a steadily filling dam until the levee begins to crack, and crumble. 

It spills over; a splash. A lull.

He's meant to be teaching you cuss words that you can hurtle at your enemies, or a secret language meant for the two of you if you'd ever gotten into a tight spot together. Maybe, even a way to annoy your Lieutenant. It's slipped in somehow—between it’s a dreich day and whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye! —and sits heavy in your chest.

Turadh. 

(Is there even a word out there more beautiful?)

His chin is pointed up toward the arching ceiling when he mutters it softly, a ghost, perhaps, from his childhood. It slips out like it wasn't meant to. Like it was lost somewhere in his mind, his memories, and slowly buoyed the surface, captured between trembling hands. A forgotten piece of home dipped in the evanescence of nostalgia. 

It feels like the end of a storm when his eyes drift to you. A crooked smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

"Heard it from me granny," he says, shrugging, bashful. "Heard a lot more than that, too. Cussed like a sailor." 

He says nothing more. His past, like most of the men whose company you keep, is a secret. Held tight to the chest under a thick bulletproof vest. Untouchable. Unreachable. 

Your fingers itch all the same.

"She definitely raised you well."

"Is that an insult?"

You flash a light smile his way. "If I wanted to insult you, I'd call your haircut naff."

"Cheeky little—," Soap huffs. "No one appreciates the mohawk anymore." 

"Did they ever?" 

He leans down, eyes honeycomb golden in the gloaming, and smells of alder and wych elm. "I happen to think so." 

The fissure splits. Water leaks. You wonder if he'd taste of the highlands. 

"You happen to think a lot of things," tremulous words, barely above a whisper, slip from the seam of your wobbling lips. "Doesn't mean any of them are right." 

"We'll see, bonnie." He motions for you to take your drink. "I'm sure you'll find I'm always right."

"Is the clause in that always ironclad?"

"Aye, and you best know it, lass."

Another word is learned— fadachd —when he smiles at you; a soft crook of his lips, shadows catching on the jut of his mouth. His eyes are warm honey; molasses. If you stare too long, you think you might just get stuck. 

A shudder, then, rolls through you. 

(You've had worse ideas, really.)

"You're not teaching me the good stuff," you pout, thumb brushing over the curve of the cup, dragging through the impression of your mouth left on the rim. 

"I'm not much of a teacher," he shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips. 

Your throat is dry. Eyes locked on the way his Adam's apple buoys with his swallows; on the smooth column of his neck, on the stubble that falls beneath his chin, jaws. 

You can't look away quick enough when he turns to you. His eyes burn into yours. The glass clinks against the table. 

"What do you want to learn?"

"Everything—," you choke, fingers curling over the cup. "I—I mean… what are some, y'know, stuff I can use on a date."

His voice is thick, raw from the alcohol he drank. "A date?" 

You nod. The glass is cool against your palm. You bring it to your lips, and let the sharp liquid sit on your tongue. 

"With who?" 

You mimic his shrug, swallowing. His eyes are on you. You try not to tremble. 

"Anyone. Just—," your voice is a rasp; a shade under a whisper. 

You take another swig—liquid courage—and try not to grimace. The alcohol burns through you. 

(His eyes are suns. Dizzying. Blinding.)

When you turn to him, you flash a slow grin; eyes lidded. Teasing. Kittenish. You feel a little bit like an imposter. "How do I get myself a Scottish man?" 

You can see him swallow. Hear the click in his throat. 

Beside his sternum, you watch his vein tick. Wonder, dazed, what it would be like to sink your teeth into his skin. To mark him as yours for the world to see. 

Soap— Johnny —MacTavish: all yours. 

You shiver. 

"A Scottish man, aye?"

"Well, if you teach me right, I'll know how to seduce one."

His elbow rests on the tacky tabletop, knuckles pressed into his chin. He leans over you until all you can see is him. 

"And if I teach you wrong?"

In the triangle of his arm and jaw, you find Ghost in the corner—sitting beside Price and Laswell (you wonder, for a moment, if any of them ever really stop) as they pour over documents—and tip your chin toward him. 

"I might end up with an Englishman."

Soap raises his head, peering over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment, eyes darting between his Captain and Lieutenant.

It's satisfying to hear him huff through his nose. A heavy exhale. You wonder if he's jealous. 

It makes you think of Madrid. Of that stunning woman draped in Chantilly. 

Aye, lass. It was a pleasure to meet you. 

You turn to your glass, mulling over what he might say in response, your comeback, but his grip on the glass catches your eye. 

His knuckles are white. Nails red, flat against the surface. 

"Soap—"

He turns back to you. The tight grip around the glass eases. 

When he smiles, it feels like a cloud cover, hiding away the blaze. "Lt? Might be good for him."

"Yeah…" you murmur, words quiet in your slurred panic. You don't know how to salvage this. The teasing, the banter—it was bordering on flirting, and now—

Distance. 

He's just Soap. And you're just you. 

(Aye, lass—)

It stings. Prickles between your ribs and your heart, and the ache of it makes the alcohol in your gut churn. 

"I doubt he'd go for it." 

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!"

You blink, a small smile growing. "D'unno that one, yet, professor."

"It means: you're talking rubbish. He can't stop lookin' at you." 

He enunciates the words for you, even adapts a spiteful English accent to go with it, but it's the burn in his gaze that makes you feel like you're floating. Bubbly and light and reaching for the stratosphere. 

You don't want to lose this.

(The ever in that is ironclad.)

"How do you say I'm drunk?"

Soap shakes his head, tension dissipating. It's a relief when humour cuts into his grin. "Too many ways to count, lass."

"C'mon," you slide forward on the barstool, elbows perched on the table, palms cupping your warm cheeks. They feel blistered, sunkissed. "Just one? It'll even be the chef's choice."

"Oh, aye?" He mimics your pose, leaving only one hand to grasp the glass between his palm. He rolls it between his thumb and fingers for a moment, eyes downcast as he thinks. "Yer mad wae' it." 

You roll the words around your tongue. "Mad with it?"

"Aye." 

"I like it."

"Are you?" 

"Am I…?"

"Mad wae it?" 

"Just a little…"

Soap levels you with a look that knocks the wind from your lungs. "You're blootered, bonnie."

"Awa' an bile yer heid!"

Something sits in his brow at the sharp words that spill, unpractised, from your lips. A rumble in the distance warning of approaching rain. 

You think the deluge might drown you. 

"Careful, bonnie," his breath smells of scotch. Tastes like a sunburn. "You might just bite off more than you can chew."

The burn of the alcohol does little to abate the itch in your throat. 

"Bonnie," you murmur, numb. You can't hear much past the thudding in your chest. "Why'd you call me bonnie?"

(Aye, lass—

Bonnie. Bonnie. Bonnie—)

His head drops when he huffs, a soft laugh spilling—almost reluctantly—from his chest. He stays like that for a moment, head bowed and the corner of his mouth twitching. When he raises his head, his cheeks are stained rubescent. 

The alcohol, you think, dizzy. The world spins, and then narrows into a pin-drop where only the ruby smear on the bridge of his nose exists. 

"'Am no diddy, but—"

"Sergeant." 

There is a misty cloud surrounding you; a gossamer spooling over your eyes. You blink the cobwebs away, but they're stuck to your retinas. 

Ghost stands shrouded in the smog. His dark eyes slide to you. Endless black. Unfathomable. 

"Soldier." 

The command is clear. Stop muckin' about.

His voice is a warble when he speaks. Gruff, low. "Lt, comin' to learn some Scottish, too?" 

"Negative." He says, clipped. Then: "can barely understand these pissed Glaswegians as it is." 

"It's a lovely accent," you murmur, grinning. Stupid, dopey. It feels like waking up after a long nap on the beach. 

His eyes are liquid pools of black when they slide to you. "Bloody hell. Must have knocked your head one too many times if you think that's lovely."

"It was more of a smack." 

"Christ. With a rifle?"

You like it when he's loose like this. Relaxed. When he isn't barking out commands, and orders, and keeping a chasm between everyone. 

"No, with a hand." 

"Better see the medic. Don't need you suffering any more brain damage."

It's on the tip of your tongue— aw, you do care —but his words stick to the gummy lining of your scotch-filled head. Any more. 

You pout. "You're a stone-cold bastard, you know that?" 

Somewhere under the mask, you like to imagine that he's grinning. "Never said I wasn't." 

"What do you need, Lt?" 

Liquid eyes slide to him. "We're heading out. You stayin', MacTavish?"

He nods, sharp. "Aye. Might wander around Glasgow for a 'mo."

"And you, soldier?"

Ghost stares down at you. Soap's words surface—keekin' you all night—but you see nothing when you match his stare. When the heavy brunt of his full attention falls on you. 

Soap glances at you, eyes a half-sun. Your hands prickle. You wonder if wandering around might include a trip to the Cairngorms. 

(You imagine you could reach up and kiss the sun. 

Maybe, him, too, if he'd allow it.)

"I—," you tilt your head, nervous suddenly. "I'd like to learn more Scottish. If you wouldn't mind the company." 

"Aye, bonnie." There is victory in his grin. 

Ghost gives a sharp nod, and doesn't wait. 

You watch him leave, suddenly tense. Soap hasn't looked away from you yet. It simmers inside; another fissure. Another crack. The levee wobbles. 

"So…," he says, his voice a tickle in your ear. "About wantin' to seduce a Scot…"

"Not just any Scot," you murmur, eyes low. Framed by the hazy fairy lights, his grin feels like the sun cresting through a storm cloud. 

"Got my heart flichterin‘," he mutters. His hand is warm when it touches your wrist. "Wanna feel, bonnie? Feel what you do to me, hen?"

It feels like you're underwater when you nod. Like you've been dragged below the surface, then spat back up on the sandy shores, drenched in the rays. 

The heat kisses your palm when he presses it flat to his chest. His pulse hums under your lifeline; the grand wings of a bird fluttering in his ribcage. Your nails sink into his shirt, curling over the fabric until it's knotted in your fist. You could hold on to him forever. 

His eyes feel like a dawning sun when they land on you, wrapped in that equinox between day and dusk when you can still bask in the warmth that curtains over you. Liquid honey. Melted wax. It seeps over you, filling the cracks. 

(You, the earth; him, the sun: a perfect perihelion. You bloom under his cosmic heat.)

When you were younger, you'd stand on the hills, and gaze up at it in the aether. Your eyes narrowed into slits, watering from the blaze. The smile on your face was warmed under the rays. 

They warned you, then, when you'd come home with a headache, rubbing your tender eyes, that you'd go blind for it. That the sun would ruin you, that it wasn't meant to be stared at so nakedly. 

You think of it, now, when your eyes begin to crease. When the blistering intensity of him—luminous, bright, blinding –stares, open and raw, back at you. 

—you fucked in the upper car park at the Cairngorms, nestled near the base of a hill. he took you under the setting sun, and whispered how pretty you looked bathed in ochre and desperate for him

—it was Price who bailed you both out after getting slapped with public indecency ("haven't you two ever heard of doggin'?")

—he takes you to a football game for a proper date, your well-won Scottish man, but spanks your ass at home when you cheer for ManU over the Celtics; it's blasphemy in this household

—Gaz doesn't even want to know why you're barely able to sit in the chair, and why Soap looks so damn satisfied whenever you wince

(you tell him, anyway.)

translations (forgot these, oops)

—turadh: A break in the clouds between showers | dry spell

—it’s a dreich day: miserable day

—whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye: what’s meant to happen will happen, or what will be will be

—naff: boring, rubish

—fadachd: yearning, longing

—keek: looking

—yer aff yer heid: acting stupid, someone that's too drunk or talking nonsense

—blootered: drunk

—diddy: coward

—flichterin‘: soft fluttering, as in the wings of a butterfly, or the flame of a candle.

—bonnie: used by older gens; used to describe someone pretty or attractive (is actually gender neutral - could be bonnie lass or bonnie lad)

—hen: used for a younger lady (can also be patronising) but kind of like sweetheart or honey)

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light Part 2 SNIPPET

A/N: THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF READ I JUST WANTED TO QUICKLY GIVE YOU GUYS A SNIPPET SO I COULD CONTINUE WRITING JKSJDKJS THE FULL PART TWO IS COMING TOMORROW!!

//

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion. 

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another. 

And another. 

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” 

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you. 

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case. 

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence. 

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight. 

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.” 

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out? 

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip. 

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you. 

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.” 

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him. 

“Why not?” 

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real. 

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?” 

His wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.” 

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise. 

“First I’m pretty, now I’m cute… what’s next?” 

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”