#Mystery of Pheasants

[sorceresssundries]

Ruined

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Regency Era AU! Tav is burdened by whispers of a cursed love life. Twice betrothed to promising men, only to lose them to tragic fates, Tav’s allure has become a point of fascination and fear. Intrigued, the recently arrived Mr. Dekarios pursues her despite the ominous rumours that surround her.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Porn with Plot, NSFW

Word Count: 6K

A/N - this was written as part of a prompt challenge, the prompt was 'Let me ruin you.'

Tav was, yet again, compelled to endure the dreary monotony of another wretched ball. It was the seventh of the season, though indistinguishable from the first—or indeed from any that had succeeded it. The floral arrangements, while marginally altered, brought no true novelty. The pheasant, a substitution for last week’s goose, was hardly the culinary triumph the hosts had envisioned. Yet still, the gathered throng twittered and preened, as though this fête were the crowning glory of the season. 

It was not.

She often found her thoughts wandering from the oppressive glow of chandeliers to the untamed wilds beyond the manicured grounds. There, she imagined herself letting her hair and laughter fall loose, and riding bareback through the weaving woods she often drifted to, lured by wildflowers and birdsong. Or even further, to the ocean where the waves beat and pulled against the shore and promised mystery and new horizons.

Her daydreaming and lack of refinement had often left her labelled as preoccupied, unladylike, vexing.. To those throughout her life who had attempted to curtail her tendency to wish for the unobtainable. Corsets and etiquette may have done their best to pour her into a shape worth enduring, but there were no rules nor laces tight enough to bind the wild beat of her reckless heart. 

But here she was, bound again and bored again, at another repetitive show, for another repetitive year. Constantly torn between wanting to be wild and needing to be secure. 

This season, like the last, had brought Tav yet another marriage proposal - her third in total. She accepted it with the quiet resignation of one who had grown all too accustomed to the inevitability of such offers.

Offers which, so far, had ended in tragedy. 

Two seasons ago, she had been affianced to a fine gentleman of estimable rank and fortune. Their engagement was announced amid great fanfare, and society applauded the match as one of rare brilliance. Alas, before vows could be exchanged, her intended husband succumbed to a sudden fever, leaving Tav bereaved and pitied. 

The following season, she accepted another suitor, a baronet’s eldest son, whose devotion bordered on zeal. Yet fate struck cruelly again: he fell from his horse mere weeks before their nuptials, his neck broken in an instant.

After the second tragedy, the whispers began. They followed her like shadows, flitting from one fan to the next, growing more embellished with every retelling. Some claimed her beauty was too perfect, a snare set by the Fates to lure men to their doom. Others murmured curses, of misdeeds from ancestors long ago visited upon the innocents of the present.  

Whatever the tale, Tav was transformed in the eyes of society - from the most captivating of melodies, to the siren who used it to drown the besotted. 

She was hoping that the third time would, indeed, be the charm many claimed it to be. The only reason she had accepted the invitation to this particular ball was due to the request of Mr. Rowle, a solicitor who spent most of his time in London and was in search of a wife to keep in his large house in the countryside. 

He had asked for her hand, and she had accepted. It was to be announced later this evening. 

Mr. Rowle was the kind of man who could hardly be described as remarkable. He bore the vigour of watered-down wine, and his presence filled every room he was in the way a stale breeze might fill a drawing room. Still, he had taken a particular shine to Tav after realising, quite astutely, that she possessed both beauty and a good name, with very little competition standing in her way. His appreciation for her was pragmatic, driven by the efficiency of her family’s connections rather than any deep passion.

Tav had no illusions. She knew what marriage meant in this world. Mr. Rowle, for all his mildness, was no different from the fiancées who had come before him—well-intentioned, perhaps, but uninspiring. A man who would offer comfort and stability, if not love.

He was aware of the rumours that surrounded her, but Mr. Rowle was not a superstitious man, and so after only a couple of dances and several conversations about the weather and the local wildlife, he had visited her home and made her an offer of matrimony. It was swift, practical, and utterly devoid of romantic flourishes. He had no grand speeches, no sweet promises, only a proposal that seemed as casual as the conversation they had shared over punch.

Tav had felt nothing. Certainly not elation, nor disappointment, nor even relief. There was nothing in Mr. Rowle’s offer that made her heart race or her pulse quicken. His offer was as placid and dull as his presence.

And yet, she agreed. Not out of a sense of duty or obligation, but because she could not think of a reason not to. The prospect of becoming a solitary wife in a large, empty house with a husband she did not love seemed no worse than the alternative—more of the same, the same crowded balls, the same endless parade of unremarkable suitors, the same stale expectations.

“I shall make do,” she had resolved to herself, turning her thoughts away from her own desires. 

Not that she particularly minded being on her own. In fact, she found her company much more invigorating than any other person she had socialised with all season - save, perhaps, one.

Mr. Gale Dekarios was a recent attendee to the events of the county, and was the subject of countless fluttering eyelashes, timid stares, and whispered speculations. Wealthy, strikingly handsome, and possessing an education that was the envy of many, he had recently taken up residence in the county after parting scandalously from his lover in the capital. A member of the nobility, it was said - though no one dared utter whose name, precisely - with whom he had been an illustrious paramour until he had, regrettably, fallen out of favour.

Quick-witted, and perhaps a touch too clever for his own good, Mr. Dekarios had the uncanny ability to sharpen a room’s attention merely by entering it. Tav had disliked him instantly. She rolled her eyes at the chatter of scandal that clung to him, noting how it seemed to polish his reputation rather than tarnish it.

The same clucking mothers who had pecked at her name until it was in tatters, pushed their daughters towards him at every opportunity. Hoping that a dance or a conversation would lead to a betrothal between the rich, educated former lover of a noble and their insipid waif of a daughter.  

She certainly had no intention of tripping over herself to catch his eye.

Mr.Dekarios however, was not quite as sure-footed. 

He was intrigued by the woman of substantial beauty who often seemed to flitter, disinterested at the corner of the gatherings. Filling her own glass, and tapping her feet to the music as she sat in solitude, thinking no-one could see the rhythm of her slippers beneath her gown.

He had asked about her almost immediately. Discretion was paramount, of course, so he made his inquiries with care, approaching a variety of confidants and acquaintances. Their answers, though varied, all carried the same shadowed thread.

She was a beauty, they said, as luminous as she was mysterious. Yet her allure was whispered to come at a cost. Twice, she had been betrothed, and twice tragedy had struck before vows could be exchanged. Both men, hale and hearty, had perished suddenly and unexpectedly. Fever claimed one, and a fatal fall took the other. Another one, some solicitor , was apparently rumoured to be next in line. 

Some spun her tale with a touch of poetry, casting her as an otherworldly enchantress whose perfection ensnared mortal men. Others muttered more pragmatic warnings, hinting at curses, ill luck, or sins of her forebears.

Whatever the version, the message was clear: she was a woman to be admired from afar, not pursued.

And yet, after watching her, Gale found himself thoroughly unconvinced.

The first time he asked her to dance, she had declined with polite finality, offering no further explanation. It wasn’t rejection so much as dismissal, as though his request were little more than a passing inconvenience. He hadn’t been discouraged.

The second time, she wavered—her lips curving into a subtle smirk, her eyes alight with a glimmer of something that might have been amusement. Still, her answer had been the same. No.

The third time, however, her disbelief at his persistence had given way to reluctant acceptance. “I’m not sure this is wise,” she had said, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

“Wisdom is overrated,” Gale replied, his grin laced with mischief. “But if it’s any consolation, I promise not to step on your toes.”

And so began the pattern that would define their every subsequent meeting.

Each time they danced, his hand held her waist with a touch that grew imperceptibly firmer, his dark eyes dipping lower, his gaze lingering longer. She told herself she imagined the faint stroke of his thumb against her gloved hand, yet each time the contact sent a spark rippling through her. For the first time, she understood the folly—and the wisdom—of feeling alight from something so small.

Unlike other partners, he eschewed the usual, droning topics of weather and the quality of the supper. Instead, he asked questions that surprised her. He wanted to know about her family, her thoughts, her opinions. 

She had flirted and bantered, and he had laughed - beautifully, richly. A sound that disarmed her completely and, more often than not, drew her own laughter from her lips until her corset protested against the joy.

But beneath the growing warmth between them, a shadow still lingered. Tav couldn’t ignore it. Surely Gale, for all his charm, was not unaware of her reputation, the whispers that followed her like a darkness even beneath the brightest chandeliers. Surely he, like everyone else, knew of the misfortunes that had befallen those who dared to come too close.

Her curiosity eventually overcame her. One evening, as the music faded and the final steps of their dance drew them close, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. His touch, light and brief, sent a shiver through her even as his dark eyes locked onto hers, steady and full of something she dared not name.

“I would like to pay you a call tomorrow,” he said softly, the intimacy of it wrapping around her like a caress.

Bemused, and emboldened by their growing familiarity, she could not help but challenge him. “Have you not heard, sir?” she asked, tilting her head with mock gravity. “Any man foolish enough to commit himself to me meets a grisly end. I am the curse of the county.”

“I am well aware of your fascinating history.” His lips twitched, a grin threatening to break free. “It reminds me of certain females of the animal kingdom who are known to murder - and occasionally devour - their partners after the union is complete. It seems you either possess exceptional efficiency or lack the intelligence to at least wait until the marriage contract is signed.”

“Intelligence?” She arched a brow, her smirk sharpening. “Sir, I lack the patience.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sagacity. “Then perhaps next time, you ought to choose a suitor whose company you can bear for long enough to secure the contract.”

“If I find such a man,” she countered with a smile, “I shall let you know at once.”

His laughter rang out, warm and unguarded, sending a strange ache through her chest. It had quickly become her favorite sound—a sound that made the rest of the world fade, if only for a moment.

But the following day, when he arrived at her home, she turned him away.

Not because she wanted to. On the contrary, she found herself hovering near the window long after his carriage had departed, her hands gripping the sill as though it might steady the tumult inside her.

No, she turned him away because she understood the danger of marrying for passion in a world where she was not allowed to express it. 

And somewhere deep down, buried beneath her rational mind and resolute exterior, there lingered a fear she dared not voice. The rumors, as wild and swirling as they were, had taken root in a corner of her heart. No matter how much she dismissed tales of blood curses and ancestral magic as foolishness, the whispers of society were insidious. If you are told something often enough, if you hear it echoed and embellished in every corner of every room, the ability to believe it burrows cruelly and stubbornly into the softer places of the soul.

It didn’t matter that no proof existed, nor that the very idea was absurd. The possibility, however faint, was enough to haunt her.

And the thought of such a fate befalling Gale—his dark, knowing eyes dimmed, his laughter silenced, his warm hand gone cold—was too cruel to consider.

She accepted Mr Rowle’s proposal the very next day. 

And so here she was, at the ball where it was to be announced, once again folded up into manageable pieces, and ended up feeling so confined it became difficult to breathe properly, let alone laugh or flirt or, god forbid, enjoy oneself. 

She thought once more of the woods and the ocean, of a freedom she would never find, and it all became too much.

She slipped from the crowded room, the clamour of prattle unbearable, and wandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of endless, identical corridors. The monotonous expanse seemed to stretch without end, until, at last, she stumbled upon an unoccupied alcove. With a soft, relieved sigh, she surrendered to the cool solidity of the wall, allowing herself the rare indulgence of slouching heavily against it. The breath she released felt as though it had been held captive not just for hours, but for the entire length of the season itself.

Her reprieve, however, was fleeting.

“Miss Taventon,” came a familiar velvet voice, “I was hoping to stumble into you.”

It was a cruel challenge, to maintain both eloquence and ire in the presence of someone so devilishly handsome. Yet, she resolved to rise to the occasion all the same. 

“A pleasure Mr. Dekarios,” she replied, her voice carefully even. Her eyes flicked down the corridor behind him, searching for signs of life. It was, to her dismay, empty. The usual din of aimless chatter was absent - ordinarily a blessing, but now a vexing reminder that to be alone with him, even for a moment, was to court the sort of scandal that clung like burrs to one’s reputation. She lacked both the energy and inclination to untangle herself from such a mess.

“Perhaps we may continue this discussion elsewhere,” he offered, wanting to protect her decency but not at the expense of losing the pleasure of her company. His interactions with her had become a sparkling rarity he would loathe to let slip between clumsy fingers. 

His eyes caught the faint light of the sconces, their gleam too knowing, his half-cocked smile far too disarming. Indeed, Tav found herself wholly disarmed. Her wits scattered like leaves in a strong wind, and she could scarcely think clearly enough to determine what she ought to do—or say. 

Before reason could intervene, her hand shot out, taking hold of his arm with a firmness that startled even her. She pulled him into the nearest room without so much as a word of explanation.

The door clicked shut behind them, and they found themselves within a study, low-lit and mercifully empty. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, the scent of leather-bound tomes mingling with faint traces of cedar and ink. An extravagant writing desk stood as the room’s centerpiece, the only witness to their impropriety. 

He was so close, gazing down upon her, the scent of plummy wine and heat simmering upon him. A dangerous thought flitted through her mind. If she so chose, she need only rise to the balls of her feet and kiss away the smile that played so smugly upon his lips. What might it taste like - that peculiar blend of arrogance and charm? Would it be sharp and bitter, like unripe fruit, or unexpectedly sweet, a slow trickle of late-summer honey?

The notion startled her, sending a betraying flush to her cheeks. To taste his superiority - to swallow it whole, to let it nourish her own fire - was a thought too bold, too improper. She stepped back abruptly, the motion breaking the spell his gaze had woven around her. The weight of his eyes remained upon her, unrelenting, as though he could divine the secrets she so desperately sought to hide.

Her lips parted, but no words formed. What could she possibly say to shatter the charged silence that hung between them? She felt unmoored in a storm she was unprepared for, swirling with curiosity, and something perilously close to longing. Yet even in her disarray, she knew that silence was a weapon she dared not wield for too long.

“I hear you are betrothed,” he said first. His tone was peculiar, sharper than usual, edged with something she could not readily name. “My sincerest congratulations.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw the faintest flicker in his expression - hurt, perhaps, or resignation. But the mocking tilt to his words fanned her anger, quick and volatile.

“If your intention is to bait me with sarcasm or false pleasantries,” she snapped, indignant, “then I can assure you, your ire is wasted.” Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her temper. “You have very little appreciation of my position, and I will have no judgment from you, nor from anybody else.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, her hot-blooded nature betraying her as usual, and she felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. She turned her face away, willing herself to regain control, furious that he could provoke her so easily.

“I apologise,” he said, gentler now. “If I have upset you, I assure you, it was never my intention.”

He reached out then, instinct overriding reason, his hand hovering in the space between them. He longed to trace the line of her jaw, to gently guide her gaze back to his. He lived for those moments when her eyes met his, those fleeting seconds when the world fell away and he could lose himself utterly in their depths. To be this close to her yet deprived of that connection felt like an unbearable cruelty.

But just as quickly, reason caught up with him. He hesitated, his hand faltering mid-air before he let it fall back to his side. He thought better of himself—of her—and allowed her the space she sought, even if it meant she kept her face turned from him, her eyes averted, her expression unreadable.

“If that was not your intention, sir,” she asked “then what is?”

He hesitated once more, caught between decorum and the desperate urge to speak the truth. If her engagement was to be announced tonight, as rumour suggested, this moment might be his last chance—his last opportunity to tell her what had remained unsaid for far too long.

In the silence, her eyes once more found him, too curious and impatient to be coy. 

“My intention… was to make you aware of my feelings for you. It is no use, I can hide them no longer, and if this is my final opportunity to make them known then.. I would be a fool not to take it.” 

If he expected her to be flattered, he would be disappointed.

“I see.” She said, whilst waiting for her thoughts to arrange themselves into a suitable order. “And you have decided to make this confession, alone with me? On the night of my engagement? How noble of you, sir. How thoughtful.”

He had the decency to blush a little, “I did not mean to.. I did not think..” “No, because you have no need of thought. You may act as and how you please with little to no repercussions upon your indelible reputation. What is one more scandal to the mystical and ravishing Gale Dekarios? It would surely only further your allure, to have talk of another lover notched upon your no-doubt dwindling bedpost.” 

“Now, hold on..”

“No. I shall hold no more. This is perhaps my final chance for a match, as limp and uninspiring as it is, it is still a match. I do not have the luxury of flitting my way across ballrooms and wearing scandal like the latest fashion. My name is muddied, and my future with it. This engagement is my chance at a comfortable and secure future, do you understand?”

“It is strange, my lady, as secure and comfortable are not words I would have associated with you, or your future.” For one so intelligent, Gale Dekarios often demonstrated the wit of a backwards ass.

“And what words did you associate with my future? Ruined? Destitute? Cursed? The only curse that has befallen me is the one that prevents me from charting my own course. You think I wish to marry that man? I assure you I do not.” 

“Stubborn is the word I would use! And infuriating!” His voice was rising to meet hers. “You ought not to worry about the match” he remarked, exasperated. “This time you are bound to vex the poor soul into an early grave”

“Yes, I am vexing! I have been told many times. And I am stubborn, I am glad of it. Because if I am not then I am meek, and if I am not curious then I am stale, and if I am not passionate  then I..” she could feel the words crack in her throat, truths she did not want to admit were being spilled from her like poisoned wine “then I am ruined. Not the ruin that this stagnant, monotone tribunal has decreed, but truly ruined. The kind of ruin that steals the sun from my skin and the fire from my soul. That straightens my curls along with my spirit and leaves me pale, faded, and hollow.”

She was blazing, alight, and so achingly, achingly tired of it all. 

“The ruin they speak of, the one they condemn with such piety - freedom, passion, love without boundaries or permission - that is no ruin at all. That is a privilege. One that you are entitled to, sir, but I am not and now never will be. I crave to be so ruined.” 

Her chest heaved as she finished, her final words hanging in the air like a dare. She was certain he would turn and leave her, that her outburst was too wild for a gentleman of his stature to bear. It would hurt her, for him to turn, but it would not destroy her. She was made of obstinance and wildfire. She would endure. 

But he did not turn. He stood there, gazing at her with an expression she could not read and a patience she did not understand. 

“Then let me ruin you.”

She was a match struck. 

Before she could form a reply - before she could even think - he crossed the small space between them in one deliberate step. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his palm warm against her flushed skin. The touch was surprisingly gentle, belying the fire burning in his gaze, and for a moment, she thought he would simply hold her there, suspended in this unbearable torment.

But then his lips were on hers, and the whole world tilted.

The kiss was no delicate brush of affection. It was a collision. His lips claimed hers with an urgency that stole her breath, leaving her reeling.

She should have pulled away, every rational thought in her mind screamed that she must. But instead, her hands betrayed her, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, the only thing keeping her upright.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, strong and steady, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. When his tongue swept against hers, the shock of it sent a jolt through her, every nerve in her body alight. She met him with equal fervor, her tongue pressing against his in a rhythm that had been desperate to know. A low, primal sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as he pressed closer, his body warm and solid against hers.

The moan sent a shiver through her, and she felt herself leaning into him, her fingers tightening their grip as though afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t. His other hand slid to her waist, strong fingers splaying across the delicate fabric of her gown as though he might anchor her to him.

She could feel the heat of his breath, could taste the faint hint of wine on his lips, and the sheer reality of it overwhelmed her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a chaotic echo of this is madness.

And yet, she couldn’t stop.

Her body betrayed her again, arching toward him. When his lips parted from hers, moving to trail a line of fire along her jaw, she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Gale,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking his name might shatter whatever fragile spell had woven itself around them.

But he only paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above her ear as he spoke, his voice rough and low. “Tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth, the words poised on her lips. But no sound came. 

His forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, his voice low, rough, and trembling with restraint. “And I will. But kiss me again…

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze searching, as though he feared he had gone too far. But there was no condemnation in her expression, only a fire that mirrored his own.

He paused, as though steadying himself, “Kiss me again, and know that I am done. That I am yours. That I will ruin you for all others but me—and me for you.”

His words unraveled something deep within her, loosening threads she had clung to for far too long. She felt her breath hitch, her resolve wavering as she stood on the precipice of something she could not yet name.

“Yours?” she whispered.

“Everlasting”

The weight of his promise pressed against her, both a burden and a liberation. She knew the cost of stepping over this threshold, knew what it would mean to claim him as hers and to give herself in turn. And yet, in that moment, the world beyond the walls of the study—the rigid rules, the whispered judgments, the life that awaited her—seemed so distant, so inconsequential.

Her hand rose of its own accord, trembling as it brushed against the collar of his coat, tracing the fine fabric. She felt the sharp intake of his breath, and it emboldened her.

She kissed him, branded him, a kiss to end all others. 

A sound escaped him then, something between a sigh and a growl, and before she could say more, his tongue was against hers again. 

He broke away briefly, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“There will be no going back,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Good,” she replied, her fingers curling tighter into his coat. “I have no wish to.”

His hands were large and practiced upon her corseted waist. He knew that he would not be able undo her now the way he wished to. He wanted to rip the strings and restraints that bound together the softness of her body. What a waste, what a crime, to tighten and pull together someone as vivid and iridescent as her. To compress her heavy breaths and even heavier laughter into a space too small to hold it. He wanted to hear her, unbidden and unbound. Taste her, full and soft and naked beneath him. 

His eyes swept over her, lingering on the curve of her throat where pearls pulsed teasingly, the flush that painted her cheeks, and the slight parting of her lips as she fought to catch her breath. What need did a creature like her have for silk, satin, or pearls? They were dull imitations of beauty, mere adornments trying to mimic what she carried so effortlessly.

It was her—the way her skin caught the light, the way her hair fell in wild waves when she let it loose, the way her laughter could ripple through a room and silence even the most biting of whispers—that made those lifeless things shine. They owed their luster to her, mere shadows granted brilliance by proximity to the source. Just as he felt by being close to her. 

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough with longing.

She released herself from his grasp to a noise of frustration, before stepping back until the back of her legs met with the solid wood of the grand writing desk. It was covered in papers, books which held little interest. He wished to throw them all to the floor, nothing that lay upon that desk could ever possibly be as entrancing as even the thought of Tav laying splayed across it - spine arched and back rising. 

“Show me.” She said. 

She perched upon the desk, and his breath was ragged and eyes hungry as she lifted her skirts tantalisingly slowly, inch by inch, revealing her feet, her ankles, her calves. How hard he was, just from the sight of her ankles. He wished to kiss each part of her she was unveiling, parts he had imagined in his dreams night after night. Pushing his tongue against her insole, running along the delicacy of her ankle and up her calf. Further and further and further up until his teeth could grace her stocking clasps and he could finally indulge in the scent of her greatest intimacy. 

He fell to his knees before her, in lust-induced worship. He had found a Goddess made mortal, and he wished to venerate her with sermon and satisfaction until her divinity returned. He would offer his mouth - tongue and teeth and words, upon every altar she owned. Purl hymns and benediction into the slick heat of her sacred cunt until she offered him blessing after blessing in return. 

His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her closer to him as his mouth claimed her. He wanted her to fall apart against him, to know that no other would ever worship her like this, with such complete surrender. Her cries filled the room as he licked and moaned and devoured, and when she trembled beneath him, he knew he had her.

But the fire blazing between them refused to be sated.

He rose to his feet in one swift motion, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her flush against him. Her skirts were rucked high, her bare thighs wrapping around him instinctively. She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until she freed him, her hand wrapping around the hard, pulsing heat of him.

“We do not have to...” he groaned, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of proprietary, to throw a lifeline despite drawing himself. 

She needed no lifeline from him. Gasping, she positioned him against her, and kissed him hard as with one rough, claiming thrust, he buried himself inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head falling back as he filled her completely. The desk groaned beneath them. 

He drove into her with a raw, relentless intensity, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, deeper, with every thrust. The sounds of their coupling filled the room—her breathless cries, his low growls, the slap of skin against skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed, and he would have her again and again until she knew it.

Her legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his back as her body arched against his. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands clutching at him as though she feared he might disappear. She was wild, untamed, and he was utterly at her mercy.

“Gale,” she gasped, her voice rippling with pleasure.

He kissed her messy and feverish, a clash of teeth and tongues as their passion spilled over. He swallowed her cries as her body tightened around him, her release ripping through her with a force that left her trembling in his arms.

He followed moments later, his own release crashing over him like a tidal wave. He held her close, his forehead resting against hers as their breaths mingled, their bodies still joined. The room was silent save for the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of their lovemaking hanging heavy in the air.

She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with mischief and satisfaction. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and warm, as he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “One cannot always be a gentleman,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

Her gaze drifted over the room, taking in the disarray they’d left in their wake—papers crumpled and askew, books knocked from their orderly piles, and an inkpot that had tipped, its dark contents staining the pristine wood and smearing across important-looking documents.

“We’ve made a mess,” she said, her tone somewhere between scolding and delight.

“More than a mess,” he replied, his disarming smile lighting his face. “Ruined, I would say.”

Her laughter spilled into the room, bright and unrestrained, and he caught it in a kiss. His lips brushed hers softly at first, then with growing fervor as if he could never quite get enough of her. Reluctantly pulling away, he began the task of tidying her up, his hands reverent as they smoothed her disheveled skirts.

He knelt before her, fastening her stockings with a devotion that made her heart race. Each clasp was accompanied by the soft press of his lips to her thighs, a mixture of penance and unrepentant indulgence. When her hair pins were hopelessly scattered, he did his best to tame her curls, his fingers clumsy yet endearing as he pinned them back into something resembling order.

Satisfied—or at least as much as either of them could be—he sank into the grand leather desk chair, its creak breaking the quiet. With a gentle tug, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against him. His hands roamed her back and waist, languid and adoring,

“There is a packet ship,” Gale said, “Leaving from Falmouth in three days' time. We could be on it.”

She stilled, her lips barely parted, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “A ship?”

“Yes,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that resembled a promise. “A fine vessel. A friend of mine—Wyll, a duke’s son—will be aboard. The Nautiloid. We could go together. You and I.”

Across the sea. How many nights had she stood at her window, gazing out beyond the carefully manicured hedges, imagining the vast, untamed expanse of the ocean? How often had she dreamed of a ship’s deck beneath her feet, the wind twisting her hair into wild hurricanes, no land in sight—only water, only freedom?

Her breath quickened, her thoughts racing, but he continued, seizing the moment. “I had planned to leave earlier. The tedium of society was wearing unbearably thin. I long for further study, for exploration.” He paused, his voice softening as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But I stayed. For fleeting moments in your company, for the hope of something more.”

Her heart swelled and twisted in equal measure. “And you are not afraid? That becoming my companion will pull you towards an early grave?”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm as he cupped her cheek. “Afraid? No. I could think of no better way to end my days than by your side.” His gaze grew serious, intense. “No supposed curse you bear frightens me. I think your suitors thus far were simply not of strong enough disposition to keep your wild flames stoked. And so, they burned out. As many would.”

“And you,” she asked, arching a brow, though her voice was edged with a smile, “are not at risk of combusting, I suppose?”

“I’d like to hope not,” he replied, his grin returning, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as though to trace the smile that bloomed there.

“So, Mr. Dekarios,” she began “if I do board this ship with you, if I cast off everything I know and chart my own course, what will we find there?”

His smile softened, his hand falling to hers, their fingers lacing as though they had always belonged together.

“Adventure”

[lissy2d]

New Fantasy Creatures in My Shop! 🖼️

I'm super excited to share my two latest gouache paintings, now available in my Etsy shop! Both pieces feature unique fantasy creatures that I imagined and brought to life with vibrant colors and lots of love.

The first one is a whimsical mix of a pheasant and a hare – a creature full of charm and mystery, perfect for adding a bit of magic to any space.

The second is a striking acid-spitting snake, for those who love a touch of the fantastical and fierce in their art!

Both paintings come framed and ready to hang, making them ideal for any fantasy art lover’s home or as a special gift. Check them out in my Etsy shop.

[bloodycotton]

Hey, here is a lil thing that I never finished, and I don't think ill finish it either, but feel free to continue if someone wishes

Konstantin and the White Doe

Konstantin was out in the woods again, hunting pheasants with his rifle and his dog, it calmed him after the humiliating moment of Kitty's rejection. He walked silently, and found himself looking at a small pond, beautifully reflecting the sunshine, and there it was. A white doe, drinking peacefully from it. He took out his rifle, silently taking aim on the animal. He was a good shot, and it was easy prey, but he felt an odd hesitancy. Staring down the barrel, he found himself entranced by the doe, his sense of beauty being stirred. In an attempt to look closer, he stepped on a small twig. And the doe became alert, looking frightful at him and the deadly rifle. The crack of the twig beneath his foot caused the animal to freeze and look over, making eye contact with Levin. Despite his intention to shoot the doe, he felt himself caught in an odd moment of empathy. Looking into the creature's frightened eyes, he found himself lowering his rifle. The shining metal of the rifle with the sun made her legs quiver, and she made haste to get out of the pond, running away.

He thought of the beautiful white doe, running away from him, frightened by his deep intentions of taking her life in his hands.

He couldn't get it out of his mind. The doe's wide eyes looking at him. The way she had moved so quickly. Her body leaping through the foliage. He had never felt such feelings about an animal before. He had never sympathized like he had now. Usually, he would be irritated that the doe had got away. But he only felt a sense of relief. He hadn't hurt the beautiful creature. Days after, even weeks, he waited for the white doe to reappear in the pond, to drink from the fresh water. Day after day, he'd venture through the forest, stopping at the little pond, hoping to see the doe again. Every time he'd see nothing, he'd feel a pang of disappointment. Each day it got more and more intense, he felt an odd compulsion to see the doe again. Never before had an animal occupied his thoughts like she had.

One evening, when he was dozing off behind some bushes to wait for his white doe, he heard some rustling. He raised his head, resting it against his arm. He'd been waiting for the doe all day, and at the sign of any movement, he was immediately alert, his eyes watching the foliage, hoping for a glimpse of the creature he had now begun to almost obsess over. He watched, waiting with bated breath to see any sign of the creature he had now begun to almost obsess over. Through the leaves, he saw her emerge - the white doe, moving with that same ethereal grace he remembered.

But this time, something was different. As she approached the water's edge, the last rays of the setting sun caught her form, and for a moment, she seemed to shimmer like morning frost. Konstantin blinked, unsure if his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. When he opened them again, where the doe had stood was now a young woman, her hair as pale as moonlight, her movements carrying the same delicate grace as the doe's.

She knelt by the water's edge, cupping the clear water in her palms to drink, seemingly unaware of his presence. Konstantin felt his heart thunder in his chest - he had heard tales of such creatures in the old stories his nurse used to tell him, but had always dismissed them as peasant superstitions. The girl raised her head, and her eyes met his - they were the same eyes that had looked at him over his rifle weeks ago, deep and knowing and somehow both human and wild.

She didn't run this time. Instead, she smiled - a small, secret smile that seemed to hold all the mystery of the forest within it. "You've been waiting for me, Konstantin Dmitrich," she said softly, her voice carrying the whisper of rustling leaves. "I've been watching you too, waiting to see if you would return with your rifle or with your heart."

Konstantin found himself moving forward, drawn by some force he couldn't name. The rational part of his mind - the part that dealt in wheat prices and agricultural reforms - was screaming that this was impossible, that he must be dreaming. But another part, a deeper part that recognized the truth in fairy tales, knew that he was more awake than he had ever been.

[beelzegeist]

LUVART

An evil being who made its name by carving its way to the top of the demonic hierarchy. By absorbing human bodies, it can live for over a thousand years. Many historical figures and celebrities who died mysterious deaths continue to live on as its flesh and blood.

BAPHOMET

Demon born of dedication to a baleful god from the unholy union of a girl and a crow. It delights in drinking the lifeblood of humans. Depending on the time of day, it can transform its body into that of a beautiful young woman or a pheasant; but its clawed hands remain the same.

AMPHISBAENA

From Ethiopian folklore comes this two-headed snake. Bites from its right head contain a deadly poison, causing certain death. But should its victim cry tears of supplication, a detoxifying bite from the left head can cure them.

ITSUMADE

The soul of a footman who was killed in battle and took on the appearance of a carrion fly. While calling out, "Itsumade...", it will attempt to curse you with a similar likeness; preventing this requires immense skill. If you look at its hideous face, it will haunt you until your dying day.

TSUNEMOTOMUSHI

The spirit of maggots welled up from the corpse of a villain called Tsunemoto, who was executed four hundred years ago. Millions of Tsunemotomushi spring forth to swarm the execution grounds on a regular basis.

FUTTACHI

An ant that has lived in the bushy undergrowth for over one hundred years has since changed into a being called a Futtachi. This Futtachi holds a grudge from when it was an ant, burned under a magnifying glass, and gained a huge body so that it can prey on humans.

RASETSU

A parasitic devil with the appearance of a worm that resides in the brains of cattle. Because it defiles sacred cows, it was driven from India by Hindu mystics. Rasetsu always pushes its host's body to its very limit.

HOUSOUGAMI

A bringer of plagues and diseases, he simultaneously possesses the knowledge to cure any disease he has spread. In exchange for cures, this baleful, insidious spirit requests offerings of liquor and women.

NUCKELAVEE

Faithful watchdog of the false god. Eons ago, in service to his master, he rebelled against the chief god and was duly punished; the flesh stripped from his body. It bears an extreme vulnerability to salt water. Savoring the pain that burns its body, it lives in the sea.

SHICHIFUKUJIN

The Seven Heavenly Immortals, now overflowing with the malice they've absorbed, have surpassed what their bodies can withstand. It has tainted them with evil and transformed them from the Seven Gods of Luck into the Seven Gods of Misfortune. With the last of their reason gone, they tried to drown Japan in a sea of malice.

SHADOW HEARTS II: DIRECTOR'S CUT (2005) - EXCLUSIVE MONSTERS

[reindeerswillsavethisworld]

Corpse au case fic where the trio decided to try cracking a murder mystery, except instead of angst it's a comedy of errors where they make everything worse.

Like. Danny comes out of a portal dead and translucent and glowing, and there's charred remains of a human body on the floor. So now all three of them are freaking out, and instead of asking for help, or finding an adult, or telling literally ANYONE, they decide to just. Get rid of the body. As one does.

So that's what they do: they break out Tucker's nice shovels (because god forbid Sam's family owned something as pheasant as a shovel, and Danny's too afraid of touching their family's Patented Fenton ShovelsTM for... reasons), they find a nice desolate clearing in the woods, and then they bury Danny's body like one would a very unfortunate hamster who met their demise too soon under very suspicious circumstances. They even stay at the new "grave" in silence for a minute or five in respect and DEFINITELY nothing else, you know. And so, they bury the body, and then they (try to) forget the experience as some horrific nightmare.

And then, a year later, there's an uproar: the Amity Park's police department found the child's remains in the woods! And you see, Amity Park is not THAT big of a town, and the police estimated that the body belonged to a 14-15 year old child, and, look, there's only so many schools in a small town, alright. Obviously, the rumours start very soon in Casper High: about how the kid could've gone to their school, about how they could've died, about whether or not anybody was missing them, about their identity, and some definitely-truthworthy-would-I-lie-to-you-bro-come-on sources insist that the kid was murdered around a year ago, around the time ghosts started showing up. And these rumours obviously reach the ears of Sam, Danny and Tucker.

Now, you would've thought that their first thought would be something like "oh no, they found Danny's body", or "oh no, they know", or even simply "we're sooo fucked". Except. You see, the night they buried the body? It was really cloudy. And dark. And, y'know, it's very easy to get lost in a forest. And they were too high-strung, you see, they completely forgot to leave some sort of a marker or anything. And also like, it was so long ago, you know? A lot have happened, they were sooo busy and the likes, you can't really blame them for forgetting some things.

And here's lies the problem: all three of them just fucking forgot that there was a body left to bury at all.

And then it gets out that the police can't even conduct any sort of DNA test because it became corrupted to the point of being absolutely unrecognisable due to exposure to a large amount of ecto-energy.

It's now looks like a bad set up for a joke: an identifiable body of a child, cause of death unknown; the probable involvement of ghosts or at the very least a very large quantity of ecto-energy; a probable murderer on the loose, which naturally breeds suspicion and speculation; a town full of all kinds of rumours; and a trio of absolute dumbasses, who after hearing that ghosts were involved immediately went to stick their noses where they don't belong.

Rejoice, Amity Park! Sam, Danny and Tucker are now on the case! Except they are all teenagers, and nobody in their right mind will allow teenagers to solve a murder case. Plus, them poking around would be highly suspicious, but Phantom, on the other hand?

(people seeing Phantom helping solve this case and coming to the conclusion that the ghosts were definitely involved was not on their bingo card, but oh well)

They don't go to the cops, obviously: Danny at least in part because he's worried they will call GIW on his ass or try to arrest him, and Sam and Tucker simply because fuck the cops (one because the police is involved in a militaristic, capitalistic corrupted system that breeds injustice and furthers the divide between average people and the wealthy, and the other because cops suck and will probably call GIW on his friend's ass). They also can't go to any other authorities: cops are out of the question, as is the mayor; laboratory personnel will most likely just throw them out; and there're no witnesses or known relatives, so they're stuck.

Therefore they decide that desperate times need desperate measures, and so they enlist all of their ghost allies on a quest, hoping to find the ghost of the kid. Considering the amount of ecto-energy they were subjected to, they MUST have formed a ghost, they only need to find them.

Except. The Ghost Zone is a big place, and they only have so many allies, even if some of them are a queen and a god. So Danny bites the bullet and does the most stupid (debatable) thing he has ever done: he goes to his enemies for help. They're surprisingly understanding and willing to help, even if some of their reasons are a little... strange (Skulker and Johnny entered some sort of competition on who finds the ghost first, Box Ghost starts to seek out coffins (??) and Youngblood is not above to start torturing people to finally have a friend that is not either an adult or a complete stick in the mud). And even then they still can't find the ghost.

In the end Danny goes to Clockwork in a desperate hope that he will be able to glimpse at least a little of what had transpired on the night of the murder, and to Danny's annoyance Clockwork laughs so hard he almost pops a ghost equivalent of a blood vessel.

A few weeks down the line Sam hesitantly brings up Danny's buried corpse ("MY WHAT" "Your corpse which we buried in the woods, Danny, don't you remember?" "Yeah, bro, I think you dissociated the whole time we were digging the hole and carrying your dead body" "WE DID WHAT-"), reasonably saying that, you know, they ALSO technically buried a body in the woods. On that Tucker just shrugs because obviously it was not Danny's body, the place of the burial was way off, he remembers that there was a really big stone to the left of the grave (he doesn't and there wasn't), so they are in the clear. During that exchange Danny's sitting on the floor and having a panic attack, because he really did dissociate the whole time and afterwards legitimately forgot that there was a body to bury at all.

After that conversation all three of them leave with a certainty that Danny's body is still there where they left it, whenever it was. And so the shenanigans continue.

[jadeshifting]

🫀 SHIFTMAS

day 4. ARE YOU ATTENDING ANY FANCY DR CHRISTMAS PARTIES? is it a glamorous soirée with champagne and twinkling chandeliers? a warm, laughter-filled house party with friends? or maybe an exclusive, mysterious event with glittering masks and high fashion? 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🫀 ONE FAMILY CHRISTMAS PARTY PER YEAR IS THE REQUIREMENT. everyone else spends the holiday season enjoying Hogwarts’ decadence, but my friends and I haul our asses into sleek obsidian-black carriages with massive emerald and silver family crests plastered across the sides, pulled by thestrals with eyes like pale stars. they drag us back to our family estates for a weekend, so our parents can get their fill of showing us off for the holiday season.

This year, it’s the Bulstrodes who host the yearly holiday party.

MRS. BULSTRODE’S CAREFULLY PLANNED EVENT

🫀 — garlands of evergreen laced with silver ribbons, enchanted candles flickering in frosted sconces, delicate crystal snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, a grand piano softly playing itself in the background, roasted pheasant and glazed root vegetables sprawled across silver platters

SOME HIGHLIGHTS OF THE BULSTRODE HOLIDAY MADNESS

🫀 — half the girls eyeing Mattheo up and down, whispering theories about whether he’s evil in bed. cue Mattheo smirking and swaggering around, smug and drunk on attention

🫀 — he gets a couple flutes of silvery champagne down, and one too many mouthfuls of warm, amber whiskey, and the girls don’t exist to him anymore. just me, and he lingers over my shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of my ear every two seconds so he can whisper to me

🫀 — I see Theo and Pansy whispering arguing by the front steps. I get caught up talking to someone, and when I turn back to them ten minutes later, they’re so entangled it’s practically impossible to tell who is who

🫀 — the Bulstrode Manor’s grand Christmas tree is two feet shorter than the Zabini Christmas tree was last year. the glares Mrs. Bulstrode is sending towards a beautiful and unbothered Mrs. Zabini is enough to wither the plants

🫀 — Lorenzo tries to be cute and levitate a sprig of mistletoe over Pansy and Theo, but he ends up levitating it over Blaise and Theo. they try to dodge it but Lorenzo’s charm is weirdly effective, and the mistletoe kind of… chases them, a little bit

🫀 — Pansy’s mother has a little too much to drink and starts bragging about Pansy’s future prospects, much louder than usual. she doesn’t name any names, but she very strongly implies that Pansy will get married first because the other Slytherin girls are ugly. Millicent and I are fighting for our lives trying not to laugh, and Pansy looks like she wants to crawl under the Christmas tree and die

🫀 — there are no fist fights this year, so round of applause to everyone for that

🫀 — as midnight hits and people start leaving, Mattheo comes home with me to sleep over, one of the rare nights we can do that without anyone noticing. he tries to help me get my heels off, but he’s a little too drunk, so we both just lose balance and fall over onto my bed. he lets out a big huff that tells me he’s been tired for awhile, but he has enough energy left to wrap his arm around my chest, and it practically warms my whole body. we fall asleep still in suit and gown

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧──❅•

[yatagarasuhonyaku]

On names: The North

Note: We don't know the real names of any of the Northern women, The ones here depicted are their alias or 'karina' (仮名).

The Townships:

垂氷郷 (Taruhi-gou): Taru (垂, hang) + Hi (氷, ice).

風巻郷 (Shimaki-gou): Shi (風, wind) + Maki (巻, coil).

時雨郷 (Shigure-gou): Shi (時, time) + Gure (雨, rain). It refers to rain in early winter.

The Northern House:

玄哉 (Gen'ya): Gen (玄, mysterious) + Ya (哉, questioning/exclamation). 哉 is the kanji version of the grammatical かな (adding hesitation/uncertainty to a sentence). It was also used as an exclamation, but that's more old-fashioned japanese. The Northern Lord.

お凌 (Oryou): O (御, honorable) + Ryou (凌, endure). Gen'ya's legal wife and mother to all his children.

玄喜 (Genki): Gen (玄, mysterious) + Ki (喜, rejoice). First kanji inherited from his father, Gen'ya. His son and heir.

喜栄 (Kiei): Ki (喜, rejoice) + Ei (栄, prosperity). First kanji inherited from his father, Genki. His son and Gen'ya's grandson.

六つの花 (Mutsu no Hana): Her alias means 'Six Flowers'. Gen'ya's first daughter and Shiratama's mother.

白珠 (Shiratama): Shira (白, white) + Tama (珠, pearl). Mutsu no Hana's daughter and Gen'ya's granddaughter.

冬木 (Fuyuki): Fuyu (冬, winter) + Ki (木, tree). It means barren tree. Gen'ya's second daughter, Yukimasa's first legal wife and Yukiya's mother.

Taruhi Township:

雪正 (Yukimasa): Yuki (雪, snow) + Masa (正, justice). Yukiya's father.

梓 (Azusa): It means 'catalpa tree'. Yukimasa's second legal wife and Yukima and Yukichi's mother.

雪馬 (Yukima): Yuki (雪, snow) + Ma (馬, horse). First kanji inherited from his father, Yukimasa. Yukiya's older brother.

雪哉 (Yukiya): Yuki (雪, snow) + Ya (哉, questioning/exclamation). First kanji inherited from his father, Yukimasa; second kanji from his grandfather, Gen'ya. 悦哉 (Essai), which also uses the second kanji, is the word for a male japanese sparrowhawk.

雪雉 (Yukichi): Yuki (雪, snow) + Chi (雉, green pheasant). First kanji inherited from his father, Yukimasa. Yukiya's younger brother.

Shimaki Township:

市柳 (Ichiryuu): Ichi (市, city) + Ryuu (柳, willow). Third son of the Shimaki Township Lord.

茂丸 (Shigemaru): Shige (茂, overgrown) + Maru (丸, round). -maru is a stock way to finish boy names.

[witchofthesouls]

Hey! I saw an earlier post you had about the boys in the grocery store and it got me wondering about how they would react to hunting. I’m a hunter, have been all my life. I hunt deer, boars, ducks, coyotes, turkeys, quails, pheasants, wild Burmese pythons, and I fish locally too (strictly a vermin exterminator and food hunter, I find sports hunting to be distasteful and I strictly use a bow and arrow, no traps or guns as I take issues with those too). I can picture the absolute horror of the TFP or Lost Light bots seeing their/a human skinning and processing an animal that they just hunted for food, they see the modern convinces that are grocery stores so it’s easy to forget where human food actually comes from 😂

Weirdly enough, IDW/MTMTE does have Cybertronian edibles like cesium salami and rust sticks.

But then again, there's a big percentage of the crew members who were produced by the war, so there's a great chance that they didn't get a crash course on things that were deemed "unnecessary," like Cybertronian cuisine and fauna to forage and hunt.

TFP Cybertronians, on the other hand, have Questions.

Get ready to pull up diagrams, manuals, videos, and live demonstrations via YouTube or your own hands because they got the curiosity of two-year-old with the capacity to keep you in their palm for no escape.

Ratchet absolutely hates it. It's too messy and squishy and completely unalike the organized and relatively clean method of converting crystals to fuel. Horrified over the mysteries of hotdogs and how everything can and will kill humans without specific preparations to negate the toxins. Ratchet is boggled over spice challenges and how the hell humanity hadn't died in its infancy over culinary explorations. Someone told him to look up Hákarl.

He takes great displeasure when the kids sass him over Cybertronians eating their own blood. Different. Absolutely different. He clucks over the base kitchen and is not above making things disappear. He argues with June and Agent Fowler over the groceries and fast food bags. Ratchet's crunchy.

Bulkhead actually enjoys fishing. He's more catch and release rather than for keeping and gutting. He likes soaking up the heat of the sun, the sound of running water, birdsong, and insects buzzing, the gear setup and picking out the right lure and bait. It's a different kind of downtime, but it's nice. All he's missing is engex, but he's able to throw a line farther out than anyone else and has the capability to detect motion far greater than an average human. He still wants an engex cube.

Arcee has mixed feelings. She enjoys hunting. Patience, tracking, stealth, and the sense of accomplishment with a clean catch. She likes less the process of handling carcasses, but really hates waste anything that could have been useful. Meat, leather, tools, jewelry, and raw ingredients that could be sold or traded. Arcee just doesn't like sharing something with Airachnid's methods.

Bumblebee's a scout. People expected him to like foraging or the wilds. He prefers domesticated stock. In particular, beekeeping. To him, it represents a more equivalent partnership: he provides accessible resources and safe quarters and the bees yield honey, comb, and wax in return. If the hive don't like him or the area, then they can leave elsewhere.

Optimus is deeply fascinated by how Earth's biodiversity is so immense and how ecosystems are so diverse and complex, yet so fragile. He quietly wishes for Alpha Trion's presence because Optimus is seeing familiar similarities of Cybertronian long gone biomes: wetlands, woodlands, and reefs. The Sea of Rust once was a massive ocean of mineral-laden Energon. It has long since disappeared by the consensus of heavy, unregulated industrialization, but if Earth has the water cycle, ocean currents and belts, and complex system of thermoregulation that replenishes itself, then Cybertron had to have something similar at one point, no?

[xxcrypticphoboxx]

Got an oddity mystery box from peculiarandodd on tiktok. Im really happy with everything I got :D she even wrote me a hand written birthday note ♡

•Assorted butterflies •Jewel beetle •Racoon skull •Pheasant skull •Turkey vertebrae •Weevil

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Fossil Novembirb 11: A New Dawn

Palaeotis by @drawingwithdinosaurs

One of the absolutely best known ecosystems of the Eocene is found at the Messel Pit site of Germany. Deposited in a similar way (via multiple volcanic eruptions over periods of thousands of years) to the Fossil Lake of yesterday, but a few million years later, it shows the end of the early Eocene and the start of the emergence of modern mammalian groups. Lucky for us, it also shows the next stage of bird evolution! This was also the site featured in the first episode of Walking With Beasts, "A New Dawn", though the avifauna was not particularly well represented in that program.

Yes, obviously, Gastornis was in Messel, though as a large ground herbivore than a predator. But there were plenty more birds than that! Lithornis was also here, because it was just as ubiquitous; and there was also the mysterious Palaeoganth Palaeotis. Originally thought to be a relative of Ostriches, then not, and now possibly again, this bird has a strangely intermediate morphology between that of large flightless Palaeognaths and the Lithornithids of the early Paleogene; indicating it may be a transitional form. It would not have been able to fly, given its short wings and lack of keel, and probably fed on small animals in its environment.

Juncitarsus by @thewoodparable

In addition to the Megafowl Gastornis, there was also the early landfowl Paraortygoides, which did not have a crop like living landfowl and as such probably mainly fed on soft plant material. It also had shorter legs than other landfowl relatives at the time, indicating it may have been more similar to living pheasants than fowl that had been around previously.

Even though the Flamingo-Ducks like Presbyornis would stick around well into the Neogene, the first relatives of Flamingos show up at around this time. Juncitarsus was a wading bird, probably just as closely related to living grebes as their cousins flamingos, and had gastroliths in its stomach - allowing it to feed on hard animals it gathered in from the lake. It wasn't the only wader; Messelornis, a wader related to living rails and cranes; is the most common bird at the Messel Pit and was an important generalist in its ecosystem. In addition, the "Snipe-Rail" Rhynchaeites was actually an ibis relative, probing for food with its beak in the substrate around the lake.

Scaniacypselus by Paleo Miguel

Strisores are everywhere at Messel, with relatives of swifts and hummingbirds like Cypseloramphus, Parargornis, and Scaniacypselus, which weren't as adapted to specialized aerial niches as their living relatives. An insectivore with tiny feet, Protocypselomorphus, was also present; as were an early potoo in the form of Paraprefica and an early frogmouth in the form of Masillapodargus.

Strange flight specialists far away from their living ranges aren't the only bizarre features of the ecosystem - Masillastega, a piscivore and relative of living gannets and boobies, was also present at Messel. More relatives of seriemas, like Dynamopterus, Salmila, and Strigogyps showcase how not all Cariamiformes were predators - Strigogyps was an herbivore! The long-legged predator Masillaraptor was present there too, indicating falcons were successful as multiple types of raptors prior to today. The owl Palaeoglaux was a small predatory bird, with ribbon-like feathers in dense layers on its back.

Eocoracias by @drawingwithdinosaurs

There were, of course, many tree dwelling birds in this lacustrine forest, including relatives from both sides of the "core landbirds" family tree. The ecosystem preserves a truly alarming number of mousebirds, including Chascacocolius with a conical beak, and Eoglaucidium with a strangely short tail. Eocoracias, another early roller like those found in Denmark, had iridescent feathers. Early hoopoes like Messelirrisor and early trogons like Masillatrogon show even more examples of more tropical birds showing up in higher latitude locations during this warm period. Messelastur was another possible Parrot/Passerine of prey; as was possibly Pumiliornis. Tons of pre-Passerines were here, too, including the zygodactly-footed Serudaptus, Psittacopes, and Primozygodactylus.

These dinosaurs were living at the end of a time of rapid evolution and diversification for most living things on Earth. However, the hot and humid times never last - as the planet begins to cool, drier ecosystems spread around the planet, and the global tropical forests fade into obscurity. It's time for these new groups of dinosaurs to adapt for new ecosystems...

Sources:

Mayr, 2022. Paleogene Fossil Birds, 2nd Edition. Springer Cham.

Mayr, 2017. Avian Evolution: The Fossil Record of Birds and its Paleobiological Significance (TOPA Topics in Paleobiology). Wiley Blackwell.

Smith, K. T. 2021. The Messel Pit: Window into a Greenhouse World. Geoconservation Research 4(2): 547-556.

[diegusting]

Sometimes i think about how the earth is nearly five billion years old meanwhile the dinosaurs first appeared only 200 million years ago and my head starts hurting………like what do you mean the entire history of humans and dinos is just a silly small goofy chunk of earth’s timeline…….anyways here’s a gremlin

You know, it’s also impressive that among all those years of existence, we appeared right now, right here- although to be fair, I can imagine medieval tumblr mutuals gathering to see lady williamkisser the first sing the hawk tuah Christmas folk song as we all clap and cheer around the roast pheasant, and jester Diegusting is just juggling the tiny Williams I was tasked to babysit- Duke concerete hooves is recounting the mystery of Naib’s missing gyatt, Andrewtual accidentally broke the banquet table with a mysterious purple hammer.

“are we mutuals in every timeline” for real

Anyways here is Jose holding the Gremlin because it looks cat sized

[perdicinae-observer]

Title.

Urgh, how do people normally start this... Fancy greetings? Right, right. Hm...

Afternoon. (That was not fancy at all.)

This is Marshal Louis Nicolas Davout writing. Or...well, typing.

I've decided to finally excuse myself from my moping session solitude and venture into unknown territory that is this strange platform. (Which I have been...observing from a distance.)

Seeing as my late colleagues have been up to some...shenanigans on this platform, I might as well find something to amuse myself with the ample time I'm given and do some...[*grimaces*]...socialising.

[*sigh*] I'm going to regret this...

So, to whoever may see this and care; you are free to send me your questions, letters, and queries regarding whichever subject you wish. I will be reading through and answering them accordingly when I am not busy tending to domestic matters around the painfully quiet estate.

However, do be mindful of the things you send. Respect goes both ways and I do not like to squabble. Unless it's against certain b

Unsavoury comments regarding my hair will swiftly be ignored and used as fuel for the fireplace.

...Don't expect me to initiate interactions much.

Regards,

L Davout.

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!! This is a joke RP account run by @mbenguin, a guy who is in no way shape or form a bona fide historian-- just really enthusiastic about balding dead nerds and French history! This is in no way meant to be accurate, analytical, or faithful 100% to reality despite being based on actual historical facts to a certain degree. This is a fictionalised parody that is meant to be in-character as possible to my interpretation of the man himself and I'm doing it for shits and giggles !!

Handy list of folks participating in this madness (whose exchanges will be tagged separately!)

Events (chronological, sometimes) ──

[✓ — Finished , ✗ — Ongoing]

Birth of "Lenoir", Hell's cutest ink demon chick

Local Old Man Turned Cutest Owl Ever, More On Page 2

Princess of Eckmühl(?)

⇲ Swedish Home Invasion

⇲ Catgirl Madness (ft. The Ass Boys)

Arc: The Ginger Rescue Expedition

⇲ Lenoir took over correspondence!

⇲ Party ADCs in the house tonight

Epilogue (1,2)

He's back!

Swedish Home Invasion 2 Dinner?

Waterloo 2: Electric Boogaloo

The Gasconious Wedding

Eagle sitter

Pheasant insanity

Arc: Winter Has Come

⇲ October ( i, ... )

⇲ Brief escape (The Masquerade)

Tags ──

#correspondance de Savigny-sur-Orge -- The marshal's replies to his letters- sent straight from his humble, lonely manor. Could both be written and spoken answers.

#dépêches personnelles -- General responses/exchanges (hilarity ensues)

#proclamations du Prince d'Eckmühl -- Important announcements/event messages

#représentations par le petit gardien -- Drawn visual representation by the marshal's mysterious companion...whose text will be in purple!

#la réponse du petit gardien -- Said mysterious companion's answering his letters, if there are any directed towards him.

#galerie d'oiseaux -- Collection of bird images that 'ruffled his feathers.' With positive connotations.

Be careful when asking questions regarding Aimée or his family!

——————————•

[whatsthebird]

Week of 23JUN2024 Answers

Answers hidden under the cut.

218 - Kalij Pheasant by @mysterious-anonononon

219 - Western Marsh Harrier by @etchif

220 - Canada Goose by @thistle-onions

221 - Laughing Gulls by @nohriantomatoes

222 - Talamanca Hummingbird by @snailkites

223 - White-winged Dove by @birdyverdie

224 - Brewer's Blackbird by @aerinis

How many birds did you get right? Consider adding correct birds to your WTB Life List!

As always, birding is a cooperative experience. Help your fellow birders out by discussing key features that help identity and distinguish a bird in the notes.

Finally, let's give a feathery thank you to this week's submitters.

Keep the game alive! Submit a bird HERE

[mostrandomgallery]

And finally, rounding out the Cotton Candy Elephants...the pièce de résistance...Émilie LaChaise Gloucester!

Most of the students in the Cotton Candy Elephants can be read like open books, wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Émilie LaChaise Gloucester, however, is nearly impossible to read; she’s like a black hole or a blank, lacking any enthusiasm or motivation. Hard to believe she’s related to Lorenz. She’s just…there, I guess. One can imagine the mysteries of her seemingly unreadable, indifferent mind. Some believe she is devoid of emotion, some say she might have been experimented on (she's never spoken on these rumors); in truth, there is an emotion she's driven by, it's just hard to put into English. Just like Petra, Émilie is struggling to learn the standard language of Fódlan, but it adds to her charm and mystery; one could say it gives her a certain je ne sais quoi...

...Okay, she may not really care, but we need to list Émilie's battle stats:

Crest: Gloucester (major)

Heroes’ Relic/Sacred Weapon: Thyrsus, Axe of Ukonvasara

Strengths: Reason, Faith, Lance, Riding

Weaknesses: Authority, Heavy Armor, Flying

Hidden talent: Bow

Personal Skill: “C’est La Vie”—If unit takes no action, gains a 5+ boost to all stats and restores full HP

Ideal Classes: Soldier, Monk, Mage, Bishop, Warlock, Valkyrie, Dark Knight, Gremory

Learnable Magic: Miasma Δ, Swarm Ζ, Dark Spikes Τ, Banshee Θ, Luna Λ, Heal, Abraxas, Seraphim, Warp

Ideal Combat Arts: Tempest Lance, Knightkneeler, Hit and Run, Vengeance, Frozen Lance, Curved Shot, Waning Shot, Deadeye, Ward Arrow

Selection Quotes (Academy): "Who, moi?" (normal), "I could use a break…" (mid-health), "Le mort…" (critical health)

Émilie's best stats are Dex, Res, and Mag, and is best suited for the Valkyrie or Dark Knight classes, since she can just mount a horse and sleep on it until commanded to move on the battlefield. With neither a strength nor weakness in axes, she can wield the Axe of Ukonvasara, but her strengths lie in Reason (Dark), and she is surprisingly able to learn Abraxas and Seraphim without learning Nosferatu. Thyrsus, the Gloucester relic, is a perfect match for her in that 1) it's not a weapon she has to wield, so it seems useless, save for 2) boosting her magic power. She has a hidden talent in Bow, and can probably snipe out an enemy unit with a critical hit, just like Overwatch's Widowmaker. In spite of her weakness in Authority, she'd still equip a battalion to fight her battles for her.

Émilie is someone you probably need to prioritize a lot in activities and supports despite her general apathy, since her motivation is a little tricky to work with. She is hard to have a perfect tea time with even though her Cha is somewhat substantial. However, she would make an excellent candidate for the Dancer class (it'd be just as funny as making Tristesse the Dancer). For dining, Émilie likes Vegetable Pasta Salad, Small Fish Skewers, Onion Gratin Soup, Pheasant Roast with Berry Sauce, Cheesy Verona Stew, Peach Sorbet, and Gautier Cheese Gratin. She has unique dialogue with Anneliese. As for gifts, Émilie would appreciate Riding Boots, Tea Leaves, Legends of Chivalry, The History of Fódlan, Book of Crest Designs, Coffee Beans, Exotic Spices, Blue Cheese, Roses, and a Landscape Panting. While she has supports with everyone in the Cotton Candy Elephants, her inter-house supports are limited to: Lorenz, Claude, Petra, Linhardt, Lysithea, Mercedes, Cyril, Flayn, Seteth, and Hapi. As for S-Support, she is locked to Male Byleth.

A hilarious mental image I had of Émilie was if her critical activated with her cut-in portrait saying "Pardon, excusez-moi" (French is not my first language; if any French speakers are out there, correct me if the spelling/conjugation is wrong) and then landing the hit with Luna or Dark Spikes, obliterating the enemy unit, then cutting to her falling asleep on her horse saying, "You wouldn't know cool if it hit you in the face" as her stats level up. Also, her S-Support artwork should be her napping on Male Byleth's lap as she sighs "Ah, je t'aime!"

Fun Fact: Émilie's middle name, LaChaise, is derived from the French la chaise, meaning "the chair"; specifically, I had a lounging chaise in mind, since she loves reclining on something luxurious like this. Originally it was gonna be "Chantelle", but I thought "LaChaise" was a bit more fitting for this chill, serene queen.

DO NOT REPOST!!! Also on deviantART

[otussketching]

Fossil Novembirb: Day 13

The phosphorate beds of Quercy, France preserve a wealth of fossils from the late Eocene and Oligocene epoch, about 35-25 million years ago. At that time, the early Paleogene jungle hothouse had ended. The climate was drying and cooling, and in parts of the world forests were giving way to savannah and scrubland, as was in Quercy. But that didn't stop birds. They started to take advantage of these new wide open spaces.

Aegialornis: An enigmatic bird that was closely related to swifts. Unlike swifts, it could perch and hold on to branches, but it was also an incredible flyer.

Quercypsitta: A unique group of not well known stem-parrots which likely resembled the earlier Halcyornithids, corvid-like stem-parrots from Europe and North America.

Palaeoglaux: Also known from the Messel Pit, this early relatively small owl may have been a diurnal hunter of small prey and had peculiar body feathers.

Sylphornis: A mysterious member of the piciformes with unique morphology, resembling jacamars and puffbirds.

Paraortyx: One of the earliest true phasianid galliforms, related to partridges, pheasants and chickens. It likely had a similar lifestyle to them, only taking flight when necessary.

Pelargopappus: An early relative of the long-legged secretarybird, this Eocene relative stalked the plains in a similar manner, stomping down on any prey it could catch.

Strigogyps: An omnivorous turkey-sized member of the cariamiform family, it is also known from the middle Eocene of Germany.

Archaeoganga: A relatively large and one of the earliest members of that wonderful desert bird clade, the sandgrouse.

[alistairian]

Saw a lot of really cool birds this week!

1. Great grey owl 2. Bald eagle 3. Great horned owl 4. (Leucistic) raven 5. Peregrin falcon

(North Island Recovery Centre, these birds couldn't be released)

6. Green winged mccaw 7. Citron crested cockatoo 8. Hybrid mccaw 9. Golden pheasant 10. Budgie (green) and mystery parakeet

(Bloedel Conservatory)