#4. Got a sensory overload (as previously stated)

[shanedoesdoodles]

I can't believe I chose to go to a school artshow over Six Flags that shit fucking sucked.

I think I would've preferred that sensory overload over the one I got there

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Post-Moments

a ‘momentary’ follow-up ... of sorts ...

Our Moments: Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max) Chapter 5: Shadowed Grey Eyes Chapter 6: The Warmest Thing I Own Chapter 7: Fancy Paper Napkins Chapter 8: End of the Road (post-Redux/Redux 2) Chapter 9: Post-Moments

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

First thing back was her sense of smell. It took nearly a week but suddenly, as she walked, unannounced but never unwelcome into his apartment, she stopped, the look of surprise on her face made him immediately laugh, then tilt his head, “you shouldn’t be that surprised to see me here. It’s my apartment.”

Ignoring his statement, she quick-stepped his way, burying her face first in his shirt, then, pulling him to her level, into his neck, sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail of some erstwhile criminal with a bag of treats. So taken aback by the invasion, he simply stood there, letting her take several deep inhales before finally reaching for her shoulders, “you keep breathing like that and you’ll pass out.”

Twisting her head, she gave him a quick kiss, then dropped back flat-footed, forcing him to once again look down at her while she looked up, “I haven’t been able to smell you since day 12 of ‘IT’ so I’m making up for lost time.”

She’d told him, finally, after he’d repeatedly offered her tempting foods to try to coax some weight back on her bony frame, that she hadn’t been able to smell anything, and therefore, taste anything, for awhile but she’d never stated the exact day until now and standing there, already changed into jeans and a t-shirt, an epiphany of sorts smacked him hard upside the head, “what? Day 12?” Ignorant idiocy settling in, “Shit. You sat through a steak, my famous garlic mushrooms, six tubs of ice cream, and all those M&Ms I kept feeding you and you couldn’t taste a thing? The amount of money I could have saved during those months I tempted you with anything I could find while, really, it all tasted like sawdust.” Feigning irritation but failing miserably as he scooted closer, kissing her forehead, “what a crock of shit.”

“I got …” being generous for his sake, “hints of flavor.”

“Fuck, woman, we’re having a steak and ice cream orgy tonight. I’m going shopping.”

She stopped his movements with hands on arms, “hey, let me go taste something and see if that came back as well before you waste all your money on cow foods.”

Following her to his kitchen, “both things really do involve cows. That’s rather unnerving, actually.”

With a grin, she found a cookie, then, tasting it, she shook her head, “I’d save the cow for another day.”

Mulder, wondering if his earlier suggestion of Mexican for dinner was still appropriate, he decided ‘no’, then, “well, how about we taking a smelling tour of DC and eat toast for dinner?”

He got a well-deserved backhand to his chest, “we are eating at Papadapoulous’ House of Salsa tonight because you’ve been talking about that place ad nauseum all week. Get your coat.” When he didn’t move, she nodded, giving him a smile, “we can do the smelling tour after, okay?”

“Deal.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Taste came back ten days later. Just as Mulder came out of her bathroom, about to announce that no one should go in there for 35 to 45 minutes, Scully took a sip of his ice tea and spit it right back out, soaking her shirt and the floor in front of her. Mulder forgot his comment and flew over to her, socks sliding on the polished wood floor, “what happened?”

Feeling like a complete and utter moron, she first retrieved a towel to mop both herself and the floor, then looked at her partner, “I stole some of your ice tea and I could taste it and it scared me, if you can believe it. I wasn’t expecting anything and suddenly there was something and my first reaction,” beginning to laugh at the whole situation, “I spit it out. I didn’t even think to swallow it.”

Mulder shook his head, “are you sure we’re still talking about ice tea and not dirty things?”

He could almost hear her brain suddenly shift gears, brakes squeaking, mind two steps behind, “what?”

It was his turn to laugh, pulling her into a hug, soaking wet shirt and all, “I’ll give you two minutes to think about it, then I’ll explain if necessary.”

It took almost four seconds before, “I’ve never been a spitter, Mulder.”

That worked entirely too well for him and dismissing all but his hairy-moled, make-up caked fourth-grade teacher from his mind, he held her another minute then moved back, calmed down again, “you should go change your shirt.”

“No wet t-shirt comments?” Her sassy retort told him both that she knew what her swallowing comment had done to him and what the wet t-shirt mention would. She was evil. She knew it. He knew it. He loved it.

“Just go change. Tonight, we shop for steak.”

Loving him to pieces, she reached for his elbow, playing with the sharp bent end, “so, I know we just had Mexican a few days back but now that I can taste things, I desperately want salsa and a Margarita.”

“Large?”

“The biggest one they fucking sell, pardon my French.”

Their kiss was much longer this time, Scully’s fingers firmly twirled in his shirt by the time they were done, Mulder’s hands curled around her ass, “then can I make you mushrooms this weekend?”

“Pounds of them. Extra garlic and butter,” suddenly swallowing, “yeah, we need to go eat.”

“Lead the way.”

&&&&&&&&&&

His arrival at her house that Friday night with grocery bags was, oddly, the first time her body reacted to him. They’d been making out, to use the juvenile-y appropriate term, but nothing more, Scully still recovering, Mulder still nervous about 12000 things between and surrounding them both.

But seeing him standing there, in her door, goofy smile and slipping bottle of wine in hand, she felt something. It was a fast twinge but it was familiar but surprising and her widening eyes told him something but he wasn’t sure what and he didn’t ask.

Had he asked, he may have gotten an answer that would have necessitated bringing fourth-grade teacher back … but instead, he walked in, setting bags on counter before turning, “hungry?”

For the first time in months, she appreciated the underlying double-meaning he hadn’t intended, “yes. Very much so. How long do the mushrooms take to cook?”

“At least a few hours.” Pulling things from bags, “but I bought appetizers and,” holding up several National Enquirers, “reading material. Let’s see if we can find a case somewhere in the tropics. I could use a ‘vacation’.”

Only Mulder.

Mushrooms cleaned and slow-cooking, they nibbled their way through eight different kinds of cheeses, each one a symphony to Scully’s previously deadened tongue. She may have let slip a ‘hhhmmm’ that could have possibly been interpreted as a moan by one Fox Mulder but he didn’t comment and she kept doing it.

He was glad he wore the looser jeans tonight.

They chuckled and argued in tandem while thumbing through the papers Mulder brought: telling stories, tossing theories, debunking nonsense. Finishing the first bottle of wine slowly, Mulder offered a second but Scully shook her head, “save it for dinner.”

Agreeing, he moved to stir the crockpot, then returned, towel over his shoulder, licking his fingers from the buttery sample he’d eaten in the kitchen, “They’re getting there.”

Second twinge, this one longer, had her lower abdomen contracting in a tickling giggle kind of way. The shiver up her spine caused her to visibly vibrate for a moment but Mulder, luckily or unluckily, not noticing, sat back down, returning to the ‘Owl that carried off a family of four in their camper van’ story on page 26.

What the hell.

Then again, he was licking his fingers.

The third zing when she returned to this thought was not as strong as the second but made her smile nonetheless, which Mulder actually did notice, “what?”

She pinked-up instantly, having forgotten the heat of a blush across her skin, and hands to cheeks suddenly, “just … a little too much wine.”

He moved his hand to her pulled up knee, squeezing it, “we don’t have to open the second one. It’ll keep.”

“No. No. I, uh, I, … I’m fine. I … I’m fine.”

Gibbering idiot more like it but whatever.

&&&&&&&&&&

If sex were food, Scully decided, it would be that steak. Mulder went for broke, filet and strip, buttery smooth, medium rare, warm, pink, juicy, perfect blend of garlic and butter, rosemary and pepper. Between the taste; the sight of Mulder across the table; the smell of wine and smoke; the look of him, messy-haired and smiling, relaxed three feet from her; the feel of impending summer breezes through the window, she tipped into sensory overload, eyes shutting as she tried to bring herself back to some kind of alignment.

Then, eyes still closed, she heard his voice, “hey, you. Ya’llright?”

The tinging vibration hit her full-force, arm hair standing on end, neck flushing, nipples tightening, a thousand images of him and her, himandher, flashing through her mind, driving the feeling shooting from stomach to clit to soul in speed of light, circuitous fashion, “yeah. Yeah. Just enjoying.”

Her voice was all over the damn map with those four words and Mulder, knowing her better than he knew himself, tilted his head, finally understanding exactly what was happening, “I can see that.”

Quaking quieting somewhat, she shifted in her chair, hoping to relieve some of the pressure she was feeling, pressing down on the cushion like she was seventeen and at the movie theater with her boyfriend, begging silently for him to touch her and simultaneously thinking about touching herself when she got home. Not able to look him in the eye, however, she cut another piece of her steak, praying she wouldn’t choke.

Shifting himself as well, watching her hips search for a good spot against the chair, he kept any comment to himself. He hadn’t pushed anything these last weeks, knowing she was recovering, finding herself again, situating ‘us’ and ‘we’ into a previously accepted solitary status quo of ‘I’ and ‘me’.

But, fuck, he had been tempted and tonight, seeing her like this, pushed his resolve to the breaking point. If she made one more sound in her throat, he truly believed he’d explode under the table, a quiet yet uncontrollable manifestation of four years and infinite wishes. “More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

She fought herself the rest of the meal, making stilted, dinner time conversation that they both saw through, both breathed through, both suffered through.

Dish cleanup and pajama changing quieted her down, her mind focused on other things for a little while but once they’d sat down on the couch, lights off, movie in, ice cream waiting in the freezer for later, she became acutely aware of his proximity to her. He’d offered her half the afghan, shifted the coffee table a little closer for her feet to rest on if she wanted, kissed the top of her head just as the opening credits began. She, in turn, had to keep reminding herself how to breathe evenly.

Sensory overload was kicking in again, the smell of him, his radiating heat, his voice as he contributed oft-placed comments on police procedurals happening on the TV. Her hand found its way to his thigh, fingers playing with the inside seam of his cut-off sweats. His own landed on her flannel pants, roughly same distance between allowable knee and forbidden juncture.

Her voice surprised her, “Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your stance on third base?”

Slowly, he found the remote and paused before swinging his gaze in her direction, “Yankees or something else?”

Her inhale shuddered, “not the Yankees.”

His hand immediately slid from allowable to not-so-forbidden now, caught between viced thighs, “this third base?”

Confession tumbled from her lips, “I haven’t done anything or felt anything, really, in months and suddenly you walked in today with grocery bags and that stupid grin of yours and you smell fantastic and something kicked in and,” wiggling out of necessity to attempt to … whatever …, “I don’t recall the last time I was this …”

Mulder finished her sentence with a grin, “horny?”

“Yes!”

Somehow, he lifted her bodily onto his lap, his chest to her back, hand sliding effortlessly down the front of her pajamas, finding the sweet spot before she had time to so much as offer the feeble word of ‘bed’.

Then she didn’t care.

At all.

Focusing mainly on his fingers, warm, quick, unexperienced but willing to learn. Instead of following, she led, whispering once to move a little to the left, whispering again to go harder, arching her back as she came in under a minute, body shuddering, twitching, before settling back down.

Over her shoulder, his husky voice sounded in her ear, “can I be next?”

It took all of nine seconds to stand up, drop her clothes to the floor, order him to lift up, pull his pants off, then climb on, already wet, already slick, already taking him inside with a slip and a slide.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Her giggles made him smile, her rosy cheeks made him happy, her warm skin within lips reach made him dizzy but above all else, her panting breath against his neck made him ecstatic, knowing she was alive and well and would be for the foreseeable future. When she finally calmed down, knees digging into the couch springs, skin glued to skin, she pulled herself back, sweat running down Mulder’s chest where they had been pressed together moments earlier, “I had planned for that to be a little … less …” waving her hands around in wordless definition, “that.”

“Was perfect to me.”

Kissing him lightly, then resting forehead to his, “one day, this will all be organized and we’ll make it to the bedroom.”

Hands back on her bare ass, “highly doubt that but it’s nice to have a plan.”

Sitting back, she reached out to him, lightly running her fingers along his hairline, feather-touch making his eyes shut, “I think we should do that again later.”

About to ask why not now, he had an epiphany of sorts and looking at her, square and jokingly judging, “you want ice cream, don’t you?”

This time, her nose scrunched up when she smiled, nodding with enthusiasm, “kind of. But I promise, you’ll always beat out ice cream after today … mostly.”

Pulling her down for a kiss, he then squeezed her thighs to nudge her off him, “come on, woman. Let’s go clean up so we can have dessert.”

“I love you, Mulder.”

“You just love my Rocky Road.”

“That, too.”

[statementends]

What the Ghost?! Ch4

Characters: Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard, Jon and Georgie in the Background Pairings: Jon/Georgie, Peter/Elias Rating: G Warnings: Peter and Elias being Peter and Elias really. Summary: Georgie and Jon have a podcast. It’s been getting a lot of attention recently. Shifting POVs of different people interacting with the WTG podcast and crew and how it ties in with the Magnus Institute. Chapter Summary: Peter and Elias have their version of an intimate moment. Elias listens to the competition.

AO3: Link

Chapter 4: Peter

Peter watched Elias dress while he sprawled on the cooling bed. Underwear, pants, undershirt, socks, shirt, button, button, button, button mm. Some people enjoyed their partner stripping. Peter wasn’t some people. 

Already done with him. Well they weren’t together because Elias was a cuddler. Might be nice though. Freezing fog ran over his skin and he sighed in deep satisfaction. 

Elias’ phone made a little alerting beep and instantly scooped it up. He fiddled with it and the voices of two young people talking about spooky things filled the silent room. Quite a lark considering the state of things. It was the usual two of course. Elias’... interest in them had been consistent since he took care of Gertrude. Peter had heard it often enough to know their opening and tagline. He yawned. He didn’t see the appeal. Elias never missed a new episode and always had to listen to it as soon as it came out. The Head of the Magnus Institute sat on their previously shared bed, forgetting that he was on his way out. Peter was still being ignored. 

“And now Jon is going to say something ridiculous to explain it, like a weather balloon or global warming disrupting the habits of wasps--”

“Shut up, Peter.” Elias held up his hand. 

Peter chuckled, a lazy smile pulled across his face. Ignored for a silly podcast. Elias was the only one that could make him feel this way. He pulled himself up and wrapped his arms around the other man from behind. Elias made annoyed sounds, but didn’t shove him away. Peter tried to figure out if that was meant to be a punishment or if Elias actually liked the weight of him. 

There were so many layers between the two of them Peter could write his own version of it. 

He closed his eyes, listened to the two voices. Jon and Georgie. 

“Really, Jon?” 

“I’m not saying aliens. That is not what I said!” 

“You used the word invasion, Jon.” Georgie laughed. 

“I am being misquoted.” 

“Invasion is the word you used!” 

“It was bugs, Georgie!” 

“Then why not say ‘infestation’?” 

“...Because I don’t think that’s what this sounds like. Do you remember that email, the one from the ‘witch.’ We didn’t air it because it seemed too … intense?”

“Jane Prentiss. I remember. It’s one of our lost episodes you can listen to on our Patreon.” 

“It’s on our Patreon?”

“As you can see, Jon has no idea how our Podcast is actually funded.” 

“Yes. Well… that yes. Prentiss. Doesn’t this infestation remind you of her?” 

“I suppose.” Georgie said slowly. “But the Magnus Institute takes in any story. They’ve probably got a few involving her.”

“Probably. It’s just that they’ve come up a lot recently. And now a… whistleblower? Insider?”

“You should go there.” Georgie joked. “Check out the competition. Perhaps this mystery insider will show you all the skeletons.”

Peter opened his eyes feeling Elias’ spine straighten underneath him. A pondering stillness. That was it then.

“Do you want the boy or the girl?” Peter asked casually enjoying the jealousy seeping in, tensing his shoulders. “I suppose it makes sense, you’re looking for a new one. You don’t have a lot of time left until the big day.” 

Elias turned swiftly, pushing him off. Those piercing eyes of his hurting every inch of him. He forced himself not to pull his fog over for cover. Being seen was a sensory overload. It hurt, but it hurt achingly good. 

Elias had a grumpy face. Ah. Adorable. 

“They’re pulling statements to them. That shouldn’t happen.” 

Oh, he didn’t know something. Peter tried to take a mental picture. Elias hated not knowing something. He wasn’t completely omniscient, at least not yet, but normals getting the better of him must be irritating.

And alluring. That was what Elias saw in him after all. Absolutely nothing. That’s what made him interesting. 

“Maybe the Eye found your choice lacking and is looking for fresh meat.” Peter suggested.

“Sasha was suited. A brilliant woman.”

“You were always complaining about how she was too careful.”

“Apparently I was wrong.  The NotThem got her because she had to be a hero. Driven by selflessness instead of curiosity.” 

“There you are then. Your god surely didn’t like that. Maybe these two are actually competition. They did say they have a Patron.”

“A Patreon, Peter.” Elias turned away mid-eyeroll. “I swear. ”

“Computers rot the brain.” 

“I know you’re playing dumb to annoy me.” 

Peter tried to kiss the side of his face. Elias stood up. Turned off his phone.

“You should send an invitation, they seem eager enough.”

“That’s more the Web’s style don’t you think?” Elias said putting on his cufflinks. 

“It’s smart to steal other teams’ plays. I don’t see why these two are such a thorn. I could take care of them for you. Internet people are usually very lonely. Would you like that, Elias?” 

“Don’t you dare,” Elias said. “I need to know what they’re doing. They’re meddling somehow. I just don’t know how yet.” 

Peter let himself fall back on the pillows. “Suit yourself. But whatever you do you’ll need to do it soon. You have a leak”

“Yes.” Elias said stonily. “And I think I know who it is.”

[selfconstructedself]

4, 5, 11, 20?

4.) What has your experience with therapy been like?

We're very lucky with our current therapist. We started working with her in the beginning of 2016 and at the time we were diagnosed with BPD, so I did DBT (group and individual) for about a year and a half. It was so helpful and we were getting to a point where she didn't think I met the diagnostic criteria for BPD. A lot happened around this point and I ended up having a psych evaluation and getting a bipolar and OSDD-1b diagnosis instead. We took a break, more on that below in question 20, but have been back with her for a year.

Our therapist knows a lot of different kinds of therapy and is really good at combining different ones and matching them to her clients' needs. Her approach is very much "treat the symptoms, not the diagnosis" and she didn't have experience recognizing OSDD. However she did notice that we had a lot of dissociated emotions, a very present "inner child", and referred to us as "a very compartmentalized person", so we were doing a little bit of parts work as it were anyway - but the diagnosis really put into perspective what was going on.

We touch a bit more on our current experiences with therapy in the second part to our answer of question 17 a few posts back.

5.) How often do you switch?

That really varies and is also a bit hard to tell with OSDD. We seem to experience multiplicity in one of four ways:

1.) Full switches with one alter fronting. No other alters are aware of the present, but they are able to access and remember what happened later on.

2.) Full switches with one alter fronting, and the other alters are aware of what's going on but have no control in it.

3.) Co-consciousness with 2+ distinct alters present and influencing the body.

4.) Co-consciousness but very blurry and blended with no distinct parts; identity confusion; no one knows who they are or who anyone else is. (It was actually super helpful to write these out!)

The 1st kind is rare and generally only happens when we're super stressed and there's too much going on in life. The 2nd and 3rd are more common; typically at school/work only one part will be out, usually Lina, and Alyria or Carson might switch out if they're better suited for a particular task. Outside of school/work we're more likely to experience the 3rd kind, and we usually experience the 4th kind in the mornings when we’re waking up (veryyy slowly) or when we're in sensory overload.

11.) How does dissociation feel for you? Dissociation feels like fog, or glass, or a veil between me and the rest of the world, but no one else can see it. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting in class or a meeting and I’ll look up and realize that everything feels slightly off visually. Things seem too close or too far away or flat, colors seem too vibrant, some images are sharpened and others blurry, but there’s no physiological explanation. It’s like I’m in the world but the world is a painting. I get dizzy. I have to get up and touch things to remind myself that they are real.

Other times I feel like I’m not real. I’ll look at my hands and feel detached from them. I feel like I’m separated from my body; I hover in a corner of the ceiling and watch my body. I feel like I’m in the wrong dimension, or I’m in a dream. It’s hard to think clearly; difficult and sometimes impossible to speak. When this happens I have to have weight on me, or something tight around me, or feel water or something tactile to bring me back to my body.

Other times I feel dissociated from time. I don’t experience losing time on a day-to-day basis between alters, but sometimes I’ll find that I’ve been sitting in one spot on the floor in a trance-like state and I’ve lost an hour or more - no one fronting, no one doing anything, just catatonic. Thankfully this happens a lot less frequently now and I can usually recognize when I’m getting to that point and attempt to ground myself and keep it from getting to that point. Typically when I’m dissociated from time I’m dissociated from time as a concept. Time feels distorted, warped, sped up or more often slowed down. Essentially dissociation feels like confusion in a lot of different ways, and like I’m on autopilot.

20.) How much progress towards stability or recovery have you made since finding out about having DID/OSDD?

- vague mentions of purposeful triggering, no details-

When we first got diagnosed about 2 years ago, we were very much in denial of it. We had never heard of OSDD and were not ready to believe that what we had experience was trauma. We stopped seeing our therapist for the better part of a year and only did check-ins with our college counselor twice a month and mostly because they were mandatory for us. We engaged in a lot of behaviors that at the time felt good, like we were living a normal and adventurous life and we had lots of friends due to our lifestyle choices at the time.

However, what we were doing was re-traumatizing some parts, and avoiding trauma for other parts. We were trying to normalize our trauma by making it happen again but with our control this time. There was a lot of dissociation between parts; lots of full switching (the 1st type described above) and very little collaboration. Some retraumatization led us to accept and understand what we had experienced and what we needed to work on, so we went back to our therapist about a year ago.

It’s hard to say how much progress we’ve made in the past year because there were definitely periods of things getting worse before they got better as we work through trauma triggers. Sometimes it feels like two steps forward, one step back, but at least we’re making progress. When we step back to look at where we were three months ago, six months ago, a year ago, the progress is easier to see. We’re a lot more accepting of our diagnosis now and have a lot more collaboration, especially around protecting our little. Collaboration is probably easier for us than DID systems because we don't have inter-identity amnesia. Previously we knew about each other but we all tried to ignore it because we wanted to believe we were doing better mental health wise, and really resisted having another “label”.

We also have trouble processing an emotional state we aren’t currently experiencing. When we’re sad or anxious, we have to remind ourselves that we haven’t always felt this way. The past few days have been good for me, so in the current moment I’m like “Trauma? What trauma?” But I know that we’ll transition to a new schedule in a couple of weeks and that we also have a lot of family stuff to deal with this month surrounding a family member’s wedding, so that will likely bring up different thoughts and feelings about our progress/stability.

[warriors-cats-as-havniil-blog]

Havniil Official Explanation

I thought it would be fun to draw warriors cats as Havniil. This post is basically an in depth explanation of the Havniil so that nobody's confused though since they are of my own design.

The Havniil are a fantasy race/species/ whatever you wanna call it of my own making for an original story/setting my older sibling and I are working on. They "present" a variety of feline features, appearing as anything from upright walking cats to looking completely human.

The features they can present as feline are: eyes, ears, teeth, tail, whiskers, claws, markings (on their skin no actual fur and it can be only in patches or specific places), fur, and body shape (this is the point they become upright walking cats and it's actually incredibly rare since it essentially requires ALL of the previous traits in order to even have a chance to present)

The amount that they present corresponds to their place in the hierarchy of their society. So a Havniil that has cat ears and eyes would be in a lower position than one that had ears, tail, markings, teeth, and eyes. However a Havniil won't grow any more feline features than they are born with. So, except under specific circumstances, an individual cannot advance past their social position. Earning the title of hero is one such way a Havniil can advance in society.

For a warriors analogy, a clan cat would present as more feline than a non-clan cat. Most kittypets would not have more than three feline presenting features (usually ears, tail, and eyes). In the setting the Havniil were created for, about three features would make them attractive to humans, meaning they're more likely to be pets.

As far as physical appearances go, I tend to base them off of cats. Their skintone would be based on the kind of climate they're in, but also the amount of cover in their territory. So those Havniil from northern tribes would be pale, but so would those from a forest because of all the cover. The forest tribe wouldn't be as pale but it would still be pale compared to those in a desert or other open environments. For example, if I were to draw Bluestar as a Havniil her eyes would be blue and her hair would be blue-gray. I'd give her blue-gray ears and a tail and probably give her teeth and claws as well. Her skin would be light-medium ish somewhere in that range. Being a leader I'd probably give her patches of blue-gray on her skin as well, but not all of her body I don't think???? Anyway, Havniil are also small compared to humans.

Havniil society is very community based. They live, hunt, and gather other forms of food in groups. They're organized into tribes and live across an entire continent. The continent stretches from the northern reaches of the world to the southern temperate area. The evening meal is a community feast, where every individual living in the tribe comes together to eat and talk and share stories.

Each individual Havniil has a role to fill. Their first role is chosen at birth based on their inborn skills, but they can choose to learn more than one role once they complete their training and do some service in their previous role. As far as actual roles go, I haven't covered all the bases but I've got a decent amount.

The leadership/advisory roles all have criteria for the individual entering the role to meet. They must be of a specific social standing (presenting at least four feline traits), and they must have filled two non-combative roles previously (basically roles that don't fight or hunt). The leadership and advisory roles are:

Tribe King/Queen: the leaders of each individual tribe of Havniil. They present as more feline than human with very few exceptions.

Tribe Prince/Princess: the main advisor to the king or queen. They do not have to be related to the king or queen and more often than not are not related to them in any way.

Healer: basically a Havniil doctor can essentially do what they want if lives are on the line, even directly defy their Tribe king/queen. Also act as an advisor to their king/queen.

Enforcer: judge and police officer all rolled into one. Answers directly to the tribe queen/king. They act as an advisor as well.

The roles available to any individual are:

Hunter: specialize in fighting mages, alchemists, and gunslingers. The Havniil are unable to use magic themselves so Hunters are outfitted in a special metal that absorbs magical energy to a point. Their weapons are made of the same metal and can also redirect that magical energy towards their enemies. They use heavy weapons more resembling human weaponry and heavy armor and focus on hitting HARD and QUICK. They are trained exclusively for battle and do not participate in hunting prey.

Shadow: specialize in stealth and speed. Shadows use light weapons uniquely designed by the Havniil and little to no armor and focus on precision and mobility. Shadows are also part of hunting parties and are the main attack force that takes down their prey.

Guardian: specialize in defense and endurance. They use heavy armor and weapons designed specifically by the Havniil and focus on mobility and the ability to draw attention of enemies and take hits. They protect the Shadows from possible dangers while the Shadows take down prey.

Runner: specialize in speed and endurance. They work with Shadows and Guardians in hunting parties to draw prey, especially Aisoth packs toward the main hunting party. Then the Guardians will occupy the majority of the pack so that the Shadows and Runners can take on the members of the pack specifically deemed to be prey for the hunt. They are fast and agile, able to round tight corners and even completely turn around without missing a step (of course they lose speed but they don't stumble) in battle they also herd enemies into the waiting Guardians, Shadows, and Hunters. They appear to be solitary, or in a group of two or three but really they're part of an entire battle/hunting party.

Harvester: they are in charge of foraging for plants to eat. Harvesters work in parties of three with two Guardians accompanying them.

Scouts: live among humans to see what they're up to and the state of the world beyond the Homeland. They are required to be able to physically pass as human.

Engineer: specialize in using and advancing the technology the Havniil have access to.

Architect: specializes in designing... everything, not just the cities but just everything

Communicator: specializes in communication and in many cases manipulation. Communicators use technology and their charisma to make sure things run smoothly and are often in contact with scouts in the world

Explorer: do exactly that, they travel far from home to find new things and send reports back to their tribe prince/princess.

Lore Master: keeps all the history of the Havniil and their relations with other peoples.

The Havniil diet consists mostly of large animals, fruits, and seeds. While they are settled, they do not grow their own food, instead hunting and gathering from their territories. Their territories are quite large usually. I honestly don't have an exact size but each tribe is like it's own kingdom. The Havniil also tend to hunt animals that live in groups, whether it's packs or herds or whatever. Their main source of prey are the Aisoth packs native to their territory. Havniil do occasionally eat smaller animals as well though.

Aisoths are huge wolf-like pack animals that are able to inhabit most environments. They have disproportionately large claws and horns on their heads, spines on their backs, and smaller horns on their chins. Their pelts vary in length and color depending on the environment they're in.

Anyway, back to the Havniil.

Havniil mate for life. They tend to have difficulty moving on from someone they loved as a significant other. It takes a long time to get over someone. They usually don't take a second mate. Its frowned upon in the society to do so, especially if their mate died as opposed to just leaving them. That being said, if a Havniil leaves their mate for another one they face exile from the tribe. Its seen as a sign that the individual is disloyal and cannot be trusted. Some Havniil never mate and that isn't even that unusual in their society. Many Havniil, especially in higher positions in society dedicate their lives to their tribes instead of taking a mate. Also, please don't assume Havniil are all straight because that is not true. Their significant other can be any gender. Speaking of gender, in Havniil society, there are four general gender categories. I don't have names for them cuz I'm bad at naming things, but they're basically feminine masculine, masculine feminine, feminine, and masculine.

Havniil can also mate with most other races/species/whatever in the setting, including humans. They usually have twins but can have as many as 4 babies at a time. Even if it is not the Havniil that carries the babies, twins are still common. Obviously quadruplets are not nearly as common if a Havniil isn't carrying. No matter how a Havniil presents or how diluted their blood is, they are still considered Havniil if there has been one that presents at least one feline feature in their family line going back as far as 6 generations. So any individual that fits that criteria would be welcome in the Havniil homeland.

Havniil have stronger senses than humans and are easily over stimulated. In their own society steps have long since been taken to mitigate sensory overload but most others aren't even aware it happens so easily.