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clawen-forsurvival · 2 years

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held on as tightly as you held onto me

Owen attempts to figure out what exactly is going on with Claire while he once again is faced with a prehistoric playground.

i don’t know what came over me but this second part just appeared in my brain???

continuation from part one AKA claire’s point of view

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR JW: DOMINION

Something is off.

Blue stares at Claire too long, Claire stares at Blue like she knows why.

And as much as he wants to figure it out, Owen can’t tell what the woman he loves and the raptor were telling each other.

Claire looks terrified of the dinosaurs in the black market.

Well, more terrified than she usually would be of them.

She’s done so many search and rescue missions and helped so many of these creatures in the past few years that Owen was half expecting her to run through the black market and open all the cages.

Instead she walks slightly behind him and watches the world around her with trepidation.

He does not look at the dinosaurs, and try as he might he does not keep his eyes on Barry.

Owen’s eyes are on Claire trying to piece together what the hell is happening with her.

When he and Barry trap the atrociraptors he thinks he has it all figured out.

The look in Barry’s eyes, the terror at the thought that one of these monsters could kill him if moved too slow, is clear on his face.

Claire is simply scared.

And she has every right to be.

They’re up against prehistoric animals once again and now Maisie is missing.

(It doesn’t help either that she’ll still wake up screaming every once in awhile, Isla Nublar still haunting her.)

So, Owen figures, it makes perfect sense that Claire is scared.

Because he’s scared too.

Owen has done a lot of stupid shit in his life.

Like a lot.

But driving down an airport tarmac on a glorified dirt bike while genetically fucked up velociraptors chase him feels pretty high up there.

He barely makes it onto the plane, his footing shaky as Claire holds onto him for dear life. He takes a stilted breath, his hands holding her tight to his chest.

She’s scared. And so is he.

They can be scared together. For survival, right?

She needs to go. She needs to go and save Maisie, even if he won’t follow.

“You have to be the one to get her. You’re her mom.”

He tries to convince himself that that’s why he’s sending her. Not because he’s not sure he’ll make it out of this plane alive.

If Claire doesn’t make it, he and Maisie would both crumble. But Claire? She could handle life with her and Maisie.

Claire nods, barely. Her cheeks are stained with tears as he leans down and kisses her. It’s shorter than he wants, but it’s all he can spare.

“I’ll see you again.”

He prays he’s right.

And then, the words he was so scared to say for the longest time.

The ones he’d whispered to her under the dark of night when the world seemed to be caving in around them.

The ones he said before she did.

“I love you.”

The assurance that they meant something.

She closes her eyes and he waits.

She opens her eyes and he’s confused.

“Owen.”

There’s one breath between his name and the moment his life changes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Before he can say anything, before he can react, before he can stop her or urge her on or anything she’s gone.

Claire has flown out of a plane from a fucking eject seat with their baby growing in her belly.

“Watts, you get us out of this alive.”

When he falls through the ice he sees everything.

His mom and dad, his childhood best friend Patrick, his eight grade ice hockey team, the girl he made out with in the back of his pickup truck junior year, his mothers funeral, his fathers funeral, his Navy buddy O’Reilly, the open sea, O’Reilly’s funeral, Simon Masrani, that prick Hoskins, Blue and her pack, Gray and Zach, Claire.

Claire tying her shirt up, Claire running with a flare in hand through Jurassic World, Claire in an airport hanger holding his hand, Claire showing up and dragging him to a bar, Claire’s perfect skin, Claire and Maisie.

Maisie flashes through a few more times and while he loves the girl his mind keeps taking him back to Claire.

Claire, who loves him.

Claire, who’s raising a moody teenager with him.

Claire, who’s pregnant with his baby.

Watts pulls him up and it’s not until they’re in the service elevator that he breathes steadily again.

When Owen pulls the Dilophosaurus off of Claire he wonders for a moment how his life has gotten to this point.

Instead of pondering the thought he pulls Claire into him and breathes a sigh of relief.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

At least for the moment he can rest knowing Claire is okay, that their baby is okay, and that he had them in his arms.

“I got you.”

He’s not sure what compels him to place his hand over Claire’s belly, sending her into full fledged sobs, but he can’t resist the comfort that the action brings him.

He wants to talk to her, to ask a million questions and give her reassurances, but they need to find Maisie.

Find Maisie, then talk.

Maisie finds them.

It’s not lost on Owen how Claire knows their daughters screams before they can see her.

He wraps both of his girls up in his arms and holds them longer than he usually does.

They’re okay, at least for now.

He can’t breathe.

He watches as Claire is pulled across the floor and out the window and he can’t fucking breathe.

His body works on auto pilot, grabbing the rope and pulling Claire back to him.

He doesn’t care that there’s a room full of people around them, he holds her until his lungs inflate again and he’s sure she’s real and there and against his chest.

If he closes his eyes for a moment too long all he sees is Maisie trapped on the ladder and Claire falling out the window.

He doesn’t think he’ll sleep ever again.

“You’re acting weird.”

Maisie doesn’t say anything until her and Grant and him are heading back to the control room.

“Well kid we’re in a prehistoric playground and you were M.I.A. for the better part of two days and your mom almost got eaten by a dinosaur so cut me some slack.”

Alan chuckles as Owen lets out a breath.

Fucking teenagers.

He almost loses it in the rain. He almost pushes Claire and Maisie into the helicopter and lets the t-rex eat him if it means they’re safe.

But everyone is safely inside and everyone is going home.

He breathes out easily, one arm wrapping around Claire while he brings his hand down to press against their baby.

Holy shit. Their kid just survived Jurassic Park 3.0.

“Claire, what in the damn hell were you thinking?”

He means for it to come out softer, but the further away they’ve gotten from Biosyn the more he can’t figure out what the hell she was thinking.

“Owen please-“

“You could’ve died! You went out there, knowing you were-“

And it’s true. Claire clearly knew before they left that she was pregnant and still went.

Owen stutters, remembering Blue’s curious look at Claire.

Blue knew too.

“I did what I had to do!”

“You put yourself at risk and that baby and-“

“I had to save our daughter! I couldn’t not save her!”

He knows she’s right, the same maternal instinct coursed through both her and Blue telling them to protect their babies.

Raptors and humans aren’t all that different.

“I couldn’t let you go alone, I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just sit here. So I’m sorry but-“

He knows she couldn’t let him go alone. She couldn’t sit at home wondering if Maisie was okay, if he was okay.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He tries to convince himself and Claire of the matter. She’s here and he’s here and Maisie is here and their child stills rests in Claire’s belly and they’re going to be okay.

His son sounds like a velociraptor.

He thinks it’s karma, Claire laughs at him.

#clawen #jurassic world #owen grady #jurassic park #claire dearing #owen x claire #claire x owen #clawen fanfic #jw dominion

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sam-glade · 1 year

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7 snippets 7 people

Tagged by the lovely @oh-no-another-idea here💜 Thank you!

I'm not entirely sure what the rules are so I'm picking 7 snippets and vaguely matching them to the 7 people I'd like to tag.

@iced-ginger-tea

"When you're excited you burst into rooms like a summer draft." Gullin stared. He stared at the man in front of him, who had given himself to him so completely, and still found more to give. "When content, your manifestation is the breeze that carries apple blossoms from the orchard at home. When confident, it's the steady but strong wind that you can fly a kite on." He took a deep breath. "But sometimes, you're the squall on a rocky shore, and I don't know what to make of that."

@tisiphonewolfe

The heavy curtains were drawn already; the room was cool and quiet. The box of shatranj pieces sat on a small table by the wall, with the game board masterfully inlaid in the table's surface. A crystal lamp with a stained glass shade illuminated it in patches of muted colours. The silver samovar in the corner hissed quietly as it heated up, and two cut-crystal glasses waited on a silver tray beside it. The familiar setting did little to soothe Erya’s temper.

@acertainmoshke

By the grace of the Five Elements, I am a Sword. I will not raise my Weapon against another person. I will not use this gift to selfish ends, but to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I will not risk my life needlessly, for my death may lead to the injury of others. I will obey the law and my commanding officers from this moment on. This I swear on my Sword and honour.

@writernopal

“Millennia ago, I watched a boy climb a gangplank to a ship docked in this port. It was a meagre vessel, powered by warped oars. The boy had the same wonderment painted on his face, the same light in his eyes.” Amberblade shook his head. “How do you do it, Little Bird? After all this time?” “I’m me, Brother. It seems you played so many roles, that you lost yourself among them.”

@captain-kraken (from The Fulcrum)

The Soulless stands up, brushes the sand off her knees, and turns around, coming face to face with a raptor. She yelps and stumbles back until she trips and falls, her drawing now utterly destroyed. The raptor advances slowly, and turns its head to look at her, blinking its beetle-like eye. Its three-clawed feet are set far apart; they sink into the sand with each step, then drag, draw crumbling lines that point inevitably towards her. Its body tips from one side to the other, its whip-like tail and long neck provide a counterbalance. Small beige tassels sway on either side of its jaw with each movement, brushing horn-like protrusions that adorn its mandibles. The Soulless looks back at it, not daring to twitch. The raptor leans in, its nostrils flaring right next to her beak. Its scales are burnt umber, and she wonders if they would be warm to touch. It’s a stupid thought, and it might be her last one, if the beast is looking for an evening meal.

@elshells

“That was a pupil of mine, General Havyel, sir, not exactly a Dark One. My latest project, if you would.” “What do you mean, not exactly?” Erya snapped. “He’s a brilliant kid, eager to learn, pleasure to work with.” “Varré…” “He suffers from a mild case of demonic possession.” “He what now!?” Havyel blurted out. “Put a pin in that, please, General. It’s only a mild case."

@sarahlizziewrites

“What do you want us to call it, by the way?” Gullin called over from his perch on the stairs, once Lissan got half a dozen more sequences done. “What?” “Your demon.” “Ideally not that.” “Does it have a name?” Lissan grimaced. [...] I would certainly like a name. “It would like it, so it’s not getting one,” Lissan relayed. Gullin chuckled with genuine amusement. “Nameless it is then.”

#7 snippets 7 people #tag game #writeblr tag game

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female-malice · 1 year

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Women who aren't feminists and don't care about politics but actually do things that break gender stereotypes do ten times more for women than feminists who haven't done shit but have all the right opinions. Radfems who have done nothing in their lives but work quiet girly jobs, engage in feminine indoor hobbies like paper crafts, and get useless degrees in fields that are already female dominated genuinely think that by being transphobic on Twitter they're doing more for the female sex than a female rocket scientist who wears makeup or a female combat veteran who doesn't believe feminism is helpful to her. I would probably take "femininity handicaps women" posts more seriously if they were made by really fit, capable women instead of fat radfems who don't know how to change their car's oil.

Oh you're totally right. Innovations in rocket science will definitely liberate women! We should be celebrating the Raytheon girlbosses leading the way in missile technology!!! Yes. Totally. And the female veterans who keep secrets to hide US warcrimes. We should be honoring those women. Murdering Iraqi citizens is such a badass GNC moment. They fought for our right to ally with Saudi Arabia, watch Marvel movies, and drive Ford f150 raptor supercrews! Hoo rah! America!

The real problem in this country is when women become teachers, artists, librarians, social workers, gardeners, and community organizers. Women are holding us all back when they don't buy cars. Bikes and public transit are actually a patriarchy psyop designed to keep women meek. We need women to become imperial legionnaires and urukhai generals! But they keep becoming wisewomen and hobbits instead! Don't they know empire is eternal and the imperial system is perfection??? Nature and community will crumble under our war boots! WE'RE NOT COLLAPSING WE'RE NOT COLLAPSING WE'LL NEVER COLLAPSE WE WILL SET THE WORLD ON FIRE BEFORE WE LET THAT HAPPEN LET'S SPEEDRUN THE CLIMATE MELTDOWN JESUS CHRIST WILL SAVE US BECAUSE THIS IS GOD'S CHOSEN NATION HE PROMISED HE'D SAVE US THE ADULTS IN CHURCH ALL TOLD ME HE WOULD

That's real American progress, right? And women should participate in that progress. Feminism just holds us back.

#cc

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great-axepectations · 11 months

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ooh bird info post for avian hybrids? also, what kind of bird? parrot, canary, chicken, domestic pigeon, something else?

I am the proud owner of two small parrots: a cockatiel and a black-capped conure. Birb tax!

I might as well do the avian hybrid post here! I think there are certain insights a bird owner could offer that would be useful to people writing avian hybrid characters. My expertise is small parrots but I'll try to be as general as possible. It's all fiction so none of this is law, but maybe there are some facts here that will help writers with fun details.

One thing is that birds have very high metabolisms! An avian character might be munching on snacks constantly to keep up (they also poop constantly but you don’t have to mention that in writing). This also means that they have very high internal temperatures--around 106 degrees to a human's ~98. Avian hybrids would be very warm to hug! A dangerous side of this is that birds also have very high blood pressure. It's likely a bird will bleed out before their blood can clot, unless you apply corn starch or styptic powder. Remember that if your avian hybrid is injured.

Birds are SO LOUD. Vocalization is how they communicate over long distances in the wild so they need to be heard! If my 90-gram conure is sitting on my shoulder and peeps at full volume, my ear will be ringing for a while afterwards. Some larger parrots can hit decibel levels comparable to a jet engine. If a bird hypothetically had human-sized lungs, they could probably cause permanent hearing damage. It's plausible for an avian hybrid to have a sonic screech attack!

Molting occurs about twice a year, when a bird gradually drops their ragged old feathers and grows them back. If a bird has clipped wings, it will eventually molt the cut feathers and grow new ones, making them capable of flight again. A new feather forms in a sheath or 'pin' that crumbles away when the feather is fully grown. These have blood in them as the feather growns, so it is painful if the sheath is broken too early. Pin feathers are itchy and uncomfortable, but mutual preening with a trusted partner to get those hard-to-reach spots is a wonderful bonding exercise for any bird or avian hybrid. The removed sheaths can make a mess, though--depending on the type of bird, it's either an oily dust or a very fine, chalky powder. An avian hybrid's home will probably need excellent ventilation, frequent dusting, and a powerful air filter. Some birds also maintain their feathers with dust baths--god help you if your avian hybrid does that indoors.

Most birds are prey animals, so they are constantly vigilant for predators (if your avian hybrid is a raptor then I can't help you). This means they have very good hearing and sight. They are also jumpy, and if something spooks them they will go "NO THINK, FLY NOW" and smack right into a window. A sick bird will be picked out of the flock by a predator, so birds will hide any symptoms of illness until they are nearly dead. An avian hybrid might be more capable of expressing their illness, but I can imagine this trait being used as the basis of an angsty sickfic.

Your avian hybrid might be more resilient than an average bird, but birds are incredibly fragile. The hollow bones thing is true, and they break easily. Their powerful little lungs are very sensitive to fumes (canary in a coal mine, anyone?), and even something like a cleaning spray or scented candle can be deadly. Common household substances can be poisonous, like chocolate, coffee, and avocado. (If this post is making you consider getting a pet bird, do A LOT more research. Bird ownership isn't just having a pet, it's a lifestyle choice.)

But to end on a happier note: birds are as varied as humans in showing affection. A happy and relaxed bird will have fluffed-up feathers, one foot tucked up, eyes closed, and slowly grinding their beak (maybe your hybrid could instinctually grind their teeth to imitate that?) Most birds are not cuddly, but my conure is never happier than when she's snuggled in my hand or sleeping in my shirt. She doesn't mind being picked up like an ice cream cone--my cockatiel would throw a screeching fit if I tried that with her. But she will still spend all day napping on my lap while I work, and will tuck her little head up under my nose so I can give her kisses.

This post is already WAY too long but please do send more questions if you want help writing more realistic avian hybrids!

#haha infodump go brrrrr #hopefully this will be useful to someone #birds #asks #avian hybrids #tw blood

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stesierra · 10 months

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It's 7am and I've had one hour of sleep because my baby complains every time his binkie falls out. And that means it's time to post another first chapter of a different book. As usual, tell me if you want to be added or removed from my writing tag list.

This is NA fantasy about found family and finding your own path. It's sort of a love letter to birds. Ace representation, of course.

Court Phoenix

Chapter One

In the thin twilight before dawn, the poles of my net sprang from the lake shore like dead saplings. The shadows turned my standing net invisible, hiding its intricate weaving and strong threads. If I couldn’t see it, neither could the birds. That was what I was counting on.

My shoulders slumped as I crouched in the brush, and exhaustion tried to drag my eyelids down. The wind grazed my cheeks and nipped at my exposed ears, and for a second the net appeared, rippling like a wave on the lake. I prayed for stillness, and the breeze withered. It was what I’d wanted, but the dead air stifled me as I waited for my prey to wake and wing across the water. The most boring part of fishing for birds was waiting.

A wavering shriek split the night and pierced my ears. It wasn’t human, but I couldn’t deny the anguish in that wail. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my heart quickened. I craned my head, trying to see the source among the trees.

If not for the broken twigs biting into my knees and the muddy smell of the shore, I would have thought I dreamed. Fire danced in the sky, the sun escaping its path. It darted over the trees and swept over the lake, trailing sparks, and with another tormented scream, it dashed itself against the shore.

I jumped up, crunching fallen branches underfoot. The flames licked the ground, like an ordinary cookfire, but something lay in their midst. A bird, her wings spread and neck twisted, but not the sort of bird I had for dinner. If she had struck my net, she would have ripped it apart even without the flames. It had happened once with a golden eagle of the same size, and I still bore the scar from trying to free it.

The fire blazed brighter, but I crept towards it. At first, I thought the bird was an eagle. Her bone-white beak slashed downward, and her ivory talons clenched into human-sized fists. But her streaming tail better fit a pheasant, and no raptor bore such a curving neck. A band of gold encircled one ankle, like a bracelet.

Her blunt wings beat once as I knelt by the border of the fire. Except for the blue that painted her tail and face, her feathers glowed gold and red, echoing the flames. Her ruby eyes stared up at me. Her beak parted, and another shivering cry cut into my heart. I had never heard anything so sad.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, although I didn’t expect a reply. “How can I help you?”

She keened at me, lying limp and hopeless.

Some mad instinct drove me to lean forward into the flames. I wasn’t worried about the fire — I was fireborn — but that beak could take off my fingers, those claws gouge out my heart. But I gathered the bird onto my lap, ignoring the fact that my trousers and quilted jacket had caught fire.

She opened and closed her beak, turned her head to lie against my leg, and died.

I sighed and stroked her silky back. I was a fisher, and we caught and ate birds to survive, but I had always loved birds of prey. Whenever they hit my nets, I set them free. I supposed this bird was free now, but her loss seemed a tragedy. She was so beautiful.

In my arms, the creature’s feathers blackened and curled. The scent of roasting meat wafted up. And then, before I could decide if it would honor the bird more to eat or bury her, a pillar of flame erupted around me.

It roared like a bull, climbing into the sky and burning my clothes to ash. Smoke choked my nostrils and filled my lungs. The bird crumbled to cinders, leaving me naked and empty-handed. I scrambled to my feet. Around me, the fire was electric, calling to me, welcoming and joyful. The golden band melted in the heat, puddling on the ground.

Mother would be furious about my clothes, but it was too late for them, so I stayed bathed in flame.

It died down too soon, as though giant fingers had pinched out the fire. The wind replaced it, stinging my ashy skin. The only warmth left in the world was the embers beneath my feet.

I stared down at them. I couldn’t see what was left of the golden band anymore, but the coals cradled a golden egg the size of my two fists. I leaned down and brushed its shell with my fingertip. It was hot and smooth, almost oily. I picked it up and cupped it to my modest breasts. And, my skin sooty and bared, I walked home.

The sun peeked above the horizon by the time I padded across the boundaries of the village. Behind me, the little forest that curled around our lake shifted and sighed in the wind. The birds had begun to sing.

It was early, and the only people awake were out fishing, like me, so no one watched as I tiptoed through gardens that burst with flowering onions and herbs and sidestepped half-patched boats turned over in the middle of town. I snuck past square houses with thatched roofs and paper windows and walls of lacquered wood. Fish dried from the eaves, and the town cats sat like loafs beneath, hoping for one to surrender to gravity.

My small home was near the smithy at the center of town, the doorstep scattered with feathers of every color. A brace of geese hung over my neighbor’s door — either bragging or an offer to bargain. Probably both. A net wound round poles was propped up outside, wrapped in tight cloth marked with a family signature. I had left mine standing by the lake, and Mother would be furious if she found out. I wouldn’t let her find out.

I shoved my door open with a shoulder and squeezed inside, egg cuddled against my bare stomach. The twilight wasn’t strong enough to light up my paper windows, so I propped the door open. It revealed hand-me-down furniture, pressed on me by relatives when I moved out of Mother’s house. A pallet stuffed with reeds took up the far wall. In the center stood the fire pit, nothing but dead ashes, and before it my scratched little dining table and wobbly stool. If I’d had a husband or wife, like any other young woman, they’d be waiting for me with the cookfire blazing and a savory breakfast scenting the air. But I didn’t have one. My house was cold and smelled of nothing but vinegar.

I hurried inside and laid the egg down on my pillow, in the indent left by my head. Then I cleaned up as best I could with a pitcher of water and some rags. The water turned black by the time I was done, but I no longer looked like my clothes had burned off me. Just in case, I pulled on the gray trousers and tunic I used at the forge. No one would notice a few more soot stains among those already there.

I sniffed myself and then the air. The fire was dead and I was mostly clean, so why did I smell smoke?

My pillow was smoldering. The egg lay among rising curls of gray, looking harmless. I snatched it up and flipped the pillow over to smother the black patch the egg had left.

“You’re trouble,” I told it. “I should put you back in the woods.”

It shone innocently in my hand. Innocent? It had tried to light my house on fire!

I cradled it in my palms, and it radiated heat that made my fingers tingle. I asked myself, “What am I doing? I can’t raise a bird. No one would understand.”

But I had no answers for myself. I burrowed the egg into the ashes of my firepit, mounding them up around it. If it caught alight here, it wouldn’t burn the village down. And then I ran back to the forest to check on my net and whether I had caught anything.

I couldn’t deal with birds all day. After I had plucked and gutted my catch — two ducks and three shorebirds — I left it outside Mother’s door and followed the stink of smoke to the smithy.

The old smith was already there, prodding the fire with a long poker. “You’re late,” he told me. “Do you think you’re my apprentice to waste my time?”

I was his apprentice because he’d paid off my mother when I was still a toddler who crawled into the family cookfire. No one had ever asked me if I wanted the job. But I bit back my temper and took a hold of the bellows. I’d learned a long time ago that protesting was a waste of time. Even though I was now twenty, a woman grown, by the rules of my village, this man was my master.

By sundown, soot and sweat soiled my forehead, my black hair and clothes stank of smoke, and my arms ached. My hands hurt from holding a hammer without gloves. My master was of the opinion that since fire couldn’t burn me, I would have greater control with my bare hands. All it did was make my palms smart with each blow.

I trudged back to my house in the twilight, already planning a long nap. But the door stood open, and my mother’s voice issued out, shrill and too loud. My heart dropped down to my toes.

“What is this mess? And where are her spare clothes and shoes? And what is that?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Eldest Brother said, his voice patient and demure as a man’s should be. “It looks like an egg.”

They’d noticed the addition to my fireplace. Of course they had. I had no privacy at all, even now that I’d moved out. I hurried inside, expecting to see the egg smashed on the floor. But it still sat snug in its ash nest, shining gold like the headwoman’s best jewelry.

My mother spun towards me, hands set on her hips. Her long quilted coat fell to mid-thigh, covering her trousers, and she’d yanked her graying black hair back into a high pony-tail. My oldest brother stood between her and the door, dressed in a similar outfit, and he frowned at my grimy face. They both looked like me: mouths too thin and wide, noses too small and upturned. None of us were beauties, myself especially.

My mother demanded, “Where were you? What is this?”

I waved a hand to my smoky clothes. “Working at the forge. Where I am every day.”

She sniffed, folding her arms. “You should have been home an hour ago, to prepare dinner.”

“Tell that to the smith,” I snapped, shoving past them both to cast my jacket down on my bed.

“Tell him yourself,” Mother said. “You’re a grown woman. Supposedly.”

I gritted my teeth and kicked off my shoes, which sailed across room. “Please leave so I can eat and go to bed.”

Eldest Brother sighed and shook his head. “We’re your guests, Kerra. Did Father teach you to show such poor hospitality?”

Father had the courtesy not to invade my house. But I said, “No. Please, make yourselves at home. I’m happy to stay up another three hours instead of getting the sleep I desperately need.”

“You get plenty of sleep, you lazy girl,” Mother chided.

I clenched my fists, and my sore fingers protested. “Not when I get up before dawn to fish for birds! Birds for you! Which you never thanked me for!”

Eldest Brother glowered at me. “Calm down, Kerra. This is unbecoming.”

I jabbed a finger at the door. “Then leave.”

“I’m not going,” Mother declared, “Until you explain the egg in your fireplace.”

I stepped around them and swiped my hand through the ashes, hiding the egg beneath. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to your mother,” my mother and brother said at the same time. I wanted to scream.

“Fine,” I said. “The spirit of fire sent it to me. So I’m going to hatch it.”

They both stared at me. Eldest Brother said, “Hatch it? When it would make an omelet enough to feed your entire family?”

Mother sniffed. “What do you mean, the spirit of fire? The spirit of fire has had nothing to do with you since it possessed your father.”

I was born to the fire, as my people said it. It was Father's fault for being a daydreamer, Mother always said. Sometimes, if a man spent too long out on the water or the cold windy plains, or in front of a fireplace, or turning over the garden, and his mind wandered, a spirit might possess him. If he went to his wife, so possessed — well, he might sire a child with some unusual abilities.

Women didn't get possessed. I guessed we were more sensible.

“Give us the egg,” my brother said. “The family’s stomach matters more than your fancies.”

“Go on,” I said unkindly. “Touch it. If it’ll let you pick it up, you can have it.”

He frowned and sank his hand into the pile of ash. And then he yelped and jerked it back out. “It burned me!”

Mother grabbed his arm and glared at me, demanding explanations.

“The spirit of fire sent it,” I repeated. “If you try to make an omelet with it, it’ll probably burn down the village.”

My mother paled, staring down at the fireplace, and her fingers tightened on my brother’s sleeve. “Then you should carry it out and throw it into the lake! Really, Kerra—”

“Goodbye,” I said, herding them outside with sweeps of my hands. “Tell Father I said goodnight.” And as soon as they were beyond the threshold, I slammed the door shut.

Barely enough light illuminated the windows for me to dig out my tinder box and start the fire. I thought about pulling the egg out first, but I had nowhere fire-safe to put it. In the end, I piled dry kindling around it, and let the flames envelop it. It shone from the heart of the fire, neither blackening nor cracking, and I had the strange sense that it was happy.

“Are you going to hatch?” I whispered to it. “And when?” But the little life curled within that shell was sleeping, and I got no answer.

The next morning found me out by the lake again. No firebird tumbled from the air this time, but I caught a brace of ducks. This time I kept them for myself. My mother wouldn’t appreciate them anyway.

When I returned home, ducks hung from my belt, pole and wrapped net resting against my shoulder, I paused on the footpath and stared. My paper windows glowed as if I’d left a lantern lit inside, but when I’d left, the room had been black as pitch. What on earth?

I propped my poles and net against the front wall and peeked inside. Light radiated from my fireplace, too golden to be a fire. The egg shone where it curved above the ash, and cracks crazed it, each so bright it burned white. Something within rapped, like the crackle of damp charcoal raked into the forge. And as I gaped at it, the egg rocked impatiently against its ash nest.

I slipped inside and slammed the door behind me. If I was lucky, the villagers would think I’d just left the fire lit. I didn’t want any witnesses for this unusual birth.

As I reached the hearth, the tip of a white beak punctured the shell, and light poured out of the opening. And barely a second passed before a thunderous crack split my ears. I went half-blind as the egg exploded outwards, blasting glowing shell in every direction. The shards powdered like snow before they hit my face, but I still got one in my mouth. It tasted of chalk and ash.

I'd never seen an egg hatch, but I was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like that. But when I saw the firebird, sprawled in my fireplace with two enormous feet sticking out from under her, I forgot all my objections.

Ash-white fluff buried her, like she'd ripped out of a down pillow instead of an egg, and fire danced about her and blushed her baby-feathers red and gold. Her half-naked head wobbled on a skinny little neck, blue as the adult's tail. I crouched in front of her and stretched a hand out. Her face was the length of my littlest finger, and her eyes were closed like a newborn kitten's.

“What on earth am I going to name you?” I asked the chick.

The baby bird bumped me gently with her beak and overbalanced. When I righted her, she felt like embers against my palms.

I said, "I think I'll call you Hes."

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

#writeblr #writing #fantasy #writers of tumblr #creative writing #Court Phoenix

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blueberryraptorcrumble · 11 months

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Finally got around to painting up Sparrow.

Got a Beasts of the Mesozoic build-a-raptor kit years ago. Can’t tell you what parts honestly, the kit only had like 2 of the 5 or so heads that didn’t have a cross jaw thing going on and I had to mix and match some pieces to make ‘em fit. Didn’t know how I wanted him to look either. Loosely inspired by the old Wild Republic Raptor plush and his namesake bird.

Painted with citadel contrasts and vallejo acrylics primarily. Still to be sealed.

#raptor crumbles #beasts of the mesozoic #miniature painting #dinosaur toys #raptor

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moonlightrift · 11 months

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Fortnite Wilds - First Impressions

Loot pool is a STRONG improvement over MEGAs. While I hope we get some kind of mobility item later in the season, the current guns feel like they fit the theme a lot more, and none of them feel too strong or weak. This opinion may change given more time.

The new biome is GORGEOUS. I was really worried from the trailers and screenshots that it'd lack a strong visual identity, and that it'd all end up being that same overgrown temple look. I'm so glad it isn't just that. The new walkable canopy is going to lead to some insane fights in Zero Build, the prop density is insane, there's so many plants and trees making the biome feel properly lush. One of my complaints with the Neo Tokyo biome is that while the POIs were gorgeous, it felt really empty, and there wasn't enough making it stand out from the rest of the map. This biome avoids that problem, the terrain style, plants, etc, all are extremely differnet.

The lore. I'll keep quiet on this because no one wants to hear me nerd out but we're so back chat. I'm actually feeling the fires of speculation burning within me once again, which I haven't felt since Chapter 3 ended.

I've been far more critical of Chapter 4's visuals then most people, but with the new biome, the storm being purple again, the improved volumetric cloud systems (the storm looks terrifying,) it feels more cohesive. I certainly still have some problems, namely the trees, and lack of foliage, but I'm feeling it.

The new mechanics feel really solid. The vines you can grind on feel far more purposefully placed then the grind rails. They'll get you to a good vantage point, or across the biome. The mud makes sliding far quicker, which is great for mobility. The new plants make exploring the biome interesting, especially when you're low on shields. The new vaults seem.. weird, I need to mess with them more.

New augments feel good to use, the current augments list feels great to use, no filler ones. Hope to continue seeing useful and unique ones.

There's a list of new items that look to release this season, and unlike last season, they're not basically all collabs! One thing I'm really excited for is the synergy between the cloaking item and the Thermal DMR. It gives a GOOD REASON to pick up the item, beyond just enjoy how it plays. I love stuff like that, and I wish it was more common.

Job boards are cool.

Negatives:

My frames are so bad bro, constant dips from 60 to the 20s. :skull:

Chances are, we'll get very little map changes again, which kinda sucks.

The Kinetic Boomerang seems, okay? No mobility attached, nothing that really makes it stand out, beyond the fact you don't need to aim.

I've not seen any raptors despite them being one of the advertised features. Might just be me, maybe they don't spawn in the Jungle, for.. some rason.

I'm just not feeling the Battle Pass. I like one skin and set, and that's about it.

Wildwasp's seem completely useless, just like fireflies.

WHY IS SLONE ITEM SHOP GRAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

Losing the Auto Aim Pistol and Shield Kegs sucks, the first was one of the most unique items added in ages, and the other was great for squads.

The lack of any major movement / game feature this season is unfortunate, I was really hoping we'd see one of the leaked features such as First Person, Wall Running, or Hill Climbing releasing. The last one would fit really well with the crumbling item vibe.

There weren't enough unvaults. Things like the Flintknock, Infantry Rifle, etc. would fit perfectly this season. The fact they weren't included makes me really sad. I'm really afraid I'll burnout on the lootpool quick like last season.

Still no LTMs :lunadepressed:

I really should've wrote down notes while playing, cause it was a struggle remembering what I did and did not like. Despite it seeming like there's more negatives, I'm actually feeling really great about the season so far. I think it's gonna be be far better than MEGA was for me.

This is the most excited I've felt about Fortnite since early Chapter 4.

8/10, I hope the rest of the season is as great.

..I need to check out the lighting as well, it looked really foggy and weird in the jungle biome, and I need to know if the rest of the map is like that, or if they fucked with my precious volumetric lighting. We'll see!

#fortnite #fortnite lore #fortnite fans follow me fr #fortnite wilds #fortnite battle royale #fnbr #fortnite br #SLONE IS FUCKING BACK #AND THERE'S SO MUCH LORE AND MYSTERY I'M SO EXCITED #SLONE SEEMS TO HAVE LEFT THE IO???#WE'RE SO BACK CHAT #THE VOLUMETRIC CLOUDS ARE EVEN PRETTIER TOO #GRAHHHH IM SO PUMPED FOR NEW LORE

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nemophilistcreature · 2 years

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GOD THE NEW JURASSIC WORLD MOVIE TRAILER MAKES MY LITTLE RAPTOR BRAIN SO HAPPY!! Every time I remember it I simply crumble. I want to roam around with fellow raptors and chill.. ugh

#kin #otherkin #therian #dinosaurkin #raptorkin #velociraptorkin #paleokin #paleotherian

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thepaintedsable · 1 year

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Depositional Time Traveler (Art + Writing)

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【 Warning 】 »Mentions of Death, »Magical Mishap, »Illustrated BONES!!!!! (Fossils)

Reader/Viewer digression is advised.

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Wind slipped off of the cliff with the force of a torrent; the long, spindled blades of grass creating the effect of a soft river just on the verge of spilling over. It was unfathomably lucky that shrubbery grew unheeded a few steps away, not only for it blocking the ferocious wind, but the roots likely being the only feeble support keeping a rockslide at bay. Even with grass underfoot, it grew so sparse that one could tell the hardened clay was corse and dry. So grainy that even a gentle gust might cause it to erode and crumble.

With the howling tune of the gale, any creature with eyes could tell such events had already taken a toll on this land. Where once must have lain a mighty hillside was now a deep crevice, wind blasting away at the sides to reveal deep cave-holes and ancient secrets. One could wager that there had been a mighty cave that had simply collapsed in on itself, though it would be hard to guess what sort of mighty force would be able to do such damage to a natural structure. Even more puzzling, none of the revealed caves on the opposite cliff seemed to be logical, and if they were still underground, most would simply be pockets of stale air and old dust.

The deepest harbored great waterfalls, coming from some forgotten spring and falling may feet down into the creek that lay below. Foliage and plants, clearly thriving considering their massive size, overtook most of the other holes. Life making its best attempt to reclaim soil that must have not been touched for the last millennium.

Yet… that couldn’t be true.

Within the soil, tarnished in colorful layers that unintentionally noted their age, lay great beasts. All old, all large, and all having succumbed to the pressure of time. One of the current era might be hard pressed to even recognize these as ancestors of the current world, the bones disarticulated and their forms foreign to the current day. Most blended in with the earth, a deep brown one might even mistake for a common rock — save for the clear points of where eyes, teeth, or horns once kept.

Yet one stood out among the rest.

A beast of beasts, the creature must have made even the largest of raptors feel small. The birds that rested on its skull looked like ants, and it should be noted that no small bird could fair the airs that forced along the gap between the shrubbed cliff and the layered wall. This creature was no raptor nor dragon, holding no recent form. It’s spines were broken in areas where no support could be found, though that seemed to be the only fallacy in the pristine preservation of this animal.

Only one side of its mandible was opened in a perpetual scream, where the other was tightly jointed to the skull. Few bones were out of place, with those that were only being but paces off of where they should have been. It was almost as if someone had taken the skeleton and carefully placed it right in that spot, for the plants and birds to make use out of it as rootholds and roosts.

What made this fossil particularly strange, though, was its placement through several depositional layers. It could be believed that a fossil might be lighter than others for one reason or another, but these bones reached straight through eight of the carefully lain blankets of soil. One could likely fathom a few bones to be displaced in such a way due to the earth shifting, water flowing, or outside circumstances such as a burial, yet these bones were together, articulated, and upright. As if the creature were standing, but was suddenly engulfed by the rock.

Teasel had seen many cliff faces and many old bones, but none as unsettling as this.

The large raptor was an explorer of sorts, a trader and curious soul. It was simply his nature to find things he could possibly take, mend, or sell only to fund his travels. Although this location had nothing he could sell, it certainly held a story, and therefore held the greatest value of all — to him, at the least. — it was unlikely that this sight would stand for much longer, considering the water and winds gorging on the history, with the lookout not fairing so well either. It’s a wonder the hefty fossil hadn’t fallen yet, nor having been taken out by the initial collapse considering its precarious standing.

He could only imagine what had happened to the creature. Lending it the benefit of personally and knowledge in his mind, he could only believe that this was a sign that magic was much older than he had first believed. Of course he knew it was ancient, but he’d thought it had… evolved. He could barely imagine what the poor creature must have been thinking when it attempted to travel into the future, only to be greeted by the unforgiving, ever shifting sands of time.

This is very much copy-pasted from a post I made on the Official Mochi Raptors Amino (I moderate over there), of one of my Raptors: Teasel! This was one of my bigger pieces, just to produce a little something fun for the community. :) Which normally means a more story-driven artwork with a little writing on the side.

I do love my fair share of magical mishap, which prompted the artwork. I was actually trying to draw the Minecraft Farlands originally, though, but I think my 5-year-old brain took over and said “b-but dinosaurs” so… yeah, fossils haha.

This is kinda set up so I can play with Tumblr’s layout and settings a bit more. So I apologize if this is a bit… messy? Either way, I hope you enjoyed!

#traditional art #mochi raptor #art #alcohol markers #gouache #ink #mixed media #fossils #writing #writing and art #Bones #help lol

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