#dryadologist

[ve1ljumpers]

the incessant whirlwind known as wendell nambleby burst into her office five minutes prior — a blur of green and black, barging in without so much as a knock or an invitation, shattering her peace along with most of her patience.

not only did he refuse to stop talking, oblivious or uncaring about her lack of enthusiasm, he also was chewing on something obnoxiously sweet, its thick, warm syrupy scent rousing her stomach, which now joined in the chorus, grumbling at her with equal persistence.

his ability to chatter on incessantly, she admitted begrudgingly to herself, nearly impressive. it was a talent completely foreign to her. by now, anyone else would’ve run out of steam, floundering for a topic, yet he shifted from topic to topic as if speaking to an unseen audience. if he didn’t make a point of dropping her name every few sentences, emily might have suspected there was another fairy lurking in the room. but as it was, it was just the two of them, and he was determined

well, so was she. with nary a glance to him, she closed the manuscript in front of her, and set to work her review for the west essex dryadologist journal.

˚ · .✧ – starter call / @dryadologist

[sonnenreich]

⸻ @dryadologist [ . . . ] manifesting spell with intention *.; “now that's a ridiculous thing to say. ”

“Exactly my words” the blonde agreed, gesturing in understanding. He leaned back on the chair, creaking impudently underneath his weight. The English pub wasn’t exactly his taste nor first choice — too private, too dark and way too far away from his hometown. The absence of guests made him question the quality, too. It was disappointing to say the least. Going above his way of leaving his home and then not feeling the joy of attention. The only other guest besides Wendell was an old lad, staring mindlessly at his emptied ale. He surely wasn’t the type of guy who’d waste another glance at Zeev, not that he necessarily wanted him too. 

“It’s like that famous saying absence of evidence does not mean evidence of absence. Anyone claiming the contrary is a fool in my books. People are only willing to believe if it serves their cause.” A charming smile returned despite the negative nature of the subject. He wasn’t really feeling like digging up yet again the topic of witch trials and what it had meant for Sundawn. Instead he eyed the other once more while fishing for something in his pockets.

Zeev experienced first hand the attraction that he always used to his advantage. Wendell was surrounded by a beauty so mesmerizing it felt unsettling when thought about for too long. Like a perfect picture with a hidden message, a unique and antique box with a double bottom, lined with silk. It was hard for Zeev not to be distracted by his mere presence. But above all it made him careful.

The piece of paper rustled in his hands — one edge ripped, a page of a book. The beige sheet showed the drawing of what seemed like a delicate flask, adorned with swirls and patterns one only could assume to be floral. Zeev pressed the tip of his lean finger down, pushing the curling paper over the table made of pale beech wood till it reached the other. “The container is less interesting than the content,” he explained. “supposedly filled with tears of the great Baobhan-sìth. Of course most rumours are about granting youth, wealth, beauty and whatnot.” He gestured disinterested. Within a swift motion he turned the page over, pointing at a passage written in the tiniest font no book should ever be written in. “It is believed to inherit curing prosperities beyond human medical possibilities.”

Anticipation shone in his eyes and something that resembled hope.

“I thought someone of your expertise might have heard of it? Perhaps even got any idea of its current location, if it still exists?”

[sioraiocht]

~ @dryadologist || Liked for a one liner || From Tadhg ~

The noise behind startles him, wings disappearing behind his back, Tadhg immediately going on the defensive as he flits to half hide behind a tree. "Who are you?"

[devourcr]

@dryadologist asked: ❝  i don’t believe in vampires. ❞

the vampire tilts his head in question, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but not quite reaching his eyes. the smile fades almost as quickly as it tried to appear, instead, pressing his lips together in an inquisitive way, squinting slightly at the other. he feels no pressure to reveal himself as one, though he wonders if it's not suspicious to say it at all to a vampire.

it's too fun to discover the mystery without seeking to try to grab it from his head. mind games. the chase. they're all great motivators and frankly, keep some nights from turning boring.

❝ no? what makes them seem so impossible to you? ❞

[drkroots]

@dryadologist said: "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" / for Shannon

          after-action patch-up starters

               Working with the green came with scratches from thorns and ragged barks, but they were marks that would heal in time; nothing she wasn't used to, whether tending to them in gardens or whether the green decided to assist her in some sort of battle. "Same could be said to you." Shannon replied, brow raised slightly as sleeves of dress were pulled back and arms were healed with a bright light that emit from her hands. "You need me to sort you out?"

[fellr1der]

the  lake  mirrors  the  stars  sparkling  overhead  ,  the  night  cloudless  and  clear  .  the  hiking  trails  weave  through  the  forest  ,  hard  packed  earth  interrupted  by  occasional  root  and  stone  ,  expertly  navigated  by  equid  hooves  .  cool  toned  light  spills  forth  from  the  fire  atop  headless  shoulders  ,  echoed  in  the  light  shining  from  darting  ,  hungry  eyes  from  the  head  held  against  a  cloaked  body  . 

the  slope  down  to  the  lakefront  is  moderately  steep  ,  the  dulachán's  mount  sliding  a  little  as  they  step  through  the  chilled  grass  .  fireflies  ,  late  in  the  season  ,  cluster  about  the  lake  surface  ,  confusing  the  light  above  for  the  watery  reflection  below  . 

they  may  very  well  drown  themselves  in  the  name  of  lust  . 

for  shame  . 

though  no  death  calls  to  him  ,  demands  he  spill  forth  a  name  that  will  arrive  ,  unbidden  ,  in  his  mind  ,  he  has  a  preference  to  keep  moving  .  like  a  shark  needing  to  move  to  keep  breathing  ,  conrí  prefers  to  keep  on  the  move  to  keep  his  head  (  and  wits  )  about  him  . 

there  are  those  in  the  world  who  would  use  a  dulachán  for  their  own  needs  ,  being  expert  hunters  and  all  .  and  he  likes  his  current  assignment  ,  answering  only  to  death  and  no  one  else  ,  having  escaped  the  courts  and  kingdoms  of  fey  kind  . 

something  he's  sure  the  figure  down  at  the  lakeside  would  have  something  to  say  .  the  fey  hierarchy  leaves  a  distinct  scent  about  those  who  have  touched  power  ,  and  conrí  is  not  interested  in  being  hired  into  anything  that  would  put  him  at  the  mercy  of  another  .  at  least  ,  with  both  being  of  the  fey  persuasion  ,  he  doesn't  have  to  worry  about  any  dirty  tricks  of  iron  or  steel  .  the  lake  isn't  even  running  water  ,  he  could  cross  it  no  problem  . 

and  this  makes  him  wonder  …  is  this  intentional  ?  if  he  tries  to  leave  ,  what  accidental  information  does  that  give  ?  what  insights  to  his  character  ,  his  values  ,  does  he  leave  behind  him  if  he  goes  ? 

better  to  bite  the  bullet  ,  as  the  mortals  would  say  . 

so  he  slows  to  a  lazy  walk  ,  moving  around  the  circumference  of  the  lake  ,  watching  ,  assessing  .  if  he  leaves  ,  conrí  will  go  about  his  night  .  if  he  stays  … 

he'll  deal  with  that  then  . 

@dryadologist ⇢ 037. at the edge of a serene forest lake under a starry sky.

[crowshoots]

too many people trying to figure out grisha and their powers. not enough people trying to figure out what the fuck is up with @dryadologist

[clochanamarch]

how often do customers mispronounce Aisling's name at the diner tho? 👀

i wanna say they all do, especially by the time the squad is forming and they use nicknames a lot more, like she's rarely addressed by her full name, it's always shortened or "boss" or "jones" or "captain" or smth, but then one day she's like "okay we ought to wear nametags" and that's when things just become "barista effort" level, like "ayes-ling?" "ey-sling?" "ah-ee-sling?"

there's definitely a corkboard in the staff room where herself, edwina, laszlo and sanji are always neck-and-neck in terms of who has the most mispronunciations, and the only reason she doesn't win entirely is because the rest of the squad decide they want to see if someone will eventually call her "ass-ling" and that won't happen if she wins by a landslide, so they start loudly shouting for her every time a new customer walks in so there's no mistaking it!

( all this being said, i know for a fact that all of ye who i write with, your muses always pronounce it right in my head! )

[folkorae]

@dryadologist liked for a starter !

Spring may be over, but its remnants remain for much of the year ; or at least until when the goddess of spring decides to return to her domains in the underworld. Persephone likes to roam the lands of mortals and being a goddess gives her certain freedoms ( still, not as much as other gods and goddesses but she likes the little freedom she has ). She raised the teacup to her lips and took a small sip. “ This tea is delicious ! What did you say it was again ? ” The goddess asked, happy to be in someone's company.

[emprean]

@dryadologist said ; i'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that. ( accepting )

her mouth clicks closed and circe curses internally. shit. it isn't an infrequent occurrence, words slipping from her lips without her go-ahead, spouting off things she has no reason to know. fingers scrub nervously through her hair at the scalp and slip to the ends, tugging slightly as circe offers a nervous semblance of something almost like a smile. "right." her hands fall to her lap and she fiddles with them there, the thumb of one hand rubbing the palm of the other methodically. it helps ground her a little. "sorry, i don't - what did i - things got, get away from me, sometime. s. sometimes."

[nurturesmind]

"you'll have to forgive me if this is a ridiculous question to ask somebody like you, but would i even be able to see a faerie?" her face scrunches up slightly, though there is an attempt to not seem too confused. eloise couldn't find a book in any book shop about his area of expertise; every time she'd bring up 'dryadology,' they would just look at her like she was speaking another language. and perhaps dryadology was another language, considering how nobody seemed to know of it.

nobody but one person, at least. "are they not... i don't know, quite small?"

@dryadologist ! starter call.

[faerieheart]

@dryadologist asked: how'd you know where to find me?

A smile curls at her lips at his question, ❛ Wendell, the Little Folk here tell me everything. They are curious, little creatures and when they see a man in a suit traipsing through their forest, well, they'd like to know why. ❜

[wornkindness]

📂

📂 - she doesn't get sick very often. sure she won't feel 100% if she hasn't slept well or if there's a very sudden drastic change in weather. (like one day it's basically summer and the next it's snowing kinda drastic change). when she does get sick however, it tends pretty much take her out as much as she hates it and will fight against it.

Send “📂“ for a random headcanon / always accepting

[bledbetrayl]

@dryadologist asked: are you here to kill me ?

a chuckle passing his lips , had he been too obvious in his steps ? were his fangs already on show ? ( a quick swipe of tongue against teeth , no he didn't think they were out ). lestat knew he was better than this , if he wanted someone dead . they were dead. before they could question him on it.

instead , he just found himself staring , intently, amused. " you're still alive. aren't you ?"

[hearthtales]

" would you believe me if i said i got all these injuries by slipping in the rain? " (meanwhile Wendell's stumbling into the flower shop with multiple stab wounds)

༄ ‘In an hour of need’ prompts

Blood and rainwater dripped onto the floor of the flower shop. Olive, a mop still clutched in her hands, looked more irritated than surprised at the other’s abrupt entry. She glared daggers at him and gripped the mop tighter. “No,” she replied flatly. Then, half-tired and half-accusatory: “I just cleaned there.”

The Florist’s head popped out from behind a corner, curiosity bright in their eyes. A laugh spilled from their lips. “Oh, goodness. Must’ve been quite the tumble.” Lightness colored their tone; it wasn’t entirely clear whether they believed him or not.

They wiped their soil-stained hands on their apron and bustled toward him, grabbing something metallic and flat from behind a shelf. They unfolded it and placed it on the floor before the guest with a clatter. A small stepladder. “Sit, sit,” they urged him. “Can’t have you bleeding out in here. Bad for business, that. Then you can tell me how you got those nasty wounds from slipping in the rain.” They flashed a smile at their assistant. “Olive, be a dear and lock the door. Better close the blinds as well.”

With a heavy sigh, Olive propped the mop against the wall and followed their instructions. She hung a ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door for good measure. Business had been slow from the storm, so the bloody guest was the only one in the shop aside from them. Heavy rainfall continued to patter outside.

[batonbougie]

I think all of your time in Faerie has made you slightly jaded, my dear. Or caused you to confuse your definitions of ‘annoying’ and charming.

Jaded, me? Never. I’m the definition of seeing through rose colored glasses. And being annoying doesn’t mean you cant also be charming.