#MATE HAS LIKE FOUR PAIRS OF WINGS AND IS THE SIZE OF A BUILDING JUST.

[ratsoh-writes]

Meet some more new monster types!

Ogres:

One of the more humanoid monsters. They are very large, standing between 7-9 feet on average, and have leathery skin coming in shades of greens, dark browns and greys. These monsters have pointed ears, no hair, and their arms are slightly longer than what the average humans would be to their proportions. The feet and hands of these monsters are also very large, with big claws on toes and fingers to match. Every ogre has two large fangs sticking out from their bottom layer of teeth. Some have smaller top fangs as well. Ogres can be known to have horns and short tails as well but it’s not common.

Ogres can be found in any au, but are most common in undertale, underfell and the Drake AUs. These monsters are believed to be closely related to the goblins

An ogre mage is called an orc. These children of half ogres and humans are identified by their height, stocky builds and of course the fangs. Ogres are a monster species that were known for having a preference for human mates, so those mages used to be common before the monster human war.

Ogres are intelligent and prideful monsters. They’re known for being incredibly competitive and many are athletes,work in physical education, or are in the royal guard or police force. It’s common sense to never challenge an ogre to anything unless you’re certain you’ll win.

Ogres are monsters with an affinity for weapon summoning magic and are known for having high defense stats.

Swiftees:

These adorable fluffy monsters appear as large cotton balls with the back legs of a rabbit, forearms of a cat, antenna of a moth and small sparrow beaks. They most commonly have two large eyes but some are known to have four. Their fur comes in a large range of colors from pastels, bright vibrant hues and even neutrals. However their fur is never dark enough to be considered a jewel tone.

They are a medium sized monster standing between 4.5-6 feet tall. Their eye/ecto color only appears as darker jewel tones, contrasting their fur.

Swiftees are monsters most commonly found in the bird AUs, and are known to have more moth like wings than actual feathered wings. They’re not seen in any aquatic AUs.

Swiftees are jumpy skittish monsters. It’s generally assumed it’s because of their low defense. These monsters really can’t take a hit. But they have incredible immune systems and rarely get sick. All Swiftees adore shiny objects.

These monsters are pure air affinity and are born with an ability to slow or speed up their falls at will. So these cuties just don’t take fall damage lol.

Bugbears:

Like the name suggests, these monsters best resemble bears in the face and body shape. Their thick fur comes in all kinds of shades of browns, greys and occasionally blues. These monsters are massive, averaging around 9-12 feet tall. What sets them apart from normal bears is of course having thumbs, a more human like looking pair of eyes and bone like spines that poke out of the fur of their neck.

Bugbears are most common in fell AUs where they thrived in the harsher cultures. There are no bugbears from gastertale

These monsters are aggressive and temperamental, and are known for having a strong taste for meat and sweets. Most bugbears work in the food industry, and are highly loyal to their favorite food brands. The majority of bugbear fights that police have to break up is because of one bear dissing another bears favorite food lol.

Bugbears are the only mammal resembling monster with a poison affinity. These monsters come with the ability to poison enemies with the spines on their necks. The poison works like a fire ants. It just f*cking hurts. Some bugbear families also have a strong affinity for fire magic.

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #worldbuilding

[sam-glade]

Sam. SAM.

What would it take for dragons to evolve in our world? *props chin in hands*

*cracks knuckles*

Ok, preface: I'm not a biologist, these are my conclusions from a discussion with one. I also specifically wanted dragons with four legs and two wings, not wyverns.

Tl;dr: it would require an astonishing number of highly unlikely coincidences that would affect the rest of the world's fauna, from evolving at a very specific period a long time ago, through surviving multiple extinction events, to having a food source that would make them thrive.

The number of pairs of limbs in vertebrates (especially looking at land mammals, reptiles, birds, and amphibians) correspond to the number of segments in their bodies, which is something that evolved very early on - even before reptiles were a thing, way before dinosaurs. And once vertebrates evolved with two segments, they got stuck with them.

Note that we've got plenty of e.g. anthropods with varying number of legs (spiders, insects, centipedes), but they 1. Have much simpler bodies, without the spine (vertebral column), and with an exoskeleton instead 2. They evolved before vertebrates.

So for dragons with six limbs to exist, there should be another branch of evolution with animals with three-segmented bodies. That branch would have split off just as vertebrates were appearing, but before the number of segments was set - that's a very narrow window. It would be in the early Paleozoic era (500mln years ago).

Then it would split further, into a bunch of diverse creatures. We wouldn't have ended up just with dragons, but with a large variety of six-limbed species, most of them likely without wings. Basically, think of the variety of four-limbed animals we have, from mice, to ostriches, to elephants, and then come up with a comparable amount for six limbs. And sure most of the 6-limbed creatures could have gone extinct, but they needed to exist at some point, for one genus or family (of dragons) to survive to our day.

The more complicated the body is, the more specialised it is, so once the environment changes (climate, food sources, etc.) it's more likely to go extinct - think mammoths, or sauropods, like brontosaurus. We're after large flying dragons especially, which is an incredibly specialised build - they would have to have a plentiful source of food that couldn't be tapped into by simpler means. I mean, on one hand they have to eat a lot to keep their large bodies running (and flying requires a lot of energy), on the other it would have to be a food source that necessitates flying and large size. For example, if they could just graze on the ground, they wouldn't need wings, so individuals with weak or small wings wouldn't die off and would pass on their small wings genes to their offspring.

So what are they eating?

Finally, given the usual reptile-like depictions of dragons, their evolution would have had to mirror the four-limbed creatures closely, which is another unlikely coincidence, though possible (e.g. at a first glance whales look like fish despite being mammals. I think dragons could have a comparable level of similarity to reptiles?).

On the flip side, competition between six-limbed and four-limbed species would possibly alter how many of each would evolve. Perhaps we'd end up without some of the species that exist now, but with more wild six-limbed critters?

Anyway, wyverns would have been much more likely to evolve.

PS. Slight digression: It has occurred to me that wings could be used to attract mates and not be functional (like deer's antlers), but we want flying dragons, right?

#this is all hypothetical #but please comment if I got anything wrong😅 #dragons #evolution #worldbuilding #it was part of a (now abandoned) idea for The Fulcrum #where my birdfolk had arms; legs; and wings #but it got too complicated #so I stick to 2 pairs of limbs

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Lovers & Friends (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Keigo Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut; 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY); Cheating/Infidelity; Mating; Light Degradation; Spanking; Exhibitionism; Multiple Positions; Creampie; Unprotected PIV Sex; Facials; Scent Play; Marking; Spitting; Deepthroating; Cunnilingus; Begging; Edgeplay; Power Play; Daddy Kink; Some Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Mild Violence

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This week has been hella weird (I think it's cuz of an eclipse coming or Friday the 13th) but in other news, HAS ANYONE SEEN THE NEW JJK EPISODE? BITCH NANAMI CAN HAVE ALL OF ME. -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Bonus Chapter.

Read on AO3 here!

************

Chapter Thirteen: I'll Kill For You.

That night across the city, Keigo is tossing and turning in his king-sized bed. 

Usually, on a Friday night such as thing one, he would be inviting his friends over for a little kickback or play a round of video games. Maybe he’d even be out in the streets, bar hopping or going to clubs.

But tonight, he doesn’t want to socialize. He doesn’t want to be with anyone. His phone has been blowing up since he’s gotten home, but he ignores it. He even smoked a blunt and went to bed early for work tomorrow, also hoping this would calm his mind that is won’t shut the fuck up about you and Sakura. 

But it won’t. No matter what, his brain keeps replaying Monday afternoon when you looked so damn good in your work clothes when he met you for lunch and the moment Sakura walked out on him last weekend.

“Dammit,” he swears, frustratedly sitting up in his bed. He figured going to bed early in time for work tomorrow would help him clear his mind for a while, but he was wrong. All he can think about are you, Sakura, and how fucked his situation is. 

But mostly, his thoughts lie with you. He is glad things are “cool” with you after that lunch meeting you two had, but things are still…different. There is still that layer of attraction underneath every conversation you two have; every text he sends you; every laugh you give him at his jokes. That night at the hotel only made that attraction more palpable for him. He can’t even look at you the same way again.

“Fuck!” he growls, gripping his hair in frustration. This is ridiculous! He’s never going to get any sleep if his mind keeps racing like this. 

So, against his better judgment, Keigo rises from his bed, tosses on some sweats and a tank top, and takes to the skies in an effort to stretch his wings, destress, and tire himself out enough to get some sleep. He originally plans to just fly about randomly, a particular route not planned…but what the fuck does he do instead?

He takes the route to your and Rumi’s apartment. 

“You stupid motherfucker,” he sighs, criticizing himself and his need to see you. Logically, he knows he isn’t. There is about a one in ten chance he’ll actually see you in your bedroom window, especially considering that you and Rei aren’t a thing anymore and as far as he knows, you’re single. So when he pulls up to your condo, he expects to see your bedroom curtain closed for the night.

What he doesn’t expect to see, however, is Rei’s ass strutting out of the condo building like a proud peacock. Keigo pauses in his route immediately and zips behind the building, pressing his front up against the brick wall.

He peeks out from the side, sneakily eyeing your ex-boyfriend as he practically skips down the steps of your building. Why was he in there? Could you two have talked? Are you back together? God, he hopes not. How could you have taken back a fraud like that? 

Rei begins to whistle a low tune as he digs into his pocket for his car keys. He clicks a button on the pod, causing the headlights on a white sports bar parked off to the side of the street to blink on.

Keigo carefully examines everything about your ex as he pauses for a moment to take a call when his phone rings, noticing how careless he seems. He even turns around, facing away from his car, as if he has no care in the world.

That kind of confidence can only be accomplished through something he managed to receive. Is it you? Did he come over begging for you back and you said yes? Could you have met him for dinner tonight, gotten too drunk, and had sex with him, which is what he was chasing after all along? 

“This raggedy bitch,” Keigo snarls.

The more he thinks, the angrier he gets. And that anger propels him toward Rei’s car, right behind his back without him even sensing the pro. Keigo is just too fast. He zooms right by and settles onto the hood of Rei's car, one foot up while the other dangles above the ground. He waits for Rei to finish his car, half of the conversation nothing but mumbling.

When he finally hangs up with a laugh, Keigo makes his move. “Stalker much, Tempo?” he asks. 

Rei startles and immediately whips around to find Keigo sitting on the hood of his car. Keigo smirks a this reaction, glad he can scare the guy. At the sight of Rei’s eyes narrow. “Well, if it isn’t the number two pro hero,” he huffs. “You mind getting off my car?” 

Keigo cracks his neck, making Rei tense. “Yeah, I do mind,” he growls. “Nice ride, by the way. I can only imagine what kinda shit you’d be able to get with your award.”

A cool smirk that ticks him off stretches across Rei’s face. “Well, we’ll see in a week, won’t we?” he curtly chuckles. “If you don’t get off the car, I’m taking you with me. I don’t think Y/N would wanna see you under a car though.” His smirk only grows wider. 

Keigo imagines punching it off of his face. This fucker is way too cocky and confident right now. Something definitely happened with you tonight. “Were you with her tonight?” he asks, cutting right to the chase. He knows that this doesn’t concern him, but if you’re going to be with anyone else, he'd rather it be someone who isn’t an insecure phony. 

Rei’s smirk fades, replaced with a bitter stare. “Why’s that any of your business?” he asks, placing a hand on his hip. That makes Keigo even angrier for some reason, despite him being right…but shit, he doesn't wanna hear it from him! 

He begins to argue that your happiness is absolutely his business, but Rei stops him. “You think you’re gonna take my place?” he acerbically hisses.

Keigo’s mouth abruptly closes, his brows furrowing in confusion. What the hell is he talking about? “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Rei asks, an accusatory look on his face. "Trying to intimidate me, scare me out of breaking up with Y/N so you can steal my spot?” 

Keigo silently stares at him for a minute, wondering if this man had too much to drink and is just saying shit. “Okay,” he begins. “First of all, you’re crazy. Second of all, Y/N already broke it off with you. Third, you’re crazy.” 

Rei chuckles at his insult, rolling his violet eyes. “Not crazier than someone desperate enough to intimidate their best friend’s boyfriend,” he rebuttals.

Keigo scowls at his words, realizing that he’s talking in the present tense again…as if he is still your boyfriend. Rei laughs, finding humor in this. “What, you didn’t hear? We got back together just tonight. A few hours ago, actually.” A suggestive smirk stretches across his punchable face. “I’m sure you can smell the perfume.” 

Keigo immediately jumps off of the car, his wings shuddering with anger. “You’re lying.”

Rei raises an eyebrow at him. “Am I?” he challenges. He raises his phone to Keigo, that smirk still on his lips like he’s winning this game. “You want me to call Y/N so she can tell you herself?” Keigo blankly stares at the phone, his jaw tightening. he’s almost tempted to say yes. 

Rei cackles, making the winged pro want to wring his neck. “You’re pathetic for trying this card, Hawks,”  he sighs pityingly. “I mean, as a pro, you should be smarter than this thinking you could break us up and steal your way into Y/N’s heart…or bed.”

Keigo's ears perk at the last part and his top lip begins to twitch––something that happens when you’ve got him heated. “Da fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he asks through a growl.

Rei isn't the least bit intimidated, or is at least pretending he isn’t. “Look, who you spend the night with is my business,” he says, putting his hands up in mock defense, “but everybody knows you get around. Is that what your current girlfriend is? A one-night stand that turned into a weekly nightstand?” 

His eyes turn into darkened, violet slits, his stare becoming ice cold. “How is she, by the way?” he asks. “Does she know you cheated on her with your best friend?”

Keigo swears his heart falls into his ass. At the sight of his shock, Rei smirks. “Yes, I know. Y/N told me and she seemed pretty torn up about it. Even said it was a total mistake and wished it never happened.” He sighs, putting a hand to his heart. “She even persuaded me to walk away even after she told the truth. How amazing of a girl is she?” 

Keigo digs his nails into his palms so hard that he winches at the stinging sensation he feels. But it’s all he can do to not clock this joke of a man and a pro hero standing in front of him. He knows that Rei is just trying to rile him up, but he won’t let him.

And as pissed as he is that you took him back and that you told him the truth even after you swore him to secrecy, he also knows that this is your decision. He has no say in who you date being that he is just your friend. And only your friend. 

He takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders that are wound up tighter than a drum. After finding his inner peace, he looks at the man in front of him, calm and collected. “Look, Rei,” he starts, “I’m not here for this or to break you and Y/N up if it’s true that you’re back together. I just want her to be happy.”

Rei’s smile is bitter, not at all touched by this. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you?” he scoffs. “Now get the fuck away my car.” 

But Keigo doesn’t budge. Instead, he stands there as one of his feathers separates from one of his wings and sharpens to the point. It then zips through the air to stop at the hood of Rei’s car where it sits dangerously close to the metal, its point nearly digging into it and creating a scratch. The fear that crosses Rei's face is nearly orgasmic for him.

“Listen carefully unless you want a feather fuckin’ up your paint job,” he says in a dangerously low voice fit for a horror flick. “Y/N is very important to me, and so is her happiness. She’s like my family.” 

He steps closer to Rei, getting up into his personal space. It’s enough to intimidate Rei even further and make Keigo even happier. “And if anyone fucks with my family, they….” He pauses, letting his words and the meaning behind them linger in the tense air between them. 

Rei tries to act tough, but Keigo can see his Adam’s apple bob––an indication that Keigo has got him by the balls. “They what?” he quietly asks. 

But Keigo doesn’t finish his previous sentence. He can’t. It would be too violent. Plus, to see Rei squirm makes him happier than he’d like to admit. “Just be careful with her, alright?” he says, a warning in his tone. "You hurt her once; don’t do it again.”

Without another word, he turns to walk away from Rei, mostly to ignore the urge to punch him for the one time. 

But as he does, Rei has more say to him: “Is that a threat, Hawks?” he calls after the winged pro, definitely intending to poke the bear and push Keigo to do something he’ll highly regret. 

Keigo stops short, standing in the silvery moonlight a few yards away from Rei. He flaps his wings once, giving Rei a sight of the majestic, crimson creation that is attached to his back. His feather comes zooming past Rei’s face, nearly taking a bit of his ear and causing him to flinch out of the way.

Once his feather has connected back with the other bunch, Keigo cracks the other side of his neck and glares daggers at your boyfriend from across the lot.

“That’s a promise, Tempo,” he warns. “Don’t test me.”  And then, in a flash of red, he's gone. 

#friends to lovers #keigo takami x black reader #hawks x black reader #feral hawks is the only hawks #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #bnha smut #my fic shit #black coded reader #keigo takami #my works

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: Idiomimic 

RARITY: ★★★☆☆ 

THREAT LEVEL: ★★☆☆☆ | Their magic is usually temporary, but under certain circumstances can have long-lasting or permanent effects.

HABITAT: Most or even all idiomimics found today are descendents from escapees of captive-bred communities that were raised by fae in aos sí. As such, they’re tame enough to be found within human settlements, but also nest in wooded areas. They have a dislike of heavy traffic and construction so when found in town are most commonly sighted in green spaces such as the Common.  

DESCRIPTION: From far enough away, idiomimics resemble small, very round birds, about the size of a tennis ball. It’s only upon closer inspection that you might notice the extra sets of eyes, huge ears, and the fact that it lacks actual wings. For many centuries, these avian fae existed almost entirely alongside faun and anthousai as natural companions. More recently, however, some have escaped aos sí communities and formed “wild” populations. These idiomimics can be found around human settlements and are usually either solitary or in closely-bonded mated pairs. Like their larger fae friends, the idiomimic has a penchant for wordplay and chaos for the sake of chaos.

Watching an idiomimic fly can be a bit of a silly spectacle as they actually flap their bat-like ears rapidly like a bee’s wings. These large ears that double as wings provide the idiomimic with exceptional hearing, better allowing it to catch whatever misfortunate phrase someone nearby may have uttered – a skill they use to cause mischief. Their beak is actually in four parts; when it chirps like a bird, it opens normally, but when it repeats human phrases it opens sideways. Idiomimics are not particularly malicious creatures, but they do enjoy the chaos their powers create. They are small enough that they can usually go unnoticed in most places, and just sit and listen until someone says the right, or very wrong, thing. 

ABILITIES: Idiomimics can make any idiom, simile or metaphor said in their presence become temporarily literal. For instance, if someone were to say “he eats like a bird,” someone might literally turn into a bird, or grow a beak and start pecking around for worms. When idiomimics are injured or scared, the results of their fae magic become more aggressive/monstrous. Their area of effect is fairly small, however, if an idiomimic is part of a mated pair, this effect grows considerably. Their magic is usually temporary. A single idiomimic might be able to change you into a fish (if the wordplay was apt) for about fifteen minutes, and over the course of a day the effect would slowly reverse, leaving you with scales or slight fishy features for at most twenty to thirty hours. However, with a closely bonded pair of frightened idiomimics in an area, and the right phrase, something could theoretically become permanent or require other fae magic to counter the effects.  

WEAKNESS: Like most fae they are weak to iron, especially cold iron. They are also very small, rarely getting larger than a tennis ball. Because of this they can be killed pretty easily. Speaking literally around them means they cannot use their power on you. Their timid temperaments do mean they can easily feel threatened (which unfortunately also makes their magic stronger), and they are clumsy with no physical means of defending themselves. 

NOTE: Currently, a mated pair is hanging around the creative writing department at UMWR. With all the metaphors, similes, and hyperboles spoken in the building, it's the perfect place for them to perform their tricks. The pair may or may not also have a vendetta against the department head, Brianne Hensley, who cut down a tree in her yard the pair happened to like.

(Art credit: Skiptomy)

#monster #idiomimic #fae monster #populated areas #woods #sky

[ferigrieve]

it would be rlly funny if elytra wings just looked like those wings u had in like kindergarten ?? imagine u the player, finally beating the ender dragon after months, maybe even years of preperation, and u venture into the portal that had apperead, builing bridges out of whatever blocks you had and fighting off shulkers to finally, finally get your hands on the elytra. you open the chest, sucking in a breath, and its just

#IN FUCKINGGB CYRINGH O VER THIIS PLE A S E #minecraft #shitpost #AND FOR CHARACTERS THAT LIKE ALREADY HAVE WIGNS WHAT WOULD THEY EVEN DO #grian trudging over to mumbos house after spending an hour trying to put them on over his parrot wings: #mumbo whos wearing a jetpack: #hermitcraft #they also come in the same size so if ur not human shaped then uh. damn #NO WAIT IMAGINE DREAM XD WEARING THEM #MATE HAS LIKE FOUR PAIRS OF WINGS AND IS THE SIZE OF A BUILDING JUST. #HELPGHSBABDB AHAH #dream smp #dream xd

[potatoes-is-are-food]

are you comfortable doing ovipostion? moth jealous shigaraki have my heart ♥️ (if not, its ok) thank u

Am I comfortable? Am I COMFORTABLE???? Nonny I have been waiting for this ask, I’m absolutely thrilled!!! Mothura has a very special place in my monster fucking heart <3

| NSFW, fem reader (no pronouns used although “good girl” is), feat. Is it Mindbreak or Love?(tm)

Leaves crunched under your feet with every step, making you wince at the sound. It added to the fear, causing waves of adrenaline to course through your body. You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking, the battery on your phone slowly draining from your reliance the flashlight to trudge through the darkness. Panic surged through you as it went out, your phone finally dead and entirely useless.

When your car broke down in the middle of nowhere you assumed you could call for help, only to be deterred by the complete lack of signal. Out of options, you’d decided to walk down the road until you could get your phone to work. You didn’t understand how it happened; one second you were walking on the road, and the next you were deep in the woods, hopelessly lost. The sun had fallen shortly after, dropping the temperature and making you painfully aware of how under-dressed you were. And now you had no light, either.

You trembled, stumbling in the dark as you started to sob, completely overwhelmed. You tripped and fell to the ground, your phone slung into the leaves somewhere. You frantically searched, feeling through the leaves and dirt for it. You crumpled, curling into a ball as you started to hyperventilate.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and when you looked up you realized you couldn’t see the stars. It was going to rain on you. You cried harder, trying to take shelter against a tree as the wind whipped at your skin and clothes.

Then, you heard something heavy thud into the leaves not fifteen feet away. Your eyes went wide, darting around futilely as you struggled to see anything in the dark. Leaves and twigs broke, the sounds approaching you as you started to slowly back away. Rain started to fall and the sound of drops hitting the leaves disoriented you further, now unable to tell which direction you should go. You sank slowly to the ground, hoping whatever it was would either overlook you or perceive you as not a threat.

You weren’t sure how, but you knew it was in front of you. Your breath hitched and you clenched your eyes shut, whimpering when you felt breath on your face. You felt something brush your cheek and flinched, trying to curl into a defensive position with your hands up.

“You smell good,” a raspy voice spoke softly, no more than a few centimeters from your face. Too stunned to move, you froze as several hands caressed you, cupping your tear-stained face and stroking your arms. A sickly sweet smell permeated the air, making you lightheaded and dizzy.

“I’ll help you.” You felt his face press into your neck and he inhaled deeply, shuddering as he exhaled against your skin. The hazy feeling intensified, causing an oddly needy feeling to build in your chest. You could feel your self-control slipping away as you fell forward onto him, four strong arms easily supporting you as he rose. He cradled you against his chest, an odd purr sounding in his chest as you snuggled against him, losing consciousness quickly due to the combined exhaustion and stress.

When you woke you were dry, your bare back pressed against a warm chest and something soft covering your otherwise naked body. Your vision was hazy, but as it cleared you noticed it was a gigantic moth wing blanketing you. Two pale arms draped over you, one over your waist and the other resting a hand on your hip.

You were in some kind of makeshift nest surrounded by a random assortment of objects. Forks, old shoes and other articles of clothing, some pairs of glasses, and other things littered the floors and shelves around the room. The space itself looked like part of an old castle or something, made up of stone and dilapidated, no doubt abandoned a long time ago. There were enough gaps in the walls for sunlight to stream in, illuminating everything enough for you to see.

You rolled onto your stomach, turning to face the creature. You nearly gasped, looking into his bright red eyes for the first time. He stared at you intensely, as though unsure of what to do. You felt your face burn, suddenly very aware of your lack of clothes. You brought your knees up to your chest as you sat up in a panic, trying to cover yourself from his very human-like gaze.

“Where am I?” you bunched yourself up tighter, shaking without the warmth of his wing on top of you. His antennae stiffened and he sat up too, leaning closer to you as he spoke.

“Our nest,” he said softly, approaching you cautiously as though you were a wild animal. Under different circumstances you might have laughed at the role reversal, but as is, you were just concerned about the word “our.” He slowly reached out and rested his hand on your arm, lightly stroking your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he eased forward, “would never hurt mate.” His scent took the same sweet turn it had in the woods, and you relaxed a bit, still covering yourself but allowing him to trail his fingers along your arms and shoulders. Unconsciously you leaned closer, warmth starting to spread throughout your body and pool low in your stomach. His antennae twitched and he leaned his head back, letting his pale blue hair fall behind his shoulders. Before you could stop yourself you were sniffing at his neck, eyes rolling back at the delightful intensity.

He embraced you, pushing your chest against his and stroking your back. You tentatively brushed your lips against his skin, unsure if it was by your own volition or an effect of his scent. The purr he gave you in response made you decide you didn’t care, and you let yourself ease into his touch. He pulled away, looking you over as you crossed your arms over your chest once more and clenched your thighs together. The heat overtaking you made you pant and wish he’d keep holding you. His hand cupped your face for a moment before trailing down, gliding across the skin of your neck and pulling at your arm when he reached it. You did what he wanted, bringing your arms around his neck, only minimally embarrassed when he leered at your breasts.

“So pretty,” he hummed, the sound soothing your nerves. You pressed against him, kissing his lips as his hands roamed your body. He didn’t reciprocate at first, unsure what you were doing. He caught on fast, though, moving his lips against yours softly, his upper set of hands stroking up and down your back while the lower ones gripped gently at your thighs. His movements were hesitant and gentle, like he didn’t know how to touch you. The scent he was putting off only increased in intensity, though, making you squirm. You leaned back, breaking the kiss to look down at your slick-coated thighs. Oh. The druggy sweet scent suddenly made more sense.

“Breed with me,” he breathed, peering down at the mess your leaking cunt was making and nodding to himself as if confirming the command. You nervously watched as cock twitched and grew to full size, the sheer mass of it intimidating enough to briefly make you consider running. One look at his face, now tinged a light pink across his cheeks, had you abandoning all thoughts of leaving. He pushed you back against the nest, hovering over you as he rutted his thick girth against your thighs.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, watching his face as he lined himself up. He met your stare and opened his mouth, unconsciously prompting you to do the same as his saliva dripped down and into it. The taste was sweet like his scent, and you nearly climaxed right then from the overwhelming pleasure ingesting it gave you. Unable to resist, you pulled him closer to drink it from the source as he pressed in, breaching your entrance and stretching you around him.

He buried himself to the hilt inside you, pressing firmly against your cervix and allowing you to pant against his mouth as his tongue flicked uncertainly against yours. A strange feeling overtook you and you came suddenly, head falling back against the nest as convulsions shook your body. The entrance to your womb opened and you could feel lots of small, gelatinous objects flood your insides. It prolonged your orgasm, making you whimper and shake against him as he gave you his eggs. As you started to come down, you registered him cooing softly to you, his organ retracting from your walls.

You went limp under him and he waited as your breathing returned to normal, stroking your face and humming softly. He tried to mimic your kissing, pressing his lips flatly to your skin and intermittently licking your cheeks and lips. You sought out his hand and held it tightly, craving more of his touch.

He gripped your hand, purring excitedly as he readied himself again, swiping his tip against your folds before pressing in. You whined into his mouth as he began to thrust, quickly getting excited and throwing his previous caution to the wind. His hips slammed and ground against yours, thick hair at his base stimulating your clit.

You held onto him tightly, chests pressing together as you came again around him. He shuddered at the feeling of you clamping him so tightly, speeding up as his pace got more and more erratic. His length twitched and he started to leak copious amounts of precum, the excessive amount quickly filling you until it flowed out and created a sticky mess on your skin. Its warmth only served to push you over the edge again, your cunt spasming and creaming as you cried out.

Tears streamed down your face as you came again and again, constantly kept in a state of orgasm from his fluids. He groaned and purred, odd little chirps sounding from his throat as he mercilessly fucked you deeper into his nest, spurred on by your sounds and tears and the incessant clinging of your pussy.

“Good girl,” he panted, nearly thrashing with how violently he took you, “good mate,” he drooled, eyes rolling back as his words devolved into nonsense. If you’d been more coherent you’d have thought it was cute. His antennae twitched and he groaned loudly, slamming himself in as hard and deep as possible as he spilled his seed into your open, already flooded womb. His whole body jerked and then he went limp, still filling you as you milked him with a final orgasm so intense your vision was lost for a moment.

You both trembled, holding each other close as you took shaky breaths. He was still buried deep inside, his overstimulated cock resting soft in the mess he’d made of your innards. Stuck together with sweat and spit and cum, you reciprocated his clinging the best your spent body was able. He slowly peeled his face out of your neck and “kissed” you, pressing his slightly ajar mouth over yours. You took his face in your hands as you returned the gesture, trying to teach him how as your tongues tangled together.

With his soft demeanor returned, he gently slid himself out of you, both of you softly whimpering at the sensitive touch. You pushed back some of his sweat-slicked hair from his forehead and he smiled at you. The sound of his purr and the soft movements of his antennae made you less and less concerned about your car and everything else left behind if you stayed. The scent of his skin and the soft, breathy kisses he gave you added to the insignificance of your life before, until you didn’t care about anything besides him.

Well him, but also the babies you’d give him.

#shigaraki #moth shigaraki #mothura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n

[theramseyloft]

What makes cocks and hens attractive by pigeon standards? We know about crop size, strength, dedication and tenacity are all highly valued, but I don't think any physical traits like color, beak length, body shape, personalities etc were mentioned. I do remember you said Money Penny, Gwen, and Bird-Bird were all considered attractive by pigeon standards, but what about them makes them so desirable?

Pigeons consider ferals and homers to be the most attractive.

It’s all about body shape and attitude.

Money Penny (Show Type Racing Homer) stands very upright. 

She’s well balanced, smooth, and elegant, but she’s also solid, muscular, and adds up to a sturdy looking lady.

Her takes absolutely zero shit attitude declares to the cocks that she can defend herself just fine in their absence, and presents a formidable challenge to attempt wooing,

Look at Gwen (Lahore)

Upright, well balanced, bold.

Takes absolutely no shit from other pigeons, and won’t even look at you if you aren’t up to her very exacting standard.

Here is another fit, sturdy, powerful hen who KNOWS she is attractive and carries herself like a queen.

Bird-Bird is not as big or commanding as the other two hens, but she is the epitome of bird shaped, and she crouches at the drop of a hat, so she, by pigeon standards, just oozes sex appeal.

Unfortunately, the cocks mistake her failure to react to their wooing as playing hard to get, which makes her even more irresistable.

Only Samhi seems to have caught on that she just can’t see, and has started guiding her when she seems stressed. Let’s discuss our current residents attractiveness in detail. ^v^ We’ll go by age.

Sun Tsu (Chinese Owl cock)

Tiny, fluffy, and probably the most.. let’s call him exotic? looking little bird in my flock.

He’s an adorable, beautiful little teddy bear of a bird... by human standards. He’s probably the lowest ranking mature cock in my loft right now.

He has to really work to woo Pitch, and she’s the only hen that spends any time with him.

Bobbi (Old Dutch Capuchine hen)

She’s well balanced and lovely, but she is probably the most slender built of all my hens, and pigeons do NOT like skinny girls!

Then there is her personality.

Despite being hatched here, she is terrified of me!

She’s seen what every other pigeon has, including all the other birds cozying up to me with out incident, but there is no bribing her close.

Now that Yun has left, she is the last human hating hold out.

Luxie is braver than she is.

Aside from Luca, the rest of the flock ignore her like something is wrong with her.

Emillio (Portuguese Tumbler cock)

Emillio is considered to be one of the most attractive cocks in the loft.

He was the only bird Gwen would even acknowledge, because her very exacting standards required a bird that stands like her.

Look at them together.

Smaller than her, with a shorter beak, no muffs, and a little more upright stance are the only structural differences.

Even in this photograph, she’s watching him intently.

Emillio is a bold, energetic little guy, that can out fight cocks WAY bigger than him through sheer, unbreakable tenacity.

His attitude DEMANDS respect from the other cocks, and wins the admiration of the ladies, who you will often see nod or even crouch for him in our youtube videos.

He has strong preferences for his favorite hens, though, and tends not to take side chicks.

Papillion was an interesting exception, but we’ll go into that when we get to her.

His current favorite is Tandy.

Luca (Lucerne cock)

Luca is a very mellow cock, largely keeping to himself with the exception of fearsomely defending the nest he shared with miss Money Penny.

Like Emillio, he tends to be faithfully devoted to his favorites.

He doesn’t do much showing off or arguing outside the nest he has now invited Bobbi into, except with individuals that make a habit of trying to steal his scared box behind his back. (His son, Vynni, and Vynni’s second cousin, Lilly.)

So he doesn’t garner much attention from any one of either sex.

He and Bobbi are off in their own little world most of the time, and here lately, she’s been spending more time by herself.

She will be going to her retirement home on Thursday, and he will ship out to his on Monday.

I doubt it’ll stir much up, besides competition between Vynni and Lilly over his vacated nest box.

Papillion (Old Dutch Capuchine x Show Type Racing Homer hen)

Money Penny’s offspring by Ferdi, and the first cross of our Therapy Project is a gender fluid nonbinary individual.

She presented fully as a cock from six weeks into adulthood.

While she was growing up, we were the most cock-light The Ramsey Loft has ever been.

Gwen was her first love, and even after she reached maturity, Papillion presented so completely as a cock that Gwen accepted her as such.

Unfortunately, upon the arrival of the four fliers of the a-cock-calipse (Hoya, Emillio, Bram, and Luca), Papillion lived through every trans and non binary person’s nightmare: Gwen became aware that Papillion is ‘not a real cock’ and promptly dumped her for Emillio.

For several months, Papillion tried to woo Gwen back.

She’d try to join her in her nest and preen her, only to be punched out by the solid, bony butt of Gwen’s wing.

When she gave up on that, she just stood on the floor in front of Gwen and Emillio’s nest and contact called.

Gwen completely ignored her outside the nest. Would not feed near or acknowledge her existence. 

Emillio, interestingly, treated Papillion as an extension of Gwen, and sort of took her on as a secondary wife. 

She laid the only egg he fertilized, but Gwen kicked her out of her nest and took over helping Emillio raise the chick.

For a while, she presented as a cock until she wanted an egg filled.

Instead of choosing a specific mate, she just crouched to let the cocks take turns on her until every one had had one and then set the egg by herself.

Here lately, she has stopped presenting as anything at all, but she looks enough like her affectionate sister, Cookie, that Sissy occasionally tries to solicit her.

She has not been interested in any one at all for almost a year.

Pitch (Frillback x Old German Owl hen)

Not many of the boys seem all that attracted to her.

Her son, Pj, chases her everywhere trying to woo her. He’s even more enthusiastic about it than Sun Tsu, but she’ll respond favorably to Sun Tsu’s offers.

Cookie (Old Dutch Capuchine x Show Type Racing Homer hen)

One of the most desired birds in the loft. Over all, considered ideally pigeon shaped; well balanced, sturdily built, upright and perky.

She’s the only hen here that sees a cock she wants and determinedly woos him, though she’ll crouch like her sister used to and just take any cock that wants some when she wants an egg filled.

She can be seen in SEVERAL Youtube videos absolutely wrecking Sissy and Valentine’s marriage. 

When ever she saw Sissy kissing Valentine, she’d shove her beak into the other corner of his mouth like a demanding younger squeaker insisting he feed her too.

When ever he’d actually go to step up and tread Valentine, Cookie would dive between them so he’d tread her by mistake.

Eventually, he started seeking her out to tread instead of Valentine, but still wanted to spend most of his time with Valentine, ignoring Cookie when he didn’t want sex.

Pippin actually likes Cookie. He prefers to spend most of his time with her, and was devoted to her eggs.

Right now, he wants to try for another round.

Cara (Chinese Owl x Old Dutch Capuchine)

Though aesthetically pleasing to most of the cocks, Cara doesn’t stick around to be flirted with.

She and Mia were squeakerhood friends that just naturally grew to be a mated pair, and her refusal to acknowledge attempted wooing solidifies her as off limits to the rest of the flock.

Mia (Old Dutch Capuchine x Old German Owl cock)

Most of his wooing and displays are aimed at Cara, or a warning for other cocks to keep out of his way.

The other ladies move when he tells them to, but don;t seek out interaction otherwise.

Sissy (Lahore x Modena cock)

BIG! Strong. tenderly romantic boy. Inherited the upright stance of his father and the solid, muscular build of his mother

He has and is everything the hens want in a mate, and most of them fawn over him.

Valentine (Voorburg Shield Cropper x Frillback-OGO hen)

Val is tall and slender, well balanced, and physically fit.

I’ve mentioned before that pigeons tend not to like skinny chicks. Sissy seems to like that Valentine is eye level to him. 

Pj gets excited when she crouched for Sissy (because he usually gets distracted by Cookie), and being the opportunist that he is, can’t resist trying to tread her.

She is pretty firm about not wanting any one’s attention but Sissy’s, though.

Jet (Archangel x Classic Old Frill cock)

I don’t think pigeons find any specific color other than blue bar and iridescent necks inherently attractive, but they do love a stream lined shape.

Jet, when he’s feeling well, is the epitome of stream lined, and photos do NOT do his iridescence anything even resembling justice.

But part of what makes pigeons attractive to other pigeons is their attitude.

He HAD to have Rigby, when they met, and put all of his effort into wooing her.

Hagrid (Frillback x Giant Homer hen)

Hagrid is everything cocks want in a hen; stream lined, sturdily built, bold, and inquisitive.

Lots of the cocks vie for her attention.

Betty just happened to be the most persuasive.

Sony (3/4 Old German Owl, 1/4 Old dutch Capuchine hen)

Though upright and sturdily built, Sony only seems interesting to other Owl Breeds and Owl breed mixes.

Silk (Lucerne x Old German Owl cock)

Silk’s build is nearly identical to Sony’s, and pigeons are naturally inclined to favor birds built similarly to themselves or their parents.

Sony is the only hen left in the loft that fits that description, and they paired up before either of them were sexually mature.

Betty (Classic Old Frill x Racing Homer cock)

Racing homers are probably the most universally attractive breed to other pigeons, and Betty inherited most of his mother’s build, with his father’s chest frill ad bold, jaunty demeanor.

He is a flamboyant dancer who isn’t afraid to throw his weight around, so he’s gained a fairly high status in the ranks of the Ramsey Flock.

Having won Hagrid over, he likes to parade around her when not sitting on her eggs.

Hagrid finds this immeasurably attractive, and so do several of the hens, who often nod to him in passing.

Rigby (Classic Old Frill x Racing Homer hen)

Betty inherited more of their father’s upright stance, which makes cocks supremely attractive to hens, but Rigby inherited more of her mother’s horizontal stance, which makes hens look ready to be tread and gives cocks the impression of being perfectly balanced to easily support them.

She’s bold and sassy and wants what she wants when she wants it, and the cocks fall all over themselves to woo her when she makes it clear they might have a chance.

Tandy (1/2 Racing Homer, 1/4 Old Dutch Capuchine, 1/4 Show Type Racing Homer)

is presently the most attractive hen in the loft.

She closely resembles a purebred Racing Romer, but the Show Type Racer gives her a bit more bulk and makes her look extra solid.

Nearly every cock here has tried to get Tandy’s attention, but Emillio is a tough cock to compete with.

Pj (1/2 Chinese Owl, 1/4 Frillback, 1/4 Old German Owl cock)

You can see in this boy just how persistently the Frillback build inherits.

He’s gorgeous, even by Pigeon standards, though not exactly their ideal.

His posture, vivid iridescence, and bold attitude are his best features, though the latter can hurdle right into obnoxiousness.

Escher likes him, and doesn’t seem to mind, unless she wants his attention right then, that he tries to woo and tread almost every hen that crosses his line of sight like a horny teen stereotype.

Luxotica is a purebred Racing Homer.

Physically, her elegant, streamlined little body is the epitome of attractive to pigeon cocks.

But her skittish temperament reads to the Ramsey cocks, who know they are safe, a lot like a learning disability.

To most of them, she’s pretty, but not worth the risk of being spooked off her nest by the giant flock Auntie.

Lilly likes her, though, and has been putting in the time to work her slowly out of her wariness by example.

Escher (1/2 Old dutch Capuchine, 1/4 Old German Owl, 1/4 Chinese Owl)

Aesthetically, Escher is beautiful by pigeon standards: well balanced, solidly built, fine featured... 

But to most cocks, her temperament leaves much to be desired.

She is difficult to distract or deter from what she’s doing, and comes across too busy to pay attention to any attempts to flirt with her.

Vynni (Lucerne x Show type Racing Homer cock)

Vynni is VERY aesthetically attractive to hens. Big, tall, solidly muscled, fearsomely tenacious combatant..

But, like Escher, he seems completely tunnel visioned on what ever it is that he’s doing.

Usually, fighting with his father, Luca, and his second cousin, Lilly, over nest boxes.

I have yet to see him attempt to actually woo any one.

Pippin (Feral cock)

Small, but feisty, with a vivid neck and energetic dance moves, Pippin is another in the category of mostly aesthetically pleasing by pigeon standards.

Hens love his attitude, and Cookie was charmed off her little claws by his persistent, sweet wooing.

His tiny size is a bit of a disadvantage. He’s too light to put up serious resistance against another cock that really wants his nest, and pretty much every one knows it.

Lilly (1/2 Racing Homer, 1/4 Old dutch Capuchine, 1/8 Old German Owl, 1/8 Show Type Racing Homer cock)

Lilly is the youngest of our sexually mature birds, having just reached 6 months of age on Monday.

He is SOLID, thanks to being mostly some variant of Homer, and a bold, aggressive combatant that takes no shit from any one.

He was the first of the entire flock to come down and meet adult, thickly muscled racer cock Karen’s aggressive challenge on arrival.

They fought fiercely for nearly 5 minutes, and gained enough of a mutual respect to neither antagonize nor flee each other after that.

He is probably the bravest bird in the loft, and skittish Luxie benefits tremendously from his fearsome protectiveness of her and which ever nest box she wants at any given time.

For these highly intelligent, intensely social birds, appearance alone will NOT win you a mate.

Though they certainly do have their aesthetic preferences: 

Big, solidly built cocks that stand proudly upright, 

and sturdy, stream lined hens with large eyes and slightly finer features who stand more horizontally, (both sexes preferred in blue bar with a vivid neck iridescence...)

A bird with an unpleasant temperament will be ignored no matter how good looking they are.

Both the looks and the personality are required for a pigeon to be attractive to their flock mates.

[softsweetsuffering]

OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian Géarán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

#OC List #ocs #god this took forever #B's Ocs #my list #oc list new #fuck me ; ; #im not gonna tag all of them.. its not worth it.. #thanks for the reminder anon

[aty-altiria]

In the Hands of the Goblins

Whumptober 2020: No.2

“Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Word count: 2221 Universe: Yona Of the Dawn, Harry Potter Pairings: Fem!Harry/Zeno Rating: T Themes: Fem!Harry, Collars, imprisoned character, cave ins, implied/referenced self inflicted injuries, memory issues

Summary: Trapped deep within Gringott’s Holly is less than surprised to discover the dragon - it’s not the first she’d come across either. Zeno is however the first one that communicates with her in English, and though his memories are shot, Zeno has no trouble deciding Holly is the regeneration of his dead mate. Nor does Zeno have any trouble in decided he’s going to follow Holly around like a lost puppy, even though he’s a full sized dragon.

For this one I picked a rather lesser known character from an anime I rather enjoyed a few years ago. Zeno! From Yona of the dawn. In the anime Zeno wasn’t shown much but he’s quite present in the Manga and I adored him!

------

Gringott's was ridiculous. It was an endless maze of traps, caves, and chaos, and it put the 'maze' of Holly's fourth year to utter shame. Clearly, the goblins knew how to build a maze where Hagrid did not, a shame really, considering she was trapped in it.

Holly had been previously with Ron and Hermione. They'd been running blindly from the goblins with the cup in hand, and an imperio'd goblin leading them from his kin. And then the floor dropped out from underneath them all. Holly had been thrown onto a near-endless slide, separated from her friends, and dumped into pitch-black darkness. While she'd managed to keep hold of the cup in the fall, Holly also quickly realized she was utterly, completely, wholly… lost. Now, hours later, she was left wandering and hoping for the best.

On the upside, as a witch, Holly wouldn't starve or die of dehydration; she could conjure the latter and had a bottomless bag of the former. Oxygen likewise was permeating the cave system so she couldn't suffocate either. But that was the end to her advantages. Because whatever the goblins did, they made any scrying or location spells utterly useless. So, it was wander and hope for the best… for the rest of eternity, while holding a Horcrux that she couldn't destroy since Ron had the sword.

"Argh!"

Holly stomped her foot as she rounded around a corner as she saw the same thing she'd been for the last hours. Identical walls, stalagmites, stalactites, endless darkness pierced by a light-charm, and bones. Holly suspected the bones were people who'd gotten lost. Well, Holly suspected the legend of the minotaur within Gringott's wasn't really a myth. Merlin, she hoped she didn't run into it, but with her luck…

"I'll probably find both the minotaur and a cave troll," she stomped on, wondering if she was going to die with the blood cup in hand. Voldemort would be thrilled. He'd lose her as a Horcrux, but the cup would be eternally lost within Gringott's caves; he'd be utterly immortal. Holly rounded another corner, grumbling to herself- and froze when she spotted a golden glitter at the end of her line of sight. Standing still, barely allowing herself to breathe, Holly directed her light upward slightly and saw a clawed foot scrape across the rocks.

"No. No. No." Holly took a step back because she'd been wrong; she hadn't found a minotaur, she'd found a dragon!

The foot shifted; it scraped across the ground. Holly watched it turn, move to follow her light- she nearly doused the spell, only to realize she'd be left in the dark, and she was certain the dragon could see better than her. Instead, Holly lifted the light higher and revealed the creature in its entirety.

It resembled a Chinese fireball, an elongated body without the wings Holly knew existed on the European version of dragons. It had four smaller clawed legs, all four were limp at its sides, unused. It had a set of wavy horns that stretched out beyond its head and equally long whiskers at the side of its head. And as the light hit its body, Holly watched the scales beneath its body shine oddly. The thing was filthy, coated in a layer of dirt and blood, so think that she could scarcely make out its colourings. It was only as it scraped its arms across the ground that Holly really realized the dragon was actually gold, rather than brown.

Bleary golden eyes blinked at Holly as the dragon fully turned toward her and the light. Its eyes were squinted, unused to the light, but it was trying to focus regardless. From a distance, it seemed fascinated with her, and even as it looked to her, the dragon made no move to attack. It was quite unlike the pale white version outside Bellatrix's vault. But then, this one was imprisoned much deeper than the other. And… it was a Chinese fireball, that meant it was more serpentine than the other dragon's Holly had met. Which meant… she may be able to reason with this one.

This could be her key to escaping the prison. If she could work with the dragon, she could find a method of escape for them both.

She just had to get it to agree.

Holly took a step forward, sured up her spine and clutched tight to her Gryffindor courage. Getting a bit closer had Holly realizing the dragon was more of a prisoner than she was, thick shackles were attached to its legs. A collar was wrapped tight around its neck. Chains were attached to each of those and reached up into the roof system pinning the beast in place. Holly followed the chains with her eyes; they were firmly attached by thick metal poles though she could make out great groves in the wall, done with claws. The dragon must have tried to escape on occasion.

Okay.

Holly stopped nearby the dragon as it continued to observe her with an odd amount of emotion in its eyes. It looked almost… stunned, mixed with a surprising amount of fondness? Holly avoided eye-contact a moment to scan its body again; it was oddly free of injuries, quite unlike the pale dragon from floors above. Holly paid that little mind.

"Hello… no." She made a face, snake, she had to think like a snake. She'd need parseltongue for this-

"Ka…ya?"

That was not parseltongue. Holly shot the dragon a surprised look even as the name resonated oddly within her. "Err, no. I'm Holly." She moved closer, wary of its snapping jaws, but the thing didn't move. "and I… I'd like your help, so we can both escape here."

The eye closed, and its body shifted. Holly gasped in slight horror as the movement cause it to impale itself on one of the rocks poking out from the roof. She gasped, grabbing for its snout to stop it. "Don't move! You'll hurt yourself-"

"…Z… e?" It froze, looking desperate, "forgot… what's name?" it looked at her like she should know. She gasped a bit, and her hesitation caused something frantic to enter it as it twisted violently, blood spewing everywhere.

"Calm down!" she begged.

"Forgot… forgot… lost name… lost it!" It shrieked. The dragon thrashed even as Holly clutched its snout. The dragon kept its head still with her grip, but it moved the rest of its body like a fireman's hose, swinging brutally and causing its body to crack against the walls. Holly winced as it impaled itself on protruding rocks and blood splattered.

Desperate, Holly yelled: "I'll help you find it!" she rushed to say, and it stilled, "I'll help you find your name again, but you have to calm down, you'll hurt yourself!"

It tilted eyes staring her down before saying clearly: "can't be hurt… heals too fast." At that, Holly made a face and shot a look at its body drenched in blood… but no wounds… what?!

"You healed." She realized, then shook her head, "but it still hurts, doesn't it!? So let's get you out without hurting yourself, and then we can escape together, okay?"

Holly stared him down until he nodded with an odd amount of fondness in his eyes. The dragon's body settled, it stilled no longer hurting itself on the rocks and allowed Holly to regain her breath. "…okay." He agreed, and Holly relaxed further.

With hands secure on the dragon's snout, she no longer feared getting eaten. Holly debated her options as the dragon observed her. "I've been wandering for days, so that won't work." Holly bit her lip, "maybe we could blast out from the ceiling if I used magic to break it out, and you flew… or we could try a path." She eyed the small caves that she alone could walk freely through, "I'd have to shrink you though… how'd they even get you in here?"

"Was human then," he answered for her, "made to change back into a dragon."

Holly made a face tilting her head as she tried to picture the dragon as a human. She hadn't known dragons could do that… did Charlie? "can you change back?"

He shook his head and twisted it so she could see and reach his neck. The collar that sat there was much clearer with how close she'd gotten. Holly was able to make out runes into the metal. Holly hummed and leaned forward, wanting to see if there was an opening. The dragon sensed her intentions and twisted more to grant her better access. When she was still a bit too far, the dragon moved his front leg and gave her a bit of boost, trusting her an odd amount with access to his vulnerable neck. Holly shot him a thankful and surprised look, then she refocused, inspecting the collar for a key-hole or break.

"Must be goblin made," Holly ran her fingers along the metal, moved all around his neck while avoiding his horns, "there's no opening…" How was she supposed to get him free? Holly leaned back, and he returned her safely to the ground. "I can try and shrink you, then we can try the tunnels. Or, we can try going up and chance getting buried alive." By this point, she was leaning for the latter; wandering the halls had gotten her nowhere.

"This one has already been buried alive. This one thinks Kaya should try the roof,"

"It's Holly." She corrected again and looked upward. He seemed to agree with her then. Up, straight through the next level floor, was probably their best bet. It was definitely hers with the dragon to cover her from falling rocks—especially a dragon who could heal that quickly. A straight path upward would have to be better than helplessly wandering.

"Up, we should go up." The dragon repeated, and Holly decided she agreed.

"Alright then, can I see your legs?" The dragon shifted, offering her his front leg again. Holly inspected the shackles nodding to herself; they were runic like the collar. She could break these. "Okay, hold still, I'm breaking you free, Zeno."

"Zeno…?"

Holly directed her wand to the metal at his front paw and nodded, "you said it when trying to remember your name, so… it probably starts with a 'Z,' so… I'll call you that for now." She flicked her wand firmly, and a spell shot out, causing the metal to shatter. The brittle and rather old shackles crumbled under her magic and freed Zeno's first leg. "And Zeno… fits, in a strange way. Other leg, please."

Zeno shifted and presented her with his left leg, and Holly repeated the process for all his limbs. She broken him free, then asked him to boost her back toward his neck. There, she attempted to break the collar as well… and the spell rebounded violently. Zeno was quick to react; he twisted on the spot, twirled his body despite the chain still attached to his neck to yank her out of the rebounding spell path. Holly ended up cradled in his claws as her spell struck the walls with an almighty boom.

Rocks fell from the sound, and Zeno shifted her until she was under him. His body jerked several times at rocks dropped onto his body, but Zeno seemed unperturbed. He was relatively unbothered as he slowly released her when the chaos ended.

"Okay, so, I'll need to check the runes before I try that again." Holly figured, "I'll just break the chain instead for now."

"Be careful," Zeno requested as he boosted her up once more to give her access to his neck and the chain attached to his collar. Holly shattered it easily, thankful runes hadn't been placed along the entire line. If it had, she would have had to remain for an unknown amount of time to figure out the runes. It would have taken a while, she knew nothing about runes beyond how to recognize them.

"Okay, now… up." She looked at the roof, "are you ready?"

"Zeno is ready," he tilted his head oddly, then a grin stretched across his maw, "Zeno's name is Zeno, Ka- Holly is most smart."

She frowned at him, then nodded: "I'm glad then," in Zeno's claws, Holly pointed her wand up, "if you get buried… just wait, okay? I'll get you out, I promise."

Zeno's eyes lit on hers, and he nodded once, his whole body shifting with the force of it, "Zeno will wait for Holly to save him."

Holly grinned with false confidence, then, she looked up, breathed deep, and cast a powerful blasting curse.

And the roof collapsed toward them.

@whumptober2020

#Harry Potter #yona of the dawn #whumptober2020 #no.2 #collars #fanfiction #ouryuu zeno #zeno #fem!harry potter #imprisonment #self harm #cave in #xover #ao3 writer

[ainarosewood]

Character Interview Eyra Windsong

► Name ➔  “Eyra Windsong”

► Are you single ➔ “I am not”

► Are you happy ➔  “Yes....” she cocks her head confused, “Why shouldn't I be?”

► Are you angry? ➔   “Not at the moment.....no”  

► Are your parents still married ➔  “I....don't know to be honest ‘marriage’ as you call it is slightly different than mated pair....”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “The Hatchery of the Windsong Clan in the Zephyr Steppes on the Windswept Plateau in Sorienth

► Hair Color ➔  “Black with white highlights as a Viera.As a Pearlcatcher..." she pauses a moment before asking curiously, "does my mane count ? Of so then dark with lighter mottling.

► Eye Color ➔ “Blue like the deepest depths as is normal for one with rare water eyes”

► Birthday ➔  “I hatched....lemme see it would have been just after the Greenskeeper Gathering on Sorienth ” at the interviewers confused look she added, “for Eorzean calendar call it the 10th Sun of the Third Umbral Moon...”

► Mood ➔   Eyra toyed with the object in the bag on her hip for a moment before stating, “Confused as to why you are asking so many questions...”

► Gender ➔  “Female.”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Neither, I prefer the Spring it was always so wonderful to see all the new growth that would burst forth on the Plateau.  I especially loved harvesting bamboo shoots they were quite tasty”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Depends on what I need to do that day if I can relax then the afternoon.  If I need to do something then the morning so I can get it done.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “yes”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Not really...I believe that you can be fond of a person when you first meet them.  But love...that takes time to develop”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ Eyra closed her eyes for a moment before stating, “My choice to help Eorzea is what ended the relationship there was no true ill will between us.  He understood that I felt I had a duty to fulfill the selfsame one he has back on Sorienth.”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  “Yes” she said softly, “Im pretty sure though he understood the why, my mate was very upset at my leaving.”

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “No.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Yes I have quite often...along with more but I’m not going into detail.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Eyra gives an amused smile before answering “Yes, it was quite adorable.”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Again she closes her eyes, “Yes. I had to do my duty to my kindred and the people here in Eorzea.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Both, Lemonade for hot days to cool off and a nice warm cup of tea for chill evenings.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “They both have there benefits and detriments but I’d say I am more of a cat person.”

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few close friends”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “A Romantic night in is always lovely.”

► Day or night ➔ “Night I love staring at the stars.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “....Yes...sort of.  When I chose to leave Sorienth I did try to go as quietly as possible but my clan leader found me and wished me a safe journey.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Yes, you have no idea how hard it is sometimes for me to just remain as a Viera.  I have wings as a Pearlcatcher I could easily prevent a fall but....it is often inconvenient to have a 24 fulm dragon suddenly appear on some steps particularly in a small building.”

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ The Viera just gives a deep sigh her had clutching the object in the bag, “Yes,” she simply responds.

► Wanted to disappear ➔ “Yes...particularly when I transformed into my birth form in front of all of Ishgard without thinking trying to save someone....”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Eyes you’d be surprised how well they can inform on a being.”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Taller, I enjoy the feeling of being enveloped by someone when they give you a hug.

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  “Intelligence, Id rather be able to hold a conversation with someone and it be of something.  Than to stare at a empty headed pretty face.  Not to say that all of those who are attractive are vapid, its just so often many are because they learn that their looks can get them places.”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship I’d prefer something lasting not fleeting.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔  “Yes I had been a very strong part of the Windsong Clan and although I was not of the Wind Flight they treated me as one of their own from the moment I hatched.  Also the Scions and I get along very well they are my family here  in Eorzea

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “I am a dragon who is shapeshifted into the form of a Viera, who left her homeworld to save both it and Hydalaen from an all consuming shade who has allied itself with a ‘god’ of chaos and darkness....you tell me,”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “I wouldn't say it was ran away from but unfortunately I can never return to it.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “No”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Why....would that even be a thing?”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Yes again they are like family”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Lyse...she and I understand each other quite well even if we follow different paths”

 ►Who knows everything about you ➔ “This,” she states pulling out a large pearl the size of a childs ball, “All of my memories from my past till however many I choose to add to it are in it.  It is a part of me and knows me the best.”

Tagged by: @eorzean-capitalist​​

Tagging: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​@cahli-tia​, @diskwrite-ffxiv​, @e-x-i-t-3​, @fair-fae​, @garlean-nonsense​, @ahlis-xiv​, @sporebat​, @entropytea​, @thanidiel​, @herd-of-halla​, @isuke-ejinn​, @jancisstuff​, @luckiselki​, @nineprotons​, @qarukhel​, @varae-ver-you-are​, @voidsentprinces​, @poe-lhyzeal​, @cosmicdwarf​, @qesh-rae​, @roxinova​, @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​, @tiergan-vashir​, @una-xiv​, @wandering-heart-ffxiv @autumnslance​ @mai-takeda​ @dragons-bones​​

And everyone!

#FFXIV #Character meme #FFXIV/Flight Rising Crossover

[evolutionsvoid]

While the name "Bog Hag" may bring to mind some kind of witch that hangs around swamps, it is actually referring to a member of the True Siren family. In other cases, people may think Bog Hags are some kind of vengeful nature spirit, shambling piles of muck, branches and vines that seek to devour intruders. Despite these tales, Bog Hags are avian in nature, though there is an explanation for the marsh spirit monster mix up. Like all other True Sirens, the Bog Hag possesses four taloned limbs and a pair of wings. They also sport the pair of external larynges that the family is known for, as those help with its vocalizations. Though the Bog Hag  is equipped with large wings, this species very rarely flies. The clogged and crowded canopy of the swamps and bogs it dwells in makes flight quite difficult for a creature of their size. The most aerial use they get out of these limbs is using them to boost their jumps, like when they seek to roost in a tree. At all other times, these large wings are kept close to the body, almost creating a cloak around them. This is because the Bog Hag uses their wings for camouflage, helping them blend in with their environment. The green hues help them melt into the vegetation, but they tend to add a little extra to this effect. Certain feathers on the outside of their wings are equipped with tiny barbs and hooks, which can stick to things like a bur. As the Bog Hag slinks through the swamp, its feathers will snare a variety of vines, moss, algae and other stuff to slowly build an extra layer of camouflage. Given enough time and resources, the Bog Hag can completely enshroud itself in a cloak of vegetation and muck, which gives rise to the tales of swamp beasts. Another reason why people believe these disguised creatures to be supernatural beings is the way they seemingly emerge from the scenery. Any pile of moss or overgrown stump could suddenly rear up and lash out with razor sharp claws, which leads to this idea. This is because Bog Hags prefer to hide behind this costume so that they can avoid predators and ambush prey. The grimy cloak will make them invisible to hungry eyes and it will also provide a natural odor so that their own scent is masked. When resting or waiting for food, they shall hide behind this disguise and remain perfectly still. If one is not extremely attentive to detail, you can easily walk past a Bog Hag without even knowing it. If you are on their menu, though, it is highly unlikely that they will let you stroll by in one piece! Despite their sharp talons and hooked beak, Bog Hags are omnivores. Even then, their diet leans more towards fruits, nuts and vegetables than it does meaty prey. That is not to say they don't snack on critters and lost travelers, it is just a majority of their diet is vegetation based. Sharp claws let them slice through root and vine, while their massive beak easily shatters tough shells and rinds. Foraging is usually done during the night, that way they can feed in peace. This also means that they can use this to catch other creatures unaware. Sleeping critters can be snuck up on and devoured, and those that are out roaming the darkness can be fooled by their deceptive cloak. If it detects nearby prey, the Bog Hag shall wrap itself in its wings and wait. If the ignorant beast ambles by, the siren will lash out with beak and talons. When ambushing prey, the Bog Hag will seek to grab hold with its talons and then use its powerful beak to crush the skull. It turns out a tool for cracking nuts can also be used on bone.

  If its prey does not seem to be going their way, the Bog Hag can use their old family trick to bring them closer. Using their own vocal cords and their external larynges, Bog Hags can replicate an insane amount of sounds and calls. Add to this a wicked intelligence, and you got yourself a beast that is a master of trickery. If their target prefers flesh, the Bog Hag will mimic the cries of wounded prey. If it happens to be mating season, the calls of a female member of the species will get most males to rush blindly to their doom. The tricks and cons they pull are nearly endless, as they never cease to come up with new ideas for luring prey. If all else fails, the Bog Hag will resort to its hypnotic song. By running through a wide array of pitches, tones and rhythms, the siren will find a song that has an entrancing effect on its target. Such a process uses a great deal of energy, so it is often used as a last resort. If the Bog Hag is successful in finding the perfect song to effect prey, it will put them in a blissful trance. Those under their spell are completely oblivious to their surroundings and their own safety, as they stumble straight towards the singing creature. If they do not have the mental strength to resist the song or if no one is around to snap them out of it, they will happily walk right into the cruel talons of the Bog Hag. It is said that those who meet this fate aren't even aware of their deaths, as they are too lost in the song as the beak delivers a fatal bite. Like all other sirens, Bog Hags are widely feared and reviled creatures. Their slimy disguises are frightening to many, and even an uncloaked one is no pretty sight. Their entrancing song is something many travelers and explorers are scared of as they slog through the swamps. Though humans and other flesh based creatures may be potential prey to the Bog Hag, they are rarely their primary target. These creatures will only eat meat from time to time, mostly when opportunity presents itself. What they really want are fruits, nuts and other plant based foods, which happens to include dryads. Compared to all other sirens, the Bog Hag is the one member of the family that seems to prey mostly on the dryad species. Others may take our kind as food if they have the chance, but Bog Hags are the one who directly targets us. Like the beasts of lore who thrive on human flesh, these creatures love the taste of dryad organs. When they hunt live prey, they are mainly looking for a dryad to fool and consume. They seek out those who are alone or are far from help, so that no one can save them from the siren's song. When a proper target is found, they may try to mimic the sounds of a lost sister or one in trouble. Cries of distress are hard for many to ignore, and these creatures know that. If the dryad does not fall for it, they will quickly turn to their song and hypnotize them. Those who are not strong enough or fast enough to block their song will succumb to its effects and become the siren's dinner. When dining on dryads, Bog Hags prefer to feed on our head growths, brains and other internal organs. The remains of a dryad who fell to a Bog Hag's spell will often be headless and their body will be torn open and hollowed out. Such a sight can be found in the bogs and swamps, as many Marsh Dryad communities have to deal with these predators. This is one of the reasons why many hunters and foragers never go into the wilderness alone, and why nightly watches have to have at least two members. No one wants to succumb to this fate, and I got to experience such fear! My first encounter with one of these creatures was when I was traveling with a foraging group of Marsh Dryads. We were far from the village and decided to set up camp for the night. Due to the harshness of the territory we were in, we decided to have a watch. Two of us would stay up while the others slept, and then we would switch after a few hours. I was paired with a dryad named Lacocoa, and we were to take watch during the darkest part of the night. Before we even took over, they had the two of us tie ourselves together with a long piece of vine. It was like we were a two plant rope team! This was to keep us together and aware of each other's condition, and I must say it worked perfectly! As we sat around with our glow pods, I felt myself starting to doze off. Nothing was really happening, so boredom was starting to make me tired. At some point during my drowsiness, I heard a weird hollow noise in the distance. It wasn't super loud or threatening, so it took me a bit too long to react to it. As it droned on, my mind scrambled to remember what it belonged to, and before I could recall it, my rope belt began to tug. Being pulled off my log seat certainly jolted me awake, and I quickly looked to see what Lacocoa was doing. There she was wandering towards the dark trees outside of camp, without a weapon or light in hand. Even when I called to her, she didn't respond, she just kept stumbling forward like a drunk man. She was even oblivious to the fact she was dragging me along! I hurried to her and grabbed her before she could go any further. When I looked at her face, I saw she was completely out of it. She stared mindlessly ahead and she barely had the strength to keep her head up. Her mouth hung slack and she was drooling all over the place (which actually quite common for Marsh Dryads, but you know what I mean). It was like she was lost in a dream, so I quickly woke her up. A hearty shake and shout right in her face snapped her awake, and she jolted as if I electrocuted her. She was confused of what happened, seemingly oblivious to what happened during her trance. Since I was a rookie at all this, I woke up the rest of the party to make sure everyone was okay. With everyone roused and awake, they moved to scare the beast away. A handful of explosive seeds and flammable spores were bundled together and chucked into the forest. The resulting burst of light and sound sent the wildlife in a panic, as well as the Bog Hag responsible. Through the chaos, I could hear a terrible screech of the startled creature and the sound of heavy wings. They said that it fled and was gone, but that did little to comfort me. When it became our turn to sleep, I asked if Lacocoa wanted to stay tied together, just in case. Though I thought I would be ridiculed for my fear, she immediately agreed to the idea. It took me a moment to realize that she was still shaken from the incident, and was probably scared of the same thing I was. It was nice not to be alone with this fear but, even then, I still slept like crud that night.   Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------------------- Gotta get more sirens in here! Always gotta have more!    

#siren #monster #creature #art #drawing #swamp monster #bird monster #avian #bog

[scuffedjosh]

Kritz

Pairing: kryoz x fitz

Genre: fluff

Prompt: angels are selfish beings that got their wings by stealing them from swans

Word Count: 1008

Trigger Warnings: none

Writer: Me/itslameboyjohn (wattpad)

Dt: anyone who ships them or likes angels

—————————

     Cam was living with the wind these days, letting it move him without a cause. He wasn't necessarily lonely, but living in New Zealand far from your friends and by yourself can make anyone feel almost isolated. He used to go out and have dinner with his best mate Toby, but he had just moved away into a house with four of their other friends in Australia.

Cam was pulled out of his thought by a loud noise on the roof. With a quizzical expression he got up from his couch and went to go investigate what the source of the noise was. It oddly sounded like something crash landing, but that couldn’t be; it sounded like it was too heavy to be any birds. But as he was exiting his apartment he heard very faint footsteps on the roof. Cam bolted for the stairs of the apartment complex and ran the few flight of stairs that led up to the roof door.

     Cam stood just inside the door of the apartment roof, his eyes wide and staring at a young man with fluffy platinum blond hair and a pale complexion. He wore no clothing despite the significant chill of the night, and his attention was elsewhere, gazing down from the rooftop to the streets below with an expression Cam could only guess at. Though the most alarming thing about the man wasn't the lack of clothing, but rather was the large, gently swaying wings that protruded from his back just under his shoulder blades. Ivory in color and made up of long, broad feathers, the wings looked exactly like traditional angel wings Cam had seen countless times in renaissance art, so much so that he wanted to believe they were fake–nothing more than extremely well-crafted props. He knew they couldn't be. Literally everything about the man seemed inhuman. Ethereal.

     Just then he silver blond man finally seemed to take notice that someone else was on the rooftop with him. He turned his head, eyes wide in surprise and perhaps a dash of fear; Cam felt a jolt of something indescribably powerful when their eyes met, and before he could properly react (something in the form of running far away, probably,) the blond's mouth opened, his expression unmistakably astonished.

"Can...Can you see me?" the angel asked, caution in his voice.

Cam swallowed harshly before speaking, not realising he hadn’t been swallowing his saliva, rather letting it build up by mistake. But could you blame him? There was an unfamiliar yet familiar being before him standing on his apartment’s rooftop. "Uh y-yeah. Am I not supposed to?"

The angel looks away, up towards the heavens, admiring the few stars that freckled the darkening sky. As he watches the moon, frustration pools. The smoke was a tight knot on the horizon, uncoiling slowly.

“Your wings are marvellous.” Cam said shyly.

“Oh, thank you,” the angel softly smiled, though it faded quickly as he glanced at the tall man. “But they weren’t always mine.”

But before Cam could even digest that response, the angel kept speaking, vaguely explaining how angels get their wings. “I was human once, but I guess greed got the better of me. I stole these wings from a swan—over time the wings adjust to a more human size.”

He was in shock. All the interpretations of angels in movies, books, art variations and on television had mislead him to what angels really were and how they get wings. It seemed like they were all lying, but who could’ve guessed these beings of beauty could be cruel and greedy? It wasn’t something Cam expected. Cam was speaking quicker than he could process what he was saying.

“Do you ever want to become a human again?” It was a blunt question, but it was brought on by his newfound curiosity. Pale eyes shot to his direction, making Cam recoil slightly. The eyes of the angel rested on him as he pondered the question—become human again? Was that even possible? He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to, but he had the tendency to wonder what it would be like if he never stole those wings; if he had never became an angel.

The angel shook his head gently. He came away from the roofs edge and walked delicately over to Cam, noting how he was just a tad bit taller than he. He looked up at Cam, almost looking through him. Cam should’ve felt uncomfortable at this notion, but he didn’t. He felt enticed by the angel before him. Then he began to wonder if he should steal wings just like the blond had done so long ago—would they be able to be together if he did such a greedy thing? Would he too be able to fly with grace?

Almost as though the angel read Cam’s mind, the angel spoke. “Don’t become greedy, the process of the wings growing is so painful to bear.” The blond looks away towards the sky for a minute before looking back at Cam with the softest smile he has ever seen. When he turns to Cam and smiles everything felt so right.

The angelic being reached for Cam hand. He held Cam's hand for a second and he's been happy ever since. The angel walked back to the ledge, spreading his ivory wings, and took off without a sound. He dipped down and came back up, going into the night sky, never to be seen again. Cam smiled lightly as he watched the angelic being disappear from sight, even if he was a little bit sad to watch him go.

The angel got to the heavenly doors, stepping closer with hesitation. Knocking on heaven’s doors, begging to be let in. He raked his fingers through his platinum blond hair as he uttered gentle words.

“I did not mean to be seen by a human and spill our secret, but he seemed to understand us.” It said looking down at his feet.

And the doors opened.

#\johnny writer\ #kritz #john kryoz #kryoz #kryozgaming #goodguyfitz #fitz #angel #also i wrote this before cam moved closer to his friends #reblogs are appreciated #pls i am v proud of this

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Written in the Stars

Chapter Two: We’re Stars and We’re Beautiful

            “You know our teachers are going to expect more from you, with the fact you’re a certified doctor, right?”

            Bones rolled his eyes at Samarah’s teasing, already used to it after only a few days. Honestly, she was like the little sister he never wanted.

            “And you have a masters in psych,” he countered “so you’re in the same boat. How did you manage that before your turned twenty-four, by the way?”

            “Patience, determination,” she listed off, grinning “a whole lot of caffeine and zero social life.”

            “Sounds like my residency,” Bones muttered, unable to stop a chuckle “I swear, though, if one more teacher asks if we’re related…”

            “I take it as a compliment, especially considering how I never had any siblings growing up,” Samarah shrugged “it doesn’t quite help them that we do somewhat look alike.”

            “Which I, frankly, find insulting to you,” he declared as they walked out of the lecture hall “you are way too lovely to have them going and comparing you to me.”

            “Ah, is that your famous southern charm?” she teased, bumping him with her shoulder “don’t sell yourself short, Len, you’re a handsome man.”

            “Kid, don’t start,” he grumbled, trying to hide his smile “I was starting high school by the time you were born.”

            “Awww, don’t be so grumpy, gaezo,” Samarah reached up and gave his shoulder a pat “your inavva still thinks you look young.”

            Bones bit back a retort at the compliment, not commenting on her calling him her brother. When he’d learned of Samarah’s heritage their first day, and noticed she casually used enochian in conversation-you could tell what she meant in context but still-he’d brushed up on the basics of the language.

            “Come on, we said we’d meet Jim for dinner,” he told her “you know, he’d been really depressed this morning, but it looked like meeting you helped cheer him up.”

            “I’m glad,” Samarah brightened up at that “he seems too kind to be as sad as he was.”

            As much as he might have wanted to go on about Jim’s faults, Bones couldn’t help agreeing with her. In his heart, James T. Kirk was a good and kind young man.

            When they finally left the building, it was easy to spot Jim. He was standing next to one of the stairway walls, leaning against it as he looked through his PADD.

            Jim was smart, basically a genius, but he didn’t do that great in a normal classroom setting. It was no surprise he did so well, but not without struggle.

            “Hey, Jim!” Samarah called out, smiling and waving to get his attention. When he looked up, Jim noticeably brightened before quickly packing his stuff up and rushing to join them.

~

            Yes, he was very happy indeed to see his friends. Two friendly faces in a sea of students who ignored him and teachers who regarded him with unwanted pity or any other sort of emotion.

            That was one of the reasons he liked taking Commander Gabriel’s class; the man challenged his students and treated them all the same. If there was anything the older man wanted to say about Jim’s personal or family history, he didn’t say it out loud.

            “You guys ready to eat?” Jim asked as soon as he joined both McCoy’s “I’m starving.”

            “Same,” Samarah agreed, already picking up the pace “let’s get there before the line fills up!”

            “You know they don’t actually run out of food, right?” Bones questioned, both men almost having to put in an effort to keep up with her pace.

            “Yeah, I just wanna be able to get a good spot!” She countered, turning and walking backwards to grin at them both “come on, you giants, lengthen your strides! I’m not that hard to keep up with, am I?”

            When she turned back around, taking a bit of pity on the guys and slowing down some, both men couldn’t help giving each other amused glances, before bursting into laughter.

            “Never been called a giant before.” Jim explained when Samarah gave him a confused look.

            “Ah,” she nodded, laughing along with them “well, when you have my diminutive stature, most everyone’s a giant.”

            “That’s fair,” Bones agreed, shaking his head and smiling a bit “still wouldn’t want to take you on in a fight, though.”

            “Yeah, I had a few questions for you, actually,” Jim spoke up as they made their way into the dining hall and in line “once we sit down, I mean. Just about what you inherited from your angel family.”

            “We can talk about that once we’ve found a spot to eat,” she agreed, looking back and smiling as she gave Jim’s arm a pat “I’m more than fine with talking about stuff like that, especially with my newest friend.”

            Jim’s smile when she turned back around could have powered a starship docking station with how bright it was. She’d said he was her friend! This was definitely easier than expected.

            Bones saw Jim’s smile, and was more amused than anything. Yet still, he was glad to see his friend had managed to make a new, actual friend. Jim wasn’t awkward, really, he was just…not what people seemed to expect.

            Once they had their food and a spot to sit in a corner, near the windows, the three of them ate in silence for a bit, before Jim put his food down.

            “So, I had just been wondering about what skills and abilities you’d inherited from your dad,” he explained, Samarah nodding along as she listened “maybe starting with why Bones wouldn’t want to take you on in a fight? Whatever your comfortable talking about.”

            Samarah could see he was concerned about pushing boundaries, and completely understood; angels were a notoriously private race, with many topics considered taboo to discuss with a non-angel. However, being both half-angel and born on earth, Samarah didn’t share the same reservations; or at least, not as many of them.

            “Well, to start with why Leonard wouldn’t want to fight me,” she started, smirking “other than my sheer scrappiness, at least; angels are as strong as, if not stronger in some cases, than Vulcans. I’m not the strongest, by any means, but I’m certainly stronger than the average human male. Perhaps on par with a weaker Vulcan.”

            “What about your jacket?” Jim asked, earning Bones’ attention as well at that “Bones said you need those flaps sewn in for your wings?”

            “I was born with wings,” she nodded “through I’m told I don’t have the same kind my father does. While wings are something only seen by a mate or family if not being used in situations where flight is necessary, each pair is unique to that angel and what they look like is generally common knowledge. My father, Azrael, has wings that look like a dragon’s wings. Most angels from Eden would use the title Zaldrīzes Tala as an insult, but being called the dragon’s daughter is a point of pride for me.”

            “I thought you said yours don’t look like his?” Jim asked.

            “And they don’t,” Samarah replied “mine match my hair in color, and they have feathers like a more typical pair of wings. Mine are shaped for flying long distances without relying on the wind.”

            “What about those skills you talked about before?” Jim continued “the ones you said were useful in your future psych career?”

            “Angels are highly sensitive and empathetic,” she explained “And I got those traits, as well. Being able to practically sense emotion, and be sensitive to it’s changes, helps in terms of helping others through their own issues and problems.”

            Another ability she wasn’t sure whether or not she inherited was that of forging a mental connection with someone she had a strong emotional bond with outside of family. If she had this ability, as her uncle did, she hadn’t forged a strong enough bond with anyone by then.

            “Wow,” Jim gave her a smile as he sat back “thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Whatever ship you get assigned to, they’ll be seriously lucky to have you.”

            Samarah smiled in return, glad that things had gone well.

            “It was my pleasure,” she insisted “besides, I know Leonard wanted to ask some of those questions, too.”

            The scoff from their older friend had both Samarah and Jim laughing, before conversation turned to campus life as the three enjoyed their meal.

            “Honestly, it’s not all that surprising no guy has asked me out since I got here,” she declared, shrugging as she cleared her plate “probably scared of what my uncle would do to them if things ended badly, or they just think I’m not pretty enough.”

            “Well, it has to be the first one,” Jim asserted.

            “Yeah, because that second reason is a damn lie,” Bones agreed as the three of them got up and went to put their plates away “you are not ugly, especially not by human standards.”

            “But I’m still not most men’s type,” Samarah countered “most men don’t want someone half their size with twice their strength.”

            “Cowards.” Jim and Bones simultaneously declared, causing Samarah to laugh.

            “Good to know my friends appreciate my ‘tiny and mighty’ self,” she teased as they left the dining hall “well, I’ve got work to do. Leonard, you can give Jim my number, since you’ve got it already?”

            “Sure,” he nodded, leaning down to let her hug him “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            “Jim,” she turned to the younger man, smiling “it was great to meet you, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

            “Same here,” Jim replied, smiling as he leaned down to give her a tight hug “thanks for everything, especially for earlier.”

            “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to talk,” Samarah muttered into his ear “over COMM or in person, I don’t care. You’re my friend now, and I’m always there for my friends.”

            “I’ll remember that,” he promised as he reluctantly pulled back “go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Samarah waved as she headed off for the library, Jim and Bones watching her go before heading to their dorm.

            “Anyone breaks her heart, and I’m breaking their bones.” Leonard declared, still miffed over her comments about how no one seemed to pay attention to her.

            “I’ll hold them down for you.” Jim agreed, ignoring the knot in his gut. He was just feeling upset at the thought of Samarah being upset. That had to be it. She was his friend, and there was no way in hell he was jeopardizing that. At all.

            He hoped that he’d be able to call her one of his best friends, one day. They certainly had the potential to grow that close.

            Anyone hurt her, they’d have him to answer to.

#star trek #star trek aos #star trek fanficion #star trek kelvin timeline #star trek fic #written in the stars #james T kirk #leonard mccoy

[sophie-turner-fan]

The Female Stars Of Game Of Thrones Tell Vogue What To Expect From Season 8

In leafy Dulwich, south London, four stars from Game of Thrones convene in a Georgian house for Vogue. With the sky outside a washed-out grey, the jewel-like colours of their Balenciaga and Givenchy gowns are almost obscenely bright. In the fictional world of Westeros, a mighty gathering such as this would be a prelude to war. After all, these women play four of the strongest characters on the blockbuster HBO series that helped revitalise the TV landscape, launched a thousand water-cooler conversations, won 47 Emmys and turned a generation of British talent, including this foursome, into bankable global stars.

If Game of Thrones proves anything, it’s that it requires full commitment – to gore, intricate plotting and gargantuan world-building – to craft a cultural phenomenon. Same-day viewers quadrupled since the first season, in 2011; cross-platform numbers for the seventh season averaged 30.6 million viewers per episode – more than the populations of Greece and Belgium combined; and for seven consecutive years it was the world’s most pirated TV show. Fans breathlessly pore over every last detail that emerges from the notoriously tight-lipped set, right down to the size of the green screens being used or the choice of crown deployed for each character. The series has dispelled the idea that fantasy is solely for male dweebs. It’s no understatement to say that the forthcoming eighth season – the show’s final six instalments – is the most exciting TV comeback of the year.

Lena Headey, 45, who plays merciless Queen Cersei, arrives first on set in a shaggy faux fur-trimmed Acne coat – a post-Christmas gift to herself, she tells me. Gwendoline Christie, whose 6ft 3in frame led to her casting as noble warrior Brienne, appears in a necklace and dressing gown. “There she is! The lady of the day!” Headey cries. Christie, 40, puts on her best fashion-assistant voice: “When you’re ready,” she demurs, as if about to usher Headey on set. They burst into laughter.

The atmosphere is less Red Wedding massacre, more congenial college reunion. The actors have been working together for almost a decade. Thrones is a “big chunk of my existence”, Christie says. Or, as Headey has it even more directly, it’s been long enough for “two children and a divorce”.

Williams and Turner were only 12 and 13 when they were cast respectively as sisters Arya and Sansa Stark, the former a tomboy turned assassin, the latter the brat who matured into the queenly Lady Stark of Winterfell. Their lives have changed in real life, too, of course. Filming aside, Turner is engaged to the musician Joe Jonas, while Williams has launched Daisie, a social networking platform for creatives. “The older ones of us always go, ‘Look, it’s f**king killed us!’” Headey laughs. “Then you watch Maisie, who arrived as a baby, and Soph, who are now these incredible women. It’s just bonkers.”

It’s easy to forget this TV goliath was once a risky proposition. Game of Thrones arrived in 2011, a decidedly unmagical time in entertainment. The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been and gone; the Harry Potter films had just wrapped. Critics turned up their noses at the idea of a fantasy series that combined CGI dragons with Tarantino-style violence and West Wing-level political machinations. “None of us knew,” Headey says. “You do your audition, you get a job and then you think, ‘Will anyone watch this?’”

But they did. After a slow-burning first season, executive producers David Benioff and Dan Weiss set the ratings on fire when they killed off their seeming central lead, Sean Bean’s ill-fated patriarch Ned Stark. Audiences were thrilled to know that nobody on the show was safe – a fact confirmed by subsequent deaths in their multitudes. Beloved characters have been poisoned, stabbed, blown up, eaten by dogs, shot with arrows, starved, beheaded and burnt at the stake. It makes for uniquely stressful viewing, with each instalment of the final season costing a staggering $15 million (episodes of Netflix’s big budget Stranger Things cost $8 million).

As the new season begins, Williams, Turner and Christie’s characters are hunkered down in Winterfell, the ancestral castle of the Stark clan. The army of the dead – led by terrifying supernatural warriors known as the White Walkers – are marching towards them. Further south, Cersei – newly pregnant by way of her long-term sexual relationship with her twin brother, Jaime – is plotting to wipe out the Starks and any other threat to her reign.

Understandably, there is a whiff of battle-hardened weariness to the group. The final season took 10 months to film, including a much-hyped fight scene that was shot outdoors for 55 nights before moving to a studio for further weeks. “All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared me for the amount of stamina you needed for these night shoots,” Williams says. “It gets to the point where it’s four o’clock in the morning and you’re looking around like, ‘This is ridiculous. What are we doing?’”

Such is the secrecy around the show that even the normally garrulous Christie clams up when asked about the battle: “There’s an increasing darkness in Westeros,” she says. Headey is more circumspect about the whole experience. “It’s long hours and hard work,” she says. Amid the exhaustion is pride and a palpable sense of mourning as the action comes to an end. Tears on last days on set were not uncommon. When the time came to shoot Turner’s final scene, she says, “I couldn’t control myself. I cried for hours and hours once it wrapped. It was like leaving behind a character that I’ve grown up with. It’s almost like a death.”

When Game of Thrones premiered, much was made of its no-holds-barred approach to female nudity, rape and violence. Turner’s character, Sansa, in particular, was put through the wringer – she was first betrothed to abusive boy king Joffrey Baratheon, then married off to psychopathic sadist Ramsay Bolton. Her rape at the hands of the latter, in particular, had viewers up in arms. “There are some people who make comments like, ‘It’s a misogynistic show because all these women are getting raped,’” she says passionately. “[But] most of the people coming out on top are women.” Williams agrees: “I’d say the key players this season are all female, which is why it’s so amazing we’re doing this shoot today.”

Thanks to seasons-long narrative arcs, female characters – sometimes given short shrift in cinema – are maturing and developing over time. Brienne, for one, has been a joy to watch. Playing the warrior with a heart of gold has left a deep impression on Christie. “I do see Brienne of Tarth as a modern day Joan of Arc,” she says. Will she consummate her romantic tension with Jaime or the strapping fighter Tormund? “What I will say is, I’m happy to see more of Brienne of Tarth the woman explored this season,” she teases.

Headey maintains that, along with Martin, it was always the producers’ plan to upend the patriarchy of Westeros. “That’s why they could shoulder all of the criticism – they knew what was coming and what they had in store for these women,” she says. Did she ever doubt them? There’s a flash of Cersei-like steel in her look. “No.” Headey would know: she’s had plenty of encounters with overbearing men, having spoken out about the bullying she endured on the set of The Brothers Grimm and a near-miss encounter with Harvey Weinstein (she escaped when the key card to his hotel room didn’t work). What would Cersei do to people like him? “Hotdogs for sale,” she says, smiling.

As a parting gift, each actor was given a storyboard of Weiss and Benioff’s favourite scenes – Headey got the “moment where Cersei sits on the throne and Jaime comes back and sees her”, she says; Turner took the liberty of taking her corset home. “Everyone else has something that runs with them throughout the show, like a sword,” she explains, laughing. “I didn’t have anything that stayed the same except for my corset.”

As for the wrap party? In keeping with the House of Stark’s famous motto, “Winter Is Coming”, HBO booked Snow Patrol to play for the cast and crew in Belfast; footage later uploaded to Twitter shows a tipsy crowd singing along to the show’s distinctive cello theme. “Goodbye, Belfast,” Williams posted on Instagram on the last day of shooting. “Goodbye, Arya. Goodbye, Game of Thrones. What a joy I’ve had.”

Well, not quite goodbye. HBO is already casting an as yet untitled Game of Thrones prequel, set thousands of years before the original, with Naomi Watts signing on to star as a mysterious charismatic socialite. And this isn’t the end for the women of Westeros. Already they’re appearing in each others’ projects – Headey has directed a music video starring Williams for the English singer-songwriter Freya Ridings – and sitting front row together at fashion weeks. Best of all, they even have their own group chat going. “It’s like this big WhatsApp group with David and Dan and all the cast in it,” Turner says. “It’s called ‘Game of Thrones Alumni’.”

“Actually,” she corrects herself, “we changed the name. It’s called ‘Mates’ now.”

See the full shoot in the April issue of Vogue, on newsstands now; the eighth and final season of Game of Thrones begins on April 15 on Sky Atlantic and Now TV. [Source]

The Female Stars Of Game Of Thrones Tell Vogue What To Expect From Season 8 was originally published on ♔ Sophie Turner Fan ♔

#Sophie Turner #sophie turner #game of thrones #got cast

[swishandflickwit]

living in color 2/4

Summary: A year following the events of ACOWAR, Feyre tries to build a better world but struggles to cope. How is she supposed to heal the world if she can’t even heal herself? Luckily, words are not the only form of expression.

Post-war AU in which the Court of Dreams use art as a form of healing.

WARNING: ACOWAR SPOILERS AHEAD!

Rating: Mature for language.

Read: part i | part ii

Also on ff.net | AO3

AN: Feyre and Cassian brotp galore in this chapter. I love all the friendships on ACOTAR but a special shoutout to these two because I really adored their friend chemistry in the book and how intuitive Cassian is to other people’s feelings. (Except his own, lol)

part ii. brown & blue

I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way – things I had no words for. -Georgia O’Keeffe

Despite her earlier declarations, Feyre doesn’t immediately go out and buy herself a canvas and paint supplies.

Baby steps, she tells herself.

She spends her mornings alternating with Rhys – meetings with the High Lords, meetings with the palace governors, meetings in the Hewn City and occasionally, a visit to the Illyrian camps where Cassian and Azriel dedicate majority of their time and efforts integrating Illyrian girls into their training and armies.

The work is draining and slow-going, though in her hours of doubt, Feyre reminds herself of the promise she made to the Suriel.

Leave this world a better place than you found it.

And she wants to… is doing so. But, she figures, she can’t exactly achieve that if she’s always dead on her feet.

So when she comes home, her afternoons are consumed by the various plazas of Velaris and helping the people to rebuild the city.

(Though nights spent in Rhys’ arms is her favorite part of her day. It’s a different kind of art that occurs between them, when they make love and colors explode behind her eyelids.)

Wherever she goes she carries with her a sketchbook, only a little bigger than her hand, and in the moments in between – she sketches.

Nothing so grand as the landscapes and portraits that she used to do in the Spring Court. In fact, the images she scribbles onto her pad are seemingly mundane and insignificant. Sometimes it’s the snowflakes that line the edge of Viviane’s flowing skirt or the flowers that bloom in Elain’s garden in the town house. Other times it’s the rubies that adorn Amren’s neck or, if she’s feeling particularly inspired, the city skyline from the view of the House of Wind’s rooftop. It’s pictures she would akin to the ones she would paint in the cottage on the edge of the woods when she was a human.

(It is a period that feels like a lifetime ago and yet, as fae as she is in appearance, inimitable in power and everlasting in existence, her heart will remain, forevermore, human.

Endlessly and fallibly human .)

It’s when she makes her way to the Rainbow that she, as an artist, engages in her biggest undertaking yet. Except it doesn’t really feel like a momentous occasion.

After all… she is in the artists’ quarters. It’s no surprise that those who dwell here take the rebuilding efforts as an opportunity to, well, flaunt their talents for around her, she sees murals painted over any free and solid space.

So really, it’s more of a natural progression when instead of a roller brush, the residents equip her with paintbrushes of various kinds, thickness and sizes, and paints of countless colors.

In the continent, vandalism or defacing of any kind on public spaces were strictly forbidden and grounds for penitentiary.

But she is not in the continent.

In the Court of Dreams her heart is free to want, and what she wants is to make her mark.

Still, she takes a breath.

It’s her first sojourn to the Rainbow since the attack of Hybern. From her spot in the opening, she can clearly mark in her mind the path she is to take that would lead her to where she had killed the Attor. The memory and the tragedy of the day are as fresh in her mind as the air she breathes in. If she closes her eyes and clenches her fist, the clamor of the artists’ quarters fades and she feels the blade pierce through the leathery skin of that grotesque creature as blood spurts from the wound, staining her hands a dark red, the wind on her face as they spiralled hard and fast towards the ground and the sick thud as the Attor’s body splattered, limp and lifeless onto the–

Stop, she tells herself.

She takes another deep breath.

Baby steps .

She’s eager to dispel the cloud of despair the recollections had brought forth from her and so it’s with an excited grin that she ambles to the pile of materials in front of her and picks up a simple round brush. She is just about to take a stroll to find herself a panel to spruce up when someone calls her name. There is a steady number of people all scattered about and a quiet murmur ripples down the pavement as they turn to her, a murmur that grows into a chorus –

“Feyre!”

“High Lady!”

“Cursebreaker!”

“ Defender!” – the last epithet being the loudest amongst them.

The chanting grows as applause joins the cacophony. Feyre freezes when people from the other connected streets begin trickling into the main one and making their way to her. She’s overwhelmed, that much is certain when all she does is stop and stare at the crowd that begins to circle her. They approach her with bright eyes, wide smiles and love and admiration on their lips and she means to return it, to reach out and let them know that she appreciates it, them , all of it.

Her heart begins a staccato beat.

She makes to take the congratulatory, outstretched hand before her except her limbs feel heavy and her palms wet, everything around her becomes slow, like she’s navigating through murky, viscous water. Then the voices surrounding her are no longer voices but the screams of her people dying on the very street because she was too late to save them, the arms encircling her transform to ash arrows tipped in faebane headed straight towards her and she is numb, paralyzed .

The edges of her vision blacken so she blinks it away and for a moment she is back in Velaris, enveloped by the artists, living artists, that inhabit the Rainbow. Except the sharp sound of a metal bucket being kicked over reminds her too much of the Cauldron’s keening as it cleaved in three, and the ground shakes beneath her. What have I done? she thinks. What have I done? and again and again and again.

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdo–

Feyre?

An inexplicable sensation pools in the bottom of her gut that has her feeling both hollow and full and, despite her sensible side’s awareness that the dangers have long since passed, a terror so fierce courses through her entire being. But she endeavors to maintain that is safe and she is home . The fact that her mate calls for her, his darkness cool and soothing as it glides gently down their bond, is a testament to that.

Yet his voice is so faint, so far away…

FEYRE.

He cries and though she knows it for the bellow that it is, it sounds like nothing but echoes in the outskirts of her mind.

Breathe, Feyre, his voice is practically a whisper. I just need you to breathe.

She strains to hear him but what little of his voice does stream into her consciousness  jolts her to attention and she finally grasps the tightness in her chest and the shallowness of her breaths. So she forces herself to take huge gulps of air.

Too fast, love, Rhys says softly. Give it four counts as you breathe in and another four when you breathe out.

She recalls the breathing technique as the one that Cassian taught her during their workouts together and she summons that training now as she grapples to gain control of her mind once more.

She breathes in for four counts and as she does so, she scrambles for the link that tethers her to Rhys.

I’m here, he beckons, his voice a lovely lilt. Come find me, I’m right here.

She breathes out and Rhys is just a bit clearer in her mind.

That’s it, he sighs as her breathing starts to slow.

Rhys?

You found me. You’re all right.

She doesn’t realize her eyes are closed till she’s opening them and dozens of pairs of concerned gazes are staring right at her.

“I, I’m so–” she clenches and unclenches her fists to stop them from shaking.

“Are you all right, my Lady?”

No matter how much she owns it, being addressed by her proper title is still a habit she’s not used to so even in her panic-induced state of mind she finds it in herself to reply, “It’s just Feyre.”

Somewhere in her consciousness, Rhys chuckles, and her heartbeat gradually steadies.

It coaxes a small smile from her even as she replies, “No. I don’t think I am.”

Cassian is on his way .

Though she has no idea what for, she says, “I’m so sorry, everyone.”

Just as she finishes, a gust of wind and a tremble of the flagstone underfoot announces her friend’s arrival.

She turns just in time to marvel at the sight of the hulk of a general navigate through a sea of faes he towers over, his wings tucked in tight so as not to accidentally jostle anyone in the face. She’d giggle if her fear wasn’t yet abating and exhaustion wasn’t seizing her every muscle so she grins, weakly, instead as he squeezes himself between two significantly shorter faes.

When he catches the look on her face, he huffs. “Sure, laugh at the one trying to help you out here.”

She shakes her head amusedly. “Hey Cas.”

He reaches her and places a hand at her shoulder. He immediately sobers when he surveys her and notices the clamminess of her skin. “You good?”

She takes a moment to assess herself. The sweat that glides down the slope of her back is cold yet her blood runs hot beneath her skin, like she could shoot straight to the sun if she spread her wings that very moment. But there’s a gnawing in her belly that keeps her anchored to the ground and has her limbs feeling cumbersome and heavy.

And she is tired, drained even. Had she been human, she’s positive she would be passed out that very second but she thanks the Cauldron for her fae strength – the only reason she can even walk much less stand. Still, she does not feel wholly all right, her emotions turbulent and ugly in her brain that her only thought is, she doesn’t want to be seen as she is. She merely looks at Cassian, her eyes wide and open and as if reading her thoughts, he shoos the onlookers with a “don’t you have work to do?” and the crowd begins to dissipate, leaving lingering and curious looks behind them.

He turns to her. “Should we go home?”

She nods and, too sluggish to winnow or fly but still quite restless from the dwindling adrenaline, they begin the walk back when Feyre places a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” She frowns at the concern on her friend’s face. “Nothing,” she shakes her head. “Actually, there is something I need to do first.” He raises his eyebrows in question and she smiles, if a bit sheepishly. “Will you… will you help me?”

It’s like his whole countenance softens at the inquiry, tension melting away as his shoulders loosen and his playful grin returns.

With seemingly every ounce of his enthusiasm wrapped around his response of, “ Of course! ” he puts an arm around her shoulders and gives her an affectionate squeeze. “What exactly do you need help with?”

“Mostly housework.” she pauses. “And art work.”

“Count me in! I mean,” and his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper, “I know this body itself is a masterpiece but, no nude portraits all right? I don’t think Rhysand will appreciate it.” He shudders. “Or your sister, for that matter.” She doesn’t need to ask which sister he’s referring to. An impish grin crosses his lips. “Then again, maybe she would be apprecia–”

She shoves him before he can finish the thought. “You’re an idiot.”

“A really fit idiot,” he returns with a rakish grin.

“An idiot nonetheless.”

He shrugs. “You know what they say about beauty,” he pauses for dramatic effect and Feyre rolls her eyes. A child – she is friends with a child . “It’s in the eye of the most good-looking one in the room.”

Case in point. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

He waves a flippant hand in dismissal.“Semantics.”

She shakes her head in feigned besetment. “Come on oh Wise and Humble One,” she links her arm with his. “I’ve got materials to gather and you’re,” she pats a muscled forearm, “going to help me carry them.”

They make it a few paces when Cassian stops her this time. “Feyre, what happened earlier…” she sucks in a sharp breath. “I just want you to know that I get it.”

“You do?”

In lieu of a response, he nods towards a nearby café. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Lunch?” There remains the leaden weight in her stomach but she’s about to voice her acquiescence anyway when his stomach releases an obstreperous grumble. There’s a beat of astonishment at the sound, resounding as it is with their fae hearing, before they erupt in laughter.

“I guess that answers that question,” she mutters teasingly under her breath, a tone Cassian chooses to ignore as they make their way to the tables beneath the charming cobalt-colored awning of the bistro. He did say he was famished.

When their food arrives, there is naught but the sounds of clinking utensils and the customary racket of a marketplace drifting in the silence between them. Faes wander the streets and heckle customers into entering their kitschy boutiques or purchasing their wares. Music spills from one of the winding avenues and onto the pavement beneath her feet as a musician weaves a blithe tune with a syrinx. The Rainbow teems with life and Feyre looses herself in the vibrancy of the scenery.

But a glance across the table at her friend tells a different story, evident as it is in the tautness to his muscles and the tension that lines his mouth – lips and brows bowed in a frown. A wall of iron shutters his eyes and banishes their light as thousands of stories, raw and sorrowful, flash before them. She is all too reminded then of her youth, that despite all she’s been through, she is but a child compared to her friend. She can only imagine what he could have possibly been through, sure that what Rhysand told her of their time in the Illyrian camp merely a blip in his, by then, already long life.

When he turns to her, she offers him an encouraging smile and a bit of that light bleeds back into his eyes.

“Will you tell me about what happened to me earlier?” she gulps, recalling the fear that seized her bones and rooted her in place. “What was that? I’ve never felt anything like it before, except…” Except when I held the Cauldron and it trapped me in place.

The bond between Rhysand and her flares in response to the thought. Rhys’ soothing darkness wraps around her mind, calming the onslaught of memories that threaten to drown her. It is a comfort, that though he isn’t there with her physically, she will never have to bear her pain alone.

Cassian allows her to trail off without question, in tune as he always is with her feelings, and for that she is ever grateful. The gratitude is replaced with worry when an air of aloofness overcomes the Illyrian as he explains the nature of her circumstance.

“You had a panic attack. It occurs when your body experiences an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety. Triggers for such episodes are often sporadic but not wholly unpredictable…”

He continues to list off facts with a clinical detachment so unlike Cassian, she’s tempted to duck under the table or summon her magic to drop the glamour and reveal the real Cassian, as if he’s just hid behind some nearby corner.

But she likes to think she knows her friend better than that, so she simply places a hand on his forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Cas,” she says soothingly, a touch of concern in her tone when she notices his skin is clammy where she’s touching him. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you about this, you know you can just… talk to me, right?”

In all fairness, Cassian doesn’t outright deny his discomfort, but – as she’s come to learn – nothing ever worthwhile comes easy. So.

They engage in a staring contest.

One that she wins with aptly maneuvered raised eyebrows and cultivated I-am-your-High-Lady glares that has him deflating all together in a matter of seconds . She tries not to be too smug about it but judging by the glacial expression on his face, she fails. She schools her features into an innocent one instead then gestures for him to proceed.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He heaves a long breath, his wings rippling with the motion, before dropping his shoulders and leaning back in his chair, affecting an air of nonchalance that must have infuriated his superiors when he was still but a foot soldier in the army. Once again, she’s reminded that the male before her is a general and, joking aside, has commanded armies by the thousands with a power nearly equal to Rhysand and possesses a kill count with that number to match.

It’s with that thought that she realizes, “You used to have them.”

“I still do.”

“No.”

Amusement flickers briefly on his face at her denial. She can’t help it – she has a hard time reconciling the image of the unflappable general before her with the immovable wreck that she was earlier.

He runs a hand through his chin-length hair. “It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

She shakes her head.

Even in the face of defeat, Cassian has never yielded. He’d spat in the face of Death, twice in the time she’s known him – an occurrence that has undoubtedly cropped up in his past and is likely to do so again should the occasion for it rise. He is steel forged in fire.

But even steel bends.

“How? When? ”

He gives her an appraising look. “I’m sure Rhys has told you all about my life by now.”

She shakes her head. “The bare bones more like, and only if he needs to. For everyone.”

He exhales, as if relieved. “That sounds like him,” he murmurs. “Well, do you know about the Blood Rite, at least?”

She nods.

He directs his gaze towards the street then, but she can tell he is somewhere else entirely – a place she cannot reach and one only he can see.

“We fought to be in the Blood Rite, did you know?” She did. “To be in that–that, stupid tradition and for what, to prove who could be the strongest? The most ruthless? Most bloodthirsty? ” He laughs, though the sound couldn’t be farther from amusement. Then he stops so abruptly that the silence becomes jarring. With eerie calmness, he continues. “The only thing I proved that day was that I would do anything, anything, to protect the ones I cared about, even kill – cause that’s exactly what I did that day. I killed my first, my second, my third…”

His eyes glaze and she doesn’t need to use her daemati powers to sense that he is entrenched in painful memories. She knows what it is to look at your clean and washed hands yet still see the way the blood of those lives you took continue to be drenched in it, that for every life you take, deserved or not, a part of you is taken too. In his eyes, she sees the parts of his soul that have splintered because the jagged edges match hers, and Rhys’ and Nesta’s and Elain’s and Amren’s – them all.  

“I stole away all those lives but I don’t regret it, not a single one. Because those bastards deserved it,” an inferno blazes in his orbs and there is fire in his words, as if daring her to judge him. “And because it brought me back to my family .”

Except there’s no judgement but understanding in her hold, when she looks at him and takes his hand in hers.

The rigidity in Cassian’s posture fades and the fire extinguishes from him as he loses a breath, giving her an answering squeeze before letting go.

“That’s when it started?” She asks softly and he responds with a clipped nod. “They haven’t stopped since, although,” he hurries to reassure her when it looks as if she’s ready to burst from concern, “not as often and certainly not as long as they used to be. It was way worse before…”

He proceeds to recount how he would get panic attacks before and after battles – how he would be overcome by a sinking feeling in his gut, coupled with a mounting terror that gripped his entire body and rendered him immovable. He was only thankful that he had the presence of mind to bring himself away from his fellow soldiers or from the eye of his superiors each time, not that he could control the frequency of their occurrences then. In fact, he had no idea what was even happening to him, only that he could not, would not, let anyone not close to him see him in such a state of weakness.

She looks at him, her mouth agape in absolute awe and wonder. “How… how do you get through them?”

He smiles, the softest and most tender she’s ever seen Cassian. She tucks the image in the part of her mind filled with all the blank canvases she has yet to bring to life. Steel Warrior, she’d call it.

“I remind myself that my friends are well and alive, in order to calm down. The thought of them kept me going, keeps me going and the list only continues to grow.” He rolls his eyes and gives her a pointed look which leaves little room to doubt that she, along with her sisters, are the expansion to the list. She laughs because she knows his exasperation is in jest. “As well as those breathing exercises I taught you.”

Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ as Rhysand’s instructions to her from earlier come to mind.

“The others know, then.”

Cassian lets out an annoyed groan though his cheeks are tinged pink. “I can never fucking keep anything from Rhys. The moment he found out he took me straight to Madja. She was the one to explain it to me, to all of us. I’d have been embarrassed, but Rhys is such a mother hen and Az was being all intense so I figured I’d let them fuss if it meant they’d feel better, nevermind that I was actually the patient in question.” Another roll of his eyes but she can see the smile that threatens to stretch his lips, so she smiles wide enough for the both of them. It is short lived however, when she notices his shoulders tense once more.

“I’ve gotten better at managing it over the years. The last one that was really bad was… it was about 52 years ago, then again after Hybern. And you know all about that.” – of course, when the High Lord had tethered the Inner Circle to Velaris and the quiet that settled in Cassian’s mind in the absence of Rhys, the same kind he had told her about in the immediate aftermath of the events in Hybern. It’s all too clear now, why he had to be sedated, not just to save his wings but to save him.

He glances away. “It’s funny… as the bastard son of an Illyrian Lord, I had to fight for everything my entire life. Being dumped into that mountain for the Blood Rite should have been nothing – another day, another battle. I should have been used to it. And all the camp lords and the generals would go on about how glorious it all was, ‘an honor’ even. That’s why it took so much to convince them to participate – two bastards and a half-blood, no matter how powerful, weren’t worthy .” The last word is spat out like a curse. She’s inclined to agree, her face twisting in a sneer when she recalls every time she’s seen Devlon speak to Cassian without an ounce of respect. She’s about to voice her thoughts when she sees his shoulders sag, his hair a limp curtain around his bowed head. He trembles.

“Perhaps there is some honor to be found in a battle fairly won. But there’s nothing fair or honorable about war. There’s no glory to be found in taking a life, enemy or ally, not for me at least.

“It’s just another stain on my soul I’ll never be rid of.”

He sighs. “I am War Commander of the Night Court Army, yet I do not enjoy war. Some general, right?” A chuckle escapes him, an acrid, broken sound. “What a laugh.”

She opens her mouth to protest but he waves her off, like he didn’t just drop a bomb of information on her. “So anyway, it’s like I said, it’s not so bad now. In fact, I can even help you–”

“Stop it,” she whispers. “You don’t get to make light of this. You don’t get to brush this off.” She shakes her head. “You have no idea how strong you are, do you?”

He flexes his muscles in jest. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

She resists the urge to punch him. Her temper must show on her face because he raises his hands in a show of both surrender and apology.

She wants to say more. She wants to gush more like, as if to make up for her obliviousness by plying him with compliments. Not that he would graciously accept them, she recognizes a front when she sees one. For all his humor and posturing, to say he was hurting underneath would be a gross understatement – understandable, given everything he’s been through and all that he’s revealed to her. She just never realized how deep that hurt went nor did she fully comprehend the great pains he took to hide it. She doesn’t know if she should hug him or smack him for it – it seems to be a problem amongst the Inner Circle, the inability to be completely direct with their feelings till pain of death forces it out of them. But life or death situations are, thankfully (hopefully), behind them so they’re trying, all of them.

Besides, words are not the only form of expression.

In lieu of any violent or saccharine tendencies, Feyre looks at him with no shortage of affection when she says, “You’re a great leader and an even greater friend.” She dips her chin to catch his eye. “Don’t sell yourself short, Cassian.”

Knowing this is all he’s willing to take, she doesn’t wait for a reply. Merely leaves enough currency to cover their meal and a generous tip before rising from her seat. She throws him a questioning glance. “Does the offer of assistance still stand?”

There’s a hint of red to his cheeks, but the veil of despondency has left his eyes. It’s wonderful for Feyre to see it replaced by gratefulness and that glimmer of overexcitement and mischievousness that always seems to encapsulate Cassian’s every look and movement. He stands and with a crack of his knuckles, turns to her, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Lead the way.”

Nesta and Elain have long since moved from the townhouse and bought their own dwellings with the wages Rhysand so generously pays them and so Feyre is free to turn her old bedroom into an art room. Cassian, true to his word, helps her out.

Unlike her art room in the Spring Court, this time Feyre has a hand at not just filling the room with paintings, but with everything.

The sun is just about to sink below the horizon when Rhysand walks into a minefield made up of Feyre’s old furniture.

“Feyre?” He calls out with a modicum of bewilderment.

Her head immediately pops out of her old bedroom. “You’re home!”

Before he can muster up a reply, she is barrelling into him, all long limbs and tangled hair and swelling of paint and sweat and, he notes with relief, elation. He smiles.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he remarks once he’s released from her hug though he doesn’t stray far, his hand trailing down her arm to entwine their fingers. She kisses his cheek. “How are you?”

“Tired,” he admits. “Though I’m glad to be home.” He tilts his head in the direction of her room. “Is that Cassian in there?”

“Hello, brother!”

“Hello…” Rhys calls back, more out of reflex than polite greeting. He turns to Feyre, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “Why won’t he come out?”

She bites her lip, as if to contain her laughter and rather cryptically replies, “He’s a little busy.” She tugs at their joined hands. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

Together, they weave through chairs, dodge wayward lamps and hop over planks of wood that must have once composed the bed with laughter on their lips before they reach the nearly shut door.

When Feyre nudges it ajar, the sight that greets him astounds him.

The once white walls have now been replaced with a blue, so deep it’s nearly violet. It reminds him of Velaris at night, when the last of the sun’s light touches the skies and the heavens clear for the stars to spill out. Sure enough, the sun sinks below the horizon and what little light reaches the window from the outside and that from the roaring fireplace, touches the wall. It flares to a blazing indigo.

Noticing his look of utter awe, Feyre gives him a playful nudge. “It reminds me of your eyes.” Her mouth takes the beatific form of her smile and, as he’s helplessly wont to do each time he is witness to her happiness, he feels his heart skip a beat and he’s mesmerized.

A throat clears, rather loudly, somewhere to his left and that’s when he manages to tear his eyes away from Feyre (much to her amusement) to marvel at the peculiar sight of Cassian on all fours and hunched over the skirting board. Even more amazing is the firm grip he has on the paintbrush as he fills in the space directly atop the baseboard.

Feyre expects Rhysand to start teasing the general but there’s a calculating look on his face as he appraises their friend. A bead of sweat trickles from Cassian’s forehead to the corner of his eye yet he pays it no mind, focused as he is on his task. Rhysand turns to her after a moment, a look of astonishment on his face.

What is it?

I haven’t seen him so… relaxed. Surprise colors his tone and he struggles with the word, as if the act of leisure in relation to Cassian is so unheard of, it’s practically a  foreign concept. Not even before I left for Under the Mountain.

She eyes the tremble in Cassian’s arm as he steadies his hand to paint the horizontal length of the molding. She looks at her mate with more than a modicum of disconcertion.

I think you mixed up the meaning of relaxed again.

Rhysand rolls his eyes but the corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. He addresses Cassian.

“I’m famished. I’m going to the kitchens to see what Nuala and Cer have whipped up. Do you want anything?”

Cassian lets out a noncommittal shrug and it’s apparently all the response he needs because Rhysand makes his way to the door.

“You coming, Feyre, darling?”

What is happening?

Humor me.

She shrugs. “I could use a bite to eat.” She walks towards Rhysand but hesitates at the door. She glances at Cassian. “You sure you don’t want anything, Cas?” she asks, an inexplicable anxiousness to her voice.

“I’m good.”

When they reach the kitchens, Rhysand waves the shadow sisters away and offers to take over dinner preparations so they could have an early night for themselves. They accept, gratuitous appreciation spilling from their lips before they shadow away to their own quarters.

Rhysand navigates the kitchen with an ease that she envies. This is something they did together, after the war – try to learn how to cook, try being the operative word. Suffice it to say, her mate is charged with food preparation when it calls for it while skinning animals, boiling water and heating soup pretty much sums up the extent of her culinary skills.

She helps as best as she can though her mate mostly delegates her into setting their table and preparing the serving platters for when he’s finished cooking. With nothing to do but wait and mindful of Cassian’s presence, she continues their conversation.

I don’t get it, she starts, what exactly was it about him that screamed, ‘relaxed’ to you? I mean, he refused our offer to eat. Cassian – said no, to food! She shakes her head because the act of Cassian not joining them for a meal is just that baffling to her. He never says no to food.

Exactly, Rhys shoots her a pointed look. Darling, I should tell you that as you grow into your daemati powers, you’ll find yourself becoming more attuned to other people’s presence and, should you grow fond of them, their emotions as well. You won’t even have to enter their minds, it’s kind of like a feeling or, he pauses, searching for the right words, it’s intuition . And it gets stronger the closer you are to a person. Now I’ve known Cassian for what feels like my entire existence – it’s as if I can’t even imagine what life was before I met him and Azriel so believe me when I say, something in him has shifted.

And you think it has something to do with the painting?

Partly yes, Rhys serves their meal but instead of taking a seat, he moves her chair to face him as he kneels before her, hands caressing her thighs all the way to the back of her knees in less of a seduction and more of affection. He levels her with a gaze full of awe and inspiration, all tender eyes and soft, smiling lips. But I think it has more to do with you. He makes a slow path from her knee to the side of her thigh, till he’s entwined their fingers on one hand. You have to know how much you mean to him, to all of us.

Touched beyond words, she runs her free hand through his locks, the silky strands of them slipping through her fingers before trailing them along the apple of his cheeks in a gentle caress. She wants to tell him that she feels exactly the same way – how she was so, so lost before he not just gave her but showed her how to carve a better way for herself, how her days are brimming with love and laughter and appreciation thanks to their friends, their family, that she was paralyzed before he taught her how to be a dreamer, that she’s thankful that they all accepted her and her sisters as a part of their family, that he inspires her everyday to want believe, not just in him, them and the future they want to build for the next generation of dreamers, but in herself as well, that thanks to him, she found a way to set herself free – but too many words struggle to break free from the tangle in her throat.

He sighs, and there’s sorrow in his eyes when he brushes his knuckles along her cheek. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there sooner. I’m sorry that I’m always too late.

She shakes her head. You’re always with me, whether we’re strangers or lovers, human or fae, alive or dead.

Sounds ominous.

She rolls her eyes but she can see the way his face contorts sharply in reminder. She shakes her head, a fond smile shaping her lips as she recalls Cassian’s heartfelt confession. Besides, I believe I was exactly with who I needed to be in that moment.

She brings their clasped hands towards her lips and lays a long, sweet kiss upon the back of Rhysand’s hand in thanks, because who else would have thought to send the perfect person but him? He exhales shakily, his cool breath brushing delicately across her skin as she rests her forehead atop his and with everything she can’t express, she thinks perhaps her mate has heard her after all.

They stay, locked in that moment just a minute more, before she slowly lets go. They share a smile, a conversation in their eyes when she grabs another plate. She distributes the food and with a tilt of her head, she and Rhysand return to the art room where Cassian appears to be putting the final flourishes for the baseboard.

When she enters, she catches herself before she drops their platters in jubilation and subsequently erupts in applause. Cassian, unaware of her presence, turns at the sound of her clapping, siphons glowing in the light of dusk before altogether disappearing at the sight of his High Lady’s enthusiasm and his High Lord’s arms laden with food. He grins.

“Food!” He shouts excitedly just as Feyre exclaims, “Amazing!”

To the couple’s surprise, Cassian turned beet red at the praise when any other time he would have preened at the attention. He scratches at the hair on the nape of his neck before squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms. He gives Feyre a playful nudge as they stand side by side in front of the last finished wall, Rhysand behind them and silent as shadows as he observes the pair. “I’m a regular artist, don’t you think?” Cassian says in a teasing manner though she could detect the underlying sheepish tone. She gives him an appraising look.

“Yes,” she whispers. “You are.”

Cassian merely shrugs off her response. Though she doesn’t miss the calculating look on his face as he surveys the wall before them, the wall he worked on all on his own, with a proud and quietly awed look of accomplishment on his face. He shakes his head as if to shake him from his stupor, before making a beeline for the food. He and Rhysand argue over food proportions as Cassian heaps a mountainous serving of food onto his plate. Feyre joins them after a beat, an idea forming in her head. Rhysand throws her a smile.

Looks like you have your first student.

She doesn’t have his same confidence but it turns out her doubt was for naught, because here in her finished art room, she stands before a work of art – one that is not of her own making, but proud of it all the same. Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling she’s done since Cassian declared he was finished with his first painting (after only a week of lessons!).

At his intense stare, she asks, “What is it?”

“It’s just, it was so… blank. And now it’s not.”

Amused, she replies, “That is, generally, how paintings tend to work.”

She gets a hard shove for that one but she doesn’t mind, not when they’re both laughing so hard. When she regains her balance and their chortles simmer down, a calm silence blankets the pair as they regard his work.

“I thought all it took to paint was a brush and some colors. I’m surprised at how much thought had to be put into it – the combination of colors to use, the kind of brush, the angle of your wrist – all so you can bring this image in your head alive except it’s not just an image, is it? It’s a part of you you’re leaving on a canvas that isn’t really a canvas anymore but something else, something you’ve shaped – something you’ve made and… do you know what I mean?”

She looks at him, or rather, she looks at his hands – rough with years of hard work, calluses in places a weapon would fit – hands that have killed. Then she looks at the explosion of color before her, the gentle consideration she can see in every stroke and the deliberateness in every hue, looks at the hands who made them. She smiles at him.

“Yes,” she knows a thing or two about beginning anew.

She doesn’t say the last thought aloud but when he looks back at her and returns her grin, she thinks he might read the answer on her face anyway.

Later that night, she catches Cassian just as he’s about to fly back to his apartment, his painting covered and bound for a safe journey home. She walks him out, a solemnity trailing their footstep, and when they reach the door, they share a look. No words are exchanged and she understands what Rhysand means about her daemati powers and growing attuned to other people’s feelings. A conversation passes between them in that one encompassing look – friendship, affection, humor, accomplishment, pride, gratitude and more than anything, healing.

She thinks about how Cassian encases himself in steel in order to combat his weaknesses – a battle against a terrorizing nation or a battle against his own body when assailed with a panic attack. And sure, perhaps steel bends.

Yet as he flies away, his work of art clutched tightly, lovingly, in his hands, of one thing she is absolutely certain when it comes to Cassian, to herself, to Rhysand and the entire Court of Dreams – they might bend under the crippling weight of a world that thrives in darkness.

But they will never break.

#acotar #acotar ff #acotar fan fic #feysand #brotp: feyre x cassian #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian #acowar spoilers #angst #fluff #friendship #post-war au #post-acowar fic #swishandflickwit ff

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Athene

Burrowing Owl, by Travel Way Of Life, CC BY-SA 2.0

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Genus: Athene

Status: Extant

First Described: 1822

Described By: F. Boie

Classification: Dinosauria, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Inopinaves, Telluraves, Strigiformes, Strigidae 

Referred Species: A. brama (Spotted Owlet), A. noctua (Little Owl), A. blewitti (Forest Owlet), A. cunicularia (Burrowing Owl), A. megalopeza, A. veta, A. angelis, A. trinacriae, A. cretensis (Cretan Owl)

Athene is a genus of very small owls that are also quite angry in appearance, and that’s why they get to be featured on birthday week. The genus evolved some time in the very late Miocene of the Neogen, based on fossil evidence - so around 11 million years ago, in the Tortonian age - in Hungary. Many fossil and near-fossil species of Athene are known - including A. megalopeza from the Late Pliocene of Western USA, A. veta from the Early Pleistocene of Poland, A. angelis of the Middle Pleistocene of Corsica, A. trinacriae of the Pleistocene Mallorca, and the Cretan Owl, A. cretensis, which is from the Pleistocene Mediterranean. The Cretan Owl was a flightless member of the species, living on the island of Crete, and it would have been about 60 cm tall. It went extinct, sadly, due to human hunting. 

Cretan Owl by Stanton F. Fink, CC BY 2.5

Living members of this genus primarily live in India, though the most famous species, the Burrowing Owl, lives in the Americas. The Burrowing Owl is small, only about 19 to 28 cm long, making them only slightly larger than the American Robin. They have long legs, which are utilized in their Burrowing pursuits, though they are also fast animals. Males and females are fairly similar, with the females being only slightly heavier. They have brown heads and wings, with white chests and brown spotting on their chests. They have very bright eyes and dark yellow or grey beaks. They also look like they’re going to murder you.

By Charles J. Sharp, CC BY-SA 4.0

Fossil remains specifically of the Burrowing Owl are known from the Bahamas and other locations in Latin America, with most of them becoming extinct due to ecological and sea level changes at the end of the last ice age. They live in the Western United States, portions of Mexico and Florida, and dry areas of South America, and their territory is expanding with increased deforestation. Usually, those birds that live in more Northern locations only stay in those locations for the summer, and then they migrate to the south for the winter. Others that live in warmer locations do so year-long. They nest and roost in burrows made by ground squirrels, and they mimic rattlesnakes - which show a similar behavior - in order to scare off threats. They are a diurnal owl, unlike most other owls.

By Glauxfan, in the Public Domain

Burrowing Owls can live 9 years and even up to 10 in captivity, and are mainly killed by vehicles, badgers, coyotes, and snakes, as well as cats and dogs. They nest in late March or April in North America, and they usually only have one mate, though sometimes males can have two. Pairs of owls will occasionally nest in colonies, usually in open grasslands and prairies, but also places like airports, golf courses, and farms. They nest in underground burrows, which they either find, or dig for themselves. They line their nest with mammal dung and other materials that can control the climate inside the burrow, and eggs are laid every one or two days until 4 to 12 eggs have been laid. These eggs are incubated by the female for three to four weeks while the male brings food, and the parents feed the chicks together. They can begin to make short flights after four weeks and they start to leave the nest at that point, with the parents still helping them for about three months. Sadly, only four to five chicks survive long enough to leave the nest. The owls do, however, in some locations use the same burrow every year, though if they migrate that’s less likely. 

CC BY 2.5

Burrowing Owls hunt by waiting on a perch until they spot prey, swooping down on the prey or flying up to catch insects. They can also chase prey on foot across the ground. They eat many different types of invertebrates and small vertebrates, such as insects and small rodents, as well as some squamates. They are something of a generalist when it comes to insect food, eating everything from katydids and crickets to termites, beetles, and even spiders and millipedes (which aren’t insects but are closely related arthropods). They also occasionally eat fruits and seeds, which is different than other owls. The bird is not considered endangered due it its spread from deforestation, though it is endangered in Canada, threatened in Mexico, and of special concern in most of the USA. It is mostly declining due to loss of habitat and increase of prairie dogs, though they do inhabit human locations. Passive relocation does work to move them, with coercion and enticement used to bring the owls to a new nesting site. 

Spotted Owlet, by Lip Kee Yap, CC BY-SA 2.0

The Spotted Owlet, A. brama, lives in India and Southeastern Asia, in open habitats much like its relative. It also has adapted to human environments, similar to the Burrowing Owl. They are small and stocky, only about 21 cm long, with grey-brown feathers and white under-feathers. They lay eggs in holes in trees and buildings, laying only 3 to 5 eggs at a time. They are nocturnal, but often seen during the daytime, bobbing their heads and staring at intruders when disturbed. It hunts insects and small vertebrates, and depending on the location they have shown preferences (such as insects being preferred in Pakistan, whereas rodents are preferred in Jodhpur). 

By Jishnu Satheesh Babu, CC BY-SA 3.0

They have a harsh and loud call, beginning chirurr-chirurr-chirurr and ending with chirwak-chirwak, with calls occurring mostly in the dawn or just after sunset. They have a breeding season from November to April, with pairs grasping bills, preening, and feeding each other. The family structure is rather unclear, though males may copulate with many females and females often mating with other females. They nest in cavities, lining the nests with leaves and feathers. They lay about three to four eggs, and they’re incubated as they come out, so the chicks are often a variety of sizes. They feed the young on insects, and later on small vertebrates. Only one or two chicks ever leave the nest, after about 20 to 28 days. They also have a pineal gland, which was thought to be gone in owls. 

Little Owl, by Arturo Nikolai, CC BY-SA 2.0

The little owl, A. noctua, is from parts of Europe, northern Africa, the Middle East, and central Asia. It is a small, round owl like the other members of its species, with its length only about 22 cm. It is about greyish brown and spotted and streaked both above and underneath. They have a kiew, kiew call, though they can also whistle and trill. They are sedentary and found in open countryside, like the Burrowing Owl, and is often found in villages and suburbs as well. They perch on elevated positions and swoop down to catch small prey, including game birds. They’re also very territorial, with the males remaining in one territory for life, and coming into contact in the spring. They have territorial calls if they encounter one another in their hunting territories, and fly at each other aggressively.  

By Marco Verch, CC BY 2.0

If that flight is unsuccessful, the occupier tries to make contact with claws. The owls will drop to the ground and make escapes upon losing. The owls can recognize familiar birds such as neighbours, so they are more aggressive towards unfamiliar birds that wouldn’t normally be around them. They are mostly vocal at night, but they are partially diurnal. During nesting, they can nest in trees, cliffs, quarries, old buildings, and even rabbit burrows, laying clutches of three to five eggs. The female incubates the eggs as the male brings food, and the eggs hatch after 28 to 29 days. The parents will hunt and feed them together, and the young disperse but stay close. The mated pairs stay together for at least a year, but may live together for their whole lives. They live about sixteen years, and can get very used to humans. 

By Rasbak, CC BY-SA 3.0

The Little Owl has a large range, and there’s probably between 560k and 1.3mil breeding pairs in Europe, so the global population is probably between five million and fifteen million owls. This population is probably stable, so it is not of concern in conservationist circles. The Little Owl is closely related to the Greek Goddess Athena and the Roman Goddess Minerva, with the owl appearing on coins from 500 BC in Greece. The call of the Owl is said to have heralded the murder of Julius Caesar. 

Forest Owlet, by Krishna Khan, CC BY-SA 3.0

The Forest Owlet, A. blewitti, is the last species in this genus, and sadly it is near extinction. It is Critically Endangered and is known from only a few tiny localities in India, which are parts of shrinking forests that are being destroyed by human activity. It is 23 cm long, and stocky, with a large skull and beak. They have fewer spots than the Spotted Owlet and are primarily dark grey-brown, with a white central wedge on its chest.  They hunt from perches where they sit still and wait for prey, flicking their tails from side to side when prey is being chased in excitement. They eat mostly lizards, and then some rodents and bird and invertebrates. The males hunt and the females incubate the eggs, with courtship occurring mainly in January to February. They are mostly diurnal, and they bask on tall trees at night.  It is losing many of the trees it needs for nesting, which has lead to an extensive decrease in its population, with it estimated that there are only 250 individuals left in the world, since its dense jungles are gone.  Individuals are being observed in Wildlife Sanctuaries, including mated pairs. 

Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cretan_owl

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athene_(owl)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burrowing_owl

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spotted_owlet

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_owl

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forest_owlet

Guerra, C., P. Bover, J. A. Alcover. 2012. A new species of extinct little owl from the Pleistocene of Mallorca (Balearic Islands). Journal of Ornithology 153 (2): 347 - 354. 

Shout out goes to @paukena!

#athene #owl #bird #dinosaur #burrowing owl #little owl #forest owlet #spotted owl #palaeoblr #birblr #athene brama #athene noctua #athene blewitti #athene cunicularia #athene megalopeza #athene veta #athene angelis #athene trinacriae #athene cretensis #paukena #dinosaurs #biology #a dinosaur a day #a-dinosaur-a-day #dinosaur of the day #dinosaur-of-the-day #science #nature #factfile #דינוזאור