#fantastic foliage

[phantasmagorical-ambedo]

[modern-fairy]

Fall mushrooms 🍄‍🟫

[theblueflower05]

Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

A/N: Usually I try to keep my readers pretty ambiguous so that everyone can envision themselves, but this ones gonna be a little more distinct. If that isnt your jam, please dont read! No use of Y/N. Reader nicknamed Flora. Based on the character from Winx Club! And this art!

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Size difference kink.Mature Language. Smut. Overstimulation. Oral sex(female receiving) Neteyams a munch, it’s canon now.

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Sugar, honey, iced tea. Bumble bee on the scene.

Yeah I’d give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie, ugh!

-See You Again, Tyler the Creator.

The forest is alive, the beating heart of Eywa felt in each and every leaf among the trees.

Every glowing piece of flora and fauna, every creature whose calls echo through the vastness.

This time of year is special and it's as though it is known. Deeply and primitively by all. The rains had come and gone, nearly a month of bruised skies that had bogged down the village and its daily life.

But as they always do the skies cleared, and the sun made its reappearance. Glittering and glimmering- triple rainbows breaking out in kaleidoscope like figurations. Beaming down with all of it’s warmth and vitality.

The earth is well fed and fertile, the soil rich and blooming with new life.

It’s that new life that brings the talioang(water buffalo like beasts) back. The creatures return in great migrations to the lush pastures of sweet new grasses to have their babies. The fish swim upstream, battling the roaring rivers, to spawn. The fruit hangs heavy and ripe in the trees. All around there is nothing but full bellies and joy.

This period of abundance is the Great Mother’s gift to her children.

It had always been Neteyam’s favorite time of the year.

Everything lush and bursting with life, the excitement a low constant hum amongst the tribe. The Great Hunt is coming and his father had given him the okay to take lead.

In his nineteen years, he had never been appointed with so much responsibility.

Jake tells him it will all be fine, nothing but easy smiles. This will be good. A fantastic way to show the clan that he’s ready to take on the title of Olo’eyktan once his father steps down. Although he manages to keep is calm and cool demeanor in public, he’s so fucking nervous he can barley function.

It’s why he’s here, trudging through the branches.

The village is buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants a moment of his time, their voices overlap as they wish him good luck.

Question his competence as head of the hunt.

Subliminally hint that hunters twice his age have never gotten the chance to do what has been so freely handed to him.

Remind him that their daughters are pretty. Unmated. Makes the best steamed Teylu. Are fertile and willing to give him strong children-

Fuck.

The moment he could, he’d slipped away. Disappeared into the foliage and had booked it deep into the trees, desperate for a moment alone. For a moment of silence and the peace of being away from prying eyes.

He doesn't even really know where he’s going.

Only that he just needs to be away. If only for an hour. He needs to recharge his ever draining social battery, to get his head on straight before tomorrow's hunt.

Neteyam has always performed his best under pressure.

Things that made others balk and cower ignited something in him. A need to fight. To prove himself- it’s not the prospect of high adrenaline and stampeeding hooves that makes him squirm. It’s all of the attention its garnering.

He know’s fully well that being the next Olo’eyktan means that attention comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean the thought of everyones focus on him doesnt make his indigo skin crawl.

He’s leaping aimlessly between vines when he remembers his sisters earlier proposition.

“Come with me and Flora to the watering hole today! The waterfalls are so pretty during this season- We’re going to go swimming!”

It’d been tempting this morning, and now it is even more so. He could use a dip in the cool waters and Kiri was always an ear to vent to when he got overwhelmed. He’d clear head and then leave-

He wouldn't get stuck staring at you.

Again,

No.

He can't pinpoint exactly when this happened.

It was like one night you were just another human at the Outpost. Another familiar alien face he’d grown up around. Just like Spider you’d stuck close with the Sully children. Your cheeks always flushed beneath your exo-mask and your fingernails always dirty and caked with mud from the hours and hours you’d spend tending to any and all plants that came in your line of vision. You were always so soft. Too soft for his liking sometimes. You’d cry at just about anything whether it be one of those old Tawtute movies the scientists played at the lab or the sight of an injured shimmyfly.

And then suddenly gone was that snotty, teary little girl he’d always known. And in her place was…you. A woman grown. Beautiful and bold- and there was strength in your softness now. You’d proved him wrong so many times- made it clear that you weren't another responsibility he’d have to shoulder-

“I can take care of myself, Neteyam” you’d insisted, never letting him carry your heavy baskets or tend to your scraped knees.

It’s maddening, the way that you shrug off any and all of his advances drives him fucking insane.

Neteyam approaches the secluded bank of the watering hole that his family loves best slowly, keeping in the treeline. Just out of sight. Just like he’d expected he finds you and Kiri on the familiar sands. Kiri is lounging in the sun, eyes closed and humming a pleasant tune to herself-oblivious to anything around her. He’d have to chastise her about her complete lack of situational awareness later.

You’re knee deep in the lake- tending to the water lilies that grow close to shore. Your back is to him but he bets your nose is all scrunched up, just like it always is when you’re around anything green and growing. His eyes drink you in greedily. All of your sun kissed skin is on display in the tiny faded pink panties you don for swimming.

He’d never found humans particularly pretty before you. The intense differences in their bodies had never appealed to him-

But Eywa, are you something to look at.

Time had been kind to you, and as you’d grown your body had morphed into something goddess like. You’re a real looker, his father had claimed. Would’ve been a total knockout back on Earth.

You’re all plush curves. Your breasts are pert and sit like rip hanging fruit on your chest, your hips wide and thighs jiggly and thick. And your waist…he’s sure if he put his much larger hands around them, his fingers could touch. He could cage you in his hold.

That thought has him biting his tongue, hard enough to taste metallic. You turn a bit, your laughter chiming over the glittering water like soft wind at some dry joke Kiri made.

Your hair color is light, lighter than any Na’vi’s and falls down around your shoulders in thick waves. He can only make out the side of your face but your full lips are pulled into a coy smile and your light jade eyes sparkle and all hell. Neteyam is so gone on you.

You’re like nothing he’s seen and definitely nothing he’s had.

And since his Iknimaya he’s had his first pick of the women of the clan.

He’s tasted passionate huntresses and flexible dancers alike and none of them satiate his thirst. None of them are able to replicate what he can only imagine you might taste like. It’s almost pathetic how many women he’s had and how many times he’s almost called out your name as he emptied his seed.

Neteyam’s more discreet about his romps than his brother, that’s for sure- but still. It’s a known fact that he’s an unmated male at his prime and that comes with a certain appetite. He can have anyone he wants, any Omatikayan woman would be glad to spend a night with him.

Yet somehow he’s lurking, hiding in the bush. Watching you longingly. Simpering like a pre-teen and pining over the way that the sunlight plays in the strands of your hair.

He shakes himself from his embarrassing reverie.

No one would be able to tell that just moments before he’d been debating on stroking his cock to just the sight of you, lurking in the trees like a creep. No. As he approaches its with his head held high and a sharp smile on his handsome smile.

“Brother!” Kiri grins, sitting up once she clocks him.

“What are you girls up to?” Neteyam greets. Cool as a cucumber.

“Nothing much, just been here since dawn. The waters so high this year!” Kiri picks up a fruit from beside her, peeling at its tender meat “everyone’s been out here today-on the other side, but no one knows how to get to this spot so we’ve had the beach all to ourselves”

You’re coming in from the lapping shore, beaming at him “Look at all the paysul(waterlily) that’ve bloom! I’ve never seen this many- isn't it amazing?”

“They are very beautiful. The rains were hard this year. I’m surprised the flooding wasn't worse” Neteyam tries not to focus on how tiny your chest covering- the bra as you call it- is. He turns his attention to his sister instead.

“Where’s Tuk, I cant believe she’d miss a chance to swim with you guys”

“She’s with mom, stuck on weaving duty since she tore grandma’s favorite tapestry” Kiri snorts because her baby sister had thrown a complete fit when she had been told she couldn't come “What about you? I thought you we’re too busy to hang out with the likes of us”

“I was able to make a little time for my favorite girls” Neteyam jests, amused by your eye roll and Kiri’s scoff “Plus, Lo’ak told me you need some humbling. Seems you forgot who’s the best diver in the family”

“Oh, you’re on, Teylupil(penis face/dick head)”

After stripping down to only his cloth, his cumberband and com left on shore, he slips into the cool refreshing water with a pleased “Ah”. Enjoying the gentle current against his skin-only to be tacked under the surface by Kiri and all of her bony lanky limbs moments later.

The sun soaked afternoon is filled with laughter and splashing. It’s exactly what he needs.

The three of you play in the river like children. Neteyam and Kiri go at it like the always do- careful to be gentle with your smaller form as you join in. It’s easy to forget the looming pressure of the hunt while he’s jumping from the rushing waterfalls and racing his sister, discreetly preening when he wins and you cheer him on with little claps.

Eventually you all tire.

Kiri floats on the water and goes to that place in her head that she so often does. Completely at peace to be surrounded by nature. She claims it’s when she can best hear Eywa.

Neteyam keeps a bit of an eye on her to make sure she doesn't randomly fall asleep again. Hoping she’d have the sense to get back to the beach before that happened.

Water floods his face and goes right up his nose.

His head snaps to you, spluttering and wiping at his eyes, “What the hell?”

You just giggle innocently before disappearing beneath the surface.

Neteyam’s tail flicks with interest.

He decides to let you get your little head start. His heart speeds up with the promise of a hunt before he starts his chase.He might be bigger then you but you're quick and slippery. Your mask giving you the advantage of not having to come up for air like he does.

When he grabs your ankle, so sure he’s got you, you all but kick him in the face to get away.

You little shit.

Fine.

If you want to play dirty, then he’s game.

He allows you to think you have a chance. That you may be winning the little game. You’re heading for the waterfall, planning to hide behind it.

He’s bigger and more trained than you could ever hope to be.

It only takes one well planned move and you’re done.

He yanks a hold of you, secure. He holds you then, your back against his chest and his strong muscle corded arms wrapped around you from behind before propelling the both of you through the pounding waterfall and into the small, closed off cave behind it.

“Neteyam!” You whine, squirming in his hold like a fish and he just laughs because honestly. He can barely feel it. You’re trying to escape with all his might and he’s holding you the way he might hold a child throwing a tantrum.

He leans in close, burying his face in your wet hair, close to your ear “I win, Sylaung(flower)”

He feels you shiver in his arms and it just makes him hold you tighter. He could keep you like this forever, if you’d only let him. Instead he can feel without you even saying so how hesitant you feel about this

“I think I deserve a prize” he pushes on even further and you give him a confused, side ways look. He so graciously allows you to turn in his hold until your chests meet, face to face.

“Like what?” you wonder and you’re too cute. You’re looking up at him, struggling to treading water with your smaller legs- Neteyam lifts you higher, until you’re bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and he’s holding you above the current. Supporting you totally.

“Well what can you give?” His inquiry is almost condescending and you shrug.

“I’m fresh out of gold stars” you tease and he barks out a laugh. Do you think he can't tell? That he can't see the way your cheeks flush and your pulse hammers beneath the delicate skin of your throat?

“What about a kiss” he offers offhandedly and your face scrunches up in a glare automatically.

“You don't want to?...”

“Why do you make fun of me like this, Neteyam” It’s not often he hears your voice this hard, soured by embarrassment and self doubt.

“I’m not making fun of you” he insists with a sigh “I don't know why you always say that. When have I ever given you the impression that I’d do that?”

You won't meet his gaze. Your green eyes flick, anywhere but on him. Zeroing somewhere behind his back. All too interested on the rocky cave wall.

“If it wasn't for this damned mask” Neteyam husks, low and sincere “I’d kiss you right now”

Even still, you don't seem convinced. Won't look at him until he takes your face in his hand, his fingers gentle but insistent. They grip the mask at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Why don't you believe me?”

“I’m nothing like the Omatikaya women you’ve been with” you say plainly like it's so obvious. Like it's a problem.

“I know”

“You didn't even like me growing up. You thought I was annoying”

“That isn't true-”

“It is” you insist haughtily “you’d make fun of me for talking to my plants”

He doesn't mean to laugh, really he doesn't. It’s not the time for it and it just pisses you off even more. He doesn't let you out of his arms even when you swat at him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I think it’s very sweet the way you talk to your plants. I want you to talk to me just like that, please”

That earns him a little giggle and he feels very pleased with himself.

You play with his hair often, most times it's mindless. A way to distract yourself. Your small deft fingers twirl along his adorned braids. He craves the scritch of your manicured nails on his scalp.

“How do you want me to kiss you? If I have my mask on” The interest in your hair is only just veiled. Your attempt at being nonchalant fails.

“Hmm” Neteyam feigns thinking, face screwed up “I think I could come up with a few ideas”

A few thousand more like it. You were the star of all of his fantasies. You, twisted and contorted into positions that would surely make you blush. You, with your mouth hanging slack in pleasure. Screaming his name-

But you hadnt agreed to that. You only, just barely, agreed to let him kiss you.

When he leans in its slow. Slow enough to give you time to push him away.

The waterfall roars in the background, white noise, but even it can't drown out the thunderous beating of your frantic heart.

Then his lips are pressed against your throat, gulping in the sweet scent of you. He cant kiss your mouth, but he can kiss the sweet, smooth column of your neck. Your clavicle. Your quivering shoulders. The heavy flesh of your breast. His kisses are open mouthed, his rough textured tongue dragging over your skin, leaving saliva trails in their wake-

You gasp sharpley when drags the skimpy fabric of your bra down so he can get at your pebbled nipple. He’s just about to suckle, when the moment is broken.

“Guys! Where’d you go?!”

It’s Kiri. Obviously awake from her nap like meditation time.

Your eyes go comically wide and Neteyam reluctantly releases you. Not wanting to get caught with an armful of pretty, half naked human. He’s thankful for the cold water and the way that he can hide the hardness tenting his tweng.

He catches you by the wrist before you can dip beneath the falls-

“We’re not done here, Sylaung” the promise leaves his lips fevor laced and full of heat.

You can only gulp and nod dazed, “I still owe you a kiss” your sweet voice reminds, before you’re ducking back under the water.

Leaving him dazed and buzzing for a moment before he gets it together and follows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days later he still hasn't gotten his prize.

Although he’s celebrated by his clan, praised for his successful hunt, he feels like something is missing.

The Harvest Season and its celebrations are well underway. Every night there's dancing and singing around the large bonfires we’re fragrant spiced tailong meat roasts. Neteyam is highly decorated; feathers adorn his freshly braided hair and he's donned his most ornate cumberband. He’s hauntingly handsome

Spider and Lo’ak are sat near the main fire, laughing heartily and sharing a leather gourd full of liquor between themselves.

Spider’s obviously drunk and eyeing Kiri hungerly as she dances with Tuk- he’d never do that sober. Not with Neytiri so near. Lo’ak is lounged out, an attractive female in his lap. She giggles madly at whatever filth his little brother whispers in her twitching ear.

Jealousy bubbles acidicly in Neteyam’s belly and again, he wonders where you are. Why you arent here, in his lap. Letting him woo you.

He figures he’ll have to go to you then, if you won't come to him.

First thing to do is find you.

“Hey, Spider!” the human man is the best place to start. Spider’s eyes are glassy under his mask and still. His friend is excited to see him, greets him with a hand shake and a small hug.

“Neteyam, man! Where have you been all night?”

“Around, you know how it is” Neteyam shrugs, sitting sown on the log, accepting the gourd and taking a swig of the thick sticky sap inside. It burns all the way down.

“This partys essentially for him- I’m surprise you we’re able to get away from dad” Lo’ak shit-talks, like he always does. It’s good natured for the most part “I thought he might throw you a parade or something. Call in the clans-”

“Fuck you, man” Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head at Lo’aks theatrics. “Don't be jealous”

“Jealous of dad? Nah” Lo’ak “Now the women you’re getting? That I might be jealous of”

“Hey!” the girl in his lap, a weaver from a modest family, squrims, pinching at his shoulder “You’ve got all the woman you need for the night, sayrip”

She squeals when Lo’ak squeezes her tight around her middle and blows wet raspberry kisses into her neck.

Neteyam just rolls his eyes and shares a little look with Spider. By the next eclipse, Lo’ak wouldve moved on. He has a knack for loving and leaving.

“Why arent you out there, bro? I saw Amitsa giving you the eyes! She’s so hot and she doesnt ever give anyone the time of day” Spider juts his chin and sure enough. The woman is giving Neteyam longing looks from across the fire. She’s a pretty thing and her sultry voice is renowned in the tribe. He’d be lying if he said he wasnt attracted to her “You’re not gonna go try to get at that?”

No. He’s not.

“Uh” Neteyam scratches the back of his neck “I was actually looking for Flora, I havent been able to find her around lately”

Of course, that sets of a exactly what he knows it would.

His brothers are assholes and have teased his merciesly since discovering his obsessive crush. Spider knocks his much smaller shoulder against Neteyam’s and Lo’ak hoots with laughter.

“How someone can be pussy whipped for pussy they haven't even had is beyond me” Lo’ak snorts and Neteyam gives him a warning growl, his lips snarled up.

It’s nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Lo’ak finds it endlessly amusing that Neteyam had his eye on you, the tiny human he’d grown up so lukewarm about. It had always been his siblings; Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk that were close with you growing up. Neteyam had never shown a speck of interest until your figure had grown curvy and supple-

“Piss off, I wasn’t asking you” Neteyam gives his best big brother stare down. His golden eyes hard and unimpressed before looking to Spider, hairless brows raised “You know where I could find her?”

“Listen man, she said wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone tonight” the human man starts with a sigh and Neteyam’s growl is low and warning “-but I’m sure you can find her where she always is”

Neteyam wracks his brain for a moment “The Greenhouses?”

“Bingo” Spider nods, an almost sympathetic look in his eye as he watches Neteyam jump to his feet and set off.

Lo’ak sniggers and the girl in his lap scoffs and mutters something about “shameful, being that twisted up about a tawtute” but Spider says nothing.

Instead his plixr hazed eyes focus on the figure dancing close to the firelight. Kiri lets out a twinkling laugh at something Tuk says and yeah. Spider understands Neteyam. He understands being completely obsessed with something you’ve never had.

Instead of taking a note from his much braver brother, he lifts his mask and takes another shot of the acidic syrup.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam could make the trek through the forest to Hells Gate in his sleep..

He’d spent a good chunk of his childhood retracing these exact steps, headeded for the familiar concrete fortress that made up the last human outpost on Pandora.

Neteyam had always been far too similar to his mother, for countless reasons. But his distaste for everything industrial was one of the main reasons. As he got older he spent less and less time here. Couldnt be found in the cold echoing hallways like Lo’ak and the girls coul

But even he could admit.

There’s something beautiful about the Greenhouses.

With their dome like structure, the big glass buildings are a fortress for the humans. Inside they’re as hot and humid as the Pandoran rainforests- but circulating Earth air so that the fruits and vegetables that are native to Terra Firme can grow, even on this alien planet.

Neteyam makes his way inside, plugging in the codes into the keypad and letting himself in through the pressurized doors that slide closed right behind him. His eyes are peeled, taking in all of the foreign greenery, hoping to catch a flash of tanned skin or light hair in the cracks between trees.

The Greenhouses are huge. There’s orchards of apples and oranges and long deep garden beds full of root vegetables. Enough to feed the Hell’s Gate settlement throughout the year, to trade with the People of the Omaticaya.

No matter, he’s a blooded hunter after all.

He hones in on that training as he tracks your path. Your footprints along the cement floor are light, and really you barely leave any trace of yourself at all. You float along with light steps and Neteyam truly thinks if you had been born one of the People you would’ve made a fine huntswoman-

He finds you in the shade of the orange trees. You’re up on a stool, gathering the plump fruit and humming a pleasant little tune.

You’re ethereal in artificial sunlight.

You’re something out of the books that Norm used to read to them when they were kids. His favorite had been the one about the boy who would never grow up and the island of Neverland. And the tiny golden dust covered pixi that flitted from page to page.

A fairy.

A being not quite real. Too gentle and feminine to exist.

He likes the tawtute clothes you wear. The small top that clings to your breasts like a second skin and the flowy patterned skirt. Of course if it was up to him you’d only ever wear the garments of the People- or even better, Nothing at all.

You reach too high, strained up on your tippy toes and Neteyam feels irrational fear at that. At all of your delicate skin and breakable neck-

He’s beside you in an instant and he doesn't need a ladder to reach the high hanging fruit you’d been struggling for. He grabs the fruit with one hand while the other stabilizes you, his big palm spread out across the small of your back.

You gasp at his warm touch. Your head snapping in his direction and legs going wobbly.

“Neteyam!”

“Flora” He sighs as he urges you down from the ladder, takes the heavy bucket of fruit from your hands “You really do need to be more careful”

You splutter for a moment, still shocked at his sudden arrival “I- ugh! I was fine!” you insist haughtily “It’s not like I don't do this all of the time. You didn't need to come help me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own”

“Need to help you?” Neteyam cocks his head a bit.

“Yeah…I mean. Why else would you be here?” you ask, scratching awkwardly at your arm for a moment “Tonight's the celebration. You really should be back with the clan-”

“As should you” He cuts you off firmly. Not liking the way that you’re trying to separate yourself from the tribe. From him “I have not seen you for days. Do you not want to feast with our people?”

You sigh, looking away from him. Biting at that plump ever pink bottom lip of yours. Always shy, he knows he needs to bring you out of your shell. You’ll find a way to run away from him again if he doesn't.

“I didnt come here to help you” Neteyam admits because he’s selfish and because you’re too beautiful. Even more so, since you’ve been hiding from him. Avoiding his attention.

“Oh really?” you’re not coy by nature but there's something in your eyes. In the way you’re looking up at him “Then what are you here for?”

“My kiss”

Your pupils expand, just the tiniest bit but he can see it. He can see it all. Every inch of your pretty face, unbridled by that cumbersome mask you usually are forced to don. He can see every freckle and blemish- and the way that a blush creeps across the apples of your cheeks.

“A deals a deal” Neteyam insists at the prolonged silence. At your nervous flicking gaze.

“Okay” is your sweet reply and he can only stare at your plump lips. A man with one thing and one thing only on his mind.

You don't protest when he reaches for you. When his big hands go around your waist and tug slowly until he’s enveloping you in his chest. You fit so perfectly, right under his sternum. Stare up at him with wide eyes that flutter closed the closer he inches his face towards yours.

The kiss is wet and electric and Neteyam wants to eat you whole.

Any awkwardness that comes from the size difference is soon overcome by the desire that simmers between you. You let him lead, always so willing to go with whatever flow he may give. Let him nip at your delicate bottom lip until he can almost taste the metallic twang of blood. Let him stick his much bigger tongue into your warm mouth, and then down your constricting throat.

As you make little gasping choking sounds, he imagines it's his huge pulsing cock stealing the air from your lungs instead.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, as he trails kisses down your soft jaw. He cant stop, wants to taste you everywhere. Every inch of skin. He know it must be overwhelming- if your heaving breaths and mewls are anything to go by, he knows you’re feeling every inch of the mind spinning need that he is.

Still,

No matter how much he gropes at you with rough hands and drags spit soaked kisses over your neck and chest, youre so good for him. Such a good girl. Holding on for any ride he might take you on. Your fingers twined in his silky braids arent there to push him away, but to pull him closed.

When he grasps you by the back of your thighs and hoists- you wrap your legs around his slim waist, your ankles hooking at his lower back.

The helpless noise you make goes straight to his groin.

Neteyam lies you down on hard floor. He’d rather have you in the warmth of his Kelku, or under the stars, but at least here he can get at your maskless face. At your bare lips. Once he’s cradling your head safely and tucked in between your spread thighs he's at you again. Ravenously.

You’re so docile, so eager to let him take whatever he wants.

“Flora” he husks into your hair and you shiver.

“Yeah?”

“Flora” Neteyam brings your little body even closer.”You have no Idea. I have to have you. I need-”

You squeak needily “You can have whatever you need” and gasp when Neteyam kisses your cheek. Your lips. Your jaw. Your neck. Your nerves are on fire and your hips grind against his.

“I need this body. I need to see all of it, you drive me crazy” Neteyam armits as he tugs on your top and you help him pull it up over your head. You dont wear a bra, why would you? Your pretty rosy nipples are all on display for him. Pebbled and begging for attention, He laps slowly with his wide textured tongue at the puffy nub.

He suckles like a newborn until you’re chivalry and making hurt little sounds, until your pretty chest is covered in blooming bruises.

And then he’s dragging his wanting mouth down. Past your heaving ribs and over your soft belly. Neteyam hikes the flowy material of your skirt up high, until he can bend down and poke his head underneath.

“Oh!” you gasp, writhing a bit. Your thighs trying to close on instinct.

You’re so wet for him, the smell of it is thick and heady and he digs his nose into your inner thigh and snuffles. Its mouthwatering.

And it bit mortifying, from your end. Having the large man with his head buried under your skirt as he sniffs at your core-

When he licks a fat stripe over you, wetting up the thin material of your panties you cry out. No ones ever touched you like this and here he is, licking at your clothed pussy. Over and over until the fabric is translucent and sticky with your flowing juices.

“Please” you mewl, gathering the fabric, yanking until you can see him.

Its filthy and erotic. The sight of his hulking blue body between your trembling tanned thighs. So alien. So taboo-

“Please what, sylaung?” Neteyam taunts, his golden eyes meeting yours. They shine with mirth, and lust. So much lust. When he noses at your pink flowery panties you throw your head back, eyes squeezed closed. Unable to take the sight any longer “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes” you sob because you’re pulsing and you can barley breathe you’re so horny “Please take care of me with your tongue”

Neteyam strips you then, out of your skirt and cute little panties and you’re lying under him. Naked and flushed and wanting.

He shoulders himself exactly back where he wants to be. Where he’s always wanted to be.

“Don't worry, I’ll take care of this sweet pussy for you”

Oh god. Your head is spinning.

You can barely think as he kisses on the jiggling fat of your thighs.

“I’m sorry” you gasp.

Neteyam hums right against your core and you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body “What for?”

“I’m so messy” you whisper, that pink blush blooming all over your body.

Groaning, Neteyam can't wait any longer. Your flavor bursts along his taste buds. Tangy and earthy and decadently sweet. He’s had his fair share of cunt before, but he’s never tasted a humans and he’s shocked at how saccharine it is. It’s sticky and coats his mouth and throat. His lips and nose and chin as he digs in.

“Neteyam!” You wait.

“Fuck. Oh, Eywa. One Second” Neteyam sits up and adjusts himself where his painfully hard under his tweng and the ache in you deepens. You try to be good, try to be still as he leans in and licks at you again. Kisses your pussy in that same beautiful passionate way he kisses your lips.

He’s good. Too good at this. He’s had too much practice and you never had a chance againts that oversized mouth.

“Holy fuck” the words sound even more vulgar in your honeyed voice “Fucking hell, Nete. Nete. I’m almost there”

Neteyam grin is hidden between the lips of your pussy. He doubles down, letting you hump and soak his face. Then lapping back at inside of you in a repetitive and ceaseless rhythm, One that has you shaking, arching up off the ground. Your plush thighs closing, clamping around his head as you come.

Your orgasm cinches tight and rushes around you, inside of you, out of you with a gush of slick. It’s so deep. So strong, that it takes a moment for you to truly peak and it leaves you in a daze. Out side of your body as you fuck up againts Neteyams mouth like a wild animal.

You’d never come so hard in your life and it takes a while for you to recenter.

Once youre able to focus past the rushing in your ears, the first thing you notice is Neteyam’s face streaked with wet. Your blush blooms across your cheeks as you both breathe unevenly into the quiet.

“Did that feel good?” Nereyam knows it did, but still. He needs to ask. Needs to hear you say it.

You giggle, girlish and airy as your dainty hand releases his hair and cups at his cheek “So so good. I’ve never felt anything like that before”

His grin is all too feline and seeing those white canines gleam so close to the most sensitive part of you is a little alarming.

“There’s so much more to come, yawntutsyip” Neteyam promises, leading back down. His fingers play with the jiggle of your thigh- so different then any of the Omaticaya women he’s had You squirm a bit, clearly overstimulated, but keep your legs spread anyway.

Neteyams long digits prod gently at your pussy lips. You’re oddly pretty here. All red and rosy and inflamed, like that blush he loved so much on your cheeks. He spreads you with two fingers so that he can look at you inside. At your quivering pink folds and your tiny little hole that clenches when he runs his finger along it.

“You’re so small here” he whispers, completely hypnotized by it “So fucking tight. You’ll never be able to take me”

You whimper unhappily “Don’t say that. I want to- please just try”

“Shh,” Neteyam soothes your cries. Your dazed worries. He distracts you with his tongue, as it swirls over your throbbing clit. It feels a bit like sandpaper to your nerves, but you can get enough.

When his finger begins to breach you, you hold your breath.

Its big, but youre so loose from your first orgasm, so desperate to be filled that he sinks in until the hilt.

Its maddening after that and you grind the back of your head into the hard concrete under you- your eyes closed and your mouth hanging open. The sounds you make are feral and raw-

Neteyam fucks you open with one and then two fingers until its easy. Until the sweet stretch doesn't burn- instead its slippery and wet.horribly wet as Neteyam feasts on you as he fucks you with his fingers-

“Too much-Fuck” you weakly try to pull away from the assult of pleasure but he he’s too strong. Pins you down. Makes you take whatever he wants to give you.

When he lifts your hips up even higher to take a curious lick at your puckered asshole you white out.

This orgasm isnt like the first. You sink under the waves of this one. Your muscles cramp with the intensity. You cant come back to yourself, you can’t cling to anything but Neteyam. You cant even scream.

He’s everything, as he soothes you. As he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“H-hurts” you whimper, eyes filling up with tears. Pussy aching.

“Just a little more baby” Neteyam huffs as he licks at you and stuffs the hand that's covered in your cum down his own tweng. It lubricates the fast and furious pumping of his fist along his rock hard cock.

He cant fuck you tonight, thats something the two of you will have to work up to. He’ll teach your tiny body to take him. To crave penetration.

But with his tongue buried in your pulsating pussy and your scent all around him its easy enough to pretend. Easy enough to imagine shoving himself into you slowly. Stretching you’re ruined. Your hole would never be the same. You’d forever gape because of him-

Neteyam comes with a roar and dirties his loincloth up like a teenager.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, after he’s cleaned you both up the best he can and gathered you to his chest. After he’s taken a sip from the breathing mask and nuzzled ar your wispy soft baby hairs that are plastered against the side of your sweaty head-

That he has the urge to read that book again. The one with the fairies. As he watches your slumbering face, your nose scrunching and lips pursing, he thinks the onlt thing missing is the gossamer wings,

His own little fairy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

AAAAAAND we’re done.

First and foremost I want to give the wonderful @oakbuggy her accolades. Her Neteyam x Flora art inspired this fic 100%. A couple months ago I actually messaged her begging her to let me right this for her because I just couldn't get over this crackship of dreams. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy that overstimulation, baby!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT HER ART. It’s sooooo delish.

This was a monster to write because I just had so many different ideas of what I wanted to do with the two of them and couldn't pinpoint where exactly I wanted the plot to go. Even now its a bit messy but still. I’m a fucking sucker for Neteyam x Flora and I would be more then happy to write more of them if thats something everyone would be into.

Please give me some feedback. What did we think about this writing style? Do we like the Y/N route more?

Until next time sweet honey bees!

[jayietheriverwarrior]

...okay but like... I had to. XD

This is fanart for ArualMeow's comic What Lurks Beneath. Their character Hake is the most precious bean to ever bean, and we just got a flashback scene of him coming out as trans to his family. He did so via coming out of a "cocoon" he assembled of various grass and other foliage, transforming like a butterfly. With all the ways he talked about butterflies and compared himself to one, I just had to draw him as a little trans butterfly cat. So here he is. :D

I loosely based the shape and pattern of the wings off an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, while using the colors of the trans flag in the pattern. I never drag insect wings, and butterfly wings are apparently deceptively difficult to both draw and shade. Not totally happy with how they came out, but I think the end result is alright?

I'm super happy with Hake himself though, he turned out fantastic. I have an app that lets me pose a 3D model of a cat however I wish, so I used that as a reference for Hake's flying pose here. And I don't know how I made that background look so good, as simple as it is, it just somehow turned out really good.

I hope you like this Arual! And thank you for all these wonderful adorable scenes with Hake... we all really needed it after the last chapter. ;-;

This is the last bit of art I'm posting for tonight, I'll hopefully have more art done to post soon.

[somepsychopomp]

contemplating a particularly evil AU where, after Odysseus escapes from Poseidon the first time, our favorite problematic god decides to set his sights upon Ithaca in order to get his revenge.

He doesn't raise the tides to drown all the inhabitants or cause earthquakes to break the island apart, no. Poseidon directly seeks out sweet little 10 y/old Telemachus...

and befriends him.

(Ody really shouldn't have doxxed himself with this one)

It starts with Poseidon disguising himself as a mortal man and infiltrating the palace, knowing that Odysseus was blown across the sea and is still struggling to get home. He claims to be a wise man taught in Athens, and is willing to offer his tutelage to Ithaca's prince. Though it irks him a bit to pose as a scholar from the city he lost to his niece, Poseidon convinces Penelope to let him take over the position of her son's tutor in all necessary subjects: reading, oratory, history (which will be easy, seeing as Poseidon lived through all of it himself), etc.

Telemachus is shy at first, but warms up to his new tutor quite quickly. [insert Poseidon's fake name] is not like the stuffy old men that Penelope first assigned to Telemachus' education. He's patient, doesn't reprimand the young prince when he falters, and rewards him for doing well with sweet treats and fantastical stories about faraway lands and monsters.

After earning the lad's trust, Poseidon approaches Penelope and says it's not right that such a bright boy like Telemachus isn't also taught in other aspects of manhood. He asks to take Telemachus out for his first hunt, to which she reluctantly agrees. (Penelope knows that her husband slew an adult boar when he was Telemachus' age so yeah)

Telemachus is both excited and nervous to be outside the palace without any guards or his mother. He asks how Poseidon knows to hunt and he laughs, saying that just because he's a scholar, doesn't mean he isn't also an athlete and a warrior.

Telemachus takes the bait, asking what competitions Poseidon won, who he beat, etc. He's regaled with entirely false tales of wrestling matches, chariot races, and spear throwing contests, as well as stories of successful hunts for bears and wolves.

It's truly the perfect opportunity to strike. The two of them are alone in the woods with no one else around, no one who would hear the prince scream as he was torn asunder. No one to find his bones...

"Do it," Poseidon says quickly, "Strike now."

At the behest of his teacher, Telemachus draws his bow and fires at the young deer upwind from them. The arrow hits the creature in the flank and it darts into the foliage. No time to praise the prince for his aim, Poseidon leads him uphill, showing the boy how to track injured prey. He's armed with a bow he never intended on using and a spear designed for hunting, as similar of a weapon to his trident as he can get.

Poseidon catches a glimpse of movement through the trees and throws his spear. It strikes the deer in the neck, felling it instantly. That night under the stars, the two of them feast on roasted venison over a roaring campfire. Poseidon insists that he couldn't have done it without his pupil, that Telemachus injuring the deer was what brought about its downfall.

Telemachus is beaming with joy, so excited to have gotten his first kill, when he suddenly turns withdrawn and shy. Poseidon asks what's wrong.

"It's just that... I always hoped I would go on my first hunt with my father..."

Poseidon pulls the boy against his side as Telemachus sniffles and tries to suppress his tears. Poseidon hushes him and says that while he can't speak for the king, he's certainly proud of his pupil!

"But do you think he'll be back soon?" Telemachus asks. Poseidon smiles and says only the gods would know. But for now, Telemachus should be proud of himself.

Penelope is pleased to find her son in one piece when he returns. He shows her the pelt from his first hunt and she assures him she's very impressed. What really matters to her is that Telemachus is safe and growing as a boy should- learning the useful skills he'll need as a man and a future king.

From then on, Poseidon has much more leeway with how he spends his time with the prince. They go to the beach so Telemachus learns how to swim, fish, and sail. He learns how to tame a horse and gain its trust, etc.

It's a nice way to pass the time, waiting.

Eventually, news turns up that every fleet from Troy arrived home, except for Odysseus'. No other king knows where he and his 600-person army vanished to. No one knows where he is, or when he'll return.

Penelope is saddened by this revelation, but knows her husband well and refuses to believe that Odysseus of Ithaca perished in something as simple as a rogue storm. Telemachus is heartbroken, though. He's just a boy and after having heard that nearby kingdoms received their men after ten long years, he got all his hopes up that he'd finally get to meet his father.

His mother tries to console him, to tell Telemachus not to give up hope. Odysseus is out there, somewhere. But her son is inconsolable until Poseidon gently asks Penelope if he can speak to him.

Poseidon tells Telemachus that sometimes things happen for a reason. Was this the will of some god, perhaps?

Telemachus doesn't know how to respond, but sniffles and asks if he did something wrong. If it's his fault his father isn't home. Poseidon hugs him tight and says it's not his fault at all! No, if anything, perhaps Odysseus' silver tongue got him in trouble, or that this delay in his' return is only a temporary misfortune. Perhaps it'll lead to greater things down the line. Telemachus doesn't really understand, but he begins to calm down after hearing both his mother & tutor tell him that things will be alright.

In the meantime, Telemachus wants to become someone that his father would be proud of. He asks Poseidon to train him even harder and help him grow into a great warrior.

Poseidon accepts and the two of them grow even closer.

Not long after, the first of the suitors arrive. They're the sons of local noblemen or other prominent families in Ithaca. For a while, the queen offers them hospitality without suspecting much, thinking that the gifts the men offer are condolences for her husband's late arrival. Then they start trying to woo her.

The suitors start harassing Telemachus, too. They see him as an obvious threat to the power they could steal for themselves. Odysseus was crowned the king at the age of 13 and the same could happen to Telemachus if Penelope declines to remarry. All of a sudden as more and more suitors invade his palace, Telemachus finds himself unwelcome in his own home. The suitors do not let him eat near them- they'll go as far as to snatch his food. They leer at him, call him small, and taunt him by saying he'll never be king.

Telemachus thinks there's nothing he can do to fight back, but then Poseidon steps in and tells the suitors to cease their unruly behavior. They gang up on Poseidon, who they perceive as an unimpressive middle aged man, before getting their asses handed to them by a middled aged man who knows how to wield a spear as though he was born for it.

Telemachus has never seen something so amazing before. His teacher defeated a dozen men alone! How is that even possible?

Poseidon doesn't answer him directly, only saying he's gotten into his own fair share of fights before. When news of the brawl reaches Penelope, she decides that Poseidon should be promoted to Telemachus' guardian until Odysseus returns, fulling both the role of tutor & protector. She won't have her only child be bullied and menaced by grown men, not in her halls.

It is at this point that Poseidon pulls out his greatest trick yet. And that is to tell the truth. For months now, he's been posing as a kindly old teacher. But in secret, he reveals himself to Telemachus as the god of the sea!

Poseidon claims he heard the boy pray for his father's return and came to him in disguise. (Poseidon didn't even know who Telemachus was until Ody pissed him off, but he was willing to bet that such a naive child would certainly pray for his absent daddy to return. And he was right.)

Poseidon warns that Odysseus is not who Telemachus thinks he is. He might have been a kind and gentle man before, but he turned into a merciless, vain monster who allowed over 500 of his men to perish because he was arrogant enough to think he could lead them through a terrible storm.

Telemachus can hardly believe it- he doesn't want to. He won't! His mother always told him that his father was the most clever man of all, trained by Athena herself.

"Ah," Poseidon says, his voice full of sympathy, "And what does Athena know of love? Of mercy? No, no, my poor boy. You've been misled. Your father is not the man you think he is, for he blinded my own son just so he could steal some livestock!"

Telemachus’ mind is racing. He doesn’t know what to think. Who is his father, really?

Trembling from head to toe in fear, he asks if Poseidon will punish him as vengeance for his own son.

And the earthshaker will smile at him, oh so softly.

“My poor child, why would I do that? You father has flung himself to the farthest reaches of the sea, but I am here for you. I’ve come to answer your prayers, to set things right between your house and mine.”

Poseidon cups Telemachus’ face and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s head. “And should your father ever arrive on this isle, I will keep you safe from him.”

(And so Telemachus will grow up unsure of the man his father really is, all while struggling to see Poseidon as anything but)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

MELUSINE CREATOR MEETING PAHSIV

MELUSINE CREATOR MEETING PAHSIV ‼️‼️‼️

PAHSIV PAHSIV PAHSIV YIPPEE!!!!!!! SHE'S SO CUTE

one day, you're taking a rare trip to the upper world with Foul Legacy, needing a bit of sunlight after spending several weeks down in Merusea Village. he sweeps you up into his arms and takes you to a distant forest, all surrounded by trees and mist and moss, where not even the Treasure Hoarders dare step in. but to you, both protected by an Abyssal monster and hidden from a cruel, unforgiving world, it's lovely and fascinating. Legacy's steps are several of yours, so he can easily keep up with you as you explore the foliage and fantastical reed pipes. his lilac ruff of fur bristles when he hears the unmistakable howl of Riftwolves, taking your mitten-like hand and gently tugging you away from the old, rotted willow that looms in the distance, wandering towards a lake dancing with wind and floating globes of water. it calms in your presence, though, and you're dancing among the lakelight lilies when your antennae twitch at the pitter-patter of small, stumpy feet

"Creator! Creator! Pahsiv!"

a Melusine with brilliant fuchsia eyes happily darts through the grass, tapping her feet in a little excited jig as she stands before you and Foul Legacy, whose wings flutter in surprise. she skips in a circle around you in particular, examining you at all angles but never touching as her tail wags. after a moment you stick your hand out to shake, and she stares and tilts her head before extending her own and giving you a light, friendly smack on the palm

she's a Melusine even stranger than you- or perhaps, like you, she's not a Melusine at all. but she's friendly and curious, with a sharp interest in tidalgas, and whatever fear she had of Foul Legacy evaporates when you explain that he's a friend, dancing around and allowing herself to be picked up and placed on Legacy's shoulder opposite of you. he's strong, after all- carrying two not-Melusine is nothing to him! you gift your new friend some tidalga you were carrying, much to her delight, and she pats her mittens over the shimmering patterns across your body with a knowing look in her eyes

she doesn't come with you when you leave Erinnyes, but somehow you know that she'll be there to greet you if you ever come to visit again

[tangibletechnomancy]

Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[lilacmingi]

ANTLERS AND ALL

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Deer hybrid!Yeosang x fem reader

Word count: 12,820

Note: This has been months in the making. I’ve been wanting to write deer hybrid Yeo for years 🥹

Birds were chirping, creating a little melody in the atmosphere, the breeze was blowing, softly rustling the leaves on the trees, the golden sun casting rays of light through the foliage. It was a beautiful day and one you took advantage of by setting off into the outdoors.

The dried leaves beneath your thick-soled boots crunched under your weight as you made your way down the narrow nature-made trail in the woods. You'd been walking it for a couple years and the trail had only gotten more noticeable thanks to how often it was followed. One might assume you were an outdoorsy type, but you weren't. Most of your days were spent indoors or at work, going about your daily life, however, you did make it a habit to get out and traipse the trail, as it was always a good mood-booster. Besides, a little fresh air never hurt anybody.

Every so often you'd stop to examine and admire a unique mushroom for wild flower with an eye-catching hue, sometimes snapping a photo before moving on.

A small meadow laid ahead, the sight taking your breath away even from the distance you were at. Usually you stayed on the trail, but this sight was one to behold and you wanted nothing more than to go check it out. So, you strayed from the path and made your way through clusters of dried leaves and tangled roots until you arrived at the clearing. The sight was breathtaking and looked like a fantastical place that a fairy might roam. Tall wisps of grass that reached your shins covered the entirety of the clearing with clusters of white wildflowers dotted about. The direction at which the sun shone down on the meadow through the clouds cast almost angelic beams down on the earth. It was when your eyes skimmed along the land that you spotted something out of the ordinary, a head of reddish brown hair amidst the blades of grass and ivory blossoms. Your gaze traveled up, following something sticking out from the top of his head, your eyes widening when you realized it was a set of antlers. A hybrid.

You took a tentative step forward, the light crunch of a leaf under your shoe might as well have been a twig with how quickly the man's head jerked in your direction. Your body stiffened and you opened your mouth to speak, but before a single word could be uttered, the hybrid took off.

Startled by his sudden and swift exit, you were frozen for a few seconds before naively chasing after him, while calling out, "Hey, wait!"

The knee-high grass whipped past your legs as you took off through the field after the hybrid boy. He was already way ahead of you, but you shouted again in hopes that he'd hear you and stop.

"I won't hurt you!"

He kept running, moving through the trees with grace and agility, leaping over branches and tree roots. It was futile to even attempt to catch up, he was nearly out of sight, so you slowed to a jog and stopped, hunching over to rest your hands on your knees. He was gone.

All you could do was stare at the spot you'd last seen him, left in a bit of a daze after your abrupt encounter. A sigh of defeat expelled from your lips and you took a few steps back before reluctantly turning around, heading back across the meadow, returning to the trail you were walking.

It didn't sit right with you that he just got away. You couldn't pinpoint why you were so concerned for the hybrid boy, but knowing he was running the woods alone made your stomach twist a little in discomfort. Where was he going? Did he have somewhere to stay? Would he be okay? And most importantly, would you see him again?

Worrying about a complete and total stranger was a bit ridiculous, but you couldn't help it. Hybrids didn't always get treated well and were still being accepted as members of society, so naturally you were concerned.

The antlered boy is what kept you coming back to the forest more often than usual. There was a part of you that hoped you'd see him again, then maybe the worry that had made itself at home in the pit of your stomach would go away after finding out he was okay.

You returned to the woods almost every day, stopping by the meadow you'd seen him in. Every walk you took you ended up returning home with no results.

It had been a few days since you stepped foot on the trail in the woods not far behind your home due to weather. Despite that, you hadn't given up hope, stepping back out into the thicket as soon as you possibly could, lacing up your hiking boots and taking off.

You followed the worn dirt path, still slightly damp from last night's rain, the soles of your shoes leaving faint prints in the earth. The undergrowth and wild plants had a fresh green look to them, the natural aroma of petrichor in the air. Your steps slowed to a stop, your eyes drifting over to the meadow in the distance, lingering for a moment too long as you hoped to spot the deer hybrid again. The chances he'd be in the meadow again after you'd previously spotted him were highly unlikely, but you looked anyway, searching for a pair of antlers amongst the blades of grass.

Just like all the other times you went out searching for the hybrid, you found nothing and headed further into the woods until you arrived at the place where you would normally circle back and head home. For some reason, you decided to keep going, abandoning the familiar trail and searching further this time. It was harder to navigate due to the large clusters of wild plants covering the ground and no trail to follow. You mentally marked your spot by choosing a tree with a unique moss pattern growing on it as your returning point. You ducked under small trees and stepped over clusters of briars, wincing when they got caught on the fabric of your pants.

You didn't want to stray too far from the path and lose your way back, so you tried to only walk straight, moving a little deeper into the woods. Everywhere you looked, you only saw trees and wilderness. Just when you were considering turning back and giving up for the day, you spotted something, your eyes widening at the sight that greeted you. The deer hybrid that you'd been searching for was on the ground a few feet away, letting out small noises of distress, a net tangled around his antlers.

You couldn't believe it, it was him. You didn't think you'd see him again.

Without thinking, you started moving forward, making sure not to approach too fast so as not to startle him like last time. The light crunch of small twigs under your feet announced your presence as you approached, alerting the boy.

The man's head jerked up towards you, his eyes wide with fear as he scrambled to his feet only to trip due to the large net, which he stepped on.

"It's okay. It's okay." You held your hands up in a placating manner where he could see you weren't holding anything that might cause him harm, making sure to keep your tone gentle as you spoke.

He stilled, his frightened gaze still locked on you, unsure of your intentions.

"I'm gonna help you." You said, coming to crouch beside him.

When he didn't try to bolt off, you started working to maneuver the netting around the blunt points of his antlers. His wide eyes followed your every move while you worked diligently to untangle the rope around his deer-like appendage. He was terrified and it made your chest ache.

It took a while, but the moment he was freed, he scrambled away from you, putting some distance between you both.

"It'a okay." You assured him. "I'm Y/n. What's your name?"

He blinked, his chest heaving up and down with short, rapid breaths. He was too scared to speak and you knew you wouldn't be getting a name from him.

"Do you have a home?"

He hesitated before shaking his head a little, if you weren't paying attention you would've missed it. His clothes were dirty and slightly tattered, his hair mussed. It was obvious he'd been roaming the woods for a while.

There was no way you could leave him out in the woods after knowing he didn't have a home, it would just tear you to pieces.

"Do you want to come with me?" You asked tentatively, staying put where you were so as not to make the hybrid run off.

His round eyes stared unblinking at you.

"I have food and a bed. You'll be safe."

Though he was scared out of his wits, you could tell he was trying to discern wether or not you were a threat and you could only hope that saving him helped him realize you meant him no harm.

The air was silent, save for the occasional rustle of the leaves in the breeze as you waited for what felt like minutes for a response. Finally, the man nodded, albeit slowly while getting to his feet, never taking his eyes off you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips and you gave him a gentle smile. "Come on, then."

You started heading back the way you came, moving forward a few paces before you realized you didn't hear a second pair of feet behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the deer hybrid standing in the same spot, looking unsure even though he agreed to come with you.

"It's okay." You told him. "This way."

After that, you could hear his quiet footfalls behind you. He trailed along silently, keeping a sizable gap between the both of you, clearly still wary, and that was perfectly fine. If he was most comfortable keeping his distance, you'd let him.

You made it back to the mossy tree you'd passed earlier, returning to the familiar trail. Part of you was relieved you didn't lose your way, thankful you had a path to follow now. You threw a glance behind you every once in a while at the hybrid to make sure he was still following along.

"I didn't mean to startle you that day when you were in the meadow." You spoke up, feeling the need to fill the heavy silence in the air.

As expected, you received no response, which prompted you to continue talking.

"I walk this trail often. I like to enjoy nature."

You assumed talking about yourself would help build some trust between the both of you and put the hybrid at ease, but every time you glanced back at him, he looked anxious as ever. That's when you gave up on talking for the remainder of the walk.

"Here we are." You announced when you emerged from the tree line, gesturing to your home.

You approached the front door and stepped inside, waiting for your new houseguest to follow, which he did. The door was gently pushed closed as the boy made his way around the living room, taking in everything.

"You can sit down." You gestured to the couch, which he examined for a moment before taking a seat.

He looked so uncomfortable and on edge, his posture stiff and rigid. You hated that he felt like he needed to be alert at all times and it made you wonder what he'd gone through to make him that way. The knot in your stomach worsened at the thought of how he might've been treated by humans, especially being a deer hybrid.

You circled around to the front of the sofa, making sure not to get too close to him, keeping a safe distance in order to keep him as comfortable as possible. His large brown eyes darted around the unfamiliar environment before landing on a bowl of chocolate bars you had on the coffee table that sat between the both of you.

"You want one?" You asked him, picking one of the fun size candy bars from the bowl. "It's chocolate."

He flinched back when you reached over and held the sweet out, but brought his hand up to take it from you. He fiddled with the wrapper for a moment, finally getting it open and taking a small bite. There was a spark of happiness in your chest when you saw a flicker of pleasant surprise on his face.

"I'm sure you're hungry." You mentioned, unsure of how long he'd gone without food. "Stay here and I'll make you something."

You scurried off to the kitchen, scouring the pantry for something quick to make for your guest. Your searching gaze landed on a can of soup. That would have to do. It's the quickest thing you could make.

You poured the contents of the can into a bowl and stuck in in the microwave for a couple minutes, watching the numbers slowly count down. Every so often, your eyes drifted to peer into the living room, checking on the nameless hybrid seated on the sofa.

The microwave beeped, bringing you back to the task at hand. You removed the steaming bowl of soup and placed it on a hot pad to prevent any burns, sliding a spoon into the savory broth.

As soon as you reentered the room, the man's head jerked in your direction.

"It's just me." You announced, watching his eyes track your movements. "I brought you soup, I hope that's okay."

The bowl was cautiously passed to the man.

"Careful, it's hot." You warned, shuffling back to sit in a chair, observing him.

He stared at the soup, lifting it to his nose to give it a sniff, taking in its aroma before he took the spoon, scooping up a bite and bringing it up to his lips.

He blew on it, giving the broth a little taste, going back for a few more spoonfuls, his rigid shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

"You think you could tell me your name now?" You asked in a subdued tone.

He swallowed a mouthful of broth, licking his lips before answering in a barely audible voice, "Yeosang."

You breathed out a little sigh, smiling faintly.

"Yeosang." You echoed. "It's nice to meet you."

After he finished his soup, he lowered the empty bowl down to the coffee table and discreetly slid it towards you to show that he was finished.

"Would you like more?" You asked, taking the bowl.

He shook his head, the movement so slight you almost missed it. There was a part of you that felt like he should have more food, but it was very likely he didn't have much of an appetite due to being so nervous, so you accepted his answer and went to the kitchen to wash his dirty dishes.

When you returned to the living room, Yeosang was messing with a hole in the leg of his dark jeans.

"Would you like to bathe? I have a shower and hot water." You offered.

He sat there in silence, not giving you any response except for that same wary expression that was almost constant.

"You'll have the bathroom to yourself." You added. "I won't bother you."

He shifted in his seat before giving a tiny nod.

You led Yeosang to the bathroom down the hall, showing him how to turn on the shower in case he didn't know how, letting him know he could use your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You laid out a towel and tossed a washcloth into the shower, making sure everything was prepped and ready for him.

"I'll let you have your privacy now, but if you need anything just let me know." You told him. "I'll go find you some fresh clothes while you shower."

With that, you exited the bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaving Yeosang to himself.

The deer hybrid turned around, getting a look at the bathroom. It had been so long since he last bathed, never in a shower though. His eyes moved to the mirror to meet his reflection, the sight that greeted him making him pause. He was filthy. His hair was unkempt, his entire face lightly smudged with dirt, and his clothes were stained and ripped in different places. How long had he looked that way?

Tearing his eyes away, he started removing his clothes, tossing the soiled garments into a pile on the floor before turning on the shower and checking the water temperature to make sure he turned the correct knob. Once satisfied, he stepped inside, sighing as soon as the steaming water hit his body, his muscles relaxing immediately under the warm stream. He stood still for a few minutes just to relish in the new and unfamiliar feeling of the water hitting his back. Yeosang had never had a shower before, but being able to control the temperature of the water was unimaginable.

He leaned his head back to get his hair wet, careful not to let his antlers bump anything. He washed his hair, gently massaging his ears with the bubbles, the scent of the shampoo and conditioner being rather pleasant. He'd never used that stuff either. He picked up the washcloth and put some body wash on it, scrubbing his body and ridding himself of the outdoor residue that clung to his skin.

The steam that had built up inside the shower escaped in billows when Yeosang pulled back the curtain and stepped out. His little tail flicked behind him a couple times, flinging small droplets of water. A pleasant sigh of relief expelled from his nostrils. He'd forgotten what it was like to be clean. He retrieved the towel from where it laid on the toilet lid and used it to dry himself off, feeling like a new person.

Yeosang opened the bathroom door and stuck his head out into the hall, letting out a small noise when his antlers bumped the doorframe by accident. He didn't see you in the hallway, his eyes dropping down to the pile of neatly-folded clothes on the floor. He leaned down and picked them up, bringing them into the bathroom to change into.

He didn't know why you were being so kind to him. Maybe it was a different method to make him feel comfortable so you could take his antlers. His hand instinctively reached up to brush along the relatively small growths coming from the top of his head. Sure, they'd regrow if they were ever removed, but the thought of having them sawed off to be displayed on a plaque made Yeosang's skin crawl.

Deer hybrids didn't have massive sets of antlers due to it being an inconvenience in day-to-day life, which should be enough to avoid being a target, but to some, deer hybrid antlers were special due to them coming from a half human half animal. It wasn't legal to do so, but a handful of sick people were willing to break that law and unfortunately, Yeosang had encountered a couple of them.

Yeosang's head jerked towards the bathroom door when he heard a faint sound coming his way. He watched as a shadow moved in front of the door, coming to a stop just outside. It was you. He could tell by your scent.

He still wasn't sure wether to trust you or not. You were being awfully kind to him—suspiciously kind. Though no one had treated him the way you had, he wondered what your angle was, if you had a motive, and what your true intentions were.

Even though the soup and shower were nice, he was still wary and on edge, ready to bolt the moment things started going south.

You were stood outside the bathroom, the shower no longer running. You had your ear pressed to the door to see if you could hear anything, hoping your houseguest was alright. Just as you were about to announce your presence and check on him, the door opened and made you flinch, stumbling back a little.

"Oh!" You blinked, taking in Yeosang's appearance.

His reddish brown hair was damp and the fresh scent of body wash hit your nostrils. Past the wet tendrils of hair, by Yeosang’s right eye, was a couple of pink splotches on his otherwise blemish-free skin. The marks were pretty and unique, adding to his already stunning appearance. The large t-shirt you'd found for him looked cozy and thankfully the sweatpants didn't seem to be too short. You'd given him the biggest size you owned.

"Look at you." You smiled. "You look nice."

Yeosang just stood there, his eyes glued to the floor. He was still uncomfortable and you couldn't blame him for it. Offering him soup and letting him have a shower wouldn't be enough to earn his trust.

That night, you set up the couch nicely for Yeosang, giving him one of your softest pillows and a large fuzzy throw blanket. You lingered for a moment to make sure he settled in before slowly inching away.

"Goodnight, Yeosang. As always, if you need anything, just let me know." You extended the offer once more before reluctantly turning to head down the hallway.

The room was cloaked in a dim light from the moon outside the window. It had been about fifteen minutes since you left the living room and you couldn't stop thinking about the deer hybrid, worried that he might not be able to sleep. You tried to justify your actions of bringing him into an unfamiliar environment, telling yourself over and over again that he was in danger out in the woods all alone, and he willingly came home with you. So even though he didn't speak and was skittish, him following you back showed some semblance of trust, which was a relief.

The following morning, you got up and slowly walked into the living room, your bare feet shuffling against the floor. A faint smile of relief settled onto your features when you saw Yeosang sleeping peacefully on the couch. It was a welcomed sight and one that brought you some solace. You silently snuck into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, hoping your guest woke up with an appetite. You did your best to keep the noise to a minimum, mixing up pancake batter and getting the pan hot.

It wasn't until the four four similarly-sized cakes you'd spooned out started cooking that you heard the faint sound of footsteps. Glancing over, you saw a head of reddish brown hair and one eye peeking around the corner into the kitchen. When you spotted Yeosang, he ducked back around the corner.

"It's okay." You chuckled faintly. "Are you hungry?"

His antlers poked out, followed by the upper half of his head, one of his deer ears twitching slightly. At the question, he shuffled out and started heading over to the stove, coming to a stop a safe distance away while trying to get a look at what you were cooking.

"Have you ever had pancakes?"

His eyes met yours before moving back down to the pan and he nodded.

"Would you like anything in them?"

The expression on his face could only be described as surprised confusion.

"I can add stuff to the batter. Blueberries, bananas, chocolate chips."

At the mention of sweet chocolate, his eyes widened.

"You want chocolate chips?"

He nodded, almost as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to customize his breakfast despite you offering it. You promptly sprinkled some chocolate chips into the bowl of batter, returning to the partially cooked plain pancakes in the pan and flipping them over.

Yeosang stood by and watched your every move, looking on in interest as you spooned out batter and created somewhat circular pancakes.

You finished up the rest of the batter and plated the pancakes, giving three chocolate chip ones to Yeosang and then serving yourself, heading into the dining room.

"What would you like to drink? Apple juice, orange juice, milk, water?"

You had to watch Yeosang and wait for him to nod when you listed a particular beverage, getting the signal when you said milk.

"Good choice." You smiled.

When you came back with a glass of milk for him and your own drink of choice, you brought along a bottle of syrup for the pancakes. Yeosang was quick to reach out and discreetly take the bottle from where you set it, popping the cap and drizzling it over his pancakes.

As you ate, your gaze flickered up to look across the table at Yeosang who'd forked a small bite of his chocolate chip pancakes. You watched in silent anticipation as he raised the fluffy hotcake to his lips and took a bite, chewing it for a moment. His eyes brightened and a barely audible gasp could be heard from where you were seated, observing as he took another bite. Seeing him enjoy the things he ate brought you a sense of comfort and warmth, especially after knowing he'd been roaming the woods alone with little to no food.

You suppressed a giggle when you noticed Yeosang's lips smeared and speckled with melted chocolate from the pancakes.

His head jerked up at the sound, his wide brown eyes staring at you. You discreetly gestured to your own lips and he was quick to lick away the chocolate and grab a nearby napkin, wiping over his mouth for good measure.

"I'm glad you like it." You commented.

After a couple days, you decided Yeosang needed clothes, ones that weren't borrowed. Thankfully, after he showered that first time, you went to get his torn, stained garments and peeked at the tags to get his size before tossing them into the trash.

Yeosang's always vigilant and wide eyes followed you across the living room as you tossed your bag over your shoulder.

"I need to go buy you some new clothes." You told him, absentmindedly fiddling with your keys. "Are you going to be okay staying home alone for an hour?"

He stared at you, a response you often got any time you asked him something. He still wasn't talking.

"I'll lock the door when I leave." You mentioned.

Finally, Yeosang gave a little half nod.

"You can watch TV." You gestured.

His gaze followed the direction you pointed to, staring at the black screen. You could see that he didn't seem to know how to work the TV even though you'd watched it with him the day before, if you could even call it watching, he stayed pressed against the opposite side of the couch the whole time you were in the room.

"Here." You moved to turn on the TV, the last channel you were watching flashing up on the screen. You pressed a button and pulled up the massive list of channels. "You can watch whatever you want. Just pick one and press this big OK button." You demonstrated, placing the remote on the coffee table in front of him. "And you can have more chocolate bars if you want, just don't eat too many or you'll get sick."

Yeosang looked almost overwhelmed at everything and you didn't know if it was from all the information you were giving him or the freedom.

"I'll try to be back soon. Don't answer the door for anyone except me, okay?"

He nodded, his attention locked on you until you stepped out the door.

The house was quiet, save for whatever was playing on the TV. Yeosang glanced around the room, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had your entire home to himself. He let whatever was already on continue playing, his foot tapping against the floor. He wasn't really watching it, his mind wandering as well as his eyes that drifted away from the images on the television and to the decor in your living room. He never really got a good look at it, too afraid to do so.

He finally got to his feet and headed over to a bookshelf beside the TV. It had a photo of you and who he assumed were your family placed on one of the upper shelves. He was able to pick you out right away. His fingertips traced the shape of the frame, looking at your gleaming grin. Other items on the shelf were pretty vases and little decorative geometrical sculptures. He slowly made his way around the room, looking at all the items and personalized pieces you had sitting about, familiarizing himself with the space.

Eventually, his curiosity led him to your bedroom, his bare feet padding across the hardwood towards your open door. There were many things that caught his eye when he entered, one being your little wall shelves with tiny items lined along them. He shuffled over to get a better look, liking how the fuzzy rug on your floor felt against his feet. There were cute little trinkets of all sorts and even pretty rocks placed neatly along the shelf. Amongst the tchotchkes were a couple framed photos of you and other people. You looked so happy in all of them. On the walls were posters and colorful pictures depicting different things, photos and cutouts, each one different but somehow having a cohesive appearance. Everything was fairly neat, your nightstand was a little piled up and your desk area had a few stationery supplies strewn along it, but besides that, your room was tidy.

As Yeosang looked around the space, he noticed something—you didn't have any dangerous things in your room. No weapons or plaques with animal heads or horns on them. Everything in your room was cozy and sweet... just like you.

Yeosang meandered around the rest of the house, biding his time by familiarizing himself with the place and sorting out how he felt about his current situation. He still didn't feel comfortable in this new environment, however, he did feel safer, even if he was a little scared. At least he didn't have to worry about hiding anymore or wondering where he was going to sleep.

Then there was you. Your behavior was the complete opposite of the other humans he'd encountered, and yet, he and his family were already betrayed once by people he trusted. He didn't want that to happen again, but it was difficult to keep his guard up when you were so caring.

Yeosang slowly picked up the remote and pressed the menu button, scrolling through the channels, trying to figure out what he wanted to watch. He wasn't familiar with TV shows or movies, only hearing about them, so he didn't know what he wanted to see. He clicked on a few different channels, moving on to another when he wasn't interested. His browsing came to a halt when he saw a man and a woman kissing. He gasped softly, his eyes glued to the screen. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight displayed before his wide-eyed gaze. He'd never kissed anyone before due to living a sheltered life in the woods, but he always imagined what it might be like. Yeosang absentmindedly licked his lips, wondering how yours might feel on his.

A noise outside snapped Yeosang out of his daze and he jumped to his feet, scurrying over to the window when he heard the sound of a car. His body went rigid when he saw a man get out and make his way up to the front door with something in his hands. Yeosang stepped away from the window so he couldn't be seen, backing up further when heavy footsteps thudded on the front porch and a couple quick knocks were given to the door.

Your words about not answering the door for anyone echoed in his mind. Yeosang froze up for a few seconds, listening carefully, his ears twitching. Then, slowly, he creeped back to the window to see the man getting back into his vehicle and driving off down the road.

Yeosang spent the rest of his time running back and forth from the couch to the living room window, jumping at every little noise he heard, thinking it was that man coming back, but it never was. He attempted to distract himself with whatever he found on TV that caught his interest.

After what felt like hours, the sound of the lock clicking announced your presence before you even stepped inside the house. Your arms were laden with multiple shopping bags and you had a small box in your hand.

"I'm back." You announced, not missing the way Yeosang seemed to perk up at your return. "I found a package on the porch. I hope the mailman didn't startle you while I was gone."

Yeosang blinked in realization. The mailman. He didn't get mail back home, so he didn't know that's who that man was and immediately assumed he was there to harm him.

"Anyway, I got you clothes." You smiled, setting the bags down on the coffee table. "You wanna take a look?"

Yeosang leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours, then dropping down to the plastic shopping bags and carefully reaching inside one of them. He pulled out a plain-colored t-shirt, a black tank top, and two pairs of sweatpants, one black, one gray. He proceeded to the second bag and found a couple pairs of jeans and three more shirts, one of them long sleeved. Finally, in the last bag were socks, boxers, and a simple pair of shoes.

"I just got you the necessities." You murmured, hoping you didn't go overboard. "And I didn't know what style of clothes you liked so I kept it simple. I hope that's okay."

It was more than okay. Yeosang was only expecting an extra set of clothes, maybe two. He felt like he didn't deserve it, but he knew he couldn't decline, especially not when you were staring at him with expectant eyes glimmering with hope.

"Do you want to shower and change into a fresh set of clothes?" You asked, making him glance down at the borrowed garments he currently had on.

He nodded and chose what he wanted to wear, following you towards the bathroom where you got him out a towel and washcloth like last time.

"If you ever want to shower, you can. This bathroom is yours just as much as it is mine." You told him.

He set his fresh clothes on the closed toilet lid with his towel, trying to imagine coming into the bathroom whenever he wanted to bathe.

"I'll leave you to it." You excused yourself, pulling the door shut behind you.

You went back to the living room and removed the rest of Yeosang's new clothes from their bags, tossing them into the washing machine, busying yourself by washing dishes from breakfast earlier that day. One thing you'd learned about the skittish deer hybrid in the last four days was that he loved chocolate. You weren't sure what his living situation was like prior to you finding him, but it was obvious he wasn't familiar with most foods or technology. This led you to believe he'd lived away from society for most of his life, though if that was the case, how did he get clothes?

As you pondered explanations, you didn't notice Yeosang enter the room.

You flinched after spotting him in your peripherals, your hand coming up to clutch your chest.

"You startled me." You exhaled, taking in his appearance, your already racing heart jumping into your throat.

Yeosang was wearing the black tank top, the fabric clinging to him and accentuating the shape of his body as well as showing off his incredibly muscular arms. On the upper parts of his shoulders and biceps were speckles of white, like those on a baby deer; that little detail was enough to lessen the shock that his physique caused, but you still couldn't tear your eyes away. His face definitely didn't match his body.

"The clothes look nice." You finally managed to speak, realizing you'd been staring for too long. "I'm glad they fit."

Yeosang nodded and tugged his gray sweatpants up a bit, glancing down at the outfit, one of his deer ears twitching slightly, still damp from his shower.

"Do you like them?"

He gave a little nod in response, making a sense of pride fill your chest.

A week passed and Yeosang still wasn’t speaking. He only communicated with nods or shakes of his head. He'd flinch away sometimes when you held something towards him and continued to keep his distance for the most part, only standing near you when you were cooking. He seemed to be interested in that.

You were laid in bed, snuggled into your pillow with the covers pulled up and bunched around your neck, just how you liked it. Slow and relaxed breaths slipped past your parted lips as you slept, unaware of what was transpiring in the living room.

While you rested peacefully, Yeosang was the complete opposite. He'd woken up with a start, his chest heaving up and down, sweat perspiring along his forehead. His hands trembled as he recalled vivid images of the two humans that tried to hunt him down, the haunting images flashing in his mind. His heart thudded violently against his rib cage, his entire body riddled with panic as a tiny whimper slipped out of him.

He sat upright, grabbing his pillow and getting off the couch, his feet moving on their own down the hall. He stopped just outside your bedroom, staring into it.

If you need anything, just let me know. Those were the words you said to him every night before you went to bed, telling him to come get you if anything was wrong. Without thinking twice, he entered your room and stood by your bed, reaching out to gently tap your shoulder. You stirred in your slumber and he tapped you once more for good measure. Your eyes opened and you were greeted by the sight of Yeosang standing at your bedside clutching his pillow, his eyes wide, brows pulled together in an anxious manner, and his entire body trembling like a leaf.

"Yeosang?" You uttered hoarsely. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head vigorously and your heart sank. The covers on the opposite side of your bed were pulled back and you beckoned Yeosang over.

"Come on."

He stared at you for only a moment before skittering over and placing his pillow on the bed, sliding underneath the covers. In order to keep him comfortable, you stayed put on your side of the bed, even though every part of you was screaming to hold the poor guy and comfort him.

"Did you have a bad dream?" You inquired softly.

In the dim lighting, you saw him nod.

"I'm sorry." You paused, chewing your lip. If you knew what it was he dreamt about, you'd be able to console him, but for now you'd have to assume it was about something he experienced prior to you rescuing him. "Whatever it was, it wasn't real. It was just a dream, maybe something that stemmed from a bad experience. You're okay though. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you. I won't hurt you."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, the light from the moon outside catching on his glossy eyes and you weren't sure if he was tearing up because of your words or the fear coursing through him.

"Everything's okay." You soothed, your hand moving towards him only to freeze, reminding yourself to keep a distance. "Whatever happened in your nightmare wasn't real."

He released a shaky exhale, his hands gripping the covers to ground himself to reality. You laid there watching him for minutes, wishing you could hug him or something.

"You gonna be okay?" You inquired faintly.

He let out a little hum and nodded. He'd never hummed in acknowledgement before.

You awoke the next morning to find Yeosang sleeping peacefully beside you and it appeared that he was closer than what you remembered. He was laid on his side, one of his ears twitching softly in his slumber. His hair was slightly messy, his head turned slightly in a way that his antlers didn't press into the pillow. You had the urge to reach out and touch them, but pushed it down, knowing he'd hate it.

Instead of waking him, you decided to get up and make breakfast in hopes to cheer him up after the rough night he had. As you slid discreetly out of the bed, Yeosang woke up, his breath hitching sharply as his head abruptly lifted up from the pillow. He had a look of panic in his eyes, his hand only halfway moving towards you, almost as if to stop you.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I was just going to make breakfast."

His round eyes drifted back to your spot on the bed, his hand retracting as he gave a single nod.

That first night wasn't the only time Yeosang came to your room. He slept on the couch the following night and seemed fine, but ended up shuffling through your bedroom doorway the night after with a pillow clutched in his arms. It surprised you when he willingly showed up a second time, especially since he still displayed skittish behaviors with you. When you asked if he had another bad dream, he shook his head.

"You just can't sleep?" You had asked him, to which he nodded.

Of course, you allowed him to join you once more, still keeping your distance to accommodate him.

The third time it happened, you were telling him goodnight and making sure he was settled in, but he wouldn't lie down. He just kept sitting, like he was hesitant to even attempt to get comfortable. That's when you offered to share your bed again. To your astonishment, he agreed. Since then, he started sleeping with you regularly, no longer comfortable on the couch.

On one hand, you worried that he'd been uncomfortable on the sofa the whole time and didn't say anything about it, but on the other, his willingness to sleep in the same bed as you meant you'd finally built some trust with him, which was a good sign.

Yeosang shimmed underneath the sheets and covers, adjusting himself to where he could rest comfortably. It was a pattern you started to become accustomed to.

"I'm sorry if the couch wasn't comfortable. I could've made you a pallet on my floor with blankets if you would've preferred."

He was quick to shake his head dismissively, bringing you a bit of relief knowing he wasn't uncomfortable on the sofa. That meant he preferred sleeping in your bed, which made your chest warm.

You gave him a brief closed-mouth smile, turning your head back to stare at the ceiling.

"I know it's only been a couple weeks now, but I'm glad you're starting to trust me—or at least I hope you are." You closed your eyes, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Goodnight."

Yeosang hummed in response, shifting just a little before going still.

You were abruptly awoken from your deep slumber a couple hours after drifting off by small sounds of distress coming from the opposite side of the bed. You instantly turned to check on Yeosang, only to find him tossing his head back and forth, his expression twisted in anguish. He was having another bad dream.

You reached over to gently tap his arm, not wanting to startle him awake.

"Yeosang." You whispered.

Another tiny noise left him and he flinched.

"Yeosang, wake up."

You placed your hand on his arm, giving him a gentle shake. At the light touch of your hand, his eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, chest rising and falling quickly as his breathing started to become panicky. He looked around the room with wide, fearful eyes, trying to make out his surroundings.

"It's okay." You soothed in an attempt to steady his breathing. "You're okay. It was just another bad dream."

His frantic eyes met yours, his breathing slowing just a fraction at your words. Still, it was clear he was dealing with the remnants of his nightmare and a faint whimper escaped him, the sound making your chest ache.

Without giving it a second thought, you opened your arms to him, unable to let him go through this again without comforting him. The first time, you were mindful of his distrust towards you, but this time all you cared about was making sure he was alright.

"Come here." You beckoned gently.

His breathing was still ragged, ears tilted down slightly in a fearful and submissive manner. As soon as he processed your open arms, he dove in and wrapped his own around you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, being sure to avoid poking you with his antlers. His entire body trembled as he clung to you, making your heart squeeze with a bitter mix of pity and sympathy.

"It's okay." You cooed, cautiously sliding your arms around him, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. "You're okay. I'm here."

A choked noise left Yeosang, his nose pressing further against your neck. A lump formed in your throat and you had to swallow it down, fighting back tears that threatened to well up in your misty eyes. Just what kind of horrible things did he experience that caused him to be plagued with nightmares?

You tugged the comforter up a little higher to make sure it was covering Yeosang before proceeding with your gentle and calming ministrations. His breathing had evened out a little at that point, but you didn't dare stop comforting him. Your hand moved up his back and into his hair, only combing through the back of it, steering clear of his ears and antlers, assuming it might make him uncomfortable if you touched them.

When you tried to readjust your position to get more comfortable, Yeosang's hold on you tightened and his body tensed in panic, making your heart shatter.

"I'm not leaving." You assured him. "Just readjusting."

With your reassurance, his hold loosened just enough for you to get situated. You let out a faint sigh, closing your eyes and continuing to card your fingers through his soft locks, listening to his breathing even out. Knowing he was beginning to calm down diminished your worries and you could only hope that he'd be able to rest easy now.

Your gentle caresses along Yeosang's back and through his hair slowed as you started drifting off back to sleep, your movements stopping completely after some time.

It was the warm rays of sun that stirred you from your slumber the following morning and a comforting weight on your chest that reminded you of what took place the night before. Your bleary eyes peeled open, squinting at the golden streams of sunlight illuminating your bedroom, blinking a few times to adjust to it before trailing down to the hybrid sleeping on you. Yeosang looked so tranquil, his eyes closed, lashes resting delicately on his cheeks as slow and deep breaths pushed past his slightly parted lips, that pretty birthmark on full display. He was breathtaking and it wasn't something you were just noticing. From day one, you found Yeosang to be mesmerizingly beautiful, his facial features almost too perfect, something you could only categorize as angelic or ethereal.

As if he sensed you were staring, his lids opened, his gentle chocolatey irises landing on you. You smiled at him in greeting, your eyes crinkling slightly.

"Pretty." Yeosang uttered softly under his breath.

The word barely reached your ears and your brows raised in astonishment, but instead of being shocked that he spoke, you were more focused on the heat that made its way to your cheeks in response to that single word.

"Thank you."

Yeosang blinked, visibly surprised that you heard him, both of you slightly flustered in your own ways.

"Did you rest well?" You asked, changing the subject, your voice hoarse from sleeping.

He nodded.

"Good. I was worried about you." You spoke softly. "I can go make breakfast if you're hungry."

The expression on his face let you know he was open to that.

"Anything specific you want? You seem to love chocolate chip pancakes."

At the mention of the sweet hot cakes, Yeosang nodded eagerly, not trying to conceal or downplay his enthusiasm for once.

"I'll go get started. You can stay in bed if you want or you can come watch. It's up to you."

As you left the room and rounded the corner, the faint shuffling of bare feet followed behind you, the edges of your mouth twitching upward into a half smile. Even if he didn't show it, Yeosang liked being near you, or at the very least in the same space as you, especially lately.

He watched from a few feet away as you mixed up the pancake batter, dropping chocolate chips into it. You pushed the bag of sweet morsels towards him in a silent offering. His eyes met yours as if to ask permission, to which you nodded. He cupped his hand and let you shake out a few from the bag for him. As you flipped the pancakes, you couldn't help but let your eyes steal glances at Yeosang while he ate the chocolate chips in an adorably discreetly manner. You allowed him to snack a little while you cooked, piling up three warm pancakes onto a plate for him.

You sat by Yeosang at the dining table, eating your own breakfast that you prepared for yourself, watching him chew a small bite of pancake, smudges of chocolate on his pretty lips.

"Yesoang." You chuckled softly, taking a napkin and wiping the corner of his mouth without giving it a second thought.

He flinched at your touch, gasping soundlessly and freezing up.

"Oh." You pulled your hand away. "Sorry. You had some chocolate on your face."

His human ears turned a faint rosy hue along with the apples of his cheeks as he averted his gaze and continued to eat in silence. You were left to simmer in your embarrassment and self-chastising, knowing you overstepped by getting in his personal space. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, taking a sip of your drink in hopes that it would wash away your humiliation.

"I... really like the indoor rain." Yeosang spoke suddenly, staring down at his plate, cutting up the remainder of his pancakes.

It was the first time you'd been able to properly hear his voice. He was soft-spoken, but the timbre was low and smooth like silk, almost melodic in a way.

"Indoor rain?" You echoed his words in confusion, blinking out of the little daze you were put in by his mesmerizing voice. "Oh. The shower."

He nodded.

"So you haven't used a shower before?"

He shook his head, answering softly, "We used the stream."

We. So he did have a family, or had, and he did live in the woods.

"The stream." You parroted, nodding.

This was a huge breakthrough. Yeosang was talking. Not only that, but he was giving you little fragments of his life.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, which was fine. You didn't expect Yeosang to immediately start chattering right away and was willing to give him time to fully open up.

A few days passed and Yeosang spoke a little here and there, muttering one or two word responses in an indistinct tone. He didn't divulge any more information about himself, which only confirmed your assumption that he would only share when comfortable.

It was a relaxed Friday evening and you were stood in front of the stove cooking chicken for dinner, some vegetables roasting in another pan.

"I used to have this a lot." He spoke up, taking you by surprise.

"This? In the woods?"

He nodded.

This information caused questions to form in your mind, piling up with the other ones.

"So you had a garden?"

He hummed, giving a single nod of his head, watching the meat sizzle in the pan.

"And the chicken? Where'd that come from?"

"Outside." Was all he said.

"Outside?"

He didn't elaborate on that, so you decided to let it go for now. Yeosang had already said everything he wanted to and you weren't going to push it.

Dinner was mostly quiet, save for Yeosang's small hums of appreciation as he ate. Afterwards, you cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes while Yeosang sat in the living room watching TV, hugging a pillow to his chest. Every so often you'd glance out into the area to check on him, happy to see that he was comfortably seated and not sitting stiffly like he was for the first week he was here.

You stepped into the living room, wiping your hands on your sweatpants before dropping onto the couch with a huff.

"Alright. Kitchen's clean." You announced, your eyes drifting to the TV where a Korean drama played, something he watched often when he was left in the living room. "You sure do like these shows."

Yeosang's deer ears lowered slightly in embarrassment.

"I can't say I blame you. They're addicting." You chuckled. "A little cheesy sometimes, but there's something about it that keeps you hooked. Ah. Here's one now."

Yeosang turned back to the screen, watching one of those "cheesy scenes" you spoke about where the female lead was in a bedroom with the male, the atmosphere romantic, but the both of them not acting on anything. Naturally, the girl stumbled backwards and ended up on the bed with the man collapsing on top because she grabbed him for stability.

Yeosang's eyes became rounder, his ears flicking and twitching as a rosy hue painted his cheeks.

The male lead hovered over the female, their gazes locked on one another as the space between their faces slowly diminished. Then, just when their lips were about to touch, the female's phone rang, causing the two to scramble away from each other.

Yeosang gripped the pillow tighter in his arms, letting out a noise of protest which made you start giggling.

"I knew that was gonna happen. It always does." You huffed out.

Yeosang turned to you with brows tugged together in shock.

"Yeah. That happens a lot." You told him.

He whined a little, dropping his face into the pillow.

Commercials started playing and the sound of a female voice narrating an ad for vacation homes filled the room.

"Maybe you'd like an island paradise at a luxurious beach resort, or maybe you'd prefer a relaxing stay in a cozy woodland cabin."

Yeosang's head raised from the pillow, watching the television screen where a mother, father, and their son were sitting by a campfire in front of the cabin. You noticed his attention glued to the TV, a look of longing in his eyes.

"I miss home" He uttered, his soft voice coming out quietly.

His words squeezed your chest, making your heart ache dully.

"Did you have a house?"

"A cottage. I lived with my parents. I was happy there."

You frowned, waiting to see if he would continue.

"We had friends, human ones. They'd bring us stuff from town so we didn't have to leave home. That's how we got chicken."

Now you knew what he meant when he said "outside" earlier.

"Why didn't you want to leave? Hybrids are accepted into society now."

"My parents didn't trust them, but we trusted our friends." He shook his head, making a knot form in the pit of your stomach.

"They betrayed you—didn't they?" You asked faintly, sendsing that things were about to take a sour turn.

He nodded. "Mean hunters found us. They wanted my antlers... wanted my dad's antlers."

You pressed your lips together, sighing heavily through your nostrils.

"We were so scared." He murmured, clutching the pillow tightly in his arms. "They told me to run."

"Who told you to run?" You inquired gently, hoping to coax an answer out of him.

"My parents."

"And are they..." You trailed off, hesitant to ask such a sensitive question.

"They were trapped."

"So you don't know if they're..." Your sentence went unfinished again and he shrugged.

"I'm sorry." You whispered. "I'm so sorry. That's cruel and twisted."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, adjusting his hold on the throw pillow still hugged tightly to his chest.

"If it's any consolation, most humans would never treat a hybrid like an animal. I know that's probably hard for you to believe, especially since you've had bad experiences with humans, but there are good people out there."

His gentle gaze met yours. "Like you?"

A strong emotion you couldn't put a name to rose in your throat, your face getting warm.

"Y-yeah... like me." You nodded.

Somehow, you ended up back in the kitchen, baking a chocolate cake. You needed something to take your mind off Yeosang's flustering words, and yet, he was the one you were making the cake for, thinking he needed a mood-booster after discussing his traumatic experiences. Naturally, the smell attracted him to the kitchen, luring him in like a moth to a flame. He squatted in front of the oven, staring inside, his little tail flicking in fascination behind him. You suppressed a chortle, leaning against the cabinets.

"You've never had cake before, have you?"

He glanced over his shoulder at you before turning back to observe the sweet treat, shaking his head in response.

"You love chocolate, so you'll love cake, especially this one."

He stayed in the kitchen with you for the remainder of the wait time and even watched you ice the cake.

"Would you like to try?" You asked, holding out the butter knife.

Yeosang slowly reached out to take it, following the steps he'd seen you carry out, scooping out some chocolate icing and slathering it on the cake. His eyes were focused, his lips pursed in concentration as he spread the sugary substance messily across the surface of the dessert.

A fond smile graced your lips. "Good job."

He flushed at your praise, struggling to finish icing the cake before stepping away with a faint but proud grin.

Just as the sun began to set, you stepped out on the back patio, sitting on the concrete stones that made up the platform, a fresh slice of cake in hand. Your conversation with Yeosang played on repeat in your head as you took a bite, chewing quietly. You finally got his story, or most of it, at least. It was heart-wrenching and you didn't even hear the details. Whatever you assumed had happened to Yeosang was so much worse. He was told to run and he did, hiding out in the woods for who knows how long. He never said.

The faint creak of the back door opening caused you to turn your head. Yeosang stepped out onto the patio, outside for the first time in three weeks. He lowered himself to sit beside you, crossing his legs and staring up at the blue and purple-streaked sky.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" You uttered softly.

Yeosang nodded, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, letting it fill his lungs.

"How's the cake?" You asked, gesturing to his sizable slice which already had a chunk taken out of it.

He smiled softly and nodded. "Good."

It was nice to have him respond verbally instead of silently, reminding you of the progress that had been made.

As usual, Yeosang got a little messy with the cake, chocolate icing clinging to the corners of his lips in the most endearing way.

"You've got a little something here." You gestured to your own mouth to indicate that he had food stuck there.

He blinked at you with his large eyes and leaned forward a bit, a look of expectance on his face. That's when you realized he was waiting for you to clean it for him. That awareness was enough to make your cheeks warm, but you ignored it and reached for a napkin you brought outside, using it to gently wipe the edges of his mouth. He smiled shyly afterwards, going back to eating his cake in silence.

Minutes later, your empty plates sat idly on the concrete patio, both yours and Yeosang's gazes on the sky, which was now streaked with vibrant hues of purple, blue, and pink. As stunning as the sight was, your attention drifted elsewhere, your eyes slowly moving to Yeosang, roving over his captivating side profile and antlers. He seemed to pick up on your staring, his head turning a fraction in your direction.

"Sorry." You muttered an apology. "I didn't mean to stare."

Something in the air between you two shifted after that and no matter how much you tried to ignore your feelings or push them away, they were there. You spent the rest of the evening suppressing those unfamiliar emotions swirling in your chest. It didn't help that Yeosang had gotten cuddlier at night, opting to snuggle as close as he could to you. You brought a hand up to caress his hair, your fingers barely brushed one of his ears which twitched in response.

"Oh. Sorry."

Instead of pulling away, he responded by nuzzling closer, silently encouraging you to continue. You carefully let your fingertips rub at the base of his ears, a sigh leaving Yeosang's lips in response, letting you know it felt nice.

Little by little, your hand migrated up towards the base of his antlers. You knew you were probably pushing it, but you wanted to see how far he'd let you go. With the faintest touch, you brushed your fingertips along the smooth bone of his antlers, tracing up from where they emerged from his hair. He tensed imperceptibly before relaxing again.

"They're very pretty." You uttered faintly, tracing the shape of his antlers. "And they belong right where they are."

You couldn't see it, but Yeosang smiled, letting out a short huff of laughter, your words causing an uptick in his pulse, your touch lulling him to sleep.

"Cake again?" You asked with a small grin, joining Yeosang on the couch.

Since baking the confection the day before, he'd helped himself to it, already on his third slice.

He nodded, licking icing off his lips.

"I'm glad you like it." You said with a pleased smile. "Just don't eat too much. You'll get a stomachache."

He hummed in acknowledgement and took another bite, closing his eyes in bliss.

Yeosang finished the rest of his treat, moving to set his empty plate down, which you were quick to take from him, going to the kitchen to wash it. When you returned, you dropped back onto the couch cushions, chuckling at the sight of Yesoang rubbing his stomach.

"Full?"

He nodded with the faintest hint of a smile.

You settled against the back of the sofa and watched the TV contently, happy to be able to sit like this with Yeosang.

It wasn't until you felt a hand tentatively placed on yours that your attention pulled away from whatever was on the screen. Yeosang was chewing his bottom lip, his cheeks painted with a touch of blush, fingers curling around yours. Your gaze flickered down to your joined hands, a swirl of something pleasant flaring in your gut at the sensation it brought on.

"Thank you." He uttered softly. "I never said it."

"You didn't have to." You shook your head.

"I wanted to." He murmured. "You've done so much for me."

"You deserve it. You've been through a lot."

His gaze softened at your kind words, his gentle eyes moving over your features, lingering on your lips for a fleeting moment. That alone made your heart jump, the air suddenly charged with tension as you stole a glance at his lips in return. As if he was hesitant about his own actions, he leaned in a fraction, but stopped.

"It's okay." Your voice lowered to a whisper.

As the space between your faces diminished, Yeosang's eyes darted down to your phone sitting idly at your side. He was quick to snag it and shove it between the couch cushions.

You chuckled amusedly at his actions.

"Don't worry." You assured him. "That won't interrupt us."

His face moved closer to yours, inch by inch until his soft lips finally laid themselves upon yours. The sensation that followed had your breath hitching softly, his lips like velvet against your own, kissing tentatively. You brought your free hand up to his cheek to cup it lovingly, the touch making Yeosang hum and lean closer. His hand released yours only to hover in the air, his actions full of uncertainty.

You parted ways long enough to gently take his wrist and guide his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving the other to your hip.

"Here." You told him.

He smiled softly. "I've never done this."

"It's okay." You whispered, leaning back in to kiss him, this time with more passion and confidence.

His hold on you tightened and he scooted closer, craving the proximity. A cluster of butterflies tickled your stomach, a flurry of sensations overwhelming you in the best way possible. Kissing Yeosang was quite the experience and you didn't want to stop, both hands sliding into his hair, brushing past the base of his ears, eliciting a deep sigh from him, his warm breath fanning your lips, adding to the array of pleasant sensations you were experiencing. Deciding to push the envelope a bit, you applied pressure to the base of Yeosang's ears, massaging them as you kissed him. A low noise escaped the back of his throat, vibrating against your lips, his hold on your waist tightening.

You parted ways with him, your breaths coming out in short bursts, mingling with Yeosang's.

"Wow." You breathed out.

"Are you... my girlfriend now?" Yeosang asked softly.

The innocence in his tone made you giggle.

"Yes. I suppose I am—if you want me to be."

He was already nodding eagerly before you could get the sentence out. You beamed giddily, cupping his cheek. The Yeosang before you was a far cry from the one you found in the woods trapped in a net.

"And I'm your boyfriend?" He inquired tentatively.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"I'm heading to the grocery store. Would you like anything?" You asked, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Yeosang shifted in his spot on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy throw blanket, pursing his lips in thought.

"More chocolate chips?" He asked, chewing his lip bashfully.

"Noted." You chuckled. "I'll be back soon."

As you twisted the doorknob, you paused.

"You sure you don't wanna tag along?"

He shook his head. "Not ready."

You understood, nodding. "Alright. I'll be back soon."

The grocery store trip would be brief, as you didn't have many things to pick up. Some instant ramen, snack foods, and the chocolate chips Yeosang wanted more of—he'd been snacking on those a lot. You were about to get in line to check out when you spotted a candy bar display, reminding you that you'd run out of them recently, as that was another thing Yeosang liked to eat. You took a few off the display, your attention drawn to a bulletin board on the wall above the candy rack. An array of papers and fliers were pinned to the board, including one in particular that grabbed your attention. A hybrid rescue facility. You didn't have any groceries that needed to be put into the fridge or freezer, so you made a mental note to stop by on the way home.

Your car rolled to a gradual halt at the curb and you stepped out onto the street, approaching the hybrid rescue facility, bold letters announcing the company's name plastered on the windows of the storefront. You were only there to check it out and see how legitimate the business was, stepping inside to take a look around. By the entrance was a display holding brochures. As you were reading over an informational pamphlet, the sound of fretful voices grabbed your attention. You raised your head and glanced over your shoulder to see who was speaking. Standing just a few feet away was a male deer hybrid with partially grown antlers and a female deer hybrid beside him, they were both speaking frantically with an employee from the facility, but you couldn't make out what was being said. Both hybrids were wearing clothes that were ripped and stained, indicating they'd been in a pretty bad situation before their arrival here.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your heart leaping into your throat. Could it be?

"Excuse me." You spoke up, cautiously approaching the two hybrids who turned towards you with curious expressions.

"I don't mean to bother you, but would either of you happen to know a deer hybrid named Yeosang?"

The man and woman's eyes widened.

"Yeosang? You know our Yeosang?" The woman asked, her tone carrying a mix of relief and panic.

"Yes." You nodded. "I rescued him from the woods a month ago. He's at my house right now."

"A month ago?" The man echoed in surprise.

"Yes. I can take you to him right now."

"I'm sorry, but they need to stay here and be processed." The employee cut in.

"Then I'll bring him to you." You promised the parents, heading towards the door.

Yeosang was startled by your abrupt entrance and the way you rushed inside, tossing the groceries haphazardly onto the kitchen counter.

"I know you said you weren't ready to leave the house yet, but you have to come with me." You told him.

"Why?"

"I found your parents."

His expression fell into one of utter disbelief.

"They're... they're okay?"

You nodded. "They're at a hybrid rescue facility in town."

Yeosang wiggled his way out of the blanket burrito he was in, shoving the fabric aside as he got to his feet, fumbling to slide on his shoes. He followed you out to your car, which you had to help him with since he hadn't been in one before. You started the engine and took off back towards town.

"How did you find them?" He asked, staring ahead at the road.

"I was at the grocery store and saw a flier for a hybrid rescue facility. I was curious, so I decided to stop by and when I went inside, they were there. It seemed like they were just rescued."

"How did they look?"

"Frantic, but unharmed."

He sighed in relief, swallowing down the lump that rose up in his throat, he was feeling so many emotions at once.

You hardly had time to park at the facility before Yeosang was wrestling with his seatbelt, trying to get out.

"I got you." You assured, clicking the buckle out of place for him.

As soon as he was freed, he started trying to open the door, his hand moving over the inside. You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car to help him, hurrying after the hybrid as he took off ahead of you and entered the building. Scrambling in behind him, you saw the way his frantic eyes scanned over the lobby, landing on his parents who were now seated off to the side wrapped in blankets and speaking to the same employee you saw earlier.

"Yesoang." His mother cried out, rushing forward to embrace him in a hug.

His father did the same, his arms wrapping tightly around his son.

You were overcome with emotion at the touching reunion, watching as they clung to one another. You kept your distance, letting them have their moment, talking amongst themselves and catching up after being apart.

"What happened to you guys?" Yeosang asked them.

"After you ran off, I made a deal with the hunters." His dad said. "I'd give them my antlers if they didn't harm your mother."

Yeosang's tearful eyes met those of his father, traveling up to his antlers that were in the process of growing back. "How did you get out?"

"Employees from the facility were searching the woods for hybrids living off the grid. They found your father and I in the shed those hunters kept us in." His mom's gaze became distant, a frown etching onto her features. "We were treated like animals, barely fed and kept around just so they could saw off your father's antlers and sell them."

Overhearing the conversation, you frowned, broken by his mother's recollection of events.

"The nice people here saved us though." His father added. "They called authorities and got those hunters locked away. We've been speaking with a lady and she's assured us that the facility is going to help us get back to normal life."

Yeosang smiled. "That's great." His gaze then moved to you.

He stepped away from his parents, gently taking your arm and bringing you over.

"This is Y/n. She saved me." He chewed his bottom lip, his fingers finding yours and sliding into your palm, curling around it. "She means a lot to me."

Yeosang's parents smiled warmly.

"Thank you for bringing him to us and taking care of him." The gratitude in his mom's voice was palpable and made your heart swell, a feeling of gratification warming your chest.

You returned the grin. "Of course. It was the right thing to do."

"So," You began, turning to address Yeosang now. "I guess this means you'll be moving back to the woods?"

That familiar look of panic flashed across his features and he shook his head, squeezing your hand. "I wanna stay with you." He muttered before turning to his parents with pleading eyes.

Having Yeosang continue living with you was all you wanted, but it depended on his parents and how they felt about that.

His dad laughed. "Your mom and I will be fine on our own. You don't have to worry about us."

Yeosang beamed brightly, his eyes glimmering with unadulterated joy, vowing to visit them often and check in from time to time.

The sun was shining brightly, warming your skin with its brilliant rays. You shielded your eyes and stared out at the tree line patiently, standing out on your back patio. The man you'd been waiting for emerged from the clusters of evergreens, carrying a basket over his arm.

"Hello." You greeted.

"Hi, pretty." Yeosang responded, his cheeks dusted pink at his own use of the pet name. He was a little shy about it, but wanted to try out something new. "Mom really liked those chocolate chips you sent. She wanted me to bring some muffins back. She's been learning new recipes."

"How sweet." You grinned, heading inside.

Two weeks had passed since Yeosang was reunited with his parents. They were taken back to their old home in the woods and were provided assistance from the rescue facility to return to their old life. They even went into town on their own to get groceries. Yeosang had changed a lot too. He was now having full conversations with you, still a little on the bashful side at times, but making progress.

"How are your parents?" You asked, stepping inside the house.

"They're good. They're happy to be back home again."

"That's great news."

"Oh. Mom said she'd like for you to come visit next time." Yeosang told you, placing the basket of muffins on the kitchen counter.

"I'd like that a lot. I'm curious to see where you used to live."

He chuckled and came up to wrap his arms around you, gently nuzzling his nose into your hair. "Thank you again for everything. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't rescued me."

A warm rush of adoration spread throughout your chest at his grateful words.

"You know, after I saw you in the meadow for the first time, I kept coming back to look for you."

He raised his head, his widening eyes met yours, rounded with surprise, but full of reverence.

"I'm sorry I ran away." He apologized.

"There's no reason to be sorry. You were wary of humans and rightfully so."

"If you weren't so persistent in finding me, I would've never met you. Thank you."

You smiled, turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering on his skin. "And I'd do it all over again."

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz @laylasbunbunny @iammeandmeisiam @delulu18 @spooo00oky @tiredlittlevirgo

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ian McDonald's "The Wilding"

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Ian McDonald is one of those absurdly brilliant novelists that just leave me wondering the actual fuck he manages it. How does he cover so much ground, think up so many compelling characters, find so many gracenotes, conjure up so many complicated emotions?

McDonald burst on the scene in the late 1980s, with the 1988 novel Desolation Road and then his 1989 Out On Blue Six, a slick, stylized cyberpunk-meets-Orwell tale that overflowed with beautiful prose, technomysticism, and sly jokes that hid sneaky truths that hid even more sly jokes:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/01/20/out-on-blue-six-ian-mcdonalds-brilliant-novel-is-back/

By my count, McDonald has now published twenty books – mostly novels, but a couple short story collections (and the most amazingly demented, Tom-Waits-inflected teddybear murder comic imaginable, 1994's Kling Klang Klatch):

https://irishcomics.fandom.com/wiki/Kling_Klang_Klatch

McDonald's work is truly globespanning. While he's made his mark on the Martian soil, and overtaken the moon with the Luna trilogy (his definitive rebuttal to Heinlein's Moon Is a Harsh Mistress) he is widely adored and much-awarded for the glittering, futuristic versions of Brazil (Brasyl), Tanzania (the Chaga series), and India (River of Gods).

Indeed, McDonald's imagination has roamed so far over the Earth and the solar system that it's possible to overlook his fantastic reimaginings of Ireland, the land where he was raised. There's his Philip K Dick Award-winning 1991 novel King of Morning, Queen of Day, a swirling, mythopoeic novel of Celtic mysticism:

https://www.baen.com/king-of-morning-queen-of-day.html

And then there's 1992's Hearts, Hands and Voices, which is lowkey one of the best novels I have ever, ever read – a scorching science fictional allegory for The Troubles, but with the gnarliest biotech weirdness you can possibly imagine:

https://archive.org/details/heartshandsvoice0000ianm/mode/2up

McDonald's books cover so much goddamned ground, but one feature they all share is a prose styling wherein every sentence is at least 20% poetry, a fraction that somehow, impossibly, rises to as much as 150% in certain especially shiny passages.

Like this passage, which opens The Wilding, McDonald's new horror novel that marks his first return to Ireland since 1992:

Autumn lay on the great bog in silvers and tans, late purples and duns.

The sun rose above the tall ash saplings and feral sycamore. It called the birds into full voice. Stabbing shrills, tumbles of notes, the flutes of dove-call, frantic ticking hisses, song upon song. In hedgerows and copses, among the pale foliage of the birches, in the weave of deep willow and the bramble fastnesses, each bird called and was heard. In this season the peatland held the day's warmth through the night and on the bright, clear mornings rivers of mist formed, filling the subtle hollow places in the exposed cuttings, the bogs and fields. High sun would dispel it but at this hour half of Lough Carrow lay mist-bound. Each blade of grass hung heavy with dew, the clumps of sedges were already browning, the bracken curling and crisping.

A pair of horns lifted above the willow scrub and out-grown ash hedges of the Wilding. Polished tips caught the low sun and kindled as bright and keen as spears.

https://www.gollancz.co.uk/titles/ian-mcdonald/the-wilding/9781399611503/

Oof.

I would drop everything to read Ian McDonald's grocery lists but after that opening, I wasn't going to put this one down, and I didn't, reading the whole thing on yesterday's flight home from my gigs in Atlanta this week.

The Wilding is (I'm pretty sure?) McDonald's first horror novel, and it's fucking terrifying. It's set in a rural Irish peat bog that has been acquired by a conservation authority that is rewilding it after a century of industrial peat mining that stripped it back nearly to the bedrock. This rewilding process has been greatly accelerated by the covid lockdowns, which reduced the human footprint in the conservation area to nearly zero.

The story's protagonist is Lisa, a hard-case Dubliner who came to the bog to do community service after a career as a crime syndicate driver for hire, a woman who never met a car she couldn't boost and pilot in or out of any tight situation. After years in the bog, she's ready to start a new life, studying Yeats at university, indulging a late-discovered love of poetry that has as much to do with her redemption as her years in the wild.

Lisa's last duty before she leaves the bog and goes home to Dublin is leading a school group on a wild campout in one of the bog's deep clearings. It's a routine assignment, and while it's not her favorite duty, it's also not a serious hardship.

But as the group hikes out to the campsite, one of her fellow guides is killed, without warning, by a mysterious beast that moves so quickly they can barely make out its monstrous form. Thus begins a tense, mysterious, spooky as hell story of survival in a haunted woods, written in the kind of poesy that has defined McDonald's career, and which – when deployed in service of terror – has the power to raise literal goosebumps.

There's a lot of fantasy that deals with Celtic mythology, including McDonald's own King of Morning, Queen of Day, but the vibe of that stuff tends to the heroic and romantic – sure, there's the odd banshee, but in the main, it's mischievous wee people, pookas, and leprechauns. More fey than fear.

But Irish mythology in its raw form is terrifying. The monsters of Irish storytelling are grotesque, mean, remorseless, and come in every shape and size. Some authors have done well by going back to the bestiary for the deep cuts. When I was a kid, I must have read John Coyne's Hobgoblin fifty times (mostly because it was about D&D, which I was obsessed with). I haven't read this one since I was about 12, and I have no idea if it'd hold up today, but it left me with a deep appreciation of the spooky multifariousness of monsters who dwell in Ireland's bogs:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobgoblin_(novel)

The Wilding is a suspense novel, which means there's no way to really sum up the plot without spoiling a lot of the affect, but suffice to say that McDonald brings large swathes of deep Irish lore to the surface, and it had me reading as fast as I could and wanting to put the book down and hide.

What a writer McDonald is! The fact that this is the same guy who wrote last year's stunning secret-history/solarpunk/uncategorizable wonder that was Hopeland beggars belief:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

Read you some Ian McDonald novels, is what I'm trying to say. This one is only available in the UK, if that's not where you are, consider mail-ordering it. Looks like they've got stock at Forbidden Planet for £19 plus £18 shipping to the US. Worth every penny:

https://forbiddenplanet.com/424306-the-wilding-hardcover/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/25/bogman/#erin-go-aaaaaaargh

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey!! i really love your posts and trust me when i say this but you're practically doing a work of charity by making all these synonym lists. 😩🫶

i was wondering if you could compile monument vocabulary. vocabulary to describe the intricate and exquisite designs inside historical buildings. tysm!

Some Historical Architecture & Interior Design Vocabulary

Acanthus Leaf - A leaf decoration often used on furniture, particularly on brackets and legs.

Acroterium - Originally an ornament on the roof corners of Greek temples. In classical furniture, similar ornaments applied to the top corners of secretaries, bookcases, highboys and other furniture.

Amorini - Cupid ornaments found on Italian Renaissance furniture.

Anthemion - A honeysuckle design from classical Greek decorative motifs. Term refers to any conventional flower or leaf design.

Antique - Could be anything ranging from a piece of furniture to art. The U.S. government considers any item over 100 years old to be an antique, whereas most collectors use 50 years as a benchmark.

Apothecary Chest - A low chest with small drawers that was originally used to store herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes.

Arabesque - Decorative scroll work or other intricate ornamentation consisting of foliage, vases, leaves and fruits, or fantastic human and animal figures.

Baroque - A highly ornate decorative style that originated in Italy in the 1600's. The style is characterized by irregular curves, twisted columns, elaborate scrolls and oversize moldings. The Italian equivalent of French "rococo".

Bibliotheque-Basse - A low cupboard with shelves for books. Doors are often of glass and sometimes fitted with grilles.

Bullate - Having the surface covered with irregular and slight elevations, giving a blistered appearance.

Cabriole leg - An ornamented furniture leg with a double curve structure.

Chevron - A 'zigzag' pattern characteristic of Romanesque decoration that is often carved around pillars, arches and doorways.

Chinoiserie - A European style of design that is meant to mimic elements of East Asian art.

Console table - A freestanding table, often found in the entryway of homes, that typically serves as a space for decorative elements.

Enfilade - A series of rooms that are connected via doorways that align with one another (commonplace in grand castles, like the Palace of Versailles, or even museums).

Etagere - A freestanding or hanging set of open shelves, designed to display trinkets or other decorative objects.

Gilding - A coating with a thin layer of gold or gold-like substance.

Klismos - Ancient Greek style of chair with saber shaped legs splayed at the front and back. The back legs continue up to support a shoulder-height curved back.

Laurelling - A decorative feature using the laurel leaf motif as its basis.

Lozenge - A diamond shaped decorative panel. Term comes from the Middle English word for stone.

Niche - A recess in a wall for displaying a sculpture or other accessory.

Ormulu - A metal resembling gold. Used as mounts and decorative effects on furniture.

Ovolo - A continuous ornament in the form of an egg which generally decorates the molding called the "quarter-round". Eggs are often separated from each other by pointed darts.

Passementerie - Fancy decorative trimmings such as tassels, tiebacks and ribbon.

Régence Style - This furniture style spanned from about 1715 to 1723, when France was ruled by a regent. This style of furniture design was a transition from massive straight lines to graceful curves.

Sconces - A type of light fixture that is fastened to a wall for support.

Swan-Neck Handle - A curved handle popular in the 1700's.

Trompe l’oeil - A technique used to trick the eye into thinking that something flat, like a wall, is actually three-dimensional. This is often achieved through photorealistic painting.

Victorian - An architectural style defined by highly ornamented design and grand, sweeping facades.

Wainscoting - A type of interior wall paneling that covers the lower portion of a wall.

"Traditional" Interior Design

When talking about traditional interior design, most are referencing a design style that originated in the 18th and 19th century throughout Europe. However, it’s worth noting that other cultures have their own versions of a traditional style that may not look the same as this more Western version.

Traditional Design Elements. Though not exhaustive, a traditional interior will often make use of the following elements: 

Emphasis on symmetry and order

Traditional architectural details such wainscoting and crown molding

Classic decor elements such as chandeliers and bookcases 

Neutral color schemes with pops of bold colors, often in jewel tones 

Upholstery and textiles tend to be subtler (cotton, velvet, or wool, for example)

Furniture pieces with traditional silhouettes, though they’re often updated with modern elements or finishes 

Layered window treatments and draperies; curtain valances aren’t used often

Classic patterns such as plaids, damask, or florals  

Flooring tends to make use of darker wood  

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Word Lists

Previous posts that include some related words you might find useful:

Some Architecture Vocabulary

Some European Renaissance Art Vocabulary

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 1

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 2

Some Roman Art Vocabulary

Thanks so much for your kind words, you're really sweet! I tried to include a wide range of terminology since you didn't specify which time period you were looking for. Do go through the sources if I wasn't able to include here what you need in your writing. Hope this helps <3

[reveryfics]

Hii again ;) ! Hope you're doing alright

I have a request, for Loki (again). Where reader is ftm (again) and this time Loki doesn't know it, and he doesn't even know reader in fact. In whatever circumstances they met and when Loki realize reader's situation he's a bit..clumsy. He knows a lot of creatures from Asgard but never see a transgender person. But he's not mean ! And in fact, he's very intrigued by this person, maybe a sort of ftm worshipping ? In a lower step ofc, not awkwardly

Thank you !! 🎀 The last one was perfect !

Moonlight And Mischief

Pairings: Loki x FtM reader

Summary: A late evening walk introduces Loki to someone new, someone he quickly becomes fond of.

A/n: I absolutely love when I get requests from you, Loki is a huge comfort character so I enjoy getting to write for him!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The air hung heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine as Loki strolled through the forgotten garden. A low hum escaped his lips, a melancholic tune that mirrored the turmoil swirling within him. His gaze swept over the overgrown paths, the moonlight filtering through the dense foliage casting long, dancing shadows. He sought solace in this forgotten corner of the world, a refuge from the intrigues and burdens of Asgard.

As he wandered deeper, his hum deepened, a haunting melody that echoed through the stillness. Suddenly, it was answered, a softer counterpoint weaving through the air. Curiosity piqued, Loki followed the sound, his senses alert. He navigated through a maze of overgrown hedges, the air growing thick with the scent of lilies. Finally, he emerged before a small, moonlit pond, its surface shimmering with reflections of the stars.

A figure sat on the edge of the pond, their silhouette barely discernible in the deepening shadows. With a graceful gesture, they waved a hand, and a constellation of lanterns sprang to life, illuminating the scene with a warm, ethereal glow.

Loki found himself gazing upon a sight that could have been plucked from a Midgardian myth. The figure, bathed in the soft light, was mesmerizing. They sat with a book open on their lap, their long fingers tracing the worn pages as they dipped their feet into the cool water.

"You aren't invisible, you know," a voice, soft as the rustling leaves, broke the spell.

Loki, startled, cleared his throat. "My apologies. I didn't realize anyone else frequented this secluded corner."

A gentle chuckle rippled through the air. "This place has a way of drawing those who seek solitude."

An unspoken understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the sanctuary they had both found within these forgotten walls. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the shared melody that still lingered in the air.

"I've never seen you here before," Loki remarked, his gaze drawn to the figure's face.

"Oh, but I've seen you," they replied, a hint of amusement in their voice. "Prince Loki, the God of Mischief, always stirring up trouble."

Loki felt a jolt of surprise. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," they smiled, revealing a captivating play of light and shadow. "Everyone knows the God of Mischief."

Intrigued, Loki sat beside them, the silence between them comfortable and expectant. He found himself captivated by their presence, their aura radiating an inner peace that he craved.

Their conversations became a nightly ritual. They would share stories, both mundane and fantastical, their laughter echoing through the moonlit garden. Loki found himself drawn to their gentle spirit, their quiet strength. He learned to appreciate their insightful observations, their unique perspective on the world.

One evening, as they sat gazing at the stars, the male turned to Loki, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. "Loki, there's something I need to tell you."

Loki, sensing their apprehension, leaned closer, his attention undivided. "Anything, my friend."

"I... I am transgender," he confessed, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water.

Loki, taken aback, processed the information slowly. He had encountered many strange and wondrous beings in his travels, but this… this was new. "You… you mean you were born a woman?"

The figure chuckled softly. "Yes, but… I am a man."

He explained, carefully and patiently, the complexities of his identity, the dissonance between his inner self and the body he was born into. Loki listened intently, his mind grappling with this new concept.

"I see," he murmured, his voice thoughtful. "It changes nothing, does it? You are still you."

Relief washed over his face. "Thank you, Loki. I… I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

In the following weeks, their friendship deepened. Loki, ever the curious one, delved deeper into the nuances of gender identity, his initial confusion giving way to understanding and acceptance. He began to notice subtle changes in the others demeanor, a newfound confidence blooming within them.

One night, as they sat by the pond, Loki found himself inexplicably drawn to them. He gazed at the others face, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns, and an unexpected wave of emotion washed over him. "You are… you are truly beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky.

He looked up, startled, their eyes widening. "Loki?"

He leaned closer, his breath mingling with theirs. "Your eyes… they shimmer like the stars themselves."

A blush crept up his neck, his gaze fixed on the ground. Loki gently cupped his face, Loki's thumbs tracing the contours of his jawline. "I would… I would do anything for you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Anything at all."

Overwhelmed, he could only whisper, "Loki…"

He leaned in, his lips brushing against theirs in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of their touch, the warmth of their skin, the intoxicating scent of their breath.

The kiss, tentative at first, deepened, Loki's hands finding their way around his waist, pulling him closer. A low moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to the moment, his senses reeling. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching his face, a mixture of disbelief and wonder in their depths.

"I… I have dreamt of this," he confessed, his voice trembling. "Of your touch, of your lips… of you."

Loki smiled, a genuine, heart-warming smile that reached his eyes. "I… I have dreamt of you too," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in again, this time capturing Loki's lips in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken desires, of a love that had been blossoming in the shadows for far too long. Loki sighed into the kiss, his body trembling with a newfound intensity. He had found his equal, his soul mate, in this unexpected corner of the world.

He pulled back, his eyes shining with an ethereal light. "You are… you are perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "More perfect than any god, any myth, any dream I could ever have imagined."

He cupped Loki's face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of his cheek. "You are everything to me, Loki."

Loki leaned into his touch, his heart overflowing with a love he had never known existed. "And you… you are my everything," he whispered, his voice filled with a profound sense of peace and joy.

As they sat there, bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns, their hands intertwined, they knew this was only the beginning of their story, a love story that defied expectations, that transcended the boundaries of gender, and that promised a future filled with endless possibilities.

[phantasmagorical-ambedo]

[modern-fairy]

Mushrooms after a rainy night 🍄‍🟫

[quona]

Scaling New Heights 🏰Towerziraphale & 🐉Dragon/Snek Crowley! --- --- ---

This is my piece for @contritecactite's FANTASTICALLY WEIRD AND WONDERFUL fic, Scaling New Heights (Explicit; AO3) in the GO Fairytale Bang!

In the story, Aziraphale is a sentient magical tower, and Crowley is a middling nobleman who is cursed, on the run, and in desperate need of shelter.

I decided to illustrate the very first scene where Crowley, unwillingly in snake form (that's the curse!), finds a lonely tower in the middle of a field with a window slightly ajar, and decides to slither on up.

If he’d heard three days ago that there would be a coup, he wouldn’t even have thought himself important enough to chase, but here he is, running through the woods and trying desperately to keep ahead of his pursuers. Red hair had never seemed like much of a blessing until now, but the gloaming and the autumn foliage work well together to keep him obscured when he stops to breathe. He can still hear them, not far behind, and he knows he has to keep moving. He’s not running for very long, though, before the foliage runs out and he finds himself exposed in a massive meadow. The expanse is surely too long to cross. His fear, previously calmed to a dull roar, flares up at the realization that he’ll be caught, and then he is no longer running but slithering. There’s nowhere to go. There is low grass as far as he can see. He can’t hear the crowd behind him, but the ground shakes with their footsteps. They can surely see him, a massive dark shape caught in the rising moonlight. He changes direction, hoping they’ll all just keep going in a straight line, and then he sees it: a tall tower half-covered in vines. His body seems to carry him there instinctively, and once he’s circled the tower, the only way he sees to go is up. He finds the side that, as far as he can tell, is the farthest from where he started, and he begins his clumsy, wobbling climb up the rough brick. His haste makes it chafe against his sensitive belly, and he has to remind himself to keep going every time he realizes he’s left the ground entirely—how do snakes even work? He’d have paid more attention to them if he’d known he’d be in this position someday—but he makes it to an open window and slithers inside. He drapes himself across the cool floor, exhausted. Just as he begins to fall asleep, he feels his body change back to its usual form, and he hears someone tut at him. “Silly creature. I do have a front door, you know.” Scaling New Heights (Explicit; AO3)

[professional-yapper]

Aonung x Albino reader? 🙏🙏

Burn

Aonung x Albino! Reader

Warnings: sunburn ig?, awkward Aonung (he can't flirt to save his life this is true James Cameron told me himself), teasing as flirting, the tribe they're from is giving cult x

"This is stupid, Vipka," you huffed, ducking under a branch as you followed your twin brother's ghostly figure closer and closer to the edge of the dark forest that your tribe inhabited.

"Don't be a wuss!" he called back, flashing you a sharp grin. "We might find something cool!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, or we'll find something dangerous, get ourselves killed, and end up in the Nothing. Eywa's word is that we stay here, in the Dark, where it's safe."

Vipka rolled his eyes right back, bounding towards you, grabbing your arms and giving you a little shake. "That's what the elders say. If Eywa wanted us to stay here, she wouldn't have made me so curious about what's out there."

You gritted your teeth, but couldn't find a proper response to that beyond a muttered, "That's blasphemous." And you relented, following your stupid, reckless brother towards the edge of the forest.

Not that you were sure there even was an edge. After all, no one besides the elders actually knew. You and Vipka were only heading in the direction that the elders went in when they left the village for reasons you and Vipka weren't allowed to know.

It really could just be the forest, going on forever and ever, and you would keep going until you went crazy.

A silent prayer formed on your lips, to Eywa, who had cared for your people even after they had been foolish enough to burn their Spirit Tree down. All that was left of the centuries-old catastrophe was a charred old stump held in reverence.

Once, your uncle had whispered a story to you of tribes far away, where the sun shone brightly and their Spirit Trees grew strong, and they could even connect with their dead through the Trees themselves. It seemed fantastical to you, who had grown up knowing upon death your people would go into the Nothing and never be heard from again. Eywa's punishment for her disobedient children.

But after all... You wondered if it could be true. If you and Vipka walked far enough, would you find a tribe with no Nothing, with a Spirit Tree that grew and flourished and kept their ancestors safe?

You didn't know whether to hope so or not. Would you even be able to return home once the elders discovered yours and Vipka's disobedience? Perhaps Eywa would punish the tribe again. Maybe your family personally.

Once again you called for Vipka, but he ignored you and his pale, slender form disappeared into the trees, running now, fuelled by the adrenaline of doing something so forbidden.

Not that this was forbidden, just wandering through the Dark. But it wasn't really the Dark, anymore. The dark green of the foliage had bled away into a lighter hue, punctuated with bursts of colours. Flowers and plants and fruits that you shied away from, eyes wary as you picked your way through this new world.

You shielded your eyes against the strange light filtering through the trees, golden and hot against your skin, which was already taking on a queer pink tint that you recognised vaguely.

The elders were often this shade when they returned to the tribe. Vipka had overheard them calling it... the Burn?

You couldn't be sure, but you covered your flushed arms with your hands and kept going.

A squeal suddenly pierced the warm silence, and you froze, ears dipping and tail waving with brisk worry. "Vipka?" you called, taking a few stilted steps towards the source of the sound.

Another squeal, but definitely not Vipka. An animal of some kind. And voices. Loud, cheerful, calling to one another as they got closer, evidently following the squealing thing.

Hunters, maybe.

Not from your tribe, for sure.

You began backing up, preparing to turn and run like hell all the way back home. Vipka could keep going for all you cared, could be caught and eaten alive by the tribes beyond the Dark.

A large animal burst out of the undergrowth and you shrieked in fright, leaping back and colliding with something or someone, falling down in a jumble of arms and legs.

The animal veered away at your cry, thundering in a different direction.

"Damn!" the thing that had fallen down with you swore, shoving you off unceremoniously. "You scared it away, skxwang!"

"Fuck you!" you spluttered furiously, climbing to your feet and rubbing your lower back. You were angry. Fucking furious.

But then the strange Na'vi stood up, and you considered that it might not be a good idea to square up with him.

He was built like a tree. Broad and muscular and a weird shade of blue. Twice your size, at least. Could absolutely crush you into dust.

You didn't want to stick around and find out.

But before you could run, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back, staring at you hard with his weird pale eyes, dark curls plastered to his brow, entire body covered in sweat. "What are you?" he asked.

You shoved him in the chest, but he barely shifted, which was a solid blow to your ego. You were one of the stronger members of the tribe, and it scared you to think Na'vi of his size and strength were roaming wild out here.

Why would the elders ever come out here?

"You're one of those white Na'vi, right? From the deep forest on the other side of Awa'atlu?" he prompted, ears flattening as you kept quiet.

You stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"Your people- what do you mean, how do I know that? Your people come and talk with my dad all the time. You should probably cover up, by the way. You guys burn real easy," he added, tone almost friendly as he released your arm, seemingly realising it wasn't helping.

He knew? He knew of your people. He knew of the Dark. He knew the elders.

"But you're, like, my age," he continued, tilting his head. "I thought your people were all old and wrinkly. That's why you're white, yeah?"

You frowned. "Only the elders ever leave the Dark," you said slowly, wondering just how much you should tell this boy.

He chuckled, a surprisingly reassuring sound, even though he was holding a spear with the other hand. "What's the Dark? Is that what you call the place you're from?"

You nodded.

"So you guys don't see the sun much, huh?" he said carefully, glancing up at the blazing white spot in the sky above.

A swift shake of the head, and you didn't bother to follow his eyes. You could feel the sun well enough as is. Your skin felt flushed, hot, and it stung when you touched it.

Though the pink was a nice colour, you had to ask. "Is it poisonous?" you asked, trying to keep the distress out of your voice, running your fingers down your arm.

Another warm chuckle, and now he was looking at you with interest, which made your heart beat a little quicker. "No, you're just burning. Sunburn, you know? Cause you don't see the sun much-"

"Ever," you interjected briefly, stealing a glance above, at the great blue mass above you that went on forever, careful to keep your eyes away from the sun, though spots still danced in your eyes when you looked back at him.

He blew out a breath, curls jumping off his forehead briefly. "Okay. So you're from a freaky tribe where you've never seen the sun and live in the dark all the time, in the forest where the leaves are so thick the sun can't get through... What are you doing here? Did you run away?"

"Kind of?" you said, wondering what he was doing as he turned and scooped up a knife off the floor, then turned and started walking. Should you follow him?

"Are you coming?" he called back, gesturing for you to follow. When you caught up, he gestured for you to keep talking.

"I was following my brother Vipka. Leaving the Dark was his idea. He wanted to know where our elders go," you continued, tongue growing looser the more time you spent with this strange boy. Which might've been a bad thing. "Eywa cursed him with curiosity."

The boy nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And where's your brother now?"

"He ran ahead and I lost him," you shrugged. "But he'll turn up, either at your village or back home, if he gives up."

"I'm Aonung," the boy said briskly.

You told him your name, and he repeated it back to you carefully, grinning like it was an inside joke between you two.

"I'll take you home with me, then," Aonung shrugged. "My mother will know what to do. I- we can look after you till your elders return to my village." The tips of his ears flushed and you smiled, pleased with the sight, though you didn't know why.

"Sounds good," you hummed.

"Are all girls in your tribe as pretty as you?" he asked abruptly, looking straight forward as if scared to see your expression.

You blinked, then smiled again, wider, flushing, though you thought he probably wouldn't be able to tell since you were so 'sunburnt'. "Dunno," you chuckled. "I'll bring you home with me one day and you can see for yourself."

"I don't think they are," he said, glancing down at you and smiling, lips curling downwards.

"You haven't even seen them yet!"

"No, but I trust my gut," he said, slapping his abs with a proud look

"Oh, yeah? Was it your gut that made you run into me, too?"

"That- that was fate. Mother Eywa intended it."

"Or maybe Eywa cursed you with clumsiness. A deadly combination with how short-sighted you apparently are," you teased.

He gave you a little push, laughing. "Shut up! Why were you just standing there, is my question!"

You pushed him back, not bothering to put any effort into it, as the results remained the same and he didn't break his stride. "I've never been this far from home! I was taking in the scenery!"

"Taking in the scenery," he scoffed. "Take in this scenery." He got close to your face, which was probably meant to be intimidating but only made your ears drop bashfully, tail curling against your calf, suddenly shy as his nose almost bumped into yours.

He lingered for a moment, then seemed to realise his theatrics had gone wrong and backed up. "I mean- sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's okay, I like that scenery just fine too," you grinned, and he rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

"What?" you taunted, following him as he kept walking, more than happy to tease the hell out of him. "I thought you wanted me to take in the scenery!"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I'm patenting this tribe actually, this freaky albino tribe, because I want to write lore for it. Let me know if anyone wants to read said lore. Enjoy anon! I had fun with the world-building!

[silvokrent]

Where We Choose to Kneel

The mother of truth craves wounds. But not all wounds bleed. [Takes place in the aftermath of the Shattering, prior to Miquella's enchantment.]

Esgar was late.

Not that Varré was particularly inconvenienced by it. Once more, he adjusted his stance, reclining a little into the masonry. The ashlar was cool and damp—a consequence of the perpetual fog. Even now, it hung in the air like an opaque shroud, instantiated by the vague outlines of foliage.

It was simply the principle of the matter. While Varré had never begrudged the often-stationary nature of his work, he preferred it be productive. Or interesting, at the very least. Waiting held the distinction of being neither.

The undergrowth crackled. Varré jerked his head up, a hand hovering over the handle of his mace.

Only to relax, as a familiar, haunting pitch called from the dark. The ululation of some beast, echoing across the water. A stag, perhaps.

Disappointed, Varré settled back in.

The Rose Church hadn’t been his first choice for a rendezvous spot. It was strategically useful, to be sure. It saw little in the way of traffic, being both the least accessible and the least glamorous of the pilgrimage sites. After all, not many of Marika’s supplicants were keen on wading across a lake, just to pay homage to a rotting building.

Yes, it was very useful for keeping people out. Perhaps a little too useful.

No one had yet to ask for his opinion (nor was he inclined to offer it). But as Varré continued to watch the sickle moon climb higher, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had been a tad myopic in their decision-making. Then again, it was possible he was being unreasonably generous.

Esgar had many commendable traits. Punctuality wasn’t one of them.

The reeds along the shoreline hissed—disturbed, as he initially presumed, by the wind. Varré tilted back his head a fraction to study the crowns of the nearby trees.

They were still.

The brush snapped again, much closer this time. It was faint, and partially muffled by the fog, but he could discern the rhythm of encroaching footsteps.

Speaking of which.

With a grunt, Varré pushed off against the masonry. “Taking the scenic route, were you?”

Esgar did not answer. Varré prepared to call out again—only to immediately stay the impulse.

It was seldom that his comrade traveled anywhere without his bitch-hounds in tow. By now, they would have riled themselves up and started baying.

Their absence spoke to their master’s.

This time, his gloves wrapped around the ornate steel of his mace, and did not lessen their grip.

It was slightly more obvious now, the closer they neared. A discrepancy in the gait, marked by a hitch on the second step, as if their weight was unevenly distributed. The stride was wrong, too. It was longer. Heavier.

The earth shifted as Varré dug in his heels. Weighing his options.

Hiding seemed irrelevant, as he’d already done a fantastic job of broadcasting his presence. (The crumbling church didn’t offer many places he could conceal himself, regardless.) Retreat didn’t strike him as a viable alternative, either, since he had no way of knowing whether or not his pursuer could simply outrun him.

Of course, there was always a third option…

Varré exhaled slowly. He forced the tightness from his shoulders, letting the tension bleed out. In its place was a well-practiced nonchalance. He neatly folded his hands upon each other, his mace set aside.

“It isn’t often people venture this way,” he said, in a passably cordial tone. A silhouette was beginning to take shape in the fog. It wasn’t human. “Come to offer your respects to our long-departed queen? Or to rest from your travels, before you resume?”

“Neither,” he growled. The stranger was closing the distance between them. “War surgeon, I wish to speak with thee.”

Varré wasn’t given much time to ponder the request before he stepped fully into view, and all considerations fled.

He was an Omen.

A strange one, at that. The right half of his face was framed by a complex of gnarled horns, several looped around each other in an interlocking helix. A clubbed tail briefly swept into view; ashen-gray, like the rest of his complexion. It bristled like a morning star.

His attire was somewhat dissonant with his physique, however. The cloak he wore was threadbare and tattered at its edges, the fabric loosely draped across him. A thick cord of rope barely secured the interstice between the two folds. The look was completed by what could be charitably described as a walking stick—a staff fashioned from a repurposed branch, longer than Varré was tall. Dark, asymmetric whorls covered the bark, and the handle was burnished.

In spite of himself, Varré was intrigued. The Omen he typically encountered were polled, their horns shorn or removed in their entirety.

He had only ever met one Omen spared that fate.

The stranger continued to regard him. With, if Varré wasn’t mistaken, an air of impatience.

He could relate.

“Venerable Omen.” He bowed his head, and every self-preservation instinct balked at exposing his neck to a potential foe. “Well met. I did not expect to encounter one of your kind so far west. Liurnia isn’t usually graced by your presence.”

At the mention of grace, his scowl deepened.

Very quickly, Varré steered the conversation forward: “I confess to some surprise. Not many are familiar with the war surgeons.”

At least, not any longer. While his faction, strictly speaking, wasn’t dissolved, there was little need of their duties. The Shattering had precipitated violence on a scale not easily replicated since. But in its aftermath, long centuries of stalemate had seen dwindling conflict—and with it, a vacuum which the war surgeons no longer filled. Apart from the occasional skirmish on the Leyndell-Gelmir border, the world labored on. Stagnating.

The stranger shifted. “I’m well acquainted with the raiment of thy…euthanasic order.”

The admission surprised him, and Varré studied him with renewed interest. Age was always difficult to guess in their kind, not helped, in the least, by their considerable lifespan. It had been said in times long passed that the Omen were conscripted as soldiers, but he had never sought to confirm the rumor. Now, though, he wondered. A veteran, perhaps?

Abruptly, the meaning of his words clicked.

“If it’s my services you’re after,” said Varré coolly, “I’m afraid I must decline. My mercy is reserved for the dying, which you, as it stands, are not. Being Omen is not a terminal affliction.”

The single eye narrowed.

“I did not come here seeking death.” His tail lashed, once, flattening the marsh grass behind him. “The ideologies thou cleavest to are of little concern to me.”

Varré faltered. “Then why seek me at all?”

The stranger inclined his head, his features grim. “I know to whom thy loyalties are pledged. I request an audience with thy lord.”

The utterance chilled him, and Varré stilled.

Knowledge of their dynasty was privy to seldom few. Of his lord, fewer still. It was a necessary precaution, as they had no shortage of enemies that would see their efforts undone—fundamentalists, recusants, Omenkillers. Even the Tarnished that he was sent to recruit had to be carefully vetted. Information was kept in the strictest of confidence.

Varré was briefly tempted to ask how he came by it. A single glance at his austere expression, however, dissuaded him. He would be denied, it told him that much.

It also told him that the stranger would not be easily refused. Nevertheless, Varré did.

He smoothed a hand down the front of his gown—rather deliberately lingering over a bloodstain, long seeped into the material. “My apologies,” he began. “But that simply isn’t possible. All audiences with my lord are through prior invitation. He prefers to be acquainted with his guests before they entreat him.”

An unreadable look passed over his face. “We were acquainted, once.”

Uncertain how to parse that comment, Varré ignored it. “Be that as it may, he has pressing matters to attend. I, Varré, however”—he offered another bow, though his gaze remained fixed upon the Omen—“am at your disposal. Whatever you require, my aid shall suffice.”

The stranger took a step closer. Light from the moon struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows. “I did not travel such distance only to parley with his sycophant. I am of even less proclivity to tolerate hindrance.” 

Varré righted his posture, threading his fingers together. “I’ve reconsidered,” he said slowly. “Perhaps my mercy can be rendered to you after all.”

“Thou art mistaken, to believe me cowed by tacit threats.” He peered down, his lips pulled into a taut line. “I’ve no ill intentions toward thy lord. But ’tis imperative he and I speak.”

Varré likewise considered himself immune to intimidation. All the same, he hesitated. Bluff or not, he wasn’t confident he could actually best an Omen, and he wasn’t eager to find out.

His hand itched for the comfort of heavy steel. Reluctantly, he tamped down the feeling. 

“You misheard me,” he assured, his voice smoothing back into a more pleasant lilt. “However, my answer remains unchanged. You’re welcome to request as many times as you like. But my lord sees none without invitation.”

The stranger grunted. “Then extend me one.”

His audacity was admirable. Foolhardy, but still. “That’s beyond my purview. I’m only a humble messenger.”

Without warning, he took another step closer. Reflexively, Varré mirrored the step back. He held up his hands.

“Hurting me would make a terrible first impression, wouldn’t you agree?”

He stopped.

“Would you be amenable to a compromise?” Varré offered. “Give me your message, and allow me to relay it to him.”

“And have thee slip away under false pretenses?” He snorted. “I think not. Thou wert already tedious to locate once.”

And how the stranger had accomplished that, Varré couldn’t begin to fathom. Esgar’s continued absence, however, pressed upon him with renewed urgency. For the moment, he pushed the concern aside.

“Even if I were to entertain the idea,” he said, not without a hint of disdain, “I fail to see why my lord would receive you. He doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve done nothing to prove otherwise. You haven’t even given me a name. What makes you think he’ll agree?”

In the gathering darkness, his eye gleamed.

-

“—still three days’ time from Mistwood. They were pinned down on the southern banks of the lake.”

“What accosted them? More soldiers?”

Ansbach glanced down at the report in his hand. “According to Nerijus, it was a dragon.”

The nobles stirred uneasily.

“Wretched beast,” one of them muttered. “I thought their kind had all fled to Caelid.”

“This one didn’t get the missive, it seems.”

“We needed those provisions. Recovering them has to be of the utmost priority.”

“What good will supplies do us if they’ve been incinerated?”

Pointedly, Ansbach cleared his throat, and the bickering ceased. He turned to the figure listening close by, seated upon the chamber stairs like a statue hewn from obsidian. “Orders, my lord?”

Mohg tapped a claw upon the ancient stonework. Each hollow click bounced off of its surface. He did not answer right away, but instead tipped back his face to study the false night sky. The proxy stars glittered like crystalline dust, suspended among the stalactites. He beheld the simulacrum a heartbeat longer before lowering his gaze. “Casualties?”

Ansbach consulted the parchment. “No deaths, but nearly half of his company sustained serious wounds. They’ve been forced to make encampment near the cliff face. With so many injured, they dare not risk leaving, lest the dragon continue to harry them.”

Mohg lapsed into temporary silence. Then: “Eleonora has an…understanding of dragons, as I recall.”

Ansbach nodded.

“Send for her at once. Have her depart for Limgrave with a contingent of Pureblood Knights.”

“My lord,” a noble ventured, “will that be enough to slay it? I don’t doubt their skill,” he hastened to add, as their commander wordlessly turned to stare at him. “But I shudder to think of more lives needlessly wasted.”

“If the dragon can be repelled, then killing it won’t be necessary.” The claw stopped, only to then scrape over the surface. It cut a deep line in the stone. “It is not needless. Pray that the day does not come when I deem your life so easily discarded.”

Chastened, the noble bowed his head. “Y-Yes, my lord.”

“We’re done here.” Unceremoniously, he stood, dismissing the group with a flick of his wrist. “Return to your posts. I want an update as soon as Eleonora’s contingent makes contact with Nerijus’.”

None of them protested—not that they ever did; they knew better—and filed out of the mausoleum. Ansbach tidily rolled the parchment and tucked it under his arm with the other scrolls, before turning on his heel.

“Ansbach,” Mohg called after him, “stay a moment.”

His advisor halted, before turning to face him. “How may I be of service?”

The chains on his clasps rattled faintly as Mohg approached. “The new initiates,” he said, as he drew to a stop across from him. “Tell me of their progress.”

Ansbach immediately straightened. “Training goes well,” he said. “They’ve no shortage of pride nor discipline. The fire in their blood will anneal them, I’m certain.”

“Good,” Mohg rumbled. “Very good.”

Ansbach dipped his head. Long white hair spilled from the loose braid over his back. “If it interests you,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “and barring other matters, would you care to watch? I’ll be instructing them on how to wield the helice soon—”

“Another time, perhaps,” said Mohg.

The scrolls rustled as he adjusted them. “…Of course.”

Mohg caught the lapse, and he suppressed a sigh. Of all the accusations he had borne, sentimentality was the very least of them. Regardless… “My presence isn’t needed to ascertain their skill. So long as you impart yours, I will find no fault.”

Ansbach, clearly caught off-guard by the compliment, looked up. “I am obliged, my lord.”

“Think not of it.” He waved it aside. “Is there anything else I should be made aware?”

To Mohg’s surprise, Ansbach hesitated. “Would you object if, going forward, we held our drills on the turf below the palace?”

The brow over his remaining eye rose. “Is something wrong with the courtyard I allocated you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Ansbach replied. Unlike his lord, he made no effort to suppress the sigh. “Two of the initiates were—enthusiastic during their spar yesterday, and a section of the floor collapsed.”

Mohg—having grown accustomed to the infrastructure giving out at inconvenient times—merely closed his eye. Slowly, the lid fluttered open, in a look caught somewhere between resignation and exhaustion. “I don’t object. See to it in the meanwhile that the area is kept clear, until I can remove the debris.”

“As you command.” He paused. “Their reflexes will be most impressive, when all is said and done.”

He snorted. “Very droll.”

Ansbach simply folded his arms behind his back. “How go the repairs?”

Mohg grimaced. “Predictably.”

The admission drew his gaze up to the entablature, and the fluted pillars that held it aloft. Grandiose as they were, they still hadn’t escaped the ravages of time. Much of the foundation was marred by gouges and cracks—or, as was the case for one of the arches, missing a column. It was a hazard, and it needed replacing.

Another concession. Like everything as of late.

Repairs, as Mohg had initially believed, didn’t actually meaning fixing things. It meant a constant trade-off between preservation and renovation, and deciding which one took precedence. The original techniques that had built the Eternal Cities were gone, right alongside their creators. They could not be replicated, and thus had to be replaced.

Gutting the dilapidated stone meant substituting it with something inferior. Something lesser. Mohg’s lip curled.

One proposal had involved sending an expedition team upriver—explore the neighboring city, and study its ruins for insight.

It only took one expedition for the idea to be rejected.  

The senseless waste of it all settled over his bones. The decay, the obliteration. An entire people, condemned to the dark for the crime of existing.

The memory of steel around his ankle sent a shudder of revulsion through him. Ruthlessly, Mohg shoved it aside.

If Ansbach noticed, he didn’t comment.

“I’ll find somewhere to store the debris in the meanwhile,” he decided. “The caverns below the palace should have enough room to—”

“My lord?”

They turned in unison.

Varré hovered on the mausoleum threshold, his hands wrung together.

“Forgive my intrusion,” he said, as he slipped into the open chamber. Mohg didn’t need to look past the white porcelain, to picture the face beneath it. “But your presence is required. Rather urgently, I might add.”

“I was under the impression you were meeting Esgar,” said Mohg, as Varré stopped before him. The agitation radiating from him was palpable. “Why have you abandoned your post? Where is he?”

“Tardy, as usual,” Varré muttered under his breath. “But that isn’t the problem. You have a…visitor.”

“You brought an outsider here?” Ansbach drew himself to his full height, his unseen gaze reproachful. “Such folly is beneath you.”

Varré whipped his head around. Mohg rested a hand on Ansbach’s shoulder in silent warning, and his advisor relented. He turned back to Varré.

“What kind of visitor?” he asked.

The weight of the question bowed Varré’s head. The answer was slow to come, and when it did, his words were windblown embers, heedless of the things they ignited as they were carelessly dispersed. “The king of Leyndell.”

Mohg stiffened. The reaction was immediate—visceral—and no amount of self-control could suppress the tension that coiled at the base of his spine. Fear was an unwelcome feeling, and it coated the back of his throat like bile. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. Blood continued to roar in his ears.

He was distantly aware of Varré still talking: “…have information worth extracting from him. At the very least, I didn’t want to act with haste.”

“Haste,” Ansbach repeated, in a tone that required some effort. “Has the meaning of that word changed since I last heard it?”

Varré sniffed. “Should we waste every opportunity that comes willingly to our doorstep?”

“Clearly, since it now appears that assassins knock.”

“I—” The syllable jarred them out of their argument, and they turned to face him. When Mohg went to speak again, the sounds dammed at the back of his throat, and he let out a frustrated noise. “I will abide no scion of the tree. See him removed from the palace.”

Varré folded his arms. “I don’t think he’ll go willingly. Force may be required.”

“And was it force that coerced you to bring him here?” Ansbach asked.

Varré answered—and pointedly refused to look at Ansbach as he did. “I think it might be worth speaking to him. At the very least, I don’t believe it’s a trap. He asked to be brought here, and he came alone. And unless we choose to escort him out, he has no way of leaving.” He rested a fingertip against the chin of his mask. “The king of Leyndell could make a valuable hostage.”

“A hostage requires negotiations,” Ansbach said, and Mohg could hear the restraint on the implied insult. “It rather undermines the point of secrecy.”

With a forced exhale, Mohg composed himself. “Where is he now, Varré?”

“The lower atrium,” he said. “Shall we—?”

“I’ll receive him.” Mohg’s gaze slid toward the pair. “I want you both present. As soon as we’re finished, get him out of my sight.”

They bowed their heads, and silently fell in step beside Mohg as he exited the chamber. Neither dared intrude upon his thoughts as they boarded the dais. It lurched, groaning under the weight of eons, before the stone lift began to descend.

In truth, Mohg doubted the conversation would yield much, beyond the memories of old injustices. It was only curiosity that spurred him.

The Veiled Monarch. Yet another one of Godwyn’s diluted pedigree, if the rumors were correct. The furtive nature of his reign wasn’t improved by Godrick’s foul exploits, and the inextricable comparisons they invited. It was often assumed that his privacy obscured similar perversions. (Outside of the plateau, at any rate. Mohg doubted Leyndell’s subjects were witless enough to gossip in earshot of his soldiers.)

Strangely, the thought comforted him. That after all this time, even Marika’s blessed golden lineage couldn’t escape whatever curse ran in her veins. The wellspring of golden ichor, poisoned to its depths.

The lift shuddered to a standstill. Mohg disembarked, and rounded the bend in the monolith, following the uneven flagstones that curved its base. A pair of Tarnished bowed as he approached. One looked as if about to call out a greeting, only to catch sight of his expression, and quickly avert their eyes as he passed.

The lower atrium, like every other building, hadn’t been spared from deterioration, though it was arguably the least affected. The gatehouse at its entrance was one of the few structures to still have an intact roof. Immense statues, tablets clutched in their grasps, flanked it on either side. Their ubiquity didn’t help shed the feeling of being assessed by cold, dead eyes as the group passed beneath them.

Mohg briefly entertained the thought of summoning his trident. Not that he was anticipating a fight, he mused, as he crossed the gatehouse threshold. But he wasn’t about to allow some wretched man—another stunted bough of the tree—to be in his presence, and think that an Omen was only fit to stand beneath him—

He stepped into the atrium.

And his lungs hitched on a breath that was no longer there.

Morgott lifted his head in silent regard.

“Brother,” he said.

Out of his periphery, Varré and Ansbach turned sharply.

Shock rendered him speechless. For lack of anything constructive to do, Mohg found himself reluctantly drinking in his appearance. The calm, unwavering demeanor was unchanged, although the now-mirrored symmetry of their blindness took him aback. Disturbingly, the horns above his left eye were gone.

He took a step closer—and proximity caused his Great Rune to resonate in the presence of the other Shardbearer. He could feel it calling to the anchor. Like a second heartbeat, drumming a savage rhythm against his ribs.

By the set of his jaw, Morgott felt it the same.

“What deference is owed to the Lord of Leyndell?” Mohg finally asked, when he had recovered enough to do so.

Morgott’s tail swept behind him. “No more than is owed to the Lord of Blood.”

More than sound or sight, a sense of displaced air told him that Varré had crept closer. “My lord?”

He didn’t answer.

Varré hesitated. And then, in a quieter voice: “Mi domine? Quid haberes nos facere?”

“Eum abducemus?” Ansbach offered, his stare not wavering from their guest.

Morgott inclined his head—with wary interest, not comprehension. He didn’t inquire, although his hands gripped the wooden staff more firmly.

The urge to agree was tempting, and Mohg nearly did, the words already half-formed. His claws flexed.

He hadn’t forgotten their last conversation.

But damning pragmatism wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t just—dismiss him, as if countless years didn’t span the gap preceding where he now stood. Mohg remembered well his brother’s many traits—and that rash compulsions weren’t among them. Nor was he inclined to do things in half-measures. He wouldn’t have gone through the effort of finding him were it not important.

Varré hadn’t misspoken—the king of Leyndell would have valuable information.

And Mohg didn’t have the luxury of ignorance.

Pragmatism won, and he pushed the spiteful urge aside. “Omnia bene est,” he answered. “Id sinam. Linquite.”

He didn’t want an audience for the conversation about to follow.

Doubt was etched into every line of his posture, although Ansbach did not contest the dismissal. He bowed low. “Sicut mandas. Ero foras, si me requiras.”

The dark robes fluttered behind him as he left. Varré lingered, just long enough to add, “Etiam ego,” before he followed after Ansbach.

Morgott watched them go. It was subtle, but Mohg didn’t miss the way his shoulders dropped, before his attention shifted back to him. While his expression remained guarded, it wasn’t hostile.

“Thou seem’st hale,” he said, after a moment.

“You don’t,” Mohg replied. “Why are you garbed as a vagabond?”

His nostrils flared, and a moment later he forcibly closed his eye. When it reopened, his brow was furrowed with obvious restraint. It was such a familiar gesture that Mohg fought against the reflex to apologize for whatever childhood misdeed had prompted it.

“Discretion while traveling aside? Humility.” Morgott leaned a little into his staff. Though upon closer inspection, he didn’t appear to be relying on it for support. “Vainglory is not a prerequisite in my service to the tree.”

“Perhaps it ought, if you wish to avoid comparisons to a beggar.”

Morgott’s eye trawled over him.

“I can imagine worse alternatives,” he said.

Mohg could feel what little patience he had beginning to fray. “I’m not required to oblige guests, be they lord or kin,” he said, his teeth snapping around the words. The heavy stoles rippled as he stepped off to the side. “If you’ve come here simply to disparage me, then you’re welcome to leave.”

He waited.

To his disappointment—and relief—Morgott remained. His staff clacked upon the tiles as he approached, reducing some of the distance between them. He was careful, Mohg realized, to not venture too near. To stay outside of striking range.

“Forgive me,” he sighed. “A fortnight’s travel, accosted by the elements, hath done little to better my disposition.”

Nothing ever did, although Mohg bit back the words before he could utter them. The admission, however, seemed bereft of insincerity.

“Quite the distance to travel,” he agreed, inspecting the tips of his claws. “I can only imagine your discomfort after being borne here by palanquin.”

His stormy expression darkened.

Mohg arched a brow. “No?” he asked. “By horse, then?”

“What steed dost thou think can carry me?”

He already knew, but he pressed anyway: “Surely the king of Leyndell did not deign to walk all the way to Liurnia?”

Morgott’s silence answered for him.

“Disgraceful,” Mohg drawled, not bothering to hide the emphasis on the word. “That you would tolerate such insolence from your subjects. Not even an entourage to escort you through the wilds?”

“I don’t require such profligacy.”

“Afraid your men will see something they won’t like?” he asked.

Morgott’s eye darted off to the side. His tail swept closer, coiling loosely around his heels.

“Subterfuge has ever been your repertoire,” Mohg said, unable to keep the note of contempt out of his voice. His brother’s gaze snapped back to him as Mohg began to move, in a slow, gliding circle. He didn’t turn his head to follow him, although his eye tracked his movements. “That would explain why your kingdom believes that a man sits the throne.”

His shoulders hunched. “The throne is not mine to take.”

“Is that right?” His steps slowed. “Does it belong to a Tarnished, then? One of the innumerable you’ve culled in recent years?”

Morgott glared. “Thou hast outgrown the need for simple questions.”

He snorted, and resumed his pace. “I thought as much.”

For a long moment, Morgott didn’t speak. Before Mohg could prompt him, he let out a ragged noise.

“There was a time, once,” he murmured, “when I walked amongst them.”

The words rooted Mohg to the spot. He turned his head to face him, not daring to believe what he’d heard.

“As you are?” he asked, the question scarcely above a whisper.

To his disappointment, Morgott shook his head. “No. ’Twas after the Shattering, when the capital was engulfed by chaos. Almost all of the other demigods had abandoned the city by then.” The vestige of a darker emotion passed over his countenance, before fading into something more impartial. “Leyndell was on the precipice of consuming itself. Little wonder I was undetected when I entered the palace. Had I been, I wouldn’t have chanced upon it at all.”

“Upon what?” Mohg snapped.

“A guise.”

Try as he might, Mohg couldn’t feign a lack of interest. He jerked his head in a vague gesture to continue.

“I knew not what manner of enchantment lieth upon it,” he admitted. “I thought it only a mere veil, at first. Until the gossamer passed over mine eyes, and in my reflection, it rendered a stranger.” His gaze was distant. “I cannot begin to fathom why she kept such a thing.”

She? The meaning dawned on him. The words were painting a picture in his head, and certainly not the picture his brother had intended. “You mean to tell me that you ransacked her chambers?”

Morgott flinched.

The customary scowl returned a second later—but not before Mohg caught the flicker of guilt. “No. I did not fossick through her belongings,” he said harshly. “I was searching for documents. Records. Something to avail me guidance in restoring order of the city. The veil was…serendipitous. It enabled me the means to govern more directly. Losing it…”

His speech dimmed. “Losing it hath exacted certain costs.”

Mohg considered what he said, before, gradually, his attention shifted upward. Toward the bony nodes above his eye, their cross sections laid bare.

From excision.

His fingers curled into his palm. Cautiously, Mohg reached forward, and extended a hand toward his face. Morgott stiffened, but didn’t recoil as he lifted a claw tip, and traced it over the shorn edge.

“Was this the price you paid?” he asked.

Morgott let out an unsteady exhale. It ghosted over his wrist. “No. That was my doing.”

Mohg stilled. “You mutilated yourself,” he said. It wasn’t intended as an accusation, but it came out as such. “Why?”

“Because it would have blinded me.” The strain in his voice became more pronounced. “I watched their trajectory, as the horns spiraled inward. I knew what would happen, should I choose not to intervene.” His eye closed. “I remembered what it did to thee.”

Mohg said nothing.

“I knew the risks,” Morgott continued, “and deemed them worthwhile, if it meant preempting what would follow. ’Twas better than repeating the same mistake.”

He ripped his hand away.

“Mistake?” he spat.

Rage that had once laid dormant now roared in his chest.

“Yes.” Morgott wasn’t disconcerted by the sudden outburst, having weathered them before in their youth. Though the creases around his face deepened. “Should I have gouged the eye out instead? Let it fester into a sepsis which I had not the means to treat?”

Mohg bristled. “You think I should have done as you did?”

“I think thou didst as thou always hast.” Morgott leveled his stare to meet him. “Whatever pleaseth thee.”

The only thing that would have pleased him then was slamming his fist into his brother’s teeth.

“What good would it have done me?” Mohg asked. “What need did we have for sight in that lightless pit? Let it claim my eye, if it meant keeping my dignity. My pride. I would have that, if nothing else.”

“Thou mistakest conceit for pride,” Morgott said. “And ’tis misplaced. Should we lament every tumor that must be resected? Mourn every canker?”

Fingertips dug into his palm, until Mohg felt them break skin.

“It may be your voice,” he said, “but those are her words pouring out of your mouth.”

A hairline crack formed in the bark under Morgott’s hand.

“Say it.” His steps were soundless as he advanced. “Whose fault is it we languished in that cesspool? Whose fault that we endured years of privation? Whose fault that you saw no alternative than to maim yourself?”

His brother’s face hardened. Like the stone beneath him—rigid, senesced. Trodden upon.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Say the name of the woman who left us down there to die!”

“We did not.”

The answer, barely more than a dull rasp, caused Mohg to lose some of his momentum.

“We didn’t perish,” Morgott reiterated, more firmly. But there was a quality to his voice that felt lacking. Misplaced. “But had our existence not been hidden, we would have.”

“You can’t possibly be so naïve to think we were put there for our safety. Those tunnels weren’t made to keep our executioners out. They were made to keep us in.”

“They kept us alive. Beyond the reach of anyone that could harm us. Thou art here to complain because of it.”

“At least I don’t cower behind a lie.”

Morgott’s eye widened, and his tail lashed.

Mohg could feel his anger escaping him in hot, heavy pants, in time with the rise and fall of his chest. He made no effort to stop them. “It rejects us.” The words slid through his teeth, steeped in cold acrimony. “The city, the order, her. All of it. Where is the value in fealty after all rewards are forfeit?”

“Thou art mistaken,” Morgott growled, “to think I labor under such delusions.”

The tattered fringe of his cloak trailed at his heels, as he turned away, and paced across the courtyard. He came to a stop on the edge of the peristyle, his unoccupied hand braced against a column.

“I don’t deny that we are forsaken. How could we not be? Grace was withheld from us the moment we were conceived. We were born accursed. Who amongst my subjects would suffer an Omen as their king?”

He glanced over his shoulder. In the shadows of his face, the golden eye burned.

“But by birthright, Leyndell is mine. And I will pile high a mountain of corpses ere I let a usurper take it from me.”

Morgott turned to face him. “Surely thou, even in thy abattoir, canst understand that.”

“Far better a slaughterhouse,” Mohg rumbled darkly, “than a gilded cage.”

Apart from the abrasive rasp of his tail sweeping over the stone, the atrium was silent.

Until Morgott broke it: “’Twas also thine, once.”

Mohg watched through a narrowed eye as Morgott rejoined him. Still careful, of course, to maintain a certain amount of space. An unspoken boundary.

“The city,” he clarified, when Mohg didn’t react. “Thou hast claim to it as well.”

Mohg sneered. “Is that why you bothered to come looking for me? To ensure I wasn’t intent on stealing your birthright?”

The accusation didn’t rile him further, as Mohg had wanted. Indeed, it looked as if Morgott was visibly reining in his temper.

“Hardly. My reasons for seeking thee out aren’t so ulterior in motive.” The unwavering stare was belied by a hint of uncertainty, flickering at its edges. “But since the subject hath been broached, I see no reason not to pursue it.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Thou couldst return with me,” he said.

The simmering rage evaporated, replaced by a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow him. Mohg took a step back, as if doing so could dispel the feeling of being trapped behind teeth. “Why?”

“Traditionally, inheritance is primogeniture. In our case, however, ’tis shared equally.” Morgott cleared his throat. “I don’t expect thee to assume the responsibilities of lordship. Or—”

“No,” Mohg cut him off. “Why are you offering? Out of some misguided sense of propriety?” He folded his arms. “Or is this your pathetic attempt at reconciliation?”

Morgott winced. “…Perhaps some of both.”

“You haven’t done much to convince me.”

“And thou wert the embodiment of hospitality.”

The desire to argue was loosening its grip, and Mohg clung to it with renewed desperation. Hostility was familiar; at least he knew what to do with that. The grim sincerity on his brother’s face, so at odds with his habitual derision—that he didn’t know what to do with.

But he wanted it gone.

“Leave,” Mohg said suddenly.

Morgott blinked. “What dost thou—”

“You’ve made it clear that being here offends you. So let me alleviate your conscience.” The fabric hissed as his robes dragged behind him. He took a step closer, ambivalence shed from him like the Erdtree’s dying leaves. “Get out of my sight, and don’t come back.”

Whatever Morgott’s first reaction to the dismissal had been, it was quickly displaced. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he lifted his chin. “No.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“And yet mine answer is unchanged.”

Mohg let out a low growl. “Must I remove you?”

“I invite thee to try.”

Neither of them stirred.

“I did not spend all these years searching for thee,” said Morgott, in a low tone, “to be so easily dismissed.” Of all the things Mohg had expected, it wasn’t for him to crouch, and lay his staff upon the floor. When he rose, his hands were splayed. “Thou’st made it clear that I’m to blame for every hardship thou suffered. So let me rectify it.”

He kicked the staff away, and stepped forward. His hands dropped. “Hit me, and be done with it.”

For a single, fleeting moment, Mohg very nearly did. He could all but feel the motes of fire dancing along his claws, his hands awash in their heat. Ribbons of red light trailing at his fingertips. The invocation upon his tongue.

But the longer he stared at his brother—tired, careworn, resigned—the more distant that feeling became. More pointless. Attacking him would do nothing to the person that he actually wanted to hurt. And for all that Morgott espoused her ideologies, Mohg wasn’t blind.

There was an impression around his ankle, too.  

Mohg swallowed back the urge, and the incantation with it.

“Why did you refuse to come with me, when I left?” he asked.

Morgott hadn’t anticipated that question, because his face went blank.

“There weren’t any sentries that night. You saw how easy it was.” Mohg could still hear the metallic snap of his shackle, incandescent from the bloody flame. Feel the surge of renewed vigor as the confinement lifted. For the first time in his miserable existence, he’d felt alive. “We could have left together.”

More than anything, he still remembered Morgott wrenching away from him, half-shouting, half-pleading, to get away. Self-recrimination was the hammer, and duty the molten steel, that had been beaten into the shape of his chains. No gaoler, however, had fastened them around his neck. Morgott had done that himself, willingly, long ago in those merciless pits. An act of penance. As if his entire reign hadn’t already been one long expression of it.

Sometimes, Mohg wondered if the endless futility didn’t assuage his guilt. Or if denial was an easier lie to swallow.

He almost didn’t expect him to answer, for how long the silence dragged on. In a way, it didn’t matter. His brother had never needed a veil to obscure himself, with how easily he had learned to guard his thoughts. The trick, Mohg had learned, was to listen for the things that went unspoken. The things that Morgott could no longer bring himself to name.

He waited.

Until Morgott swallowed, thickly. Almost too softly to be heard, he said, “Leyndell is my home.”

Mohg sighed, the last dregs of his anger spent. He went to retrieve the staff. “Then we have an understanding.”

His fingers wrapped around it. There was a strange energy running below the surface, Mohg realized, although he couldn’t identify what it was. It pulsed beneath the wood.

He returned, and held out the staff in wordless offering. Their eyes met.

“You can’t ask me to come with you,” Mohg said, “any more than I can ask you to stay.”

Mohg couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen grief upon his face. It was faint, but unmistakable.

And it was gone before he had the chance to assess it; an impression in the sand, swept away by unremitting tides. Morgott reached out, and accepted the staff. “No,” he murmured. “I suppose not.”

He leaned into it, his free hand tucked in the folds of his cloak.

Which left them…there. Painfully aware of each other.

Vulnerability was just as foreign as it was intrusive, and Mohg suddenly found himself unable to meet his gaze. He tipped back his head to avoid it. As ever, the glow from the false night sky was calming, and Mohg could feel some of the tension leave him.

“What was it that brought you here?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you were content to leave the Erdtree unguarded.”

Likewise, Morgott had turned his attention upward, and he appeared to be studying the stars. He let out a quiet, mirthless sound that might have been laughter, once, if not made rusty from disuse. “What maketh thee believe it is?”

Leyndell didn’t have its reputation as an impenetrable fortress for nothing. Still, Mohg wondered.

“As to thy question…” Morgott flicked his tail. An idle gesture, if Mohg ever believed him capable of such a thing. “How dispersed are thy scouts?”

Tonight was determined to keep wrong-footing him. “What?”

“Do thy activities extend across the continent? Or are they more localized?” he continued. The insouciance was at odds with the nature of his inquiry. “The war surgeon already confirmeth thy presence in Liurnia.”

It was too specific to be anything innocuous, but Mohg couldn’t discern his motives. He folded his arms behind his back. Thinking.

“It’s selective,” Mohg said. His reply was delayed, as he measured the repercussions of sharing that information. Deciding there were none, he continued: “Limgrave receives most of our attention. Liurnia and Caelid, to lesser extents.” He was careful to omit Altus. “There are a handful of places we avoid—the Barrows, Aeonia, Stormveil. I’m sure you can gather why.”

Morgott nodded, almost to himself. “Dost thou ever survey the coasts?”

His line of questioning was becoming more pointed—toward what, Mohg wasn’t certain, although an idea was starting to take form. “Routinely. It’s how we intercept Tarnished, before they traipse their way to the Hold.”

“They’re recruited by thee?”

“Would you prefer I send them your way?”

Morgott scowled.

“I thought so.”

Morgott redirected his stare to a different patch of cavernous sky—the facsimile of a nebula, coalesced in clouds of red dust. Like the alpenglow of a distant summit, suspended below the earth rather than above it.

“You despise the Tarnished.” It wasn’t a question. “What interest could you possibly have in them?”

“Not them,” Morgott corrected him. “Merely one.”

He lowered his head, and turned to look at Mohg.

“Their exodus is compelled by lost grace. All of the Tarnished were adjured to return—including the first. I had hoped,” said Morgott, haltingly, “that in all thy doings, thou mightst have whereabouts of our father.”

He wasn’t sure why Morgott was so determined to make him exhume every complicated emotion he had ever buried. But he was beginning to tire of it.

Mohg pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

That was clearly the answer he had expected. Nevertheless, Morgott sighed.

“I had thought…” He frowned. “Surely, if any of them were to arise…”

The throne is not mine to take.

The snippet of conversation from earlier resurfaced.

“You wish to see him restored to the throne,” said Mohg. “Don’t you?”

Morgott looked as if he were debating whether or not to respond. When he finally did, it wasn’t what Mohg had expected. “I wish to see him.”

His lip curled, almost reflexively, and Mohg jerked his head back up toward the ceiling. He could see Morgott out of the corner of his eye, furrowing his brow.

It was almost deafeningly loud amidst the quiet: “Dost thou repudiate him, too?”

There had been a time when Mohg already knew his answer.

Perhaps, once, he had paced the length of the Shunning Grounds like a caged animal. Lashing out at anything that dared approach. Consumed by inexhaustible rage as he clung to their father’s parting words, his promise to one day return from exile, and come back for them. Only to never see him again.

Perhaps, once, he had knelt in a ring of flickering candles. His brow anointed with blood, the ground before him smeared in dark crimson, as he had beseeched his new mother. Cried out until his voice was hoarse. Had asked his patron what more could be done—what more he could give—to erase the pain. Only to be chided. Scars, she told him, could not be erased.

Perhaps, once, he had scanned the horizon. Had convinced himself that he wasn’t looking for the silhouette of a lion, astride the shoulders of a man.

Perhaps, once, if had he been asked the same of his brother, his answer would have been no different.

Mohg closed his eye. “No,” he sighed, and the effort left him feeling drained, “I do not.” He opened it again, taking in the stars and their bright, otherworldly glow. “Should one of my scouts find evidence of his arrival, I’ll investigate. I will ensure no harm comes to him, insofar as I am able.”

The relief in Morgott’s face was replaced by confusion. “‘As thou art able’?”

“It isn’t just scarlet rot that inhibits our movements. Inducting the Tarnished does nothing to ward off those that would hunt them.” The frown he wore was identical to his brother’s—vexed by things beyond his control. “I’ve lost scouts to Godrick’s hunting parties. To riders, as well.”

Morgott’s reply was uneasy. “…What manner of riders?”

“Knights, of some kind.” He recalled the description from Ansbach’s latest report. “Wearing black armor, and carried by horses that don shrouds. They patrol most of the major roads.”

“They are called the Night’s Cavalry,” said Morgott, suddenly. “And they serve me.”

Mohg tore his gaze from the sky. “They serve you?”

Shame was as much a permanent fixture as his white hair. Yet Mohg couldn’t ever recall seeing it directed at him. “They are spirits, rejected by the tree, bound into my service through oath. I granted them new purpose when they died.” Unmistakably, he winced. “As a contingency measure…against the Tarnished.”

At a loss for words, Mohg could only give a noncommittal, “Ah.”

They stared at each other.

“I did not think they—that thy ranks would be—” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise and shook his head, before his shoulders dropped, settling into acquiescence. “What reparations can I make to thee, for my transgressions?”

It was such an absurd notion that Mohg actually thought he had misheard. But, no, he knew he hadn’t. His horns had taken his eye, not his ears.

Having the king of Leyndell in his debt would be useful, Mohg thought, in a voice that suspiciously resembled Varré's. It could be extorted—leveraged—to incredible effect.

Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, it was discarded. Debt was no longer a prize worth coveting. It complicates things, Ansbach would have told him. And Mohg couldn’t have this—whatever this tentative truce between him and his brother actually was—if it was predicated on transactions.

“None, that I wouldn’t then need to reciprocate.” Mohg shrugged, broad shoulders shifting under the black garment. “My servants have killed a number of Leyndell soldiers. Of course,” he added, “I hadn’t realized at the time they were yours.”

He extended a hand.

“Consider the ledger balanced?”

Morgott eyed the appendage, letting it hang between them—before, finally, stepping forward. Their hands clasped.

“We’ve an accord,” he murmured.

His palm was warm and calloused. Leathery, even. Years’ worth of self-neglect, no doubt. It startled Mohg how achingly familiar the touch felt.

Mohg almost regretted letting go.

He wondered, as Morgott watched his hand return to his side, if he didn’t feel the same.

“My cavalry only rideth between dusk and dawn,” Morgott said. “So long as thy scouts avoid the roads betwixt then, they will be safe.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Morgott opened his mouth again, only to close it. His tail swept behind him, and without warning, he brushed past Mohg and made his way toward the gatehouse.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, unannounced as it was,” he said, rather abruptly. “Where is thy war surgeon? Lurking somewhere nearby, I assume? Let me find him, and I’ll see myself out.”

He only made it eight steps before Mohg capitulated.

“Morgott,” he called after him. “Wait.”

His brother glanced over his shoulder, his look of puzzlement morphing into confusion as Mohg caught up, and pressed the medal into his hand. “Take this.”

Morgott lifted the crest to eye-level. It was the color of rusted iron, emblazoned with a trident in its center. “What is it?”

“My aegis,” he said, ignoring the startled look he received. “There are enchantments upon it. Should you need to reach me, it will bring you here.”

Morgott thumbed over the intricate design. A nacreous sheen rippled across its surface—the only evidence of latent spellwork. “I’ve naught to give thee in return.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I have my own methods for going as I wish.”

Morgott’s brows shot up. No doubt the aloof drawl had sparked recognition—the same one that, in their adolescence, had threatened to turn his hair prematurely gray; a foreboding sound, of amusement at the expense of his brother’s peace of mind. A moment passed, and Morgott let out an exasperated snort. It was almost fond. “I don’t want to know.”

“No,” he agreed, and his face split into a jagged grin, “you rather don’t.”

Mohg might have missed the brief, furtive smile, if he hadn’t been looking for it.