Entry tags:
FIC: Waiting (M'ways)
TITLE: Waiting
FANDOM:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar
WORDS: 278
PAIRING: N/A
FOR:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alas_a_llama
PROMPT: Atton and Meda, lightning
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Atton Rand isn't mine, but this version of Medusa is
Waiting
It is seven hundred and something years after the founding of Rome.
At least, that is how Medusa thinks of it. And something. It's so hard to remember, dates and years and months and only the season matter, really. It is seven hundred and something years after the founding of Rome and a summer storm is kicking up the waves and sand and that is all that matters.
"Sam'll come back," Atton says, tall and scruffy and stretched out on the sand studying the clouds.
"Of course he will," Medusa says. She is small and dressed in the height of fashion, all violets and greys and ribbons around her wrists and the lady who had owned this is dead, dead and sleeping in the sea.
(she doesn't ask why do you call him Sam because he's not, he's not Sam, he's Lucifer, but she doesn't because Atton loves him too and it's walking on broken glass talking sometimes)
"I wish-"
"Storm's coming," she points out.
"So?"
"Most humans go inside."
Atton links his hands behind his head. "Miss the best bit that way."
She smiles, but he doesn't see it. She's gazing out to sea, wide-eyed and bitten-bottom-lip longing but she can't leave him to think. Said she would distract him, distract her, stop them thinking about stolen armies and missing keys and revenge for some(one who isn't them, selfish things they both are) blue-eyed blonde fool of a sister.
"Atton," Medusa sings in a voice clear and breathy as the wind, "Atton, care to play with some lightning?" and she's lifting her hands to the rumbling sky even before he grins at her back and says yes.
FANDOM:
milliways_barWORDS: 278
PAIRING: N/A
FOR:
alas_a_llamaPROMPT: Atton and Meda, lightning
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Atton Rand isn't mine, but this version of Medusa is
It is seven hundred and something years after the founding of Rome.
At least, that is how Medusa thinks of it. And something. It's so hard to remember, dates and years and months and only the season matter, really. It is seven hundred and something years after the founding of Rome and a summer storm is kicking up the waves and sand and that is all that matters.
"Sam'll come back," Atton says, tall and scruffy and stretched out on the sand studying the clouds.
"Of course he will," Medusa says. She is small and dressed in the height of fashion, all violets and greys and ribbons around her wrists and the lady who had owned this is dead, dead and sleeping in the sea.
(she doesn't ask why do you call him Sam because he's not, he's not Sam, he's Lucifer, but she doesn't because Atton loves him too and it's walking on broken glass talking sometimes)
"I wish-"
"Storm's coming," she points out.
"So?"
"Most humans go inside."
Atton links his hands behind his head. "Miss the best bit that way."
She smiles, but he doesn't see it. She's gazing out to sea, wide-eyed and bitten-bottom-lip longing but she can't leave him to think. Said she would distract him, distract her, stop them thinking about stolen armies and missing keys and revenge for some(one who isn't them, selfish things they both are) blue-eyed blonde fool of a sister.
"Atton," Medusa sings in a voice clear and breathy as the wind, "Atton, care to play with some lightning?" and she's lifting her hands to the rumbling sky even before he grins at her back and says yes.