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sam24 · 21 days ago

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against the gods

Summary: Running way from a forced marriage proposal with a man twice your age, you pray to Lady Artemis to save you. In response to your pleas, she sends you a protector.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

alternate universe | ancient greece

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

Tiny stones bit into the soles of your bare feet. A branch tore the hem of your white chiton.

Your breath caught as you pressed forward through the thicket, each ragged inhale bringing a sharp pain to the middle of your chest.

The moonlight slanted through the trees, silvering the leaves and casting spear-like shadows across your path.

You didn’t dare stop running.

Somewhere far behind you, your father’s voice still echoed — sharp, final.

You will marry him.

No one defied your father. Not the servants, not your mother, and not even the gods.

But tonight, you would try.

The shrine was small — a stone altar tucked in a clearing, guarded by overgrown thorns and crowned by a full moon that hung low, watching. You fell to your knees, heart thudding like a drum, and pressed your hands together.

You were never taught how to speak with the gods.

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to the cool stone.

You were, however, taught how to beg.

“Oh, my lady,” you croaked quietly.

The wind stirred softly, rustling the leaves above you like robes brushing the marble tiles of a temple.

“Oh, my lady, where to start?”

The trees were your only witnesses now, tall and ancient, reaching for the dusky sky with their twisted limbs.

“I was to be traded,” you breathed out, your words barely audible even to yourself. “Traded for livestock.”

Your fingers curled against the stone, scraped knees digging into the forest floor.

A breeze whistled through your hair.

“Is that really all I’m worth?” A shudder passed through you.

The moon slipped from behind a cloud, casting a silver glow over the altar, over your hand, over the soft tremble in your shoulders.

“I’ve heard rumors,” you said into the chill of the night. “Rumors from the river nymphs down in the streams.”

Your breath hitched.

“They say you save girls like me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall for the past week began to lose their will.

“They saw the bruises on me,” you whispered hoarsely, tracing a gentle finger through a crevice in the stone as your vision began to blur. “They told me you could help me.”

With your words, a sense of hope blossomed in your chest.

Fragile. Flickering.

You pressed your palm against the stone. It sent a shiver up your spine.

Perhaps from the cold.

“My mother used to tell me your stories growing up.”

The cicadas chirped and a waterfall roared.

“Of how you ran. How you chose freedom. How no man could ever claim you.”

You exhaled, slow and shaking. Your knees pushed deeper into the moss.

“I am not brave like you, Lady Artemis,” you said, barely more than a whisper. A tear ran down your cheek. “But I’m running too. Isn’t that something?”

The wind answered with a soft hush through the trees, like a lullaby remembered from long ago.

Your throat was thick with the salt from your tears.

“I cannot offer you much” you whispered, the words barely rising past your lips. “I have no bow. No oath to pledge.”

A branch above you shifted, almost like it was leaning closer to listen.

“But all I ask for is mercy. Only the smallest of mercies.”

An owl hooted and the bushes rustled.

“Let me be free,” you breathed. “Let me belong to no man. Let me run where I choose.”

The words fell into the night like petals into a still pool.

A hush followed.

Not silence. Something deeper.

Something listening.

You pressed your forehead once more to the altar. The stone was damp with your sweat.

“I am not asking to be powerful,” you whispered, “just to be allowed. Allowed to breathe, to choose, to exist without being bought.”

The tears streamed freely now, hot and silent.

“If that is too much to ask, then let me disappear here.” The words left your mouth in a final breath of hope.

“Let me be taken by the woods,” you whispered, “by the wolves…”

A shiver ran through the trees.

“…by you.”

And then—nothing.

Not even the wind.

You held your breath, your eyes still squeezed shut and your heart pounding against your ribcage.

The forest stopped speaking.

The crickets stopped chirping and the birds stopped singing and the water stopped flowing and the trees stopped rustling and the wind stopped whistling—

Snap.

A twig, behind you.

Your head turned sharply, every muscle bracing. You weren’t sure whether to flee or kneel.

Another step.

The crunch of boots on fallen leaves. Measured. Certain.

You rose slowly, breath caught in your throat.

From the shadows, a man emerged.

No, not quite man.

Something more.

At first glance, he was dressed as a warrior.

But something was off.

His chest plate didn’t just reflect moonlight, it seemed to be made of it.

Silver, but not forged from an earthly metal. It shimmered like liquid starlight, chased with faint carvings that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them— constellations, you realized. Orion. Ursa. Lyra.

His pauldrons were shaped like crescent moons, edged in blackened steel as if dipped in eclipse.

Vines curled up the seams of his greaves, delicate as embroidery, yet forged into the metal like ivy climbing a temple.

His belt bore the likeness of a stag, antlers sprawling across his waist like a forest crowned in iron.

This was no armor made for war. No blacksmith had forged it.

Lady Artemis had heard your prayer.

And she had sent you a protector.

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

His name was Bucky, you learned.

You asked while he was helping you cross a rushing stream of water, and he answered the next morning when you offered him a berry.

Bucky did not speak much. But you learned a lot just from observing.

The forest seemed to part for him. Branches shifted, roots flattened, and the very air changed as he moved.

He wore no crown, no laurel wreath, but he walked like he was owned by no man but the moon itself.

You learned to follow in his silence.

To step where he stepped.

To breathe where he breathed.

To listen to the hush between birdsong, to the snap of twig beneath his heel, to the stories the wind only told when he was near.

He didn’t flinch when wolves howled.

Didn’t falter when the earth grew steep or the shadows thickened.

At night, he’d sit near the fire—never close, never far.

You’d pretend to sleep, watching the way the flames caught in his silver-wrought armor, how his eyes never stayed still long, like he was waiting for something to return.

You were enthralled by him.

By the aura he radiated, by the strength in his shoulders, by the courage in his steps.

But more than that—by his stillness.

How a man carved by battle could sit beside you without demanding anything.

How he never asked your name like it was owed, only waited until you offered it freely.

He carried sorrow like a shadow, always behind him, always just out of reach.

And you, foolish with hope, wanted to touch it. To understand the shape of his silence. To press your palm against the wound the gods had left in him and see if it pulsed the way yours did.

But you didn’t dare. Not yet.

You only watched the way the firelight danced in his eyes and the moonlight sharpened his jaw.

For now, you only offered him warmth.

Berries in your hand. Water cupped in your palms.

It was a strange kind of companionship, but in the hush of the wild, it was enough.

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

The sky had split itself into stars, and the cicadas had begun their evening hymn. You were both seated near the flickering flame, its light throwing long shadows over the forest floor.

This autumn evening, you had decided to ask him the question that was on your mind for weeks now.

Bucky was sharpening a dagger with slow, methodical strokes. You watched the curve of his wrist, the way his hands moved like he’d done this a thousand times.

“Were you always this quiet,” you asked softly, “or did the gods make you that way?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced up, his mouth tugging into something just shy of a smile.

“I was louder,” he said eventually. His voice was low, rough, like it had been buried and only just unearthed.

“You?” You cocked your head slightly with a giggle. “I don’t think I could imagine that.”

The lines around his mouth, so often drawn tight like a sword in its sheath, loosened.

Not a smile, not quite. But the way his shoulders eased felt like spring after a long winter.

“Me neither,” he said after a beat.

You leaned forward, balancing your elbows on your knees. You watched the way the moonlight made his porcelain skin glow.

“Don’t you miss talking?”

He didn’t answer right away. The fire crackled between you, a chorus of tiny pops like distant applause.

“I miss being heard,” he said finally.

Your heart ached. You leaned in a little closer.

“I hear you.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes silver in the firelight, hair tousled by the forest wind, that grief still carved into the angles of his face—just... softer now. Human.

And this time, he did smile.

Only a little.

But it felt like sunrise.

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

In the winter, Bucky came to the realization that you needed a pair of sandals.

“Have you ever been in love before?” You peered over his shoulder as he braided a strip of leather.

The rays of a new morning washed over his sharp features, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his face and his jaw catching the light like an edge of a blade.

He paused from his work, looking back at you. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slight smile. “You ask a lot of questions.”

You immediately looked down and your face flushed with embarrassment. Your father used to say the same thing.

“I’m sorry.”

You started to shift away, but Bucky’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t be.”

You blinked, glancing up. He was watching you now, fully, the leather resting idle in his hand.

“I like your questions,” he said.

Your heart stuttered.

“I think I was," he answered after a beat. “But before I could be sure of it, it was too late.”

You squinted with curiosity. “Too late?”

He looked at the blue sky. “She came from a family of hiereis. She wasn’t allowed to love.”

You leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “Did they…?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. “He killed her. Her father.”

A sharp ache settled in your chest.

Bucky’s hand tightened around the leather strap in his lap.

“She devoted her life to the lady Artemis. But she chose me over her duty. And he killed her for it.”

You slowly began to put the dots together. Your voice was barely a whisper. “That’s why Artemis cursed you.”

He looked up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of pain and something almost like relief.

His voice fell into a measured cadence, each word carrying the weight of a command long etched into his soul:

“Cursed to guard eternally, yet forever barred from love’s embrace.”

He raised the sleeve of his tunic. A crescent moon-shaped mark was glowing faintly at the top of his arm.

Your heart cracked. “But that’s unjust.” Your words were somewhere between a whine and a plea. “You did nothing to deserve this.”

And in that moment, beneath the indifferent stars, you learned a bitter truth—

the gods were never meant to be just.

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

The trees were burning.

You were running barefoot through ash, lungs raw, breath clawing at your throat. Smoke curled into the sky like a warning. You could hear your father behind you.

“Do you think the gods will save you now?”

You stumbled through the forest, branches clawing at your arms. Your sandals were gone. Your feet bled.

And then you saw her.

She was lying on the altar of Artemis, white robes soaked red, hair fanned out like spilled ink. Her eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They were staring through you. Past you. Gone.

You tried to scream, but no sound came.

Then your father’s hand was on your arm, yanking you back. His face twisted with rage. “Poutana.”

You turned, already bracing, but there was never time. His hand found your cheek before the fear could even reach your eyes. The sharp sting bloomed, hot and immediate. Your knees hit the ground.

“You think you can run? You think Artemis will keep you safe?”

You didn’t answer. You never did. You just clenched your fists and bit your tongue and tried not to cry.

Then another blow, sharper this time. The world tilted.

And you screamed.

You bolted upright with a strangled gasp, your whole body shaking, soaked in sweat. The fire had died down to cinders. The forest whispered around you. Your breath came fast and shallow.

Then—

“Hey, hey—” Bucky’s voice. Soft. Urgent. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You didn’t even know when he’d crossed the space between you, but his hands were on your shoulders, steady and warm.

You turned blindly into him, the sob tearing from your chest before you could stop it.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just pulled you against him. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head.

He held you like he’d done it before in another life—like he knew exactly how to keep the pieces of you from falling apart.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. You couldn’t stop shaking.

“I was back there,” you whispered, your voice splintering. “My father was— I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe—”

“I know,” he murmured, his chin resting lightly against your temple. “I know.”

The fire let out a quiet hiss as a coal gave way, the only sound besides your breath catching on the edges of his name.

“I hate that it still finds me,” you said, barely audible. “Even out here. Even with you.”

“It won’t always,” he said after a moment, voice low and certain. “One day, it’ll be just a scar. And you’ll only touch it when you want to remember how strong you are.”

You swallowed hard as something pulsed in your chest.

Bucky leaned back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eye like he could erase the dream itself.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said. “Not while I’m here.”

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

You lay on your back atop a sun-warmed hill, the spring sky stretching vast and blue above you, as if the gods had peeled back the veil of the world just a little more.

Bucky was beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting lightly between you two. His fingers grazed the grass, twitching now and then as if he were tracing patterns in the earth.

You turned your head slightly, watching the way the sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, making them look almost bronze.

“I used to climb trees when I was little,” you said, your voice lazy with the heat. “I thought if I got high enough, I’d be able to hear the gods talking.”

Bucky let out a quiet hum. “Did you?”

“Sometimes,” you said, smiling. “But I think it was just the wind.”

He turned his head, eyes half-lidded from the sun. A slow smile spread, like a wave of memories washing over him.

“I used to climb trees too,” he chuckled to himself. “To pick plums.”

You smiled, picturing him as a boy, barefoot and daring, reaching for the sweetest fruit.

“Did you ever fall?” you teased gently.

He grinned, the ghost of a laugh in his eyes. “More times than I can count. But I always climbed back up.”

A quiet settled between you, the sun casting gold across the grass.

“What did you dream about back then?” you whispered, as if the hills might listen in on your conversation.

He exhaled softly. “Talking clouds. The sweetest figs in the world. A pink sea.”

“I used to dream about owning a baby drakon.”

He laughed. The sound made you blush.

You sighed, letting your head drop onto the damp grass. “I wish we could have met when we were kids.”

He smiled, his gaze drifting toward the horizon, lost for a moment in a world only he could see.

As if he were imagining the life the both of you could’ve had.

The life you could’ve shared.

Then, slowly, his eyes found yours again, soft and sincere.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “me too.”

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

It came summer again.

Summer meant your birthday.

Which meant Bucky took it upon himself to meticulously carve you a gift.

You never asked him to.

He never asked if he should.

But as surely as the cicadas began to sing and the pomegranates fattened on the branch, you knew he’d be hunched over a piece of wood by moonlight, blade in hand, hair tied back with one of your ribbons.

It was a doe.

Small enough to rest in your palm, delicate ears pricked in quiet alertness, eyes wide as if she too had just stepped into a clearing and seen you for the first time.

He polished the wood smooth, left her legs unfinished— wildness should never be fully tamed, he said.

When he handed it to you, he didn’t speak.

He just watched your fingers curl around it.

"Do you like it?" he asked after a long pause, as if the silence had started to ache.

You nodded, too full of something to say yes. Your heart was flooding with joy.

"You didn't have to do this for me, Bucky," you said as you clutched it preciously to your chest.

He looked at you, eyes steady and unflinching.

“I would do anything for you.”

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

“Has anyone ever broken a god’s curse before?”

The water lapped gently around your knees, cool and clear beneath the pale light of dawn.

You waded deeper into the river, droplets catching the morning sun like scattered jewels.

Bucky stood beside you, the current swirling around his calves. He didn’t answer at once—his gaze fixed on the ripples moving downstream.

“I’m not sure.”

You glanced over at him. “Have you ever thought about breaking your curse?”

He was quiet for a long moment, the river’s hush filling the silence between you.

His brows knit, like he was pulling something fragile from the depths of his memory. “I used to,” he said finally, voice low. “When it was new. When the grief still burned and I thought… maybe if I was good enough, brave enough, loyal enough, Artemis would forgive me.”

You said nothing, just let the water wrap around your legs and the morning light kiss your shoulders.

He went on, almost to himself now. “I thought the curse might crack if I saved enough lives. Protected enough mortals. But the years passed, and I stopped dreaming.”

You looked at him then, really looked. The soft gleam of water on his skin, the weight in his eyes. “And now?”

He exhaled. “Now I just hope I’ll know it if it ever does break. That I won’t miss it.”

Your hand brushed his beneath the water. He didn’t pull away.

“Maybe the gods don’t undo curses,” you said softly. “Maybe they just wait until someone else finds a way through them.”

✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧

You placed the platter of berries in front of him, your fingers trembling just a little. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your pulse quickening with every stolen glance.

He looked up, eyes locking onto yours, moonlight tracing the sharp angles of his face. Surprise flickered there, as well as something deeper. Something raw and unguarded.

“It’s been a year since you … appeared,” you offered shyly, eyes cast down and toes tracing into the cool soil. "It's a sort of thank you, I guess."

He didn’t say anything at first. Emotions battled in his eyes.

“No," he whispered. "Thank you.”

Before you could think twice, your hand was brushing his. Tentative, but deliberate.

“Do you ever wonder…” you murmured, voice thick with something unsaid, “…if some things are meant to be?”

Your heart pounded louder, as if it were answering.

“I do,” he replied, the low husk of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “A lot.”

“Do you think,” you paused to swallow. “That we … are? ”

He looked at you like the question mattered more than anything he’d ever been asked in his life. “Yes.”

His hand turned, and his fingers slowly laced into yours.

“I had a dream last night,” you whispered.

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles wordlessly.

You continued, the memory still vivid behind your eyes. “We were standing in a field of stars. Not under them—in them. Like the sky had bent down to meet us.”

He smiled softly, gaze not leaving yours. “Were we saying anything?”

You hesitated, then nodded again. “You said you loved me.”

Silence wrapped around you.

And then—his voice, quiet but sure. “I think I’ve been dreaming that too.”

The breath hitched in your throat. “Is this love, Bucky?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Will the lady be mad?”

There were tears shining in his eyes. “Yes.”

He leaned in, and you met him halfway.

The kiss was soft—softer than you'd imagined, yet somehow heavier too, like it carried the weight of every unspoken moment between you. His hand cupped your cheek, trembling slightly, reverent. Yours curled into the fabric at his chest like an anchor, as if you were afraid he might disappear.

And maybe you were right to be afraid.

Because when you pulled back, the night was still and breathless, and for a heartbeat he just looked at you like he’d never seen anything more sacred.

Like you hung the moon and the stars.

Then his expression flickered. Pain. Panic.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your fingers still tangled with his.

He staggered back a step, breath hitching. The mark on his arm—his curse—was glowing, pulsing like a heartbeat of its own.

“No,” he choked, like he already knew what was happening.

You reached for him, but your hands passed through air.

And just like that—he was gone.

Lady Artemis had given you a second chance at life.

And now, she’d taken it away.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #greek mythology #greek gods #angst

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dress-my-dragon · 4 months ago

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Twilight Apothecary // Outfit Catalogue

Keep reading for apparel list!

━ Apparel List (7 pieces)

Lavender Harvest

Blackened Bracelets

Sinister Vial

Playful Mushroom Capelet

Hidden Saboteur's Pants

Desert Dynasty Tail Rings

Dusky Rose Thorn Wing Tangle

#flight rising #fr outfits #aubie's outfits #theme: gatherer

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making-your-fave-in-fr · 19 days ago

Note

Hey howdie hi hello!

Could you possibly make Sunday from Honkai Star Rail into a dragon? Ty

I made Sunday from Honkai: Star Rail in Flight Rising!

M Coatl (Common Light eyes) Cream/Cherub | Silver/Seraph | Yellow/Veined

Peace Dove, Luminous Halo, Horizon Starsilk Earrings, Dusky Rose Thorn Gloves, Well-to-do Sable Gloves, Mage's Sapphire Overcoat, Mage's Ivory Tunic, Lavish Dress Shirt, Contrast Rogue Cape, Navy Aviator Boots, Genteel Azure Spats, Spiffy Tail Spat

#flight rising #fave scry #fandragon #sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #hsr

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yuriosakawa · 28 days ago

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Proposal

The evening was soft—dusky light filtering through the swaying leaves of the park trees, the air warm and laced with the scent of blooming jasmine. Danny walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, boots crunching over gravel, trying not to think. That never worked, of course. His mind was a loud place.

Then he saw them.

A small crowd had gathered not far ahead. At the center, a man down on one knee, his hand outstretched with a ring. The woman gasped, tears already welling, and with a choked "Yes!" she threw her arms around him. The crowd clapped, whistled, some filming, others cheering.

Danny didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just watched from the shadows.

The corners of his mouth tugged downward—barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know how to read him. But the pain was there. Raw. Deep. Familiar.

He could feel it like a phantom ache… in his chest, in the silence between heartbeats.

This joy, this moment—they’d get a future. A shared life. Laughter. Bad days and better ones. Fights that ended in apologies. A string of moments that built a forever.

Danny’s forever had been severed. Torn from him a decade ago when Vlad ripped Phantom away. And no matter how hard he fought, how many missions he completed, how many ghosts he defeated or thorns he ripped from the side of the world—it didn’t change that he was still searching. Still aching.

He used to think he and Phantom were inseparable. Two sides of the same soul. One heart beating in tandem with another. But watching the newly-engaged couple glow with love and hope for a future—Danny wondered if that kind of bond was something even stronger than what he and Phantom once had.

And if it was… had he lost that, too?

He exhaled slowly. Turned his back to the celebration. And kept walking. Not because he didn’t care.

But because caring hurt too much.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom au #pitch pearl #lost hunter au

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corporatecoinings · 6 months ago

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(Snowy) forest + wolf (or canine) themed ID pack

Crafted by Alaska's paws 🐺🐾 Header mask | /fleaseditstuff Divider | Made by Alaska (me) (I prefer it that only I use the divider.)

Names

Alaska ✦ Alder ✦ Alpha ✦ Alpine ✦ Arctic ✦ Ash ✦ Aspen ✦ Aura ✦ Aurora ✦ Avalanche ✦ Birch ✦ Blizzard ✦ Boreal/Borealis ✦ Boris ✦ Brutus ✦ Canine ✦ Cedar ✦ Cinder ✦ Colorado ✦ Comet ✦ Crecent ✦ Crystal ✦ Dakota ✦ Dawn ✦ Diamond ✦ Douglas ✦ Dusk/Dusky ✦ Ebony ✦ Eclipse ✦ Elm ✦ Everest ✦ Evergreen ✦ Fang ✦ Fawn ✦ Fenrir ✦ Fern ✦ Forest/Forrest ✦ Frost ✦ Frostine ✦ Glacier ✦ Gray ✦ Grove/Grover ✦ Howl ✦ Icecap ✦ Icicle ✦ Ivory/Ivy ✦ January ✦ Juniper ✦ Lixue ✦ Lumi ✦ Luna ✦ Maine ✦ Mist/Misty ✦ Miyuki ✦ Montana ✦ Moon ✦ Neve ✦ North ✦ Permafrost ✦ Pine ✦ Polar ✦ Polaris ✦ Redwood ✦ River ✦ Rocky ✦ Sable ✦ Siberia ✦ Silas ✦ Silver ✦ Sirius ✦ Smoke/Smokey ✦ Snowcap ✦ Snowfall ✦ Snowflake ✦ Snowstorm ✦ Spirit ✦ Spruce ✦ Storm ✦ Summit ✦ Sylvester ✦ Taiga ✦ Tempest ✦ Timber ✦ Tundra ✦ Twilight ✦ Valor ✦ Vega ✦ Vixen ✦ Wilder ✦ Winter ✦ Yukina ✦ Zeus

Pronouns

arctic/arctics ✦ arf/arfs ✦ bark/barks ✦ birch/birchs ✦ bite/bites ✦ bloom/blooms ✦ branch/branchs ✦ breeze/breezes ✦ breezy/breezys ✦ canine/canines ✦ chew/chews ✦ chill/chills ✦ chilly/chillys ✦ claw/claws ✦ cold/colds ✦ creek/creeks ✦ dark/darks ✦ fang/fangs ✦ fauna/faunas ✦ fern/ferns ✦ fir/firs ✦ flora/floras ✦ fluff/fluffs ✦ fluffy/fluffys ✦ forest/forests ✦ fur/furs ✦ growl/growls ✦ grr/grrs ✦ holly/hollys ✦ howl/howls ✦ leaf/leafs ✦ luna/lunas ✦ lunar/lunars ✦ moon/moons ✦ night/nights ✦ nocturn/nocturns ✦ nocturnal/nocturnals ✦ nox/noxs ✦ paw/paws ✦ pine/pines ✦ river/rivers ✦ ruff/ruffs ✦ sap/saps ✦ sapling/saplings ✦ shadow/shadows ✦ snow/snows ✦ snowflake/snowflakes ✦ spruce/spruces ✦ thorn/thorns ✦ timber/timbers ✦ tree/trees ✦ tundra/tundras ✦ wind/winds ✦ winter/winters ✦ wolf/wolfs ✦ wood/woods ✦ 🐺/🐺s ✦ 🐾/🐾s ✦ 🌲/🌲s ✦ 🌳/🌳s ✦ 🌿/🌿s ✦ 🍁/🍁s ✦ 🍂/🍂s ✦ 🍃/🍃s ✦ 🍄/🍄s ✦ 🪨/🪨s ✦ 🪵/🪵s ✦ 🌑/🌑s ✦ 🌒/🌒s ✦ 🌓/🌓s ✦ 🌔/🌔s ✦ 🌕/🌕s ✦ 🌖/🌖s ✦ 🌗/🌗s ✦ 🌘/🌘s ✦ 🌙/🌙s ✦ ⭐/⭐s ✦ ☁️/☁️s ✦ 🌨️/🌨️s ✦ ❄️/❄️s

Genders

Alonesnowaesic ✦ Auroralupincryin ✦ Fogforestic ✦ Forestgender ✦ Forestwolfgender ✦ Forestwolfsprintic ✦ Howlgender ✦ Neigean ✦ Nightforfulmoonic ✦ Northwolfic ✦ Noxlibic ✦ Redwoodgender ✦ Sillywolfic ✦ Snowfallgender ✦ Snowmoonlic ✦ Snowynightgender ✦ Starforestaesic ✦ Tundrawolfgender ✦ Wolfbitic ✦ Wolfforestic ✦ Wolfgender ✦ Wolfmoonbodiement ✦ Wolfmoonic ✦ Wolforigender ✦ Wolfpawic ✦ Wolfplushigender ✦ Wolfstarmoonic ✦ Wolfthing

Feel free to use this ID pack however you want. For hoarding labels, for figuring out your identity, for system members, so on and so forth.

[Nemesis protects this blog! we are pro-endo, anti-radqueer, anti-transid, and anti-proship, but our labels are for everybody; unless we specify a specific reason as to why what we have coined is exclusive in the post. please dont come here with ill intention, we are not afraid to block!]

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stevetonyweekly · 5 months ago

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SteveTony Weekly - Best of 2024

Welcome to the final rec list of 2024 in which I look back at the best fic’s I read this year--what are YOUR favorite fics of the year?

Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job… or are they?

Picture This by mistymountainking

“What if—” Steve doesn’t clear his throat this time. He swallows. And oh, Tony watches like it’s happening in slow motion, the tensing of tendons, the roll of Steve’s Adam's apple, the way his suprasternal notch collapses and fills as his esophagus works to, what, keep words down? Saliva? A moan? Steve blinks and the glassiness clears. The blush all but vanishes. “Never mind,” he mutters.

And that…that just won’t do.

Tony leans forward ever so slightly over the foot of the bed, further into Steve’s space by a fraction of an inch. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Steve does. He stares at Tony from up near the headboard, a plaintive expression deep behind his eyes, a problem that Tony can’t help but want to fix.

“Would you like my help, Steve?”

***

Steve gets caught attempting to take his first-ever dick pics. It's a struggle, he explains, because it brings up a whole host of lingering body image issues. Tony, very gallantly and not at all because he is in love with Steve, offers to take the photos for him.

how light carries on endlessly by meidui

“I'm fine. I always heal up fine.”

“Do you?” Tony asks, two little words flaying Steve open. Steve looks up at him, and against the dusky light, Tony Stark strangely looks nothing like his father.

Between a near-drowning in the Hudson River, a panic attack in the middle of a mission, and a kidnapping, Steve learns to be happy.

business affairs by meidui

It’s two years of wanting him the way he hasn’t wanted Emma since their honeymoon to the pearl of the Pacific, eighteen months of Steve slipping into his hotel suite on business trips away from the prying eyes of New York, and twelve months of staying late after the cleaning staff clock out because Steve will ride him behind his desk with the door unlocked.

Senseless by Scavenge4Dreams

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

Sunshine on Leith by AvengersNewB, KandiSheek

With the new government law prohibiting the employment of unbonded omegas, Tony has no hope of keeping his job at SHIELD, knowing full well that he has little chance of ever finding a mate. That is until he's officially claimed by a very special alpha: Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America.

In the Springtime of His Voodoo by shaenie

“I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.”

talk just right by meidui

The most Tony hears Steve talk is when they argue, but hand to god, that's not the reason Tony keeps picking fights with him.

Well, maybe a little.

As Sharp As Any Thorn by RurouniHime

It’s four days to Christmas, there’s a city in shambles, and the nation is in mourning because of the actions of a single man.

Double Exposure by shetlandowl

After a brief stint in the third installment of the Captain America franchise, Tony Stark was brought back to reprise his role as Iron Man in the fourth Captain America movie, Avengers Assemble. Tony had spent most of his twenties becoming a household name as a rising star in Mexican telenovelas, and Avengers Assemble is his breakout role on the big screen – and, more importantly, his introduction to the mainstream US audience.

Even after the movie is completed, Steve and Tony’s friendship remains a source of support that they instinctively rely on for encouragement and guidance. Tony’s fearless approach helps Steve break out of his comfort zone, and Steve’s solid grounding helps Tony focus on what matters.

This promotional tour is a new experience for Tony, but with Steve’s help, his learning curve isn’t so steep. Steve’s learning curve, on the other hand, is life changing.

#stevetony weekly #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #captain america #iron man #stevetony fic #stony fic #fic rec

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libraryofmoths · 2 years ago

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Moth of the Week

Canary-shouldered Thorn

Ennomos alniaria

The canary-shouldered thorn was first described in 1758 by Carl Linnaeus. It is a part of the family Geometridae. This moth gets its name from its bright yellow coloring.

Description This moth has a bright canary yellow head and thorax. The forewings and hindwings are a ochre yellow with gray speckles. Both the forewings and the hindwings are a scalloped shape and both have a single dot on each wing called “discal spots” with the spots being larger on the hindwing. The forewings have two curved lines going across them.

This moth looks very similar to the Dusky Thorn, August Thorn and September Thorn moths.

Wingspan Range: 34 - 42 mm (≈1.34 - 1.65 in)

Forewing Range: 16 - 20 mm (≈0.63 - 0.79 in)

Diet and Habitat The larva of this species feed off of deciduous trees such as downy birch, silver birch, alder, goat willow, elms, and limes.

This moth’s range stretches from Russia and the Caucuses region in the east to Western Europe in the west and from Fennoscandia in the north to the northern Mediterranean in the south. It has also been introduced into British Columbia. The prefer habitats of woodland, scrub, parks and rural gardens.

Mating This moth has one generation per year. They can be seen flying from July and October and presumably mate during this time.

Predators This species is nocturnal and presumably majorly preyed on my nighttime predators such as bats. However it does use a form a camouflage as larva. The caterpillars of this species resemble dead twigs. This may also help against daytime predators.

Fun Fact The canary-shouldered thorn is attracted to light.

(Source: Wikipedia, Butterfly Conservation, Moths of Britain)

#libraryofmoths #animals #bugs #facts #insects #lepidoptera #moth #mothoftheweek #canary-shouldered thorn #Ennomos alniaria #Geometridae

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haikuandmore · 1 month ago

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this evening’s moon— I gaze on it alone then go to sleep - Hosai Ozaki dusky autumn— for someone yet to come a single chair - Akito Arima when meeting you now the painful thorns in my mouth... - Sonoko Nakamura the morning glory— like desire fades away... - Sojo Hino English Translation: Patricia Donegan with Yoshie Ishibashi Artist: Unknown Dịch Việt: Bạt Xứ vầng trăng chiều muộn này— tôi ngắm một mình rồi đi ngủ - Hosai Ozaki thu âm u— một chiếc ghế đơn côi cho người chưa đến - Akito Arima gặp người giờ đây gai nhọn đớn đau trong miệng tôi… - Sonoko Nakamura hoa triêu nhan— như nỗi đam mê rồi nhạt phai… - Sojo Hino

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frtools · 1 year ago

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New Flash Sale: Dusky Rose Thorn Collar

A new flash sale has been discovered for Dusky Rose Thorn Collar

A twist of thorns with a beautiful bloom and the banner of the rose. Wear with care.

Game database: click here Marketplace link: click here

Treasure: 16500 13200

#frtools #fr tools #flight rising #flightrising #fr #flash sale #flashsale #dusky rose thorn collar #apparel

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chow0w · 1 month ago

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could you draw blaze its her b day today and also OMG i love your art

thanks so much sun! you and @thatoneabsolutegoober (working on your other asks btw, I'll reply to you directly when I finish snowfall or lynx!) wanted to see Blaze redesigned, and while I may have missed her birthday by a mile, I can still give you my take!

My Blaze redesign is set during the war of sandwing succession - I know Blaze hid just outside of the great ice wall where it wasn't too cold, but I still feel like she would have complained her way into getting a fluffy fur coat to wear for more warmth. I used some checker patterns and tan colors to mimic leather, while the fur itself has those little brown spots you always see (I think this is stoat fur, but a stoat isn't big enough to fit around Blaze's neck anyways so it doesn't matter.)

Most of Blaze's actual body is hidden under her massive jacket, but you might notice she has a plumper frame and smaller wings. I can't explain why, but I feel like it suits her a lot. Her scales don't have any unusual patterns, with most of the detail being concentrated at her wings - which have swirls near the top and a small flame-like impression near the base. I feel like it would be cool if all three sisters had fire/flame design elements given their names, but Blaze's should definitely be the least noticeable since she shows the least.. aggression. I've always interpreted 'blaze' as the beautiful way fire looks and linked it to Blaze's love of jewels.

On the topic of jewels, she doesn't wear any. Sorry Blaze, but you could only run away with so much and your icewing friends probably aren't very empathetic toward your hoarding hobby. I imagine Blaze can only get away with light jewelry/earrings during the war, since heavier items would slow her down and make her more vulnerable. I'm sure she argued about this with her icewing allies a lot.

Thank you guys so much for taking a look at my designs! This community is so awesome, and I always appreciate your support! Here's my list of characters that have already been requested:

Here's my current waitlist for designs: Sunny, Clearsight, Luna, Freedom, Bigtail, Cricket, Clay, Queen Thorn, Starflight, Darkstalker, Snowfall, Grandeur, Sky, Lynx, Burn, Blister Queen Oasis, Queen Wasp, Dusky, Sundew, Hazel, Whiteout, Squid, Bumblebee, Sky, Winter and Kinkajou!

And for new readers, here's who I've already designed! You can find these guys further up in my blog: Lady Jewel, Tsunami, Sunny, Blue, Moon, Typhoon, Albatross, Glory, Peril, and Turtle!

If you don't see your favorite on this list, I do have a req box! Later!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

#wings of fire #wof #art #character design #wof redesign #sandwing #wof sandwing #wof blaze #blaze wof

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preciouslandmermaid · 9 months ago

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quiet fury in your head [xi]

Dream of the Endless x AFAB!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: This one took me so long to write and i don't love it LMAO but next chapter is gonna be like pure smut-no-plot so...that'll be fun. The fic only has TWO MORE CHAPTERS until it's complete that's crazy lmao tagging @sapphireonline cuz they asked so nicely to be tagged :). Also, my fics on ao3 are for registered users only due to AI scraping.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: none

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3) || (masterpost for other chapters)

While standing on the shining, white salt flats, The Gates of Horn and Ivory open for you and the Dreaming cautiously welcomes you.

It’s emptier than you recalled (or perhaps the Dreaming creatures are hiding from you). You allow yourself the pleasure of viewing the Dreaming for the first time without anxiety and without fear. You glide your fingertips across a cobblestone bridge, and the clear, inviting bubbling brook beneath reflects an uneasy, shifting portrait of heartbreak and exhaustion. It takes a moment to realize the reflection is your own. You push away from the bridge, dusting residue from your palms, and trek deeper into the Dreaming.

A swarm of blue, shimmering butterflies fly past – their wings glow beneath rays of sunlight and faint glimmers of light trail in their wake. You lift your hands in greeting, hopeful that one might land upon your palm, but they merely dance through your fingertips with glittery wings before vanishing into the air. These creations radiated with such gentleness and care.

Morpheus’ absence is a thorn beneath your nail. You wrestle your difficult emotions into subservient silence. Your desire for him will achieve nothing and accomplish nothing. The prideful King has made his choice. He chose a glass orb prison in an amateur’s basement rather than to be with you and fulfill a centuries-old promise to reunite.

The landscape deepens to rich burgundy, dusky tan, and blooms beneath effervescent golden sunlight. The dry, warm air fills your nostrils and lungs. You stand on a plateau of flat, crimson rock. The sun remains in a perpetual state of dusk, painting the sky periwinkle, and pink, and streaking claws of orange. You crouch and lift fine, rusted sand and gravel into your palm. You hold it for a moment, sensing its warmth, feeling the essence of Dream’s magic before releasing it, and watching it swirl and twist on the wind.

A creature approaches you, timidly, and is burdened by a shell on its back—its face is weathered and gray. The skin around its neck is saggy and loose. A lantern swings on the tall, oak-sculpted stick it carries. It stands a few feet shorter than you, squat and bipedal, and watches you with beady and cautious eyes.

It bows its bald, speckled head. “I remember you,” it says in low, resonate timbre. “The Dreaming whispers your name, Lady Morrigan.” It speaks slowly with small ‘hmms’ between each word.

You think of the Corinthian. Do all the creatures assume you abandoned them? Is this creature yours? Did you create him? You hold no memories of creating anything inside the Dreaming. You only manipulated what already existed. Yet, you cannot ignore the fact that you may have forgotten something. Anything is possible in the life of a reborn God.

“Do they know I died?” You ask, “that I was unmade in the minds of Men? That I was forgotten? Erased?” You can’t help but spit that final word with contemptuous venom. The graciousness of forgiveness is a difficult lesson to learn.

The lantern swings when it starts to walk again. “The minds of Men may have forgotten. We did not.”

“Do you expect my gratitude?” you ask dryly.

Are you supposed to give this tortoise-creature a boon? That is what your devotees of old wanted. They had chanted, and sacrificed, and called you into their battlefields or into their beds. They begged for your blessing on all fours and you were fickle; You would kiss the brows of beloved warriors, or bite their hearts with a freezing, cold grip.

But you are no longer Nemain of the Sisters Three. You are simply The Morrigan, Queen of Nightmares, a forgotten monarch in the realm of Dreams. Your purpose slowly manifests before you. You promised Dream that you would return. If only he wasn’t so unreasonably stubborn, then he would’ve been next to you, with Roderick’s bones ground to dust beneath your heel. You desire for vengeance seizes like a vice around your throat. Roderick ought to be dead. The roots of his family tree torn asunder and fed to his funeral pyre.

The creature finally deigned to respond, “I expect nothing, my lady.”

Its black tongue licks its’ wrinkled, dry beak. You sense its’ desire to leave. The Dreaming flutters with this knowledge and cajoles you into trying to get it to stay. You fold your arms across your chest. It moves at a glacial pace, its’ lantern swinging, its’ clawed feet kicking up small plumes of reddish dust.

You say, “It will take you decades to reach where you’re going.”

“It is not about where I will be,” It says, “it is about the going.”

You shrug and allow the creature be.

You cannot effect anything within the Dreaming. Those powers remain locked inside a small ring that Dream used to wear on his pinkie finger. Aimless, you walk through the Dreaming, and you talk to Her inhabitants and in the words of a strange tortoise—you focus on ‘the going’, rather than the destination.

The castle doors groan when they open. From the outside, it seems as if nothing had changed, but the interior plumes with dusty motes and freckles of ancient, unraveling magic. Your fingertips trail against the dusty banister as you move through the arched hallways with new eyes and a wounded heart.

You don’t know this castle well. You never traversed it when you were confined to the Dreaming. Except for one place, of course. A place where an old friend might be found.

The scent of paper and leather fills your nostrils and Lucienne steps from the aisle of books as if she was expecting you.

“Lady,” she bows her head as she says it.

“Lucienne.” Her name is a feathery sigh from your throat. The sudden warmth that spreads through your chest is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Lucienne’s face hasn’t changed. Her inquisitive eyes peer at you from behind her rounded spectacles. Her full cheeks round when she smiles.

“I cannot express how good it is to see you,” she says, a book clutched to her chest. “The shelves knew of your return before I did.” She looks up, her expression icing into fraught sadness streaked with regret. The spine of a book trembles, like a frightened creature, before drops from the shelve and falls open to reveal its blank pages. Are all the stories gone?

“They are not all empty,” Lucienne says, as if reading your mind, and offers the book she’s holding to you. You read the etched, golden title. The Adventures Of...it reads before fading away onto the stiff leather. You flip through and discover an irregular layout of full chapters combined with blank sheets.

You ask, “What else remains?”

“Your room,” she says, returning the book to her hands and wearing it like a shield before her heart. “I did not go within, of course,” she adds quickly, “but I know it’s there.”

You knew it too. You lick your lips and silently leave the room without farewell. Lucienne doesn’t call after you, nor does she ask the questions you can see written across her face. There will be a time for questions later. Right now, you need to explore and confirm this reality – this land of broken Dreaming. A palace without a monarch. A graveyard without a keeper. A home without a hearth. The doorknob turns beneath your palm, welcoming you, as so many small pieces of the Dreaming tend to do.

A room you never slept in—except for when you were poisoned. A closet with clothes you never wore—except for your single black cloak. You step into the closet and quietly admire the craftsmanship of Dream’s meticulous touch. Your fingertips glide through gauzy starlight, twinkling in your palm. You lift your nose to floral fabrics and your stomach swoops at the scent of full spring dancing through your nostrils—lush, bright meadows, humming bumblebees, and the tickle of pollen at the back of your throat. The burning cold of frost, the viscous-ember of magma, the angry swell of a blue-gray sea; all of it is contained within your wardrobe.

Your jaw clenches. How can someone capable of such careful beauty be so stubborn and illogical? Why can’t he see that his realm need him? That his selfishness is causing harm? You clench your hand around fabric that is storm-cloud and heat-lightning.

A name drops into your mind. A name you had accidentally forgotten. You sweep yourself into the dress in swirls of gray-and-white color before you vanish from the Dreaming in a thunderclap.

Your toes sink into the damp, cold sand and the rainwater prickles onto your skin. The air hums with the brewing storm. Something in your veins – something powerful – ricochets down your spine.

“Dima!” you shout into the roiling, dark clouds above the ocean. “Morrigan, Goddess of Nightmares, calls upon you.”

The lightning flashes and strikes, erupting a piece of earth beside you, and sending hardened diamonds into the air as the budding rain commits to a roaring deluge. Dima is crouched in a three-point landing, her head bowed, kneeling and reverent at your feet. Your heart burns with joy.

“Rise,” you say while opening your palm to her. “I would meet your eyes as a friend.”

Her hand slides into yours and you meet her white-eyes with a smile aching your cheeks.

“You changed your name,” she says. You cannot tell if the water down her face is from the rain or her tears. In the end, it does not matter. You are happy to see her. She came when you called. She remembered you. That is all that matters.

“You remember me.”

“I am not as fickle as mortals.” Dima sniffs. “The sky, the stones, the water, and trees…” She gestures with both arms to the world. “We don’t forget.”

You say, “Neither do Endless.” It wasn’t only Dream’s devotion that re-made you and brought you back into the world as a Goddess. Dima, too, played her part in your revival. An Endless and the personification of Storms believe in a Goddess. What an odd following you have claimed. Dima looks away when you mention Morpheus.

“He lifted your banishment,” you whisper, and your words are clear despite the storm. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Dima folds her fist over her heart. “I could not go back without you.”

“Then come back with me now.” You offer her your hand once more.

Her smile is bright. “Is this a choice or an order, my Lady?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at the gall – the bravery – of her. You are the Queen of Nightmares and yet Dima does not flinch. Perhaps that’s because she knew you before your death. You don’t frighten her and you don’t want to. She was your first friend, after all.

“A choice, Dima.”

The rainfall starts to lessen. “Then I choose to accept.”

50 years later…

(1972)

This is your third time visiting Fawney Rig. The second had been a rushed visit after you felt Jessamy’s death. It had been like an arrow through your lungs. You brought yourself to the cellar and demanded Morpheus allow revenge—if not for him then for Jessamy.

You were bound to Corinthian’s promise to not harm Roderick. But, you could harm others. You could make them all suffer for their foolishness. You could make Roderick miserable. But, you wouldn’t do it without Morpheus’ blessing. He needed to balance the scales. He needed to owe you his life, or something close to it, so that you could truly be equals.

Yet, Morpheus did not speak to you.

That had been about fifty years ago—give or take. It was time to see if the Dream Lord’s stubbornness had finally eroded. The snowfall is light, though thick piles rest on the pine like bruises. You choose to feel the cold. You let it push through the weaves of your wool coat and prickle against your cheeks and nose.

You reach for the doorknob and your fingers freeze in mid-air, straining against an invisible force, before omniscience wraps itself around you. They’ve warded Fawney Rig from me, you think with a furrowed brow. It was Corinthian, of this you have no doubt.

“Cowardly little nightmare,” you mutter to yourself, though you are a little impressed. It’s been decades since you’ve seen Dream, yet Corinthian is afraid of you, and worried that you’ll find a way around the promise that was made. “Smart,” you concede, blinking snowflakes from your eyelashes, “but cowardly.”

You reach out to Dream through the ambiguous, void-space of one mind talking to another.

“I do not expect a reply, Lord of Dreams, but I’d like you to know that they’ve warded the mansion against me.” You pause walking the perimeter. “So, even if you wished for my help, I could not give it.”

The magic surrounding Fawney Rig is well-crafted, tailored, and not even your various shape-shifted forms can penetrate it. You circle towards the entrance.

“It’s snowing. The moon is full.” You don’t know if Dream can hear you, but it feels nice to try. He rejects all of your ritual daggers, but perhaps he will take this instead – insignificant details of the world that he loves from the Goddess he revived.

“I’ve always had a fondness for nights like these. The world is gray and white. The moon is like a silver coin in the sky.”

You crumple powdery snow between your fingers. “You know, the mountains were my favorite place in the Dreaming. They still are, if we’re being forthcoming about it. I’ve yet to visit them again. They remind me of...solitude and serenity, the clarity that comes from being a distance.”

You pull a novel from the inner lining of your coat. There are hours before the next shift change and you want to see if the guards perform any rituals during the transition. You are curious to discover if you can break these bonds.

The hours whittle away as you speak to Dream, mind-to-mind.

“I heard about Roderick’s death. It could’ve been crueler. Should have been.”

“I would’ve driven him mad, if it had been me. I would have plagued him with visions of his dead son until he freed you with broken, bloody hands.”

“I ran into your sibling, Desire. About…” You count the years in your head. “Thirteen years ago? I asked if they knew I’d die if I returned to the Heart Tree and they said they had their suspicions.” You scoff. “Which I believe means yes. You likely know them better than I, so draw your own conclusions.” You idly wave your hand as if brushing the story aside.

You disliked being set up as a pawn in an emotional chess game between ancient, cosmic entities. You had told Desire as much and were seething when you turned your heel and said, “Leave me out of it next time.”

You aren’t a pawn, anymore. You look after the Dreaming. You look after mortals—especially young, scared children, like that little girl with the dog—regardless of whether or not they provide offerings or prayers. You don’t like to get involved in their messy, dramatic, and short mortal lives, but you like to watch them. You like to see how the threads of fate unravel and twist unexpectedly.

In time, you know that ‘The Morrigan’ will eventually reach the collective consciousness, but you just don’t yet know what new stories they will tell.

“I’ll return when I can.” You rise to your feet from where you had been sitting in the snow.

“Why?” His voice scrapes through your mind like gravel. Your knees buckle and you catch yourself on the manor’s brick wall. The cold air bites through your lungs. You want to live inside the roughed caress of his voice. A sweeter sound never made, you think, as you try to calm your heart.

Your heart hums. “Nobody else listens half as well as you do.” You touch your forehead against the wall and the Ward stings your skin.

“Until next we meet, Morpheus.” The promise lingers in the air among the snowflakes.

#fic: quiet fury #morpheus x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfiction #sandman x reader #sandman x you #morpheus x you #dream x you #dream the endless x morrigan #fem reader #dream x y/n

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