#seaglass chandelier

[chelseafcazul]

Transitional Family Room - Family Room

Family room - large transitional open concept porcelain tile, beige floor, exposed beam and wallpaper family room idea with gray walls and a wall-mounted tv

[youbodyhealth]

Open Family Room Family room - large transitional open concept porcelain tile, beige floor, exposed beam and wallpaper family room idea with gray walls and a wall-mounted tv

[schlafloo]

Living Room - Transitional Living Room Inspiration for a large transitional enclosed porcelain tile, beige floor, exposed beam and wallpaper living room remodel with gray walls and a wall-mounted tv

[hellosaidthemoonisafangirl]

Transitional Dining Room in New York

Mid-sized transitional medium tone wood floor and wallpaper enclosed dining room photo with blue walls

[wonwoosgamergf]

Dining Room - Transitional Dining Room Enclosed dining room - mid-sized transitional medium tone wood floor and wallpaper enclosed dining room idea with blue walls

[hypedfire]

Living Room - Open

[redheadspark]

Azriel chooses Elian over his mate and realizes the mistake he made when he sees her happy with someone else

*cough* Tarquin *cough*

He doesn’t get enough love.

A/N - AHHH! THE ANGST! I hope you like it, it was quite fun to write!

No More

Summary - You were Azriel's biggest regret, and he'll live with it for the rest of his life

Warnings - ANGST ANGST ANGST!

Azriel did not want to be here.

He was standing behind Rhysand and Feyre as they were walking to Tarquin in his study, going over the alliance documents and brushing up on new meetings that were going to be held that year.  The cool ocean breeze was coming through the open windows that were also showing the sunshine twinkling off the ocean water.  Azriel was only half paying attention as he was near the door, his mind was somewhere else.  Usually, he would be listening to every word to debrief with Rhysand when they would all return to Velaris, but this time it wasn't going to happen.

Not when he knew who was there in Summer Court.

"Azriel, why don't you go take a walk and get some air," 

Azriel snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at Feyre, seeing her watch him as she was turned into her chair.  Her Summer Court colors shined in the sunlight that poured in the room, loose along her skin and her hair up in a delicate braided crown with her tiara perched along the top, He was about to deny the request when Tarquin spoke up.

"The private beach is open for any visitors of Summer Court, It's quite enjoyable this year and you can visit the ground if you wish," He suggested to Azriel, folding his hands on the top of the desk and giving Azriel a kind and neutral smile.  Azriel felt his stomach turn, not wishing to seem rude to the High Lord in his very own Court but also not wishing to be passive about it.  Rhysnad was now the one to look at his friend, His purple eyes gazing at Azriel and giving him a silent command with a gentle yet stern gaze.

Go.  Take a breather.

"Thank you, my Lord," Azriel replied to Tarquin with a slight bow.  He saw Feyre out of the corner of his eye giving him a worried look.  But Azriel only gave her a small smile, hoping to give her some reassurance that he would be fine.  He had to be fine, he was the Spymaster of Velaris and Night Court, one of the most intimidating beings that have ever been and knew how to kill so easily and quickly. 

But no, he wasn't fine.  He was a coward.

Walking out of the room and closing the door gently behind himself, he drank in the silence and the deserted hallways of the Adriata Palace.  The tan walls and seaglass chandeliers, seafood colors doors, and flowing fresh water riverbanks along the wide, opening to the vast open sea that showed the busy bay over to the left.  Yet right outside of the large sea form colored doors, there was a small stairway engraved into the cliff rock and sand that led to the private beach for only the High Lord and his Court to enjoy.  Azriel, thinking it was a better idea to clear his head outside the palace, went outside to breathe in the deep ocean air and feel the summer heat along his skin.  Of course, his leathers were a bit too constricting thanks to the heat, but it was not unbearable while he descended the stairs and touched down on the pristine sand.  

It was calmer there amongst the waves than it was in the Palace, at least to Azriel it was.  He had no real problem with Summer Court, up until recently as it was.  It wasn't the High Lord or his dealings that was an issue Tarquin was a great leader and was making Summer Court thrive once again since the Battle of Hybern ensued.  Something else was simmering under the waves there on the back, under Azriel's skin as he was watching the waves and their smooth rolling motion as he was replaying all that happened within the last few months within his mind.  

These last several months were hell for him. 

Movement was seen over to the right along the shoreline, tucked behind a cluster of boulders that were nestled in the deep sand.  Azriel saw a flicker of movement, his eyes ever trained in things that were moving around him, so he knew that he wasn't alone out there on the private beach.  Taking the quiet stealth steps, he walked forward a bit more to get a better view of who it may be, then heard over the rolling waves that were crashing along the shoreline singing.  Mostly humming, but he knew that voice and that tone very well.  It was both thrilling and heartbreaking at the same time.

There you were, perched on top of a boulder in a light blue summer dress reading a book, your light hair flowing into e wind behind you with some braids that had pearls interwoven amongst the hair, and a tiara decorated in both pearl and aquamarine gemstone in your hair.

Azriel felt like he was seeing a ghost, someone who had been haunting his dreams for the last several months and was now in front of him once again to trick his mind and make him believe that all that occurred never did.  He remembered the day you walked out of his life very clearly, and how he knew it was all his doing.  The days following after were miserable and near torture, which was saying something since he knew how to inflict torture.  But the torture he put you through was devastating and something he regretted, inwardly and slowly it ate him up and never gave him rest of peace.  

But you were happy here, which was worse for him.

Where you once sported the colors of Night Court, you changed from black and deep purple to blues and pearls.  You walked away from your business in Velaris when you left, giving the business over to Nesta since she was your best friend and confidant for she could keep it running and thriving, finding a small little cottage in Summer Court to hide away in and restarting your life in.  That was what Azriel heard, and a few months later you were being courted by Tarquin, the High Lord himself, which was another dagger to Azriel's chest when Rhysand broke the news to the Spymaster

"She's happy.  That's all that matters."

"Az—"

"I know what I did was wrong, and I have to live with it, Rhsyand.  What's done is done,"

"You know, it's okay to have feelings about this, you know,"

One stupid mistake, and Azriel has made mistakes before and has had regrets that he wishes he could change.  But those mistakes and regrets seemed like nothing, mere childish things in the one mistake he made with you as he sealed your fates once and for all.  

Azriel rejected your bond, thinking his heart belonged to sweet and gentle Elaine.  Of course, instantly he felt the bond break into a thousand pieces between the pair of you, not to mention the look on your face as you walked away from him briskly with tears in your eyes and your own heart shattering from the rejection.  Nightmares came soon after, backtracking in his mind if what he did was right or what he did was meant to be. 

The fateful morning you left Night Court, leaving behind a detailed document on the desk of High Lord Rhysand at his River House as you told him what you wished to do.  Azriel was not there for the meeting, but Rhsyand told him enough when he was summoned to meet with the High Lord in his home.

"She wished for a clean break, which I granted her," Rhsyand explained while Azriel was scanning over the document you left behind.  His heart was beating out of his eyes, eyes scanning the words rapidly as his brain was trying to catch up to the news that broke, "I told her we'll provide her with some funds for her travels, and I asked High Lord Tarquin to keep an eye on her as she makes roots in Summer Court."

Azriel never knew the true feeling of heartbreak, apart from the loss of his mother.  He felt it, knowing you were out of his life.

"Azriel?"

He saw you now watching him, the book closed in your hands as you were staring at him with no sense of urgency or hate, but of simple curiosity and almost neutral kindness. You did smile, but it was not the same smile you would show him in the past when you two were friends and getting to know one another years ago.  This one was smaller, almost civil, and Azriel wouldn't expect anything more.  Not from how he ended it with you two.  He cleared his throat, giving you a slight bow as you were still gazing at home.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," He replied in a gentle tone, averting his gaze for a long moment before he looked at you again.  You barely changed, though your skin was now being touched by the sun and was giving a tanned glow to highlight your features and brighten your eyes.  Even the sunshine kissed your hair to give it new depth, making you look more radiant to him.

"You're not," you replied gently, your tone showed no once of callace or bitterness as you gestured with a finger up in the direction of the palace, "I forgot Night Court was coming for a meeting today.  I hope it's going well for the High Lord and Lady,"

"It's almost done," Azriel explained, you giving a small smile as you nodded, "Though I know High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre were looking forward to seeing you—"

"Out of my own courtesy and comfort, I felt it was not my place to be there to see them." You gently interrupted him, seeing Azriel instantly snap his mouth shut as you fiddled with the spine of your book, "They are kind to think of me, but it's far too soon to be in their company again,"

Ah, that made sense in his mind.

"Understandable," Azriel agreed, holding his hands behind himself as he shuffled a bit on his feet.

"And I also knew you would come, and I didn't wish to be in your company, given our history," You admitted to him a bit sheepishly as Azriel paused and took in a long breath.  Did he expect you to lie about it?  You would be bitter to him and rightfully so, Azriel expected that from all he did to you and his own rejection of the potential mating bond.  Yet seeing you there, sporting the colors of Summer Court, clearly happy and satisfied with the life that you made here, made him hate himself all the more.  The tender heartache and wound he got over his own heart and ego felt exposed again.  Yet deep down he knew that your heartbreak and wound were massive and far more tender thanks to him.

He was reaping what he sowed.

"I should get back to the Palace," You mumbled, gripping the book in hand and was about to hop off the boulder, "I have a few appointments to get to today,"

Azriel was about to hold out his hand to aid you down from the boulder, but you moved a bit faster and eased off the boulder with both swiftness and agility.  Your dress flowed down to touch the bottom of the and, showing your curves in both a modest and alluring manner, Azriel's eyes couldn't help but do one look over as you walked past him and was about to ascend the stairs, out of his life again.  Azriel knew he had to tell you what was feasting in his heart, ever since the day you left Velars and left the Inner Circle behind he knew what he needed to say to you.  Yet it was now or never.

"I'm sorry," He said, you pausing at the top of the stairs and still facing away from him as he clenched his scarred hands together, "What I did to you, to us, was a mistake.  A mistake I have lived with for the last months and I wish I could take it back.  In all my years in Night Court, I have lived with the mistakes I have made and moved on from them.  But what I did to you is the one that I can never get past, because what I felt for you was real."

He felt so exposed at that moment on that beach, pouring out his heart for you and leaving nothing behind.  But he had to, there might not be a moment to tell her all that he needed to to somewhat fix what he solely broke and damaged.

"I had no right to do what I did to you," Azriel kept explaining as you remained like a statue on the stairwell, "You deserved more than that, much more than I thought of you so highly.  And…and I still do.  There is nothing I can do to fix what I did—"

"How's Elaine?" You said, Azriel's once again going quiet within a millisecond as you turned your heart slightly to him to hear his answer.  

Azriel knew right then and there when you said those two words, you weren't going to forgive him.  He was going to lose his battle as he sighed and looked down at his feet.  Even his wings sagged in defeat.

"She…she's well," He replied, you humming and nodding once, "She and Lucien are a good pair together and are in talks of being married in a few months."

You turned around to face him, not to look shocked or perplexed from the news, but simply drinking in what he said.  Yet he saw the look in your eyes as you were watching him, the look of uneasiness and a hint of sadness.

"They're together?" You asked, your voice sounding almost light and forced.  Azriel took in another breath, knowing this was all going to be exposed sooner or later.

"They're mates, and they made it official last week," 

Being with Elaine for those few months was great, Azriel was not going to deny that part at all.  He enjoyed her company and her beauty, thinking he found his better half with her as he started to court her.  She was all that anyone would want in a partner: kind-hearted, sweet in her gentle nature, a rare beauty and had a massive soul to match.  Azriel had no issue with being with her, and maybe he thought he made the right choice in choosing Elaine. Although they were not mates, it still felt real to him.

But the very moment Elaine confessed to him that Lucien was her mate, Azriel had no choice but to let her go to Lucien since he knew it would mean death if he chose to go against it.  Maybe it was karma that got to him, seeing Elaine and Lucian come together naturally and organically since their mating bond was strong and consistent, but Azriel couldn't do a thing to stop it.  Not just because of the laws of Mates, but even his High Lord Rhysand told him not to interfere and let it happen.  

"You and I know the protocol far too well, Azriel.  I can't let you do anything about it, and even if you try, it won't work in your favor,"

"I'm sorry it didn't work out for you," You replied to him calmly as you finally turned around and faded him, still on the last stair steps and clutching your book tightly in your fingers.  Azriel was waiting for you to scowl at him, or maybe smirk as if you were about to say, "Did you learn your lesson?"  But no, you were still giving yourself a unique kind of gaze and saying nothing for a solid moment or two.

"I wish for us to be civil," Azriel explained to you as you cocked your head at him.

"We'll always be civli, for the sake of Summer and Night Court," You countered back gently, yet he gave you an unconvincing look.

"You know what I mean," He tried, but you shook your head at him and took in a sharp inhale.

"We cannot be civil, you and I. You know why," You stated to him as he was still watching you with any hint of hope slipping away, "Az….you rejected me."

"I know I did—"

"You rejected me, our bond and the last thing I can do in this very moment is go back and relive that pain," You went on, Azriel feeling the wrath go under his skin and wrap around his bones so severely that it was almost like an ache, "Did you expect me to let things go back to what they were between us?"

"No.  No, I supposed I can't," He mumbled, feeling shameful as he looked down again.  He was reaching for some kind of medium, he knew it was a reach, but of course, a reach could go so far before someone would fall and be burned in the end.  First, it was you with him turning his back on you, and now it was your turn to feel that burn of rejection and defeat.

"As much as I wish to wonder why things happened the way they did, it's no good for me to dwell on the past," You explained, seeing him look up at you again as you were staring him down, "I am happy in this life I have.  This Court has been amazing to me, and I have good company to bring me peace and happiness.  Tarquin has been good to me, and I am happy with him, Azriel."

Azriel knew you weren't saying it to be spiteful against him or to rub it in his face, you were far better than that. You were simply telling him how you are happy with someone else, someone who was taking good care of you and making you feel beyond loved and adored.  Azriel couldn't help but picture you and Tarquin together, Tarquin making you laugh during your talking, bringing you flowers and gifts to show his love for you, even walking with you in public and not being ashamed to have you on his arm. You two must know each other inside and out, as two being in love should. Inwardly, Azriel wished he had that with you, wanting to do all of those things to you and with you.  

But he lost his chance, and now he had to watch you be happy with another who loved you wholeheartedly.

"As I said before, we are going to be civil for the sake of Night Court and Summer Court, but nothing past that," you explained to him, seeing him try to contain the pain he was feeling and experiencing with your words, "I wish no ill intent with you and your life, but I don't want any part of it from here on out, Azriel.  Our lives are no longer intertwined, and they never will be,"

Before Azriel could say anything else, anything that could save this conversation from going down in flames as it always is, footsteps are heard coming down the same stairs as a voice breaks the tension between you and Azriel.

"Ah!  I thought you wandered down here, my love!"

Both you and Azriel looked to see Tarquin, Rhysand, and Feyre making their way down the steps.  You moved down to the sand again, just in time for Tarquin to sweep you in his arms and kiss your cheeks lovingly in front of your guests.  You blushed from the gesture, seeing Azriel look away for a split moment as Tarquin pulled away from you with a soft smile, "I was hoping to find you here.  Are you well?"

"Very well, my dear,” You hummed, seeing him smile widely as you saw Rhysand and Feyre look at you with fondness in their eyes, "High Lord Rhsyand, High Lady Feyre, it's good to see you two again."

Rhysand kissed your hand as Feyre gave you a small hug,  Azriel was staying quiet, not wishing to say anything else in that moment.  But Rhysand could see it on his face as Feyre and you were catching up, something was said between the pair of you that was not positive.  

"Well, since we are all here and I wish not to forgo the news any longer," Tarquin said amongst the group, he then looked over at you with love in his bright eyes, “It’s been unbearable to not tell anyone outside my family.  May I break the news to them?  Only with your permission, of course,"

Azriel's eyes went to you through the small group, seeing you grin widely at Tarquin and you nodded your head.  Tarquin smiled widely, almost too giddy himself as he looked at the visitors from High Court.

"We are officially engaged," Tarquin proclaimed.

That was the last blow to Azriel's chest.

Nothing else was set inside of him as the others were giving their congratulations to you and your fiancé, Azriel could feel himself inward spiraling with no signs of slowing down or stopping.  Deep down, he felt as though he could change the course that he made, knowing he was the one who forged this new path because of his rejection.  Yet again, Azriel realized that there was nothing he could do to change what he did.  That path he carved was now permanent, no amount of graveling or pleading would bring you back to what you two once again.  

"This is wonderful news!  We should celebrate," Rhysand said lightly to you and Tarquin, "Let Feyre and I take you two to dinner when you come to Night Court next week, it's the least we can do to contribute to this news."

"That's very kind of you, and we will take you up on that offer," You replied kindly to him, seeing him give you a genuine smile.  But maybe you saw the pinch of hurt in his purple orbs, maybe for Azriel or the last you two were no longer close.  Nonetheless, he hid it with his smile.

"Let's go back to our parlor and have some drinks in celebration!" Tarquin said to the group, taking your hand in his and giving you up the stairs back to the palace.  Rhysand took Feyre's arm in his own, pausing as they both looked over at Azriel to see his reaction.  Yet once they saw his face, how he was hiding so much within himself. They both knew that this was personal and hard for the Spymaster to drink in and endure.  Azriel was never once to show his emotions on his sleeve, he was more stone cold in the face and his personal life.  

Not anymore. He was about to break.

"Az," Feyre said his name softly, almost afraid of spooking him, "Are you—"

"With your permission, I'm going to go back to Velaris and get back to my Spymaster duties," Azriel interrupted immediately, both Feyre and Rhysand looked at him in shock as he was clutching his hands too tight and his wings were ridged against his back while his eyes were trained on the ocean waves, not showing the fact that he wished to shed tears.

"Azriel.." Rhysand said his name softly, sounding just as heartbroken as Azriel was.

"If you don't have anything else for me here, I want to go back to Velaris," Azriel said again, his voice was close to being bitter and cruel.  Rhysand inhaled sharply, knowing deep down that he was hurting and the last thing he wanted to do was push his friend and brother even more.  

"We'll see you back at the House of Wind tonight, then," Feyre replied softly and carefully,  Before either one of them could utter another syllable, Azriel's shadows took over and swallowed him whole, whisking him away from the beach he was on.  The silence was there on the beach as the last of the shadows now evaporated in the air.

As Rhsyand and Feyre reluctantly went back to the palace, giving an excuse for Azriel to go back to Velaris.  Of course you did fee a bit bad that he found out this way, but you were far too happy to let it dread as Tarquin poured out some of his best white wine.  You were happy in this life, the past was behind you and you had your future to look towards. 

Azriel, on the other hand, grabbed some whiskey from the House and Wind and drank himself to tears and rage.  He was feeling that rejection all over again, this time you were the one rejecting him and telling him that you fates who no longer intertwined.  After the bottle became empty, he threw the bottle out into the void and scream out the pain he nestled deep inside of them.  

The roar was loud enough to be heard in all of Velaris, some of the mountains even sook from the insane sound that came from him.  

He would regret turning you away all over again, and as the sun went down on Velaris, his own heart was settling on what he thought he wanted.  His love for you could no longer be evident, and he knew deep down he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

The End

Tagged - @ethereal-athalia @valeridarkness

[metanoiastudies]

Miami Great Room Dining Room

Example of a large transitional porcelain tile, beige floor, vaulted ceiling and wood wall great room design with gray walls

[katemurphythings]

Soon on Etsy... #chandelier #stainedglass #me #seaglass #art #recycledart #upcycled #handmade #seaglassart #SeaStainedGlass #tiffanylamp #витраж #морскоестекло #я #люстра #лампатиффани #ручнаяработа (at Odessa, Ukraine)

[aucourantinteriors]

Add some sparkle! hoteldesign #resortdesign #hospitalitydesign #interiordesign #coastal #luxuryhome #lux #beach #cottage #interiordesigners #vacationhome #homesbythesea #oceanview #chandeliers #customlighting #lighting #bespokedesign #chandelier #shells #sesshell #seaglass #beachinteriors #coastaldesigns #causalchic #mansions #luxuryhotels https://www.instagram.com/p/CKMU9K-sB4-/?igshid=1k9usy7l4jzbu

[thecreakingdoor]

Show-stopper! - Piece of a chandelier. And to think I nearly didn’t come to the beach today owing to the tide times. Wiggle-wiggle! 💃🏻 . . . #chandelier #chandelierdrop #chandelierseaglass #seaglass #beachcombing #beach #seaglasshunting #ohboyohboyohboy https://www.instagram.com/p/B9ZXJlJnANj/?igshid=bdyjjlti4ufb

[nessaandoliver]

title: a reunion notes: this is a writing exercise to feel out some more plot things and explore more of nessa and oliver’s relationship. i honestly wanted to die writing this i love them so much. i hope you enjoy!

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He wanted to kiss her so badly. Oliver had never wanted anything more acutely in his entire life. In that moment, he could tell she wanted it too. The way her forehead pressed against his cheek, the tilt of her chin, the unsteady ebb and flow of her breath. Her arms were tight around him, the palm of her hand pressed over his heartbeat between his shoulder blades. As though she was trying to feel the pulse of his life with her own fingers, trying to commit him to her memory with keen perfection.

He was so focused on taking deep, even breaths that he forgot to remember how close her body had been. All he had known was burning desire and it was as bright as the sun. He thought, that he had been made for this single moment in time, just to be this close to her, and to experience her unwavering warmth. He thought, if this was all he knew, it would be enough.

“Be safe,” she’d said, so softly he almost wondered if he had imagined it. He should have hugged her back. He should have ran a hand over her hair. He should have kissed her.

Instead, he’d stepped back, because this was probably going to be the last time he ever saw her and it was for the best. If he’d kissed her, he never would have left, and if he had never left, he would be dead.

He does not regret leaving her like that. The princess has a hell of a lot of shit to deal with and if she truly felt any special way about him, he could not nurture it. He hopes that unlike him, she doesn’t dwell. Oliver is already too far gone, but instead of mourning what he could never have with her, he takes it and keeps it in his heart. A reminder, of everything that is still good in this world, of everything that is worth fighting for.

He smiles at the thought of her. There is nothing familiar here on the beach, nothing that he associates with her, and yet he thinks about how much she would love it here. The endless horizon of the ocean, the white sand under her feet, the thunder of the waves, the diamond glitter of sunlight on the water. The breezes on the island are as sweet as coconut milk with none of the dreaded humidity of Niaren.

Oliver looks down at the parchment in his hand, worn from the attention it’s had over the past months. The only word on the page is her name, at the very top left corner, a little comma after it to indicate more but there is nothing else.

Realistically, sending her a letter is too high a risk and he knows that. Someone at the palace will intercept it and read it and then, all the care put into his successful escape will have been for nothing. Besides, he doesn’t know what to write her. His feelings for her are hard to put into words, because he thinks that they cannot be contained by words.

Even if it were that simple, he cannot tell her his feelings for the same reason that he did not kiss her. He sighs and runs his thumb tenderly over the scrawl of her name on the paper, as though touching it might be the same as touching her.

“Are you out here pining again?”

Oliver looks over his shoulder to see Adam approaching quickly, out of breath.

“I’m not pining,” Oliver says, quickly folding up the unwritten letter and shoving it back into his pocket. “What are you doing out here?”

Adam comes to a stop beside him. “Looking for you.” He goes quiet for a moment, the lightness in his voice changing. “You’re going to want to come back with me. Right now.” He places his hands on his knees, struggling to catch is breath.

“I don’t -”

“Oliver.” Adam gives him a sharp look. “Trust me.”

He can’t protest that. Oliver stands up and brushes the sand from his clothes, and the two of them begin the long walk back to the seaside palace at a brisk pace.

“Is it Rosemary?” he asks, wishing that he’d brought his boots out here to make the walk back easier on his feet, which are struggling to find purchase in the sand. A little tremor of fear rockets through him, thinking that she could be hurt.

“Your sister is fine,” Adam promises, but offers up no further explanation. Oliver puzzles over what could be so urgent if there is no immediate danger, but follows earnestly, curious to understand. His heart rate steadily increases and he feels a sense of relief when the palace finally comes into view.

When they step onto the palace grounds, Adam leads Oliver around to the back and Oliver slows upon realizing that he’s being led to Queen Melody’s suite. He stops, feeling apprehensive again. He’d almost been killed by a passionate guard when he accidentally wandered down the hallway to the queen’s suite. He can’t imagine what would happen if he was snuck in through the back on purpose.

“What the hell is going on?”

Adam sighs and grabs Oliver’s wrist, moving him forward without a word.

“Why won’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Because I don’t know how to tell you,” Adam says, giving Oliver a pleading look. “Come on.”

To Oliver’s surprise, there is a guard outside the queen’s double glass door entrance and she opens it wordlessly upon seeing both of them approaching. Melody is just inside, pacing back and forth, stopping abruptly when Adam enters first, relief coloring her tense expression as her gaze falls on Oliver behind him.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, reaching forward and snatching Oliver’s wrist from Adam’s hold, pulling him forward with much more haste. She’s almost rough. “You, come this way.”

Melody yanks him from the sitting room and down a corridor. She stops at the door to her bedroom and Oliver isn’t quite sure what to think. Without letting go of his wrist, she knocks on the door, ignoring his obvious confusion.

“It’s me,” she says softly.

There is a moment of silence and then the door opens soundlessly. Oliver vaguely registers that Melody’s hand slips from his wrist, but most of his attention is on Reina who, somehow, is standing there inside of Melody’s bedchamber. His eyes widen in surprise when she looks at him, and there is darkness in her expression, a weariness to the line of her mouth.

All of his rational thought, however, stops. The only thing he can think is that, if Reina is here, then…

She hesitates, but then steps aside and Oliver enters the room in one fluid motion, passing her without pause. It’s a cavernous space, clearly inspired by the ocean, seaglass hanging from the little chandeliers like rain. On the far wall, there is a wide window from floor to ceiling, the vast expanse of the seashore laid bare before it.

She sits in front of the window with her back turned to the rest of the room, knees drawn to her chest. The unwritten letter in Oliver’s pocket seems to burn through his clothes as his heart begins to squeeze painfully in his chest.

“I said, I want to be left alone,” she says, her voice rough like the jagged face of a cliff. The way she curls in on herself and the tightly drawn set of her shoulders tells him that she is both terrified and extremely fragile despite the bitter tone she speaks with.

It’s a miracle that he can find his voice. “Alright,” he says gently, not wanting to upset her.

She spins around wildly and even from clear across the room he can see how wide her eyes are in her disbelief. His eyes soak in her appearance with growing dread and the smile that nearly split across his face quickly dies. Her skin has lost some of its summer color, her freckles faded. Her hair has been terribly cut, shorn unevenly at her chin, one side longer than the other. The dark circles under her eyes tell him of sleepless nights and the maids dress she so often wore in Niaren is almost too big for her now.

He desperately wants to cross the space between them but it’s not his place to assert himself where he is not wanted with her. Her eyes seem to drink in his appearance greedily, over and over, and it strikes him that she did not know that he was here on the island. Unbidden, he remembers the way that she held him the last time he saw her. He remembers that he should have kissed her.

“I’ll leave,” he says, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them.

“No!” she nearly shouts. Her bottom lip trembles. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

Gone is her vicious temperament; what’s left is smallness, shattered glass, an open wound. Her hands curl into tight little fists against the marble floor and he surges forward, kneeling before her. Something inside of him shifts, breaking, and even though whatever has made her so unspeakably sad was not his fault, he can’t help but feel guilty. Like he should have been there.

“It’s me,” he says softly.

The big, shiny tears in her eyes finally start to slide over her cheeks and it’s then that he realizes that she still has tear tracks from the last time she cried. Her chin drops and her shoulders begin to shake, and then a tiny little sob rips through the air between them.

He lowers himself into a sitting position, hesitant to touch her in case she doesn’t want to be touched. “Hey,” he says softly, painfully. “Please don’t cry, Princess.”

Her head bobs back up and she wipes at her dirty face with the heel of her hand, her breaths choppy. “I-I’m sorry,” she hiccups. She shudders again, another sob wracking through her, and she throws herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” she cries into his neck, holding on tightly.

He leans into her embrace, sliding his arms around her, closing his eyes as he buries his nose into her hair. Oliver struggles to catch his breath, trying desperately to wrap his head around the impossibility of this situation. Just an hour ago he’d been on the beach daydreaming about her, wondering. The answer is here in his arms.

“I have missed you,” he murmurs, surprised at how breakable he sounds.

She responds by crying harder. The world seems softer and kinder now that she is here, even as it is accompanied by a heavy ache that swallows the empty void in his chest. He didn’t think he’d see her either, and he’d accepted that. He remembers thinking that he’d never be able to leave her if he had kissed her, but now that she’s here in front of him, he’s not letting her go again. Never again.

After a few minutes, her sobs slow and fade. He’s taken to running his hand over the back of her head, content to sit here on the cold floor with her for the rest of his damned life. Despite being unwashed, she smells mostly of salt and brine, her hair tangled even though it is now short.

“I didn’t know you made it to Circe,” she says as his fingers comb through the ends of her hair. “I thought you were going south to Silbern.”

“We’ve been here about two months now,” he tells her. He smiles, the apple of his cheek against her temple. “I found my sister.”

Nessa tears herself away from him. “Really!?” she yelps, a smile breaking across her face the way the sun might burn through clouds on an overcast morning. Her eyes sparkle with fresh tears.

His smile widens into a grin, hands settling down around her waist. “Yeah, really. It turns out she was rescued and subsequently adopted by a band of mercenaries who happen to work primarily for Circe.” The sheer luck of it all still overwhelms him, still scares him. One random choice had brought him to Rosemary. He never would have found her otherwise.

Nessa softens. “I’m so glad to hear that you found her, Mr. Kenton.”

He knows he shouldn’t have expected her to call him by his first name - she is still a princess after all - but the disappointment bites at him. He is the only one she refers to by his last name, but, he reminds himself, he is also the only one who gets to see her smile like that. It’s a fair trade.

“I’d love to introduce you,” he says.

She nods, and then, cheeks turning pink, she slowly leans forward again, this time wrapping her arms loosely around his waist. Her head rests against his shoulder and she takes a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment, running a hand through her hair again.

“No,” she says in a small voice. “But it helps that you’re here.”

He doesn’t know whether that makes him sad or happy. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not yet,” she replies.

“Okay.” His cheek presses to top of her head.

She sighs and the sound is almost relaxed, almost happy. “Thank you.”

His response is to continue his soothing motions through her hair, one arm wrapped around her back again. They remain that way for another while longer, silent, taking comfort in each other’s presence. He glances towards the door where Reina stands there with her back to them, unwilling to leave Nessa alone but trying to give them privacy.

Nessa’s breathing grows deeper and more even, her weight against his chest becoming heavier. He smiles to himself and slowly begins to move under her. She protests with a moan, her arms tightening around him.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes in a soft voice, a little laugh working its way through it. “It’ll be much more comfortable in a bed.”

“Will you stay?” she mumbles.

He rubs her back, shooting another glance in Reina’s direction, who has turned around to watch them openly now, her gaze intense. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Princess.”

“Please,” she says sleepily. “Please.”

Reina crosses her arms over her chest but shrugs. He’s not sure if that is permission or not from the guard, but he’ll take it.

“Okay,” he allows fondly. Her tight hold relaxes and she pulls away, her eyes half shut. Oliver rises to his feet and then pulls her up after him. She sways, unsteady, until he wraps his arm around her waist and walks her towards the large bed. He sits on the edge of the bed as she slips out of her boots and crawls onto the mattress, laying down on her side so that she is facing him.

He reaches over and brushes the uneven hair from her cheek. Her eyelids flutter, her expression peaceful. His thumb lingers over a bruise near her hairline and he wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs.

She cuddles into the soft bedding. “Mm,” she mumbles, already half asleep. Within seconds, sleep claims her entirely. Oliver can feel Reina’s eyes boring into him and he knows that he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move.

The soft scuffle of boots make him turn. “Thank you,” Reina whispers, standing beside him, her tone of voice softer than he’s ever heard it before. “She hasn’t slept in days. I was...I was getting worried.”

His face tightens at hearing those words, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach, even though Nessa is now sleeping soundly.

“Why did you ask for me?��� he asks. “She had no clue I was here.”

“We just arrived today. I happened to see your friend while Nessa was on a rampage. She didn’t want to see anyone. She’s…” Reina chooses her next words carefully. “Things have been…”

He nods, feeling strange to see her at a loss for words. “I get it.”

Reina is quiet for a moment. Her gaze slides past him to settle on the princess. “You’re the only person who cuts through the noise.”

He turns back to look at Nessa, breathing deeply and peacefully beside him. “Thank you,” he murmurs. He wants to lay down beside her, but that’s not his place. He is her friend before anything and even though there had once been the possibility of more, she has gone through so much in his absence.

Instead, he brushes his fingers back through her hair again, welcoming the rush of warmth that surges up inside of him.

[thedistantstorm]

A Steelponcho Dawning #2 - Dawning Hope

In which Ikora and Zavala are not speaking following Cayde’s death, Hawthorne has to take matters into her own hands, Eva does not want to return to the Tower, and things go to hell real fast. The Dawning is about togetherness. About what they fight for, and not feeling so sad and alone. They will all get the message, they like it or not.

-/

The lanterns cast a warm glow on the ballroom tucked around winter gardens carefully cultivated especially for this event. The crystalline chandeliers are dimly lit for ambiance. The mass of high profile individuals - both guardian, militia, and civilians - chatter in a dull roar. The entirety of it creates an inviting atmosphere.

A waiter passes by in a stark black tuxedo, removing an empty champagne flute to replace it with a new one. Like its predecessor, the little glass is full of clear, sparkling liquid. The woman beside it nods her thanks, serious eyes made up with dark kohl and shadow. She swivels her head to look back down at the proceedings.

Amanda takes her seat at the head table overlooking the dance floor and the fifty tables that hug it's edges. Zavala joins her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek, and, judging by her blush, to compliment Amanda on the beautiful sky blue dress she's chosen for the occasion. Ikora joins them last, her face twisted in a frown as she sits on the other side of the Titan. Neither of them speak to each other. Amanda looks up, just barely raising a glass of what's actually champagne and not sparkling water, finding her eyes and holding them with a charged gaze of her own.

Hawthorne nods. Amanda winks back. They both take a sip of their respective drinks and go to work.

The Tower, The Last Safe City, Earth: Suraya Hawthorne’s Apartment. Four months earlier

The box lands as gently as it can when she transmats it onto the kitchen counter. Her metallic-edged voice chimes, “I'm really, really sorry.”

“It isn't your fault,” Hawthorne regards the Ghost with eyes that aren't nearly as red rimmed or cloudy as they had been the night before when she had dropped by to check in. “He's just being stupid.”

“He's getting it from all sides,” The Ghost admits in her child-like tone, her white shell twitching in a sad shrug. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't fight him on it. You're the only one who knows all the stress he's under. Or, at least, most of it. You know his-”

“Duty.” The word is said with a clipped tone.

“-heart.”

“Sometimes, they can't be the same,” Hawthorne replies.

The Ghost swivels side to side to show her disagreement, nudges her fins against the woman's cheeks in a rare show of affection, and blinks away in motes of Light.

In light of recent developments, Zavala has decided their relationship makes him biased. Distracted. He's worried about remaining an impartial, yet understanding, strong, yet empathetic leader. So he says. Or, in Suraya's opinion, Ikora is being a self-destructive cunt and blowing up every relationship around her with her grief, so Zavala's going to shoot himself in the thigh and watch it bleed. Everyone in the Tower, in the two weeks since Cayde's remains were brought back from the Prison of Elders, has heard Ikora's opinions of the Commander. Everyone knows all about how she feels.

Everyone has watched Zavala withdraw into himself, betrayed by Ikora's feelings, betrayed by their steadfast, loyal Guardian - the Guardian, for Light's sake - culling Scorned Barons on a quest for revenge. No one has noticed whom has been taking their dead comrade's tasks in strike rota to keep them on track, or who has been meeting with forlorn Kinderguardian Hunters when their seniors are out fighting the good fight.

That's fine. Let Zavala destroy their relationship in hopes of rebuilding that bridge with Ikora. May they reforge their relationship in grief, she thinks darkly, because like hell that's going to fucking work.

She's always been a survivor, and that doesn't stop because of some stupid breakup. What's that thing Amanda's been saying? She barely remembers, she'd been more concerned with keeping up with the Shipwright's pace on the tequila last night than listening to her wax poetic about loss. What was it? 'Forward momentum?’ Sure. That.

Peregrine District, The Last City, Earth: Consensus Gathering Hall: 1800 Hours

Amanda's elbow digs into the Commander's ribs. It's a sharp jab that almost makes him cough in surprise. His eyes flicker to her and she's waiting, seaglass eyes ready for his argument when she gestures around him to the Warlock Vanguard.

His gaze shifts immediately to that 'stern dad’ look he always has when she meddles in something he does not believe she belongs in. “Amanda,” He cautions in a low voice. “Do not-”

She rolls her eyes. “Would it kill you to try?”

Pained is the only word to describe his expression. He looks like she's actually socked him in the gut. “No, but she does not-”

“There’re at least four hundred people here, watchin’ your e’ry move. If ya don't talk to her,” Amanda examines her nearly empty glass of bubbly before throwing it back like it's a shot, “People’re gonna talk more about that than they will about anythin’ that’d happen if y’all do actually fight.” She shrugs. “It's the Dawnin’, Zavala. Ya gonna pretend like she ain't even there?”

Zavala sighs and turns to regard Ikora. She stares straight ahead, eyes appraising her surroundings cold as she's ever seen. It's clearly a dead end. A brick wall, really.

He looks back at Amanda, who waves as friendly-like as he's ever seen at Arach Jalal. When he begins to approach, the Shipwright glares at Zavala with her fiercest 'I will make your life miserable if you don't talk to her’ glare before breaking out the most saccharine of smiles for the Dead Orbit leader and engaging him in conversation. A few pointed glances tell him she's not going to leave her seat and is absolutely waiting for him to speak to his colleague. His friend.

Well, they were friends, once.

The Commander resists the urge to put his head in his hands. A whole party full of people and he could not possibly feel more alone.

-/

“You're doing the Traveler's work, dear,” Eva Levante says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Here you are, orchestrating this whole event just to make him-”

“I'm not doing this for him,” Hawthorne asserts, though her words have no bite. “I'm doing it for the City. It's tradition.”

“I am sure you are.” The elder woman pats the younger woman's hand gently with her wrinkled one.  “But you cannot fool this old woman into thinking you've tricked yourself out of your feelings for him.”

Eva smiles at the conflicted look on Hawthorne's face. Naturally, she is a beautiful woman. Not for her womanly charms, though. For the expressiveness in her face when no one is looking, for the way her eyes light up, and for the way she moves without thinking to rush headlong into the fray. Hawthorne is agile and strong in the ways that unassuming woman often are. Paired with her mind - her heart, well, old Eva knows exactly why the Commander fell for her.

But here, in this theatre, her domain, Suraya Hawthorne is truly radiant. She'd had trouble sitting through the makeup artist Eva had arranged to paint her eyes and stain her cheeks around her tattoos, and pinning up her hair had been a challenge all its own. And yet, when Eva revealed her masterpiece - the first item she'd designed since the Red War - the younger woman had sucked it all up and endured. The results, Eva thought, were rather remarkable.

She wants, very much, to see that look in her dear friend's eyes, hopes to one day hear the sound of his laughter in the Tower once more. Right now though, in this moment, Eva cannot wait to see the look on his face.

If anyone can possibly pull this off, make the two stubborn immortals at least attempt to bridge the gap between them, it's Suraya.

“I'll tell you what, Eva,” Hawthorne replies after a moment. Unlike her scouts, she does not call Eva 'Abuela.’ Suraya has never, no matter how close Devrim became with older woman. It makes it easier now. “I wish it were that easy.”

Eva laughs, pushing up carefully on her toes to whisper into the Clan Steward’s ear. She whispers thickly, “What is right is never easy, dear. But I think you know that, most of all.”

[mitsukocesare]

Enya Seaglass Chandelier https://ift.tt/2rBTU0P

[infragalaxia]

Wisdom and Authority

I am terribly sorry for the delay in my Fictober schedule. My pain levels went through the roof these last two days, so I could only dictate, and my terrible English pronounciation riddled the result with mistakes I was too exhausted to fix up until now. But now I’ve recovered a bit, so have my answer to prompt #4. I’m not entirely pleased with it, but oh well.

The hall was a place of wisdom and authority.

Or so they said. Teivo wasn't sure how a building was supposed to have either of those qualities. Maybe it was because he was an uneducated asshole who gave no two coppers about the subtleties of architecture, but to him, stone was just stone. You could decorate it with reliefs and paintings and whatnot all you liked, but you could not liken it to human nature. The world didn't work that way. But rich folks never seemed to understand that. Maybe their gold got to their heads and suffocated their brains, who knew. It didn't seem so unlikely, all things considered.

»Stupid priests with their stupid babbling.« He crinkled his nose in disgust and kicked the base of a nearby statue. The marble likeness of what he thought was the founder of the convent didn't seem all that impressed by him, but that feeling was mutual, so they had at least some common ground. Which was more than could be said about him and the priests.

He still asked himself why in all storm's names he had thought joining their little convent was a good idea. Sure, he wanted to learn how he could best serve his lady Umberlee, but he could have done that somewhere else, right? In a nice big city maybe, or aboard a vessel, high on the open sea. Gods, how he missed the sea! It had done him no good, but it was where he belonged. But ever since he had gotten here, the priests had not let him go down to the shore, because he was »too unstable« and »not ready to face Her again«. Nonsense! He had faced her all his life, first from afar and then up close and personal beneath the waves. To say he was not brave enough to do it again was a personal insult, and he took very badly to those. Those stupid priests didn't know him, just as his father hadn't known him, and see where it had gotten that asshole. Maybe he should just repeat history; force their heads underwater until their breath expired and the light in their eyes went out, then break their bones and hand them over to the sea, a gift to the lady. It would free himself from chains, from misery, from this bond and the world and -

And humanity. He breathed in deeply, unclenching the fingers that had involuntarily curled into fists. No. They were right. He wasn't ready. Not when his first instinct still was violence. What he had done to Father had taken a part out of him, and he still hadn't gotten it back. And for all the comforting whispers at night, the siren songs and promises, he knew that he couldn't face his lady with a shattered soul without losing himself completely. He had to be patient.

Bad thing all patience had left him on the day he came home and … Memories flashed before his eyes, rapid-fire, history crawling up from the depths he had banished it to. Jyri, half-dead, a pile of broken bones and torn skin. Lumi at his side, clutching a hand covered in grey scales like a dead fish.  Mother bleeding out in the corner, seaglass eyes pleading him to not go.

And Levi, beautiful Levi, golden locks bloodstained while he hung impaled on the mast, blue eyes staring into the void, unseeing.

Teivo felt anger and pain and grief boil up in him again, red and hot and terrible, an all too familiar feeling. He gnashed his teeth in frustration. Four months. Four months he had spent in prayer, in meditation, trying to exorcise the demons from his mind, but they were still there, right behind his brow, gnawing at his thoughts until he felt like going mad. How was he supposed to get rid of them when not even his lady couldn't drive them off? Would he ever be good enough to leave this stormforsaken convent, or was he doomed to live here forever, sealed away like a dangerous beast, never to see the ocean ever again?

»Halls of wisdom and authority, pah. Fuck this place!« He kicked the statue again, hard enough to make it quiver. The impact sent white-hot pain through his toes, but he didn't care. He gripped the anchor pendant around his neck until his knuckles turned white, a faint afterimage of Levi's radiant smile still etched into his mind's eye, and felt for the tempest inside of himself, that terrible power that he hadn't dared touch ever since Father's death and that had never stopped haunting him afterwards. He had rejected them, feared them, these gales within him, these churning black waters and lightning strikes and thunderclouds as dark as Mother's bruises. But Levi had seen them, on that last night spent together before the ocean claimed them both, had seen them and accepted them without flinching and still said he loved him even though he had stared the beast right in the face. So why couldn't he accept the gift She had given him? Why did he fear Her so much when it was She who had brought him back from the depths, who had given him a second chance? Why did he reject his destiny? He took a deep breath, roaring sea calming for just a moment. Then he let it all out, the tempest, the waves, the grief and anger and frustration and crippling guilt crashing out of him like a giant wave. Thunder cracked through the hall, echoing loudly from the walls and all those beautiful reliefs, so loud that all he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The force of it knocked books out of their shelves, rattled the statues and chandeliers and high windows in their gilded frames. The doors to the hall were thrown violently open, no match to the raw energy lashing out from him like a whip.

Teivo sunk to his knees, suddenly exhausted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Levi laugh, laugh with such abandon that he couldn't help but smile despite his pain. Let's go to the city and smash the upper class. Build a whole new life for ourselves from the ruins. What do you say? A voice like honey, like sunshine distilled, intoxicating beyond measure. A boyish grin, eyes sparkling with mirth, and a kiss that tasted like the sea. A healing draught for him to drink of, chasing the demons away.

Teivo felt tears running down his cheeks, but he didn't mind for once. He had gotten him back. He had finally gotten him back.

Maybe this hall of wisdom and authority wasn't that useless, after all.

[eulablr]

Enya Seaglass Chandelier https://ift.tt/37VQUfM