#[ music. ] Peaceful hymns. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrcmoni · 2 months ago

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ੈ✩‧₊˚Avec toi, je suis chez moiੈ✩₊˚

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

warning- none except that you might cry(?)

wc: 1.8k… i don’t think i’ll ever write anything under 1k

authors note: if you don’t know what the title means it’s french, meaning “with you, i am home”.

edit: idk if i like this anymore🧍🏾‍♀️

Nervous. That’s what you felt as you rushed through the bustling streets of Chicago, your heart pounding in your ears. You looked around frantically, weaving through the crowd, eyes darting across each building until you finally saw it—the stadium. It towered over you like a beacon, glowing under the night sky. Breath hitching, you stopped for a second to catch it. That’s when you heard it. The melody of her voice. The thrumming of the beat. The vibrations of the bass. It all floated through the glass doors and straight into your body. each note vibrating in your chest, pulling you like an invisible thread.

Pushing through the entrance, you approached the front desk, showing the clerk your ticket. Instead of tearing it and handing you a stub, she shook her head, almost smiling. She motioned toward the backstage area, her intentions clear. But you gently refused her kind gesture, insisting—almost pleading—to let you join the general area, where you could be in the crowd with everyone else, feel the energy firsthand.

After what felt like forever, she sighed and relented, her brows furrowed like she couldn’t understand why anyone would give up such a golden opportunity just to be squished in a pit with a bunch of sweaty, screaming fans.

The screams grew louder and louder as you made your way toward the heart of the stadium. The chant of thousands rising up to the rafters, vibrating through your bones.

“Billie, Billie, Billie…” They sang her name like a prayer, like a hymn to their goddess.

The theatre came into view, and you had to stop yourself from gaping at the sight. People were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the space bursting at the seams with bodies and voices. You murmured small “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” as you squeezed past, trying not to step on too many feet or jostle too many shoulders until you finally found a good spot near the front.

Walking through rows of bodies, you murmured small “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” as you brushed past shoulders and accidentally stepped on toes. When you finally found a good spot, you rooted yourself to the ground. The stage loomed ahead of you, stretching wider than you’d imagined—an expanse of sleek black and shimmering lights. But before you could take it all in, the house lights dimmed, casting the stadium in a sea of darkness.

A soft guitar strum filled the air, the first few notes fluttering like a heartbeat. Then, from somewhere high above, a black platform began to lower, and there she was—in all her effortless glory. Sporting yet another one of her oversized jerseys along with a baseball cap, Billie’s silhouette cut a striking figure against the smoke and spotlights.

“i’m trying my best, to keep you satisfied...”

Her voice was more than angelic—it was otherworldly, like it could reach deep into your soul and fill every empty space. It made your entire body go still, goosebumps rising along your skin. It was as if you’d been yanked out of reality and thrown into some surreal dream, like she was your guide to a place beyond pain or stress, where only her voice existed.

Feeling as if you’d ascended into the heavens and were being welcomed by God himself, each note wrapping around you like a warm embrace, soothing every ache you’d been carrying for the past two months.

Every time she sang, it was like she poured her entire heart into each note, every syllable dripping with raw emotion. She moved around the stage with an ease you hadn’t seen in so long, lying on her back, staring up at the sky, just… lost in the music. Seeing her like this—completely at peace and at home—made something warm bloom in your chest. You couldn’t help but beam with pride, feeling like you were going to burst with how happy you were just to see her again.

It had been almost two months since you’d last seen her in person. College and tour had become separate worlds, tearing you apart and leaving this gaping rift between you two. The balance you used to have was shattered into a million pieces, no matter how much you tried to pick them up. It wasn’t that you weren’t both trying—of course, you were. It was just that time zones, schedules, and everything in between made it near impossible to connect.

Nights turned into weeks where you’d wear her hoodies to sleep, drown yourself in her favorite scents, and even try her diet, just to feel something like her presence. But instead of getting closer, you found yourself grasping at straws—like trying to hold onto water slipping through your fingers.

When you found out about her show in Chicago, you packed your bags without a second thought. You’d rushed your assignments, booked the earliest flight, and somehow managed to snag a last-minute ticket. That’s how you ended up here, front row, heart pounding as you watched her sing.

Being in the crowd was different from watching backstage. Here, you could truly see her, raw and unfiltered. You could feel the way she poured every ounce of herself into her performance, connecting with every person in the audience as if they were the only one there. The passion she poured into her performance, the way she moved with every beat, the way her voice soared through the stadium—it was truly and utterly captivating.

Smoke erupted from hidden vents, and strobe lights flickered through the air as the platform started to lower again. the music filtering the air.

“I loved you, and I still do. Just wanted passion from you, just wanted what I gave you…”

Billie’s voice reverberated through the room, and as she sang, her gaze swept over the crowd. She looked at faces, at outstretched hands, until—suddenly—her eyes landed on you. Everything around you seemed to freeze. Her lips parted, a flash of recognition sparking in her eyes. And then she moved.

In one swift motion, she had jumped down from the stage and was running toward the crowd. People screamed, confusion rippling through them as they watched her dash forward, seemingly abandoning her performance. But she didn’t care. She didn’t stop. And each second felt it dragged on forever, every breath sticking in your throat until she finally reached you.

Flashes of red and blue seared through the smoke as she collided into you. Her arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. She buried her face in your neck, and you could feel her body trembling against yours, hearing the soft, choked sobs that escaped her lips. Her grip was fierce, almost painful, like a child clinging to their favorite doll at the park, afraid someone would take it away.

“Hi, baby. oh my god hi, my love.” you whispered softly into her ear, cradling the back of her head and rubbing soothing circles down her spine.

“I know, it’s okay i’ve got you..” You could feel eyes on you, phones pointing, trying to capture this intimate moment between their idol and her lover. But right now, it didn’t matter. In this small, fragile bubble, it was just the two of you.

She pulled back slightly, leaning her forehead against yours. Her hands caressed your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t realize were falling. She stared at you like she couldn’t believe you were real, eyes wide and glossy. Before you could say anything more, she leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and honey—tears mixing together a bittersweet reunion.

The kiss was a breathless, desperate collision of emotions. Her lips were soft but urgent, fierce but tender, carrying the weight of every “I miss you” and “I’m sorry” neither of you had the chance to say. She kissed you like she was memorizing everything about you—the way you felt, the way you tasted, the very essence of you that she’d missed so much.

She deepened the kiss, and it was like two waves crashing together, a powerful force that left you both breathless and wanting more. Her hands got lost in your hair as she tried to pull you closer, as if she couldn’t get enough. But even as you strained against each other, the metal gate between you felt like a cruel reminder of the distance that had kept you apart.

The crowd around you screamed at the scene, their excitement transforming into frantic movements that jostled you both, forcing you to pull away. You stayed close, though, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the small space between.

The crowd roared in excitement, the energy around you reaching a fever pitch. The intensity of their reactions pushed you, jostling you both until you had to pull away. Foreheads still touching as your breaths mingled in the small space between, eyes locked and smiles wide.

“Sorry for stopping the show, guys,” she said, voice crackling through the mic. She glanced back at you, eyes still glowing with joy and relief. “But, you know, my girlfriend’s here…” She turned back to the crowd, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, and if anyone has that video, please send it to me.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, awe and admiration radiating off them in waves.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asked softly, her fingers brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t know I was till I got here. It was a last-minute thing.”

Her gaze traced every inch of your face, memorizing the way your hair was slightly disheveled, the way your eyes shone with nothing but love and admiration for her. She looked at you like you were the only person in the world, like she wanted to capture this moment and keep it safe forever. You looked at her the same way—seeing her not as the girl on stage, but just as her, the girl you loved more than anything.

“I’m so glad you’re here, mama. You have no idea.” she breathed, thumb swiping gently across your lower lip.

She closed the space between you again, this kiss softer but no less meaningful, more sacred than the last. This kiss was slower, softer, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a vow whispered in a language only the two of you understood.

It was a dance of emotions, each touch speaking volumes. A conversation without words. A yearning poem written in the press of lips and the brush of tongues.

The air around you crackled with electricity, thick with unspoken words and feelings. This kiss, this moment, was everything you needed to remind you that no matter how much time and space separated you, this bond, this love, this electric, soul-deep connection, was the golden thread that would always stitch you back together.

authors note: I wrote this at like 1 am after seeing a video of her performing the greatest at her first show and finished it this morning, i’m so tired😭.

i wish i could go to a show so bad but not this round unfortunately 😓. ngl i wanna write in french more.

remember to take care of yourself, stay hydrated, and stay safe. love and light🫶🏾- vay

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #astrcmoni

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ladythornofrivia · 6 months ago

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SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED

dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹

summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).

warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu

a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.

Chapter One

The Pious Rose

The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.

The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.

Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.

Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?

Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.

Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.

No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.

No servant or subject would come to her aid.

No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.

No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.

The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.

The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.

The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.

Several Months Ago….

It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.

But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.

With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.

Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.

You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.

Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.

Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.

You have it all.

A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.

With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.

Men.

Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.

Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.

Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.

You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.

Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.

No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.

You must remain pure.

With a life like yours, it’s perfect.

Almost.

House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.

Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.

It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.

But those are the days of past.

For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.

But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.

"Selfish," they all said.

"Cold and calculating," others concluded.

"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.

Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.

"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"

"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."

"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"

"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."

And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.

As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.

She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.

"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.

Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.

And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.

Growing strong.

"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.

~*~

In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.

Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.

Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.

Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.

In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.

Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.

Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.

"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.

Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.

Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.

But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.

To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.

Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.

But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.

~*~

One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.

But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.

The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.

But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.

~*~

The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.

As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.

"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."

Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.

You were almost there.

The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.

As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.

You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.

No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.

A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.

"Please...no..." you begged, cried.

But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.

As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?

In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.

Heavy footsteps caved in.

And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.

Like every flower, they wither.

~*~

In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"

Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.

Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.

Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.

Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.

But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.

Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.

Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.

A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.

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niuniente · 19 days ago

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Finnish Christmas online radio with 24/7 music, available globally, has started again! If you are tired with regular Christmas songs, you can listen to Heavy Metal Christmas channel. It plays punk, rock and metal Christmas songs 24/7. Perhaps the only metal Christmas channel? Choose this panel Rouhea Joulu:

If you want calm, more peaceful Christmas songs, you can choose Kauneimmat joululaulut, which plays Finnish classic Christmas songs. Which are gloomy and melancholy.

Klassinen joulu plays only classical Christmas songs and hymns. Find opera, baroque and rococo Christmas songs from here:

Other channels:

Jouluradio = All Christmas songs, different styles and genres

Julradion = Finnish Swedish Christmas songs

Lasten jouluradio = Christmas carols for kids

Pop joulu = Pop Christmas songs

Happy Holidays = Your generic American style bright and happy Christmas songs.

#christmas #music #online radio

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alllgator-blood · 1 month ago

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hymns of the unholy drops tomorrow, I'm gonna make a track tier list but here's my initial thoughts before it comes out:

This feels worthy of a "read more" just because there's no pictures to look at and it's four paragraphs. TL;DR the album is very cheesy but I'm literally so excited I'm gonna stay up all night so I can listen to the new album the second it drops. The overly critical part of my brain is telling me I shouldn't derive enjoyment from this album unironically but I'm not gonna obey, I am cringe and free and I'm gonna crank this shit with no shame cause it's the game I like...IN MUSIC FORm

[gif meant to represent me randomly busting it down leshy style when I'm home alone, and singing "THE END AWAITS AS THE OLD FAITH TAKES THE LAST OF MY KIIIIINDDDD" over and over]

The lamb's song was kickass and if I heard it in the wild without knowing there was a metal album for this game, I'd spontaneously combust from sheer excitement. It's instantly recognizable and that's kinda all I wanted from it tbh! I've mentioned before that I'm way more of a djent/shoegaze/sludge fan when it comes to metal rather than the genre these songs have been, but I'm literally so excited the bishops are getting some kind of inclusion in a project that I'm gonna crank this album even if it reminds me of the shadow the hedgehog game soundtrack. Tbh this one is so solid that if they JUST announced this one and didn't make the others, I'd still think it'd stand alone quite well for what it is! Edit: I said I'm cringe and free, why did I spend half this section dunking on the genre.....

Leshy's song..........was totally lame but in an epic way, like the first time I listened to it I thought it was fine! But when I actually read the lyrics I had tears streaming down my face from laughter. I screamed out loud when the guy basically says "btw my name is leshy :)", the lyrics are actually so fucking bad. But c'mon it's LESHY he's the littlest brother, if anyone got a corny ass song it should really be him. The shredding solo at the end is fucking hilarious and if he was in charge of his own song, he 10000% would request that specific ending. Musically, this one sounds the least like the source material so far but it's got that arpeggio from his + amdusias' theme and that's arguably the most iconic part. Also, "DAYLIGHT WILL COME UNDONE AS WE ECLIPSE THE SUN" is insane and is the best part besides describing his blindness as "ETERNAL NIGHTFALL"

Heket's song...........It has my favorite lyrics so far but the vocal work after the 40 second mark had to grow on me. I can't describe it but it sounds like that post grunge style and as a grunge fan, post grunge is my biggest opp in the music world. I was hoping they'd get a female singer for this but for heket specifically I can understand why they didn't. The actual lyrics in the song are fuckin badass, when it gets to the "MAKE YOUR PEACE, CREATURE" part I always turn it up to a deafening volume because it goes BALLISTIC. Genuinely my favorite part of any of these songs so far. I adore that her characterization in this song is layered and isn't just "I'm leshy, I'm made of plants or something and also I'm gonna kill you", it goes through her arc PERFECTLY imo!! Instrumentals in this one are better than the leshy song as well, I really like that they brought back the pitch bending/choppy sampling from the ost for this one

I'm on my hands and knees begging for the shamura song to be good, the leshy song had me worried but they came in clutch for heket. If they don't work in shamura's iconic lines from the game, I'm gonna cry inside I think- I'll forgive a lame kallamar song but ONLY if it's funny. Narinder's theme is gonna be hard to fuck up imo I have faith it'll be top tier

#river rambles #I have a lot of leshy gifs

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yoonia · 3 months ago

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xxiii

⟶ Chapter summary | He may not be the Prince Charming written in fairy tales, but in your eyes, he seems perfectly yours. Even with many secrets lying between you, a part of you insists to put faith in him, to trust him, even with your secrets. Besides, there is a good reason why fate answered your prayers by allowing you to meet him again, shouldn’t it?

chapter xxiii. serendipity-3

The sun has finally gone out. The bright sky is now painted in vibrant colours of blue, faded teal, and purple as dusk slowly melts into night. Up above, the stars are beginning to show their presence, looking like pixie dust spreading into the night.

Once the pixies welcomed Yoongi into their circle, he was sat down by the curious pixies to endure the same questioning as you had.

“Where did you come from?”

“How did you cross the border?”

“Is that a real sword? Is it heavy? Have you ever hurt anyone with it? Have you ever hurt yourself?”

“Your hair is so soft. What did you put in it?”

You had to hold back a smile while he went through it, yet your own curiosity rose when Yoongi visibly tensed and surprised when he heard Illyn asking, “Did you also walk past the fairy portal in the woods?”

It didn’t take long for the pixies to lose interest in Yoongi, however, as fireflies began to come out of their hiding once it grew dark and caught their attention. Seems like they have yet to run out of energy, even after playing the whole day and the entire afternoon, as they are now busy chasing the fireflies and slipping between the thickening white mist rising around the riverbank. The sound of their joyful giggles echoes through the evening as you join Yoongi on a stroll along the length of the river, spending the last hour that you have left before you have to run home.

The thought of having to say goodbye when you barely have enough time to share with Yoongi saddens you. Yet you try to make the best of it. You don’t even resist when Yoongi insists on holding your hand when he helps you jump across a small puddle, and you say nothing when he still keeps your hand in his as you slowly make your way back towards the elven town.

“It feels really peaceful here, doesn’t it?” you muse with a sigh as you look up beyond the canopy of leaves above your head, marvelling at the colours showing in the sky—colours you wouldn’t normally see back home—and the sparkle of stars now filling the sky.

Far ahead of you, just beyond the tree line, the elven town lights up. Golden lights emerge through the open windows, lanterns hanging from the houses and on the small roads illuminate the rest of the town, and each sparkle of light is reflected on the waterfall that gleams brighter in the night.

“Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” Yoongi asks, almost teasingly, “There is barely any light here, under the trees, and starlight can’t really reach us once we get deeper into the woods.”

You glance around, seeing the contrasting sight of the dark forest filled with nothing but unmoving shadows against the brightening town. Before, it would have been daunting for you to travel into these woods, when the only colours you’d see are the white mist crawling on the ground and the fog forming from your breath. But after the chilling darkness and the daunting sights you find during your previous trips, this kind of darkness doesn’t incite any uneasiness rushing through your skin.

The cold breeze doesn’t make you shiver. The cricket sounds echoing from the riverbanks, the faint night birdsong, and the echoes of the giggling and humming sounds of the pixies only give you a sense of calmness. Yoongi’s gentle hold on your hand and his warm presence make you feel secure enough to stare into the darkness and walk through it.

“No, I’m not afraid,” you simply answer him with a smile. “Compared to where I’ve been lately, this place feels more like heaven. And what should I worry about when I have you here with me?”

Yoongi lowers his eyes as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have you missed me while I was gone?”

“No. Not really,” the lie easily slips out of your lips, and the corners of his lips rise to a smile.

A deep chuckle escapes him, causing your heartbeat to trip. Air slowly leaves your lungs as he gently opens his eyes, showing you the deep gaze which haunts your thoughts whether you are in slumber or when you are awake. “You look pretty even when you lie,” he whispers with a low voice.

Turning away from him, you take a deep, long breath. You have no idea if the heat rising on your cheeks came from his words or the way he is looking at you. “You always speak as you please.”

“Yet I’m not the one who is lying,” he replies, and you can almost hear his smile before your eyes find him again. “That’s me saying that I don’t believe you. Not for one second.”

Your cheeks are flushed, his words become a spell that makes your heart race and your hope bloom like wildflowers. And then the feeling is made worse when you turn to face Yoongi, capturing the deep longing in his gaze which mirrors yours perfectly that your words begin to spill out. “And if I tell you that I missed you, what would you do?”

His chest rises with a sharp breath. The intense look in his gaze makes it hard for you to breathe and you cannot understand why. “I will cherish it,” he says, his voice sounding firm and sure that you find no reason to be doubtful. “The thought of you thinking about me in my absence brings me joy like no other.”

Your throat feels dry. Your heart feels like it is about to jump out of your chest the first chance it gets.

“Always so charming with your words.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face, and then it is gone. “Yet none of it is a lie.”

“I believe you,” you whisper with a sigh, and you mean it. because you can see it—you can feel it—simply by looking into his eyes. For a moment, you find it hard to look away. You despise ever thinking about having to look at other things but his face, to even look away from his eyes that are sometimes more honest than his words.

But then the sound of wild giggles seems to be coming closer, the fluttering movements of the pixies entering the trees break the spell forming between you, and Yoongi is the one to give in first with a smile.

“Now, shall we enjoy the rest of the evening? Maybe see what they are up to now before I send you home?”

Home.

The thought of having to walk away from this place, from him, is eating you from the inside. Yet you try to push it down, silently hoping—praying—that this wouldn’t be the last evening that you would be spending with him.

“All right. Lead the way.”

Yoongi is left astonished at what is happening at this moment.

Right before his eyes, the pixies are dancing and singing together, giving the two of you a show in an opening they found in the middle of the forest. Here, the moonlight is shining brightly from above, as if creating a special stage for them to perform their little celebration. And you are standing right beside him, enjoying this view together with him, with your hand entwined with his and shoulder brushing against his as you gently sway to the song the pixies are singing.

He secretly steals a glance at your face without you realising it. He wants to commit this moment to his memory; the look of awe on your face as you watch the pixies dancing before you; your eyes that are glowing with amusement and pure joy; the delicate way your fingers seem to sink into his palm, as if they belong there.

For the first time after quite some time, Yoongi feels at ease. Perhaps being with you helps, feeling your presence nearby and the touch of your hand in his becoming his anchor.

For the past week, he felt as if his life was going out of control. But with you, he feels like everything is slowly falling into place, and he simply wants to hold on to everything before it slips away from his hold.

Smiling, Yoongi turns his attention back to the pixies. The song they are singing seems to rouse a peculiar sensation within him. It fills him with joy and—amusingly—raw pleasure that he had only ever felt from drinking the strongest ales created by the hands of the moon fairies of Emburn.

He shouldn’t be surprised to feel this kind of sensation simply by listening to the pixies’ tune. He has learned quite a lot about pixies after his previous journeys and his various close encounters with beings of their kind. Many may not have known this, but their magic dust isn’t the only thing that is special about the pixies. The song they sing, the tune and the words they hum, are said to be magical, acting like a spell to incite various sensations within other beings—mostly humans, as they are the most vulnerable beings against magic.

As he continues to watch their performance and feels as if he is no longer carrying unwanted weight on his shoulders, his troubles forgotten and feeling only hope blooming in his chest, Yoongi wonders if the song that they are singing is the kind of spell that only brings joy. The kind that often causes dream-like experiences for other beings like himself, and others like you.

Needing this escape, Yoongi allows himself to relish this feeling for a moment longer, to enjoy this moment with you, before he begins worrying about other matters.

One of which is trying to make things right with you, when his lack of presence as of late may have placed him a few steps behind from what he wanted to achieve by following you through the portals. All he wanted was to become closer, not to feel as if you were a world apart from him even when you are right beside him.

He wanted to win your trust, and perhaps one day, he can win your heart. But how would he be able to do so if he kept missing from your life whenever you needed him?

“Forgive me for not being able to join you during your previous trips. I had somewhere else to be, and not one of my excursions ever led me to your path.” Yoongi says as he walks beside you, continuing your stroll along the river once he can sense that your time here is slowly coming to an end.

You and Yoongi have left the pixies behind you, still enjoying their time partying in the forest with more and more other pixies joining in to form a bigger circle. The last time Yoongi turned to glance over his shoulder, the pixies’ dancing had become so intense that he began seeing golden dust sparkling all around them, their rapid dancing and the spells they were singing brought together magic pixie dust to illuminate the forest around them.

Those pixie dust have now scattered all over the gravelled pathway before him, as the wined pixie kept floating across to drop the magical dust to help light up the way, allowing the two of you to see clearly through the darkening woods.

Muted golden glow from the magic dust spreads all around him, the lights reflecting perfectly on your face that Yoongi cannot look away. In his eyes, you look as if you are walking among the stars, up there in the night sky, and he is floating with you like a shadow, protecting you from the night.

He has pictured this moment many times before, when he was walking down the royal garden or through the halls within the Imperial Palace, wishing that you were by his side. Wishing that he was spending time with you instead of with the bratty princess who was more than happy to play along with the Empress’ ploy in keeping him back home. Now that this is finally happening, it seems hard for his mind to accept that this is his reality and not just a figment of his imagination, his wishful thinking playing tricks on him to make him believe that this is real.

“I—wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to see you today, to be honest,” Yoongi painfully admits, while recalling how hard it was for him to escape from the palace today.

It was his own fault for getting him in such a situation, after all.

He shouldn’t have traded the dance that he wanted so badly to avoid with a promise. A promise that he regretted the moment he stepped into the royal garden, when he realised too late that he had made a deal with the wrong force.

What Yoongi had imagined to be a swift affair, a simple afternoon tea to appease the royal brat of a princess where all he had to do was sit and act nice while she gushed and gossiped about life within the empire, had turned out to be everything that was not.

The entire encounter had instead turned mostly peculiar.

Princess Celestyna has always worn the facade of a coy and almost naive and child-like, just like any other sheltered and spoiled princess he has ever met. But this afternoon, as she sat at the table set up for their little ‘date’, the princess had shed her entire facade and worn a new persona. Her presence emitted arrogance and an eerie calmness that made him feel uneasy. He was just about to call everything off when the princess dropped a bomb on him.

“I know that this is the last place you would rather be, Your Highness,” she said to him between taking dainty sips of her tea, with a gaze that carried a peculiar look to which Yoongi felt cautious. But then his blood ran cold when she added, “Do you know the real reason why I followed my father to visit your empire and meet the Empress? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The air is changing. You cannot tell me you have no idea what, or who is causing it.”

Realisation dawned in Yoongi back then, just as everything that he noticed about the realm upon his return came back to him; the turbulence he felt welcoming him home in waves; the stillness in the air; and the imbalance of magic.

Before Yoongi could process things further, or inquire the princess about the secrets that she seemed to be offering him, he felt the ripple of magic rising at the back of his mind. It was subtle enough so that he knew he would be the only one who could feel it, and he immediately knew that it was the moment you stepped into a portal.

Yoongi was caught between staying, accepting the princess’s olive branch, and the fear of losing the chance to see you again, so for a moment, he nearly faltered. But his wish to see you again prevailed. He felt your presence calling for him, pulling at his soul, and it gave him the willpower to walk away and race through the portal to catch up with you.

“You won’t be able to keep running, Your Highness,” the princess called out to him just as Yoongi began to walk away, “You can try to avoid me as much as you want to or deny what must happen for as long as you can, but you must know that you won’t be able to change anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head, shaking away the memory of the unpleasant encounter from his mind. He hates that even now, when he is supposed to be enjoying his time with you, that second princess of the Kosha Empire still dares to invade his mind—just like how she has been trying to invade his entire life.

“It wasn’t easy, and I debated if I should risk making this trip at the last minute, when I still had my duties ahead of me,” he says with a grim smile on his face as the memory of Princess Celestyna’s cunning smile comes and goes. “But in the end, I am glad that I chose to listen to my gut and risk everything for a chance to see you again.”

The smile that you give him alleviates his guilt. Only slightly.

But it is still the same smile that he has been longing to see. So much so that he has been seeing it in his dreams that he suddenly feels the urge to pinch himself just to make sure that this isn’t another dream, taunting him with your presence only to take you away from him so soon.

“And here you are, right when I was just wondering if I should walk away sooner than planned,” you respond to him, much to his relief. A part of him was expecting to see your growing distrust of him, and yet your words hold no adversity in them that it makes him feel almost undeserving of your kindness.

“I am beginning to believe this matter of fate that you spoke of so often, seeing that you were able to find me despite how busy you’ve been.” A soft chuckle slips out of your lips. “I’m amazed that you managed to find me at all.”

Pain pierces through him as he returns your smile. He feels bitter about the fact that he had been the one who spoke of fate intertwining your lives together and yet has become the one defying fate itself. He cannot stop feeling as if he has failed you, and he knows that this feeling will continue to haunt him each time he remembers the disappointed look in your eyes looking back at him.

And he knows that he will disappoint you further by not being able to share his secrets, even if only to answer your curiosity.

“Is it another mercenary work that’s been keeping you away?” you innocently question him, and Yoongi can only bite back his tongue. In a way, it wouldn’t be too off the mark, since he did use his mercenary work as an excuse to stay out of the imperial palace from time to time, or when he needed a break from the Empress’ plot of keeping him close to their royal guests.

It was safer for him to use the mercenary army as an excuse rather than using the magic portals, with the chances of having the Empress planting an eye around him.

“Perhaps,” he sighs, “you can say that.” He hates not being able to tell you the truth, but he also has no way of confessing that his lack of presence in your expeditions has been caused by another. With a tight smile on his face, Yoongi turns to ask you, “Have you been travelling well lately?”

For a moment, you look quite reluctant to answer. At first, Yoongi simply takes it as your hesitance about sharing the secrets behind the magic that you are using. But instead, you choose to share something completely unexpected.

“Not that much, actually. I have been—unwell,” you slowly admit. “After the last time we met in Grimm, I was left bedridden for quite a while.”

His brows rise. “How so?” he asks, feeling uneasy.

Pressing your lips together, you shrug at him. “It seems that I have been using up my mana due to my travelling.”

“Do you mean to say that your means of travel has been draining your mana?” Yoongi asks. His surprise almost caused him to make a slip-up, to show you that he knows by which way you have been travelling to different places.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it as you continue walking. “It may seem so”—a touch of a smile flickers on your face—”although it is just a personal assumption that I made up, seeing that it happened after I came back from travelling.” You stop for a moment, thinking. “Actually, now that I think about it, this kind of exhaustion only happened when I went across to places within Far Far Away.”

Yoongi falls silent as he ponders over this. He cannot figure out why the same magic that empowers him—and one that he has learned to understand and control since he was just a young boy—would be reacting differently towards you. While this explains the reason behind your recent absence, he cannot say that he takes any pleasure in knowing.

Perhaps it would have been better to hear that you had encountered something else getting in the way of you using the portals. Anything else but having your well-being and your safety having been compromised to be the reason for it.

“You never felt the same when you were travelling back to Smotia?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Hmmm, I don’t recall that I have. I always felt tired, but it wasn’t as bad as it has been lately.” You stop, furrowing your brows, before turning to him. “Do you think—”

“What?”

Gnawing your lips, you shake your head gently before sharing your thoughts. “It’s just something that I thought of,” you begin to say, still hesitant. “What if, the—magic that I’m using to travel is feeding off my mana?” You turn to him. “Can something like that happen?”

“You mean, it’s using your mana like fuel?” Yoongi asks, raising his brows.

You slowly nod. “Like what oil does to a lamp, or food to humans.”

Humming to himself, Yoongi recalls everything that he has learned about the magic portals. To think of any possible side effects or the possibility of it not taking its powers from the moon—as expected of these types of portals—but from its user instead. Yet he comes up with nothing. Because nothing similar to this has ever happened. Not to him, and certainly not to the Emperor, who used to travel merely through the portals to deal with the empire’s business.

But the truth is, he simply never heard of it.

A random thought suddenly crosses Yoongi’s mind just then.

“In theory, it can happen,” he cautiously says, just as he remembers something that he once learned about magic.

Any form of magic requires a price. A sacrifice is needed to be made to pay for any magic that is pulled out of the realm, used and cast by whoever is summoning them. For the type of magic as strong as the fairy portals, a sacrifice must be made. The Ancient moon fairies, however, had found a way to resolve this.

By borrowing power from the moon, the fairies obtaining the skill to create, open, and use the portals would no longer need to sacrifice a thing. Only to then repay all the powers lent to them by the moon by celebrating the rites during the Runea Luna Eve. This is how it’s been done for centuries, until Yoongi was given the keys to the magic portals.

But could this really be the reason?

Yoongi wonders as he looks at you. Since you are not a fairy such as himself, nor you were born with a fairy blood or a direct connection to the moon, using the magic which belonged to his kind may require you to pay for it with something else. Something valuable.

Your mana. A piece of your heart. Your—lifespan.

Yoongi fists his hands by his side. “Have you talked about this with anyone else?”

“Well, yes.” The crease between your brows deepens, and then you mutter, “Okay, maybe not.” A beat of silence passes, before you correct yourself, “Not really.”

Yoongi says nothing, only that he knows now that you have yet to share your secret with anyone else. No one knows about her using the portals, he muses, surprised with what he just learned. He shouldn’t feel relieved about it, since that only means that you have no one by your side to guide you through it.

But if you still have nobody to talk to about this, if you are still keeping this a secret, then this means he can use this to strengthen the bond he has with you. To gain your trust that has become so fragile from his own doing.

Cocking your head, you innocently ask him, “What are you thinking?”

Yoongi grabs your hand instead of answering directly. He still has to work on finding out the truth about this side-effect before slowly revealing the truth about the portal—that he knows more about it than he is letting on, and that he and his family are the ones behind it. He needs to make sure that you trust him enough before he can.

Because revealing the origin of the portal you are using might risk him losing your trust. It might risk him losing the only link he has to the Wicked King.

“I’m just wondering,” he says, as he begins rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, drawing shivers through your skin, “you mentioned before that this is all new for you. That you are still getting used to your new life in Far Far Away.”

He stops to wait until you respond with a nod before he continues, “Even without having to use magic, travelling within this realm itself can be draining, and you still can’t fully access your magic to begin with.” Looking down at the ground covered in pixie dust, Yoongi points at the glowing lights. “Take a look at how the scattered magic dust is covering the dark, hard ground beneath. Look at it as the realm we are standing in.”

You turn to look at the sparkling magic dust and keep your eyes on it while Yoongi keeps speaking, “There are layers and layers of mana in this realm which—depending on which part of the land you are—may require different levels of mana within yourself to withstand it. For you to be able to ride the energy flow that is present all around you when you are stepping into a new territory.”

Yoongi smiles as he senses you growing more at ease, and that you seem to understand what he is trying to say. “With your magic still restrained, you haven’t been able to put your raw mana to use. At the very least, not in its full potential.”

Your gaze finds his after hearing this, which encourages Yoongi to continue, “So it’s quite possible that your body was weakened due to the insufficient amount of mana you had to boost the power of the magic. And it if had instead begun to feed on your life energy, that might explain why you experience fatigue and why it took longer for your mana to recover.”

An understanding look fills your eyes. “That would make sense,” you mutter softly, and Yoongi can almost hear the wheels in your head turning. He can hear the questions that you have before you even think of voicing them out loud. He knows that—despite your lack of experience with magic—you are smart enough to understand things quickly.

Right when you are about to speak, to question him further—to force him to tell you everything about the portals—Yoongi cuts you off with his own question, “What about your latest trips? I thought you said you had been going back to back while I was away? How are you feeling now?”

Finding out that you are experiencing some side effects from the portals made him feel wary, and it worries him more when he thinks about the constant waves of magic reaching out to him and he was never there. “You know, some people might think that it would be better to avoid anything that was harmful to them,” he tries to joke, “and yet you decided to jump right back into it again the moment you had the chance.”

A grin lifts on the corner of your lips. “You got me,” you softly laugh. “I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. In a way, I wanted to test my theory, and—” You stop for a moment as you recall the past few days—the days that Yoongi would have loved to hear more about in detail—and then shrug a little. “You can say that the circumstances made it hard for me to avoid going on those trips.”

Your gaze flicks back to him. “I might say that fate pointed out the way and I simply followed.” Yoongi returns your smile. “But things are different now.”

“Different? In what way?”

You make a humming sound as you answer, “I’ve been training. Someone—one of my guardians—offered to help me practice controlling my mana, even if I can’t really use it to expel magic.” Yoongi cannot help but smile as you share this. He loves seeing how proud you look, simply from thinking about what you have achieved on your own. The look of excitement for overcoming a challenge and getting yourself ready to try facing another.

“Do you think your training has been helping you, seeing that you are doing quite alright now even after—how busy you’ve been?”

“I’m not quite sure, really,” you admit with a nervous smile, “That’s also why I’ve been waiting to see you. What do you think? Do you reckon my progress may have anything to do with how I’m not sick right now?”

Yoongi considers the option for a moment before nodding. “It might,” he cautiously says, “By having control of your mana, you might have been able to inadvertently prevent your mana from being drained completely while you had your expeditions.”

This answer seems to please you. “Of course, I am not an expert in this type of magic,” he quickly says before you get your hopes up. And it is not a complete lie, as there are real experts back home at Emburn who study this old magic properly that would know better than he does now. And he quickly makes it his mission to find them once he returns. ”I can try and help you look for answers if that can help you.”

Your smile widens. And he suddenly feels like his chest is too tight for his beating heart. “Would you do that for me?” you ask, to which he feels his knees weakening beneath him that he comes to a halt, bringing you close to him as he pulls you gently towards him.

“Anything, little dove,” he murmurs as he gently leans closer. “Even if only to make up for my recent absence and the days that went on without us being able to enjoy our time like this.”

Yoongi is so close. You are so close that he can breathe in the scent of your shampoo and the soft fragrance that you might have dropped onto the curves of your neckline this morning—something sweet and floral and maddeningly luscious—that his entire body grows warm. Before he can stop himself, his hand rises, fingers gently sweeping back some stray strands of hair that keep escaping to your cheek, and your face flushes.

Clearing your throat, you lower your gaze with a bashful smile. “Speaking of places with mana,” you softly speak, a hint of shyness flutters in your voice which pleases him dearly when you ask, “Have you been to a place called Aeris?”

Swallowing hard, Yoongi tries to calm his expression when he answers. “I’ve been there many times. Some of the merchants and barons that have hired me are those who deal with businesses in both realms, that’s why I frequently go to marketplaces like Narlès and Aeris.” He inclines his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you been there recently?” you question him, gnawing your lips as if you aren’t sure to ask.

“Not that I recall, no. I’ve been going to places where people were dealing with various crisis, and I have yet to visit any marketplaces lately.”

You try to hide it, but Yoongi can see a hint of disappointment in your eyes. “I see.”

Yoongi falls silent instead of questioning further. Because he knows why you would ask him about Aeris.

He was unable to leave the Imperial Palace when he felt you visiting the Mage City, so he had to send out the only one he trusted to go in his place and watch over you, making sure that you were safe. Yet it seems that Yijeong has failed to report back to him to let him know that you had caught him, or perhaps felt his presence while shadowing you through the city.

That fool.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, Yoongi reminds himself to be grateful. Despite his recklessness and his lack of trust in you, Yijeong has been there when Yoongi couldn’t. His loyal friend has continued volunteering to take his place, jumping into the magic portal whenever the ripples came calling for Yoongi to follow, all to be able to watch over you and keep you safe while Yoongi was stuck in the Empress’ little ploy.

From the mage city of Aeris to the legendary E’l Alora, the ancient place that is no longer shown on any kind of map, and then to the fallen city of Arselon, where mortals are no longer welcomed after they became casualties of war.

Yoongi cannot imagine what kind of adventures you have been to. Not even Yijeong’s reports were adequate in letting him know what you’ve learned from these expeditions of yours. How much he wishes to be there to witness it. And how inadequate it makes him feel to realise how much he has missed.

“The next time we meet again,” Yoongi gently says, “Tell me everything about your latest journey.”

The smile you give him holds hope and promise. “As long as you share me yours.”

As soon as you’ve made it across the bridge with Yoongi, you come to a halt, hesitant to continue.

You can feel it from a distance; the ripples of magic coming out of the portal, waiting for your return, hidden deep between the trees.

Silently, you wonder if Yoongi can feel it too. For some reason, you know that he can feel it, but he chooses not to show it. Not to say anything. Respecting your need to hold your secret just a bit longer until you can trust him completely with it.

Judging from the way he isn’t making any move to continue, he is respecting your choice by not following you through the woods unless you allow him to.

But keeping your secret and preventing him from following you to find the opened portal is the least of your concerns at this moment. You hate having to say goodbye so soon when you just met him again. Your time together has been too short, you feel like it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi tilts his head, noticing your silence. “Is there something wrong?” he asks, as if he can sense you having an inner battle in your silence.

“I don’t want to say goodbye so soon,” you admit with a quiet whisper.

“Then don’t,” Yoongi says, smiling. “Don’t say goodbye. Not when we’re going to see each other again.”

“Is that true? Will we be able to see each other again?” You cannot help but ask, “I’ve believed that we would, but—”

Taking your hand in his, Yoongi gives it a gentle squeeze. “I promise, whenever you make the jump to travel somewhere, to a new place across the realm or even towards the next realm, I’ll come running to you,” he says with a firm voice, only that you are too afraid to believe him, to hope, after being disappointed the last few times you went and never found yourself crossing paths with him.

“Don’t say such promises as if it is something that you are capable of doing,” you whisper bitterly, looking away.

Still keeping a gentle hold of your hand, Yoongi tilts your chin up with his other hand, bringing your gaze back to him. “As I’ve told you many times before, little dove. I wouldn’t dare make a promise that I’m not sure I can keep,” he whispers as he plays with a few stray strands of your hair before tucking them behind your ear. Just like before, when he did the same and the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, your body shudders. Your skin grows hot, and you sway on your feet, your body leaning towards him to feel more.

Your eyes flutter to close as you embrace this feeling, yet you quickly open them again, resisting, only so you can look at him longer. But then his face comes closer, almost as if he is leaning for a kiss. “Can you keep that promise?” you force yourself to ask, even when your voice comes out small, almost breathless. “Can you really find a way to know where I am the next time I walk across the realm and be there when I make the jump?”

Yoongi says nothing at first. But the intense way he is looking at you, with no words, only with a gaze that seems tortured, as if he is pained for not being able to say much seems to speak louder than his words would.

“How? How would you be able to do such a thing?”

Instead of answering you, Yoongi only smiles. “Why don’t we make a little deal, you and me?” Yoongi offers instead, “I will tell you the next time we see each other again. Better yet, each time we meet again, I will share with you one secret of mine for you to keep. Something more about myself.”

Sucking a deep breath, you try to calm the flutter building in your chest. And fail. “Promise?” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “And I—” You continue, feeling your throat tightening when you think about all the things you can offer to make this fair. You want to give something back. A piece of you to every piece of himself that he is willing to give you.

Bringing your hand up, you offer him your pinky finger. “Then I’ll share something about myself too when we see each other again.”

Looking up close, Yoongi’s eyes seem to sparkle. Intrigued and pleased, Yoongi’s smile deepens as he entwines his pinky finger around yours and murmurs, “It’s a promise.”

Neither of you makes a move to separate, remaining in this position just a bit longer, staying close with his eyes staring deeply into yours. For a moment, you wonder if he is going to kiss you, as he slowly bends down, his face growing closer, until he suddenly stops with a hesitant smile. “Until we meet again,” he says instead, kissing the back of your hand.

You are filled with a mix of emotions, yet the touch of his lips on your skin makes your heart flutter, soaring with hope.

“Remember,” he whispers, “All you need to do is jump, and I’ll come running to you.”

Despite everything, you know deep down that you can hold onto this promise. You want to believe him, and that is exactly what you say to him in the end before you finally decide to part ways just beyond the last line of trees.

“Will you be okay crossing the woods on your own?” Yoongi asks, still reluctant to let you go into the woods.

“I have my dagger with me, and I know how to defend myself,” you reassure him, and his gaze flickers with knowing, believing that you are telling him the truth. “If all fails, I’ll scream for help.”

Yoongi softly laughs. “I’ll be here,” he says, as he slides his hands into his pockets, as if he is doing so to hold back from reaching out to you. “At least until you make it across.”

You leave him standing by the bridge as you trudge into the thickets, his warm smile becomes the last thing you see when you look over your shoulder one last time, before slipping deeper into the woods and entering the magic portal waiting to take you home. You close your eyes for a brief moment when the magic engulfs you, pulling you through the space in between before you arrive back home. The force of the magic is so strong, that you barely feel it when another ripple of magic follows your departure, coming from somewhere nearby, right before the magic door closes behind you.

The moment you open your eyes again, you are standing in the middle of the quiet corridor back in Stargrave. There is an emptiness in your chest as you walk further away from the ghostly feeling of the magic portal slowly waning behind you as you slowly make your way back to your bedchamber, yet you find no reason to feel any sorrow as you stroll down the empty hallways and into your silent quarter.

Because you've arrived back home not all empty-handed. Not when you have the warmth of a promise filling your heart, the ghost of Yoongi’s touch lingering in your palm, and five pouches of pixie dust in the pocket of your dress.

The day after your last trip, where you got to visit the home of elves and pixies, you remain in the castle instead of allowing your curiosity to take you away once again.

Your father’s keys are secured safely in one of the drawers inside your bedchamber. Out of sight, though not entirely out of mind.

“Take a day off from travelling, especially since you’ve been travelling more frequently as of late,” Yoongi had suggested yesterday, right before you parted ways, right after you made him so obviously worry about your well-being after you shared your recent predicament.

And you have chosen to follow his advice. To preserve your energy and mana until the next time you will be needing it again. Until the next time you see him again.

“And where will you be while I’m gone? Back to your mercenary business?”

Yoongi had given you a tight smile when you asked. Yet his eyes were filled with resolve when he answered, “Perhaps I shall handle my business to make sure they will no longer be in the way of me catching up to you.”

With no plans on escaping the confines of the castle, you spend your afternoon at the terrace on Nanny Abigail’s quarter for some afternoon tea with your governess. It has been a while since you spent some time with her without any agenda hidden under your sleeves—or hers.

Being here also means keeping you away from any possibility of you straying down vacant hallways in the castle and finding cryptic doors with humming spells enchanting you to open.

“It’s quite remarkable to think that on the same day you spent the hour of your dancing lesson stubbing your toes one too many times, you spent the rest of the afternoon sparring with the knights,” Nanny Abigail lifts her eyes from her tea and runs her gaze on your body, perusing briefly before commenting, “and without any injuries on your skin.”

You look up, forcing a smile as you resist the urge to admit that you did gain some injuries. But you choose not to say anything, lest you are to be forced to explain everything. Or worse, to risk causing an innocent royal knight to take the blame.

“How did you find out?” You ask her instead while keeping your voice calm.

Nanny Abigail presses her lips together. A look of displeasure is written all over her face. “Words travel fast in this place. The maids here keep curious eyes on the Princess who had been kept away from the only home she ever knew and is struggling to adjust in this new place,” she says with a wistful tone of voice, as if she has grown tired of the gossips, until she adds, “And those words always come back to me.”

“No wonder I felt like I was constantly being watched.” With an exaggerated sigh, you shake your head and mutter, “And here I thought it was all you.”

Eyebrows raised, Nanny Abigail looks at you with an unamused look on her face. “You think I planted a spy on you?”

You give her a sly grin as you shrug. “Wouldn’t be too surprised if you had. You’ve always seemed to have many eyes looking at me even when you are not around.”

Your governess narrows her eyes at you as she murmurs almost to herself, “Perhaps it’s time I should put a spy on you to make sure you behave like a princess for once.”

The bitter way she says it only makes you laugh, which draws a smile to her face. A fleeting sight to see, that you almost believe you are imagining things, until you hear the sound of her soft chuckle, laughing at her own joke. She expertly hides it behind her cup of tea, keeping her poise as always.

“May I ask you something?” you carefully ask her when a thought comes through your mind. Something has been weighing in your mind lately, and seeing that your governess seems to be in a light mood—enough for her to joke around with you—you figure this might as well be the right time to bring this up.

Nanny Abigail lifts her eyebrows and hums. “I don’t suppose it will stop you from trying if I refuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to know you think so highly of me,” you tease, once again drawing a small smile from her. You take a deep breath before asking, “How well did you know my mother?”

At the mention of your mother, Nanny Abigail’s shoulders grow stiff. She quickly recovers and straightens up as she slowly lowers her cup. She clears her throat before answering, “Well enough to see parts of her in you each time I’m looking at you. It’s like seeing a reflection of her when I look at your face, or listen to you speak.”

Her gaze finds you. The joy in her eyes dims and softens when a smile comes to her face. A smile that is filled with melancholy and a familiar sense of longing. “Might be why it doesn’t surprise me when you are always up to something whenever no one is looking.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Nanny Abigail sighs. “The Queen, your mother, has always been just as mischievous as you are. She has always been like that since she was a child. Always so curious, always questioning and looking for answers, even if it’s the most impossible ones to find.”

You cannot help but smile as you hear this. “How did that go with my father?”

“His Majesty was always worried about her, but what can he do?” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Not even the most strict rules can stop her from going out to see the world.”

Your back straightens. You have learned from Lord Gordan that you may have some similarities with your mother. You never expected to even share this with her. “She was a traveller.”

Nanny Abigail looks at you, smiling. “And a scholar,” she adds. “That was her true power.” She briefly halts, thinking, before adding, “Well, one of them. Her curiosity is one, and her knowledge is the other. But the most important one that she obtained over the years would be her courage. The one thing that kept pushing her to find more and more knowledge, no matter where and how.”

“This castle is full of books,” you muse, recalling how much the royal library had amazed you the first time you entered it. And it seems that you keep finding more and more books—all the rare ones that have often helped answer your questions—the more you explore deeper. “Was it because my mother loved to learn?”

“Yes, it was. Your mother’s always so fond of books,” Nanny Abigail says with a fond look in her eyes. “I believe she also kept a journal with her. A small notebook where she would keep the things she found and learned through her journeys.”

The conversation halts for a moment as Nanny Abigail pours some more tea into the cups, while your mind wanders. “How did she travel?” you find yourself asking, wondering, to which Nanny Abigail merely scoffs.

“Heavens know. She always had her secrets,” she answers with a soft chuckle. “Mostly, she would disappear hours into the day and come back once evening comes. Sometimes later, looking weary and excited at the same time from whatever adventure she got herself on.”

Furrowing your brows, you think about what she mentioned earlier. “The journal. Have you ever seen it? Have you ever read what she wrote in it?”

Nanny Abigail presses her lips and shakes her head. “No, she used to keep it to herself. Kept it hidden in her bedchamber.” Her gaze seems far away when she continues, “But she would talk about her day as she was writing about it. Sometimes she would do sketches. She would draw the places, the people she met, and the things she saw into these rough sketches for her to keep in her memory, but never once had she ever shown me anything she put down in that journal.”

Talking about your mother and the things they used to do back then brings another smile to her face. And she talks as if the memory is still fresh, that everything is happening in the present instead of the past, that you can almost see it through her eyes, to feel your mother’s presence the way Nanny Abigail is feeling it now. “Besides, even if I ever got a peek at her writing, I wouldn’t have understood it,” she adds.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Your mother’s quite adept with languages. She grew up speaking the language of the elves, and she was learning the native language of the moon fairies when she first began writing in that journal.” Her sigh is filled with longing when she continues, “She left a page on her desk once, something that looked like a letter that fell from the journal. She was quick to hide it, but I remember not recognising the language or the letters that she used. I couldn’t even read her scribbles, since she wrote them so quickly. Perhaps she had done it while on the road.”

She laughs. “I think it’s her way of keeping all the information she wrote a secret, only for certain people to be able to read them.”

You lean forward, getting more and more curious about this journal that your mother had allegedly carried with her. “Do you know where it is now?” you try to ask. “Or is it—is it lost with most of her belongings?”

Nanny Abigail only answers with a resigned sigh. “No one knows. The Queen holds her secrets deeply, even in her absence.” Her gaze finds yours as she raises her cup of tea to her lips. “Just like you do.”

A beat of silence falls. The wheels in your head are turning wildly as you try to connect all the dots. The places you’ve been. The words that were given to you by the people you met.

But then all the puzzling clues you have gathered in your memory scatter when Nanny Abigail suddenly chastises you, “Of all the things you could have been doing in your free time, why did it have to be a sword fight?”

Scoffing, you raise your brows at her. “Are you wishing that I’d be doing embroideries instead?”

“Well, you could need some more work on that, for sure,” she teases, making you laugh.

“Hah! Very funny,” you respond with a chuckle. “But really, I was—” Sighing, you decide to share some truth about what has been troubling you. “I was bored, and I was getting too soft.”

Nanny Abigail gives you an incredulous look. “From dancing?”

“From the lack of physical training,” you bitterly admit, “I don’t think Lord Gordan is brazen enough to defy my father in terms of giving me lessons in fighting.”

You hear Nanny Abigail sighing as she mutters, “As if you still need one.”

“You are good at dancing and yet you still practice when you have the chance.”

Your governess looks at you, saying nothing, but you can tell that she is silently agreeing with you. But the world will end if she ever admits it to your face. “So,” she says after sipping her tea. “Did you win?”

Your lips twist to a sly grin. “What do you think?”

One hour later, you find yourself returning to your quarters after a lazy afternoon. Your bedchamber is quiet, yet your mind is almost as lively as the rapid sound of your heartbeat as you reach for your dresser. Opening the top drawer, you find the set of keys gifted by your father. The magic keys cast silver and golden glow across the drawers and onto your face, the spell hums through the quiet space around you, as if asking why you haven’t reached for them today.

Yet your gaze moves past them, landing on the small bundle that you had carried home with you from the fallen city of Arselon.

You slowly reach for it, lifting the bundle in your hand with precise care—as if the thing will crumble into dust under your fingers. The bundle felt small when Gaia first handed it to you, enough for you to slip it under your cloak when you took it home. With gentle fingers, you pry open the velvet fabric covering it, revealing three small items bound together by a thick, white thread.

The first item is a key; made of steel and mostly covered in rust, reminding you of the iron gate leading towards the forbidden part of the royal garden that you have yet to travel into.

The second is an old folded map; with an inscription on the front cover written in one of the native languages you have been learning from Lady Laurel. Elven tongue.

But what intrigues you the most is the third item. Weighing down on your palm is a small notebook. Small enough to fit in the small sling bag that you often carry with you when you are travelling or into the side pocket of your coat. The leather cover is tainted with ink stains and appears to be slightly worn out by age. The papers seem old and worn, with yellowing edges and some growing crisp and falling apart. Deep down, you have a feeling that you already know what this item is even without having to open it.

“I believe she also kept a journal with her…”

Nanny Abigail’s voice echoes through your head as you gently run the tips of your fingers over the leather covering, finding the small initial embossed into the leather, right at the bottom corner of the front cover.

The inscription is made in a cursive letter, looking almost like a signed autograph marked into the leather coverings so it wouldn’t wear away by the passing of time, and the inscription reads the letter ‘M’.

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utterlyazriel · 9 months ago

Text

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here she is... chappie four <3 thank u for ur patience and 1000 kudos to the anon that made a plot suggestion that i had already written lmao-- as always let me know what u think! things are heating up....

word count: just under 4k

synopsis: You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp

CHAPTER FOUR :: FRIENDS

Velaris is a sight for sore eyes.

After nearly a month of endless white scenery, of the blinding glint of the sun against snow, paired with endless pine, the sight of a city is a reprieve in itself.

And because it’s Velaris — because it’s home — something else settles within Azriel.

A hackle that always stays on high alert finally lies down. The constant agitation of his shadows falls into a calming hush. He breathes easier.

He's back with his family and can be here to keep them safe if need be. He's back to the closest semblance of comfort he's ever known.

Where do you find comfort?

Azriel blinks a little, taken aback at the abruptness of the thought.

The lone shelter in the mountains, spaced out from the circle of buildings, every bit representing your isolation from the people of the camp — that was your home.

Where you resided and took solace from the world in, the place you felt safest. But... it's no place of comfort. It's a crutch. A necessary support. Somehow, Azriel has no doubt that if you could survive out in the snow, burrowed amidst the elements, you would, if only to have one less thing to maintain.

You've never even seen a city before, he thinks. All you know is the mountains.

Suddenly, eyes cast across the breathtaking beauty of Velaris, the hum of the Sidra carving its way through his beloved home, the buzz of people on the streets, Azriel recalls the very time he lay eyes on it himself.

It never stops being breathtaking. That much is true, but then again, there was no comparison to the first time.

The warm feeling that had grown in his chest. The way something he hadn't known ever existed within him had unfurled, like a flower blooming in the sun. Something Azriel now knows to be hope.

He hadn't known a place this beautiful could exist.

Wouldn't have been able to dream it up when all he had known for so, so long was darkness and shadow.

Even in the time after the cage, all there was to see was the white of winter and the cold bite of the harsh mountains. He learned how blood looked melting into the snow, how to sleep with one eye open, and all the different shades of cruelty.

Azriel remembers being unable to comprehend the sight, the stumble in his heart at the indisputable proof before him. That despite what had been drilled into him by his father, his brothers, by every Illyrian warrior who punched down on bastards, there was a place where peace reigned above all.

People who lived in harmony. Where Art and music are considered a treasure alongside other skills, each equally important. And Azriel belonged there, as much as any of them.

It had been one thing to walk through the city, to marvel at every cobblestone, at the trims lining each and every window, to have people regard him with such a polite and casual manner — not a second glance at his wings or his hands.

It had been something else entirely to fly over it as night fell.

Mountain ridges illuminated by his most constant friend, the rising moon, watching the moonlight spill over the dark red rock of the mountain and paint it ever softer. Sweet ocean air and the very perfume of the city intertwined within the current as he soared above it, mighty wings beating.

Azriel could remember that first day and night in Velaris vividly, like an unforgettable dream. How easy it had been to fall in love with it, to let its arms unfurl and to allow himself to make a home within them.

Looking out across it now, as Faelights begin to twinkle and blink to life as the night creeps in, all Azriel can think of is how much he wants that for you.

To bring you here. To have both of you fly above the city and wander down the streets aimlessly, to show you that there were places far kinder in this world than all you had known before.

He yearns for you to have the same dawning realisation he did—that so much more existed outside of those gods forsaken mountains.

Azriel knows you're a very guarded male. You have more than enough reasons to be. He's already pushed a thousand boundaries you have and each time you let him into your sanctuary in the mountains is a sign of enormous trust.

Maybe for that reason, Azriel wants to be the first to extend that kindness to you.

A twinge in his chest sings a different, golden answer.

Azriel ignores it and steals one more look out at his home, swallowing down how all logic seems to be pointing to the same thing, time and time again.

He finds the High Lord in his study, papers stacked high on his desk that have only grown higher in Azriel's absence. His dark hair is tousled in a way that means he's been running his hand through it too much.

Azriel lifts the shadows from beneath his feet as he enters, letting the other hear the sound of his soft footsteps. Rhys looks up at the new arrival. Despite his tired appearance, it does nothing to dim the grin that overtakes his lips at the sight of his brother.

"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Azriel grins back, stepping forward Rhys pushes back from his desk and stands. His usual wings have been hidden away through his magic and Azriel notices their absence when he pulls him into a brief hug. Rhys lingers close, his violet eyes raking over his friend.

"Not bad to see you either."

"You flatter me." Rhys purrs, his voice all buttery and smooth. "You've got new eyebags. Overworking yourself as usual, are we Az?"

"I presume you make such lovely comments about Feyre too?"

"And risk her wrath?" Rhys smiles, eyes glittering at the mention of his mate. "Never."

Azriel rolls his eyes, letting his obvious endearment at his brother's happiness show. They truly are a perfect pair.

He crosses his arms across his broad chest tightly, if only to hide the fleeting flicker of wanting the spools tight in his chest. A ribbon of envy, woven between his ribs.

If Rhys notices, he doesn't comment. Instead, he says, "Usually, you're itching to escape the mountains but not this time I see."

He pauses, eyeing up the Shadowsinger to see what response it'll give. Azriel yields no comment back. Expecting this, Rhys smiles.

"Either way, you'll be happy to hear that Cassian has returned from his time off and is ready to resume his usual duties."

Azriel stills at the words.

He knew that Cassian would at one point return to his usual positions and that Azriel himself, would return to his spymaster post. But it's come sooner than expected. Perhaps, time with you has been passing far quicker than Azriel thought.

"I found the cause of the rumours."

"Yes, I assumed you had," Rhys says, wandering back around the deck to slump into his chair. He leans one arm against the armrest, his knuckles against his temple.

"I also assumed that you spent all that time dealing with it. Much of a problem?"

Azriel considers his words carefully. The trust he's managed to garner with you is fragile, though he knows his friend would not severe it or interfere if he asked.

Another part of him knows it's unusual behavior of him, to offer his skills so willingly to a stranger. But, well, you're not exactly a stranger anymore.

"There's a male.” Azriel begins, choosing his words carefully. “A bastard, the one causing all the stir-ups. He feeds the other bastards when he can. It's what had Lord Mylind kicking a fuss."

Rhys curses lightly at the realisation of just which camp they are dealing with.

"He's learning to make healing tonics," Azriel continues, noting how Rhys' head straightens up a fraction. Interested. "In hopes of slipping them to freshly clipped females. To see if it can reverse the damage."

Rhys sits back in his chair completely, his hand brushing over his mouth in deep contemplation. For a moment, he says nothing.

"I suppose I don't need to ask if there's been any female training then."

Azriel feels himself glower instinctively, his wings hiking up an inch higher without meaning to. He thinks of Lord Mylind and the conversation he had on the first day in their camp. The sheer display of male arrogance, snarling, and threatening violence outright.

"No.”

Rhys curses again, his eyes crushing closed. He seems to filter through a pained reaction, his face contorting until it lands on a tired resignation.

“The camp of Exordor made very good on a bargain struck during a very hard time.” Rhys grits the words out.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes at the mention of the deal that had turned sour. A cold ripple of night shudders through the room.

No amount of soldiers supplied during the war had been worth the suffering that camp Exodor alone produced— or continues to produce if the whispers that came out of there held an inkling of truth.

It’s a rotten place, tucked deep in the mountains, and some of the worst brutes Rhys has ever had the displeasure of meeting were born in the bowels of that place.

“It doesn’t lift for another 50 years." Rhys sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of shame. "I can’t touch them without slaughtering them all— innocent or not.”

Azriel didn’t say anything for a moment. This information is not new. He watches as Rhys digests his silence, leaning back in his chair as the wheels spin in his head, dizzyingly fast.

For the second time, Rhys' brows jump.

“You’re helping him.”

Not a question.

Azriel nods.

"You don't want Cassian to take back over."

"No," Azriel murmurs. "Not yet. The male is... He's guarded. Isolated. It has taken time to earn his trust. I believe in what he wants to do and I believe he has what it takes to achieve it.”

He thinks of the quiet evenings within your shelter, your patience as you taught Azriel what you could — how you took every piece of information from him on the chin, not one complaint of ever tiring. He thinks of the heaving in his chest, the tug on his heart.

"I ask that you let me see this out." Azriel finishes, his shoulders rolling back as he stands tall. Let Rhys understand how this had become more than just a mission to him; it’s a personal calling, one he must answer, one that he needs to see out to the end.

Rhys surveys him intensely, unblinking for a moment. Then something devious crosses his face, catching in a smile.

"That's not the only thing you want to ask me, is it?"

Azriel looks to the ground, suddenly bashful. This would be entirely too revealing of the closeness he felt, to ask this, to offer this. He asks anyway.

"I wish, with your permission, to take Heartstriker." Azriel's voice rumbles lowly. He forces his eyes back up, meeting Rhys' strong gaze. "To gift to him."

Something dips into Rhys' smile, threatening a smirk and for that reason alone, Azriel feels his ears tinge hotly. His face remains calm, however, giving nothing away.

"Heartstriker? As a gift?" Rhys repeats, with a sly smile. "Pray tell Brother, when's the wedding? Since when have you ever been known for gift giving, let alone something as dear to you, such as a sword? I might just have to meet this bastard."

Azriel’s ears only get hotter, betraying him. He prays it doesn't show on his face, though he's sure the increased swirlings of his shadows give him away. And Rhys’ infallible ability to read his flustering each and every time.

"Is that permission?"

Rhys, seemingly realising he won't be getting any juicy details, quits tormenting his brother with a flourish of his hand. He leans back in his chair relaxed, a softness creeping into his expression.

"It's been yours to take all these years, Az." Rhys finally lands on. "You did earn it, after all."

—

The shelter looks bigger without him here.

Betrayingly, it’s the first thought you have when the door swings open, letting you into your nest of safety. You heave in a breath that rattles loudly and it gets swept up in the foul whistle of the Mother's Kiss.

On your side, your blood-soaked hand clutches your abdomen tightly. Pain spiderwebs up your body, fraying every nerve with a burning agony.

Every step feels loud and clumsy.

You cough as softly as you can, yet still feel the warmth of blood on your lips. The familiar metallic tang overwhelms your mouth.

You must be dripping blood behind you, dragging a slushy mess of crimson snow in on your boots. Fuck, what are you doing again? Your head throbs. They must've knocked your head hard this time if you're losing focus this quickly.

The Mother's Kiss howls fiercely, a reminder of the cruelty outside your little haven.

Right. You remember you need to close the door— and you shove the deadbolt closed along with it. If your ribs were aching a little less, you would reach up and do up the second deadbolt too, at the top of the door. You try to anyway.

Your arm gets mid-way up before you freeze, pain lashing every nerve in your midriff, enough to make you wince loudly. The bindings on your chest aren't helping. For a moment, dark spots dance before vision as you quickly tuck your arm back down, moving too quick.

Fuck. Fuck. One deadbolt will have to do.

It feels as if the whole world lurches when you take your next step, blurring like thick taffy for a split second. You stumble towards your bed and realise as you sink onto your knees on the edge of it, you need to dress your wounds.

Another bloody cough. Has your nose stopped bleeding yet? It's impossible to tell between each and every other ache.

What were you doing again?

Without meaning to, you begin to slump over, nearly lying down in your bed.

Dressings! That's right, you need to make sure the wound on your side isn't still bleeding, need to make sure it's clean when it finally begins to clot, need to...

Need to... what did you need to do?

That's right— you need to sleep.

Your head crumples against the pillow like a dead-weight as you collapse against it, exhausted. As your consciousness wanes, you cough again, a splatter of red spraying your pillow.

Not good, you think absentmindedly. Eyes slipping shut, you miss the familiar figure out the window, approaching through the storm.

—

You're wincing before you even realise you're awake.

Crackling. Logs spitting out little snaps fill the air, the quiet roar of a hearty fire; the first things you hear when you come too, far too slowly for your own liking. Your left ears hum loudly in discomfort— no doubt a result of one of the harsh hooks you had caught in the face earlier today.

Next, you smell something... clean?

Your tongue comes out gingerly, licking your cracked lips and you realise quite suddenly, there's an absence of blood on them. The thought slams into you at the same time you realise; you hadn't been able to stay awake for long enough to even light a fire.

Panic reaches through your ribs and grips your heart, tight, and you sit up without thinking.

Pain follows you closely like a lazy afterthought that slams into you, soaking into your body meanly and making you regret moving so fast. Your head swims heavily, throbbing dully.

A pained noise threatens to leave your lips and you force it down. Then force your head up, eyes blinking rapidly, trying to assess the threat, trying to do something.

Panic squeezes your heart painfully again when your hazy vision clears just enough to reveal the shape of a body before you— your blood chilling in your veins as you realise there's somebody else in here with you.

The whimper you held back before slips out before you can help it, your body squirming backward without thought. Your breaths comes out in sharp pants, bursts of pain accompanying each one, and right as you hit the wall, your vision focuses.

Your lungs empty in relief.

It's Azriel before you, on his knees, his scarred hands are held out in front of him.

They aren't touching you, just hovering, his palms up to indicate he means no harm. His wings are tucked back, hunched down to be smaller than usual, and all around him, his shadows whirl about animatedly.

There's an expression on his face you've never seen before.

"—on't move," He's saying, his low voice finally registering in your ringing ears. His hazel eyes are fixed on your face, darting about quickly. "You'll re-open your wounds."

He's talking about your wounds but for some gods forsaken reason, all you can think is how surprised you are that he came back.

The thought loops endlessly, like a holy mantra —he came back, he came back, he came back— and you realise that you were both terrified and also sure that he wouldn't be coming back at all.

That somehow, somewhere along his trip back to his home, he would have realised you weren't anything worth coming back for.

"Azriel?" You wheeze.

Just to check—you have to check.

Maybe he's a mirage. He certainly would be the kindest mirage you can think of.

You think you see something soften on his face, his wings dropping an inch lower behind him. His hands are still held out before you, still waiting. He's endlessly patient. His shadows seem to slow a bit, less frenzied.

"Yeah," He murmurs gently in response. His hazel eyes burn as they take in the sight of you again. "They got you pretty messed up. huh?”

You're sitting on your bed still, you realise. Blinking slow, you take an inhale, trying to put together how he got here— your eyes fly to the door. It's locked, this time with both deadbolts secured.

Azriel follows your gaze, turning his head slightly. "They're a good precaution. Don't be dissuaded that the spymaster of this court managed to get past them."

You wheeze again, some delirious laugh that gets cut off when pain splinters through your side. You groan lowly, unable to hold it in and your hand creeps slowly to paw at your side.

Faintly, you can feel the scrape of bandages on your skin, covering the wound, and sigh in relief. It makes your diaphragm sink down, the bindings around your chest shifting and that sends a frantic bolt of alarm through you once more.

“You—” The word scratches out your throat and you cough weakly. Every instinct starts to light back up, hackles rising— there has never been someone else around when you're too weak to defend yourself. It takes a moment with eyes closed and measured breaths to lean into your trust. You trust him, you know you do.

“You... patched me up?”

The question comes out wary and pointed despite your efforts. Though that might just be the gravel in your throat from having your face beaten in.

You don’t know how to covertly ask if he saw— if, that when he pushed your bloody shirt up to nurse the slash in your side, he noticed the gauze around your ribs.

It's an alien and terrifying thought, Azriel finding out. A worry deep in the marrow of your bones warbles in response, a thousand hairs standing up on end at the possibility.

How a revelation of that magnitude could sever the first trust you've had in years.

How it could lose... the first friend you've ever truly had.

A string of nausea tugs in your throat, bile threatening, and you have to swallow it down with the crippling fear that's been thrust into your system.

This is how it goes. The intrinsic balance of the world —to be gifted closeness and friendship, is to submit to the possibility of losing it.

Back against the wall, it settles into you very starkly, a thought sharp and clear; you do not want to lose him in any way.

Some part of you thinks he must see you as some kind of starving mutt, growing far too attached to the first hand that feeds it. But looking at him now, his shadowed face and kind expression, the depth of his eyes... you're convinced he sees something more to you.

And you want him to, desperately.

In a way you can't comprehend, can't begin to understand— how can you be so tied to someone you've known for so little? How can it hurt so much to be parted from him when you're barely friends? When he doesn't even know who you truly are.

Perhaps, you think, this is what all friends are like. You wouldn't know, you haven't had any before.

Azriel nods mutely, a strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead. He seems to be considering his words carefully and you take the moment to steal a few deep breaths.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard. "I understand that might be... crossing a line. But—" A waver in his voice. "— but I could smell the blood from out in the storm."

There's something left unsaid in his sentence, his tone clipped. Whatever it is, you're far too tired to discern it. Your body, overwhelmed with tension, abruptly loosens as the perceived threat of danger seeps away. It drains you, a sudden wave of tiredness cresting upon you— because you know, undoubtedly, you're safe now.

Not quite meaning to but unable to stop yourself, you sink down and fall limply against your bed. Your wing curls over you defensively, a blanket and shield all in one.

Azriel's hands finally lower, resting gently atop his thick thighs. His shadows dim their chaotic activity, almost lazy with how they whirl about his neck and shoulders. You wonder absentmindedly what they feel like against his skin.

Looking back at his face, you find his eyes haven't broken their watchful gaze on you— intense enough to stir up an unfamiliar warmth within your chest. You avoid it and his eyes, your tired eyes catch sight of something behind him.

"You brought...?" You can't quite finish your sentence, a vicious shiver wracking your frame, making you curl up closer. Tiredness chases it, the threat of sleep looming closer and closer.

Your eyes close without meaning. In the darkness, Azriel's voice swims before you, muted and far away.

"You have to get better before I can give it to you." His voice has dropped to a whisper. It makes your lips twitch in an attempt of a smile. It's funny, hearing a legendary Illyrian warrior like him whispering.

"Okay," You might say back— though you're not sure if it sounds like a word at all.

It doesn't matter. You're already asleep.

[NEXT PART: CONFIDANTS]

—

tags <3

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa @fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

#azriel #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #whom the shadows sing for #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#OKURRRR #LETS GO #I HAVE TO LEAVE FOR WORK IN 10 MINS SO IM JUST POSTING #if theres things wrong with it.... well ill deal w that later #enjoy! <3

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