#above ground sand filters

[azzayofchaos]

Since my other Nether worldbuilding post was received pretty well... I'm back on my bullshit!

This time featuring zoning and biomes of the Neath: Lore below cut

Nether (noun): the formidable hellscape straddling the boundery between the Fragments of the Overworld and Death's Realms.

Derived from Beneath -> Neath -> Neth -> Nether.

The Nether is most easily accessable through outer regions of the nether, regions that are comparatively closed-off, and lacking in biodiversity compared to the Deep Nether where most Neath civilizations are centered.

The Neth is divided into three primary zones, distinguished by altitude and general climates.

The Calfactory Zone: the largest and most icon of the three, the Calfactory zone is blisteringly hot and bone-dry, it's most prominent features are its abundant seas and lakes of magma, and the massive Supermagmas atriums that are common above the magma. In the largest of these atriums, the ceiling may be so high above as to be completely invisible from the ground, obscured by an ever present smog of toxic vapor and minerals formed in the self-generated micro-climates that are generated from the rising heat of the lava that begins to cool at a higher altitude.  

In the Basalt Deltas and other biomes around the edges of these lakes, massive pillars of rock and crystals bulwark the more-visible ceiling. 

The most common of this zone’s biomes is the Crimson woods, home to hearty thermal-philic fungi and plants that grow on the minerals and vapors of the lakes. Many are carnivorous in their lack of access to water or sunlight, and these forests contain many sub-biomes and ecosystems of flourishing life. 

The Wastes are perhaps the most desolate regions of the Neath, irradiated deserts of red-rock, brimstone, and sharp sand. Even the vast majority of nether-folk avoid these deserts due to the leftover radiation that rots and destroys anything that waits too long. The only forms of life are particularly robust lichens and bacteria that are happy to sit by the pools of boiling pools of sulfur and mud and toxic sludge that dot the landscape. Growing within the rocks themselves are colonies of amorphous fungus, called geocorpus molds that get their spores into cracks in the soft netherack and slowly feed on it, a delicacy in nether cuisine. 

The Temperate Zone: Cradled in the heights of the Neath’s atriums and sat bellow the roof is the temperate zones, the rising heat of the zone below begins to cool and forming distinct weather patterns in this zone and leaving it, while still sweltering, a cooler though much more humid climate.

The main biome are the luminescent warped-fungal rainforests that collect the high-rising minerals and odd moisture from the lakes. Liquid is actually precent here, though if it’s not safely filtered through the innards of the various plants and fungi, this water is usually aggressively corrosive, and it is best to shelter from the  acidic precipitation to avoid chemical burns. The nether folk and ender local to these rainforests are suited to deal with these conditions and the ender especially do not have trouble with the extreme pH of the water here like they would in the overworld. The zone is lit almost exclusively by the biolumincense of the organisms there and have often been described as false-stars.

In the Deep Nether, the ceiling may give way, allowing one to pass onto the plateaus of the Nether Roof and the yawning void above. The bedrock of the nether roof is jagged and layered in huge slabs, sometimes broken up my mazes of pillar-like structures and shallow, thermal pools of crystal-clear liquid. The kind you don't want to touch of course. fogs may hang low to the ground, but when its clear, or above the fog, the entire universe seems to spill out into the sky. The nether roof was culturally significant and a source of much knowledge and inspiration in the early days, but I'll get more into that in a later post 0.0

The Rime Zone: Plunge deep enough and one might find themselves bellow the lava beds. Here, where the heat can't quite penetrate, the temperatures will drop rapidly to sub-zero.

Namely, the Rime Zone is made up of the soul valleys, flat steppes of cinder and clotted sand, you can imagine it almost with the blindness effect, a fog that pools by your feet, and a heavier darkness hanging from the sky, it feels massive and endless and claustrophobic all at once. Frost collects as crystals on the irradiated, soul-soaked barrens, and the bones of the massive nether wyrms lie fossilized, breaking up the landscape. The sands are also split with patches of crazing on the ground and vents of blue fire that spills out and sets the sand ablaze.

These same wryms can be found sometimes, ancient things that dig through sand and soft rocks and the magma lakes, far and few between and treated with both fear and reverence.

And in the deepest pits of the Neath are the glowing frozen lakes that are colloquially and rightfully called the Gates to Death, glowing blue from beneath their surfaces. Indeed, any further down and you pass into limbo, the edge of Death's Realms.

Extra Notes??:

Soul sand/soil is tread on carefully or not at all, is one form of remnants from the apocolyspe. Like the general radiated rubble present through the Nether, it's a fault of nuclear fallout. Unlike other areas of radiation, its also been infused with the souls of those who didn't survive the joining of worlds.

This infused quality is also precent in Nether Debris, resulting in a material that takes magic particularly well.

Iron cannot be found in dense veins and crystals like gold or quartz in the nether, but it's a pretty rich mineral a lot of netherack, giving it its ruddy coloring.

Sorry for this massive rant that no one asked for. If you have questions please feel free to send an ask, I may not have an answer yet but I'll certainly come up with one if I can.

I'm also hoping to do a pass on my headcanons about history and culture in the Nether and then we might start talking about character headcanons since this is also an actual AU.

If you read this far, here's some notes on striders and ghast

[moonlitstoriess]

Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 2

A/n: 8.7k words! Phew! This was definitely a rollercoaster of emotions but, I hope you guys enjoy it!💕

Part 1 here

After surviving her fall, Y/n embarks on a path of healing while Rhysand begins to realize the truth about their bond. As Rhys grapples with guilt and confusion, Y/n must learn to rebuild her life. But when their paths cross again, Rhys will need to fight for her forgiveness, hoping to mend what was once broken.

She shouldn’t have survived.

The wind had howled in her ears as she plummeted from the cliff’s edge, the ground rushing up to meet her, a cold, hard end she had welcomed. The pain, the heartbreak—it had been too much, too consuming. But as the world around her blurred, she felt a sudden, violent impact, not against solid ground, but against something softer—brush and sand.

When she opened her eyes, it was not death that greeted her but the harsh light of dawn streaming through the trees above, the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the distance. She lay in a thicket, a tangled mess of branches and brambles that had broken her fall, offering her an unexpected refuge.

Her body ached with bruises from the impact, sharp pain flaring in her ribs and a throbbing headache pulsing at her temples. She felt the grit of sand embedded in her skin and the taste of salt on her lips. But she was alive.

Y/n struggled to sit up, her hands trembling as she pressed against the ground for support. Panic surged through her. The memories of the cliff, of the choice she had made, washed over her like a tide pulling her under. Had she really leapt to escape the torment of her heart? The betrayal she felt was still fresh, the sting of Rhysand’s indifference cutting deeper than any physical wound.

As she surveyed her surroundings, a dense forest framed her, the trees standing tall like silent sentinels. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, and the distant sound of waves served as a haunting reminder of the world she had tried to leave behind. But where was she? She had no idea how far she had fallen or where this path might lead.

Y/n took a moment to catch her breath, the air crisp and sharp in her lungs. She was alone, utterly alone, with no family to return to, no familiar faces to seek comfort from. The weight of that truth settled deep in her chest. She had thought—foolishly—that Rhysand had been her salvation, her anchor in that hellish place. But in the end, she had meant nothing to him.

Pushing herself to her feet, she wobbled unsteadily, pain radiating through her ribs. The instinct to survive propelled her forward, one shaky step at a time. She didn’t know where she was going. The road ahead seemed just as empty as the one behind her.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Each step felt heavier, and with every movement, she fought against the urge to collapse back to the ground. The memories of Rhysand—their stolen moments, their laughter, and the warmth of his presence—crashed over her like the waves she could hear in the distance. He had made her feel seen in a way she had never experienced before, and now that light was extinguished.

As she wandered deeper into the forest, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows among the trees. Y/n found a small clearing where she sank to the ground, her body protesting at the sudden relief. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of nature surround her, searching for solace in the rustling leaves and chirping birds.

What she realized, in that moment of stillness, was that surviving wasn’t enough. She needed to reclaim herself, to remember who she had been before the darkness took hold. The journey ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but the thought of facing them alone no longer filled her with dread. Instead, it ignited a flicker of determination.

“Whatever lies ahead,” she whispered to the trees, “I will find my way.”

With that resolve, Y/n pushed herself back up, brushing the leaves from her clothes and glancing around. The forest was alive with the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves, and she couldn’t help but feel that life, despite its challenges, was still worth fighting for.

She pressed on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest wrapped around her like a shroud, the branches swaying gently as if whispering secrets she couldn’t quite grasp. She staggered through the underbrush, branches snagging her clothes and tearing at her skin, but she hardly noticed. The pain in her ribs was a constant reminder of her fall, pulsing with each movement, and fatigue settled in her bones like a thick fog.

She tried to focus on the path ahead, but her vision began to blur, the edges of her surroundings fading in and out. She needed to find shelter, a place to rest and gather her strength. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to dance mockingly around her, urging her to give in to the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

With every step, Y/n felt herself growing weaker. Her legs trembled, and the world spun slightly around her. She stumbled, hitting the ground hard, the breath leaving her lungs in a gasp. Panic surged through her as she fought to regain her breath, but the pain from her injuries was overwhelming. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy of leaves above, feeling utterly defeated.

Then, as she struggled to push herself back up, she heard voices in the distance, their laughter ringing through the trees. At first, she thought it might be a cruel trick of her mind, a hallucination born from the exhaustion and pain. But as the laughter grew closer, a flicker of hope ignited within her.

“Did you hear that?” one voice said, clear and bright. “I think someone’s out there!”

Y/n’s heart raced, a mix of fear and hope flooding her veins. She wanted to call out, to let them know she was here, but the words caught in her throat. She could only lie there, trying to steady her breathing as the voices approached.

Moments later, a group of travelers emerged from the trees, their expressions shifting from joviality to concern as they spotted her on the ground. They were a motley crew—rough and worn but with a kindness that seemed to radiate from them. The tallest among them, a woman with long, dark hair and bright blue eyes, rushed forward.

“Oh, gods! What happened?” she exclaimed, kneeling beside Y/n. “Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

Y/n tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she looked up at the woman, her vision swimming as darkness crept at the edges of her sight.

“We need to get her out of here,” another voice said, a man with a thick beard who stepped forward. “She looks injured. We can’t leave her like this.”

The group quickly moved around her, their chatter fading into a distant hum as Y/n felt herself drifting. Hands gently lifted her, and though every movement sent jolts of pain through her body, the warmth of their concern began to wrap around her like a comforting blanket.

“Stay with us, okay?” the woman said, her voice soothing. “We’re going to help you.”

Y/n wanted to cling to those words, to believe that perhaps this was her chance to find solace. But the world began to fade, the faces of her rescuers becoming blurry as she lost her grip on consciousness. Just before the darkness took her, she felt a warm hand clasp her own, a connection that anchored her for one fleeting moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Velaris was a sanctuary, hidden from the world and its chaos, but even its beauty couldn’t soothe the turmoil within him. Rhysand leaned against the balcony railing of the townhouse, staring out at the starry sky, yet his thoughts were far from peaceful. Feyre was with Tamlin in the Spring Court, and every moment spent thinking about their time together made his chest tighten with frustration.

He had felt so powerless during her trials, watching from afar as she struggled, battling her fears and doubts. His heart had raced as he witnessed her strength, yet it ignited a fury within him that simmered just below the surface. Tamlin didn’t deserve her. He was blinded by his love for Feyre, unable to see the darkness creeping into their lives, a darkness that Rhysand feared would swallow her whole.

“Damn it, Feyre,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. “You don’t belong there.”

The weight of the Night Court’s responsibilities pressed heavily on him, and he found himself retreating deeper into his thoughts. The war with Amarantha had left scars that would take time to heal. But all he could think about was Feyre’s laughter, the way her eyes lit up in defiance, and the warmth that enveloped him when she was near.

Suddenly, he felt a pang of icy cold hit his chest, a feeling of.....nothing overtaking him. Rhysands body shuddered. He could now feel a string of sorts a....a bond. A bond with her, with y/n. But why was it so empty?

A shiver ran down his spine, and he closed his eyes, reaching out instinctively through the bond he shared with Y/n. Instead of comforting warmth, there was nothing but an oppressive silence. It was as if she had vanished, leaving a void that echoed with despair.

Since when did I have a bond with her? The thought sliced through his mind like a blade. He had dismissed their connection, buried it under layers of his feelings for Feyre. But now, the absence of Y/n felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder of what he had ignored for too long.

Panic surged through him as he searched for any hint of her presence, any sign that she was safe. But all he felt was the chilling silence, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that had once flowed between them.

“Y/n,” he breathed, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. “Where are you?”

He pushed himself away from the balcony railing, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to know what was happening, to understand why the bond felt so strained, so distant. A part of him clung to the hope that she was simply out of reach, that she was safe and sound somewhere beyond his grasp.

But the gnawing sense of dread would not let him rest. He was tied to her in a way he had never fully understood, and now that connection was fraying at the edges, unraveling into something that filled him with an ache he couldn’t quite place.

It hit him then, like a thunderclap in the stillness of his thoughts: Y/n was his mate. The realization sent shockwaves through him, unraveling the tension in his chest and filling him with a potent mixture of dread and yearning.

She mattered. She had always mattered, perhaps more than he had ever let himself admit.

As he stood there, the weight of his decisions began to settle upon him. He had taken her for granted, focused solely on his feelings for Feyre while ignoring the depth of his connection with Y/n.

He had to find her. He had to understand what was happening.

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n awoke in a small, dimly lit room, the soft murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps moving outside the door barely reaching her ears. Her body ached, every movement sending sharp reminders of her injuries. She tried to sit up, but a firm hand gently pressed her back down.

“Easy,” a woman’s voice murmured. Y/n blinked, her vision clearing enough to see the woman from before—the one with long, dark hair and kind, blue eyes—sitting beside her. “You’re still hurt. Your ribs were bruised, and you were half-frozen when we found you. You need rest.”

Y/n grimaced, ignoring the throbbing pain as she forced herself into a sitting position. She wasn’t used to lying still. “I’m fine,” she muttered, but her body betrayed her words, her legs too weak to support her even if she tried to stand.

The woman, who had introduced herself as Lira, smiled gently. “Stubborn, aren’t you? It’s alright to let someone help you.”

Y/n’s eyes flicked to the door. The laughter of children and the hum of distant conversations filtered in from outside. She frowned. “Where am I?”

“A village,” Lira said, watching her carefully. “Small, but we’re a close-knit community. Everyone knows everyone here. We help each other, share what we have.”

Jealousy flared in Y/n’s chest, sharp and uninvited. A place where people lived in peace, helping one another without a second thought. It was so different from the life she knew—so far from the chaos and heartbreak that had led her here.

Y/n’s voice was rough as she asked, “How long was I out?”

“A few days. We did what we could to help you recover. But you’ve still got some healing to do.”

Silence fell between them. Y/n’s gaze remained on the door, but her thoughts were far from the village. Her mind returned to the cliff, to the crushing despair that had driven her to jump. She had wanted the pain to end—had thought it would, but here she was, still breathing, still hurting.

Lira’s voice broke through her thoughts. “How did you end up in that forest? You were in pretty bad shape when we found you.”

Y/n hesitated. She didn’t owe this woman her story—didn’t owe anyone anything anymore—but the weight of it pressed down on her, and maybe, just maybe, telling a small part of it would help ease the burden.

“I had a mate,” Y/n said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Lira’s brow furrowed in sympathy, waiting for more. “He chose someone else.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but they were the truth. Rhysand had never even known. Never knew that she had felt the bond snap into place, that the invisible thread between them had formed. It didn’t matter now—he had chosen Feyre, and that choice had shattered her.

Lira’s eyes were filled with gentle curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Y/n shook her head, her throat tight. “It’s… complicated. He never knew, and by the time I realized, it was already too late. He… he was in love with her.”

Lira was quiet for a moment, processing Y/n’s words. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That sounds… painful.”

Y/n didn’t respond, her gaze distant, as if she could still see the edges of Amarantha's court from where she sat. The love she’d seen in Rhysand’s eyes when he looked at Feyre had been undeniable. He had never looked at her that way, not even close.

“Maybe we can contact your family?” Lira suggested, trying to be helpful.

Y/n’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering to Lira’s kind face. “I don’t have anyone.”

“No one at all?”

Y/n shook her head, a cold emptiness settling in her chest. She had no family left—no home, no place to return to. “It’s just me.”

Lira sighed softly, her brow creasing in thought. “Then stay here with us,” she offered, her voice warm. “At least until you’re healed, and after that… you can decide where you want to go.”

Y/n’s instinct was to refuse immediately. She had seen too much, been through too much, to believe in the kindness of strangers anymore. She didn’t trust it—not after what she had lost. And yet… this woman, this village… they didn’t know her, didn’t know what she carried, and still, they had taken her in.

“I don’t know if I can,” Y/n said, her voice barely audible.

“Why not?” Lira asked gently. “You’ve been through something terrible, that much is clear. But there’s no need to face it alone.”

Y/n glanced at her, doubt gnawing at her insides. Could she trust these people? Could she allow herself even a moment of peace in this quiet village after everything?

Lira smiled again, softer this time. “Just think about it. We’re not going anywhere.”

Y/n gave a small nod, her mind already spinning with the enormity of her situation. She had nowhere to go, no plan for what came next. Maybe, for now, she could stay here—just until she figured out what to do.

~~~~~~~~

Rhysand’s mind raced, the weight of realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. Y/n was his mate. It wasn’t something he could dismiss anymore, not after the sudden void he felt through the bond. For so long, he had tried to push aside the connection, telling himself that Feyre was his priority. And yet, here he stood, drowning in guilt and confusion as the truth settled in.

She had always been there, a steady presence in his life—loyal, fierce, and strong. He had admired her, even cared for her, but it wasn’t until now that he understood the depth of that connection. And now, she was gone. Or worse—hurt.

“Mother above,” Rhys muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He had been so blinded by Feyre, so consumed by his need to protect her, that he had failed to notice what had always been right in front of him.

The bond had been subtle at first, an almost imperceptible tether that he had never fully explored. But now? Now it was like a raw wound, aching in a way that made his chest tighten. He couldn’t feel her—couldn’t sense her. She was gone from his awareness, and that terrified him more than anything else.

Rhysand clenched his jaw, his thoughts spiraling into a panic. What if something had happened to her? The Night Court had always been a place of sanctuary, but the world beyond Velaris was filled with dangers—dangers that Y/n, in her current state, might not be able to fend off.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, the words bitter on his tongue.

Turning away from the balcony, Rhys stormed back inside the palace, his steps quick and determined. He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. He needed to find her, to reach her through the bond, to bring her back if she was in danger.

But how? He had never explored this connection before, had never let himself dwell on what it meant. And now, with Y/n’s presence completely cut off, he wasn’t sure where to begin.

His heart pounded, and the gnawing fear clawed at his insides. He didn’t know if she was safe. Didn’t know where she was. But he would find her, no matter what it took.

Rhysand closed his eyes and reached deep into himself, seeking out the bond, trying to find any flicker of her. He focused on that missing warmth, on the piece of him that felt like it had been torn away. And in the quiet of his mind, a whisper—barely there—flickered. A spark of something. Pain. Despair.

He gasped, the sensation hitting him hard, and for the briefest of moments, he felt her—felt the depth of her agony, the exhaustion, the loss.

“Y/n…” he breathed, his voice low, anguished. Wherever she was, she was suffering.

Rhysand knew he had to act quickly. There was no time to waste. He had to find her before it was too late.

With a sharp breath, he called for his wings, already preparing to leave. He will explain everything to his family later. Y/n—his mate—needed him now more than ever.

Rhysand landed softly in the clearing where he had last seen Y/n, his heart pounding in his chest. The forest loomed around him, dark and quiet, the air heavy with the scent of earth and damp leaves. Shadows stretched long in the fading light of the moon, casting an eerie stillness over the scene. His wings rustled as they folded behind him, but his mind was already racing, already searching.

This was where he had last seen her—right here, among the trees and the underbrush. She had watched him and Feyre have their conversation after Amaranthas death. Y/n thought she was hidden within the trees but he felt her, he always felt her presence, one would always feel the presence of one's mate. But he was too much of a fool to realize it sooner.

He moved through the clearing, his eyes scanning the ground, searching for any sign of her. A broken branch, a trace of her scent—anything. But the air was thick with silence, and the bond between them was weak, almost nonexistent now.

"Y/n!" Rhysand’s voice echoed through the trees, but no answer came. His shadows spread out, feeling through the dark, desperate to find any trace of her. But there was nothing.

He pressed forward, moving deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around him. The memories of their time together—of her strength, her resilience—pushed him on, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if she was gone? What if she was hurt, or worse?

He couldn’t think like that. Not yet. He had to find her.

"Y/n!" he called again, his voice strained, raw with desperation. He stumbled through the undergrowth, his boots sinking into the damp earth, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his failure bearing down on him.

But the forest remained silent.

Rhysand reached the edge of a small stream, the water trickling softly over the rocks. He crouched down, running his fingers through the mud, searching for any sign that she had been here. Nothing. His chest tightened, his heart hammering against his ribs as the realization began to settle in.

She wasn’t here.

His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he rose to his feet. The bond was slipping away, unraveling like a thread being pulled loose. He had never let it guide him before, never truly acknowledged its presence, but now, as it faded, the loss felt like a wound he couldn’t heal.

He had to keep searching.

Rhysand pushed further into the forest, his movements frantic now, his wings twitching with the urge to take flight again, to cover more ground. The trees blurred around him, the shadows twisting and bending as his magic flared, but there was no trace of her.

No warmth. No bond. Nothing.

Hours passed in a haze of desperation and despair. The moon climbed higher in the sky, casting pale light through the canopy, but it did little to ease the gnawing fear growing inside him. By the time he reached the edge of the forest, Rhysand felt hollow, the weight of his failure pressing down on him with every step.

He was running out of time. Out of hope.

When he finally made the decision to return to Velaris, his wings were heavy, his body exhausted, but his mind couldn’t rest. The flight back felt longer than it should have, his thoughts spiraling into darker and darker places. What if she was gone for good? What if he had missed his chance—missed her?

The moment he landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, the emptiness hit him like a tidal wave. He dropped to his knees, his fingers curling against the cold stone as he tried to catch his breath, tried to steady himself.

But the bond was still faint. Almost gone.

He stood slowly, his mind racing. He had searched where he last saw her. He had searched the forest. But there was one more place she could be—her home. The Dawn Court. She was from there, had roots there. Maybe she had returned, seeking refuge among her people.

It was a slim hope, but it was all he had.

Rhysand straightened, determination burning in his veins. He would contact Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court. He had to know if Y/n was there, if she was safe. But for now, all he could do was wait—and that waiting felt like a slow, torturous pull on his very soul.

She was his mate. And she was gone.

The thought settled into his chest like a cold, hard stone, and Rhysand knew that until he found her—until he brought her back—there would be no peace. He would flip this world upside down to find her.

~~~~~~~

Y/n lay back down, her body sinking into the soft mattress as she stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. Lira’s offer lingered in her mind, but doubt gnawed at her. It wasn’t just the village’s kindness that unsettled her—it was the thought of staying, of settling, when her entire world had crumbled around her.

Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by the memories of Rhysand and everything she had lost. How could she heal in a place like this, where people lived in peace and harmony? She wasn’t like them—she carried too much darkness, too much pain.

Still, there was something about this village, something about Lira’s gentle demeanor that made Y/n want to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe she could find some peace here. Just for a while.

The thought was almost laughable. She had no right to peace.

Lira stood up from her chair, sensing Y/n's internal battle. “I’ll let you rest,” she said, her voice soft. “But if you need anything, just call for me.”

Y/n nodded but didn’t respond as Lira slipped quietly out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The sounds of the village continued to drift through the window—the laughter, the conversations, the gentle hum of a life Y/n had never known.

Her hand unconsciously drifted to her chest, to where the bond with Rhysand had once tugged at her heart. Now, there was only a hollow ache, a reminder of what had been and what could never be. She had loved him—fiercely, silently, and without hope.

And he had never known.

The thought made her chest tighten again, that familiar grief washing over her. She had been nothing to him, just another face from Dawn, another puppet to use and discard. And now… she was nothing at all.

The hours passed slowly. Y/n found herself drifting in and out of sleep, her body still weak from the injuries. In her dreams, she saw flashes of her past—Her life in Dawn, her little trinkets that she would create to make some living, Rhysand. And then, always, Feyre. Her face haunted Y/n, the reminder of who Rhysand had truly chosen.

When she awoke again, it was darker outside, the village sounds quieter now. Lira hadn’t returned, and Y/n was grateful for the space. She needed time to think, to decide what her next move would be.

But even as she lay there, trying to come up with a plan, her mind kept returning to Lira’s offer. A part of her wanted to accept it, to stay here and heal. But another part, the part that had seen too much betrayal, too much loss, didn’t trust it.

Would they still welcome her if they knew who she really was? What she had done?

Y/n sighed, turning onto her side as the fire crackled softly beside her. She wasn’t sure what her next step would be, but for now, all she could do was rest.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The pain was still there—deep and unyielding—but for the first time in a long while, Y/n allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find some kind of solace here.

Even if it was only temporary.

In the days that followed, Y/n grew stronger. Lira visited her often, bringing food and checking on her injuries, but never pressing too much. The village’s quiet kindness was unsettling at first, but slowly, Y/n began to let herself relax, just a little.

She spent most of her time in bed, staring out the window at the bustling village below. Children ran through the streets, and neighbors helped one another with chores and daily tasks. It was a world so far removed from the one she had known that it almost felt like a dream.

And yet, despite everything, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here.

Each time she looked out that window, she was reminded of what she had lost, of the bond she had ignored for too long. The thought of Rhysand, out there somewhere, filled her with both longing and anger. She didn’t know if she’d ever see him again, but the silence between them weighed heavily on her.

Still, for now, all she could do was wait. Healing, Lira had said. Y/n wasn’t sure if that was possible, but maybe, just maybe, she could try.

Weeks turned into months.

What Y/n had initially believed would be a short stay to recover gradually became something more. She healed, both in body and in spirit, under the quiet care of Lira and the village’s close-knit community. Slowly, the bruises on her ribs faded, the aches in her muscles eased, and her strength returned.

At first, Y/n had kept to herself, only interacting with Lira when necessary. But as time passed, she began to open up, if only slightly. Lira’s patience had been remarkable, never pushing, always offering a hand when Y/n needed it. The woman’s kindness was a balm to wounds Y/n hadn’t realized still bled.

As she regained her strength, she was introduced to more of the villagers. There was Tamir, a kind-hearted farmer who often brought her fresh produce, and Ayla, a weaver who sat with Y/n by the fire on particularly cold evenings, sharing stories about her family and life in the village. They accepted Y/n without question, never asking too much, never prying into her past.

For the first time in years, Y/n found herself in a place that felt almost like home.

It wasn’t easy, of course. The memories of Rhysand still haunted her in quiet moments—his smile, his laughter, the bond she had felt snap into place and left unacknowledged. But in time, those memories dulled, becoming less sharp, less painful.

She had spent so long thinking about him, about what could have been. But now, as the months slipped by, she began to accept the truth. Rhysand had made his choice, and it hadn’t been her. Feyre was his love. And Y/n… she was learning to be alright with that.

It wasn’t that the pain disappeared—it would always be there, in the corners of her heart—but it no longer consumed her. She found herself laughing with the villagers, working alongside them, and even joining in the village’s small celebrations. She was happy, or at least as close to happiness as she’d felt in a long time.

There were nights when the weight of her past pressed down on her, but those moments grew fewer and farther between. The village, with its simple, peaceful life, had given her space to breathe, to heal.

Lira, especially, had become a close friend. They spent many evenings talking, sometimes about nothing at all, and other times about everything. Y/n found herself confiding in Lira, telling her small pieces of her past—the loss, the heartbreak, the weight of being forgotten. Lira never judged, only listened, offering comfort in the form of quiet understanding.

Y/n no longer felt the crushing loneliness that had driven her to that cliffside. She wasn’t sure what the future held for her, but for now, she was content to stay in this village, to continue healing, and to figure out who she was without the shadow of Rhysand hanging over her.

She still didn’t know what would come next, but for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t running from the uncertainty.

~~~~~~~~

Velaris — One year, three months, fifteen days, six hours, twenty-two minutes, and forty-five seconds since Y/n disappeared.

Rhysand had counted every second. Every agonizing, suffocating second since he had realized she was gone. He stood on the balcony of the River House, staring out over the Sidra, his eyes dark with the weight of his obsession. A full year, and he was no closer to finding her.

He had sent his forces, his shadows, his spies, to every corner of Prythian and beyond. The High Lords had been contacted—every last one of them, including Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court, where Y/n had once called home. His meetings with Thesan had been civil, yet tense.

“She hasn’t returned,” Thesan had said in one of their many conversations, his voice steady but laced with concern. “If she were here, I would have told you, Rhys.”

But that hadn’t stopped Rhysand from ordering Azriel to watch the borders of the Dawn Court, to scour its lands for any sign of her. He had sent out scouts across Prythian—Illyrian patrols sweeping the mountains, Velaris soldiers keeping their eyes open in the cities, and spies dispatched to the human lands. Nothing.

Nothing for over a year. And it was driving him mad.

Rhysand hadn’t rested in months, not truly. His nights were spent pouring over maps, tracing routes, re-reading reports. He had memorized every possible lead, every whispered rumor of a lone female seen wandering the wilderness. But none of them had led to her.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” Cassian had said one night, his voice gentle but firm, as he sat with Rhysand in the war room.

Rhysand had glared at him, his jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists. “That’s not an option. She’s my—” He had stopped himself before finishing that sentence. She wasn’t his mate, not officially. The bond possibly had never snapped for her, but for Rhys, it might as well have. His heart knew it, even if the Cauldron had not sealed the bond. She was his.

Cassian had only sighed, shaking his head. “Rhys, I’m worried about you. We all are.”

And they were. Amren had pulled him aside more than once, telling him to stop his frantic searching, to focus on the things he could control. But she didn’t understand. None of them did. Y/n had been his anchor in ways he hadn’t even realized until she was gone.

Azriel had been his silent shadow through all of it. The spymaster had spent countless nights by his side, searching with him, strategizing, offering the quiet kind of support that only Azriel could. They didn’t need words. Rhys knew Azriel understood what it felt like to long for someone you couldn’t have.

But there were moments—moments when the weight of his failure pressed down on him so heavily that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had taken to disappearing from the River House, vanishing into the forests outside Velaris, retracing the steps to where he had last seen her.

And then, there was the cliff. Rhys still remembers how when he smelled the faintest remnants of her scent, right there, right at the edge of the cliff, his chest flared with panic as he frantically searched for her but found no trace. Given how faint the scent was, Rhys knew that she wasn’t here recently. But did she kill herself? Did she end up throwing herself off this cliff? Even the mere thought of that made his gut twist, his hands shake. No. She couldn’t have died. No body, no proof. But…..

He stood there, letting the cold wind of the mountains blow past him. The silence that had followed her disappearance.

“Rhys, you need to stop this,” Mor had told him after he’d returned from one such trip, disheveled and exhausted. “You’re tearing yourself apart.”

He had only shaken his head. “I can’t, Mor. I have to find her. I need to.”

Mor had looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

It was the same question Cassian had asked, and Rhys had no answer for it. What if Y/n didn’t want to be found? What if she had left because she wanted to stay hidden from him?

But he refused to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. There had to be another reason—something he hadn’t uncovered yet.

And so, Rhysand kept searching. He kept sending his forces out, kept interrogating every lead, every sighting, every whisper of a female matching her description. He visited the forests, the places they had once been together, hoping for some sign, some shred of her presence.

But there was nothing.

Every day that passed without her only deepened his despair. He had lost weight, his face drawn with exhaustion, his eyes dull with sleepless nights.

But how could he let go of Y/n? How could he forget her, when every part of him screamed that she was out there, somewhere, waiting for him?

His conversations with the inner circle had grown colder, more strained. They were concerned, but they didn’t understand. Not really. How could they, when none of them had lost someone the way he had lost Y/n?

Rhysand stared out over Velaris, the city lights reflecting off the river below. One year, three months, fifteen days, six hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirty-one seconds.

And still, she was gone.

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n sat on a wooden bench outside the small cottage, her eyes watching the children play in the distance. The crisp evening air brushed against her skin, a reminder of how peaceful life had become in the village. Her heart, though, still felt heavy with memories of another life—one she had tried to leave behind.

The soft shuffle of feet approached, and Y/n turned to see Elder Miriam, one of the village’s wisest, sitting down beside her. The old woman’s face was lined with age, her eyes sharp but kind. She had been the one to welcome Y/n when she first arrived, offering a place to stay and a quiet understanding.

“You’ve been here for some time now,” Miriam began, her voice gentle but firm. “Longer than most who come seeking refuge.”

Y/n nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I didn’t expect to stay this long.”

“And yet, here you are,” Miriam continued, her hands resting on her lap. “There’s peace in this village, but I see it hasn’t reached your heart yet.”

Y/n swallowed, feeling the truth of the words settle inside her. “I’m… trying.”

Miriam studied her, the silence between them filled with the soft sounds of the village. “You’ve been through much. That much is clear. But what are you still holding onto, child?”

Y/n hesitated, unsure how to voice the conflict inside her. “There are people I left behind,” she finally said. “A life I thought I could escape from. But it follows me, no matter how far I run.”

Miriam nodded, her expression thoughtful. “The past has a way of lingering. It’s not something you can outrun. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting, Y/n. It means learning to live with what’s happened, not burying it.”

Y/n bit her lip, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface. “I thought if I stayed here long enough, I could… rebuild myself. Become someone new.”

“And have you?” Miriam asked, her tone still gentle.

“I don’t know,” Y/n whispered. “Some days, it feels like I’m better. I’m learning to be happy again. But then, there are days where… I feel like I’m right back where I started.”

Miriam placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. “You’ve come far, more than you realize. But you must ask yourself—what is it you’re truly afraid of? Is it the life you left behind, or is it facing the feelings you’ve kept locked away?”

Y/n looked away, the truth painful to admit. “I’m afraid of going back,” she said quietly. “Afraid of what it would mean to confront everything I left behind.”

Miriam nodded again, her eyes full of understanding. “The village has been a place of healing for you, and it’s given you time. But time, Y/n, doesn’t erase the things we carry. It only gives us space to understand them. You cannot live in fear of what’s behind you. It will find its way to the surface, one way or another.”

Y/n felt the weight of the words settle in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she realized how much she had been avoiding—not just Rhysand, but the truth of her own feelings.

“You’re stronger than you think,” Miriam said softly. “You’ve survived, you’ve healed. But true peace will only come when you allow yourself to face what’s still left unresolved.”

Y/n took a deep breath, the knot in her chest loosening just a little. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“No one ever is,” Miriam replied with a small smile. “But readiness isn’t the same as willingness. And you, child, have always been willing to face whatever comes. I’ve seen it in you since the day you arrived.”

Y/n glanced at Miriam, the warmth in the elder’s words easing some of the fear that had gripped her for so long. Maybe she wasn’t ready to confront everything waiting for her outside the village, but maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe all she needed was the courage to try.

“Thank you,” Y/n said quietly, her voice steadier now.

Miriam smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Take your time, but don’t wait too long. The world won’t wait forever, and neither will you.”

With that, the elder rose from the bench, leaving Y/n alone with her thoughts, the peaceful hum of the village life surrounding her. For the first time in months, Y/n felt the pull of something beyond this quiet haven—something she had tried to ignore, but that was always there, waiting.

Maybe it was time to stop running.

A week had passed since Y/n had left the village. The cool morning air nipped at her skin as she stood at the edge of the forest, the place that had been her refuge for over a year. The memory of her time there was fresh—both a blessing and a burden—but she had made her peace with it. She had healed, not just physically, but in the deeper places that had been broken for so long.

Her heart was lighter now, no longer weighed down by the constant ache of loss. She was ready to move on, to return to the Dawn Court and begin her new life. A part of her would always belong to the village, to the people she had come to love during her stay, but it was time to face the world again.

The day she left had been filled with quiet goodbyes, but the most difficult one had been with Lira. They had shared a bond—a deep understanding that went beyond words.

“You’ll come visit us, right?” Lira’s voice had been soft, but there was a seriousness in her eyes. She stood in front of Y/n, her hands gripping hers tightly.

Y/n smiled, a bittersweet warmth in her chest. “I promise,” she said. “I’ll come back when I can. This place will always be special to me.”

Lira’s lips curved into a smile, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Don’t forget us. And don���t forget yourself, either. You’ve grown so much, Y/n. Don’t let that go.”

Y/n shook her head, her voice thick. “I won’t.”

Another villager, an elder Y/n had come to cherish, patted her on the back. “You’ll always have a home here,” he said warmly. “No matter where you go.”

She nodded, grateful beyond words. “Thank you. All of you.”

They stood in a quiet circle, the weight of the farewell settling in the cool air around them. The children she had watched over waved from behind the elder, their faces glowing with sadness and hope.

“Take care of yourself,” Lira said softly, pulling Y/n into a tight embrace. “You deserve to be happy.”

Y/n held her close, taking in the familiar scent of the village—the woods, the earth, and the faint traces of fire. “I’ll try.”

With one last lingering glance, Y/n turned toward the path that led out of the village, the weight of their love and friendship carrying her forward. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Not this time.

Now, she stood at the gates of the Dawn Court, her heart thudding in her chest. The sprawling palace beyond the gates shimmered under the morning light, and the familiar sight tugged at her—both comforting and foreign after so much time away.

She was different now, she knew that. The woman who had once been so broken, so consumed by heartache, no longer existed. In her place stood someone stronger—someone who had faced the darkest parts of herself and come out on the other side.

Y/n stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the gravel path. A new life awaited her here. She had accepted that Rhysand was not hers, and with that acceptance came freedom—freedom to create something new, something that was hers alone.

As she approached the entrance, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. This was home, after all. And no matter how far she had run, she was always meant to return.

The guards at the gate gave her surprised looks, but they bowed respectfully, recognizing her. They knew her face, even if they couldn’t comprehend the transformation she had undergone in her time away.

Home. It sounded strange, but as she stepped through the gates and into the Dawn Court’s embrace, she realized how true it was.

She had come full circle.

With each step, the memories of her old life resurfaced, but they didn’t crush her as they once had. Instead, they reminded her of the strength she had gained, the scars she had earned, and the peace she had finally found.

This was a new beginning, and Y/n was ready for whatever came next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another miserable day.

He had counted every single second of her absence, the guilt festering in his chest like a poison he couldn’t escape. No matter how much time passed, the ache didn’t ease. The weight of what he had done—or rather, what he hadn’t done—crushed him.

He had searched everywhere, sent emissaries to the furthest reaches of Prythian and beyond. He’d begged, bribed, and even threatened other courts for information. Thesan had been his most trusted ally in the search, offering resources and keeping an eye out. Rhysand had sent his Inner Circle across borders to find her, but it had all led to nothing. Y/n was gone, and the only thing he had left was his regret.

He hadn’t been there for her when she needed him most. Not during Amarantha’s reign. Not when she had withered under his very nose, and certainly not when she left. His thoughts always returned to those last months. The months he had spent prioritizing Feyre’s safety and neglecting Y/n’s slow unraveling. He had failed her.

He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, feeling the familiar hollow ache settle deep in his bones, when the door to his study opened.

Azriel stepped in, his shadows swirling around him like an ever-present cloak of darkness. The spymaster’s face was unreadable, but Rhysand knew him well enough to see the urgency in his posture.

“Rhys,” Azriel said, his voice calm, but there was something behind it. Something that made Rhysand sit up straight, a flicker of hope—a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself in months—stirring in his chest.

“What is it?” Rhysand asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Hope had become a dangerous thing for him, always leading to disappointment.

Azriel paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in. “Thesan contacted me. His guards… they’ve seen her.”

Rhysand’s heart stopped. For a long, agonizing second, he couldn’t breathe. “Seen… her?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel nodded. “Y/n. She’s back at the Dawn Court. She returned a week ago. Thesan’s guards have been keeping an eye on her from a distance, but she’s home. Alive.”

Rhysand felt the floor tilt beneath him. She was back. After all this time, after every failed attempt to find her, every sleepless night spent tormented by guilt, Y/n had returned. The relief that flooded him was overwhelming, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of doubt so strong it made him dizzy.

“I should… I should go to her,” Rhysand said, standing abruptly. His mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to see her, had to know if she was okay. But then he paused, his hand falling away from the desk. His thoughts crashed into one another, the doubt settling in.

Would she want to see him?

“Wait,” Rhysand murmured, his voice barely audible. “Should I even go?” He turned to Azriel, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I… I wasn’t there for her, Az. Not when she needed me most. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she’s better off without me?”

Azriel’s dark eyes flickered with something like exasperation, but it was laced with sympathy. “Rhys, are you serious right now?”

Rhysand dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his guilt crushing him again. “I ignored her. After Amarantha, after Feyre… I neglected her. The last months she was with us, I wasn’t there for her. What if she’s moved on? What if she’s better now without me?”

Azriel stepped closer, his shadows swirling around his shoulders. “You’ve been searching for her for over a year. You’ve nearly destroyed yourself trying to find her. And now that she’s back, you’re doubting whether to go to her?”

Rhysand clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “I hurt her, Az. I let her slip away. What if she hates me for it?”

Azriel let out a breath, his eyes softening. “Then you go to her and you tell her that. You tell her how much she means to you, and you beg for her forgiveness if that’s what it takes.” His voice lowered, more gentle than Rhysand had ever heard it. “You’ve been waiting for this moment, Rhys. Don’t let your guilt stop you from fixing what was broken.”

Rhysand stared at his brother, the weight of his words sinking in. He had been waiting—praying—for this moment, for the chance to make things right. But now that it was here, all he could feel was fear. Fear that Y/n wouldn’t forgive him, that the damage he had caused was too great to repair.

“I will kneel if I have to,” Rhysand said quietly, the words heavy with desperation. “I’ll beg her to forgive me, to let me back into her life.”

Azriel’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. “Then go. Don’t waste any more time.”

Rhysand nodded, though the fear still gnawed at him. But beneath that fear, a flicker of hope remained. He would see Y/n again. He would kneel, beg, do whatever it took to fix the mistakes of the past.

And maybe—just maybe—he could find a way back to her.

Rhysand stood in silence for a moment, letting the realization sink in. He wasn’t sure what he would find when he saw Y/n, or if she would even want to speak to him. But there was no turning back now.

With a deep breath, he turned to Azriel. “I’m going to Dawn,” he said, his voice steady, though his heart trembled. “I have to see her.”

Azriel nodded once. “Good luck, Rhys.”

Rhysand didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He simply disappeared, winnowing into the wind, his heart pounding as he made his way to the one person who mattered most.

~~~~~~~~

Y/n sat at the small table in her home, the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. The room was modest but comfortable, much different than it had been a year ago. Before she left, she had been barely getting by, working tirelessly just to make ends meet. She had spent her days repairing small items, doing odd jobs, always tired, always worn down. Back then, the work had been a necessity—a way to survive, not something she took pride in.

Now, it was different.

Y/n’s fingers moved over the smooth wood of the small jewelry box she had just crafted. She had taken up woodworking after returning from the village, and while it wasn’t glamorous, she found peace in the craft. People in the Dawn Court had taken notice of her work, and word had spread. Slowly but surely, she started receiving more commissions, her skills improving with every piece she made.

She wasn’t rich—not by a long shot—but she was comfortable. She didn’t have to worry as much about her next meal or paying for firewood. Her house, which had once felt so empty and cold, now felt like a home again. The work wasn’t just about money anymore. It was about creating something with her own hands—something that others appreciated.

Y/n leaned back, wiping the sawdust from her hands, and looked around her small space. It felt like she had finally found a balance. She was content. It wasn’t the life she had imagined for herself all those years ago, but it was a good life. She was healing, slowly but surely, and for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful about the future.

There were moments when her mind drifted to the past—when memories of Rhysand surfaced, and the pain of what could have been tugged at her. But it didn’t consume her anymore. She had made peace with it, in her own way, and she knew she had to keep moving forward. This was her life now, and she was determined to make it her own.

Y/n wiped her brow, the scent of fresh wood filling the air as she placed the finished box onto the shelf beside a few others she had completed earlier that week. A soft smile tugged at her lips. It was a simple life—one she hadn’t expected to love—but there was a calmness in it that soothed her in ways she hadn’t realized she needed.

Her hands were no longer idle, no longer weighed down by the burden of survival. Now, when she worked, it was with purpose, and each completed piece felt like a small victory—a testament to her growth, her healing. The dark days when she could barely muster the energy to get out of bed felt distant now, like a different life entirely.

She stepped back from her workbench, glancing around her small home. It was far from luxurious, but it was hers. She had made it feel like home again after being away for so long. She had become part of the local community again, and though life wasn’t easy, it was manageable—and even enjoyable at times.

Y/n sighed, letting the moment settle over her. She was content. She hadn’t thought it possible after everything she had been through, but somehow, she had found peace.

She walked to the window, looking out at the familiar streets. The weight of the past year didn’t feel as heavy as it used to. Dawn had changed for her. Before, it was a place where she had simply existed—barely making it through each day. Now, it felt like a fresh start, a place where she could rebuild herself without the shadows of her past constantly looming over her.

Her thoughts drifted to the village she had left behind just a week ago. It had been hard to say goodbye, but she knew it was time. They had become like a family to her, and the promise to visit would be kept. But she needed to come home—to her own space, her own life.

The memory of her farewell lingered, the promises exchanged that they would stay in touch, that they wouldn’t forget each other. She smiled at the thought. She wouldn’t forget them either. They had been the ones who had helped her when she didn’t know how to help herself, and that was something she would always carry with her.

But here, now, she was finally ready to move forward. Ready to build something new for herself.

Y/n was walking through the busy streets of the Dawn, enjoying the calm, steady pace of life here. She had just visited the market, her basket filled with items for her latest craft project. The sun was warm on her face, and for the first time in a long while, she felt truly at peace.

As she turned the corner, two figures in armor approached her. They wore the unmistakable insignia of the Dawn Court—palace soldiers. Their faces were unreadable, and as they came closer, she felt an uneasy flutter in her stomach.

“Y/n,” one of them said, his voice firm yet not unkind. “You are required at the palace.”

Her heart skipped a beat, confusion surging through her. “The palace? Why? Did I do something wrong?”

The second soldier didn’t meet her gaze, only repeating the first soldier’s words. “We need to escort you to the High Lord. Please come with us.”

Fear and confusion knotted in her chest, but the soldiers gave her no further explanation. They began to walk, clearly expecting her to follow. Y/n’s mind raced with questions. Why would High Lord Thesan summon her? What had she done? She couldn’t think of any reason she’d be needed at the palace.

As they passed through the grand gates and into the opulent halls, her nerves only grew. The palace was more beautiful than she remembered, but she was too anxious to appreciate the elegance of her surroundings. The guards led her through winding corridors until they reached a large, ornate door.

One of the soldiers knocked, and the door was opened from within. They motioned for her to step inside.

She hesitated for only a moment before walking in.

The room was grand, with tall windows casting golden light over the finely furnished space. But it wasn’t the luxury of the room that caught her off guard.

It was the two men standing inside.

One was High Lord Thesan, smiling warmly, his demeanor calm and welcoming. The other was Rhysand.

Her breath caught in her throat. Rhysand? Her legs nearly gave out beneath her at the sight of him standing there, looking tense, his usual smug expression replaced with something far more serious. His violet eyes found hers the moment she entered the room, and she felt every nerve in her body light up with an old, painful familiarity.

Thesan stepped forward first, his kind smile not wavering. “Y/n,” he greeted, his voice smooth. “I apologize for the sudden summons. I imagine this is not what you were expecting today.”

She blinked, still too shocked to speak, her gaze flickering from Thesan to Rhysand and back again.

The High Lord chuckled softly, clearly sensing her confusion. “You are not in trouble, I assure you,” Thesan said gently. “I wanted to make sure you had a chance to… speak with Rhysand. I believe there are things that need to be said.” He glanced between them before adding, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

Y/n’s throat tightened as Thesan gave her one last smile and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

And then it was just her and Rhysand.

The silence was suffocating. Rhysand stood a few feet away, his gaze locked on her, an uncharacteristic tension lining his features. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected.

“Y/n… I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond at first, still trying to piece together how this moment had come to pass. “Sorry for what?” she finally asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

“For everything,” Rhysand said, stepping closer, though he still maintained a respectful distance. “For how I treated you before… for abandoning you. I spent the past year searching for you, desperate to make things right. I—” He paused, swallowing hard. “I should have told you sooner. You are my mate.”

Her chest tightened, a sharp laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. “I know.”

Rhys’s eyes widened in surprise. “You knew? Since when?”

“Since long before you disappeared into Feyre’s shadow,” she replied bitterly. The anger, the hurt, it all came rushing back in full force. “Why didn’t I tell you? Why should I have? Would it have made a difference when you were so focused on her that I may as well have been invisible?”

Rhys flinched at her words, guilt etched deeply into his face. “It would have mattered,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You mattered.”

“Then why didn’t you act like it?” Y/n’s voice trembled with emotion, her hands clenching at her sides. “Why was I nothing more than a tool to you when Feyre came along? I watched you—watched as you ignored me, as you barely looked at me. And now, after a year of running and hiding, now you come to apologize? You expect me to just forgive you because you finally decided I was worth something?”

Rhysand’s eyes were filled with sorrow and regret, his normally proud and arrogant demeanor shattered. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I came to beg for it, if that’s what it takes. I was wrong, Y/n, in so many ways. But you have to know, you are my mate, and I will do anything to make this right. I will kneel, I will grovel, I will—”

But she shook her head, cutting him off. “It’s too late, Rhysand. You’ve already made your choice.”

Rhys took another step toward her, desperation in his eyes. “Please, Y/n. I never stopped caring. I was a fool. But we can start again, we—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice firm, though it cracked with emotion. “You don’t get to come back into my life now and demand forgiveness. I’ve rebuilt myself. I’ve moved on. You should have done the same.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Rhysand standing alone, the weight of his mistakes heavy in the air.

But Rhysand didn’t stop. Determined to win her back, he threw himself into a relentless pursuit of her forgiveness. Every day, he tried to reach her in some way, even if she wouldn’t let him in.

He sent her gifts—delicate, handcrafted items from the finest artisans in the Dawn Court, things that would have brought a smile to her face just months ago. Each time, he watched from a distance as she took them from her doorstep, only to leave them discarded by the door, untouched and unacknowledged.

Rhysand poured his heart into letters, filled with apologies and promises, penned with the kind of vulnerability he had rarely shown anyone before. He would slip them under her door, hoping that maybe one would catch her attention. But each time he checked, the letters remained sealed, never to be opened, reminders of his failure piling up like stones in his chest.

He would linger in the shadows, just outside her home, drawn by the pull of her presence. He watched her move about her day—working on her crafts, laughing with neighbors, sharing stories. His heart ached at how vibrant she seemed, yet he felt like a ghost haunting the edges of her life. Each smile she shared with others was a dagger, a reminder of what he had lost.

In moments of bravery, he approached the marketplace, hoping for a chance encounter. He would linger near the stalls, pretending to browse as she passed by, but she never looked his way. It was as if he were invisible, a figment of her past she refused to acknowledge.

He even tried to connect with the villagers, asking about her and expressing his desire to help her, but they were loyal to her. They would only nod politely, never divulging her whereabouts or responding to his inquiries. They could sense the pain behind his facade, and their protectiveness toward Y/n was fierce.

Days turned into weeks, and Rhysand’s resolve only strengthened. He would find small ways to make his presence known. Sometimes, he would send the occasional flower with a note saying, “I miss you.” Other times, he enlisted Azrael to check in on her, to gauge how she was doing. Each report from his friend was a bittersweet reminder of how far he had fallen from her good graces.

Yet despite all his efforts, Y/n remained steadfastly indifferent. She had rebuilt her life without him, and the fortress she had built around her heart was impenetrable. No amount of gifts or letters could pierce it.

As the seasons changed, Rhysand continued his quiet vigil, each day filled with longing and regret, praying that one day, she would see him not as a shadow of her past but as a man who desperately wanted to be part of her future.

Y/n was kneeling in her garden, the vibrant flowers blooming around her, but her heart felt anything but bright. She was lost in thought, trying to focus on her plants when she suddenly sensed a presence behind her. Her instincts kicked in, and she turned quickly, catching sight of a tall figure with dark wings.

“Who are you?” she demanded, standing defensively, her heart racing.

“Y/n,” he replied, his voice calm yet intense. “My name is Azriel, I’m a friend of Rhysand’s. I’ve been… watching over you.”

“Watching over me?” she echoed, confusion and anger flaring up inside her. “Why? What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Azriel said, stepping forward slightly but keeping his distance, as if respecting her space. “About Rhysand. He’s been… suffering since you left.”

Y/n crossed her arms, her expression hardening. “I don’t want to talk about him. He made his choice.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing, Y/n,” Azriel pressed, his tone earnest. “He’s been lost without you. The gifts he sent, the letters—those were all from a place of regret. He didn’t realize how much you meant to him until it was too late.”

“Regret?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s easy to feel regret when you’ve moved on with someone else, isn’t it? I was nothing more than a passing thought to him while he chased after Feyre.”

Azriel frowned, sensing the pain in her words. “I can’t deny that Rhysand made mistakes, but he has changed. He’s been searching for you for a year. He’s been—”

“Searching?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “How much of a fool do you think I am to believe that? I don’t want to be another one of his burdens or a way to soothe his guilt.”

Azriel took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I understand your anger, but you deserve to know the truth. You deserve to hear him out.”

Y/n’s heart raced with conflicting emotions. She was furious with Rhysand, yet there was a flicker of curiosity buried deep inside her. “And what makes you think I want to hear anything from him? What if he’s just going to hurt me again?”

Azriel stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because you deserve closure. You deserve to understand why he acted the way he did. If you don’t give him a chance, you might carry this pain forever. You may think you’ve moved on, but deep down, you’re still holding onto that hurt.”

Y/n’s expression softened slightly, but she quickly masked it with defiance. “It’s easier to keep it all buried, Azriel. I don’t need him in my life. I’ve built something here, a life I’m proud of.”

“I see that,” he said, nodding. “But are you truly happy? Or is there still a part of you that wonders what could have been?”

She hesitated, the truth clawing at her heart. “Maybe I could talk to him again,” she admitted reluctantly, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. “But it doesn’t mean I want to forgive him. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to open that door again.”

“Just consider it,” Azriel urged gently. “You don’t have to decide everything right now. But Rhysand is here, waiting for you. He won’t stop until he gets the chance to explain himself. And when you’re ready, you can choose how to respond.”

Y/n turned back to her flowers, avoiding Azriel’s gaze, trying to gather her thoughts. “And what if I don’t want to respond? What if I just want to forget?”

“Then you’ll have that choice too,” Azriel said, his tone calm and understanding. “But know that you can’t run from your feelings forever. If you want to heal, you have to face them.”

After a long silence, Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Azriel nodded, she could feel the weight of his presence, a reminder that her past was still very much alive, no matter how hard she tried to bury it. She knew that eventually, she would have to confront the truth about Rhysand—and about herself.

The sky was painted in soft shades of dusk, the sun casting its final golden rays over the pristine lake. The place Rhysand had chosen was breathtaking—a secluded spot nestled between the hills, where the water sparkled like diamonds under the fading light. Wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors contrasting with the deep green of the surrounding trees. It was peaceful, a place that felt almost sacred in its stillness.

Y/n approached the shore, her footsteps slow and hesitant. She had agreed to meet him, but every step felt heavier than the last, like she was walking toward something she wasn’t ready to face. Her heart thudded in her chest, her mind filled with doubts, fears, and anger she hadn’t yet let go of.

And then she saw him.

Rhysand stood by the edge of the lake, his back to her, his wings tucked tightly against him. The sight of him stirred something deep within her—a pang of old pain, old longing, and something new, something she couldn’t yet name. He seemed so out of place here, in this tranquil setting, with the weight of his own emotions heavy on his shoulders.

He turned as she neared, his violet eyes locking onto hers, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths—regret, hope, desperation. He took a step toward her, but stopped himself, as if afraid that one wrong move might send her running.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for coming.”

She didn’t respond immediately, crossing her arms over her chest, her posture guarded. “You wanted to talk. So, talk.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before he looked back at her. “I don’t even know where to begin. I… I made so many mistakes.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered, her voice colder than she had intended.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t realize… how much I hurt you. I didn’t realize how blind I had been to everything you were going through.”

“I was right there, Rhys,” she said, her voice rising with frustration. “Right in front of you, and you didn’t see me. Not once. Not until it was too late.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I know, and I hate myself for it. I was so consumed by everything happening with Amarantha, with Feyre… I thought I was doing what was best, that I was protecting you by keeping you at a distance.”

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head. “Protecting me? By ignoring me? By treating me like I didn’t exist?”

Rhysand flinched at her words, guilt flooding his features. “I thought… I thought that if I distanced myself, if I kept you away, you wouldn’t be hurt. That you’d be safer if you weren’t involved in everything that was happening. But I see now that I was wrong. So, so wrong.”

She bit her lip, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—a crack in her armor, however small. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained. “I was a coward. I didn’t know how to face you, how to admit that I had failed you. And by the time I realized… it felt like I had already lost you.”

“You had,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You did.”

Rhysand stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “But I don’t want to lose you forever, Y/n. I can’t. I came here to beg for your forgiveness, to do whatever it takes to make things right. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’ve done nothing but hurt you, but I’m asking—no, I’m begging you to give me a chance to prove that I’ve changed.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her heart torn between the lingering hurt and the raw sincerity in his voice. “And what if I can’t forgive you? What if it’s too late for that?”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression solemn. “Then I’ll accept that. I’ll accept whatever decision you make. But please, just give me the chance to try. Let me show you that I’m not the same man who pushed you away. Let me prove that I can be the person you deserve.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with unshed tears, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You hurt me, Rhys. You made me feel like I was nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “And I will regret that for the rest of my life. But you are not nothing. You never were. You are everything.”

She turned away, her hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together. “This… this is all too much. I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Rhysand closed the distance between them, his voice soft but urgent. “I won’t rush you. I won’t push you. But if there’s even a part of you that thinks we could find a way forward, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

She wiped at her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. “And what about the mate bond? You didn’t even acknowledge it, didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t know,” he said quickly, his eyes wide with desperation. “I didn’t know until you were gone, until it was too late. I felt it after you left, like a piece of my soul was ripped away.”

Y/n stared at him, her heart pounding. “I knew,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widened, shock and confusion written on his face. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d care,” she said, her voice wavering. “Because you were so focused on Feyre, on everything else. I didn’t want to be another burden for you to carry.”

Rhysand shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You were never a burden, Y/n. Never. I was just too blind to see what was right in front of me. And I hate myself for that.”

Y/n turned back to him, her gaze softening ever so slightly. “I’m not ready to accept the bond yet, Rhys. I’m not ready to just… let everything go.”

He nodded, his expression pained but understanding. “I understand. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for as long as it takes, and I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. “Maybe… maybe if we spent more time together, if you showed me that you’ve really changed… maybe then I could consider it.”

Rhysand’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope, and he nodded eagerly. “Anything. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Y/n sighed, the heaviness in her chest lifting just slightly. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you, Rhys. I’m not there yet. But… I’m willing to see if you can prove yourself.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and filled with determination. “I will. I swear I will.”

She nodded slowly, a small, tentative step toward the possibility of healing. “We’ll see.”

As Y/n spoke those final words, a calm silence settled between them. The tension that had been weighing the air down began to ease, and the light from the setting sun cast a warm glow over the lake, reflecting in soft ripples on the water. Rhysand, still standing close but not too close, let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He gave her a tentative smile, one that was full of relief and gratitude. “Thank you… for giving me this chance,” he murmured softly. “It means more than you know.”

Y/n glanced at him, her expression unreadable for a moment before a small smile ghosted her lips. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot of proving to do, Rhys.”

His eyes sparkled with a mixture of affection and determination, and for the first time in a long time, a bit of the old, charming Rhys peeked through. “I plan to, darling. You’ll see.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice behind it, just a faint glimmer of amusement. “Don’t get cocky. This isn’t a victory.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, a teasing lilt in his voice. “But it’s a start.”

They both stood there for a while longer, just watching the lake, the breeze gentle against their skin. Y/n didn’t pull away when Rhysand took a small step closer, their arms nearly brushing. The proximity felt different now—less suffocating, more… reassuring. As if, for the first time in ages, she wasn’t standing completely alone.

Rhysand didn’t make any bold moves; he didn’t reach out to touch her, respecting the distance she still held. But there was a warmth in the silence, an unspoken understanding that they were no longer quite as far apart as before.

Finally, after a few moments of peaceful quiet, Y/n turned to leave, the conversation having drained her emotionally. She needed time—time to process everything he’d said, everything she’d felt.

As she walked past him, Rhysand called after her gently, “Can I at least walk you back?”

Y/n paused, glancing over her shoulder. For a heartbeat, she considered saying no, but then, with a soft sigh, she nodded. “Alright. But just this once.”

Rhysand smiled—genuinely, this time—and caught up to her, falling into step beside her as they began to walk down the path back toward the city. They didn’t speak much, the silence between them comfortable now, and Y/n found herself not minding his presence the way she once had.

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Taglist: @willowpains @theravenphoenix26 @mother-above @bookwormysblog @strawberriesandstories @12idk1234

[bobacupcake]

Oooh, what about Journey? I think the sand probably took a lot to pull off

it did!! i watched a video about it, god, like 6 years ago or something and it was a very very important thing for them to get just right. this is goimg to be a longer one because i know this one pretty extensively

here's the steps they took to reach it!!

and heres it all broken down:

so first off comes the base lighting!! when it comes to lighting things in videogames, a pretty common model is the lambert model. essentially you get how bright things are just by comparing the normal (the direction your pixel is facing in 3d space) with the light direction (so if your pixel is facing the light, it returns 1, full brightness. if the light is 90 degrees perpendicular to the pixel, it returns 0, completely dark. and pointing even further away you start to go negative. facing a full 180 gives you -1. thats dot product baybe!!!)

but they didnt like it. so. they just tried adding and multiplying random things!!! literally. until they got the thing on the right which they were like yeah this is better :)

you will also notice the little waves in the sand. all the sand dunes were built out of a heightmap (where things lower to the ground are closer to black and things higher off the ground are closer to white). so they used a really upscaled version of it to map a tiling normal map on top. they picked the map automatically based on how steep the sand was, and which direction it was facing (east/west got one texture, north/south got the other texture)

then its time for sparkles!!!! they do something very similar to what i do for sparkles, which is essentially, they take a very noisy normal map like this and if you are looking directly at a pixels direction, it sparkles!!

this did create an issue, where the tops of sand dunes look uh, not what they were going for! (also before i transition to the next topic i should also mention the "ocean specular" where they basically just took the lighting equation you usually use for reflecting the sun/moon off of water, and uh, set it up on the sand instead with the above normal map. and it worked!!! ok back to the tops of the sand dunes issue)

so certain parts just didnt look as they intended and this was a result of the anisotropic filtering failing. what is anisotropic filtering you ask ?? well i will do my best to explain it because i didnt actually understand it until 5 minutes ago!!!! this is going to be the longest part of this whole explanation!!!

so any time you are looking at a videogame with textures, those textures are generally coming from squares (or other Normal Shapes like a healthy rectangle). but ! lets say you are viewing something from a steep angle

it gets all messed up!!! so howww do we fix this. well first we have to look at something called mip mapping. this is Another thing that is needded because video game textures are generally squares. because if you look at them from far away, the way each pixel gets sampled, you end up with some artifacting!!

so mip maps essentially just are the original texture, but a bunch of times scaled down Properly. and now when you sample that texture from far away (so see something off in the distance that has that texture), instead of sampling from the original which might not look good from that distance, you sample from the scaled down one, which does look good from that distance

ok. do you understand mip mapping now. ok. great. now imagine you are a GPU and you know exactly. which parts of each different mip map to sample from. to make the texture look the Absolute Best from the angle you are looking at it from. how do you decide which mip map to sample, and how to sample it? i dont know. i dont know. i dont know how it works. but thats anisotropic filtering. without it looking at things from a steep angle will look blurry, but with it, your GPU knows how to make it look Crisp by using all the different mip maps and sampling them multiple times. yay! the more you let it sample, the crisper it can get. without is on the left, with is on the right!!

ok. now. generally this is just a nice little thing to have because its kind of expensive. BUT. when you are using a normal map that is very very grainy like the journey people are, for all the sparkles. having texture fidelity hold up at all angles is very very important. because without it, your textures can get a bit muddied when viewing it from any angle that isnt Straight On, and this will happen

cool? sure. but not what they were going for!! (16 means that the aniso is allowed to sample the mip maps sixteen times!! thats a lot)

but luckily aniso 16 allows for that pixel perfect normal map look they are going for. EXCEPT. when viewed from the steepest of angles. bringing us back here

so how did they fix this ? its really really clever. yo uguys rmemeber mip maps right. so if you have a texture. and have its mip maps look like this

that means that anything closer to you will look darker, because its sampling from the biggest mip map, and the further away you get, the lighter the texture is going to end up. EXCEPT !!!! because of aisononotropic filtering. it will do the whole sample other mip maps too. and the places where the anisotropic filtering fail just so happen to be the places where it starts sampling the furthest texture. making the parts that fail that are close to the camera end up as white!!!

you can see that little ridge that was causing problems is a solid white at the tip, when it should still be grey. so they used this and essentially just told it not to render sparkles on the white parts. problem solved

we arent done yet though because you guys remember the mip maps? well. they are causing their own problems. because when you shrink down the sparkly normal map, it got Less Sparkly, and a bit smooth. soooo . they just made the normal map mip maps sharper (they just multipled them by 2. this just Worked)

the Sharp mip maps are on the left here!!

and uh... thats it!!!! phew. hope at least some of this made sense

[veronicaphoenix]

fairy dust series ✨ au — part two: the seducing kitsune | wc: 3.2k

— previous part: the wicked fairy

pairing: fae!oliver x ivy (ofc) x kitsune!noah summary: ivy finally meets noah tags & trigger warnings: age gap, it's implied that the fem. character is a virgin, it's also implied that noah shape-shifts back and forth from his kitsune form into his human one, noah uses his nine tails to his advantage, slightly jealous!noah, noah asks to be pet, noah gets on his knees, noah gets pet, sexual content: oral sex (fem. rec.), voyeurism (if you squint). my works 🌙

The Seducing Kitsune ೃ༄*ੈ

She hasn’t played hide and seek in over a decade. 

            Ivy steps cautiously away from the sand and into the forest, leaving behind the quiet oasis where she had watched Oliver’s mesmerizing, naked form. 

            The air is thick with the sweet, heady scent of blooming flowers and the earthy aroma of trees. Her heart flutters in her chest, a mix of excitement and trepidation. The memory of Oliver’s playful yet dangerous smile lingers in her mind, but now her thoughts are consumed with the search for Noah.

            The forest around her is alive, every leaf and branch whispering secrets while the sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting shadows on the ground. The air shimmers with energy, and the very ground beneath her naked feet feels like it pulses with life.

            As she wanders further, she hears a rustle among the bushes. Ivy’s heart leaps, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins. 

            Noah.

            She catches glimpses of sleek, black fur darting through the underbrush, always just out of reach. 

            At first, her steps are hesitant, her mind clouded with worry and a touch of fear. But with each sighting of the creature she’s chasing, her confidence grows, and apprehension gives way to exhilaration.

            Laughter bubbles up from deep within her, a sound as pure and joyous as the song of the birds flitting above her. She hops after the Kitsune, her movements light and carefree. Butterflies of every color dance around her, their wings glittering. Other tiny and magical creatures scurry at her feet, and sparkling dust falls from the sky as the trees seem to part just for her, inviting her to go on, to dive into the deepest parts of the forest. 

            Ivy’s breath comes in quick, excited gasps as she races through the trees. Her skin tingles with a strange, intoxicating sensation, as if the very air is infused with magic that seeps into her pores, warming her from within. She feels a joy, a pure, unadulterated happiness that spreads through her veins and pulses in her heart.

            She only stops when a wave of dizziness washes over her. She feels lightheaded, almost drunk on the sheer joy and magic around her. She looks around, her eyes searching for any sign of Noah. The forest is silent now, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. A grey rabbit hops away, disappearing into the underbrush.

            “Noah?” she calls out, her voice echoing softly through the trees.

            The air shifts, a subtle change that she can recognize now. It’s the same sensation she felt when Oliver appeared in her room, the sign of a tangible presence nearby that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. She turns slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

            Leaning against a tree not far from her, in a pose strikingly similar to Oliver’s from ten years ago, stands a young man. He is taller and slimmer than Oliver. He’s barefoot, and wears black jeans and no shirt. His chest and arms are adorned with a myriad of tattoos, a snake coiling around his neck, intertwining with leaves and a hand reaching for a red apple right on his Adam’s apple. His brown, almond-shaped eyes lock onto hers, and his sensual, soft hair falls in a casual, yet deliberate, layered haircut. A smirk plays on his thin lips, one corner tilted upwards in a way that makes Ivy’s skin tingle.

            “Hi, Ivy,” he says, his voice smooth and inviting.

            Ivy holds her breath, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. 

            The intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes seem to see right through her, leaves her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Yet, there’s something undeniably magnetic about him, a pull she can’t resist. Her heart races, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins as she stands frozen, staring at the enigmatic figure before her.

            She’s taken aback by his beauty, a shyness creeping into her heart. Noah is as charming as Oliver, but while Oliver’s eyes held a playful sparkle, Noah’s gaze is different—hungrier, more intense.

            “Noah,” she whispers, almost unconsciously, his name slipping slowly from her lips like a sacred incantation, as if to engrave it in her memory.

            Noah tilts his head to the side, his smile widening. His hair moves with the gentle breeze, adding a touch of wildness to his appearance. She wants to touch it. Badly. “I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

            She stares at him, drinking in every detail of his form. Is she really going to have him just as she has Oliver? All to herself? The thought sends a thrill through her. She takes a deep breath, the scent of the forest filling her lungs, the aroma of earth and greenery seeping into her veins, grounding her.

            “Oliver says you like to play,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

            “I do,” he replies, each word dripping with a seductive edge. He takes a step toward her, and then another, closing the distance between them with a predator’s grace. “Are you going to let me play with you, Ivy?”

            Ivy finds herself nodding eagerly, her body betraying her cautious mind. As he approaches, she instinctively recoils, taking careful steps backward until her back collides with the rough bark of a tree. The sensation is grounding, but her heart races.

            “Careful,” Noah says, his voice steady and firm. There’s a sensuality in his tone, a roughness that seems to caress her skin, sliding through her senses like honey dripping from her fingers. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

            “I’m fine,” she assures him, though her breath is caught in her throat and her heartbeat is quick, drumming in her ears. Her hands explore the texture of the tree’s bark, seeking support in its solidity.

            Noah is close now, towering over her. He seems to grow taller and more imposing with each step he takes. Ivy’s body is tingling. 

            His presence is overwhelming, but the more her instincts tell her to look away, to find Oliver, she can’t. 

            The forest around them is watching their every move. The air is thick with magic, butterflies and other tiny creatures flitting around. The trees seem to lean in, as if eager to witness the unfolding connection between Ivy, the human girl, and Noah, the seducing kitsune.

            Noah reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. His touch is electric and it sends shivers down her spine. Ivy’s breath hitches, her eyes locked onto his. The world narrows to just the two of them. The forest fades into the background.

            “You’re trembling,” Noah notices, his voice a seductive purr. Ivy isn’t aware of it until he mentions it. “Are you afraid of me, Ivy?”

            She shakes her head, though she isn’t sure if it’s entirely true. 

            “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his brows furrowing at the expression on her face. She’s been hurt before. He can see it. “Never.”

            He waits for her stance to soften, for her soul to let him in. 

            Noah gently extends his hand towards Ivy, his palm open and inviting. “Touch me,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody that wraps around her. “Feel it.”

            Ivy’s heart is racing and she feels dizzy. She wonders if it will always be like this. 

            Regardless, the warmth and sincerity in Noah’s brown eyes draws her in. 

            She reaches out, her fingers trembling as they approach his. The moment their fingertips meet, a rush of energy courses through her.

            As her hand fully meets his, Ivy feels a wave of emotions flooding her. It’s as if all of Noah’s desires, his yearning to hold her, to care for her, to love her, are being transferred directly into her soul. She can sense his desperation, the ten long years he’s waited, the depth of his need to treasure her, to protect her, to play with her and taste her. 

            Ivy feels her resistance crumbling, the walls she had built around her heart slowly dissolving under the gentle pressure of his presence.

            Noah’s thumb brushes over her knuckles, sending a tingle up her arm. His touch is a promise of the tenderness and passion he holds within. Ivy takes a deep breath, the scent of the forest filling her lungs, mingling with the intoxicating presence of the kitsune before her.

            “Ivy,” he repeats her name to bring her attention back to him. When she looks up, it feels as if she’s known him all her life. Noah is the softness and primal side of her that she never understood, that she always thought made her some kind of weird child. “Ivy,” he continues. “What do you want?” 

            The intensity of his eyes might make her faint. 

            “I want you to play with me,” she confesses. 

            A smile curves Noah’s lips, and he steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I’ve been waiting forever to hear those words from you.”

            The joy dripping from his words is a balm to her wounded soul. 

            As his thumb caresses her skin, Ivy feels a sense of peace settling over her. She knows, deep in her heart, that this is where she belongs.

            With Noah.

            With Oliver.

            Here.

            Noah’s eyes glint with a mischievous light as he closes the final gap between them. Instead of kissing her, he leans in closer, inhaling her scent deeply. His nose brushes her jawline. He trails his nose along her neck and down to her clavicle, his breath warm and teasing against her skin. Ivy straightens up, her breath hitching, her heart pounding in her chest.

            “Do you live on Oliver’s back?” she asks, nearly achingly, her voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and nerves.

            Noah chuckles, the sound rich and low, the vibration of his laughter resonating through her. “I live in his heart,” he says dreamily, his eyes locking onto hers for a brief, intense moment. “And I can live in yours too, if you’d let me.”

            His nose continues its journey along her bare shoulder, the gentle, intimate touch making her skin tingle. Ivy’s mind is racing with the possibilities that Noah’s words suggest.

            Noah suddenly furrows his brows. He hums.

            For a moment, he doesn’t seem happy.

            “He’s already kissed you, hasn’t he?”

            Ivy’s breath catches again, her thoughts swirling. Ivy nods, her voice lost in the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her and the memory of Oliver’s kiss still vivid in her mind. She closes her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her. 

            Noah’s gaze darkens slightly, a blend of amusement and something more primal flickering in his eyes.

            Noah leans in, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m much more fun than he is, Ivy,” his voice is husky with desire. 

            His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and mystery. It doesn’t matter that her mind is racing; her body responds to his touch as if it’d always belonged to him. She feels herself surrendering.

            “Show me,” she orders bravely.

            Ivy parts her lips, where the memory of Oliver’s pressing against hers still remains. Her pulse quickens, her body responding to the magnetic pull between them. The forest around them seems to hold its breath. She feels the weight of Noah’s promise hanging in the air, a tantalizing mystery that she can’t resist.

            Noah’s lips hover near hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she feels herself drawn to him, unable to deny the magnetic allure of his nature. The world fades away, leaving only the intoxicating presence of Noah and the promise of what’s to come.

            Noah’s lips finally find hers, and he kisses her with a tenderness that makes her want to crumble in his arms, to let him take care of her forever. His kiss is soft and gentle, coaxing out her deepest desires with each delicate press of his mouth against hers. Ivy’s thoughts dissolve, leaving only the sensations of his touch, the taste of him, and the way he makes her feel cherished and wanted.

            His hand slides down to her thigh, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her dress. Ivy’s breath hitches as his hand moves higher, reaching between her legs. She grasps his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin as she tries to articulate her feelings.

            “I’ve never… nobody has ever…” she stammers, but Noah immediately understands. His eyes light up with a triumphant glint, rejoicing in the fact that he and Oliver are the first. They will be the only ones.

            “Oh,” he says, and the words feel like a song on their own. “Have you been waiting for me? You, pretty little thing?” 

            Yes, she wants to say, but she’s speechless at the way he’s looking at her, with the same promise that Oliver did—to take care of her, to replace every bad thing, every horrible memory, with something better, something magical.

            Noah’s fingers crawl up to touch her navel lightly, igniting a fire inside her. Her stomach sinks with every breath she takes, anticipation building. His eyes darken even more, if possible, promising to push her limits and take her higher and higher and to never let her fall.

            “What are you going to let me do to you, Ivy?” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “You’ve already poisoned me. Your wish is my command.”

            “Anything,” she replies quickly, desperate for him, for more. She has just one request. “But—”

            “But?” he asks, rising an eyebrow, amused. He wants her confident, demanding. 

            “Will you let me pet you while you…?”

            “While I what?” His voice raises. “Don’t be shy. Not here, Ivy,” his instructions are clear, leaving no room for hesitation. “Say it. Say what you desire,” Noah urges, his gaze locked on hers, filled with unspoken promises.

            “While you lick me,” she breathes out, her voice trembling with a mix of boldness and vulnerability.

            Noah doesn’t reply with words; instead, he smiles widely at her, maintaining eye contact as he lowers himself to his knees. The anticipation coils tighter within her as he lifts her dress, hooking his slender fingers into her panties and pulling them down. He leans in, so close to her core, his breath warm against her skin.

            “You smell like flowers,” he murmurs, his voice a reverent whisper.

            Hesitant yet yearning, she guides her hand to his hair, feeling the softness of his locks between her fingers, and it’s she who moans at the feel of it. Noah looks up at her, his expression one of pure adoration and hunger.

            “Pet me, Ivy,” he says softly, his lips brushing her navel. 

            With that, he dips his head, his mouth finding her, and Ivy’s world tilts. 

            She gets lost in the sensations, in the tender yet insistent way he explores her, her hands trying to follow his rhythm on his scalp. 

            For this moment, there is only Noah, and the way he makes her feel utterly cherished, utterly adored.

            As Noah’s tongue caresses her with kitten licks, Ivy is engulfed by a myriad of sensations that blur the boundaries of time and space. Each gentle flick and tender exploration sends ripples of pleasure through her body, drawing her deeper into an intoxicating haze. The forest around them seems to shimmer with magic, the trees whispering ancient secrets, and the butterflies hovering in an ethereal dance.

            She loses herself completely, her mind a swirl of ecstasy and wonder. At some point, she becomes aware of a new sensation—something soft and light dancing around her ankles. It feels like delicate tails brushing against her skin, teasing and tickling. The sensation grows, wrapping around her calves and trailing higher, and she realizes it’s Noah’s tails, covered in silken fur that sends electric shivers up her spine.

            It is this feeling, this unexpected caress of fur, that pushes her over the edge. Ivy shakes, her body trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash over her. She crumbles, her legs giving way, and Noah is quick to rise, catching her in his arms.

            Ivy clings to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she gasps for breath, her eyes wide with the intensity of the experience. Her cheek presses against Noah’s bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.

            She has never felt anything like this, a sense of completeness and raw vulnerability intertwining. Tears spring to her eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy and relief that floods her soul.

            Noah holds her close, his hand moving up and down her hair in a soothing rhythm. He cooes her softly, his voice a calming balm to her frayed nerves. 

            Ivy’s breathing gradually steadies, and she nuzzles closer to Noah, taking comfort in his embrace. She feels cherished, protected, and above all, she feels seen.

            Noah is filled with a mixture of tenderness and pride. As Ivy revels in the warmth of his arms around her, she feels another subtle shift in the air. Her senses, still heightened from her recent climax, pick up the unmistakable presence of another.

            “Are you done?” a familiar voice asks, cutting through the tranquility.

            Ivy’s heart halts mid-beat. She looks up to see Oliver standing a few paces away, one eyebrow raised in a mixture of amusement and approval. There is no reproach in his tone, only acknowledgment, a silent understanding that Noah has done exactly what was expected of him.

            “No,” Noah replies, his voice firm with a rough edge. “I’m not done.” His arms tighten protectively around Ivy, as if shielding her from a threat that doesn’t exist.         

            She feels safe. Now that both Noah and Oliver are in her line of sight, she feels wrapped in a blanket of comfort only provided by the green of Oliver’s eyes and the brown of Noah’s. 

            Oliver steps closer, his gaze shifting from Noah to Ivy. His eyes soften, a playful glint appearing as he takes in her flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that makes her heart flutter as she continues nestled against Noah.

            “Did Noah play with you?” Oliver asks, his voice low and soothing. There’s a possessiveness in his eyes, but it’s tempered with affection.

             “Yes.”

            Oliver’s smile broadens, “Good,” he murmurs. 

            With delicate fingers, he touches Ivy’s pink cheek. 

            Noah shifts slightly, allowing Ivy to extend an arm toward Oliver and place her palm open on his chest. 

            At the touch of both men—both creatures, the overwhelming yet comforting sensation intensifies to a new level. Glitter begins to fall from the sky, settling softly on their skin. Ivy feels a surge of emotions—awe, excitement, and a deep, profound longing that seems to radiate from her very core. This is what she’s been yearning for all along—not just the physical pleasure, but the connection, the sense of belonging that these extraordinary, surreal creatures are providing; who have spent a decade—or even longer—waiting patiently for her. 

            Covered in sparkling dust, Ivy finally feels whole, as if she has found her place in a world that once felt incomplete.

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[ja3hwa]

Jongho | Blue Lagoon

「Synopsis」 : You head out to sea in hopes the storm hadn't hurt your lovers. But what you are met with was more than expected.

「Word count」 : 2.0k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff. Fantasy. Adventure.

Paring: Vampire!Pirate!Jongho x Siren!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Pet name. Blood. Bodily fluids. Blood drinking. Sir kink. Blowjob. Throat fucking. Dirty talk. Nudity (Sexual & Non-Sexual). Let me know If I missed anything.

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The cave was warm compared to the freezing storm out at sea. Yunho gave the all-clear when he jumped from the deck to the sand bank. He made sure the anchor was set so they wouldn’t float away, also giving the grounds around them a once over just in case something else decided to pick the same cave as a place of refuge from the hell-bent storm. Wooyoung shouted about getting dinner started making everyone head for the lower deck, sensing their stomachs empty and in need of Wooyoung’s cooking.

Jongho however stayed on the stern deck, looking out to the waterfall that had an opening in the cave roof, making some rain pour in with a loud trickle. He noticed little lagoon pockets, most of them looked shallow but he knew all too well that they were indefinitely deep, making a cave system right beneath their feet. Some blue glowworms gathered on the wet roof, lighting up the cave, making him suddenly see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turns and stood up from his slouched position on the railing, trying to get a better look at the figure in one of the small lagoon pools. Maybe it was something to fear or something that could harm the ship, but he suddenly saw a light mixer of colour painted on a long and elegant tail. He knew exactly what he was looking at and it made his heart skip a beat.

The sea was calming around your body. It’s quiet and peaceful compared to the world above. You took a large inhale, letting the gills on the side of your neck filter the water inside your system. It was comfortable, familiar. You missed being underwater, but you loved the surface world as well. You missed your tail every day, but not as much as you liked your legs. It was lonely in the sea. Being an outcast from your home because of your special ability. Being a shifter. A rare form of Siren, a mermaid crossbreed. In other words, an abomination. Something that shouldn’t exist, but I guess your parents didn’t get the memo about that.

You navigate the ocean with ease following the scent of the destiny―the ship Yeosang was aboard―. The smell of wet dark spruce, a hint of honey and chard coal, the scent you loved whenever you stood on the deck of the beautiful vessel. You look up to the break where the water meets the opened air, seeing rain dancing on the face of the big blue. It’s getting heavier, you thought, worried the boys might be in trouble, but when you spot teal blue light bubbles, you knew there is a cave system nearby. Maybe they took their ship into a cave?

Swimming through the small crevasse you try your best not to get your large tail suck. But luckily you were just able to wiggle yourself through. You see thousands of lights from glowworms in your blurred view. The surface. Your hands are the first to exit the water feeling the warm air on your cold fingertips. You close your eyes cutting through the water's face before taking a sharp breath of oxygen in, feeling your lung fill with air as your gills close and seal up against your skin from the loss of water around them.

You open your eyes, looking around the large structure, rubbing your eyes in order to clear your vision. A skip in your heart makes your worried nerves finally calm down, seeing the ship sitting out of the storm. Safe. Placing your arms on either side of the lagoon pocket trying to pull yourself up and after a small attempt you got up, twisting your body so your butt could sit on the ledge. You look around the large hollowed rock structure, suddenly grazing on a figure heading in your direction.

“Shit.” You flopped your tail out of the water, placing a hand on your chest before whispering an enchantment allowing you to shift from your tail to your human legs. You prepared to try and explain to whoever was heading your way why you were naked in a cave but before any excuses come to mind a sigh left your lungs as you spot who it was. “Jongho…”

“Hey there Honey. I thought it was you.” His soft voice and kind smile made your heart flutter. He knelled down to your sitting form not dropping his graze from your face. Such a gentleman. He opens a satchel that rests on the side of his hip, pulling out some clothes for you to dress in. He spoke of keeping clothing for you in the past once you told him about you being a shifter. You found it sweet that he and Yeosang were wanting to care for you so much. You always felt love with their protection.

You take the long shirt from the kind male, smiling with a small thank you leaving your lips. Pulling the cloth over your head to take notice that he finally dropped his view, looking at all of you now that you are covered. He let out a gulp as if he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“You okay Jong?” You tried to get up so you could stand with him but your legs wobbled and your knees buckled making you fall forward. Luckily Jongho caught you.

“Careful honey. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yourself.” He chuckled wrapping his arms around your soft waist, his fingers diving into your plump skin with care. His face was suddenly inches from yours, feeling his heart rate spike from the distance. Time froze as his red eyes glowed while they gaze into your teal ones. You lent in closer, hoping he would seal his lips against yours but he pulls away instead.

“Why are you here Sweetheart?” he whispers, making you let out a huff while rolling your eyes slightly.

“The storm… I wanted to….” You felt a lump in your throat overthinking basically setting you up for failure but yet here you are. Wanting to make sure he was safe. That they were all safe. Jongho gave a small kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in your scent that has lingering hints of sea salt.

“I get it…” His lips trail down from your forehead, the crease of your eye, cheeks, jaw and neck. You took a sharp inhale, letting your fingers slip into his belt loops to pull him closer to you. He placed open mouth kisses down your neck until he finds the right spot making you groan softly. A hunger was brewing in his gut, letting his fangs graze your jugular.

“Are you going to bite me, sir?” You teased suddenly feeling your head starting to spin. He just chuckled in response, licking a long strip up your neck before letting his fangs pierce your flesh. You let out a gasp, hands flying to his chest, scrunching the fabric of his blouse. Your blood trickles into his mouth letting him taste the sweet iron twang on his tongue. You felt lightheaded, trying your hardest to keep your body upright. He finally breaks his fangs from your skin. He watched the blood spill out of your neck, dripping down to your collarbone. Fuck, you are so beautiful when covered in blood.

“Baby…” He went to speak but you wasted no time in pushing him against the large flat rocks that lay beside the lagoon pools, making him lean back with a widen stance of his legs. You grinned while you watched him wipe your blood off his chin. You drop to your knees stalking over to your lover. He watched you with a sly smirk, feeling his cock twitch at your excitement. You really got horny from him drinking from you? Yes… You pull down his briefs and took his cock out quickly. Wasting no time in giving him a lick from his base to tip, flicking your tongue on his slit. Jongho let out a soft moan from your action. You lick him like that for a moment, getting him wet and sloppy. You wrap your hands around him and started jacking him off at full-speed. The filthy sounds of him getting wet and you pumping him echoes in the one side of the cave. The feeling made him close his eyes for a moment to just get lost in the pleasure before they popped open when you swallowed him.

“Honey─” He gasps, his hands flying to your head instinctively. His fingers curl as he felt your head move up and down at a quickened pace. He hums deep in his chest making you dig your nails into his thick thighs before pulling off him with a pop.

“Jongho please,” you moaned. “Can you please..use me.” You pressed kisses all over his cock, occasionally licking it from base to tip. Jongho cursed under his breath and took a hold of your head with both hands. You hum excitedly while he sighed deeply, looking at you as you open your mouth as your permission.

“Damn,” he whispers and with one more low curse, he slid himself in your mouth. Your throat muscles immediately hugged his hard cock tightly, and he felt them moving as you swallowed. He groans, hips moving back and forth slowly at first, giving you some time to adjust, but after a small tap on his thigh that he could translate as a go-ahead he picked up his pace. Soon, he was fucking your throat at a pace that could count as fast,

“You want me to use you, huh?” He rasped. His breath was coming out in pants. You swallowed and hummed around him. “Alright, baby, here it comes.” He tightened his hold on your head and thrusts in. He could feel you struggle a little, throat muscles spazaming and after a couple more seconds of having you there, he pulls your head off, and you gasps wetly and loudly. Your face was a mess, but holy shit did it turn on Jongho more than he ever got before…

“You look so ruined, Fuuck,” he curses. You moan and bent your head to take him in your mouth again, making him thrust in and out of you a couple more times before keeping himself buried there for a moment. He felt you gag softly, nails digging into his thighs, but he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, he just kept your head on his cock. The gagging intensified a bit, the spasms of your muscles following. Just when you dug your nails painfully deep, he pulls out. The gasp you let out was louder than the first one.

“Sir, shit,” you whispered. Your voice, horses and your face was painted with tears. Jongho clenched his jaw and buried himself deep in your throat making you moan when he did. Immediately, you start to swallow around him as you snake a hand to grasp his balls. He gasps when he felt the tight grip you had on them, doubling over, but not pulling out this time for a breather. You fondle his balls, holding them tightly, pulling on them and swallowed around his cock. You heard a strong thud before Jongho let out a punch sound and a choked moan, and he came down your throat. When he finally pulled out, he watches a string of saliva follow, connecting your mouth and his dick together.

“Holy shit,” he pants, breathless. You just smile making his heart flutter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” he laid down on his back, letting the cold rock cool his body temperature.

“You love me.” You giggle using the lagoon water to wash your face and neck, letting the salty water tend to your wound.

“Of course I do.” He replies.

-

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[sweetercalypso]

When It Rains || Din Djarin

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Exhausted after a long hunt, reader and Din get caught in a rainstorm

Notes: no warnings, just fluff! Inaccurate planet and travel references.

After weeks of traveling the dust planet of Tatooine, you were beginning to wonder if you would ever feel clean again.

The arid land was completely unnavigable, mystified by a dry heat and the endless expanse of tow-colored dunes that marked your journey. The debilitation of exhaustion and sweat made time slip away without notice, and your two-week expedition turned into three, then four. By the time you had caught up to your bounty, the grit of Tatooine sand felt permanently embedded into your calloused hands and cracked lips.

Din was in a similar sun-baked state, and although he’d deny that the weight of his beskar added to his heated agony, the drag of his feet was sign enough that he had grown tired of the dusty, desert planet.

--

You were practically buzzing with newfound energy as Din loaded the bounty onto the Razor Crest. Relief and eagerness bloomed in your chest as you entered the coordinates into the ship’s navigational system, wondering what awaited the two of you at your next destination. The hunt almost never took this long, and the thought of another day spent under the Tatooine suns made you restless for something new.

“Where to?” Din’s tired voice fills the cockpit as he collapses into the seat beside you.

After years of hunting across the galaxies, locations had become easier to recognize than the names of planets or distant star systems; the places you’d traveled had blurred into an endless pool of information that you didn’t have the energy to sort through.

You rattle off the coordinates listlessly, hoping that your companion doesn’t ask much more of you and your fatigued mind.

“Sarka,” he replies, voice crackling softly through his modulator.

“You’ve been there before? What’s it like?”

He pauses for a moment, tilting his head in consideration. “It’s not a desert.”

You hum gratefully, settling back into your seat and closing your eyes as Din takes over the ship’s navigation. “Good enough for me.”

-

When you finally crack your eyes open, you’re greeted with the sight of lush, vibrant foliage swallowing the Razor Crest as Din lands the ship with his usual quiet professionalism.

Heavy, overcast clouds are gathered above the tree line, warning of impending weather much different than that of the Tatooine desert, and thunder rumbles softly above the noise of the Crest’s engine.

Trees billow and flatten under the force of the ship’s landing, and as you peer down at the woodlands, you can almost imagine the feeling of dark, foreign soil under your feet.

You stretch your arms in front of you with a sigh, the lingering weight of fatigue burdening your muscles as you clamber out of your seat.

Before Din ever unloads a bounty from the ship, he likes to familiarize himself with the terrain and prepare for the possibilities of navigating foreign lands. It isn’t often that the Mandalorian is caught off guard, and the odd circumstances of this hunt won’t change his steadfast routine.

Din rises with slow, drawn-out movements, the only indication that he felt the same stiff ache that pulled at your limbs.

He gives a curt nod before leading you from the cockpit and through the ship’s quiet passageway. The only sounds to be heard were the clink of Mandalorian beskar and the soft whir of the Crest’s outer hatch lowering to the ground.

The stark grey panels of the ship’s entryway open to reveal green as far as the eye can see. You rock on the balls of your feet eagerly, fighting the urge to run past the Mandalorian and embrace the lively scene before you.

“Go ahead,” Din says from behind his helmet, amusement evident in his filtered voice.

You grin widely and descend the ramp ahead of your counterpart, gear clunking with each bounding step towards the ground.

Din follows at a careful pace, surveying the area for any sign of threat. Once he’s sure that the only movement around you is the long grass stirring in the wind, his hand relaxes from his blaster and he turns to you with a hidden smile.

“It’s beautiful,” you call out to him, voice muffled by the boorish thunder that cracks through the air.

His response is lost to the sudden patter of rain beating against the ship’s metal exterior. The sound drowns out your joyous laughter as your head tips backwards to welcome the falling water against your skin. Rain trickles over your face and past your parted lips and Din is left speechless by your open display of rejoice.

He can barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of heavy rain against his helmet, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he descends the ship’s ramp to stand by your side.

Drops of water ricochet off his armored shoulders and create small rivulets down the front of his chest plate, washing away the layer of Tatooine dust that still lingered on the metal. His head tips up towards the sky in silent admiration, mirroring you as he considers what the rain might feel like against his face.

Oblivious to your companion’s musings, you shriek happily and praise maker for the weather, cupping your hands in the air to gather the falling rain. Din watches in fascination as the remnants of the Tatooine desert are washed away, leaving you fresh-faced and delighted by the sudden deluge.

“What do you think?” You ask after a moment, realizing that Din had likely never experienced the rain as you had.

Without a word, his hand comes up to your cheek, holding your face in admiration before tenderly wiping the streaks of rain from beneath your lashes. Din’s thumb lingers for a moment, and you wonder if he can feel the water seeping through the thin material of his gloves.

You grab his hand in yours and pull it back from your face, eyeing him cautiously as you peel the now-damp glove away, revealing a small glimpse of the man behind the beskar.

Rain drips into his open palm and his shoulders tense as if he’s expecting a harsher touch. You can’t see Din’s face, but you can imagine his expression as water pools in his hand and runs down his wrist, disappearing into the sleeve of his tunic.

“It’s warm,” he marvels, gentle voice contrasting his formidable appearance.

“Not always,” you chime in, not missing the way Din leans in to hear your voice over the rain. “Just like the people – it’s different everywhere you go.”

He nods thoughtfully, flexing his fingers in your hold, seemingly entranced by the sight of his bare skin against yours.

A moment passes before you remember your foreign surroundings and pull away from the Mandalorian. “We should grab the bounty before the rain gets too heavy.”

“Not yet.” Din’s voice is almost urgent as he pulls you back into him, helmet tipped low to meet your confused gaze.

“Five more minutes?” He asks softly, tenderly, like his request was something entirely unthinkable.

His grip on your hand tightens and you think you’d be content to waste the entire day here if Din asked. A smile creeps onto your face and you nod contently.

“Five more minutes.”

[novasintheroom]

019. Suffocate

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.8k

♡ Warnings - none

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

You’re never sure how it starts, but it ends the same each time.

Red blaring lights. A siren screeching overhead. People are frantic. Your mother is staring at the screen.

You’re up on the catwalk above the tank. It’s a walk you’ve done a million times. All you have to do is push the button, enter in the codes. But this time is different. The ground shakes, the building is sliced into ribbons around you. Your mother is half on the screen. The other half has been thrown across the room.

And then there’s the water.

Fluid. Whatever they want to call it. It’s not water, but what else could it be? You can’t remember the name. You just know the feel of it on your skin as you fall off the walkway and crash into it, the brush against the smooth Plant as it unfolds, the tendrils that extend and wrap around you and pull.

It pulls you in, and you thrash, you cry out, you beg and scream and scream. Fluid enters your lungs. The Plant’s bulbous blue eyes glow in the dim, red light filtering through its tank, its mouth moving. You can see teeth in there, sharp and ready and –

“______...!” It says. How does it know your name? “______! Mayfly!”

You kick and scream. Try to draw in breath. You’re suffocating. You can’t breathe!

Suddenly, there’s a shift in your vision. The Plant’s features meld into a man’s – blonde hair, eyes just as blue – and his moving mouth. His teeth are duller, his skin tan and freckled and not pale ice. Your mouth gapes and moves, but all you can get out is a ragged yelp as the man shakes you again.

“Mayfly, it’s okay, you’re dreaming,” he says. And slowly, the world starts to come back to you. The tank fades to the dark interior of the ship ruins you’d found to camp in. The only light is from the flashlight to the side, turned on in haste and thrown to the side. Your friend cups your face in his hands, desperately looking at you for something. What’s his name, what’s his name -?

Vash. It’s Vash. You croak his name, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Yeah, see, it’s okay.” He pulls you close and holds you tight. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

You can still feel the ooze of the tank on your skin. It melts into sweat. The world tilts, trying to right itself after the vividness and terror. Your temples pulse with your heartbeat; you’ve got a headache. The fabric of Vash’s shirt drags on your fingertips as you hold on tightly. Minutes pass like this. Your quick breathing and barely-held-back sobs soon subside.

 “’M sorry,” you mutter into his shirt. You aren’t, not really, but know it’s the right thing to say. There’s no telling what time of night it is without pulling out a watch. You feel him shake his head, and his skin is warm on your neck.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not something you can help.” He rubs a hand up and down your back. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a nightmare wake me up.”

All you can do is sit there and let him soothe you. Your heart takes minutes more to stop beating so frantically. Every time you close your eyes, you see that Plant’s face, how it – she – looked so sickly, so desperate for…what? You shake your head and burrow into Vash’s shoulder. “’M sorry,” you say again, and you aren’t sure who it’s for.

Vash shushes you and pulls you closer. “Do you need to walk it off?” He asks. “That helps me sometimes.”

You tense. “No, I – “ The thought of moving around in an unfamiliar place in the dark pricks a primal part of your mind. You huddle closer to him. “Can I just…can you…?”

Without letting you go, he lays back, his sleeping bag brushing yours in the sand. You lay on his chest and wrap your arms around him the best you can. The off rhythm beat of his heart underneath lulls you gently. “That better?” he whispers.

You only nod.

Vash shifts a bit to get more comfortable. He never stops rubbing your back. You don’t think you can get back to sleep so easily, yet you are surprised to feel your eyes drooping closed. “Thank you,” you whisper. Vash hums. The last thing you feel is his lips pressing to the top of your head, and you’re out like a light again.

[llondonfog]

Might I perhaps offer the idea of General Lilia learning the intimacies of food through a baby Silver? No longer is food a survival borne necessity-- No longer is it scavenged scraps, nor bottom barrel camp gruel. No longer is it meat stolen and seared by the ashes of a pillaged village, nor an unassuming toad, nor something cold, nor scheduled, and dull.

It cannot be.

The human wails and it is the screech of metal on metal. It does not often cry. Your error is extreme and grievous.

This vexes you.

The baby, of course.

Quickly now-- shut it up.

It is not old enough to consume solid foods. It has yet to bear fangs, or menace, and the flesh of its tongue is flaccid. This disgusts you. The human is not strong, nor smart, unable to not only defend itself with the simplicity of a bite, but unable to accomplish the base need of sustenance. You bear your own fangs, perhaps as a threat, perhaps of a (pleading) example.

You mash the food. What food? Well, you did resort to the toads before. If it wanted to live, surely it could eat the toad. No, you were told, (slapped, really, by warrior, daughter of Baul). Toads were unacceptable in either their nutrient fullness or mashed.

You worked hard to mash that.

Fine.

More for you.

It’s still crying.

Shit.

Fruits. Often a rare delicacy on the field. Wildberries were more-so cover than meal; more-so dare than comfort. Take it you damned human, and be grateful. You examine the pale yellows shoved towards your counter corner. An export, a gift from the golden bounties of the Scalding Sands, a gift from your Queen. Tsk. The expense far outweighs the cry of this human.

IT WAILS.

But perhaps it can buy you silence.

Your hand rises, meeting the hilt of your cleaver.

…

Your eye twitches…

No…

No, this will not do.

(Your weapon is clean, you fool! Meticulously sheen and prepped for immediate confrontation! To slice a simple fruit? Please.)

((The blood haunts your weapon. Pestilence haunts your weapon. The cries haunt your weapon– baby.))

(You cannot use your cleaver, it is far above such use for a human.)

You glare at it, and are proud to note its fear. One look, and you have calmed its torrent of tears, though, even now the salt escapes its eyes. But of course, it is nature for the weak to weep in the face of danger. Its eyes are wide and curious. It sniffles, and auroral skies bore into your reddened grounds. Eyes and souls and whatnot.

Look away.

You prefer it crying.

But, ah, there it is again. Soft hiccups, like the light rains of morning dew.

Fine, human. You win for now.

You peel the banana and it coos, birds joining along in song. Mash now… Mash more. More.

…More?

You squint at it. Human.

It blinks.

Yes, yes you. Can you eat… drink… eat this?

Its wide eyes are a nod.

A snarl. Annoying.

It is still lumpy. I shall mash it more, lest you choke and die.

Mash.

Mash.

Mash.

Giggle.

…

Giggle.

Silence, human! Were you not taught the value of patience?

Clapping.

A scoff. Of course not. You humans have no concept of nobility, let alone virtue.

You work at the meal in silence. The sun filters gently through your window. It catches on the boy’s hair, and the strands seem to dance with rainbows. Your arms do not tire from the repetitive motion– please. You’re a trained solider. A dinner cannot cripple you.

The boy smiles at you.

SLAM.

Fine human. Fine. Take your food. Choke.

And even if Lilia’s food is dog shit lol, and he half-way seems to be trolling you, I think there’s a genuine fondness when he prepares a meal. Learning/ *cough* experimenting with recipes seems to be a freedom for him. The freedom of leisure, of finding peace in a meal– fun! even! It’s fun to have the luxury of playing– emphasis on playing!-- with food! Because you can afford it! Because there is a surplus! And it's even more fun to share with your family! (Rip, lol.) And when that joy and (cackled) playfulness is reciprocated with a bite? When your peace has value, and your silliness appreciated? (Even if it’s gross? Lol? DESPITE it being gross?) Gosh, I– I think that genuinely touches him. Even if he’s amused by your (foolishness) bravery, there is a love there. And to have all of this born from raising Silver (obviously)? HA. HAHA. LOSER. HE LOVES HIS SON. WEIRD. LOVES HIM SO MUCH, ENOUGH TO THE POINT OF CHANGE AND EVOLUTION. POINT AND LAUGH.

(Yo, the thought of him feeding his young child? Bro. BRO.)

Anywho, thought you would enjoy this lil brain worm lol. (Idk if you remember, but I actually sent you an anon before! I wrote to you about Sebek and his lil Plover family :) its totally okay if you dont lmao, but just in case, hi!) I hope you’re having a fantastic day :) thanks for all that you write!! <3333

plover anon, you came into my house and ripped out my sobbing heart piece by aching piece— this was wonderful.

it is one of my FAVORITE things in the entire fandom when an author digs inside lilia's general vanrouge persona, particularly now that we do know the bitter, stark contrast of how he behaved prior to finding silver and malleus' birth. how would he have reacted to being the sole guardian of a helpless child, especially one of his enemies, and possibly the child of the very human royalty who were responsible for the decimation of his country, his home? there's no love here, no grief for what's been lost, no bond of loyalty as he shares with malleus. this is a wailing and useless pink, squirming thing— he could not love it less.

and to capture that begrudging, spiteful attempt to simply ensure the child's survival (not care yet! not nurture!) through the act of FOOD no less! the journey of food being so intertwined with the journey of love for his human son is KILLING ME AND I'M IN LOVE!! i am eating up (no pun intended lol) lilia's inner monologue and it is SO SATISFYING!! the way you kept switching between the act of giving sustenance with the same blade that took the lives of this baby's kin, the way that lilia keeps struggling to view the child as anything more than the species responsible for their misery, the fucking hilarious way he keeps getting riled up for thinking he's being bested by silver's refusal of his absolute awful dinner offerings!!!

(and you did it all in second person pov my fucking BELOVED POV!!)

the transition of food from necessity, fuel, a means to an end, to a luxury explored with others, the delight in seeing a loved one's face react to your uncertain attempts— the fact that lilia knows his food is shit, and watches that baby-now-young-man take a bite no matter how many instances he's been stricken by it and smile weakly at him through his grimace and say, perhaps a bit less vinegar, father (father! FATHER!!), the fact that this boy will never refuse him, will love him and his godawful dishes until the end of time!! what kind of love is that but unconditional!!! what has general lilia vanrouge ever done in his long, lonely life to deserve that smile!!!

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

IF I KNEW VIPER DESTROYED MY MAN GOJO.... (Also imagine if gojo got destroyed the same way gojo dies-)

I'D BE SO SALTY — I'D BE SO PETTY, MAKING LOUD REMARKS ABT "Ice is what i want in a mate, he seems like he wouldn't destroy the things i love! I'd marry him if he presented me a black pearl in an instant!" JUST JAB HIM WHERE IT HURTS 😭

You CANNOT expect me to not be petty by destroying the one and only Gojo. Honestly, if i was in darlings shoes, i'd be petty and cry so hard whales will mistake it as communication. Also I'd be really mad with Orion, jab him where it hurts too. "You keep calling me Love, but I think you're mistaken. Love is when you do anything and everything for the person you love! Keywords, anything and everything!" Or just plainly ignore him while sitting on a rock, loudly stating "Hmph! Ice would have never said what orion had said to me - he such.. He is the biggest (mermaid word for asshole)!" 

also kisses you on the cheek !!! I hope you're doing a-okay !!

Muahh hope ur doing okay and take care of urself always !!! 

🦪 ANONNNNNNNNNN

Yandere! Male! Deep sea creature x mermaid! Fem! Reader x Human! Male! Hunter

What if: Darling taunts them of being another person's mate?

🦪anon you're devious.

But did you forget their profiles?

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ VIPER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean, upper dweller?"

Viper's body tenses as skin violently flashed, his bioluminescent spots decorating his body. Eyes that looks like ghosts widened in anger that seeps through his gills. His jaw, that looks particularly normal, started to unhinge grotesquely.

"WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN, UPPER DWELLER?!"

You suddenly felt the debilitating fear that your kind has felt for the deep sea mermaids as his massive form shadowed your small one.

You felt conscious, of the fact that your particularly smaller than him.

Much smaller.

"I... I was..." You stuttered out, your body shivering from the fear encasing your body. You wanted to be out of here.

But here he was, facing you as the light bores down on his back, casting a shadow on his giant body and enveloping you in darkness.

He started to approach you, slowly, menacingly.

"Stop right there, Viper." Your voice came out trembling as you tried to find a gap between the walls and his body. But none.

"No, you're not getting away this time and running away with that man. I will not allow it." His jaw looks like it's about to snap from the way it grotesquely opened.

And with a flick of his tale, he started to chase after you. The water was warm, but your body felt cold as you turned around and swam down, fear gripping your chest.

You didn't allow yourself to sob, only clench your eyes shut as the darkness fully enveloped you.

But you got tricked.

And, as you finally hit the ground on the soft sand, you gasped in fear.

Your eyes opened, there's no light filtering from above. Only darkness and the occasional glows of the bioluminescent corals and gems.

Viper, who stopped chasing you since earlier, snapped his jaw shut and into the right place. His body stopped glowing in anger, and was just smirking at you with that lovesick look you swore tore through your soul bare.

"You're here where you belong, upper dweller. I have sealed the entrance shut. Now, it's just you and me."

Viper approached you slowly, his hand presenting the dreaded black pearl that made you choke back a sob.

"Now, let's get on with the ceremony, shall we?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ORION ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Huh? Who are you to lecture me on love?" Orion, shocked, scoffed arrogantly. Disbelief and rage on his features. "Who? You? The mermaid that is shunned by your people knows more about love than me?!"

His yells surprised you. He never yelled. He never even mocked you. But looking at this Orion in front of you, you swore that he's actually a different person.

"YOU, WHO HAS BEEN OSTRACIZED AND HAS BEEN UNLOVED ALL YOUR LIFE KNOWS MORE THAN ME?!"

His words stung greatly, jabbing you in your softest spot that you entrusted him in respecting and keeping.

Tears brought up on your eyes as you continued to argue with him.

"So what?! I think Ice will take care of me and love me for who I am!"

Silence, then a laugh. A laugh so loud and mocking you swore you wanted the sea to just swallow you whole.

"Ice? That motherfucker in your hand?!" He yelled, absolutely snapped. "He's fake! A fiction or fragment of your reality! He's written and drawn, and is not a living, breathing being."

You gasped, coldness seeping in your bones.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Can you not hear me? He's fake. There!"

He threw you a gadget he uses occassionally, and gasped as you saw Ice, but drawn in 2D.

"Your goddamn chosen mate is fake! Aw, gonna cry, love? Come on, he's just ink on paper! You'll be fine. It's no use crying for a fake man..." Orion said, a shake in his voice as he took joy in seeing your broken heart. "Oh love, sweetie, I can love you better. I am real, I am flesh... I am here..."

Orion slowly inched towards the giant net mechanism, his hand itching on the lever as he watch you, frozen on sea. With a flick, a net captured your whole being, making you yelp and scream in fear.

"Now come on love, come to my arms so I could show you what true love is."

[rotworld]

3: Eye For An Eye

(previous)

the law of prismville is reciprocity.

->sexually explicit. contains gore, body horror, decapitation, size difference.

.

.

.

She sits on the metal guardrail with a cigarette dangling between her fingers, watching the fog dance. Her hair is auburn and halfway down her back. “Chilly out here,” she murmurs. She nudges an acorn around with the toe of her shoe. Sometimes she leans over your shoulder, watching your pencil move. You mark New Ridgeway with an X inside a circle. Don’t come back here, it means. “Man. You do this all the time, huh? Drive around out here like it’s nothing. What do you do if you get lost? Or stuck in a shift?”

You shrug. “I figure it out.” 

She exhales, stretches her arms above her head. Rolls her shoulders until they pop. “Couriers are just built different, huh? Fair enough. I’m not cut out for this shit.” She purses her lips around the filter and closes her eyes. Eventually, the tremors in her hands die down and she holds one out to shake. “Meryl Underhill. Associate Professor, Department of Verisimilibiology. Mimic studies, basically.” 

“The University sent you out here?” you ask.

“Cleanup assignment. We do pest control, you know. Not really anybody else qualified.” 

“Pest control? With a sledgehammer?” 

“I know. Should’ve brought a shotgun. We got a letter last shift from New Ridgeway about some glass mimics nesting in a sawmill, could somebody give it a look, clean ‘em out, et cetera. I think the fucking mimics wrote that letter.”

Elisile said he knew somebody in the Stillwoods. You wonder if that was true. You wonder if any of it was true. “What do you think happened back there?” 

Meryl shrugs, blowing out a line of smoke. “Mass exodus. That’s the only thing that makes sense with mirror hoarding like that.” 

“They up and left?” you say, incredulous. “The whole town? Why?”

“No clue. I just got into town last night and it was already empty. Must’ve happened during the shift.” She looks at your map again, sparse as it is. Henley Creek in the center; New Ridgeway, no man’s land; the little starburst of Prismville, all in a line. Highway squiggles snake out of Verlinda in five directions and go nowhere, vanishing into the vast unknown. The whole thing might be obsolete in a day or two, or a week. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Meryl says. “What kind of apocalypse works that way. It’s gotta take years and god knows how much money to import all those mirrors, sneak ‘em past border inspection. What kinda thing goes so slow you can wait that long to run from it, but when you leave, you gotta go to a whole other fucking dimension?” 

You sit in silence, watching the road for a while. The sun’s setting, somewhere beyond the fog and the clouds, a shadowy gloom settling over the Drift. A harsh wind rattles the trees. Something yips and screeches far away. Meryl shivers. “We should get moving,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat. “Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Damn, I shoulda brought better shit to trade. Honestly I’d give my kidney for a bed right about now.” 

“They barter in Prismville?” you ask.

She chuckles as she limps back to her car. “You’ll see.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: LUNA (MOON OF CLAIMING) BY CEMETERIES]

Night strips the roads of detail. Everything beyond the gaze of your headlights is shadow play, mere shape and silhouette. The path slithers, jagged sidewinder, down corridors of evergreen. The underbrush goes thin and patchy beyond the guardrail, tufts of hardy wildflowers swaying in your wake. You crest a hill and below, nestled in a crater-shaped valley, city lights glitter like grounded stars.

The Prismville welcome sign is suspended on a highway overpass, blocky lettering affixed to a metal scaffold. It’s not neon but it glows like it in your headlights, sanded gemstones scattering slivers of rainbow. Ahead is the busiest, most bustling city you’ve ever seen. There’s traffic—real traffic like you’ve only heard of it, bumper to bumper, crawling snail’s pace through intersections. The roads are glassy and glittering, geode avenues shimmering with bands of indigo, cyan and pale shades of rose. Highrises of gigantic quartz cut a jagged, angular skyline and the streetlights are capped with prismatic crystalline shades like painted glass.

It’s dark, you realize. Bright enough to see, but dimmer than you expect a city this size. They keep the lights low where they have them, strangled and split through thick gemstone panes. It’s a full moon tonight but the clouds seem thicker here, slow-moving. They form wispy, dangling funnels and hide the stars.

The first hotel you spot has a holographic courier sticker on the automatic doors. Meryl parks beside you, off to grab a luggage cart before you can stop her. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. You don’t have much to deliver but the crate’s unwieldy and you don’t want to risk dropping anything. The lobby is opulent, black marble veined with gold. What you mistake for potted plants by the door is carved stone, thin stalks of obsidian topped with emerald leaves and pale chalcedony blossoms. An artificial waterfall trickles softly behind the front desk. Someone, somewhere, is playing the piano.

“Thanks for the escort. And, y’know. Saving my ass,” Meryl says, the closest you’ve seen her to sheepish. “I owe you one. If I ever make it back to the University and you’re ever in the neighborhood, ask around for me.” She drags herself to the front desk as soon as one of the receptionists are free and you find a quiet place to sit, settling on a leather sofa. Shrugging off your backpack, you check your map again, widening the boundaries of Prismville. You stretch your legs and watch people come and go.

You’re far from the only late night traveler. Guests, new arrivals, and the hopelessly lost trickle in and out. Two women in cocktail dresses link arms on their way to the elevators. A man in a suit keeps checking his watch, watching the circle drive outside the front doors. A child sits unattended on the couch across from you. She might be nine or ten. Long, unruly hair hangs in her face but you feel her staring intently. Strangest of all is the table of miners still in mud-covered boots and uniforms, playing cards around a table. One of them is covered head to toe, features obscured by a hard hat and respirator mask with the long tube hooked to a canister at their hip. They hiss something that makes the others laugh uproariously. 

“You’ll have to tell the front desk.” 

You flinch, startled. Someone walked right up behind you, a hand resting on the couch beside your shoulder. He’s wearing gloves. The leather crinkles when he shifts slightly, noticing your discomfort. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says. He’s average height, tall but not too tall. His hair is neither particularly long nor short. He wears a white button up and black slacks. Unremarkable, except for the gloves. There’s some kind of glittering dust on the palms. “This is a big city. They’ve got more than one courier spot. If you tell the front desk, they’ll call the other locations, get everything organized. Very efficient.”

“Thanks,” you say. 

He smiles, waves. Walks away. The man checking his watch looks up and the two of them leave together. You’ve already forgotten what he looked like.

But he was right. The front desk handles everything. A few phone calls later and grateful strangers arrive. The specimen jars go to a petite woman in a University sweatshirt. “They didn’t make any noise, did they?” she asks. 

“I don’t think so,” you say. She looks relieved and hands you a hefty hardbound tome. There is no text on either cover. The edges of the pages are gilded. “Where do you want me to take this?” 

“Oh! No, it’s for you,” she says kindly, shaking her head when you offer it back. She leaves before you can stop her. That’s strange, you think. Maybe it’s a local custom to pay couriers. 

The letter is for an older man in a wool coat. He rips open the seal and reads it in front of you, sighing deeply. He shoves a bottle of wine at you and turns to leave without a word.

“Atticus Gosse, where do you think you’re going?” 

The man freezes. The lobby is utterly still and silent. The miner in a mask stands from the table, and only now, as the dangling, teardrop diamonds of the crystal chandelier scrape their helmet, do you realize just how enormous they are. They saunter closer, their footsteps sounding like grinding stone. Their voice is a brittle rasp, wheezing and muffled through the filter of their mask. They speak slowly with small, slight hand gestures. Their gloves, like the rest of their clothes, settle strangely on their body, saggy and shapeless in places, clinging tightly to hard lumps and ridges in others.

Atticus frowns tightly. “Do I know you?” he says tersely.

“Gosse,” the miner sighs. “You’re making me look bad. What’s the law in Prismville, hm?”

“I paid them.” 

“A bottle of wine, for news like that?” The miner takes another crunching step forward, beside you now. The rough material of their glove settles on your shoulder. It feels more like reassurance than a threat, but you’re still intimidated by their shadow falling over you. You have to crane your neck to peer into the darkened portholes of their mask. Something glints inside. “You got the cheap stuff, too. Not that it matters what it cost, but you wouldn’t even drink this swill yourself. That,” they point to the letter crumpling in his fist, “is near priceless to you. Isn’t it? Are you seeing the problem here? You’re a tourist but you know better, I know you do. What’s the law?”

Atticus tries to speak but all that comes out is a sharp, wispy sound; chalk squealing softly on a blackboard. He touches his throat with a shaky hand, eyes wide, disbelieving. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. You don’t know what’s happening but you feel like it’s your fault. “He really did pay me,” you insist. “And he didn’t have to. Nobody usually—” 

The miner squeezes your shoulder, hard. A warning. “The law of Prismville is reciprocity,” they say. Atticus sinks to his knees convulsing, nails raking desperately over his own neck. He scratches and claws at himself until his fingers are wet and red, until he’s torn through his skin and sunk his fingers into the glistening meat underneath. There’s something there, protruding between muscle and tendon. Thorny starbursts. Hard mineral growths. Gemstones, you realize, veiny and bloodsoaked. He tries to pull them out but his fingers are slick and trembling. He makes a strangled sound and something rattles in his chest. The blood he vomits on the floor is gritty like sand.

“What’s that even mean to you, Gosse? You spit in the waiter’s face when they bring the check?” The miner lets you go and lumbers forward. Atticus is bleeding from the eyes and ears now, thick and sludgy like lava down a volcanic slope. He coughs up a chunk of tourmaline with grimy bits of esophagus clinging to its jagged edges. One massive gloved hand seizes his head just as he starts to droop. The miner lifts him off the ground without even a grunt of exertion and carnelians scatter from the yawning wound in his throat. Their other hand grasps his shoulder. You watch in horror as they start to pull. 

Atticus comes apart like a ragdoll with its seams snipped. Skin stretches taut, splits, unravels, and finally snaps apart with another gush of slow-moving blood. It oozes onto the floor in a long, igneous clot. Small, colorful stones skitter across the marble floor. His head leaves behind a gaping, ruby neck wound studded with turquoise and zircon, harder and sharper than bone. The body slumps and the miner, soaked in quickly drying, hardening garnet blood, looks at you. 

“Take what you’re owed, courier,” they say. You don’t move. You see yourself reflected in the black portholes of the mask, shrinking back. “But it’s all yours. As much as you want.” They hold out the head by the hair as though you might find it enticing. You shake your head. 

“No. No thanks,” you say quickly. 

“The law of Prismville is reciprocity. You did a service. Now you get paid.” 

“I don’t want…that.” You’re acutely aware of the silence now that it’s crept back in the absence of someone struggling and trying to scream. “If you really want to pay me, then—if you have any eggs…” 

“Eggs?” the miner repeats. You can’t tell if they’re angry or just incredulous.

“Please,” you add. 

They chuckle, dropping the head atop the body. “You poor thing. Of course. Let’s get you some eggs.”

Just like that, gentle ambience washes over the lobby again. Chatter, laughter, the tinkling notes of the piano, back like they were never gone. Someone in a staff uniform begins collecting the gruesome gemstones. Someone else wheels in a cart of cleaning supplies. You flinch when the miner approaches you. They bend slightly, plucking your last delivery from the luggage cart; the crate. It should take a crowbar to pry off the lid but they snap it open with barely a flick of their fingers, peering at the contents. “Perfect, thank you. Now I owe you, too.” 

“Just eggs,” you insist fearfully.

“You’ve never been here before, have you? I’m sorry, I really must’ve scared you with all this.” They nod towards the elevators. “Come upstairs. Rest a while. You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” You stammer an excuse as they reach up, lifting off their helmet and setting it in your lap. They have no hair but strange, swirling stone in the shape of it. The straps of their mask are pulled taut over twisting rock formations, white and gold-speckled granite forming frozen waves and nautilus curls. When they unlatch the clasps and pull off their masks, your breath catches in your throat. 

She’s pale like limestone but prettier, a colorful sheen across her skin like the inside of an abalone. The striated stone of her hair forms delicate, framing curls around her face. Her lashes are glossy onyx and and her eyes banded agate. Full, nacre lips curl into a smile and the sound of her facial movement is the scrape of stone. “Do I still scare you?” she asks, her voice the same breathless rasp even without the mask muffling it. You’re too stunned to answer. She chuckles and nods towards the elevator again. “Come on, courier. Let me do something for you.” 

She takes up most of the elevator, ducking slightly to fit inside. You squeeze against the wall but it’s impossible not to brush against her. The texture of her body is distinct even through a bulky layer of clothing. You feel curves; dips and grooves; some sharp, prodding things. “Call me Iridesce,” she says. “Welcome to Prismville. I’m a supervisor at the chameleite mines.” She studies you, smile widening at your confused expression. “You’ve seen chameleite before. They call it other things, depending on its tinge. It’s used for construction in some places. Computer parts. Proofing mirrors. Jewelry, of course. It’s extremely malleable. I could show you how we treat it sometime, if you’d like it.” 

The numbers tick higher as the elevator rises. You’re headed to the sixteenth floor, the very top. PENTHOUSE, the label reads beside the button. “What are the laws here, exactly?” you ask. “You said reciprocity. I just want to make sure I don’t, uh…”

“Earlier? Ah.” She tucks the crate one of her arms. Her other hand settles on your back, gently rubbing. Her fingers are unusually long; you can feel them through the glove. She digs them into your muscles, easing tension you didn’t realize was there. “It’s simple. Reciprocity. If you receive, then you give something back. The value must be equal. Not monetarily, of course. Sentiment. Meaning. Intention matters most.” 

“I’m not sure I understand. Who decides what something is worth?” 

She just smiles. The elevator stops, doors sliding open. Iridesce leads you through a winding labyrinth, black walls inset with swirling crystal panels. The penthouse is at the very end of a hallway and just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Iridesce sets the crate aside and sheds clothing across the floor as she walks deeper inside. A thorny patch of amethyst and rose quartz grows from one of her moonstone shoulders. Her stone skin is open in places. Honeycomb indentations litter her chest and torso, little mouths of geode full of glittering crystal, but she is smooth between her legs.

She perches on the edge of a canopied bed, parting the velvet curtain with one large, long-fingered hand. A ridge of aquamarine glitters in her wrist.

“Courier,” she says, beckoning you with one curling finger and half-lidded eyes. “Come here, precious. The road’s eaten into you. Let me soothe those aches.” 

“You don’t need to,” you say, but you go to her. Her fingers aren’t as cold as you expect, the warmth faint, buried somehow. They’re perfectly smooth as they trace your jaw and lure you closer. She’s close enough to kiss and then she dances away. Your palms sink into the mattress as you crawl forward, beneath the shadow of the canopy. The bed is enormous, easily able to accommodate both of you, but she pulls you into her lap. Her thighs are thick and veined with swirls of sapphire like porcelain. 

“But it’s my pleasure,” she murmurs, massaging your shoulders. “Repayment doesn’t have to be a chore. And you’re so lovely.”  Her lips are softer than you expect. The kisses are chaste at first, fleeting. She eases off your jacket and slips her hands under your shirt, teasing you, flicking her thumbs over your nipples. “Do you want what I’m offering, courier?” You nod and she chuckles, cupping your chin. “Don’t be shy, my sweet. Have as much as you like.” 

The next kiss is hungrier. She coaxes your mouth open and her tongue is warm and wet, licking into you. One hand stays on your chest but the other slides down, clutching your waist. You’re reminded of just how much larger she is; the spread of her palm alone wraps around your body, her spidery fingers clutching nearly halfway around you. She guides you into a languid grind. The grooves and bumps on her thigh create pleasant friction. She hisses when you move your core against them. 

“Does that hurt?” you ask. She makes a pleased sound, a hum of laughter, her breath fanning across your lips.

“Mm. Just the opposite,” she says. She reaches down and lightly scratches the end of her finger against one of the rounded gems embedded in her skin. Her eyes fall shut and her hips jump beneath you. “Why don’t you keep rubbing yourself on them, hm?” 

You lose your shirt next. Iridesce strokes the newly-exposed skin, sliding her hands up and down your sides. Your hands settle on her chest, cupping the heavy spill of her breasts. They’re firm, the first part of her that looks as stiff as it feels. But when you drag the pad of your thumb over the rose quartz embedded along her collarbones, she grips you tightly. You keep stroking them as she draws you in for another kiss, gaping softly into your mouth.

It stops too soon, too suddenly. Iridesce pulls away and stops you from following, pressing her finger to your lips. “Everything off, my dear,” she whispers. The concentric mineral rings in her eyes have widened like a dilated pupil. “Let’s see if I can fit inside you.” 

You watch her as you strip off your pants. She knows where you look and lets her legs fall apart. There’s nothing there. Smooth stone, not even adorned with little gemstones like her hips. You wonder if she’ll use her hands—they’re smooth and long, surely satisfying, large enough that just a finger or two could fill you—but then she twists to reach into the bedside drawer. You hear the click of plastic. She drizzles cool, clear lube into one of her hands. 

“Come back to me, lovely. In my lap like before, but facing away.” The textures of her body rub into your skin. It’s not unpleasant, nothing too hard or sharp unless you dip your fingers into the jagged geode openings. You settle atop one of her thigh crystals and it’s warm, startlingly so. She spreads your legs wider. One hand holds your hip and the other reaches down, feeling for your entrance. She traces her finger all around the opening, teasing. Her breath warms your ear as she eases just the tip inside. You lean your head back against her shoulder. “That’s it,” she whispers. “Relax. Oh, you’re so tight. Are the roads lonely?” 

“Ahh—sometimes,” you stammer. 

“You won’t be lonely tonight.” She stretches you slowly, murmuring praise against your ear. She’s up to two fingers before long, slow, deep strokes that reach just the right spot inside you to make your breath hitch. “Should we stop here?” she asks. Her tone is airy and teasing. She doesn’t mean it, but you still whine when her hand stops moving. “You’re such a small thing next to me, and you’re already squeezing so tight. It doesn’t seem like you can take much more.” 

“Please.” You’re begging before you’ve really thought about it. You stroke her thigh, thumbing those raised spots that make her moan. She presses her lips to the nape of your neck and curls her fingers inside you, pressing against that same spot until you whine. You’re not happy when she withdraws her fingers but then she reaches over again, grabbing something from the drawer again. 

Impossibly long and as thick as your arm, it’s the same shimmery color as her body. The head is a tapered mushroom shape and there are bulging veins carved along the shaft. The underside bulges slightly, studded with small bumps the same size as her thigh crystals. Iridesce grips it by the base, laying the entire length between your legs so you can feel its strange, pulsating heat against your skin. You give it a light, testing squeeze, cupping the throbbing bulge along the bottom, and Iridesce inhales sharply. She rocks her hips against your back. 

“Here, courier. Take what you’re owed,” she murmurs. She urges your legs apart again, spreading you over her lap. The toy—if that’s what it is—slides in easily until you reach the thick flare at the base of the head. Iridesce gives you short, shallow thrusts but you can feel it’s not enough. Her movements are shaky, the hand on your hip squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. There’s a pause, a shared grunt when she pulls it out. Then she’s pushing you down on the bed and rolling you over onto your back.

You’re struck again by her size, how completely she takes up your vision looming over you. “Legs up, darling,” she says, her voice ragged. You struggle to hold them yourself so your knees go over her shoulders. The spongy tip of the dildo pushes back inside you, and then it goes deeper. The first small, bumpy ridge drags just the right away against your inner walls. You think you’re full by the second but there’s still so much more. Iridesce starts a rhythm she can’t maintain, slow, steady thrusts becoming faster and harder.

“You’re—oh, you’re perfect!” she moans. You didn’t realize how gentle she was being before, but now she’s pounding you with the full length and you can barely breathe. You’re full now, you’re sure of it. You’re stretched as far as you can go and twisting your hands in the sheets, the bed shaking and your thighs trembling over her shoulders. Beneath her, seeing her lashes flutter against her cheek and her lips part in a soft moan, hips moving, you can’t tell whether the thick cock inside you is in her hand or between her legs. “Cum for me, precious,” Iridesce whispers, thrusting harder, fucking you into the mattress. “I want to feel you fall apart.” 

She kisses you, trails her lips from your cheek to your neck and sinks her teeth into your skin. The length inside you drills fast and deep and throbs, the bulge rippling, every little bump massaging your inner walls, and it’s all you can take. You cum with a cry and arch into those last frantic thrusts. Iridesce swallows your moans and buries the tip of the dildo as deep as she can. It twitches, little sharp movements like a dry orgasm, before it gradually softens inside you. 

Awareness becomes foggy and distant. Your thighs ache. There’s something hissing—water running. You’re lifted, carried into another room. Hot water engulfs you and you sigh, leaning into the pleasant pressure of Iridesce’s hands on your scalp. “I should order us some room service,” she muses, kissing your shoulder. “Maybe after we luxuriate for a bit, hm?” 

You nod in agreement, relaxing against her chest. She rests a hand on your thigh and you feel the striations of the stone like muscle fibers. It occurs to you suddenly that she is what the man downstairs was becoming. “Have you…?” You hesitate, unsure of what to ask or if you even should. She hums encouragingly. “Have you ever…not repaid someone the way you should’ve?”

“A long time ago,” she tells you. “A long, long time ago. Prismville was hardly a town then. I stole little things here and there, just to make him mad. Well…not just for that.” 

“Who?” 

Iridesce laughs and strokes your hair. She never answers you.

(next)

[xantchaslegacy]

Lyese

(A March of the Machine Aftermath fanfic; please give the story on AO3 a read and leave a comment if you can ;) )

Lyese was gone.

Lyese was gone, and the sky was empty.

And below, Phyrexia reeled.

...

Glissa stood alone. To every side the open sands of the Glorious Facade rolled away in shallow hills, fine grains of pearl-white sand cool and still beneath her heels.

Not even the wind stirred those grains.

And Lyese, that green sun of Phyrexia, and of Mirrodin before it, was gone.

They’ve all gone.

Every sun that’s ever graced Phyrexia.

Or Mirrodin before it.

Black reigned above Glissa. Not even the vivid-dark light of Ingle, the black sun, but an empty, blank, unbroken black. Lifeless black. Only the far edges of the sky (if you could call it a sky) were interrupted, by tilted, moldering monuments to Phyrexia and its praetors. Silent sentinels lording over nothing at all.

Glissa’s eyes searched the black.

Searched in vain.

Even without the light of the suns, she could see the plane around her clearly. The sands, the monuments, the wandering figure of the occasional phyrexian pilgrim, one of those pensive, nomadic creatures who graced the facade of late. Everything was thrown into sharp, shadow-less relief, as though illuminated on all sides by a colorless, unseen moon.

Whether this strange, source-less light was the effect of Phyrexia’s banishment to a pocket space beyond the multiverse, or of some as-of-yet unknown property of the argent shell their new Phyrexia had been built upon, no one yet knew.

Karn had said once, when Glissa was fitting him to be the next father of machines, that Mirrodin was sunless at the time of its creation. He had called it “Argentum” then, in the eponymous nature of a demigod. Argentum had been empty too, if the silver golem’s ravings were to be believed. Empty but for the blinkmoths. Empty, but beautiful and precise and rich in detail. Mathematical artistry in planar form.

A bitter smile split Glissa’s lips. Urabrask would have loved such a thing, that form-loving fool.

Now the exterior of the plane was an unending uniformity of sand, hex-plates...and these gaudy monuments to the glory of Elesh Norn’s Phyrexia.

Glory . Glissa spat a wad of tarry oil onto the ground. It shivered on the surface for a moment before soaking into the sands. What arrogance drives a conqueror to build monuments before she’s even triumphed? As if New Phyrexia were ever even hers entirely. As if she’d won us all over before she planted her ruinous realm-breaking tree and challenged all the multiverse.

She felt the lie in these thoughts as they filtered through her mind. Just out of sight over the horizon, there was a statue to Vorinclex. Further in the other direction, one of Urabrask, heretic and rebel though he had been. Phyrexians of all factions had joined in Norn’s invasion, even if some had dissented, and the monuments would not let her forget.

Glissa had walked as far as she could from those monuments for...for what, really?

An uninterrupted view of the blank, pitch nothing that surrounds us now?

Her eyes twitched; a hunter’s acuity taking in the whole expanse above. Again and again. Moment by moment. Alert for even the smallest movement or disruption to that black uniformity. A secondary set of optic nerves, connected to a lens in her eyes that saw heat signatures, flickered on and off, seeing the same blank field.

Yes, that’s exactly why I came here. Exactly why I keep returning. Confirmation that the suns have fled our sky.

No.

That they’ve been torn from their place.

White Bringer, red Sky Tyrant, the blue Eye of Doom, black Ingle...the green Ugly Child.

Lyese. Lyese was not an ugly. And she was a woman grown. A child for a time, perhaps, but it was beautiful.

No, not it.

She.

Glissa grimaced. Not at the sentiment itself, but because, no matter how hard she tried to recall, she did not know where the sentiment came from. The Mirran goblins had had a vast mythology prescribed to the suns. She had familiarized herself with that mythology, but she also knew their name for the green sun, ‘the ugly child’ was not appropriate. She knew Lyese was a name for the green sun, she also knew it was not their name for her. It was Glissa’s name for her. It had been her name for the green sun for many years, before she’d known Phyrexia’s touch.

She was so certain of it, she just couldn’t say why.

She moved forward. One step. Two steps. The facade had been as dangerous a place as any in New Phyrexia before the great invasion, but now it lay inert. Swallowing, confounding sands had fallen still. Wandering predators, the outcasts of the layers below, still haunted the corners of the place, but most had fled back into the lower spheres in the time since the plane had been cut off from rest of the multiverse.

Fertile hunting grounds, once. Now it was still and sterile. Prey could see and hear a predator coming miles off. This glorious facade was the furthest thing from the Hunter’s Maze. Even the Quiet Forge had ledges and heights for a predator to pounce from. Even the Jin’s surgical bays had tunnels and chambers to lie in ambush – and prey worth chasing.

There wasn’t much prey worth hunting on New Phyrexia now, and the hunt was no longer about growing strong for the Grand Evolution, but simple, mean survival. The plane could no longer afford to squander its resources pursuing the disparate objectives of every sphere and faction.

Glissa grit her teeth. Stepped faster. Even in the absence of wind, the cold air rushing past felt soothing.

The facade was no place for a hunter, but it was the only place she could get away.

The only place she could breath.

This is as far as any of us can go without leaving, and leaving is no longer an option.

She’d felt most comfortable above the surface of the plane for as long as she could remember. Maybe that was why she’d pushed to unleash the beasts of the vicious swarm on the Mirrans long before any other faction had deigned to emerge. It had been balm to leave the artificial light of the interior…

...to hunt and bask in the light of Lyese...

Glissa scowled. Rushed forward even faster.

Her responsibilities in the spheres below felt distant here. The facade was a reprieve. A precious rest and intermission from the burdens of being a leader, and a mother to a world thrice-orphaned.

Veins pulsed in the back of Glissa’s skull, beneath copper cables of hair. Each throb a phyrexian, waiting still in its incubating pod somewhere on the spheres below, destined to emerge too late to take any part in the invasion for which they’d been germinated and crafted. Each throb a child who would emerge instilled with an undeniable purpose they would never be able to fulfill.

And it fell to Glissa and the other remaining nursemaids of this abandoned Phyrexia to find purpose on their behalf.

Her skull pounded. She had attuned herself to the birthing pods of Phyrexia at Norn’s suggestion, but using the means of the Grand Evolution. She’d thought it a clever subversion of Norn’s machinations, to incorporate her own innovations, crotus-born organs and enhancements, into the final design of the birthing and conversion pods, but all she’d done in the end was saddle herself with a responsibility that weighed down like shackles of blightsteel.

Another succession of pulses, bringing her head close to aching.

Glissa did not want to be a mother.

The Glissa she had been before Phyrexia had not wanted to be a mother either. She hadn’t even wanted to be a warrior. Not in the way that was expected of the elves of the Tangle, at least. Though she only remembered this life in brief, erratic flashes, or those rare stretches when she dreamed, she was sure of this much. The Glissa-before-Phyrexia had only wanted to be free.

But Mirrodin was not a plane for being free. It had never been such a place, no matter how much the Mirran resistance romanticized the times before New Phyrexia’s ascendancy.

It had been sterile from the start. This much they knew from Karn. It had been empty. Unintended for any life except for Karn’s guests - the demigods that had been the planeswalkers of old. When life had been brought to its sterile surface, by Karn’s mad steward, Memnarch, that life found a hostile world waiting for it. Grain and game scraped from what cold metal would allow to grow on it. A menagerie of artifact predators that swept across the plane to cull and to kill.

Not a home , but a slaughterhouse. A petri dish for Memnarch to grow a planeswalking spark so he could steal it and leave that world of barren metal behind .

K arn had lamented Memnarch at length in his more lucid moments. He had not meant to be a parent either. The weeping regret he felt in his failure at that role had made Glissa uneasy in a way that even his most frantic ravings had not.

Perhaps because it affected me directly, in another life.

Memnarch’s world produced Glissa. Glissa and a spark that should have made her free, but made her prey instead – the indefinite prey of Memnarch the mad. That world had forced the old Glissa to be the meanest, lowest thing imaginable: a survivor. Prey.

None of that made her any more inclined toward motherhood, and neither her death nor rebirth had changed that inclination. To live as a phyrexian was enough. To hunt as a phyrexian had been sublime.

And yet she had let motherhood be thrust upon her.

Norn had been clever about it. Dressed motherhood in skins (skin...that hateful stuff) that she knew Glissa would find appealing. The role as an alpha not just for the Vicious Swarm, but for all the fledgling cubs of Phyrexia. A mentor for the incubated, the new swarm that would prey upon the every inch of the multiverse that their invasion tree could spread its branches into.

She would have an avenue to ensure the Grand Evolution benefited all factions of Phyrexia. Through the invasion, she would have brought the blessing of strength to countless worlds. Thanks to her, all would have known the freedom to evolve past the limits the incompleat put on themselves and others in compensation for their weakness. Liberation from all the expectations and trappings and manipulations and hypocrisies of “civilized” fools.

Glissa clenched her fists. Copper on copper ground together. Sand ground under her heels as she strode on.

In truth, she’d been nothing more than a nursery guard. A kept spouse keeping Norn’s house in order, worrying over germs in the womb while the self-proclaimed “Mother of Machines” stood on her parapet, conducting the actual invasion efforts.

Efforts that failed. Efforts that set back everything their New Phyrexia had worked towards.

And just like Norn’s incompetence had stolen the future of the Swarm, just as Norn’s cunning (and the interference of that worm, Tezzeret) had stolen Karn and Glissa’s place at the helm of Phyrexia years ago.

More pounding. Glissa touched the wind-cooled copper of her palm to her forehead, to ease the sensation.

If Norn was wrong to seize control, and to force herself on all the burgeoning beliefs of New Phyrexia, was I truly any better?

Hadn’t she been acting the mother to Karn then? Hadn’t she betrayed the swarm’s disdain for individuality by taking on that role? Hadn’t they excised Yawgmoth from their dogma of predators and prey for his failures? Didn’t making any one phyrexian the father or mother of machines run contrary to what she aspired to?

No. It was not the same. I sought to install leadership to oversee that nature was left alone to run its course. It was not for the glory or honor that came with such a role, but for the functionality. The practicality of it.

A rationale as fragile as the facade, but it would do for now.

That Glissa had believed Norn would ever hand her back any fraction of that power in earnest was laughable. She should have been suspicious when so many of the caretakers of the incubating and converted proved to be members of Norn’s Alabaster Host.

But she had persisted in her role, down in the depths of the spheres. A better caretaker than most of the Orthodoxy's host, at least. Even now, she had to move mountains to gather the hands needed to tend to the remaining pods. She had been so subservient to those ends during the invasion that she had not even been present on the surface to say a final farewell to Lyese, before the Zhalfirins stole her away.

Not been present for a final farewell.

Maybe it was justice, for her folly.

Glissa halted, inspecting the sands around her. She might as well have not moved, for all the change in scenery her strides had brought.

Her muscles tensed, and for a single, thrilling moment, Glissa warred with the impulse to attack the ground with her claws, and tear a new hole through the facade to Mirrex below. It would be a delicious catharsis , but she had to be a builder now, and tearing the facade down would only be denying Phyrexia space that it would badly need in the days ahead.

W aste not, want not.

Slobad was at work on a scheme to reinforce this outermost sphere into a surface they could actually build something meaningful upon. The facade had been made at first out of little but scrap metal and malice. A structure as mean as the spite that had motivated it, and just as flimsy. Norn’s mouthpieces had claimed constructing the Facade was a strategic decision. One to expedite the task of defeating the Mirran rebels by demoralizing them. Any fool could have guessed it would only aggravate. Solidify the Mirran resolve and spur them to fight all the fiercer. Norn had to have known that, but she was, in the end, a spiteful creature. A cruel creature.

It was by malice the mirrans had their suns taken from them. Had their suns blotted out.

And now those suns were lost to Phyrexia.

Maybe that was justice.

Glissa shuddered. That was not a phyrexian thought. Strength was the only justice in the multiverse. Triumph was the only vindication that held any value in the world.

And yet, Glissa could not help but feel Lyese would have found a justice in what had happened. She had always had a strong sense of justice, especially when it came to punishing the guilty. Especially after her parents had died.

Glissa blinked.

Parents? The only parent the suns of Mirrodin had was the core. And she was certain none of the goblin myths had mentioned any parent other than the great mother. Certainly not a mother and father, as Glissa felt certain Lyese had had.

Lyese is a sun, not a daughter.

Or was she a moon?

Again, Glissa tilted her eyes to where the sky was not. Lyese continued to be nowhere in sight.

Lyese had wanted to be a wife. A mother. Glissa could never empathize with that, but she wanted it for Lyese. She wanted Lyese to be happy.

Glissa scowled. Why did she know that? Where did it come from? The notion had vexed her for years, and not a single comple a ted mirran goblin had ever corroborated these notions of Lyese. They did not even know the name.

And why did she miss Lyese?

Because Lyese was strong and bright and beautiful.

She is a sun.

It is a sun.

A strong, beautiful sun.

But strong as it was, if Glissa didn’t know where Lyese was, then how could she protect it when it needed protecting? How could Glissa embrace her when she cried? How could-

Glissa grabbed at her shoulder with metal-shod fingers and gripped it tightly.

Where is this coming from?

The pain was just inconvenience for her body, but it centered her.

It was all the losing that was causing her to lose focus. Losing Karn. Losing authority to Norn and the machinations of that shit-licker Tezzeret. Losing the invasion. Losing Benzir. Losing Lukka, and so many of the Swarm’s other beautiful predators.

Losing Geth, even, had stung. Grasping, treacherous buffoon though he was, Geth had been familiar, even when New Phyrexia was not, and Glissa was quickly running out of familiar things to anchor herself when everything became heavy. She would work with Ixhel to keep this new, reduced Phyrexia intact, but she would never forgive Atraxa’s little maggot of a child for re-purposing Geth.

Everything familiar is falling away.

Glissa drove her claws deeper into her shoulder.

The pain centered her.

...

The pain helped her focus.

…

…

Glissa’s eyes snapped open.

Someone was coming.

She did not move, or make any further outward indication she noticed that the ground was vibrating, just slightly. That there was a shifting in the grains of sand in the distance behind her. A predator did not scare so easily, and…

...

...and besides, she recognized the tread of the creatures approaching her.

They were welcome.

So she waited, breathing steady. She tilted back her head, eyes scanning the sky.

Just in case.

“Glissa?”

“Is something wrong, Slobad?” She kept her back turned, but she could picture the two figures behind her. One made of solid-forged steel, guided by the keenest mind left on the plane. One huddled and bristling, but bulging with muscle that put the steel body of the other to shame. Smaller creatures bustled and skittered at this second figure’s feet.

“Just came to see you, huh? Everything alright?”

S he didn’t answer. D idn’t know what to say to that. So she let them approach, turning only when they were within five paces.

Vorinclex was still technically shorter than Slobad, even though he’d been eating and growing at a voracious pace since the Zhalfirins had separated his head from his body. It was a w ound that would normally have been trivial for him to regenerate from , but the Zhalfiri ns’ cursed time mage had cast an enchantment on Vorinclex that slowed his normally prodigious healing to less than a crawl. The spell had persisted beyond Phyrexia’s banishment to this void, and the nominal praetor of the Vicious Swarm was still no larger than a juvenile vorrac.

But he was growing, at least. Growing, and more than a match for most any creature left in, above, or below the Hunter’s Maze.

S curr y ing about Vorinclex’s legs were small, hunched, raptor-like creatures of chrome, poking at the sands and sniffing the air. T wo of them were perched on Vorinclex’ back.

Glissa gave a tight smile as one of the little chrome raptors trotted up to her, and examined her legs with small tilts of its head. Norn hadn’t tried to make a parent of Vorinclex, but he had insisted no one else was suited to raise Jin’s cannibal larvae into proper phyrexians.

Slobad coughed. “Glissa? How are you?”

“Did you smell me all the way up here?” Glissa did not like ignoring Slobad, but she still didn’t have an answer for him. Instead she ran a hand along Vorinclex’s snout. He growled appreciatively, though she knew, and he knew that she knew, that he had no tactile feeling in his steel bone carapace. “Stronger and sharper with every day. I knew that meddling mage couldn’t suppress your prowess for long.”

S lobad shook his head. “ Not Vorey. Myrabrask saw you, huh? Sent a message down to the other myr in the F urnace.”

Glissa spun around, grinding the sand beneath her heels and glaring at the nearest monument. It was in bad repair, even by the standard of the facade, sitting crooked in the sand like some titanic tree, a broad mask in the shape of Elesh Norn’s own face crumbling atop it.

And there, in the upper reaches of the porcelain metal, a dark-red form skulked, perched on the mask like a bird, half hidden with a single beady eye fixed on Glissa from atop a curved, beak-like head.

“From master of the forge to a skulking snitch,” Glissa hissed. “I wish you hadn’t put him back together, Slobad.”

Slobad shrugged. “Waste not, want not, huh? He’s been handy, hasn’t he?”

Glissa grunted, and turned away from the monument. She didn’t trust anything sneaky enough to get so close without her notice.

Still, she didn’t begrudge Slobad finding a use of Urabrask’s parts. He remained as good at skulking in the periphery as he’d been in his previous life, and honest to a fault. The information he’d gathered on the still-power-hungry portions of the Thane and Orthodoxy factions around the core kept their outer layers one step ahead of any scheming.

“So there’s nothing wrong?” She looked up from Vorinclex.

“Nothing you don’t already know about, huh?”

“Right.”

Glissa raised her gaze further, back to the sky above Slobad. On top of the utter upheaval among what was left of the Thanes and the basilica phyrexians, t here were growing concerns about how many of their offloaded resources were forever lost across the multiverse to the nigh-countless planes that Realmbreaker had linked together. Phyrexia had, in effect, gutted itself to empty out armies across every world in reach, banking on the prediction that what they spent would be replenished by the worlds they claimed. Very little had been brought back, relative to what Phyrexia sent out by the time the invasion tree had been hijacked, and the enemy had swapped P hyrexia’s place in the multiverse with this pocket of nothing where Zhalfir sat for centuries in stasis.

The lingering unrest between the spheres and the factions therein was almost trivial next to these logistical issues. The orthodoxy and the thanes did not have enough military might to exert the kind of authority they coveted. The former had spent themselves more completely than any other faction in the invasion, and the latter where as divided by in- f ighting as ever, the deaths of multiple thanes having done nothing to make their sphere more united.

The introduction of several not-fully-compleated, or even completely incompleat creatures from other planes was another issue. Branches that led out to the multiverse led right back to Phyrexia, and not every creature from the planes beyond that currently inhabited their isolated world had been brought their by their invasion forces. Ezuri, of all creatures, had allied with Vishgraz to gather these disparate planar orphans into a loose group that remained incompleat and as-of-yet unaffiliated with either the thanes, the orthodoxy, or Glissa’s even more tenuous coalition of Forge, Swarm, and Engine.

Slobad tapped a steely finger against his arm. The sound rang like a bell, soft and clear over the silent dunes. “Another council soon, yeah? See if we can’t talk our way to peace?”

Unlikely.

“Peace is a fever dream of the flesh,” Glissa answered. “I’ll settle for antagonistic coexistence at this point, so long as those fools don’t rip what’s left of Phyrexia to pieces.”

“You gotta talk to Ixhel at some point, huh?” Slobad tapped a nervous finger against his side. “Geth’s gone.”

“Geth’s gone,” Glissa echoed. She scooped up the Jin-raptor closest to her and set it in Slobad’s hand. The little creature tapped its snout against the goblin’s forearm, and started to climb its way up to the shoulder. “And a child holds the key to controlling the Thanes and the Orthodoxy both.”

“I’ll take Ixhel over the Alabaster Host worshiping some scarecrow made out of Norn’s guts, huh?” Slobad was flexing his arm up and down, making an obstacle course of the limb for the Jin-raptor. The goblin heads adorning Slobad’s shoulder moaned petulantly as the chrome creature clambered closer.

“A low-hanging fruit,” Glissa replied with a tight smile.

They hadn’t even found Norn’s pieces, in the end. Glissa had hoped, in small part, that she might at least be able to take out her frustrations on the Grand Cenobite’s corpse, but not a trace remained. She would have put a bounty out on the pieces, but the remainder of the Orthodoxy had put that exact call out already, and as far as anyone could tell from the wailing that still pervaded that inner sphere, no one had delivered.

“Three out of five spheres is more than we could have hoped for already,” Slobad remarked with a shrug, leaving the little raptor dangling from the lower lip of one of his shoulder-heads. The little thing squeaked and rasped as it pulled itself up, and started pecking the heads on the nose.

“More than we could have hoped for, and yet not enough.”

“When did you become the pessimist?” Slobad asked.

“I’m ever-evolving.”

“Still, well done so far, huh?”

Glissa nodded. She had thankfully engaged in plentiful diplomacy with the Progress Engine, even before Norn’s ascendancy over the other factions. Vorinclex’s constant and vitriolic spats with Jin-Gitaxias had made it necessary to pay that faction especial attention to ensure the sniping across territory had not unduly slowed the Grand Evolution. That groundwork had paid off in the past few months in securing gitaxian cooperation in negotiations with the inner spheres.

Slobad, in turn, had been vital to securing the cooperation of the fickle Furnace host. He and his newer, even more hidden Myrabrask.

Still, difficulties abounded. The gitaxians couldn't decide whether they loved or hated councils to discuss the way forward. One day they would be clamoring for an audience with every faction to proclaim they had divined some great advancement that would bring Phyrexia back to a state of flourishing. The next someone would press them on their research and the shrimp-spined fools would slink away to their labs and hiss that they did not wish to be disturbed. 

The Furnace layer remained taciturn and sullen. Preoccupied with their craft to the point of obsession. With Norn gone the personalities with the...loudest sway seemed content to treat Urabrask’s remains as figurehead and Slobad as a tolerant (meaning ignorable when it suited them) leader, following the hidden praetor's final dictates to persist in their quiet building and development. 

“We all have so much to offer,” Glissa said, half to herself. “If only we could act in harmony. If only we could converge naturally.”

Slobad tilted his head, quizzically. The raptor at his shoulder echoed this movement.

“Norn was wrong to partition New Phyrexia,” Glissa said, louder. “She was wrong for this desperate, sad attempt to ape the glory of the nine spheres. What has it benefited the Grand Evolution? Or the Great Synthesis, or the Great Work, for that matter? It was all for her vanity and the vanity of the Orthodoxy to be placed at the physical center, to keep Phyrexia divided into its singular colors, rather than letting them mix and make each other stronger. Divide us and lord over us, that’s what she did. We were meant to grind up against each other. To come together as a strong whole.”

Slobad nodded, though his lips were tight. “Is that what Phyrexia is?”

“It’s what it should be.”

“But is it what we are?”

It was Glissa’s turn to purse her lips. Old P hyrexia had been a parasite, ultimately, thriving only where it was able to steal and invade to claim the resources of others. What were the first phyrexians, after all, except for weak, arrogant, xenophobic, aristocratic flesh that had stolen the stronger flesh of other cultures, other bodies, to prop themselves up?

T he pounding in her head was back. Throbbing. Searing.

That was an incompleat way of looking at things, of course. The strength to steal for one’s own benefit was, after all, strength. Doesn’t the predator steal the life and vitality from the prey it consumes? Would anyone ever suggest that a predator apologize for taking that which it is strong enough to take?

Something nudged Glissa’s shoulder, nearly bowling her over and breaking her train of thought. Vorinclex had lunged at her, and was pouncing again, jaws wide.

She laughed and threw her body into a spin. Her foot landed along the side of Vorinclex’s face, and sent him sprawling sideways in the sand. The jin-raptors scurried all around them, flailing their arms and chirping shrilly.

Vorinclex swiped at her with one paw, then another. She dodged both, and when he swiped again, she knocked it aside with a savage counter-blow.

She hooted. “Such soft blows, cub!”

Vorinclex lunged again, but she seized him around the neck and threw herself onto the ground, dragging him to the sand with a heavy THUD.

They lay there entangled for a long minute, Glissa’s arms locked firm around Vorinclex’s neck.

“Better to – hrk – act than to stew in useless thoughts,” Vorinclex grunted.

“Better be strong if you wish to act against me,” Glissa grunted in return.

Vorinclex laughed at that. Most creatures would not know his laugh from the other fierce vocalizations of beasts, but he was Glissa’s own beating heart, and she knew.

The raptors knew too, and they swarmed the both of them, chirping and pecking.

The two disengaged and rose to their feet. Glissa gathered two of the raptors as she rose, and tossed them onto Vorinclex’ back, where they clung.

“A gathering then, soon.”

“Yeah.” Slobad dropped his shoulder-riding raptor onto Vorinclex’ back as well. “With Forge and Engine leadership, plus Ixhel and Ezuri. We’ll need to make sure the gitaxians behave this time, huh?”

Glissa nodded. “ The progress engine can posture all they want, but we have resources, and we’re the only factions willing to work with him and not above him. Unctus is too proud to acknowledge equals, but Malcator isn’t as fool-headed– he’ll wrangle the m into line.”

“And we trust Malcator to get the others in line?”

“I trust Malcator to know the value of having his house in order,” Glissa flexed her wrists. Both her arms looked the same now, for the first time in a long time. Her sickle lacked practicality on this new front, and she suspected, would antagonize those she wished to bring into the fold.

“Malcator’s not the only loud voice in the Progress Engine.”

“Yes, but he is the most stubborn by leagues. Unctus doesn’t have the pull to displace him, and he knows it. Threx just wants to get back to his work. We’ll have the surgical bays on our side.”

Vorinclex growled, just low enough for Glissa to detect, at Threx’s name. The chrome butcher had been all too keen to get his own claws on Jin’s children.

“Optimistic,” Slobad said.

“It’s that or defeatist. I thought you believed in New Phyrexia.”

“I’ve got brains enough to know Phyrexia’s the only thing that can save any of us. Not so sure Phyrexia can be saved though.”

“What choice do we have but to try?”

“You’re right, Glissa. You know I know that’s right, huh?”

Glissa smiled. “I know. Go back, Slobad. I’ll find you both when I return.” She tapped her forehead against Vorinclex’s. “Go. Eat and grow. I need you strong again soon, and there’s nothing worth consuming up here.”

“No.” Vorinclex nudged back against her head. “Nothing but memories. Those won’t sustain you, either.”

“No, but I’ll linger here a little longer all the same.”

Vorinclex grunted, but turned trudged away.

“Stay close”

The little chrome creatures clustered near to his sides, running at a pitter-patter jog to keep up with his longer strides. In the spheres below, Vorinclex left the larvae to hunt and forage on their own, but around the surface, or the remains of the Basilica, he kept them nearby. Norn’s ruinous interference into the Swarm’s evolutionary aspirations had made him protective, arguably to the point of detriment, in the production of new predators.

Glissa grit her teeth. Vorinclex resented as much as she did the way Norn had wasted Lukka. A fine predator, and a grand addition to the swarm. So much potential for evolution, and Norn had thrown him away to die in a pointless exercise against a whole world of beasts. Of course even an apex predator would die if pitted against a whole world. Norn had done it just to spite them. So she would have an example to point to when she needed to set the other factions against the Grand Evolution. ‘See how this planewalker who chose the path of the swarm fared,’ she would have said. ‘See how their path pales besides the glory of the orthodoxy.’

Well Norn had gotten what she deserved in the end. All her plotting and bluster and now she was pieces and parts – porcelain rubble on who-knows-what world that would do no more conquering.

Glissa wondered if her pieces were on Zhalfir, rotting under the light of...

“Slobad?”

The goblin stopped short, and turned about to face her. He’d waited a few seconds longer than Vorinclex had, but was turning to leave when she called out. Vorinclex kept his pace, stalking away with a muted urgency.

“Yeah?”

“Who was Lyese?”

Slobad shifted. His unease was not phyrexian. Not really. But he was a greater help and reassurance than anything else on this plane, and Glissa would take that, even if it came with the unease of the flesh. Even if he cried at times, when he thought no-one was watching him .

It was rare to see a phyrexian cry, but the bodily structures that allowed the process were left in place for most compleated sapients who had the capacity originally. Jin-Gitaxias, during a long-ago convening of the praetors, had explained it thusly to Vorinclex, in his usual haughty way:

"We've found it sensible to allow this biological release for imperfect emotions that might otherwise build up to tear one of the compleat apart on a psychological level. While it might do us good to remove the capacity for such a buildup entirely, eventually, at present it is too much a liability to have a large portion of our population susceptible to."

"Not that you would concern yourselves with such complexities," He had added unnecessarily, as was his habit.  "Working as you do with beasts."

“I’d tell you if I could, huh? Geth knew...but I don’t know if Vishgaz still has those memories. And besides...” Slobad grimaced. “Geth said they would break your heart. He was very happy about that, actually.”

“My heart is too strong for that.”

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other. Slobad. Vorinclex. Glissa would never let any harm come to these two. She had lost more than she could remember, but as long as she had them, she would persevere.

“Not today then,” She whispered, barely loud enough for Slobad to hear.

“Lyese is safe, though,” Slobad said. “At least...Geth told me she’d been sent away, and away from here must be some bit of safe, huh?

“Even after the invasion?” Glissa asked.

Slobad only lowered his head.

“Right. It is not in our nature to hope. Only to do.”

“We do what we can,” Slobad said. “Waste not, want not.”

Then he was off, following the prints Vorinclex had left in the sand. The onetime-praetor was gone already, disappeared into a hole at the base of a many-armed monument in the distance. Glissa turned away. She could tell by Slobad’s heavy, halting tread that he was stopping every few paces to glance back at her.

To make sure she was alright.

Alright was debatable, and beside the point. She was, at least, not without a pack. This was good. The scriptures, so far as she understood the interpretations of factions outside the Swarm, had little to say on the concept of being alone. The compleat were sufficient in all things, it was true, but outside the cowardly work of sleeper agents, it was pre-supposed in most texts that phyrexians worked among and besides phyrexians, and that in their inevitable spread across the multiverse, phyrexians would all be, always, among their peers.

All will be one.

It was good to not be alone. To have others. To have a pack.

A cluster of mites scuttled across the sands, some distance away. The creatures were slowly learning how to mold the sands of the facade into burrows and nests.

Glissa let out a slow breath.

I am not alone, but this new life is lonely, all the same. 

She’d come out here in the past, after Norn had erected the facade. There had been something comforting about the suns. The artificial light of the Hunter’s Maze had been a great achievement for the Swarm, but it was not the same as the moons...as the suns...as that daughter and child and…

...and what?

At times Glissa even missed the blue and the red and the white suns. She had come up here to the surface before to ponder them too, on rarer occasions. And their names…

Bruenna? Bosh? Raksha?

These were not the goblin names for those suns either, but Glissa was less sure that they had ever been the names of the suns, though something in her crotus-enhanced brain connected them nonetheless. 

A wave of nausea gripped Glissa, and she hugged herself closer, half by reflex to steady herself, and half consciously, copper claws pinching her arms. 

These spells had come in waves, nigh-paralyzing lows that she couldn't control, punctuating the longer, more stable periods. Standing there on as solid a surface as the facade could offer, she felt as if the ground beneath her had given away entirely. 

By the spheres, but I miss Lyese!

Glissa breathed, and spread her arms. Slowly, she flexed each hand, then her arms, then her shoulders. She was strong. She had her pack. All was not lost for her or for Phyrexia. 

So why do I care so much about a sun?

Glissa brought her hands back to her side.

Why does its absence feel like part of myself is lost?

Oil ran freely from her eyes, streaming harder than ever.

Why my worry for the sun's safety, its health, its...happiness? Glissa hardly fretted as much over these things for her own comrades, the closest of her pack excepted. 

A tremor hit Glissa’s knees. She would not fall. She would not kneel here. Still, she brought her hand to her mouth and gripped her jaw with talons of copper.

So why?

The flow of oil splashed down onto the white sands. Dark shapes formed in the pools and soaked into the grains.

Why do I miss Lyese?

"Lyese" is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Seventh Day of Nostos

Here, have another chapter! Literally can’t wait for the reunion, but I also couldn’t help myself and decided to add some angst. Because it’s fun, and why not.

Enjoy :)

I honestly just keep forgetting to include these, but the AO3 link is here. 

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There was something beautiful about stepping into the pink and blue dusk of the evening. The sun had almost set, the sky streaked with vibrant pinks, lavenders and greys. There was a screech of metal above, and I looked up at the sleek hotel before me. The King of Hearts blimp billowed in a gust of heat, tilted, and drifted to the ground like a burning star. It collided into one of the neighbouring buildings, the explosion sending a shockwave of hot air blasting through the streets. 

I shielded my face with my forearm as a piece of paper whipped through the air and landed on my shoe. Picking it up, I realised it was a leaflet. The photograph on the cover was almost identical to the glossy skyscraper before me. The only thing absent was the busy influx of pedestrians and traffic outside. 

‘The Tokyo Horizon Hotel.’ 

I flipped it over, looking at the pictures one by one. Everything about the staff seemed artificial to me, from the pristine red blazers to their immaculate hairlines. Despite this, I instantly recognised that glint in her eye, a slyness disguised beneath a professional smile. She was sitting at the very reception desk I had been leaning against just hours before, posing for the camera.   

‘Izanami,’ I whispered, deep in thought. ‘She was the receptionist.’ 

A receptionist turned King. There was something unexpectedly funny about it, probably because it made absolute sense to me. She was the face of the hotel, having encountered every possible type of customer under the sun. She knew the ins and outs of the industry, was privy to the drama that occurred behind closed doors, and even the drama that filtered through the grapevine. Of course she was the King of Hearts; she knew exactly what made people tick.  

And now she was gone. It was a shame. If not for the circumstances, I could have become friends with someone so carefree and easy as she was. 

But I can still remember her. 

I could still carry her memory with me, like a token or a good luck charm. In a way, she had died so that I could live. I just had to make it count somehow. For now though, I needed to find my way back home. 

Back to Chishiya, to Kuina…

And back to my older brother, who was still out there, somewhere, waiting for me. 

I wandered deeper into the city using only the familiarity of the streets to guide me. Thick swathes of tall grass covered the pavements and roads, and it was difficult recognising store fronts through the vines and foliage. Scattered around in the grass, the bodies of players had been reduced to bones, each one a victim of the King of Spades. They were still carrying their weapons, their clothes now rags against their hollow white skeletons. It wasn’t right that a human body should decompose so quickly. It meant that my suspicions had been correct all along; time was altered here. The city was a jungle, and as I waded through the overgrowth, Izanami’s words haunted my mind. 

‘Life isn’t a race, it’s a labyrinth. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up going round and round in circles.’ 

Her dying words were uncanny. In her game, if I had simply carried on guessing answers at random, my points would have hovered around a neutral 25. I would have been trapped forever in that room, going round and round in circles. 

It really was like a labyrinth… 

How many times had I made a similar comparison with the city? Too many to count. It was as if she had read my thoughts, knew the ins and outs of my heart, as strange as it sounded. 

And now as I roamed the streets, deftly avoiding stepping on bony fingers and spines, I realised that Tokyo was opening up, welcoming me back inside its web. Even as the darkness of the evening skulked along the corners and alleyways, I followed my gut instinct, tracing a mental map until I turned onto a smaller side-street, coming to a stop before the small building opposite me.

The furniture store. 

There were no candles lit in the windows. No signs of life. I opened the door and slipped inside, tasting the dank mustiness of the air. It was cold, but everything was as it had been before we left. Our makeshift living room was still in place, the armchairs turned on each other in a circle, a flimsy coffee table between them. 

Inside the small kitchen, I found a can of Kuina’s favourite corn soup in one of the cupboards. And so, lighting a few candles on the windowsill, I prepared the portable stove we had used to fashion meals with so many times. It was on the kitchen surface, a little dusty but still usable. I poured the can of soup into a pan and left it to warm up as I explored upstairs. 

The staircase was dark, and the room upstairs even more so. But even in the darkness, I would have recognised that bed from anywhere. It was still as a photograph, a moment in time captured. The way the covers were thrown back, an indentation in each pillow, mine and Chishiya’s. It was only days ago, but it already felt like a fragment of our history. 

I ran my palm along the bedside table, searching for the one thing I had left behind. 

My ring should be here somewhere.

I wasn’t there. I searched the floors and under the bed, but my ring was nowhere to be seen. I raked my hand along every nook and cranny, feeling for its familiar shape, and only growing more and more frustrated when I couldn’t find it. This couldn’t be happening. It meant too much to me. 

I can’t lose it again!

The only explanation I could think of was that somebody had been here after us and they had taken it. Or, it had rolled away into a corner where I couldn’t see it. As impatient as I was, it was too dark to look properly, and so I begrudgingly resigned myself to waiting. 

I’ll have to look again tomorrow when it’s lighter. But still, my ring… 

Sighing, I headed back downstairs to my simmering corn soup. A warm bowlful later, and I was curled up in my old armchair, trying to fall asleep in the ambient candlelight but unable to shake off the fear that the King of Spades would turn up when I least expected it, and I would become one of those many skeletons.

I tried instead to turn my thoughts toward Chishiya. Finding him was my first priority right now. Now that I was clear-headed, I could understand his perspective a little more. The detachment, the alienation. He had never truly told me about the full extent of his isolation. Only that his parents had ignored him, and he had been mostly raised by the house staff. When he first told me, in the lingering quiet after we explored each other’s bodies, I hadn’t appreciated the full weight of that moment.

And the way he’d fired his pistol at Banda, and sat waiting outside after I’d barricaded myself in one of the cells. Even our conversation in the hospital, his adamance that he wouldn’t take part in a game with me. I had been adamant too. I was willing to play together, even if only one of us survived. 

‘Are you really willing to risk an outcome like that? How selfish?’

Back then, his words had thrown me off. They came across as strange and uncharacteristic, but in actuality, I was just blind.  

I understand now. 

I would feel it too. If Chishiya died in a game, where would that leave me? Wandering around Tokyo alone without a shred of hope. That kind of existence wasn’t worth living for. 

God, he was right. I’m really am that selfish… we both are. 

It was time to change things.  

But right now, my eyes were heavy, so heavy, and it was becoming impossible to keep my mind from slipping away into a velvety slumber. Curled up in my armchair, I watched the light of the candle flames flickering on the wall like shadow puppets, until I fell into a heady, dreamless sleep. 

________________________________________________

My eyes flew open. 

I was still curled in my armchair, my neck stiff. However, the cold room was bathed in darkness.  The candles on the window ledge had blown out, and only faint slant of moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating the armchair across from me. 

A shiver brushed the back of my neck.

Someone’s here. 

I gently unfurled myself, listening carefully for any indication of footsteps or breathing. There was nothing. Everything in the room was exactly where it was supposed to be. It was just the candles. I got up and walked towards the window, inspecting them. The wax around the wick was still warm and liquid. It could only mean they had been blown out recently. 

Raising my head to the window pane, I saw my tired reflection staring back at me. And then I froze. A dark, familiar face grinned from behind me, hovering just over my shoulder. There was a click, and I felt the barrel of a gun press into my back.

‘Don’t even fucking think of moving.’

I should have known Niragi would find me eventually. It was only a matter of time. Although it was actually rather impressive that he was still clinging to the revenge he craved for his burn scars. It was an act of self defence, and most people would have moved on by now. 

He’s not most people, clearly. 

‘You’re the same as ever,’ I said, stifling a yawn. ‘Always trying to show off your guns. It must be tiring.’ 

‘I could say the same thing. Not going to show off that terrible foreigner’s accent?’ 

‘I don’t need to.’ I stuck to my native tongue, looking him straight in the eye through our reflections in the glass. ‘I know you can understand me.’ 

Niragi pulled a face of disinterest, but beneath the facade I could see his curiosity. 

‘Back at the Beach, when you first confronted me about Chishiya’s plans, you seemed to be able to understand me even when I wasn’t speaking in Japanese. It was the same when I was at the bar, right before…’ His mouth quirked in self-satisfaction, and I dropped the sentence altogether. ‘And on the rooftop. You understood everything.’ 

He scoffed, jerking the gun harder against my spine. ‘What, did you think I’m an idiot or something? I went to school, obviously.’

‘You could have fooled me.’ 

It was only a mutter, but Niragi had heard it all the same. Grabbing my shoulder, he dragged me away from the window and forced me to sit in the armchair. I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. He sat in the chair across from me, the handgun still pointed at my chest. 

‘You clearly have something planned,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I’d be dead by now.’ 

‘Well done, genius. Even though I’d love to put a bullet in your brain, there’s something else I’d like to do. Something more fun.’ 

Niragi looked terrible. There was a strange gleam in his eye, and the charred remains of his hair were an unruly against the scarred rivers running along his skin. Even his clothes were in tatters. It was a wonder, after everything he had done, that he was even still alive. 

‘We’re going to wait here for a while,’ he continued, ‘and then you and I are going to go for a little walk.’ 

I can see where this is going. 

A walk was never just a walk when Niragi was involved. I sighed deeply, knowing that I was at least safe for now. At this point, Niragi was too predictable for his own good. No doubt, he was going to take me to wherever Chishiya was just so he could have the satisfaction of killing one of us in front of the other. But if he led me to Chishiya, I would happily go along with his plan for now. 

Niragi hummed with fascination, the sound breaking through my thoughts. ‘You seem awfully compliant. What happened to the feisty little zebra who clawed at me?’ 

‘You have a gun and I don’t,’ I replied, nodding towards the handgun resting on his knee. ‘And I have no intention of dying just yet. My brother’s waiting for me.’ 

His mouth curling into a jagged smile. ‘Your brother, hm? What makes you think he’s still alive? He could be one of those skeletons out there, you know.’ 

The thought gave me pause for a moment, but I held my ground. I knew better. ‘He’s not dead. He’s in the other world. The real world, I mean.’ 

‘The real world.’ Something flashed in Niragi’s eyes, as if I had touched on his favourite subject. ‘Which world is the real world? You can live freely here. There are none of those man-made laws to hold you back from giving into your human instincts. You can kill or rape as many people as you want, take whatever drugs you what, there’s nobody to stop you. You can die freely too.’ 

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. ‘Well, since you’re here in this place, I’d much rather go back.’ 

Niragi didn’t seem fazed by the mild insult. If anything, there was a smugness about him, as though everything was vaguely funny. ‘You know, I’m surprised you’re here all alone,’ he said. ‘I assumed Chishiya would have come back, but clearly not.’ 

Now that was unexpected. 

‘You’ve seen him?’   

‘Perhaps.’ 

‘And you didn’t kill him.’  

Niragi shrugged. ‘Why would I, when I can kill both of you at once?’ 

I couldn’t hold back a snicker. ‘What, are you going to line us both up and try to do it with one bullet?’ 

His smile disappeared. The gun was against my forehead faster than I could blink. Niragi’s fingers were in my hair, against my scalp, pulling my head back until my face was mere inches from his. I let out an involuntary gasp, but tried to meet his gaze squarely. I couldn’t show him any fear. Not now. 

‘Don’t you fucking dare laugh at me,’ he snarled. I could smell blood on his breath, could feel the cold barrel of the gun against my temple. ‘I could easily kill you right now and spare myself the trouble.’ 

‘I’m sure you could,’ I murmured. ‘But we both know it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.’ 

He released my head violently, throwing me against the back of the armchair as he sat back down in his own. Through the window, the first streaks of a red dawn had finally appeared across the hazy concrete skyline. 

Niragi was quiet for a few minutes. He checked the bullets in his gun before sliding the mechanism back into place. ‘Get up,’ he ordered. ‘We’re leaving.’ 

I stood and looked over my shoulder at the stairs. Now that dawn was here, I would be able to see everything better. ‘Can I at least go to the bathroom before we go?’ 

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Where is it?’

‘It’s just at the top of the stairs.’ I waved a hand at the staircase. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.’ 

He stood up, gesturing to the stairs with his gun. ‘You’ve got two minutes. If you try anything, I’ll shoot you in the foot and you’ll have to walk on it.’ 

‘Fine. Two minutes is all I need.’ 

I sprung up the stairs and made a beeline for the bed I shared with Chishiya. His familiar scent still lingered on the linen, and it sent a sharp ache running through my chest. I would have given anything to go back to that time. It was turbulent, yes, but there were moments of sanctuary. 

I pushed thought away.  

Don’t get distracted! You don’t have long. 

That’s right. I now had less than two minutes to find this ring. I got to my knees, searching the gap behind the bedside table in case it had rolled off the edge. There was no sign of it. Growing more and more desperate, I pressed my face to the floor as I peered under the bed. No matter how hard I looked, the ring was nowhere to be seen. I was busy checking under the neighbouring bed when in the slant of light beneath the frame, I saw Niragi’s feet appear in the doorway. 

‘Oi! Get out of there before I drag you out.’ 

I crawled out from under the bed. Frustratingly, my ring was still missing. It must have rolled away into a dark corner somewhere in the crannies of the room. I hated being without it, but there really was nothing I could do. 

‘I lost something up here last night,’ I tried to explain myself. ‘While I was here I thought I’d check before we left.’ 

Niragi marched around the bed and grasped the back of my clothes, hauling me towards the doorway. 

‘Move!’ When I was too slow, he jabbed the gun firmly against my spine and pushed me forward. ‘Hurry the fuck up!’ 

Pff, you’re not going to shoot me. Not right now anyway. 

With the gun between my shoulder blades once more, I silently allowed Niragi to lead me down the stairs and out of the store. Dawn had broken, and to my surprise, the overgrown jungle was softened by birdsong. I hadn’t expected to hear birds singing in the middle of Tokyo. Only the flap of pigeons roaming around for scraps of food. But on second thought, nature had taken back the city. The birds had every right to flock here. 

Niragi didn’t tell me where we were heading, and I didn’t dare ask. I knew better than to goad him on further. I would keep walking and walking until Niragi gestured towards a new direction with his gun. It was a mystery to me, how he knew where he was going. I could only imagine that he had spied on Chishiya and worked out where he was staying. 

The sun was high in the sky, reaching a mid morning simmer when faint voices sounded from somewhere nearby. Niragi paused behind me, then pushed me forward in a vague direction. 

‘Keep moving,’ he hissed. 

I felt his breath against the shell of my ear and flinched away. He chuckled lightly at my reaction, but I refused to show him how it affected me. He wouldn’t take my dignity from me. 

Not again. Never again. 

The voices grew increasingly louder, and as we rounded a corner, I began to recognise the structures, the familiar crosswalks. 

Shibuya crossing?

I had visited this place with my brother on the day after we landed in Tokyo. In fact, his friend’s apartment was only a couple of minutes away. It was so different now that it was swamped in foliage. 

There were two figures in the distance, standing between abandoned cars on what would have been the iconic crosswalk. My heart pounded when I saw a shock of white, that familiar hoodie, his blond hair. It was Chishiya. But despite seeing him only a day ago, he looked so different. His face was darker, more mature, and his expression was strange. There was apathy there as usual, but lurking beneath that thin surface, there was something troubled about him. He was talking to Arisu, who appeared to be holding a rifle in both hands. Neither of them had noticed us standing there. 

I opened my mouth to call out to them, only for a hand on my shoulder to shove me back. Niragi pushed in front of me, raising his gun. 

No! 

Everything slowed, blurring into a haze as I launched myself at Niragi, wrapping my arms around him and clawing at his hands in a furious attempt to grab his gun. He buckled under my assault, letting out a guttural growl as he shoved his palm into my face, trying to push me away. I saw my opportunity, sinking my teeth into the dirty skin of his hand. 

‘Fuck! Get off, you rat!’ 

I bit down harder, ignoring the taste of dirt and blood on my tongue. However, Niragi twisted his entire body, throwing me to the ground before storming forward. 

Winded and wheezing, I scrabbled to my feet. ‘Niragi, don’t!’ 

‘Watch me,’ He grinned and pointed the gun once more at the pair. At him. 

Please, don’t!

I moved forward, my eyes on the one person I wanted by my side. I was too far to reach him and push him out of the way, and there was no way I could get to the gun in time. 

But I can still shout… 

‘Chi—’

My voice was silenced by the gunshot that ricochetted across Shibuya. Chishiya’s body twisted, the force of the impact knocking him to the ground. Blood splattered across his chest, tainting the white of his hoodie. 

[lapislaprima]

Sastasha stood there, surrounded by mountains of glittering gold and cascading piles of precious jewels. The chamber's opulence was overwhelming — walls embedded with gemstones sparkled like stars, casting a myriad of colors across the room. Soft, velvety sand trickled down from cracks in the ancient ceiling, pouring into a small pit in the ground like an hourglass slowly bleeding out. In the beams of sunlight filtering through the narrow openings above, the golden sand shimmered, giving the illusion that the entire room was bathed in liquid gold, as if time itself had come to a halt in a radiant display of splendor.

No matter how many times she visited the grand magician of time, this chamber never lost its dreamlike quality. It felt like stepping into another realm, a space suspended beyond the grasp of reality. It was a paradox of time, an ethereal sanctum that shouldn't — couldn't — exist. And yet here it was, unchanged and eternal, defying the very laws of nature.

“You see, Destiny,” a deep, resonant voice interrupted her thoughts, sharp and authoritative. “Humans say that time heals all wounds, but that’s a comforting lie. In truth, they simply grow accustomed to their pain.” Kairos, the grand magician of time, spoke with a tone that was both reprimanding and enigmatic. He tapped her lightly on the head with his slender wand, a gesture that was more playful than harsh. “They succumb to their fate, quietly accepting what they cannot change.”

Sastasha frowned, rubbing the spot where the wand had touched her. She knew these moments well — the mesmerizing room, the golden sand, and, of course, Kairos’s cryptic wisdom. Every encounter with him left her feeling like she was trying to grasp smoke; his words were familiar yet always shrouded in a language she couldn’t fully understand.

“I wasn’t talking about humans, Kairos,” she retorted, her voice laced with growing impatience. “I was speaking of Luonto.” Her eyes fixed on the older mage, serious and unyielding, as if daring him to dismiss her again. For a brief second, she looked like a child scolding a parent, all defiant passion and raw emotion. But Kairos merely gave her a small, amused smile, seemingly unfazed by her outburst.

“And I was speaking of humans, Destiny,” he replied calmly, emphasizing her title with a deliberate, almost mocking cadence. He took a step closer, his robes swaying like the tide of a gentle sea. “But since you’ve asked so nicely,” he continued with a hint of sarcasm, “I shall tell you a secret.”

Kairos gestured for her to follow him, leading her to the centerpiece of the chamber: a raised platform crowned with a delicate fountain. The structure was simple yet elegant, a stark contrast to the rest of the room’s extravagance. Instead of water, it was filled with the same golden sand that trickled from the ceiling. The sand flowed in a steady stream, forming a small, perpetual whirlpool before cascading down a narrow spout and disappearing into the stone floor.

“The person you call Luonto,” Kairos began, dipping his hand into the fountain. The golden sand sifted through his fingers, but then, as if by some unseen magic, it began to transform. The sparkling grains turned into shimmering golden dust, which sparkled briefly before dissolving into clear, glistening water.

“Doesn’t exist,” he finished, pulling his hand away.

Sastasha’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as the water stilled, reflecting her stunned expression back at her. The golden dust had vanished, leaving only the cold, unembellished truth in its place.

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men

Targaryen Harvesters

main list (where the story is)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

The Targaryen Harvester, a marvel of advanced engineering and ancient design, stands as a testament to the ingenuity and technological prowess of House Targaryen. Built to operate in the most inhospitable environments, it is a perfect fusion of cutting-edge technology and the almost mystical properties of drakaon crystals, which form the core of all Targaryen machinery. This harvester is unlike any spice-collecting machine in the known Imperium, combining both efficiency and subtlety in ways that make it a formidable tool on Arrakis.

Exterior Design & Structure

Chassis and Hull: The harvester’s body is sleek and aerodynamic, crafted from composite alloys that blend carbon-based materials with a mysterious Valyrian steel derivative. This combination makes the harvester both lightweight and incredibly durable, capable of withstanding the harsh, abrasive sands and the extreme temperatures of desert worlds like Arrakis.

Stealth Coating: The exterior is coated with a black, matte material that absorbs and disperses radar and infrared signals, giving it a degree of stealth that makes it nearly invisible to most scanning technologies. This also helps the harvester blend seamlessly into the shadowed dunes during night operations.

Compact Size & Modular Design: Unlike the large and cumbersome spice harvesters of the Harkonnens, the Targaryen Harvester is compact, designed for mobility and ease of deployment. Its modular nature allows it to be quickly assembled or disassembled, enabling rapid deployment or withdrawal from the field when needed.

Propulsion & Movement

Hover Technology: The Targaryen Harvester employs an advanced hover propulsion system, powered by drakaon crystals. This system allows it to float just above the surface of the sands, minimizing disturbances and vibrations that might otherwise attract the attention of the sandworms. The hover technology is fine-tuned to maintain stability even in rough terrain, allowing the harvester to glide effortlessly over the undulating dunes.

Adaptive Wings: As part of its hover mechanism, the harvester has retractable wing-like structures that extend from its sides during operation. These wings are not for flight but rather serve as stabilizers that adjust to wind currents and shifting sands, ensuring smooth movement over the desert landscape. When not in use, the wings fold seamlessly into the body of the harvester, maintaining its streamlined shape.

Harvesting Mechanism

Siphoning Arrays: The core feature of the Targaryen Harvester is its siphoning arrays, located within the wing-like extensions. These arrays create a controlled vortex of air that draws in sand and spice, separating the two with a precision unmatched by traditional harvesters. The vortex is generated using ionized air currents created by the drakaon crystal cores, which create a powerful yet gentle pull that sifts through the sands.

Crystal-Based Filtration System: Once the sand and spice are drawn in, the harvester uses a series of crystal-based filters to isolate the precious melange from the surrounding sands. These crystals, sourced from Albiron, possess unique electrostatic properties that attract and bind to the spice particles, allowing the purified spice to be collected while the sand is expelled back onto the ground.

Non-Disruptive Extraction: The process of harvesting is incredibly silent compared to the rumbling, clunky harvesters of the Harkonnens. The low hum emitted by the crystal-powered engines is barely audible even in the stillness of the desert night. This low impact is essential in minimizing vibrations, reducing the risk of attracting shai-hulud, the great sandworms of Arrakis.

Energy Core & Power Source

Drakaon Crystal Core: The heart of the harvester’s power is the drakaon crystal core, a dense, multi-faceted crystal that draws energy from ambient solar radiation and stores it for continuous operation. This core allows the harvester to run for extended periods without needing external fuel sources, making it self-sufficient and capable of long-range operations in remote areas of the desert.

Solar Collectors: In addition to the crystal core, the harvester is equipped with solar collectors that deploy during the day. These collectors absorb solar energy, supplementing the crystal’s power reserve and ensuring that the harvester can operate continuously, even under the harsh sun of Arrakis.

Control Systems & Interfaces

Holographic Interface: The harvester features a holographic interface for its operators, projected from a crystal-based control console within the cockpit. This interface displays real-time data on the harvester’s status, spice yield, and environmental conditions, allowing for precise control of the siphoning process.

Neural Feedback System: Advanced Targaryen technology allows for a neural feedback system that connects the operator’s movements with the harvester’s controls. This creates a near-instantaneous response between the operator’s commands and the vehicle’s actions, enabling delicate maneuvers even in unstable terrain.

Remote Control Capabilities: The harvester can be operated remotely from a command ship or a Targaryen control station, making it possible to manage multiple harvesters simultaneously over a wide area. This remote control system is encrypted and designed to be impervious to conventional Imperial hacking methods.

Defensive Features

Energy Shields: Although primarily a civilian machine, the Targaryen Harvester is equipped with low-level energy shields derived from ancient Valyrian technology. These shields are designed to deflect micrometeor impacts and protect the harvester from smaller projectiles or environmental hazards. While not suitable for full combat, the shields provide an added layer of protection against sabotage.

Electrostatic Discharge Mechanism: To deter potential attacks or interference, the harvester can release a controlled electrostatic discharge through its siphoning arrays, disrupting nearby electronics and creating a localized EMP burst. This can disable smaller drones or tracking devices, allowing the harvester to slip away undetected.

Environmental Adaptability

Climate Adaptation Systems: Designed to function in the extreme climates of desert worlds like Arrakis, the harvester is equipped with systems that regulate internal temperatures and prevent overheating. The materials used in its construction have been treated to withstand corrosive sands and thermal expansion, ensuring long-term durability in harsh conditions.

Low-Friction Hull Design: The harvester’s hull is coated with a low-friction material that prevents sand from accumulating on its surfaces, reducing wear and ensuring that the machine can maintain its optimal performance even during extended operations in sandstorms.

Unique Features

Spice Purification Module: A specialized chamber within the harvester is dedicated to refining the spice it collects. This module uses a process that enhances the purity of the melange, making it more potent and valuable. This capability is part of what makes Targaryen spice so desirable—and so mysterious.

Integrated Holographic Cloaking: For operations that require stealth, the harvester can activate a holographic cloaking field, bending light around it to become nearly invisible against the shifting sands. This feature is rarely used, as it drains the crystal core’s reserves significantly, but it can be invaluable for avoiding detection during sensitive missions.

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

Mirage Dance (Prompt 2 - Horizon)

Memories from time spent with The Twelve prove themselves hazy, although whether they are more or less so than any other memory, the Warrior of Light cannot tell, such is the life they’ve lived.

In the Heaven of Fire, they recall the maze of the Endless City in the distance, its spires holding up a crimson horizon. The smell of dust and baked clay. Nald’thal’s dominion is wondrous to behold, but for the Warrior it is easily eclipsed by Azeyma - their patron deity - appearing before them, resplendent in red and gold.

The words Azeyma speaks reside no louder than a whisper, for it is the goddess’s gentle, radiating warmth that stays with the Warrior far more than the praise of martial prowess. It is the touch of Azeyma’s hand as she cups the side of their face, her long fingers sifting through their locks, like finding gold amidst sand. The goddess marvels aloud at her devotee’s hair in all its fiery shades.

Azeyma alights on the ground as gently as a feather to walk beside them. The Warrior only notices later that her feet remain an ilm above the tiled roads, cushioned by the thinnest layer of flames. Fire walker. Sun bringer.

There is a building - a dome - filled with windchimes. Breezes moving through the dome’s apertures send the crystal chimes tinkling, sparkling. Their facets throw the light along the walls in ever-shifting mosaics. Something about supplications, and prayers, as another windchime manifests from the aether before their eyes.

The Warden welcomes the Warrior’s questions. She does not always provide answers. Go forth and seek. 

A flutter of colorful silks through an archway. Passage through a garden of roses, each bloom bending toward their namesake as she drifts past them. The Warrior can smell their sweet hues even as they move to the courtyard adjacent, a space bigger than an Ishgardian nobleman’s manse and dotted with reflecting pools fed by statues holding amphorae from which water endlessly pours. 

The Warrior is offered ambrosia and a bath and a clean change of clothes and a promise that they will be returned to the mortal world come the morrow. As Azeyma disappears into an adjacent archway, humming, The Warrior is reminded, abruptly, of Feo Ul–exuberance, confidence, and fire. And when, washed and dressed, the Warrior calls out to Azeyma, like Feo Ul she is quick to reappear. Out they go, back into that sprawling courtyard and its colonnades atop a hill overlooking The Endless City. 

As the sun’s light smolders to embers, figures filter from the labyrinthine streets and ascend the hill. The Warrior sees them as vibrations in the air, wobbling shapes and contours that sometimes, from the corner of their eye, almost - almost - become coherent enough to have recognizable features. They are heat mirages that do not dissipate when night at last falls.

It’s impossible to tell whether the time of day reflected that of Etheirys or is simply the whims of the gods themselves - but the Warrior remembers the cool, deepening twilight of the evening, the winking of the stars. The constellations - as above in the sky, so below in the reflecting pools - are familiar, but blur amid the rising smoke of the decorative braziers.

There is music, and dancing, and more food pressed into their hands. The Warrior finally retreats from the crowd to a stone bench. They break open a pomegranate and drag their teeth over it, nibble on the uprooted seeds and observe.

The crowd of mirage and shadow whirls in circles, stamping their feet and clapping their hands in dance, the phantom jewelry on wrists and ankles and draped across necks chiming. Voices, incomprehensible even with the Echo, raise to the skies in joyful trills. Something primordial that sends a not-unpleasant ripple of gooseflesh along the Warrior’s arms.

Azeyma is the bonfire they carouse around. She scoops and rises, twirls and sways, her bronze wreath gleaming and her hair lashing her face. The phoenix-plumage fans in her hands are a natural extension of her dance. She stamps her heels to the rhythm of music, sends small dust devils pirouetting from the stones. Like her element, she is mesmerizing to watch, and yet too radiant to behold for more than a few moments at a time.

Far away, someone else also sits among the long dead, in the lonely greens and blues of a phantom Amaurot, waiting for an end that will never come. Was Hythlodaeus’s shade still there even after his creator and inspiration both had gone on to the aetherial sea? The Warrior doesn’t know, but they think Hythlodaeus would like it here. He would be able to see these mirage-like bodies for the colors of their souls, and perhaps know their stories. 

For these shades too feel like new old friends, lingering on the edge of memory as if from a past life. The Warrior is separated from the people before them by death or forgetfulness or something else they cannot name.

The Warrior pauses, then tugs the strap of their sandals over one heel, and then the other. They set the sandals under the bench and flex their toes. The sun’s warmth is still held in the stones under their bare feet. 

They catch the brief, inviting glint of a golden, godly gaze. 

The Warrior blinks the sunspots from their eyes. They pause to breathe deeply the smell of Azeyma’s roses.

They rise to meet the sun.

[mages-pandoras-box]

The Forgotten Powers - Snippet

((A snippet from my upcoming story, The Forgotten Powers - an AOT and The Boys crossover. Enjoy!))

Word Count: About 1.1k

Warnings: Car crash and injuries.

Tagging: @ferretwrites

Hughie honestly doesn’t remember the crash happening. One minute, he was talking to MM and Annie about Stormfront when suddenly MM cursed and tried to swerve.

Hughie remembers the impact and hitting his head on the car’s roof. Then darkness.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s surrounded by metal and fire. 

Hughie felt…cold. He could register that he was lying in the street but not his body. He couldn’t move. 

“HUGHIE!”

Oh…was that Annie?

He heard footsteps, and then M.M. and Annie hovered over him, panicking. 

Hughie was having trouble breathing. He was so tired. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Annie was saying, “No, no, no, no!!”

Hughie was dazed; he couldn’t focus on a single thing. All he heard were voices. He could hardly register anything. What was even happening?

“Annie…? M.M…?” He mumbled weakly.

Annie and MM both shush Hughie.

“It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” M.M.’s voice and face were calm now, too quiet, as Annie cried and panicked.

“It’s okay, Hughie, you’ll be okay!”

Hughie couldn’t understand the situation at all. His vision was still blurry, and his brain was still foggy. The pain slowly crept up on him as he lay still. He felt…numb.

He couldn’t say much. All he could manage was a soft, “I can’t feel my legs..?” as his eyes slowly moved down, even as Annie tried to stop him.

Hughie finally registers pain in his arms and face. Even though it was muffled like someone had covered his nerves in cotton.

Blood and burns with two jagged pieces of shrapnel embedded in his chest and stomach filter into Hughie’s blurry vision. Annie’s hands hovered over his skin as if scared to touch Hughie.

Hughie loses feeling in his neck, and his head thumps against the ground as it falls back. All he could do was watch the sky above him, his vision slowly tunneling around the edges. 

He tries to move his head, to at least try and get a glimpse of either M.M. or Annie, but his neck refuses to move. So he settled for blinking slowly. His eyelids get heavier with each blink.

“I…” He sighed weakly. That was all he could manage.

As Hughie’s vision continues to fade, he can distantly hear Annie yelling and the sound of sirens steadily growing louder.

He doesn’t want to die.

The darkness keeps creeping in.

He doesn’t want to die!

It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open.

He doesn’t want to die!!

Slowly losing consciousness, Hughie forced his eyes open. His vision was getting blurry, and the darkness slowly overtook him. He had a gut feeling he wasn’t going to survive this. 

He’s scared.

“I want more time,” Hughie’s throughs jump wildly, “I don’t want to go. I want to make things right,”

He took deep, shaky breaths.

“I don’t want to die,” He mumbles, inaudible due to the chaos around him. 

There is a flash.

The sounds of the highway, Annie’s voice, the sirens, M.M.’s gentle words, and the feeling of pain, the sun’s rays on Hughie’s weakening body, vanish within a moment.

The ground below him suddenly feels soft yet gritty and warm. Sand.

Hughie feels a soft breeze as he looks up in awe.

Above Hughie was a clear, stary night sky. Trails of bluish-green light streak across the sky, similar in appearance to an aurora.

He was..confused. His eyes glued to the sky, he could feel a sense of peace wash over him. Confused but calm. Safe. He felt okay with being here.

He took a deep breath. Something inside told him it was okay now; everything would be fine.

“What…?” He muttered. 

There is movement next to Hughie, and he weakly turns to see a young man slowly kneeling down on the sand next to him.

He wore a gray chemise shirt under a thin black jacket with matching slacks and shoes. The man’s shoulder-length brown hair was parted down the middle, with a few strands falling between his eyes and over his face.

Due to some odd shadow, Hughie couldn’t see the man’s eyes but saw his kind smile.

It didn’t feel like Hughie was breathing anymore. His eyes scanned the man, trying to take in every detail he could. He felt a strange connection as if he’d known the man for years. He didn’t know who he was or where he was…but he was calm.

He tried to speak, his words coming out very soft and whispery.

“...Hello…?”

The man’s smile slowly grew. He reaches out and holds Hughie’s limp hand, his smile soft and understanding.

A small smile crossed Hughie’s face as he lightly squeezed the man’s hand. The man’s palm was warm.

“Who…are you…?” He still whispered, his words quiet. He was confused, yet he didn’t feel scared.

The man doesn’t answer. Only looks at Hughie. Despite the odd misty shadow covering his eyes, Hughie could tell the man’s expression was of care, warmth, and sympathy.

Nothing else seems to matter except for this moment. This man, whom Hughie didn’t know if he was real, smiled softly down at him as Hughie watched the aurora above them. He wanted to close his eyes, to feel peace again.

“... I’m…Hughie…” Hughie whispers, softly turning to the man once more. 

The man’s smile grows warmer, more protective as if he already knew Hughie’s name.

He looks down at Hughie’s body before gently, ever so softly, squeezing Hughie’s hand.

Something flows into Hughie’s body, down his spine, spreading through his nerves. It felt like lightning struck him, but there was no pain. It was warm. Strong. Powerful.

A voice echoes softly around Hughie, “Cherish it. Master it, learn control, for fear will be your greatest enemy,”

The man pulled his hand away before Hughie could say anything else, and the sun’s harsh rays suddenly blinded him.

The sounds of the highway come rushing back. There’s chatter and shouting, cars zipping past, sirens still going off, and footsteps as people move around.

“Hughie!?”

Hughie felt something being secreted from his body. More specifically, his wounds. Something was wafting into the air, causing the area to get foggy. 

Steam. 

Hughie slowly sits up, feeling the pain draining away from him as more and more of the steam is pushed out of his skin. 

Hughie watches in a mix of amazement and horror as his skin slowly stitches together, bones snapping into place, his bruises fading. 

The steam thins out as Hughie feels his strength returning; once Hughie’s body is completely healed, it stops. 

Hughie takes a breath, then another and another as he slowly turns, looking around. 

He sees M.M. and Annie a few feet away, looking at him in shock. 

Hughie swallows, mouth suddenly dry, “What….what just happened?”