#morjenstern

patroclus looks to achilles,  not too far ahead under the shade of a tree.  he is oddly conscious of his lack of god-shaped grace as he walks towards him,  careful not to spill a single one of the berries he has gathered. 

''  it will always be this.  ''   emboldened by the warmth of achilles' jaw under his palm,  patroclus brings him closer still until their foreheads touch.   ''  i eat what you eat.  i go wherever you go.  ''   i will not let them take you away from me.  he does not speak of this aloud,  afraid that the gods might decide to spoil their joy.  newfound and tender,  away from the prying eyes of the palace.

his smile is apologetic,  an attempt to soothe the impact of his sorry state.  this is not the worst state @morjenstern has seen from him by far,  still he would have liked to welcome him with a better sight.

''  i got slow,  he caught me by surprise.  ''   years without threats lunging for him from every corner must have loosened some of his war-wired limbs,  his instincts not as sharp as they used to be.   ''  let's just leave here,  andrew.  i'm fine.  i'll deal with this on monday.  ''

their time alone in columbia had been nice and neil had been fine throughout their stay,  the moment of andrew's inevitabile departure buried somewhere deep in his mind.  a blissful weekend,  a perfectly cozy last night,  the taste of ice cream and whiskey on andrew's mouth and one of neil's hands curled tight around his t-shirt.  no tremors, no frantic waking in the middle of the night for either of them,  yet neil's feet are heavy as he shuffles into the kitchen,  hair damp and dressed with one of andrew's shirts and a pair of sweatpants.

he can't help but think that in a few hours there will be miles separating them again,  that specific awareness filling him with dread like a sinking ship slowly taking in water.  sure,  they can call,  but it's not the same,  it just doesn't ground him like andrew's presence does.  with the start of the season they will have less time,  too,  both of them having to uphold their respective roles and duties.

''  andrew,  ''   he calls out his name to stifle the sharped edged words that almost crawl out.  i don't want you to go.  i want to come with you.  neil keeps that quiet sorrow well behind his teeth,  but andrew has become far too good at calling neil's bluff and he manages to silence the thunder going off in the striker's head with a touch of his hand against his cheek.  neil leans into it,  checking for signs of tension on andrew's body and eyes before moving forward to rest his forehead against his.  neil closes his eyes,  makes his breathing match andrew's as a habit he has picked up during far rougher awakenings.  they stay like this until neil feels steady enough on his own and finally reaches for the mug of coffee already waiting for him on the counter.   ''  you can call me whenever,  don't worry about the hour.  i will always pick up if it's you.  ''

evening has long since descended upon the weary party resting in zatochek and solya is nowhere near inclined to be communal,   huddled away inside the small private space he has managed to negotiate by virtue of housing his royal highness.  the accommodation is still far below his standard,  but it has two almost decent beds and it affords more privacy than a shared barn.  still so far from the capital and after a near disastrous venture into the wood,  however,  the sorcerer is far less inclined to complain about it.  he contemplates making a mental list of what he finds wanting,  finishes his glass of red wine instead before attempting to read.  marek,  meanwhile,  is nowhere to be seen,  but solya is not worried.  he knows where the prince is;  at his mother's side,  refusing to move an inch,  heart bleeding determination and a devastating love for his family raging through him.  it hurts to witness him in such a state,  like glancing up at the sun for too long.

it is very late when the knocks come,  a swift barrage of knuckles against the wood.  solya knows from sound alone who must be standing on the opposite side of the door,  regal and frowning.  the thought of denying sarkan entrance is tempting only or a few moments,  before it crashes against the familiar pull that he has never been able to quench once and for all.

it doesn't take much time at all for his patience to crumble along with his sophisticated attempts at maintaining an expression of solemnly cultivated confidence.  they haven't shared strong wine and bruising kisses in many years,  but sarkan still knows far too well where to aim to get a real reaction out of him  —  he says something about the dangers of his reckless devotion to the prince and,  sure enough,  solya draws his mouth in a bitter line.

''  go back to your peasant girl,  sarkan.  i am sure she finds you very wise.  ''   he contradicts his own hissed out words in the next breath,  taking hold of sarkan's collar in a harsh grip and coming close enough to feel the heat of his breath upon the skin.  solya cannot discern who makes the first move between them,  but he soon finds himself with his back against the wall,  mouth caught in a fiery kiss and fingers tangled in his hair.  the falcon lets go of the fabric only to wind his arms around the dragon's back,  fingers and nails pressing down hard on his clothed shoulder blades, possessive and unrelenting.

❛ did you finally tire of seeing the vampire draped all over our sister ? ❜ no matter how amicable he may be becoming with the newest introductions to their collective, his tone will forever remain the same. the issue with alec is cynicism is how he shows love, so the trajectory from disdain to tolerance to eventual acceptance is an impossible one to path. until he lays his life down for you, one can never truly be certain. the cockles of his heart may be warming yet : protective by nature and guarded by nurture, it's simply a matter of time. patience is certainly a virtue when it comes to alec lightwood.

❛ i don't know how you can stand even being around them. it's disgusting. ❜ his repulsion is entirely hyperbole, an exaggeration of the squeamishness he feels at such public displays of affection. his own intimacies are displayed in his words and gestures rather than outright actions : how much have you eaten today and a watchful gaze in the night as his siblings sleep. he lives and breathes his love like air, permeating the room in silent acts. one occurs now, brief smile canting his lips into a half - moon crescent and head cocking in gesture to his brother.

sit beside me.

❛ welcome to the sane side of the institute. ❜

jason was grateful that she spoke , really , for all the words was lost to him the moment he entered that familiar space . and it's not really because he doesn't have anything to say-- on the contrary , his words sits like an overfilling dam lodged on the back of his throat and his mind : words about his regret knowing that he had abandoned her there in the position they were supposed to carry together years ago , and his praise on her strength and how she kept the legion together on her own , and his gratitude for her help in the war and the gamble she had taken even just to cross the mare nostrum on her own .

all of this he had practiced and played over and over in his head when he walked up the via praetoria and into the principia . all of this he had kept in him , finding the perfect time for him to say them . all of this ... held back and dying in him as he finally enters the room . as he's finally alone with her .

it was the guilt , you see . and even though jason is not to blame for any of it , for he was just a victim as well of the fate and circumstances in all of that happened , he can't help but let the guilt kill the words at the tip of his tongue . rendering him speechless as he approaches .

and maybe it was the guilt , too , that made it seem like there is a distance between them , like a chasm , even if they are in close proximity ... and the massive room seemed to shrink the longer he was there .

" yes , i do . if only for a short time , while you find a proper replacement for me , praetor . " jason finally replied , the title felt weird the moment it left his lips , before trying for a smile that doesn't reach his eyes . his gaze also refuses to meet hers yet , trained instead at the floor between them , ending up at the hem of his white robes . even in their garbs , they are of two different roads now-- the deep purple of her robes that signifies her title as praetor ... and the flowing and glowing white robes of his own new role . when he finally meet her eyes , he tries for a bigger smile . " that is , if you will accept me ? "

lyric prompts ... ( tessa gray + jem carstairs )

⍋ they were something. they had always been something, and theresa gray knew that they would always be something. a lost echo in the night of wants and wishes, lost prayers in the dark. how razriel was cruel and never believed in love. how will and jem had both lost a parabatai each. how tessa had lost a fiancé and a husband both. there's a low chuckle, but it doesn't come from a place of amusement, it's filled with heartache and sorrow. a pained laugh, to force the tears in her eyes to stay at bay. begging them not to fall, telling them to stay put. i evict you from my day, she'd told him. they would not taint her jem time. they would not be the ones that would ruin this precious time they had together.