#Across the Stars fanfic

[the-starry-lycan]

Across the Stars

[This is indeed a sea of stars fanfic, and is part of an AU I'm working on. You'll learn more as future chapters are posted.. but for now, enjoy the first chapter! If you haven't played or watched a playthrough of Sea of Stars, I highly recommend you do so before you read this, since this fanfic has MASSIVE spoilers! For TWs, I guess anything related to the canon of this series? There won't be anything NSFW or 18+ in this fic.]

Chapter 1: On The Way To Wraith Island

"Take in the sunlight, pals, I hear Wraith Island is reaaaal gloomy!" Valtraid called out as he stretched his arms toward the sun. "Yeah, a good 'ol soul-based Dweller'll do that." Yolande said, looking out at sea. 

"Heh. Nothing you solstice folk can't fix, ov course." She added, noticing the worried look on Zale's face. The Blade Dancer looked out at the horizon. There was water surrounding them entirely; water in front, water behind, water on the sides. He'd swum before, but never sailed like this. This much water made him uneasy, but he kept quiet seeing as to how the others didn't mind it. Valere especially seemed to be enjoying the humidity, sitting cross-legged on the little raft and looking out at the expanse of ocean with Garl.

"Zale! Zale, come here, look at this!" Zale jumped, then crawled over to see what Garl was pointing at in the water.

"You see that?"

The boy squinted, peering down.. and saw a shadow move beneath. Something long and twisting, likely deep below them, snaked slowly through the depths of the water and out of sight.

"Gaah! What is that?!" Zale startled, creeping away from the water's edge. "Sea monster, o' course!" Yolande said cheerfully. "The seas are full ov em, but they don't mind ya unless ya piss 'em off or something."

"Woah! Have you guys ever fought a sea monster before?" Garl asked her, enthusiastic.

"Us? We've had our fair share ov battles!" Yolande flexed an arm with Valtraid. "Why, one time, we-"

"YOLANDE!"

Klee'shae's sharp voice cut through their conversations. The pirate captain glared at her crewmates, red eyes fierce.

"Sorry, cap'n. Well, 'fraid I can't tell ya the details, but we've fought, yeah."

"Well, who knows? We might see this creature on our way back!" Garl looked about, smiling a little nervously.

Yolande let out a laugh. "Haha! You haven't heard about the one-way-trip deal with Wraith Island, have you?"

"What do you mean?" Garl asked innocently. Valere looked a little bit concerned, though she was calm as always. Zale had envied her ability to keep herself so controlled.

"Well! You see.. No one that's been to Wraith Island has EVER RETURNED!!"

Zale's stomach sank. Ever returned? And he, Valere, and the other Solstice Warriors were supposed to just.. go there like it was some routine trip to kill the Dweller? He shuddered softly, thinking of all the people who must have gone, seeking treasure, and never come back for one reason or another. He could guess why - and it wasn't that they were content enough not to come back.

"Why not?" Garl asked.

"Stories say the Dweller of Woe has mind-control powers." This time, it was Keenathan who spoke. "After setting foot on Wraith Island, people are cursed to remain there for the rest of their lives. And life on Wraith island is.."

He paused, his slight smile faltering. "..it's lived day by day. For no one knows who the Dweller will prey on next."

"Prey?"

Keenathan nodded to Garl. "Aye, every so often, the Dweller sings with her cursed voice, compelling one of the denizens of Wraith Island to sleepwalk into her lair, never to return..."

"Okay, that's.." Garl looked saddened. "But why would people even go there, then?"

"Curiosity? Boredom? A need to escape? Frankly, you'll get to ask soon enough." Yolande looked out at the sun, which was starting to set. Zale sighed. He held out his arms, soaking in the last of the warm sunlight. Valere giggled, seeing his dramatic pose as he kneeled on the raft. "You're acting like it's your very last sunset!"

"Well, forgive me for wanting to enjoy every bit of the stuff!" Zale laughed nervously. She was right - it very well could be.

"Zale's right! We aren't gonna be seeing the sun for a bit, so I think we should enjoy it."

"Ahoy, Captain!" Valtraid called out. "Seems the sun be setting!"

Klee'shae turned to Valtraid and nodded curtly, turning her attention back to the sea. The crew looked about as though searching for something.

"Oy." Yolande caught Zale's attention with a pat to the shoulder. "Don't ya blink now, or ye'll miss it."

Garl jumped as he saw a flash of light, staring in wonder at the green silhouette in the distance. "Woah!" The warrior cook grinned, pointing out at the horizon. "There! I see.. what is it?"

"Behold!" Keenathan beamed. "The legendary ghost ship that appears at dusk. The Vespertine!"

Zale stood in awe as the ship came in to view, surrounded by crackling green mist. The trio gasped as the ship vanished as quickly as it had appeared in a flash of green lightning and the mist dispersed out across the surface of the water. 

"Wow.." Zale looked over at Klee'shae, whose eyes were still fixed to the spot where the ghost ship had appeared.

"Quite the prize, innit?" Valtraid gave Keenathan, who was still magicking the wind into the sails, a hearty elbow. The sun set, fully now, and the full moon came into view, bathing them all in icy light.

"The Vespertine will be ours one day, or my name is not Keenathan!" The wind mage struck his trademark pose before resuming his magic, waving his arms as glittering magic flowed between his fingers, channeling the wind into gusts that blew against the sails. Zale's ears pricked at a soft chuckling sound. He turned to see Klee'shae watching the group. Her gaze softened when she saw Keenathan's and Valtraid's antics, though resumed her cold look when she observed Zale watching her. "Aye.." she murmured softly.

"All in due time, mateys." Yolande squinted at the approaching landmass shrouded in a thick cloak of what looked like clouds. "For now we're 'bout to hit the docks. Look alive, and brace yerselves!"

Next

[ansonmountdaily]

STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 2x08 "Under the Cloak of War"

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[formlessvoidbeast]

“I'm surprised Jas'buir wasn't trying to break through the airlock before we even finished landing,” Jango said. “Something urgent came up with the Manufacturing Union. He'll be back in time for late meal,” Arla promised. “Anyway, I was sent to make sure Obi-Wan's first stop in Keldabe is the baar'ur.” “Oh, there's no need for that,” Obi-Wan protested from amongst the purring striile. “I'm perfectly fine.” “Mhm.” Arla had learned her unimpressed look from their birth buir. It was extremely effective. Jango felt chastised and he wasn't even the target. “And your immunizations are seven hundred years out of date. You're going to the baar'ur to make sure you stay fine. Mand'alor's orders.”

across the doorsill where the two worlds touch Sleeping Beauty AU Chapter 7

[sapphirerubydragon]

GOSH! 2024 has been such an uphill battle for me. I've been sick for almost 3 weeks and while that means time off work it also means I haven't updated in almost a month. I'm rolling with the punches but that's life right?

Don't know if there are still some Ghostflower fans looking for crumbs but if you need a fix, this chapter is a little longer than usual so have a go and let me know what you think. I'm shifting povs for this chapter and the next and then we're out of canon field and back into my imaginative space. Crossing my fingers that the rest of the year will be kind to me... to all of us 💜

Chapter 17 is up! Thanks for sticking this out!

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Fan Events and Prompts, CodyWan Week 2024, codywanweek2024 Fantasy AU, Fantasy AU, time jumps, Multiverse, Poetry, Narrative, POV CC-2224 | Cody, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Starcrossed Lovers, Soulmates, Fluff, codywanweek2024 Series: Part 7 of CodyWan Week 2024, Part 14 of CodyWan Summary:

CodyWan Week - Day 07 (Cody/Obi-Wan)

Day 07 prompts: Modern AU: Teacher/University/Academia AU / Courting / Dimension travel (by one character)

Summary: This time, something different, something more, perhaps poetic! POV Cody, POV Obi, a poetic narrative across the multiverse.

Part of CodyWan Week 2024 / CodyWan series

@codywanweek​

[i-loveoldermen]

!REQUESTS OPEN!

💗I write mostly for Marvel/DC/COD/Oscar Isaac characters/Pedro pascal characters💗

!Rules!

🌸 NO SMUT

🌸 NO RAP3

🌸 NO INSCEST/STEP-CEST

!Tropes!

🎀 any trope is welcome, recommendations for series are also a okay, I'd also love tropes relating to fantasy and creativity! Be free! 🎀

[inonibird]

A lifetime passed before he awoke.

When consciousness stirred him from the starless void, overhead lights spiked his eyes, blinding him to his surroundings. He might as well have still been asleep, for all he could see.

He squinted on reflex. Reflex was all he could manage at the moment.

Voices murmured in the light.

“Oh, doctor? His eyes are open, but I do hope he’s actually awake this time.”

“Neural activity is stable. He should be conscious, if not communicative.”

“Well, then—hello, Grievous. Can you hear me? Or speak, for that matter?”

The voice was talking to him.

He could speak. Something told him he could, something beyond instinct, and just as instinct tried to work a nonexistent jaw, tongue and lips, the something beyond shut that nonsense down in a cold, precise instant. It had no words, yet it taught him how to generate them.

“Y...y-yes,” he managed to force out, and the sound grated on his senses, strident, discordant.

“Ah, wonderful.” The words oozed with palpable self-satisfaction. “You’ll be pleased to learn that the operation has been a success. There is truly nothing that cannot be accomplished with the proper application of a great deal of money.”

—

Chapter 4 of Part Six - Grievous of the Sahuldeem series is up!

[galaxygnc]

My Commissions are Open!

I've just moved a sizable distance to downsize and stay with other people for a while and I'm opening my writing commissions while I'm looking for a new job here!

My comms start at 1k words for both SFW and NSFW fics and I'm up for anything DCA and GITM drabbles! (No other aus that aren't your own, please!)

I have a carrd for more info HERE

And my comms are via ko-fi HERE

For examples of my writing you can look through my ao3, i can also give some additional gitm snippits or fics if you dm me on discord

Under the cut I'll put my pricing info here as well:

[angel-and-the-serpent]

might make this a series

for my new friend @abstractfangirl @goodomensafterdark :D I DID A THING 21/10/2024

Angel. I know it’s my fault that you left. I understand that now. It’s been 3 hundred and seventy-five days since you left. It's been twelve months, and 10 days It's out birthday today. we'd be over 6020, now Happy birthday, I guess. I didn't get you a gift. You’ve missed a lot. Nina and Maggie finally became an item Muriel has enrolled themself in an early university class of some sort And apparently? They’re hosting the next Traders meeting. I can't help but think of you. The ball? Hell, I thought you were such an idiot I thought you were just so bloody optimistic, way too optimistic for someone who I thought knew what the world was like. Someone who I thought knew what heaven could be like. I didn't mean to make you want to leave. I didn't want to make you want to leave your bookshop. I just… god…. I don't even know why I keep sending these Do you see these? Do you care? Are you even fucking reading these? Are you AWARE of what I've been saying? Are you aware that I love you? I didn’t mean to be cruel. Maybe you were right. Maybe we are  the bad guys. But then if we're assuming you’re right about that, why don't we assume you're right about the other things you told me? You’re really quite nice. Maybe if you had stayed you could have shown me how nice i could have been

But you left Maybe if you had told me what he was planning i could have come with you But you didn't So here we are I’m living in my flat again I cant afford the fucking heating Hell’s cut me off from nearly all my fucking pay. And for somereasosn my miracles arnt working, so here I am. Ii think im starting to wish i was born fucking human. So then id only have to deal with you for 60 odd years then we’d be done with each other But no Cause for ssome fucking reason im gonna be stuck loving you against my will for all on fucking etenity Please write back to me back. Please call. Please text me. Visit? Muriel and I miss you. Muriel misses you, i dont give a shit. C.

[jamiedc-they-them]

If anyone has any pride themed ideas please send them in for any of my fandoms!! Please keep it platonic though!

[the-starry-lycan]

Across the Stars

Chapter 4: Lucent, Town of Woe

"This is the gloomiest town I have ever seen."

Zale elbowed Valere as they walked down the aisle of the tavern and sat next to Garl as they watched the pirates play. Again.

The First Stage Of Grief (they hardly believed the name) was full of patrons. It usually was. All the time. People talking or listening or just getting drunk.

Not that that was the strangest part about it.

Zale felt the hairs on his neck stand at how the people were so nonchalant. Going about their lives like it was nothing. He understood, of course, that the kind of trauma people had would warrant such behavior. Trying to detach, pretend desperately like things were okay. But if he had a say in things, then he'd try and.. and stop whatever the hell was going on.

All he wanted was for Moraine and the others to arrive. Then they could kill the damn Dweller and then things would be over. The people could leave this forsaken island, curse and all.

But the trio had already been waiting for two whole days. And nothing had happened yet. No sign of the others - or the Dweller, for that matter. Zale sighed as he looked up at the pirates. As jaunty and bright as they were, he still felt melancholy inside. Not seeing the sun for a few days did that, he supposed. Valere was feeling it, too. He didn't hear her complain, but he could just tell. He felt her energy, how it wasn't the way it should be. She looked paler. He looked paler himself.

Not to mention Klee'shae. She was silent as usual, hanging about in a corner or some similar area, watching watching watching. Her eyes were fixed on either the band or the Solstice Warriors. Her gaze was serious as ever.

He hadn't thought too much about the things that were happening until the Dweller actually took someone. A voice, a woman's voice, had sounded in the air as it grew cold and mist rolled into the town. The victim, a young woman, stood to her feet, shrouded in a purple cast of the Dweller's spell. She'd walked, and walked, and Zale had pleaded Klee'shae and their crew to go with him and the others, and seeing their refusal, he'd run ahead to stop that woman.

Even after she'd fought him - slapped him, hard, sending him to the ground - he'd given chase. This woman wasn't being herself and she was entirely possessed. Zale knew she'd be thankful once he and the others saved her life.

"Zale!" Valere shouted as the victim reached the gate of the Mansion. Zale flew at her, sword drawn in a last attempt to knock her over..

..And was blocked. He grabbed her shoulders, tried to stop her, though she plod forward. The heels of Zale's boots ground into the earth.

He punched her again and again. Nothing.

Stepping back, Zale took a deep breath, and put all his magic into a Sunball. He held it till his hands shook and it burned against his hands, fire swirling, before releasing it. It rebounded. The magic-imbued fire swooped back at him, surrounding him in an inferno of heat and sending him flying backward. His body hit the trunk of a tree and he landed on the ground, pain flashing through his limbs and buzzing full in his spine and torso. His skin burned raw. The sun warrior could barely move.

Eyes shut, his head swimming, Zale cringed as his limbs didn't listen. Tried to get up, but couldn't. There were shouts, panicking. Valere was screaming.

The song. It sounded in the air once more,  thunders filling the air, mist entering the clearing. He looked up, and saw the purple cast once more.

It surrounded Garl.

No. Not him, Zale thought as he grit his teeth and tried scrambling to his feet, not Garl. His right leg buckled under him and he fell back to the ground, floundering. "Ga-arl!" He shouted, voice cracking. "Garl, Garl no!"

"Come on, you have to fight it!" Valere yelled into the warrior cook's ear, pulling his arm. He didn't listen.

Zale saw a flash of green as someone descended from the a portal formed in the air, sending green sparks showering around. The figure dashed forward and stabbed Garl in the back, dagger digging into the spell somehow, and Zale watched in horror as he crumpled to the ground.

"Ga-rl.. what did you.." The solar warrior crawled forward. Valere bent to check his wounds, and he leaned on her cool body. "Garl.."

Zale heard another figure crashing in through the foliage, but already, this was too much. His eyes were closed tight from the searing light, and he couldn't hang on any more. His body hurt hurt hurt from the sun magic that had turned against him, and even though he was resistant to it.. he wasn't immune.

The voices turned to fuzz, and he found it much easier to ignore them. He didn't want to, not when Garl was concerned in it. The ground got comfortable - oddly so? - and he felt deeply worried for Garl. Was he all right? Would Valere be able to stop him from going into the Dweller's lair?

His worries, feelings, body-sensations, all of them began to grow distant. Zale knew this feeling. It was that sensation as he lost it after being hit in the head, or so battered in a fight that he just.. couldn't. The feeling of being knocked-out. No.. his last conscious thoughts died down into a deep sleep, and the last thing he remembered was reaching a hand out to Garl.. praying silently that something would hold back.

Next

Previous

[beardedstrangerdreamland]

Hi guys.. i open for commission.. please order my art.. i open for 10 characters like this

[frogs-and-oscar-brainrot]

Guys, where do you find good fanfics? ;-;

I can't find any for a while. Maybe I can't search... Maybe it's because ai is popular now? (not that I don't use it, but I definitely suck at writing human interactions)

Please feed me with Oscar Isaac things ;-; I'm almost over a terrible internship for my university degree and I feel drained from my whole life essence

[formlessvoidbeast]

Some people didn't believe in the stories of the wandering warrior monks with laser swords at all—didn't believe in their magical powers. Many didn't believe that they were so much more powerful than regular ka'ra-touched verde. They were elusive, it was true, but Jango believed the jetiise did exist. Not only because Tarre Vizsla had been trained as one, and there were many primary sources attesting to his extraordinary powers. Jango believed that there were jetiise out in the galaxy because of the stories, and not just the stories of laser swords.

across the doorsill where the two worlds touch Chapter 2

A bit more background info on the Sleeping Beauty AU today!

[rainstormsdarling]

A COURT ACROSS SEAS AND STARS

Morrigan was Rhysand’s supermodel-esque cousin, Azriel the resident spymaster, and Cassian, like his brother, was an alpha-asshole, in the most delicious way possible. He seemed to have a dark sense of humor, strong opinions, and little interest in keeping either to himself.

“Well, well," Cassian had said after Rhys sauntered in with Feyre following closely behind. "Looks like Rhys finally brought a girl home for more than one night.”

Feyre flushed faintly, her attention snagging on the similarities between the males—and the differences too. Morrigan, the stunning blonde female in red, perched on a stool near the well-stocked bar, while the males lounged in low-backed chairs, which Feyre idly noticed had been fashioned to accommodate their powerful, membranous wings. The Illyrians were dark-haired, tan-skinned, their muscled bodies covered in dark serpentine leathers.

“You even look like brothers,” she said, turning to Rhys with a question in her gaze.

“All bastards are brothers of a sort.” Rhys said lowly, with a glare in Cassian’s direction, “And, I had no choice, did I Feyre darling?”

“Fuck you, Rhys” she replied.

Cassian roared a laugh, and Azriel’s eyebrows flicked up in amusement, even as he continued to scrutinise her. Shadows curled around the clear cobalt-blue stones adorning the back of his broad, brutally scarred, hands. Whatever caused those scars had to have been horrific if even his immortal blood hadn’t been able to heal them.

The mutual respect and affection that lay between the Illyrians was palpable, and while they were all sinisterly attractive, that was where the similarities ended. Where Rhys was every bit the elegant high lord; cruelly beautiful and unyielding, Cassian was rough-hewn and brash. Cocksure. Burning hot and little vicious. A lord in his own right. The Lord of Bloodshed, apparently, and the commander of Rhysand’s armies.

The spymaster, on the other hand, was near-unreadable. Classically handsome, but endlessly cold. If an assassin’s blade were made into a male, it would take the form of Azriel. Indeed, an obsidian-hilted dagger was sheathed at his thigh.

As Feyre studied them, a petite female entered the room, holding a glass of deep red liquid. At first glance, her appearance was almost ordinary: glossy black hair cut in a blunt bob, tan smooth skin. But her silver eyes, swirling like liquid mercury, hinted at something more than high-fae—something otherworldly.

The female’s gaze fixed on Feyre, and Feyre felt the suffocating, terrifying power radiating from her.

"So, there are two of us now," the female said, her lips stained red from whatever the glass held, which suspiciously looked like blood. "We, born of distant realms, thrust into new worlds, cast into new bodies."

Feyre swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She had heard stories about Amren, but nothing prepared her for the reality of the creature standing before her.

“And welcome to our merry little band” Rhys said with an exaggerated drawl, and an annoying sort of twinkle in his eye. “Everyone, meet darling Feyre. Feyre, meet my inner circle. I’m sure you’ll all get along splendidly, that is, once you stop your positively nebulous illuminations Amren.”

Amren just glared at Rhysand, neither one remotely intimidated by the other.

“I’d hug you, but I’m afraid I’d snap a tiny thing like you,” Cassian said, breaking the tension with an indolent grin.

Mor, of course, had no such reservations. Feyre allowed herself to be pulled into a luxurious hug that smelled like rich amber and vanilla perfume.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, for bringing him back” Morrigan was chanting as she squeezed Feyre tightly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Feyre didn’t move. What an odd evening it was turning out to be.

Morrigan squeezed once more and then pulled back, wiping a tear away. “And once I teach you how to dress in something other than healer’s garb, I think you’ll actually be quite lovely.”

Feyre sputtered.

“Now, sweetheart, don’t be rude,” Cassian said with an amused quirk of his lips.

Morrigan was elegant in the way only High-Fae nobility could be. She had exquisite features, her long, glossy blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders. A daring red dress draped over her lithe frame perfectly.

“I’m not being rude. That was a compliment,” Morrigan sniffed daintily.

Azriel coughed—or at least made a valiant attempt to disguise his laugh as one.

“Mor, I’ve heard your compliments before, and they need work.” Cassian said dryly.

“Feyre, you are a vision. Forget Mor, I can see why Rhysie here has hidden you away all these weeks”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Morrigan insisted, putting her hands on her hips.

“We all heard you, and that’s not what you said,” Cassian teased. He shot Feyre a wink. “She’s not just a pretty face either… Thanks for saving this bastard over here.” He jerked his head in Rhysand’s direction.

Azriel nodded to Feyre and sent her a quiet smile but didn’t embrace her, which she was grateful for.

Feyre honestly wasn’t sure what to do with herself. These people seemed friendly enough, but they weren’t exactly her friends either—not yet. They had been through hundreds of years of battles and wars, but now here they were, bickering and teasing each other like nothing had happened.

Before she had a chance to ponder the absurdity of her life in Prythian any further, the mood shifted slightly, and they made their way to the dining room - sans Rhys - who had abandoned her with them in search of more whiskey apparently. The cozy warmth of the elaborately carved stone fireplace was lit, the soft flickering of faelights—it should have been comforting. But a sense of tension hung in the air.

Morrigan picked at a platter of cheese and fruit as they settled in, but her smile faltered as Amren spoke abruptly.

“Why did you do it?” The raven-haired female asked curiously.

Morrigan jumped in before Feyre could answer. “Not that we don’t appreciate it of course, but… are you really that uncommonly kind-hearted? Is that a human trait us Fae just never learned?”

Feyre snorted, “Kind? No. Curious and stubborn? Yes.”

Cassian chuckled, “Now that sounds more like the humans I remember.”

Feyre rolled her shoulders, attempting to stretch the tired muscles for her long day in Velaris Infirmary. "He needed help, and besides it being heartless to just leave him... once I heard the start of his story, I had to know the rest."

“Well, for whatever reason you decided to come along with him, thank you. I know it wasn’t for us but still, we appreciate it more than you could know.” The sincerity in Morrigan’s voice was evident.

Feyre felt awkward with the intense stares she was receiving.

“Oh, stop ogling the girl. It’s time to celebrate Rhy’s freedom.” Amren snapped her fingers and flutes of sparkling fae-wine appeared.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Rhysand?” Feyre inquired.

“Oh assuredly, but I'll be honest, I need more alcohol to deal with the decidedly nauseating feelings that have overcome me.”

Feyre found herself in agreeance and graciously accepted the glass of sparkling fae-wine from Amren.

The bubbles tickled her nose as she finished the glass in one long sip.

“Cauldron's Tits, I didn’t know the humans could drink like that.” Cassian chuckled.

As a human she typically couldn’t, but she was fae now, not that she bothered to correct him.

“An overachieving prodigy in everything she does, I’ve heard from Madja.” Feyre smiled at the good-natured jest from Mor and accepted a refill. She knew she needed to slow down but wanted to enjoy the reprieve from heavy thoughts for a few moments longer. Warmth spread in her chest as she polished off the second glass almost as quickly.

“Who is?”

Feyre quickly looked up as Rhys stalked into the room, having somehow procured another two bottles of amber-liquid, one already a third empty.

“You know drinking so fast is a waste of good whiskey, it’s meant to be savoured.” The words slipped off Feyre’s tongue, tasting of sparkling wine.

He looked slightly surprised that she had reprimanded him for a moment, before drifting his eyes down to her own glass, now empty, and up again with a raised brow.

“I’m sure the Lord of the Court is good for it.”

Feyre couldn’t stop the dramatic sigh that left her mouth.

“If you get too inebriated and lose your balance I won’t be patching your wounds. You’re already causing too much work for me, Rhysand.”

“Am I to believe that my darling Feyre is a lush and lightweight?”

She shook her head slightly, feeling her long braid swish against the back of her neck “I’m neither a lightweight nor a lush, thank you very much. We are celebrating your release from 49 years of captivity, are we not?”

“And your presence here in our world?” said Rhys, tilting his glass into hers.

Feyre let out another long sigh, this time tiredly.

“No. Let’s not talk about that right now. I really don’t want to talk or think about that right now.”

Rhysand stared at her for a moment. His jaw clenched as if he was holding back something he didn’t want to say but he gave a firm nod and looked away.

Feyre’s heart ached slightly at the look that had been on Rhysand’s face and she didn’t know why. If she hadn’t had that second glass perhaps she could have figured it out, but for a brief moment, she could have sworn she saw something like regret.

He showed almost no signs of inebriation. His words were unslurred and his eyes were endlessly cold as ever. She had never seen anyone drink so much alcohol and remain so outwardly unaffected.

It was terrifying how controlled he was.

She decided that was enough sparkling wine for now.

Watching from her plush dining chair, she observed as the friends with a winding history reunited once more after almost fifty long years. Cassian and Mor bickered good-naturedly over the best vintage of fae-wine. Azriel and Amren traded thinly veiled insults over an overly complicated game of cards.

Feyre sat, playing the role of a spectator. It was bizarre. Their friend and High Lord had just recently escaped Amrantha’s tyrannical rule Under the Mountain and they happily chatted as if it was an ordinary Friday evening in winter.

After another hour of surface-level small talk, Feyre decided to take her leave for bed, with idle promises to have lunch date in the Palace of Thread and Jewels with Mor and visit the training grounds at the House of Wind with the Illyrians.

—

“You think others will be looking for her? Our enemies?”

With her new-found fae hearing the murmured voices traversed the stillness of the townhouse as Feyre paused in her ascension of the stairs.

“And Hybern’s,” Azriel added quietly, and Feyre felt her stomach twist.

“Because of Amarantha? Yes,” Rhysand said in a low voice. “Anyone who sided with her and managed to get out of that mountain alive will be looking for Feyre. If they’ve allied with Hybern, it’s almost a guarantee.”

Cassian’s jovial tone from earlier in the evening was gone and replaced with the seriousness of the Night Court’s General. “We’ll take care of her. We’ll strategise. No one’s getting through us.”

“And Hybern? You know they won’t take this blow lying down.”

Rhysand’s voice was quiet, but the steel in it was unmistakable. “They won’t. The King will not take kindly to Amarantha’s death, nor Prythian’s escape from her clutches.”

Feyre’s breath hitched as silence from the room below stretched longer. It had only been a matter of time before Amarantha re-entered the conversation, but the reminder of the potential threat caused her usually steady hands to tremble. Hazy images of fire and brimstone flashed in her mind. They were free now, but for how long?

Azriel’s voice abruptly cut through the silence. “Do we trust her? With Velaris? With the knowledge of this city?”

Rhysand’s response was immediate, unwavering. “Yes. She’s here, isn’t she? It’s a bit late for the alternative - short of going into her mind and wiping her memories”

Amren, sitting silently for much of the conversation, spoke then, her voice low and cool. “This is not an insignificant concern, Rhysand.”

“One that hasn’t been made without a great deal of consideration, Amren.”

Feyre could feel the weight of silence, almost tangible as stretched out with agonising slowness. She waited with bated breath for Rhysand to materialise before her, taking her memories from her as he pleased.

“I trust her,” he said, his voice firm. “And so will you.”

notes:

Chapter 15 - entire work available on AO3, but let me know if you would like me to continue - I have major writers block eek - and any and all feedback and comments just mean so much xx