#a bird of strange appearance and interesting habits

[columbiforme-detector]

Columbiforme: Not detected

I have come into possession of an ornithology book from the 1930's and they had such a way of describing birds back then, modern publishers of birding booking should take note! Here are some of the bangers.

yes, this book refers to the anhinga as a water-turkey

[mousy-nona]

Head-cannon for thought?

Lucifer has duck wings so they molt every spring and end of summer. Luci dealing with molting… with Alastor??

Excerpts from “Duck Care for Dummies: Hell Edition”:

Molting can be painful for your aquatic friends! Their skin can get very sensitive during this time, and some ducks may even pick on their fellow birds. Please be patient with them throughout the molting process. 

Alastor looked up from the book with a grin that sent Angel Dust scurrying for cover. 

“Very interesting,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming fever-bright. 

The mystery started a few weeks ago. The denizens of the hotel had woken up one morning to find some mysterious prankster had scattered feathers everywhere – between the couch cushions, on the stairs, even stuffed between the kitchen cabinets and in between the radio speakers (that one felt a bit personal). 

So began a strange battle, with the hotel on one side and what appeared to be the ghost of Mother Goose on the other. Every afternoon, they’d finish cleaning up the remnants of last night’s avian snowstorm, and every morning they’d wake up to find a new layer of radiant white down covering every possible – and impossible – surface. 

Husk finally lost it when he found a stray piece of fluff floating in his rum. “Alright, ‘fess up! Who the hell is shaking their tail feathers around this damn place, huh?” 

He glared daggers at Vaggie, whose very conspicuous wings flared wide as everyone turned to stare at her. She marched forward until she and Husk were nose to nose. 

“What the hell are you implying, huh?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, you overgrown chicken!” 

It was mayhem. Charlie rushed to Vaggie’s defense, Angel Dust pulled out a bin of popcorn, Niffty started chanting kill kill kill kill at the top of her tiny lungs. But Alastor, who made a habit of haunting the shadows, spotted something no one else did: one of Lucifer’s hands twitching towards his back. Where his own wings would be, when he wasn’t hiding them. 

“Interesting,” Alastor grinned, then disappeared to the library, where he found this book after a few hours of intense searching. Someone had moved it from the shelves and shoved it under a massive pile of papers – almost as if they didn’t want anyone to find it.  

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Alastor was nothing if not thorough. Humming a swinging, jaunty tune, flipped to the last chapter. 

So your duck is molting…what should you do about it? 

Unlike their earthly counterparts, ducks in hell may go through a much longer molt without help. A good avian caretaker can speed up the process by helping brush out the feathers. A light touch is essential – using a soft brush or bare fingers is the best way to dislodge the plumage without hurting the sensitive skin underneath. 

“Very interesting.” 

He waited until nightfall to make his move. When the hotel had finally quieted down, and the only thing he could hear were the roaches in the walls, he willed himself to appear by Lucifer’s door and knocked, just once. 

Lucifer cracked open the door, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in days. “Charlie, is that – oh. It’s you.” He sighed, visibly deflating when he saw who it was. Alastor’s smile widened. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy every moment of this. Especially the parts where Lucifer would protest, and stutter, and turn as red as one of his beloved apples. 

“I was doing a little light reading today, and stumbled upon a rather interesting passage.” 

Lucifer scoffed and tried to slam the door in his face, but Alastor managed to slip his foot in the crack before he could.

“Alastor, it’s really way too late for this – “

Alastor held up the book in question, and Lucifer shut up immediately. A pink blush spread across his pale face. Alastor could have purred with satisfaction at the sight of it. Oh, how he enjoyed making Lucifer uncomfortable. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. 

“Would you like me to share a few verses with you? I must say, this portion about just how sensitive the skin grows during a molt is especially fascinating –” 

“Shut up!” Lucifer stuck his head out into the hallway and hurriedly glanced around, checking to make sure if anyone had overheard him. Then he grabbed Alastor by the lapels and yanked him inside. 

“Your Majesty, how very forward of you.” 

Lucifer pinched his nose between two fingers and took a long breath in. Out. “So you figured it out, huh?”

“That you’ve been spreading your body parts all over the hotel?” Alastor chuckled merrily. “Quite. I found it especially interesting how fond your feathers were of my radios.”

Lucifer had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Okay, that was childish, I admit it. But you’re not exactly the easiest person to live with.”

“That’s entirely by design, I assure you.” Alastor stepped forward, his smile turning coy. “But this little midnight rendez-vous isn’t about me. It’s about you, and your rather, ah, feathery problem.” 

Lucifer pouted, looking almost uncannily like one of his beloved toy ducks. “I’ve never gone through a molt alone, alright? Lilith is usually here to help me out, and…it’s a rather intimate thing to ask of Charlie.” 

“That’s why I’m here!” Alastor grinned. “Alastor the Radio Demon, at your humble service.” He swept into a grand bow, ending it with a little flourish of his cane because he was a showman, first and foremost. 

Lucifer blanched. “If you think I’m ever letting you within an inch of my wings–”

“And what’s the alternative, your Majesty? You’re going to fill the hotel with feathers until we all suffocate or drown? You’ll wait until Husk kills Vaggie?” He covered his mouth, feigning shock. “I didn’t realize you were so cruel! You would really stand by and do nothing as your daughter becomes a widow?”

Lucifer scoffed, but Alastor could tell that he’d hit a nerve. He paused and ran a frustrated hand through his golden hair. 

There was a long moment of silence. Then finally – “I do need help.” The words were so quiet, spoken so quickly it could have been a passing breeze.

Alastor stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Lucifer’s thin shoulders. Lucifer was burning up, his back so hot Alastor could feel it through his gloves. “The night’s not getting any younger.” He leaned in so his lips brushed the shell of Lucifer’s ear, delighting in his shudder, in the bob of his throat as Lucifer gulped. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple. Alastor’s mouth watered, but he forced himself to sit still and wait. “I suggest we start immediately.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer sighed. Slowly, begrudgingly, he stripped off his coat and shirt, then willed his wings into existence. All six of them sprang out in a veritable shower of feathers. Alastor was covered in the stuff – feathers were in his hair, on his suit, stuck on his pants. A few of them even landed in his mouth, to his great displeasure. 

He spat them out and glared daggers at the angel, who looked like he might burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Lucifer said, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic about the mess. 

Alastor determinedly shook off the plumes that he could find. Then he stepped forward, stripping off his gloves as he loomed over Lucifer’s wings. His smile grew as Lucifer shrunk back, staring nervously at the sharp points of his claws as they drew closer and closer to his tender skin. 

“Can’t you keep those things on?” He squeaked.

“No can do!” Alastor said, almost sing-song with glee. “The book said it would be better with bare hands.” 

“They probably didn’t think of the claws – oh!” He jolted upright, as if he’d been tazed. His eyes fluttered closed, a truly indecent sound ripping from his throat as Alastor rubbed the outer spot of his wings. A few feathers flew off, revealing bare skin beneath. With a gentleness that Alastor hadn’t known he’d possessed, he rubbed carefully around the frame of the wings first, working from left to right as he freed Lucifer of the worst of the molting.

Lucifer grit his teeth, his throat working as he fought to keep those strange sounds inside, but more and more escaped as Alastor finished with the edge of his wings and started working his way inward, towards the spot where his wings folded into his shoulder blades. At one point, Alastor brushed against a particularly sensitive zone near his upper back, and Lucifer let loose a long, low moan, his back arching up against Alastor’s graceful fingers. 

And Alastor, being Alastor, couldn’t let it slide. 

“Having fun, your Majesty?”

Lucifer turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Like strawberries in spring. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Alastor’s hand stilled. “Why, I thought I was doing you a favor. I could stop here…”

“No!” Lucifer yelped, then buried his head in his arms, as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole. “I mean…”

“Yes?” Alastor prompted. The embarrassment! The shame! Lucifer’s humiliation was sweet on his tongue, like blood and spun sugar.

“Please continue,” Lucifer whispered, his voice mouse-quiet. Alastor chuckled. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

Lucifer jerked and arched as Alastor finished his ministrations, the white pile of feathers on the floor growing into hills, then mountains. Finally, Alastor leaned back, humming with satisfaction at a job well done. 

“I daresay my work here is finished.”

Lucifer sighed, shaking out his wings with a groan of satisfaction. “They feel so light! I can’t remember the last time I could move them like this. I – Alastor, thank you.” 

Alastor grinned. “Save your thanks. Let’s just say…you owe me one.” 

Lucifer blanched and shook his head. “I am definitely not saying that.” 

As Alastor turned to leave, Lucifer grabbed his shoulder.

“My molting season…it doesn’t end for another few weeks.”

“And…?” Alastor prompted, his Cheshire cat grin stretched almost impossibly wide. 

“I would appreciate it if we could do this again,” Lucifer said, too fast, as if he thought he could pretend he never said it if he said it quickly enough. 

"An interesting idea! I'll be sure to give it some thought."

Lucifer spluttered, but Alastor was already gone, his radio laugh echoing endlessly into the night.

[heartfullofleeches]

I would love butterfly boi hc <3

-🩷

Adonis - Yan Butterfly Hcs

Warnings: Cannibalism, Mentions of death, Stalking, Gross Behavior (namely sweat)

-

Adonis is a male, conventionally attractive purple emperor butterfly. The attraction for many stops as his looks as getting to know him people tend to notice something.. strange about him. He seems friendly on the surface, but never expresses deeper interest in others beside his darling unless they've been injured or taking about their medical history in any form. Before meeting his lover Adonis has a very bleak, but cheerful outlook on life. It leans heavier on the brighter side once he realizes his feelings to the point he meets every day and event with a smile - even those where he's witness to or commits terrible crimes against humanity.

• Works for a crime clean up crew by day and most nights, and as a grave robber others. Most, if not all, of the jobs Adonis receives are phoned in by crooks/corrupt members of power as with his appetite it's killing two birds with one stone. They usually allow him to take whatever since he's already taking care of the body which results in nearly every house he cleans appearing as if no-one ever lived there.

His "souvenirs" are his prized possessions - till his darling comes around. Then he's willing to share. His first gift to them is an engagement ring he received as payment for his first job. It's a priceless heirloom, if the guy it belonged to have just sold it he'd still be around, but if that happened Adonis wouldn't have been able to give it to someone who deserves it more. The second gift is matching butterfly knives. Always on the hunt for more things to present to his darling during his cleanings. Anything brand new shows up on their doorstep or hooked up indoors if tthey haven't changed the locks again.

• Adonis' ideal darling is someone who's a little untidy. He enjoys his job and taking care of his lovebug, plus while cleaning up their home he can find more treasures to take with him. Half drunken bottles, sweaty clothes, straws they may have bitten. If they're the type to have adult toys he'll clean them by hand... likely with his tongue or after using them himself. It's important to keep things like that clean and sanitized.

Has a nasty habit of throwing out fragrant soaps and perfumes/colognes as they mask the natural scents he adores. Adonis is touchy and clingy during all seasons, but Summers are his most active as seeing his darling sweat cause him to lose all train of thought. Refuses to let his darling shower without bathing them with his tongue first when sweaty. If they aren't a fan of his tongue he'll wipe them down with some towels and huff the moist cloth instead.

Adonis' ideal first date is capturing someone from either his or his darling's past and burying them alive in a grave at his local cemetery while they have a picnic nearly in the butterfly garden. Adonis is stuck up in his head at times with fantasies of domestic bliss chopped up with slaughtering the neighborhood on the eve of a big anniversary. He makes killer banana bread.

What's his is his darling's, but the one thing he forbids is them going into his closet. Adonis has a hobby for polaroid photography and his closet is where he produces the film. He'd hate for his darling to recognize a face in his red folder drawer or find the drawer labeled with their name

[songbird-of-eden]

A CLUE?! The Missing Death Theory

Good Omens S2 SPOILERS below!!!

Okay, it has been the nocturnal habit of mine over the last 3 days to suddenly dwell on the Good Omens finale and scrutinise every detail in a sleep-deprived thought soup.

And apparently, tonight, my last two remaining braincells fired up their little engines and decided to put something rather interesting together.

One thing that got me when I watched the finale was the book that Muriel was reading. "The Crow Road."

So I decided to give it a quick Google, and realised the opening line of the book is one that Gabriel, or Jim, stumbled across earlier in the season. It goes like this:

"It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach."

Now, you may be thinking, okay, but what does this have to do with anything? And you would be right to be confused, but hear me out.

Death has a major, reoccurring influence in S2.

Yes, we have the obvious coffee shop "give me coffee or give me death" reference (this has a major point that I will get to a little later, but please, bear with me). But that is not the only one.

Throughout each episode, Death has been raised and eluded by numerous characters. In ep2, Jobe's family were saved by our ineffable duo. In ep3, we have the incident with the graverobber and stopping her from calling it a day. In ep4, we have the rise of the nazi zombies. In ep5, our unfortunate fellow from the ball gets thrown to the demons and appears to die, only to make a reappearance later on in ep6, albiet looking a little nibbled on.

And then there's the fact that miracles, as Crowley points out, are measured in "the power required to raise people from the dead."

Still with me? Okay good. Because its gonna get a little more crazy from here. Time to break out the funky tinfoil hats.

So, yes, many of the characters seemingly ellude death, right? Not a big point at first glance, considering the upbeat nature of the show... until you consider this.

Whilst in the coffee shop, the Metatron asks whether anyone ever chooses death instead of coffee. A weird line to be sure - perhaps an awkward statement of an angel unsure of how to interact with mortals. Totally plausible, right? Well, what if it was a test?

Nina claimed to remember everyone by what they order, and replied that no one has ever chosen death. I mean, I would hope so, but what if Death was no longer a thing that happened?

What if our devious Metatron wrote Death out of the Book of Life, considering that Death is a being instead of a simple concept as shown in S1 - and so the Metratron was asking as a test to gauge Nina's response. To figure out if his alteration had taken effect?

Okay, yes. It sounds a little wild, but if that is not the case, it does not mean that something is not going on with Death.

Going back to The Raven Road book, the plot follows a boy in pursuit of uncovering the mystery around his missing uncle. So perhaps, it is not so crazy after all to believe that something, or rather, someone is missing.

Which leads me to another missing creature.

Remember that heartbreaking line from Crowley? "You hear that? No nightingales?"

It was the dagger in many fan's hearts, but potentially held another meaning. Because in the poem: "Ode to a nightingale", the bird is used to represent, to an extent, death. As well as the concept of immortality.

Which means it's disappearance may be signalling a strange shift in the world.

Which brings me to my final point. We are in the home stretch now kiddos!

The second coming. The Metatron's grand plan.

In biblical text, it states that the Second Coming will be a sudden and unmistakable incident, like "a flash of lightning".

Now, where else did we see lightning? Hmmm. What about Crowley's enraged outburst that sealed poor Maggie and Nina in the coffee shop?

Which makes their line an episode or two later even more interesting...

Maggie: "Did it all start with the lightning?"

Crowley: "No, way before that."

Does this mean that events were starting to be influenced and set in motion way earlier as the Metatron began to tinker in the book?

We also have the name of S2 ep1 being called "The Arrival" - a name the Second Coming is sometimes referred to as, along with the text: "For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise."

So, just take a moment to digest that.

An archangel's call. Well, we've had two of those - Gabriel calling on Aziraphale as well as Aziraphale being called to heaven. Then we have the trumpet that plays whenever Micheal and co descend from Heaven, a sound Aziraphale actually asks whether Maggie could hear.

Which leads to the final part: the dead in Christ will rise.

People are not dying as they should, be it from the influence of our ineffable duo, or perhaps, it is the Metatron's plan after all. A way to start the second coming.

Even the opening credits alludes to this with Crowley and Aziraphale seemingly leading a crowd of humans out of hell and through various time periods, but perhaps I really am getting ahead of myself.

So yep. Something is very up with Death.

Anyway. I need to be up in 5 hours for work. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk before the incoherent babbling begins.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Matthew | Your Faith Is My Faith | Romantic

Your grandfather has tasked you with the transaction of his life. He kills two birds with one stone by setting you up with a potential romantic interest at the same time.

Requested by: Morgen

Gaius feels like he’s going to have a sunstroke at this point. He squints against the light as he stands next to Matthew’s booth, and whereas he’d normally enjoy the sun, now he can’t wait for his shift to be over. 

The people of Capernaum hurry through the city and it has been a long while since Matthew had any customers at his station. The tax-collector has counted his inventory a few times and has compared them to his ledger, finding no discrepancies, even after double-checking– Triple-checking. Time really does go by slowly this afternoon, even by Matthew’s standards.

A young woman appears, not a lot younger than Matthew, halting in her step opposed to the rest of the people rushing home for Shabbat. Gaius gives you a curious look, wondering why you are looking around as if searching for something, unlike the others, who are bee-lining for their destinations.

Your eye falls onto the guarded booth and you walk up to it, holding onto the strap of your bag. You smile a little as you look at the sky for a moment. “Just like he said. Late in the afternoon, on the sixth day, so that there would be no line at this time.” you muse to yourself. 

Matthew frowns a little. “Beg your pardon? Like who said?”

Approaching the booth, you lean towards the tax-collector.

“My grandfather, Matthew.”

“How do you know my name?” 

You can’t help but chuckle a little at the unexpected misunderstanding. 

“I mean, my grandfather, whose name is Matthew.” 

“But my name is Matthew.”

For a brief moment, the two of you look at one another. Then, a small smile spreads over your face, which takes Matthew by surprise. He isn’t used to anyone smiling at him, let alone an attractive young woman. He feels a strange flurry of emotions inside his chest before he clears his throat. 

“Are you here to satisfy your tax requirement?” he says in a tone that indicates it’s a practised, often repeated line, and you take your bag from your shoulder, placing it in front of him on the counter, locking eyes with him through the iron bars. 

“My grandfather said I should come here and give something to you.” 

Matthew blinks in slight confusion. “Who is that grandfather you keep mentioning?” There is frustration in his voice and you curiously observe him. 

“Matthew bar Hezron.” 

The tax-collector checks his ledger by sliding his finger across the page, giving you some time to take him in properly. Matthew seems to be sweet, a bit nervous in his habits, with a handkerchief clenched inside his palm, but he appears to be well-groomed and wealthy, judging by his tunic and the expensive scent of bergamot hanging around him. Still, you don’t want to think of him as attractive. He is a tax-collector after all, so you push away the flutter in your chest.

Your grandfather had been insistent on you going here, during this day of the week at this very hour, to give him the item that is currently burning inside your bag. He had added with a wink that he would appreciate it for his name to be kept in the family. When you had tried to mention that you were planning on naming your future firstborn son Matthew in memory and honour of him, he had waved it off with the comment that it was not what he meant, then added that you and the tax-collector were going to follow to same purpose one day. Every word from the old man left you with more questions than answers.

Something strange swirls in your gut as you mull over the instructions. Surely, your grandfather hadn’t meant to try and be a matchmaker for his only granddaughter that still remained a bachelorette. The last thing your family needed was the shame of a tax-collector on their shoulders. 

“Here.” Matthew pulls you from your spiralling thoughts, and you look up, quickly forcing a polite smile on your face. He briefly mirrors the expression. The sight adds something else altogether to that strange butterfly in your stomach, something more soft. “Uh… He recently came to me with an odd request. That he took on all of his children and their families debts. What’s your name?” 

“It’s (Y/n).” you tell him. 

“(Y/n),” he repeats, and you cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat of how nice it sounds when he speaks it. Matthew looks over the ledger again and hums. “Oh, yes, I found it. He has purchased your debts as well, which means that you’re in the clear. Does that answer your question?”

You frown a bit. “I made no request on my own balance.”

“Then why are you here?” 

You open the flap of your bag, and Matthew’s brow furrows in puzzlement. 

“I’m here to give something to you. My grandfather wants you to have it and he told me to go give it to you.”

“What is it?” Matthew asks, “Something of value that he can use to pay off this immense dues?” 

Something akin to sadness flashes through your eyes, but Matthew doesn’t pick up on it. 

“My grandfather is going to pass away soon.”

Matthew blinks. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. So why pay off his debt now?” 

Your hand slides into your bag and finds what you had been tasked to give to the tax-collector at the booth. 

“It is the most valuable thing my grandfather owns. He said it is more valuable than gold, more precious than rubies.” 

Matthew’s eyes light up as you withdraw your hand. “In that case, I may be able to help you liquidate it. We could work together. A ledger coming up this short on a balance this big reflects very poorly on my performance.”

You take out the prayer tassels and hold them gently in your palm. “These are one of a kind,” you parrot the words that your grandfather had told you to say to the tax-collector, “They date back to the first Exile, made with the world’s most exquisite tekhelet.” 

Matthew gives you a look. “Well, there must be a buyer for it!” He dares to smile a little and feels his heart skip a beat when you mirror it. “If the amount settles the debt, your grandfather will be spared!” 

Drawing a deep breath, you gather the courage to say what your grandfather had insisted on. “My grandfather, the owner of these tzitzit, wants to encourage you to keep them for yourself. He… He wants you to have them.” 

The tax-collector frowns, looking at Gaius for a second to see if the Primi is listening in on the conversation, but he man in question is still leaning against the side of the booth, miffed at the way the sun shines in his eyes. “But… Why? We aren’t relatives.”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “he told me to give them to you and implore you to keep them. He…” 

You swallow hard, knowing that your next words might not be very kind in the light of what Matthew chose as his profession. “He said that you have no use for them right now, and that you chose this occupation. However, he was certain that one day you might need them again.” 

The scoff Matthew lets out almost offends you. “I highly doubt that, with all due respect. I… How about I put these on the market, and I will see what I can do for your grandfather. Perhaps they will bring in quite a bit of money and thus the debt will be settled. If not… Well, you know the penalty of not paying off a tax debt of this extent.” 

“He told me to let you know that he will accept whatever fate awaits him, and that it is more important to him that his children and grandchildren are free from the weight of their debts to the Roman Empire.” 

“It would be wasteful for him to spend the rest of his life in a labour camp. Seeing that he sent his granddaughter instead of coming over by himself tells me he is not physically well.” 

“I think he knows what he is doing. He may not be the healthiest anymore, and he gains another malady or two every day, as he is slowly taken by old age, but his mind is still bright. He was… Extremely adamant on sending me here instead of my brother.” 

You aren’t sure why you’re telling him the latter, but you say it before you can even realise it was forming on your tongue, and Matthew blinks at you in slight puzzlement. There is something disarming in his dark eyes as he looks at you like that, and you can’t help but smile.

“I don’t… Don’t understand.” 

“Honestly? Me neither. But… For what it’s worth, I’m glad he sent me instead of coming over himself. After all, he told me to keep an eye on you when he is gone. He said you and I were supposed to meet, so here I am to fulfil that wish of his.” 

“I cannot recall the face of your grandfather, let alone comprehend as to why something like that would be his last wish before he passes away.” 

It is clearly making Matthew a bit uncomfortable as he hears an unfamiliar stranger wants to have his granddaughter spy on him, which is something you can get behind. You hum apologetically and fiddle with the prayer tassels for a moment as they still lay on the counter between the two of you, separated by the iron bars. 

“It has something to do with establishing a future for his descendants.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“He said you and I will meet again under different circumstances,” you repeat what your grandfather had told you before sending you off, “That we will follow the same purpose one day.” 

Part of you is still a little insulted at his words. After all, how could he possibly think that you’d want to associate with a tax-collector of all people, let alone walk alongside him? 

“The same purpose? What purpose?”

“I am just the messenger is all.” you muse, “But over my years of knowing him, I know that his word can be trusted, for he has never lied to me, and if anything he ever said confused me, it made sense later.”

“I cannot make sense of this.” 

“He thought you’d say that, and he told me to say something else.” You take a deep breath before revealing the words. “He wants me to welcome you back into the faith. Once you’re ready, come to me to say the word.” 

“What? Come find you? Where? And why?”

You shrug and grab your bag again, pulling it over your shoulder before strapping it shut.

“Frankly, I don’t even know. Time will tell, I suppose. I… I’m sorry, but I have to go home now before Shabbat starts.”

Matthew rapidly blinks, inhaling as if wanting to say something, but the words die on his tongue as he watches you retreat.

“Shalom shalom.” 

“Uh, shalom.”

You give another kind smile, knowing your grandfather’s plans could not have been in vain, and aware that all you now had to be was patient to one day find out what he had meant. Matthew looks at you as you walk away, then realises he’s holding the tzitzit in his palm, fiddling with them, and calls after you.

“Uh, miss, what did you want me to do with the prayer tassels?” 

However, the words fall on deaf ears as you turn the corner, and he stares at them in his hand for a moment.

In the meantime, you nearly collide with Someone, and you promptly apologise. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

“No harm done.” a gentle voice reassures you, and you smile at the Man in front of you as you brush past Him.

“Shabbat Shalom.” 

“Shabbat Shalom.” He repeats in greeting as you walk off.

The Stranger smiles as you walk off, then halts right on the corner that you had turned moments before bumping into Him, and looks at Matthew, who pockets the prayer tassels in favour of putting them with the valuable items to auction off later. The Man smiles, humming as if He knows something nobody else does whilst He looks at your departing form again, and continues His walk through the town, smiling. 

[yuurei20]

Riddle Info Compilation part 19: Riddle and Jade (pt2)

Despite how Jade is likely the first person Riddle would choose to approach out of the three Octavinelle members on the main cast, he is not ignorant to Jade’s character: when Trey misunderstands Jade as “strait-laced guy” who gets easily manipulated by Floyd and Azul, Riddle is quick to correct him, saying, “I am as wary of him as I am Floyd. He and Azul are always plotting something. And at times, Jade is the one at the wheel!”

Riddle also expresses suspicion of Jade’s “Mountain Lovers Club” booth at the culture fair in Book 5, saying that “there’s no telling what sort of mischief he may be up to.”

From Jade we learn that, six months into his first year at NRC, Riddle once borrowed the Octavinelle dorm lounge to run in circles around the lounge table for six hours in order to dry off after getting caught in a rainstorm (in accordance with the Queen of Hearts’ laws).

Riddle expresses disapproval of Jade’s sharing the story due to his embarrassment at having been caught in the rain. Riddle says “Now I carry a folding umbrella wherever I go!”

Jade assures Riddle that he will tell Azul and Floyd, and Riddle encourages him to do so.

Ruggie reflects, “Riddle’s one strange bird.”

In a PE vignette we see Riddle partner with Jade for stretches, but Jade is distracted by a stalker in the bushes, who is discovered to be Rook.

Rook explains that he has been recorded “glimmers” of Jade’s eating habits, sleep schedule, heart rate and more.

Riddle points out that while impressive, it is less so “observation” and more so “stalking.” When Jade appears unperturbed and the two begin laughing together, Riddle excuses himself to find a different partner for stretches.

Riddle says that Jade has such a keen interest in Halloween traditions on land that he started going to Riddle during every break period in September with questions.

Jade taught Riddle how to tell him and Floyd apart by determining whether or not the highlighted section of hair that they both have forms a “J” from the viewer’s perspective.

Jade says, “Riddle is meticulous and I respect him as a classmate. Though I don’t know what he thinks of me in return.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

Appendix V: Checks to Over-Multiplication

Hudson, in his Naturalist on the La Plata (Chapter III), has a very interesting account of a sudden increase of a species of mice and of the consequences of that sudden “wave of life.” “In the summer of 1872–73,” he writes, “we had plenty of sunshine, with frequent showers, so that the hot months brought no dearth of wild flowers, as in most years.” The season was very favourable for mice, and “these prolific little creatures were soon so abundant that the dogs and the cats subsisted almost exclusively on them. Foxes, weasels and opossums fared sumptuously; even the insectivorous armadillo took to mice-hunting.” The fowls became quite rapacious, “while the sulphur tyrant-birds (Pitangus) and the Guira cuckoos preyed on nothing but mice.” In the autumn, countless numbers of storks and of short-eared owls made their appearance, coming also to assist at the general feast. Next came a winter of continued drought; the dry grass was eaten, or turned to dust; and the mice, deprived of cover and food, began to die out. The cats sneaked back to the houses; the short-eared owls — a wandering species — left; while the little burrowing owls became so reduced as scarcely to be able to fly, “and hung about the houses all day long on the look-out for some stray morsel of food. “Incredible numbers of sheep and cattle perished the same winter, during a month of cold that followed the drought. As to the mice, Hudson makes the remark that “scarcely a hard-pressed remnant remains after the great reaction, to continue the species.”

This illustration has an additional interest in its showing how, on flat plains and plateaus, the sudden increase of a species immediately attracts enemies from other parts of the plains, and how species unprotected by their social organization must necessarily succumb before them.

Another excellent illustration in point is given by the same author from the Argentine Republic. The coypù (Myiopotamus coypù) is there a very common rodent — a rat in shape, but as large as an otter. It is aquatic in its habits and very sociable. “Of an evening,” Hudson writes, “they are all out swimming and playing in the water, conversing together in strange tunes, which sound like the moans and cries of wounded and suffering men. The coypù, which has a fine fur under the long coarse hair, was largely exported to Europe; but some sixty years ago the Dictator Rosas issued a decree prohibiting the hunting of this animal. The result was that the animals increased and multiplied exceedingly, and, abandoning their aquatic habits, they became terrestrial and migratory, and swarmed everywhere in search of food. Suddenly a mysterious malady fell on them, from which they quickly perished, and became almost extinct” (p. 12).

Extermination by man on the one side, and contagious diseases on the other side, are thus the main checks which keep the species down — not competition for the means of existence, which may not exist at all.

Facts, proving that regions enjoying a far more congenial climate than Siberia are equally underpopulated, could be produced in numbers. But in Bates’ well-known work we find the same remark concerning even the shores of the Amazon river.

“There is, in fact,” Bates wrote, “a great variety of mammals, birds and reptiles, but they are widely scattered and all excessively shy of man. The region is so extensive and uniform in the forest-clothing of its surface, that it is only at long intervals that animals are seen in abundance, where some particular spot is found which is more attractive than the others” (Naturalist on the Amazon, 6th ed., p. 31).

This fact is the more striking as the Brazilian fauna, which is poor in mammals, is not poor at all in birds, and the Brazilian forests afford ample food for birds, as may be seen from a quotation, already given on a previous page, about birds’ societies. And yet, the forests of Brazil, like those of Asia and Africa, are not overpopulated, but rather under-populated. The same is true concerning the pampas of South America, about which W.H. Hudson remarks that it is really astonishing that only one small ruminant should be found on this immense grassy area, so admirably suited to herbivorous quadrupeds. Millions of sheep, cattle and horses, introduced by man, graze now, as is known, upon a portion of these prairies. Land-birds on the pampas are also few in species and in numbers.

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 5

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Tales

The sun was setting when Paul woke. He tactfully put Zhara's clothes behind a bush, and once she finished dressing, they continued on their way. There were more signs of human habitation on this stretch of meadow, fences along the forest, the trample of cattle's feet along the bank of the stream, and the cattle themselves, strange, ferocious-looking creatures, as big as bulls but covered in coarse black hair, lying asleep in the grass like huge, shaggy boulders. The stream now widened into ponds and pools, headed toward the big river that wrapped around the distant hills like a scarf made out of cloth of silver.

Some of these ponds and pools were occupied by a number of young ladies, who sat on the bank with their feet in the water or swinging on the branches of the willow trees that grew by the edge, brushing out their long hair, their pale, pale skin glowing in the dusk. They giggled and waved to Paul as he went past, and suddenly he found the heat of the meadow unbearable, his skin itchy with sweat and dust, while the water of the pond felt so cool and inviting. Without realizing it, he started toward the women, and would have jumped into the pond with them, had Zhara not put out an arm to stop him.

"Be careful," she said. "Those are rusalkas. Summer is the height of their feeding frenzy. Get in that water and they'll drown you."

Paul looked again and saw that the young women's smiles were hungry, their teeth sharp, their hair green and stringy, and they were brushing it with fish bones. For some reason, it was these fishbone combs that horrified him and broke the spell. He scurried after Zhara. The rusalkas' watched him go with protruding and colorless eyes, like a fish's, but didn't follow.

Eventually, the ground became too rough and muddy for Zhara's bare feet, and they stopped beside another pond, an empty one—or so Paul thought. Zhara examined the duckweed and water lilies covering its surface with interest, apparently seeing something there that Paul couldn't see. "Do you have any tobacco?" she asked him.

Though surprised at her question, he dug through his pockets anyway. His fingers closed around an enamel snuffbox in his waistcoat. He didn't take snuff much, but he carried it around because all fashionable men carried snuffboxes around. "Will this do?" he said, showing it to Zhara.

"Perfect." She took a pinch of snuff and, placing it in the water, whispered some words that Paul did not quite catch. A tiny whirlpool appeared, swirling the snuff around and sucking it down into the water, which started to bubble. Even though Paul had prepared himself for the appearance of another magical being, he couldn't help shrinking back in disgust at the creature rising out of the pond, with its half-frog, half-human face, green hair and beard covered in mud and algae, and webbed paws holding a still-wiggling fish.

Zhara laughed. "Don't be frightened," she said. "He's a vodyanoy that lives in the pond. He's far more benevolent than the rusalkas, trust me."

The vodyanoy's eyes, which glowered like two red coals, did not look particularly benevolent to Paul. The creature tossed the fish onto the grass, nodded at Zhara, and ducked under the lily pads without a word.

"Here, you can clean the fish," Zhara said, handing Paul the broken sword. While Paul had been all for throwing it away, she had taken a stone and smoothed down its jagged edge. It now resembled a rather misshapen dagger, but at least it had some edge to it and was more useful.

Paul looked at the flopping fish as though it were some monstrous thing, which, considering where he was, it might very well be. "How?" he asked blankly.

"You cut open its belly and pull out all the guts."

"That is simply barbaric! I've never had to clean a fish in my life!"

"And who do you think cleaned the fish you've been eating, Your Excellency?" Zhara asked, tossing the sword at his feet. "You're going to have to dirty your hands if you want to eat."

She left to gather firewood. Paul reluctantly picked up the sword with one hand and the fish with the other, wrinkling his nose. He made rather a big mess of things, partly because the sword was not sharp enough, and mostly because he had no idea what he was doing, but Zhara said nothing about it. She simply skewered the fish with a green birch twig and put it over the fire she'd just started.

By the time Paul came back from washing his hands at the pond, the fish had finished cooking. Like everything in this world, it tasted sweeter and more buttery than any fish he'd ever eaten.

"Does your—does your brother have that power too?" he asked, nodding at the fire. He'd been trying to think of a way to bring up the question of her brother without sounding nosy. Now, seeing Zhara flinch and seem to withdraw into herself, he felt guilty that he'd even asked at all.

She then let out a long, deep sigh, and said, "No. I inherited this from my mother. She was a vila, a nymph—well, she is one, if she's still alive." Seeing Paul's quizzical look, Zhara smiled sadly. "There aren't as many nymphs around as there used to be. My father was traveling in the northern mountains of Arthania when he met her. He fell in love with her, and she with him, but her kind isn't meant to be wives and mothers. She vanished after I was born, leaving me with her fiery eyes and her fiery power as the only things to remember her by."

Paul's chest tightened with a pang of unaccustomed sympathy. So she was an orphan too, like him.

"Soon after that, my father took another wife, a Lukomorian, and she gave birth to Lariosha—my younger brother. My half-brother, really. Illarion. Lariosha was my pet name for him when we were children."

The story was taking shape for Paul, the familiar pattern of the old tales becoming clear. "I suppose she was cruel to you growing up, wasn't she?" he said. "The evil stepmother, always favoring her own child, a son?"

Zhara stared at him, aghast. "What? No!" she exclaimed. "What a horrible thing to say! She raised me as her own. She was the only mother I ever knew."

Paul looked down, cheeks flushed from his blunder, and mumbled a quick "Sorry." He must remember never to assume anything in this world.

"But that was perhaps why everything went wrong with Lariosha," she continued.

"What do you mean?"

"You asked if my stepmother favored her own child over me. The truth was the opposite. Both she and Father favored me. Because I was the firstborn, because my mother left me, because I have this power... Lariosha ended up neglected. I tried to befriend him, I really did." She shook her head. "But the older he grew, the more he resents me. He believes that as the only son, he should be the one that inherits the throne, not some—some half-breed such as myself, and a girl at that." Paul shifted uncomfortably. "Father hated him for that. So Lariosha turned to dark magic, searching for ways to obtain power. And eventually, he found it."

"Koschei?" Paul asked, remembering her puzzling answer when he brought up that mythical dark wizard.

Her eyes were bleak as she looked into the fire. "Nobody had seen or heard from Koschei in a long, long time, even longer than Baba Yaga," she said. "Perhaps he had gone to the same place my mother and her sisters had, to Vyriy, the place birds fly to for the winter and souls go after death, where the veil between the worlds is still impenetrable.

"But Lariosha must have found him, or his source of magic, for he unleashed it the day Father announced me as his heir. As the whole court gathered for the ceremony, Lariosha announced his plan to rule, not just Arthania, but the whole of Lukomorye as well. And then he murdered Father. In front of me. I tried to stop him, but I failed." She repeated, to herself as much as to Paul, "I failed. I failed."

"It wasn't your fault," Paul said.

"Was it not?" Her look of despair went through his heart like a knife, and, without thinking, he reached out and put his hand over hers. Her eyes snapped to him, astonished, and he quickly withdrew.

"How did you get away?" he asked, to hide his embarrassment.

She buried her face in her hands and shuddered at the memory.

"It was chaos," she said. "Lariosha had a bunch of medallions in his hand—I didn't know what they were for. He tried throwing one at me, but I burned it off. That really angered him. He started throwing curses left and right at the courtiers, turning them into birds, squirrels, foxes. I don't think he meant to curse me, but one of the spells may have hit me by mistake... I've been on the run ever since." She looked at Paul, her eyes swimming with tears. "I can't understand what I have done that angered him so. I was willing to rule with him, or even forfeit my claim and give him the throne. Yet he wants more."

Paul listened to her with a sinking heart. How many times had he dreamed about his mother's demise so he could take the throne? How many times had he complained to Panin and anyone who would listen that a woman should not rule? Had he been just as bad as Zhara's brother? Could he be as bad, given the chance? Could he kill his own mother to get the throne? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Why are you so sure that he didn't mean to curse you?" he asked, trying to avoid those horrifying thoughts.

"Because he needs me alive. And in full power." She spread her trembling fingers, and sparks shot out of them, blending in with those from the crackling fire. "Remember how I had to use my blood to chase away the Noon Wraith?"

"Was it not because you couldn't do this"—he snapped his fingers—"as a bird?"

"No, not quite." She flexed her hand, and the sparks swirled above her palm like a swarm of tiny fireflies. "See, this is just normal fire. This can never touch the Noon Wraith. The fire from my blood, though, is different. It's magic. It can destroy everything in its path. Nothing can stop it, not even the heaviest flood or the coldest freeze. But it can also bring power, if used the right way. And the more I bleed, the more powerful it is. So that's what Illarion wants. To bleed me dry and use my fire to temper a needle, where he stores his death, making it indestructible. He will then hide that needle inside an egg—"

"—and hide the egg inside a duck, hide the duck inside a hare, hide the hare inside a chest, and put the chest underneath a stone at the center of the world," Paul finished. "So he could become immortal." Zhara glanced at him sharply, and he shrugged. "It's a well-known tale."

"Yes, I believe that is his aim," she said.

"Can he do it?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "You've seen what he did to poor Alyosha. I have no doubt he is capable of it. Would it work? That's another matter. But even if it doesn't work, it will be too late by then. He will have destroyed the entire kingdom to hunt me down."

"So you're hoping that Baba Yaga could help you stop him?"

"She's only one powerful enough."

"And to find her, we need Tsar Afron's horse."

The girl examined him more closely in that usual birdlike way of hers. "Why are you so calm?" she asked. "Only two nights ago, you were screaming bloody murder because of the leshy, yet now here you are, not a ruffled feather in sight."

Paul shrugged again. "I grew up listening to these stories," he said slowly. "There is always that disappointment when one realizes they are just that—stories." But in the last two days, he had seen so many things he never thought were real, marvelous, uncanny things, knights that turned into wolves and princesses that turned into birds, walking trees and singing toadstools, mermaids and frog-men. Even the idea of someone killing his own sister to achieve immortality, horrific as it may sound, had a sense of wonder about it. "I suppose it is a relief to find out they are real after all."

Zhara looked at him for a moment or two longer, her eyes unreadable. Eventually, she said. "We, too, have heard tales of those few Russians, fortunate or unfortunate enough, depending on how you look at it, to stumble upon Lukomorye. In those tales, they are stupid, or cruel, or both. It is a relief to know they are not all like that." Having uttered those enigmatic words, she turned her back to the fire and lay down. "Get some rest. We have to look presentable to request an audience with Tsar Afron tomorrow."

***

By late afternoon the next day, they reached the fortress. The stream had now turned into a river, where the sun was dipping low, its rays glittering on the water, reflected on the white walls of the fortress, and covering the hazy snow-covered peaks in the distance with a coat of gold. There was no need to worry about the Noon Wraith here, for the meadow was gone, replaced by a settlement that had sprung up along the river, surrounding the fortress that towered on the hill above it. The river was diverted into a moat that wound its way around the fortress, and a stone bridge spanned the moat, leading to the main gate set deep inside the battlements.

This settlement was much bigger than the tiny village Paul had visited on his first day—it was a real town, with tall houses made of wood and daub, their roofs, windows, and doors painted and carved in all colors and shapes. Smoke spewed from countless chimneys, and yet more houses were being built all along the river. In fact, it would have been quite undistinguishable from a normal town in his empire, if it hadn't been for some strange creatures he saw—an excessively hairy one perching on bags of wheat on the back of a wagon, something that looked like a ball of soot with eyes lurking behind a window, and a naked, green-skinned old man covered in birch leaves sitting at the door of a bathhouse—no doubt guardian spirits of some kind. But those creatures had the furtive, listless air of displaced people, and there was none of the otherworldly feel of the forest and the meadow about the town. No wonder the nymphs and Koschei and Baba Yaga were abandoning this land.

People and carts thronged the main thoroughfare, but nobody gave Paul a second glance, which suited him just fine. Zhara didn't know if Illarion was tracking her or not—had it been a coincidence that Alyosha had shown up in the forest just mere hours after Paul mentioned her name in the village? So, to be safe, Zhara had asked Paul to hide her, and he was now sweating from the double dose of heat from her body as she nestled in his waistcoat, which felt rather like having a bed warmer in one's pocket, and the heavy cloak covering everything up.

Since they couldn't present themselves to Tsar Afron before Zhara returned to her human form, Paul avoided the main road leading to the fortress and headed down the river. This area was also crowded with boats and skiffs, loading and unloading timber and stones and bricks, dry goods, and other merchandise. He went further down the bank. He was hungry again—they had divided the last of the bread rings between themselves that morning—so when he saw a man sitting by his wagon eating dinner, he had to swallow his pride and traded his snuff for a bottle of kvass and a wedge of the man's vegetable pie. His face burned with the humiliation of having to beg and trade, like a commoner, for every scrap of food, but it was either that or go hungry. At least nobody knew him here, so the humiliation was solely his own making.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. Paul sat down under a willow tree by the riverbank with a sigh, took off his cloak, and let Zhara out of his pocket. She looked a little squished from being squeezed into his waistcoat all morning, and she gave him an annoyed look as she tried to preen her feathers back to shape.

"Don't look at me like that, you're the one that wanted to stay hidden," Paul said, as he broke off some of the pie for her.

After finishing his meager meal, Paul went on a little walk to explore and kill time, with Zhara perching on his uninjured shoulder. He walked down the riverbank, following the tall stone walls of the fortress, pointing out to Zhara how similar it was to the Moscow Kremlin, only without the more modern buildings. There was something medieval in those white walls, with their battlements and watch towers, and in the high turrets and the onion domes of the castle that peeked over the walls. Not for the first time, Paul wondered how old this world was, and whether it had been one with his world in the past and had drifted apart at some point.

He had almost completed a circle around the fortress when he came upon a large clearing that stood directly under the castle, surrounded by a tall fence made out of sharpened logs. A watchtower looked down on it, so soldiers inside could keep an eye on both the castle and the clearing. This special care piqued his curiosity, and he put his eye to an opening between two logs to see what was inside.

He found himself looking at a pasture, scrupulously maintained with lush, emerald-green grass, which put the meadow around it, yellowing from smoke and heat and trampling footsteps, to shame. The moat widened into a pond inside the clearing to provide drinking water, and willow trees around its bank gave some cooling shades at the height of noon. And standing in the middle of that pasture was the most magnificent horse Paul had ever seen, tall and slender, its ivory white coat shone with a metallic sheen, its mane and tail, of a bright gold color, rippled like ripe wheat under the setting sun, as it gracefully lowered its head to drink from the pond.

"It's the horse," he breathed out. "The horse with the golden mane."

Zhara, balancing on a fence post, nodded at him. And with her confirmation, the nagging feeling that had been bothering Paul since their encounter with the wolf suddenly became clear. "It's the fairy tale, isn't it?" he continued. "Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf. I'm the prince, you're the firebird, and we've met the wolf—only he wasn't as helpful as the wolf in the tale. And now we're supposed to be stealing the horse and then bring back the princess..." He paused as the familiar story came back into his mind. "So why are we wasting time waiting for Tsar Afron? Who knows if he would even let us borrow the horse? We can steal it as long as we don't touch the golden bridle, and this horse has no bridle! Let's just take it!"

The moment he mentioned stealing the horse, Zhara started twittering in an agitated manner and tried to fly into his face. Confused, Paul glanced at the watchtower, but it remained closed. The meadow was empty all around. There didn't seem to be any imminent danger. He pushed her aside and searched for a way into the pasture. The gate was locked, but the fence wasn't high—he could just about reach the top. Paul put a finger to his lips to shush Zhara's frantic chirps for fear she may alert the horse, and tried to climb the fence. Zhara was still flying around his head, her chirps turning into angry squawks, but he refused to be deterred. After several tries, he was able to hook his fingers in a gap between the tops of the fence posts and hoist himself over.

The horse had noticed their presence and was now eyeing them curiously yet calmly, which Paul took to be a good sign. Though dusk was falling, its coat was so bright that he could still see it quite well. He carefully approached it, keeping his eyes on it, his hands held out in front of him. The horse tossed its beautiful mane and let out a soft whicker.

Zhara flew behind the bank of willow trees. A moment later, as the last rays of the sun winked out, she poked her head out from behind the bushes and hissed at Paul, "You fool! Stop this nonsense at once!"

"Be quiet," he said. "You'll thank me for this."

"At least give me my clothes!"

Paul realized he was still carrying her rolled-up clothes on his back. He untied the belt and tossed the bundle to her, without taking his eyes off the horse. He was now only a few steps away. A moment later, Zhara, now dressed, ran out into the pasture and tugged at his hand.

"Get back before you'll get us into trouble!" she said in an angry whisper.

"What, is it going to turn into a monster and eat me?"

"No, but even if you catch it, how do you propose we ride it without a saddle, you idiot?"

Paul hesitated. It was true; he had never ridden a horse bareback before. He began to realize how foolish he'd been. And this was right after he'd told himself not to assume anything in this world too! Just then, the horse inched forward, spurred by curiosity or perhaps a want for companionship, and pushed its soft nose under Paul's hand.

Before Paul could be surprised by this astonishing turn of events, there was a movement in the grass. A shape jumped out of seemingly nowhere and landed square on his head.

"Thief!!!" A scream pierced Paul's ears, while blows and kicks rained down on him, blinding him as to where they may be coming from. "Horse thief! Villain! Catch them!" He stumbled, trying to throw off the thing on his back, while next to him, Zhara was squealing in pain as the thing turned on her, yanking at her hair.

Paul's legs were thrown out from under him. As he fell with a painful thud on his back, the thing jumped on his chest to pin him down, and he finally had a good look at it—a creature the size of a small child, covered in coarse black hair like the cattle he'd seen on the meadow, with the face of an old man, a pair of calf's ears, goat's legs, and skinny arms with hands that ended in long claws. Its eyes, shining malevolently from deep sockets, glared at Paul. Paul tried to shake the thing off, only to find his hands and feet bound tightly by ropes that had sprung up from the ground. Next to him, Zhara was similarly tied up.

"What is this thing?!" he screamed.

"A dvorovoi. He protects the pasture and the stables," Zhara explained in a long-suffering voice.

"Burn off the ropes and get us out of here!"

"No." She lay back and stared up at the sky. "You have gotten us into enough trouble as it is, so excuse me if I'm not going to take your order, Your Excellency."

Soldiers filed in through the gate. The dvorovoi jumped off Paul's chest and disappeared into the grass, while soldiers hauled the two of them to their feet.

"Trying to steal the Golden Horse, are you?" the commander said. "Some nerves you've got. Off to the dungeon with him! As for this one—" He ran a knuckle down Zhara's throat. "We'll have some fun with her, won't we, lads?"

"Leave her alone!" Paul shouted, straining against the ropes, which only earned him a round of derisive laughs from the soldiers.

Zhara whipped her head away from the commander. "How dare you touch me!" she said, her eyes ablaze with fury. "I am Tsarevna Zhara Artyomovna of Arthania, and I demand an audience with Tsar Afron!"

"Nice try, lassie," the commander snickered. "But everybody knows that Tsarevna Zhara Artyomovna is a fugitive. She'd be a fool to show her face here."

"Is that so?" Zhara snapped her fingers, and just as Paul had done the first time he'd seen it, the soldiers all recoiled in alarm when fire burst from her hand. A second later, the ropes burned right off her wrists, while the soldiers stared, mouth agape. "Now, are you going to take us to the Tsar or not?"

Chapter 6

A/N: There is no mention in mythology or fairy tales of the rusalkas using fish bones as combs, but I got the idea from Joe's Off Menu episode, where Ed and James both misremembered "The Little Mermaid" and insisted that Ariel used fish bones as a comb (she uses a fork! But to be fair, it was a very funny bit in the podcast.)

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[esperata]

End of year wip round-up

Time to look through my files of notes and see what plots I have still waiting attention, and perhaps assess where they are in the scale of projects. Colour coded for riddlebird, hattercrow, wahsbands or octogoblin. I'm always open to questions on my projects. In fact, please do ask if you want to encourage them to be written.

Starting with some I have posted as unfinished works.

OTT (LEGO Batman) : I intend to post a second chapter for this, showing how well Riddler's plan turns out.

Gay Attorney (Gotham/Ace Attorney) : This is supposed to have multiple chapters with the various 'witnesses' taking the stand.

Little Bird (Batwoman) : Not sure where this is heading but a follow up chapter seems necessary.

P.I. Riddler (DC comics) : I have an outline of the idea for this but not sure how many chapters it will require to complete.

Urban Legends (Batman - all media) : There is going to be a continuation here with other rogues making an appearance.

What Is Reality? (Btas) : I already have a second chapter started and a concept of where its going, including a 'final' scene.

A few extra Mahou AU story ideas.

Killer Croc vs Jonathan (Arkhamverse) : This is an interesting conflict I'd like to write.

Grown up Ed gets powers (Burtonschumacher) : We only saw one half of this duo in my first story so it seems fair to bring in Riddler.

Take A Chance on Me (Arkhamverse) : Pitting the pair against the machinations of Hugo Strange.

Oz mentors Ed (The Batman) : Does what it says on the tin.

The Curse of Alice (1960s) : Again an interesting development I'd like to explore.

Future Hattercrow (Gotham) : Not sure about this but considering this pair twenty years further on.

The Telltale series.

You Only Live Twice : Oswald is being mentored but demands Edward treat him as an equal if he truly respects him.

For Your Eyes Only : Edward gets trapped by the Agency and suffers their virus before returning to Oswald.

The Spy Who Loved Me : Oswald helps Edward through the aftereffects, unwilling to lose anyone else to madness.

Live and Let Die : Riddler is planning his return to Gotham, letting Oswald into the secrets of his past to convince him.

The Living Daylights : A continuation of the story arc.

New stand alone ideas.

Babysitter : Wario is cajoled into babysitting Bowser's kids and calls Waluigi in for reinforcements.

Sherrif Wario : Waluigi rides into town and immediately gets called a trouble maker by the Mario bros. Wario makes his own assessment.

Good Omens : A friend suggested Alfred Molina as Aziraphale and Willem Dafoe as Crowley which is a fantastic idea.

Fate Or Something Like It : I really wanted to consider the timeline after Norman got back from No Way Home. How he might try to save Otto from his fate.

Old Friends, Bitter Enemies : I watched the Spider-man PS game and love the dynamic of Norman and Otto. It would be worth playing with.

Skyscraper : Basically a PWP. Be fun to write.

Misunderstandings : Oswald overhears Ed saying something he shouldn't.

Batman vs Dracula (2004 cartoon) : A re-write of the film except bringing Riddler into the story.

Halloween Topsy Turvy : A fancy dress party at the Lounge causes feelings to run high.

Streamer Ed (btas) : Ed works as a streamer, with Jon and Jervis as mods, and a habit of review Iceberg Lounge promotional videos.

Gotham Gossip (Gotham) : Newspaper column style fic charting their rising and falling relationship. I still like this concept but am struggling with the media.

Kids museum meeting (comics) : A look back at how they might have met as children.

Secret Admirer : Where both Oswald and Ed are the other's secret admirer.

Tattoos (comics) : Oswald has tattoos - Ed is intrigued.

Olga My Queen (1960s/Gotham) : What if the Queen of Cossacks was Oswald's maid?

Gotta Shape Up (Harley Quinn series) : ngl I lost impetus with this show but I still like this idea - Ed having to step up with Joshua after Oswald's demise.

The King Is Dead : Similar concept in that it looks at how Riddler might react in the wake of Penguin's demise.

Wrap You Around My Finger : Ed is new to Gotham and thinks it'll be easy to cajole favours from Penguin. He is wrong.

Western AU : I wanted a fic with Jonathan on a horse thus this idea was born.

Are We Friends? (Gotham) : Ed struggles to pin down just what their relationship is during Oswald's eye recovery period. Again, not super confident writing in this media now.

Rogues Go Skiing (LEGO) : Cutesy vacation style slice of life.

Arkham sitcom : Exactly as it says, chapters done with mini plots happening, all within Arkham asylum.

Bookshop (1960s) : Penguin owns a book store and has suitors competing for him - Riddler vs Bookworm

Pre-Arkham : What if Jon and Jervis met before either became rogues?

Trans Oswald (The Batman) : Not actually a romantic fic but more angsty, considering what if he'd had a child in his younger years.

Merman Oz (2004 cartoon) : I just like the visual of him as a mermaid.

What You Love Most (Arkhamverse) : Another angsty piece where Ed doesn't realise Oswald's feelings.

Drive-in Movie (Batwheels) : Simultaneous riddlebird and Ducky/Quizz.

Music Meister (Arkhamverse) : Don't tell me the concept of Oz being forced to sing isn't hilarious.

Rumour Mill : Jonathan steps in when rumours spread about Jervis.

Trans Ed (Arkhamverse) : I wanted to write Oz facing his own transphobia but I'm not sure I can do the topic with the required sensitivity.

Hypnotism : As a hattercrow fan, its almost a rite of passage to write Jervis using his powers on Jon.

Merry Little Batman : I'm always drawn to new media variations.

More continuations.

The World Is Your Oyster sequel : What would life be like living with an octo-person?

Post Game (Arkhamverse) : A possibly final installment to my arkham Games series.

Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy sequel (btas) : Not sure this is something I still want to do honestly.

The Boss (The Batman) : Picking up their story post film.

Angel!Ed/Demon!Oz (2004 cartoon) : Bringing the contrasting pair actually together.

Pax Penguina sequel (Gotham) : I have no impetus to continue this one at present.

The Real Deal sequel (btas) : Considering whether Ed might get his own larger than life Penguin doll.

The King Of Gotham sequel (comics) : Picking up where the story ends off. Not finished posting the original yet.

[matenrou-fan]

Hello~ I am going to send 2 request, if it's okay!

The first is....... Jakurai falling in love with a mermaid princess he met... in sort of an au where they live in a normal world with no known magic or mics powers

Jakurai hears a woman crying on the beach and goes to help her, he discovers an injured mermaid...! she has a human form as well and after befriending her, he tries to get her out of the sea more often to show her his world, he's fallen in love~

thank you for your lovely writing anya! -🌸🍡

Jakurai falling in love with a mermaid princess! fem!s/o

Ahh, thank YOU for such a lovely request! Despite feeling kinda sick, I suddenly got some inspiration for this idea, so.. here! <3

Femreader, hurt/comfort, fluff, just wholesome stuff;; 1964 words;;

Ahh.. Fishing. One of the most favorite things for Jakurai's soul, as it always helps him find a new peace, a new food for thoughts while he waits for another catch. It's like meditation, but in a more interesting way. By observing the water, by respecting nature, by letting nature live on. Dying in some ways, living in others. Jakurai understands all of this, and quite enjoys being all alone, watching these circles of life.

Yet today, walking to one abandoned beach which was his favorite place, he already felt something was awaited for him. Something new and interesting..

Or maybe it's just his mind wandering again? He always has a fondness for strange things and people, and maybe it was just his mind yearning for some accident in his life that would freshen his life, and shake it up a little.. After all, someone as peaceful and calm as Jakurai just needs to be jolted sometimes.

Fresh wind caresses his face, tickling his nose with briny, when he finally steps on the beach. The usual seagulls cry on the horizon, embellishing the darkness of the blue sea with small white spots of their bodies. It's been a long time since he's visited this place, seeing it's now deserted, not even a single footprint marks the shore.. All alone with nature.

Then suddenly, a weak call that was quickly outvoiced by sounds of birds and waves hits Jakurai's mind. How strange, there's no stains on the sand, he was sure there's no one.. Maybe it was just his imagination, stimulated after a few long, hard shifts in hospital for several days in a row, yet as a doc, he just can't neglect a small chance that there is actually someone in need. So all fishing rods and nets were left under the tree as Jakurai quickly got closer to the water, inspecting a curved line of coast.

This voice was definitely a feminine one.. The heart of the genius doctor ached from the thought that maybe he would find a drowning woman, yet as soon as he ran closer to a trembling figure, this ache turned into a cold wave of tickles. For a moment Jakurai stopped, not able to look away from the strange but luring creature in front of him.. A mermaid?

But his confusion lasts just a second. Maybe Jakurai was thrilled now, but a professional habit of pushing his emotions away and concentrating on a needed task helped him to not freeze in confusion. And right now his task was to help an injured woman.

"Here, don't worry.. I will not hurt you." - his voice softened when he noticed her scared gaze, and a small reassuring smile that he always gave to his patients appeared on his face. - "It's alright, just show me.."

Ah.. It seems like some unscrupulous vacationers decided to not burden themselves with properly cleaning the place after their rest, just throwing all bottles and bags right in the water. Cut herself with glass, a young mermaid got captured in the nets right after this and now was laying here, exhausted, after hard attempts to get free and swim away.

For Jakurai, nature was as important as humanity. You can't heal people and then hurt nature. So for him this story was so heartbreaking, as he listened to her weak voice while carefully treating all wounds. He didn't hesitate to wet his clothes just to help her get back to the sea, and then check again if all cuts did not bleed after contact with water.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Thank you.." - voice still so weak, yet you try your best to sound loud. After all, you actually were really grateful for his help, as five minutes before the arrival of your savior you already buried yourself in your own head.

"It's okay, I didn't do much." - a low chuckle from him makes your heart tickle a little. - "I actually felt like I should apologize on behalf of all mankind.. We can be so inattentive to the beauty of nature, treating seas and forests like that.."

And you thought that only sirens can lure people with their speech, then why does this man have such a beautiful, deep voice? When he starts talking with you, assuring you of the piety of his actions.. Well, you didn't understand a few first words, too overwhelmed with fear, but his tone quickly soothes all your worries.

Maybe you should give him something in return, something from the cradle of the seabed..? Thinking about meeting this mysterious man again resonates in your heart unexpectedly loud, and you can see in his eyes just how much he also gets interested.

"Oh.. What a gentleman I am, if I still didn't introduce myself.." - he sighs and his soft gaze meets yours. - "I should apologize again.. My name is Jakurai."

"I'm s/o…" - finally, a smile appears on your face too.

"I'm glad to meet you, s/o.. There's a feeling in my chest that keeps telling me this meeting is not by chance.. And I hope it's not mistaken belief."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

And his hopes were not for nothing. As you two meet again. And again..

For a few first times Jakurai just get here to check on your wounds, asking about your well-being, but very soon you both noticed just how much you genuinely enjoy the company of each other, waiting for another meet on the beach with trembling hearts.

Even Jakurai's friends and co-workers start joking about him retraining from a doctor to a fisherman, due to how much time he starts to spend near sea in his weekends. Always laughing at these small teases, Jakurai never took it to heart, as all he can think about is you and the effect you had on him.

He was truly mesmerized. From the shimmer of crystal billows on a long tail to the surprisingly smooth, always a little bit messy hair, you were mesmerizing. And sometimes it was hard even for him to control himself and keep his face as something friendly, not showing this gaze of awe. Only when you are not looking, the blue eyes of your new friend become even more gentle and caring than usual, admiring your angelic appearance.

You were so small compared to him.. Even when you show him your human form, after Jakurai described in perfect detail one festival that would take place very soon, all that he was able to think is only one thought. How much he wants to protect this cheerful woman in front of him that holds his hand and laughs so shyly, mumbling about how long ago it was when she went out on dry land.

And despite sometimes he feels like he shouldn't bring you out of water too often, worrying about your health, Jakurai can't stop searching for new places that he can show to amuse you. The way your face always lights up when he brings you into some new interesting place or talks about things you never heard before.. This bright smile resonated with his heart, lit a pit of his soul every time he looked at you.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

For a long time Jakurai feels like he lives in a fairytale, thinking hard about how he can make the most beautiful, happy ending in the story of your acquaintances.. Just to start a new one, about your joyful life together.

Another evening together, as you two take sunset walks along the beach. Jakurai asks you several times if you want to change into your mermaid form to have a little break in the water, yet you continue to cling to his arm, chirping about how fun it is, to just walk with him like that.

"Of course I can just swim and everything, but, you know.. Isn't this better, when we walk together, and can hold hands?" - your sweet voice suddenly gets quiet, as you look away with a little blush on your cheeks. - "Even near the sea, I still want to be next to you, Jakurai.. I really appreciate you."

Such words send a tickling wave in his stomach, and even this fresh wind can't cool the warmth of his face now. Ah, his plan to take the initiative now was a little bit ruined, and all Jakurai can do is just chuckle, wishing you two would soonly come to the needed part of the beach.

"Oh.. Here, s/o.. Do you recognize this little place?" - a small giggle completes his question when he notices as you look around with surprised eyes.

Nothing changes that much here - sea still tickles coast in a lazy manner, leaving white foam on wet sand, seagulls still drifting on small waves, making a roll call from time to time…

"It's the place where we meet each other for the first time.." - you mumble and Jakurai nod, stopping and turning to you.

His hands stroke yours, with the same light gentleness as always, yet right now his skin is so different, even five minutes ago it didn't feel so warm.. His touches send small electric discharges and you look up, breathing heavily from strange feelings that wrap around your chest.

"I know that our first meeting wasn't that good or pleasant here." - Jakurai start, locking eyes with you. - "But I hope that all you have now, is the warmth and happiness inside you.. That I was able to bring more joy in your life…"

"This place started our friendship, and now it will help us to start something closer too.. I hope this view evokes the same emotions in you that it evokes in me, I hope our souls resonate with the same feeling…" - he leans closer, whispering right in your ear with a low but trembling voice. - "Cause all I can think about when I look at this place is you, all I feel is a need to be close to you.. I love you, s/o.."

Softer than silk, warmer than tickles of rays of the setting sun, this small kiss between you two sends you to heaven, making your legs weak. Your hands grasp his shoulders as you lean closer, wishing this intimate moment will never end.

So many things delight your days after Jakurai appeared in your life, yet you never felt something like that.. Something so pleasant, that titillates your whole body and mind in the same passion.. Is it true love?

"Jakurai.. I.. I love you too.." - all words fade away from your head, as now you were embarrassed even to just look at his face, feeling how hot and bright your cheeks are.

A small chuckle teases your already ashamed figure, yet a small quick kiss on your forehead somewhat soothes you a little, and you look up. These eyes, full of care and sincere appreciation.. You wanted to stare at them forever, and at the same time can't help but look away, overwhelmed with a new feeling that arose in your chest.

"No, really.. I love you.." - you mumble again, trying to come up with some beautiful speech for your confession too, but Jakurai stops you.

"I understand, dear.. Thousands of words will never describe the love that I see in your eyes every time you look at me.." - his voice gets closer again, almost luring you to look at Jakurai again. - "And, of course.. Millions of words will never replace just a small kiss.. So, s/o.. Let's keep confessing our love this way, shall we?"

[pokeglitchden]

Hey everyone! In the wake of All That Mayhem we all just endured, it looks to me like its time for a LAB UPDATE!

Er... first of all a big thanks to @battlelegendsredandblue for taking the time to come out and help out the Glitch City Labs with their Weather Trio Torchic problem. There's a lot of water damage at the lab and a lot of cleanup to do, but it looks like things are turning around now that it isn't pouring rain.

That said HERE'S an update into everything else we have going on here.

First of all, the lab is welcoming a new slightly accidental addition to the team, Meet Rascal the 94!

[ID- A photo is uploaded of a large golden plumed, bird like pokemon. It seems slightly etherial, and its bright golden plumage sports a bizzare pattern, that even in this presumably SAFE picture is still very hard to look at or focus on. The pokemon seems slightly ethereal, like it might have the ability to turn incorporeal if it wanted to.]

94 is a relative of the Missingno family. Like the common Missingno it has the ability to effect items that are near it when its stressed or curious, but UNLIKE Missingno, instead of duplicating items it transmutes them instead! For example, this persim berry used to be a DexNav!c

Fascinating! And Expensive!

Another interesting facet of 94 is their coloration. You might not be able to tell from the photo, but the plumage of a 94 is constantly shifting, and tends to change based on its mood, whether or not its stressed, and sometimes depending on whatever opponent it is facing in battle. Some of these patterns can produce a potent visual toxin when viewed from behind, so it is recommended to train it while using goggles.

It isn't lethal, but it DOES feel like getting poked in the eyes, and I can confirm it is NOT very pleasant.

This pokemon also has a great deal of volatile energy, and needs to be consistently trained in order to make sure it doesn't cause a surge. I have successfully trained it out of this tendency once so far, but it will have to be done several times in order to ensure it doesn't try to pick up the habit again.

Rascal will be a tentative member of my team for now. I am working on acclimating it to the other lab members and its new surroundings. Luckily Pidgey (which are for some reason a pokemon it tends to consider a major threat) are not very common in this region, so acclimation is going smoothly so far.

MOVING ON I'm sure what you're all interested to hear about is the status of the Many Torchic Eggs that were delivered to the lab over the course of the last few days. Here is their status so far

[Photo of three unhatched Torchic Eggs. One is strangely reflective looking, a second one is purple and levitating and the third is patterned like a Zapdos. The Zapdos patterned one has a few cracks in it, and looks like it is getting closer to hatching. The other two do not look as far along.]

So far these three eggs have not hatched yet. The first two were recieved more recently and have yet to complete their egg cycles, while the third just seems to have taken a longer time to hatch.

In the mean time, as for the ones that HAVE hatched

[Image of Five Torchic sitting together on the lab table. One is a completely normal torchic. The second is a very strange looking one that seems to distort the camera a bit. It has a bizarre green, red and beige pattern to it, that makes it look almost like it has simply loaded in the wrong color pallet. Its collision with the table also doesn't seem to be quite right, as it seems to be slightly clipping into the table. The third is a bright blue torchic, that, while it doesn't appear to be aquatic, it does seem to be emitting a few embers of a bright blue flame. The fourth is a scaly, fish like Torchic that appears to have fins in the place of wings. And the fifth is bright pink and levitating with a long, lithe tail curled slightly beneath it.] We were incredibly relieved to find that the blue egg simply contained a blue torchic and not another Kyogre Torchic or something of the like. It does have a strangely blue tinged flame, but otherwise it seems mostly like a normal torchic.

The Glitched Torchic we've determined is very similar to an unhatched torchic being accessed via temporal manipulation. It can interact with the world, but it tends to pass through things or clip into things as if it isn't sure they are there yet. Raising this one is likely going to be a challenge and as such it will be staying at the lab.

The aquatic one is very similar to the one born at Glitch City's lab. Air breathing, but able to hold its breath for long periods of time and highly acclimated to living in the water. It retains its typing as a fire/water type here in Hoenn.

The final one though is the one that concerns me the most. As you can probably see, it seems to bare a very close resemblance to the Kanto mythical pokemon Mew. Upon hatching it actually disappeared for a time, but it's reappeared now and keeps... floating and staring at me. Like it's trying to read my mind.

It's a little unnerving...

Anyway this is becoming an incredibly long lab update! I'll update you all about the Espurr eggs once they are hatched. We've recieved quite a few both at the lab, and a few had to be retrieved from the Glitch City labs for safety reasons. For more safety reasons these will NOT be kept here at the lab. I've made a few contacts already with some potential adoptees once we've determined the hatched pokemon are healthy.

These pokemon will be hatched off site.

And I think that's it! Thanks for reading!

-Simon

[somelegobird]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it the last five blogs in your notifs. Anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog >:3

Wow I am quite late, I completely forgot about this lmao

Despite this being a Ninjago blog, I'm gonna try keep the facts non-Ninjago related.

I am heavily interested in Ornithology, especially when it comes to the Corvidae family. One of my favourite pastimes is feeding the corvids near my house and I am hoping to pursue something bird related in the future (though I have no clue how to do that)

2. My chosen name Adrian was given to me by my best friend of about a decade now. They gave it to me in a roleplay and I liked it so much that I have used it as a name since then. After a year of using it, they revealed to me that they named me after Adrien Agreste from Miraculous,,, By that point, I: had black cats as a motif when it came to representing myself; was learning French for my GCSEs; had a Plagg plush. I was flabbergasted. Anyway to celebrate I bought a doll of the original Adrian lmao. The name Jackdaw comes from point 1 and a feeling that Adrian was too personal of a name to me to have openly displayed in usernames and the likes.

3. I'm not actually sure what my "nationality" is. My blood is very heavily mixed Eastern European (my appearance reflects this) but I was born and raised in England. I don't feel attached to either culture very much since my parents didn't bother teaching me about my ancestry nor my surroundings. What I do have of culture is a few disjointed pieces of British culture from my few friends at school and the awkward encounters with my distant family. The most prominent countries in my ancestry are Latvia, Belarus, Ukraine, and Russia. My closest distant family (?) is Latvian yet I cannot speak the language, I only speak Russian. I curse the USSR, Latvian sounds so pretty :(.

It feels a bit strange talking about myself on a Ninjago themed account but that is overshadowed by my oversharing habit haha

[teecupangel]

From @thedragonqueen1998

Yeeees! Honestly, i don't really care for Star wars, but with AC crossovers i love it!

Hahahaha, as long as it has our favorite blorbo, we’re fine with anything XD

From @mysticalbasementwitch

Do the second. All the glourious angst especially when Haytham and Edward star appearing 

From @blue-cat-ter-flies-blog

Second, second, second!

From @zero-saito

Oh this will be fun!! Would this mean desmond Would gravitate towards mandalorians and shy away from Jedi. But also obiwan found something interesting so he’s going to keep pestering desmond. Maybe once the ancestors settle in Desmond’s head they can come out as force ghosts?

‘Blade’ was a strange clone. He always refused to take off his helmet and another clone told Obi-wan it had been an order of the highest priority that was given to Blade.

His voice seemed a bit different from the other clones but Obi-Wan can’t be sure since there was a possibility the helmet was the reason behind it.

The only thing he changed in his uniform was the stylized inverted V that marked the forehead of his helmet, reminding Obi-Wan of a bird’s beak.

He was usually quiet but, when he speaks, there’s a strange casualness in it. Not even the most dangerous situation where life and death was only a step away could change it.

It was dangerous.

He also had the habit of stealing things that he says are ‘shiny’.

Most of them weren’t shiny at all but all of them were useful one way or another.

Obi-Wan had lost count how many times Blade’s kleptomaniac tendencies had made him take a device or an object that would later help them in their mission.

Because of it, Obi-Wan and the rest of the company ignored his regular stealing.

But Blade had always been cautious.

Perhaps too cautious at times.

He distrusts beings most of the time and he always already had an escape route planned out in his mind even in the safest of places.

That was why everyone had been surprised when Blade had touched that ancient relic from an unknown civilization.

It had been as if his entire focus had been filtered to only that specific relic.

What looked like a chair.

The entire room lit the moment he touched the chair.

Many words, too quick for their translate to catch up, only able to translate snippets.

Subject 17…

Error…

Rebooting An-

Forcing Subject 17 Sessions…

By the end of it, Blade had fallen to the floor.

They had been worried he had died.

But he had simply lost consciousness.

That was the first time Obi-Wan saw his face as the clones took it off to give him more air.

He looked nothing like them.

And he felt it.

Eyes staring at them.

He looked around.

For a fraction of a second, Obi-Wan truly believed he saw someone.

No.

Someones.

But they were gone.

More fickle than ghosts.

Or perhaps the shadows were playing tricks.

But he could feel it.

The Force around them was strange.

No.

The Force around ‘Blade’.

Okay, listen to me. What if, WHAT IF, in a galaxy far far away, during the Clone Wars, our boy Desmond respawns as a clone? Mmmm 212th Attack Battalion, perhaps? In the Ghost Company, more precisely, right next to Obi-Wan, who ends up loving this shinie because he's very adoptable and kind of has a strange signature in the Force? I mean, one person can't have the Force signature of three different people at the same time as their own, that's impossible.

...Isn't it?

Oh, what if Desmond was an anomaly?

Like, clones are meant to be from the same ‘stock’ and Desmond started out just as the same as all of them.

… until he became part of the war.

There was something about it…

The needless lost of lives…

The pain and suffering all around them…

The very concept ingrained into his very being to obey…

Desmond starts to crack.

And from those cracks…

They appear.

Whispers only he can hear.

Warmth he feels where there should not be any.

They comfort him.

They teach him.

They guide him.

They care for him.

And they warn him…

Of how General Kenobi shares the same skills as the ones who controlled their lives, who played god and wrote the stories of their lives.

Of how Desmond must be remain vigilant.

Less he suffered the same fate once more.

.

He probably won’t have Desmond as his name though. Maybe… Eagle? Is that too Earth-centric? Blade? I would have said Ghost but he’s part of Ghost Company already. XD

.

In a nutshell, Isus harness the Force and they come from one of the earliest races to ever do so. The Jedis learn to harness/live in harmony with the Force from a very similar principle as the Isus and that makes Desmond’s ‘ghosts’ weary of Obi-Wan and every person who can use the Force as it reminds them of the Isus.

Desmond himself is a ‘contaminated’ clone. Jango Fett is actually a ‘distant’ descendant of Desmond, born as part of an Assassin family who reached the stars and… well… things happened that led to Jango becoming a foundling. Desmond is a 1 in a hundred billion chance… or perhaps it was fate. Either way, Desmond is a product of the cloning process screwing up and making Desmond not a clone of Jango but a clone of Jango’s ancestor, Desmond Miles.

The cracks that started appearing on Desmond’s mind?

That’s not the Bleeding Effect.

That’s the cloning process’ failure. He’s starting to ‘remember’ the memories of his ancestors… including Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore and Ratonhnhaké:ton.

(Would you want Desmond to remember the life of Desmond Miles up to his death which shouldn’t be possible because, according to the genetic memories rule of AC, they can only have the memories up to the conception of the next ancestor? Easy way? Use the Force as a plot device. Less easy way? Have Ghost Company find an Animus in one of their missions and Desmond touches it, starting the entire process because that Animus contained Sample 17’s data and it reacted to Desmond).

[buriedsecretspodcast]

Embarking on a quest to write more

I'll start with the tl;dr: I want to try to write more often. Specifically, I'd like to aim for "near-daily" blog posts, with a goal of publishing something approximately five days per week and accompanying it with a piece of art. I almost certainly won't hit that goal, but it feels like a good number to aim for.

Why?

I recently dropped an episode about a book that I really liked called Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller. In the book, Miller talks about how when interacting with the paranormal, it's important to prepare less and risk more. In the episode, I talk about how I recognize that I need to take that advice to heart. When interacting with the paranormal, I often doubt myself and try to talk myself out of what I actually experienced.

And I do that even in the moment, while the strange thing is happening, which Miller explains is the exact moment when you should not be doubting yourself. (He basically says you can doubt yourself anytime afterwards, when you're analyzing what you've been told her what you've encountered. But if you do it in the moment, it shuts down that part of your brain that helps to process the unusual and paranormal and psychical.)

As I was working on editing the episode, I realized that the maxim prepare less, risk more applies to me more than I would like it to, and more than in just my paranormal experiences. I have very strong perfectionist tendencies, and I'm the sort of person who creates large amounts of art and then just never shares it with anybody.

Here are a couple examples:

Starting last May, I decided that I was going to do a drawing every single day. A YouTuber I like, struthless, talked about a challenge that he undertook where he drew the same thing every day for a year because that sort of repetition forces you to be more creative in your artistic approach. I chose ravens and crows as my subject matter. And while, of course, I missed a few days, I did, for about eight months, draw a raven pretty much every day. I didn't quite make it to a year, because while I love birds and love ravens and crows in particular, I did get to a point where there were tons of other things I wanted to draw and I felt like the creativity challenge was stifling me rather than helping me. (Though it did help built a daily drawing habit!) However, despite having drawn hundreds of ravens, I've shared maybe five of them? Probably fewer. Why? It's not like ravens are particularly off topic or outside of my niche, because ravens have a creepy vibe and one literally appears on the podcast logo. But I just usually choose not to share them just... because.

I create episode art for every episode, and yet I very rarely share that art on social media. The drawings appear on my website and on the specific podcast episodes—for podcatchers that support episode specific art—but I could be using them as social media assets and I just . . . don't.

I could go on, talking about how many first drafts of novels I've written but not edited to publishable form, or how many episode scripts and notes for episodes that I have not recorded yet, either because I felt like they weren't quite good enough, or I needed to do a little bit more research and put some finishing touches on them before I could let them go out into the world. But I think you get the point. I don't think that all art needs to be shared, but I also know I'm holding myself back by sharing so little of what I do.

Things that have helped

Often, when being less charitable about my own shortcomings, I feel that I am too flighty and get bored with new projects. (I think that's a feeling that many neurodivergent people grapple with.) I'm proud of the fact that this podcast has been running for almost three years now. It has become a data point that I use to convince myself that I can focus on things, I can create finished products and share them with the world, and I don't lose interest in projects.

The podcast has helped me fight some of my more perfectionist qualities. My audio quality can only be so good; I live in a noisy area and I have to deal with noisy radiators that like to kick up anytime I happen to be recording an episode during the chilly months. Because I am on a consistent schedule, I have to keep putting out podcasts, whether or not the script feels completely good to me (and by good, of course I mean perfect, and nothing can clear that bar).

But I'm able to tell myself that a podcast is not an indelible object that is expected to be perfect or close to perfect. It's casual and conversational. As a medium, it's not known for being particularly polished. That allows me to let go of some of my perfectionism around podcasting.

(Of course, that doesn't stop me from fixating on moments when I misspeak or on those pauses when my brain clearly buffers in the recording--I trim those down, but I can still hear them. Also, there are definitely episodes that make me cringe, but so far I've managed to keep myself from going back into the file and recording updates and qualifications.)

Show your work

Austin Kleon, an artist and writer who focuses on creativity, has a book called Show Your Work. The book is exactly what it sounds like, and it's geared toward artists who hate self-promotion. If you want to be an artist or a creative of some kind, there's no point in creating art in isolation. You have to show people the work that you're creating.

In the book, he talks about how his own blog has been so important to his development as an artist and has led to so many connections, opportunities, and friendships. He talks about how it's important to have a body of work online, even if it isn't 100% polished. It's okay to put out things that are in progress and rough. People are interested in the creative process and the thoughts that people have while they are creating things, not just the finished product.

Despite having read this book multiple times, I still have trouble showing my work. I have my podcast, but I tend to just... not promote it, at times. The same goes for my artwork. Even though I finish a drawing almost every day, I rarely share that artwork with others except maybe—sometimes—my wife. When I started the podcast, I decided to do episode-specific art to literally force myself to share some of my work publicly.

Digital commonplace books

One of my favorite thinkers, science fiction author Cory Doctorow, is someone who, like Kleon, blogs frequently. Doctorow writes a blog post pretty much every weekday. I recently read an essay that he wrote, where he compared his tendency to write daily blog posts with old commonplace books, which people would use to record their thoughts and information that they wanted to remember.

He said his blog was a sort of digital commonplace book, which contains his thoughts on different topics as they were evolving and as he was developing them. Over time, it becomes a source of inspiration and research for him to dive back in and find tidbits that he might need in the future.

To quote from his essay:

Peter “peterme” Merholz coined the term “blog” as a playful contraction of “web-log” — like a ship’s log in which hardy adventurers upon the chaotic virtual seas could record their journeys. Though “blogs” have always been a broad church, there’s a kind of platonic ideal of a blog that’s right there in the term’s etymology: the blog as an annotated browser-history, like the traveler’s diaries my family kept on vacations, recording which hotels we stayed in and what they were like, where we dined and what we ate, which local attractions we visited and how we felt about them. Like those family trip-logs, a web-log serves as more than an aide-memoire, a record that can be consulted at a later date. The very act of recording your actions and impressions is itself powerfully mnemonic, fixing the moment more durably in your memory so that it’s easier to recall in future, even if you never consult your notes. The genius of the blog was not in the note-taking, it was in the publishing. The act of making your log-file public requires a rigor that keeping personal notes does not. Writing for a notional audience — particularly an audience of strangers — demands a comprehensive account that I rarely muster when I’m taking notes for myself. I am much better at kidding myself my ability to interpret my notes at a later date than I am at convincing myself that anyone else will be able to make heads or tails of them.

Zettlekasten

The essay is excellent, and you should just read that, but I love this idea of thinking about daily blogging as a sort of repository of ideas or digital commonplace book. I am a enthusiastic user of the zettelkasten method of taking notes, which has a fairly similar vibe.

I'll have to write about zettlekasten another time, because it's something I am passionate about. In the six months that I've been using it, the method has helped me so much with my research and with synthesizing and developing my own ideas. I'm a real PKM (personal knowledge management) nerd, no surprise there.

But to be brief: The zettlekasten method involves taking in information from books and articles and other sources, and then putting it into your own words and synthesizing your own ideas around them—and putting all of that into an atomized, interconnected notetaking system. That aspect of a zettelkasten system has a lot in common with the idea of blogging daily, and I think that these two ideas mesh nicely.  

Sharing

I'm also very inspired by the artist Todd Purse, who posts a daily drawing and accompanying podcast episode. His work is so lovely and always puts a smile on my face, and I admire his talent, dedication, and positivity.

I know that sharing more and would be helpful for me in my paranormal research. I also have plenty of things to say about some subjects that aren't ready for their own episode, and I can only assume that spreading information within the community would be helpful.

It's not that I think my ideas are so groundbreaking, but I consume a lot of information. I don't like my tendency to hoard what I've learned just because I think my presentation of the knowledge isn't good enough. Kleon includes an Annie Dillon quote in his book that really stuck with me: "The impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes."

Also, hopefully, by putting these things in blog posts, I will allow myself to be a little bit less strict about how good—or perfect—something needs to be.

Just like the necessity of publishing my podcast helps me be less of a perfectionist, I hope that this will help me put my thoughts into writing and share my art, which I plan to post alongside my blog posts, and not hold back so much.

I really want to try to embody the idea of preparing less and risking more. And I think this is a great way for me to do that. I almost certainly won't be blogging everyday, or even five days a week, but even aiming for the goal of blogging five days a week should help me create a lot of new and interesting stuff. So this is the beginning of my quest to try to prepare less, risk more, and share more with my community. And if you recognize any of these tendencies in yourself, I can only encourage you to find a way to share your work, as well.

Note: I'll be cross posting these essays on Medium and in my newsletter, so you can read them or sign up to receive them either place, if that's easier for ya. This post originally went live on 03/13/23.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

--

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

--

masterpost

[taiyami]

I am on a quest to be a nicer person, so due to your ask box having an interesting title, I would like to ask two things:

Who are your favorite characters in Bleach?

What kind of bird would they be?

Consider your quest fulfilled!

Such interesting choices to choose from.. my favorites are currently Hisagi, Kira, Ukitake and Bazz-B to keep the list short!

Bazz-B; Pink Cockatoo (not to be mistaken with a galah, Cacatua leadbeateri)

-> OBVIOUS choice. Cockatoos not only sport a beautiful head crest that's for emotional displays, but are also some of the most insufferable birds.. i know from experience, but they're intelligent, loud, and quite good at scaring people away. Of course I could have picked a rooster too.. a fearless chicken perhaps?

Ukitake Jushiro; Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)

-> Mostly due to the mute swan being considered the most quiet swan species, but also because they have several ties to varied myth and lore. They stay with their partners through their entire lives, are fiercely loyal and look docile.. though as we know appearances aren't always as they seem!

Kira Izuru; I'll admit I had a really hard time choosing this one, but I kind of like a Common Raven (Corvus corax) for Izuru.

-> now now I know what you're thinking .. but ravens really resonated with me. Ravens are deeply rooted in mythology for being omens of good luck or the end of suffering. They are solitary animals most of the time, unlike their corvid cousins the crow, and are often more quiet and less intrusive. However, they're still incredibly intelligent and form strange bonds with several apex predators in order to benefit from a good meal and protection. Their deep culling calls were said to be the sound of ghosts and the voices of the damned .. spooky !

And last, Hisagi Shuhei; ... a Satin bowerbird (Ptilonorhynchus violaceus)

-> quite a silly bird for kind of a silly man. Bowerbirds are known for one thing and one thing only .. no not the iconic tattoo. Building elaborate displays ! Bowerbirds consistently obsess over building their bowers and will spend hours attempting to get it right. Male Bowebirds are KNOWN for their chivalrous intentions with females (like, considered one of the most "consent" friendly birds on the planet!), and known for their habits of stealing any colored object they can find to adorn their bowers. Each bird has a preference for different colors, I suggest looking up bowerbird bowers if you want to see some cool displays. Their dedication to their own unique creations, hard working attitudes and chivalrous behavior remind me a lot of shuhei.

I wonder what other people would choose for them .. I'm sure lots of people consider Hisagi a raven, but if anything he'd be a crow (attracted to material things.. very personable.. looks mean but is just a guy). Hope these peaked your interest!