#''you must go to the mountain if you will

[serpentandlily]

Beneath the Ashes (I/II) - Azriel x Reader

Beneath the Ashes Part I - Azriel x Illyrian!Reader

Summary: Azriel finally finds the girl he’s been looking for all these years—his mate. But unfortunately for him, his mate happens to be an Illyrian who, upset over the fact that he’s turned his back on his own people, wants nothing to do with him. (Enemies to lovers vibes, angst)

a/n: based on this REQUEST. This is going to be a two part story because I kind of went a little too hard writing this haha. Thank you for your request and the inspiration! (Also I know a lot of you asked to be on a taglist for this story but since it’s only 2 parts I’m not gonna make one)

warnings: misogyny, sexism

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Part I of II

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Azriel was not happy, to say the least. Not as he landed on the cold, hard ground of one of the Illyrian war camps in the northern region of the mountains. He internally cursed at Cassian for still being on his mating honeymoon with Nesta because now he was being forced to do things Cass would normally be in charge of—primarily dealing with the Illyrians.

It wasn't a secret that Azriel hated Illyria and all its people. Hated that he came from such a barbaric, backwards culture.  He knew Cass was trying to do all he could to break the traditions Illyrians held, but Azriel had always told him they were a lost cause. If he could never see these damn mountains again, he'd consider it a blessing.

But, evidently, that was not a blessing he'd be allowed—at least, not until Cassian returned. For now, he was the one who was being sent out on these missions by his High Lord. 

Rhys had gotten word that some commotion was happening in the camp that had its people up in arms about something. He had asked Azriel to go check it out and who was he to turn down a request from his brother? So here he was. He was just hoping to get this over with soon. 

He had tried sending his shadows ahead of time to collect intel, but they had been acting weird ever since they returned to him. They had swarmed him with their cryptic messages.

Beautiful.

Our master must see. 

Permission to kill, master?

Needless to say, Azriel had no fucking idea what any of that meant. He had given them no such permission to kill, at least, not until he could see for himself what was transpiring here. 

He was passing by the training rings, ignoring the stares of the brutes who were working out and sparring within them, when he heard several sets of loud voices. He quickened his pace, following the voices into the residential section of the camp until he finally beheld what was causing the commotion. 

Three males were on the porch of one of the cabins, restraining a female Illyrian, who was thrashing around like a wildcat, screaming, "Let me go, you assholes!"

Another male Azriel recognized as the War Lord of the camp was standing on the steps leading up to the small cabin, arms crossed and a sneer on his face. A male next to him was holding a blubbering Illyrian toddler, whose arms were outstretched towards the female with tears pouring down her chubby cheeks. 

None of them had noticed him yet which Azriel used to his advantage. His shadows were already wailing when he let them loose. They spiraled towards the group, swirling around the males holding the female and yanking them away from her. All of their heads snapped in Azriel's direction except for the female. She tumbled to the ground but quickly scrambled to get up and rushed towards the male next to the War Lord, not even sparing a glance at what had caused the males to unleash her. 

She went to grab the little girl from the male holding her but was quickly held back by the War Lord with a growl. The War Lord twisted her arms behind her back, holding her in place, but his glare was firmly set on Azriel.

Azriel's face displayed no emotions as he stalked forward, his hand ghosting over Truth-Teller. 

"Shadowsinger," the War Lord bit out in greeting. The other males quickly got to their feet and stood at attention. 

"Silas," Azriel said, not bothering to address him properly which made the male bristle, "Care to explain what is happening here?" 

"None of your business, Shadowsinger," Silas hissed. "I have it under control."

"Doesn't seem like it," Azriel replied, coolly. 

The female was still trying to break out of Silas's grip, cursing under her breath. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to hiss in pain as he twisted her wrists in his hands. Azriel's shadows seemed to hiss in response, poised to attack as soon as Azriel gave them permission. 

Azriel's gaze fell on the female, noting the frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed like there had been a scuffle. Her hair was half falling out of her braid, she had scrape marks on one of her cheeks, and a bruise was beginning to form on her jaw. One of her wings was flared out proudly while the other drooped to the floor at a weird angle. His fists clenched at the sight and when she finally looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, the breath was completely knocked out of his lungs. 

Despite her tattered appearance, she was single-handedly the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He stood frozen for a moment, taken aback before he shook himself out of the spell she seemed to cast on him, realizing how inappropriate of a time it was to be ogling her. 

"Let her go, Silas," Azriel commanded in a dark voice.

"I don't take orders from you," Silas spat out. "Besides, this female has been breaking the law for months now. We're taking her into custody." 

"Fuck you," the female barked out, stomping on Silas's foot. The male cursed and went to strike her on the back of her head but Azriel's shadow caught his wrist in their grasp before he could. 

"I said," Azriel growled, lowly, causing the males to shift in place, "Let her go." 

"Fine," Silas sneered, though a tiny bit of fear flashed in his dark eyes. He pushed her to the ground in front of him. She was quick to spring back to her feet and rush towards the toddler who was still screeching. The male could hardly keep hold of the little girl.

"Let the babe go, too," Azriel snapped. The male scoffed but set the little girl down. She immediately ran to the female who bent down with her arms wide open, catching the little girl and standing with her firmly on her hip. The little girl's cries quieted down and she buried her small face in the female's neck. 

"Would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Azriel snarled, taking another step closer. Half the males mirrored his step back and he fought the urge to chuckle. 

"Like I said," Silas snapped, "This female has been breaking the law—”

“What law?” Azriel asked, firmly.

“Females are not permitted to live alone nor own houses,” Silas barked out. “She has ignored our warnings—”

“My father left the cabin to me in his will!” The female shouted, causing the small toddler in her arms to whimper. She stroked the girl's hair, shushing her. “It belongs to me.”

“I don’t care what your father promised you,” Silas growled. “It is against the law for you to be living here alone. You must surrender the cabin and go live in the barracks with the other unwed females of marrying age. Your sister will be placed under the care of the matron.” 

“Like hell I’m leaving her under the care of that female! You’re just going to have her wings clipped and force her to do grueling chores all day! She stays with me!” 

“You are out of line! I knew your father wasn’t raising the two of you right. Ever since your mother passed away—”

 “Don’t you dare say another word about my parents!”  

The War Lord lunged towards the female with a growl but Azriel shadowed between them, unsheathing Truth-Teller and pressing it against the male’s throat. 

“Lay a hand on her and I’ll gut you right here in front of all of your brutes,” Azriel snarled. 

Silas stepped back with a scoff. “You want to stick your nose in our business? Fine, then she’s your problem. I expect her out of this house by the end of today, Shadowsinger, or there will be worse consequences.” 

He stormed away, his entourage trailing behind him while sending glares to the female. Azriel waited until they were out of view before he turned to look at the female but she was gone from next to him, already walking up the steps to the cabin with the babe—her sister—on her hip.

Azriel went to follow her but she stormed into the cabin and slammed the door in his face before he could so much as utter a single word. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he knocked on the door. When Rhys had mentioned a problem happening in this camp, he hadn't expected to deal with something like this. It would’ve been much easier if it had been a problem he could solve with his fists. 

When she didn't answer, he knocked harder—nearly causing the door to shutter. 

It flung open a second later, a seething female behind it. "I already told those assholes I'm not leaving. If you're here to tell me to pack up and move, you can kiss my ass."

Azriel had to stop his lips from twitching into an amused smirk at her words. He wasn't used to dealing with female Illyrians that had attitudes. Most of them kept their heads down and stayed quiet. His mother had been like that....

"I'm not here to tell you that," Azriel answered. "May I come inside?" 

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring him down. He found himself even more amused at how she was trying to intimidate him. Most fae avoided him and his gaze. But a female, whose head barely reached his shoulders, seemed to be completely unfazed by him.  

"No, you may not," she snapped. "Anything you need to say to me can be said perfectly fine from where you're standing." 

“Can I at least bring a healer to come check out your injuries?” He eyed the scrapes on her face, the bruise and her drooping wing. Azriel’s chest ached at the sight and anger pulsed under his skin. He wanted to turn around and go rip those males apart limb by limb for laying a hand on her.

“I don’t need your help, shadowsinger,” she spat out.

"Fine," Azriel sighed. "I was sent by the High Lord because there's been reports of someone here causing disarray. I'm going to assume that someone is you." 

She shrugged, nonchalantly, her eyes flickering between his own and the shadows swirling around him that wouldn't shut up about how beautiful she was, how brave....They were singing her praise. It confused him. His shadows had never acted like this before. 

When she failed to answer, Azriel cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “Will you answer my question?”

“Aren’t you the spymaster?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be able to gather intel yourself and not rely on a lowly Illyrian female?”

“A lowly Illyrian female?” Azriel raised an eyebrow at her crass words towards herself.

“Isn’t that how you and all the High Lord’s dogs view us?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with hate.

Azriel shifted, at a loss for words. He was used to being met with hostility by the Illyrians, but never usually from the females themselves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

It was a lousy response, but he truly had no idea what to say. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and moved from the doorway, grasping the door. 

“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t care enough to do so,” she snapped. “Now, if that is all, you can kindly escort yourself off my property, shadowsinger. Thank you.”

The door slammed in his face a second later.

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Azriel returned a few hours later with a letter from the High Lord in his hands. He stormed through the camp, once again ignoring all the glares sent his way. He pushed his way inside the main war tent where Silas was sitting at his desk, twirling a dagger in his hands. His dark eyes looked up at him as he walked in, narrowing.

“You’re back,” Silas said, voice dripping with disdain. “I noticed that the female has still not been relocated from the cabin.”

Azriel strode forward and slammed the letter down on his desk. Silas’s eyes dipped down to it, quickly reading the short message before he looked back up at Azriel with a sneer. “What is this?”

“A notice from the High Lord and Lady,” Azriel answered, face unreadable. “Any laws that forbid a female from living alone or owning property are hereby revoked. This repeal shall be set in motion immediately.” 

"I can read just fine, Shadowsinger," Silas snapped. "I meant what the fuck is this? Does Rhysand think he can just snap his fingers and remove laws that have been around for centuries? I refuse to allow this."

"You'll address the High Lord properly or I'll cut your tongue out for your disrespect," Azriel growled. "The High Lord and High Lady can do whatever they want. You will abide by these new laws or your title of War Lord in this camp will be revoked." 

Silas looked like he wanted to say more, a vein in his forehead pulsing, but he only tightened his hands into fists and let out a long breath. "Very well then, Shadowsinger. I assume you've already informed Y/n of this?" 

"Y/n?"

Silas smirked. "You ran to tattle on us to the High Lord and didn't even know the name of the bitch you—"

Before anything else could come out of the War Lord's mouth, Azriel stalked forward and kicked his desk over, causing both Silas and all his paperwork and trinkets to smash on the floor. The War Lord let out a pathetic gasp in fear, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the back of the tent.

"Talk about her like that again," Azriel snarled. "And I'll rip out your throat."

Silas quickly tried to school his composure but Azriel could still see the lingering terror in his eyes. Silas straightened out his leathers before glaring at him. "It's nice to see the Illyrian is still in you after all this time, Shadowsinger. Once a brute, always a brute—isn't that what you like to say?" 

Azriel felt his pulse spike at Silas's words. He hated being reminded that he was Illyrian, even more so being compared to the worst of them. He wasn’t even sure why such rage had sparked in him in the first place. Silas's lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the way his words striked through him. But Azriel didn't wait around to hear what else the asshole had to say, letting his raging shadows swoop him into their darkness. 

He stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch of the cabin he had been at earlier. He took several breaths, trying to calm himself before gently knocking on the door. After no one answered for a moment, he lifted his fist to knock again but the door was pulled open, leaving his hand to hover in the air. He dropped it to his side, narrowing his eyebrows as he was met with no one.

"Hewwo."

Azriel nearly jumped in fright before his gaze dropped to the toddler that stood in the doorway. It was the little girl from earlier, Y/n's sister. He swallowed harshly, eyes darting around the foyer of the cabin in hopes that her sister would pop out any second but no one came. He wasn't good with children, and wasn't used to being around them. Nyx was the only child he had ever really been around and he was still a baby. 

Azriel sighed and crouched down on his haunches, making him more eye level for the little girl. Her shoulder length hair was the same color as her sister’s, her eyes too. The resemblance between the two of them was undeniable. 

"Hello there," Azriel said as gently as he could. "Is your sister home by any chance?" 

“Mhm,” the little girl hummed, busy watching the swirling shadows all around him. 

"Do you think you can go get her for me?" 

She shook her head no, her hair bobbing with the motion. 

"Why not?" Azriel asked, keeping his voice light.

"Cause I'll get in trouble," she said with a little lisp. "Mm not 'pposed to open the door." 

Azriel smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. He was surprised that she didn't seem scared of him or his shadows, as most kids were. "Don't worry, I won't tell her you opened the door for me. It can be our little secret."

She looked to be contemplating his promise, her little nose scrunched up. One of his shadows whisked forward and started swirling around her tiny frame. To Azriel's surprise, the little girl giggled, swiping her hand around to try and catch it. 

"Suri, what are you—Get away from her!" 

Y/n came thundering down the hall, yanking her sister away from the doorframe. Azriel stood to his full height, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as she glared at him before turning to look down at her sister.

"Suri, go to your room." 

"No," Suri pouted, crossing her little arms. "I wanna play with the shadows."

Azriel's lips twitched. This was quite possibly the first time a child had ever seemed anything but scared of his shadows. It was oddly endearing. 

"Go to your room," Y/n commanded in a stronger voice. "Now."

Suri stomped her foot but did as she was told, disappearing from his view. 

"What are you doing back here?" She hissed, once her sister was gone. 

Azriel pulled out the other parchment paper he had brought with him, the same notice he had given Silas. He held it out for her. "I came to deliver this." 

She took the paper from him, glancing at him suspiciously. Azriel watched as her pretty doe eyes scanned the parchment, reading Rhysand's elegant script. To his surprise, she started to chuckle to herself. She handed it back to him, her face twisted into a mocking smirk. 

"Do you honestly think this is going to stop them from trying to kick me out of this house?" She asked him, sarcastically. His eyebrows furrowed. "I'm guessing you're going to patrol this camp for a week or two to make sure they're adhering to the notice and then you'll wipe your hands clean of this all, pretending the High Lord solved everything. But you know the day you stop showing up here, Silas will be at my doorstep." 

"I can assure you that we'll do everything we can to make sure all the WarLords follow these new laws," Azriel said, his face unreadable and his voice detached. She shook her head with a smile that lacked any warmth. “I promise you that.”

"Right," she drawled out, "Well, thank you so much for your help, shadowsinger." 

She went to shut the door but Azriel stuck his hand out, catching it before she could. His gaze fell to her drooping wing, still bent at an awkward angle. "Please, let me bring a healer to attend to your wing." 

Her wing could heal on her own. It would probably only take a day or two, but just seeing it made Azriel's chest ache. He knew the pain she must be in. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you care about my wings." 

"I've broken a wing before, too," he explained. "I know how much it hurts. Please, let me help you." 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Do you want to know the difference between my wings and your's, shadowsinger? Your wings healed. You get to fly. Mine will never heal."

Azriel's gaze dropped back to her wings, now noticing the two scars—clipped. Her wings had been clipped. His heart dropped into his stomach, rage bubbling to the surface instead.

"Who?" he growled, his voice ice cold. 

"Like I said," she bit out, "Don't pretend like you care." 

"I do care," Azriel replied, fists clenching. And it was true, he did. Wing clipping was a heinous crime, one that had been outlawed since Rhys was sworn in as the High Lord of the Night Court. Of course, sometimes the practice of wing clipping still took place in remote camps that slipped through the cracks. "Wing clipping has been forbidden since—"

"I am well aware that wing clipping is forbidden," she snapped. "But like your stupid little notice, no one cares. And the High lord and all of his cronies, you included, Shadowsinger, have made it very clear that you don't either." 

"We do care," Azriel argued. "We do. But we cannot keep watch of all the camps at all times. We rely on people reporting it—" 

"Oh, spare me from hearing your excuses," she cut him off with a growl. "Do you want to know who did this to me? Here's a clue—go look in the High Lord's desk for a letter addressed from me. I've been sending one every single day for the past six years so there's bound to be at least one still around." 

"Six...six years?" Azriel questioned, quietly. "You've been sending a letter every day for six years and not one of them was ever answered?"

Sure, Rhysand had been gone for fifty years, of course and the rest of them had been unable to leave Velaris thanks to him. Then, they had been busy with the war and didn’t have time to deal with inner court problems. But it had been two years since then and she was still sending letters. Letters looking for justice for what happened to her. Letters gone unanswered.

"Not a single one," she huffed.

"Y/n...I am so sorry—"

"Save it," she barked out. "Now, if we're done here, I'd like you to leave." 

"Please, let me help you—"

Azriel choked in surprise as something within snapped. He couldn’t breath, taking a single step back as a golden thread weaved its way through the space between him and the female standing before him. 

Before his brain could even process what just happened, the door was slammed in his face. But Azriel stood frozen on her porch. Frozen in shock because he had finally found his mate. After all these years, he had finally found the person he had been searching for. 

And she absolutely hated him. 

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Your wing had healed enough by the next morning that you could lift it off the ground, though it was rather painful to do so. Your pride made you suck it up, not wanting to go to the healer and have anyone touch your wings. No one had laid a hand on your wings since the day they were clipped and you wanted to keep it that way.

You got ready for the day, putting on one of your mother's old white, chemise dresses. It fell to the top of your boots, swishing around your ankles. You layered a dark blue skirt over it before putting on a front lace-up corset. You grimaced as you did up the buttons under your injured wings before you tightened the corset until it fit snuggly. Lastly, you threw on a cloak. It was snowing outside today and the last thing you needed was to freeze to death.

You stepped in the hallway, the cabin quiet. You went to wake up Suri to get her ready for the day. Normally she was still asleep, so you were surprised when you heard her voice the closer you got to the door to her bedroom. 

"Bad doggy," she babbled, her voice muffled through the door. "You can't go in there." 

Your eyes widened, realizing she was talking to someone or something. You quickly slammed her door open, eyes darting around in concern. Suri jumped as her door banged open, spinning around on her bed to look at you. A small shadow wisped behind her, like it was hiding. 

"Suri?" You questioned. "Who were you talking to?" 

"Issy!" Suri sang out, jumping off her bed in her little pajamas. She still called you issy, unable to pronounce your name easily or the word sister. "The doggy came back!"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The what?"

The shadow darted out from behind Suri, swirling around her and causing the little girl to giggle, "Doggy!"

Your eyes narrowed. One of Azriel's shadows had not only lingered behind, but had been staying with your baby sister. You felt your pulse spike with anger. As if it could sense your emotions, the shadow stopped swirling around and instead pressed itself on the floor like it was bashful and guilty. 

You scoffed, "Go back to your master! We don't want you here." 

The shadow wisped upwards, disappearing through the ceiling. A realization had you clenching your fists. Suri pouted. "Issy, you scared the doggy away!" 

"That was not a dog—" you cut yourself off with a sigh. "Suri, go brush your teeth and your hair while I get breakfast ready, okay?" 

"No," Suri grumbled, her tiny nose twitching. "Not unless you get doggy back!" 

"If you do as I say, I'll make you strawberry pancakes for breakfast." 

"Strawb'rry pancakies!" Suri squealed, the shadow momentarily forgotten. Satisfied with your deal, your sister rushed off to get ready. You left her to it, stalking outside through the backdoor. You walked a few paces away from the cabin, staring up at the roof, using a hand to block the rising sun from your eyes.

"I know you're up there!" you shouted. "Don't bother trying to hide!" 

Footsteps were heard and then there was Azriel, peering down at you from his perch on your roof. His annoyingly beautiful face was near unreadable, his hair in a bit of disarray like he'd ran his hand through it one too many times. Dark circles were underneath his hazel eyes and those familiar shadows were whirling around him.

"Why are you on my roof?" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Good morning, Y/n," Azriel said, his voice low and husky from disuse through the night. "I've been keeping watch. I wanted to make sure none of those males would bother you again." 

"I already told you I don't need or want your help, Shadowsinger! Now get the fuck off my roof," you snarled at him. You didn't want him here. You didn't want his stupid shadows near you or Suri either. Besides, since when did he care what happened to you or any other Illyrian females? He had turned his back on his own people the day he ran off to the High Lord's perfect little city, pretending like he wasn't one of you, wasn't Illyrian. 

Easy for him. He was a male that could get siphons to use his powers correctly, a male who hadn't been forced down and clipped. He could fly wherever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. He had money and resources you wouldn't even bother dreaming for. Azriel could wipe his hands clean and pretend like he hadn't been born in these mountains and hadn't left anyone behind to suffer when he left. 

It was one thing to escape this brutalizing, barbaric way of living. It was another to gain power and influence within the court and not bother to help your own people. Azriel was a traitor and he could go to hell for all you cared. 

You hated him for it. Hated him and all of his friends. Hated the High Lord and Lady who did little to help anyone here. Hated the General for leading your father to his death in the war. You hated them all.  

Azriel let out a quiet sigh. "I know you don't need my help, but I... I can't just leave knowing those males might come back and hurt you again. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it."

"I don't care about your stupid promises," you bit back. "Get off my roof and go home, Azriel. You're not wanted here." 

"I know you hate me and I know we've all let you down," Azriel replied, guilt shimmering in his eyes. "I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, Y/n. I promise." 

"Again with the promises! Your words mean nothing to me," you grumbled, tossing your hands in the air. "I don't have time for this. You know what? You want to spend all of eternity sitting on my roof, you go ahead! But I would really appreciate it if you would just fuck off!"

You didn't bother waiting for his response, storming back into your house and slamming the door shut behind you. 

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A week went by and Azriel kept watch over you the entire time. Every day you would walk outside and peer up at the roof to see him perched there, oftentimes twirling his dagger in his hand lazily. He'd give you a small smile that looked more like a grimace and you'd roll your eyes and go back inside. 

You hated that some part of you did feel better knowing he was there. You knew his reputation and you knew none of the males in this camp would bother you as long as he was there. But it still infuriated you to see his face every morning. To see him shake the snow off his wings. To see him glare down at everyone in your camp like you were all beneath him. 

You especially hated how much Suri had come to love his shadows, always chasing them down the hallways of the cabin. You just wanted him gone. 

And it seemed like you got your wish two weeks later.

It was nighttime, the house quiet now that you'd coaxed Suri into going to bed. You were getting ready for bed yourself, dressed in a nightgown and putting out the fire when a series of soft knocks caught your attention. You frowned, pausing to look at the door. Who would be coming by at this time? Certainly no one good. 

You were debating on ignoring it when a dark shadow whisked its way underneath the door. 

"Y/n," Azriel called out. "It's just me." 

You rolled your eyes and opened your door, knowing he wouldn't leave until you did so.

"What?" You eyed him, taking in his disheveled appearance. You wondered how he survived spending the night in the snow. Just the small draft that came in from opening the door had you shivering. You hugged yourself, your hair blowing gently in the ice cold breeze.

Azriel seemed at a loss for words for a second, his eyes roaming down your body before he met your gaze. His cheeks turned a bit pink as you raised an eyebrow at him. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion.

"I need to leave for a few days," Azriel finally said. "The High Lord is sending me on a small mission. I...I would feel a lot better if you'd let me take you and your sister somewhere else while I'm gone. I can set the two of you up in a nice inn or tavern in Velaris. Or you could stay at my personal residence. Just for a few days." 

You stared at him utterly perplexed. "You're...you're joking, right?" 

He shook his head looking dead serious. "No, Y/n, I'm not. I worry what will happen if I'm not here to watch over you. Please, just...just let me help. It might be nice for Suri to take her to Velaris and let her see the city." 

"You're out of your mind," you hissed. "I'm not leaving my house and certainly not with you. I already told you I don't need your help."

You went to shut the door but Azriel reached out and grabbed it before you could.

"Please, I just want to help—"

“Azriel, I have survived here on my own for the past two years since my father died in the war,” you growled. “You can't sit on my roof forever. If you truly wanted to fix things, you would've done so centuries ago. So just leave, Azriel. And don't bother coming back." 

“I do care,” Azriel pleaded. “Please—”

"I am not leaving," you snapped. "I am not letting those stupid males run me from my own home. I don't know why you even care! And stop with the whole 'I promised you' thing. You don’t even know me!”

He opened his mouth to say something else but you slammed the door shut in his face. You locked the deadbolt before letting out a sigh. 

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Azriel was worried. Worried and scared and angry. Worried that Silas and his goons would bother his mate while he was gone. Scared that they’d hurt her. And angry at just the thought of that. His chest ached as he thought about his mate and her clear hatred towards him. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right. He had abandoned Illyria a long time ago. 

But that needed to change. He needed that to change. Not just for his mate’s sake but for her sister, for Nyx, for all the females and children whose lives were awful because of the males in charge of all their camps. 

She had been the wake up call he needed. He had the privilege of being a male in Illyria. He got to keep his wings. Got to work at having a different life then the one he was born into. His mate hadn’t had those opportunities. She was flightless, stuck to the ground and stuck in her miserable camp. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to just grab her and her sister and get them far away from Illyria. To bring them to his apartment in Velaris where he could take care of them, could keep them safe. 

But his mate didn’t trust him. 

He would do anything to prove himself to her. Prove that he did care for her and all the other Illyrian females. No matter how much hate he was met with, he’d keep crawling back until he earned her forgiveness and a chance to give her a better life. 

She deserved that more than anything. Not just because she was his mate but because she had been so strong all these years, standing up to males twice her size and keeping her sister’s wings from being mutilated like hers had been. She didn’t choose to be Illyrian anymore than he did. 

And Gods, he wanted her to stop hating him. He wanted her to give him a chance. Just one chance to show her what she truly deserved. He had learned so much about her by just watching her this week and he knew that no other female would come close to capturing his heart and attention the way she had in just that short span of time he’d known her. 

Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her or her forgiveness. He knew she was too good for him. Too beautiful, too pure of heart. He could see that just by the way she took care of her sister and the other females in her village, despite the torment it brought her from the males. 

He let out a sigh, his eyes still locked on the camp of Autumn Soldiers. He was doing a reconnaissance mission. Beron was up to something again and these soldiers had been spotted on the coast. 

It had been two days since he left his mate and so far, nothing had been unknowingly sent down the bond except for her normal moods she fluctuated with during the day. 

He just needed to finish this mission and rush back to Velaris to drop off his report to Rhysand before he could get back to her. He normally liked to take his time on his missions but this was quite possibly the first time he ever had a want to get back faster. He was hoping to sneak into the River House and set his report on Rhys's desk without seeing anyone. He'd been ignoring and skipping family dinners for the past week and knew they'd have a lot to say about it. 

Azriel faltered as a wave of fear crashed through him. No, not fear. Terror. Unbridled terror and then pain. He sucked in a breath, nearly falling from the tree he was perched in. He was frozen for a second before he realized what was happening---his mate was in danger. 

It took him less than a second to decide to abandon the mission and shadow all the way back to the Illyrian mountains. Azriel let out a curse when he stepped out of the shadows in front of his mate's cabin to see it covered in flames. Someone had set it on fire and it was quickly crumbling under the flames. His heart was beating in his chest as he strained his ears to make sure no one was inside.

But then the most heart-stopping, chill inducing sound was heard ringing through the camp.

His mate's screams.

He sprinted towards the sound, his boots pounding against the cold hard ground. It led him to the town center where a crowd had formed, males hollering and shouting encouragement at whatever was happening. 

Azriel pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside male after male until he reached the front. His heart dropped in his stomach as he beheld what was happening before him. 

His mate on her knees, holding up the tatters of her shirt to maintain her dignity. Silas standing behind with a whip in hand, raising it in the air again. Blood all over the white snow around his mate, staining it red. Tear streaks running down his mate's face, her beautiful face pale and twisted in pain. One of Silas's commanders holding a crying and screaming Suri, her tiny fists pounding on his chest. 

Azriel wished he knew what happened next. Wished he had this memory to look back on whenever he remembered the rage he felt. But one second he was standing there staring at his mate in horror and the next second, he was surrounded by dead bodies with Truth-teller in his hand dripping with blood. The camp had fallen silent and his ears were ringing, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Suri had been dropped in the chaos and had rushed towards her sister, throwing her small arms around her neck as she sobbed.

And his mate.

His beautiful mate was staring right at him, eyes wide from witnessing the carnage he had just unleashed in this camp. Silas laid dead behind her, his shadows still ravaging his body. Slit throats, broken necks on all the other males that laid dead at his feet. But his mate was looking at him.

Azriel took a step towards her, watching her carefully as she weakly wrapped an arm around her sister's body while her eyes never left his. And he knew the mating bond had just snapped for her, could see the realization in her eyes. 

"N-no," she stammered out, her voice cracking. "No. Not you. Not...Not you! Anyone but you!"

Azriel could feel her dread pouring down the bond amidst the pain and terror she felt. He felt his heart crack in his chest, heard his shadows wailing as they too felt her pain and sorrow. 

But his broken heart at finding his mate and hearing that she didn't want him was not important in this moment. Not as his mate's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped to the ground.

Azriel rushed forward, scooping both his unconscious mate in his arms and her crying sister before disappearing in a whirl of screaming shadows. 

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Chapter 3

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: The mating bond reveals itself

Warnings: brief allusion to pregnancy loss again, nothing explicitly mentioned though!

Word Count: 2.8k

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You run down the hallway, ducking through a random door and shutting it behind you. You lean back against it, knocking your head against the wood. What is wrong with you? You cringe. Rhysand is probably thinking the same thing about you. For some inexplicable reason, you care what he thinks of you, and you’ve gone and made a fool of yourself. 

You look around the mystery room and smile. You seem to have found yourself in a music room. One side of the room is occupied by a large piano, while the other side is a seating area where people must gather to listen. You walk over to the piano, running your hand along the glossy wood of the instrument, breathing in its scent. You pull the bench out, sitting in front of the instrument. You gently press a few keys, happy to find out that it’s well maintained. You had spent much of your life in the music room in your own home, losing yourself in music. Your brothers had often joked that they always knew where you were, because if you weren’t out wandering the gardens, you were hidden away playing the piano. 

You stand, heading for a plush armchair and curling up in it. It was good to know this was here if you’d be spending so much time here. Perhaps you could get Feyre to sit in here with you so you could keep an eye on her. You yawn, exhaustion suddenly coming over you. You’re not sure you can remember where the room you were shown to is, and even less sure you want to try to find it, worried about seeing Rhysand again. So you stay curled up in the arm chair, comforted by the scent of the piano and let sleep claim you there.

When you awake, you’re covered by a blanket. You rub your eyes, wondering who had done it. You briefly wonder if it had been Rhysand, thinking about what he had done for you Under the Mountain. Even now, months later, you still thought about it. He had used his powers to give you pleasant dreams. It was so at odds with what you knew about him. A cruel male who was cruel just because he could be.

You stand and stretch, joints stiff from sleeping in the armchair. You glance out the window and determine you’ve probably missed most of breakfast. You might as well stay here for a little bit longer before going to find Feyre. You sit down at the piano, running a featherlight hand across the keys. You had no sheet music, but you’d been playing for so long you had plenty of your repertoire memorized. You close your eyes, launching into the song, muscle memory allowing you to find the right keys with no issue. You lose yourself in the music, playing song after song, time becoming meaningless. 

When you finally finish, someone claps in the doorway. You jump up, startled, knocking the piano bench over. 

“I thought when I found you in here that you had just found a random room to hide away in. I didn’t realize you were such a talented pianist. Although, I do believe I brought you here because you insisted on keeping Feyre company. Or was that just an excuse to get away from your brother?”

You take a deep breath, getting your temper under control before answering. “When I woke I figured breakfast was nearly over. So I thought I’d play a little bit and then find Feyre.”

“And why didn’t you want to come to breakfast? Are you avoiding me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Liar.”

“Am not!” 

He chuckles. “If you say so.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well I do.” 

“Feyre is in the library, practicing her letters. While the two of you are here, she is going to learn how to read. You know, I’m surprised. I know you helped Feyre Under the Mountain, so why stop helping her now?”

“You know nothing.” You take another deep  breath, not wanting to have a repeat of last night.

“No? Enlighten me then.”

“I tried. I suggested to Tamlin that I help her learn to read and he shut me down. I thought she’d be more receptive if the idea came from him. But he didn’t think she was ready. So I dropped it. And then he proposed and Ianthe had her wedding planning. If you can even call it that. It was more like Feyre sits in the room while Ianthe makes all the decisions,” now that you’ve started, it's like you can’t stop. “How am I the only one in that damned court that can see she doesn’t want to marry him? I tried to get her out of it, told her that if she had changed her mind I would come up with some sort of excuse so she didn’t have to marry him. I was actually relieved when you showed up because then she wouldn’t be stuck with him and I could have more time to try to figure out a way to help her! She is so miserable there and she is going to end up trapped!”

“Just like you are?” It startles you out of your rant, and you start to bolt, embarrassed that you’ve overshared again, but Rhysand is faster, carefully catching you as you run by. He looks at you for a moment, frowning. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Run away when I’m embarrassed? I believe it’s actually quite a common response, actually.”

He looks up, as if asking the Mother to grant him the patience to deal with you. 

“That’s not what I meant. You lose your temper, say more than you mean to and run away.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

“Liar.”

He chuckles. “Are you avoiding my question?”

“I don’t understand you, Rhysand. You act like this cruel, careless male, but then I catch glimpses of someone else.” You tilt your head to the side, examining him. “I don’t think you’re as cruel as you make people believe you are.”

“I still think you’re avoiding my question.”

You sigh, giving in, not entirely sure why. “Fine. If you’ll answer one for me.” He nods.

“Tamlin and I are both quick tempered. But while I’m more prone to verbal outbursts…” You fidget, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Rhys tenses, rage filtering across his face for the briefest of moments. He looks over you as if looking for signs of injury.

“He’s never hurt me. Or Feyre. It’s usually taken out on the furniture.” You wince, thinking about it. “I can only think of what he may be doing right now…” He wants to ask more, but there’ll be time for that later. His instincts are screaming at him to reveal the bond so he can keep you in Night and protect you, but he ignores it, shoving it down. 

“Now I believe you get to ask me a question.”

“Why did you use your powers on me Under the Mountain?” If he’s surprised by your question, it doesn’t show.

“You seemed to need the rest. I could see the pain you were in, some of it my fault, and there was something I could do about it.” 

“But why?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Perhaps I had gotten tired of seeing so much cruelty in the 50 years I had been down there.” You chew your lip. There he is again, that male behind the mask of cruelty.

“May I ask you another question, or do I have to worry about you trying to run away again if you share too much?”

 You give a breathy laugh. “You may, but perhaps you could let go of me?” He lets go of you, taking several steps back.

“Last night you said you’re trapped and miserable in Spring.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a statement, not a question.”

He narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes. One thing’s for sure Mor would love you if he ever got to introduce you to her.

“My question is was that always the case?”

You blow out a breath, fidgeting with the ring on your necklace. “It’s… Complicated. Yes and then no and then yes. Before I had Andras, my husband, I was. And then when I had him… That time was incredible. And far too short. And then after… I lost so much that it would have been hard not to be miserable, even if I didn’t hate it there.” Your free hand brushes over your stomach and you see as understanding, and for the briefest moment, pity shows on his face. It makes your temper flare. You are so tired of people looking at you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

You scoff. “You know the look. The look that everyone gives me when they realize everything that  I’ve lost!” You stalk towards him. He just watches you, surprised by this outburst. “I am so sick of that look! People find out and then they give me that stupid look! And then they know so they may not give me the look, but I can still see it there, just barely hidden.” You’re nearly chest to chest with him now, looking up into his face. “So don’t you dare start too.” 

He whispers your name, staring into your eyes. You’re not sure why you do it. If you’ve well and truly lost your mind, or if something about the way he’s looking at you, the way he said your name, reminds you of Andras, but you kiss him. He hesitates for a moment, knowing he should pull away, that whatever reason you're kissing him has nothing to do with him, but your lips are as soft as they look, and suddenly he’s kissing you back, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back.

 Just as suddenly as you had kissed him, you stop, backing away as if his touch burnt you. 

That’s the moment when the mating bond makes itself known to you, snapping into place. You sink to your knees, a hand over your chest, tears burning your eyes. He crosses over to you, slowly, eyes never leaving your face. He takes your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of it. You sit there together for what may be moments or hours. "You don't have to accept it. The bond. I understand it may be... You’re not ready to move on." You can hear the pain in his voice, see it in his eyes. You shake your head.

"It's not that it's unwelcome. Just... Unexpected. Andras... I thought he was my mate. I felt it when he died. So I thought.... I'll need time. I don't know how much, but I don't want to reject it. At least not outright."

"I can do that. I can give you time. I've waited for this, waited for  you, for nearly 500 years. And I'd wait 500 more if that's what you need." He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I'm not sure I'll need quite that long." You smile at him, giving an experimental tug on the bond, nearly gasping at the stars that light up in his eyes, knowing that you'd do nearly anything to get him to look at you like that again. You look away, stomach churning with guilt. 

“Don’t go back to Spring. Stay here.”

“I can’t. I can’t abandon Feyre.” He tucks loose hair behind your ear, and you resist the urge to lean into the gentle touch. 

“I understand… I don’t like it. But I understand. Just promise me something?” 

“Hmm… It’ll depend on what you’re asking of me.”

He smiles. “Promise that if anything happens you’ll reach out down the bond. And either I or someone else will come to get you. And then we’ll figure something out for Feyre.”

“Counter promise, because I can winnow myself. If anything happens and I feel the need to leave I’ll come here with Feyre and reach out down the bond to let you know.” 

“Counter promise accepted.”

“Good. Now I think I should go find Feyre.”

He nods. “Perhaps you should at least change first.”

“Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“No, you’re absolutely stunning. But you are wearing yesterday’s dress. And you slept in a chair.”

“I suppose you do have a point.” He stands, helping you to your feet.

“I am known to have one of those from time to time.”

“Rhysand?” 

“Call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?”

For a brief moment he swears he could die a happy male, just listening to you say his name. “Yes?”

“I forgot where my room is.” He chuckles, leading the way. You follow him, chewing your lip as you think. 

“I can practically hear you thinking, despite the fact that you have surprisingly good walls up. Would you like to share?” 

“Surprisingly good?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to decide if you should be offended. 

“Not a reflection on you, I'm surprised you were taught.” 

“Tamlin decided I should be after the night you killed our brothers and father.” He grimaces, not because he regrets killing them, but because of any pain it may have caused you. You stop, putting a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I know what they did. I saw the wings. I understand. As much as we butt heads, I have been better off with Tamlin as High Lord. My father was not a kind male and I hate to think of the kind of marriage I would have been forced into. I have never held any ill will towards you for their deaths.” Rhys lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he had started holding. 

“What about the garden?” 

“I was angry about it for a long time. What I said to you Under the Mountain… I was being consumed by my grief. I had just lost so much and it felt like it was for nothing because we had all ended up there anyway. But I had stopped being angry at you for it a long time ago.” He nods.

“My mother and sister. Their wings…”

“My father had hung them in the study as trophies. When Tamlin became High Lord, he burnt them.” 

He nods again, blowing out a breath through his teeth.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How I'm going to tell Feyre.”

You're not entirely sure how you might describe the look on his face, but it's clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” 

“No. In fact it's probably a terrible idea. But nobody else tells her anything. And I'm not about to start keeping secrets from her. Plus if we may have to suddenly leave and come here, it's better for her to know why instead of having to explain it after.” 

“I… suppose you have a point.”

You grin, teasing him with his earlier words. “I am known to have one of those from time to time.” 

He laughs, the sound making your heart soar. 

The two of you start walking again and he stops once you've reached the door to your room. You linger in the hall, not quite ready to leave him yet.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. I couldn't let you sleep in the music room all week.” You laugh. 

“No, I suppose not. Although now that I know it's far enough away from the bedrooms that I won't wake anyone, I may be spending quite a bit of time there.” 

“I could leave some sheet music in there for you. If you'd like.” You smile, eyes lighting up, and he already wants to be the reason you smile like that again.

“I would love that.” 

“I'll put it on the piano bench then. I have an idea of a piece I think you might like.” 

“I look forward to learning it.” 

“I'll have someone bring you food while you get yourself ready to speak with Feyre.” 

“Thank you, Rhys.” Once again, he appreciates the way his name sounds coming from your lips. 

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment, uncertain what to do, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. 

You open the door as he walks away, stepping in and taking a deep breath. “Cauldron boil me…” You walk over to the deep bathing pool and turn the taps, allowing it to fill up, taking your hair out of the slept on hairdo from the day before. Once the tub is full of steaming water, you turn the tap off and strip, stepping down, settling into the water. Mother above… How were you going to tell Feyre that Rhys is your mate? And worse. How are you going to tell your brother?

A/N: And there it is! Chapter 3! I'm already working on chapter 4, so that one will probably be out later this week as well as hopefully a few other things! As always, requests are open, so feel free to send those on in if there's anything you'd like to see! I noticed that some of my taglist didn't work last time and I've hopefully fixed it this time!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

taglist: @lilah-asteria @readingislife2006 @acourtofimagines @mistymoocow @irelanrose @darker-december @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loving-and-dreaming @bravo-delta-eccho @sidthedollface2 @oucereeng @jesskidding3 @panther-girl-124 @jiarkives

[thedovesaredying]

Guardian of the Temple

König finds you alone in the jungle and decides to hunt you down for some entertainment. Unfortunately for him, the Temple Guard is still in the area.

A/N: Wanted to do something small for @ghouljams fun little König-killing event. This little story is based within an AU I'm working on currently - a crossover between CoD and Dinotopia - weird mix, I know, but trust me, I promise it works. Going to be a series of individual ships set in the same universe with Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, and Nikto.

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader (he doesn't make an appearance)

Warnings: MCD (obviously lmao), Kinda Gorey??, König is a dick who has it coming.

Rating: SFW

Masterlist: WIP

If you were paying more attention than you wouldn’t be in such a situation.  

There’s an Outsider hunting you down, tainting the steps of the temple with his foul presence alone. You’ve been working for weeks to restore the ancient ruins enough for you to begin deciphering some of the forgotten runes. Just gaining access to the site had taken months of preparation, and it could all be thrown away because of this one individual.  

You’ve heard of him before, some crazy man who’s styled himself “King” after hunting down and killing a tyrannosaurus rex on his own. You’ve heard him lord the achievement over his underlings, having them worship him as if he’s some kind of warrior God rather than a mere man.

You were spotted while collecting water from a nearby river, and the terrifying mountain of a man had been quick to sprint after you, laughing like a complete madman. You’re by no means slow, but the man’s lengthy stride has him quickly catching up to you, his huge hand grabbing you by the back of your shirt.  

He throws you to the ground and you hit the stone of the temple hard with a loud yelp. You try to crawl away from him, but you’re unable to get your legs under you before you’re grabbed again. The man, and he’s definitely König from the signature hood over his face, forces you onto your back, pinning you to the floor with a heavy foot to your chest.  

“And who might you be, little bird?” His voice is heavily accented, but the amused sneer in his tone is easily recognisable, “the Rainy Basin is no place for such a small creature, did no one tell you what terrible creatures there are out here?” 

You grip at his boot, trying to shove it off you, but swiftly giving up when it doesn’t so much as budge. “What, like you?” you snap, scowling up at him.  

“Such a feisty thing,” he laughs, pressing down harder on your aching ribs, “are you certain you aren’t one of mine?” He pulls his axe from the side of his belt, resting the edge of the blade against your throat.  

Your disgusted face must be answer enough, because he continues, “do you know why they call me, ‘König’, sweet pet?” the cold steel of his blade presses dangerously against your chin, forcing you to keep your head raised and your eyes on his, “it’s because I killed the most powerful beast on this island, that so called “king” of the Scalies, you should mind yourself, girl.”  

“Really?” You ask, before adding, “because I heard you were a coward that killed a mother rex just trying to protect her babies.” You can’t help the way you spit it at him, scowling at his ugly hood, “you really think that makes you impressive? Killing mothers and babies to feed your own ego?” 

The monstrous man pulls back his axe, readying to separate your head from the rest of your body. You can only imagine how his face is screwed up in rage at the slight to his pride, and you can’t help but smile, for you know this will not be where you die. He swings his weapon down and there’s a sickening crunch as muscle and bone are split apart. But it isn’t you that wails in agony.  

It was his mistake, really, for thinking that the rex was the biggest, baddest king in the jungle. 

König’s body falls to the side in shock, his one remaining hand reaching up to fruitlessly try and stanch the bleeding where his shoulder now abruptly ends. He had mocked you so ruthlessly for your fear moments ago, but now, the man’s eyes have nearly been consumed by his frantic pupils. His legs kick out, trying to push himself as far away from the threat as possible.  

The giganotosaurus tilts its head back, allowing the man’s arm to roll down its gullet without needing to so much as chew once for the entire limb to be small enough for it to swallow it whole. Its eyes slowly track the trail of blood across the floor, before landing on the wounded human in question.  

Like a bird playing with an insignificant insect, it takes a step toward him, using its snout to roll the man across the stone, nostrils flaring at the potent scent of iron. You can see König torn between playing dead in the hopes of boring the animal and trying to make a run for it, but it seems to matter little in the end, for the theropod grabs him around the waist with its eight-inch teeth and begins to bite down.  

The man screams, and you have the less than pleasant privilege of listening as his agonised cries quickly turn into wet gurgling. The giga’s teeth are designed for slicing through meat to let their prey bleed out, but there’s very little meat on a creature as small as a human, and so it isn’t long before the Outsider’s body falls completely limp.  

The lifeless body is dropped to the ground where the lizard begins to crunch at the remains with its hind teeth.  

You stand on shaky legs, the adrenaline very quickly causing you to crash. With a sigh, you slowly slide down one of the nearby walls of the temple, resting your head against the cool stone and moss. After a few moments, the giga makes another appearance, his massive head drifting into view. He makes a concerned rumble, nudging at your tiny body when you continue to stay resting for another few moments. 

“Thank you, Fireblood,” you breathe, gently resting a hand against the theropod’s snout, “I know you can’t understand me, but it’s much appreciated big guy.” Fireblood settles himself down beside you with a soft huff, allowing you to caress his hard scales.  

No doubt Ghost will find this rather amusing; he always did dislike that weird guy.

[plounce]

ffxiv fics will often have people bathing/washing in the lake near the bookman's shelves which is a nice image and makes good use of the beautiful il mheg landscape, but it also makes me ? because hey um. that lake's full of malicious trickster squirtles who really want to drown you. thancred says right before dohn mheg that they "avoided the lake at all costs" so i really dont think any of them would ever take off their armor to go bathe in it, especially urianger who is especially vulnerable to being drowned due to not being able to swim. plus i think urianger is kind of fussy and squeamish about certain things so he wouldn't be super into bathing amongst algae and aquatic weeds (which longmirror lake is full of, along with destroyed voeburtite buildings and nefarious dead children turtles). so i suppose the question is: how does one bathe at the bookman's shelves?

urianger bartered for mountain cave spring water from the nu mou

there might be a well or small spring near the manor itself

something something water crystals

urianger could have rigged a pulley system to haul water up from handmirror lake, the lake on the west side of il mheg beneath a precipitous cliff by the bookman's shelves that may not have fuath in it

urianger has a bathtub that MUST stay dry at all costs and if anyone were to fill it with water he would be forced to use up his favorite soaps in order to fix it which would make him MOST frustrated and despondent

[mudandmire]

Familiars

Azris Week - Day Two: Familiars

~~~ Welcome to day two of @azriweek! It is so early right now and I'm rushing this note because I need to go to work, but I'm literally so excited. This community is truly so talented and wonderfully kind it inspires me more and more. Fair warning this follows none of canon, like literally none. I went a little rouge with the lore but I couldn't care less because it was fun. Anyywaayyy, hope you enjoy! :D ~~~

~~///~~///~~///~~

Made for

Azriel keeps his hands wrapped in cotton gauze the first week he’s in Zebedee’s fields. Every now and then, listening to the tall grass rustle, the canyon gale skipping across the steppes plains and buffeting against him, he’ll grasp his hands together and itch. It’s a bad habit, but the feeling, the weight, of his hands together brings him more comfort than he could ever voice.

The moon rises early, the summer season slowly cresting into autumn, and with it the midnight sun begins to disappear behind the fish-toothed ridge of the Illyrian mountains—every moment cut shorter and shorter. So Azriel sits in the flickering firelight of the hearth in the clay burrow, Zebedee humming a soft, low tune that makes his little, withered wings shudder. His mother is somewhere, sitting in a corner darning the holes in pant legs and socks, her narrow shoulders hunched—much like his.

It’s a quiet Azriel isn’t used to. A noisy quiet. Darkness, those familair shapes and figures takes their place along the walls and outside the glass pane windows—yet Azriel is not alone in it. For now, his shadows have settled comfortably along his shoulders and the frayed edge of Zebedee’s colorful patterned rugs. They had their time to stretch and play when the sun began to set, and now laze like fattened cats on the high beams of barns. The shadows are familiar; the light, the noise, is not.

Breathing, steady and deep—Zebedee keeps his eyes closed as he hums, swaying gently from side to side on the cushion he claims his own. The deep impression he has left on it from a lifetime of use evidence enough. Every now and then Azriel will pick up the softest snick of a needle through fabric, the pre-meditated rip of a seam, and he’ll picture his mother’s face, trace her name but won’t dare to turn around.

Azriel’s hands reach for each other, clasping fingers to fingers, like a lock latched. He soothes himself with the steady scrape of his bandages over skin, back and forth. He hardly thinks further about it, so lost in the dancing flames that he startles with a jolt when Zebedee’s large, calloused hand folds over his own.

His eyes jump to his, wide in his sockets. Zebedee’s gaze is open—it’s the only word Azriel knows for it. His eyebrows are lax, not pinched or furrowed, and his mouth isn’t pursed or twisted into a sneer like he’d so often see on his father, his step-mother. The dark, wet shine of his eyes looks into Azriel and it feels like his words come from there, not his lips.

“You must not agitate your scars, Azriel.”

Zebedee is a conflicting male. His gait is long, his feet so big Azriels can fit twice in his shoes. His hair is dark, wild and wiry with tight curls that match the thick of his beard around his mouth down his neck. There’s a sternness to his stance, his face, that comes from a lifetime of experience in the wilds of the Illyrian Steppes. Yet his eyes have retained their kindness; his hands their gentility.

A contradiction. Males who loom are cruel, Azriel had learned that and now he wore the bandages to prove it.

The room has gone completely silent, a blanket shrouding a candlelight. He can’t even hear the faint tug of a needle through fabric anymore.

Azriel tenses, his narrow, bony shoulders drawing up to his heated ears. “Sorry.”

Zebedee shakes his head, leans closer with his palm eclipsing Azriel’s hands entirely. “No apology needed, b’nee. I know from experience how umcomfortable scars can be, yet I also have the wisdom to know that itching and picking makes everything a whole lot worse.”

Azriel keeps his gaze pinned to Zebedee’s hand. The deep ingrained lines around his knuckles, the faint barrier between the dark skin of the top and the lighter, if not more calloused, skin of his palm. What he would give to have hands like Zebedee’s; strong and unbroken, crooked but powerful, large but kind.

His bottom lip juts out, knee boucing as he glares. “But your hands are fine.”

A laugh rumbles through Zebedee’s chest. “They may look it now, yes, but that is only because Oya and the Ko-kaw’eloi gave me time to make it so.”

“Ko-ka’eelohi?”

“Ah,” Zebedee says. Simple, his eyes glimmering with the shine of a secret and Azriel wonders if he’s going to tell him a story.

“I forget, sometimes, that you are unaware of our divine watchers.” He says, though he leans closer he still remains sitting straight, keeping his beetle black eyes trained on Azriel.

Azriel’s face twists, wings shuddering gently. “I know Oya, but I thought the Mother was the—the,” he loses his words slightly, fumbles for a meaning he doesn’t know how to place.

“The only divine one? That is what you were taught, yes?” There’s no judgement in his voice, only a curiousity as warm as the heat of his hands.

Azriel nods. “I thought Oya and Ena—Enalius were a myth.” He stumbles on the pronunciation slightly, but Zebedee takes it all in stride.

“Some think so, many in the moutain camps believe both to be a fairytale. But there are others, like us in the village, who believe otherwise.”

“That they’re real?” Childish wonder, the kind he had been denied his whole life, shamelessly fills his face. He’s too caught up in Zebedee’s simple story to think aout the incessant itch of his bandaged hands.

“That they were real, alive, and that even now they watch over us. They send us rain from the mountains, give us the wind we need beneath our wings. They watch over us under the midnight sun and the eternal moon—but always under the Ko-kaw’eloi: the stars divine.”

It paints a picture. Azriel had spent more than one night sleeping under the skylight in the stable—memories of dark, endlessly dark, cells and iron bars chasing him from his bed time and again. There’s a special pleasure in looking up, seeing the stars, watching the migration they track through their sky.

It makes Azriel feel less alone, some nights. There are not only shadows to comfort him, to clothe and keep him. But a night sky bursting with life and light that has been denied to him until now.

He wonders, though. “Can they only watch?” His little voice balances on the edge of something, a realization, or a confirmation of what he already knows.

Zebedee sighs deeply. “They have their places,” he says, face softened with understanding, “and we have ours.” His hands fall away from Azriel’s, and then spread like two great wings to his sides. “We are Illyrian, Azriel. We are made of this very stubborn, difficult land we build our farms and houses on. But, we are also gifted our freedom, our honor from the Ko-kaw’eloi—our wings are not just for decoration, to determine us different from others. They are a part of our history, in what we are made of. Made for.”

As if hearing the words, impassioned and earnest, Azriel’s wings twitch. They don’t often move, cramped as they had been the first eleven years, their growth had been severely stunted. Now in one great pull, pantomiming the spread of Zebedee’s arms, they fold out behind Azriel with a great shudder.

There’s a lance of dull pain, a discomfort like a pulled muscle, but even that cannot keep the wide smile from blooming across Azriel’s lips. “Ko-kaw’eloi made me my wings?”

Zebedee’s face is alight from the inside with pride. He’s kept his body still, but his own wings quiver as if longing to join in. “Made your wings—your soul, Azriel. That is something that cannot, will not be broken because it is not of this world’s to break.”

“I am made of stronger things.” He whispers to himself.

“Our guidance, our compass, our birthright. Remember them, b'nee. Even when there is discomfort, even when there is pain they are watching, and they know each and every piece of you because we are a part of them.”

The night wanes on, a slow march of stars—Ko-kaw’eloi, Azriel calls them fondly in his head—across the blanket of heavens and Zebedee sends him to bed. His mother had disappeared from her chair in the corner, he doesn’t know when and doesn’t care to search her out right now.

Instead he says goodnight to Zebedee, a respectful bow of his head, and when Zebedee nods back he scampers off to his little room. He’s held tonights revelations in his hands like cupped water, and he’s trying hard not to spill. When he gets to his room, he closes the curtain that cuts him off from the main room and clambers up onto the piled furs that make his bed. His wings fluttering behind him like they’ve had life breathed into them. His face presses against the cold glass pane of his window; eager, bright eyes looking up at the spread of stars and feeling Zebedee’s story, his sincerity sink into his skin.

He falls asleep that way. Cheek pressed to glass, his breaths fogging the window, and his scarred, bandaged hand clutching the fabric of his tunic over his chest.

The stars never waver.

~///~

It’s years later, Azriel hardly remembers what it was like to be tweleve because he’s eighteen—there is only eighteen and everything that comes after.

There was, however, time between the two and change that swept in like a particularly vengeful wind. A comet with bright, auburn hair, golden eyes the spitting embers of a fire, and a trickster mouth crashed into his life one chilled winter’s day.

Eris had swept into his life, little and careful though it was, with such ease Azriel can’t remember a time he wasn’t there.

They’ve intertwinted their lives now; to the point where removing one would rip apart the other. Their connection runs deep, straight into secrecy and with every word and look dipping into the waters of something more.

Azriel wonders about it, keeping his hand over his eyes to shade them from the beaming afternoon sun as he sits on the crest of a golden hill. Eris lays beside him on his front, back bare as the contours and dips of bone and muscle glint with a thin sheen of sweat. Azriel swallows hard, his mouth dry. His eyes are drawn to the spread of bare skin, even if he keeps pulling his gaze away it strays right back to the little spot at the base of Eris’s spine—two dimples right above the hem of his trousers.

“I thought Illyrian summers were more temperate than this. I’m being baked like a particularly pale potato.” Eris grumbles where his head his pressed to his folded arms. His mouth is pinched, eyes squinted up at Azriel.

Azriel laughs, and without a word unfolds his wing like a sheet and adjusts it to shadow Eris. “Better?” He asks. “I don’t know how I ever thought you were from the Summer Court, your heat tolerace is worse than mine.”

“It’s not my fault the sun has a vendetta against me—I’m too pale for it’s attention, Azriel, it’ll cook me alive.”

“And here I thought you were getting used to it so I wouldn’t have to hear your complaining every summer.”

“Oh hush, you love my whining, it brings joy and substance to your life. Where would you be if I wasn’t here to verbally protest how hot it was? You would never know without my complaints and then you’d be roasted like a duck on a spit and everyone would throw a sad funeral for you because I wasn’t there to tell you how hot it was.”

Azriel smiles down at him, crooked, his teeth biting into his lower lip to keep the laugh he feels bubbling up from bursting out. Eris talks like no one he’s ever met, ever known. He’s blustering and proud, sharply witty and yet he can have these spells of absolute nonsense that makes Azriel want to fold up next to him with a stick and keep prodding to see how ridiculous he can become.

“Roasted duck sounds good right now.” Azriel says, his gaze trained on Eris.

His cheeks are pink, freckles stark in contrast against his pale skin. The heat, as much as Eris hates it, loves him. He’s a blush color, like the tall stemmed, small five-petal flowers that hug the steppe floor. It rises in paint strokes along the tops of his shoulders, the bridge of his nose to his cheeks, and, strangely, the very tips of his ears. Maybe in some places the sun has kissed him a little too hard, he’s sure he’s burned at least slightly—yet still Azriel can’t help but think he wears the color well.

Eris snorts. “With some lemon and herbs—”

“Rice and spices, I think you mean.”

“Do you wish for me to perish from burning? Is that what your grand plan is?”

Azriel leans back on his palms, smirking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Heathen.” Eris grumbles. One of his arms comes out from under his head and he swats at Azriel’s exposed flank.

“Ah,” he tuts, wagging a finger, “I wouldn’t abuse your only shade from the sun.” Threateningly, his extended wing shudders as if he’s about to fold it to his back.

Eris scrambles closer to Azriel, eyes wide. “Wait—no, no need for that. I will eat your fire food, no problem. Do not move your wing, I beg.”

“And your tongue will fall out of your mouth, it will be so hot, and I will be forever spared from your whining.” He deadpans, keeping his wing extended.

Eris grins up at him, boyish and charming, his chin resting on his folded hands. “Only for you, dear bat.”

“Lucky me.” Azriel says, quieter than intended.

A pause falls on them, comfortable and warm. The slight breeze rustles through the grass, a lock of Eris’s rich red copper hair falls into his eyes—he crosses them looking at it.

Azriel huffs a laugh, hardly thinking about it when his hand comes up and his fingers gently tuck the stray strand behind the point of his ear. Eris’s eyes snap to his, his body frozen for a moment before he melts under the attention, the touch.

Azriel doesn’t move his hand.

It’s his feet dipping into those shores of something more, this time, and Eris seems to be egging him on from a couple feet away, eyes bright and mischief in the curve of his pink lips.

His breath shudders out of him, trapped in his lungs, as his fingers curl gently around his ear. It’s so strange, the difference; round and simple, pointed and elegant. It’s even stranger how such a small difference denotes a much larger one between the two of them.

Eris doesn’t push him away, just keeps his sunlit eyes trained on him like the barn cats that wait on the beams or in the corners. So Azriel decides to indulge.

His hand sweeps over the curve, down his ear where the scarred pads of his fingertips meet the tender, warm skin of his neck. They land on his pulse, and Azriel has to inhale deeply at the quick tempo, the hard pound of it against his. Eris hasn’t moved, but he softens slightly, drawing in a quick breath as Azriel continues on. Mapping, tracing, wandering.

“You have freckles.” It slips out—low and hoarse, a secret dragged out blinking in the harsh light of day. He feels the heat of a flush against his cheeks, down his neck and chest. “I mean—of course you do, I just didn’t know if they…” He snaps his mouth shut.

Eris grins into the bare skin of his forearm, eyes glinting. “If they…are everywhere?”

“Yes.” Azriel grits out. His eyes have wandered past where his hand stopped and now rest on the curve of his spine, the jut of his hips and—lower.

“Hm.” Eris hums, and leaves it at that.

Azriel’s gaze flicks to his, pinned with a look in his hazel eyes shadowing a much deeper want that remains unspoken.

“Are they?” He asks bluntly. Eris shouldn’t be so surprised anymore, after all the very beginning of their aquaintence turned friendship started mostly because Azriel was blunt and cut through all of Eris’s frilly, verbal avoidance.

Eris sucks in a sharp breath, a shiver trickling down his spine. “Yes.”

Azriel’s eyes darken. Suddenly, looking is not enough.

He asks, “may I?” as his fingers brush against Eris’s thundering pulse, pinky twitching where it rests lower, near his collar bone—foretelling the journey his hand wants to take. Eris nods, lips parted. “Yes.” He says again, and Azriel can’t help the swoop in his stomach like being buffeted by a strong wind on a cliff when it comes out breathy—needy.

He needs nothing more than that, so trains his entire focus on the expanse of porcelain, freckled skin and the path his hand takes down the warm skin of his neck, to the dip of his collar bone he swirls around, and then to the plane of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his back.

Every inch of him is speckled with little marks and tan dots. Clustered together and spread apart, darker and lighter; every one Azriel wants to map and trace and keep.

His hand lays flat against the dip in Eris’s spine, skin to skin, and it’s unbearably warm—more than the sun. “It looks like the stars imprinted on you.”

Eris hums, comfortable and molten beneath him. It’s not a hum of derision, but one that gently nudges, ‘tell me more.’

“There’s this thing we have in our culture—I guess you could call it a religion, but it’s much simpler than that.” His fingers caress the knobs of Eris’s spine, up and down, following a pre-ordained trail he feels was made solely for him.

“We, Illyrian’s, are made of the stars. We call them Ko-kaw’eloi, the ‘stars divine’. We are part of them, and they have gifted us our wings—they watch over us. Our struggles and our joy, our sorrows and laughter. There’s some who really only worship the stars because they feel cast aside by the whole idea of the Mother, but most worship because they know what they were made of. Made for.”

As if in a trance, Azriel traces circles around clusters of freckles, like he would knots of stars in the sky.

“Ko-kah-ehlohi?” Eris tries out, the Illyrian prounciation missed slightly with his sharp tongue. Azriel’s stomach jolts hearing his mother tongue come from Eris’s lips—swallowing hard.

“Koh-kaw-elo-i.” He corrects softly.

Eris’s brows furrow, and Azriels hand comes down to smooth it out with his thumb before returning to it’s place on his back. “Ko-kaw’eloi.”

“Mhm.”

“Can I say that’s beautiful? I don’t particularly enjoy religion, or really anything to do with the orgin of Fae and what mastermind, resentful, immortal beings had to puppet my miserable life. But that, that is beautiful.” Eris says softly.

Azriel smiles, a gentle breeze ruffling the feathery, raven locks of his hair. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris nods, then falls quiet. It’s a pensive sort of silence, one where Eris falls still because his mind has done the opposite. Azriel waits patiently, keeping his hand brushing up and down, swirling and stroking the bare skin of his back. He knows Eris will say whatever he’s figuring out right now, it takes a minute sometimes, especially for personal things. Azriel doesn’t mind. Right now he’s just basking in a glow of companionship and warmth, he’s wholly content, time itself could stop and Azriel would thank it.

Eventually, Eris takes a sharp breath—like he’s pushing himself to say whatever he needs to before he closes back up. Azriel keeps his eyes on Eris, who meets them with hesitation. His fingers dig into the grass below him.

“The night before I met you for the first time, I prayed to the stars. I wanted—I needed freedom, and I asked for it.” He says.

Azriel goes still, balanced on the razor edge of the intensity burning in Eris’s golden eyes.

He doesn’t look away. “And the very next day, like some great cosmic prank, I met you. You showed me this,” he waves a hand around, gesturing to the endless, rolling hills and plains of the Illyrian steppes. “And I have since been afraid that at any moment all of it would be taken from me.”

“What changed?” The words rips out of him.

Eris looks up at him, swallowing hard. “Ko-kaw’eloi gave you your freedom,” Azriel’s wings flutter as if they know he’s talking about them. “Perhaps they could let me keep mine.”

“Eris,” Azriel’s plea is raw, wanting, and his hand jumps to his chin, lifting it gently so Eris has no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I am part of them, they are part of me. I swear on both that you can keep me, if I can keep you.”

Eris’s eyes turn molten, his mouth twitches and his bottom lip brushes Azriel’s thumb. “Is that even a question?” He breathes.

Azriel supposes not. The certainty of knowing the sun will set and rise, the moon will wane and wax, the fields with grow and die sets into his bones like steel. No, it’s not a question, it’s a promise and Azriel doesn’t intend to ever break it—not if the Ko-kaw’eloi keep watch.

~~///~~///~~///~~

B'nee - 'My boy/son'

Ko-kaw'eloi - 'Stars divine'

Alrighty cool second day is posted! Had this idea bouncing around in my head of Illyrian lore, and thought it would be cool to tie in "familiars". Not just the form of a divine being looking out for their charge but also in the more common form "familiar", being known and having a close association to. Anyway, lol this one was a little longer than planned but eh who cares <3.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

A Pirate Quest For Me (Part One)

Moodboard created by: @dragon-kazansky

Summary: Despite the "Kraken incident" you're back on your feet for a new adventure and rare treasure. The inconspicuous map calls for three items: a mermaid's tear, a bottle of lightning, and a dream crystal.

Notes: ~4.5k words, not edited/beta-read *squints as I read the script* Why am I in this story? Wait is this play about us???

Warnings/Tags: Merman! Dream, chaotic bisexual disaster pirate reader, Dream's terrible at communicating (nothing's new), some angst, *squints as I read the script further* I did what?

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The thick jungles of the Caribbean make it hard for you to read your map. You turn the old parchment one way and then the other as you try to make heads and tails of it all. Pulling out your compass you watch the needle point north, but is this north on the map? You scratch at your head, your head is still captain-hat-less after the whole Kraken debacle last month. 

Ugh, why didn’t you bring your cartographer with you? Probably because she’d rather die than set foot in a jungle. And you respect that, at this point, you’re debating running for the high seas and never setting foot back in here again as well. 

There are rarely any stinging bugs on a ship after all. 

But the enticement of rare treasure is too much to ignore. The map was found in some empty barrel in Tortuga and promised the finder of treasure adventures for a lifetime. And, well, how can you pass up that?

The map calls for three items: a mermaid’s tear, a bottle of lightning, and a dream crystal. You have no idea which items you are currently hunting, but you follow the map loyally anyway. 

Your long knife cuts through the brushes easily as you determinedly continue on your journey. The sweat you’ve accumulated is slick on the back of your neck. Eventually, you find yourself standing on the shores of a lagoon. You release a sigh of relief and plunge your hands into the waters, cooling yourself as you splash it against your face and neck. 

A strong gust of wind blows your map into the water and you sigh. Why must nothing ever go to plan? You slowly wade into the waters, watching the fish dart away from your boots. Your map keeps drifting away as you make your way towards it.

When you finally get your hands on it, frowning at the smudging ink, a sound that’s not natural to the lagoon life around it catches your attention. The sound was definitely human: a soft humming of a lullaby came from somewhere in the lagoon. You looked around but there was nothing but blue waters and high mountains. 

You wade your way back out of the lagoon, following onshore towards the sound of the humming. Eventually, you make it to a secluded place with a small waterfall, and after pushing aside a few long leaves, your breath stills as you look at the creature before you. 

Her hair and tail were as blue as the lagoon, washing her hair in the cold waterfall that fed into the lagoon. Her ear fins shimmer in the low sun and twitch whenever water enters them. Her tail swings back and forth to the beat of her lullaby as she perches on the stone. The effervescent scales on her arms and torso give her a soft look as they reflect the fleeting sunlight. 

You take a step forward and accidentally step on a twig. The sound is enough for the mermaid to turn her head towards you with a surprised look. She finds you easily behind the tree and her humming stops. She stops as fear takes over her body and stays still in shock. 

“Hi, my name is Captain Fortune. I don’t want to harm you…” You start and slowly make your way towards her. Your hands are raised with the promise of peace. 

Her eyes dart around your body and after landing on the pistol that was secured to your hip, she hisses at you and dives back into the waters. You see her blue tail splash the water into your face as she swims deeper into the cave connected to the lagoon. A few fish friends followed her in her actions. 

You sigh and berate yourself for scaring her off. The sun dips behind the horizon and light leaves in the wake of night. You get to work, finding dry twigs to make a small campfire. It’s a miracle you were able to find a mermaid so soon, but it would be hard to get a tear from her no less. 

Under moonlight and crackling flames, you entertain yourself by slowly singing some shanties to yourself. A small fish you managed to catch was roasting slowly over the flame, the scales chars against the heat. You’ve shed down to your shirt and pants, even decided to take off your boots and discard them off to the side with the rest of your objects. 

“You… sing pretty,” A voice stops you. 

You squint as you look towards the voice, and surprise takes over your face as you see the mermaid listening to you at the edge of the lagoon. 

“Thank you,” You respond quietly in case she swims away again. “I’m sorry I scared you earlier.”

“It’s okay, I just don’t like… weapons.” She looks at you questioningly, eyes roaming your body for anything that may hurt her. “I am Layla,” She introduces herself to you as she rests her head over crossed arms. 

“Can you sing some more, Captain?” Layla asks as she swims closer to you, beaching herself across from your campfire. 

“My mother told me, someday I will buy…” You begin to sing as you examine her features. This was the first time you’ve ever seen a mermaid. “Galley with good oars, sail to distant shores.”

Her ear fins twitch as you continue to sing and she begins to harmonize with your song. Her arms had fins, and her fingers were webbed with sharp nails. It was hard to see in the low light, but you’re sure you made out gills across her ribs and on the sides of her neck. 

“Where are your sisters?” You ask the mermaid when you are done with your song. Mermaids always traveled in groups, it's what made them so dangerous. 

A forlorn look washes over Layla’s face. “I have left my sisters.”

You wait slowly for her to continue her story. She gathers herself with a deep breath, the gills opening and closing as she does so. 

“We were being pursued by hunters. They had these… things, made of something colder than stone, harsher than the afternoon sun, one hit and I see my sisters die before me.” She recalls her memory. “A man, dressed in black, granted me a wish, to be safe from the hunters, but I didn’t realize he would bring me here, swept up in a storm and dropped off.” 

A man dressed in black, she says. A certain Endless pops into your mind and it would not be something out of his power to do something like this.

You look around at the flickering shadows that dance due to the fire. You’re looking for a silhouette you’re all too familiar with. Is he fucking with you right now? You glare at a particular shadow that seems almost human but brush it off. “The man in black, what did he look like?”

“I’m not sure. He is pale, has black hair, and wears black clothes. The stars seem to be trapped in his eyes. I think I’ve seen him before, he is familiar, but each time I think of him the thoughts leave me like a dream.”

Yeah… that’s him alright. You think, sighing as a plan begins to form in your head. You lean back, resting your back on a smooth protruding rock. 

“How long have you been stuck here?” You ask, slowly inching your way closer to the mermaid. 

Layla looks towards the moon and thinks. “I have seen too many new moons to remember. Perhaps… 17?” Layla holds up all 10 of her webbed fingers and you raise a quizzical eyebrow. 

“I don’t think you know how to count,” You think to yourself. “Can I ask something of you?” 

Layla hums, a light, whimsical sound, and you continue. “Has anyone asked you for your tears before?” You ask slowly, unsure of how to proceed. You’ve only just met the mermaid a few hours ago, after all. 

“Do you need a tear?” She asks. 

You nod in response.

“Thank you for telling me the truth. I can give you my tears but it is difficult to procure one unless I feel like it. In which case, I am sorry to disappoint you. I have shed my tears long ago when I was imprisoned in this lagoon.” Layla gives you a shy smile and a shrug.

When she is met with your silence, she sighs and flops back into the water, her tail splashing water onto your fire. The water hisses as it comes in contact with the heat and adds steam to your face. 

You wait for a few hours, hoping that Layla would resurface but steadily the moon rises higher and higher in the sky and you start to lose hope. 

With one last look towards the lagoon cave, you redress yourself and extinguish the flames with sand. You retrace your steps back towards your ship, and dawn breaks when you see the beauty beached by the sea. 

“‘Mornin’, Captain,” Your first mate greets you when you scale back up the ship. 

“Good morning indeed. Wake up some of the crew and tell them to meet me on shore. We’ve got a mermaid to save,” You wave off your command as you make your way to the captain’s quarters.

“A mermaid?” The young sailor questions excitedly.

“Dear Theo, when I recruited you for my ship did I not guarantee you an adventure of a lifetime?” You look back at him with a smile. 

“Yes, Captain Fortune, you did.” 

“Then, by all means, get me the hands, and let’s save this mermaid!” You turn back around as you hear Theo’s skittering footsteps.

In your captain’s quarters you look around for something large enough to transport said mermaid. Your eyes land on a large glass display that has a miniature wooden model of your first ship, the one Dream’s Kraken so cheerfully destroyed. Carefully, you remove the model and place it gently on your desk instead. 

If you tie a few sticks to extend the frame then you and your crew can hammock her back to open waters. 

A small voice in the back of your head taps you on your shoulder. Should you be doing this? You know that Layla was sent to the lagoon by Dream and going against his doing is like sending yourself to the gallows with the noose already around your neck. 

You hesitate for a moment. Just a singular moment.

Ah, well, what’s the worst that could happen? He kills you? Boooring, he’s tried that already and failed‒several times. 

The sun is beating down on you and your selected crew when you return to land. You lead the way as they carry the sloshing glass crate full of seawater. You smack another bug away from your face with a huff of annoyance. 

Soon enough, the lagoon comes into view and you look around with a hand over your eyes for the familiar blue you’ve come to recognize. Your crew sets down the heavy cradle with a groan and stands in the shade as they watch you waddle into the lagoon water. 

“Layla?” You call out. Nothing. “Lady Layla of the Lagoon?” You sing out this time. The water ripples beneath you and you catch a glimpse of her tail. You follow it with your eyes until she pops up again. 

“I like the new title,” She smiles at you and her ear fins twitch with giddy. “Who are they?” She asks as soon as she sees your entourage behind you, her smile dropping. Layla was tense, ready to dive back into the waters. 

You stand between her and your crew, blocking her sight from them. “They’re with me, we didn’t bring weapons,” You say quickly. 

She visibly relaxes at your words but leans her body to the side to take another look at them. “Then why are they here?”

“We’re here to take you home,” You say with a low voice, in case any non-human entities were listening in on your conversation. You turn to your crew once more and motion to them to come closer with the glass cradle. “It’s seawater, can I put you in it?” You ask Layla as you explain the simple plan to her. 

She looks between you and the glass container, then back at you and nods. Words fail her as she reaches her arms towards you. She was heavier than you expected, the weight of her tail and the water that clung to her was not a part of your calculations. 

Layla wraps her arms around your neck as you hoist her out of the waters. Her squirming made it harder to carry her, but the smile she had on her face made it all worth it. Her tail was, well, slimy wouldn’t be the right word to use. It was certainly slippery, but it ran smoothly against your bare forearms like silk from the ports of China. 

When you get close enough to the glass tub, she leaps from your arms and settles in. Layla is still smiling and looks around with curiosity as the group begins to march towards the sea. Every now and then you would turn around and check on Layla. Her emotions were understandable, if you had to be landlocked for 17 months, you would go crazy as well. How you did so before your time as a pirate is still a mystery to you. 

Your thoughts briefly go to where you used to call home, in a large mansion far away from the port. It was full of stuffy dresses and strict manners. What you could say, or couldn’t say, how you should treat others based on their rank, and how they would affect your family. 

You think of your older brother who died serving the navy and how his death caused you to be the sole reason why your father ordered an arranged marriage for you. If not only to maintain your status as a noble lady of the state but also to secure you a future when he was no longer around. 

What would he think of you now? Plundering the seven seas, being chased by a deity older than the sea goddess herself? 

“What will you do first when you return to sea?” You ask Layla as a distraction. 

“Find my sisters, of course,” She says. “Or find what remains of them. Either way, I will be home, and severely have I missed it.” Layla tilts her head to the sky and takes in a deep breath. “Can you smell the sea? That salty brine?” She squeals, flicking her tail excitedly, ignoring how the water splashes out of the tub. 

The sun begins to dip by the time you’ve reached the beach, painting the water gold. You watch as the waves crash into each other, creating ripples and sparkles in the sea. The ocean looked like the surface of the rarest gem. 

“Ready?” You ask Layla, resting your arms on the edge of the glass tub. 

She nods once more and reaches out for you. You transport her into your arms once again, this time more prepared for the weight shift. Your footsteps grow heavy into the soft sand as you match towards the sea. 

Layla’s ear fins shimmy against your cheek, tickling you as the two of you get closer to the sea. You wade into the water, the salty spray of the ocean sticking to your clothes and hair the deeper you went. When you were chest deep you lowered the mermaid into the waters. 

Layla leaves your arms gracefully and sighs, taking a deep breath underwater as the salt filters through her gills. She does a few experimental circles around your feet, her colors grow into a deeper, more vibrant blue in her natural habitat. Layla resurfaces with a blue conch shell that was the same color as her fins. Her smile has yet to falter and only grows bigger by the minute. 

“Have this,” She says as she hands you the iridescent shell. “Blow into it when you need my help. Even in your most perilous circumstances, I will hear it no matter where I am.” Her words begin to tremble on her lips.

Cautiously she reaches for your waist, grabbing at the small glass vile you had hanging on your leather belt. She brings the vile to the edge of her eyes and when she blinks, a tear falls slowly into the vile. It shines in the dusk light before she re-corks it, keeping it safe.

“This is the happiest day of my life, so really I must thank you for what you have done, Captain Fortune,” She whispers slowly as she carefully turns the vile in her webbed fingers.

She watches as her tear rolls around in the long tube before she hands it back to you. Your fingers linger over hers when she gives it back and you pull yourself closer to her. 

“Thank you, Layla.” You bring your lips to her cheek and kiss her goodbye, tasting the salt on her skin. Layla hums at the warmth before she pulls away first. 

She stays quiet for a moment, the two of you enjoying the small moment of peace. "What are your thoughts, Layla?" You probe.

“Whatever you may use my tear for, do so without guilt. It was given lovingly. I will never forget you.” She doesn’t wait for a response before she dives deeper into the sea. It’s not long before you see her jump out of the water, her hair and tail flying in the wind with a spray of water as a final goodbye. 

The map changes a month after Layla’s departure, its scribbles and instructions mix and realign themselves for the next item. Though, you wished it didn’t considering the new instructions were nothing more than vague words and instructions. 

“When the storm brews and the heavens roar, prepare your vessel of wood and of glass, forged in the heart of a dying star will you find the sizzle of light.” You reread the instructions with a frown. Your eyes scan the words over and over until you think you’ve forgotten how to read. You close the map with a sigh and stick it back in your pants pocket. 

Despite the unforgiving temperature of the tropics, the tear never evaporates in your vile. Occasionally, like today, you would stare at the tear, watching it glimmer in the rising sun when the rest of the ship was asleep. Her lullaby haunts the back of your mind, the humming seeming to echo across the vastness of the calm ocean. The Dream King has yet to come for you for what you have done, something that you took as a good sign. 

A rumble in the distance shakes you from your thoughts. You refasten the vile to your belt, next to where Layla’s conch shell rested. The wind picks up and whips your hair around like crazy tentacles. Approaching fast on the horizon were gray and angry storm clouds. Thunder booms and lightning cracks across the dark blanket of doom. 

Your ship was ahead of it, for now. The smell of ozone and petrichor is strong in your nose as you turn and start ringing the bell to wake up your group of misfit miscreants. 

“Lower the sails, let’s outrun this storm, Mr. Theo,” You told your first mate as you took to the wheel. 

Theo repeats your orders to the awaiting crew below you and they begin to scramble about. The sails lower, their dark blue colors turning black in the absence of light. Doors were being shut and cannons tied to the ship. 

The storm grows fast, and even with the help of the northern wind full in your sails, rainwater begins to belt down on you. Your blouse did little to protect your skin from the harsh raindrops. Still, you steered with shielded eyes. A few of your crew decided to go below deck, only you, Theo, and a few more daring pirates decided to stay above and help maintain the ship.

A large wave crashes into your ship, jolting the vessel relentlessly. For a moment, your fingers slip from the prongs along the wheel, but you’re quick to regain your feet and hands. The winds and waves leave you at the whims of Mother Nature. Each time you try to recourse your ship, the wheel resists you. 

The storm was right above you now, ripping large gashes into your sails. It would be too dangerous to pull them up by now, you can only hope for the best. Lightning briefly cracks across the sky and gives light to your next issue. 

Your ship starts to circle in the open sea and you realize with a dry throat that you were stuck in a whirlpool. No matter how much you try to shift course, the will of the sea did not listen to your commands. 

“Shit! Fuck! Goddamn it!” You cuss all known cuss words under the sun and then some more. 

Your cussing grows louder as the wheel splits off its pole and the last bit of your resistance is lost. Screams were heard around you as the wooden vessel flung straight into the vortex. Each person on your crew flashes behind your eyes as your body slams into the ship's walls. You’re trying to regain your breath, instead inhaling rainwater and you’re met with a coughing fit. 

The prongs of Layla’s shell presses deeply into your back and a brief moment of clarity washes over you. Trying to keep your balance on waterlogged boots, you reach the rails of your ship. You pull off the blue shell and press it to your lips.

You blow, hard and long, feeling the low hum vibrating across the shell. You blow again, the thought of blue fins and a mother’s lullaby on your mind. You wish for the safe passage of you and your crew back into calm seas. You wish for Layla.

Another sharp jolt and your wet fingers drop the shell. You cuss again over the raging winds as you bend over to pick it up. One more blow into the shell wouldn’t hurt. Before your fingers could wrap around the shell, the ship tips and you fall into the open sea. 

“Theo!” You scream as your arms flail around you, trying to grab at anything and everything that could help you. 

Your fingers wrap around a stray rope, the twine burning through your skin as you continue to fall. The rain leaves you gripless and even your desperate cry isn’t enough to hold on. 

Falling into rough seas is as good as falling onto wooden floors. When you hit the waters, the air is knocked out of you once more. You’re barely grasping at the concept of consciousness as you’re submitted to the commands of the tides. 

A familiar flash of serene blue crosses your vision and hands grab at your arms. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Layla sobs out near your ear.

She takes a look over her shoulder, but in your losing war with consciousness, you don’t pay much attention. Her powerful tail swims you towards the surface where air fills your lungs immediately. 

Layla swims back underwater before you can thank her. You look around in the storm for your ship or a piece of it to cling onto but all you’re met with is another crashing wave. Sea water enters your nose, the sharpness hits you in the back of the head and you gasp at the intrusion. Water then enters your mouth and you accidentally gulp it down in a growing desperation to breathe. The relentless sea gives you no time to do so as another wave crashes into your body and back underwater you go. 

You brave your eyes open, feeling your body being tugged by the whirlpool. You search for her, for your mermaid, and only find her trying to swim along the currents of the ongoing storm. Something black streaks across your vision and you watch it as it catches up to to Layla. The two swim in circles, the whirlpool growing stronger as the two mercreatures chase each other. 

You squint in the low visibility of the water and a familiar pale body and slicked-back black hair meets you. He pauses his chase for a moment, sensing your stare at him and he looks back. Dream’s eyes are gone, and in its place a void of black. He frowns when he sees you, his tail flicking in annoyance at your interruption. 

Dream closes his eyes and you see his gills take in a deep breath before he returns to chasing after Layla. You watch helplessly as his arms ensnare around her waist. She fights back with the last of her strength, but having used most of it helping you and swimming away from your aforementioned “lover”, she loses the battle quickly. 

Dream keeps her in his arms as he dives deeper into the ocean, his black tail disappearing into the depths. The only indication was the small lights that decorated the fins, much like the bioluminescent light you would find on caught anglerfish. You stay for a second longer, your lungs screaming at you for air, but a part of you hopes that you may see the familiar blue come to you again. 

The whirlpool calms and with defeat you swim towards the surface. You’re about to break the surface when hands wrap themselves around you. You briefly feel the silkiness of scales against your skin before you’re launched into the air. The force behind the tail gives you enough air for the two of you to land on your ship.

You cough, water sloughing off your figure like raindrops. The sky had cleared and the sea was calm again, as if nothing just happened. 

“Layla?” You call out, coughing out the last remnants of seawater from your lungs.

“No.” Came your simple answer. 

You turn quickly and meet Dream’s eyes. He’s still in his merman form, sitting on the railing of your ship. Realizing comes to you too quickly and you pathetically search his face for any form of remorse for what he had done. 

“Where is she?” You ask. You feel rage starting to bubble to the surface. Your crew was nowhere to be seen, either hiding under deck or lost to the storm.

“Gone,” Dream answers simply. 

Dream watches as you look around the ship for something. In an attempt to prove his point, he moves his tail, revealing to you what you need to see. Not what you wanted, he knew what you wanted, but you needed to understand the truth, now. 

You’re searching for blue and when Dream moves his tail over, the bioluminescent lights along his fins dim in the sun. His tail was beautiful and a part of you would’ve loved to have admired it, but that familiar blue catches your eyes. 

There was so much blue, shattered and broken into pieces.

You fall to your knees as you scoop up the shattered pieces of Layla’s shell. Your hand curls into fists as you bring it closer to your chest. The pieces cut into your skin and blue mixes with bright red. 

Staring at the mosaic of colors, you're reluctant to let go. To let go of the shell is to let go of her. To let go of the pain is to accept the grief that is to come with her death.

“She’s gone.” It wasn’t a question, it was realization. 

You look at Dream with slightly teary eyes and he doesn’t bother with a response. He gives you one last look before falling backward, diving back into the depths of the ocean. 

♡ Goodbye, Layla

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[moonyasnow]

Just some Octatrio thoughts, about another post

Ok I don't usually do this but this one take about the Octatrio I scrolled past on my dash the other day has invaded my brain like a parasite and latched on and absolutely refuses to let go, so I just need to get it out of my system or it's gonna drive me crazy

I don't remember the OP's name, but if I remember correctly the post was basically about how, apparently(apologies in advance if I got something wrong or misrepresented the OP's words):

People who have soft, fluffy headcanons for Azul, Jade and Floyd are kids who had the jokes the characters were based on, such as:

Jade likes mountains apparently not because he just thinks nature is fascinating but it's supposed to be a joke for mountains being good places to dump bodies

The Leeches are implied to be a literal fish mafia

The Octatrio are dressed like American prohibition-era mobsters

Jade and Floyd want to eat Azul

fly over their heads.

And I just—

The only word I can think of to explain what I feel every time I remember it is 'baffled'. I mean absolutely 0 disrespect in any way, shape or form to the OP, but I am genuinely fascinated by how they could have come to those conclusions.

My first thought was 'no actually I'm pretty sure people get it' And there are people over the age of 18 who have fluffy headcanons about them too, you know?

My second is 'why can't it be both?' Like, why can't Jade genuinely find mountains and nature fascinating while having it on a more meta level also be a small joke about how mountains are good places for dumping bodies?

Why can't Floyd like Takoyaki while also NOT wanting to eat his best friend?

Why can't the Leeches be a mafia family while still having Jade and Floyd, who are literally still teenagers, be multidimensional characters who have priorities and like other things than just 'haha murder'?

Sure, those jokes and influences are there, but they are not the end-all-be-all of the characters? This just feels like a very one-dimensional way of looking at these characters.

And isn't TWST's entire thing that appearances can be deceiving? In a way I feel like Jade's love of mountains being viewed as 'oh he dumps bodies there because he's a scary ocean monster and has thus probably killed people before so of course that's why' is a very surface-level reading and understanding of him as a character— it just sounds like something some random student who has only seen him from afar and doesn't actually know him as a person would think.

And it's a similar thing with the Takoyaki. The surface-level reading would be 'if he likes eating Takoyaki, which has octopus in it, that must mean he wants to eat Azul too! Because Floyd is big and scary and has probably killed people before' To me it also sounds like something Ace or Grim might think before Book 3.

And, while I'm not gonna deny the Tweels have almost certainly murdered (or at least gotten close to it) people before, in a way it just feels kinda...idk, mean-spirited? To say, for example, that Jade can't just have nature be a thing he enjoys for its own merits, that he's not allowed to have that as just a thing he genuinely likes and there has to be some deeper, meta reason for why. Or that Floyd can't just enjoy Takoyaki and probably tease Azul with it but also not actually want to eat him because he likes him and wants him around. To me that kinda feels like sucking all the joy and interesting nuance out of a character, in a way.

And implying that the people who don't ascribe to the same view as you are kids also feels somewhat infantilizing? Like, it just comes off as saying that the people who disagree haven't thought about it hard enough or just aren't smart enough to get it, and I just feel like that's not a great stance to take in any kind of discussion. Quite a flimsy way of trying to discredit the opinions of those who disagree, too.

I am NOT trying to start any kind of 'drama' or 'attack OP' or anything like that; I'm genuinely very confused— I just feel like one of us, either OP or me, is misunderstanding something here

[immediatebreakfast]

Dracula sees to it that Jonathan is psychologically destroyed. He wasn't content to simply take his envelopes and paper, which were his methods of sending letters home once more. Dracula, for example, knows that Jonathan is unable to escape the castle, but he nevertheless says, "Even if you miraculously made it out of the house and the mountains and the wolves, you will never be able to go far from here," after stealing his documents, his identity, and his letter of credit (money). "Everything that may have brought you home has been taken away by me. You are a stranger and destitute, so no one will help you. Give up, you can't go home."

It's truly wild isn't it?

It's the powerful image of abuse portrayed from a single journal, a purposeful attempt at breaking the human psyche. What kind of paper trail would lead anyone to Dracula's castle? The locals are terrified of him, the romani are under his control at claw point, and the castle seems to exist in a liminal standing between reality, and hallucination so what does it serve to make Jonathan a ghost in living paper? To make Jonathan spiral more inside those stone walls with doors that won't open.

Dracula is a vampire who is so human that it is scary. Who cares about the lizard climbing when he keeps invanding Jonathan's personal space, who cares about the lack of servants when the Count forces Jonathan to believe how he just fell asleep, how his sleep schedule is suited for the night, how his duty is not finished unless Dracula says it's finished. Why does any vampirism matter when the Count's greatest weapon is his understanding on human rules.

Unlike Draula, the Weird Sisters are what is the mythical notion of "monster". They are the dreamy stalkers that roam the night hunting humans, they are the strigoi, they are the shadows of the moon, what Dracula has an addition in the supernatural, the Sisters embody it entirely. They don't feel different from Dracula, the Count is the different one, how come the ones that came from the original seem to be far more merciful in their monstrousness. Why does he insist in games? Why does he let the prey stay alive one more day?

This is why he is so despicable, why he is the villain, and not a simple antagonist. Dracula is not an inhumane monster drinking blood to survive, he is a humane abuser that loves breaking down a younger and powerless being emotionally. None of his mental games are necessary to survive, or to keep Jonathan captive, he does it because he just wants to. Dracula enjoys the suffering, he enjoys those looks of despair in Jonathan's eyes as he burns the letter just like how an abusive husband enjoys breaking his wife's precious belongings. It's a power play, it's social conventions, it's economic imbalance, it's gothic gender roles breathing down on Jonathan's neck as he must smile while Dracula puts his hand on his shoulder, overly familiar and so degrading my good friend.

One could literally take the vampirism off the Count, and he still would be a terrifying person. He is a wealthy noble man in a land where his fortune, and social standing gives him free reign to terrorize anyone unlucky enough to catch his attention. Dracula is not an inhumane monster, Dracula is the most human right here in the castle as he dares Jonathan to break their challenged standing with a movement of his eyebrows, but in a way that satifies him without Jonathan actually making an attempt of breaking their new status quo, he is just a puny human, he should know his place.

[longlivedelusion]

Hiker's Delight

Summary: Bucky takes you on a hike. That's it. That's the fic. Boyfriend! Bucky x Reader. Established Relationship.

Warnings: Just fluff and some mentions of post- Hydra trauma, but nothing too crazy. Will proper edit later!

A/N: Quick lil fic I wrote cause I've been just wanting more boyfriend! bucky, domestic life vibes. I need fluffy and comforting energy rn and this is that. Enjoy!!

I make my way up the hill, huffing as I grab onto a nearby rock to pull myself up.

Bucky's behind me, not out of breath at all, the damn super soldier and his stamina and-

"Hey, you doin' ok?" I hear from behind me, Bucky leaning against a nearby rock.

I nod, looking back ahead as I haul myself up. "This is just a bit more intense than I thought, I'll be okay though." I let out another grunt and I push another step. He's stayed behind me the whole time even though I'm going at a snail's pace, according to him I'd probably drop off and get lost if he lead the way.

"You sure you don't want-"

"No. You are not gonna carry me. I'm gonna finish *grunt* this *huff* damn hike with my own two feet." 

We pull forward, the slopes a bit more steep than I expected which had me nearly sweating by the time we reached the edge. I looked up at the towering cliff knowing my arms were like jello, but I had to, needed to-

Bucky knelt down and held his hands out, a makeshift lift as he looked up at me. He quirked his brow.

"I can-" I start.

"Stop being stubborn and take the help doll. This cliff is a bit of a bitch, if you can't tell." He said waved his arm at the cliff to make a point.

I don't say anything and just sigh, knowing he was right. No use being overly stubborn about this. I prop my foot in his hands, griping where I could on the rock in front of me before Bucky said "Ready? 1... 2..."

And then I was up, the top of the rock pressed against my stomach as I hoisted myself over the rest of the way. I crawled forward, legs starting to feel a bit like jello now that I was on the ground. 

I watched as Bucky followed right after, easily pulling himself up like it was the easiest thing in the world. He stood up with ease, clearly not dealing with jello legs as I just kind of collapsed on my back and took some deep breaths. 

"Ugh, this damn body. Why must it betray me so." My dramatic ass said.

"Because you just went on a pretty intensive hike with barely any training even though I offered to have you train with me for like 2 months."

My noodle arm managed to raise up and wave him off, "Semantics."

He chuckled, taking a seat beside me and brushing the sweaty strands of hair off my face. "Want some water?"

I nod, eyes closed as my breathing stedied, my body starting to relax and calm down from the overexertion. I heard a bottle cap untwist so I opened my eyes to see Bucky reaching for my back. 

"Come on, you can prop up against me if you want." He said, hand gently pushing my back upwards. I push myself up and shift over, my back now facing the soldier's chest as he hands me the bottle.

"Oh fuck that's good," I sigh, taking a long swig before passing it over to Bucky. It takes me a moment, but after I blink a few times I suddenly realize the view before me.

Directly in front of us is the most beautiful mountain range I'd ever seen--trees lining the edges, eagles flying overhead, and a huge, crystal blue lake smack dab in the center. Cut off from civilization, this untouched land surrounded my mountains and only Mother Nature as its mistress.

"Wow, this is-" I start, eyes wide as they tried to take in every detail. The lighting, the shades of green, the textures--all of it... "breathtaking."

"I'm glad you like it." Bucky said softly, his voice a soft tickle behind my ear. His arms wrapped around my waist, tucking me a bit closer to him as I still sat in awe.

"Even though I'm not the biggest hiking fan-"

"Huh, couldn't tell." Bucky joked.

"-oh hush. I was saying, even though I'm not the biggest hiker, I'm really glad you asked me to do this." I reached for his hands on my waist and gave it a small squeeze.

"Thanks for coming. I'd only ever been here alone before, and it was for a mission. So I'm glad I get to actually enjoy it, and with some pretty decent company while we're at it." He kissed my head after, a smirk pressed against my hair.

"Oh decent huh? Just decent?" I looked up and over my shoulder into his blue eyes already looking down at me. That same smirk still plastered on his stupidly gorgeous face. "Says the man who practically begged to take me here."

He shrugged, "I don't remember begging."

"Oh? So all that whining and bribing with takeout was just a lapse in memory then?"

"Probably." He said, the nonchalance to his voice making it even more frustrating.

I booped his nose and gave him a scrunched smile. "Cheeky," I turned back to the view before me, settling back into Bucky. I reached into my bag and pulled out the small lunch I'd packed prior, some sandwiches and fruits laid out. "Can't think of a prettier place I've ever eaten," I said, mouth half full as I took a bite of my sandwich.

He grabbed one as well, arms brushing past mine as he hummed. "I need to take you out more then. Can't let this be the peak of our relationship now can I?" He took a big bite.

"I mean, as long as I can actually physically get to these places ok I'm down. My stubbornness can't handle another hike like this, or I'll try to climb Everest of something next time."

"Eh, Everest is overrated anyways." He said, taking a sip of his water.

I turned around in shock, "Seriously? You climbed Everest?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yup. Was kidding about the overrated thing though. Impressed?"

"Um, yeah I'm impressed! But when, how, what was it like?" I rambled on. I couldn't believe this man I'd come to know and love still had stuff like this just to learn about. A whole lifetime to know. 

He put the bottle down, thinking for a bit. "About ten years ago, when I was still in..." He hesitated, before moving on. Hydra. Something we both knew, understood. It didn't need to be said. "I remember bits and pieces, but it was cold as hell and windy. For a second there though, at the top of the mountain, I looked out and was me. Bucky. I didn't remember the last time I had been myself like that, and I just didnt know what to do I took a deep breath in, looked out at the mountains and sat there for... Fuck knows how long."

I set down my food and reached for his hand, my thumb tracing over the back as he spoke. "Is that why you like hiking and climbing so much?" 

He nodded, hand turning and holding mine. He look at the metal hand below him intertwined with mine before he spoke. "It can always pull me out of whatever headspace I'm in, I don't know. When shit doesn't work and the day feels like hell, being out here just... Helps. It reminds me of who I was or could be. I don't know." He shrugged, looking away at the view.

I squeeze his hand, eyes tracing back to his face. "I think I can sort of understand. Not the hiking or climbing but... Being by the sea does the same for me. Helps me remember that I'm alive and here."

He nods, his gaze still in the horizon. "It's like, no matter how fucked up the world gets or I get, nature doesn't judge. She justs gets it and doesn't care. Doesn't care about who I am or what I've done."

"Because she just sees chaos and order and gets that both are important." I add, fingers still tracing along the side of his face slowly. "The rest of it doesn't really matter."

"Exactly."

We sit in silence for a moment before I shift Bucky's face towards me. His eyes lock onto mine in silent question. 

"Thank you for bringing me here. And sharing this with me."

He smiles as he leans down, a small kiss pressed against my lips before he let his forehead drop to mine. "Happy to."

"So where to next?" I ask, pulling back enough to look at him. "Another mountain? The desert? A tundra?"

He smirks, "I got the perfect spot already in mind."

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Let the world get meaner if it wants to.

Let's all get together and let the universe get meaner, huh

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[chiropteracupola]

The love of the Wanderer is to wanderers.

[luthienne]

going out into the desert crying your heart out and singing this song is therapy by the way

[nobodieshero-main]

i'm having more side quest ideas

[fantasywritten]

ship tag drop!

… wow i have a lot of ships lol… and yet i still want more 👀

[yeslordmyking]

June, 16 (Morning) Devotion

“And I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish.”

John 10:28

The Christian should never think or speak lightly of unbelief. For a child of God to mistrust his love, his truth, his faithfulness, must be greatly displeasing to him. How can we ever grieve him by doubting his upholding grace? Christian! it is contrary to every promise of God’s precious Word that thou shouldst ever be forgotten or left to perish. If it could be so, how could he be true who has said, “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I never forget thee.” What were the value of that promise—“The mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.” Where were the truth of Christ’s words—“I give unto my sheep eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand.” Where were the doctrines of grace? They would be all disproved if one child of God should perish. Where were the veracity of God, his honour, his power, his grace, his covenant, his oath, if any of those for whom Christ has died, and who have put their trust in him, should nevertheless be cast away? Banish those unbelieving fears which so dishonour God. Arise, shake thyself from the dust, and put on thy beautiful garments. Remember it is sinful to doubt his Word wherein he has promised thee that thou shalt never perish. Let the eternal life within thee express itself in confident rejoicing.

“The gospel bears my spirit up:

A faithful and unchanging God

Lays the foundation for my hope,

In oaths, and promises, and blood.”

Daily Bible and Devotional for Women - http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=daily.bible.for.woman