#northeast side

[fieriframes]

[Who can forget Donnie D'Alessio at Queens Comfort. London: Thames & Hudson, 1986. Ernst, Jimmy. So here I am on the northeast side]

[wavernot4love]

HELLO MCR WORLD tbp tour is Real and Terrifying oh the jersey show support (death cab AND thursday) goes so crazy but i know it's gonna be so hard to get tix ..... what Do i do

oh this is a great day in mcr history regardless

[dragontammerz]

I am now currently wondering what my accent actually is XD All I know is that it’s apparently not southern even though I’m from the South part of the USA. I’ve been repeatedly told I don’t sound like I’m for the south. Or even if I wasn’t outright told that the shock on someone’s face when I say I am from the south and have lived all but 1 year in the south is enough to know that I don’t have an actual Southern accent. Meanwhile my mom has a recognizable southern accent, but it only shows up when she’s too tired to suppress it or when we ask her what it sounds like XD (I’m pretty sure her’s is more of a drawl)

TLDR I have no clue what my accent is aside from American, not northern, and apparently somehow not southern. I’m clueless about how I don’t have a southern accent according to others

I don’t think there’s a generic American accent??? Though I do have a southern one I’ll slip into sometimes, but it normally only happens if there’s someone near me or speaking to me that’s speaking in one. (I’m referring to the kind with a drawl)

rb this and tell me what ur accent is. this has no purpose except the fact i just realized i could have like... mutuals with cockney accents or newfoundland accents or something and thats just wild

[asgardian--angels]

Planet's Fucked: What Can You Do To Help? (Long Post)

Since nobody is talking about the existential threat to the climate and the environment a second Trump term/Republican government control will cause, which to me supersedes literally every other issue, I wanted to just say my two cents, and some things you can do to help. I am a conservation biologist, whose field was hit substantially by the first Trump presidency. I study wild bees, birds, and plants.

In case anyone forgot what he did last time, he gagged scientists' ability to talk about climate change, he tried zeroing budgets for agencies like the NOAA, he attempted to gut protections in the Endangered Species Act (mainly by redefining 'take' in a way that would allow corporations to destroy habitat of imperiled species with no ramifications), he tried to do the same for the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (the law that offers official protection for native non-game birds), he sought to expand oil and coal extraction from federal protected lands, he shrunk the size of multiple national preserves, HE PULLED US OUT OF THE PARIS CLIMATE AGREEMENT, and more.

We are at a crucial tipping point in being able to slow the pace of climate change, where we decide what emissions scenario we will operate at, with existential consequences for both the environment and people. We are also in the middle of the Sixth Mass Extinction, with the rate of species extinctions far surpassing background rates due completely to human actions. What we do now will determine the fate of the environment for hundreds or thousands of years - from our ability to grow key food crops (goodbye corn belt! I hated you anyway but), to the pressure on coastal communities that will face the brunt of sea level rise and intensifying extreme weather events, to desertification, ocean acidification, wildfires, melting permafrost (yay, outbreaks of deadly frozen viruses!), and a breaking down of ecosystems and ecosystem services due to continued habitat loss and species declines, especially insect declines. The fact that the environment is clearly a low priority issue despite the very real existential threat to so many people, is beyond my ability to understand. I do partly blame the public education system for offering no mandatory environmental science curriculum or any at all in most places. What it means is that it will take the support of everyone who does care to make any amount of difference in this steeply uphill battle.

There are not enough environmental scientists to solve these issues, not if public support is not on our side and the majority of the general public is either uninformed or actively hostile towards climate science (or any conservation science).

So what can you, my fellow Americans, do to help mitigate and minimize the inevitable damage that lay ahead?

I'm not going to tell you to recycle more or take shorter showers. I'll be honest, that stuff is a drop in the bucket. What does matter on the individual level is restoring and protecting habitat, reducing threats to at-risk species, reducing pesticide use, improving agricultural practices, and pushing for policy changes. Restoring CONNECTIVITY to our landscape - corridors of contiguous habitat - will make all the difference for wildlife to be able to survive a changing climate and continued human population expansion.

**Caveat that I work in the northeast with pollinators and birds so I cannot provide specific organizations for some topics, including climate change focused NGOs. Scientists on tumblr who specialize in other fields, please add your own recommended resources. **

We need two things: FUNDING and MANPOWER.

You may surprised to find that an insane amount of conservation work is carried out by volunteers. We don't ever have the funds to pay most of the people who want to help. If you really really care, consider going into a conservation-related field as a career. It's rewarding, passionate work.

At the national level, please support:

The Nature Conservancy

Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation

Cornell Lab of Ornithology (including eBird)

National Audubon Society

Federal Duck Stamps (you don't need to be a hunter to buy one!)

These first four work to acquire and restore critical habitat, change environmental policy, and educate the public. There is almost certainly a Nature Conservancy-owned property within driving distance of you. Xerces plays a very large role in pollinator conservation, including sustainable agriculture, native bee monitoring programs, and the Bee City/Bee Campus USA programs. The Lab of O is one of the world's leaders in bird research and conservation. Audubon focuses on bird conservation. You can get annual memberships to these organizations and receive cool swag and/or a subscription to their publications which are well worth it. You can also volunteer your time; we need thousands of volunteers to do everything from conducting wildlife surveys, invasive species removal, providing outreach programming, managing habitat/clearing trails, planting trees, you name it. Federal Duck Stamps are the major revenue for wetland conservation; hunters need to buy them to hunt waterfowl but anyone can get them to collect!

THERE ARE DEFINITELY MORE, but these are a start.

Additionally, any federal or local organizations that seek to provide support and relief to those affected by hurricanes, sea level rise, any form of coastal climate change...

At the regional level:

These are a list of topics that affect major regions of the United States. Since I do not work in most of these areas I don't feel confident recommending specific organizations, but please seek resources relating to these as they are likely major conservation issues near you.

PRAIRIE CONSERVATION & PRAIRIE POTHOLE WETLANDS

DRYING OF THE COLORADO RIVER (good overview video linked)

PROTECTION OF ESTUARIES AND SALTMARSH, ESPECIALLY IN THE DELAWARE BAY AND LONG ISLAND (and mangroves further south, everglades etc; this includes restoring LIVING SHORELINES instead of concrete storm walls; also check out the likely-soon extinction of saltmarsh sparrows)

UNDAMMING MAJOR RIVERS (not just the Colorado; restoring salmon runs, restoring historic floodplains)

NATIVE POLLINATOR DECLINES (NOT honeybees. for fuck's sake. honeybees are non-native domesticated animals. don't you DARE get honeybee hives to 'save the bees')

WILDLIFE ALONG THE SOUTHERN BORDER (support the Mission Butterfly Center!)

INVASIVE PLANT AND ANIMAL SPECIES (this is everywhere but the specifics will differ regionally, dear lord please help Hawaii)

LOSS OF WETLANDS NATIONWIDE (some states have lost over 90% of their wetlands, I'm looking at you California, Ohio, Illinois)

INDUSTRIAL AGRICULTURE, esp in the CORN BELT and CALIFORNIA - this is an issue much bigger than each of us, but we can work incrementally to promote sustainable practices and create habitat in farmland-dominated areas. Support small, local farms, especially those that use soil regenerative practices, no-till agriculture, no pesticides/Integrated Pest Management/no neonicotinoids/at least non-persistent pesticides. We need more farmers enrolling in NRCS programs to put farmland in temporary or permanent wetland easements, or to rent the land for a 30-year solar farm cycle. We've lost over 99% of our prairies to corn and soybeans. Let's not make it 100%.

INDIGENOUS LAND-BACK EFFORTS/INDIGENOUS LAND MANAGEMENT/TEK (adding this because there have been increasing efforts not just for reparations but to also allow indigenous communities to steward and manage lands either fully independently or alongside western science, and it would have great benefits for both people and the land; I know others on here could speak much more on this. Please platform indigenous voices)

HARMFUL ALGAL BLOOMS (get your neighbors to stop dumping fertilizers on their lawn next to lakes, reduce agricultural runoff)

OCEAN PLASTIC (it's not straws, it's mostly commercial fishing line/trawling equipment and microplastics)

A lot of these are interconnected. And of course not a complete list.

At the state and local level:

You probably have the most power to make change at the local level!

Support or volunteer at your local nature centers, local/state land conservancy non-profits (find out who owns&manages the preserves you like to hike at!), state fish & game dept/non-game program, local Audubon chapters (they do a LOT). Participate in a Christmas Bird Count!

Join local garden clubs, which install and maintain town plantings - encourage them to use NATIVE plants. Join a community garden!

Get your college campus or city/town certified in the Bee Campus USA/Bee City USA programs from the Xerces Society

Check out your state's official plant nursery, forest society, natural heritage program, anything that you could become a member of, get plants from, or volunteer at.

Volunteer to be part of your town's conservation commission, which makes decisions about land management and funding

Attend classes or volunteer with your land grant university's cooperative extension (including master gardener programs)

Literally any volunteer effort aimed at improving the local environment, whether that's picking up litter, pulling invasive plants, installing a local garden, planting trees in a city park, ANYTHING. make a positive change in your own sphere. learn the local issues affecting your nearby ecosystems. I guarantee some lake or river nearby is polluted

MAKE HABITAT IN YOUR COMMUNITY. Biggest thing you can do. Use plants native to your area in your yard or garden. Ditch your lawn. Don't use pesticides (including mosquito spraying, tick spraying, Roundup, etc). Don't use fertilizers that will run off into drinking water. Leave the leaves in your yard. Get your school/college to plant native gardens. Plant native trees (most trees planted in yards are not native). Remove invasive plants in your yard.

On this last point, HERE ARE EASY ONLINE RESOURCES TO FIND NATIVE PLANTS and LEARN ABOUT NATIVE GARDENING:

Xerces Society Pollinator Conservation Resource Center

Pollinator Pathway

Audubon Native Plant Finder

Homegrown National Park (and Doug Tallamy's other books)

National Wildlife Federation Native Plant Finder (clunky but somewhat helpful)

Heather Holm (for prairie/midwest/northeast)

MonarchGard w/ Benjamin Vogt (for prairie/midwest)

Native Plant Trust (northeast & mid-atlantic)

Grow Native Massachusetts (northeast)

Habitat Gardening in Central New York (northeast)

There are many more - I'm not familiar with resources for western states. Print books are your biggest friend. Happy to provide a list of those.

Lastly, you can help scientists monitor species using citizen science. Contribute to iNaturalist, eBird, Bumblebee Watch, or any number of more geographically or taxonomically targeted programs (for instance, our state has a butterfly census carried out by citizen volunteers).

In short? Get curious, get educated, get involved. Notice your local nature, find out how it's threatened, and find out who's working to protect it that you can help with. The health of the planet, including our resilience to climate change, is determined by small local efforts to maintain and restore habitat. That is how we survive this. When government funding won't come, when we're beat back at every turn trying to get policy changed, it comes down to each individual person creating a safe refuge for nature.

Thanks for reading this far. Please feel free to add your own credible resources and organizations.

[carmelasopranono1defenseattorney]

santa barbara........... adrianna i'm sorry chris is so obsessed with the mob it's never happening

[puneairportcaboperator]

Pune Airport Cab Operator, Pune Airport, Pune, Maharashtra, India

puneairportcaboperator@gmail.com

WhatsApp: +919370314751 / 52

Cell: +917720079131 / 32

Cell: +919370314751 / 52

Pune International Airport: Airport in Pune, Maharashtra

Pune Airport, is located approximately 10 km northeast of Pune Central in the state of Maharashtra, India. The airport is a civil enclave operated by the Airports Authority of India at the eastern side of Lohagaon Air Force Station of the Indian Air Force.

Pune: City in Maharashtra

Pune is a sprawling city in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. It was once the base of the Peshwas (prime ministers) of the Maratha Empire, which lasted from 1674 to 1818. It's known for the grand Aga Khan Palace, built in 1892 and now a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi, whose ashes are preserved in the garden. The 8th-century Pataleshwar Cave Temple is dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva.

[rayroseu]

I really appreciate the beauty of Malleus New Year's card. But most importantly, other than its gorgeousness, I also appreciate how it pays so much homage to his status and character, from the flowers, the clothes, and the setting. 🥹

We know that wisterias were prevalent in his Dorm Groovy SSR, this time its another flower which is the red plum blossom here😭❤️

In Chinese philosophy, the Plum tree’s blossom is a symbol of winter ending and a herald of spring. The tree’s pale pink blossoms are cherished because they bloom vibrantly and so bravely amidst the winter chill. They symbolise perseverance and hope, as well as, beauty thriving in adverse circumstances.

The way this flower's meaning is so matched with Malleus' character is so precious. We know he's "the herald of spring" because his birth brought forth a hope that the Draconias(or the faes in general) won't die out just yet (the ending of winter) and the fact that this flower blooms even in winter probably symbolizes the fact that when he was an egg, he was still perservering to live. This also applies to his life as he grows up. With the way even if his life is riddled with loneliness and exclusion, he makes an effort to go out and adjust himself with others, he doesn't give up even if his reality consistently places him in situation where his goals can never be achieved (that is, him being accepted socially and him being ignorant of human culture but still makes an effort to understand it), he just continues to be hopeful that someone/ some place will invite him, therefore his ability to thrive in adverse circumstances.

The way he slowly rises in this card makes me feel like it symbolizes how slow paced Malleus is "in going out/getting used to outside of his comfort zone", actually lol. He described his admission to NRC as him being nervous because its an unknown place but still hopeful for the experiences that he might get(acccording to the vignette of his GloMas SSR), just like him here rising from the snow and the way he lifts the veil which makes me think he wants to see the world outside of his country's point of view with his own eyes.

Japanese tradition holds that the Plum (or ‘ume’) is celebrated as a protective charm against evil, so the ume is traditionally planted in the northeast of the garden, the direction from which evil is believed to come.

I also read this symbolism which makes me tear up lmaooo 😭Because we know in Book 7, Briarland was invaded from northeast where the Silver Owls originated from 💀 The fact that the plum blossom is a protection flower and he's surrounded with it in this card makes me think that it symbolizes how protected he was during Briarland's era 😭and another thing to dissect from his slow rise from the snow with the fact the plum blossom signifies protection is probably the fact that he took so long to hatch despite many people caring for him.

Side note that in Malleus Bloom Birthday Groovy, it implied that he was born in daytime during a snowfall, and he was happy experiencing the winter, just like in this New Years card where he's smiling against the heavy snowfall 🥹

In Japan, plum blossoms symbolize good fortune, an auspicious flower, along with pine and bamboo, and the arrival of early spring. They are often used as the design for New Year’s greeting cards and other celebratory occasions. (And maybe this is just the likely reason why this flower is here in Malleus' card and I'm overthinking it above lol

Next thing I want to mention is his clothes, that attire reminds me of the formal outfit of a Japanese Emperor (From what I searched, its called sokutai, but what Malleus wears is much more simpler I guess, its a outfit derived from it which is called ikan.) This post is a great overview about these two outfits.

Ikan is the work clothes of nobles and government officials in the Imperial Court after the Heian period. Sokutai is a formal costume for those from the Emperor to the court nobles in and after Heian period (Heian costume). Ikan is called 'tonoi (nighttime) costume', whereas sokutai is called 'hino (daytime) costume'. (which probably references the fact that he's a night fae)

The point is, what Malleus wears in this card is a very traditional garment that only high ranking Japanese officials can wear. But what he wears isn't the clothes of an emperor yet, but just for a high ranking official, which is accurate to his status that he's still a crown prince not yet the king, because only Maleficia truly rules Briar Valley right now.

I love the decision that they made him wear such a prestigious outfit because the story of the New Years event is the characters working on customer service lol Its like his clothes is a reminder that he is still highly distinguished even if temporarily he's a worker.

Lastly the VEIL !!!!!! That's the thing that catched my eyes the most in this card lol I KNOW they're not referencing a wedding here because the veil don't look the same, but its so good not to mention that the one of the headress of a Japanese bride is called tsunokakushi and its description can be related with Malleus a lot lol.

The term is a compound of 角 (tsuno, "horn") + 隠し (kakushi, "hiding"). This derivation is listed in some sources as a reference to hiding a bride's "horns" of anger, jealousy, or other negative qualities, in order to present a more virtuous image for the wedding. However, this interpretation might be a folk etymology resulting from a shift in the reading and meaning.

The headdress and the veil aren't the same thing but I kinda feel like this is the idea they're going for considering the veil is 1) hiding his horns, 2) he's a character associated with being jealous, and most importantly, 3) only the person he is looking at can see his face (which is the point of most wedding veils/headdress, to hide the bride's face so that only her partner can see it).

But long veils, like the one Malleus is holding is also just a garment for a noble to hide their nobility. Which is this is probably the likely reason, considering he's using that veil to cover up his horns and his clothes, the most obvious features of his status.

Also, it could be just a fun reference to the fact that Maleficent in live action wore a long veil to hide her horns so that she wouldn't scare the humans lol

[teaweltzer]

Sending Stone Messages

A list for me that I want to update as new ones come in! Which w/ Dorian back, hopefully not so much (But i think I found all of them so far)

Bonus Ep 6 - Orym gripping the sending stone while Dorian was away

Ep 16 Fearne - right after Dorian leaves 

Ep 22 Orym — “We’re leaving Jrusar, heading southeast. Following the Treshi thread further. You’ve been missed. Hope you’re well.

Dorian — “Hey, sorry. Was sleeping. Thanks. Miss you guys too. Shit got crazy here too. Floating bar, I’ll tell you later. 

Ep 31  Orym — “Hey friend. Missing you here. Could really use your special brand of optimism right now. Don’t know where you are. Hope you’re happy. Bye now.”

Dorian — “Hey! Floating bar got a little weird. Took awhile to land it. This side of the fam is keeping me busy. Miss you all too- Don’t die!”

Bonus Ep 33 - Sending stone falling from Orym's hand as he dies from Otohan

Ep 40  Orym — “Hey. Yios bound. Found them- their killers. Bigger than we thought. Read rough, Dorian. Eshteross is dead. Glad you’re not here, wish you were anyway.”

Ep 41  Dorian (via Robbie)— “Oh Orym~ My heart aches I cannot be there to help you. Find strength, stay steadfast. Sending you fairer winds. …. Is this thing on or-“

Ep 49 Orym — “Dorian. Update. People we’re chasing unleashing hell in a week. We’re headed there now. Odds not good. More tomorrow. Where are you?

Dorian — “Orym! With the rest of the Crown Keepers in Tal’Dorei. Opal’s getting a little dark. Little busy at the moment.. I don’t even know how to get to you.”

Ep 49 Orym -- "Hey buddy. I have a weird request from the other side of the ocean. Can you see the leylines? Is your night sky lit up? Ash says, "Hi." You'll know if you see it. Dorian -- "Yeah, it's, It's real colorful up here, too. I'd take it in and enjoy the display if things weren't so tense at the moment.. Tell Ashton I say hi."

Ep 49 Orym — “Listen, what’s going on over here is really bad. Get the group, get underground. Stay there until you hear from me again… Miss you”

Dorian — “I'll see what I can do. There’s plenty of places underground, I’m sure. It's a little hairy on this end too. You take care of yourself. Be careful”

Ep 59  Orym — “Dorian?? Can you hear me? what’s the sky look like where you are? Tell me you’re okay-“

Ep. 63 Orym — “Dorian. still alive, by the skin of our teeth. want to talk more. you know where Dariax is?’

Bonus I miss you - Ep. 79  "I really miss Dorian and sometimes I think that's okay and sometimes it isn't."

Ep 86 Orym — “Dorian, we’re alive. Been to the moon, going back. Find the tempest. If I don’t get the chance again, I’ve really missed you.”

Ep 92 Orym — "We're home. Can you hear me? I'm northeast of Bassuras. Can you get there? I'm... struggling. Sorry. Can you get here? Fuck, I miss you."

Ep 93 Dorian (Robbie back) - "I'll be there" Bonus 93 Fearne - "Wait, what are you doing here? How did you get here?" Dorian - "Well, I got your message." Ep 94 Orym — "Dorian. Dorian. Dorian, wake up. Dorian. Fearne and I outside the city, about 10 minutes. Need you all."

[tanadrin]

according to traditional chinese mythology, the jade emperor was born into the kingdom of Pure Felicy and Majestic Heavenly Lights, and spent 1,750 eons of 129,600 years cultivating the Tao on the Bright and Fragrant Cliff before he attained Golden Immortality. after another hundred million years of cultivation, he became the Jade Emperor. this means the time from his birth to the time he attained the status of Jade Emperor was about 327 million years.

based on his magisterial and benevolent nature the jade emperor must have been a giant eurypterid of the genus Hibbertopterus, as elasmobranch fishes are notoriously cruel, and amphibians are all Legalists who have no truck with the Tao. locating the Kingdom of Pure Felicity and Majestic Heavenly Lights is much easier: obviously it was on the northeast side of the Paleo-Tethys sea, on the craton that is now part of northern China, which is why the geological memory of the Jade Emperor persisted in that region down to the present day.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

the wooden glen

Pairing: So'lek/Human!Fem!Reader

Summary: There are plenty of abandoned Resistance field labs across the Western Frontier of Pandora, and you happen to be assigned to the one that cuts through one of So'lek's usual routes to HQ.

Word Count: 8k+

Na'vi Words Used: 'eylanay - acquaintance (with the potential of becoming a friend), kuru - queue braid, 'eylan - friend, palulukan - thanator, sevin 'eve - pretty girl, kalin - sweet, mawey - calm, tewng - loincloth, tawtute - human

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of solitude, keeping sane, potential danger, smut, dni minors, oral (fem!receive), mentioned biting, scenting, and claiming, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it you skxawng), belly bulge, creampie, swearing, etc.

Taglist: @mooniequeen

~~~~~~~~~

Wooden Glen Field Lab, a Resistance Field Lab, just northeast of the Aranahe Hometree. Your new home.

It had been overrun by the flora and fauna of Pandora, left abandoned when the Resistance had to close back up due to heavy RDA activity. Several of these sites were vacated, but times have changed, and the Resistance needed these labs back up and running now more than ever. You've never been stationed at one until now, and from where you stood, it was quaint. Back on Earth, you wouldn't have been able to afford anything at even half of this shack's size, so you took it as a blessing. Thank you, Eywa.

Speaking of, you noticed something indicating a different kind of wildlife has been through here. A campfire just outside the lab on the forest floor and Na'vi-designed woven baskets and material stationed around it. Signs of the natives using this place as shelter. One of the remaining Sarentu acted as your guide and protection for the journey here, and explained that it was normal for any friendly Na'vi to rest at the scattered field labs throughout their journies and you would likely see more of them. They didn't say much else after that, however, wishing you luck and leaving once they were sure there wasn't any nearby danger around.

Taking a deep breath through your mask, you walk up to the human-fashioned shack surrounded by wildlife and vegetation. It hadn't been used in some time, so you take out your SID device and use it to power up the small complex, watching as the lights and terminal flash then power back on as if good as new. Someone had tried to turn this place into a more welcome environment, placing various small potted plants all around the space and in makeshift shelves made of tree branches. It looked a bit hippy, and you wouldn't be surprised if the former RDA-turned-rebel who lived here used to be a botanist.

Looking up, you took note of the netted hammock that was storing extra supplies and luggage up above to keep out of the way. Looking down, you're careful to watch your step as occasional rubbish and cables scatter across the floor, left abandoned by its former resident. One side of the small lab was clearly meant to be for business, hosting a work bench, the terminal, and additional medical supplies and weaponry.

On the other side, it looked more like a living space, sporting a portable counter fridge, bookshelves, and of course all of the freaking house plants. One corner looked like a reading nook, with a bean bag made of several different colored-fabric, surrounded by papers and empty paper coffee cups, the lights above giving off a warm atmosphere. Setting down your things, you decide on tidying up your new home before settling in for the night.

You must have been cleaning the space for hours by the time you heard a faint rustle outside. Looking up, you spare a glance at the rifle on the wall before bravely deciding to check out the noise without it. It's your first night here... surely there wouldn't be any danger right away, would there? As you step out of your new base, you glance around until you notice the unlit campfire. Standing there stood a male Na'vi, but not just a random stranger.

You recognized So'lek as one of the most significant Na'vi faces who tend to prowl around Resistance HQ. Everyone knows who he is, everyone knows his story, and everyone -including humans- knows to give him a wide berth. His sharp eyes had been looking directly at you, since he noticed you before you saw him, and his gaze narrowed with suspicion just as you gasp in shock.

"Oh! Hello."

His hard stare is the only thing keeping your feet frozen to the floor of your lab before he knowingly states, "You are from the headquarters."

You nod, faintly shocked that he remembered your face, especially since neither of you have shared a word until now, "Alma and Priya asked me to man this lab so it stays functional for botany research and RDA activity."

"I see."

You relax some, only for a thought to dawn in your head as you point to the Na'vi made structure right outside your new home, "Wait, is this your campfire? Have you been living here?"

"When I occasionally travel through this area, yes."

Nodding, you open your arm out wide to gesture to the whole yard outside the lab, "You were here first, so help yourself to whatever is yours. I'll stay out of the way."

"No need," he shakes his head then, the first movement he ever made upon recognizing you, "You will be staying here for a lot longer than I. And besides, I prefer to rest outside."

"Alright, will you be resting here for the night? I think it's supposed to rain so I plan on shutting down the place and locking myself in."

"I am moving on for the night. Just needed some things I left behind. I will be coming back this direction on my way to HQ in three days."

"Sounds good. Safe travels."

He nods and turns to go, before pausing two seconds and then tilting his head back toward you, "Stay alert while you're out here, 'eylanay. Do not ever let your guard down."

~~~~~~~~~

His words were haunting and bothersome, but you suppose he doesn't have a choice than to be that way after everything he's been through. Plus, he's from this world and knows its dangers better than you do. The thought that something could be lurking just outside or staring at you through the window sent chills down your spine.

As you stated, you locked down the two large doorways that open up the shack and secure all the windows, waiting until the oxygen levels are steady before removing your mask. You had closed everything up just in time, the storm hitting just moments after. Out of everything beautiful here, you didn't envy Pandora's storms, so fierce and terrifying... and you were alone.

A beep pings from your terminal and you try to pretend you didn't dash over to answer it, "Hey, Priya."

"Hey! Did you settle in okay? Is it scary? Is it dangerous? Oh, what am I saying? Of course, it's dangerous! And scary and dangerous are almost one in the same--"

"Priya, I'm fine," you smile to yourself, unsure if you missed her ramblings or not, "Everything's fine. It's actually quite peaceful here."

"Oh, good!"

"And it's comforting to know that So'lek treks through here often enough to where I won't feel completely alone and he could check in if I need any help."

"You saw So'lek?"

"Yeah, he just happened to be passing through."

"That's perfect! Oh, that makes me feel so much better! I'll make sure to send another radio with him next time so that you two could chat between each other or if you need him to check on you. Oh, this is gonna be great! You guys can chat to each other whenever you need some company!"

"Uh, Priya...?"

"I mean, just think about it! You're going to be living alone in the middle of the forest and he's constantly traveling alone. It's perfect! So cool!"

"Okay..." You try not to sound a little put-off by her suggestion but decided to kindly cut her off, "Hey, I think I'm gonna clock out for the night. I'm tired from the cleaning."

"Cleaning? Why did you need to clean?"

~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, So'lek comes back through, as promised. He immediately finds you outside, in your mask, wearing worn-out clothes while you work around and monitor the plants that the resident before you had planted. The plan was for you to continue their work, and while you weren't a botanist, you figured that the notes the previous tenant left behind could help you continue their research.

Looking up from taking notes, you noticed So'lek standing a half a dozen yards away from you. To attempt at being friendly, you wave him over and feel both surprise and pride when he walks closer to join you.

"I half expected to find you dead already."

"Only half?" You snort in amusement, "It's nice to hear that you had some faith in me, if only a little bit."

He kept his face blank, not reacting to your tease, "I still would never drop my guard if I were you, 'eylanay."

"Yes, yes, I know," you take note of the direction he came in and come up with your own observation, "Are you heading back to HQ?"

He nods and you flash a small smile of sympathy, "A word of warning? Priya is going to be handing you a radio to bring back to me when you get there. She wants to make sure you and I keep in contact should I ever need help."

You don't miss the small grimace on his face when you mention Priya. You can't entirely blame him, knowing that Priya is a lot to handle for someone who prefers to be left alone, and everyone knows how desperate Priya is to make Na'vi friends, So'lek most of all.

He nods once more, schooling his face back to something more neutral, "Very well. Is there anything else you need from Headquarters?"

"Uh... when do you think you'll be coming back through?"

"Less than a week."

"Maybe some rations then, just to be safe."

~~~~~~~~~

That is basically the gist of your conversations with So'lek for the next upcoming month. Every time he comes through, whether heading to or from Resistance HQ, he makes time for small talk, talk that only lasts less than ten minutes, then he's gone before you have time to say goodbye. It doesn't bother you a whole lot, but that could be from the feeling of loneliness. You'll take a few moments of conversation with practically anyone and anything if it will keep you sane from your solitude, even So'lek, who was hardly one for words to begin with. Part of you wondered if you'll end up like him if you continued working alone in this lab without anyone else to talk to you.

He never stays the night at his campfire, or maybe he does and he happens to leave before you even wake up. Either way, you never see him sitting outside or sleeping by the fire as you imagined he once did before you came along and took his space. He brings back any supplies you ask of him whenever he's on his way back from headquarters, and sometimes he brings items that Priya practically had to beg him to take to you. They weren't necessities, but you appreciated the comics and recordings of guitar solos one of the Resistance members likely cooked up. You didn't believe Priya would be capable, but you had to wonder whoever was sneaking you dirty romance novels among those supplies, and how your suspicions only heightened when you realize the novels were about a human female and her alien male lover. Despite how horrified you felt when discovering that little surprise hidden among your rations, it was... comforting, to say the least. It helped keep you sane and one with your humanity. You were also thankful that So'lek didn't appear to notice what he was tasked to give you.

One month turns into two, and there was a patch of weeks where you hadn't seen So'lek at all. A part of you told yourself not to worry, knowing he had a mission that took him in the opposite direction of your field lab, or at least that's what Priya told you. The other part of you, however, couldn't help looking out your window before bed every night, wondering if he'd be there the one time you looked. Suddenly you found yourself immerced in those dirty romance novels just to keep yourself from worrying too much, and you were beginning to question your mind when you realized you had begun to picture the male alien lover to look like So'lek in your head as you read.

That one fateful day you decide to leave the large doors completely open to let the fresh air through the lab was the one day you shouldn't have even gotten out of bed. You heard the deep growl first, then your hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge. You were inside the complex and quickly look around for your rifle, but the moment you made too quick of movement was when the thanator leaped into action. It roared loudly, deafening your small ears, as it leapt up onto the walkway leading into the lab before prowling right inside as if it owned the place, it's eyes never leaving you for a second, practically freezing you where you stand. You internally curse whoever designed those doors to be big enough for a thanator and you hope they're rotting in Hell. As the beast corners you into the smallest space of the lab, a part of you hopes you'll meet that inventor in Hell so you can kill them again yourself.

The thanator's nose scrunches as its snarling muzzle curled up, its limbs lowering closer to the ground, ready to strike. When it bows its back to pounce, you faintly catch sight of a collar or some form of restraint around the creature's neck, clearly of RDA make judging by the worn and chipped yellow paint coated over the metal. You wonder if it would be the last thing you ever see, a creation made from the ones you swore to fight against.

An entire barrage of gunfire shrieks through the air, bullets raining into the thanator's side at the same time it cries out in pain. So'lek inched forward until he leaps up into the lab, stepping into the open doorway and continuing his assault until he empties the entire clip into the beast's hind. As he's going to reload, the thanator decides to retreat, mewling and whining in pain as it tries to limp out of the opposite door it came through. So'lek had other ideas, however, loading his rifle once more and emptying out another whole clip into the beast, even after its body fell dead outside.

So'lek finally stopped, the silence ringing in your ears after being forced to be in the same small space as an assault rifle. He hops back out of the lab and trudges over to the dead body outside, knife in hand just to be safe. You take your time, gasping for breath as your mask hissed and testing your shaking legs out as you slowly but surely step right outside the door to see for yourself.

"I... I thought thanators were territorial?" You find your voice, swallowing down saliva when your chords cracked from fear, "Last I checked, this place wasn't in any known territory."

"These are the Severed kind our Sarentu informers have been running into," So'lek explained almost robotically while nudging the dead creature with his foot, "Animals whose kuru have been cut. Experiments, courtesy of the Sky People."

"There... Usually, there are two of them, right?"

"Nor mentioned he managed to kill one, but not its partner. This must have been the one that got away." He paused as if remembering something, before his eyes finally peer up to meet yours, "Are you alright?"

Your exhale isn't very strong, and your voice quivered, but you nod, "I... I think so. Just... shakened..."

His eyes squint, but he didn't look as though he was judging or analyzing you. He looked... for lack of a better word, concerned, "Perhaps I should take you back to base camp."

You shake your head while trying to muster a weak, joking smile, "I think I need to sleep for two days straight before I do that. That took a lot out of me."

He doesn't comment and instead offers to help clean up the mess of bullets and anything the thanator might have knocked out of place while causing a rampage through the base. You don't refuse or even agree, you just nod and move back inside to get started.

The two of you clean up in silence, all the while So'lek keeps a close eye on you, and you pretend not to notice. It's hard not to, however, since his gaze can drive your skin to rise and heat up unlike anyone you've ever met before.

He noticed how your hands were still shaking as you pick up a couple of fallen books, "'Eylan..."

"I'm alright," you wave off, too strung up to even acknowledge the achievement of gaining a new friendship status with the hard-won Na'vi man, "Just... too tense. How did you know I needed help?"

"I was already on my way here. I picked up the animal's scent and started to run and hope I wasn't too late."

You didn't dare assume that tone in his voice was trembling. You knew that assuming anything out of someone who kept his cards close to his chest would be wrong. Your eyes briefly look up at the Na'vi man, a faint smile on your lips, "You weren't. You were right on time. Thank you..."

Unbeknowst to you, So'lek's chest squeezed almost painfully at the sight of your grateful smile. Even through all that adrenaline and fear, you were still standing and unharmed, which relieved him so much to the point that it frightened him. He didn't think he would feel such fear when he had first caught the scent of the feral palulukan mixed in with the one he had come to associate with you. And yet, his legs moved before his mind was made up, running faster than he ever thought possible out of desperation.

To hear your reassurance that he had managed to save you on time strikingly comforted him, and yet, he didn't feel as though you were completely safe despite the danger being gone. He moved his eyes to watch the world outside your window to avoid your gaze as he spoke,

"I do not feel comfortable moving on and leaving you here alone tonight. If it will help, I will keep watch as you rest."

With his eyes off yours, he failed to notice your face heat up or the bug-eyed expression you sent his way. Of course, you knew you wouldn't sleep very well tonight and would like nothing more than to have some company after nearly dying. However, you also tried to play it cool and nonchalant. After all, this man did warn you to always keep your guard up, and you would hate to disappoint him, despite the odd friendship you now shared.

You simply shrug as a way to try and hide your embarrassment, "I know it'd be useless to try and convince you otherwise, so do what you want."

You activate the doors to slide completely shut, locking the two of you inside as you listen for the familiar hiss of oxygen being filtered in and out. Only when the terminal deems it safe do you remove your mask and walk over the mask station. You hang up yours and retrieve a smaller one for So'lek, handing the device to him. So'lek expertly breathes into the mask once and then lets the device dangle around his neck before he moves to the window. You watch him retreat before moving over to snuggle into the bean bag resting in the corner, trying to ignore the tall Na'vi now standing by your window as you close your eyes.

While he kept watch, he also occasionally watched you as well. You looked even smaller than usual, lying curled up in the bean bag as if trying to disappear from the world. After everything you've been through today, it's understandable you'd still be antsy, but So'lek had to commend you for how brave and put-together you appeared to be in the face of danger. He doesn't know many sky demons who are capable of that, which is why he had found himself conversing with you more than he should have over the course of these months.

Since the day you first arrived at Wooden Glen, an ugly part in his head immediately told him to stay back, keep away from you, and try not to get used to your scent. Despite hating most humans -with the Resistance balancing on that tight rope-, he surprised even himself when he didn't feel those emotions toward you. You, who immediately gave him space and didn't question him. You, who respected his boundaries and opted to live peacefully in the same space when you learned he would occasionally rest at the lab. You weren't defensive or suspicious, and you didn't expect anything from him. Sure, most of the Resistance fighters were like that -hence why they no longer worked for the RDA- but none of them were you.

So'lek may be hard to talk to and therefore found it hard to form bonds, but he's not blind. He knows beauty when he sees it, and despite hating almost everything the Sky People create, he didn't hate whatever method of creation made you. You were not Na'vi by any means, yet he couldn't help the way his eyes scan your body, so much smaller in comparison to his, and wonder what it would be like to press you into him. And your scent-- oh, your scent. Somehow, it lingered in his nostrils even from miles away in a vastly different part of Pandora. There wasn't much to your scent. It wasn't perfume or deodorant. Nothing distinct, and yet he knows it's you the moment he catches a whiff of it. It's not a bad scent. It's just you. He internally knows that there's nothing bad about it, least of all you.

So you could imagine the horror he felt when he had drawn close to the lab that day, only to smell a thanator in your general direction.

Unaware of his staring, you felt unnerved and restless now that you were finally trying to sleep. You weren't sure if you had laid there for hours or mere minutes, but you began to toss and turn, your heart beating loudly in your chest and unable to slow down.

So'lek noticed your transgressions immediately and voiced his thoughts, "You should get some sleep, my friend."

"I can't," you murmur quietly, "I'm too jumpy and too tense... Too cold."

He wasn't sure what came over him, but the sight of you restless and your claims of being cold pulled him from the window. He strides across the room and crouches in front of your form, ignoring the shock and hidden worry behind your eyes. You had grown still, a little cautious as to what would happen or what he would do if you moved. You get your answer as his large hand slowly rises up and rests over your forehead. You didn't dare move, feeling the heat of his palm against your face, and-- by god, his hand was so large, it could easily fit your whole skull without a problem.

He stomps down whatever he is feeling in his gut when his hand presses against your skin, a little shocked at how smooth you feel beneath his touch. He hadn't experienced many humans before, especially not up close and personal. The softness of your skin was... new and an interesting sensation. So'lek couldn't help but wonder what the rest of you might feel like beneath his touch.

He huffs with a faint smirk on his lips, "You are definitely cold."

Despite seeing anything other than a scowl on his face for the first time, you couldn't help the slight sting of your sarcasm emerge, scoffing and lightly swatting his hand away, "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

His eyes squint in confusion, "I do not understand."

"Never mind," you wave it off easily enough, starting to sit up before you notice So'lek inching closer, beginning to crowd your space. Your jaw nearly slacked before you picked it back up and found your words again, "Uh... what are you doing?"

He wasn't entirely sure himself. His usual instinct to stay away was nonexistent. A different instinct took over, and he wasn't sure if it terrified or intrigued him, but the scent you were giving off definitely wasn't helping him form a clear thought.

"Warming you up."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world as if your heart didn't just threaten to leap straight out of your mouth as his large body suddenly started to surround you in every sense of the word. It could've been from being so touch-starved and lonely, or it could've been your attraction toward him. Either way, your body immediately felt hot, and he wasn't even completely touching you yet. If you had half a sensible mind, you would immediately look away from the intensity of his sharp, yellow gaze, hiding the blush beginning to creep up over your face, but you didn't. You found yourself entranced by him, unable to look away.

He's pressing into your space now, completely pinning you into the bean bag, and yet you didn't feel scared or suspicious of ill intent. You felt yourself trusting his slow methods... as if he was testing to see what you would do. The long length of his strongly corded body overpowers your smaller form, encompassing you with his... well, everything. He took up your vision, your touch, and your hearing, and suddenly, you felt your mouth go dry with the need to taste as well. His eyes flick down, away from your eyes, and your mouth unconsciously opens in a silent gasp. You watch his eyes stare intently at your lips, his strong jaw visibly tightening underneath his skin. His face leans closer to yours until you feel his hot breath fan over your face, forcing your eyes to blink. He briefly looks up to watch your pretty eyelashes flutter before finally opening his mouth.

"Yes or no, sevin 'eve?"

You don't know what that means, but your body shivers in response regardless. You're scared to reach out and touch first in case this is all just a dream after falling asleep while reading those romance novels. You don't miss the way his brow ridge furrows as if in pain as he watched you wet your bottom lip and find the words to speak,

"Yes."

He's molding your lips together before the word even fully leaves your mouth, forcing you to inhale through your nose and feeling dizzy by the scent of his musk. His lips were bigger than yours, making the kiss sloppy until the two of you found a rhythm that suited you both. The air was stolen from your lungs as he seemed hellbent on constantly chasing your lips whenever you needed to pull away to breathe.

You weren't sure how long you kissed, losing track of time, immersed in the sensation before you were all too aware of the wet patch forming between your legs with the way he carefully laid his weight down on your pelvis. You find yourself moaning into his mouth, and his reaction is instantaneous.

His hands are finally on you, starting at your waist and moving up, pushing the fabric of your shirt up as he goes to expose your skin to him. Your heart leaps at the feel of his large hands, practically covering your entire waist, able to expand his fingers over the soft valley of your stomach.

His amazement is replaced by a scowl when his hands push your shirt up enough to expose your bra, "Why must your people feel the need to cover yourselves in so many layers? This is criminal."

You're not offended, finding yourself breathlessly laughing at his expense. You move your hands to grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, "If you think that's bad, you should try unhooking this thing."

He frowns but doesn't protest, taking his mask and breathing in its contents, waiting for your instruction as he stares down at your bra as if it offended him by simply existing. Dare I say it almost looked as though he was pouting if such an expression existed within So'lek. You bite your lip to refrain from laughing more and gently grasp his hands. He clearly had the strength to pull away, his hands so much larger than yours, but he lets you guide him to the expanse of your back where he's met with the strap of your bra. Small hooks kept the offending piece of fabric together, and while he tried to fiddle with it, it only made his frustration grow.

You're not surprised when he finally gives up and just rips the bra apart like it was nothing, but you still groan in slight annoyance, "I only have a few of those, you know."

"You will not be needing any of them from here on out," he states gruffly, with confidence, as he moves down to plant large, smooth kisses down the front of your neck and toward the space between your now exposed breasts, your heartbeat strong against his lips.

So'lek was determined to be rid of all of your bras in the near future. He'll burn them if he has to. This world is not a place for the Sky People's opinions on indecent exposure, nor is their culture and fashion welcome in So'lek's eyes. As if he needed another reason to hate the Sky People, their insistence on covering someone as beautiful as you up was the cherry on top.

His hands and mouth move onto your breasts, squeezing and kissing, licking over both of your nipples. You were more pliable and squishy compared to Na'vi women, but So'lek loved it because it just meant there was more of you to hold. He liked the feel of your tits, warm and heavy in his palms. Why need a bra when his hands are literally right here?

You lean back, sighing up at the ceiling and gasping when he slips one of your nipples into his mouth, unknowingly arching your back to push your chest further into his hands, much to his inner delight. His tongue is wet and rough, running circles around the bud until it forms into a peak then he moves on to the other one, keeping his hand occupied on whichever tit that wasn't currently in his mouth. Your skin rises wherever he touches, and your hips involuntarily try to move, your need for anything to press between your legs only growing when So'lek gently bites his teeth around the tit he was playing with. You nearly rock your hips up at the feel of his fangs sinking slowly into your skin, not puncturing or causing you to bleed, but causing a bruise to form when he finally pulled away, your breasts now slicked with his saliva and one marked with his teeth.

His breath was unsteady now, his eyes blown out of proportion, hiding the yellow color behind those black voids of a pupil. His eyes rake over your form, smugly enjoying how flushed you look with wet, kiss-bitten lips, tangled hair, and scrunched eyebrows, Sitting back on his hunches and taking it all in, So'lek's eyes finally land on your lower half, your thigh muscles clenching at the way his expression turns to hunger.

He hooks his fingers into the hem of your bottoms and helps peel them off your legs, again, showing his disapproval when his need to see all of you is obstructed by your panties.

His hands reach down to grab a hold of the panties, but you find enough willpower to remember to pull away as you fix him a stern look, "I am not letting you rip these."

He scoffed half-heartedly, "They are already ruined," he emphasizes this by gently beginning to rub a finger over your clothed clit, the bold movement surprising you enough to forget your words and gasp out in pleasure. The movement of his fingers sent your head spiraling, unaware you were so worked up to the point that a simple touch had you needy for more. He leans over you, keeping his finger's speed steady as his voice whispers into your ear, "Do you not feel how soaked and uncomfortable they feel?"

You groan in response, silently agreeing that the wet fabric rubbing against your most sensitive area wasn't as pleasant as say his fingers. Part of you wanted him to rip the panties off you so he could quickly return to drawing circles and figure eights over your clit, but the more logical part in your head reminded you that underwear was more crucial than a bra for everyday life. You wiggle your hips and with So'lek's help, you manage to get the panties off at least one of your legs and let it dangle around your other ankle before kicking it off all the way.

So'lek's breath stuttered as he stared down at the tight, shiny wet cunt between your legs, so small that his thumb nearly envelops half of it as he continues to play with your now bare clit. The slick makes it easier to rub and your moans slip out of your mouth without a fear of anyone else hearing. The thought of being able to let you make as many lewd noises as possible without anyone around sent a thrill up his spine.

He found himself moving until he was lying on his stomach, his head inching forward between your legs. Once you realized his intentions, your body began to writhe with anticipation, a little nervous but wanting this all the same. His hot breath fanned down the inside of your leg and gusting over your pussy, making your inner walls unconsciously clench around nothing.

When you felt the wet warmth of his tongue run up the seam of your pussy, you're startled into moaning up at the ceiling, "Fuck, So'lek--"

"Mm..." he mumbled, the vibrations sent straight into your heat and making your skin tingle. He's unashamed of how loud he was being, drinking you up like he's a man trapped in the desert, his moans and tongue causing the most erotic sensation that you have never felt before. His tongue dips into your greedy hole as a gasp is stolen from your lungs.

He hummed as if he just tasted the sweetest fruit, "Kalin."

"Oh, God..." You respond, moving your hips to press further into his mouth. He doesn't seem to mind and eagerly takes as much of you as he can, pressing his nose into your clit as he licks up what he could only describe as your sweet nectar.

He takes it a step further once he knows you're wet and ready and inserts a finger into your entrance, slowly pushing it despite there wasn't much resistance yet. He carefully watched the way you bucked and arched your back as if your body was trying to decide to pull away or push for more. Your eyes were closed, wanting to just feel every sensation, the bottom of your stomach already warm and fluttery. Once So'lek added a second of his large fingers, he felt a tiny stretch against the initial ring of muscle, but it gave way barely a second later and welcomed him into your tight warmth. He slowly pulls his fingers in and out, trying to commit the sound of you and your responsive body to memory, all the while licking up your slick and pressing his nose into your clit.

It felt as though he was in several places at once, and the growing ache was igniting a pleasant, burning fire within you. Every lick and every thrust of his fingers were barreling you closer to some unforeseen peak, threatening to push you over the edge. You rock your hips against his face, thighs beginning to tremble around his head. He moaned deep into your pussy as he felt the muscle of your inner thighs flex and pressed down tightly around him. It was glorious and exhilarating, driving So'lek to pump his fingers in and out of you, faster and faster.

"Ah~!" You jolt, hands quickly reaching down and tangling into his hair, helping you thrust your hips more closely into his face. The sounds coming from your mouth and pussy was so obscene, normally, you'd feel embarrassed, but right now you weren't even paying attention. You were more focused on grinding into So'lek's face, chasing after your own release, feeling it rise and rise as the coil begins to dangerously tighten.

"So'lek--" Your plea is abruptly cut off by a moan escaping your lips, your body trembling in response to him curling his fingers just right inside of you. It drove you into a frenzy, now grinding your hips faster as you cried out, "So'lek! Do that again-- fuck... I'm so close..."

He moans, going even faster while repeating the movements you begged him to mimic, his tongue eager to lap you up and taste everything you could give him. Your fingers tighten in his hair and the sensation nearly makes his eyes rolls back, more eager than ever to feel and see you finish.

You're unable to warn him as your climax barely had time to build up before it snapped and let go, your screams of pleasure filling up the lab as your pussy pulses and sends waves of hot ecstasy up and down your body. The whole time your orgasm clings to you, so does So'lek, his tongue and fingers still working in and out of you, riding out your high. He groans when you spill into his mouth, your thighs uncontrollably shaking all around him and your pretty little noises add to his already aching cock.

By the time you're beginning to relax and turn to jelly in his hands, he finally pulls his mouth away, gasping deeply for air only to choke and remember than he needed the breathing mask around his neck to do so. Licking his lips, he brings the mask up to his face and takes long, deep breaths, in and out, closing his eyes and moaning when his smells you on his own breath. Opening his eyes, he finds you with your eyes still closed and a small, satisfied smile on your face. It feels as though he has no choice when he leans down to kiss you, wishing to feel that sweet, irresistible smile with his own lips. You hum lightly, kissing back with your hands gently soothing his scalp where you had initially pulled his hair, a soft moan escaping his lips when the soreness is slowly massaged away. You can feel his moan on your lips, the taste of his tongue intoxicating once you realize he tasted like you. You shift underneath him, needing more as your hands move to start disrobing his chest pieces and loincloth.

"Mawey..." he moaned softly, even as his hips moved to give you better access to his tewng.

Despite not understanding him completely, you could tell by his tone that he wanted you to slow down. You had to crane your neck to peer up at him, and suddenly his reluctance immediately caves, his heart clenching with the way you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes, long eyelashes, and wet lips. He manages to unclip his vest before diving back in to kiss you, savor you, his large hands on either side of your face, fingers raking into your hair.

You sigh in content, closing your eyes while you return the passionate effort, trying not to get distracted as your hands begin to untie his loincloth. You feel him before you can see him, both of you pulling out of the kiss to gasp as your hand grabs a hold of his cock. The fact that your hand couldn't fully wrap around the width told you all you needed to know, and once you caught a glimpse of him, your mouth began to water.

Your fingertips and thumb were nearly an inch apart, unable to touch. Maybe it was your imagination, but the only thing you could compare to describe the size of So'lek's cock was your own forearm, much to your distress and excitement. There was no way he was going to fit, but by Eywa, you needed to try.

Using your free hand, you gently grab the back of So'lek's neck and pull him in for another kiss, just to be sure he didn't make any other protests. For added measure, you slowly move your other hand up and down his length, causing full body shivers to erupt across his back. You catch a bead of precum at the tip and slather it over his cock, making your movements easier on his sensitive, uncut skin.

It was easier to coherce him than you originally thought it would, moving the both of you until you were flat on your back, bean bag forgotten, with So'lek hovering above you, his hips flush between your legs. His cock stood tall between your bodies as your hand continued to move up and down the impressive length. His eyes squeeze shut, a small snarl on his lips as a growl runs through him. Both of his hands are planted on either side of your head, holding him up as he tries to regain control of himself, enjoying your touch but trying to restrain the overbearing thoughts that involve plunging deep inside of you no matter how loud you scream.

"Ma'kalin... I do not want to hurt you."

"Please..." you whimper desperately, hand moving up and down his cock faster while you arch your back to try and get closer, "I need you... I promise to tell you my limits."

He paused to consider this, opening his eyes to watch yours for anything, and all he could see was your lust and desperation for him. His ears lower, wondering what he did to deserve such a need for him, and how he could've possibly deserved it. Regardless of his inner demons, his own need for you clouds most of his usual judgments and he surrenders to you, nodding once before spitting into his hand and gently moving your hand off of his cock. You both moan as his hand rubs up and down his length, and hopefully the saliva and pre cum you had spread earlier would be enough to slip inside your tight heat with ease.

You sit up, and for a moment he's alert at the idea you are changing your mind, but you smile and grab his mask, lifting it up to his mouth, "Take a breath first."

"Curse this thing," he mutters under his breath, his tail twitching behind him at the soft sound of your laugh. He does as he's told and takes a deep breath before letting the mask fall back around his neck.

He lies you back down as your lips meet once more, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your movements stalled when you felt the tip of his cock press on your clit before slowly dragging down toward your entrance, making your breath hitch in anticipation.

So'lek parts from the kiss and briefly brushes his lips over your soft cheek, "Now it is your turn to take a breath."

You nod obediantly, expanding your lungs as you deeply inhale just as he began to press his cock into your pussy. Your hands immediately fly up to hang onto So'lek's hair once more when you felt your pussy begin to stretch around his cock, his movements so agonizingly slow but you appreciated it once that ring of muscle that held his length like a vice grip in your entrance began to burn. You slowly exhale, albiet a little shaky at the uncomfortable stretch. Looking down, your internally horrified that he's barely two inches inside of you. A soft whimper escapes your throat and So'lek is swift to reassure you, dipping his head into the crook of your neck while his hand reaches between your bodies to gently rub your clit to ease the pain.

"I know..." his presses a kiss into the side of your neck, "I know. You are doing so well, ma'kalin, taking my cock so well..."

You mewl beneath his praise, taking a better, deeper breath as he pushes another inch inside. The burn isn't as painful and as his thumb continues to rub your clit, the stretch almost feels arousing. You already want to move your hips up to meet his, but you remain still instead, hellbent on the idea of getting him to fit in as much as possible before doing anything else.

It's a few minutes of patience and determination, but eventually, you can feel the tip of So'lek's cock breach the top of your cervix, bumping into that special, spongy spot that makes you whimper with pleasure.

"By Eywa..." So'lek groans quietly into your neck, "Feel yourself, ma'kalin."

You do as your told and reach down to where you know his thumb is currently rubbing your clit, only to pause when you felt something unfamiliar on your body. A large protrusion beneath your skin, sticking out of your abdomen. You look down between your bodies and moan. So'lek was only able to fit his cock a little over halfway in, and whatever he could fit was now forming a large bulge in your belly. You reach and press down on the bulge, the instant response was So'lek gripping tightly onto your hips.

"You..." he sounds as though he's been punched, groaning when you unintentionally squeeze around him until he finds his words, "You are so tight. I can feel every inch of you squeezing my cock."

"Does it hurt?" You ask with a small hint of worry.

A small quiver of a smile rises in the corner of his mouth, able to hide it in your shoulder as his kisses a small freckle on your skin, "In a good way. Always a good way. Keep tightening around me and I might finish without even moving."

A staggered breath escapes your lips, closing your eyes just to feel it all. The feel of being so full, the feel of his finger on your clit, the feel of his large body on top of you, both of your bodies moulded together, despite difference in size. Your gummy walls clench, and you feel the way his cock twitches in response, followed by a small snarl that released from deep in So'lek's chest. Your hands gently card through his hair and be sure to avoid his kuru when you guide him out of the juncture of your neck to look at him. You're not disappointed by his expression, his hairless brow pinched together in blissful agony, a small bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead and over the scar on the side of his face. You find your fingers following the pattern of the scar, tracing it and catching the bead of sweat, wiping it away.

He opens his eyes at your small gesture, staring wide eyed at you as if he had made some sort of new discovery. Your stomach fluttered in response, meeting his gaze as a roar of need waves through you. Without breaking eye contact, you move your hips and it only helps his cock slip further inside you.

He nearly buckled then and there, startled to the point he needed to remember to hold himself above you so you wouldn't be crushed. He growls deep in his throat, the bridge of his muzzle scrunched up as he grit his teeth. Unbeknowst to him, his reaction made your heart skip a beat, and if he wasn't already buried deep inside you, your legs would've no doubt clenched together to relieve the heat beginning to grow. Taking your hint, So'lek begins to moves his hips, pulling out and only going as far to leave the tip inside before sliding back in, your stuttering breaths mingling together as the ridges of his cock bumps and fits in all of the grooves of your aching walls, creating the most erotic friction you knew no toy could ever recreate. The idea of this man ruining all other sexual experiences for you was both enticing and mournful, knowing you would never be able to properly get yourself off ever again. Then again, you wouldn't mind always having to go to him in order to climax from here on out. Just as long as he felt the same.

Slick with sweat, your bodies slide together as So'lek finally starts to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping together filling up the lab that was your little corner of paradise. Each of his thrusts punches a moan out of you, your hands moving to get a better grip on his body, only to leave long and angry scratch marks up and down his back, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips.

The pleasant sting of your nails only encourages So'lek to rut more roughly into you, growling and snarling in your ear, an animalistic desire driving him to chase after your cervix with every thrust. The instinct to mark you all over clouded his mind, but he purposely clenched his jaw to refrain from doing so. For now, the scent he already left on you would be enough to mark his claim. It was also driving him to his climax quicker than he wanted, not when he wanted you to reach yours first. It wasn't just a want. It was a need for him.

Needing to help you reach your peak faster, he puts his hands and tongue to work. He had to hunch a little uncomfortably to reach his intended target, but it was all worth it when one hand was figioursly rubbing your clit while his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, driving the coil in your stomach to start winding up unbearably tight, already oozing out small waves of ectsasy like warm honey.

"So'-- fuck!" You gasp, your body already beginning to shake, "I'm going to come--"

"Do it," he growled out, unintentionally turning the phrase into an order as his hips stutter before returning to their previous pace, "Come on my cock, sevin 'eve. Let me... by Eywa-- hear how good I make you feel."

His cock rams right into the best spot inside of you, your screams heightened as you began to see stars, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

You grab onto the only thing you could reach, his forearms, and let yourself go. Your toes curl as the coil inside you snaps, sending wave after wave of pounding pleasure through you from head to toe, flooding all of your other senses with the rush of your high, making your head feel light. Your mouth had fallen open in a silent scream, too overwhelmed to make any other sounds.

Your pussy was clenching and unclenching around So'lek's cock as you come, and the sight of you made his own head feel dizzy. The breathy groans he lets out makes your walls clench tighter around him, and after a few more quick thrusts, he's burying his cock as deep as he could get and spilling inside your already full pussy, painting your pulsating walls in large streams of white. He has to remove his hands from your body to keep himself upright, and even then you faintly notice the way his arms shake from such intensity. You two take those few moments to remain still, basking in your shared orgasms, panting heavily and not wanting to move if it meant the high would fade faster.

You had thought he had emptied everything inside you, but when he slowly and agonizingly pulled out, he was still spilling out a few short streams of cum and they end up landing onto your stomach, his cock twitching as he watched his essence stream down your skin and leak out of your pussy. His heart was still racing and his muscles were tense, unable to relax as his cock continued to twitch as he tried to catch his breath.

You take pity on him and move your arms around his frame, manovering him until he's lying on his side next to you. His muscles finally relax once he's not holding himself up, groaning quietly once he manages to press his mask to his mouth and take another breath.

He's reaching for you tiredly even before he's letting the mask drop around his neck, "I will clean you up..."

"Not now," you reply, boldly curling up into his chest to keep warm once the air in the lab had cooled down. You close your eyes and smile to yourself, "Just take your time. I'm in no rush."

He's hesitant at first, but he eventually wraps his arms around you, trying not to think too hard about this little tawtute currently safe in his embrace, your breathing starting to slow as you're finally relaxed enough to go to sleep, using his chest to rest your head. With the cloud of lust lifting, his mind is at war while his heart is at peace. He knows he shouldn't be selfish after what just happened, but he secretly wishes to have this moment all the time. Every night with you would be marvelous... but he's not sure if that's what you want, despite having just fucked you silly.

He lets himself be selfish for a little while longer, just for tonight, his fingertips lightly following the path down your spine, creating goosebumps on your skin, and lulling you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

Reference photos for the field lab HERE!

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[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. 

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical graphic depictions

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You were running on coffee and willpower, and both were in short supply. You cradled what you promised would be your last cup in your hands, feeling your fried nerves inch closer to bursting into flames with every bitter sip. 

Azriel had one arm looped protectively around your waist, propping you up against his side like an overworked bookend. You both sat huddled over the map you’d spent the last day and night laboring over until you could picture every stark line pressed behind shuttered eyelids like an afterimage. Until your cramped hands shook while clutching the mug like a vice. 

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Nesta, Lucien, and Cassian similarly hovered over the innocuous sheet of paper. Pale parchment glow flickering over expressions of intense thought. 

You traced the outline of the lake, its form vaguely star shaped and pointing abstractly towards the north, south, east, and west.

“Here.” You tapped the northeast edge where a greyed out huddle of shapes formed the forest and a collection of scribbles marked the Death god’s home close to the waters. The lines swirled in your mind like a thousand snakes locked in battle, swallowing each other whole and getting eaten alive in an endless, vicious cycle. 

Koschei’s portion of the continent lay flat and unassuming, seemingly vulnerable with the flatlands peering at his back with limitless entry points for enemies from the Continent. But the seductive ease of access through that region was a guise. Koschei was a death god, and a powerful one at that. Magic grew in and out of the soil there and what walked those woods had a strange habit of toeing the line between life and death.

The western corners swam in seas of grasslands, flat and open and unprotected save for the expanse of water a mile wide. 

And the lake. The lake was the most curious thing of all. A black shape on paper, still and foreboding. 

You knew from Andrian’s memories that enchanted swans flocked there — women layered with curses that kept them bound to the region in animal form — but nothing else. No creatures floundered in the salty dark. No animals came to drink from it as if they could sense the power that tainted it with decay. 

“The boundaries of the Koschei’s power lie somewhere along here.” You pointed to the lazy line sketched down. “But I wouldn’t trust it. When Andrian was first sent off from the lake he crossed the plains towards one of the harbor towns on the coast and he felt that Koschei’s influence scaled with the distance away from the source of his power.” 

“Any weak points? Places we could slip in unnoticed?” Feyre’s eyes scanned the page, reimagining your weak swirls of ink into something more layered. Something with more meaning that could only come about from the mind of an artist and a warrior. 

You pointed to one of the star points and then to another toward the south. “Here and here. Don’t ask me how and don’t ask me why but these are the only two blind spots. Andrian used to sneak away from Koschei’s house to these two places.”

“To do what?” Cassian asked. He lumbered towards the back of the war room, easily peering over everyone’s shoulders to the flattened parchment and eyeing the wooden pieces strewn across the map, his own piece being tipped with a glistening red stone. 

“To plan his escape.” 

A hush fell over the room, thick and suffocating. 

The boy had never succeeded.

Feyre’s lips flattened to a pale line, the air around her reverberating with heat as the temperature in the room rose — a drop of Autumn’s power magnified. She nodded to the second map, this one gathered from Azriel’s contacts on the Continent. Whereas your map had laid out Koschei’s land in detail, Azriel’s was suspiciously empty where the lake was concerned. The two fit together like puzzle pieces. “What’s the nearest harbor town?”

“Tournnes.” Azriel replied without needing to look down. You’d memorized one map, he’d memorized the other. “It’s a small fishing village located twenty-three miles to the southwest. Most of the inhabitants are men that come and go with the season and travel west from Slairn and Friesieg. It will be empty this time of year.” The fish would have gone south in search of warmer waters. Even here the Sidra had turned frigid, crusts of ice lapping up against grey sand shores. 

Cassian shook his head, examining the map with a scowl. “There’s poor coverage getting from Tournnes to Koschei. And an abandoned town’s too obvious a place to hide any soldiers. It’d be better to come in from the east, through the woods.”

“Then we’d need to take the long way around Koschei’s territory.” Lucien argued back, “Our soldiers would need to trek through foreign lands for weeks and we’d lose any advantage Tarquin could give us by staying close to the coast.” 

“You can’t trust those woods,” you gasped, your eyes flashing with fear that didn’t wholly belong to you. 

Never enter those woods. Henna had once warned her Andrian. Never. Do you understand me?

Azriel tightened his hold on you, pressing his lips into your hair to brush against your ear. “Breathe, my love. Breathe.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. 

It was a heavy burden carrying the memories of others. Like a weight tied around your belly that hadn’t been properly woven into flesh. Something both part and apart from you. And you’d been feeling too many of Andrian’s memories in the past week since his death. 

Silence flung itself over growing irritation and anxiety as everyone circled back to the same conclusion. 

They wouldn’t be able to bring their armies abroad. And with limited numbers, brute strength would only go so far when forced to bring a fight to a foreign land against a foreign god. This would be decided by few. It would be as intimate as lovers. As ruthless as enemies. 

“There’s still the other plan.” Nesta reminded them, glancing first at Feyre and you with the faintest of nods. 

“I hate that plan, Nes.” Cassian gripped the back of her wing-backed chair and she reached up to take his hand in her own. She looked like a queen in her own right — harsh, pragmatic, unwavering. And he her mirror — a roguish knight, rough and wild and raw. 

“I know. Unfortunately for you, it’s the best one we’ve got.” 

“It’s the only one we’ve got.” Mor said with a sigh, rubbing her temples to alleviate the ache there. “We’re asking for a blood bath one way or the other.” 

“Ione is still with us.” Rhys squeezed his cousin’s knee. “Without her, he can be killed.” 

“But for how long, Rhys? How long until he finds someone else? Some other way?”

The question hung in the air like an ax ready to fall. An invisible clock ticking its way towards doom. Koschei had read the book’s contents. He had to know the secret to freeing himself was sheltered in Ione’s veins. So long as she was alive and breathing she was a threat as much as she was a tantalizing prize for him to tear his teeth into. 

Feyre’s fingernails clicked on the glossy tabletop, eyes narrowed in on that splash of black on paper. Through the golden string tied to her lower ribs, she felt the tug of her mate’s silent agreement. Her eyes flickered upward for a brief moment, as if she could see through the layers of the House to the skies above. “For as long as we have Ione, we have the upper hand. But we can’t rely on it forever.” She looked at you, “ We go with the first plan. It will have to be enough.” 

You shivered. 

Four years ago, when the Day Court had first opened its borders to foreigners from other Courts, you’d encountered a male in the market. He’d been young and reckless and glamoured himself to live amongst the humans for six months. In that time, he’d learned their version of magic — the sleight of hand tricks and elaborate games of misdirection humans played on one another. Caped entertainers bedazzling crowds with obvious moves, while the real work happened just out of frame. 

You thought of him now. You pictured him in the marketplace as he made a hand-painted playing card disappear from his hand into the fold of his suit jacket, only to reappear under an overturned teacup. 

Yes. 

It would have to be enough. 

The crisp blade flashed in the dull light as you moved your feet back and forth in a practiced dance. 

Left, left, right, duck, keep your wrist straight and slice up. Just like Azriel had instructed you. He stood off the narrow mat, hazel eyes tracing every slow movement of yours with a critical gaze. 

“Practice makes permanence.” He’d reminded you earlier. “Get it right first, then we’ll worry about speed.” 

Magic hovered over the House of Wind’s training gym, warping the air like a soap bubble as it shielded you from the frigid rain. Even so, the scent of petrichor and the cleanliness of frosted wind hung close to warn of the storm churning its way down from the north, carrying with it the promise of rainfall or the first true flakes of snow. 

How poetic that winter should come with death chasing its heels while you were learning a dozen ways to kill a man. 

“Here.” Azriel took your wrist in a loose grip, arching your arm and sticking the point of the knife into the training dummy’s jugular. Hay crinkled and burst out from the burlap covering instead of blood and you stepped away, locating the points in the liver, the lungs, the heart, the throat, under the arms, and more. Gruesome things made digestible by the motionless, fake body propped up on wooden poles. 

You didn’t need to imagine what it would feel like for your blade to meet flesh. 

Your arms ached. Hot, unfamiliar stretches of muscle trembling while slick with sweat. You could taste salt on your tongue as Azriel repeated himself. 

“Be precise. Be quick if you can. Then run like hell.” 

Incapacitation and speed. Those were the only two things you could rely on if things went south on the Continent. 

Precise. Quick. Run.

“Emphasis on run,” You muttered beneath your breath. You adjusted your feet to match Azriel’s stance, feeling the strength of his muscles close to your body and imagining some of that power seeping into the ground for you to drink up. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, then rose in a smile. “Exactly.” He stepped in, hands twisting your hips to be straight and then drifting up to your wrist. “Too much.” He corrected your bones with a feather-light touch. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

It should have been romantic. Him touching you like this with his front pressed against your back and his breath sliding over your skin as he taught you to wield a knife. Instead his insides churned relentlessly. Visions of you, blood-splattered and motionless on the ground, flashed through his mind. He’d be damned if he let that happen again. 

You practiced on him next. Blunt, stone knife gripped in your hands as he moved in slow-motion. Azriel must have had everything custom made for you. The balance felt right in your hands, the movement as fluid as your awkward limbs could manage. 

You clasped a hand around the back of his neck, dragging him forward as you swung up. 

Where the head goes, the body will follow.

He didn’t so much as grunt as the stone wedged itself into his ribs. 

You locked eyes with him and saw his pupils blown wide as a doe’s. “Good.” He murmured. “Again.” 

On and on you went for hours, Azriel’s panic fueling the training he put you through, as if he could fit a hundred years of combat into a handful of hours. 

You grunted when Azriel easily flipped you over onto your back, a scarred hand catching the nape of your neck so your head wouldn’t slam into the floor. The knife slipped out from your sweaty fingers, skittering away and disappearing beneath one of the weapons racks along the wall. You breathed heavily beneath him, feeling the grit of the ground and the sweat sliding into your hair and the leather brushing your chest with every breath he took. 

In a real fight, Azriel would have killed you a thousand times over and he knew it. There was not a single moment where you could have saved yourself. 

You saw the tell tale flicker in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw before he gritted his teeth and swore beneath his breath. 

You felt shame seep into your stomach again. “Az—”

“I want you to take my memories,” he said. “Everything I’ve learned over 500 years.” 

Metal whispered against leather as a tendril of shadow retrieved the knife and slid it into the thigh sheath Azriel had tied around your legs only hours ago. It felt strange to have such an unfamiliar weight against your thighs. To know that only leather kept the wicked blade from slicing you to the bone. 

“We’ve been over this before, Azriel. I can take however many memories I want from you until I can picture every way to take down an enemy in my mind’s eye. But that doesn’t mean my body will obey or follow through correctly. Knowing things mentally isn’t the same thing as knowing things physically.”

Azriel huffed in frustration, dropping one hand to your waist like he often did and gripping the flesh there to ground him. 

“If we had more time—”

“When this is over we’ll have more time.” 

If I make it. 

Because if there was anyone who would survive what was to come. It was Azriel. And you could find a great deal of comfort in that.

Azriel must have read your doubt because his eyes hardened and his hands came up to cup your jaw. “We will have more time. We’ll have time for everything, do you understand me?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want. We’ll travel the Courts. I’ll take you dancing and—”

“You’ll teach me a dozen new ways to kill someone?” 

“Exactly.”

“Should I start keeping a tally?” 

“If that would help, then yes.” He dipped his head down, kissing you firmly on the lips, the taste salty and warm to the touch. Kissing you came easy now. Touches were a comforting drug he craved daily. 

“If things go wrong—” He whispered, flicking a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Promise me you’ll find me.” 

You blinked up at him, tracing fragments of gold in his eyes. 

“Find you,” you echoed, your voice tinged with sadness. “You’re not going to convince me to run?”

He laughed bitterly. “I know you too well, my love. You wouldn’t listen even if I did. If anything, it would make you want to stay and fight even more, just to prove me wrong.“ “Then is this some reverse psychology? You tell me the opposite of what you want, so I end up doing what you intended all along?”

“You’re thinking too deeply about this.” He slid his arms around the small of your back, dropping his weight until you were flush against him. Until you could feel his heart beating beneath his skin in time to yours. “Find me, so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.” 

You caressed his cheek, the coarse bandages he’d wound around your wrists and knuckles scratching the skin of his jaw and the faint stubble that had grown there over sleepless nights. “I promise I’ll find you, Azriel. We’re better together anyways.” 

He could never disagree with you. He lifted you back onto your feet, kissing your forehead. “Three more drills, then we’ll be done for the day.” 

He made you run five. The bastard.

You’d dreamed of what might come. Nightmares filled with glassy-eyed children and skeletal forests where the dead roamed free. A black lake with stones of bleached bone to fill your lungs and choke the life out of you. 

You wanted to make Azriel proud. You wanted to be the kind of warrior who could match him physically, not just mentally. The kind of female he’d never have to worry about protecting in that way. But violence had never been beaten into your bones and you could only hope that the skills you did possess would see you through to the end. 

You and Azriel would make it. You’d all make it. 

Some way. 

Somehow. 

Then there would be time for everything you had ever wanted and everything you’d never had the courage to ask for.

You woke up to a world shivering beneath a dusting of snow. Frost creeped up the windowsill, trying to slither inside before the House’s magic burned it away. A grey, ashen sky hung low over the mountains, mist blowing over and gathering in valleys until they were transformed into pools of smoke. 

So this is it. You thought wearily, tasting the change in the air. Winter’s finally here to choke the world into submission. 

You burrowed further under Azriel’s wings, chasing the heat that rolled off his skin. When you looked up at his eyes they were already trained on the weather, some similar tangle of thoughts running through his mind that had his grip around your waist tightening. 

“The other death gods. Have you met any of them, Az?” You whispered your question into the hollow of his neck, feeling the blood rushing beneath your lips until he answered.

“I’ve met a fair few. The Bone Carver, Stryga, and Bryaxis joined our side in the final battle against Hybern and Nesta was equivalent in power when she first emerged from the Cauldron.” 

“Nesta?” You asked questionably. 

She was a collection of sharp edges wrapped in silk and cunning, but a death god? 

Azriel smiled ever so slightly. “You didn’t know her then, but she was a terror to behold. You could feel her presence in a room like a knife in your back or a flame licking at your heels so hold it starts to freeze. Only Cassian was foolish and lovestruck enough to approach her at the time.” 

You tried to imagine it — Cassian’s wild, borderline arrogant mannerisms going toe-to-toe against Nesta’s magnified sharp grace. “That sounds about right.” 

“Feyre knows the most about the death gods. Has come face to face with the most. Rhys sent her into the Weaver’s cabin to retrieve her engagement ring — don’t give me that look, my love, I don’t understand it either — and she’s the one who convinced The Bone Carver and Bryaxis to fight for us.” 

“Feyre has a penchant for endearing herself to monsters.” 

Azriel smirked, pearly teeth flashing. “You have no idea.” Then he said something that stuck with you. “The Bone Carver was especially close to her.” 

Anytime the Bone Carver — Thanatos — was mentioned, you could only think of Bethsevah. The one person who had ever looked upon his true face and never flinched.

“How so?” 

Shadows swarmed around his ears, as much a sign of his thinking as it was a sign that whispers beyond your own understanding were reaching him. 

“When Feyre met with the Bone Carver, he made a bargain that he’d only fight for her if she could descend into the Court of Nightmares and bring back an enchanted mirror without going mad. Feyre said she saw her true form when she looked into her reflection, and that it was only by accepting this form that she was able to keep the madness at bay. The Bone Carver was impressed with her and pledged his loyalty to her from then on.” Azriel shook his head, wings flaring out in another sign of his thinking. “It never made sense to me why a being like him would even make that bargain to begin with.” 

“Even death gods can be surprised. We should consider ourselves lucky.” 

“It wasn’t just that though. I was watching when he died. He… he turned his face up to the field at Feyre and he smiled at her. It felt like a bittersweet ending to a story I didn’t know. Like he was saying goodbye to more than just this world.” 

You draped your arm over his chest, tracing the black ink swirling across his chest and over his shoulders like ocean waves. The Bone Carver was more myth than legend to the few fae that had known of his existence and you knew with each passing century his story would be steadily wiped from the earth like wind shaving down stone. His name would become a whisper. His story, and Beth’s, a tragedy for no one but the stars to weep to. 

But you were still here, and your time with Bethsevah’s book had left you with no small amount of fondness for him. For now you would still be able to whisper his true name. 

“Thanatos.” You said. “He loved this world and the people in it. He sacrificed his life for it. I think he had many things he wanted to say goodbye to.” 

“To Thanatos then.” Azriel raised an invisible cup towards the ceiling of his bedroom, silk sheets sliding down his arms.

“To Thanatos,” you echoed. 

You eventually went through the morning motions together —Azriel helped lace up the back of your dress, and you buttoned up his shirts, careful to avoid the fragile membrane of his wings as you stood at his back.

He tugged you away from the bedroom door at the last moment, your questioning eyes softening when he cradled your face in his hands and stole one last kiss in the privacy of your room, murmuring "Beautiful," against the crown of your freshly brushed hair.

"Do the others know you're such a hopeless romantic?" You asked, finally opening the door and breaking the spell of privacy.

Before Azriel could answer, Cassian blew past the room, shockingly quiet for his mountainous size. "Yes, we all know," he shouted before disappearing down the hall.

Ione stood proud and tall in front of the windows, grey eyes narrowed at the Sidra as it wound through the valley like a snake. Cassian slid into the space beside her and handed her her cane. She knew instinctively where the warrior stood and where his hand reached out towards her. She took the cane without the second glance. A golden lion’s head roared from atop its wooden post, Ione’s fingers resting squarely between its glistening teeth as she leaned experimentally on the new device. Cassian had ordered it custom for her and she knew that hidden within the sleeve of glistening redwood was an iron rod forged in enchanted flames that rendered it near unbreakable. 

“Careful.” She reminded Cassian when she caught him staring for too long. “This body may be different, but I can still bring you to your knees.” 

Cassian chuckled, “I don’t doubt that.”

She slammed the cane against the ground once. Twice. Testing its strength and finding it worthy. “Do you think it will happen soon?” 

This waiting — it was beginning to grate on her nerves. This foreboding calm that threatened to fall away into chaos and bloodshed. She almost wished she were living three years into the future, when she was finally done healing from her wounds and the future had faded into the background of her life once more.

“If I could see into the future, I would not be here right now waiting.”

“And yet here we are.” Ione sighed, shoulders rising and falling elegantly beneath a wrinkled but slender neck.  

Cassian would have said more had Feyre and Rhys not entered the room together, bruises layered beneath their eyes as they plastered on bright smiles for their family, tension visible through the cracks in their porcelain teeth. 

The Inner Circle had assembled in their entirety at the request of their High Lord and High Lady. There was no holiday to be celebrated. No birthdays or anniversaries or special occasions. The fare that had been laid out on the table was simple and everyone filled their plates before spilling out across the sofas and the armchairs or carving out a space on one of Rhysand’s expensive hand-woven rugs. There would be no special meal around the new table devoid of scratches and watermarks and the passage of time and love. This was their family, and for their family it was the company that put finery to shame. 

Elain was a flutter of movement in and out of the kitchen, shepherding pots of tea and fruit tarts before Lucien finally caught her around the waist and made her rest. The House was equally restless. The lights strung above the fireplace mantle flickered like lantern flies. 

Mor sat with Emerie’s wings draped around her shoulders like a cape and Gwyn sat on the floor, hugging her knees close to her chest as she rested her head against the Illyrian female’s knee. To no one’s surprise, you and Azriel clung to the corner of the room, content to watch everyone’s laughter with your arm subtly looped around his. 

He still hasn’t told her, I see. Emerie noted, watching your smile stretch into place when Azriel leaned close to whisper in your ear. 

Does it matter? Mor teased, kissing Emerie’s nose reverently. The Illyrian’s cheeks turned warm. Emerie had not been granted the freedom to explore romance to the same degree as Mor, something she’d worried about when they first started their courtship. But if anyone asked the blonde, she’d tell them it drove her wild to see how such simple gestures could reduce the fearsome warrior to a puddle, even now. Mor tucked herself into Emerie’s side, throwing her long legs over the armrest. It’s probably a good thing. If they could speak to each other like this, we’d never hear from them again.

Emerie laughed into Mor’s golden hair. 

Conversations rose and fell. Plates emptied and clicked as they were laid out on the coffee table.

It was a simple peace they welcomed with open arms. 

They didn’t hear the faintest thud coming from above their heads. 

You smiled when one of Azriel’s shadows wove themselves into your hair, tickling the sensitive skin behind your ear and along your neck. 

“Sorry,” Azriel whispered, trying and failing to draw them back to him for the nth time that day. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them.” They’d been especially touchy as of late, nipping at your heels like a litter of puppies vying for attention or hiding in your pockets. It was a mixture of Azriel’s own feelings that spurred them on and their own desire to protect what they’d claimed as theirs. 

“It’s alright, Azriel. I like having them around.” 

They hummed amongst themselves, happy to see you so pleased. Sometimes, Azriel wondered if you’d be able to learn to listen to them as well. To tease apart that secret language he couldn’t begin to describe. 

Maybe you were listening to them now without even realizing it.

Maybe that’s why you and Azriel were the only ones whose eyes snapped towards the hallway before the first creak of wood sounded throughout the House.

The shuffling of a new, unfamiliar set of feet down the stairs had the hair on the back of your neck rising and crackling with energy.

It wasn’t Jurian. It wasn’t loud enough to be Jurian. He so rarely descended from the attic that he made a habit of making his presence known, tired feet shuffling along the rugged staircase with measured drags. 

You walked over to your brother and tugged on the back of his shirt. “Jurian—”

“That’s not Jurian.” Lucien said with bated breath. He was the third person in the room to hear the sound.

He’d checked on his friends less than a handful of hours ago. Jurian had been as he always was — weary but hopeful as one hand had clenched the bundle of morphine and the other had leaned against the food cart Lucien had carried up to the top floor. 

And Vassa… Vassa had been uncharacteristically quiet, slouching against the wall of her gilded cage, raw skin and thin feathers trembling with her haggard breath as she slept. 

“You should come down.” Lucien had said. “You deserve a break.” 

But Jurian had only shook his head and flashed a tight smile. “As much as I would love to bless you with my presence, I won’t leave her like this. But one day, my friend, we’ll both walk down those steps together and have a proper celebration. I promise you.” 

Vassa came down the steps. 

Alone. 

Naked.

Shivering.

You eyed the window where the mid-afternoon sun beat down on a frosted city. 

It was the middle of the day… and Vassa was human. 

You clutched Lucien’s arm, fingernails digging through his cotton shirt before he could take another step forward. Silence suffocated the room. There was something deeply wrong with the cursed queen. She trembled like a newborn fawn unceremoniously dumped into the world, her skin puckered and pock-marked from where she’d picked at old scabs and opened new wounds. The whole array hung from bones so thin they may as well have belonged to a bird. 

“Vassa…” Lucien’s voice broke on her name. 

A path of bloody feathers trailed behind her.

She grasped at strands of her fiery red hair and tugged. Hard. You focused all your energy on keeping the food in your stomach when strands fell through her bloody fingers and saliva rose in your mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, Lucien. I can’t… It won’t stop.” Her voice, which had once been beautiful, grated your ears. “My skin. It feels like I’m crawling out of it.” 

“Vassa.” Lucien held out his hands, showing her they were empty. “Where’s Jurian?” He would come down. He would help her in ways only he was capable of. 

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Where’s Jurian?”

At the second mention of her lover’s name, Vassa broke down crying. Fat, ugly tears streaking down tan cheeks that had turned sallow and grey. She wiped them away, fingers dripping. There was a deep, unyielding hunger evident in every stutter of her body as her eyes raked across the room. You flinched when those milky, teal eyes passed over you… and landed on Ione. 

Elderly, painfully human, Ione.

Vassa’s left eye twitched and Azriel had only enough time to tackle you to the ground and cover your body with his own before the mortal queen burst into flames.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

^^ Visual depiction of how I've felt the last week like what in the world? I'm getting enough sleep I swear but every morning I feel like I'm dragging a two ton boulder behind me until I get a sip of that bitter goodness. Ugh. Hope y'all are resting better than I am.

Anyways, I know it's been a while since I posted, but the chapter is here! Whoop! And I hope you enjoyed :) As always, feedback is appreciated and welcome if you have burning things you need to get off your chest (doesn't even have to be SSIB-related honestly my inbox is there).

[justkending]

Pink or Violet? (Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

(All gifs are from Pinterest)

(Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Well, wow-ie wow, wow... Y'all blew up the last little drabble connected to this one, so I had to grant myself some writing time today to come up with a follow-up drabble. This one is a lot more lighthearted and a good 5-8 months in the future (your choice, really). Thank you, guys, for all the love on the last one, and I hope this one is a nice extension of it ;)

________________

“Have you ever considered going brunette? Whoa!” I sense the knife before I see it and manage to expertly dodge it with a laugh. “Hey, my teammate said I’m not allowed to get stabbed anymore, big guy,” I shun, turning in my spot, kicking the man in the nuts, and as he folds over in pain, I hold his head perfectly to knee him in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch, causing him to land with a thump to my side. “Rude to interrupt conversations, too, dude.” 

Currently, we were in the middle of a stakeout… Or what started as a stakeout and now is a full-on brawl. 

Nat and I were rudely interrupted in our conversation about disguises we wanted to try, when an explosion in the facility we were monitoring took over the west wing. 

“I’ve done a wig,” Nat answers as she jumps, doing one of her classic moves where she’s sat on the shoulders of her assaulter, choking him out with her thighs before flinging her body to where she’s standing again casually and the man is incapacitated passed out on the floor. “Not that I didn’t find it flattering, but it’s harder to dye back with such a dark color.” She shrugs as she moves on to her next victim. 

I bend grabbing the knife from the man I just took down and flip it a few times in my hand. “Makes sense.” I nod with a convinced look. “On your right,” I hum, and she ducks while I throw the knife perfectly to where it lodges itself in the thigh of her attacker. 

A blood-curdling scream sounds at his pain, and I pout at him in fake sympathy as Nat shoots her widow bite as he falls, making him shake in shock before passing out. 

“What about you?” she asks with a breath, brushing her hair out of her face. “Ever considered a neon green?” 

“What? No. Am I trying to get caught in this undercover scenario?” I reload my gun before holstering it, and we start jogging to our next spot. 

“I just think it’d be fun to venture away from the neutral tones for once. Maybe there would be a mission where you did need to be found and-” Nat’s cut off by coms in our ears. 

“Ladies, enough salon talk,” Tony’s voice comes through. “We have a situation in the northeast corridor with much more pressing matters happening!” 

“We’re coming!” Nat groaned. “God. Micromanager is in full force today.” 

“Besides, Y/N’s skin complexion wouldn’t work with a neon green. Maybe a pink, though…” Tony continues before his comms cut out, and he’s back to shooting things from the sky.

“Oh, pink would be really good with your skin tone,” Nat seconds as we turn a corner. 

“No one is dying their hair pink! I could use some backup!” Bucky’s shouts come from the comms next.

“Where’s Steve?” Nat asks, pausing at a fork in the halls before signaling me to follow. 

“Caught up at the moment,” Steve’s grunts came through my earpiece. 

“Almost there, Barnes!” I note as we come to the hall where he’s supposedly located. “And I’ll have you know, if I want to dye my hair pink, I’ll damn well dye my hair pink!” 

“Guns, Y/N,” Bucky groans. “I have guns going off around me and at me. I’m not worried about a fake scenario right now. I’m worried about a really real one that’s-” He’s cut off and grunts a few times. “Please just-” 

The two men he was up against fall slack to the ground, and he’s left panting with relief as he turns back to me, standing at the end of the hall with my gun lowering down to my side. 

“Please, what? I like it when you use your manners,” I smirk as I walk up proudly to him. 

“You need to be humbled a touch,” he notes, shaking his head as he checks his weapons and reloads them while I walk to stand by him. 

I roll my eyes before assessing our surroundings as he gears up. “You’re just jealous because the girls have more fun with undercover makeovers. You want a pink wig too?” I tease, poking his shoulder. 

He playfully shoves my own and makes me teeter some as I laugh. 

“I got the information!” Steve’s shout come back through. “We can wrap this up.” 

“Thank God,” I groan, adjusting my holster on my hip. “I have dinner plans.” 

“Sorry to interrupt your nightly, never-changing program,” Tony snarks. 

“It’s ok. You can compensate by paying for my meal,” I retort back, pushing the button in my ear to keep it in place. “Speaking of compensation…” 

“Y/N, I swear if you say you stole my credit card information again,” Tony groans. 

“What, me? No… I would nev-” 

“Shut it. I don’t even have the energy to fight you.” 

I turn to Bucky and wink, and he’s biting back a laugh with a wide smile. 

“You’re a mess, you know that?” he says lowly, the comms not picking up on us. 

“You like it,” I shrug and start moving down the corridor, where Nat’s waving us on to follow. 

“That I do,” he hums, following behind me and playfully kicking my ass with the tip of his boot. “Now, these dinner plans…” 

“Interested?” 

“More than you know…” 

____________________

Back at the compound, freshly out of the shower, I hear a knock on my door. “Just got out of the shower, but the doors unlocked!” I shout. 

“Dinner’s arrived!” Bucky shouts, shutting the door behind him carefully. 

“Thank God. I’m starving,” I grumble, throwing my sweatshirt over my head after getting dressed. “I’ll send Tony a thank you card later for covering tonight's meal,” I hum, drying my hair with a towel as I come into the room. 

The greased takeout bag smells fresh of hole-in-the-wall dinner food, making my mouth water. I grin as Bucky places it on the coffee table in front of my couch and starts arranging the containers for us to splurge. 

“No, you won’t,” Bucky responds to my thank you card comment. 

“No, I won’t,” I agree, jumping over the back of the couch and bouncing into the seat next to him. “Hmm, you smell nice.” I’ve come to learn, and so has Bucky, that his body wash might as well be my kryptonite. 

“I can say the same for-,” he bumps me with his elbow before his eyes narrow on my exposed shoulder, and without a second thought, he grabs my arms and moves my body to face him. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” I ask, looking down at the spot he’s glaring at as best as I can. 

“You got a cut,” he points out, hovering his fingers around the area and moving my sweatshirt out of the way. 

Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have cut the neckline to half my sweatshirt after that stupid TikTok trend I saw the kids doing… Or at least worn one that wasn’t butchered tonight.

“Buck, it’s literally a scratch. And I’m genuinely not downplaying it at all,” I note, grabbing his wrist and trying to move his hands away, but they have an iron grip on me. 

Or should I say, vibranium grip on me?! Haha! Get it?.. No? Ok, moving on…

But seriously. The cut was just that. A cut. It wasn’t anything like the night we talked things out months and months ago. That one had become slightly scarred, whereas this one will be scabed over in the morning and likely be gone in 2-3 days. I might as well have gotten into it with a cat who was pissed when he figured out he’d been put on a diet. 

“A cut’s a cut,” Bucky argues, looking up at me. “Did you clean it?” 

“Yes, I cleaned it in the shower with the rest of my body. I disinfected it, and it has that balm on it. And before you ask,” I say just as he opens his mouth. “Yes, it’s that special salve you had Banner make for me. I’m set.” 

Bucky had become a little more intense when it came to my injuries since about three missions ago, I had moved at the perfect time to redirect a knife headed right at him, but it sliced my wrist in the redirection, and much to my misfortune, it was laced with something. 

To add to the list of medications he’s had Banner concoct specifically for my clumsy self (which were in the double digits at this point), I now have a poison control cream that counteracts most toxins and keeps me from saying hello to Heaven sooner than I hope. 

“You don’t feel weird or anything?” His eyes are scanning mine and my face for any lies or other injuries I haven’t told him about, and I’ve come to learn if it makes him feel better to double-check up to 20x before being satisfied, I’ll allow it. 

“I’m right as rain,” I nod, smiling at him softly, squeezing my grip on his wrist in reassurance. “The only thing I’m feeling is hungry and tired. So, what movie are we watching that I’ll inevitably fall asleep on you during?” 

He hesitates for a moment and then nods, dropping his hands and going back to the food. 

“I was thinking Tombstone,” he answers, grabbing one of the to-go containers with fries and a burger and handing it to me. 

“Another Western? What’s got you on the cowboy kick?” I ask, taking it and popping it open, instantly attacked by the smell of freshly seasoned fries. 

“You keep nicknaming me cowboy, so I figured I should have a little background knowledge of the profession,” he winks at me over his shoulders as he gets his own food together. 

“Oh, yeah? You like the nickname?” I ask, nudging him with my knee. 

“When it comes from you? Yeah. Sam? No. Without hesitation, I will start adding laxatives to his protein shakes if he keeps it up.” 

I laugh at their friendship, and we start up the movie, diving into our much-deserved greasy meal. 

_____________

The next day, Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda are lounging on the living room couch, all doing their own thing. Wanda and Sam are watching Sex in the City. Steve was reading a book called The Secret War of Laos, and Bucky was on his computer, fully engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Nat clears her throat, and I stand next to her in a baseball cap with my hair completely hidden underneath. Everyone looks up, and instantly, Bucky’s eyes fall on me. He smiles for a split second before it drops, and he furrows his eyebrows at my appearance. 

“We have an announcement,” Nat smiles mischievously. 

“Oh God…” Bucky rubs his temples and looks down in his lap in seconds. 

“You don’t even know what we’re going to say,” I argue, not able to hold back my laugh. 

“I can use context clues,” he grumbles before looking up, his eyes squinted as if he had a bad headache forming, and it was already making his eyesight worse. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nat waves him off as Sam and Wanda chuckle, and Steve looks oblivious to what is happening. “Anyway. Y/N and I made a bet and, well… Y/N lost.” 

“Surprisingly, not mad about it,” I shrug, arms crossed over my chest.

“Of course, you’re not…” Bucky mumbles, shutting his computer and putting it to the side.

“What did I miss exactly? Because everyone seems to know what’s happening…” Steve asks, confused, taking in everyone’s reactions. 

“Come on. Let’s see it.” The brunette interlaces his hands and rests them in his lap as he watches me. 

I smile at Nat, who’s also grinning wide, and move to take the ballcap off.

“Awesome,” Sam is the first to say something, and Wanda claps and gushes. 

“Oh wow, that’s so cute!” She smiles widely. 

“Whoa. That’s…” Steve turns his head to the side.

“Pink,” Bucky finishes for him. His eyebrows raise in what looks like surprise as he takes in my new hair. 

“Do you like it?” Nat asks the group, and there’s a mix of reactions as they talk over each other. 

I laugh with them for a little before walking over to Bucky’s side of the couch. Plopping down next to him, the crew talks about their own personal transformations they’d like to do and quickly forget about us in the corner. 

“Thoughts?” I ask, smirking up at Bucky as I sit almost wholly tucked into his side. His arm comes around my shoulders, resting there as he looks at me from the side. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he chuckles once, taking it in up close now. 

“Eh, I thought a change-up would be fun. Change. Is. Good,” I shrug, poking his chest with each word. 

He moves to touch my hair, and as soon as his fingers touch it, his face contorts into an investigative look. 

“What?” I ask, biting my lip as he’s already catching on to my ploy. 

“This isn’t,” he rubs a piece of hair in between his fingers, studying the texture. The crease in between his eyebrows drops instantly, and he deadpans to me. “It’s a wi-” 

“Shhh!” I hush him, almost jumping in his lap as I cover my hand over his lips. He freezes, eyes wide, and his hand instinctively goes to my waist to balance me. “Let me live this fantasy a little longer,” I smile, holding back a giggle. 

“This is a fantasy of yours?” He asked behind my hands, words muttered and raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe fantasy isn’t the right word-” 

“Because it’s starting to turn into one for me,” he cuts in, and I can feel his smirk in the palm of my hand. 

I slowly drop it, astonished at his confession. “I’m sorry. Did I hear that right?” I ask, peering at our friends who are now arguing with Sam about growing an afro, which he is all for, apparently. 

Instead of answering, he licks his lips as he brings his hands to the wig and plays with strands of it.

“Maybe not the pink, but… How’d you feel about a violet?” he asked, eyes slowly rising to mine. 

“Oh. My. God…” I say lowly, sinking back in my seat, pressed to his side. “Did we just discover a new kink of yours?” 

“I fear we may have…” His voice was low and made a shiver go down my back. 

“I hold no fear at all,” I smirked back at him, looking him up and down. “All I feel about that statement is excitement…” 

“Where exactly did you get this? Because it looks pretty realistic…” His fingers still play with the wig, which, thanks to Nat, is a higher-end one. How he caught on to it being a wig is impressive. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrug. “What matters is I happen to know they carry all the colors…” I smirk. 

“Interesting.” 

“Interesting, indeed.” 

He starts to stand up, and I’m confused by the action until he turns and offers me a hand. Once I’m standing, he leans closer and down to whisper in my ear, my hand still in his.

“We can keep this one for now. I have a few ideas still.” 

I look up at him, pleasant surprise on my face. “You know how I said change is good?” He nods with a smirk, his hand squeezing mine in response. “This,” I motion between us. “This is a change I’m glad happened.” 

“Same here,” he winked, pulling my arm so I was flush against him, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, escorting me out of the room.

“Where are they going?” Nat asks, confused at our sudden leave. 

Everyone turns to see the tail end of us leaving, and Wanda laughs after a second and quickly covers her mouth. “God, pray for her,” she says under her breath, and Nat gives her a look. She tries to play it off by coughing and shaking her head. “Sorry, something in my throat.”

Marvel Tags:

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[dalishious]

All About The Antivan Crows

(NOTE: This piece is a revised, 2nd edition of an old one, updated with information that has since been added to the lore. I will be deleting the outdated post to avoid confusion!)

The Antivan Crows, also known as the House of Crows, is a league of assassins from the northeast nation of, as their name suggests, Antiva. While their notoriety is especially high in their home country, the Crows are well-known across Thedas as brutally efficient killers. The bulk of their work is in Antiva, but they accept contracts all over the continent. Because of their reputation for adhering to agreements—something that should one fail to do makes one’s life forfeit as far as the Crows are concerned—they are an expensive but valuable investment.

To find the Crows anywhere from Ferelden to Seheron is not an unlikely sight. Nations at war send them to cut down leaders on opposing sides. Noble houses with grudges against each other send them to cut down family trees. And of course, politicians vying for power send them to cut down their competition. Whatever the reason, the Crows are never short on contracts. They are even willing to intervene in Circle politics.

While assassinations are the most common contract, and what the Crows are most known for, they’re also no strangers to thievery and spying. In Antiva City rests a giant, well-protected archive, housing of all their collected blackmail secrets, records of past contracts, recipes for their own special poisons, and other such valuables. The secrets in this archive are what keeps the Crows ruling Antiva from the shadows by controlling the nobility and merchant princes. That is, those that aren’t among their ranks.

At the very top of the power ladder is a council of Guildmasters made up of the eight most wealthy and powerful Crow Houses. The role of Guildmaster is most typically inherited down through a family, after successfully proving their skill by single-handedly killing a target with nothing but a ceremonial dagger. The Houses that are part of this council are known as Talons, ranked from one to eight, one being the most powerful. Talon has also been used interchangeably with Guildmaster when referring to the leader of one of these eight Houses.

Below the Talons are the lesser Houses, known as the Cuchillos. The Cuchillo leaders not Guildmasters but simply Masters, entitled as Lords, until their House may gain the rank of Talon. The ranks of these different houses can change with circumstance, gaining or losing power. House heads are also capable of taking over different houses by eliminating others, should they dare to be so ambitious. As such, despite being part of a larger organization, the Antivan Crows are always in competition with each other, and are not unknown to assassinate within their own ranks to get what they want.

The current Eight Talons are as followed:

Dellamorte

Balazar

Valisti

Kortez

De Riva

Nero

Cantori

Arainai

Other known Houses are:

Ferragani

D’Evaliste

Di Bastion

Members of the Antivan royal family and merchant prince dynasties routinely join the high-ranks of the Crows, either as a way to boost their social standing, or because they were forced into it. Assassinations are seen as part of everyday politics in Antiva, and how positions of power often change hands. Having strong ties with the Crows brings a noble family both leverage and security. They also have an arrangement referred to as The Azul Contract, in which bastard royal children are given a choice of either exile or joining the Crows – such as the case was with Viago de Riva. In return, the Antivan Crows all but run the nation. Even kings have come directly from the Crows.

While the Crows are mostly led by nobility, the bulk of their organization is made up of their recruits, though the word recruit makes it sound like there was a choice involved. The vast majority of recruits, referred to as compradi, are children between the ages of five and ten, bought as slaves or found on the streets alone. For example, Zevran Arainai was seven years old when he was bought by the Crows. Compradi are usually gathered in scores at a time, though only a few survive to become full-fledged assassins. The Crows keep the children in poor, cramped quarters, and raise them in emotionally detached and torturous conditions, teaching them to know nothing else but murder, as Zevran puts it. They are allowed no personal items, and are encouraged not to make friends. Along with general training and education in Crow ciphers and Crow history, training of recruits includes pitting them against each other, tests of pain resistance and gauntlets, and challenges like locking them in an oubliette for weeks. All this leads most Antivan Crows immune to morality as much as they are to interrogation. It also breeds loyalty to the only life recruits know. Indeed, many Crows would sooner kill themselves than betray the guild.

It is very rare for a recruit to rise all the way to the top of the organization’s tiered leadership, but not unheard of. For example, Teia Cantori, climbed her way to the head of her house – but despite this, she is still regarded as an “overreaching street rat” by her noble peers.

The Crows favour recruiting elves, as they are widely regarded as beautiful and unthreatening; both advantageous impressions for an assassin. However, they take recruits from all races. Assassins are most typically rogues, but the Crows also train warriors and even mages, providing protection for their apostate assassins from the Chantry.

An experienced Assassin may gain the title of Master Assassin with time, putting them just below the leader of their House in terms of rank. Masters are capable of deciding their own contracts, and command groups of Assassins below them. Guildmasters decide which Master Assassins get which contracts based on the amount of the contract’s offer they bid to give to the guild, and their chances of success. Regularly, Assassins are not allowed to bid on contracts, and are instead assigned contracts or roles in larger ones by the Master Assassins that command them. The exception to this is when an Assassin is attempting to gain the rank of Master.

Save for rare exceptions of escape, Crows are Crows for life. The only way to leave them is to make them think you are dead, or find someone willing to protect you from them. Otherwise they will hunt you down and kill you for betraying the guild, and that is the better alternative: Anyone who angers the Crows and lives risks ending up in their own personal prison, the Velabanchel, to spend the rest of their days locked up and tortured.

Antivan Crows are often easily identifiable by those who recognize their unique tattoos – a tradition taken from the Rivaini. Some of these designs are sacred to the Crows, marking them as which house they belong to, while others are purely decorative. While some Crows display their tattoos with pride and intimidation, others prefer to keep them hidden.

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SOURCES

Dragon Age: Origins

Dragon Age II

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Codex Entry: Zevran Arainai (Dragon Age II)

Codex entry: Blackfeather Boots (Dragon Age II)

Codex entry: Finesse (Dragon Age II)

Codex Entry: The Crows and Queen Madrigal (Dragon Age: Inquisition)

Item Description: Gift of the Talons (Dragon Age: Inquisition)

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Dragon Age: Last Flight

Dragon Age: The Silent Grove

Dragon Age: Deception

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas vol. 1

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas vol. 2

Dragon Age Promotional Wiki: Assassin

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[puneairportcaboperator]

Pune Airport Cab Operator, Pune Airport, Pune, Maharashtra, India

puneairportcaboperator@gmail.com

WhatsApp: +919370314751 / 52

Cell: +917720079131 / 32

Cell: +919370314751 / 52

Pune International Airport: Airport in Pune, Maharashtra

Pune Airport, is located approximately 10 km northeast of Pune Central in the state of Maharashtra, India. The airport is a civil enclave operated by the Airports Authority of India at the eastern side of Lohagaon Air Force Station of the Indian Air Force.

Pune: City in Maharashtra

Pune is a sprawling city in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. It was once the base of the Peshwas (prime ministers) of the Maratha Empire, which lasted from 1674 to 1818. It's known for the grand Aga Khan Palace, built in 1892 and now a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi, whose ashes are preserved in the garden. The 8th-century Pataleshwar Cave Temple is dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva.

Pune Airport Cab Operator, Pune Airport, Pune, Maharashtra, India

puneairportcaboperator@gmail.com

WhatsApp: +919370314751 / 52

Cell: +917720079131 / 32

Cell: +919370314751 / 52

Pune International Airport: Airport in Pune, Maharashtra

Pune Airport, is located approximately 10 km northeast of Pune Central in the state of Maharashtra, India. The airport is a civil enclave operated by the Airports Authority of India at the eastern side of Lohagaon Air Force Station of the Indian Air Force.

Pune: City in Maharashtra

Pune is a sprawling city in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. It was once the base of the Peshwas (prime ministers) of the Maratha Empire, which lasted from 1674 to 1818. It's known for the grand Aga Khan Palace, built in 1892 and now a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi, whose ashes are preserved in the garden. The 8th-century Pataleshwar Cave Temple is dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva.

[serpentface]

Two Wardi 'unicorns', the hippegalga and the scimitar deer. These are distantly related ungulates who both happen to produce a single horn

The hippegalga is a tiny antelope, about the size of a hare. It has a very broad range and can be found across the region and beyond, settling mostly in shrubland, savannah, and wooded areas. Unlike other closely related species (these are basically dik-diks and exist elsewhere in the setting) they form large, loosely structured herds and breed rapidly, commonly producing four offspring at a time.

The horn is a permanent growth, and occurs directly in the center of the skull. It develops in both males and females (though is much smaller in the latter) and serves some practical function in scratching at bark to mark territory (in addition to scent deposits- rubbed directly into scratched bark from the eye gland, and left as piles of dung).

Their horn is worn as an amulet in many parts of the region (either intact or carved into a phallic shape) due to having strong associations with male fertility, as well as apotropaic functions more broadly associated with imagery of genitalia. One Wardi slang word for the penis is derived from this animal's name ('galga').

They experience hunting pressure for their horns, and their meat is regarded as a delicacy, but most populations are stable. They adapt well to densely populated and developed areas, breeding prolifically in ecosystems depleted of predators. A large, stable population exists in the city of Wardin. These particular animals are semi-tame and frequently fed by humans, and are socially protected from hunting (believed to be living good luck charms and just SO charismatic and cute). Their only real day-to-day threats are the city's (much less beloved) population of feral dogs.

---

The scimitar deer is the only native deer to the region, and exist in two major, isolated populations (remnants of a wider population from when woodland and savannah spanned across most of the region's north). One population exists in the wooded regions of Greathill in the northwest, and a larger population in the oak forests to the northeast (and beyond).

Their singular antler is shed seasonally and grows bigger, longer, and more curled with age. The antler grows asymmetrically on one side of the head (usually the left), though this is only slightly off-center on the skull and does not significantly impede balance (outside of old bucks with very large antlers). Some bucks grow a set of two antlers as a mutation (with one side being substantially smaller than the other) but this appears to be unattractive to females and such animals breed at a decreased frequency.

Bucks in rut may clash antlers by interlocking them at the fork, but these battles are low intensity- their antlers are relatively fragile and not well suited to prolonged shoving matches. The antler is a visual display first and foremost. A buck will show off to does and intimidate rivals by tossing and bowing his head at an angle to display its size and length.

In Greathill, traditions widely hold that these animals are supernatural in nature and herded like cattle by the mountain's 'wildman' fae-folk. They often appear in folktales as prized, magical herds, with stories centering on great raids of the deer as the ultimate and most valuable livestock (being immune to disease, able to be milked like cattle, ridden like khait, and capable of plowing fields with great speed).