but feels comfortable enough to argue with her or laugh in her face when she's playfully mocking him

To Be Alone - A Moriel Fic

For @acotarshipweek  moriel week which was…sixteen centuries ago, I am aware, but the prompt came from there so credit where credit’s due. Speaking of credit, blessings upon my dearest, @pterodactylichexameter for betaing/general encouragement with this thing, ‘twas a pain at times. 

Title: To Be Alone 

Summary: moriel sin week prompt: secret rendezvous. Mor and Az find themselves alone in a quiet corner of Velaris, having been each told to meet someone important here, not knowing they were being set-up. Little does their High Lady know they’ve already been in a relationship for some months now. They decide to make the most of this time alone they’ve been given and slip off together to a nearby inn… 

Teaser: She hadn’t thought it possible – that she could want him more once he was hers but…From that first brush of his tongue against hers, that first taste of him, she had known that she would never belong to another heart again. She was his. She had always been his, really. As he had always been hers. She had known she would never want anyone else – and that she would never stop wanting him. 

Link: AO3

Mor sucks in a deep breath as she steps from the whisper of darkness winnowing always envelopes her in. It’s near sunset and the streets of Velaris are busy, full of people heading home for their evening meals before the city comes alive for true when night falls. She smiles politely and nods greetings to a few of those who meet her eyes but she doesn’t linger to chat with anyone this time. She’s already a little late for her appointment.

The crowds fortunately start to thin as she heads towards the quieter, more residential area of town near the river. It’s much less densely populated and a faint kiss of mist cools her flushed, warm skin as she emerges from the hot press of bodies. Through the shifting eddies of swirling white she sees the bridge over the Sidra she was asked to come to and hurries her steps when she dimly spots a solitary figure waiting for her – a column of shadow among the white river ghosts.

Mor is within spitting distance before she realises that the person waiting for her is not the one she had expected. Old instincts, sharpened by the recent war, have her reaching for her power, gathering it in her body, preparing to attack or defend- But a heartbeat later she recognises the person and her defences shatter on instinct.

Azriel stands with perfect stillness, leaning on the stone wall of the bridge a calm, tranquil expression upon his handsome features. He doesn’t turn towards her, shift his position at all, or give any other outward reaction to her presence. Mor isn’t fooled. He knows perfectly well that she’s there. For one thing she had seen the shadow curling around his ear moments earlier, informing him that she was – though Mor suspects he had known even before that. The damn male is impossible to sneak up on; unless he lets her, which is frankly just insulting.

Approaching him with long, easy strides, Mor mirrors his unconcerned posture, standing beside him and letting her gaze drift out over the Sidra as well, following his gaze. She manages a full, impressive, ten seconds before her restraint cracks. Az smiles thinly, fondly, as the words burst from her, interrupting the peaceful silence, “What are you doing here?”

At last Ariel tears his gaze away from the view in front of them to look down at her. His face softens as his eyes meet hers, the mask of cold composure that some, wrongly, assume is a permanent feature of her shadowsinger slips. His quiet affection shows through instead, that tender smile lingering on his lips. The shadows that twist around him thin then vanish, as though giving them privacy. Her belly swoops with the usual familiar pulse of pleasure and joy that he feels safe with her, safe enough to let his instinctive guard down.

Az’s voice is its typical dark, velvet calm when he answers her, “I was told to urgently meet an informant here and was advised that the meeting would be…” his lips curl into a tighter smile, his eyes tinged with obvious amusement as he looks her up and down, appreciating her even though she’s dressed rather simply, “Advantageous to me.”

“By?” Mor prompts him, eyebrows quirking up.

Az’s smile deepens before he answers, “Feyre.”

Mor looses a short burst of laughter at that. Theory confirmed. Az only widens his eyes quizzically, inviting her to explain her reacting.  

Composing herself enough to answer Mor drums her fingers thoughtfully on the top of the stone wall before she tells Az, through a broad grin, “Our esteemed High Lady asked me to meet her here at this time for something very important.” Her smirk broadens, now edged with wicked glee as she jostles Az playfully with her shoulder. “Seems like you’re ‘very important’, Az.”

As she had hoped this teases a faint flush of pink into his tan cheeks and her grin broadens in answer. Then his brow furrows and he clears  his throat and says, with a very good impression of his usual cool, analytical seriousness that’s only given away to her by how his hazel eyes glitter with merriment, “Looks like she thinks we should be spending some more quality time alone together. “

A soft shiver rustles through her as his gaze meets hers. Heat coils low in her stomach but she ignores it, pushing it down hard. Opting for airy amusement instead she says pointedly, “In a very romantic location.” She gestures around them, to the thin veil of mist enveloping them, adding an additional layer of intimacy to the meeting. The Sirda flows beneath them, gilded by the slowly setting sun, burning like liquid gold with diamonds peppering the smooth water, sparkling like stars.

Velaris is beautiful as it draws near to the night it so enjoys and it’s known, comfortable and familiar to both of them. The location is perfect – a little too perfect – and Feyre’s motives aren’t particularly difficult to guess at. Mor hopes Az never tries to recruit her for any further spying or subterfuge; if this is any indication she won’t get on well with it. Still…

She turns back to Az, her voice dropping, a hint of silk brushing through her words, “I’m not going to argue with her.”

Conversely to her hopeful expectations, Az’s frown only deepens into lines of uncertainty. “Do you think we should tell her?” he asks, his fingers trailing, apparently unconsciously, over the hand she has resting on the bridge.

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Mom and Dad

Jesus, sorry ‘bout the long wait, anon. This was really hard to write, and I’m still not sure that I did your prompt justice, but I did my best! Hope you like it. 

the 100ers calling Bellamy and Clarke mom and dad in front of Abby. generally just Abby’s reaction to their relationship dynamic.

“Jasper, don’t move.” Her instructions apparently fell on deaf ears; the teen fidgeted and made faces as she applied the salve to his shoulder. As Abby smeared it across the jagged cut, she couldn’t help her eyes from occasionally travelling to the short, barely healed wound closer to the center of his body. She knew that he’d been speared, but the doctor marveled that it was so well closed over. Clarke had done an amazing job.

Her mind wandered, but her fingers knew their job, and a few moments later, Abby leaned back, paste and bandages applied. “There, all done. For the love of God, Jasper, don’t pick at it.”

He grimaced. “It’s already itching.”

“Be glad. It could have been a lot worse,” Abby said, more sharply than intended. When both Monty and Jasper stared at her, she softened her voice. “One week. Leave it alone for at least one week.”

It really could have been so much worse, though. She just – she wished Clarke would have come to her before breaking the 47 (as they were being infamously called) out of Mount Weather. Abby was starting to realize that she couldn’t confine her daughter – Clarke had proven that – but whatever she liked to think, Clarke wasn’t an adult. She didn’t need to handle everything herself. The escape just proved that. It had almost been a disaster.

Jasper was largely oblivious to her thoughts. His hands twitched, like he couldn’t wait to tear off the clean cloth. “But when will it stop itching?” he demanded, and she was saved having to reply by Monty.

“Dude, suck it up. You got speared and you didn’t complain this much. The cake made you soft.” Monty, sporting his own set of bandages across his forehead, was seated on the cot closest to Jasper, and he leaned over to give his friend a gentle shove.


“Jasper, you don’t take that off until Abby says you can take it off.” The familiar voice made her shift around, and sure enough, Clarke pushed through the tent flap, a bag slung over her shoulder. She was scowling, though for once the look wasn’t directed towards her mother.

Monty laughed. “See?” he said smugly. “What Clarke says, goes.”

Jasper threw up his hands, rolling his eyes in a distinctly mocking fashion. “Sure, mom,” he said to Clarke, and Abby was surprised to see the girl do nothing more than shake her head and laugh before sobering.

“I’m serious, Jasper. We don’t have enough supplies to patch you up again.”  

And, unlike the twenty times Abby had berated him, the boy shrugged and then nodded, his hands falling into his lap, the picture of compliance. “Yeah, don’t worry Clarke. I’m not touching them.”

It was irritating and unnerving – more unnerving. The way the kids acted around Clarke was… well, like how a lot of the adults looked towards Jaha, or Kane, or even her. Except there was more than obedience there. They looked to Clarke for more than orders; they looked to her for comfort. For understanding.

And Clarke seemed largely oblivious, like it had been going on for a while. She was all business as she said, “Good. Now that you’re fixed, we need to -”

“Are you guys almost done in there?” Another person invading her tent, and Abby watched with very mixed feelings as Bellamy Blake made his way inside. Clarke glanced at him, stepped aside to make room, and he claimed the space with a naturalness that suggested he was at her side, a lot. Abby frowned.

“Seriously, we need to get the rest of this stuff to the dropship,” the dark haired boy said, his eyes sliding to Abby, almost challenging. She met his gaze for a long moment, and when he nodded briefly, she was the one to look away. Like it hadn’t happened, Bellamy looked back to the injured males, shifting on his feet impatiently.

“No worries Bellamy, we’re sewed up,” Monty declared, leaping off the bed with a decided lack of grace; Bellamy caught him as he staggered, before Abby could forbid the motion.

“Monty’s got a concussion, he’s not carrying anything,” Clarke said firmly, again before Abby could say anything, and when Bellamy half-rounded on her, still trying to support his load, her eyebrows shot up in a forbidding expression. Before he could get anything in, she continued. “And, Jasper’s only got the light stuff.”

Abby prepared herself for his argument; God knew he’d argued with her for about half an hour when she said she was fixing everyone up at camp Jaha and not the dropship. But instead, Bellamy’s mouth snapped shut, and he just dipped his head, a bare inclination.

“Fine. We’ll just have to rig up those transports faster than I thought. You two better be ready to walk by yourselves,” he added, and Monty gave a precarious salute. It was Jasper who answered.

“Yessir. Or is it dad, cause, y’know…?” He looked between the two of them, and if Clarke had accepted ‘mom’ well enough, she looked less than thrilled about the idea. Bellamy was worse; his dark face became stormy.

“I swear to God, if you call me dad I’m going to let Murphy string you up,” he snapped, and for whatever reason, a story that Abby hadn’t heard, the other three teenagers burst out laughing.

“Dude, you’ve sealed it,” Monty gasped, and Jasper quickly added, “What if Murphy calls you dad?”

That got the two of them laughing even harder, and, with Monty’s arm slung around Jasper for support, they made their way out of the tent. Clarke’s laughter had quickly died – it seemed she didn’t laugh for very long anymore – but she was still smiling when she told Bellamy playfully, “You did kinda mess up right there.”

Bellamy still wasn’t laughing. “I’m serious. I don’t want them calling me dad. And I blame this on you, you know.”

“Me?! How’s this my fault?”

“You shouldn’t have let them call you mom in the first place! Of course they were gonna start calling me dad! We’re obviously-”

He stopped short, eyes once again sliding to Abby, who had quite conveniently been forgotten. His cheeks flushing, almost overwhelming the freckles, Bellamy ducked his head and fled the tent, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Shoulda let myself get floated…”

Which left her alone with her daughter, for the first time since Clarke had gotten back from Mount Weather. Abby didn’t miss the fondness in Clarke’s face as she watched Bellamy leave, and she certainly didn’t miss the tightness that had replaced it by the time Clarke turned back, obviously preparing herself for a dressing down.

Abby found she just didn’t have one to give. “Mom and dad, hmm?” she said instead, and Clarke’s head jerked, blue eyes widening as she automatically glanced over her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Abby added. “You two seem to work well together.”

“We’re not -” and as if she’d just let herself hear Abby’s words, Clarke relaxed, that same warm look creeping back onto her face as she said, “Yeah… Yeah, we do work well together.”

And when Abby sighed, it was, for the first time in a long time, the sigh of a mother who had perfectly ordinary daughter problems. 

keep your faith and guard your heart

Pairings: Rucas, Smarkle (slight)
Word count:
3833 words
Chapter: 7
Summary: Riley Matthews walked out of her own wedding when she realized that the man at the altar would never love her the way she deserved to be loved. Since then, she has guarded her heart. And she does it well – until the day she meets Lucas Friar.
A/N: I’m absolutely gutted about the cancellation of this show but I’ve been so proud of the way this fandom has come together to save it. In the meantime, I’m gonna keep writing because I love this show and the love that it brings. We’ve gotta believe in Pluto, right? Shoutout to @madelinecoffee for being my support through this. Love you boo 💖

Chapters: Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six 

A year and a half ago…

She sobs into Maya’s lap, finding some comfort in the way her best friend strokes her arms. Riley has just walked away from her wedding altar ten minutes ago, and she has been crying non-stop since then.

Her parents and brother had volunteered to stay and talk to the guests about the unexpected turn of events. Maya had dragged her away from the altar

She knows that she has done the right thing. The hesitation on Jordan’s face before he said ‘I do’ and the relief on his face when she refused to marry him keep replaying in her mind. She is certain that that is no way to start their married life – hesitant and regretful.

At the same time, she feels a hole in her chest. She has given so much of herself to the man she has walked away from, and it will take a while before she can pick herself up again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her mother’s voice booms through the room and Riley sits up. She hiccups through her tears as her mother paces in front of them.

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Open Up Your Heart (Oliver/Felicity; T)

Summary: A few days into their road trip, Felicity suggests she and Oliver play a game. To her surprise, Oliver ends up opening up a lot more than Felicity anticipated.

Ships: Oliver/Felicity, Oliver/Laurel

A/N: I have to thank @osiriaroses for being kind enough to read through this and give me some great pointers. You’re the best, lovely!

I got this idea ages ago, but especially after in 4x01 Oliver said “Let’s play a game”. This fic also was influenced by the general feel in 4x05. You’ll see what I mean.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

“Hey, Oliver,” she says. He looks up, smiles, and there’s something beautiful about the way his eyes light up and shine with contentment as he gazes up at her from where he’s lying on his front on their bed. They’re munching on blueberry muffins Oliver got from the cafe next to their hotel along with warm cups of coffee (Felicity’s with extra sugar, just how she likes it).


“Let’s play a game.”

He raises his eyebrows in question. “What kind of game?”

“Say, when you tell me something about you that I don’t know, and then I tell you something you don’t know about me.”

Oliver considers for a moment. “But… I mean, what is there about you that I don’t know?”

Felicity taps her nose. “Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Can’t find out if you don’t play,” she teases. “You first.”

For a moment, Oliver looks like he’s going to argue, but she decides from the look on his face that he secretly likes being bossed around by her.

“Okay. Uh… my favourite colour –”

“– isn’t green,” Felicity finishes for him. “It’s blue.”

“How did you know that?” he says, perplexed but also mildly impressed.

She just shrugs. “Green is too obvious. That’s more, like, your theme. Blue you wear a lot. And you associate it with… tranquillity. Calm.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything, just regards her with the kind of wonder that she’s gotten used to over the last few golden days with him, lips ever so slightly parted. Felicity reaches up, brushing away the crumbs that are still on the corner of his mouth.

“And yours is… red?” he tries.

Your favourite colour on me is red,” Felicity whispers, her tone gently mocking, and Oliver laughs.

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