#or other burrowing sand creature

[bam-monsterhospital]

i TOUCHED THE OCEAN YESTERDAY I PUT MY FEETS IN IT I RAN ACROSS THE SAND AND AMONGST THE LAPPING TIDE I GAINED ALL THE DOPAMINE!

we went to gros morne yesterday and it was wonderful

you can't see much of it because i didn't put my camera up above my head when taking these pics, but the sea had a lot of green in it and it was so punchy-saturated and beautiful. you might be able to make out some whitecaps there, which tells you that yeah it was really really windy. god i missed this so much. all these shots were from the wet sand and i'm kinda sad i didn't take more of the dry bits of sand since it was really light and soft and my fav kinda sand... whereas here it just looks muddy and grey. it was low tide and you could walk out forever over the oodles of sandbanks.

[bi-writes]

still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 2/?: Warning Signs

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. masterlist

Being alone feels different when there’s nowhere to run. Every wall looks the same, and the stench of must permeates in every room–the carpet must hold it in. Everything drips; the taste of salt won’t go away, and it makes your eyes dry out every time you close them and open them again. There are other people around you, men that are the cause of the knocks against the rig, but they are as alien as what lies beneath you. Every time you feel as if it’s too foreign, you remind yourself that there is nowhere to go.

The only way out of this place is by doing your job; but even that scares you all of the sudden.

Your bed is lumpy. The mattress feels dry, stiff, and it barely gives as you lay in it. You stare up at the bottom of the top bunk, trying not to think about the sound of sea water pelting your window like a threatening knock while you try to sleep.

Your mind barely gives. You keep the lamp that sits on your makeshift desk turned on. Without it, the black of nothingness from outside bleeds through the walls, and you swear you can see a thousand different shapes that claw their way out of the moonlight towards you. The rig doesn’t shake, but it breathes. It lives, somehow, deep legs connected to the seafloor to keep it from drifting off, from separating, from taking you with it, from suffocating you until your breaths are filled with water and your body is too cold to–

You jump when the lamp bursts. A jolt of electricity shatters the bulb, and you sit up in bed, clutching the sheets as you watch the lamp glow slightly before fizzling out. The room blankets into the dark, and you move shakily off your bed and pat around for your flashlight before clicking it on. The small circle of yellow light doesn’t do what you hoped; instead, it makes the shadows of every object longer and seem further away, and they start to move as your hand shakes, so much so that you cannot tell if something is coming towards you or if your mind is still convincing you of some sort of seasickness. One lodged into your brain, one that doesn’t make you nauseous but makes you paranoid that some hole in the ocean will open up and take you with it.

The thought of drowning is not as terrifying as finding out what lies beneath the surface of the water.

When you used to think of the ocean, it used to soothe you. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was crystal clear blue and tropical fish. You thought about running your fingers through warm water and kicking your feet as you watched dolphins fly beside you. When the sun penetrated the light, it shined until it showed the seafloor, where little creatures burrowed beneath bright sand, making it sparkle.

The ocean you know now is anything like it. You understand what they mean when they say “mother nature,” because only a woman scorned could eat the world the way she does. Waves touching taller than buildings. Animals so large, they would swallow you whole and let the acid of their insides quiet your screams for nutrition. An endless void, reaching miles towards the center of earth, a vast unknown that crushes heavy metals and defies physics the further and further you drop. She’s unforgiving. Mean. A terrifying, wonderful thing, and you are cheating death. You know it. She screams at you from just outside your thin walls, and you are pretending not to hear her. She’s telling you something, but you bury your nose in your books.

If it’s a warning she’s trying to give, you won’t know it until it’s too late.

The rig groans in the middle of the night. You can hear the pipes expanding, the water moving aggressively outside your window, the sounds of cranes and metal creaking that rattle off around you. Your hand shakes a little as you try and find your shoes, slipping them on as you open your door in search of a new source of light.

It’s the middle of the night, but there’s still a skeleton crew around, moving between their night shifts. You make your way down the hall, clicking off your flashlight, and you find yourself in the rec room in search of light bulbs in the utility closet there. You hear the doors swing open behind you, and you try to ignore the rowdy voices of men as you stand on your tiptoes and rummage the hundredth box for what you need. You try not to think about the whisps of something delicate you feel grazing your fingertips (because spiders wouldn’t be this far out from land, right?).

“Looks like ye need a little help, bonnie.”

You startle yourself nearly out of your skin. You trip off the ledge you’re standing on, trying to hold your hands out to brace yourself, but you never hit the ground. Strong hands grip you around the middle, breaking your fall and getting you back onto your feet, nice and steady. You spin around, clutching your flashlight to your chest, panting like an anxious puppy. You can make out his blue eyes even in the dark, bright and seemingly concerned as Soap tries to get a grip on you to keep you from swaying.

“‘S alright, lass, ‘s just me! Soap, it’s Soap.”

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your breathing, You shake your head, closing your eyes as you try and repeat the mantra you’ve been telling yourself since you got on this stupid rig.

Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I…”

“What are ye doin’ up?” He asks, clicking his tongue. “‘S the middle of the night! Reckon ye need yer beauty sleep.”

You smile a bit, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You do it to placate him. Men don’t always respond well to sharp teeth, and you haven’t decided how you feel about this one yet. He’s too comfortable. His hands are still around your arms, thumbs smoothing too easily over the bone of your shoulders. He’s too close; he steps just nearer to you, tongue sliding over that top row of teeth, and you try not to think about the way his pupils dilate at the terrified look on your face, the one your smile cannot hide. When he tilts his head to the side, you think he means to look curious, but you think it closer to prey playing with its food. The curls of his growing mohawk fall over his forehead, drawing a dark shadow over his eyes, and you can no longer try to see what might give him away in his gaze.

“The light in my…room. I need a new one, I–” You shake your head. “It’s stupid, but I just…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll get ye all right fer bed, love,” Soap chuckles. “What’s broken, ye ken what kind ye need?”

You blink, biting your lip, thinking. He’s still touching you; he still has his hands around your arms, but now they’ve settled around your elbow, calloused fingers curled over where they rest.

“I’m not sure. The lamp on my desk, it’s–”

“Ach, those are hidin’, I’m sure o’ it,” he lets you go, reaching up and hoisting down a few boxes before reaching for what lies behind them. He carries them on his shoulder before dropping them onto the floor, and you try not to think about watching him work. He’s a large man. Strong, that much is evident, but there’s something off. You think his physical appearance hides what lies inside. He’s pretty, in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. Straight teeth, a killer smile, arms that do not give once they’re taut with use. Even the uniform he wears does nothing to hide thicker thighs and a solid middle; but you try not to let it distract you from what really remains. If he wasn’t so gorgeous, you don’t think he’d get away with that tick that must exist in his brain. The one that allows him to crowd your space without much resistance. The one that lets him smile like that, like he’s won something, like he’s gotten what he wanted not because he fought for it, but because it is what he is owed. 

He bends over and picks up a bulb that looks good enough and hands it to you. When he straightens his back, you try to catch that look in his eyes again. Maybe he knows you’re looking for it, and now he’s hiding it. Maybe he’s cooing in his own head about what a clever girl you are and trying to decide how he’ll play his game differently.

“Can walk ye back, put it in fer ye.”

You take it from him, drawing a shaky breath. You want to say no. You want to tell him you can do it all on your own, that you’re fine, but then the closet door swings open, and a group of tired-looking crew stare at the two of you as they snicker and nudge each other.

“Wot ye doin’, Soap, seven minutes in heaven with the fuckin’ feds?”

“Och–shut the fuck up, the lot o’ ye,” Soap bites back. “Just doin’ her fuckin’ job, just like the rest o’ ye, so get the fuck out the way. Middle of the night, bunch of gobshites.”

Soap puts a hand around the small of your back, guiding you past the group and out into the hallway. He follows you wordlessly back to accommodations, stopping in front of your door. Your name isn’t on it, but you don’t comment about how he knew this was yours. He waits for you to open the door for him before following you inside.

“A right mess, luvvie.”

He doesn’t let you help. He kicks your bin under the desk, carefully discarding of the pieces of glass that are scattered across your desk. He grumbles under his breath about it being too sharp and how he will do it better and how he can take care of ye. 

When the lamp clicks back on, it paints the room in that comforting orange light, and you relax as you take a seat on your bed, clutching the sheets to dry your clammy palms. He still invades your space, but somehow, with the light, it dampens the sentiment. He scares you just a little less, but if you give him just that much, how much will he use it to his advantage?

“Ye need anythin’, I’m…just down there,” Soap says finally. He points behind him, down the north end of the hallway, and all you can do is nod. “Don’t listen to the lot, bonnie,” Soap adds. “Bunch o’ old, tired bastards. Mean no harm. But if they do, ye come ta me, ye hear?”

“Uhm…Soap?” You call out as he’s leaving. You don’t know why you stop him. You don’t know why you’re talking to him; you’re certain he’s not a stranger to telling a good lie. He turns to face you, leaning against the doorway, and you clear your throat. No one should look this good on just a few hours of sleep, but he’s still blinking awake, unsettlingly calm. “This place…it’s safe, right? I mean…safe as it ought to be?”

Soap smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles. It feels unnatural. His teeth are duller. Lips drier. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s safe, love. Swear it. Got me on those rivets.”

You don’t know why, but when he comes close to you, you let him. You let him touch your face, thick fingers smoothing down your jaw just a little too rough, big thumb along your bottom lip rubbing just a little too hard. You hear his door shut nearby once he goes.

The ocean screams. You can hear her again now that his voice is no longer around. You fall asleep knowing he’s close, and you pretend not to notice her. Just like always.

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter One

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff. I love her and all her art so much that when I saw Ralak I was so compelled to write a fic for him. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Teytey, you knocked it out the park with this one (as you always do, my love).

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: shit ton of fluff, profanity, age gap, a lot of sexual tension, size difference, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 4.4k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: I hope I did this gorgeous man justice and wrote his character well. It was an interesting challenge to introduce his character and build a plot with it. Chapter two and three will be out shortly! I’m beyond overjoyed that you guys are excited for this 😊 I hope I don’t disappoint lool

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

Next ->

The Sully family adopted you from birth, taking you in as their own. They were more than patient with your delayed milestones, moving at the slow pace you set since childhood. You completed your iknimaya a cycle later than your siblings, despite your eagerness to prove your self-worth as one of the Sully’s. Being a late bloomer and smaller than the average na’vi never put a damper on your optimistic attitude, though. It only added fuel to the fire.

The news to seek uturu with the Metkayina came as a shock not only to you but the rest of your siblings, and soon became the leading topic of discussions at family dinner. Jake explained that this is what was necessary, and that you would need to ‘pull your weight’ and ‘make a real effort’. You knew he didn’t mean it as harsh as it sounded, but the words stung nonetheless, plucking out a couple heart strings when they pierced through your chest.

You’ll never forget the day of your arrival here.

War horns blew loudly, signalling your arrival to the village of Awa’atlu. All the members of the clan swarmed the shore to see what the fuss was all about. Even the little ones that could only toddle wriggled their way out of their parents’ arms to get a glimpse. It was overwhelming – to say the least – to have all these eyes on you, scanning every foreign feature of your body, walking around you to inspect you further. You’d never felt more objectified in your life.

When Tonowari and Ronal made their grand entrance on their skimwings, your heart thud furiously in your chest. Sure, the large, winged fish took you by surprise, but the man to Tonowari’s right shook you to your core. His head tilted in wariness, hunting knife secured cautiously in his right hand and the leather wrapped reign gripped tightly in his left.

Wet, long hair plastered to his chest; he eyed you down momentarily before averting his gaze to the rest of your family that calmed their ikrans. His eyes widened ever so slightly at the winged creatures, large with armoured skin, much like the beast he’s bonded with.

You couldn’t help but stare aghast at his sinewy, chiselled features – sculpted by Eywa herself. It didn’t take long for you to understand why he was Tonowari’s right-hand man. His expression of indifference remained fixed on his face. Embodying that of an akula, his presence brought an intimidation like no other.

But what you couldn’t understand were the butterflies that plagued your stomach.

Your gaze lingered for a moment too long, the akula himself now returning the leer. It sent shivers down your spine, turning your butterflies into knots. You looked away, gaze falling onto your toes that burrowed their way into the sand. You felt his eyes bore into you, taking in each dark blue stripe on your tiny body, your slender extremities and thin tail.

You peeked at him through the corner of your eye, to see his gaze locked on your tail as it swished side to side. You saw his ears perk up, and the minor curl of his lips, a sight only a person staring as intently as you would see. You watched as his expression morphed into one of confusion, just before he dropped his head all together. 

You would later come to find out that he couldn’t quite understand his own butterflies in his stomach.

The giant stayed seated on his winged beast, as Tonowari and Ronal dismounted theirs and crossed the shore in only a few strides. Initially, they were wary of your arrival, thinking your family would bring war to their village. After your father reassured them, they were gracious enough to grant uturu for your family, and even dispatched their own children to teach you the ways of the people.

Naturally, you had a hard time adjusting to the new biome, water was never really your thing to begin with. You were slow in the water, slender body only holding you back more. The olo’eyktan’s son, Ao’nung, quickly grew agitated with you, handing you off to his sister, Tsireya, who was already overwhelmed with teaching your siblings. You felt like a burden, holding everyone back during lessons. There was absolutely nothing that you were getting the hang of, not even the ‘finger talk’ as you brother calls it.

For the first in your life, you felt completely defeated.

The sweet, determined girl disappeared, leaving nothing but her shell behind. You started missing lessons, making up reasons to stay back in your family marui pod. You often found yourself alone sitting on the shore in the height of the eclipse, dipping your feet into the warm water. Jake would always find his babygirl, demanding to know what was wrong. But you could never reveal the truth, not after what he said to you before your departure. Especially not now, not after failing so terribly for two entire months.

At this point, your siblings had passed their iknimaya, and you were the only one left.

----

Tsireya presses two fingertips right above your navel, resting her other hand on your chest, fixing your posture. “Breathe from down here. You must slow down your heartbeat, y/n.”

You’ve heard this a million times by now. You know this, but it didn’t matter. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get it. Frustrated, you exhale harshly, gritting your teeth so you won’t speak the words flooding your mind.

“Look. I know you’re frustrated, but you are getting so much better. If we just keep –”

“No! I’m fucking tired of this. I’ll never get it. Alright?!” you shout, shuffling to your feet to.

You scan the circle of surprised na’vi, all of which are staring up at you in disbelief. You could see Tsireya’s face screw with hurt, which only makes your heart ache more. An apology brews in your chest, when all five pairs of eyes flicker to something behind you. Turning on your heels, you see what everyone is looking at.

Jake, Tonowari, and his right-hand man all standing in front of you, presumably listening to your every word. You stand there for a bit, eyes bouncing between Tonowari and Jake before landing on the giant. He stands tall, staring off into the distance with that same deadpan look on his face. His hair is tucked behind his ears, revealing the stud in his lobe, the freckles on his jaw – the deeper blue markings on his neck.

This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him, seeing the first time you two met things were... eventful.

His freckles are conspicuous, even in broad daylight, beautifully patterned and abundant throughout his body. Perhaps it’s his lighter-cyan coloured skin and swirls for stripes, but his freckles twinkled just right from the reflection of the water. They even seemed to trace his stripe pattern on his forehead and brow bones. A single tahni under each eye... his ocean, impassive eyes.

A sleeve of tattoos covers his right arm, a sleeve on his right knee to his ankle, and a tattoo of stripes below his navel that went underneath his – oh. Your brows lift slightly, tensed facial muscles relaxing.

That’s an interesting place for a tattoo.

This tattoo continued between his prominent v-lines, under the band of his loincloth. You begin counting the stripes.

One, two, three, four, five... six.

It takes the sound of Jake clearing his throat for you to reluctantly peel your eyes away from this poor man’s crotch.

“Right, babygirl. Ralak here is going to be your teacher from now on.” Jake motions his hand over to the Metkayina, who’s now visibly, and unsuccessfully, trying to appear friendlier.

You couldn’t help but scoff, frustration now bubbling over in your chest once more. “So what? I’m so shit at this that I need a ‘special’ teacher?” you glance over at Ralak and roll your eyes.

“Language!” Jake whispers harshly, giving you that look. The look he gives you when you’re embarrassing him. 

“No. I’m tired of this. I want to go home.” you shrug, storming past him just for him to wrap his hand around your upper arm and drag you back.

“That’s enough.” Jake growls, bending over to meet you at eye level. “Tonowari has been kind enough to arrange for Ralak to help you. He was once a fisherman.”

“The best. At about your age.” Tonowari stands proudly as he utters the words, “And now he’s one of the best warriors. I hand selected him myself.”

Your eyes flicker over to Ralak, whose ears lay flat against his skull, brows slightly pinched, jaw clenched. It’s hard to tell what he was feeling, his mask of indifference fixed tightly on his face. Was he grimacing? Or maybe he was trying not to.

Regardless, it looked as if the words upset him. Maybe there was something more beneath this cold exterior. Something that maybe you can pry out of him. Something that intrigued you. The corners of your lips curl upwards, an expression that any outsider would perceive as happiness, but Jake knew you had something else in mind.

Something more mischievous.

“I apologize, sir. I am... just frustrated.” your eyes shift from one giant to the next as you bow before the olo’eyktan. “It would be an honour to have Ralak be my...” you glance over at him, “...karyu [teacher].”

Jake remains silent, pursing his lips as he watches the scene unfold.

“Ah. I understand.” Tonowari smirks, shrugging his shoulder. “It is decided, Ralak will teach you.” he looks at Ralak, giving the order, “Today.”

Jake raises his brows at you, as if he were telling you to behave and not cause any trouble. You tilt your head and subtly stick out just the tip of your tongue. Tonowari walks away, a large hand brushing against Jake’s back to signal him to follow. Jake turns around and joins the larger na’vi, two olo’eyktans now making their way back to the tall mangroves.

“Hey, karyu.” you sing, eyes fluttering as you stare up at the towering man.

He looks down at you for a moment, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. His ears twitch as he swiftly turns around, walking away from you. “Come.”

So that’s what his voice sounds like.

It’s gruff, yet smoky. Deep and husky, thick with... nothing but his Metkayina accent. It was flat and monotone, revealing nothing of his true character. You follow closely behind him, already excited about how you plan to get him to reveal more about himself. He seems to be a man of few words, reserved and... composed. You couldn’t deny that there is a part of you that wants to poke at him, to see how far you can take things with him.

Before you know it, you’re standing in a secluded clearing on the shore, nestled far away where the fishermen tend to hunt. You look around, scanning your surroundings with curious eyes. You see a secluded marui pod, seemingly larger than all the others you’ve seen thus far. It's tightly woven with orange and red sturdy material, secured tightly to the thick mangrove roots around it.

“That yours?” you stick him with your first poke of the day, eager eyes trying to look inside the marui.

His gaze remains fixed on the fishnet that he’s gathering in his hands. “Yes.”

“Pretty big for...” you mumble, shifting your gaze towards him to be met with the sight of him unbuckling his cumberbund. “...just one person.” your voice dwindles in volume, fading out into a breathy whisper.

If your eyes could protrude from your head anymore, they would. You always had a hard time masking how you feel as your facial expressions were quick to give it away. His cumberbund falls into the wet sand, embellished razor sharp akula teeth piercing its surface. Your eyes trail up his body, settling on his bare chest.

“Today, fishing net. Tomorrow, ilu.” he mutters, putting his hair into a loose bun as he ventures further into the water.

“O-kay.” the word comes out broken and awkward.

Venturing out into the water, he settles in the spot he used to go frequently as a fisherman. Waist deep into the water, he looks behind him, chin meeting his chest to land his gaze on you, chest-deep in the water. He realizes that he's gone too far out for you, and walks towards you.

Your beaded top plasters to your chest, revealing your peaked nipples as your breasts bounce with the tide. His eyes quickly avert to the shore, eyelids fluttering a little faster than they should.

“Come.” he walks past you, prompting you to follow him once more. You bounce your way back to the shore until the water is crashing into your stomach. “Watch.” he says, fixing his stance to show you a demonstration.

You watch intently, focus being on the wrong thing, honestly. Your eyes had a hard time looking away from his chiselled body – from each dip and ridge of his muscles on full display. How could you focus? Especially now that he’s barely thigh deep into the water, loincloth clung to his bulge. You swallowed thickly at the sight, was that huge thing really his –

“Erm. Got it?” the sound of him clearing his throat snaps you out of your deep thought.

“Mhm!” you nod quickly, doe eyed and genial smiled.

He nods once, handing you the netting. You take it slowly, buying yourself sometime to figure out how to throw this thing. Standing with your left foot in front of your right, you bend your elbows out, holding the yoke of the net close to your chest.

He grunts in disapproval, settling behind you to fix your stance. He gently kicks your feet apart, putting your dominant foot in front. Large hands grip your tiny waist, shifting your stance slightly to the left. They slip up your sides, and run along the length of your upper arms, stopping at your elbows to tuck them in. He’s so focused on correcting your poor posture that he doesn’t even realize how he’s pressing himself against you.

“Like this.” he huffs, hand enveloping yours to shift it further from the yoke of the cast net. “Hold here.” his other hand grabs the lead line and plunks it into yours.

Heart pounding at a dangerous speed, you take a few deep breaths. Perhaps it was the nerves of casting your first net, or maybe it was just how this gentle giant is pressed against you. Either way, you can’t ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach again.

“Now throw.” he says barely over a whisper, backing away from you.

You twist your upper body, core tensing when you throw the net as hard as you can, only for it to clump together rather than spread out. Your shoulders drop and lips press tight, a wave of disappointment washing over you.

“Again.” he orders, pulling the net towards him.

--

Ralak had you throw the net half a dozen more times before giving you your first break. You prodded and poked at him, trying your best pry personal information out of him – to no avail. He remained unaffected by your persistent jabs, revealing nothing other than how he pined for the days of being a fisherman.

“Karyu. I-I’ll never get it.” you huff in frustration, gathering the fishnet from the surface of the water for a tenth time.

“Again.” he says patiently, unbothered by your frustration.

“Karyu. Please. It is not working. Can’t we try something else?” you beg, arms and back sore from throwing the fishnet so many times.

He looks at you for a moment, taking in the slouch of your back – the strain on your face. He felt bad for you, but he could also see that you were so close to learning the skill.

“No. Again.” he orders monotonously, taking note of your gaze drifting off to the mangroves nearby. “Focus. Eyes on me.”

“How am I supposed to focus when you look so, so –” you cut yourself short with a sigh.

“So, what?” he tilts his head and raises a brow.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, landing them right on that damn tattoo again.

Why was it so low? Didn��t that hurt? Why there of all places?

“Look. I see you –”

The words make your eyes snap up to his, heart thumping wildly in your chest.

“...staring.”

You didn’t realise you were lingering until he pointed it out. How could you not? Surely, he chose that spot for a reason. Perhaps his mate wanted it there, so she could trace the lines with her tongue, all the way down to his –

Am I... jealous right now? I don’t even know this man.

“Who did that tattoo?” you question harshly, green flame of envy igniting in your chest.

“This one?” he chuckles softly, tugging at the hem of his loincloth.

You drop your head, gaze locked on your hands fiddling with the net, hoping to hide the blood that’s rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah. That one.”

“Again. And I tell you.” he pulls the hem back up before crossing his arms over his chest.

Your gaze snaps back up to him, eyes wide with excitement. This is the first time he’d be revealing anything personal about himself. A smile splits your lips as you fix the net in your hands once more, burrowing your feet into the sand. Your eyes narrow on the target – a school of fish off in the near distance.

Twisting your torso, you cast the fishnet, watching it splay out perfectly and trap majority of the fish. You stare in awe, surprised that it even splayed out much less caught some fish. Once it registers, you jump up in glee, quickly turning to your teacher to see his pleased expression and slight nod.

“I did.” he utters, a smirk barely pulling at his lips.

Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you’re perplexed by his two words. “Huh?” you huff, brows pinching together in confusion.

“I did the tattoo.” he says, holding eye contact with you.

“Oh.” your lips pucker at the words, furrowed brows now raising in understanding. Being so surprised by yourself – finally getting something right – you forgot about your little deal.

He breaks eye contact to look over at your perfectly casted fishnet. “If you ride an ilu, maybe I show you the rest of it.” he says through his thick accent, making his way towards the fishnet. “Since you are so... interested.”

“I-I’m not – it, it is just in a – an interesting spot.” you stutter, eyes locked onto your twiddling thumbs.

“Ah.” he gathers the fishnet in his large hands, bundling it together to call it a day. “If you say so... vultsyìp [stick; tree branch]”

“What did you just call me?” your leer snaps up, eyelids squinting at his tensed back muscles that flex and relax as he gathers the net.

A smile pulls at his lips, although you can barely see it from the angle in which he’s facing. It’s contagious, causing your own lips to curl, and soon enough you’re giggling into your hand.

----

Ralak became the light in the darkness, pulling you out of your shell and filling you with the purpose that you once lost. Things came quick to you, thanks to him. He was a great teacher, always patient with you, never showing his agitation – or any other emotion for that matter.

You learned how to hold your breath properly in only a week, due to his persistence and confidence in you. He’d always be quick to praise you after you accomplished something, whether that be with a quick clap, a gentle tap on the back, or – in bigger accomplishments – a hug.

The bond between the two of you strengthened. Overnight. You put a crack in his walls, and bits of his true self began to shine through them. And that was your biggest accomplishment yet. To see a person with the strength of five men turn into a little water puppy in front of you, and you only.

There would be moments where his façade of indifference would drop completely. The moments where he would chuckle a little too loudly, a little too long. Where that shy smile grew wide enough to flash his lengthy canines, and a primal part of you that you tried to supress, desired to know what they felt like sunk into your neck. Clamping down on you while you writhe underneath him, being tamed by his touch.

The moments where you’d tease one another about your differences. His stature in comparison to yours. Pressing your hands together, only for yours to be lost in his palm. And when you pulled away, your fingers intertwined ever so slightly, prickling the skin all over your body. He loved to tease you. Honestly a little too much, poking at your chest with a figurative finger about how you favoured that of a vultsyìp. It’s what got you riled up the most and soon it became your nickname.

Until the day you successfully rode your first ilu.

It was an exhilarating experience, nothing like what you had experienced prior. You glided through the water effortlessly, flowing with the movements of the blubbery creature. When you broke the waters’ surface, Ralak stood proudly in the shallow end, arms crossed over his chest with a smile on his face. It was a rare occurrence – that smile.

And when you laid your eyes on such a sight, the butterflies flew back into your stomach, fluttering and flapping harder than they ever have. They soon became plenty in number, filling your stomach to the brim until you can no longer suppress the way you feel. The flutter in your stomach radiated throughout your body, sending your legs fluttering too. You swam quickly to him, surprising yourself with your speed.

--

“You did it. Like I said.” he smiles smugly.

“Hope you didn’t forget about our deal.” you grin, wringing out the water from your hair.

“You would not let me.” he scoffs, shaking his head as he uncrosses his arms. “Ready?” he asks, cocking a brow while his fingers glide down his stomach, finding purchase under the under the band of his loincloth.

“From the moment I saw it, karyu.” you say, voice feigned with confidence.

He could see through your disguise, though. It only makes him chuckle, to see such a little thing act so big – so dauntless. He tugs his loincloth down, taut strings now sinking into his upper thighs, revealing not only the entirety of his tattoo but also the base of his length.

“H-how did you manage to do that all on your own? Didn’t it hurt?” you ask sheepishly, voice laced with concern.

“Bottle of fermented fruit and a rag to bite. No pain.” he answers, Metkayina accent thick.

You examine it a little closer, leaning in to have a better look. It’s raised, very slightly – invisible to anyone not staring as intently as you are. Most definitely because it’s hand poked, by himself of all people. An innocent thought floods your mind, so loud that you couldn’t stop the movement of your own hand.

How does it feel?

“Can I –” you glance up at him briefly, hand hovering over the tattoo, “Can I touch it?”

His brows and ears shudder for just a few seconds. He quickly regains his composure, swallowing silently before giving you a single nod. Fingertips experimentally graze over the tattoo, taking in its bumpy texture. Your digits trace each line of his tattoo, down to his pelvis. A sudden jerk of his hips causes you to yank your hand back.

“S-sorry, Ralak.” you mumble, feeling a little ashamed that you may have made him uncomfortable.

But in all honesty, your innocent, little touches were arousing him and he didn’t want you to know. 

“Nothing to be sorry about.” he states, fixing his loincloth.

You straighten your spine, a foot stepping back to create space that you think he wants, only for him to pull you in for a hug.

“You did well today, vultsyìp.” he mumbles, hands resting on your head and back. “Tsurak [skimwing] next and you will be Metkayina.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it.” you giggle, warm embrace and snarky commentary ebbing away whatever feelings of doubt tensing your chest.

It’s the way his huge arms engulf you that make you feel so protected and accepted. It’s something you always looked forward to after a big achievement. You lean into him, laying your head on his chest. The smell of sea salt mixed with leather hide wafts up your nose. You take a deep breath, holding it in your lungs until you feel light in the head. Releasing your breath with a loud huff, you smile widely.

It’s so enticing, so addictive.

“You always do that.” he chuckles breathily, swiping back a few strands of hair stuck to your temple.

“’ts not my fault you sea people smell so good.” you mumble into his chest, taking in another deep breath.

“Ah.” he exhales, hand cupping the back of your head. “My hì’i vultsyìp [little stick]” he almost grimaces at his words, it just wasn’t fitting anymore. Not for situations like these. Not when his chest feels so tight.

You lift your head and stare up at him with eyes of innocence. He looks down at you, ocean blue eyes searching yours. You’d never even noticed the little yellow ring around his pupils until now, how they shimmer when the light catches them just right. There’s an unspoken tension, thick in the air – so thick it makes you swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks. Your smile fades, lips parting as your breaths turn hot.

Eyes growing heavy, they almost close in anticipation that he might – just might – kiss you.

“Tanhì.” he mutters, eyes minutely shifting between each freckle on your forehead. He’s counts them, admiring how they embellish your supple, dark blue skin.

Your smile returns like it never left, except it’s wider – brighter. The last ray of sun shines through the sliver of a gap between your silhouettes, averting your attention to the oncoming eclipse.

“Thank you, karyu.” you whisper, reluctantly pulling away from his arms to make the trek back home.

“Tomorrow...” he watches your small figure shrink as you walk away. “...my tanhì.”

--

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[eywa-eveng]

ᴠᴏᴡs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ & ʀᴏɴᴀʟ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴹᴱᵀᴷᴬᵞᴵᴺᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.8k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst, hurt/comfort, slight nsfw

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – pregnancy, mentions of childbirth

A lorpaytsyal with its rows of shimmering fins swims past, stirring a cloud of syuratan that glitters like a burst of blue stars over the sun speckled sand. The shape of the white light bends to the pattern of the rippling waves, tracing out swirling shapes that break only in the shadows beneath the rows of coral. The polyps bloom in shades of purple, spindly limbs weaving together to form a canopy of darkness. Some pieces are broken, the cracked knobs revealing inner layers where something tore away the unwanted sprigs. The stony flesh of the coral has been cracked and shaped into a small alcove, just big enough to host a nest. A bed of stray lengths of seaweed and dead fragments of coral sit in the space hollowed out in the shadiest part of the sea floor. It’s lit with only the faintest glow of blue algae that’s dotted over the eggs nestled within the shallow burrow. Nestled in the shallow burrow are eggs, enough that a few going missing wouldn’t be enough to noticeably deplete the clutch.  

Light warms the hidden recess as you swim closer, the txampaysye clinging to your back filling the dusky hollow with the light of a soft sunrise. The pale green shells take on hues of gentle yellow and warm pink as you pick over the mound of eggs. They’re small, no larger than your palm, and each is only the weight of a small stone. You’re careful as you sift through them. The shells are soft and pliable, the texture like skin as you press lightly against each one. Curious fingers trace over the weighted areas of the wrinkled shells, feeling the slightest silhouette of the sea snake growing within. The light of the gill mantle is just enough to pierce through the thin membrane to the veins lacing through the shell. Each occupied egg is set gently aside but every few are empty, unviable. The shells harden when there is no life to support inside it. Though there’s no way for the mother to know that so you’re quick about your work, checking and replacing the eggs before an angry snake comes threading through the net of coral branches. By the time you’ve picked over the entire nest you’re left with a bounty of six eggs that you tuck gratefully into the satchel slung across your chest. 

It’s already heavy with other trinkets found during your exploration. Pearls in shades of blue and pink, shards of crystal smoothed over by the tide, and shells formed into delicate designs. The fabric of your pouch is nearly over encumbered as you tuck the last egg inside, leather ties straining as you tighten it closed. Sunlight traces across your skin as you swim away from the resettled nest, spears of light beginning to poke through the farther you get from the center of the coral hoard. The light of your tanhì flickers out as you emerge, sunlight swallowing the flecks of bioluminescence as it dances over your skin. Its warmth is lost in the coolness of the water as you swim, calling for your tsurak with a few throaty clicks. It takes time and a few more calls before the skimwing returns in its own time, darting through the forest of sea plants and schools of meandering fish to find you, though it doesn’t stop to allow you to mount as it rushes past. There’s a practiced ease to catching the handle of its saddle and tucking yourself against its back. Tsurak are known to be temperamental creatures, stubborn and selective with who they allow to bond with them. 

It is only your own temperament that keeps your fieresome companion returning after hunting in the open ocean. Some mounts have been known to leave the village and never return, leaving their rider to find another mount to bond with. It’s a vague fear whenever you go beyond the bounds of the village. You are not a hunter despite your childhood training. There is no reason for you to be beyond the seawall if not for your own pleasure and your tsurak knows this, can feel it each time tsaheylu is made. Your curiosity and excitement sings through the bond. It should’ve been tampered years ago and likely left you without a willing mount but you’ve yet to allow expectations to dampen your indulgences. There is balance in your excursions. For every treasure you find there is something of utility. Bones to be made into needles and knives, healing plants that only grow in the deeper waters, fish that seem to favor areas beyond the village. You leave no room for reproach and so you’ve been allowed to continue to spend your days however you’d like, coming and going as you please unless something in the village demands your attention. Still you return while the sun is still high in the sky. 

The terraces are crowded with people fishing as your tsurak leaps over the wall, beating its wings with a loud screech that draws eyes to your arrival. There’s no slowing even as the shore draws closer. Instead you simply loosen your grip and pull your tswin free of the bond, sinking into the water as your tsurak turns tail towards the open water once more. It leaves you in a cloud of frothy bubbles stirred by the rapid swing of its tail fins, unbothered by your distance from land. This is the way of things between you. Your chosen mount is bolder than most, hardly tampered by your own personality echoed through tsaheylu. It is a privilege to ride such creatures and it never lets you forget even after so many years of bonding. 

Warmth kisses your cheeks as you surface for a breath before diving back into the water. The morning had been tiring, your palms and feet scuffed and sore from climbing along the jagged edges of the island cliffs. The shore isn’t so far off that you’ll tire before you can reach it yet you still roll to your back and allow your body to float on the gentle waves. A deep orange glow plays behind your eyelids as you close them against the bright light beaming overhead, the heat of it drying the drops of water from your exposed skin. Beneath the water, the lazy paddling of your tail is interrupted by a quick tug that shocks your eyes open, stinging your gaze with the white heat of the sun. It’s hardly frightening as you recognize the distinct feeling of fingers wrapped around your appendage, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant sort of shock. The white clouds seared into your eyes disappear as your secondary lids slide closed as you look beneath the water to see the one bold enough to snatch at your tail. 

A sharp swing of your hips yanks you free of Tayku’s grip and he lets go willingly, raising his hands in a show of peace even as a roguish smile plays at his scarred lips. The boy is young–young enough to be your son–and yet he chases your tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. There’s an air of flirtation about him as he swims circles around you, the smug smile never leaving his face. His intentions are clear, as clear as your own answer has been. A terse rejection is what he and all your other suitors have received since this new season of courting began. It’s why you find yourself beyond the bounds of Awa’atlu more often than not in recent days. To avoid interactions such as these where the newly made men of the clan come nipping at your ankles, yapping about giving you strong sons. 

It wouldn’t be so terrible if they were closer to your own age, if you hadn’t watched them grow up alongside your firstborn. Each of his life achievements you’d been there to see and now he’s pulling his tswin over his shoulder in a bold display of his intentions. It would almost be endearing if he was younger and didn’t yet know the weight of his words and what he is asking for. But he’s a man now, one of the People, and knows exactly what he’s asking for as he tilts his head and flashes his fangs. You watch him posture and boast in the water for a few moments longer before rolling your eyes hard enough to open your secondary lids and turn to swim towards the shore. 

A brief surface for air gives Tayku a chance to swim beneath you and you nearly knock into him when you dive under again. He’s close, not so close that you can scold his overly familiar behavior, but just near enough that you can’t forget his presence. He clings close like a fish to the underside of a nalutsa, swimming with his face towards the surface and eyes on you. His distance is well-placed, just far enough to keep out of range of your annoyance. For all their simpering advances the young men don’t allow their infatuation to cloud their knowledge of your brash personality. This is the closest Tayku has gotten in all his advances and he still knows to keep out of your reach after inciting your temper with his childish grabbing. You’ve never been known to be particularly docile. If you were a fruit your skin would have thorns and your meat would be sour before it turned sweet, a delicacy only few people could enjoy despite the outwardly attractive look. 

«I was looking for you earlier.» Tayku signs, perfectly timing his words to your sparing glances towards him. It isn’t interest that draws your eyes to him. You’re more curious to see if he’ll leave you be if he’s ignored, though it seems Tayku has taken your brief glances to mean more than they are. He must have because he doesn’t abandon the conversation even as you arrive at the village, pulling yourself on to one of the many overhanging paths without so much as a parting glance. He stutters for a moment as you whip your loose hair over your shoulder, pelting his face with stray drops of water. 

“Where did you go today?” He asks after pushing his own damp hair away from his face, arm flexing purposefully. He’s harder to ignore outside of the water being the size that he is. Tall and wide, crowding your vision as he trots along beside you, uncaring of where you may be leading him. It hardly matters. The village is a place of finite spaces and he’s well aware of where your marui is. All of your suitors are if the gifts left outside your pod are any indication. Newly tanned fish leather, a carved box full of delicate beads, a freshly caught fish wrapped in thick leaves. There has been no shortage of anything in your home since the village welcomed its newest adults into the ranks. 

It feels so strange to be spoiled in this way again after so many years. Your time for courting had come and gone with no mate to show for it. Your son was made from a humble request for a fertility match. A quiet meeting with the village elders and tsahìk praying that Eywa grant you the child you’d so desperately wanted despite your lack of a mate. It had taken some time but they found an auspicious match and you fell pregnant quickly after, still unmated but filled with new life. It’s just as well that the two of you forwent the forging of tsaheylu seeing as your child’s father went on to be named olo’eyktan soon after you fell pregnant. He was mated off to the chosen tsahìk as is tradition and you certainly didn’t have the knowledge to assume such an esteemed position. 

The three of you became a true family, raising your children together as proper siblings despite their mixed parentage. And seeing Ronal pregnant again after so many years has raised the desire to be a mother within you once more. It was your mistake in making your intentions known to others because now you have men like Tayku trailing after you in the hopes that they’ll be the father of your next child. Never mind that they’re all nearly the same age as your first, some younger in fact. Far too young to be sniffing after you like a hunting nantang. You say as much but Tayku simply laughs, tossing his head back as if you’ve just told the funniest joke. He’s hardly being subtle in his advances. It’s nearly desperate how badly he wants to please you and yet he won’t indulge your greatest desire of being left alone to find a willing man on your accord. You’d been there for the first matchmaking and now know what to look for. An unestablished man is not something you are interested in at your age. If you are to share a parultsyìp with someone you’d rather they know their place among the clan.

Tonowari was beyond your expectations. The day the elders had collected you, and led you to a marui seldom used and sequestered within a particularly thick thatch of mangrove roots, you hadn’t known what to expect. Least of your wildest imaginings had been the clan’s finest warrior and chosen successor to the olo’eyktan. Everything that Tayku is even now in his youth is a single spark next to the open flame that Tonowari was when he was the same age. He’d been a few years your elder when you formally met, already covered in a multitude of scars and tattoos. Testamates to his prowess. It was your honor to give him his first child. 

His arrangement with Ronal was to the benefit of the clan and you’d never begrudge them that. If not for the elders’ decision you would’ve been settled with less than the best the clan had to offer you. It hardly mattered that he was mated so soon after. And now, nothing would make you lower yourself to allow the first man that asks to father your next child. If you were to have another baby it would be with a man who had earned his place within the clan, not these boys that had only just come into their own. 

“Did you find anything interesting today?” Despite your lack of answers Tayku keeps up a steady stream of chatter that sounds like bugs buzzing in your ear. He’s sweet and eager to please, and handsome despite the thick scar running through his lips. He will make a woman very happy someday. But not you. And you aren’t selfish enough to rein him in until you’re satisfied that he’s proven himself. That could take months or years and by that time he’d expect to mate fully for all the trouble you’d put him through. It wasn’t something you wanted. 

Being tied so closely to someone has always held a bit of terror to someone like you, utterly uninterested in staying tied down. When you were younger you dreamed of exploring the ocean, of visiting with neighboring sea clans and learning their traditions. But now you have your son, you have your family. Even without a mate you’ve managed to halt any plans of leaving Awa’atlu for too long. Still your childish fear of being mated persists. It may be rare but mating bonds can go sour and without death to break it you’re left tied to someone your soul no longer desires. It makes you wonder if Tayku even realizes what he’s asking of you. He has heard that you want another child, yes, but he courts you as if he expects tsaheylu to be made. You’re little more than a stranger to him, the mother of his childhood friend. To be tied to you could be his nightmare but he can’t see past the opportunity to lay with a previously untouchable woman. The thought is dizzying. 

“Don’t you have chores to attend to?” You ask at last, tiring of him shadowing your every move through the village. He raises his chin, grinning down at you, most likely elated that you’ve finally deigned to speak to him after his flaccid attempts at starting a conversation. 

“I’m already finished. I went hunting early this morning and my catch was enough for the day.” He goes on about the two large fish he caught along with his regular bounty, enough to measure the haul of any other hunter still out fishing beyond the reef, caught within the first few hours of the day. “I wanted to bring you one but I couldn’t find you.” Just as well because you wouldn’t have accepted his gift. A fish as large as he says is far too sumptuous to hoard to yourself with only you and your family. It’s a lavish courting gift, one that anyone would be elated to receive, but it would be passed out of your hands just as quickly as it came, sent off to feed the village as it should. 

“Do not feed me before the village. Your duties come before your indulgences.” It’s what you were always told when you were caught sneaking off somewhere but he blinks as if he’s never been scolded in the same way, his smile slipping for a moment. Your words are no harsher than they’d usually be but it seems they’ve finally started to break through the shell of adoration he’s formed around himself. Of all your aspiring mates he is one that has lasted the longest, clinging to even the thinnest thread of hope that you might one day share in his laughter or return a flirting remark. Instead you’ve remained steadfast in your rejection. In the days to come you can only hope he will fall away and shun you like the others, scorned and embarrassed by their own insistence that they’d be the exception. His mood only worsens, smile falling completely, when your son’s voice carries down the path towards the two of you.   

Ketsräno stands with his brother at his side, both their faces drawn tight in a show of hostility. Ao’nung has his spear in hand, ears drawn back as he glowers at the man beside you. Tayku is closer to his age, an old playmate and friend that slowly fell away as his responsibilities expanded. It is easy to see why neither of your sons would be happy to find an old acquaintance lingering close to their mother. 

“Ma Sempul is asking for you.” Ketsräno says, eyes not leaving Tayku’s face. A heaving sigh empties your lungs. Returning to the village has been one inconvenience strung after another like beads choked around your throat. It had been your hope to return home and go over all of the morning’s findings, but the wind has seen fit to blow you from one discomfort to the next. Tonowari is one of the people you’d least like to see today aside from these men flocking to you like hì’ikran over a dead fish. His sentiment towards you seems to have soured lately and you aren’t keen on subjecting yourself to his sullen mood. But the summons seem to keep Tayku at bay, at the very least. Any man with love for his life would be too afraid to follow you into the akula’s den Tonowari’s home has become in regards to you. Or perhaps he simply isn’t keen on testing your sons as they part to allow you past before meeting shoulder to shoulder once more, a clear sign for their old friend to keep his distance. 

They’re fiercely protective of both you and Ronal. It’s your hope that you’ll find the tsahìk at home beside her husband but there is no such grace upon your arrival. The marui is deserted save for the olo’eyktan sitting just inside the entrance whittling away at a piece of gnarled driftwood. 

A glance at the sun still sitting at its peak in the sky tells you none of your children will be joining their father for many hours to come. Tsireya will be teaching the village children, and Ao’nung and Ketsräno will likely have returned to their own chores. If Eywa is kind Ronal might return to relieve some of the tension already beginning to fill the home. Emotional discord incites her temper. As tsahìk she empathizes in a way that runs far deeper than anyone else and the labor on her soul is nearly exhausting at times. Her tolerance for such things in her own home has dwindled to nothingness with her pregnancy. If your silent prayers are heard Ronal will return shortly and send you away before Tonowari can finish saying his piece. Because he seems to be in no rush to speak to you despite asking for you as wood shavings gather at his feet. It must be his expectation that you’ll speak first, a trap for him to find something to pick at you for. You tighten your satchel over your chest and hope he won’t ask about its contents as you go about making a purposeful formal greeting. 

“Oel ngati kameie, olo’eyktan.” You bow far lower than necessary and watch Tonowari’s lip twitch with displeasure. “Your son said that you were looking for me. How may I be of service, nawmtu?” It’s a thinly veiled dig and he knows it. There’s no reason for such formalities between the two of you. You may not be his mate but he is still the father of your child and that affords you some privileges when it comes to speaking with him. Purposefully invoking formal speech is a slight against him, as if he is a stranger to you, a clan leader and nothing more. At last he sets aside the wood he’s carved into a lethal point and sheathes his knife, standing to his full height. His jaw is set, muscles flicking beneath the ink of his tattoos. 

“‘Nawmtu?’” His tone is curt, brows knit tight as he stares down at you. 

“Have I said something wrong?” He nods with soured understanding at your coy question, clearly not pleased with your sudden lack of sense. He stands aside and nods for you to enter and you bow in thanks despite having entered his home many times with no permission needed. This is the place your son was raised, of course you have long since been given leave to come and go as you please. And yet you stand just inside the entrance, feet not moving a step further until Tonowari pulls the covering shut to be sure your meeting won’t be disturbed. Any hope of Ronal coming to dissuade her mate’s brewing anger is dissipated with the closing of the curtain.

Without the uncovered entrance the marui has gone somewhat dark, only the faintest light filtering through the blue membrane woven into the curved wall. It’s not so dark that you can’t see but just dim enough that Tonowari’s tanhì have come to life. Anxiety curls in your stomach like stinging tendrils. What had you done to make him so upset with you that he wants no one to stumble upon this conversation? Many nights have been wasted worrying over what could’ve made him turn so cold towards you in recent times, and many more days were lost returning the bitter feelings he has given you. The love you thought you had for each other has withered on the vine, leaving only this angry awkwardness in its wake. At least Ronal is still kind, still loving, albeit more distant than before. 

If he will not speak on it you will not ask. So the two of you stand in the dusky room, eyeing each other with no words to say. He has called you here. If he wants to speak you’ll hear him, but it won’t be your voice that sparks the embers simmering between you. 

“Sit.” He says at last. His voice is stripped of any emotion. There’s only the blunt command of a man above your rank. Your knees find the woven floor and your teeth nip at your lip, biting near to bursting to keep your less than polite remarks at bay. It’s clear his patience with your attitude has thinned beyond salvaging. It feels as if you’re a child at your parent’s feet, waiting to be scolded for unruly behavior despite your age. You’ve aged far beyond reproach, but no matter your relations Tonowari is still olo’eyktan. 

“There are no eyes but mine to see you now, so let this song and dance be finished.” He expects that your attitude will dissipate because he asked it of you? After weeks of animosity he wants to call off your ire with only a few words. Not even an apology for forcing you to anger. It’s almost insulting how sure he seems of your complacency. He walks to sit behind you and you flinch at the feeling of his hand brushing behind your ear. First one then the other as he removes the dried fish fins you weave into your hair. The style is reminiscent of how forest Na’vi adorn their hair with feathers, though it’s a rarer style to find in Awa’atlu. Still, in recent times you’ve noticed younger women beginning to favor your hair ornaments and clothing. Likely in the hopes of catching one of the men trying their hardest to court you. The thought of Tayku and the rest willfully ignoring girls that would happily be courted only further sours your mood and distracts you enough that Tonowari’s hand brushing against the nape of your neck startles you. 

“What is on your mind that you’re so distant from me?” His voice rolls like thunder through the dark pod as he begins to comb through your hair, carefully unwinding any tangles he finds. So it’s you that wedged this distance between you? It also must have been you that started this battle of poorly concealed anger. How can you be faulted for your distance when it was he who first sent you away with his sudden lack of kindness?

“Where is Ronal?” It is not what you mean to say but it’s the only thought plaguing your mind aside from the resentment festering in your heart. 

“Ronal?” He seems taken aback. “I’ve called you here and you are thinking of her? How far your heart has gone from me.” 

“It isn’t me who put this distance between us.” You say bitterly. It is not your place to be faulted for his own lack of accountability. 

“No?” He doesn’t sound convinced. If anything he sounds more incensed than he had been before. “I’ve been hearing things recently, talk among the People.”

“There is always talk in the village.” It’s how days are passed. Idle chatting about small squabbles and other petty drama between people. Family rivalries persist through generations, childhood rifts persist through the years, age old stories are told to warn younglings against the mistakes of the past. Talk never ceases, it rolls in and out like the tide, constantly renewing with more things to whisper and laugh over while cooking or fishing. The elders of the village are far more intune with the business of everyone else, but it isn’t so surprising that things have gotten back to Tonowari. It is his job to keep the clan in harmony and he can’t do that if he allows conflicts to fester without at least a small acknowledgement. 

“Yes, there is always talk, but very seldom does it involve your name.”

“But it isn’t surprising if it does.” Whatever gossip has spread with your name linked to it can hardly be of consequence. “Is someone questioning my abilities as a tattooist? I’ve heard Wepxtil has gotten better at his craft as of late. If he wants to spread word that his abilities have eclipsed mine I don’t care enough to stop him.” You’re one of the most renowned tattooists in the clan and many people carry your marks on their skin. The elders have said that hands like yours are only born once every few generations. If someone wants to question your abilities they’ll simply have to ask Eywa why she has blessed you so graciously. 

“It isn’t about your tattoos. No one would believe that someone that just passed his rites could rival your abilities. It is about other names that have been spoken in the same breath as yours. Rumors of your future.” 

“Speak clearly then.” You’re growing tired of his words swimming in circles. 

“There is talk of you wanting another child.” He says it as if he’s swallowed poison, like the words sting his tongue as he speaks. 

“Is that all? It is the truth. I want another child. Ketsräno is a man now. He doesn’t need his mothers to dote on him as Ronal and I used to. My nest will be empty once he finds a mate. I want a new baby to love. Seeing Ronal pregnant again has made me miss motherhood. She looks so happy. I’m jealous.” The last part is said in jest as an attempt to lighten the heaviness in the air. You could never be jealous of Ronal. She is strong and beautiful, yes, but she is your equal in family matters. Your hearts share a bond that is deeper than simple friendship. Her children are yours in all but blood. You’ve raised them as your own just as she has raised your son. There is only love between you. Or there had been before this sudden rift. Tonowari doesn’t seem to hear the joke in your voice. His hands fall still in your hair. 

“Jealous?” 

“Not truly.” You rush, trying to keep the exasperation from your voice. “I only meant that seeing her pregnant again has brought back cherished memories. I’m not too old to have another. I would like to have at least one more.” 

“So it’s true. You want another child.”

“Why are you treating this as if it is a problem? I expected that you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy?” His anger bubbles over at last. His hands fall away from their idle combing and he stands to pace, tail strained tight with tension. “How can I find happiness when you try to keep this from me? I didn’t hear these words from your own mouth, I had to hear them from others.” 

“I hadn’t thought it mattered to tell you. I was going to see about any unmated men of the clan that showed interest before asking for another match from the elders. Though I suppose I should’ve gone to the elders as I had before, or at least asked Ronal of her opinion. Trying to find a match myself has been like catching fish in a torn net.” Which is to say it has been a failure, time and time again. The men your age had overlooked you once before or you turned away their offers of courtship for one reason or another. In the years since Ketsräno’s birth your options have only continued to dwindle. Now it feels as if you’re trying to reap crops from infertile land. 

“You still have not mentioned speaking to me about this.”

“What need would I have of your advice? I respect your word, of course, but fertility matches are matters for tsahìk and the elders. Olo’eyktan was not needed for my last match.” His insistence surprises you. Tonowari has been a strong and magnanimous leader since he was named olo’eyktan but he has always known his place, deferring to Ronal and consulting with village elders on things that were beyond his years of wisdom. Never have you known him to dip his hand into things that were of no concern to his position. He shifts to kneel before you, body moving with the tight precision of a bow being drawn. Tension has gathered on his shoulders beneath his mantle of akula teeth. 

“What need?” He tilts his head in a way you recognize, ears quirking upwards in interest as he assumes the tone he’d always use when the children asked him a simple question. It was slow and understanding of their lack of knowledge. For him to turn it on you as if you know nothing of what you speak about is patronizing. At last your distaste can’t be quelled and your lips pull back to show the points of your teeth. Instead of heeding the obvious show of hostility Tonowari laughs. It’s short and humorless but a chuckle nonetheless. 

Heat flashes across your cheeks, down your neck, and up your ears as they pull tight against your head. The loud hiss that accompanies the burst of hot embarrassment is perhaps the first you’ve ever directed at Tonowari. There’s never been a need to snap at him aside from a few dissatisfied scoffs when his words are just a touch too cruel when the children have misbehaved, though you’re admittedly the least strict of the three of you. Still it’s well deserved now as he treats you as if you’re a child for not confiding in him something that was none of his concern. Perhaps you might’ve told him when you found a match as you would’ve everyone else close to you, but now, before decisions have been made? He has no part in it.

You draw in a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your chest. “Apologize. Now.”

“You want an apology?” His tone isn’t as cruel now. Instead he sounds disbelieving as if demanding anything of him is beyond what he expected of your audacity. 

“Yes, I want an apology. You’ve been speaking to me with such disdain as if I’ve done something wrong for making a change in my life! It hasn’t even come to pass and here you are shaming me for going about it in a way that doesn’t suit your tastes. Apologize and tell me plainly what you want to say. I can’t know your mind if you do not share it with me.” The two of you are not mates, you do not share the deep emotional bond that forms when tsaheylu is made. Perhaps Ronal as tsahìk and his mate could parse what has been eating at his spirit but you aren’t so enlightened to his deepest thoughts. If he has something weighing on his mind the only way to share it is through words. Not this callous critiquing and avoiding he’s taken to. 

Tonowari sits back on his heels, no longer leaning towards you as he seems to mull over your words. His eyes linger on your face as if he’s trying to trace the shape of your pil with his gaze. It would almost be disheartening, his silence, if you didn’t know him to be a man of carefully considered words. In all things he is calm and collected. Striking only when a target is within reach and speaking only when he’s sure of his words. 

“I’m disappointed.” He says at last. 

“Disappointed?” Your voice is pitched with disbelief. “Because I want an apology after the way you’ve been treating me?” 

“Because you can’t seem to imagine why I would want to be told about this.” He still doesn’t sound angry. He rarely is. But he truly does sound incredulous as his lips pinch together to stave off the smile curling at the corners of his mouth. If he’d been truly upset before, the feeling has passed like a storm. Now he seems amused as he watches you work through your thoughts. He’s speaking in riddles, words tied into knots for you to try to unravel. 

“Is this because of Ketsräno?” At last a gentler expression finds the olo’eyktan’s face. 

“In part, yes, this is because of our son.” The way he says it is more possessive than you’ve ever known him to be. Our son. A reminder that the two of you will always be intrinsically linked no matter the paths you choose to walk. Still, you can’t fully understand his meaning. 

“What about our son? I have no interest in any of his old friends that have been fawning over me if that is your worry.” 

He frowns. “They should not be trying to court you.” 

“I’ve made my disinterest known but they’re rather persistent. It’s almost insulting that they think I would entertain their advances even for a moment.” 

“I agree, they’re reaching far beyond their place. But it would stop if you made your choice. I can be of assistance if you would only let me.” 

“Then who would you suggest?” He seems taken about by your requests for a name as if he hadn’t just offered his insight in the matter. When you say nothing more he nods slowly as if he’s made a decision he doesn’t wish to share.

“If you don’t know then I don’t wish to speak of it any longer. Clearly our hearts aren’t as closely aligned as I once thought we were.” He decides. 

“If you don’t wish to speak then I’ll leave. No sense in us sitting here exchanging barbs. You won’t tell me what you truly want to say and I’m not going to force it from you. It’s clear neither of us are in a place to speak kindly with one another.” He stands as you do, and for a moment you expect him to stand in your way. He doesn’t but seems to think better of it as his hand catches your shoulder before you can push the covering aside. With the petulance of a child you wrench your shoulder free of his hand only to tear your satchel as the overencumbered fabric finally gives way under the harsh movement. Crystals, shells, pearls, and eggs spill over the floor, leaving a glittering heap at your feet. For a moment you simply stand there, not even looking down to acknowledge the mess that’s been made of your collection. When at last you look down Tonowari is already there collecting what he can into his hands, pausing when he picks up one of the eggs. He stands, staring at the small egg in his palm.

“How many times have I asked you to stay out of their nests?” He asks slowly, fist curling around the hardened shell. It won’t burst as a fertile egg would but there’s a fear that his hold will be enough to shatter it as his knuckles begin to pale with the tightness of his grip. You ignore him and gather what you can in your hands, fully intending to leave without another word. He doesn’t allow you. Instead he lifts your chin with a gentle hand, blue eyes burning into yours. 

“You never listen.” He says softly. “What if you’d been hurt?”

“I wasn’t. I am not a child. I can take care of myself.” You say hotly despite the common knowledge that the ocean holds beauty and danger in equal parts. On another day you might’ve heeded his words as a gentle reminder to take care of yourself and not sprint into danger, but today you only hear incessant insults. 

“You’re acting like a child.” He snaps, anger finally rushing forward. You scoff, stepping back away from his touch. With your salvaged treasures held tight to your chest you turn to leave. He calls after you, drawing eyes to watch you stride purposefully away from him. Here is more kindle for their fire. How the rumors will grow with whispers of strife between you and Tonowari. No one but your family has seen the growing tensions between the two of you and now it’s laid bare for all to see. The prying eyes allow you the courtesy of pretending not to see either of you as he storms back inside, not bothering to follow you. His stubbornness is a blessing as you retreat home with all the dignity of a finless fish. 

What has changed? What has gone so wrong that Tonowari seems perturbed by your every decision. The first instances of his more callous attitude trace back to when you’d idly mentioned having another child while fishing in the terraces. The seawall has always been a breeding pool for village gossip and it doesn’t surprise you that rumors have sprung up like flowers in the wake of your thoughtless banter. He must’ve hoarded the knowledge to himself, let it poison his every thought of you until it all came rushing forward at once. 

There’s a braided band of flowers waiting just outside the marui when you return home and you nudge it inside with your foot, quickly drawing your own coverings to properly wallow in your thoughts by your lonesome. The treasures you salvaged from the floor are dumped unceremoniously into a basket. Some had gotten left behind but you don’t even want to look at what you’d managed to save. Instead you focus on cooking. Lighting a fire and gathering ingredients to keep your mind from wandering. 

Ketsräno doesn’t come home even when the evening deepens to night. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, him not joining you to eat. Most meals are taken in communal eating areas or with the entire family. It is you that hasn’t been where you’re expected to be of late, the shared hostility driving you away from the simple comforts of a family meal. Instead you eat in silence, watching the dying embers of the cookfire. The night isn’t quite deep enough to sleep but you’re exhausted both physically and mentally. 

Tomorrow will be spent close to home, perhaps sequestered away just as you are now, with chores that keep you away from anyone else. Leaving home would mean facing your foolhardy suitors and disgruntled olo’eyktan. Neither sound appealing as you go about straightening the marui in the fading firelight before unfurling your bedroll, keen to be done with the day. You’ve only just laid down when someone enters the pod. Expecting that it’s your son returning from his meal, you simply roll away from the light coming through the parted covering, intent on falling asleep as quickly as possible. The blue light of Naranawm disappears just as quickly as it appears in the corner of your eye as the curtain is drawn once more. When no word of a greeting comes you know it isn’t your son. After a moment the marui swells with flickering light despite your groaning protests. 

“I am sleeping.” You complain, pulling the dark curls of your hair across your eyes in a vain attempt to shun the low light now filling your home. 

“Not deeply enough to stop you from speaking.” Ronal tuts. “I come to comfort you and you can’t spare me a single look?” Of course it’s her that has come for an unannounced visit. Where was she when you needed her earlier to help mitigate her mate’s bitter attitude? 

“What do you want, Ronal?” You sigh, finally sitting up to look at her. You needed her with you before, now you shun her presence as she stands beside the shell torch she’s lit with the forgotten wreath of flowers in her hand. It sets her hair alight with a wash of amber light that plays across the thick waves, green eyes paling in the orange light as she scowls at the gift. Distasteful fingers pluck at the flowers before she tosses it down. More petals fall when it lands but she hardly seems interested in the mess she’s made of one of your courting gifts. Truthfully, don’t want that gift or any of the others but there was still work that went into crafting it for you. Maybe you’d kicked it earlier but it deserves better treatment than being torn at by Ronal’s judging fingers. The gift and the boy that left it for you deserve better than your scorn. 

“I want you to be rid of your anger, firstly.” She frowns. “I’ve only just arrived. You have no reason to be upset with me. If you have anger you’d better dispel it before you decide to turn that venomous tongue against me.” 

In most things you and the tsahìk are perfectly matched. That includes a shared propensity for sharp retorts, though Ronal seems to keep her brashness reserved for you in specific. Perhaps because you’re the only one that won’t startle at her blunt responses. Her tongue is sharp as an arrowhead when she means it to be and she won’t spare you from a verbal sparring match if you provoke her. She’s likely to trade jabs with you long into the night if you think to turn your dour mood against her. Though she’s stirred your irritation simply by coming to disturb your peace when it was clear from the shut covering that you want to be left alone for the night. 

You stifle another sigh, letting the anger rush away from you in a deep exhale. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?” 

“I want nothing, it’s you that wants something. Another child, I’ve heard.” It isn’t a question. She means to tell you she already knows what it is that’s upset you and that she’s here to rectify the situation. She and Tonowari must’ve had time to themselves before the children returned home for the night. Ronal wouldn’t dare to raise such a topic of conversation where their ears could hear of their parents’ quarreling, though this goes far beyond the typical spats shared throughout the years. This will set a rift between the three of you that might never be bridged or mended. 

“I do,” your tone is careful, “though it seems my desire has disappointed everyone.” Ronal turns towards you with a swiftness, long skirt twirling around her legs as she snaps at you. 

“Skxawng. Sometimes I think you are willfully wrong.” The heel of her hand thumps your temple when you stand, as if she’s expecting something to rattle loose inside your head. All it earns her is a warning oìsss as you smack her hand away, temper flaring once more.

“Is it my lack of sense or everyone’s lack of explanation?” I snap. “Everyone seems upset but no one will tell me why. May the Great Mother guide me because I do not know what to do anymore.” 

“Ask.” She says it as if you’ve yet to think of such a solution. 

“Ask? That is all?” She stares patiently, emptily. Enough to draw a scowl to your lips. “Alright, Ronal, what do you suggest I do?” Her ear twitches at your sardonic tone but she seems to accept your words as a genuine plea for help. And it is, because you’re desperate to return your life to some semblance of peace. To do away with the pesky suitors and despondent looks from those around you. 

“You are asking for a fertility match?” This is hardly the formal environment in which you first kneeled before the previous tsahìk and passed on elders all those years ago, but Ronal is still tsahìk and she can make a ruling on the matter despite the lax environment. When you confirm your wish she hums. 

“I have already chosen someone suitable for you, if you’ll have him.”

You’re hardly convinced. “Who?”

“Tonowari.” She says easily. Your heart turns to stone in your chest, the weight of it dropping to your stomach. A flash of something cold prickles across your skin like an ocean spray as humiliation warms your cheeks. 

“Don’t mock me!” For a moment you truly thought that she had come to offer her guidance as tsahìk but even now she is clearly teasing, trying to further incite your ire. What had you done that both of the people you hold dearest seek to toy with you in this way. A prickling heat rises behind your eyes as tears begin to blur the edges of your vision. All these years of love and compassion and they’re tossing it aside to tease you for daring to want something more in this life. Ketsräno is all you have that is truly yours and even he is shared with his father. Soon he’ll slip between your fingers, passed from one hand to another as he makes his own path and finds his rightful place among the clan. Is it such an awful thing that you want to go through the journey again? Raising your son has been your greatest honor, more than any glory you’ve received within the clan. You were meant to be a mother and they’re mocking you for it. 

“Get out.” Ronal seems surprised, ears flicking upward as her brows rise in disbelief. “Get out!” 

“No.” She sounds astonished that you’d ask her to leave. 

“Leave! Get out and leave me be!” You aren’t shouting, not yet, mindful that the woven walls aren’t thick enough to trap your voice inside if you speak too loud. 

“Mawey, paskalin.” The term of endearment is hardly mollifying but you gather yourself even so. Anger has turned to sadness and all you want is to be left alone. By Ronal, by Tayku. Everyone. The chaffed heels of your hands are rough against your cheeks as you dry your tears. Ronal pulls your hands away from your face to lead you to your bedroll, pulling you down to sit in front her. Slowly she releases your hands in favor of holding your face. Her thumbs are soft as they brush away the stray tears still beading in your eyes. 

“Ease your storm.” Her voice is low as a roll of thunder though you can’t decide if the rain is coming or going. Going it would seem, as she holds your face like a precious stone between her hands. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Why have you lost faith in us?” Us. As if Tonowari didn’t look to be cursing your name the last you saw him. You left him. Walked away without a second glance as if he meant nothing. A bridge has two sides and both of you have burned them in turn. 

“You have been hurting me at every turn in recent days. Where were you earlier? Surely you knew Tonowari was going to express his anger eventually and you left me with him to drown. At least if you had come to send me away I wouldn’t be so upset now.”

“So it is my fault that Tonowari wished to tell you his feelings? He is a grown man–your olo’eyktan and father of your son–if he wants to air his grievances with you, that is no business of mine. Do not put the blame on me for his actions.” 

“The same way you aren’t blaming me? Because it certainly feels like there is no one else in the world you’d rather snap at than me. What bond can we have if it frays so easily? Son or not, there is no us. Both of you have made that plain to see. There is me and then there’s you and Tonowari. I regret that I spent so long thinking otherwise.”

Ronal tilts her head impatiently. “You don’t believe that.”

“No? Why shouldn’t I when all either of you has done for the past weeks is belittle and mock me for something you would never begrudge another woman? Tonowari acts as though I am stupid for not knowing what he won’t say and doing as I please. And now you’re here to tell me I’m wrong, too. I don’t want to hear it anymore, so, please, leave. Leave so we can move on from this. You are still tsahìk. I will always respect you as such but right now I’m not certain my heart can take being so close to you.” 

Ronal looks as though you’ve struck her across the face, green eyes growing wider with each passing word. For a moment you expect her to stand and storm out, to go back to her home and her family and be done with you as you’ve requested. Instead she sits in silence. Her face is guarded as you try to read her thoughts through the subtle shifting of her muscles. The firelight doesn’t help as it throws shifting shadows over the shape of her face, hollowing her cheeks one moment and darkening her eyes the next. When at last she speaks her voice is doleful,

“We’ve hurt you. It was never our intention and it pains my heart to know your hurt was done by my own hand.” She won’t cry, she’s too resolute for that, but the upset is evident in her voice. “But, you’ve hurt us, too.” Perhaps you have caused them grief lashing out the way you have but it doesn’t absolve them of anything. Biting the hand that stabbed you doesn’t heal your own wounds. 

“We’ve become clouded so let me say this and clear the air; Tonowari and I have given our souls to each other as mates. Before Eywa, tsaheylu was made. This is known.” You nod, unsure of what she’s trying to say. 

“A mating bond is made by choice. A choice you have decided to never make. We know this. But it is not the only way to be bound to someone. There are vows and oaths, bonds made through words and actions. And you made that bond when you didn’t estrange Tonowari from his son, when you allowed me to raise Ketsräno with you. A fertility match is usually forgotten when one partner finds a mate, but you felt no such need to shun us or hide yourself away. You stayed by our side from the moment you were matched.” Her hand brushes the edge of your shoulder as she reaches behind you to draw your tswin forward. Her fingers are gentle as they trace the weave of your hair wrapped tight around the sensitive nerves within. 

“Your first tsaheylu is with your mother.” She’s suddenly quieter, eyes distant as she winds your thick braid between careful fingers. “I remember when Ketsräno was born. You were tired but you smiled brighter than I’d ever seen as you held your son and made the first bond, and you didn’t rest until you’d seen Tonowari and I bond with him, as well. I thought from that moment on we all acknowledged our place in each others’ hearts.” 

The day is one you will remember for the rest of your life. Ketsräno had come early in the day, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. Most of the night had been spent warring against the pain in the shallows, squeezing tight to Tonowari’s hands as he held you and Ronal tended to what he couldn’t. It had been only the three of you and your spirit sister until you were far enough to call the clan to witness the birth of a new life. Your cheeks were sticky with tears by the time Ketsräno came at last into the pink light of dawn, legs kicking to the surface as he made easy work of his First Breath. There was the usual whooping and cheering but you didn’t truly hear any of it, far too enamored with your little son. 

It was a moment meant to be shared with the clan but all that mattered to you was the family gathered around you. There was exhaustion and blinding happiness filling your head and then the gentle thrum of Ketsräno’s vitra as you made the first tsaheylu. There hadn’t been a thought in your mind in regards to what allowing Tonowari and Ronal to bond with Ketsräno would mean, and now you are dealing with the consequences of your addled decisions so many years later. In that moment you had treated the olo’eyktan and tsahìk as your mates and continued every moment after. You don’t regret it, not for a moment, but you loathe your own ignorance. Tears begin to burn anew in your eyes as you recognize your mistake. 

“I’m sorry.” Over one misunderstanding you had nearly burned your world to the ground. “I’m sorry, Ronal.”

“Hear me now, paskalin. Listen well because I don’t want to have to repeat this ever again.” Her tone is strict but not without her own stern sort of affection. “Oel ngati kameie. Nga yawne lu oer. I will say this once and you will carry it in your heart for the rest of your life; we are yours, and you are ours.” You know it. A hidden piece of your heart has always known that even if you never found a mate you would be content with your life with Ronal and Tonowari. But they’re mated with each other. Of course you never considered you could fit in a place where two halves already made a whole. 

“Tonowari has been in love with you from the moment he was set to be your fertility match. His love for you was easy. I didn’t earn his affections so easily, you remember.” You do. Being olo’eyktan or tsahìk is a heavy burden to bear and while Ronal always did so with grace it was plain to your eyes as someone close to both of them that their love took some time to blossom. They were awkward with each other, stepping lightly to avoid any upset before finding their standing as a mated couple. Ao’nung and the rest followed soon after. So strange that two arrangements had such different results. Or perhaps not seeing as the three of you managed to tie your hearts together in the end. Though you never considered your place in their lives to be valued in the same way they regarded each other. Clearly you’d been wrong all these years. 

She leans in close to rest her forehead against yours and heat builds in the space between your lips as you breathe against each other. It’s a familiar sort of closeness that you’ve neglected to think could ever mean more than a close bond of friendship and parenthood. The tip of her nose draws across your flushed skin, brushing through your drying tears as she nuzzles against you. Her breath is warm against your cheeks as she takes in the scent of your skin, kissing the ripples of your pil until her lips find yours. They’re soft and warm and she tastes of sweet juice. The kiss is fleeting and precious. 

“Oel ngati kameie.” The words are whispered against her lips as she kisses you again. How long have you spent saying such words when you hadn’t truly seen what was right before your eyes. So many years wasted considering yourself an accessory to their bond when, in their minds, you had always been included. How much you have missed trying to live freely and save your heart the ache of abandonment when everything you could ever want was already within reach. Your fingers trace over the tattoo etched around the shape of her and curling high on her cheekbone. She hums quietly, eyes falling shut as she pulls you as close as her stomach will allow. The torch she lit is still burning but it gives you light to see her by as she falls asleep beneath your gentle touches. You resolve to speak with Tonowari when you wake, to try to mend the hole you’ve torn in your lives. 

It’s easier said than done, though, because when the sun rises and Ronal with it you find yourself hesitant to approach Tonowari. Dawn turns to day and you find your hands busy in places the olo’eyktan would have no reason to be. By the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky you’re busying yourself in Tsireya’s shadow, assisting her in teaching the children. She seems grateful for the added guidance you can offer, never asking what possessed you to suddenly want to stay so close to the village when midday usually finds you far beyond the terraces, hunting or frolicking on some lesser traveled islands. Weaving is easier work than hunting, not as strenuous of a task, as you teach the younglings the different types of braids and knots that make their homes and clothing. When the sun begins to set the children scatter home and you realize the day has been wasted without you speaking a single word to Tonowari. Tsireya keeps up a pleasant conversation as the two of you straighten up the marui used for teaching, collecting dropped beads and setting aside the childrens’ weavings. 

“Txa’ro shows a lot of promise, I think.” She hums happily. “She learned the arrowhead pattern quite quickly.” You nod, though your mind is far off. If any student showed any outstanding capability today you hardly noticed it. The whole day has passed in a haze like fog has settled before your eyes. Last night was like a dream, a short breath before the waves crashed over you once more. If your daughter is bothered by your uncharacteristic silence she doesn’t mention it, simply carrying the conversation herself as you follow her absently through the village only to stop once a familiar marui comes into view. It feels as though your feet are caught in mud, sucking you into the bouncing path as Tsireya continues on, happily chatting until she realizes you’re no longer beside her. 

“Ma Sa’nok?” She reaches towards you, expecting that you’ll move to take her hand, and her face falls when you don’t. Both of you stand watching each other until finally Tsireya nods and says good night, finishing the trek home by herself. It pains you to see your daughter upset and distant but you can’t bring yourself to face her father. Not yet. Instead you go in the opposite direction with no destination in mind. You walk until you run out of woven paths and the air no longer carries the scent of dinners being made, until you reach the fringes of the village where the beach is deserted. 

This isn’t how the day was meant to end but it ends all the same as you sit and watch Naranawm’s shadow swallow the sun. Soon the eclipse will break into deep night and you’ll return home without having shared a single word with Tonowari. So strange that is. There were once days when the two of you could be parted for only a few hours, for as long as chores demanded it and not a moment more. But that was when the children were young and needy for their parents’ attention. Now they’re old enough to deal with things on their own without your guidance. The sand is soft as you lay back to stare at the sky until it goes dark as your eyes drift shut. They don’t open again until you feel the sand shift beside you. It’s different than a rising tide swelling around you and you turn your head towards the disturbance. 

Tonowari sits beside you, lit in deep shades of blue beneath the night sky. He isn’t looking at you yet. Instead his eyes are fixed in the far distance, on the dark silhouette of the seawall where the terrace pools are lit with rippling syuratan. When he finally looks at you his eyes are filled with a foreign sort of longing. It’s a strange expression to see on his face. Tonowari has never been known to put his desires before anything else, if anything his wants and needs can be forgotten and buried if it means peace and prosperity for the clan. His role as olo’eyktan is put before everything in his life. Every clan needs a leader and Tonowari and Ronal both uphold their roles with the utmost care, never straying from the path Eywa has set for them. Seeing him look so lost within himself would be mystifying if you didn’t know the cause of his clouded mind. It’s in the reflection of his blue eyes, the pattern of your glowing freckles appearing like aysnatanhì in his forlorn gaze. You’re the reason for this and it feels like a knife to your heart and you desperately want to heal the wounds you’ve caused. 

“I’m sorry.” It isn’t enough but you say it anyway. Sorry is for stepping on someone’s tail or being too rough during training. It’s for small disagreements. Not something like this. Still you want to cling to the idea that what’s broken can be fixed with enough patience and attention. Tonowari seems to share the sentiment as he brushes the sand from your hair as you sit up, fingers tracing down your arm until he can bring your hand to his lips. It isn’t a kiss. Not truly. He presses his lips against your knuckles like he’s trying to see if you’re truly here before him. He seems soothed when you don’t turn to smoke before his eyes. 

“Don’t.” He says before you can further embarrass yourself with meager words of atonement. “Don’t apologize.” Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. Apologies are all you have to give. If he won’t accept them then perhaps this distance can never be bridged again. 

“May I speak plainly?” You’ve never asked his permission to speak as bluntly as you do, but Tonowari is always considerate, even when it is undeserving. He takes a while to speak after you nod your acquiescence as if he’s weighing his words to see which will sit heaviest on your heart. Even in his anger he can find a moment to be kind. 

“You’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.” He says at last. It doesn’t sting as much as you’d expect it to. It’s a sentiment you’ve heard your entire life. Too brash, too harsh, too willful. Of course people will find you difficult but it’s the first time Tonowari has said it so plainly. 

“Ronal may not mind having to fight with you and wrangle you like an untamed beast, but I do. I only want to love you but you make it so hard for me. If I get too close you pull away. It feels like I am fighting to keep you by my side. And then you say–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You say you want another child and you don’t come to me for this. You flaunt yourself around the village as if I cannot give you what you’ve asked for. I can. I will. You just have to let me. That is all I want.” 

“I didn’t know.” It’s hardly an excuse but it is the truth. Tonowari stiffens beside you, lips pressing into a firm line.

“Didn’t know?” He glowers, ears pulling back before he calms himself. “Then let me tell you so that you know. From today onward, paskalin, let there be no more confusion. I love you. As a husband loves his wife, I love you. I know you do not wish to be mated. I understand your heart. But you are my mate even still. You belong to me and I belong to you. Just as I belong to Ronal. Just as you belong to her. And if you want children I will give them to you. No one else.” He bares his teeth though there’s no one but you to see his show of possessive aggression. 

It’s so strange to hear him want something so desperately. Tonowari has always done what is expected of him. For the good of the People he has always thought of the clan before himself. To hear him almost begging for this allowance to be selfish, it lights a fire inside you. 

“I don’t care about them. Tayku and the rest,” Tonowari scowls at the sound of the boy’s name, “I never wanted them.”

“Then what do you want?” You’re reminded that beyond his duties as a leader, Tonowari is a warrior. He pulls you into his lap with great strength, one hand keeping your eyes on his as the other holds your waist. 

“I want this.” You whisper. “I want you.” 

His lips burn as they meet yours in a deep kiss, searing the promise you’ve made into your memory. The night air is warm but you shiver as Tonowari’s hands trace across your skin. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close with him and it overwhelms you as he pulls you tight against him and whispers sweet promises over your parted lips. You whine as his fangs nip over your neck, tongue tracing the shape of your tattoos until he finally settles against your chest. He noses at the delicate shells of your draping top, breath puffing against your heated skin. His blunt nails drag down your exposed back to your hips, pulling you harder against him. His intentions are clear and you’re more than happy to comply as he toys with the knots keeping you covered. You’re far enough from the village that no one will stumble upon the two of you as he lays you bare beneath the stars.

The hardest part passes with the rising of the sun but there is still work to be done before things can truly be as they should between the three of you. Hunting is strenuous but there is always more to do after the beast is slain and prayers are said in its honor. There is cleaning, skinning, cutting, cooking, and preserving even after that. The hunt is not over until even the bones of the animal are put to some use. The renewed and deepened intimacy with the olo’eyktan and tsahìk is hardly enough to heal the pain amassed over many years. A wound needs to be tended not ignored lest it bleed you dry. It was nearing that point, would’ve surely reached it had you gone through with letting another man father your newest child. The strained bond would’ve been shattered to splinters beyond salvaging but as it stands you can manage to slowly place the pieces back together. 

It is a slow walk to where you want to be, but each step brings all of you closer. At first it’s only small things; Ronal stealing kisses in secluded places and Tonowari lingering near you far more than necessary. They’re more protective now as if they’re worried someone will come along to trample on your budding affections. It’s all new to you, this deeper sort of courtship as you’ve never allowed anyone to go beyond the point of flattery and gifts. The fierce loyalty is to be expected. In truth you’ve never been loyal to anyone besides them. Even before your confessions and admissions of love you never bothered to be closer than friends with anyone. To be doted on so openly soothes the bruised piece of your heart still agonizing over being left behind if they grow tired of you. In so many years their feelings have remained unflinching for each other, and for you. It’s a nagging feeling you wish to starve out of your mind. Eywa has graced you with two people you adore and who love you with equal fervor in return. Tsaheylu or not the three of you have been mated since you laid with Tonowari beneath the night sky. 

Things have finally fallen back into place. Ronal still bites back at every curt remark you make and Tonowari still worries anytime you’re too far from home. But there is no more edge of awkwardness as you hesitate to kiss Tonowari or lean against Ronal. Bashfulness is unneeded when they revel in your tentative touches. Their affections manifest differently, Ronal being more subtle as Tonowari is more boastful, but you learn to balance yourself between the two of them. Ronal won’t ask for a kiss. She will simply stare at your lips until you offer one. Tonowari acts instinctually, wrapping you in his arms the moment the desire rises. It swirls new rumors of the clan leaders’ mate though many simply laugh over how long it’s taken you to accept the title they all called you in secret. It dizzies your head to know that it had been only you standing in the way of your happiness, clawing and hissing when no one meant to harm you. How foolish you’d been to run from your feelings when they were so plainly reciprocated. All that pain suffered and inflicted with no reason for it. The thought weighs heavy on your heart, ears lowering as you mull over your work. 

“Enough.” Ronal says just as quickly as the regret begins to creep in. The energy of the air has surely shifted as your soul sinks into a dark place and your tsahìk is quick to catch it. She’s irritable in the last months of her own pregnancy, more easily disturbed by small things. 

“Come here.” She makes room on the hammock she’s sitting in expecting that you’ll join her without protest. Of course you do, dropping what you’d been doing to sit beside her. The squid can wait. You’ve harvested enough of their ink for the moment though the one in your hand clings defiantly, little tentacles winding around your fingers as you try to drop into the bowl with the others. Ronal makes a face as she watches you gently peel the creature from your hand. Despite their necessity for the tradition of tattooing, she’s always found squids to be unpleasant. Something about their wriggling legs unsettling her. It’s an amusing distaste she has considering how many times you’ve reminded her their legs are more similar to the sinuous nerves of a kuru, but she won’t have it. You press a kiss to her temple as you sit to offer penance for bringing the creatures near her. 

She hums and goes back to her sewing, stitching delicate beads into the intricate weaving of a new top. Idly you flex your leg, gently rocking the hammock as you bury your foot in the sand. The day has gone by with a harmonious sort of stillness as the clan spent the heat of the day on menial tasks. Despite the more secluded area you find yourself in you can still hear the soft din of voices; work songs and gossip and children shrieking happily as they splash in the waves. You rest a hand on your stomach. Enough time has passed for you to be showing. Tonowari has been pleased since Ronal first confirmed the news, hands constantly brushing over your stomach even when you looked no larger than you had before. Now he’s weak with anticipation for their first stirring. You can already hear the words on his tongue as the olo’eyktan appears down the beach, smiling happily at the sight of his mates cocooned together. 

“Oh.” Before he can ask there’s a sudden fluttering in your stomach, light and quick like the feeling of a fish swimming past you. 

“Oh?” Ronal asks, setting aside her sewing. Your hand presses lightly against the place you felt the burst of movement. 

“Are they moving?” Tonowari asks excitedly, already kneeling before you. His hand trails up your calf to settle on your knee, blue eyes imploring as you stare blankly in wait for another flutter. It comes again and you laugh at the strangely ticklish feelings, pulling his hand from your knee to press against your stomach. 

“Did you feel it?” You ask when the baby moves again. Your child is strong, moving with great vigor. It isn’t always a pleasant feeling as you remember the bouts of sickness Ketsräno raised while he twisted and kicked inside you, but this is the first of the new baby’s movements and they’re hardly enough to disturb you. Tonowari nods though his eyes stay trained on your belly. Ronal’s hand pushes in beside her husband’s, fingers overlapping with your own as you guide Tonowari’s hand to where the kicks are strongest. She’s shared in your toiling of carrying a child, knows that it won’t always be this easy, but for the moment neither of you mention it. Instead she presses a kiss to your cheek, your nose, landing one on your lips when you turn towards her amorous mouth. Tonowari catches your lips soon after, hand still pressed against your stomach. He doesn’t go far as he pulls away. 

Instead he wraps his hands around your waist, lifting you from your seat to twirl you in a circle. There are no words for what he’s feeling because all that falls from his lips are sounds of pure elation. Laughter, as deep and rolling as the ocean fills the alcove as he dances with you. Ronal watches the two of you for a moment before smiling herself and standing to join. Your heart swells near to bursting as you realize this is what you would’ve missed had the storm of distance and anger never torn through your life. You’ve made something better of what remained when the rain gave way to sunlight. This is what you tried to deprive yourself of with your rash overthinking. You’ll never be so presumptuous again. Not when Tonowari and Ronal renew their vows to you with each passing breath. Paskalin, tìyawn, muntxate. They don’t let you forget their love for even a moment and you’ll dedicate your life to returning it a thousand times over. 

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Lorpaytsyal – chandelier fish

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Txampaysye – gill mantle

Tanhì – bioluminescent freckles, star

Parultsyìp – little miracle, term of endearment for a child

Sempul – father

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Nawmtu – great person (honorific)

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Skxawng – moron

Oìsss – angry snarl, watch it!

Paskalin – sweet berry (term of endearment)

Tswin, Kuru – neural braid

First Breath – Metkayina birth ritual

Vitra – soul

Nga yawne lu oer – I love you

Aysnatanhì – constellations

Tìyawn – love (term of endearment)

Muntxate – wife, female mate

[pokedawriter]

Nymph!Reader x Sumeru!Men

Gn!reader, you're a nymph

How would the sumeru men react to finding you and your grotto

I still have no idea what I'm doing

I've never written for Cyno, Alhaitem or Scara so forgive me if something is out of character

Cyno

He's patrolling the desert. There have been lots of cave-ins in the area recently and he wants to figure out if there is a specific cause that he can solve or if he should just warn people about the area

As he walks, he feels the sand beneath his feet begin to fall and he tries to jump away but it's too sudden and he falls

He braces for impact but lands into a net of vines that gently lower him to the ground

Your standing next to him, arm extended with the sunlight on your back, looking gorgeous and radiant, then you speak

"I can't be-leaf someone fell into here. Water you doing here?"

Archons, he might have fallen in love with you at that moment

He asks you about the recent cave in and you tell him it the Wenut mating season, and they're all trying to make burrows for their young. An inexperienced male has been digging here but didn't dig deep enough, which is why there are so many cave-ins. You tell him to just wait a month or two for the season to end

The hole is fairly deep and so you build him a ladder out of vines and he promises to return

After reporting what happened with the cave-ins, he returns and finds you've been repairing your grotto in the mean time, removing the dirt and stones that fell

You're very excited to see him and take him deeper into your grotto, further underground

It's beautiful, with purple, white and yellow flowers illuminating the area. Glowing stones are scattered in the ceiling like stars

He makes a regular habit to visit you and introduces you to Tighnari pretty soon (but he doesn't visit much due to his incompatibility with the heat). You all like to have Genius Innovation TCG together (Cyno teaches you and gives you cards)

He finds himself falling asleep in your grotto, surrounded by the glowing flowers and flowing water

He has to stop visiting for a few months due to work, but tries to wrap it up as fast can to see you

When be returns, he finds your grotto has been severely damaged, much of the flora dying. He searches high and low for you, going to the deepest part of the grotto where rocks fall away and reveal a very weakened you

You tell him people found out about your grotto and stole as many of your rare plants as they could, weakening you greatly and you had to hide yourself and your remaining plants away

He's furious and immediately takes action

He works with Tighnari and Lesser Lord Kusanali to make you and your grotto a protected space

And though he can't punish the researchers for over-foraging (since you and your grotto weren't legally protected), he does let other researchers know of their actions, resulting in those researchers being shunned

He helps you and your grotto return to full health and always tries to visit once a week to 'keep away any trouble makers" (but he just wants to visit you)

You both often fall asleep together in the deepest part of the grotto, happy in each other's presence

Alhaithem

He was looking through the old archives. The scrolls and books here were no longer scientifically accurate, but were kept for record purposes

He's found an old book about mythical creatures of Sumeru: Aranara, Nymphs, Djinn, Rocs, and more. He decided to rent it out and give it a read

Reading it at his house wasn't an option as it would be too loud (Kaveh, whom he didnt feel like dealing with today), the Academia students and researchers were always bothering him if he was around (especially after the 'hero' title), so he decided to leave the city for a bit.

As he walked, he found a small cave and decided to read there

Inside was larger than he expected, with a small moss-covered shrine and little yellow flowers. He sat on one of the rocks to read

It was wonderfully calm and quiet. The right temperature, the trickle of water from a nearby stream, the rustle of the leaves... it was all perfect

So, he came back here again and again, reading his books late into the evenings

He was in the middle of his mythical creatures book, on Nymphs, when he felt a presence and immediately looked for it

You sat on the shrine, staring at him, head tilted in wonder

He looked between his book and its description of Nymphs and you... and it seems he found a mythical creature. Regardless, he continued to read and you continued to watch him

Eventually, he turned to you and asked why you were just staring at him, to which you shrugged and said "If a man were to walk in your yard everyday and read, doing nothing else at all, wouldn't you grow curious?"

He was mostly surprised by the fact you could respond. The book said that Nymph's were shy creatures who couldn't talk

But to you, this man had been a regular visitor to your grotto for months now. His scent was just part of your grotto, like the duskbirds and rishboland tigers. He wasn't a stranger at all

Alhaithem decided to ask you a few questions about Nymphs which you agreeably answered, even showing in the deeper parts of the grotto that he hadn't noticed were there

You both fell into a comfortable routine of him visiting you on his days off to read in comfortable silence while you worked on your grotto

Despite being able to talk in every language he could, he realized you couldn't read at all

He helped you learn how to read and you helped him relax and have the perfect reading spot

You became reading buddies, and even though you would ask him with question on words, it never bothered or annoyed him

He subtly made your grotto a legally protected area so if anyone messed with it, they would have to pay

You were his safe space, and in return, he would protect you too

Scara/Wanderer

Nahida asked him to go outside and touch grass more

Just kidding, she asked him to find a rare flower, only ever found underground in rare Nymph Gardens

She gave him a rough idea where he might be able to find it and off he went, grumbling the whole way

Finding the entrance to the cave wasn't hard. All he had to do then was follow the smell of fresh flowers. It was so simple for him (and most certainly didn't take him several days)

When he finally found your grotto, he couldn't find the flower Nahida had described for him and grumbled under his breath about it

This is where you come in: appearing next to his shoulder asking about what flower he was exactly talking about

You stare at him innocently even as he hold a swirl ball of anemo energy

You ask again and he asks who you are, cautious

"I'm the nymph of this grotto"

That can't be possible, Nymphs aren't real, surely you're pulling his leg

But you have flowers growing on you, the plants lean towards where you step and life seems to exude from you

He'll dispell his anemo attack and tell you about the flower. You nod and scoop it up a bit of dirt and grow the flower on it

He's wondering if there's a cost to it. You tell him it'll hurt you when he leaves with it. He asks what he owes you and you shrug and walk away to play with the springyness of a new fern

He brings the flower to Nahida then rushes back. Not because he's worried! He's just curious about the affects of removing the flower from your grotto (Nahida gives him a knowing smile as he leaves)

When he arrives, you're laying on the ground, looking unwell. He puts his hand to your forehead, and you're burning up

Why would you give the flower to him if it would hurt you so much?

"Because you needed it," you say with a smile

He'll take care of you for the next few days, your waking hours being filled with scolding and mild insults about how stupid it was to give all thay power to a stranger. What if they wanted to take advantage of you?

You laugh and smile. When he's not paying attention, you'll make little figurines out of flower of him

Then he'll notice and scold you for not resting properly, idiot (he does think it's very cute though)

He'll protest even when you insist you are perfectly healthy again

You'll take him to the deepest part of the grotto where you made a picture of the two of you in glowing flowers. He says it looks stupid, but you notice his little blush and giggle

He has to leave for a few days and during that time, treasure hoarders find your grotto

They have no respect for your plants, so you hide, slowly growing weaker and weaker as they pick and burn your plants

Needless to say, when Scara returns and sees you hanging on by a thread, he's pissed

He wipes them out and tends to you once again. It takes months this time until you are healthy, but he's by your side every step of the way

"Clearly, you can't take care of yourself, so I'll have to watch out for you! Hey! Don't giggle! What's so funny, idiot?"

[emyn-arnens]

Of Building and Hewing

@arafinwean-week day 1: Eärwen, family, pre-Darkening | AO3

Finrod did not build castles in the sand so much as he dug, little fingers plunging deep into the sand, digging down to where it was damp and dark, burrowing tunnels with his fingertips and molding pillars of sand, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed a design only he knew. As he dug, the sand shifted and fell, and a pillar buckled beneath the weight of the sand, then another, and his creation collapsed.

He frowned. 

Eärwen stroked a loose curl from his forehead. “Try again, Ingoldo. You will get it right.”

“I will get better,” he said with the grave certainty of children.

“Of course you will,” Eärwen said, brushing his cheek with her knuckles.

(Later, when he returns and bears himself like a king and speaks of caverns and a kingdom hewn beneath the earth and his cousins who drove him like a beggar from his own city into a place beneath the ground darker still, she will realize. But he will not dig again, nor suffer to be led into the dark sea caves that dot the coastline.)

— — —

Angrod labored long over his castle—if a castle it was. Eärwen might have called it a fortress or a keep, but the Eldar had as yet no words for such things. It was tall and wide, with walls built thickly, the sand packed tightly—a thing of strength rather than beauty. 

“Is it a castle?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“A palace or a mansion?”

He frowned. “No. I cannot name it. But I had to build it.”

She stroked his hair. “Whatever it is, it shall withstand many waves.”

(She will realize, later, when Angrod returns and his hands are stronger than she remembers, and he speaks of a watch upon the North and flames in the night that burned the snows, and a fortress that he tore down with his own hands, just as he had built it.)

— — —

Aegnor did not build but sat staring over the sea, his eyes round and wistful. Of all her children, he most enjoyed the stories she wove of the land over the sea and the people and creatures who lived upon it—of mansions over the sea and under the sea, and of halls filled with people that were not Elves but something akin.

(Aegnor does not return. When Finrod returns, he speaks for his brother and tells of the halls of Bëor, hidden amongst the pine forests of the North, and of the Wise-woman whose hand Aegnor clasped in the darkness and whom he followed over the hills of Dorthonion and into the mansions of Mandos, never to leave.)

— — —

Galadriel did not merely build; she perfected. One castle after another grew beneath her small hands, each bigger than the last but none big enough, nor grand enough, nor beautiful enough. 

“How beautiful!” Eärwen exclaimed, pointing to the shell-crusted turrets of one castle.

Galadriel eyed the castle scornfully. “No, not yet.” She cast her gaze to the other castles, each a variation upon the last, but with something more—a taller pinnacle, a lacework of shells, a coronet of towers. And she cast them down with a sweep of her arm and began again. 

(When at last her daughter returns from over the Sea, she speaks of the kingdoms she left behind her, each mightier than the last, and of how she shaped them beneath her hands and made them fairer than the last, but none so mighty nor so fair as to endure.)

[vixstarria]

Ignorance and bliss

Had a fluffy brainworm that I don't think I can fit anywhere, so here it is as a little short.

Astarion x Asmodea, comfort/fluff

Somewhere in Act 1. Two idiots who are definitely not falling for each other lie in each other's arms pretending to be asleep.

691 words

No doubt about it, she was losing her mind.

Asmodea lay listening to the rain patter on the canvas of her tent, contemplating everything she thought she knew about vampires.

Inherently evil, innately selfish, corrupt, irredeemable creatures with an insatiable lust for blood.

One such bloodthirsty creature lay peacefully sleeping beside her, limbs tangled with hers, holding her so closely it was as though he was trying to occupy the very same space she did.

…Twisted aberrations…

Astarion didn’t need to breathe, she knew, and yet she felt deep measured breaths where his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. The very neck she had recklessly offered him time and again.

…Cursed with undeath…

It must have been an effect of Astarion’s condition on his lungs, that he was producing a faint, rumbling sound that almost sounded like… the soft purring of a great, contented cat.

…Prideful and arrogant…

…No, that characterisation was accurate. Though the more time she spent around him, the more the arrogance seemed to be a facade erected to conceal or distract from some fear or anxiety. She had met the type before. Cocky. Boastful. Insecure. Compensating for some failing.

…Sadistic monstrosities incapable of empathy...

She recalled the remorseful concern in his eyes when he thought he had accidentally hurt her in their lovemaking earlier that night.

‘Lovemaking’, she repeated to herself, with a scoff, startled by her own choice of words - so uncharacteristic for her, even, no, especially, for her own private thoughts. When had she grown so sentimental? She shrugged that notion off, hastily and sheepishly.

…Manipulative…

Asmodea brushed that thought aside as well, instead reaching for the tent flap to try to gauge how much longer they had until sunrise.

…Violent…

Astarion released a dissatisfied little whine at her movement, and hugged her tighter without waking.

…Soulless…

Perhaps something was wrong with this one... Had no one taught him how to behave like a proper vampire..?

Either way, she was positively losing her mind.

Astarion drifted in a state between sleep and wakefulness, teetering on the edge of slipping into a trance but not allowing himself to enter a reverie - he’d learned to avoid them and the inevitable torment they brought, long ago.

Instead, he buried his nose in Asmodea’s neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, and tried to grasp a memory that had recently appeared at the periphery of his consciousness. It eluded him, slipping like fine sand through his fingers whenever he reached for it.

Warm arms embraced him. He was safe. He was loved.

The whisper of a memory was from nearly a quarter of a millennium ago, but if he just kept trying, maybe he could uncover it fully. If only he could just stay like this longer, if only she didn’t wake, if only he could have more of this…

Even if the memory persisted in evading him, he thought he had glimpsed enough of its contours and edges that he could pretend he lived it.

He was safe. He was loved.

She made it so easy to pretend…

Oh, but she stirred, moving with a quiet caution so as not to disturb him. He heard the rustling of the tent’s fabric and felt a chill breeze against his bare back. He allowed himself a drowsy grumble and burrowed deeper into her neck. She didn’t want to wake him, did she? And she wouldn’t expect him to slosh back to his own tent in the rain. Gods, but he didn’t want that rain to ever end…

He just wanted a little bit more of this make believe…

The tent flap fell shut again, and Asmodea’s hand reached, instead, to pull a blanket over his shoulders. Moments later, he felt her fingers running, softly, through the curls at the nape of his neck. Her lips brushed lightly against his forehead.

The memory and the emotions it brought danced just out of reach, teasing him. Perhaps he could simply fill in the gaps and imagine it was real, even if it would be gone come morning.

He was safe. He was loved. And all was well in the world.

This is part of a series - here's the full masterlist

Next in series - Something real

AO3

[nowimjustastranger]

possible fic request: chap 2/3 ford pov of you look like yourself (but you’re somebody else) when he sees stan/saves him from the creatures/patches him up? whatever works best

Ford crouched on top of a large rock that protruded from the sand, his eyes vigilantly sweeping over the expanse of desert as he sipped from his water canteen. Most of the wildlife on this planet resided underground so the ability to see had been bred out of most species, replaced with sensors that could detect vibration.

Delta/R3 wasn’t the worst dimension that Ford had traveled through, nor was it the most dangerous.

Ford paused when he saw something move in the distance, half hidden by another boulder. He tapped the side of his goggles to zoom in on the area of interest, brows furrowing when he saw a pair of human legs sticking out from behind the rock. Ford shifted as far over as he could while remaining on his perch, screwing the cap back onto his water canteen before stuffing it into his pack.

The legs shifted again, boots digging into the sand as the knees drew up to brace under an equally human torso. Ford had been consuming plenty of water and even started eating semi-regularly between doses of his meal replacement pills again, so he highly doubted what he was seeing was a result of a hallucination. Still, Ford did a quick recon of his body to be certain that he could trust his eyes.

It quickly became apparent that he was in perfect health save for some lost sleep, which meant that there was an actual human being in this wasteland with him. Ford widened his stance, pressing a hand to the rock to keep his balance, his free hand rapidly tapping the side of goggles to enhance the image. He caught a brief glimpse of grown out brown hair and an arm before a Guux descended upon its unsuspecting prey.

Ford hadn’t even seen it emerge from its burrow, as focused on the human as he was.

The scream that cut through the air had Ford’s body lunging off its perch before his brain could even register that he recognized that sound, hitting the ground running. He jammed his finger against the side of the goggles to reduce the zoom so his depth perception wouldn’t be off, his other hand drawing his gun. He couldn’t get a clear shot with the boulder in the way, so he adjusted his course to a wide arc.

Ford’s finger froze on the trigger when he cleared the rock and saw just who was dangling from the Guux’s jaws, his heart leaping into his throat at the sheer amount of red that covered both Stanley and the surrounding area. There was far too much blood outside of Stanley’s body, which jerked when the Guux began to retreat back to its burrow with its meal.

Ford heard a choked cry and it was due to muscle memory that he was able to react as quickly as he did, his hand smoothly correcting his aim before he squeezed the trigger. Ford had to lock his knees to keep from rushing to Stanley when he dropped from the Guux’s mouth, hitting the ground in an unmoving heap. Ford’s vision tunneled on Stanley as the Guux roared at him, silently willing his brother to show some sign of life.

After what felt like an eternity –but was really only a second or so– Stanley moved, weakly pushing himself up. The Guux twitched when it sensed Stanley’s movement and Ford fired two more shots before it could go for Stanley a second time. The Guux twitched as it toppled over to lay in a rapidly growing puddle of its own acrid yellow blood, sending up a plume of sand that obscured Ford’s view of his brother.

Ford prowled forward, sidestepping the Guux’s corpse as the cloud of sand was broken apart by the wind, revealing the familiar face of his teenage brother. Ford would assume he was seventeen if not for the hair, but he couldn’t possibly be any older than twenty. Ford leveled his gun with Stanley’s chest when the teen pushed himself back a bit, forcing his hand to remain steady.

Ford crept closer at a controlled pace so he could dodge at a moment’s notice, searching for any indication that this was some kind trap meant to lure him into a false sense of security. And, if it was a facade, it was a good one. Ford couldn’t find any deformities or imperfections that would reveal that this was indeed just an elaborate plot with the end goal of killing him.

So that left the suddenly very real possibility that he was currently holding his brother at gunpoint.

Stanley was talking, saying something, but Ford couldn’t hear it over the heartbeat thundering in his ears. But this wasn’t the time nor place for a breakdown, he had to compartmentalize and keep moving. Stopping meant death or worse, especially out in the open. Even so, Ford was undeniably compromised and Stanley needed immediate medical attention.

But one last test first. He had to be sure.

Ford swiftly closed the distance between them as a bitten-off shout emitted from Stanley when he foolishly tried to gesticulate, Ford swallowing the impulse to scold him for forgetting the fact that his arm and shoulder were more shredded meat than functional limb at the moment. Ford’s stomach rolled at the comparison, startling him. Ford hadn’t been squeamish since he was still a child, so feeling nausea outside of contracting an illness was a novel experience.

Stanley’s wild eyes darted down to Ford’s hand when it slipped into the inner pocket of his trench coat to retrieve the DNA reader, telegraphing his movement as he extended the device with the intention of taking some blood that was leaking from Stanley’s wound. However, Ford wasn’t exactly surprised when Stanley twisted away, shielding the wounded limb as best he could under the circumstances.

Ford’s finger tightened on the trigger automatically, causing the gun to charge in an upward crescendo that had Stanley’s face going alarmingly pale as he obediently stilled. Ford carefully relaxed his finger as he collected a sample of blood, the wind abruptly dying down as if the universe itself were holding its breath. Ford split his attention between the device and Stanley as the compartment snapped shut, braced for the worst.

The screen lit up and Ford’s mind went blank, staring down at the results in disbelief.

Stanley Filbrick Pines – Dimension M55”0

[sirenmoth]

Monster Mash - Satyr

CW: Outdoor sex, Gentle sex, voyerism, thigh grinding, thigh riding, spanking, hand job, cum as lube

Monster Mash Masterlist

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The garden at the far end of the property was beautiful, different flowers grew wind and luscious of different sizes and colours combined with various trees where the birds liked to nest. It's a sanctuary for the Satyr, who usually spent his time here away from the chaos of the manor, sometime you would join him in this bliss. In a small wooden cabin that was barely big enough for two, hidden under a large oak tree and some forget-me-not flowers.

You always say it looks like a fairytale cottage. A place in a dream.

The collections of flowers, both wild and planted, laid in large and small mismatch patches around the garden, creating a natural feel, mixed with the trees of various types, both big and tall and small and wide, casts shadows in all the right places for a midday nap. A moon-gate archway sat at the entrance of the garden, giving it the final tough of a whimsical fairytale dream. Sitting to watch the birds and butterflies, the early morning insects or the nighttime fireflies is always your favourite pastime, a break from being tossed around like a toy between your monster lovers, not that you minded the life you live.

The manor sat in the middle of the large property, to the north of the large patch of land is a wide open pasture, the Centaur has his own barn and stable combo to go with the field he can run around in, and to the south was a massive lake-ocean for your Siren and Merman, the cool saltwater body complete with a sand beach and underwater caves and caverns. To the east is the Naga's burrow, made of rock and mud and sand, despite that it was still warm and homely, the Satry's cabin and garden was to the west, a border separating the four sections as a mutual resect for each other's territory.

The both of you at on the porch, on a wooden bench that overlooked the wild overgrowth, your partner played his panpipes all while occasionally tapping one of his hooves to the rhythm he was creating.

It was peaceful, calm, tranquil, Everything you could've asked for, relaxing in the rays of the sun, listening to the birds above in the trees sing and chip their songs in tune with the creature next to you was emitting. You felt at peace, tugging the oversized woollen blanket tighter around your shoulders, wearing liminal or no clothing was the better option when you never know when you're going to be bent over and stuffed next, plus most of your lover wore liminal or no clothing.

Closing your eyes, leaning back onto the woven cushions that decorates the bench, resting your head on the Satyrs left shoulder carefully as to not disturb his melody, a short sounding like heaven right now.

The music from the pipes stop, followed by a soft chuckle, "Not falling asleep on my, are you?" the creature next to you laughs, setting the pipes down on the table in front of him and pulling you into his lap, facing him and forcing you to rest your head on his chest.

"No, I'm just resting my eyes." You mutter, moving your arms up and around his neck, allowing him into your blanket cocoon. The wool blanket was enormous and dwarfed you, dragging along the ground and trailing behind you every time it draped it over you, it drowns you in its softened fabric that was hand-woven together with such care and was a gift from your orc from one of his many travels. You feel the Satyrs' hands hold your waist, leisurely stroking your skin in feather-like touches. Nuzzling into his neck, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, you move to straddle his left thigh, feeling his plush yet coarse fur underneath you. The Satry locks his arms around your waist and interlocking his fingers together behind your back to keep you in place, the two of you sit and enjoy the last of the birdsongs and late-day warmth.

His hands disconnect and move to your ass, slowly kneading the flesh in his hands in slow movements. Flinching after a practically hard squeeze, rock your exposed clit against his thigh you're straddling, the fur catches your bundle of nerves. Burrowing your face into the Satyrs neck as he continues to squeeze and knead the globes of your asschecks, his blunt nails leaving crescent marks in their wake as you whimper from the combined sensations of his hands and fur bumping against you.

"You like this? Grinding against my leg, getting my fur all wet with your slick?" He teases, landing a hard slap to your right butt cheek, rubbing over the now redden mark left behind where the Satyrs hand made contact. Moving your head down, still keeping your forehead pressed against his skin, arms still around his neck, you spot an appearing damp patch of now clumping fur from where you've been sitting, the sight alone makes you moan out loud softly. The woollen blanket slips down a bit from your shoulders, pooling around your waist and his thighs, the ends still held tight in your hands. The Satyr laughs, roughly squeezing the flesh in his hands at your hip and rear, guiding you to grind gently against him, forcing you back and forth and down onto the wet clutch of fur over and over and over.

Tangling your fingers though his hair, the Satyr bends his neck forward to leave butterfly kisses on your neck as his nails dig deeper into your skin. A sudden breeze of cold air rushes through the garden, rustling the tree leaves and sending shivers down your spine, causing you to remember how exposed you are for all to see. The wind didn't seem to bother the goat-hoofed man, simply returning the sheet of coloured strands of woven wool back onto your shoulders and securing it in place, neatly smoothing down the fabric before returning his hands back under the cloth to return them to their previous places.

"Can't have my sweet songbird getting cold now, can I?" The Satyr whispers in your ear, "Not before I've had my fun with you." The leg you're currently straddling starts to lightly bounce, causing you to gentle rock forward and back. His hoof tapping a hollow rhythm agasint the wooden planks of the porch decking, possiblely denting the wood. Running a hand down his torso and midsection, tracing the happy trail and following it down towards his sheth hidden amonsgt the short hair, rubbing a hand over it in time with your movments

The Satry buries his head further in the crook to your neck, muffling his groans as you play with his balls, massaging them in your hand, keeping on his shoulder for leaverge, toying with his emerging cock. Stroking up and down, thumbing over the leaking tip and smearing his warm pre-cum over your hands and down his dick, using it as lube to speed up your movemnts. You both move in tandem, each time you rock your hips, you move you hand up, dragging your thumb over the tip every few stroke to collect the fresh white fluid spilling out before moving your hand back down, occasilny playing with the Satrys hanging sack.

The Satyr dig his fingernails in further into your skin, fresh bruises and deep crescent marks appering that are sure to cause a few bets and competitons between your monster lovers that will last for weeks. You moan after he bounces his leg faster, the wood under his tapping hoof creaks and groans at the pressure of the Satry exsecntric movments, the thoughts of a dent in the boards is now proven right when you hear a faint crack. An abrupt, sharp thrust forward and the stinging feeling of a hand coming in sharp content with flesh, making you jump and thighs to tighten around his in pleasure.

Another and another and another.

One right after the other, forcing you to flinch and squirm against his hold, the imprint of his fingers darkening the more they dig in to keep you still. The Satyr moves his head from your neck to lock his lips with yours, tongue dancing with yours as you moan and groan and whimper, exploring deep inside your oral cavity, sloppily, as you both let yourselves get lost in the waves of pleasure and each others embrace, the sounds of the birds and wildlife bleeding into the background of your little bubble, the noise ringing in your ears as your blood roars in your ears, mixing with your raging heartbeat in your chest.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, thighs clamping around his furry thighs as you shake, soaking the Satyrs hair further as you detach your spit-covered lips from his, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream, hand still working along his cock until he joins you in pure orgasmic bliss, shooting his load over where his skin meet his fur and your hand, that's still slowly pumping his dick until he's shooting blanks. Both sitting, basking in the late-day sun just peeking over the horizon bleeding oranges and pinks and reds along the sky that makes your skin glow, the Satyr moves his hands around your waist again to re-interlock his fingers behind your back, pulling you closer towards him, not caring about the mess on his torso or on his thigh.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, one hand still slightyl covered in his cum, the woolen blankent cocooning you again from the chill of the early night air. The Satry humming a gentle lullaby to soothe you into a peacful sleep, to which you happily accept, safe in his arms and in your shared sanctury.

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Annelida

(sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Annelida is a large phylum, whose animals are sometimes called the “segmented worms.” This is a large phylum containing over 22,000 living species. Annelids are made up of multiple segments, each with the same set of organs (except for the oddball Echiurans). Instead of cilia, they use fleshy protrusions called parapodium for locomotion.

Annelida is a diverse phylum with animals that have adapted to many different environments, including terrestrial, freshwater, and marine habitats from tidal zones to hydrothermal vents. It includes the earthworms, leeches, ragworms, feather duster worms, and others.

Many marine polychaete worms live in tubes they build themselves or burrow in the sand to ambush prey or filter feed, but some spend their whole lives swimming in the water column.

Propaganda under the cut:

Earthworms are important in farming and in ecology as they help aerate and enrich the soil.

The largest annelid is the endangered Giant Gippsland Earthworm (Megascolides australis), which is on average 1 m (3.3 ft) long and 2 cm (0.79 in) wide. They can reach up to 3 metres (9.8 ft) long, and they can stretch to seem much longer or contract to seem shorter.

Like earthworms, marine polychaetes also aerate the sea floor, enabling water and oxygen to reach the other creatures that live with them.

Annelids help scientists monitor the quality of water, as different species have different tolerances for water quality.

Medicinal leeches are still used for blood-letting, though not as frequently as they once were. In fact, some species of leech are threatened due to overharvesting for this purpose!

Annelids don’t fossilize well due to their soft bodies, so most fossils are simply jaws or tubes. The earliest annelid fossil that can be confidentially identified is dated to the early Cambrian, and most of our modern polychaete groups appeared by the end of the Carboniferous.

Okay so you’d still love your partner if they were a worm, but would they be your favorite animal?

[colloquialcolors]

Well. Goddamn. Having finished In Other Waters. What a phenomenal game. No clue how to effectively recommend it to people in a way that both sells it accurately but also doesn't understate how. Thoughtfully and intentionally it's made. But I do want to capture my gut reaction, right off of finishing it. So. Hrm. Lets see.

- You experience the entire game through screens- minimal graphics, dots and radars and scans and texts. It is scientific and methodical and- not tedious, exactly, but. Exacting. You scan, and move, and monitor, and the whole world is lines and dots and bare bones information on a screen.

- But the world is also alive. It's so beautifully, wonderfully- at times, terrifyingly- miraculously alive.

- I don't know how to describe the way that the game builds this, but it feels like learning a language, or slowly seeing a pattern. Little things move in the water and you learn to recognize the movements. Wordy, beautiful descriptions for every spot you move to. Entries on the intricate and bizarre biology that grow in detail and understanding as you find more pieces and analyze more things.

- Its like. The entire mechanic of- you put together entries about each plant or creature or organism, piece together information in walls of text, and when you finally learn enough, you are rewarded- with a sketch, a visual representation of the thing you have been reading beautifully worded entries of, something you have been imagining and visualizing.

- You are reading, and scanning, and gathering, and imagining and theorizing. And then you, suddenly, can see it. You read about the shimmering veils of bioluminescence strung together in inky darkness, and then you see a rough sketch of an organism constructed out of blinking lights, metres long. You spent hours wading through waters reading about the way the light filters through water on the reef and the brilliantly colored plants sway in the waves and suddenly you see a sketch of one of the leaves. Fast moving dots described as winged, fast moving creatures, and you document their burrows and their paths and their food and then. A rough scientists sketch of one.

- The whole game. Feels like that progression- a slow sense of awe. Repetitive, intentional steps, unfolding into pictures.

- You are the only thing like you, in the whole game. An observer learning the world. You are alone, but not exactly. You are a guide, acting as the eyes and hands and leader for someone you only know through text. Ellery talks to you through text prompts, and not always- but she does talk to you.

- You are her hands and eyes- you scan and move and decide where to go and monitor the oxygen and power to keep her safe and fetch all the samples. She is your hands, and eyes- she describes each new point you move to with painstaking detail, describing the sand swirling in water or light glittering, or the way darkness closes in, or the way bioluminescence throws shadows. She notes down the information and processes the samples and is the one to write the entries and turns all the data into something real.

- You move Ellery around the whole game, act in service of her, but she feels very distinct from you- secrets of her own and backstory you have to earn from her even though you guys move as one unit.

- And you learn about Ellery, and Minae, and. man. man.

- The way the screen changes with different biomes- the colors and the music shifting. The way that the layout stays the same but you feel the differences. Deep darkness alleviated by points of light. Open, sunny sands with swaying vegetation. A choking, cloying algae bloom.

- The UX stays the same, for all of these. The color, and indicators of topography are all that changes. But you feel the differences.

- Look, the mechanics are- finicky. A little unintuitive. Occasionally frustrating. But it feels right- like operating a clunky control board to steadily map an unknown space. You learn it, clumsily, and you get the motions down until it feels right. Navigation is- at times slow, and tedious, and confusing. There aren't really shortcuts to navigate through the different sections. But that feels right too.

- The game itself is not always fun to play. But it is rewarding, and it feels worth it.

- There's a whole ocean of inexplicable, alien life! And you get to explore it in a way that feels so intentionally, lovingly crafted. I don't know what to say beyond that. What. A fucking treat.

... also the plot about corporations fucking up ecosystems because of the never ending desire for profit and the destructive impact of thoughtless corporate greed. so. you know.

[bethanythebogwitch]

There are some animals that, if they didn't exist and somebody made them up, we would say they had an overactive imagination. The bobbit worm is one of those creatures, the closest we have to a real-life Mongolian death worm. So for this Wet Beast Wednesday, I'll tell you about just how weird it is.

(image: a rare full-body shot of a bobbit worm)

Before we start, I want to go on a brief tangent. What exactly is a worm? Well it turns out that like fish, worms aren't real. At least they aren't from a taxonomist's perspective. In common parlance, we refer to any long, skinny, and (usually) legless invertebrate as a worm. In taxonomy, that is far too broad of a category, especially as lots of animal lineages would have started out as something a lot like a worm and you can't stop being what your evolutionary ancestors were. Instead, taxonomists classify worms into multiple distinct phyla that independently converged onto the worm body plan, including the platyhelminths, nematodes, nemerteans, and annelids. The bobbit worm (Eunice aphroditos) is an annelid, which are known for their multiple body segments. More specifically, it is a polychaete or bristle worm, which are known for having a pair of fleshy protrusions called parapodia on each body segment, which have chitinous bristles called chaetae growing from them. There is some debate that the bobbit worm may actually be a species complex, which is when multiple related species are mistakenly classified as a single species.

(image: a bobbit worm found in an aquarium)

Bobbit worms are the largest of the polychaetes, with the largest known specimen being 299 cm (9.81 ft) long. They are also rather skinny, usually reaching no more than 2.5 cm (1 in) wide. Bobbit worms have a wide range of coloration, ranging from brown to black and often with a rainbow of other colors going down their bodies. You might not notice this, however, because they spend most of their time burrowing under the sand in their Indo-Pacific coral reef habitats. This provides protection from predators and is important to their hunting strategy. Bobbit worms will stick their heads out of the sand and wait while their 5 antennae use chemosensitive and light-sensing cells to detect when fish pass by. When a fish comes too close, the worm strikes. They use a set of retractable jaws that are razor sharp and come together like scissors to bite the fish. This bit is strong enough to cut small fish in half. It is rumored that this is the source of their name, from the Lorena Bobbit case. I will not elaborate further, google it if you don't know. Those fish that are not killed immediately will find themselves bleeding out and paralyzed from venom injected through the jaws as they are dragged into the worm's burrow to be eaten. There are some reports that the wom's chaetae are also venomous and that handling them barehanded can cause permenent numbness, but this does not appear to be the scientific consensus. The worms will also feed on seaweed and other algae, making them omnivorous.

(gif: a bobbit worm catching a fish)

The borrows made by bobbit worms are dug out of the sediment and coated with mucus. The worm uses its chaetae to move in and out of the burrow. The mucus if filled with nutrients that bacteria, particularly sulfate-reducing bacteria, absolutely love. This allows iron sulfides to accumulate in the mucus. When exposed to oxygen in the water, usually at the opening of the burrow, the sulfides will become iron hydroxides. These help reinforce the burrow's opening. Bobbit worms rarely leave their burrows and will retreat at the first sign of danger, making it very hard to spot them in the wild. Several fossilized burrows have been found, one dating to 20 million years ago. Another burrow of a similar animal, possibly an ancient relative of the bobbits, was found dating to 400 millions years ago.

(image: a bobbit worm head with jaws extended)

Bobbit worms reproduce externally. At night, a female will emerge from her burrow and release pheromones that attract males. She will then release her eggs into the water. The males will follow by releasing sperm, allowing for fertilizations. The majority of larvae will die before reaching adulthood. There are rumors that females withh bite off the male's genitals to feed to her young, but this is not true. Bobbit worms can also reproduce asexually by splitting. When handles, a bobbit worm can split itself into multiple sections, each of which can grow into another identical worm. This is a common adaptation in polychaetes as it allows them to survive if a part of them is eaten.

(image: a bobbit worm just sitting there, menacingly)

Bobbit worms have become a nuisance species in aquariums. They are usually introduced as tiny larvae clinging to rocks brought in for decoration or shelter. Once in an aquarium, the worms can grow rapidly and will eat any fish in the tank. Removing them can be very difficult due to their size, regenerative abilities, and reclusive nature. One famous case that introduced a lot of the internet to the worms was that of the Newquay aquarium in England. Aquarium staff were confused when a lot of the fish were vanishing from one tank and the coral was damaged. They tried laying traps, but the intruder ate the fishhooks they used and could bite through 20 lb fishing line. Finally, they lured it out with food, finding a 4 foot long bobbit worm that they named Barry. Barry became a hit online and was moved to his own tank. There apparently were plans to put him on exhibit, but I can't find confirmation that this ever happened. Given that this happened in 2009 and the bobbit worm lifespan is 3-5 years, I am sorry to tell you that Barry has passed away. RIP, king.

(image: Barry after being removed from the tank. His drab color is thought to be the result of poor nutrition)

Because of how reclusive they are, bobbit worms are an understudied species. Attempts to raise them in laboratories have mostly failed, so there is a lot we don't know about their reproduction, development, and behavior. We also don't know if they need any conservation efforts.

How many times in this series am I going to be able to use cards from this series? (image: the bobbit worm card from Weird n' Wild Creatures)

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Whirlmaw

CR 8

Neutral Medium Aberration

Inner Sea Bestiary, pg. 60

Despite their appearance these bizarre predators aren't scourges of the seas, but the skies, specifically the skies over open deserts where pockets of hot air allow them to glide for hours at a time without expending much energy. Whirlmaws gently coast through the heated air as their multitudes of crystalline eyes survey the land below, their Keen Sight potent to the point it's nearly supernatural, tracking even the smallest of potential morsels roaming the open sands from upwards to a mile away without penalty... though they rarely ever attack anything like common desert rodents. No, Whirlmaws hunt much larger prey, divebombing everything from halflings to desert giants in an attempt to sate their appetites.

The corkscrew-like flight pattern of a Whirlmaw allows it a degree of aerial maneuverability (manifested by having both Hover and Wingover) that lets them easily prey on other flying creatures when the mood strikes, but they're at their most dangerous (and infuriating) when attacking ground-bound victims. They have a fly speed of 90ft and perfect maneuverability despite their odd anatomy, and possess the rarely-seen Flying Charge ability, granting them a +4 bonus to attack rolls when charging a target from the air, bringing them all the way up to an almost-certain hit in the form of a +20 to their attack roll (it's +16 normally!).

As one may surmise, a Whirlmaw's primary (and only) means of damaging someone is their hell-demon lamprey-leech mouth. A single bite from this horrible orifice (horrifice?) inflicts a deceptively tame 2d6+9 damage... but then it latches on. And it begins to spin. This Burrowing Bite pulverizes flesh, blood, and muscle at a pace that can be accurately described as "nightmarish," inflicting an additional 4d6+12 damage every round the Whirlmaw remains attached to its victim, and note I say additional; that means anyone bitten and Grabbed by the Whirlmaw takes 6d6+21 damage every round until they either die or break the grapple somehow. In case you thought Paizo was going to have mercy, don't expect any, because this damage happens as a free action every time it succeeds a grapple check before it makes its actual bite attack for the round.

Whirlmaws natively have a +15 to grapple checks, but Burrowing Bite grants them an additional +4 to the first grapple check they make after biting a creature, making it difficult to dodge the initial attempt and difficult to dislodge once it's on. Confounding matters even further is the Whirlmaws Dust Cloud, an ability that lets it kick up a concealing cloud of sand whenever it hovers near enough to the ground... like when it's got someone in its grapple and wrenches them into the air. The image of one of these horrors dive-bombing your party and burrowing into their torsos is bad enough, but they are technically allowed to then pull victims into the sky with them, something they can take advantage of via a combination of Flyby Attack and their Burrowing Bite's free grapple. Even if the victim DOES break free, they're taking some additional fall damage AND opening themselves up to being Flying Charge'd next round.

Though their maneuverability in the sky is almost unrivaled, Whirlmaw are much less impressive if grounded in some way, such as if they get grappled or entangled. They can scooch across the ground at only 10ft a round, but they're more likely to escape such an unfavorable situation by simply burrowing into the sand. Their corkscrew body doesn't lend itself to elegance underground, but they can still burrow 10ft a round, more than enough to get them out of any fight they don't want to be a part of... or set up for an ambush, since they have 30ft of tremorsense. Or, y'know, if they just want to sleep for the night.

Whirlmaws aren't especially complex monsters, existing largely as living jumpscares or sudden encounters a DM can drop upon a party at any time they're out in the open and looking particularly delicious and full of organs. They rely on their startling damage, ability to launch a terrifying surprise attack, and grappling gimmick, and go down easily once the party recovers from the initial shock, as their only real defense is their high saves (+8/+10/+8!). The TRUE danger lays in higher-level adventures, where groups of as many as 7 may descend at once, or when the party is specifically sent out to hunt them down for their valuable eyes.

The one immunity that Whirlmaw possess is a complete immunity to Fire, and it's a well-known fact about them and the reason they're highly desired by those who wish to travel through the harsh deserts. The key to their immunity lays in their crystalline eyes, which serve as the key ingredients in or the perfect focus for magical items which convey resistance or immunity to heat and Fire. The ocular gemstones are worth a whopping 300 gold each, and since Whirlmaw have four clusters of three eyes, that means each one felled churns out a tidy profit of 3,600 gold!

Sounds good, right? Well, you'll have to ask yourself this: will it still sound good when one of them slams into your camel from above at 30mph and devours its intestines in a terrible, bloody display? Sure, you may have killed the thing... but now you have to walk back to civilization on your own, and there are still much, much worse things waiting out there in and below the sands...

You can read more about them here.

[evolutionsvoid]

Deserts are certainly inhospitable places, what with the intense heat, lack of water and endless plains of parched earth. For many folk, there is nothing to be gained by entering such a place, nothing but a miserable time. However, there are people who do live in such a land, as life is indeed possible in these harsh ecosystems. Flora and fauna do call this place home, and simply for that reason you know why I dive right into these scorching sands. There are many fascinating species to find here, but I know full well to be careful and cautious. I get guides and carry plenty of supplies, as drying into tinder out there isn't exactly a way I want to go. And I be sure to get experienced guides who can help me locate creatures who may not be so easily spotted. This is not only so I can find the species I wish to study, but so that I can also stay a safe ways away. Harsh lands make for harsh residents, and the Olgoi-Khorkhoi is a great example of this.

In a land of scorched sands, you wouldn't really expect something wet and squishy like a worm to live out here. I mean, could you imagine? Yet, the Olgoi-Khorkhoi is a worm that does call the desert home. It survives the extreme heat and dryness by spending most of its life buried in the sand, rarely ever exposing itself to the sun. Their skin is also thicker and more akin to tough leather than a delicate mucus membrane. This helps keep the moisture trapped inside and prevent the hot sand from drying them out. With a serpentine body built for burrowing, this species is rarely seen. However, if you are near one, or even step on a buried one, you most certainly will know about it! The question is: will you survive to tell the tale?

Though they spend their lives hidden in the sand and aren't exactly massive creatures, one may wonder what dangerous secrets they keep? Seeing a hide covered in metallic spines may make some jump to the idea that they use these to constrict and shred prey. This is incorrect. And honestly? Their actual use is far worse. One of the weapons the Olgoi-Khorkhoi possesses is actually the ability to produce potent electricity within its flesh. It is like an electric eel, but it appears they can create even deadlier currents. The juice they can crank out is enough to knock out larger beasts like camels, and can certainly drop a human. What helps them unleash this voltage is those metallic spikes on their body, as it appears that they are reinforced with copper. In fact, their whole body seems to be laden with large amounts of copper, at levels that would be poisonous to others. This looks to be how they are easily able to produce and release these powerful bursts of electricity. This is how they hunt their prey, as they wait below the sands for something meaty to walk by. When food gets close enough, they unleash a shocking aura that can kill smaller creatures and topple over larger ones. Even if it isn't lethal, it can be enough to debilitate prey long enough for the Olgoi to emerge and deal the killing blow.

Their ability to fry animals with their body isn't the only trick they have. When it comes time to feed, the Olgoi-Khorkhoi will come up from the sand and reveal itself. At first sight, some may think their head and maw is a ring of spines, but that structure will pull itself open to reveal a long blood-red proboscis that sports some nasty fangs! This is what the worm uses to feed, as it only unsheathes this organ when it is time to eat. Four long hollow fangs are on the end, and they bite down into immobilized prey. A potent digestive fluid is pumped through these teeth, and used to melt their food from the inside. You see, they don't exactly have jaws for chewing, and desert animals aren't really known for being soft and squishy. So these worms produce a potent acid that can break down flesh rather quickly, and reduce a corpse to a drinkable slurry. Their teeth will bite and inject this fluid throughout the body, until parts become soft and melted. Then the proboscis burrows into the mess and slurps it up. This method is how they dispatch prey, typically targeting organs or the head to melt down first. After they are slain and injected, the worm will make an attempt to drag the corpse down into the sand to keep others from stealing its food.

However, the Olgoi-Khorkhoi is not a large creature, nor is it that strong. It cannot pull an adult camel into the earth, and using its body to cover it with sand takes way too much time. So if the Olgoi cannot hide its meal, it will resort to good ol aggression. I mean, even without the food, these worms are rather territorial and quick to anger. The world is harsh and food is scarce, so they are ready to fight off predators and thieves who would try to steal their meal or make them one. If you ever find a dead camel in the desert, with no vultures or scavengers around, do not approach. This is probably because an Olgoi-Khorkhoi has killed it and is now viciously defending its dinner. Any animals that dare get close will get fried or worse. When these worms are exposed and feeding, they may resort to more than just electricity to fight back. Encounters show that they will spew streams of their acid at foes during this state, and the injuries that result can be disfiguring or fatal. One favorite horror story of this region is of a man who had his eyes melted by a horrid encounter with an Olgoi-Khorkhoi. Now blind and in the middle of the desert, the long miserable tale spoke of his doomed attempt to find help or safety. I don't know if it counts as "horror" or is more of "talking about a slow and painful death with incredibly unnecessary detail."

Due to their viciousness, eagerness to feed and deadly weapons, the Olgoi-Khorkhoi is regarded as a grave threat to any who walk the sands. Failure to spot the subtle signs of a hiding Olgoi can result in your body getting paralyzed by a shock and then slowly being digested from the inside by a foul acid. Thus, locals are well trained in identifying the signs of a worm or the conditions where one is likely to dwell. Some travelers carry long sticks or bits of stone to test areas where an Olgoi may be, disturbing the spots while standing at a safe distance. Thankfully, these worms are ambush hunters and care only about creatures who get too close. As long as you steer far away from their kills, an Olgoi-Khorkhoi will have no reason to harm you. But even then, there are many who perish in the desert due to an accidental run-in with these worms. And when night falls, they become a bit more mobile and seek out prey. Set up your tent too close to their territory, and they may ensure you never wake again.

With this and the horrid corpses they can leave behind, outsiders to this region have dubbed this species the Death Worm. Which is....a bit over dramatic, don't you think? Yeah, it is a bit scary trying to travel the sands and avoid an unseen danger, but c'mon Death Worm? We really need to cool it with these insanely over-the-top names. The native tongue straight up calls them "large intestine worm" which is far more descriptive, though a bit misleading if you are thinking of parasites. So forgive me if I have a hard time calling them DEATH WORM when they look like a spiny sausage with an attitude.

Also I am positive the hyperbolic name of Death Worm is why so many people have tried to keep these things as pets or as living trophies to show off to your guests. Oh, what a terrifying addition to a macabre collection! Wait til my dinner guests witness such a vile and impressive specimen! Women, hang tight to your men, lest you faint from the shock! Honestly, I don't know what is more humorous about this stupid idea, the fact that many "owners" wind up getting literally burned by these worms, or the fact that these worms spend 99% of their time burrowed in the ground and thus your scary display is an empty box of unmoving sand.

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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"Olgoi-Khorkhoi"

[thecreaturecodex]

Demon Lord, Aldinach

Image © Paizo Publishing

[Sponsored by @vonbaghager . While doing my research for this entry, I noticed something interesting. Aldinach and Areshkagal are enemies in Pathfinder. Aldinach is the name of an Egyptian demon, but looks like a Mesopotamian scorpion-man, whereas Areshkagal gets her name from the Sumerian Ereshkigal but looks like an Egyptian sphinx. Maybe that's why they hate each other.]

Demon Lord, Aldinach CR 28 CE Outsider (extraplanar)

This creature is a golden scorpion the size of a house, except that her head is that of a bald, fanged human woman. Her claws are enormous, made out of blood-red crystal. A mass of seething scorpions crawls along her back and sides.

Aldinach, She of Six Venoms, Lord of Scorpions CE female demon lord of sand, scorpions and thirst Domains Animal, Chaos, Evil, Sun Subdomains Demon, Feather, Fur, Light Favored Weapon kukri Unholy Symbol gold scorpion with sand dripping from its claws Worshipers girtabilus, chaotic phaerimm, torturers Minions fiendish earth elementals, giant scorpions For information on Aldinach’s obedience and boons, see the Book of the Damned

Aldinach is the demon lord of sand, scorpions and thirst. She rules the Sea of Whispering Sands, a layer of nearly infinite deserts she stole from her sister Areshkagal. and continues to defend it from Areshkagal’s servitors. Aldinach has the infinite patience of an ambush predator, and the persistence of the constant erosion created by a sandstorm. She believes that she will outlast the Faceless Sphinx and maintain her rule through sheer tenacity.  That Areshkagal has yet to give up is a source of frustration, but not an insurmountable one, and the two demon lords continue to clash in proxy wars via their cults and servitors.

Aldinach usually opens any confrontation by summoning a supernaturally deadly sandstorm. Anyone who resists being immediately flensed is then met in direct combat. She of Six Venoms, as the title suggests, is a master of poisons. Her venom and any created by a spell she casts ignores almost all immunity to poison, and she can tailor the effects of her venom in order to ruin the bodies and minds of her enemies. The infinite swarm of scorpions clinging to her is an extension of her body, and quickly shred and envenom anyone who dares to strike her.

Aldinach’s worshipers tend to be as determined and patient as the Lord of Scorpions herself. The tortures of Aldinach include envenomation and thirst, neither of which are typically fast deaths, and cultists will repeatedly heal their victims and give them just enough water to live, extending the torment to weeks or months. One of Aldinach’s goals is the expansion of deserts, the better to create hard, dangerous environments to breed hard, dangerous souls. Some of her subtlest worshipers masquerade as aqueduct engineers or farming specialists, claiming to be able to eke more out of lean land but in reality spreading the desert.

Aldinach     CR 28 XP 4,915,200 CE Colossal outsider (chaos, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +11; Senses darkvision 60 ft., detect chaos, detect evil, Perception +45, tremorsense 120 ft., true seeing Aura unholy (DC 28)

Defense AC 46, touch 13, flat-footed 39 (-8 size, +7 Dex, +33 natural, +4 deflection) hp 676(33d10+495); regeneration 30 (deific or mythic) Fort +30, Ref +31, Will +31 DR 20/cold iron, epic, and good; Immune ability damage, ability drain, charm effects, compulsion effects, cold, death effects, electricity, energy drain, petrification, and poison; Resist acid 30, cold 30, fire 30; SR 39 Defensive Abilities Abyssal resurrection, freedom of movement, swarm skin

Offense Speed 80 ft., climb 40 ft., burrow 40 ft. Melee sting +42 (2d8+17 plus poison), 2 claws +42 (4d6+17/17-20 x3 plus grab) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. Special Attacks command vermin, constrict (claw, 4d6+25), crystalline claws, flensing storm, rend (2 claws, 4d6+25), she of six venoms, sneak attack +4d6, swift sting Spell-like Abilities CL 27th, concentration +37 Constant—detect chaos, detect evil, freedom of movement, speak with vermin, true seeing, unholy aura (self only) At will—air walk, blasphemy* (DC 27), cup of dust* (DC 23), cloudkill* (DC 25), greater dispel magic, greater teleport, overwhelming poison (DC 26), sunbeam* (DC 27), unhallow, unholy blight* (DC 24) 3/day—control weather*, empowered horrid wilting (DC 28), quickened sirocco (DC 26), summon demons and scorpions, sunburst (DC 28) 1/day—dominate monster (DC 29), power word kill*, sea of dust * Aldinach can use the mythic version of this spell in her domain

Statistics Str 45, Dex 24, Con 40, Int 28, Wis 29, Cha 31 Base Atk +33; CMB +58 (+62 grapple); CMD 68 (80 vs. trip) Feats Blind Fight, Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Empower SLA (horrid wilting), Exhausting Critical, Fatiguing Critical, Greater Vital Strike, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Vital Strike, Lightning Reflexes, Nimble Moves, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (sirocco), Skill Focus (Stealth), Stand Still, Vital Strike Skills Bluff +46, Climb +58, Heal +42, Intimidate +46, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, religion) +42, Knowledge (geography, planes) +45, Perception +45, Sense Motive +45, Spellcraft +42, Stealth +41, Survival +45, Use Magic Device +43; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic, Infernal, speak with vermin, telepathy 300 ft. SQ demon lord traits

Ecology Environment any deserts (The Abyss) Organization unique Treasure triple standard

Special Abilities Command Vermin (Su) Aldinach can command creatures of the vermin type to do her bidding as a move action, either via using his ability to speak with vermin or via telepathy. This affects vermin within 300 feet (Will DC 36 negates). This functions like mass suggestion, but can affect mindless creatures. Aldinach can suggest obviously harmful or suicidal acts (though non-mindless creatures gain a +10 bonus on their saving throws against these suggestions). The commanded course of activity can have a duration of up to 1 hour. If Aldinach issues a new command to a creature, the previous command is discarded. Once a creature succeeds at its save against this effect, it is immune to further commands from Aldinach for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Crystalline Claws (Ex) Aldinach’s claw attacks threaten a critical hit on a roll of 19-20, and deals x3 damage on a successful critical hit. Flensing Storm (Su) As a standard action, Aldinach can conjure a supernatural sandstorm at a range of up to 300 feet. The storm fills a sphere in a 40 foot radius, blocking vision as a fog cloud, and dealing 10d6 points of slashing damage and 1d4 Constitution damage a round. A successful DC 36 Reflex save negates the Constitution damage and halves the slashing damage. As a move action, Aldinach can move the storm up to 60 feet. Aldinach can see through her own flensing storms without penalty. A flensing storm can only be dispersed with wind of hurricane force or stronger, and lasts for 2 minutes. Aldinach can use this ability at will, but can only have one flensing storm in existence at a time. The save DC is Charisma based. Poison (Ex) Sting or swarm skin—injury; save Fort DC 41; duration 1/round for 6 rounds; damage 2d4 Str, Dex, Int, Wis or Cha damage or 1d6 Con damage; cure 3 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution based. She of Six Venoms (Su) Aldinach can change what ability score her poison deals damage to as an immediate action. She can change the ability damage for her swarm skin ability separately. Any poison damage dealt by Aldinach ignores all poison immunity except from a mythic source. Speak with Vermin (Sp) This functions as speak with animals, except that Aldinach can communicate with creatures of the vermin type. Summon Demons and Scorpions (Sp) When Aldinach uses her summon demons ability, she may also summon giant scorpions of any size with the demonic vermin or half-fiend templates. Swarm Skin (Su) Any creature that touches Aldinach with a melee weapon, natural weapon, touch attack or unarmed strike must succeed a DC 33 Reflex save or take 5d6 points of slashing and piercing damage and be exposed to her poison. Manufactured weapons with the reach property do not endanger their wielder in this way. The save DC is Dexterity based. Swift Sting (Ex) Aldinach can make a single sting attack as a swift action. This is in addition to all of the attacks she makes as a full attack action.

[forgottensibiria]

Amphibian Perucetus and giant scissor sharks

In previous posts, we considered Moropiton and Poseideongenia, two groups of animals that migrated to Siberia through the Ural Sea in the Late Carboniferous. Before moving on to the actual descendants of these Seymouries - the Angarians themselves - we can distract ourselves with the creatures that the Moscow settlers could encounter on a vegetable raft.

The Dynasty of marine amphibians

Let's start with a strange speculative kind that shouldn't exist. Ichthyocetus, the "whale fish", is a large animal reaching a size of up to 2.5 meters and is a direct descendant of tetrapods of the Moscow Sea, primarily tulerpeton. The latter is known primarily for its six-toed limbs developed relative to other modern tetropods, as well as for its location. The fact is that the remains of the tulerpiton were located 200 kilometers from the supposed shore: this and the very structure of the body of the tetrapod under discussion suggest that the animal lived in shallow water, breathing atmospheric air (no bones corresponding to the gills were found, and the head was separated from the body - i.e. the tulerpeton could lift its head) and moving forward using the legs, pushing them off the bottom (their strength would not be enough to allow the toolerpeton to move on land). It is possible that some tetrapods could have stayed in this habitat, becoming the main predators of shallow waters, where larger predators like eugeneodonts or placoderms could not move normally.

Tulerpeton, 360 m.y.a. Art by Dmitry Bogdanov

Tulerpeton found fossils

Ichthyocetus is the last representative of this hypothetical clade, whose population was almost completely destroyed by the decline in sea level due to the new peak of the Karoo ice Age. His basic diet is benthos, which he can find in the buried ground: echinoderms, starfish and lilies, as well as, if luck smiles, the corpses of marine animals that the surf brings. He could also purposefully hunt for moropitons if they swam too deep. The bones of ichthyocetus are incredibly dense; this allows it to stay in the water during strong waves. This animal is able to sense the approach of a storm - then it tries to find the shore and crawl out onto it, burrowing into the sand; then they are most vulnerable. If it is impossible to find the shore, then the ichthyocetuses go to depth, swallowing air, where they can stay for 3-4 hours. Sometimes this tetropods go deep in search of new food sources, where they can catch young eugeneodonts or small fish. Surprisingly, ichthyocetuses are not the largest representatives of their clade (let's call it Ichthyocetusae): some species could grow up to 3 meters and lead a more pelagic lifestyle.

They usually appeared during periods of intense glaciation with a reduction in their original habitat. Unfortunately, this time climate change has become insurmountable.

Something about scissor sharks

If the meeting of protoseimurians with their "cousin" was unreliable, then the same cannot be said about eugeneodonts. The largest animals of the sea were the edestus, or protopirates. Although the largest protopirate species, E. vorax, could reach 6 meters (making it the largest predator of its time), the Moscow species were somewhat smaller and reached a maximum of 4 meters. These sizes correspond to the modern white shark and mako shark.

Edestus, 313—307  m.y.a. Art by Dmitry Bogdanov

Comparison of the four species of Edestus. Authors of this illustration is Leif Tapanila and Jesse Pruitt

Both poseideonogenes and moropitons encountered these cartilaginous fish - most likely, they were four-meter E. heinrichi and E. triserratus commensurate with ichthyocetus. Most likely, the edestus hunted numerous nautiloids and other soft-bodied prey and could well attack rafts, mistaking them for a dead cephalopod with a spiral shell. The protoseimuria themselves would not be of interest to the edestus - they are too small. That's what saved them.