#that are just brown enough to be brown but are black enough to look black???

[luveline]

hi again!! i saw you mention wanting to write for prince!steve, and i also saw that you write with dialogue prompts so i present to you:

A: “I’ll take care of you.”

B: “It’s rotten work.”

A: “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

maybe the reader gets injured doing something for training, but it’s all up to you!! i’m sure we’ll love it regardless. kisses!!

thank you for requesting! —prince steve au. fem, 1.5k

Pain was familiar before you came to the palace. Small pains and big, all kinds of hurting, poverty-driven neglect leading to toothaches and back pain, twisted ankles walked on without choice, sore skin otherwise ignored. It didn’t matter if you got hurt as long as you lived. 

Not in a dramatic sense. It didn’t feel dramatic at the time, only miserable. You go to work with a migraine because you can’t afford not to. You walk home in the dark because the mag-trams are getting too expensive. You break your holo, so you make do without one. You pick your head up to keep looking both ways and you get everywhere you need to go because you need to work, to get paid, to eat, to work. 

That’s how it always was. So getting sick didn’t matter. An injury was temporary pain that your body would fix eventually, and if it didn’t, well, it’s cheaper to pull a tooth than pay to have it filled. 

You were used to your sorry life, and then you met Steve. Tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed Steve. Looking at him sometimes is enough to make your whole body a void for things you used to complain about; you wake up across from him in the big bed and forget you can feel pain at all, if only because he’s already awake, waiting for you to open your eyes before he rests his hand on your cheek. You met him and your soul-mark glowed with a lacy, almost feathered light, your wrist braceleted with white colour that soon faded to mellow blue. 

When you first meet your soulmate, the colours you make tend to shift. It takes time for your heart to decide if love is pink or orange or blue. It seems to have settled now —when Steve kisses you, your mark turns a Gaussian amber. When you kiss back, his mark turns light pink, like the lotus flowers he keeps in his private gardens. 

Right now, your mark hums an angry red. It’s typical in its colour, and it’s common. Most people’s marks turn red when they’re hurting. Yours is a crimson so dark it looks black in the dim lighting, and it throbs in time with your pain like a vexing metronome. You’ll never be able to put it from your mind if the mark continues to remind you. 

Steve is uncharacteristically quiet at your side. His own mark is lit in sympathy, mostly pink with his affection, but threaded in red like spider lily flowers blooming against his forearm. 

He shifts beside you. It’s been more than a month since your wedding, and yet he’s careful with you. Almost shy, though he can be brash and cocky. You know intimately how sweet Steve can be when he’s in love. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

“How’s the pain now?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled together at their starts. 

“Not so bad.” 

“Could you rate it on a scale? If zero was no pain at all, and ten were enough to warrant another dose of white willow bark?” 

“What if I were at a five?” you ask. 

“A half dose and a good kiss?” 

You turn his way but flinch when it puts undue pressure on your leg, a stab of hot pain jumping from your fractured tibia to deep inside of your hips. Steve sees your wincing and presses your shoulder into the bed, leaning over you, a scolding he doesn’t give in the pinch of his eyebrows as he leans down to kiss you. It’s more caress than kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, his lips barely touching yours before he rests his nose at your brow. “Can you stay still?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“Just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.” 

He lifts his head. Holds your cheek for longer than you can work out why, dotting another soft kiss to your nose before slinking out of bed to find you some white willow bark tincture. It’s a potent pain reliever. You shouldn’t have too much of it. If you were still living your past life, you’d be chewing on ginger skins trying to limp your way back into work. There’d be no time to stop. 

“Steve,” you say, watching him a small ways away at the table of your quarters. He turns to you. “I don’t really need anything else.” 

“You said it’s hurting?” Steve pipettes the tincture into a cup of water. “You said a five, and you lie. Knowing you, it’s closer to an eight, you just don’t want to tell me.” 

It might not be as extreme as an eight now, laying down and bandaged, but it hurts badly and a tincture would solve this. Still, you say, “It’s fine, I don’t need it.” 

He brings the glass regardless and puts it on the nightstand. Your bed is yards too big for one person, even two, but when Steve sits next to you he leaves no room between you. He looks down at you fondly. Brown hair like down feather falls against his forehead. 

“You’re going to be in pain for a long time.” He brings a hand to your cheek again. “It might sound tame, a plateau fracture, but that’s still a fracture. You know doctors say fracture when they mean broken, right? You broke your leg. It’s okay to want pain relief.” 

“I knew that. I didn’t know you knew it.” 

“Impolite.” He ducks down to look you in the eyes. You’re a little skewiff, straight to his sideways, but it gets a point across. He wants to kiss you while you’ve said something maddening. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent on pretending it hasn’t happened and that you’re fine. You got hurt, and you’ll stay hurt for a while. It might be weeks of bed and– and you need to be looked after. I don’t know why you’re so guilty about it.” 

“I’m not guilty,” you deny guilty, turning your face to lean into his hand, rather than continue to face his imploring gaze. “I just… I’m not used to this. Before, if something went wrong, I couldn’t just lay down and wait to get better, and I surely wouldn’t be laying here with doctors and servants and the ladies in waiting all trying to make sure– It’s like it’s not my fault, and that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want to be a burden on everyone. More than I already am,” you add, a bitter mumble nearly lost to his palm. 

He makes a promise, then, turning your face to the light. “I’ll take care of you,” he says. 

“It’s rotten work.” 

Steve shakes his head gently. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” 

You press your tongue to your teeth, worried you’ll say something you’ll regret. You don’t want him to go. You want him to mean exactly what he says, to stay here and take care of you, and to enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be nice to be loved for love's sake? 

Steve shuffles inward and encourages your head into his lap, thrusting pillows aside to take up station against your headboard. He frames your face, upside down, before both hands begin to run down your arms. A hug, in a way, as he twists his face to kiss the skin beside your eye. You squint at the proximity. 

“You’re not a burden,” he says, hands climbing upwards now, warm and steady where they travel, “you’re my wife. My cherished wife, remember?” 

His tone is silk. 

“You… haven’t proved to be a wretched husband,” you confess. 

“I did try. But loving you has been easy. It makes husbandry a gift.” He laughs at his grandiose and gives you a kiss that’s more familiar by your ear, his pleading, searching kisses, the kind he likes to press to all your softest junctures. “I wish you could understand that we’re marked for a reason. We were always meant to be together, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to stand with me. I’m happy you’re here. I want to take care of you.” 

Not if it’s you, he’d said. 

You wonder if it might be okay to cry. He’s massaging your arms, still bent in half over you trying to kiss some belief in him into your forehead. 

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs between chaste, silent kisses, “really. You don’t have to pretend things don’t hurt you anymore.” 

You feel strange, then, shivery and weak as you turn your face into his thigh. His hand slips behind your back to hold you.

“Can I convince you to drink this tincture now?” he asks, just above your ear. 

“I love you,” you mumble. 

He pauses his trailing hands. You squeeze your eyes closed, but he doesn’t pause for long enough to scare you. “I love you,” he says. “Since the day we met, I’ve loved you. I’ll take care of you.” 

He is easy to believe. 

[goldencherriess]

I fall to my death.

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N and her friends become prey on their way to Los Angeles and she quickly realises she might be stronger than she thought.

Word count: 11.5k

Warnings: Y/N being the icon she is, mentions of blood, angst

Previous part || Series masterlist

Stars were twinkling in the sky as Y/N fluttered her eyes open. Something soft was cradling her back and she quickly realised she was laying in the dirt, on a bed of moss. She frowned. She didn’t remember falling asleep in the woods. She sat up, her eyes immediately recognising a familiar sight. A cabin stretched towards the starry sky in sturdy wooden beams, shadowed by pricking pine trees. Her blood ran cold, something about it struck a fight or flight response in her.

Or maybe she was just back home. But shouldn’t home feel welcoming?

She got to her feet slowly, turning to look around, but darkness hid what the woods would otherwise whisper in daylight. Everything was quiet. Still. Abandoned even. She turned towards the cabin, startled that a golden light appeared in the window. It was faint and if she remembered well, it came from the old living room, in which she and her mother used to spend evenings reading by the lamplight. Sometimes, her mother would recount to her old legends about Olympus, other times she would refuse to utter a word about them. Y/N didn’t dwell too much on it, happy enough to share some quiet moments with her before bed. It became a ritual. 

Y/N took shy steps toward the cabin, the light flowing from the window illuminating her way and stretching shadows on the mossy ground. She pushed the door open. It creaked as she stepped inside. The light from the living room reached the hallway and she hesitated as she took in her surroundings. Everything was how it used to be. The wool carpet was still biting at its touch, the walls deep brown, a rich aroma of an entire forest residing in the cabin. A few photos hung on the walls and tears gathered in her eyes as she pinpointed the moment they were taken. In one of them there was that creek ten minutes away from the cabin and her dipping her toes in it at the ripe age of three. She frowned. Beside the photo there was one she didn’t ever remember seeing. It depicted her. But as a baby. In the arms of a man. She could only see his arms but Y/N already knew. She sniffed and took a step closer, but the floor whined under her feet and in the darkness surrounding her, she felt being watched. Goosebumps raked on her arms.

“Mom?” she called out, her voice trembling. 

Silence stretched on and she stepped forward. A waft of tomato sauce and spices hit her and she almost stumbled at the familiarity of it all. 

“Mom? Are you in the kitchen?”

She gulped down some tears and stepped into the kitchen. The aroma was stronger there. Pitch black surrounded her, but the moon rays shed light on a pot full of steaming spaghetti and two empty plates. The sight was so familiar that her heart ached. She blinked. She didn’t have enough courage to take a seat at the table and dig into the fresh meal. She turned on her heels, her knees buckling. 

“Mom, where are you?”

Her throat was closing in and she had to swallow just to breathe. Shaking, she stepped into the living room. The lamp was on and the light bathed everything in warm colours. Dust swirled in the light and Y/N almost sneezed. 

“Y/N?”

She whipped around, the heart in her chest stopping for a second. Her mother was standing before her, with a warm smile stretching on her cracked lips. Her hair was curling in millions of ringlets, just as it always did. A few wrinkles decorated the corner of her eyes and a silver flashed from her neck. It was the necklace she always used to wear. The pendant curved in the form of a single raindrop. Y/N frowned at the sight of it. She remembered her mother gifting it to her on that cursed hospital bed. Y/N almost had a half of mind to check her own neck, but the extra weight confirmed to her that she still had it. She blinked in confusion.

“Mom?” Y/N whispered. 

Her mother nodded. “I made spaghetti, my darling. Your favourite.”

A pang pricked Y/N’s heart, as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. And then she rushed towards her and tightly wrapped her arms around her, burying her face in her chest and inhaling her scent. After all this time, she smelled the same. Of pine trees, and dusty books and spaghetti. Of home. 

“What’s gotten into you, sweetheart?” her mother chuckled.

“I just really missed you,” answered Y/N, all choked up.

And with her heart quivering in her chest, she felt the gentle hand of her mother caressing the top of her head. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her hands balling the shirt of her mother and she gulped down tears.

But then the caressing turned into hurtful pulls. Y/N frowned. “Mom, it hurts.”

Silence fell upon her ears and the hands continued to pull her by the roots of her hair. Y/N’s face twisted in pain. “Mom, please, it really hurts.”  She tried breaking free from her arms, but it was as if her feet were glued to the floor. “Mom, it’s hurting me.”

“You’re forgotten, child.”

The voice that reached her ears in a sonorous chorus wasn’t her mother’s and she fought against the suffocating hold.

“With no father, no mother and no aunt, you are forgotten. You are no hero.”

Y/N twisted in the arms and fell back, on her bottom. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled. Fear clawed at her throat and she looked up. A cloaked figure holding a lantern peered down at her with a pair of golden eyes. 

“You are no hero on this quest. You shall fail it.”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she snapped them open, she was met with the sight of a moving ceiling. Her heart was racing and her breath was shallow. She sat up, panting, letting her eyes roam around. The puffing of the train reached her ears and she slowly exhaled, remembering she was on the way to Los Angeles. Panic subsided and the blood seemed to flow more easily in her veins now. She heard Grover quietly snore on the top bed of the train cabin. She glanced to the bed in front of her, her eyes catching the silhouette of Annabeth, wrapped in bed sheets, her back to her. 

Y/N sighed through her nose, leaning her back on the wall, bringing her knees to her chest. She let her head fall back, watching how the train sped by through the window, grateful that the cabin stopped spinning in circles. She knew what it came after an occurring nightmare. She wouldn’t fall back asleep, no matter the night hour. 

It wasn’t the first time she dreamed in the dead of the night. The dreams and nightmares never left her in peace. They followed her even in the deepest cores of her subconscious, haunting her mind and soul. But this one felt different. More real. Her mother felt real. But only for a split second. The illusion was ruined and she was awake, drenched in sweat and alone in a swaying cabin. 

She hugged her knees and frowned. Someone knew her most burning desire and lured her in with it, twisting it until her home was only standing on shadows, empty rooms and dusty photos. Until her mother was an unrecognisable ghost of what she used to be. Her mouth twitched and she sniffed. 

She leaned her chin on her knees, looking out the window. The moon was enveloping the dark rolling fields in a silver blanket. The stars were winking playfully at her. She missed watching and counting them. In Manhattan they were never visible, and at Camp Half-Blood she was too stubborn to glance out the window, choosing instead to stare angrily at the ceiling every time she woke up during the night. A cloud rolled by and swallowed the moon. Y/N blinked and closed her eyes, listening to her friend’s snoring and the train engines’ puffing. A quiet gasp reached her ears and she opened her eyes, turning to look at the mop of golden curl from beside her. 

Percy was staring up at the ceiling, his lips slightly parted and he looked how she always felt whenever thunder invaded her dreams. How she was currently feeling, still under the effect of the nightmare. She heard him swallow audibly and she uncrossed her arms. “Had a nightmare?” she asked softly, mindful of her friends sleeping. 

Percy jumped, startled at the sound of her voice. He glanced at her, before moving his gaze back on the ceiling. “How did you–?”

“I have them too.”

Silence settled between them and the moon won against the darkening clouds, bathing the cabin in a silver glow. Y/N could see Percy better now, thin beads of sweat crowning his forehead. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” he simply answered.

She nodded before she crossed her arms around her knees once again, turning her back to him and her face towards the window. A pine tree stretched towards the inky sky and homesickness washed over her at the sight of it.

She heard Percy rustle in his makeshift bed. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was staring at her. “Do you want to talk about yours?” she heard him whisper.

“No,” she replied, her hands clenching her legs until her knuckles turned white. 

The whistling of the train filled the air and Y/N felt her eyelids get heavier, as if they were made of lead. She blinked the sleep away, sitting straighter. 

Percy’s voice eventually cut through the heavy silence. “Why do you hate me?” 

She stilled. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, I don’t. Believe it or not.”

A few beats of silence passed before he spoke up again. “Have you ever met Thalia?”

Y/N’s eyebrows twitched and she looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He was laying on his back again, his hands intertwined on his stomach, searching the ceiling, as if it could give him answers to his questions. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Well, I mean, she was the last forbidden kid before me, right?”

“From what we know, yes,” Y/N nodded slowly.

“She must’ve dealt with the same kind of stuff.”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met her.”

Percy frowned, turning his head to look at her. “But I thought– I mean, you and Annabeth are close. You and Luke, as well. I just thought–”

“I came a year later than them to the Camp. The pine tree was already there,” Y/N interrupted him with a firm voice. “I’ve never met Thalia.”

“Then how come you’re so attached to the tree? I saw you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment too long. She remembered the rough bark and the energy flowing through it every time she touched it, as if it was alive. As if it somehow knew her.

“It’s sacred,” she murmured.

She heard Annabeth turn in her bed, the sheets rustling, a soft sigh coming through. Percy moved his gaze from Y/N to the figure of Annabeth laying on her back. “Hey, you asleep?” he whispered. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at his question, turning to look at Athena’s daughter. Her chest was raising and lowering in even breaths. 

“Yes,” Annabeth answered, sarcasm coating her tongue. 

“You and Thalia were really close, right?” continued Percy. 

“Yeah.”

“What was she like?”

Annabeth hesitated. “She was tough. I mean, she knew she was a forbidden kid, she just didn’t care. When Luke and Thalia found me, Luke cared for me right away.”

Y/N heard the story already, she knew how it all went down, how the three of them became to each other the home they had lost. She also knew that Luke caring for lost, little children was just the way he was. An older brother even to those who might not have been his half-siblings. But she knew, he was hers, half-sibling or not.

“But Thalia… she made me earn it,” whispered Athena’s daughter in the quiet cabin.

Percy blinked, slightly frowning. “Is this why you give me a hard time? I gotta earn it with you too?”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Annabeth sighed. 

Y/N lowered her gaze, looking at the socks on her feet. They were of the dullest a colour, a washed out grey. A flashing memory flowed into her mind. Giggling and running around barefoot, behind the cabin in the woods, dipping her toes into the creek, climbing trees tall enough to touch the ever crystal sky. She blinked and the memory faded.

“I gotta say, that doesn’t make a lot of sense to me,” voiced Percy, his tone sharp.

Y/N moved her gaze onto him. “What doesn’t?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

He looked at her, exhaling in frustration. 

“What doesn’t make sense to you?” emphasised Annabeth.

“The way you guys all talk. The way the gods want us to think. Gotta burn an offering to get a parent’s attention. Gotta beat up on Clarisse just to get my father to admit he’s my father. Gotta go on a quest just to get claimed at the end of it,” he said, gazing at Y/N with a storm swirling in his eyes. “It isn’t supposed to work that way. People who are close to you aren’t supposed to treat you that way.”

Y/N moved her gaze away, his words echoing true in her mind. She knew all too well what love is supposed to feel like, she felt it once too. She was lucky to grow up happily between the swaying of the trees and the whispers of the wind. But then luck had run out. 

“You wanna know how I ended up on the road in the first place?” asked Annabeth, cutting the silence. “I started out as a gift to my father. That’s how it works with Athena. We’re born from a thought, and then given to a partner she feels connected to. And for a while, I was treated like a gift. My father cared for me. He loved me. I knew it. Then he met a woman. They had their own kids.” She inhaled, a hand wrapped around what Y/N knew was her father’s ring. “And to her, I– I wasn’t a gift. I was a problem. So I left. I was seven.”

Y/N turned to look at her, her eyebrows downcast, a matching sorrow in her gaze. She wanted to reach out and take her by the hand, just as she always did. 

“It isn’t the gods who think that way. It’s everybody. But at least with the gods you know the rules. Show them respect and they’ll be in your corner no matter what.”

Annabeth let a hand fall beside her, at the edge of the bed. Y/N took it and squeezed it. She felt Annabeth squeeze back. By this point, it had become their friendship token. 

“What about you, Y/N? How did you arrive at the Camp?”

Y/N detected curiosity in Percy’s tone. She glanced at him. He was still staring at the ceiling.

“Did you have a Protector satyr?”

“No. I grew up outside of the city for most of my childhood. Just me and my mom for a while.” A nostalgic smile blossomed on her lips and she looked at her outstretched shadow on the floor. If she squinted, she could imagine it was her mother’s silhouette. “Just the two of us against the world.” Her eyebrows pinched together in a furrow. “My aunt brought me to Camp when my mom couldn’t. She was my protector. Both of them were.”

“You’re a year-rounder,” said Percy in realization.

“Yeah,” she nodded, her voice fading.

Percy didn’t reply, a deep silence filling the cabin. Groans and sheets rustling from the top bunk reached their ears.

“You awake?” the blond asked

“Well, I am now. Thanks,” a grumpy voice answered back.

Y/N smiled, hearing it. “Sorry, Grov.”

He just grumbled back.

“Are you okay?’ Percy continued. 

“He’s super grouchy when he doesn’t get enough sleep,” explained Annabeth, her hand still in Y/N’s. 

“He’s super grouchy when he doesn’t get enough… Nah!” mimicked the satyr in a pitch high voice, with the back towards them, talking to the wall.

Y/N let a giggle escape her lips. 

“Wow,” said Percy, raising his eyebrows. 

“You’ve never been on the road with him before,” stated Annabeth. “A little different than a froofy boarding school.”

“Who’s froofy? You’re froofy. What’s froofy?” said Grover, his voice hoarse. “I think I need to eat.”

“Well, I think we should get a little more sleep while we still can,” said Y/N, taking out her hand from Annabeth’s hold and settling back in her makeshift bed, raising the duvet up to her chin. “It’s still early out.”

“Already ordering everyone around and it’s not even daylight,” retorted Poseidon's son, but his tone turned playful. Challenging. 

“You will regret not listening to me in the morning when all you will have left is bags under your eyes and a sleep deprived brain.” She paused. “Which it will be a shame, since it’s already made from seaweed.”

“Stop calling me a seaweed brain!”

“Stop giving me reasons to!”

Annabeth audibly sighed, turning in her bed, her back to them. “Go back to sleep.”

“On it,” said Grover, seconds away from snoring again. 

Y/N fluttered her eyes shut, the rocking of the train lulling her back to sleep. Before she fell into her slumber, she heard Percy whisper to her. 

“Sweet dreams. I’ll keep the nightmares away.” 

The sleep came to her swiftly, a deep, dreamless one. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

She only managed to sleep for an hour, as Annabeth acutely told her, before she was woken up by Grover’s grumbling stomach. Dawn was just breaking through, painting streaks of fiery orange and deep indigo into the skies, the first rays of sun bathing the dining car in shallow light. And after Grover gulped down an entire breakfast in the span of ten minutes, a silence only cut by the train's horn settled between them. Y/N blinked the sleep out of her eyes, her head in her hand, watching the clouds gather shy and quivering sun rays in them. 

“Two days until we reach Los Angeles. Plenty of time before our deadline to reach the Underworld,” chirped Grover. Y/N turned to look at him. He was bearing a slight, satisfied smile. Y/N suspected that the breakfast must have done its job. She felt the corners of her own lips curling up. 

“Can I ask a dumb question?” she heard Percy say beside her.

Her smile fell from her lips and she rolled her eyes. “You always do.”

“It’s like you need us to make fun of you,” added Annabeth, squinting her eyes at the blond.

“I think he does, Annie,” snickered Y/N, earning a sharp jab in the side from Percy. She frowned at him, kicking his feet under the table. The boy huffed, glaring her way.

“Shoot,” interrupted the satyr, a note of panic seeping into his tone as he witnessed the exchange.

“I’ve never been to Los Angeles before,” stated Percy, his gaze shifting between the three of them. “I’m guessing neither of you have been to Los Angeles.”

Y/N shook her head. She had never been anywhere in the world, apart from the wild pinetree forest where she spent the first few years of her childhood growing up, Manhattan and Camp Half-Blood. She could still recall the fresh, raw smell of pines and the crunching of leaves under her feet. Her senses still remembered the feeling of home. As if she had never left it. A shudder passed her, as fragments of her nightmare resurfaced once again.

“So, how will we have any idea where we’re going?”

Grover shrugged. “No idea.”

“We can always acquire a map,” piped in Y/N. 

Percy panned his gaze onto her. His eyebrows pinched together. “We can’t read maps.”

She rolled her eyes for the second time that day. “I’m well aware, kelp head, thank you.” A small smile blossomed on her lips as she turned to look at the satyr. “Grover can read it for us.”

A look of remorse passed on Grover’s face, his lips curling in an apologetic smile and his eyes softening. “I’m not great with maps either, actually.”

Y/N blinked. “Well, then–”

“But that’s like step thirty-seven, and we’re still on step four. Cross that bridge when we get there,” he continued in a reassuring, warm tone, nodding his head. 

Percy slightly nodded his head along, his eyebrows still furrowed. “Follow-up stupid question.”

“Dude,” Annebeth sighed, rolling her eyes.

“And you shall fail to save what matters most in the end. Back in Jersey, I told you the Oracle said this quest will fail. And no one’s mentioned it since,” he said, gazing at Y/N. “Seems like something we oughta be taking more seriously…” His voice trailed off, as he caught a glimpse of outside behind Y/N’s shoulder, his lips parting. “Hey. Look at that. Are those–”

Y/N turned her head towards the window. Four centaurs were galloping alongside the train, on rolling green fields, carrying arrows and bows. Y/N quirked up a smile at the sight of them. This was the first time she was seeing centaurs outside the protective barrier of Camp Half-Blood. She still vividly remembered meeting Chiron for the first time. Words had died in her throat as she took in his hooves and four legs. Wonderstruck, she had asked if he was a horse (“And if you are a horse, does that mean I can ride you? I’ve never ridden a horse before, or saw one for that matter! You’re the first, mister Chiron.”). Alas, she was much younger back then. And much more naive. 

“Centaurs,” she and Annabeth said in unison. She threw her best friend a small smile. 

Percy looked around the dining car, confusion lacing his features. “No one even knows they’re there.”

“They can’t see through the Mist,” explained Y/N, tearing her gaze away from the centaurs and towards Percy.  “Unlike us. Few mortals do.”

“There used to be herds of them everywhere,” voiced Grover, wistfully glancing outside the window.

“What happened to them?”

“Humans.” He sighed, eyes downcast. “A few thousand years ago, the god of the wild, Pan, disappeared. And ever since, without Pan to protect the natural world, humans have been trying really hard to chip away at it.” 

“The bravest satyrs volunteer to become Searchers, trying to find Pan,” added Athena’s daughter, knowledge dripping down her tongue. “None have ever returned.”

A thick tension fell upon them, like a heavy winter blanket. 

“Your uncle we found in Medusa’s, Ferdinand,” said Percy, closely watching his best friend. “He was a Searcher?”

Grover only nodded. Y/N’s heart grew heavy at the sight of him, quiet with his lips curled downwards. She tipped her head sideways, catching his gaze, and she smiled his way. He softly smiled back. 

“The Oracle didn’t say the quest would fail,” voiced Annabeth, raising her eyebrows. “Fail to save what matters the most. That could mean a lot of things. That’s how prophecies work, that’s how fate works. It could mean a lot of things. The harder you work to understand, the harder it gets to understand.” She shook her head, her dark locks swaying. “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta let it come to you when it’s ready.”

“Excuse me. Can I see your tickets, please?”

Y/N jumped in her seat, turning her head towards the voice. She immediately frowned upon seeing a police officer asking for train tickets. Didn’t they have a conductor for that?

She opened her mouth to retaliate, but upon seeing Annabeth subtly shaking her head, she shut it back down. She watched as her friend took out their tickets out of her jacket pocket, handing them to the officer. He glanced down at the tickets, before snapping his gaze back to Annabeth. “You’re in Cabin 17B?”

The hair on her neck stood up and Y/N felt that familiar fire travelling through her veins. “Yes. Is there a problem, officer?”

She felt someone kick her under the table and she briefly acknowledged that someone as being Percy but she ignored him this time, holding eye contact with the police officer. The man only sighed through his nose and waved them to follow him. She shared a look of confusion with her friends, pursing her lips in thought. Her stomach twisted in knots as they followed him out the dining car and through the corridor. He swiftly pushed open the door and a cold draft hit her, chilling her to the bones. The wind whistling reached her ears and her mouth fell open as she took in the disarray state in which their cabin was in. The window was smashed open, sharp glass glinting dangerously on the floor. The mattresses were thrown across and turned up-side down, the white sheets fluttering in the wind. The pillows were strewn across the cabin. 

“You wanna explain?” asked the officer as he pointed towards the chaos. 

Y/N snapped her gaze towards him, the air stuck somewhere in her throat. “What is there to explain? Someone clearly vandalised our cabin!”

The man only raised his eyebrows at her.

“Wait. Wait, you think we did this?” asked Percy in disbelief, turning his whole body towards the officer. 

“Did you?”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “What gave you that idea? The fact that we are kids?”

“I mean– How? And why?” added Percy, taking a step closer, his shoulder lightly touching Y/N’s. 

“Sir, when we left to get breakfast, everything was intact,” intervened Grover, his voice calm but his eyes frantic. “We don’t know how this happened.”

“We got a witness here, says she heard the window smash, and then heard children’s voices.”

Y/N looked over the officer’s shoulder. A woman with long, lush brown hair was talking to another police officer, waving her hands around. She was wearing a light pink blazer, which to Y/N looked expensive enough to seem out of place in a Second Class train wagon. She shifted her gaze back to their own cabin and took a step towards it.  A hand shot out in front of her, colliding with her waist. 

The police officer hardened his gaze. “Do not enter, kid.”

Y/N frowned. “Why? Now I am not allowed to enter my own cabin?”

The man clenched his jaw but let her pass. She fisted her hands and crouched near the window. There were a million shards sticking into the carpeted floor and glimmering in the just risen sun. She frowned as she took hold of one. It bit into her finger, drawing blood. She winced and raised the finger to her lips, a metallic taste invading her mouth. There were way too many shards for the window to have been broken from inside. Someone must have done it from the outside. Someone or something. 

She got up, her eyes catching sight of a slashing mark left on the wall. It stretched across it, in dark and wide lines. She absently acknowledged Percy exclaiming in the background, his voice strained in frustration.

“Can you tell me what time you left the cabin?” interrogated the police officer.

Y/N turned around, her gaze immediately meeting Annabeth’s hardened one. 

“Are we under arrest?”

The officer backed up, frowning. “I don’t think you wanna take that tone with me, little girl.”

“Are we under arrest?” she repeated, her voice raising. 

The officer huffed and crossed his arms as he glared down at Annabeth. Y/N’s mouth twitched and she marched towards him, her eyes clouding in white hot anger. “No, no, she asked a good question. Are we under arrest?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Turns out we are under arrest,” huffed Y/N as she fell into her seat beside Percy, back in the dining car. Her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her foot impatiently. Her blood was boiling in her veins. The train was speeding down the tracks, the sun now suddenly covered by clouds that weren’t there before. 

Percy glanced at her as he gulped, before he shifted his gaze towards the policeman now speaking with the supposed witness. He was jotting down on a small, black agenda, taking her statement.  “So, we’re just killing time ‘till we find out that guy’s like a werewolf or something, right?”

“Werewolves don’t exist, kelp head.”

Percy shifted in his seat as he felt the fury radiating from Y/N in scorching waves.

Annabeth glanced behind her shoulders at the officer. 

A static voice filled the car, announcing the next station. They were soon arriving at St. Louis Gateway in ten minutes. Y/N thought that was as good a time as any to get off that cursed train and try their luck somewhere else. She would even go on foot if it meant she wouldn’t see that police officer again. 

“I don’t think he’s a monster,” replied Annabeth in a whisper. 

“Hard to say,” said Grover. 

“He’s definitely an idiot,” added Y/N, as she burned holes into the police officer’s head. 

“Well, if he’s not a monster, what’s going on here? Why would anyone tear our room apart?”

“Maybe they were looking for something,” suggested Grover, throwing Y/N a worried glance. The girl only sighed through her nose as she tore her gaze away.

“We don’t have anything,” answered Percy.

Annabeth slightly leaned over the table, meeting Percy’s eyes. “The people who think you stole Zeus’s master bolt might disagree.”

Percy shifted his gaze away, blinking. “Right,” he replied, dejected.

The train horn blared, and Y/N shook away some of her stupor at the sound of it. She straightened in her seat. 

“Well, look, they’re not gonna find something we don’t have,” Grover hastily replied, shaking his head. 

“Either way, we aren’t spending the day answering questions in the St. Louis police station,” added Athena’s daughter, frowning.

“Or anywhere for that matter”, mumbled Y/N.

“We need to get out of this before we get delayed,” continued Annabeth, panic lacing her features. 

“I agree,” voiced Y/N as she uncrossed her arms. “We get off the train and take another or…” Her voice faded as she saw that woman tapping Annabeth gently on her shoulder. She was bearing a wide smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and Y/N felt a shiver travel down her spine at the sight of it. 

“D-do you mind if I sit?”

Y/N roamed her eyes over her, taking in her clean appearance. Her teeth were pearly white and her clothes were ironed to perfection. She definitely did not spend the night on the train, and as far as she knew, the train didn’t have any stops during the night. She was carrying a pet carrier. It was slightly shaking, whimpering sounds coming from inside of it. 

Y/N raised her gaze towards the woman and smiled a strained smile. “We do, in fact.”

The woman disregarded her reply as she took a seat beside her, pushing her towards Percy. Y/N huffed in annoyance, shifting as her thigh grazed his. “You poor dears. Your parents aren’t here, are they?”

Sounds of whining came from the pet carrier and Y/N shared a look with Annabeth.  Suspicion simmered in her dark eyes and Y/N gave a small nod. 

“Isn’t that right, precious?” the woman said, as she bent towards the bag with the smile still etched on her face. “Don’t children get scared when they’re all alone?” She straightened her back, shifting her gaze between the four of them. Y/N scooted closer to Percy once she felt her shoulder touching the woman’s.  

“It’s okay. I’m a mom. I know how scared you must be,” she smiled Y/N’s way. 

Y/N’s eyebrows twitched in a small frown. 

“Excuse me. Would you mind giving us a little space?” the stranger asked the police woman standing guard near them. “I think– I think you’re making them nervous.”

“I don’t think she’s the one making us nervous,” Y/N muttered, her lips scowling in disdain.

“Did you say something, dear?”

Y/N plastered a tight-lipped smile on her face. “Nothing.”

The woman closely regarded her, smiling back. There was something sinister about her smile. Something that chilled Y/N to the bones. “You must be the rebel kind.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up to the top of her head. “Sorry?”

“The child who’s angry at the world and therefore rebels.” Her lips pouted. “I would know. I am a mother after all.”

Y/N shifted under her heavy gaze. She felt Annabeth nudge her foot and she raised her eyes to meet hers. Annabeth’s gaze shone with kindness and unspoken reassurance  and Y/N knew that if she could, her friend would have squeezed her by the hand. 

“I want you to know… I don’t actually think that you made that mess back there,” the woman nodded. 

“Really? And then what did you even tell the officers?” replied Y/N, her voice dripping with acid poison. 

“I just wanted a moment alone with you. There are some things I need you to understand–”

“You have something on your jacket,” interrupted Grover, his eyes pinned to the pink blazer the woman was wearing. 

Y/N moved her gaze towards it. Something was glimmering, catching the faint, morning light. The sun was still hidden away behind clouds, but a few rays braved them. 

“It looks like– It looks like glass.”

She reached towards the small shard, pinching it between two fingers and taking out of the blazer. A white, thin thread stuck to it. The shard tore into her tissue, a droplet of crimson blood bubbling up and streaming downwards her skin. “It is glass.”

“No one smashed out the windows from inside our cabin.” Grover’s voice hardened as his gaze never left the stranger’s, realisation dawning on him. “Someone smashed them in from the outside.”

“It was you,” added Y/N, her voice trembling with notes of anger. “You tore our cabin apart.”

The woman hummed, her smile faded by now. Grunts and whimpers shook the pet carrier and she shifted her attention towards it, rising from the seat and crouching in front of the bag. “Yes, sweetheart. I know, I know. You’re impatient.”

Whatever was in the bag snarled and Y/N’s eyes widened upon hearing it. “There’s no dog in there, is it? It’s something else. Something bigger.”

The stranger rose up and turned towards her, smiling that bone-chilling smile. “Well, aren’t you perceptive?” She shook her head, shrugging. “This isn’t your fault. But sadly, you’re going to have to bear the burden of your parents’ mistakes today.”

Percy’s voice didn’t waver as he spoke up, eyes darkening, determination written on his face. “Listen, lady. I don’t know who you are, but I think I know what you are. We’ve run across a few monsters like you and we sent them all packing.”

The woman scoffed, still smiling. “Monsters like me?” She tilted her head. “Well… of course they’re like me.” Her smile fell off her face and her gaze hardened. “They were my children.”

Y/N froze as goosebumps raked her arms. 

“Children?” asked Percy, shifting in his seat. “What does that mean?”

The satyr straightened his back. “The Mother of Monsters.”

“Echidna,” explained Annabeth, her lips parting. 

The woman smiled at the mention of her name, her eyes glinting. 

The pet carrier rattled and growled. Echidna turned towards it, her hand reaching out to caress it much like a mother would embrace her child. She calmed the monster down, her voice coming in comforting shushes and Y/N started at the familiar look in her eyes. She saw it in her mother’s and aunt’s gazes whenever they used to look at her. Looks of warmth and nurture. 

“Monster. It’s an odd word, considering my grandmother is your great-grandmother, and this has always been a family story” said Echidna, leaning on the table behind her, but still staying close to the pet carrier. Her smile appeared on her face, stretching her lips wide  and showing her sharp pearly white teeth. “But… to my eye, the demigod is the more dangerous creature. Disruptive. Violent. If I exist for anything, it is to stand in the way of monsters like you.” 

The monster inside the bag growled once again, and for a split moment Y/N thought she was hearing the two-headed dog from four years ago, standing in the pouring rain, outlined only by the flashing lightning. Her breath hitched and she backed into her seat, eyes glued to the pet carrier.

“My little one here. She’s just a pup now. Bless her heart,” Echidna chuckled, laying a mothering hand on the bag. “Today… you will be her prey.”

Y/N gulped and she felt Percy stiffen beside her. 

“Are you afraid yet? Oh, it’s all right. Fear is natural. It’s also essential to the hunt. Your fear. Your doubt. Your confusion. I needed  you to understand what was happening so that she could track your scent.’ Y/N was suddenly hyper-aware of the blood dripping down her finger, of its scent lingering in the air. “So that she could learn and grow, because that’s what a good mother does for her children.”

The bag unzipped, furious growling filling the air. Y/N breathed in, her hands twitching, well aware she wasn’t able to use her bow and arrows in such a proximity. She was cursing the day she chose to learn archery, instead of sword fighting.

“Not that you would know,” continued Echidna, her face now devoid of any emotion. 

Y/N’s jaw clenched and she saw red before her eyes. She did know. And she had a feeling Percy did too.

The bag opened with a whoosh. Y/N squinted her eyes and she realised that whatever was in that bag, had a sharp tail.

“You should run now,” smiled Echidna. 

“Duck!” yelled Y/N, as she leaned over with her hands sheltering her head. A draft of air rustled the hair from the crown of her head and she heard a resounding stab near her. Pained screeching followed and she raised her head to see Annabeth sticking her dagger into the monster’s tail. 

“Go!”

Y/N shot up from her seat and bolted towards the door, slamming it open. She sprinted down the corridors, almost sliding as she went. Padded footsteps told her the others were close by.

“You! Stop! Stop!”

Her teeth grinded together as she recognised the policeman’s voice. The train shuddered and she stumbled, falling into a door compartment. She looked over the shoulder, seeing Annabeth lock the door behind them. 

“Percy!” Grover exclaimed, his voice wavering. He reached out to take something glittering out of Percy’s green shirt. 

Y/N frowned and she leaned closer. 

“What is that?” panted Percy.

“It’s a stinger,” replied Annabeth, running up to them. 

“It got to you?” asked Y/N, her eyes wide as she stared up at Percy. The boy only swallowed as he held eye contact with her. A grimace flashed across his face.

“Grover, do you know what kind of monster has one of those?”

“I don’t know. I mean, nothing good probably.”

“Do you feel okay?”

Percy moved his gaze off Y/N onto Annabeth. His breathing turned heavy and he was clutching his shoulder, his eyes widened. “I think so. Why? Do you think it’s poisonous or something?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Annabeth, studying the stinger. 

Y/N sighed through her nose, her eyes flashing. “I told you to duck! Why are you never listening?!”

Percy snapped his gaze back onto her, eyebrows furrowing. “Why are you always ordering me around?”

She scoffed. “Would you prefer for me to leave you to die?”

“Guys, is this really the best time?” asked Annabeth as she looked behind her at the officers banging on the door. The train whined and stumbled forward before slowing down. The sound of approaching, thunderous steps shook the train. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as a door’s window shattered, the metal creaking and the lights flickering. Familiar growling reached her ears and she took a stumbling step back. 

“We gotta move!”

They rushed through the corridors, out of the train and over the train tracks, hurried steps raising dust and leaving traces behind. They came to a stop once they didn’t hear the growling anymore. 

“Why isn’t it still chasing us?” heaved Percy. 

Y/N inhaled a breath of air as she doubled over. 

“Echidna said whatever she was hiding in that carrier, it’s young. It won’t venture too far from her mother. She’s learning to hunt and this seems like the hunting part,” explained Athena’s daughter, fear clouding her eyes.

“Great,” muttered Y/N as she straightened her back, a faint pain stabbing her in the side. “Let’s go, we can’t stay here.”

Soon the train tracks were replaced by streets and buildings. The occasional raw green of trees popped up between the gray of buildings and concrete as Y/N marched down the street, her hand now gripping her bow. Her mind was reeling and there was a hurry in her steps. 

“We aren’t gonna be able to outrun them for very long,” said Grover, struggling to keep up with her. 

“I know,” replied Y/N, her knuckles turning white on the bow.

“We don’t need to,” intervened Annabeth. “We just need a safe place to hole up.”

“Some place safe,” added Percy. “Any ideas where we might find one of those?”

Y/N spared him a glance. He was much paler than a few minutes ago, his lips turning an alarming shade of purple. He glanced back at her once he felt her gaze on him and she blinked before looking forward. 

“I do,” said Annabeth, her voice confident and steady. She skipped a few steps ahead, now leading the group. “A sanctuary, dedicated to Athena, built by one of her demigod children a long time ago.”

“There is an Athenian temple hidden somewhere in the middle of downtown St. Louis?” asked the satyr, disbelief written on his face.

“Yes. Except it’s not all that hidden.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A wide arch stretched towards the sky, bending and shining under the sun. To Y/N’s eyes, it looked like an unfinished bow and she grinned upon seeing it. 

“It’s 630 feet wide, 630 feet tall, both to within an inch. It’s got no internal support. Each side is balanced perfectly against the other. The arch is held up by symmetry. It’s held up by math,” said Annabeth as they entered the Gateway Arch, a sparkle in her eyes and her voice filled with pride and wonder. “And it’s earthquake-proof, so Poseidon can’t ruin it.”

“Impressive,” said Y/N, sending her best friend a smile. Annabeth smiled back.

“Nice,” added Percy. 

Annabeth excused herself as she made her way through a crowd of students on a school trip and Y/N wondered for a split second what it would have been like if they were simply just kids, visiting a monument with the class. “This is how you show Athena your love. A monument to the power of perfection.”

“It’s a monument to some other stuff, too,” replied Grover, looking towards an animal skull and a rifle put on display. 

Y/N’s smile fell off her face at the sight of them and she worriedly glanced at him. His eyes were glued to the skull and his jaw clenched. It was the first time she ever saw Grover harden his face. Whenever she thought of the satyr (which was much more often when he was away from Camp, as her mind worriedly travelled to one of her few friends) she thought of a face warmed by the sun, a face lightened by a soft smile. She tried catching his gaze in an attempt to reassure him, but he avoided any eye contact. 

“You’re talking about what some humans want this place to be about. I’m talking about what it actually is.”

“Annie,” Y/N gently called out, slowly shaking her head.

Annabeth met her gaze and softly sighed. 

“Whatever,” replied Grover, looking around. “We’re safe here, right?”

“No monsters can enter. Not even Echidna. We’re safe.”

“Great. Well, since our train exploded, I’m gonna see if there’s another one we can get tickets on. We can’t stay here forever.” Grover’s gaze slid to a picture hung on the museum wall, depicting two horse riders hunting a bison, holding a pair of rifles.  “Just because we’re prey, doesn’t mean we need to be helpless.”

“Do you need help with that? I can come with you,” offered Y/N, mustering what she hoped would be a kind smile.

“No, it’s alright," replied the satyr, before walking off.

A silence stretched for a few seconds before Percy spoke up, walking around and letting his eyes travel the size of the room. “He doesn’t like it when people mess with animals.”

“Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have snapped at him, I just–” Annabeth sighed. “I know.” Her gaze shifted between her best friend and Percy before she took a step back. “I’ll go help him out. Even if he said he didn’t need any help.” 

“Right,” nodded Percy.

She sent Y/N a pointed look that screamed “Behave!” as she walked away. The girl just rolled her eyes in reply. A thick silence fell between her and Percy and Y/N crossed her arms, taking in the sight of the small museum. 

“So, uh, this is Athena’s place, huh?” she heard Percy ask as he shuffled his feet.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking around, slightly swaying on the spot. 

“Apparently so,” replied Y/N, frowning as Percy took in a laboured breath.

“Wonder if she’s around.”

“I doubt it”

“Be right down, just going to the potty,” said Percy in a squeaky voice, attempting a posh, British accent.

A smirk tugged at Y/N’s lips and she turned fully towards him. “Charming.”

“I have a gift,” smiled Percy.

“Who told you that?”

“My mom.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered and she uncrossed her arms. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

Percy just shrugged, a sadness swirling in the ocean of his eyes.

“I know how you’re feeling.” 

She did. When her mother fell sick, she lived in a constant state of waiting. Waiting for her to live, waiting for her to die. Waiting for someone or something to give her a sign. A small flicker of hope. And when her mother took her last breath, Y/N felt as if she had lost a part of herself, as if someone had taken her from her. Afterwards, everything was a blur. She didn’t remember the first month after her mother’s passing, nor did she recall the funeral. But she remembered the rage that had clawed its way into her heart. 

Percy’s eyes locked onto hers. “You do?”

“Yes.”

He just nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too.”

Percy waved his hand around. “This is a temple, right? You can pray to him. Like you did back at the Camp.”

“I’m past praying.” She moved her eyes away from him, already feeling that rush of fire taking over her and clouding her mind in red wrath. “I’ve prayed enough. He doesn’t seem to listen.” She turned her eyes back on Percy, who was closely watching her, his pale lips parted. “But maybe you should try. Maybe Poseidon will listen.”

Percy’s gaze fell on the floor. “No thanks.”

“Why not?”

He took in a shuddering breath, as he raised his ocean eyes to hers. “My father…He… I don’t want anything from him, not like you do. He’s had his chances. You’ve done a lot more for me in the past few days than he ever did, even if you annoyingly love to order everyone around. But I’ve seen you do it with care and if I’d had to stick to someone, I–”

He fell silent.

“What? You’d stick with me? Is that what you were about to say, seaweed brain? You don’t even know me.”

“I wouldn’t stick only with you. The others, as well,” he swallowed.

She squinted at him. “Right. And if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were thanking me for ordering you around but—” She stopped short once she noticed his uneven breathing. The vibrant ocean in his eyes was now a dull shade of blue and the once now tanned skin was ghostly white, the freckles prominently spotting his cheeks and nose. There were dark eye bags that weren’t there before. “Hey, are you feeling alright?”

He nodded before he collapsed. Y/N latched onto him just before he hit the floor. “Woah! Easy there!”

Thundering footsteps announced her friends’ presence and she grimaced as she struggled to keep Percy upwards.

“Hey! What happened?”

“I think– I think those stinger things were poisonous,” croaked out the blond as he gave up and slid down on the floor. 

Y/N’s frantic eyes met Annabeth’s. Her friend only reached towards Percy, taking him by the arm. “I have an idea. Come on, help me.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Standing in a fountain wasn’t something that Y/N had on her bucket list. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t even spared the idea a thought. But there she was, crouching in front of Percy in the middle of the fountain, spraying him in the face with water. She scrunched her nose in disgust. The water fountain wasn’t very clean. Not like the creeks in the woods. Not like the one behind the cabin. 

“You look awful, seaweed brain,” she said in an attempt to raise his spirits, her tone teasing. 

The boy met her gaze, pain twisting his face. He inhaled a sharp breath. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled as she threw a handful of water onto his face. He coughed it out.

“The water cured him back at Camp, it should work for poison too, right?” asked Annabeth as she splashed water onto him from the side. 

“Right, but I don’t think it’s working, Annie,” replied Y/N, sharing a worried look with Grover. She looked back at Percy. He was blinking the water out of his eyes, breathing heavily, his chest rising up and down in an effort to ground himself. 

“You know, I think it’s– I think it’s working,” he eventually breathed out, his voice scratchy. “This was a great call.”  He grimaced as he leaned his weight on his hand and tried getting up, only to fall back into the water not even a second later. “Or not.”

“Maybe it needs to be naturally running water for Poseidon to be able to heal him,” deduced Annabeth.

Y/N opened her mouth, her mind sparkling with an idea. Wasn’t the Mississippi river just behind them? A car honking interrupted her train of thoughts. It slid down the road, tires screeching before it spun out of control and crashed, the widows shattering, coating the street with sparkling glass.

“Okay. We need to get back inside,” said Annabeth, an urgency in her tone.

“No, we need to keep trying!” replied Grover.

“This isn’t working and she’s coming!”

“Grov, listen to me,” said Y/N, her voice firm and authoritative. “We can’t be any help to Percy if we’re killed, can we?”

The satyr’s eyebrows frowned in regret and he sighed. Another car honked, police sirens wailing in the distance. Y/N snapped her head around. Echidna was advancing towards them with steady steps and a smile stretching on her face. 

“Gods,” Y/N mumbled, a cold fear scratching at her neck, raising her hair. 

“Okay, look, we’ll take Percy inside and we’ll go to the temple’s altar,” voiced Annabeth, getting up. 

“Altar? Where is there an altar?” asked Grover, standing up, water dripping down his arms.

“The highest point, the best view.”

Y/N’s gaze locked onto Percy’s and she sighed through her nose. Her hands reached out to him, latching around his shoulder and arm. “At three, okay, seaweed brain?”

The boy nodded.

“One, two, three!” She pulled him up, heaving as her Converse almost slipped on the wet floor of the fountain, water sloshing around them. Percy breathed out as he leaned his whole weight on her and she almost staggered. 

“Okay, but what good is that even gonna do us?”

“We’re gonna get to the altar and we’re going to ask my mom for help,” replied Annabeth, a note of finality in her voice.

“I thought we don’t ask for help,” said Percy, looking at her. 

Another car honking and skidding down the path. 

“Come on, let’s get moving.”

Grover took hold of Percy’s other arm, putting it around his neck. Together they jumped out of the fountain, landing with a splash on the concrete. Percy swayed before Y/N put her arm around his back, steadying him. “Gods, kelp head, you weigh like lead.”

“Sorry,” he grimaced, leaning all his weight on the satyr. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop leaning on me, did I?” she said, pulling him back onto her.

“Guys, d–did you hear that?” asked Annabeth, her voice shaking. She was trailing behind, looking towards Echidna. 

Y/N’s footsteps faltered and she frowned, turning toward her best friend.

“Hear what?” questioned Grover.

The girl remained silent for a second, her eyes flickering between the three of them. There was a confusion and a familiar sadness simmering in her gaze, one that Y/N got to know in the time she befriended Annabeth. During camp fires, and quiet nights when the nightmares became too much, during fiery sunsets at the edge of the Camp, near Thalia’s pine tree.  “Annie?”

Annabeth only hastily shook her head. “Never mind. Come on.”

They rushed to the entrance, hastened steps slowed down by Percy’s weight. They dodged crowds and made their way into a tram. Y/N, with the help of Grover, let Percy fall gently into a seat, before she settled next to him. The fluorescent blue light of the tram coloured his face in the shades of a million oceans, illuminating his now discoloured freckles and dark indigo circles under his tired eyes. He was panting and Y/N realised that speaking hurt him, as well. 

“What was that back there? What did you hear? She spoke to you. Alecto did that with me back in the museum in New York. What did she say?” he asked Annabeth. 

Y/N’s gaze moved onto her friend, watching her closely. She was avoiding her gaze, her lips parted and eyebrows slightly furrowed. And Y/N knew then that what she must have heard had to do with one of her many wounds. The kind that only cut deep when growing up with the absence of a mother. One that Y/N knew all too well. “Annie, did she–” But the sound of growling froze her and she snapped her head towards it. Echidna had just entered the museum with her head held high and back straightened in pride and silent rage. The shadow of a monster with two sharp horns was stretching on the wall. Y/N gaped as the tram’s door slid closed, fear paralysing her body, her mind going in overdrive. The tram jolted and started to ascend. 

“Was that the Chimera?” whispered Grover, shock painting his features. “I think– I think that was the Chimera! 

“It was the Chimera,” replied Y/N, still staring at the closed door. 

“How did the Chimera even get inside here? How did any monster get inside here?”

“Annabeth?” called Percy, trying to stay upright but failing. His breathing was shallow. Y/N could hear it near her ear. 

She shifted her eyes on Annabeth. Her best friend was still staring down at the floor, blinking and furrowing. She caught her gaze. Shame was painting her cheeks in a dusty pink and her eyes turned into a dark pool of sorrow. 

“We’re in a sanctuary. Athena would have had to let her in, but why would she do that?”

“Annabeth! What did Echidna say to you?” asked Percy, frustration building in his tone.

She sighed through her nose. “She said my impertinence wounded my mother’s pride. And that that will be my doom.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “No…” she muttered in realisation, guilt starting to eat at her stomach. She clenched her fists on her knees.  

Percy started shaking his head, eyebrows creasing together. “Impertinence? What kind of–” His face softened, eyes widening. “Medusa’s head.”

“I embarrassed my mother.”

Now there was a hole in Y/N’s stomach, a glowing deep red flashing beneath her eyelids. “But how’s that possible? You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m the one who sent the head to Olympus,” added Percy, crouching in pain. A drop of water fell from his hair onto his forehead as he shook his head. “I signed the note. Only mine and Y/N’s names were on it.”

“And I went along with it!” flared up Annabeth. “It embarrassed her. Now, she’s angry.”

Y/N shook her head, remorse lacing her features. Her hand itched as it wanted to reach out for her friend’s, but the guilt handcuffed her, tying her to a surging anger and a deep flowing regret. 

“Guys, what are we gonna do?” inquired the satyr, eyes downcast.

“She isn’t gonna help us when we get to the top to save Percy.”

“No, I meant what are we gonna do about Echidna and Chimera?” emphasised Grover, looking between them. “They’re gonna be right behind us!”

“We’re gonna fight,” answered Y/N, feeling the curving of the bow on her back.

The tram slowed to a stop, its door opening with a ding. 

“We’re not gonna have much time. They’ll be up here any minute. And if my mother isn’t going to protect us, then we’ll just have to fight it up here,” said Annabeth as she came out the tram, putting her bag around her shoulders, determination glinting in her eyes.

Y/N followed her out, marching up the stairs. She came to an abrupt stop, as chatter filled her ears. Tourists crowded the top of the Gateway Arch, smiling and pointing towards the view. 

“Oh, no,” voiced the satyr from beside her, steadying Percy up. “We gotta get everybody out of here.”

Y/N swallowed, looking around the room before a wailing alarm slashed the air, blaring and whining. She jumped at the sound of it, before she felt the warm hand of her friend on her shoulder, guiding her along. “You and Percy follow them down.”

Y/N frowned, stopping in her tracks, implanting her soles into the floor, letting them grow roots there. “Absolutely not!”

“What? No, no, no. W-we’re not splitting up,” agreed Grover, shaking his head.

Annabeth sighed, taking him by the arm and pushing him down the hallway. “Grover, come on.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no, we’re all getting out of here together,” breathed out Percy, his lips by now cracked and dry. 

“We won’t make it. Someone has to stay back and slow her down and buy everyone some time.”

“And that someone has to be you?” retorted Y/N with a frown etched on her face.

“Yes. It’s the only way.”

“Well, then, I’m coming with you.”

“What? No.”

“I’m coming with you, Annie. Whether you like it or not. Whether you want to or not. We’re in this together,” Y/N replied, taking her by the hand. She gave it a comforting squeeze. 

The girl opened her mouth in protest, but fell silent upon seeing the lightning in Y/N’s gaze. 

“You’re not Thalia,” continued Y/N, her tone harsh. “You don’t have to do this alone.” 

A look of understanding passed between them and Annabeth’s frown softened. She nodded and squeezed Y/N’s hand back. “Come on.” She pushed the boys down the stairs. “Okay, help him down the stairs and get him to the river. And don’t stop. Not ‘till you get to Hades, not ‘till you have the bolt. Do you hear me?”

The blond started to shake his head, his eyes moving between the girls, his mouth hanging open in clear panic.

“Okay, go,” urged Annabeth.

“It’s not negotiable,” voiced Y/N, staring down at Percy. 

He inhaled a breath of air to reply before a shot of pain made him cower and grimace. 

“You need to get to the river. We’ll be fine, seaweed brain. We’re tough girls.”

“But–”

“Just listen to me this once,” she cut him off. “Trust me.” 

She sent him a small smile and started closing the door, her other hand still in Annabeth's. 

“Wait! Take this,” said Percy, taking a pen out of his pants pocket. A metallic ringing tinkled in the air. A golden, glowing sword materialised in Percy’s hand and he held it out for Y/N to take. She hesitated. “Keep it, you’ll need it, seaweed brain.”

“You need it more than me now,” he croaked out.

“I have my bow and arrows and Annie has her dagger.”

“Just take it,” he sighed.

She reached out for it, wrapping her hand around the handle. It was smooth to the touch, the metal cooling her hand. “Thank–” But with a grunt, the boy pushed her through the door and down the stairs. Annabeth fell behind her, knocking into her and Y/N lost her footing, crashing into the satyr. She whipped her head around after Grover steadied her, but the door to the panoramic view was already closed.

“Hey! Open this door!” she yelled, banging on it with knuckled white fists. 

“Hey! Percy! Percy, please!” Grover pleadied. 

“Percy, no! Don’t do this. They’ll kill you.”

“You idiot! Open this door right now!” 

Percy’s muffled voice travelled to them through the door. “Poseidon’s never helped me before. He wasn’t gonna start now. I would’ve never made it to Hades. But you can. And now you will.”

She heard enough and with a low grunt, she turned around, marching down the stairs, a scowl curling her lips downwards. 

“Y/N? Where are you going? Y/N!” Grover called out after her but she ignored him, her determined steps carrying her down. Her blood was boiling again and she took out her bow, the wooden curve of it fitting in her hand like the piece of an intricate puzzle. She turned the corner, arriving on the first floor. Her eyes roamed around the room, stopping onto an opened tram. She looked around, seeing a scrawny teenager dressed in the uniform of the museum as he hurried to the exit, the alarm still blaring in the background.

“You!” she called out to him.

The boy turned his head towards her, his gaze fearful. He pointed towards himself. “Me?”

“Yeah, you! You’re gonna make this tram work and ascend towards the top,” she replied, marching up to him, her jaw clenched. 

“B-but, miss, the alarm–”

Her voice turned thunderous, her eyes flashing, as she raised her bow and an arrow. “You will do as I say.”

The teenager stammered, his eyes flickering between her and the weapon before he hastily nodded, rushing towards his working cabin. Y/N followed his example, marching towards the tram. After she entered, it closed with a bang and jolted as it started ascending. She lost her balance, colliding into the wall. With a pained grunt, she rose up as the door opened with a ding. She sprinted out, running up the stairs, her hand gripping her weapon. 

“I knew you were coming, demigod. My little one here sensed your blood,” Echidna’s voice echoed, a malice coating tone. “She said it smelled sweet.”

Y/N panted as she arrived at the top, her heart beating in accord with her heavy breathing. Her gaze flew around the room, seeing no sign of Percy, but a hole into the floor. Flames were licking the floor and walls. Echidna was standing proudly in the middle of the room, the Chimera growling beside her, showing its sharp fangs.

“Where’s Percy? What did you do to him?!” she shouted. 

“Down below. 630 feet below. Are you in a rush to meet his fate?” Echidna replied, cocking her head to the side. “Perhaps that can be arranged.”

The Chimera started advancing towards her, opening its mouth in a loud growl. Y/N shuddered and raised her bow, willing her hand to not tremble. The monster growled once more, its scaly skin catching the light of the flames. A bulb of fire scorched the air towards her and she dodged it, before launching an arrow. It stabbed the Chimera in the neck. It gave out a pained growl and raised its tail to hit her but Y/N let another arrow to slay the air, implanting itself in the tail. 

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” she heard Echidna say. 

Y/N shook her head as another arrow flew, stabbing the Chimera in its chest and drawing blood. The red slits of its eyes widened and the monster gave out a furious growl, raising its paw, sending Y/N across the room. She fell to the ground, hitting her head. She blinked, grunting in pain as she tried getting up. A buzzing filled her ears and blurred lines obscured her vision. Growling reached her ears, padded steps shaking the Arch. Y/N searched herself for more arrows, quickly realising she ran out of them.

“Heroes have short lives,” Echidna’s voice echoed, stepping towards her. “You are no exception. It’s just how the tales go.”

Stinging tears gathered in Y/N’s eyes as she crawled away from the monster. Fear froze her body, her stomach turning into a small knot as a lump blocked the air in her throat.

And then she felt it. 

Something electric seemed to travel through her body, needles pricking her skin. But they didn’t hurt. It was as though someone was caressing her skin, energy leaving in its wake. It was levitating and life-giving. 

She felt very much alive.

And then she finally understood. She understood that her father was the king of the skies and of gods. And that she was his daughter, in every conceivable way. And that despite his long absence, he granted her the power to pick herself up from the cold ground, that his powers and skies were also hers, that he was the sky she grew up under and that even in her most thunderous dreams he chose to show himself in ways she hadn't understood at first.

Her feet lifted from the ground, her eyes glowing purple, and she let the energy welcome her home, her hair ruffling in the wind. She raised a hand, conjuring lightning and directed it at the Chimera. It bashed upon the monster in crackling fire and thunder. The monster whimpered before it charged towards her, its skin burning, smoke swirling into the air. Y/N raised both of her palms and hit the monster with a final lightning. It dissolved into ashes, wind carrying them away. 

“No!” shouted Echidna, her voice breaking. “You monster!”

The wind slowly lowered Y/N to the ground and she blinked the glow out of her eyes. Her hands still crackled with alive energy. “Between the two of us, I think you’re the monster.”

Echidna’s face darkened with a scowl, as she stepped towards Y/N. The girl realised that she preferred her bone-chilling smile. She took a step back. “Above it all, I am a mother. And you took that from me.” 

“You killed Percy!”

The Mother of Monsters steadily advanced towards her, her scowl slowly turning into her sinister smile. Y/N backed away from her until the back of her sneakers stepped onto the edge of nothing. She regained her balance, as she looked over her shoulder. The ground was stretching before her eyes, wind hollowing. 

“Who’s gonna save you now? You have no one. A motherless and abandoned child.”

She whipped her head around. “That’s not true,” she replied, her voice trembling. “My father helped me today!”

Echidna tilted her head at her, still smiling. “Poor you, so naive. I am so sorry, but you took my baby from me.” Her hands clawed out to her, slashing her across the shoulders and pushing her down the open hole into the floor.

And then Y/N was falling. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: So, there it is! We have finally learned about Y/N's father. How do we feel about the big reveal? Did you guys suspect it? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated.

I expect the next chapter won't come out very soon, I'll try my best but I've been very busy lately, with uni especially. I'm graduating this year so it's a tumultuous one. Thank you for understanding x

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

Series tag list: Storms tag list: @mynicknameisgasoline @constellation-archive @leptitlu @br3nt-12 @utterlyunawarewriter @spidermansfangirl

[soulofapatrick]

Lessons in Flight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian teaches you to fly 

Words: 4K

Warnings: none really 

Y/N’s POV

The wind roars around me, threatening to tear me off the cliff before I even have a chance to embarrass myself. My toes curl in my boots as I glance nervously at the abyss below. Why did I agree to this? Oh, right. Cassian.

He stands a few feet away, the picture of ease and confidence. His massive wings are spread just enough to keep the wind from knocking him over, their black membranes catching the light in a way that’s unfairly mesmerising.

Not that the wings are the only mesmerising thing about him. Cassian is all golden-brown skin and lean, powerful muscle, with black hair that brushes his shoulders in wild, wind-tangled waves. His hazel eyes, sharp and glittering, keep flicking to me, and his rugged, devastatingly handsome face is pulled into the smirk that always sends my heart stumbling over itself.

“Are you planning to sprout wings today, or should I get a chair?” he calls, his deep voice cutting through the wind.

“Should I not be panicking right now?” I snap back, crossing my arms to keep from flailing. “Because I feel like I should absolutely be panicking.”

His grin widens, and I hate how good it looks on him. “No panicking allowed. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns, Cassian!”

He strolls closer, every step radiating that stupid, effortless confidence, and stops a breath away. His wings shift slightly, framing him in a way that makes him look impossibly larger. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning down just enough to meet my gaze. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

The sincerity in his tone knocks some of the breath from my lungs, and I scowl to cover it. “You say that, but you also laughed when I tripped on flat ground yesterday.”

“That was funny,” he says, completely unapologetic.

I shove at his chest—not that he budges an inch—and take a step back, glaring up at him. “You’re the worst.”

“And the best teacher you’ve got,” he counters, his smirk returning full force. “Now, focus. The wings are in you—you just have to bring them out.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to grow yours in front of an audience.”

Cassian barks a laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Trust me, if I could’ve skipped my adolescent flying attempts, I would have. Ask Rhys or Az—‘crash landing’ was basically my middle name for a decade.”

I glance at him, caught off guard by the admission, and find his hazel eyes sparkling with humour. The warmth in his expression is infectious, and against all odds, I laugh.

“There’s the smile,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make my cheeks flush.

I groan, scrubbing at my face. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

“Atta girl.”

I close my eyes and reach for the power thrumming beneath my skin. It feels alive, like a heartbeat, and as I focus, I picture wings—strong, sleek, and powerful.

The change happens faster than I expect. My back burns, like fire racing down my spine, and then—whoosh. Something bursts out behind me, and suddenly, I’m a lot heavier.

“Oh no,” I gasp as the weight of the wings sends me stumbling. My knees buckle, and my feet slip on the edge of the cliff.

“Whoa, whoa!” Cassian’s hands are there in an instant, strong and steady, gripping my waist and pulling me forward before I can tumble into oblivion.

I slam into his chest, and my brain short-circuits.

His body is solid, impossibly warm, and the scent of leather, pine, and something distinctly Cassian wraps around me, making my heart pound. His hands don’t move, firm on my waist, and I can feel the callouses on his fingers through my clothes.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice close and rough.

I look up—and immediately wish I hadn’t. His hazel eyes are inches from mine, bright with concern and amusement, and his stupid, perfect mouth is curved in a small smile.

“I—uh—yeah,” I stammer, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck.

His grin deepens, his thumbs brushing against my sides in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Big wings for such a little thing. No wonder you almost toppled over.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, shoving weakly at him.

He doesn’t let go. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, his wings curl slightly, blocking the wind and cocooning us in a way that feels too intimate.

“You’re doing great,” he says softly, his tone free of teasing for once. “They’re heavy, but you’ll get used to it. You’re stronger than you think.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something warm and stupid bloom in my chest, and I immediately squash it. I step back, forcing some distance between us, and flex my shoulders experimentally. My new wings twitch, the tips dragging against the ground, but they move.

“There you go,” Cassian says, his grin returning. “See? Not so hard.”

“Not hard?” I echo, glaring at him. “I almost died!”

“And I saved you,” he says, winking. “You’re welcome.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face as he starts laughing. But even as I glare at him, my lips twitch upward. Cassian may be insufferable, but he’s my insufferable—and for now, I think I’ll keep him.

The weight of my wings feels too much to bear. Every muscle in my back trembles under the strain as I try, and fail, to lift them. No matter how hard I focus, how badly I want to prove myself, they remain heavy, limp at my sides like the dead weight of a curse. Cassian’s hands, warm and solid against my hips, ground me, steadying my shaky posture. I can feel the strength in him, the way his hands hold me just tight enough, the heat radiating off him like he’s some kind of furnace. He doesn’t even seem to struggle with his wings, his massive, black ones spread wide like an all-encompassing shield against the world, effortlessly cutting through the wind.

“Focus, sweetheart,” Cassian murmurs, voice low, the smirk pulling at his lips, his hazel eyes twinkling with that teasing glint that never fails to set my pulse racing. “You’ve got this. Just a little higher.”

The gentle teasing, the way his hands linger on my waist, have me stumbling, but I force my shoulders to relax and dig deep for the strength I know is buried inside me. With a mental push, I feel the wings twitch, straining, and then—boom. I manage to lift them halfway. The victory is short-lived.

The weight of them—massive and far heavier than I expected—slams down again. My knees buckle.

Before I can catch myself, before I even have the chance to fall, Cassian’s hands are at my waist, pulling me toward him, yanking me against his body. I almost lose my breath from the force of it, my chest pressing into his hard chest, my forehead colliding with the smooth leather of his shoulder.

The impact knocks the air out of me, but my heart starts hammering in my chest like I’ve just sprinted a mile. I feel like I'm drowning in the warmth of him, his scent wrapping around me—leather, wood, and that intoxicating smell that’s just him.

His hands stay firmly on my hips, strong, steady, as he mutters, “Careful there, sweetheart. You’re going to make me drop you if you keep stumbling like that.”

I groan, my face pressed against the heat of his chest, unable to hide how flustered I feel, how the proximity to him makes my skin burn. “I’m not the one dropping anyone,” I mutter, my voice muffled against the solid wall of his body.

He chuckles, and I can practically feel the smile on his lips, that devilish grin of his that never fails to make my insides flip. “Liar.”

I pull back slightly, enough to glare up at him, my face still flushed. His hazel eyes gleam down at me, the playful spark in them never once dimming, and I feel like I’m being swept up in his gaze. “You’re impossible,” I mumble.

“Impossible?” His lips twitch. “More like irresistible.”

I scowl at him, but before I can come up with a decent retort, his hands slide down my back, tracing a path along the edges of my wings. I freeze. The contact is light, but it's like fire—his fingers grazing the leather of my armour just above where my wings meet my back. The spot is sensitive, like he’s touching a nerve directly.

A breath catches in my throat. Gods. The way his fingers linger, caressing so delicately that it’s almost torturous, sends a pulse of warmth straight to my core. The soft pressure of his hand against the base of my wings has my pulse spiking.

I can’t help it. I let out a soft, embarrassingly breathy sound, a noise I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.

Cassian’s entire body goes still, as if he’s just felt that reaction, and I hear the smallest, most dangerous chuckle rumble from his chest.

“Oh?” His voice drops lower, sliding into something rich and teasing. “Sensitive, are we?”

My face burns hotter than I thought possible. I open my mouth, but no words come out. What was that noise? Why does he have to be so close?

His fingers stay there, tracing the spot where the wings meet my back, moving deliberately, caressing me in a way that feels too intimate for someone who’s supposed to be teaching me. I try to step back, but my body feels like it’s made of stone.

The heat floods my skin, and I feel my breath become shallow. I know exactly what Azriel meant when he spoke about the wings and their sensitivity, but hearing him say it felt like a joke at the time.

Now? Now, I get it. Azriel wasn’t talking about some innocent touch. He meant this—this electric, nerve-shattering sensation.

Cassian’s fingers linger for a moment longer before he finally pulls away, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You know, you make the best sounds when you’re flustered. Just a hint of pleasure mixed with frustration.”

I barely manage to keep my knees from buckling. “You—”

But my words fail me, and I’m left standing there like an idiot, heart racing, face flushed, my wings now feeling like they might break my back in half from the weight and sensitivity.

“You’re not mad at me for that, are you?” Cassian’s voice softens, the teasing edge slipping into something more serious, though still warm. “Because I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright.”

The softness in his tone makes something inside me tighten, and I find myself leaning into him instinctively, my breath still unsteady. “I’m fine,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “Just... be careful next time.”

His eyes flicker with something darker now, a simmering heat that matches the one flaring inside me. His hands find their way back to my waist, holding me closer than I expect, and I let him, my body melting into his.

“Promise,” he says quietly, his voice full of that strange, unspoken something that makes my heart flutter and my stomach twist. “You’re safe with me.”

But as his fingers graze my back again, a sharp shudder runs through me, and I know that I’m not entirely safe—at least, not when he’s this close, this aware of every inch of me.

The moment Cassian’s fingers brush against the base of my wings again, it feels like everything inside me locks into place. My breath hitches in my throat, my entire body tightening, and I feel like I’m going to melt from the pressure. That spot, the one right where my wings meet my back—it burns with such a raw intensity that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but focus on the heat spreading through me.

I try to pull away, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Instead, I find my hands gripping the back of his neck instinctively, my fingers threading through the soft, dark strands of his hair, anchoring myself to him. It’s like I need him to hold me up, to stop me from crumbling under the weight of this overwhelming sensation. His arm is solid beneath my fingers, and I clutch onto it for balance, my pulse hammering through me. I feel the way my body reacts to his proximity, the way every inch of me wants him closer, even as my mind screams to stop.

Cassian is quiet now, his breath shallow against my temple, but I know exactly what he’s doing. His fingers are so damn careful, moving deliberately over that spot again. It’s not an accident; he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.

A shudder wracks through me, and without thinking, I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to keep some semblance of control, to stop myself from doing something stupid.

The air between us thickens, heavy with something undeniable. The teasing, the flirtation—it’s all been leading to this moment. I can feel it. My heart races, but it’s not just from the physical sensations coursing through my veins. It’s the way Cassian’s hands linger, the heat radiating from him, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His name feels like a prayer on my lips, and he responds by tilting my chin up with the lightest pressure of his fingers, his eyes locked onto mine with that wicked, smouldering gaze that makes my chest tighten. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, full of heat and something more dangerous. “I think it’s time we stop pretending.”

I’m dizzy from the tension, from the way he’s holding me together with nothing more than his touch. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath my ear, and I tilt my head slightly, giving him silent permission. And then, before I can even process what’s happening, his lips crash into mine.

The kiss is explosive. There’s nothing gentle about it—no soft buildup, no teasing. It’s hungry, desperate, as if we’ve both been waiting for this moment to snap, and now that it has, nothing in the world is going to stop it.

His hands slide up to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the muscles of his chest, the heat of his skin through the layers of armour, and it only makes me ache more, ache for something deeper, something more than this teasing, more than this fire burning between us.

My fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more of him. His mouth moves against mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs, and I give into it, give into the way his kiss tastes like a promise and a dare. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but respond to him. My body knows what it wants.

Cassian’s hands slip lower, grazing over the curve of my hips, and I gasp into his mouth, feeling the way my wings flare, trembling with need, with desire, with a desperation that matches his. Cassian’s hands slide down to the backs of my thighs, his fingers warm and firm as he lifts me with a fluid, effortless motion. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and I gasp at the shift in position, feeling his hard, solid body pressed fully against me. I can’t focus on anything but the heat of him—his chest against mine, his breath fanning across my neck, the way his hands mold my body to his, like I’m the most important thing in the world to him.

His lips leave mine only long enough to kiss a trail along my jaw, each press of his mouth sending a jolt of electricity through me. He moves to my neck, his mouth hot and insistent, as if he’s marking me, claiming me in ways that no one else could ever dare to. His teeth scrape my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

A deep, breathless gasp leaves my throat as his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking hard enough that I know I’ll have a bruise there by morning. The thought does something to me—something primal, something hungry. I know the marks will be impossible to hide, but it doesn’t matter. The way he’s kissing me, the way his hands are holding me so securely, so possessively—it makes me want to lose myself in him, to let go of every last shred of control.

Cassian groans against my skin, and his hands slide up under the leather of my jacket, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of my back, sending shudders of pleasure racing through my body. His lips trail lower, sucking and nibbling at my neck, leaving dark, heated marks that make my pulse thunder in my ears. My back hits a tree, and the rough bark bites into my skin, but I don’t care—he’s here, his body pressed so tightly against mine that there’s nowhere for my thoughts to go except him.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice shaky and full of want. I tighten my grip on his neck, pulling him closer, needing more, needing to feel the weight of him against me in a way that I can’t deny anymore.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from our kiss. He grins, that devilish smirk of his spreading across his face. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long.”

His words send a shockwave through me, and before I can process it, he presses his lips back to mine in a kiss that’s even more desperate, more heated than before. His hands move with purpose now—one sliding up to cup the back of my head, tilting it just enough so he can deepen the kiss. The other moves lower again, running down the length of my spine, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin just above my waist, making me gasp into his mouth.

I feel like I’m drowning in him—his lips, his hands, his presence. The way his body moves against mine with such raw, unrestrained heat is enough to make my knees weak, to make my body burn in ways I didn’t know were possible. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

The kiss deepens, and I lose myself completely in the sensation of Cassian—his lips, his hands, his heat seeping into every part of me. It’s like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of us, the way our bodies move together in perfect sync, how each touch sends a jolt of pure desire through me. His hands are steady on my body, guiding me with a possessive tenderness that makes my head spin.

But just as the world seems to narrow to only Cassian, I feel it. A soft, almost imperceptible shift deep inside me. Like a pull, like something that’s always been there, quietly waiting for its moment to take shape. The bond. It slides into place like a key turning in a lock, a subtle, undeniable connection that clicks between us.

I can’t explain it—there’s no sudden rush of light, no grand revelation. Just a quiet understanding that settles deep in my chest. It’s like I’ve always known this was coming, like my body has been waiting for this moment, for him. A part of me—the part that’s been holding back, fighting this—finally surrenders.

Cassian feels it too, I’m sure of it. His lips soften on mine, just a fraction, as though he’s caught in the same storm of emotions. Then, just as I’m about to lose myself in the feeling of him, a voice breaks through the haze.

“Really?” Rhys's voice is loud enough to make the trees shudder, his tone dripping with amusement.

Cassian doesn’t break from me, though. His lips stay pressed against mine for a long beat before he pulls away just enough to flash his signature smirk.

“Get over it, Rhys,” Cassian calls over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping my waist, holding me flush against the tree like I’m his in ways words can’t even express. He doesn’t even look at Rhys, his attention entirely on me.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks at being caught in such a compromising position, and my heart races faster for entirely different reasons now. But even as I try to pull away, Cassian’s grip on me doesn’t loosen, his hand keeping me tethered to him, the strength in his touch unwavering.

Rhys steps into the clearing with his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. He eyes us both, clearly trying to suppress the laughter in his voice. “Didn’t realise you two were so... busy,” he drawls, the teasing edge to his words clear.

Cassian, unbothered, chuckles low in his throat, his hands tightening slightly on my body, but it’s not possessive, it’s playful. “Don’t be such a prude, Rhys.” His voice is laced with sarcasm as he turns his head to smirk back at the High Lord.

And despite the heat between us, the intensity of the moment still hanging in the air, I can’t help but chuckle under my breath, the absurdity of it all hitting me. But the truth is, my pulse is still erratic, my body still humming with Cassian’s touch, with the bond sliding smoothly into place between us, like we’ve both always known it was coming.

Rhys raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but there’s a hint of concern behind his gaze. “Don’t tell me I’m interrupting something... important.”

I can feel Cassian’s grin widen against my ear, his lips brushing against the side of my neck with a lingering touch. "No, just making sure she doesn't fall off a cliff while I teach her how to fly," he says with that devil-may-care attitude that always makes me weak in the knees. “But feel free to stay and watch.”

Rhys’s smirk falters for a moment, and his eyes narrow. "I'm not watching this." He motions dismissively, but I can see the way he’s fighting to hide his smile. He doesn’t say anything more but gives me a knowing look, a quick glance to Cassian, and then a faint nod.

"Behave yourselves," Rhys finally adds, turning to leave, his boots crunching against the forest floor as he retreats.

Cassian, still grinning like a damn cat that caught the canary, leans in to press his lips against my temple before I can even fully process what just happened. His voice is a low rumble, just for me, as his hands slide a little lower on my waist, pulling me even closer.

“We’ll pick up where we left off when he’s gone,” he whispers against my skin, and even though there’s a teasing quality to his words, there’s an undeniable heat there too. Something that tells me that this—us—is far from over.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222

[fratttymatty]

You're Smoked

(All characters are 18+)

It was just another quiet Tuesday evening when everything changed for Quinn, Eric, and Alex. The three 29-year-old nerdy best friends had always been inseparable. They spent their nights playing video games, debating superheroes, and diving into comic book lore. Life was predictable, comfortable, and easy.

That was, of course, until Quinn discovered a peculiar game at the local thrift store. "The Alteration," the box proclaimed, adorned with strange glowing symbols that beckoned them like some irresistible mystery. The trio wasn't into supernatural gimmicks or odd fads, but it was a game, and that was all the convincing they needed.

They gathered at Quinn's apartment, excitement buzzing in the air as they set up the game on his coffee table. It was more complex than they expected—dice with too many sides to count, cards, and tokens scattered across the table. But there was something captivating about it. The kind of feeling that made you ignore any misgivings and dive in.

Each took a turn, rolling the dice, drawing cards, and following instructions. The game progressed—strange, but harmless enough. That is, until they each drew the same card: "Transformation."

In an instant, the room seemed to warp, and a tingling sensation spread through their bodies. It wasn’t painful, just dizzying, like waking from a dream where everything felt off. And then—poof—it was done.

The trio looked at each other in confusion, but the first thing they noticed was how completely different they looked.

Zane—formerly Quinn—was the first to speak, his voice a low, cool drawl that didn’t even sound like him anymore. His once-thin frame had morphed into a broad, muscular build, and his hair was now a wild, tousled mess of brown waves that looked like they hadn’t been touched by a comb in years. His sharp jawline was prominent, and his once-framed glasses had disappeared, replaced by a pair of dark sunglasses that now sat comfortably on his nose.

He was wearing a white t-shirt, but it was simple—just a plain, snug fit that clung to his chest and shoulders. His jeans, baggy and worn-in, hung loosely from his hips as if they were the most natural thing in the world. Everything about his new body felt strong, confident, and unmistakably cocky.

Zane didn’t even think twice before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a vape. Without hesitation, he took a deep drag, the cool mint flavor swirling in his lungs before he blew out a thick cloud. He smirked at the feeling of the nicotine buzz. It felt right. Too right.

Brad—formerly Eric—looked down at his body, which had transformed in ways he could barely comprehend. His hair, once neatly styled and short, was now a tousled brown mess, still kind of messy but somehow perfectly styled in that carefree, too-cool-for-school way. His chest was now broad, and the sleeveless hoodie he wore was so tight on his biceps, it looked like it might rip at any moment. The rest of his body was covered by black sweatpants that hung low on his waist, his legs thick and athletic. His confident grin was now permanent, like he was daring someone to challenge him.

Brad's hands automatically went to his pocket and pulled out a vape of his own, the smooth, sleek device fitting perfectly in his grip. He took a puff, exhaling the smoke slowly, and felt a rush of satisfaction flood through his body. He looked at Zane, nodding in approval. "This is living, man."

Jared—formerly Alex—felt the change as well, looking at his reflection with a stunned grin. His hair had transformed into a messy, tousled dirty blonde wave, perfect for someone who spent their days outside and had no care for combing it. His physique was now long, lean, and athletic, with strong shoulders and toned legs. He wore a white t-shirt, but this one had a yellow and purple design on the front—loud and attention-grabbing, exactly the opposite of his old style.

His jeans were baggy, the kind that hung low on his hips, and they felt more comfortable than anything he’d ever worn. He wasn’t used to the carefree, devil-may-care attitude, but right now, he didn’t care. It was like he had been reborn, and he liked it. A lot.

He pulled out his vape, taking a smooth drag as the buzz filled him. "Dude, this is awesome," he said, watching as the vapor swirled in the air before dissipating. "We’re unstoppable."

The three of them looked at each other for a long moment. The lives they had known—playing board games, chatting about nerdy topics, debating superheroes—felt so distant now, like they were from someone else. Instead, their new reality—their new selves—felt exciting and irresistible. They felt alive, like the world was theirs for the taking.

"Let’s hit the gym, grab some food, and maybe hit up the beach later," Zane said, already starting to walk toward the door, his voice confident and smooth.

Brad nodded. "Hell yeah. I feel like I could bench press a car right now."

Jared laughed, taking another long drag of his vape. "Yeah, let’s go mess around. I’m down for anything."

And just like that, the three of them—Zane, Brad, and Jared—walked out into the night, completely unconcerned with who they used to be. Their new lives were everything they had dreamed of, and they were ready to embrace it all.

But as they made their way toward the local gym, they didn’t expect what happened next: the moment they stepped onto the sidewalk, a group of girls appeared out of nowhere.

They were tall, blonde, and bubbly, their smiles wide and bright. They giggled as they approached, their eyes locking onto the trio with obvious interest.

The first girl, a bubbly blonde with a ponytail, nudged her friend and giggled. "Hey, guys! You’re looking cute tonight," she said to Zane, her voice sweet and airy.

Zane grinned, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. "Thanks, babe," he said, flipping his sunglasses down and taking another puff from his vape.

Brad raised an eyebrow at the girls and winked, adjusting his sweatpants. "What’s up, ladies? You want to hang out?" His voice oozed confidence as he looked them over.

Jared chuckled, his hand moving to the back of his head as he rocked on his heels. "Yeah, you girls look fun. Wanna come grab some smoothies or something?" he offered with a mischievous grin, his tone laid-back.

The girls giggled in response, looking like they’d hit the jackpot. "Totally," the blonde with the ponytail agreed. "You guys are so cute. We should hang out!"

It was a perfect moment—everything was exactly how they’d imagined their new lives would be. And as they all walked off together, Zane, Brad, and Jared realized that the changes weren’t just physical. They were free—free to be the people they had always wanted to be, no regrets, no looking back.

There was no turning back now. The past was nothing but a distant memory. And with their new, ditzy valley girlfriends in tow, life had never felt so thrilling.

(from left to right: Brad, Jared, Zane)

[kathlare]

inked in love

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: After a successful qualifying session in Montreal, Lando Norris finds himself in a tattoo shop with his boss, Zak Brown, who’s getting a commemorative tattoo. Inspired by their playful banter, Lando decides to make a bold, sentimental gesture for Amelie, marking a small piece of himself with a tribute to her.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: just fluff

June 6th, 2024 - Montreal, Canada

The streets of Montreal were buzzing with fans and excitement as Lando Norris walked out of the McLaren motorhome after a solid qualifying session. He had bagged P3, and while it wasn’t pole, it was still a prime spot to fight for the podium—and maybe even a win. Zak Brown, his boss and occasional partner-in-crime, clapped him on the back with a wide grin.

—Good job today, kid,— Zak said. —You earned yourself a night off. What do you say we head to that tattoo shop I mentioned?—

Lando smirked. Zak had been talking about this tattoo ever since his Miami win last month. He wanted to commemorate the team’s victory with a track outline on his forearm.

—Sure,— Lando said with a shrug. —Why not? Let’s get you inked up, boss.—

As they walked into the tattoo shop, the smell of antiseptic and ink greeted them. The place was modern, with sleek black furniture and walls adorned with framed artwork. Zak looked around like a kid in a candy store, while Lando leaned casually against the counter, texting Amelie.

Lan🧡: Guess where I am.

Ames💛: Considering the time? A bar or a bad decision.

Lan🧡: Close. Tattoo shop with Zak.

Ames💛: OMG, no way. Is Zak actually doing it?

Lan🧡: Yep. Miami track. Says it’s “team spirit.” 😂

Ames💛: Love that for him. Are YOU getting one? 👀

Lan🧡: Tempted. What should I get?

Ames💛: Hmm… a tribute to your incredible girlfriend? Maybe my face on your arm.

Lan🧡: Bold choice. What about your name?

Ames💛: Nah, too basic. Do an “A” or something cute.

Lan🧡: Bet.

Ames💛: You wouldn’t.

Lan🧡: Watch me.

Lando chuckled at their banter, but as he looked around the shop, an idea sparked in his mind. It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but it was also... perfect.

When Zak got called to the chair, Lando casually approached one of the artists, a young woman with bright purple hair.

—Hey,— he said, lowering his voice. —Think you could fit me in for something small?—

The artist raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Zak, who was laughing as he showed the artist his design.

—What are we talking about?— she asked.

Lando tapped his shoulder, just below the edge of his shirt sleeve. —A small ‘A’ here. Simple, clean, nothing fancy.—

The artist nodded. —Easy enough. You sure about this?—

Lando grinned. —Completely.—

While Zak was busy wincing through his session, Lando slipped into the second chair. The artist prepped his shoulder, and as the needle buzzed to life, he felt a mixture of excitement and nerves.

—This your first tattoo?— she asked as she worked.

—Yeah,— Lando admitted. —But it’s for someone special, so I think it’s worth it.—

The tattoo didn’t take long—just a few minutes of sharp pressure before the artist leaned back with a satisfied nod.

—All done,— she said, handing him a mirror.

Lando craned his neck to look at the tiny ‘A’ etched onto his skin. It was subtle, just a couple of centimeters tall, but it was perfect.

—Looks great,— he said, his smile widening.

Back at the hotel, Lando called Amelie.

—What’s up, troublemaker?— she teased as she answered, her face lighting up on the screen.

—Oh, nothing much,— he said casually. —Just wanted to show you something.—

He angled the camera to his shoulder, pulling his shirt slightly aside to reveal the fresh tattoo.

Amelie froze.

—Lando,— she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe. —You didn’t.—

—I did,— he replied, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something naughty.

She stared at the screen, her fingers covering her mouth. —You seriously got an ‘A’ for me?—

—For you,— he confirmed, his tone softer now. —It’s where you usually kiss me, so... felt right.—

Her heart felt like it might burst. —Lando... that’s the sweetest, and dumbest, thing you’ve ever done.—

—You love it,— he said confidently.

—I do,— she admitted, shaking her head with a laugh. —But if you ever regret it....—

—Not a chance,— he interrupted. —I love you, Amelie. And this? It’s just ink. You’re what matters.—

She smiled, her eyes glistening. —You’re such a sap, Norris.—

—Only for you,— he shot back, winking.

As they continued talking, teasing, and laughing, Amelie couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by how much he cared. Lando Norris, reckless and endearing as ever, had a piece of her etched onto his skin—and onto her heart.

[floatysparrowthing]

What if… High School Musical but make it Soukoku 😍

A bright light shines on Chuuya and he blinks, confused and momentarily blinded, before the creeping realization that he’s been chosen dawns on him. The crowd cheers and then the light moves to someone else in the room: a boy about his age, dressed in a dark suit, an oversized black coat, and crisp white bandages that cover his arms, neck, and right eye. Weirder than the bandages is his blank expression—almost menacing, if a teen boy could be such a thing—but with the spotlight, it changes instantly to an expression of overdramatic delight.

Chuuya doesn’t have a moment to question it, though, as he and the other boy are pushed toward the small stage. He’s about to bail on this ridiculous situation, but the boy shoots him a look that dares him to follow through with the duet.

The piano starts, slow and quiet, and then text appears on the karaoke screen in front of them.

“Living in my own world,” the other boy sings, sounding somber, “didn’t understand…”—his dark eye catches Chuuya’s—“that anything can happen, when you take a chance.”

Well, Chuuya never backs down from a challenge, so he grabs the microphone and sings his lines: “I never believed in what I couldn’t see, I never opened my heart to all the possibilities.”

It’s a shock when they both sing the next two words together, “I know,” but then the other boy drops the next line, as if he’s trying to keep Chuuya on his toes. Chuuya keeps going—“that something has changed”—and his duet partner joins him with the next line—“never felt this way”—and keeps dipping in and out of the chorus as Chuuya sings the rest of it: “and right here tonight, this could be the start of something new. It feels so right to be here with you. And now lookin’ in your eyes, I feel in my heart, the start of something new…”

Chuuya barely knows what he’s singing; the adrenaline rush is making it hard to hear and he’s caught off guard by how beautiful this boy serenading him is. The cold aura he briefly glimpsed has warmed into something like a mug of hot cocoa—chocolate brown eyes and chocolate brown hair—and he’s being drawn in, as they sway their hips to the music.

“Now who’d have ever thought that,” his duet partner sings, and Chuuya joins him for the next line, “we’d both be here tonight.”

“…and the world looks so much brighter, oh, with you by my side,” Chuuya finishes the verse.

They both jump into the chorus, and now Chuuya’s actually listening to the words. “This could be the start of something new”—it feels ridiculous to be singing that to someone he literally just met—“it feels so right to be here with you”—but there’s some truth to that line, he realizes with a shock—“and now lookin’ in your eyes, I feel in my heart”—there’s only one eye for him to look into, but the intensity of the boy’s gaze makes up for it—“the start of something new…”

Chuuya sings that last line by himself, feeling weirdly like he’s been left hanging, but his duet partner starts the next verse with gusto: “I never knew that it could happen, till it happened to me.”

Together, they sing, “I didn’t know it before, but now it’s easy to see…”—and Chuuya notices the slight change from “could be” to—“it’s the start of something new.”

The song is declaring this to be a turning point for them and Chuuya’s getting caught up in the feeling of it as they finish the last chorus together.

Never felt this way…

By the time they sing the last notes, Chuuya realizes they’ve gravitated to each other and are close enough that Chuuya’s forced to look up to meet his partner’s eye. Now, the boy is beaming down at him and his lips twist into a slightly flirty grin. Chuuya’s eyes widen and his face heats as he wonders for a moment if this boy he doesn’t know is going to kiss him.

But then the boy turns to the crowd and does a dramatic bow, saying, “Thank you, thank you,” as the crowd claps and cheers. The spell of the song is broken as they both step off the stage and Chuuya’s left reeling from the confusing emotions until his duet partner grabs his hand and drags him outside.

The boy lets go of him once they’ve cleared the crowd and they end up at the edge of the balcony, overlooking the snowy forest stretching out before them. The air is cold, but it feels good against Chuuya’s overheated cheeks. His hands, though, are freezing, so he shoves them deep into his pockets.

“I’m Chuuya,” Chuuya gets out, his breath puffing into the space between them.

“Chuuya,” the boy says, as if tasting the letters of his name, then he grins and says, “Call me Dazai.”

Dazai. Chuuya thinks it must be his family name.

“So,” Chuuya begins, not sure where he’s going but feeling the need to say something, “ya ever sing like that before?”

“Only in the shower~” Dazai says, but the way he talks has a sing-song quality to it; Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if he sings to himself while going about his day. Or maybe Chuuya’s just projecting because that’s what he does—it’s his little secret.

But he’s never sung with anyone before tonight. He didn’t know it would be so different.

”Yeah, me neither,” Chuuya says gruffly. He watches the trees shake in the wind and the snow tumble off their branches, trying not to look at the pretty boy beside him.

I’ve never actually felt that way, the words are on Chuuya’s tongue, but he’d never willingly admit that. It’d be so… cheesy. He’s thankful the cold can explain the flush on his cheeks.

“I didn't think someone so short could have such a good voice!” Dazai chirps.

The insult is so unexpected, Chuuya’s first reaction is just: “Hah?!” He whips his head around to Dazai and glares up at him. “Who’re you callin’ short, dickhead?”

Dazai’s eye and mouth go round with delight. “Oh! Short and angry!”

Chuuya’s cheeks flare with a new heat to them as he kicks Dazai in the shin. “Anyone would respond that way if you call them short!”

What was he thinking? This guy’s an asshole. The singing thing was clearly a fluke.

Dazai winces in pain. “Not anyone would sing a romantic duet with someone they just met and then kick them…”—Chuuya’s seriously thinking about kicking him again—“…but that’s what makes me love you!”

Love���?

“What?!” he nearly shrieks. His heart is hammering. When did that happen? “Ew, no!”

There’s an awkward pause and then Dazai laughs. “I’m kidding, of course.”

”Right…” Chuuya feels sick from this emotional rollercoaster. He’s only known this guy for, like, ten minutes and he’s already felt a whole color wheel of feelings about him. He’d like to get off the ride now.

A clamoring sound of voices interrupts them—the doors to the chalet are propped open now, as the party spills outside. They gather around the deck, watching the sky as they start chanting: “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Chuuya pulls out his phone to look at the time. 11:59.

He glances back up to find Dazai leaning with his back against the railing, watching him with a slowly fading smirk.

“Five! Four!”

The start of something new… the song echoes in Chuuya’s head.

“One!”

The fireworks go off at midnight, drowning out the sound of anything else. People are kissing each other and laughing and drinking flutes of champagne. Dazai, though, is just gazing upward. His eye is so dark, it’s like a mirror to the night sky, reflecting the bursts of color over a vast emptiness.

I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss. Chuuya shakes the thought away, wondering what the hell has gotten into him.

“Did you make a wish?” Dazai’s voice surprises him. It’s soft the way snowfall muffles the world, but Chuuya’s standing close enough to just make out his words.

His mind gets stuck, unhelpfully, on the word kiss. And then love.

“No. Did you?”

”Mm.” The way Dazai’s looking at him now has none of the magnetism that it did while they were singing, nor the sparkling mischief while he was insulting Chuuya. It’s like a shut door. “I wished for a peaceful ending.”

Peaceful ending?

Chuuya’s just about to ask what that means when he hears his name called. With a warm winter coat over his elegant suit, Verlaine is breaking through the crowd and coming towards him.

The sight sparks annoyance in Chuuya—they’ve spent the whole weekend together, can’t he have a few more moments without…

But when Chuuya glances back to Dazai, his duet partner is gone.

Then his world goes dark as Verlaine envelops him in a hug and his face is squashed into his jacket. At least it’s warm.

”Happy New Year, Chuuya! I couldn’t find you before…”

~🥂~

[staygoldpbj]

sink to black from blue (a marlie drabble)

(for those sadly uninformed, marlie is micah foster/charlie torres-moore aka trevor & josh’s greaser characters who've basically become our ocs <3) (just scroll the #marlie tag on my blog lmao

inspired by this post! canon universe, post-rumble! shout out to @elisadoreyou & @wassupmygays creating these guys with u have been so fun omg

Micah winced at the alcohol sting. The cut on his temple was nasty, probably could use a stitch or two. The thought was almost funny ‘cause he sure as hell didn’t have enough money to afford stitches. It’d leave a tough scar. Good.

“I said I’m fine, okay? This ain’t my first rumble,”

Charlie’s face was pinched tight, lips pressed in a thin line. He was kneeled in front of the toilet, where Micah was leaned over himself. One hand on Micah’s knee with his thumb rubbing back and forth.

He hissed at the next sting. It did nothing for his bitch of a headache.

The rumble did a number on him, he’ll admit it. He could hold his own fine — more than fine. And he did— but those football Socs could throw a hard punch. It made something rough boil in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t care. You shouldn’t go out getting all hurt like this.”

It felt like a stab to his pride. He’s been doing this for seventeen years— yearly eighteen. He can handle himself. He don’t need taking care for.

“I fight, Charlie, that’s what I’ve always fucking done. I don’t need a babysitter,” He bit it out in quick barks. Everything felt red and hot.

“That’s not—”

“I’ve done this a million times alone—” He tried to swat the bottle out of Charlie‘s hand, but Charlie pulled away quick. It just made him madder. “And I don’t need someone to fucking lick my wounds for me.”

“That‘s not what I’m trying to do!” Charlie snapped back. Blood rushed in Micah’s ears. He could feel the anger on face through heat and the strain on his scraps. It burned

“It fucking feels like it,”

“I’m trying to help, okay?”

Micah couldn’t even process the sweep of desperation in Charlie’s tone before the dam burst.

“I don’t need help, damn it!” He was too loud, he was gonna wake the kids up. Fuck. “I’ve been out in Tulsa my whole damn life, and y'know who looked out for me? No one. I sure as hell don’t need someone to act like I’m some baby! You weren’t out there fighting with me so you can fuck off trying to help now!”

He knew he didn’t mean the words as soon as he said ‘em. Charlie didn’t need to fight in that rumble. He didn’t think he wanted him to. That night was ‘bout the bloodiest night that he’d seen in a long time. He gets why. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade’s face are still circling the papers every morning, calling for their arrests. Those Socs aren’t letting ‘em go for nothing.

He didn’t want Charlie caught up in that at all.

The blood in his ears and pounding in his head was so loud, Charlie had to squeeze his knees for Micah to realize he’d been talking.

His jaw was set hard and his eyes were so damn sure. But trying to get through a brick wall with words did nothing. Something inside of Micah ached. Was that all he was now?

“I ain’t a fighter, Micah,”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t met what he said. “I don’t need you to be one, Char. You just—”

“No, look, I— I don’t get this fighting stuff. I wasn’t raised with it, I’ve never fought a fight like— like that shit in my life, okay? That’s not ever in the cards. I’m useless right now and seeing you all beat and bruised makes me feel sick or somethin’. I gotta…” He swallowed thickly and the frustration on his face broke into something raw. His breath trembled. “I gotta do something to help. I can’t fight and I care about you so—”

They both paused at the confession. Charlie’s brown eyes were wide and Micah was sure his were too.

What’s been going on between ‘em hasn’t necessarily been left unaddressed, but it’s been left unspoken. They both know. It’s obvious as hell to the both of ‘em. It hasn’t been spoken not because of fear, but survival.

“I know,” Micah whispered, almost a croak. Hope sparked to life in Charlie’s eyes. “I do, too, I…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what he could say without crossing some unspoken line.

Micah has only focused on the important things— his family and their survival. That’s the whole point of his fighting, his work, his life. He’s never wanted. Not like this. Not in such a selfish, indulgent way that feels like something stabbing through his heart.

Nothing else could be said from him.

Charlie smiled tentatively. There was something fragile in the air.

“Just let me do this.” He whispered. “For me. Seeing you like this all alone makes my heart feel like it was in that rumble, too.”

Charlie’s eyes practically pleaded with his resolve. He wanted to shut the door in his face and gasp through the pain and slip into bed next to his siblings and pretend like nothing hurt until he couldn’t anymore. He was used to being alone. What was one more night?

But another part, something so deeply pushed down, he barely even knew it was there— longed. For Charlie’s smile, his touch and soft hands on his face, his lips on his head, whispered words only the two of them knew. It was a terrible part of him but Charlie didn’t care.

So. Against all his seventeen years of fighting, Micah let his wall break down and he nodded.

“Thank you,” He croaked. He wasn’t going to cry, but the emotion was there all the same.

Charlie’s smile was gentle, so sure, so caring. He could tell Micah all the world would be fine and he’d believe him. He picked the bottle of alcohol up off the floor and raised a hand to Micah’s cheek.

His palm was soft. It just grazed against his face, but for once, Micah let himself lean into the touch until Charlie’s hand cupped his cheek. Charlie rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. His dark eyes reflected the bathroom lights.

God, Charlie could break open Micah’s every defense and he doesn’t even know if he could put up a good fight.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered back into Micah’s eyes. His lips parted— and he picked up the wash rag.

[astralmarionette]

dear God i will PAY edgar to get better clothes

[skunkes]

idk

[araguaneys]

The worst is when another latino dehumanizes us as if they aren't the same or similarly mix of ethnicities as if they aren't also fucked, as if literally MOST if not all of us have a history of dictatorships from different political alinements and YES being fucked by western imperialism but also our greedy "leaders" and shitty politics, as if the left and right or center actually did all they could or helped anyone, as if it couldn't happen to them next...you are the most depressing of them all if you're not with us and you are the ones that sound like gringos.

It's time you all get educated and you see beyond the decisions of our governments and the past problems we've had because of them, or BEYOND THE XENOPHOBIA and migration crisis, all of latinamerica is filled with people of all races like you and me that deserve empathy and not to get abandoned by you all.

Lo quieren en español? dale pues.

Lo peor es cuando otro latino nos deshumaniza, como si no fueran la misma o similar mezcla de etnias, como si sus países no estuvieran jodidos támbien, como si literalmente la mayoría de nosotros no tuviéramos una larga historia de dictaduras de distintas alineaciones políticas, o SÍ no estuvieramos jodidos por el imperialismo estadounidense/occidental pero támbien nuestros "líderes" avaros y políticos de mierda, como si nuestras izquierdas o derechas o centros de verdad estuvieran haciendo todo lo que podrían o ayudaran de verdad, como si no les pudiera pasar a ustedes después... la falta de apoyo de uds son de lad que más me deprime, y son uds los que suenan como gringos.

Es momento de que se eduquen y vean más allá de las decisiones pasadas de los gobiernos o la historia de problemas que hemos tenido por ellos, O LA XENOFOBIA y crisis migratoria, toda latinoamérica está llena de gente como tú y yo de todas las razas que merecen empatía y que no se les abandone.

[creaturefeaster]

WOW!!! WIRE YOUR PROFILE CHANGED!!!!

new era new me

[atopvisenyashill]

they did not dress him well enough in got look at this work he’s got this shit ON now compare it to got

[duck-noises]

crocheted Brok & Brok

i love my mother so much for making my favourite guy of all time. she is amazing, i love you mom :)

[dawnthread]

five gil for a flower? :3

[mrs-jake-blues]

Maybe I’m being too negative but bruh what

[virtualcarrot]

On the one hand, I do get the impulse to make ambiguously mild to darker-skinned anime/manga characters be black mixed-race or brown indigenous or the like.

On the other hand, there's something mildly frustrating about it, especially when it's done with the best intentions of diversity and representation, and instead contributes to the erasure of brown-skinned East Asian people.

Like, again, I get why we in the West have a tendency to see a tan and run with it in the euphoria of diversity. Genuinely. But it kind of feels like a double-edged sword.