#and any large flying insect

[nikomakii]

Not spilled ink, but...

It's 5:13 AM, was listening to Epic the Musical when a large black bug came out of nowhere and flew in front of my laptop 😵‍💫. I'm a grown ass woman, but if there's one thing that scares me the most are cockroaches (or any large insect that can fly). So what did I do? I went to my parents' room across the hallway and woke up my dad to get rid of the insect for me 😅.

-nikomakii

(Original not spilled ink, do not repost.)

[moonchildstyles]

crescent

it's all hallow's eve and y/n shouldn't be in the woods.

wordcount: 5.1k+

tw: there is a large section describing some scary animal (wolf) stuff w descriptions of blood and the breaking of bones! everything turns out the wya it should tho don't worry!

—————

With every step, the brush under (Y/N)'s feet crackled. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under her weight, the loudest noises that could be heard in the forest. The hoots of owls nearby and howls of wolves far off bounced amongst the trees. 

Taking in a deep breath of the crisp air, she readjusted her grip on her skirts as she stepped around a puddle. Every exhale came out in a cool cloud. The basket bouncing against her hip was going to leave a bruise, she was sure. 

Truly, (Y/N) was regretting taking on the responsibility of this trip. Her cousin—and her mother for sending her off, actually—owed her more than just the few loaves of bread she was running to pick up. Especially since Katrina apparently was only available tonight, and was unwilling to make the trip herself despite being in town earlier in the afternoon, anyway. That was (Y/N)'s cousin, though; eccentric and impulsive. 

Just because no one had claimed this land on the outskirts of town, and she had the kind of money to keep everyone's mouths shut if they had any opposition, didn't mean that it was the best idea. Especially so, when it meant that Katrina was tucked away in-between the trunks of trees and craggy brush.

But, (Y/N) supposed that was the price of enjoying time by herself. No husband needed when she had her peace and quiet, Katrina had said.

A chilled breeze swept across her form, goosebumps lighting over her skin, the texture hightlighted under the rays of the full moon. Yeah, (Y/N) thought as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders, there better be more than a couple of loaves of bread involved in this trip. She didn't care if Katrina enjoyed her peace and quiet, not when she was cold and missing out on the town's festivities for the night. 

All Hallow's Eve was one of (Y/N)'s favorite nights of the year. It was the one night that she enjoyed staying out under the moonlight, and actually found joy in the idea of being scared. The last place she wanted to be on a night like tonight, was trudging through the woods on her way to her cousin's home. 

This was one of (Y/N)'s least favorite routes on a regular day, even among the morning hours, let alone doing this in the evening with only the moon to keep her company. The forest around her sang, filling the silence of her trek. 

Though she would never accept the title, she knew she was a bit of a scaredy cat, as Katrina had so lovingly put it when they were children. She avoided focusing on it to keep her wits about her, but the journey was beginning to send an eerie feeling up her spine. 

With every crunching footstep, she swore there were eyes pinned to her. Every brush of her shawl over her bare skin was suddenly an insect crawling into her pores, every hair falling into her face was saliva dripping from an open maw above her head, every chirping animal was a deviant spying on her from the shadows. Shadows were elongated with the help of the moon. Naked tree branches now looked like spindly fingers reaching out to grab her and take her into the earth with them. The smallest creatures skittering over the brush were now out to snatch her away, taking her to their master where she would be nothing more than a banquet table of food. 

This was most definitely not the way she wanted to spend her All Hallow's Eve. The only fun scares were the ones in town square, where the masks of witches and ghosts were strung around, and costumes were nothing more than a dressing game from those that she knew wouldn't hurt even a fly. Not this kind of chilling fear. Not the moments she had to convince herself were only in her head. 

But, truly, (Y/N) knew they were only in her head. There wasn't any deviant in the woods around Katrina's home, let along a monster with rows of teeth or blinking eyes on the moon. It was just her and the critters that could survive the shift of seasons out here. 

She just better be getting more than a couple of loaves of bread for this. 

Tightening the knitted shawl around her body, she pushed on. Katrina's cabin couldn't be that far. 

(Y/N) all but jumped out of her skin when she heard a loud crunch. She swore the sound came from behind her instead of underneath her feet like the moments before. Her steps faltered. Everything inside her wanted to turn around, to prove that it was nothing more than an animal running passed instead of the ghoul she had conjured up. But, just as badly as she wanted to know, she wanted to run away and sprint to Katrina. 

Steeling herself, (Y/N) surged onward. It was really just an animal. She would know if someone was following her. She would have heard something before this. No one could be that quiet. 

Maybe. 

She only made it a few yards further before a rustling of dead leaves sounded. Much closer behind her than before. 

On instinct, she whipped her head over her shoulder. 

Nothing but the bony trees. Shadows pulled thin under the bright moonlight didn't allow for many hiding places. Nothing and no one was to be seen. 

Her heart hammered in her chest, climbing up to the base of her throat as she forced herself to move on. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck, pasting the thin strands of hair there to her clammy skin. Katrina was going to tease her if she didn't get herself in check; she couldn't walk up having this look of fright on her face. 

With her pace quickened, (Y/N) moved on. The basket hanging from the crook of her elbow bounced against her hip with every hastened step. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under her feet, the soft rush of the earth being disturbed under the heel of her boots padded each of her steps. 

She needed to go faster, she urged herself. The faster she made this trade, the faster she made it home, and the faster she was home, the sooner she could join in on the All Hallow's Eve traditions. If she was lucky, Harry Styles might still even be out with his niece and she'll finally have a chance to talk to him and let him know she exists an—

A threatening growl reverberated through the trees. 

A sharp yip fell from (Y/N)'s lips, her lungs squeezed free of air. Despite the cool air around her, she could feel her skin beginning to simmer in fear. Her heart pumped as if in her last moments. 

What was it her mother said? When confronted by an animal, was she to be the bigger, scarier entity? Or was she supposed to lie still and hope they went away? Wait, was she supposed to run and hope they didn't give chase? 

Parts of her began to grow numb, a light tingle appearing in the tips of her fingers as she dared to look at her stalker. 

(Y/N)'s list of fears was long and winding, the kind that had the top spot constantly under fire as new worries were added. In that moment, she couldn't be sure what she was most afraid of seeing when she turned around, only that the not knowing wasn't an option. 

Taking in a deep breath and holding as still as possible, she made the smallest movement to peer over her shoulder. 

Her heart caught in her throat. Though she couldn't see all of it, the beast wasn't something that could be ignored. Not with the way its paws dug deeply into the earth, it's stance spanning as wide as the width of her shoulders. The fur grew in an array of shades of grey, thick and course. In the right light, he looked like nothing more than a shadow, the illusion only broken by the reflection of his black eyes. As much as she saw the heavy breaths the beast exhaled, she could hear it just as well as he drew closer. 

A root snapped under its huge paw, like a bone crunching. The sound had her skin erupting into goosebumps, (Y/N) unable to stop herself from jumping in her spot. The basket hanging from her elbow bumped against the trunk of the tree at her side.

The wolf wasn't pleased by her sudden movement, opening its maw and breathing out a gravelly growl. Its teeth were sharp, incisors coming to a point with the express purpose of ripping and tearing meat from the bone. Saliva gleamed over the teeth, dripping onto the soil at its feet. 

It took another step closer to her. (Y/N) trapped herself with her back to the trunk of the tree. 

Rushes of blood roared through her ears. She couldn't tell if the black touching the corners of her vision were the result of a stray cloud drifting over the moon, or the fact that she could be looking death in the eye as it stalked towards her. 

All for a couple of bread loaves. From Katrina. 

At that moment, (Y/N) felt a spark sink into her stomach. It was surprisingly offensive to think that her death would come on the journey to Katrina's cabin. That was far from fair. 

In what she was sure she would later think of as a stupid move (if she made it long enough to have a later anyway), she dug the toes of her boots into the earth, waiting just long enough to feel one more beat of her heart against her ribs. Then, she took off. 

(Y/N) had to hope this was the lifetime that would allow her to possess the speed to outrun a hellish wolf. Meandering through the trunks of spindly trees, she attempted to cut him off as best as possible, even if the pounding of the beast's feet sounded heavy and close behind her.

She was going to make it, she told herself. Just keep running. Get to Katrina. Get to the edge of the woods. Scream, let anyone else know what was happening. Maybe a hunter was out here—a stupid one for being out so late, but who was she to criticize. She was going to make it, and liv—

A jutting root caught on the tip of her boot. (Y/N) swore the world moved in slow motion as she fell. 

The clouds above stopped. The moon dimmed. The leaves under her turned crystalline. 

This was it. 

Her chin hit the damp earth first, her jaw clamping shut. Her hands stung as she attempted to catch herself, sticks and rocks embedding into her skin. The basket in her arms was crushed under her weight. 

This was it. 

Hopefully, someone would deliver the bread loaves to her mother instead. Hopefully, someone would find her. 

A deafening growl sounded through the forest. Tears filled her closed eyes. 

This was it. 

Until it wasn't. 

The growl had been cut short, killed with a vibrating slam against the forest floor. The static feeling someone looming behind her vanished. Despite the lack of heavy, hot breath fanning across her back, she didn't move. She couldn't trust the sudden change in the air. Her bones stayed stiff as he continued to brace herself against the forest floor. 

Another growl rang through the forest. This one was decidedly different than what she had heard while being stalked. 

There was another beast. That much she could be sure of. 

(Y/N) couldn't decide if it was scarier to not know what was behind her, or to see exactly what the end of her life was going to look like.

When a duo of gravely barks reverberated behind her, the decision was made for her on instinct. Though her gaze was blurry thanks to the tears filling her eyes, she was able to make out the pair of wolves looming behind her. 

But neither of them were looking at her.

Roots and brush dug into her back as she rolled to her back. Neither of them appeared to notice the movement of the prey before them, supernatural eyes pinned on one another. While the initial beast's eyes were reflections of moonlight, colored a primal yellow, the newcomer had emerald crescents at its irises.

This new one was also bigger and broader. (Y/N) had thought the yellow-eyes wolf was large and scary enough, this new one was in a league of its own. She shuddered to think just how easy it would be for this one to swallow her whole. 

Despite how large the emerald-eyed creature was, it was decidedly sleeker than the other. There wasn't anything course and tufting in its brown coat. Sharpened teeth, though just as menacing, lacked the chips and discoloration the other had. It looked less... feral compared to the other; desperate for a chase. 

The emerald-eyed one stepped close to the beast, growling and baring its teeth in intimidation. The rigid posture kept its maw wide over the yellow-eyed one's head, dripping with saliva. A throat growl vibrating from its massive chest. 

(Y/N) almost cringed when she saw the stalking beast refuse to back down despite the size difference presented with the emerald-eyed competitor. She was far from being a meal worthy for death. 

Neither refused to back down, but at least they didn't spare even a single look in her direction. Now was the time to flee, get away from there and to Katrina before another nasty foe caught wind. 

She didn't think before she scrambled to her feet and ran. She had to hope that the competition presented by the two wolves would allow enough cover to get her safely away. 

Every hope of that was dashed when it only took a handful of moments before pounding footsteps sounded behind her. At least she had a head start. 

The world around her was directionless as she attempted make sense of the trees she should be much more familiar with. She just needed to get away, as far as she was concerned. If she was able to make it to Katrina, even better. 

Sweat slipped down her back, her shawl hanging from her shoulder. Branches caught on her dress. Roots attempted to trip her. The cold air didn't want to work with her lungs, every breath feeling that much more stilted. All while being pursued by animals that shouldn't exist—not like this. 

Just as she swore she saw the backside of Katrina's cottage, between large trunks and spindly branches, one of the two beasts skidded in front of her. She hadn't heard the change in direction, but there were still footsteps sounding behind her. 

(Y/N) was forced to stop, keeping herself from bashing into the chest of one of the wolves. But that kept her stationary just for the other to close in behind her. 

She wasn't sure when, but tears slipped down her cheeks. The moisture stung the cuts on the planes of her face, searingly hot against her chilled skin. 

There was no way out this time. 

Especially not when the beast in front of her, the one with glinting green eyes, started charging towards her. 

Pressing in on herself, (Y/N) fell to the floor. It was a fruitless attempt, she was sure, but she curled her arms around her head, rolling into a ball between the brush and roots. There was a chance, however small, that she may be harder to eat and swallow like this. 

At her back, the pounding paws were louder across the forest floor. It was there, just behind her. 

She wondered if she could feel each bite as her flesh was torn from her bones, or if she would die before then. 

Peeking between her curled arms, (Y/N) saw the emerald-eyed beast close in on her. His maw was open wide, a menacing growl sounding through the forest. 

Just as she expected to feel the last dredges of the cold air and every piece of her body connected to one another, the beast leapt. Right over her head. And onto the wolf at her back.

Crunches that sound did a lot like broken tree branches rang through her head. But, (Y/N) knew, she wasn't sure how, that those cracks weren't from the forest. That was the snap of bones. She was sure. 

Whimpers were now interspersed with the gravely growls, pitches and devastating. Cracks and crunches tore the rhythm apart. 

One of them was dying behind her. 

(Y/N) couldn't look. She didn't want to see what kind of carnage was taking place behind her. All she knew was that the silence that shortly followed a particularly screeching whine was the sign of an ended fight. The elimination of competition—and her only safety in the form of distraction.

Along with the blood pudding around her boots.

Her body felt faint, her head too heavy for her neck. She was out of chances. 

It was then that she hoped she actually wasn't that close to Katrina's cabin. She didn't want her cousin to wake to a sight like this. 

A humid puff of air fanned across the back of (Y/N)'s neck, moving the baby hairs pasted to the nape. A quiet whimper tore from her throat, eyes stinging with more tears. 

Take her throat first, she wanted to beg. Kill her quickly. 

Instead of the hot slice of teeth through her flesh, she felt the nudge of a wet nose against her neck. A chuff sounding. 

(Y/N) sat still. Blood began to creep up the hem of her dress, sticking to her ankles. 

Another small chuff. A whine so broken and breathy. A whoosh of air bloomed at her side. 

Forcing herself to peel her head up, she saw the brown wolf, green-eyed and sleek, laying at her side. It looked up at her with bright eyes, something knowing flashing through them. Despite its large frame and bloody maw, it looked almost pathetic with its puppy-dog eyes and crossed paws. 

The beast had saved her. Unless this was an advanced species, having adapted a wolfy version of manipulation, this beast had saved her and wanted her to... live. 

She blinked at the beat. Still with a beating heart in her chest and each of her limbs attached to her body. 

This wasn't it. The beast before her wasn't her death. 

A savior, more like it. 

The pressure in her body came to a head, her ribs seemingly collapsing as sobs wracked her body. 

(Y/N) reached towards her savior, fingers skating through its bloody fur. Warmth seeped into her fingers at the touch, drawing her that much closer before practically falling into the beast.

The wolf reacted only in small scoots of its body coming closer, sharing it's warmth and comfort with her. Quiet chuffs sounded as it nosed at her neck. 

"You saved me," she whispered, the words watery and thin. "Y-You saved me." 

Though she would have normally scoffed at the idea of any part of this animal being knowing or intelligent, what she had seen tonight had showed her that there was nothing ordinary about this beast. She believed he knew what she was talking about when it cuddled closer to her, giving a small yip before its rough tongue tentatively licked over her neck. 

Not even a flinch was given at the contact. 

The beast had saved her and was now sharing its warmth with her. It was comforting her as if language was irrelevant when it came to communication.

(Y/N) wasn't sure how long she stayed wrapped around this creature, only that the chill had seeped from her body but her bones were incredibly stiff when she finally unfurled. Her tears had ran dry like the blood seeping from her injuries. 

The green eyes of the beast matched her own gaze, large and round as it took her in. It nosed at her chin, a chuff fanning over her skin. 

"My—" she cut herself off to clear her throat from the croaky state of her voice, "My cousin, she lives over here. I-I need to go to her." The loaves of bread were at the absolute bottom of her list, but a warm home was at the top. "W-Will you... stay?" 

In the back of her head, (Y/N) wanted to be concerned about the state of her sanity. But she knew, deep in the pit of her stomach, that this creature understood her. He knew what she was saying, what she was asking. 

Especially when it stood to its full height, head bobbing as if in a nod. 

The beast allowed her to grab his scruff to steady her as she stood to her feet. Every bone in her body suddenly became aware of how hard she had pushed herself to stay alive. Aches and bruises bloomed over her body. She stumbled, only for the wolf to sidle up to her, giving more support. 

"Sorry," she murmured, keeping her grip tight on the wolf as they started towards Katrina's cabin. 

Standing side by side, (Y/N) was hyperaware of just how large this creature was. The tufts of its ears peeked over her own head, leaving her at eye level with the beast. Her gait was stilted, but the wolf stayed at her side, though she was sure it could cover miles in less time than it would take her to move yards away. She could feel the probing gaze it gave her with each step, a primal feeling of concern bubbling behind its eyes. 

Katrina's cabin came into view, a kind of relief flooding her system that had her heart cracking. She could have fallen to her knees, thanking whatever deity it was that had kept her in its sights this evening. Though, she figured she knew well which one she needed to start with.

"Thank you," she murmured, a sad smile touching the corner of her lips as she looked to her creature. She slowed to a stop at the backside of Katrina's cottage, her kitchen window in view, complete with warm amber lighting seeping into the forest. A beacon. 

The beast butted its head against her shoulder. 

"You saved me," she repeated, visibly drooping. If not for the grip she had on his neck, she was sure she would have fallen. "Thank you." 

Another chuff. Another affectionate head-butt against her arm. 

The beast tipped its head just so, meeting her eyes under the pale moonlight. 

Emerald irises glimmered. So human, with understanding floating through them. 

As well as something far more familiar than should be seen in an animal. 

(Y/N) was well aware of just how deeply traumatizing this trek had become, but she refused to think it a crack in her sanity when she swore that the beasts eyes were ones she had seen before. A green so unique and enthralling.

A green she had only ever seen in the gaze of Harry Styles. 

The mayor's son. The shy man who had plucked (Y/N)'s attention every time he walked into the room, even if he didn't even know she existed.

The eyes of a human man. 

Maybe she was cracking already. 

She tipped her head just so, the wolf's eyes following the movement. 

"You... Your eyes...They—" 

(Y/N) was suddenly cut off at the clattering sound of Katrina's dingy door behind pushed open. 

"(Y/N)? Is that you?! You were supposed to be here hours ago!" 

Whipping her gaze to where Katrina was rounding the front of her home, peering around the porch and right to where she was standing. 

Right next to the wol—

A branch snapped in the forest. Moonlight glinted off a slick, blood-matted fur. The creature was gone, disappearing into the forest. Only the ghost of its warmth remained. 

"Oh, lord—(Y/N)! What happened?! Are you okay?"

Katrina raced towards her. No wolf was to be seen, no large creature that had saved her. 

"The w-wolf," she muttered, voice broken like the skin of her lips, "He—Katrina—" 

"What wolf?" her cousin asked, approaching (Y/N) with concerned eyes and worried features, "(Y/N), you're bleeding. What happened?!" 

"There... There were two wolves," she muttered, distractedly looking to her cousin, "One of them... It saved me." 

Katrina pinned her bottom lip between her teeth. Gentle hands landed on (Y/N)'s biceps. 

"Let's get you inside. You need to warm up, and then we can talk about everything. Okay?" 

(Y/N) didn't remember agreeing to the proposition, but she knew she made it inside the cottage. That was where, beside the fire, she had to wonder if what she had seen—the wolves, the glimmering eyes, the supernatural size and strength of the creatures—was even real. 

If she really had seen the eyes of Harry Styles in the sockets of a deadly beast. 

—————

"You are never going out like that again, (Y/N). Katrina isn't even that talented at baking!" 

(Y/N) cracked a smile at her mother's fretting. It had been this way all morning after Katrina had escorted her home. (As well as three loaves of bread and every pastry left to spare). 

"I won't, mother," (Y/N) vowed, just the same as she had the first dozen times her mother had made the same declaration. 

"Two wolves," she muttered, flying back to the kitchen to stir the soup simmering on the stove, "I cannot believe that kind of evil—so close! This town..." 

More angered mutterings sounded from the kitchen, but were cut off at the sound of a knock at the door. Before she could move a single inch from where she had been stationed on the couch,(Y/N)'s mother shouted that she would grab the door—do not move!

She watched as her moth pulled open the door, the guest being shielded from (Y/N)'s view. But she heard the voice. 

One that caused her heart to spike. Today, for a slightly different reason than the usual. 

Harry Styles was here. 

"Oh, thank you, Harry! She is going to love this, thank you." 

A rumbling tone sounded around her mother. (Y/N)'s name tossed in the mixed. 

"She's still very fragile, but you may come in and speak to her if you'd like." 

(Y/N)'s spine straightened. The sound of floorboards creaking under foreign weight filled her small home. Harry's head peeked over her mother's, complete with waving curls, a rich brown. The kind that would have gleamed so prettily under a clear, moonlit night. 

Harry's eyes met her as her mother escorted him inside. 

Green.

Unique and enthralling. 

A soft smile bloomed over his lips. "Hello," he greeted her, (Y/N)'s mother disappearing into the kitchen. "How are you feeling?" 

"I am alright," (Y/N) nodded, attempting to sit up before Harry urged her to stay just where she was. 

"No, don't move. You are alright hurt enough," he muttered, coming to crouch at the side of the chaise. Concern floated in his eyes—the kind of concern that (Y/N) almost wanted to place as guilt. 

"I really am alright. I look worse than I feel," she attempted to joke, though it fell flat when Harry only trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. 

A familiar circuit was run over the planes of her face, taking stock of every slight injury. 

Just like the emerald-eyed wolf. 

"I gave it to your mother, but my family put a few things together for your recovery. I hope they're able to bring you some comfort." He dropped his gaze from hers. "I cannot imagine going through what you did. You are incredibly brave." 

A warmth bubbled along her skin. At least that part was still normal—she was not immune to a dimple and pretty hair. 

"I wouldn't call myself brave, but I appreciate your words," she muttered, a bit sheepish at his praise, "All I did was run." 

"Sometimes, that is the smartest move to make," Harry murmured, a lopsided smile on his strawberry-hued mouth. "I am just glad you are alright. I've been worried sick since I heard the news." 

Her heart caught in her throat. He knew she existed—enough to worry about her well-being. 

"I am," he started, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, "so happy to see you. Please call on me if you need anything to help your recovery—anything at all."

"Um, I-I can do that." 

The dimpled smile that bloomed over his face was enough to have her throat clogged and lungs stilted. With a face this pretty, it was increasingly harder to find the similarities between the man before her and the blood-matted wolf in the woods.

"If it's alright with you," Harry started, voice dropping a tone lower as if sharing a secret, "I would like to request that if you ever need to make that trek again, that someone accompany you. Myself, included." 

(Y/N) didn't have to think before she was nodding her head. "I can do that." 

"Thank you," he smiled, a breathy laugh floating through his voice, "I am unable to stay long today, but I would like to check in on you this week. If that's alright with you." 

Tempering her reaction as much as she could, (Y/N) only gave a demure nod as Harry stood to the full of his height. "I don't have much else going on, but I suppose I can fit you into my schedule." 

Her tease was enough to draw a laugh from him. An achievement, as far as she was concerned. 

"I will see you tomorrow, then? If you're not already occupied," he played along, edging towards the open door. "And, please,"—he paused, the intensity of his gaze sitting squarely on her—"if you see another wolf with those yellow-eyes, tell me. Those seem to be more dangerous than the others." 

The next moments passed in a haze. She was sure Harry said goodbye to her mother and made plans for the following day. She was sure her mother praised Harry's kindness, talking him up to (Y/N) as if she didn't already know. She was sure her heart continued beating and her lungs continued filling. 

She was sure the world continued on, even when her mind stood still.

(Y/N) hadn't told anyone about the yellow eyes. 

—————

thank u sm for reading! so sorry for any mistakes but if you have any fun requests or anything at all please send them in!!!!

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Reacting To Your Tattoos

A/N: I have so many ideas for The Boys cast! Be sure to look out for more posts! I'm updating my request list to include them 😊 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA! I'll be getting back to requests asap! Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher loves them. This is not the moment to say something, to react, but he definitely takes notice. You got hurt, really hurt, and the only way to save you was for Annie cauterizing your wounds, buying you a little more time. Butcher didn't need to hold you down, you'd already gone limp, losing all color in your face. He begs you to wake up, to stay with them. There was so much blood. So much red. He was covered in it, seeping through his shirt. Your jacket was thrown off, the collar of your shirt torn, ripped, for easier access to your shoulder and they both discovered the tattoos. Your chest, your arm, neck, you were covered. He had a feeling there were far more, wondering why you never showed any of them. You were always so bundled up, he never even questioned it. He warned you this was going to hurt, though he wasn't even sure you could hear him. Still, as Annie's hands grew bright, he cringes, hoping you were too out of it to feel anything, hoping this would all seem like a far away dream. Hoping you won't mind the large scar that will warp your ink.

Hughie is pretty intimidated by them. The Boys are already a scary looking group, but meeting you, he thought you were going to bite off his head. Your body was pretty covered. After getting to know you, he realizes how wrong he was. You're snarky and stubborn, but you're also thoughtful and funny. If it were up to you, you'd never hurt a fly, just Vought. Still, every so often you'll do or say something that reminds him of that first impression, especially when you feel threatened or your friends are threatened. You'll show up with a few new ones, filling in the gaps. When it comes to open wounds you're ready to treat it with a strong drink and duct tape. When it comes to your tattoos, you're meticulous in your aftercare. He's never seen you so serene looking as when you're taking care of them, so gentle. Something about that makes him feel like he shouldn't be witnessing it, but he's grateful that he is. When they're in tricky spots, he's the first to offer to help. He works with nervous hands, afraid he'll do something to ruin it. You just laugh, walking him through it.

Annie knows all about your tattoos. They are, after all, linked to the V in your blood. You didn't start developing them until your late teens, your parents assuming the V they injected was a dud. Images started appearing and with them, your powers. By the time she met you, you were covered. You didn't like showing off to The Boys. You still had a long way to go to gaining their trust. Parading around the fact that you were a Supe wasn't going to help. Still, when it was just you and Annie you were less reluctant to show her. All kinds of images adorned your skin: weapons, insects, animals. You liked the weapons the best. The thing could project itself from your skin as if it were real. In seconds, you had a sword in each hand, as real and sharp as if you'd physically gotten one. The best part? Your skin was indestructible. Every few months, maybe years, a new tattoo would appear, giving you a leg up in the fight against Vought. She thinks you have by far the most interesting powers of any Supe she's met.

M.M. hates them. Because they're linked to the V you got as a baby, he sees them more of a warning than anything else, the way brightly colored animals are poisonous. He hadn't realized the first time you met, what they were from, and you were smart enough not to tell him. It was only when you were fighting for your life did you use your abilities: the circles on the back of your neck, layered, you let out a sonic scream that shattered windows, set off car alarms, and drew blood. The group that had attacked you were coughing it up, it was running down their necks from their ears. M.M. was far enough away not to be affected, but the way he tells it, he was *this* close to having his insides turned to goo. Some were safe enough to run away. The ones who were closer dropped dead with a wet squelch. He trusts you even less for not telling him. When he breaks the news to everyone else, he's shocked to find out that they either knew (like Annie) or they were unfazed, more impressed than anything else, like you'd become this great asset. You apologize profusely, but you know it'll be a long time before he can even look you in the eyes.

Frenchie thinks they're so cool. He went with you once and got one of his own: while you were getting a rather large piece finished, he wants to get a smiley face on his ass cheek. Despite the discomfort, Frenchie's all giggles. He's more than excited to show this off to everyone he decides to moon. You try to tell him how to take care of it, but he waves you off. He's eager to show The Boys. He's lucky it heals properly and by the end of the week, everyone he comes into contact with has seen it. Besides that, his favorite thing is to study the ones you have. They're intricate and beautiful and some of them are pretty silly. You never understood the sentiment that there had to be some grand kind of meaning behind them. If you like it, you get it tattooed. He asks questions about them, most done all over the world or, a couple, in prison. He thinks you look badass, especially when you shed the bulky layers and show off what they normally don't get to see. Your back piece is his favorite. When you're wearing something with a low back, or disregard a shirt completely, he can't help but watch you. You're careful, covering them with clothes or makeup so that whatever illegal thing you're doing can't be traced.

Kimiko asks a lot of questions. Did it hurt? Why that image? What does it mean? How long did it take? You never mind, in fact you like talking about them. You spent enough time getting stabbed, you wanted someone to ask. She especially loves the ones on your hands. They look beautiful as you sign back to her. Some are still a little raised despite how well you took care of them, those are her favorite. She touches them delicately, afraid it might hurt, but you assure her they're all healed. She watches when you're getting changed together, how they move with your skin and muscles. They make her smile knowing you feel so much more at home in your body because of them, something you admitted to her late one night after a few drinks. They help you like yourself, covering up insecurities, making you feel cuter/cooler than you would without them. She's always the first to notice when you get a new one, making a point regardless of the situation to tell you how nice it looks and that she likes it a lot.

Bonus! Homelander thinks they're horrendous. Disgusting. Just another way you've defiled your body. He can't stand to look at them and made sure you understand that. Around him, you keep them covered, either by clothing or makeup. You know better than to draw attention towards them. Regardless of how you acquired them (Compound V or just an aesthetic choice) you know not to bring them up or let anyone else bring them up. A-Train noticed the one of the back of your neck and that put Homelander over the edge. You were both thrown out of the room. You consider yourself more than lucky. He could have killed you, both of you, but he was feeling generous. He had bigger things on his mind. You knew working for Vought would lead to sacrifices, uncomfortable situations, but being interrogated by Homelander about your tattoos was never something you ever considered. He thinks about using his lasers every time he sees them poking out from your sleeve or pants. But he needs you. As long as he needs you, you're safe. The moment you stop being useful, he's going to cut off every individual image until there's nothing left. Until you look normal again.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 24

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: As an extra warning: by my own standards this got very dark in the second part, and was very draining to write. You may find this a walk in the park, but if you feel like anything in this chapter is getting to you please obviously feel free to take a break, or put on some happy instrumental music :)

Also, this was written as one part—Tumblr forced me to split it into two, hence the posting of two chapters in one night

warnings (mostly for part two): angst, death, some blood/gore unfortunately, slight hurt/comfort but it’s complicated, prison-related plot, general misery for reader

word count for part one: 9,448

total word count: 19,262

The plan, as far as you understand it, is to winnow up northeast to the coastal town, Bornemere, then to fly the rest of the way to locate the few traders willing to barter for Illyrian steel, among other things only accessibly through specific trade routes. Like the oxen hide Azriel had mentioned. 

You can’t lie, the idea of having a dagger strapped to your body or tied to an inner pocket has your insides twisting. It seems overkill, to give you a blade when you’d imagine Azriel to have an abundance of his own hidden away. He needs you to navigate the jungle and differentiate between lethal and harmless invertebrate, while you need him to handle any creatures with antagonistic or aggressive tendencies. In other words, you can’t imagine one of you leaving the other’s side. 

It could easily be your imagination that convinces you of the salt in the air, that tangles itself into the roots of your tied-back hair and makes it stiff and sticky, but when the sea comes into view and the screech of marine birds cleave along through the winds, you’re reassured. The town seems large, expanding lengthwise along the coastline rather than seeping back inland that’s filled with dry fields and brown crops where small spots of white graze atop the hills, a few taking shelter in the steep cover of the valleys that seem to zigzag. Although your eyes aren’t quite strong enough to pick it out from such a height, you know streams will be running through their centres, fresh-water springs babbling up from holes in the ground before eventually making their way outwards toward the sea, joining forces until they accumulate into creek, gathering into streams before feeding into rivers. Casting your eyes further along the land you can spot an estuary splitting Bornemere in two, where the river opens into the sea, rock scattering the opening. 

Your ears pop as Azriel begins to descend through the air, keeping his wings spread wide to smooth the long glide down. Air rushes past your cheeks, a single strand of hair stinging your eye as the wind whips it about and you yield half your grip on Azriel’s shoulders to tuck it beneath the scarf wrapped around your head. It had been Elain’s idea, and now, with the wintery coastal air trying to slip its way up your sleeves and beneath the neckline of your dress, or even wrap its way up your legs beneath your skirts, you’re glad you bundled up a little more to combat the harsh winds. 

The plan, that you’d been trying to revise in your head before you’d become distracted by your senses, is to fly by Bornemere, pick up a couple of supplies for yourself—and maybe Azriel, but he hasn’t mentioned anything so you can only suppose—then return to Velaris to gather up the cotton canvas backpacks that will see you through the Summer Court jungles. At the though alone a ray of excitement splits through the grey cold of your mood. You wonder how many of the creatures you’ve read about, vertebrate and invertebrate alike, that you’ll get to see with your own eyes while traveling. The birds and insects are what you’re most looking forward to, having spent considerable time admiring the clean watercoloured illustrations of vibrant feathers, the iridescent shine of beetle shells with the flared sensors on tiny feet. The trip itself should take between two to four days to reach the centre, depending on variables like weather, the safety of the old paths, and whether the map that dates back two centuries is still accurate. 

Likely the two of you will also be making a subtle stop at one or two of the villages on the outskirts of the jungle, finding appropriate clothing as well as canisters for water and more long-lasting food. A small part of you worries over the attire for the journey. It’s no secret that Summer’s climate mostly consists of hot, open-skied days, and you imagine the jungle will be testing the line between  natural humidity and the inside of a birchin. With the insects around it wouldn’t be a good idea to venture in bare-skinned, but the muggy air might quickly change your mind on the compromise. The idea alone has unease settling in the pit of your stomach. You hope the long-sleeved clothing they’ll have will prove breathable enough for suffocation to not be a problem you’ll have to struggle with. 

Azriel drops a few inches down through the air, the circles now not as wide as they once were as his hazel eyes seek out the perfect landing spot to accommodate him. Your stomach lurches with the abrupt decrease in height and your hand that had been tucking hair beneath your scarf quickly shoots back to its original placement around his neck. You do try not let your nails dig into his shoulders, but you’re still so uncomfortable with flying, and the occasional far drop doesn’t help with your nerves. 

His hair ruffles in the wind, like she’s running her fingers through it though he seems unbothered by the cold, features cool and set as always. Dark brows dip together in the middle of his forehead though you can only see his profile, swirling hazel eyes hidden in the private hollow beneath, cast in partial shadow. Lowering incrementally further, you follow the line of his nose, tipping over the curve and falling to his lips. They’re sealed shut against the billowing wind but he looks the same as he always does. Calm, collected, and completely unbothered by the harsh elements. Until you reach his eyes, that is. They’re far too still to be anything other than focused. 

Azriel’s eyes don’t move like you suspect your own do—flitting about the place as you spy more and more colours and things to name. Where your eyes skitter, his hazel set cut. Slicing to wherever he needs them to be with the directive and aim of what you suppose must be a warrior. 

If his eyes are weapons, then his mouth…

Pupils cut into your own and you momentarily fumble, enough of a start that Azriel readjusts the grip of his fingers around your ribs, flexing over the slope of your thigh. Beneath your back and legs his arms recalibrate their tension and he inclines the angle to which you’re falling toward him by a fraction—to make up for the angle of the descent. 

“Once we land I want you to stay close,” Azriel instructs, not minding to acknowledge that he’d probably caught you staring. “Bornemere is a coastal town; the sailor’s here are known to have wandering hands so make sure to keep aware of your surroundings.” You dip your head, breaking the eye contact as you nod once. Even if he hadn’t offered the words of caution you’d have stuck tight to his side anyway, unless a special something had caught your eye, but you’ll certainly feel more at ease now he’s laid the offer down himself. You won’t have to feel like an intruder when walking beneath his shadow. 

“Have you encountered this trader before?” You ask once Azriel’s attention has returned to his mental checkpoint, curiosity perking in your chest. Azriel had mentioned before leaving that you would both be visiting someone in particular he knew dealt with Illyrian goods. In your periphery, he nods. “A few times. When I haven’t wanted to deal with the Illyrians,” he glances down to you and again you quickly look elsewhere. “In that regard, he’s been incredibly valuable.” 

“You don’t like Illyria?” You ask, though it’s quiet enough you worry the words will be swept away by the wind before they get a chance to reach his achingly familiarly curved ears. 

Azriel’s expression hardly shifts, but the features that do contort tell you a story of cruel barbarity, and a hate that runs deeper than the pure icy waters that carve stone in two, far below the earth’s surface. 

“No,” he tells you, “I do not.” 

You swallow, sensing you’ve approached a conversation he isn’t welcoming you to. So instead you nod your head vaguely, trying to create a noise of mild understanding in your chest, “It is quite cold up there. The wind blows right through you.” Your eyes flitter about, eventually settling on a warm part of his chest that you’re held against. “I bet the snow is pretty, though,” you murmur, not fully committing to speaking the words aloud, leaving it up to chance to bring your voice to him or whip it away. 

Hazel eyes cut toward you again but it takes a few moments for his mouth to make the reply, pausing in a way that makes you believe it wasn’t his first choice of comment. “Hold tighter. We’re going to drop.” 

You blink. “Drop…?” 

Your insides clench as his wings fold in, arms strangling themselves around his broad shoulders as his body lowers. Azriel’s wings flap twice more—firm, powerful strokes that send the surrounding grass whipping outward in a circle before his boots touch down. Your legs nearly buckle when he sets you down, adrenaline from having been so high in the sky making them weak and custard-like. It takes a few minutes before you’re confident enough in your strength to tuck your arms inward and nestle them deep in the warm pockets of your dress, concealed beneath a heavy cloak now you’re more certain you won’t need to catch yourself in case you trip over your own feet. 

The walk to the centre of the town isn’t too long, affording you the pleasant chance to take in the streets as their own beauty. Granted, some of the paint is peeling, but more than a couple of houses have been painted happy, uplifting colours, surprisingly fitting for the coast: a pale coral pink; starfish yellow with window sills the colour of crab legs; a house with a roof as dark as the sea beneath a new moon, its door painted an aquamarine blue with a knocker in the shape of a Gold-Gilled Lobster. A few homes have pointed, swirling shells scattered about their front steps and you imagine they must be the homes with children inside. 

For a town Azriel has warned you contains sailors with greedy fingers, you’re surprised by how many homes seem to leave such pretty treasures out. A particularly beautiful shell catches your eye, its spines covered in mother of pearl, the edges turning an oxidised blue-green before giving way to the prawn-pink of the rest of the carapace.

“Up here.” Azriel nods to a narrow alley that cuts between two houses—suspiciously out of the way—but before you can make the turn, Azriel pauses. You peer up at him, curious. 

“He might seem intimidating to you, at first,” Azriel begins. “He isn’t one for small talk, or talk at all, for that matter.” You shift on your feet, nerves beginning to squirm in your thighs and arms, making your body restless and anxious. You nod your head. Azriel nods, but pauses again. Then seems to think better, and turns, letting you quietly follow him down between the houses to a new street and through the darkened door of a low-ceilinged shop. 

The inside smells of leather and a kind of polish or preservative that makes your nostrils sting for the first moments after entering. Tunics and boots and hats and gloves are categorised on separate displays within the wide room, a table in the centre containing the leather pre-craft, and discomfort slithers through your gut as you wrap the skinned leather back up around the animal it once was. 

Azriel turns to you, “Wait here.” Then he’s silently moving behind the desk and through the doorway behind it. Disappearing from view.

With little to do until he returns, you take your time to peer more closely around the shop. More specifically following Azriel’s footsteps to the desk but pausing before passing the invisible threshold where you’re allowed to tread. Mounted on the wall are rows and rows of blades. Most possess only one honed edge of steel but a few are duel pronged and you have to wonder what they could be used for. The blades vary in size, some as long as your little finger, others the length of your leg. One in particular catches your eye, leaned up against one corner of the wall behind the desk, though at first you hadn’t realised it was a blade due to its size. The steel edge has to be at least the height of your body, if not more, and the handle seems like it might be as thick as both your forearms bound together. You allow your gaze to curiously wander over the clean edge, the small notches made along the hilt before returning the selection on the wall. 

It’s strange, when you think about it. Maybe it’s because creatures in Prythian are inherently intertwined with magic, but weight and mass seem to have no affect on them, unlike humans. You’d be able to hear someone walking up behind you, even if they were trying to be quiet. Fae, or rather faeries, seem to be able to silence even their heartbeat if they wish to as you don’t even hear the door go or the creak of floorboards until a gruff voice asks from behind you, “Can I help?” 

You jump, spinning around as your heart pounds, only to be forced to yield enough steps to have the ledge of the desk digging into your shoulder blades so you can crane your neck high enough to find the top of the creature before you. The Ogre’s skin is a dark, forest green mixed with traces of grey over the powerful circles of his shoulders, the soft curls of hair that crawl across the two halves of his upper chest cut off by the linen shirt. His brows are thick and heavy above yellow eyes that are sliced through with horizontal-laying pupils—not unlike the eyes of a goat, or sheep. Long, thick tusks jut out from his lower jaw, pressing into the soft flesh of his upper lip, revealing the slightest hint of pink beneath. Forearms thicker than your thighs are folded over a wide chest, his brows carved downwards in unmistakeable displeasure that borders on aggression. 

Your lips part, his large silhouette entirely eclipsing the limited light, his shadows swallowing your body completely as he looms before you, removing the possibility of escape. You thought the Illyrian’s were built like nature’s supreme beasts, but the Ogre before you would make even Cassian appear the size of an average human man. Frighteningly large for a shop so small. 

“I-…” You stammer, trying quickly to get your bearings. “Are you- You’re the trader?” The Ogre’s brows narrow further and his response comes in the form of a single, rough-edged grunt. You swallow—Azriel should have given you more warnings. Intimidating doesn’t do the mountain of a male before you even an ounce of justice. “My- friend,” you manage, “he brought me here…” You swallow again, finding your lips sticky from the sea air and crisp. “I believe we’re looking for leather coverings? For myself.” Yellow eyes don’t so much as shift before he answers, “You’ll find nothing here.” 

“Nothing…?” You repeat, trying now to lean less of your weight on the desk, its ledge uncomfortably digging into your shoulders—the height makes sense now. “Then, a blade?” 

“Do you know how to hold one?” 

You blink at his harsh reply, then frown. “I require one, and wish to purchase one.” Then you push a little away from the counter, straightening your spine. “Do you have one?” 

The Ogre’s eyes narrow and you try to fight the urge to cower and crawl behind the desk. He tilts his head, “Where’s your friend?” It takes you a few seconds to remember you’d given Azriel that title, but by the time you remember the Ogre’s speaking again. “Are you making the purchase yourself?” 

“I-…I don’t think so…” That was something you hadn’t discussed with him. It’s a logical assumption to guess Azriel will be paying for whatever you need, since he’s the one insisting on a weapon for your person, but it feels wrong to jump to that conclusion. 

The Ogre’s eyes don’t stray from yours, and the need to crawl away beneath the table increases, his gaze piercing into you, “I don’t see your friend anywhere.” An embarrassed flush creeps up your neck—he thinks you’re lying. “He went upstairs. I think to look for you.” 

“Customers aren’t allowed upstairs.” The Ogre’s tone has shifted away from displeasure, having dived deep now into blatant aggression, violence simmering in his eyes. Gleaming too eagerly, despite the glacial fury twisting his mouth. He walks past you, gripping the hilt of the blade that had been leant up against the wall. It looks almost small in his hands. 

“He wouldn’t-” You fumble when the Ogre effortlessly lifts the blade from its standing, palms wrapping comfortably around the thick hilt. You swallow, heart jumping. “I’m sure he wouldn’t go up without reason. He said he’d met you before? Illyrian.” 

The Ogre pauses, ire doused though not entirely—not enough for the pulse of your heart to calm. “His name?” 

You wring your hands. “Azriel…? He said he’d visited you before, so…” The Ogre blows out a sharp huff of breath, the blade returning to its place in the corner—unused. “You should have said so to begin with,” he growls, his glare piercing straight through your flesh right down to the marrow of your bones. 

Your brows narrow uncharacteristically, lip curling faintly. “Quite a temper,” you mutter under your breath, scowl forming above your eyes as you pick out the faint footfalls descending the staircase, a beat quicker than their usual pace. Azriel really should have made it clear just how foul this male’s mood could be.

A heavy growl rumbles through the Ogre’s chest, hairs at the nape of your neck prickling as those yellow eyes glare ire into your skull. Your features twist in the slightest twitch of a snarl, before swiftly mellowing out once Azriel returns from the upper floor, hazel eyes sweeping once across the room, leaving only a second of pause to adjust his surprise before continuing forward to keep at your side. 

“Malachite. It’s good to see you again,” Azriel greets, each male grasping the others’ hand firmly. Azriel’s palm looks the size of your own in the Ogre’s grip who grunts his reply, moving to stand behind the counter while you equally move opposite, circling Azriel who’s left between the two of you. “What can I get for you?” Asks Malachite, attention abandoning you completely, shifting instead to the Shadowsinger who will be putting in the request. 

But Azriel’s attention cuts sidewards to you, and you falter. Shifting beneath his gaze. 

“Do you have anything in her size?” Azriel asks, eyes scanning over your body in a way that makes warmth flow to your cheeks, toes tensing in your shoes, head dipping a dozen degrees. You want him to like what he sees, but that’s probably not even the last thing on his mind. 

Malachite turns his attention back to you, yellow eyes glaring into your own set and you stiffen, bristling beneath the look. Heavy brows narrow over his gaze, casting his irises partially in shadow. “Nothing that wouldn’t hang off her. She has no muscle.” Azriel nods, apparently having thought the same. “Then how long will it take for you to make something?” 

The Ogre grunts, folding thick arms over his full chest. “That depends.”

Hazel eyes narrow by a fraction of an increment. “Twenty. Gold. Thirty if it fits perfectly.” 

“Done.” 

You blink, having expected it to go on for longer. Yellow eyes pin you to the floor, and Malachite nods his head to the back room he’d gotten so aggressive about earlier. “Back there.” 

Azriel goes first, and you hurry yourself to keep close behind him, sharing a glare as you pass by the Ogre, who grunts. 

Passing through another low-ceilinged corridor, Azriel leads you to a room on the right that opens up to reveal a scene you would not have expected an Ogre to enjoy. Threads are displayed neatly on one portion of the far wall, a large pin cushion with bauble-ended needles prickling out. Fabrics and leathers are rolled carefully on the far right side of the room, beneath a window, and on the left is a large mirror. A spinning wheel sits in a darkened corner, made larger specially to handle Malachite’s size. You can’t keep the surprise from your mouth. 

“Over here,” Azriel murmurs to you, pausing in front of the large mirror. You come to a stop just shy of his side, a little more at ease now the room is less cramped. And because Malachite seems to have gone elsewhere for a while. 

You shift on your feet, arms folding around your waist, one hand holding your side while the other sets itself just above your elbow. “The…bartering went quickly,” you say, peering around the floor—it’s surprisingly clean. Save for a few threads scattered between the floorboards. A single sequin glittering up at you. A nail not too far off from that. 

“Illyrian leather is high quality,” Azriel tells you, watching the door patiently, “We both know that.” Teeth squeeze the curve of your lower lip, eyes darting about the room as you once more shift on your feet. “So…you come here when you don’t want to go to Illyria?” You ask, wondering if you’re pushing too far. You can’t help wanting to know, though. You crave education about the world around you instinctively, searching avidly for every drop of information available, sinking into the wonders of an unfamiliar world with insatiable ferocity. It’s undoubtedly what’s helped keep you sane and relatively grounded.

But the way you want to know about the world is different from the way you want to know about Azriel. 

You read everything you can about Prythian because it’s there, and available. Flora, fauna, fashion, and history—there are plenty of tomes to read detailing the recent eras, the fluctuations in Court distinctions. You can’t recall ever desiring knowledge on something so unavailable and you try not to think about it too much. 

How intensely you crave him. 

It’s not good to dwell on. 

“It’s closer,” Azriel reasons, “and time is dwindling.” You shift, glancing sidewards at him, though not lifting you gaze high enough to meet his eyes. “Have you decided on a route for Summer?” You ask, pulling the map into mind. Despite not looking at him directly, you know his eyes are studying you now, turned away from the empty hallway. “I’ve been considering,” he relents, with a slowness that has you guessing at his internal indecision. Until his choice is made. “What do you think?” 

You blink, unable to help from staring at him questioningly. 

“Me?” You blurt out, confused. But Azriel nods as if it makes complete sense. Waiting expectantly. You swallow; lick your lips; swallow again. “I…well, I suppose in the interest of saving time it might better to enter the rainforest via the Winter Court…” You look up at him for approval. 

As if he’s ever given you any for yourself. 

Azriel’s expression is unreadable, and you look away, peering at the floor again. “From the looks of it though, the climb would be much steeper, and I’m not sure…” You trail off, wringing your hands together. You’re not sure you would even be able to cope with a hike like that at full health. Even with the safety of someone competent accompanying you. You clear your throat, “it might honestly take longer… I suppose unless we flew down to the peek of a mountain, then walked the distance to the Temple from above…but with the altitude, and thunderstorms, it probably wouldn’t be safe…” You look at him, “—Can siphons protect from lightening strikes?” 

Azriel nods. 

“Then…would the temperature be a problem? I imagine even packing lightly will still overall be heavy, and you’ll be carrying me, too, plus potentially a few flasks of water, which will swiftly increase the weight…” You pause, thinking. “That plus how thin the air might get, storms, lightening, heat, creatures….” You sigh to yourself. “I don’t think descending from above is a good plan…” 

Your shoulders slope, disgruntled. It had seemed a promising plan at first—a way to halve the time and avoid significant risk.

“Keep going,” Azriel tells you, making you peer at him. “Flying would be impossible, so what next?” 

“Well, we could either pass through Winter, which would be steeper and therefore have a heightened risk, but would probably be faster…” 

“Or?” 

“Or we could start at the foot of the mountains, right on the outskirts of the rainforest, and enter that way? But it would take much longer.” 

“How much longer, do you think?” 

You contemplate, recalling the geography, what the terrain had looked like according to that centuries out-of-date map. “If everything goes smoothly…maybe a day and a half through Winter?” 

“And through Summer?” You nip at your lower lip. Pulling the uppermost layer of skin from your tongue. “Closer to three days. Maybe four. But that would be if everything goes smoothly, which it undoubtedly won’t.” 

Azriel’s brow furrows. “What makes you think that.” 

You peer up at him, surprised. A little caught off guard by the question. 

“Well…” you begin, soft and hesitant. “That’s just how things go, don’t they?” 

Heavy foot thuds draw you from conversation, and your lips dip down at the edges as Malachite pushes into the room, carrying a small crate that proportionally would be the size of three stacked square pillows in your arms. 

He walks to the centre of the room, pausing in front of the mirror, and sets the box down with a rumbling thud, a gust of wind teasing your ankles, the crate hitting the floor with enough weight your foot would have surely been crushed had it been caught underneath. Though the Ogre doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by the heavy weight. He isn’t even breathless. 

“Up on here.” Malachite orders, nodding to the crate he’s placed in the centre of the room. Examining it now, in the context of the room and not his arms, it’s about half your height—not something you can easily step onto. You blink, sizing up the crate. You could crawl onto it, if you got your knee up first, but… You flush, glancing down at the length of your dress. You’ll have to hike it up, to make sure you don’t trip on the fabric. You clear your throat, a touch awkwardly. “Will you look away, while I climb up?”

Malachite’s piercing yellow eyes narrow, ire igniting once more and you can almost see the aggravated huff of breath he exhales from those round nostrils, thick brows furrowing. Azriel steps forward from your right, palms open as he reaches for you. “I can lift you up,” he tells you gently. But your own brows furrow, stepping out of his reach. “What? No. All I’m asking is for you to look elsewhere for a bit.” You say, turning back to Malachite.

His lips curl, teeth flashing. “Get up there or I’ll put you there myself,” he growls. 

It’s been a long time since ire has taken a hold of you so thoroughly. 

“Try.” You hiss, features twisting in a snarl. “See what happens.” 

The room is completely silent. Golden eyes locked with your own, the third presence holding his breath, likely preparing to cool whatever outburst next ignites. 

You know your hands are glowing. Can feel that tingle glistening at your fingertips. 

Malachite grinds his jaw, then sighs roughly. “Quickly.” He growls, boots thumping as he turns his back. 

You swallow, tension releasing from your spine and shoulders, muscles softening as you hesitantly turn back to Azriel, glancing up to him quietly. His brows are raised by a fraction, a pause of something passing through the air, but then he’s turning away too. 

You don’t waste any time in lifting your skirts and climbing onto the crate, Malachite already having turned back by the time the hem brushes your ankles again. 

“Hold still,” the Ogre orders, unrolling a measuring tape from one of his leather pockets. He takes down the length of your spine, the distance of your nape to your ankles; wrist to your shoulder; one hip to the other; the circumference of your upper- and fore-arm. You tense instinctively when he reaches round your middle, his large forearms brushing your ribcage, forcing you to raise your arms just so he has enough space. The measuring tape constricts sharply around your waist, making you jolt, already prepared to snap something else at him. 

“Careful.” Azriel mutters from the side, so quiet you nearly miss it. “She’s a fraction of your size, Malachite.”

“She can handle it,” the Ogre returns, tone disagreeable and stern, but the bite around your waist loosens, allowing you space to breathe properly as he takes down that last measurement. 

————

Malachite had said your custom clothing would be finished by the end of the day—much to your surprise. You suppose Azriel is paying him well. And the two did seem relatively friendly. Or as friendly as either could get with another like them. And Malachite had seemed a competent craftsmale. 

But now you have a day to spend in this coastal town, and little idea what to do. 

Little more than wanting to make the most of it, if it’s to be spent conveniently close to Azriel’s side.

“Do you…have anything else to do?” You ask, once you’re back out into the salty air, walking leisurely down a main street with the grey-blue sea occasionally visible between coloured houses. You’ve never had a chance to see the sea before. It’s slightly frightening, even from a distance. Azriel shakes his head, and you glance somewhere away, teeth pulling at your lower lip while in thought. 

“Can we see the sea, then?” You ask, looking at him hesitantly. 

Azriel nods, and steers you down an alley, leading between a wooden-made shack with netting strung along its exterior, and a cream-painted house with weathered window panes and a small back garden. You gaze across the flat horizon line, greyish skies meeting blue-grey water, thick and heavy. Bluer than the rivers you’d grown up by, and certainly cleaner looking than the brown-black lakes and ponds of your childhood. 

Stepping foot on the pebbled beach, a gust of wind blows briny air up your nostrils, smelling of something damp and stagnant, and distinctly salty. With the uneven ground beneath your feet, you’re forced to remove your arms from their warm huddle at your sides, stepping further into the beach as you make your way cautiously over to a cluster of black rocks, rich green algae sleeked across the seastone. 

The rock is jagged beneath your fingers, piercing even through your gloves and numbed flesh, but the mild discomfort is worth the treasure of the small pools gathered in smoothed-out hollows. Your lips part, an exited huff of breath puffing from your lungs and you clamber a little higher, careful of your footing. At the beds of the miniature pools is a thick layer of sand and softened shell fragments, spots of brown-pink and orange smudging the pale crusts. In the corner of your chosen pool sits an intact shell, and your lips curve into an exhilarated smile, fingers dipping into the icy water to trace the scalloped edge, grazing the ridges with your nail. 

A startled gasp escapes your mouth as little, armoured legs shoot out from the openings, tiny red pincers cautiously extended as legs scuttle sidewards into the sand, swiftly burying itself deeper and safer. A young crab. You’ve never seen one alive before. Or one so small. 

Gazing further about you recognise all kinds of shapes and globs—a dark maroon jelly clinging to the rock face, a smattering of barnacles with flecks of pearly white glazing their rough exteriors, slimy looking folds that appear like a long-forgotten cousin of landmoss. Even the algae finds ways to be intriguing, coming apart like cotton-based yarn on your fingers, sinewy and stringy. Pale yellow and lush green. It looks soft and cloud-like underwater, but limp and clutching once taken into the open air. 

You decide to leave the remaining creatures unbothered, and tentatively lift yourself from the chosen perch, not too bothered by the darkened hem of fabric that’s become damp and sodden in places. Azriel waits patiently at the foot of the seastone formation, hazel eyes tracking your footing as you descend the jagged rocks, leaving once you’ve reached the small pebbles again. 

Instead of asking, as soon as your eyes land on a flat outcropping of rock, where the pebbles doze away, your feet are moving. Dazedly walking over to peer down into the gatherings of water in the dips and crevices, spotting pops of coloured shells, small creatures skittering about from hollow to hollow. A wave froths over the lower portion of the vast rock surface, and even so far away the water ripples upward. Your curiosity flows with the departing wave, pulled nearer to the sea itself, until you’re forced to pause in order to keep dry. 

Although the sheer mass of water in incomprehensible to your mind, what’s obvious to your eyes alone is enough to have your breath deepening. Mind quietening as the waves spill onto the beach, hushing and shushing as foam clushes over pebbles and stones. You wonder what it might be like to be a creature of the sea. Whether the tides in the deep ocean are at all similar to roads across the country, or currents in the air. Whether the sea-life knows what pull to follow in accordance with the space around them. 

Time must be so different below the surface. 

Pebbles shuffle somewhere in the background of your mind, thousands of tiny stones rinsed with water rubbing against one another as a pressure steps onto them, yielding space to slot together better to accommodate the added weight. A wind roars across the beach, trying to whip the scarf free from your hair, luring strands free to sting and slice when they cut against your cheeks. 

“We should go inland to the market,” Azriel says, pausing at your side. You stand upright, but he’s still taller despite being on a lower plane of the beach. His dark head tips toward the open sea, where the horizon line has come blurred, the sky and water mixing as swollen clouds lethargically glide forward, peppering the smooth water surface with miniature raindrops, hitting the sea like stones. “There’ll be shelter further in, and it will be warmer.” 

You look out to the sea again, lips parting at how swiftly the storm is approaching. How thick the rainfall seems, even from such a far distance. Dense and near-opaque. Your pulse spikes. 

To feel all those raindrops hitting your skin…soaking your clothes and hair…trickling down your spine, behind the curve of your ears, crying down your cheeks and hanging from your lashes like teardrops… 

“Can we stay…?” 

The question comes out of its own accord, but you’re too busy feeling to retract it.

Azriel pauses, hesitance being an interesting texture on him.

“Sure.” 

————

He had been wary when she asked to remain on the beach, not sure she grasped how uncomfortable she would become with rain-drenched clothes paired with ice-cold winds, but the expression that had been on her face had been…compelling. A refusal had been on the tip of his tongue, but when he had looked at her she had been looking back, with her full attention. 

Azriel hasn’t ever seen her look at him completely—likely because a part of her mind has always been straying over him to fully gather her focus in one place. To look at him without another thought in her head. 

When the rain had come he had been able to hear her heart racing. Could pick out the rise and fall of her throat, chin tilted upright to watch the clouds fill the skies. Could see the gradient of her clothes darken, and the pattern of her hair where the thin, pale scarf was suctioned to it. 

He had waited at the beach’s top while she meandered down to the shoreline again, moving over the pebbles like the floor was made of springy moss. Once more scaling the jagged rocks and dipping her then-bare fingers into the filling pools, stirring up sand and life, having left her gloves behind. And this time, keeping dry hadn’t been a worry on her mind. 

Azriel’s stomach had tensed when she’d waded into the water until it was lapping at her calves, had been prepared to help her upright when she inevitably was tipped over by a wave she hadn’t anticipated, or had her footing undermined when stepping on a rock she hadn’t realised was there. And when she reaches down into the water, he’s certain the wind will carry across a yelp when the glacial water touches her stomach, startled enough by the cold that she will tip, or fall, or splash, or become submerged entirely. 

Instead her eyes become wide enough his attention on her narrows, both her arms elbow-deep in the waters, cupping something beneath the waves. Even through the thick curtains of rain she finds him, brows risen as she tips her head toward the sea. Come over here!

With a sigh, Azriel lifts himself from the cobbled wall he’d been stood before, separating the beach from the street, and walks down to the edge of the shore, the bottoms of his leather-bound boots inching into the shallows. Her back is hunched, sea up to her thighs, and when she sees he’s near enough, she lifts her cupped palms from the water. 

Laying flat across her hands is a grey seastone, but gripping to the stone is a dark purple starfish. 

Her eyes sparkle, already having left him to return to the sea creature. 

That’s right—she’s never seen these things before. 

And then he spots the darkness shooting just below the water’s surface. Concealed by the storm. 

————

A series of steadily increasing sizes of bumps run up the starfish’s five limbs, its skin littered in tiny speckles of mauve, blue, and maroon. They’re like the scales on a snake, with threads of soft, grey-pink flesh visible between them. Beautiful, and magical, in their own way. You have to wonder if the fish and animals in the upper parts of Prythian are especially designed, or whether some life is just more beautiful than others, magic having little to do with it. 

Just the luck of the draw. 

Azriel moves suddenly in your periphery, but his shout is muffled by the thundering rain. You startle as the clouds rumble overhead, starfish falling from your palms and splashing into the icy sea, hitting the bed and stirring up sediment.

You know it splashes, because something snatches at your ankle, and water sprays as you’re tipped over. 

You know it’s icy, because the breath is shocked from your lungs the second it snares around your throat. 

You know once it’s in the sea, it hits the ground, because your skull pounds with pain as you hit the rocky bed. 

Searing scratches bleed their way up your calf, claws crawling up your body. Salt water stings at your eyes and nostrils, burning your nose and the back of your throat as it’s swallowed down in a panicked gulp for air. The sea fizzes with tight air bubbles, sound muffled and thick, arms encased in freezing syrup as you try to find something to take hold of, feet thrashing as the bones around your ankle tighten, rocks grazing at your back as you’re dragged along the sea bed, hauled further out to sea, further from the shore. Pressure squeezing your already pounding skull as you go deeper, deeper, deeper. 

You lash out, nails catching on something and more water fills your lungs as you scream, something coming away cold and soft beneath your nails. Clumpy and flesh-like. 

Whatever’s grabbing you recoils briefly, before surging forward with threefold its original strength, claws digging into the flesh of your thighs, scratching at your hips as it climbs higher, a single nail running down the centre of your throat before strong arms are hooking beneath your own, a sudden searing heat blazing just in front of you, and you swear a flash like lightening hits the water. Cold, and blue, despite the brief burn of the water as it came to a boil. 

Water shoots from your nostrils, gurgling in your throat as you try to gasp for air, wind roaring and whipping, rain lashing down into your eyes as you’re hauled back to the surface, Azriel’s arms keeping you clutched tight to his body, wading through the sea to return to the safety of the shore. Your arms spasm, lungs coughing as your stomach clenches and roils, retching as water spills from your lips, spat out upon the slick pebbles of the beach. 

Your eyes are burning, panting and gasping and crying as stinging pain bleeds across your body, able to smell the copper even in the rain-soaked air. 

Through the blinking blur of your vision, you can see Azriel crouched beside you but the wind is too loud to hear what he’s saying. Thunder rumbles through the skies and you try to dig your knuckles into the spongey hollows of your eye sockets, desperate to see, to dry away the salt. 

A hot palm burns your cheek, warm fingers guiding away your pestering hands, pressing dry fabric gently to the inner parts of your eyes. You sniffle, lungs heaving, chest trembling, but slowly the blur subsides, enough for you to pick out the dry finger of a glove trailing carefully beneath your lash-line. 

Your arms tighten themselves on your ribcage, squeezing your sides as you keep your knees close to your chest, shaking violently. 

The raging storm is blotted away as a dark panel slides across the smudged horizon, a hand curving on your shoulder to bring you closer, and terror has paralysed your capacity for shame. 

Eyes burning anew; stinging as tears roll away, your forehead falls to Azriel’s shoulder, huddling into his warmth. Legs crossed at the ankle, hands tucked into your armpits, you can feel the pulse of his jugular against your temple, the line of his jaw grazing the crown of your head. His palm squeezes, your stomach spasming as hot blood recoils from your surface, steadily sinking inwards and slowly draining down your legs where that creature raked its claws. 

Lighting flashes overhead, thunder rumbling only a second later, and you curl yourself tighter, uncaring for the heat it’s wringing from your body. Dripping onto the cobbles below. 

“You have magic,” Azriel whispers, exasperated and strained. “Why didn’t you use it?” 

Your lips tremble, tears mixing with the rain, head hanging as you try to press closer to his warmth to keep away the whipping winds. Hot breath puffs along the length of your throat, and his palm settles over your skull, thumb trailing the perimeter of the wound you know is there. You’re grateful he’s holding you tight enough there’s nearly no room to shake and shudder. 

————

Azriel is convinced it’s one of the escaped immortals. 

His features had been strained when he’d carried you back inland to the town, finding a temporary spot for you to rest, indoors and warm, hot food and drink brought out, and given a quiet backroom to huddle in. The temperature is warm, but your left shoulder and hip and cold without Azriel around. Tingling palm-sized pressures on your ribs and thigh. 

Azriel’s jaw is tight, wings laced with tension, and you wrap yourself tighter, shifting closer to the crackling fireplace. It’s common sense you’ll warm up quicker with the removal of your clothes, but you both know that isn’t an option for you. So you settle for one-sided heat of the fire instead, alternating every now and then to give the opposite side of you a chance to dry. The only item of clothing discarded being your head scarf, hair hanging in clumpy strands from the sea salt. A tangling mess, sticky and sodden. 

Azriel glances to the clock on the wall again, and you reach for your tea, sipping tentatively, wary but not really caring about the scalding burn as it streams down your throat, heating your stomach. Your legs sting if the fire faces them for too long, but other than that, the pain is more than bearable. 

“Can you speak with Rhysand from here?” You ask softly, wrapping your fingers around the mug, peering into the sweetened, stirring liquid. Azriel shakes his head. “Too great a distance,” he replies in your same volume. “It will have to wait until we’re back in Velaris.” 

“Would it be good to leave now, then?” You ask, gaze shifting to the fireplace, already mourning its heat. But Azriel shakes his head again. “There’s still your armour to collect from Malachite. We will fly back once it’s collected.”

“You don’t know when it will be done…” You think aloud, shifting your hold on the mug. “Wouldn’t it be better to return now, than to waste more time waiting for something we aren’t sure will be finished?” 

“I know him. He’ll have it done.” 

Azriel sighs, for the first time since you’ve been given this quiet room in the back of a busy store leaning back in the too-small chair. Flames dance in his glowing eyes, and you wonder if he’s even seeing the fire at all, or if he’s learned to block it out. If such things even affect him anymore. 

The warmth leaves them as they cut to you, no longer reflecting the heat, and it takes a second for you to look away, cradling the mug. “Can you walk?” 

You blink, pausing. Mentally feeling down your body. Thinking how your flesh tingles and stings in different areas. The dull throb at the back of your head. “I think so,” you reply, looking to him, “if I’m fine to?” A phantom sting thrums through your thighs as his eyes cut over you, shins flickering with the grazing itch of a needle, threads of starlight glowing where his eyes trace. 

Azriel contemplates for a pause, eyes glazing as you imagine him once more attempting to reach out to Rhysand. “You’ll live,” he settles on, hazel clear again, “but say if you hurt. We’ll find a place to pause, and we can wait in one of Malachite’s rooms if you need space to rest.” 

You swallow but nod, not mentioning your aversion for the male. You’d prefer to walk on openly bleeding legs than willingly rest under the Ogre’s roof. Disagreeable and unpleasant as he was. 

Azriel gets to his feet, nodding to the mug in your lap. “Finish your tea then, and we’ll head out.” Upon noticing the questioning look in your eyes before you can hide it, he elaborates. “You haven’t seen the market yet, and it might take your mind off the events of the day. And it will allow me time to think on what to do next.” He adds at the end. 

Teeth chew your lip. You suppose if it will also help him…you don’t have to feel bad about dragging him around a town he’s probably seen anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred times. Maybe more. 

So you finish your tea, wrap the now-dry scarf around your neck, and follow behind him as you trail back into the damp streets, thanking the owner sincerely on the way out. Grateful for the cozy shelter. 

————

The storm has passed by the time you return to open air, but has left its mark on the town. 

Cobbles are black and gleaming, puddles accumulated in between; crystal clear drops of water falling from iron lanterns, dripping from rooftops or the oxidised copper of gate rungs. The smell of the sea is temporarily overpowered by the damp scent of rain and wet brick, earthy with a twinge of brine. 

Still, the market itself is lively, tarpaulin strung atop heavily laden tables to protect from lashing rainfall, the slats that could hang down from the tops like curtains now once more rolled and tied, allowing passersby a better chance to browse the wares on sale. 

There are a few stalls that catch your eye, a surprising amount of variety for what you’d thought was just a coastal town, but that appears to be a centre for trading. The keepers of the stalls each gathering their wares then moving further throughout Prythian, carting special items between courts to sell elsewhere, exchanging where they can’t afford stock in gold. 

It’s strange to think about this world, almost similar to your father’s. 

Some tables are laden with thickly padded blankets, sheets with embroidered corners and tasseled edges, pillow coverings with matching floral motifs, outlined in golden thread. Others hold crockery and cutlery, and a smile tingles just beneath the surface of you lips when you spot a set you imagine came from the Winter Court—Bas’ home court. You swallow thickly, pausing to take in the distantly familiar details, blue ink glazed to the white ceramic, small figures that can’t be any larger than a single knuckle from your fifth finger pickaxing at frozen land. It’s both warming and aching to look upon, the faint taste of regret in your mouth. 

When your vision blurs at the edges, you force yourself to swiftly move on, shifting your attention to the next stall while Azriel keeps to himself, just remaining close enough to keep an eye on you without being invasive. It’s just what you need at the moment, space enough to walk on your own while having the comfort of strength within reach. Having the space to subtly dry your prickling eyes without having to feel the discomfort of shame. 

You pass by a few stalls before another takes your interest, smaller tables displaying knitted quilts and jumpers, thick scarves and three sizes of mittens—all too large for yourself. One table displays silverware: from rings, to locks, to hinges and tools. A box the size of your forearm filled with a variety of iron nails, some sharp as stingers while others twist and swirl, as small as a tooth or as long as one of your fingers. 

The male who watches over the stool has a sibling to this display, a table two thirds the size of the first entirely dedicated to jewellery—the silver and iron pieces made by hand while the ones forged in gold are the result of trade. You’re reminded of the blacksmith you’d spoken with in the Autumn market, who’d had the gruff exterior. For a moment your fingers itch to graze the lobes of your ears, but worry Azriel will somehow put all the pieces together, as impossible as that would be. Unfortunately the skill levels drastically differ here, most of the rings merely plain bands of silver, lacking the flourish you’d found so beautiful in Autumn. Much more practical looking, verging on banality, the exception being the pieces the blacksmith had traded for. 

Gazing over the twinkling gold you have to admit you’re clueless to how he managed to get his hands on jewellery like this. Compared to the iron and silver pieces, they’re stunning. More than a few engraved with small patterns, tiny coloured jewels encrusted in the centres of floral designs. You’re fortunate most of them seem made for male hands—there’s no way you could afford or trade your way into having possession of one of them, and you imagine they might now feel strange around your mostly numb digits. 

Azriel had mentioned some of the sailors having wondering hands… 

You cautiously depart form the stool, as beautiful as it had been, content to continue perusing. 

While the sting in your legs is very much present, you find more enjoyment in the exploration of the market, getting to see such a range of craftsmanship displayed all in one place. 

The next table you pause at is one that’s showing off more variety than any of the others, seemingly a collection of bits and bobs spat out in a disorganised pattern across the stretching table. Other fae bustle around in the space between rows, and you manage to slide into a space that will allow you to better look at the intriguing variety. 

After a while observing on your own, Azriel fills the empty slot beside you, receiving a wary glance from the stall-owner who migrates a little further down the table from where he’d been previously conversing with a customer. 

“See anything you like?” Azriel asks. 

Thankfully his proximity is enough to battle the shifting and shuffling of feet; the general bustle of the market. Your gaze roams across the long table, drawn to the splashes of colour gleaming before you. “Those are pretty,” you reply, nodding to the squares of coloured glass displayed upon pillow-stuffing in a tilted wooden crate. They look like they might be tea coasters, or lovely things to hang from the ceiling near a window, so the light refracts and spills beauty across a previously plain room. Your eyes stray to the other glass pieces, that smile again tingling at your lips when you see a few monocles filled with tinted glass, a pair of spectacles with circular, coloured lenses. 

They’re so ridiculously excessive they make your heart hurt. 

Azriel nods to the pair you were looking at, tinted indigo. “Why not try them on?” 

You look to him, lips parted. Brow furrowing, “Is that allowed?” 

Azriel shrugs, glancing to where the stall-owner is obviously eavesdropping. He blushes at having been caught, folding his arms over a puffed up chest, but gives a curt nod. You look back at the glasses, now in reach. With tentative fingers you pluck them from the display, sliding them over the point of your ears, letting them settle delicately on the bridge of your nose. 

They’re a bit large, but they fit. 

Unthinking, you look up at Azriel, curious for an expression to establish your own thoughts upon, and a beat passes. You swallow. “How do they look?” You ask, feeling heat creeping up your neck. Azriel watches you quietly for a few seconds. “Blue.” 

You nod your head, “they’re a bit too large, I think…” Carefully removing them, you fold back the legs, putting the lovely set back where they came from. “Those are pretty, though,” you say, gesturing to the arrangement of wooden goblets and other small carvings further down the table. Everything’s reminding you of him though. 

With a tightened throat, you lift one of the goblets, examining it in closer detail. The lovely colour of burnt wood, smelling smokey and familiar. Miniature circles ring the top, with eight arches etched into the sides topping two rings holding a series of squares inside. Skilled carvings. “Isn’t it nice?” You ask distantly, not sure whether you’re offering the question to Azriel or just thinking aloud. He nods anyway. “Do you like it?” 

You blink, lowering the goblet and looking to him, having not expected a question in return. You blink again, realising you shouldn’t be so surprised, clearing your throat and returning the carving to its place. “I- guess?” You stammer, not wanting to bring up Bas. It’s too ugly a bruise. “My father did things like this, though not-…practical…things…” 

Azriel hums, and you feel your throat closing up. 

Maybe you should have asked to help visit in the Winter Court, even if it would have meant travelling with Mor. You could have tried to patch things up with her, and maybe while you were there you could visit the statue Bas had once told you about. 

Maybe you should have insisted on seeing him once more, before he left. 

Just in case you didn’t live to say goodbye. 

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Twelve

Fool's Fare: Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Talks of death, Lots of anxiety, Reader has a mental breakdown kind of, Abandonment issues surface hardcore, Talk of curses, Talk of magic, Major angst, Sea shanty, Feelings of hopelessness, Davy Jones reveal! I think that's everything, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

The port of St. Augustine was much like any other port you had found yourself in. The marketplace bustled with activity, the sellers promoting their wears as others scurried about to and fro on the streets. The sun beat down, casting a fog of humidity that threatened to choke the air from your lungs.

It had been two weeks since the serpent’s attack, and the crew of the Hangman had been stranded in the large port, sequestering themselves to one of the local pubs until repairs to the broken mast were finished.

Jake had been in a foul mood since the encounter, the looming deadline heavy on his mind, and on more than one occasion you had woken up to the sound of his distressed murmurs as he slept beside you. He had flat out refused to leave your side for longer than a few minutes since the attack, anxiety and distress coloring his features every time you looked at him. You knew he feared losing you, you could feel it in the way he held you these days, the end drawing nearer with each passing of the sun across the horizon. But wasn’t it you who should be afraid of losing him? You weren’t the one in danger of falling victim to a curse.

A bothersome fly pulled you from your thoughts, the whining of its movement sparking irritation in your chest. It was too damn hot for the pesky thing to be bothering you. You pulled your hand out from under your chin, swatting at the insect as it flew just out of your reach. It zoomed back towards you, wings fluttering in your face as if to taunt you. An exasperated exhale escaped your lips as you glared daggers at the offending beast.

“You look miserable.”

You turned to see Nat approaching you slowly, a wry smile on her lips as you gave her a tight-lipped smile—an attempt you were sure came out as more of a grimace than an actual smile. You wiped the sweat drenched strand of hair out of your face, offering her a shrug as you turned your attention back to the street outside. She sighed, coming up to sit at the sill beside you. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the different groups of people as they flitted about the street. The silence grew more tense as the time dragged on, and you could tell that Natasha wanted to say something to you. Glancing at her from the corner of your eye, you saw her chewing on her bottom lip, deep in thought.

“How’s Mickey today?” You asked her. His screams of agony were still fresh in your mind, the scarlet on his clothes vivid in your mind as he writhed on the decks of the ship. Javy had been the one to stop the blood flow, securing the bandage around Mickey’s thigh tight enough to put a temporary fix to the problem without causing more damage. You watched as Javy and Reuben picked Mickey up on either end, carrying him towards the cabins. Mickey had already passed out, a layer of sweat coating his pallid skin. Nausea roiled in your stomach, your breathing coming out in quick spurts.

You jumped as Jake came up behind you, brushing your hand with his fingertips. Your eyes darted towards him, unease settled deep in your bones.

“Is he going to be okay?” You whispered, looking at the captain for any kind of answer. Jake sucked in a breath, and it occurred to you that you had never seen him look so at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he answered, hanging his head. His hands flexed at his side before balling them into tight fists. You looked from him back towards the sea. The serpent and the British ship were already out of sight as the Hangman limped towards shore. You were sure the men on the other ship were all dead, the serpent’s hunger sated until the next unsuspecting ship made its way into the waters.

“Those men,” you continued, brow furrowing in thought. “The one’s the serpent-”

You stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, pressing your lips into a thin line as Jake glanced at you, waiting.

“Are they dead?” You asked, looking back at him. You didn’t know how the curse worked in cases like this. Yes, they could be hurt. You knew that much. But would something like what had just occurred be enough to kill them?

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he dared to look back towards the water.

“I hope so.”

You had reached the port of St. Augustine early the next morning, the cold light of dawn at your backs as each crew member heaved a weary sigh. Reuben had departed the ship as soon as the gangway was in place, running to find a doctor to see after Mickey. The rest of the crew waited around anxiously, some busying themselves with tasks around the ship as everyone waited for news on Mickey’s condition.

“He’s doing a lot better today,” Nat told you, a tired grunt leaving her lips as she settled further back against the wall. You nodded, closing your eyes in a bid to ignore the heat that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still look miserable,” she prodded, earning a less than enthused grunt from you. You sighed, leaning up and stretching out your shoulders.

“I suppose I could be doing better,” you admitted, finally turning your full attention to her. She pressed her lips together, humming in agreement.

“The deadline is only a few days away,” she said, and your heart jumped at the reminder before curling in on itself. Her words were the exact reason you had been keeping to yourself the past week, dread filling you down to your very soul as the days loomed and the dreaded deadline approached faster and faster. The anxiety kept you awake well into the night, clawing at your mind until it was all you could think about. You hadn’t known sleep in days.

“Jake’s been awfully tense,” she pressed. “Rightfully so, I guess. Javy won’t show it, but I know he’s worried too. I can see it in the way he holds his shoulders. He fidgets more than usual too when he’s nervous. I do my best to soothe his worries, and I think he forgets for a little while, but…”

Her voice drifts off to silence, an air of uncertainty surrounding her. You understood what she was feeling. The moments of sleep Jake could get were spent in fitful movements as even his unconscious mind was unable to find peace amongst the chaos. You would curl up closer to him in those moments, resting your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. Fingers would glide up and down his arm, and your presence seemed to calm him enough that he would still, if only for a little while. You asked him early on what he dreamed of in those moments, but his eyes would glaze over as his lips pressed firm, a faraway look in his eyes before he would shake his head and walk away, shoulders hunched as if in defeat.

Bradley didn’t fare much better when you tried talking to him. The usually playful, happy-go-lucky man you knew and loved had all but disappeared. All that was left was a shell of a man who looked and sounded like your brother, but seemed to be a complete stranger to you now in these past days. You had tried talking to him, to get a sense of where his head was at, but much like your captain, no words would leave his lips. He would only stare at you, almost looking through you before turning and walking away.

You felt like you would lose your mind, like the concern and anxiety was building up so completely within you. It reminded you of how your mother once was when your father would leave for his voyages.

She’d pace around the house, busying herself with as many tasks as she could—sometimes repeating them two or three times in a bid to keep her hands busy and mind from drifting towards thoughts of the unimaginable. On more than one occasion, you’d come home to find her staring out towards the water, a faraway look in her eye. You always wondered what she was thinking about in those moments, but now you were sure you knew.

“I don’t think it’s possible to forget the ocean’s secrets,” you replied, focusing once more on the busy street outside. “The ocean will always remind you why it’s not to be crossed.”

Natasha didn’t respond, only looked at you. You didn’t acknowledge her, letting your mind wander to thoughts of what would happen if you all were to fail. Would the curse turn them into mindless monsters? Would the change be immediate? Or would you lose those you hold most dear slowly as their unslaked desire coursed through their veins for eternity?

Your friend heaved a heavy sigh before standing. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but must have thought better of it before turning on her heels and walking away. You wished you could provide her with some kind of comfort, some certainty that things would be okay. But, you could hardly convince yourself of it, let alone another.

The afternoon passed slowly, your vigil by the window continuing on even as the pub filled with sailors and your own crew. Mickey had managed to heal enough to walk, though his usually golden skin still seemed somewhat dull after his experience. The crew drank as if there were no tomorrow, and you supposed there might not be. Locals took up space by the piano, different jigs and tunes ringing out amongst the crowd as several people joined in with lyrics. You wished you could join in the merriment, bring yourself to forget for just one moment that a mere guess wouldn’t decide your fate.

Jake, Bradley, and the rest of your friends sat hunched around one of the tables across from where you sat, none of them able to meet your gaze, and a mixture of anger and loneliness filled you. Is this what your days would look like? Would they go off and leave you behind to face a life of solitude? Would they expect you to forget them?

For another moment, you were reminded once again of your mother, only this time you remembered her as she waited for that last voyage. You could tell that something was different that time, the air more tense as she paced around your home. The song she would hum under her breath the only sound she would make for days. You thought of that song, how lonely and full of despair the words sounded. You thought of how sad your mother always sounded every time she would sing it, and before you even realized, the words were leaving your lips quietly, slowly building to be heard above the hum of conversation filling the room.

“I thought I heard the Old Man say: ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her.’ Tomorrow you will get your pay, and it's time for us to leave her.”

Several heads turned towards you as you sang, your voice clear as you felt the emotion you had worked so hard to keep tamped down swirl within you.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

The conversation died down now, and you supposed you would feel self conscious under normal circumstances, but something within you longed to break free and be heard. You had long stayed quiet in fear of upsetting those around you with your own feelings. Of course, you had had your few moments where you couldn’t keep the worries and feelings within you, your fears bursting forth and out of you over the past few months on sea.

“Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ She shipped it green and none went by. And it's time for us to leave her.”

The conversation had stopped completely at this point, but you were only vaguely aware of your audience. The words themselves haunted you, and you knew how your mother had felt all those years ago. You wondered if she felt the exact moment she had lost your father to the sea.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

Had your father been scared in his final moments? Did the waves tower over him life in the song you now sang? Had he faced the towering waves head on in the way he faced everything in life? Or had looking death in the face been too much for him? Did he think of you? Your mother? Bradley? Or did he lament the things he hadn’t done, the things he had failed to do?

“I hate to sail on this rotten tub. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ No grog allowed and rotten grub. And it's time for us to leave her.”

Several people within the pub now joined in your singing, voices ringing out in unison. For the first time since you started, you dared a look over at the table where the others sat. Remorse colored both Jake and Bradley’s faces, the whisper of tears in their eyes as they watched you. Your heart squeezed so tight, you wondered for a moment if it would burst. You hadn’t meant for the tears to flow, and you were shocked when a cool, night breeze blew in from outside, cooling the trickle that streamed down your cheeks.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

You choked on the words, unable to continue as those around you continued on. Your world would change in a few days, and there was nothing you could do about it. For the first time, hope seemed too far out of reach, slipping through your grasp as the realization that you would truly be alone for the first time gripped you tightly, refusing to let go.

“We swear by rote for want of more. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ But now we're through so we'll go on shore. And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

You let out a quiet sob as you pushed off from your seat, practically running out of the pub. The door banged against the wall with a loud crack, the echo of laughter and conversation chasing after you into the dark street. Another tune started up, a jollier shanty than the one you had led everyone in, but the joy and merriment found in the pub did not reach you in that moment, despair digging its claws into you as you stalked down the street with no mind to where you were heading.

The world swam around you, blurred by your tears. Your chest and head hurt from how hard you sobbed, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt keep yourself together, to keep yourself whole.

You staggered, coming to a stop next to building, leaning your weight against the sturdy structure as you fought to gain back your composure. A hand landed on your shoulder, ripping you out of your breakdown. You looked up with wet, wide eyes to meet a sea of concerned green.

Jake didn’t hesitate to try and pull you close, moving to wrap his arms around you in a soothing gesture, but you shook your head, pressing a hand to his chest to keep him away. His brow furrowed in confusion, thumb reaching up absentmindedly to wipe away your tears. You jerked away from him, shaking your head more vigorously.

“No,” you croaked, another sob wracking through you.

“Guppy,” he started, taking a step closer to you, but you shoved at him this time.

“No,” you stated more firmly, shooting him an angry, wild look that had him balking. “I don’t want your pity, or your comfort, or anything else you’re trying to bestow upon me. Not when it’ll all be for nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” He sighed out, an edge to his tone. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand as you attempted to stand tall.

“I can’t keep relying on you,” you uttered. “Not when this time in only four days, I won’t have you anymore. I’ll be alone. I’ll have no one except maybe Nat, but even that’s not a guarantee. In a few days' time, you’ll face Davy Jones, and not knowing how that will end, terrifies me.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there and watched you with an indiscernible expression. Finally, he set his jaw and stepped close, pulling you into his arms. A large hand cradled your face, pulling your face up towards his.

“I’m not leaving you, sweet girl,” he said, thumb stroking across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut as a new wave of tears threatened to spill over.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered in return.

“I do though,” he retorted. “I know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. Even if I’m doomed to live a cursed life, a life where I will never know peace or satisfaction again, it would be a far worse fate to not have you by my side.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that shook you, choosing instead to hide your face against his chest. Jake let out a low hum, smoothing his hand over the back of your head as he rocked you gently until the sobs died down once more.

“Trust me, Guppy,” he murmured, moving his hand to dig something out of his coat. “This will buy us our freedom.”

You turned your head to see him holding up the Soul of Polaris, the gem seeming to glow in the moonlight. You swallowed thickly, watching as it rotated slowly in his hold.

“What does it show you?” You asked quietly, gripping his shirt a little harder in your hands.

“What?” Jake asked, sounding perplexed.

“When I first saw it,” you explained, “the man who had it said that it guided a person to what it was they needed most.”

You turned your head to gaze up at him. “So, what is it that it shows you?”

Jake looked at you for a moment, eyes wide in surprise before he shifted his focus towards the gem. His brow furrowed once more as he pressed his lips together, pondering what he should say.

“We should head back,” he said finally, pocketing the gem once more as he guided you back down the street.

Four days later, the newly repaired Hangman rocked in the ocean waves as it headed up the coast towards North Carolina. The air aboard the ship had grown thick with mounting tension and anxiety, the air so thick you swore you could cut it with one of Bob’s kitchen knives.

The fog that surrounded the waters didn’t help matters, setting a decidedly somber mood as the crew waited for their fates to be decided. Sunset was approaching, something you could tell despite the blanket of fog that hid the sun from view. Jake hadn’t stopped pacing the length of the deck for two hours, and just watching him had you on edge. He had already snapped at three crew members for, admittedly, small infractions, and you were starting to wonder if he’d keep his sanity long enough to see Davy Jones at this point.

“Captain,” Javy called from the helm, face tight with his own anxiety, though his tells were less obvious compared to everyone else’s. Jake’s head snapped up to look at him, back rigid as he paused mid-step.

“We’re here,” Javy announced, dipping his head at his best friend. Jake sucked in a breath, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he blew out, nodding his head as he swallowed thickly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, nodding more determinedly. “Yeah, alright. Bradshaw, Guppy. You’re with me. Everyone else, stay put until I get back.”

You were shocked that he picked you and Bradley, certain he would have chosen Javy or Natasha. You didn’t say anything as you followed him and Bradley towards one of the lifeboats. Natasha already stood by the railing, waiting for the captain to approach.

“You’re leaving me behind?” She challenged as you all approached, Javy descending the stairs at the same time. Jake raised his chin at her, a grimace pulling on his lips.

“I trust you and Javy to look after the ship while I’m away,” he explained. “But, I still need people I can trust with me—people I can depend on if this goes south. Bradshaw will act as my muscle, and we’ve seen how things react around Guppy.”

Natasha mulled over his words for a moment before nodding in agreement.

“Be careful out there,” she implored. “We’ve already had one crew member mangled by something magical.”

Jake shot her a grateful look before turning his attention to Javy who had saddled up behind her. The two shared a silent exchange before clasping their forearms and pulling each other in for a one-armed hug. The two pulled away at the same time, and Javy offered the captain a nod.

“Good luck,” he said. Jake nodded back at him before turning back towards the lifeboat. He let out a long, weary sigh before stepping forward with you and Bradley not far behind.

The fog clung to your skin, giving you the feeling of walking through water as the sand shifted beneath your feet. Jake and Bradley had hauled the boat up out of the water and further onto the beach before the three of you set out to find the spot where Davy Jones would be waiting.

The wind whipped around you, ruffling your clothes and sending a chill down your spine. You ignored it, knowing what lay ahead of you already had a frigid feeling coursing through your veins as the sky began to grow darker. Jake’s pace began to increase as the clock counted down, his hands clenching and unclenching as the three of you continued on.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Bradley asked, peering at the captain from the corner of his eye. Jake’s frown deepened as he shot the brunette a sharp look.

“Yes,” he snapped, stopping suddenly. “This is the place.”

You looked around, noting the cliffs that hung just above your head, the grass swaying in the wind as the waves crashed against the rocky shore. Bradley looked around as Jake stared down at his feet. You perched atop one of the rocks, bringing your knees up to your chin as your attention flickered between the two men.

“Did we miss him?” Bradley prodded, hands in his pockets as he walked around in a circle. “Shouldn’t he be here already?”

“I don’t know Bradshaw,” Jake snapped once more, an irritated glint in his eye. “We didn’t exactly exchange letters on what time to meet.”

A familiar hum prickled at the back of your neck, your back straightening as a knowing feeling overcame you. You twisted your neck to the right, looking down the beach towards the opposite way you came. In the growing shadows and through the fog, a tall figure began to emerge, their coat billowing behind them.

“Look!” You exclaimed, scrambling to your feet as you pointed a finger at the figure. Jake and Bradley turned to where you gestured, postures alert and on guard as they spotted the figure too. The humming grew in intensity as the figure drew closer, but there was no sense of danger that accompanied it like there had been with Thetis, the sirens, and the serpent. No, in place of danger, there was only the sense of familiarity, and confusion tickled at the back of your mind.

The fog and shadows obscured the figure as it stopped by some rocks a few yards away. You squinted, trying to make out any discernable features, but you couldn’t help but feel you knew the person who stood in front of you. A soft scratch sounded as the figure struck a match, the small flame illuminating his face as he lit the pipe that hung at his lips. Shock coursed through you as you recognized the blue eyes and weathered face that stared back at your group, the embers of tobacco letting out a puff of smoke as he exhaled.

You blinked, not quite believing what you were seeing, and you knew Bradley’s expression must have mirrored your own in that moment.

“Tom?”

A/N: Wooooooooow! I can't believe it's finally here, y'all! What do we think? How are we feeling? What on earth is going to happen next???

It feels so good to finally get this one off my chest, I've been sitting on it for sooooooo long! Like...the amount of times I almost slipped up and told y'all everything is embarrassing, quite frankly.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[azrielsdove]

Don’t Blame Me: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Suggestive

(loosely based on the don’t blame me x LWYMMD mashup from the eras tour ngl)

***

You heard a desperate, strangled shout of your name as he went down. You screamed, anger and fear taking over. No, no, no, you chanted in your head, diving in the direction Azriel had fallen. This couldn’t happen, not to him.

The two of you were sent on a mission to investigate unknown creatures breaching the borders of the Night Court. Rhys wasn’t even able to tell you what they were, just that they were more dangerous than anything you’d dealt with before. You had been given explicit instruction to leave once you found where they were residing and report back the location. From there a larger team would be sent out to eradicate the threat.

You had been tracking them carefully for days, trying to find their home base. You were beginning to think they didn’t have one, that these creatures were nomadic. Until an hour ago. Azriel had practically dragged you as high as you could go in the sky, pointing to a cluster of trees a while away. “There,” he explained, “they reconvene there during the day.” You nodded, preparing to fly back to Velaris and tell Rhys. Azriel caught your arm, shaking his head. “I want to track them a little longer. Make sure I have the pattern right so when we come back we can have the best chance at taking them out.”

You didn’t have a good feeling about staying out, but you agreed anyway. It was important to ensure the information you had was as detailed as possible. That’s how you ended up here, wind rushing past your face as you free fell down to where Azriel landed. Please be okay.

You dropped to the ground and surveyed the area for any sign of life. There was nothing there. If you hadn’t seen Azriel fall yourself you would have assumed nothing was ever down here. You took off through the trees, heading in the direction of what you assumed was their camp. You listened carefully for any sound, whether it be danger or Azriel himself. You were nearing the clearing he had spotted earlier when you heard a slow hum, ducking back behind a tree and tucking your wings tight against you. You poked your head out to watch two of the creatures move farther in the area, Azriel dragged between the two of them. Your heart ached at the blood running down his face and his limp body.

You followed the creatures until you were at the edge of the camp, watching their moves intently. The tied Azriel to a tree trunk, moving and muttering around him. You were taking in how many you saw, estimating that about 30 of these things were living here. Your nose wrinkled at the sight of the insect-like beings, their long stingers the supposed most dangerous part of them. The creatures were roughly the size of an Illyrian soldier, resembling wasps more than any type of fae. Large, disgusting wasps. The hum grew louder as what you supposed was the leader approached Azriel. Your toes curled as you watched the way it yanked his face up, inspecting the unconscious male.

It turned to one of its workers, a horrible clicking sound coming from its mouth. The other responded in the same way, the language grating against your ears. They turned back to Azriel, continuing to talk about him. You wished more than anything you could understand what they were saying. You looked over Azriel again, noticing that his blades were still strapped to his body. Did the creatures not realize what they were? Or were they truly so deadly they didn’t need to worry about disarming their enemies? A chill ran through your spine at the thought.

The leader let out a loud screech and the others filed into neat rows in front of it. You paled at the sight of them all together. What were you going to do? You desperately called for Rhys in your mind, knowing he likely would never hear you. Even if he did, how long would it take him to get here? Azriel might not have that much time left.

The leader gave some sort of command, and you watched in horrified shock as they all opened their mouths. Long, sharp, straw-like tubes came out, heading straight towards Azriel. You didn’t have time to think before you ran out there, quick enough to take them by surprise and get in front of him. The creatures all stopped, taking in this new sight in front of them. Adrenaline was pumping through your body, the only thought you had was to save Azriel.

Don’t blame me.

You pressed your back to his front, reaching behind to grab on to one of the swords strapped to his chest. Your warrior eyes darted around the creatures, desperately searching for any sign of weakness.

Don’t blame me.

The leader moved towards you, that horrible straw coming straight to your face instead. In a split-second decision you ripped the sword from its place on Azriel’s chest, a loud scream tearing from your throat as you swung. Tense silence spread through the woods, followed by a sickening squelch as the creature split in half.

Don’t blame me for what you made me do.

The other creatures all swarmed towards you at once, your screams and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor echoing through the woods around you. You became feral, tapping into the deepest parts of your Illyrian training. All you knew was to not let them touch Azriel. One of those horrid straws sank into your thigh, a searing pain ripping through your skin. You yelled, the next strike aimed at the creature who attacked. The wound burned like acid had been poured into your bloodstream, and knowing the way these creatures worked it probably had. You couldn’t let that stop you, not when Azriel was in danger.

Look what you made me do.

You fought back with more anger, cutting down creature after creature. You were a force of pure power, midnight blue siphons a thing of deadly beauty. Another straw embedded itself into your arm, the sword clanging to the ground. You wrapped your uninjured hand around the pulsating thing, ripping it out of your skin. You squeezed your hand around it, harder and harder until you felt the satisfying pop of it breaking. The creature it was attached to howled and you shot it square in the chest with your power. You looked around, noting there were only three of these left. Even with your arm and leg out of commission, you felt you could finish these last few off.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

Your uninjured arm slid down, pulling out a dagger you had strapped to your thigh. You surveyed the three creatures around you, deciding to go for the middle one. You roared, jumping forward and latching on to the nasty beast. Your dagger rammed into its chest and you slid down, your weight pulling the blade down its body. It screeched as you were showered with its sticky green blood, collapsing backwards. You turned to the other two, adrenaline dulling the pain of your injuries as you pulled out a second dagger.

Oh, Lord save me, my drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life.

The two convened on you at the same time and you swung out both arms, spinning in a death dance with the blades. You landed on one knee in front of Azriel, twin thuds from behind you letting you know you struck true. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up, up into his wide eyes. He murmured your name and you dropped the daggers, the adrenaline rushing out of you. You winced at the sudden pain in your arm and leg, spreading quickly from your intense use of them. You fell forward, body shaking while you tried to push yourself up. You had to untie Azriel, he had to get out of here.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

You forced yourself up with a cry, fingers undoing the knots the creatures had used to keep Azriel trapped. He pulled out of them the second he could, catching you as your weakened body fell against him. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, cradling you tight to his chest before shooting off into the sky. Far, far away from the carnage you unleashed on those creatures who dared to threaten him.

***

“No, Rhys, i’ve never seen anything quite like it. She took out all of them. Heavily injured on top of that.” You recognized Azriel’s voice, muffled as if he was standing behind a door. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt as if they were ten thousand pounds each.

“That can’t be. You’re certain no one else was around? I’ve never heard of one single person taking out 30 of them. I’ve rarely heard of someone taking out just one on their own.” Rhysands voice was contemplative, trying to understand how you could have pulled off such a feat.

“I know that. I saw her do it Rhys. She was a true force of raw power.” Azriel sounded…in awe of you. You forced your eyes open, blinking as you adjusted to the soft light pouring in from the windows. You looked around the room, realizing Rhys and Azriel must be standing right outside the cracked door. You tried to sit up, a loud gasp of pain ripping from you at the action.

The sound alerted the two males outside, the door flinging open as they rushed in. “How are you feeling?” Azriel demanded, immediately coming to your side. You tried to sit again, the pain knocking the breath out of you. “Let me help,” he said softly, gently pulling you into a sitting position.

“I think i’m okay. In a lot of pain. What happened?” Your throat was sore, voice gravelly. You assumed you had been out for some time. Rhys observed you carefully, like you were a specimen he was investigating.

“You took on a hoard of those creatures. Alone. Do you remember that?” His question was almost accusatory, as if he didn’t believe the story.

You nodded. “Yes.” The reminder of those horrible bug creatures made you shiver, the sounds of them dying echoing in your ears.

“Can you show me? How you did it?” Rhys’ eyes bore into you, almost a threat. You stared right back, not appreciating the doubt from your friend.

“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” A claw stroked your mental shields and you dropped them easily. The memories of the fight began playing, the anger you felt overtaking your senses. If you hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have believed the strength you showed to defeat all of them. The reminder of your wounds stung your healing skin, Rhys even wincing as he watched. He could feel your rage, your power.

He could feel the dedication and love you felt towards Azriel.

You threw your shields back up at that, not wishing to let him in any further. He had seen enough. Rhys blinked at you, eyes flitting between you and Azriel. “I see,” he mused. “Well, you certainly did kill them all. That’s quite some feat of power. I think perhaps I should tell Cassian to up your training.” He winked at you and moved to leave the room. “I’ll let the healers know you are awake. I will be back later to check in.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Leaving you with Azriel.

Azriel, who was looking at you like you were the most delicate flower he had ever seen. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His concern struck a chord in you, a hand reaching out for his.

“I will be just fine. How are you? Is your head okay?” Your eyes scanned his hairline, relieved that there seemed to be no permanent damage.

“I’m good. My wounds weren’t half as bad as yours. They knocked me unconscious once I hit the ground.” His eyes lowered and he ran his thumb over your joined hands. “I should’ve been there for you. To help.”

You squeezed his hand in your own. “You were attacked, Az. I’m just glad I was able to get to you in time. If I were a moment later…” your voice trailed off and tears pricked at your eyes. Those straws were so close to stabbing into his body, sucking the life out of him.

“Hey,” he said, looking back up at you. “You saved my life. That’s all that matters.” He gave you a smile, your heart squeezing tight.

“Yea,” you agreed, even though you wished to say more. You wanted to tell him you loved him, be honest about your feelings. You were so close to losing him, to losing any chance to be with him. The fear of rejection stopped you from continuing, the way it always did.

Azriel was looking at you intently, eyes seeming to read your mind. You put on a small smile, pushing your feelings back down. His eyes dipped down to your lips, gaze heavy. Your heart skipped at his expression of hunger. “Az,” you whispered as he leaned closer to you.

“Hm?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your mouth.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear you.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He ducked his head down then, pressing his lips to yours. You went completely still at the touch of him, mind in overdrive. He began to pull away when you came to, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back. You kissed him hard then, the way you wished you had when you thought he was going to die. When you thought you’d never get the chance to.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to him. You ignored the protest of pain in your arm and leg, focusing on the feel of Azriel pressed up against you. Of his mouth on yours. The way one of his hands began traveling down your thigh, fingers running along the edge of your nightgown. He bit gently on your lower lip, a silent question to open your mouth. You obliged, moaning at the taste of him. His fingers dug into your thigh at the noise and you let out a cry of pain.

Azriel pulled away from you quickly, apologizing immediately. “Maybe we should wait until you’re healed.” You sighed at the statement, but unfortunately agreed. You wanted to enjoy your first time tasting, feeling, loving Azriel. You pouted at him as he readjusted you, laying you back down on your pillows. He brushed a stray piece of hair off your forehead, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “I love you.”

Your heart was going to thud out of your chest. “I love you too.” Your declaration was a tad breathless, trying to decide if you could actually ignore the pain long enough to get on top of the male. He laughed, sensing your thoughts and gave you a soft kiss. You had waited so long for this moment, to have your love reciprocated.

“You need to rest.” He moved to hover slightly over you, carefully moving his way down your body. His fingers found the edge of your gown again, eyes looking up to yours from between your legs. “There are plenty of other ways I can please you.”

***

I needed to write something that was a request or a series, so this is what happened. I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! <3

[mpicabo]

Just had a dream about this insect with an impossible life history. Supposedly it was in the order Diptera, true flies, and this was bizarre for many many reasons. It did not exhibit a larval stage, instead having juveniles mimicking juvenile cockroaches. It then would develop into a nectar feeding pollinator with a long extended head to reach into flowers as opposed to a proboscis. This development stage would already have forewings, and halteres, so as far as insects go it really shouldn’t be molting further.

However, it then gains sexual dimorphism, vaguely resembling termites. At this stage they are social, but not eusocial or sexual. I remember being told there was a stage after this and between the sexual adults; why there was a stage here and no where else that would make more sense, I cannot tell you. Maybe this was where the pupal stage would have gone, as little sense as that makes.

Finally, in the mature stage, the sexual dimorphism becomes far more extreme. The males become far larger, and appear to fuse their head and thorax into a cephalothorax, more closely resembling arachnids in the order Solifugae than insects, but on closer examination that would quickly fall apart. The females meanwhile take on a body more similar to that of a worker ant. I do not believe this stage to be eusocial either, but they do exhibit a high degree of sociality, traveling in large colonies similar to those of the army ants, gobbling up whatever comes across their path. I did not see any caste division or was made aware of any differences in reproduction.

So yeah, there are a TON of problems with how this dream insect would function in our world, but here is a weird fake fly. What should we call it? Let me know!

(Also pinging @humanbyweight cause I wonder if she’d have any ideas, hope ya don’t mind ❤️)

[itsprashimusic]

rainy nights in mumbai

Summary - You grew up in Mumbai, around the creatures. Lando is with you in Mumbai, now also around the creatures.

Pairings - Lando Norris x desi!fem!Reader

Warnings - hindi words with translations, there is swearing, killing of insects, i tried to avoid using the word y/n, a choppy time jump ig,

W/C - 3.5k

A/N - this took me way longer to write than it should have. i'd recommend listening to tum se hi when you reach that part.

| Navigation |

The plane was supposed to land hours earlier but due to delays, it was now around midnight. You and your boyfriend walked the 10 minutes to the baggage claim area and waited another 10 minutes for your suitcases. Grabbing the two pieces of luggage, the pair walked to the exit.

Lando was surprised to find out that many taxi drivers were asking him where he wanted to go. You'd think that being an F1 driver would make him used to being overwhelmed by so many people around him. But no, this was an entirely different version of overwhelming.

You smiled at him, grabbed his hand and led him to another taxi stand where your already pre-booked taxi was sitting waiting for you. The driver put the luggage in the boot and drove away to your flat in a residential part of the city.

The lights were bright as ever and the rain was even stronger. Bringing your boyfriend to your home city during the peak of its rainy season was probably not the best idea. But, with a boyfriend who travels very often for work, bringing him 'home' during his around 1 month-long break was the only option.

You soon reached your apartment building, and the driver parked the car under the shade. You woke up your sleeping 'colonizer' (that was his contact name in your phone) and brought him to your house for the first time. Your keys jingled as you opened the door and turned the lights on. Lando entered right behind you, still half asleep. But that was shaken right out of him as he let out a quick but loud shriek which probably awoke your sweet neighbours.

"What happened?" you whisper-yelled. He just pointed straight ahead and when you turned your head to look, you nearly started laughing. "Seriously, a cockroach?" you gave him an amused look while saying. "It's not just a cockroach, it's a fucking huge one!" Lando said, his curls bouncing a bit with his head movements.

You looked down as you shook your head, "it's fine they don't do anything. I'll leave the window open and it will fly out. Come on, we're both tired, let's sleep." You managed to get a pouty Lando Norris inside your apartment.

He carefully entered, his eyes never leaving the creature. He tried walking behind you, trying to shield himself from the foul creature. Just as he was about to reach the corridor the cockroach flew towards him making the McLaren driver let out another loud shriek. You peeked back from the room and gave him a look, "Kuch nahi karega re, it won't do anything."

"I get that but why does it have to fly when I am MOVING FUCK," Lando yelled your name and ran towards the door as the large insect also started moving towards the room. "THE BLOODY ROACH IS TRYING TO ATTACK ME FUCK!" You were definitely going to get a few calls from your neighbours in the morning.

Lando ran inside the room and banged the door shut, the insect getting caught in between the door and the frame. "Is it dead, please tell me it's fucking dead!" "Yes, it's dead. Now please for the love of all the gods in India please stop yelling," you begged him, goosebumps rising all over your skin from the cold winds of the rainy night. All you got was another pouty face in return. You sighed and started cleaning up the mess created by the insect getting jammed in the door. You never thought dating Lando would include having to deal with a jumpy teenager who gets all high-pitched the second they see any tiny organism that crawls or flies.

You threw the roach out of the window, washed your hands and gave Lando a peck on the lips before getting ready for bed. As the clock ticked away Lando calmed down and eventually the couple settled into bed. “Baby?” Lando quietly squeaked about 20 minutes later. You hummed in response, almost asleep. “Is there something you can do about the mosquitoes? I can’t sleep with ‘em biting me,” he asked. “GoodKnight,” you mumbled. “Goodnight?! What do you mean goodnight?!” Lando tried to sound offended but you just repeated what you said while pointing to the outlet on his side of the bed where the electric mosquito repellent was plugged in. “Switch it on,” you added sleepily while facing away from him. Lando peeked at where you pointed and turned the switch on. He scrunched his nose in disgust as a mosquito flew by his face as he turned to cuddle you from the back. 

At some point, he fell asleep due to exhaustion from all his travelling.

Lando woke up with a start. Your side was empty and there was a lot of honking, which was why he woke up so suddenly. He took a second to rub his eyes as a pleasant breeze hit his face and made his messy bed-hair hair fly a bit. He called out to you and made a move to get off the bed. But he stopped in his tracks while looking at the floor.

Staring back into his eyes were the small black ones of a lizard. "Bloody hell.." he muttered under his breath. Lando began coming up with a game plan. He placed one foot on the floor and the lizard moved in the other direction, but closer to the bed, probably with an intention to climb up. The brit let out a yelp. He was gonna make another move when you came into the room.

"Good morning love. I thought- Hey, what's with that look on your face? And why’d you yell?" you cut yourself off when you saw his weird expression. Like a repeat of last night, he pointed to the tiny reptile, "Do you have some sort of insect zoo that I don't know about? 'Cause it looks like some got out of their cages." He folded his hands to intensify his point.

"No, I don't. It’s just part of life in India, dealing with the creatures during the monsoon season. But a chipkali(lizard), really Lando? You haven't stayed in a hotel room which had a freaking lizard in it before?"

"I woke up to it just starin' me blankly in the face!" he tried reasoning with you. All you did was sigh as you took off your slipper and headed for the bed. Lando took two steps back on the bed, looking adorably ridiculous as he ducked to avoid the fan above his head, and the lizard began moving, but you were quicker than it.

With four deafening hits to the ground, the lizard was no more. With each sound, Lando cringed. "There, done. Ab chalo(now come), you need to eat. I cooked your favourite" you said in a cheery voice, not even being bothered by the dead lizard a few inches away from your bare foot.

Lando nodded and went to the bathroom to freshen up his eyes trained on the remains of the lizard as he walked. Needing to pee really bad Lando hurried to the toilet once he got over the shock of the lizard. But he didn't get much time to digest the lizard before he caught sight of something else which made the colour drain from his face.

About 3 long earthworms were squiggling around the toilet bowl, the sight making the poor boy almost nauseous. He called out to you and 15 seconds later you popped your head in after he said it was ok. "Haan raja(yes, dear), what's up? OH," you looked down and saw the worms, Lando stuck himself to one corner away from the toilet. You shook your head, hand on your forehead. "Use the jetpipe to flush them down the drain." Lando meekly asked if you could do it for him. "For a guy who drives at 300 km/h every other weekend, I never thought you'd have a fear of harmless insects." He just gave you a cute look as you cleaned out the toilet area.

Lando wasn’t sure where this fear of insects came from. Maybe because one of his sisters was fascinated by critters and he would find them all over the house. Maybe. He was going to thank you with a kiss but you moved away saying 'Not near the toilet, outside' and left to serve the food. He uses the restroom, brushes his teeth and heads out to the kitchen to get his food along with you. Your boyfriend hugs you from behind and kisses you on the cheek as he asks where the plates are. You pointed him to the cupboard containing the dishes. Giving you another peck on the cheek he moved towards the cabinet.

He didn't yelp, he didn't shriek, he didn't squeak, he YELLED. The rat was the fattest he had ever seen, the fastest too. He had just enough reaction time to shut the cabinet door before the rat jumped out on him. You turned around at lightning speed your face mirroring shock.

"WHAT?!" you yelled, partly angry with how much he was making a noise in the past 24 hours. “WHY IS THERE A RAT IN THE CABINET?!” your boyfriend’s voice could challenge a soprano. Seeing his bewildered expression made you cover your mouth with your hand, a smile threatening to break through. You composed yourself and took two steps forward. You pinched both of Lando’s cheeks and said, “Deal with it.” He looked confused and slightly hurt. “Wha- DEAL WITH IT?!” “You wanted to come to Mumbai, so, welcome to Mumbai Singham,” your hands held his shoulders as you shook him slightly. Lando gave you a confused look as you walked back to the food, “Who’s Sing-um?” Turning to look at him with fake shock you said, “You uncultured crumpet!” “Idon’tevenlikecrumpets!” “Lando, just get the plates.” He shut his mouth and turned to the cabinet with a pout on his face. 

He slowly opened the cabinet door again. There was movement inside but the rat moved too fast for him to react. He quickly pulled out two plates and shut the door. You took the plates, washed them and served the food on them. You both quietly ate your food and cleared the table. You were already dressed and ready to head out, so you got Lando to get ready while you did a quick load of laundry. 

The McLaren driver was given a towel and shown how to use the shower the previous night itself. Lando headed into the bathroom in his boxers and towel over his shoulder. That is when you were sure you heard a harrowing scream. You already had a couple of messages from your sweet neighbours. Genuinely worried about your boyfriend now, you ran into the bathroom. He couldn’t speak, three insect encounters in the span of an hour left his voice box incapable of uttering more than sounds. This time the critter really was harmless. The poor thing couldn’t move fast enough even if it wanted to. Seeing the whole scene had you with your face in your hands, head shaking. 

“It’s a snail Lando, a freaking snail. Woh tumse darta hai!(it is scared of you!)” 

“Why do you even want to live here? Why not live with me, in Monaco, far away from any animals?!” your boyfriend’s squeaky voice found you smiling as you picked up the slimy creature. 

“Because I was born here. Because it is not easy to get a longer visa to live in Monaco. Did I mention this is my home?” you looked at him during that last part and he felt a bit guilty knowing just how much you loved your hometown. 

Once leaving the snail outside you walked up to Lando and hugged him. The second you were in his arms he clutched onto you with a strong grip. Although he’d want you to believe that he wasn’t that rattled by the creatures, he knew better than that. You knew him extremely well. It was rare to see him so affected by his fear of insects but in his defence when he did encounter an insect, normally it would be the only one for a week at the least. But within the span of not even a full 24 hours, he’s seen half of the animal kingdom in Mumbai, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. There was once a time when you too were like Lando, but over time you just got used to all the pests. 

But Lando wasn’t used to all of this. As a way of silently apologising for not giving him a proper warning about the bugs, you snuggled in closer and tucked your head under his chin. His right arm was firmly around you while his left was around your back and his hand held the back of your head. 2 minutes later he gave you a kiss on the forehead and moved back a bit to look down at you as you stared up at him. 

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you about all of the critters. I didn’t think there would be these many,” you said softly. Kissing your lips briefly he pulled back and said, “It’s ok. There is not much you can do. But thank you for taking care of them, my lady in shining armour.” You laughed softly. Your Lando was back. 

With a pat on his back, you left Lando to have a shower. 20 minutes later he was out, clean and dressed. You were taking him on a mini Bombay Darshan(tour of mumbai) while his body adjusted to the timezone. You both left the building hand in hand as your Ola(another version of uber) reached. You wanted to take him on the local trains but decided that the experience might be a bit too much considering the morning your poor baby had. 

It was around 10 - 11 in the morning on a Wednesday, meaning that it would be less crowded. The salty smell of the sea and the cool breeze hitting your face were welcomed. Lando was enjoying the walk on the footpath of Marine Drive. It reminded him of the beaches in Monaco. As he closed his eyes he could vividly picture the beautiful scenery, imagining you by his side. When he opened his eyes, he saw you standing next to him with a big smile on your face and the never-ending view of the Arabian Sea. 

You picked up a packet of Lays and found a place to settle down. Thankfully the rain had stopped for a bit allowing the couple to peacefully sit and chat while enjoying the rays of the sun and the tangy taste of the chips. There was some lovely music playing from a nearby gali that set the mood for the rest of your mid-morning. Hours passed as the two of you chatted, like best friends who hadn’t seen each other for 10 years. “..sounding like a squirrel-” Lando cut himself off and began dusting the skin below his knees frantically. 

“What’s wrong raja?” you asked him sounding concerned. “Ants,” he grumbled. “We should get up. It looks like it’s going to start raining also,” you said while standing up and dusting your clothes. Lando eyed the ants while following your movements. He was about to make another comment about the insects when it started raining. The rain was light, but only for exactly 5 seconds. After that, it turned into a heavy shower, with the sound of thunder for an extra dramatic flair. You were about to make a dash for some shade but Lando not following you made you stop and turn around. 

He just stood there with a grin, curls stuck to his face and clothes completely soaked through. You recognized the music from the alley, it was a song you often played on your phone when you were with Lando. It was a song he recognised too, and loved. He tangled his fingers with yours and pulled you towards him. His right hand made its way around your waist while his left held your hand. That smile never left his face, that joyous smile. He twirled you around and brought you close.

Lando did not understand a single word of the song, but he didn’t need to. The feeling was more than enough for him to know that it depicted the love he felt for you, although the depth of his love ran deeper than any song or poem could ever portray. The pair of you felt cold but energized. There was this electricity in the air that you had not felt before. The uncle at the bhajiya stall was staring at you and your boyfriend, but you couldn’t be bothered to worry about any looks you two were getting. Lando was by no means the world’s most graceful dance. But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that you were dancing in the rain with the love of your life at Marine Drive without worrying about your phone being wet beyond possible future use. 

The moment played out like those in 2000s rom-coms and Jab We Met. You were twirled around like you were Geet and he hoisted you up like he was Aditya. And the song couldn’t be any more appropriate. If it weren’t for the policeman lurking a few metres away you most likely would have been kissing Lando by then. 

A few minutes later when the song came to an end and the shower turned to a drizzle, you both finally got a cab and headed back to your apartment, the smiles and giggles never leaving. Thankfully your money and mobile devices were dry. You paid the taxi driver and quickly headed up to your apartment. You both quickly changed and had warm showers. Lando was changing into a Quadrant hoodie-sweatpant set while you cooked Maggi on the gas. 

Lando walked into the room, audibly sniffing. “Love, whatever you are making smells delicious.” You let out a laugh, “It’s not the healthiest food, but it is one of the tastiest.” You asked him to remove two bowls from the drawer. Lando gave a kiss on your cheek and then bent down to retrieve the bowls. Pulling the drawer open allowed the fat rat from earlier to jump out and scurry off behind the fridge. “JESUS CHRIST,” came a scream from your fearless Formula 1 driver. “I forgot that was there..” He took in a breath, his eyes wide.

You tried not to laugh, but it was almost impossible not to. “I’ll set out the rat poison before we sleep tonight, ok?” you asked him with a smile after he set the bowls down on the counter. You equally divided the maggi, secretly giving yourself a bit more. Lando was the love of your life, but even he would not be spared from the inevitable fate of getting less maggi than the one who made it. You both cuddled up on the couch and ate your hot maggi while it was raining outside. There was a comfortable silence between you and Lando. 

You were almost undisturbed, but right then a fly zipped by your face. Lando wanted to say something but was silenced when you put your bowl down, picked up the mosquito bat and swung it at the offending creature. He had a lot of thoughts in his head. Firstly, he had not noticed that bat before. Secondly, what the fuck? He looked stunned as you nonchalantly fried the flies, his face showcasing that adorable look of awe and confusion that made you fall in love with him.

You simply put down the bat and went back to eating the remainder of your maggi after zapping a bunch of flies into oblivion. “What,” you deadpanned when you saw your boyfriend’s face. “What. Was. That?” 

You looked blankly at him and then answered with a mouth full of maggi, “ ‘osquito ba.” Lando squinted his eyes at you before replying, “Mosquito bat?” you happily nodded at him after he understood your face-stuffed gibberish. You held out the bat to him and said, “Try it.” 

Taking the bat from your hand Lando immediately began looking for his winged victims. He spotted a pair of flies flying (heh, flies flying😁) and struck down. He smiled as the newly familiar crackling sound permeated the room. “You know, I never thought killing mosquitoes and flies would be this satisfying.” “It gets annoying when you’ve already killed 15 and there are still 20 more underneath the couch.” Lando scrunched his nose in disgust upon hearing you say that. “You sure you don’t wanna move to Monaco with me? Even the flies there need complex visas to buzz around.” the comment made you laugh and Lando smile. He loved hearing you laugh, even more when he was the reason behind it. “I am open to it, but we can have that conversation after you finish your maggi.” “Oh certainly, and I’m gonna hold you to it,” Lando’s face drew closer to yours before he spoke and he ended the sentence by moving in closer and sealing it with a kiss.

A/N - I tried out a different layout style when writing this in my google docs and it failed so apologies for the messy layout. also special shout out to my favourite online didi @revolutionsingingintherainnn for giving me ideas. And if you made it this far, hope you enjoyed reading🩵

[stitchy-face]

Calibreon Expansion #15 - Gryphon

Somewhat lore, mostly speculative thought about my choices in deign under the cut.

Gryphon are a species of Calibreon that have always remained semi-nebulous in their existence. Thinking about Gryphon as any large massive species never seemed to work because there in my mind wouldn't be enough food to sustain them where I imagined they'd be so I settled for something simpler and more compact. 

These medium-sized creatures can be found in northern Talis. Though by nature they are wild, it is possible to tame one for work in hunting results may vary on workmanship with one. They're at largest around the size of an average bobcat and form groups or prides of around 5-8 individuals. While they can fly it's not very long-distance and is ideal for short burst hunts and roosting at night.

Weyr are one of the few species to have constant run-ins with Gryphon. While they won't actively hunt one another sometimes Gryphon will follow a Weyr hunting party and try to snipe their catch from them- typically interactions never get more violent than this. Some Weyr are even clever (or brave) enough to try and tame a Gryphon much like someone would a hawk or eagle for Falconry practices. Gryphon are very tempermental however and may not listen the best- but some have managed.

Gryphon anatomically resembles hawks, smaller eagles, and puma or bobcats. Though the species aren't one-to-one aesthetically pieces of the design influence their colors. They have feather-like "ears" like a Great Horned Owl which they use expressively to communicate silently to one another. They have sharp beaks and teeth- though like other birds they lack the ability to chew so they swallow food in whole chunks. 

Their diet mainly consists of but is not limited to small mammals such as deer, sheep, or with group efforts Elk or Bovine. They have also been known to eat fish, insects, birds, turkey and in rare instances they may brave going after wild hog. 

[five-rivers]

Ghost puberty but like bug version for the soft body horror idea request

The body horror here is a bit more subtle than with the other ones I've done, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. :3

.

You didn't know that Clockwork had a garden, but you are sitting in it now. You decide it suits him. It is divided into quarters, into seasons, the tree at the center flowering, fruiting, and withering all at once.

You are in the spring section right now, among copious flowers. There is enough pollen in the air that even your nose twitches, and you never really had any problem with allergies.

There is a tiny bare pavement square in the middle of the section, ringed with benches. At the center of the square, there is a plinth. On the plinth, there is a beehive, and this is what occupies your attention at the moment.

It is not a typical beehive, like what might be found in the human world. The bees weren't alive. But neither were they exactly ghosts. Instead, they were tiny clockwork automations, exquisite works of bright bronze, blackened steel, and gem-bright glass. They flit eagerly from flower to flower nonetheless, and you wonder what they get out of it, if anything. Not food.

A few of them land on the rim of your bowl, which you have momentarily set aside. Clockwork has been feeding you a lot, lately, mostly a series of sweet, parfait-like concoctions. You aren't complaining. You've been hungry, and your weird not-biology craves equally weird things. Whatever Clockwork has been feeding you, it helps with that.

"Bees are holometabolous," says Clockwork from his position next to you on the bench. "Do you know what that means?"

"Something to do with their metabolism?" you guess. You shake your head. "No, not really."

Clockwork hands the bowl back to you, a silent encouragement to eat. "Holometabolous insects undergo what is called a full metamorphosis. They begin life as an egg, then hatch into larvae, which then turn into pupae, and finally emerge from their pupae as adults. Butterflies and moths are other examples."

You nod, trying to show that you are paying attention, even as your eyes are on the mechanical bees that have landed on your arms. You scoop a large spoonful of maybe-yogurt, probably-granola, and hopefully-honey into your mouth.

"The mature versions of such an insect are often quite different from the larval form," continues Clockwork, "and, at least in the case of bees, their final form is dependent on what they were fed as larvae."

"Like, whether they're queens or workers?"

"Precisely."

You sit quietly for a while.

"Clockwork," you say, "what does this have to do with what makes an Ancient an Ancient?"

He doesn't answer right away, and in the meantime, you are distracted both by your food and by the bees. They really are beautiful, with all the intricate gears and fittings.

"Would you like a closer look?" asks Clockwork.

"Huh?"

"At the hive?"

Your spoon clinks against the bottom of the bowl, and you nod. "Sure," said Danny. "If it won't disturb them."

Clockwork smiles and holds out his hand. You take it. At once, you feel yourself shrinking, just like that time with the Fenton Crammer. You squeak and cling to Clockwork who is also shrinking. By the time it stops, the bees that were crawling around on your hands earlier are twice or three times as big as you.

Clockwork, still holding your hand, knocks on the abdomen of the nearest bee and it opens up.

"Here," says Clockwork, gesturing at the opening.

"Um," you say. "We can fly?"

"At this size?" asks Clockwork, mildly.

You are even smaller than you were when you and Dash were hit by the Fenton Crammer. Your powers failed very quickly that time.

"It is a very long walk," continues Clockwork.

"It's just weird to crawl into a bug," you say, as you crawl into the bug. It takes off, and you marvel at the smooth movement of the gears - and lean into Clockwork, wary of getting hair and fingers caught in them.

The flight to the hive is uneventful, otherwise, and when you arrive and emerge into the hive, the way that the mechanical bees bustle around makes you feel like you're some kind of celebrity or dignitary.

Clockwork leads you around for a while, showing you the honey-gold and bright bronze of the hive. Old bees are repaired by their sisters, and new bees are constructed, bit by bit in specialized cells. Then, you enter into a large, long room with a grand dining table complete with chairs in the center. Among all the honeycomb and the bees, it looks like something from a dream.

Your stomach rumbles.

"Hungry?" asks Clockwork.

You duck your head, embarrassed. You just ate. But maybe you're finally coming up on the growth spurt that will take you up to your father's height.

"A snack, perhaps."

You sit down at the table, and in doing so, you remember the conversation you were having outside, on the bench.

"You never answered my question, you know," you say, not accusing, exactly, but curious. You'd asked for a reason.

"I suppose not," says Clockwork. "One moment." He takes a tray from a bee. It is covered in small bowls of honey. "Here, try this."

He holds out a honey dipper to you, and, aware this is another tactic to distract you, you take it. "I still want to know," you say. Then, you decide to suck on the honey dipper like it was a lollipop, which is probably not the intended use, but you don't really know what is.

"Yes, yes," says Clockwork. "As I was saying, the type of adult depends on what it is fed as a larva, before it pupates. Queen bees are fed only royal jelly as larvae. Ancients are similar."

You squint at Clockwork and pull the honey dipper from your mouth. "They're given something special as younger ghosts? Something that makes them develop into Ancients?"

"And each of the Ancients has a version of royal jelly that they keep safe, in case they might want to use it."

You still, the dipper in front of your lips. You aren't stupid, really, and the implication there...

"The word pupa ultimately derives from a word meaning 'doll,'" says Clockwork, apparently oblivious. "It is very appropriate for the pupae of the Ancients."

You think, for a moment, that you can feel your skin hardening around you, but you shake it off. Or, at least, you think you do.

"Clockwork," you say, "this isn't- You haven't been feeding me--?"

Clockwork leans over and puts his hand on your shoulder. It is firm, comforting. You can almost feel the vibration from his ticking clock echoing through your bones. "Daniel, it is a metaphor. The 'royal jelly' of the Ancients isn't anything like food."

You nod, but you put down the honey dipper. "I think I'm done eating for today, though." You stand up. You must have been sitting longer than you thought, because the movement is stiff, your limbs half asleep.

(You experience a brief moment of alienation, as if your body isn't yours, as if it doesn't belong to you.)

Clockwork shifts his grip as you move, almost as if he is contemplating picking you up. He doesn't, to your relief. Instead, he pats your back and walks ahead.

"There are other things here that might interest you," he says.

You follow.

[owlcomics101]

Bug hybrid!Task force 141 x Human!reader

Bug hybrid AU LETS GOOOOO-

Warning: Bugs/insects/arachnids, sfw (I am a minor), fluff, bug shenanigans,

Let’s bug out y’all (I’m sorry please stay-)

Moth Hybrid Price:

-One of his moth antenna‘s are damaged leaving him unable to fly (He can glide though)

-Sometimes he eats your sweaters if you accidentally leave them in his office or quarters (He immediately apologizes repeatedly and tries to buy you a new one)

-During mating season he gets all fluffy like a moth (he’s gonna need help with shaving…)

-And yes, he can’t resist any form of light but only at night (Price is obsessed with Reader because their eyes shine bright from any light’s reflection)

Funfact: Moths are actually pollinators and feed off of nectar just like their cousin the butterfly.

Tarantula hybrid Gaz:

-Has the lower half of a Tarantula (Like a centaur but spider)

-Large Tarantula pinchers that can poke out of his mouth (Eating is messy for him. Poor Gaz)

-His bunk is completely covered in webs

-Has the urge to constantly make small webs to impress the reader

-During mating season he fluffs up like Price and also does a little mating dance (He’s only done it once on accident in front of the reader)

-Has Venom but it is weak when inflicted on humans (Some can have serious reactions depending)

-Likes to wrap the Reader in webs like a burrito (Blink twice if your endanger reader)

Funfact: Tarantulas can get severely injured if they fall from great heights (Be careful with your eight-legged friends)

(Centipedes honestly terrify me-)

Centipede Hybrid Ghost:

-Cury antennas (They twitch and move around)

-Lower half of a centipede (Like a centaur but centipede)

-His legs make little click sounds when he walks (Sends shivers down the spines of anyone who hears it)

-Disgusted of himself. Ever since the team’s transformation he’s honest to god disgusted and horrified of his appearance (Reader sees through that and helps him through it)

-Coils his lower half around the reader. Being the only remaining human of the task force he’s very protective of them like the others are.

-During mating season he gives off a foul Oder and makes webs to impress the Reader like Gaz does (They get very competitive with each other)

Funfact: Centipedes are not harmful to humans. In fact they help keep the pests away like cockroaches, moths, flies, silverfish and termites. They also do not make webs or nests indoors. (As much as they terrify me they do take care of the pests)

Praying Mantis Hybrid Soap:

-Has the mantis arms under his normal arms at his sides and cute antennas on his head. (And he has the Mantis tail. I believe it’s called a Metathorax?)

-Hunts like crazy (His urges constantly puts him in hunting mode)

-He’s always bringing back everything he hunts to the Reader (Makes him even happier if you eat what he gives you in front or him-or pretend to)

-Able to fly/glide for a short distance

-For mating season….uh….lets just say mantises are very horny

Funfact: Mantises can turn their heads a Full 180 Degrees. They have very flexible a joint between the head and prothorax that allows them to swivel their heads.

Bonus:

(Roach is Roach)

Cockroach Hybrid Roach:

-He has the Roach antennas, and roach arms/legs under his normal arms (He has the roach tail as well)

-Fucking indestructible. (Can literally survive radiation)

-Can literally eat anything (that’s from a living organism

-Cuddles. He’s clingy and always wants a cuddle from the reader after a long mission. (I honestly don’t blame him with the shit the task force goes through on a daily basis)

-Reader is very worried about Roach despite his indestructibility and always panics if he gets hurt during a mission. (He enjoys the attention)

Funfact: Cockroaches like to cuddle. Cockroaches like feeling something solid against their bodies. That’s why they hide in cracks and crevices or even your stacked towels and linens.

[tired-truffle]

Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.7k

Part 13/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

"Sometimes we don't want to heal because the pain is the last link to what we’ve lost." - J.M. Storm

Masterlist

“You have to be good at something.” Charlotte shook her head, sighing her exasperation.

“Evidently, my skills don’t lie in anything we’ve tried so far.” The tangled mess of knitting to your side taunted you. You must have been capable of doing some things back in your world. Why was it that when you’d come to Runeterra, you’d been unable to do most basic activities and chores with any sort of success? Had that been the price of having magic? 

Seemed like a strange trade, but it wasn’t like you’d had much of a choice - nor would you have chosen any other option if it meant you didn’t get to meet Viktor. 

“Charlotte,” you started, a thought occurring to you, entirely separate from the topic at hand, “why are they called “the Firelights’?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, “I would imagine it has something to do with firelights, but given that I’m not a member, I haven’t a clue.”

That did very little to answer your question, so you pushed on. “What exactly is a firelight?”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at you. “Are you pulling my leg, girl? How could you not know what a firelight is? Greenish glowing butt bugs that fly around at night mostly, they’re everywhere.”

You had seen insects matching that description, but that still made little sense to you. “You mean fireflies?”

From the look Charlotte gave you, you would have thought you’d asked her to eat one of the supposed firelights. With a huff, she shook her head. “You say the darndest things sometimes.” She turned towards the next tent, seeing something that caught her eye, “You wait here, I’ll be right back.”

You’d barely had time to voice your confirmation when a clear container with one of your sparks floating idly around broke through your line of sight, two small hands grasping it on either side. 

Blinking, you lowered your gaze until you came upon the proudly grinning face of the young girl you’d met on the way to Stillwater. 

“Oh, hello,” you said with a smile, relief flooding through you and making your limbs weaken. You crouched down to her height and suppressed the waver in your voice. “I’m so happy to see you’re alright. Though I didn’t expect that you’d still have one of my sparks.”

You poked the container, the spark inside zipping around as it reacted to your touch. The girl grinned wider, her helmet flopping as he tilted her head to the side.

“Isha!” A girl called from behind you, and though you’d never met her in person before, you’d heard her speak in a vision and recognized the voice instantly; it belonged to Jinx. “What are you doing? You can’t just go running off like that. Get back here!”

Your vision blurred without warning, the world around you fading into a hazy orange glow.

Isha, unmistakable in her painted helmet and little blue braids, sprinted through a war-torn landscape. Smoke billowed from all directions, and the air was thick with the acetic scent of burning flesh. Her large boots slapped against blood-slicked ground as she dodged debris and fallen bodies. The spark container, now cracked and dirty, bounced on her hip.

You watched, helpless, as she darted between clashing soldiers. Their weapons clanged in bursts of crackling energy and sprays of crimson. Isha weaved through them with a desperate grace, her eyes wide with determination and fear.

For a fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of a circular structure in the distance, the ceiling blown out; this was the commune.

But before you could grasp any further details, you were launched back into your body, swaying as you adjusted to the difference in time.

Useless, as always. Warning you of things to come but not how to stop it. You clenched your fists at your side, exhaling shakily.

Isha stared up at you, her large eyes wide with wonder. It had been a long time since you’d had a vision in front of anyone who wasn’t Viktor, but you couldn’t blame her for being curious about your glowing eyes. 

You cleared your throat and straightened, trying to shake off the lingering disorientation from the vision. The world around you seemed to snap back into focus, colours intensifying as your eyes readjusted. Isha still gazed up at you, her mouth slightly agape, the spark container clutched tightly to her chest.

Before you could say anything, a blur of vibrant colours rushed past you. Jinx skidded to a halt, her long, blue braids whipping around her torso as she grabbed Isha's hand. The older girl's chest heaved, clearly out of breath from chasing after Isha.

"Sorry about her," Jinx began, her words tumbling out in a rushed stream. "She's just so curious about everything, wouldn’t know a warf-rat was dangerous unless it bit her on the—"

Jinx's rambling apology cut off abruptly as her gaze met yours. Her eyes, a striking shade of pink - so similar to your own - narrowed suspiciously. The manic energy that had propelled her forward seemed to evaporate, replaced by a wary stillness that set your nerves on edge.

“Have I…seen you somewhere before? You look awfully familiar.” 

“Oh, uh, probably not.” You had never been a good liar. “I just have one of those faces.”

She rocked back on her heels, her braids swaying as she eyed the floating sparks. “Think I’d remember a mage in the city that famously hates mages. Have you always had…these?”

She waved at the sparks, and Isha raised her container, shaking it for Jinx to see and blessedly diverting her attention, allowing you to avoid her question.

You watched as Jinx's eyes darted between you and the spark container, and you could almost taste the sour tang of her suspicion.

"Isha, give the lady her…thing back," Jinx said, her voice unnaturally slow and deliberate. Her eyes never left your face, searching for something - recognition, perhaps, or deceit.

"It's okay," you said quickly, holding up your hands in a display of innocence. "It's a gift. She can keep it."

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, surprising even yourself. But as you gazed at Isha's hopeful face, framed by those bright blue braids and the oversized helmet, you knew you couldn't bear to take it back. The spark inside the container seemed to pulse in agreement, casting a soft, ethereal glow on the child's round cheeks. Besides, you had plenty more of them, you could do with one less.

Jinx's eyebrows shot up. "A gift? You're just handing out magical…whatever-these-are to random kids?" She laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "That's either really generous or really stupid. Maybe both."

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "It's harmless, I promise. Just a bit of light, really."

Jinx's eyes narrowed again, her gaze boring into you with an intensity that made you want to squirm. "Are you sure we haven't met before? There's something about you that's just so familiar."

Your heart raced, and you could feel a bead of sweat forming at the nape of your neck. You desperately wished for Viktor's steadying presence, his logical mind that could navigate these treacherous conversational waters. But he wasn't here, and you were left to flounder on your own.

"I-I don't think so," you stammered, cursing your inability to lie convincingly.

Jinx tilted her head, her long braids swaying like colourful pendulums. "Huh. Weird. Could've sworn I'd seen your face before. Maybe in a dream or something." She shrugged, her restless energy returning as quickly as it had vanished. "Ah, well. C'mon, Isha. Let's let the nice glowy lady get back to her glowing in peace."

Jinx started to turn away, then paused. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Word of advice, Sparkles. If you're gonna lie, at least try to make it believable. You're worse at it than a Piltie trying to blend in down here."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but before you could stammer out a response, Jinx was already moving. Isha waved goodbye from Jinx's side, the spark container clutched tightly in her other hand. You watched them disappear into the commune, your mind reeling from the encounter. The lingering image of your vision - Isha running through a battlefield that happened to be in your home - overlapped with the reality of her cheerful farewell.

And all it did was strike panic into your heart, with no way to stop that disaster from happening.

“Somehow, that doesn’t shock me.” You sighed, wiping your hand down your face. “Vander died but was revived and mutated into a feral wolf creature and now his adopted daughters have brought him to you to bring him back to himself.”

Viktor had filled you in, and you’d shared with him the contents of your vision of Isha. Worrying as it was, there wasn’t much that either of you could do about it except keep an eye out for trouble. If only you’d been able to get a better look at the soldiers, but with all that dust and carnage, you hadn’t been able to make out any identifying marks.

“That about sums it up, yes.” Viktor disconnected himself from the wires, floating down to stand beside you with quiet clacks as his feet touched the ground. 

“And you think you can do that?” You’d encountered him that night at Stillwater, all feral rage and brutality, like a rabid dog unleashed on a burrow of bunnies. 

He smiled, trailing his fingers down your cheeks. “I do, though I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“You…” you frowned, unsure what exactly he thought you could do, “want me to help?”

“I do.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand resting on your hip and tracing little circles through the fabric of your clothes. “You have the most experience with losing yourself beneath layers of pain and fear, and your ability to return my emotions has been extraordinary. You’re the perfect candidate.” 

You snorted, but could do little to cover your blush when his face was so close to yours, watching you with an ardour that made your stomach ripple. “Flatterer.” 

“Eh, it’s simply the truth.” He inched closer to you, and you tilted your chin up in response. But as your eyes fluttered closed, his lips ghosting over yours, you were rudely interrupted. 

“Huh, didn’t expect the metal fortune cookie to have a girlfriend, but I guess everyone has a type.” Jinx leaned against the entryway, arms crossed lazily. “Don’t stop on my account, I’m curious about how this works.” 

With an exasperated but tolerant sigh, Viktor stepped back. “You have a vast imagination, Jinx, I’m certain you could figure it out. But perhaps there are better uses for your time.” Jinx rolled her eyes and you coughed to cover your choke. Viktor’s eyes sparkled with mirth, and he continued, “Milá was just agreeing to aid me with Vander.”

You didn’t remember agreeing to anything, but best to present a united front, right? 

“Hard to agree when you’ve got a tongue down your throat,” Jinx grumbled, and you resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “But how can a sparkly mage help anyway?” 

“I’d have to see him first to really get a sense of what I could do. My magic is tied to emotions, so I could potentially connect to his, but my magic is still relatively new, I don’t have the best grasp of its potential,” you answered, stepping forward. “I’d only do it if you want me to try. He’s your father.”

Jinx pursed her lips, considering your words as her vibrant pink eyes darted about the floor. With a huff, she blew her bangs out from her face. “I’ll talk to Vi,” she said at last. “Isha likes you, so you can’t be all bad. I’ll make sure she knows.”

Without further ado, Jinx turned on her heel, sauntering away with a causal “Toodles!” tossed over her shoulder.

You watched Jinx's retreating form, her braids swaying with each step. As her footsteps faded, you turned back to Viktor.

"Well," you sighed, "that was…interesting."

Viktor's lips quirked into a small smile. "Indeed.” And without missing a beat, he added, “Shall we take a walk while we give the girls some time to debate our assistance?”

You took his offered hand, beaming at him. “I would love to.”

Your eyes were drawn to a massive shape hunched in the corner of the greenhouse. Vander - or what used to be Vander - crouched behind a row of leafy ferns. His fur was matted and dull, piercing eyes peering out from the foliage, wary and wild. A low growl rumbled from his throat as you entered. Compared to the last time you saw him, this was a vast improvement - the green of the tank on his back a much more pleasant colour than the vibrant red.

Vi stood protectively in front of him, her stance tense and ready for a fight. Her pink hair was dishevelled, dark circles around her eyes. She was every bit the fiery woman you’d heard her to be, you only wished your visions could have helped her before that haunted look soaked permanently into her features. Jinx lounged on a nearby rock, legs swinging, but her casual posture contradicted the sharpness in her gaze. Little Isha sat cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a semicircle of multicoloured pebbles she must have taken from the garden beds.

“So,” Vi kicked at the ground, her hands shoved in the pockets of her scuffed-up pants, “you’re the mage that wants to help Vander?”

“Mila,” you corrected gently, “much easier to say than all of that. But yes, I am.” 

“Right,” Vi nodded, eyes darting to Jinx who was pretending not to pay attention, fiddling with the ends of her braids.

You shifted your stance, feeling the weight of Vi's scrutiny. Her eyes, exhausted and wary, bored into you. The greenhouse's humidity clung to your skin, making you acutely aware of every bead of sweat forming on the small of your back.

"So, how exactly does this magic of yours work?" Vi's voice was gruff, laced with skepticism.

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "It's…complicated," you began, your gaze drifting to the sparks that danced around you. They pulsed gently as if encouraging you. "My magic is tied to emotions. It's like a bridge between hearts, I guess."

Vi's eyebrow arched, her lips pursing. "A bridge?"

"Yes," you nodded, warming to the metaphor. "I can sense emotions, sometimes even influence them. It's like reaching out and touching someone's soul, feeling what they feel. Though I’ve only done it a handful of times. It's recently only started to cooperate."

As you spoke, a spark drifted towards Isha. The little girl's eyes widened, her hand reaching out to touch it. The spark danced just beyond her fingertips, casting a soft blue glow on her face.

"I'm still learning," you admitted, watching the interaction and deciding it was best to be honest about your inexperience. "It's not an exact science so I can’t make any promises that it’ll make a difference."

Vi softened slightly, her eyes flickering to Vander's huddled form. "And you think this can help him?"

You nodded, trying to project more confidence than you felt. "If I could reach the part of him that's still him, beneath everything else, maybe - and I want to emphasize the maybe - I can help bring him back."

Vi chewed her lip, her gaze darting between you, Viktor, and Vander. The greenhouse fell silent, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and Vander's occasional growl. Even Jinx had stopped fidgeting, her sharp eyes fixed on her sister.

Finally, Vi's shoulders sagged. "Alright," she said. "You’re the healer,” she nodded her head at Viktor, “if you think it could work, well, we'll take all the help we can get."

A wave of relief washed over you, tinged with nervous anticipation. You prayed you wouldn't let them down, they’d had enough disappointment in their lives already.

With a reassuring nod from Viktor, you slowly made your way toward Vander, your heart hammering against your ribcage with each hesitant step.

Vander tracked your every movement. His massive form tensed as you drew near, muscles rippling beneath matted fur. A low, rumbling growl vibrated through the space, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

When you were just a few feet away, you slowly lowered yourself to one knee. The cool stone seeped through your clothes, grounding you. You took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, earthy scent of the greenhouse. Your sparks danced around you, casting shifting patterns of light across Vander's fur.

"Hello, Vander," you said, barely above a whisper. You smiled, hoping to convey warmth and safety. "You've raised two incredible daughters. Strong, brave, and fiercely loyal. You must be so proud."

At the mention of his daughters, something flickered in Vander's eyes. The growl faded, replaced by a softer rumble. His massive head tilted slightly, regarding you with what might have been curiosity.

Encouraged, you continued, "They love you so much, and they haven’t given up on you. That speaks volumes about the father you were and still are."

Vander's posture relaxed slightly, his shoulders lowering from their defensive hunch. You could feel the shift in the air, the tension easing ever so slightly.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out with your magic. It unfurled from you like tendrils of light, invisible to the others but brilliant in your mind's eye. As your magic touched Vander, a surge of warring emotions crashed over you.

Pain, raw and searing, engulfed you and ripped you apart from the inside out. Your chest constricted, muscles tensing as you fought against the urge to scream. But beneath the physical agony lay a deeper, gnawing anguish that clawed at your insides, threatening to hollow you out.

Grief followed, a bottomless well of sorrow that drowned you. The sound of screams echoed in your ears and the weight of responsibility crushed down on broad shoulders.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to breathe through the onslaught. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your hands trembling with the effort of maintaining the connection.

You pushed further, digging deeper. That couldn’t be all there was, there had to be something else beneath, something to keep him going. You felt it then. Love. Pure, fierce, unconditional love. Love for Vi and Jinx, burning bright and unfaltering. Love for Zaun - not just the place, but its people. Vander's pride in the resilience of the Undercity, his admiration for those who carved out lives amidst a sea of injustice.

But these were all just pieces of him, to truly sort through such a complex web… The strands of his emotions writhed and pulsed, each one lashing out to ensnare you. Fear coiled around your ankles like a skeletal hand while rage burned hot against your skin. Despair hung heavy in your lungs, thick and cloying, making it difficult to breathe. Echoes of explosions reverberated in your ears, punctuated by the heart-wrenching cries of children. Your vision blurred with tears - were they yours or Vander's? It was impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

You pulled back, gasping for air as if you'd been underwater. Your lungs burned, and your head spun with lingering echoes of Vander. Sweat trickled down your temples, and your hands shook as you pushed yourself to your feet.

"He’s all tangled up like barbed wire. It's a maze in there." You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself as the world tilted around you. "But I think…I think I might be able to help unravel them. It could make it easier for Viktor to pry his consciousness out of the pain."

You’d seen that glimmer of love within him, and while it was surrounded by horror, there had to be some way to reach it and pull it out without ripping it to shreds.

Vi's eyes lit up with desperate hope, while Jinx leaned forward, her vibrant energy subdued. "You can do that?" Vi asked as though she was afraid of your answer.

You nodded, then immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness washed over you. Viktor’s hand on your elbow steadied you, and you leaned into his touch. "Maybe," you amended, not wanting to give false hope. "It's not a guarantee, but it's a chance."

“A chance is better than what we had a day ago.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Viktor took the opportunity to cut in. "We will do everything we can to restore Vander," he said, his hand still steady on your elbow. "However, this process will require concentration and a calm environment."

Jinx snorted, twirling one of her braids around her finger. "Yeah, because this greenhouse is such a party central."

Viktor's lips twitched, suppressing a smile. "Nevertheless, Milá and I will need space to work. Perhaps you'd like to explore the commune? There are quite a few fascinating innovations I'm sure you'd appreciate."

Vi nodded, her gaze lingering on Vander, reluctant to part from him. "Right, yeah. We should…we should go." She turned to Jinx and Isha, gesturing towards the door.

Jinx hopped off her perch, stretching languidly. "Ooh, alone time with the boyfriend, huh?" she said, wiggling her eyebrows at you. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Jinx!" Vi hissed, glowering at Jinx. "This isn't the time for-"

"Relax, sis," Jinx laughed, slinging an arm around Vi's shoulders. "I'm just lightening the mood. Come on, let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into out there. Let the magic people do their magic thing."

As they left, Isha trailing behind them with her pebbles clutched in her tiny fists, you turned back to Vander. The massive creature watched you with wary eyes, but there was something else there now - a glimmer of recognition, perhaps even hope.

And you would hold onto that hope as hard as you could.

You spent the next several days immersed in Vander's tangled psyche. Each morning, you and Viktor settled into a rhythm - you'd reach out with your magic, creating a bridge of calm amidst the choppy waves and cries of Vander's emotions, while Viktor carefully probed at his consciousness.

The landscape of Vander's mind was a treacherous terrain. You navigated through dark caverns of despair, their walls slick with grief and mildew. Jagged peaks of rage jutted up suddenly, forcing you to climb hand over foot, your fingers bloodied by the time you reached the summit. Vast deserts of emptiness stretched as far as the eye could see, mirages of hope shimmering on the horizon only to vanish as you drew near.

But there were moments of beauty too. Oases of love, verdant and lush, where memories of Vi and Jinx as children played like a sweet melody. You lingered in these spaces, drawing strength from the pure joy that radiated from them.

As Viktor worked, you often had to soothe Vander. His emotions would flare up like a wounded animal, lashing out in fear and pain. You'd bundle him up in blankets of calm, whispering reassurances that echoed through the chambers of his mind. "It's okay," you'd murmur, your voice carrying the weight of conviction. "You're safe. We're here to help. Your daughters love you, remember that."

Sometimes, the intensity of it all overwhelmed you. You'd emerge from the trance gasping, your body drenched in sweat, trembling from the effort. Viktor would be there, his cool metal hand on your back, grounding you. "Take a moment," he'd say, his lilting voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "You're doing wonderfully."

As the days passed, you began to see progress. The tangled web of emotions began to loosen, threads of coherent thought weaving through the madness. Vander's growls grew less frequent, replaced by moments of lucidity where his eyes would focus, recognition flickering in their depths - and on the odd day, he would speak in short sentences.

You delved deeper and deeper into Vander's mind. The familiar landscape unfolded before you, but something new caught your attention - a pulsing thread of foreign feeling, steady and persistent.

Your curiosity sparked and you followed it, weaving through the intricate network of thoughts and emotions until you brushed against something unexpected - Viktor's presence. You hadn’t come into contact with him while buried deep in Vander’s psyche - as much as you had wanted to. This wasn’t about you and Viktor, this was about Vander. Yet you’d spent so much time moving within Vander’s emotions, wadding through his baser instincts, that they had started to rub off on you, and your ability to catch yourself before pursuing your desires was waning.

His essence was cool and precise, like the edge of a finely honed blade. But there, nestled at its core, was a swirling knot of guilt. It throbbed with a dull, aching constancy, weighing down Viktor's spirit like an anchor.

Pulling yourself towards it, you cradled the knot of guilt in your arms, finding it surprisingly heavy for something intangible. It pulsed against your chest, a living thing made of regret and sorrow. You curled around it, assuming a fetal position on the edge of Vander's mind, feeling the raw emotion seep into your core.

"Viktor," you whispered, your voice echoing through the mental landscape, "what is this?"

You sensed his spirit recoil, like a wounded animal shrinking from a helping hand. The cool precision of his essence wavered, uncertainty bleeding through. Viktor's spirit drifted closer, then further away, indecisive. You longed to reach out, to offer comfort, but the gulf between you felt insurmountable. Instead, you hugged the ball of guilt tighter, as if by shouldering Viktor's burden you could somehow ease his pain.

Slowly, reluctantly, you extricated yourself from Vander's mind. The physical world rushed back, a cacophony of sensations after the ethereal landscape you'd been navigating. You blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the greenhouse.

Vander lay on the ground, his massive form twitching slightly. His ears flicked irritably, the only outward sign that he was aware of your presence. You watched him for a moment, wondering how such a turbulent inner world could be contained in a seemingly peaceful exterior.

Viktor withdrew from Vander's mind with a sharp intake of breath, his multi-coloured eyes snapping open. He stared at you, his face carefully blank, but you could see the tension in the tightness of his jaw, the rigidness of his hands as he clasped them in his lap.

You stood cautiously, your legs wobbly from hours of sitting motionless. The small greenhouse felt thick and oppressive after the vast expanse of Vander's mind. Sweat collected on your forehead, and you wiped it away with a shaky hand. Viktor's gaze never wavered, following your every movement with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

You motioned for him to follow, not trusting yourself to speak. Your feet carried you deeper into the greenhouse, past rows of shimmering plants and budding flowers.

At last, you reached the bench tucked away in the furthest corner. You sat, patting the space beside you. Viktor hesitated, his body language screaming discomfort. After a long moment, he lowered himself onto the bench, perching on the edge as if ready to bolt at any second.

You tried not to think about the last time you'd sat here together, when playful banter had given way to heated touches and breathless sighs. The memory of his lips on your skin, his hands exploring every curve, almost derailing your thoughts. You shoved it aside, focusing on the tense line of Viktor's shoulders, the way his fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on his thigh.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead.

"Viktor," you began, your voice pitched low, "I felt something in there. Something that wasn't Vander's." You paused, searching for the right words. "It was you. Your guilt. It's eating you alive, isn't it?"

Panic flashed in his eyes before he schooled his gaze back into careful neutrality. "I don't know what you mean," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

He had always been rather obstinate about accepting help, but you hadn’t let that stop you from offering it before. You reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing your hand on his arm. "It's okay," you said. "You can talk to me. You’ve been there for me so many times, let me be here for you."

You watched as emotions warred across his face - fear, shame, longing. He was silent for several beats before he found his voice. "It's Sky," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I see her whenever I am…working." He laughed bitterly. "I know it's not truly her. It can't be. But…"

"But it feels real," you finished for him, well acquainted with how disorienting it can be to be unable to banish a vision you knew to be false.

Viktor nodded, his shoulders slumping. "She's a manifestation of my guilt. My failure. I should have protected her. I should not have been so reckless.”

You squeezed his arm gently, cutting off his spiral of self-recrimination. "You didn’t know that she’d come to the lab so late."

He shook his head vehemently. "You don't understand. If I had been more careful, if I had thought it through—"

“I don’t understand?” You hadn’t meant to cut him off, but you simply couldn’t get past those first three words. “Out of everyone else in this entire world, I may be the only other one who does understand.”

Viktor's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him. You watched as he struggled, his usual eloquence deserting him in the face of his own oversight.

"I…you're right," he managed. "I apologize. That was incredibly thoughtless of me."

The greenhouse fell silent, save for the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of life outside. A bead of condensation rolled down a nearby leaf, catching the light and scattering it in a tiny rainbow. You focused on it, gathering your thoughts.

"It's okay," you said at last, your voice soft but steady. You turned to face Viktor fully, taking in the lines of exhaustion corroding his features, the way his shoulders hunched as if pressed beneath a mountain. "But you know you aren't alone in this, right? I miss her too."

The words hung in between you, fragile as spun glass. Viktor closed his eyes, his expression twisting with grief so raw it made your heart ache.

You reached out, your fingers intertwining with his. "Sky was like starlight. Brilliant and beautiful and gone too soon. But her light touched so many of us. We all carry a piece of her."

And above all else, you knew those words to be true, felt them resound in your soul.

"I’m afraid I did not know her as well as I should have. Will you tell me?" he asked, barely audible. "Tell me what you remember?"

Talking about Sky came as easily as rain did from heavy clouds - though it did not stop your heart from aching. You spoke of Sky's laughter, how it would bubble up from deep inside her, infectious and bright. You recalled the way she'd furrow her brow when concentrating, her tongue poking out just slightly. You described the feeling of her hugs, fierce and warm, as if she could pour all her love into you through that simple gesture.

As you talked, the tension slowly bled from Viktor's frame. His grip on your hand loosened, though he didn't let go. His forehead smoothed out, and his breathing evened. You could almost see the weight lifting from his shoulders, shared between the two of you now.

When your words finally ran dry, a comfortable silence settled over you both. The greenhouse had grown darker, the setting sun painting the glass walls in shades of orange and pink. A cool breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers. You could have sworn you smelled her perfume, floral and clean, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. That first night after Viktor had awoken from his Hexcore-induced slumber, when you'd thought you were hallucinating Sky's ghostly form. Viktor had seen her too. You'd been so caught up in the nervousness of being unwell while navigating the Undercity streets, you'd almost forgotten about that strange, shared moment.

"Wait," you said, sitting up straighter. "When we were walking here after we’d left your childhood house, I saw Sky, and you said you could see her too. I’d almost forgotten it, but…" You trailed off, watching Viktor's face carefully.

His eyes widened in recognition. "I remember," he said softly. "I thought it was a side effect of the Hexcore. Or that I was going mad." He let out a shaky breath. "I still don’t entirely know what it was, if I’m being candid.”

“That thing you carry isn’t Sky, I can feel that much.”

“That’s a relief, I would not wish to imprison her in my mind.”

"It's not her,” you reaffirmed. “But maybe it's a part of her. Something she left behind." You paused, choosing your words carefully. "What if it's not just guilt manifesting? What if it's a gift?"

Viktor's forehead pinched, his thick eyebrows bunching up. "A gift? How could my failure be a gift?"

"Not your failure," you said, shaking your head. "Her legacy. Her drive to help others and make a difference. Maybe she left that with you to carry on."

Viktor was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. When he spoke, his voice was thick and rough. "I never thought of it that way."

"You’re honouring her memory by helping others. That’s what she wanted above all else; for everyone to be given the tools they needed to thrive, to live peacefully and free from suffering." You leaned against him, wrapping your arm around his as you rested your head on his shoulder. “She’d be so proud of everything you’ve done.”

"She would be proud of you too," he said. "For all you've managed to overcome, the people you've helped."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as memories flooded your mind. Charlotte's joyful glow as she regaled you with tales of her daughter. Stillwater, where your shield had stood firm against the Vander’s attacks, saving those who’d have been shredded without it. And now Vander himself, his fractured psyche slowly knitting back together under your patient support.

“Yeah,” you smiled, small and bittersweet, “I guess she would be.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Missing my girl Sky :’(

Buckle up everyone, we are getting to the big stuff! Only 4 more chapters left...

[wanderingokali]

Okalivember day 28, meadow dwellers!

The common wooly liskuvost is a pretty large bug, crawling along on large flowers and feeding on nectar. Its large fangs are there to manipulate or pierce petals to get at nectar in flowers it's too small to crawl all the way into. Its curled tail holds its egg sac and babies.

The prairie nuosani is a predatory insect that often hides in hedges and bushes in ambush, waiting for any prey that passes close enough to grab with their lightning-fast reflexes. The females, more ravenous when they need the energy to make eggs, often hunt in a more active manner, their folding wings letting them divebomb prey.

The wild tailless nakulla is a close relative to a common domestic species. Feeding on a varied diet of both plant matter, fallen fruit, and small animals, their long legs allow them to see far over the tall grasses. Their vestigial wings don't allow them to fly, but serve as fat storage.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I hope I'm not asking too many questions... but I really love the skywhale trope and wanted to hear your thoughts on them?

i think we need more variety of whales in the sky! seems like more people go for a blue whale or humpback whale design on their sky whales, which is fine because they are very iconic whales and i love the way they look. but how about some beaked or toothed whales? flying orcas? a bowhead? i think a sky whale that looked like a bowhead whale would be just wonderful, look at this thing.

(image description: first is an underwater photo of a bowhead whale's face. the top of its mouth is very narrow while the bottom of it is enormous, like a pelican. there is a white patch at the front of its lower jaw with black spots in a line across it. the second image is a detailed illustration of the whale's whole body, comparing it to the size of an elephant and showing the shape of its fins and tail. the elephant is roughly the size of the whale's lower jaw. end description.)

i love this thing. look at that face. the humpback whale may have longer and prettier fins for that sky whale aesthetic, but the bowhead's face shape is delightful. more diversity in sky whale designs!

but of course, the more interesting thought is how exactly to make such an enormous vertebrate work as a flying animal. where is it going? what does it eat? what happens when it dies?

it would be more realistic for sky whales to be smaller, but when people think of sky whales, they want the huge size! it's a fantasy, we want the epic huge flying creatures with their strange singing calls swimming through the clouds. so i'm not going to talk about the more logical small flying whales that go around in flocks to hunt birds (though the idea of smaller flying dolphins is also delightful!) I'm going to just talk about big slow baleen sky whales, the most iconic and desired of all sky whales.

step one: how the heck are these things in the air. it's easier to explain how a dragon can fly, they have big powerful wings. how do whales fly? I think the clearest answer is that they have some form of massive internal air sac full of lifting gas. real life oceanic whales are full of blubber, but maybe sky whales don't have as much blubber and get a lot of their size from their big air sacs instead.

lifting gas is just an umbrella term for any gases that are lighter than the standard atmospheric air. this includes heated atmospheric air, hydrogen, helium, coal gas, ammonia, and methane. (according to wikipedia) and with that list I think we've found our answer. whales are actually even-toed ungulates like cows. they could easily produce a lot of methane with the right diet. they'd just keep it in their air sacs instead of releasing it as a waste material! and for the best production of methane, these sky whales should have multi-chambered stomachs.

This does mean they're probably going to eat a lot of plant matter! so imagine them swooping low to take huge mouthfuls of tree tops! terrifying! maybe their baleen is structured to scrape the leaves off the branches. Maybe they swoop down to kelp forests in the ocean and take huge mouthfuls of that as well. any critters they happen to consume in the process are just bonus snacks full of protein. they likely also consume large flocks of small birds on the go, and probably clouds of flying insects too! locust swarms, for example. watch out for the low flying whales! I think they'd be slow like blimps and mostly use their tails and fins to steer and swoop down for food. they probably also rub themselves on tree branches or mountain sides to scratch their itches. I bet they'd have a symbiosis with many bird species that pick off their parasites.

like cow manure, sky whale dung could be a great source of fertilizer. best to avoid the usual paths of migrating sky whales so you don't end up dead by having giant poop clumps fall on you, but once it's hit the ground, that's free whale manure for every farmer in the area. the lands along the paths of migrating sky whales are probably very fertile, which also serves the whales, since they'll be eating the leafy tree tops! and when a whale dies, falling to the ground, the resulting small earthquake would certainly be startling, and both the impact and the rot process would cause a lot of damage to the surrounding land.

things are not immediately fertilized when a corpse rots. it takes a while! the rot causes more harm at first and then starts to nourish the ground later.

and dead bodies tend to bloat with gases and i have already established that these whales are full of methane. a lot of it would be released at death anyway, and i don't think the whale would drop immediately. or perhaps they fly lower in their old age and just crash land and die slowly. either way, these things are huge and full of methane and then they bloat. which means they might also explode spontaneously as part of the decay process. the air for miles around is going to be so nasty. but i think if you live in sky whale territory, you're just going to have to get used to the stink, because the manure that falls on a more regular basis is also going to be so so stinky.

like real world whale falls, sky whale falls will attract absolutely every carnivorous creature in the area. anything that eats meat will follow that awful stench right to the source and start gnawing away at the thick skin. people will have the easiest time, since they have tools for this beyond just their teeth and claws. the faster the whale is cut open, the less likely there will be an explosive bloat stage, so I'm sure the culture of the region would have some superstitions about leaving a dead whale lying too long. if you don't go harvest that bounty, it will explode and you never know where those chunks will land.

and then when there's only bones, people use em for building all sorts of things! the societies that exist in the paths of sky whales would be very cool to see.

that turned into a ramble and I haven't even designed a sky whale lol. lemme doodle one real quick.

(image description: a sketch of a sky whale, which resembles the aforementioned bow whale, swooping down to munch on trees in a forest. end description.)

[iamthekaijuking]

Ok, so back in UHC's Legiana video, he posited that the various predatory flying wyverns have now filled the roles of various birds of prey in our own world. Bazel is a vulture, raths are eagles, Steve is an owl, etc.

However, he couldn't quite fit astalos into the equation. But, after a decent bit of research, I believe I have definitively figured out the group of birds astalos best represents!

It's Kites! Specifically those like the Swallow tailed and White tailed kite.

Similarly to Astalos, these birds' preferred environments are wetlands and open tropical forests. Also, like Astalos, a large portion of their diet is made up of insects surprisingly enough, which they snatch from the air or skim from foliage as they fly low. Swallow tailed kites have even been documented flying away with big chunks of wasp nests in their talons, which they eat the larvae from. In MH, we don’t really have any proper dedicated predators of vespoids. Perhaps that's what Astalos could be, in a similar way to birds like the Swallow Tailed and honey buzzards? Either way, it's cool to think about. Outside of insects, these kites are generally hunters of small prey like lizards, snakes, and frogs that they can either swallow whole or easily tear apart.

In short, very Astalos-like with its hunting of the small runner wyverns, although the pincer tail replaces the talons in this context.

Astalos isn't exactly the nightjar analog I previously thought it was, but overall, I'm satisfied with the conclusion it ultimately led me to, and even better, now I know more about these birds and real world Ecology!

Oh crap that’s actually a really good comparison.

I’m gonna run this by UHC and see what he thinks.

EDIT:

He said he’s more familiar with old world melvini kites, which are ecologically more like vultures, but that this is a very interesting thing to consider.

I let him know this came from you.

[professional-jaywalker]

Vermin

a short essay about being bug hearted, and killing bugs.

I think one of the most cruel thing to love might be invertebrates. Insects. Arachnid. Worms. Pest. With any other animal, it is seen as unreasonable to want to eradicate. Some insects do manage to earn human's favors, bees (but only the useful ones), moths and butterflies (but only the cute ones), and if you're facing a true bug lover, beetles and dragonflies and perhaps even spiders and centipedes and scorpions. But not all, and it's still simply reasonable, to hate even seeing them.

I've loved bugs since I was a kid. I think it felt wrong not to, because people didn't like them, and people didn't like me. I don't think I've ever understood what in how they move felt less alive for people than a puppy. Still now I love bugs. I love mosquitos and I love botflies and I love hornets and tiny annoying ants that crawl through the windows and cockroaches and the wasp that stung me on the thumb when I accidentally grabbed a stick she was resting on when I was 9.

You cannot possibly live a human life without killing countless things. It's impossible. The most vegan, most peaceful human, refusing to walk on grass to not harm the grasshopper that didn't jump fast enough, will not be able to live a life without killing an insect even accidentally. It's something I have thought about a lot overall. I'm not vegan. I've thought about it. It would make sense, I don't see a lot of difference between my own flesh and the flesh I eat. But somehow it feels even more insulting, to be something that kills, and to pretend I don't. I eat insects, too. I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly how I feel about it all.

Maybe it makes me an hypocrite, to be so perturbed about the way people treat insects when I still eat meat. But it's, I think, in the end, the fracture between someone seeing a dead cow, and a dead fly. Most people wouldn't have the courage to kill a cow. They would feel guilt. In fact, a lot of people already hide the fact that meat is flesh and is, strictly speaking, part of a cadaver. People who refuse to eat a fish with the head. Pork, not pig. Beef, not cow. I hate that too. But insects ? People kill a fly without even thinking about it. It's annoying, then it's dead. A dead fly doesn't elicit guilt.

People expect me to be the same. Even knowing I love insects, it's seen as amusing that I acknowledge them as more than a mindless automaton, and, if I can, if it costs me nothing, avoid killing them. I have killed countless insects. I've had to, purposefully, many many many times. But it is, in fact, killing. I just want to be allowed to recognize that.

I work in a lab, on ants. We dissected more than a hundred, ovaries, poison gland, brains, understanding how they work, how differentiation happens and how they communicate it. Reconstructing brains to evaluate changes in different structures, measuring how many proto-egg each individual has post-dissection and correlation to dominance, reading articles and articles about theory.

These specific ants like shallow humid grooves for their nest. Today we tested a large foraging arena, brightly lit for the cameras, dry, wide, open, empty. Ants panic after being picked up even with the least harmful tools we have. When in an unfamiliar space, we've had them in the past run until they died of exhaustion, unable to find the entry of the nest to hide. Two of them were placed in the foraging arena to test the cameras, test if we could read the tags they have on their back. Again and again, they like to follow the walls, possibly because it feels less exposed. And again and again, they stop, groom each other, and calm down if they meet, huddled into each other.

I can't claim to know what's going on in ants brain, whether they feel things similarly to us. But it's hard not to project.

Ant tagged 16, and ant tagged 12, close, unmoving.