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ormspryde · 7 months ago

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Quietta breeds in Terca Lumireis

This is pretty much entirely HC, so do with it what you will.

Universal traits - eyes glow blue in low light, clawed hooves, omnivorous, nocturnal (necessitating the masks to protect their large eyes)

Can be gelded, mare, or stallion

Possible colors: white, black, green, blue, pink, red, brown, blond, very rarely purple, gold, or grey

Specific breeds:

Szarvasan blue: As the name suggests, this breed tends to have a mane and tail in shades of blue anywhere from an almost teal to midnight. Its body coat ranges from grey to a light, sky blue and shades in between. The Szarvasan blue stands anywhere from 14-15 hands at the withers, with dense bone, high tail carriage, and rather small muzzles; as well as having greater physical strength than might be indicated by its size. They were bred for both speed and endurance, and are used as a general purpose transport breed. They can also be trained to race or trained to the cart and, while not specialized as a war breed, are intelligent enough to be trained for battle as well. This breed originated in the forests to the northeast of Ilyccia.

Kravtaw: Bred for heavy physical labor, this breed has a body coat in shades of brown, blond, or grey, with a mane and tail ranging from rust red to ivory white; and rarely, other shades as well. They're considered a heavy draft breed, with high strength and endurance; used for plowing, drawing wagons or carts, hauling artillery, forestry, and even occasionally towing barges up narrow canals. This breed stands 16-17.2 hands at the withers, heavily built, with a large chest, long head, large eyes, and a heavy, arched neck. They're very easy going, and very occasionally see use as riding beasts.

Swiftheart: Bred for speed, the Swiftheart is almost exclusively used for hunting, racing, or any other application that requires agility or high speed in the sprint. These animals have a rather nervous temperament, and are not a breed for beginner quietta owners. Their body coat varies from a golden color to a light green, while their mane and tail tend towards shades of green or blue - occasionally purple. This breed usually stands between 14-16 hands, with a lean, well muscled body and a short head.

Naj-sadar: Very rare outside of Desier, these animals were bred for speed and endurance in the desert, and therefore require less food and water than other breeds of quietta. They have a strange metallic sheen to their coat; the inhabitants of the desert covering most of the continent of (desier) swear that it helps reflect the sun off them, keeping them cool. Their body hair ranges from golden, to rust red, even to a light grey, while their rather sparse mane and tail tend to be white or light green. They usually have almond shaped eyes, with a slightly convex profile to the head, thin skin, and long ears. As well as being used for desert transport and hauling carts, their intelligence allows them to be trained as show jumpers.

Zopheirian ambler: One of the northern breeds originating in the mountains around the town of Holmsbu, the Zopheirian ambler is friendly, docile, and easy to handle, not easily spooked by whatever might cross its path. They tend to have brown or blond body hair, although some can shade lighter into white, or darker into black; their manes and tails are usually a dark grey, with some hint of green, blue, or red. This breed is rather small, standing at 13-14 hands at the withers. They are well adapted for the cold, developing a thick, double-coated layer of fur during the winter. These animals are stocky, used for pack animals, meat, or riding even across the roughest terrain.

Nyitomy red: A very old breed, the Nyitomy red is favored by both nobles and commoners of the northern towns of the continent of Ilyccia. As the name suggests, the body hair of this breed is almost always a medium rust red, though other shades are possible; the rather long mane and tail of this animal ranges from a medium bright red shade all the way to to a deep burgundy and even darker. They range from 12-14 hands, with a long nose, large barrel, thick legs, and a rather large muzzle. They're a cold hardy, all-purpose breed, used for riding over rough terrain, milk, and meat. They can also be trained for battle, cart pulling, and even racing.

Gardyr: A breed of northern farming quietta, the Gardyr is considered a light draft beast. The Gardyr is a compact, muscular breed, with slight feathering on the legs and a coat that grows in thick in the winter and is usually a light pink or rust color, with a dark feral stripe running down the length of the back. This breed's mane and tail tend to earth shades, although other colors are possible. Even tempered, this breed of quietta is strong enough to be used for plowing or hauling wood, but it's also agile enough to be a good riding or riding beast, or even used in hauling competitions.

Rouncey: The Rouncey is an offshoot of the Szarvasan blue, bred for the use of the knights. They are very similar to their ancestral breed; however, they were also bred to facilitate mounted combat and are considered less intelligent by the quietta connoisseur. They tend to serve as a cheaper breed for the needs of the lower class knights, though they were also bred to have a distinctive appearance from the Szarvasan blue. They tend to have white body hair, with mane and tail ranging anywhere from a forest green to a medium blue.

Destrier: Also known as the 'great quietta', this is one type of quietta bred for the knights, though only the nobility or the higher ranks can afford this rather expensive breed. They tend to be rather striking in appearance; either stark white or black, with long, flowing mane and tail in shades of red or pink - very rarely, purple - and some amount of feathering around the hooves. This breed is agile, with a short back and well muscled hindquarters, an arched neck, short ears, and wide-set eyes. They stand at around 15-17 hands at the withers, and are muscular and agile, with a brisk and high-stepping trot. When they're not being ridden in battle, these animals also serve to draw carriages, and they can also be ridden in tournaments.

Courser: Used by the knights who need to get somewhere in a hurry, the Course has been bred for both speed and endurance, and is capable of holding a trot at high speed for a long time. This breed tends to have a white body coat, and their mane and tail runs through shades of blue or green. Standing from 14.2-16.2 hands tall, the Course has a well-shaped head with a broad, well-defined chest, powerful hindquarters, and a tail set high on the rump. In addition to its use as a speedy riding quietta, the Courser is used in tournaments, especially for show jumping.

Palfrey: An expensive breed of quietta with an ambling gait, the Palfrey is used most often by the nobility so as to not fatigue their heavier warbeasts before combat. Breed for flashy looks, as well as speed and stamina both, this animal is tall and robust, usually standing at a bit over 15 hands at the withers; they have strong legs, with a big head and large eyes. They tend to have either a white or black body coat, with a bright blue mane and tail. Like the more expensive Destrier, these animals are also used to draw carts.

Somneur: The somneur is a breed generally used as pack animals by the knights. Their coat, tail, and mane colors can vary widely, but tend to earth tones, as this isn't so much a breed meant to show off prowess or wealth so much as do a simple job. They tend to stand 14-15 hands at the withers, and are tall, narrow bodied, and rangy, with a sparse mane and tail. Despite their sometimes bedraggled looks, some find use for this breed as more than simple pack animals; rather, they see occasional use as racing beasts, depending on the size and conformation of the quietta in question.

Feral 'breeds':

Wild quiettas: While no longer very common due to the encroachment of humans and feral breeds of domestic quietta, the wild ancestor of the quietta can still be found in and around the Weasand of Cados on the continent of Desier. This breed is usually some shade of blond or brown, smaller than a domestic quietta, and remains a rather shy, nocturnal animal.

Vadállat: Self-breeding from a mix of escaped Szarvasan blue, Somneurs, and whatever other quiettas might manage to escape into the wild, this breed roams forests from southern to northern Ilyccia. They tend to be rather smaller than domestic quiettas, though bigger than their wild ancestors, and can come in a variety of colors depending on what percentage of which breed mixed to make them. They're less shy than wild quiettas, and are sometimes even captured to serve as mounts, after a process of breaking to the saddle.

Vandris: Mostly originating from escaped northern quiettas, especially the Nyitomy red but sometimes the Gardyr, this breed tends to roam the farther northern reaches of the continent of Ilyccia, especially around the Blade Drifts of Zopheir. They're very well adapted to the cold because beasts who aren't don't survive long, and tend to be small with short limbs and long fur, mane, and tail in a variety of earth shades. These quiettas mostly serve as meat animals for the poorer people of the north.

Bete Morais: Originating from escaped quiettas from the region around Zaphias, the Bete Morais is a small but rugged breed. It has a thick mane and long legs, and lives mostly in marshy areas. This breed is nearly as shy as its wild ancestors, and stays as far away from human habitations as possible.

#tales of vesperia #worldbuilding #headcanon #fanfic

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stealing-the-smp · 2 months ago

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Skywarians - Species List

Skywarians are born with a color for a team and have to just commit to it and it’s not genetic seems to be decided on different factors so your mom could be pink and your dad brown and you be lime

These creatures are very into entertainment like the sky wars which are competitions of strength, skill, smarts, and agility this is actually important enough to their society that they’ve evolved to more easily do these

They also like competitions like race car races, and one on one fights, hide and seeking games, and more they really like their competition or at least their society has conditioned them to do so

Traits

They got sticky paw pads to climb up walls and the paw pads are in your color

They have long thin tails with fur at the end (think lion tails but longer slicker fur at the end almost like a feather) that are usually wagging if happy or flicking back and forth at different speeds depending on emotion their tails are always moving unless they train themselves to not have it always moving

They have antenna that can sense air currents it’s like a second pair of eyes not strong eyes but they can sense around 5 inches around the antenna or more if they train themselves but may not notice something till it moves

They got pointed ears that are a bit bigger then human ears for better catching of sound and the points of the ears are in their color

They got blood colored based on team and certain veins may be where you can see them but that’s normal on certain Skywarians but if it just starts happening randomly past age 10 that may mean the Skywarian is ill

Temperature is always cold from 55°F-65°F their body keeps them at that temperature or if they get too warm their organs and veins get unhealthy and may fail

They usually have blond or white hair but other traits such as markings, tails, eyes, ear tips, blood, wings, paw pads, antenna and other things will be in your color also they somehow have human like skin colors but some are lighter or darker then what’s possible for a human (think colorless whites and pitch blacks) it’s really rare but possible in their genetics. They commonly also have something like Vitiligo but it can be spots of either other skin colors(rarer) or your color(almost everyone has these) and is more just markings either defined or really random. Freckles also can be of your color

Albinos are possible and would have red eyes despite their color so they’ll probably be classified a red despite how their personality will match the color they are might be kind of overwhelming to them

The colors on them can glow if they so choose to but they have to decide to do so it won’t happen otherwise

Gender does not matter to these guys but a lot do present masculinely or androgynous given they tend towards that over feminine characteristics but may like long hair if they weren’t fighting each other for sport where it could be pulled also they may use feminine pronouns

Outfits depend on the person but something similar to hoodies are common outside of the fights given the species likes the softness also in fights they avoid anything that could be grabbed usually some precautions being they have turtleneck based shirts that stick close to their skin along with long sleeves that just end in gloves and it’s themed in their color they also usually just wear this under everything

Colors and Traits

Red are usually more angry then usual and aggressive they may lean towards swords

Blue are calm and precise and usually use bows also they have bug like wings

Yellow are usually calculative and charismatic they may use their words over fighting also they have bug like wings

Orange are usually cheerful and are now users

Purple are usually sneaky and smart may sneak around and act kind of cold to others which matches how they are the coldest in temperature and may use any weapons

Pink are brave and use swords

Brown are creative and bow users

Black are usually outcasts but they sneak around dark areas being great scouts also they’ll usually make alliances if anyone agrees they use swords

Grey are outcasts as well but don’t try to make connections and they use a lot of weapons

Green are aggressive more then red they use swords also they have bug like wings

Lime are sweet and friendly but people are wary because of the greens they use bows also they have bug like wings

Cyan are silly and pull pranks and use bows

The colors only matter during battle otherwise all get along being families and friends and partners but when fighting they fight each other with few rules of competition like

Don’t kill someone purposefully

If someone says their down they are down

Don’t attack someone trying to retrieve a injured

If someone is dying pause and try to help

There’s a few leagues for them to fight in

Kiddos (5-10 in training)

Promising Kiddos (Stronger 5-10s)

Young (11-18)

Promising Young (Stronger 11-18)

True Warriors (18+)

Trained True Warriors (Stronger 18+)

Elders (Elders depends on the person they’ll be classified)

Let’s look at the two who exist so far

Astin is a purple one and actually is blinded but is still a purple clearly with how he will sometimes be sneaky and cold also he uses a sword given without his sight a bow is kind of hard to aim he’s actually in the promising categories given he was really good at it also he’s adapted to his blindness with his antenna and being good at hearing and smelling

Whiterose is a Yellow and he’s actually changed his theming to a white coloration with yellow detailing with accessories and his few yellow freckles that he usually uses makeup to cover also he’s got wings that kind of reflect bee wings which he really enjoys but hides in his hoodie also he has long hair in a ponytail which he hides his antenna in so only non human trait he shows off is his tail which he tends to still when being professional to show how much control he has over his own body also he uses a axe given those weren’t on the skywarian planet but once he found one he found it a great weapon!

I just made a entire detailed species for two characters in a dsmp rewrite I’m doing for my autism but like feel free to make ocs just credit me for the species tbh also I might add more later especially about their original world

#species info #Skywarians #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp rewrite #dream smp rewrite #stealing the smp #species #original species #alien species #minecraft #skywars

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ghost-at-the-masquerade · 3 years ago

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Friends in Low Places

Part 2: Tourist Trap

Rating: PG

Count: 2666

Summary: A few days after the events of Tremors, the trio stops for a bite and tour of a roadside attraction. Or: Juliette makes an excellent choice, and Zeke makes a bad one.

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“Afraid she’s never gonna be the same after a shock to her suspension like that.” Zeke sighed, patting the side of the truck as he came around. Juliette and Roscoe sat on the tailgate, boxes and bags of their belongings pressed against their backs.

“Is it real bad?” Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese-steak, brows creased.

“Well, it’s not good, but we’ll get by.” He shrugged and leaned past her to grab his own sandwich.

Juliette swung her feet, marveling at the sweeping height of the pines around them. The smell of ceders heavy in the air. They were parked in a gravel lot with nothing but half-rotted blocks of wood to mark the spaces. Back around the bend, toward where they came in, was the little food stand where they had grabbed their lunch; a weather-stained building with just two windows to order from and three friendly, stocky folk tending it. In the other direction was their next destination.

A building made of logs almost black in color, with a steep roof and its name up in gaudy, blood-orange lettering; Twinkle Cove’s House of Terrors. ‘Terrors’ had a dripping effect that had clearly been added later. It might have been a home once, but the windows and doors had since been replaced with dark frosted glass. The inside of the door was plastered with fliers for other local businesses.

Once they were done eating, Zeke led the group to join just one other small party in the lobby, ditching their trash in the can outside. A gust from the AC swept over them at the threshold, making way for the faint smell of dust and taxidermy. Lights over each display cast heavy shadows to hide the seams on the tackier fakes. Floor vents rattled in the corners.

Zeke removed his sunglasses and let them hang from his shirt collar, grinning all the while. Usually he tried not to make comments about Juliette’s stops, not wanting to influence her choices, but he loved this hokey shit and could make no secret of it.

The counter to their left was manned by a spindly fellow who reminded Zeke of a harvestman; those tiny, long-legged spiders. Dressed in a clean black suit and cloak, gloves and bowtie a rich sanguine, topped off with too-big silver cufflinks and a swirl in his hair. He acknowledged them with a nod and a flash of pearly-whites.

The three of them split across the room. Juliette went for the counter, its glass case holding an array of trinkets. Gems inset in gargoyle claws, decently realistic rats, wands and supposedly cursed objects.

Zeke himself made a round of the room, looking over the displays that you got for free. A passable piece of taxidermy claiming to be a were-badger, crafted, as far as he could tell, from a honey badger and a red fox. A tuft of brown hair that almost looked burnt, kept behind glass; the plaque described it as a trophy from an encounter with the local woodland witch. Several unsettling mannequins he couldn’t get a good look at, since they were occupying the small family also in the lobby.

Roscoe went to peep down the hallway to the right, which was cornered off with a single strip of velvet rope. When they went to lay a hand on it, the man at the counter tutted and called out in what was surely his stage voice, “Folks if you would just gather here, I’d be glad to sign you up for our grand tour!”

Juliette side-stepped over in front of the register to be first in line, a cheeky smile on her face. The man returned her a smile that crinkled his eyes. Zeke joined her shortly, and it took no time at all the register both parties.

Thus the lot of them gathered in front of the rope divide, the man in charge standing before them with his shoulders braced and hands twisted together. It was hard to tell if the posture was part of the bit, or genuine nerves.

“Hello, hello, I’m your host and owner of all these terrible delights, Terry!” He stumbled over his script with an appreciative laugh when a couple of them cheered. Moving the rope aside, he gathered himself and continued, “Stay close behind me and don’t touch anything you aren’t willing to… get attached to.”

With that and a menacing laugh the tour began. Through the first narrow hallway, with concerningly real cobwebs in its crooks and crannies, past an alcove leading to a bathroom and an office, they took a left-hand turn into a room even darker than the lobby.

As their host briefly explained; “Certain items can be damaged over time in bright lights. No flash photography, of course.”

There were the staples of places like this; traces of Bigfoot and hair of the moth-man, hooves of unicorns even. More interesting was a purple checked hood, dropped by the flatwoods monster - the holes in front lightly singed from the intense light of the creature’s eyes. Surprisingly life-like stone statues of woodland critters, victims of a basilisk. The basilisk itself, even, or a depiction of it.

“Even the corpse is dangerous!” Terry proclaimed, a finger held sternly in the air, “Not suitable for display.”

To his credit, Terry seemed genuinely enthused about each and every piece. But his clear favorite, in the final room, was most impressive of all.

This room was smaller than the others they had passed through, holding only one display. Hidden behind a heavy satin curtain, deep red and lightly dusty. Terry crossed the room with a twirl of his cape, his hands almost seemed to tremble as he reached for the thick braided cord that would pull back the curtain.

“Parents, please hold on to your children.” The party of strangers obliged for the hell of it. Juliette made a point of scooting away from both Zeke and Roscoe.

Terry yanked the cord and revealed a dark, hairy, humanoid figure. Vaguely canine in the face, with great black horns that scraped the ceiling. Hands that weren’t quite hands, but not quite paws either, with jagged, broken claws. Roscoe leaned closer, mouth open slightly. The thing’s fur was as black and fluid as ink, eyes shimmering unnaturally bright for the dimness of the room. Surely, it had to be a sort of projection, but search as the eye might, they could not find the subtle tells.

“The grand prize that no doubt drew you to this place, the lesser demon slain by our very own local monster hunter, Paul Anderson!” Terry shook like an excitable dog.

The younger of the two children there reached out. When their fingertips brushed its bent knee, a single second shattered into a thousand. The beast’s head snapped down, teeth barred in a growl. It staggered forward, knocking over the rope divide. The children shrieked and all seven of the guests scrambled backwards.

Zeke’s hand snapped to his side automatically, instinctively going for his revolver. Thankfully, it was still in the car, so the situation would escalate no further. Terry was absolutely howling with laughter.

He crowed after the little family, who were already back in the previous room, “All in good fun, all in good fun, that’s the one that keeps them coming back!”

Roscoe clutched their heart, despite being blank-faced as ever, aside the raised eyebrows. Juliette tugged at her braid.

Zeke spat out the scare and laughed. “Aw, okay, you got us. That’s pretty damn good. What’s that, animatronic-?”

Terry didn’t even let him finish, moving out of the room, “I’m afraid that’s all there is to see for now! But we always have more attractions coming, if you’d come see us again in the fall…!” His spiel continuing as they returned to the lobby.

With a little distance, everyone was in good spirits about it, though the younger child was a bit huffy in denying that they’d been scared. The family argued briefly over whether to buy anything before ultimately leaving empty-handed. Juliette gently bullied Roscoe into buying her one of the cursed spoons from the display case. Roscoe cast a meaningful glance back at Zeke before taking her outside.

Business concluded, the register rung - an old fashioned thing - and Terry came around the register again. He cast a wary, sideways look at Zeke as he went to set the rope barrier back in place. “Something I can help you with?”

Zeke sidled up next to him with a few casual, swinging steps, put on a sloppy, side-ways kind of smile and a bit of concern on his brow. He clicked his tongue and looked around the lobby as he spoke, “Awfully bold of you to be flauntin’ it like that these days. Pretty neat setup you got going on, though. How’s the monster-hunter involved?”

When he actually turned to look at him, Terry was frozen stiff, breathing in quick, shallow breaths. Zeke held up his hands, any humor dropping from his expression.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I’m not-” the rest of his words were forced out in a gasp as Zeke threw himself aside. He turned back to find a comically large axe splitting the floor where he had just been standing. His gaze shot up to Terry’s face, wide-eyed, unreadable.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He held out a hand even as he crawled backwards toward the hall. Terry shook his head rapidly, fists clenched in his cape.

“That’s what they all say!” Shadows shot up to swallow the light from outside, crept up the walls like thousands of spiders to dim the overhead lights. Terry jerked his arm out dramatically, “That’s what all of them said!”

The weight of those words came into focus quickly; the three grotesque mannequins, their horrified faces looking as though they’d been covered in clay, came to flank Terry. Their bases scratched the floorboards, following as he moved into the hall after Zeke.

Zeke did all he could do; scramble to his feet and try to put distance between them. The options for where he could get it were severely limited; continue on down the hall, into the bathroom, or the office. Zeke didn’t fancy being cornered that quickly. He backed away, still holding up a single pacifying hand. The walls cracked and splintered on either side of him, oozing viscous void from their wounds. Lightbulbs screamed, formless things flitted through the edges of his vision.

“Listen, I’m not here to start anything,” Steady words that simply bounced off his pursuer as they made it into the main display room, “It’s not like that, I’m not with those bastards.”

“I won’t be lied to. I won’t be taken that easy.” Terry spat. The jackalope in the case to his left sprung to life, flailing and trying to bite through the glass, dead eyes flashing. Zeke’s eyes flitted around the room for his next move.

The room dimmed further and suddenly silver flashed in Terry’s hand. A simple, smooth blade. Something clicked together in Zeke’s head, but there wasn’t even time for it to form as a whole thought before Terry threw.

Zeke’s arm shot up in defense, but to no avail. A glass display teetered as he staggered back against the wall. Pain coursed through his ribs - far less than it seemed like there should be. Ragged breaths drew through his teeth as he saw but couldn’t feel the blood pooling up under his fingers. Something that sounded like stomping was lost at the edge of his perception, overtaken by static.

Everything in the room distorted and flickered, twisted and turned sickeningly, lights searing bright before settling back into normalcy. And then it was gone; the knife was gone, both flesh and fabric mended. He palpated the spot just to be sure.

His gaze shot back up to where Terry stood shaking, eyes glistening. The mannequins were gone. And over Terry’s shoulder, he could see Roscoe, an indecipherable mess of guilt and pain and concern on their face, their hands laid on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry - I don’t like to do it so quickly.”

“He stabbed me!” Zeke objected to the apology, hand still on the spot where the knife had been.

They couldn’t really disagree, so they just grimaced and tilted their head.

Zeke pushed himself upright. “Can we please just talk now?!”

“Are you going to take me in, then?” Terry’s voice was small. Frightened. He swallowed and said more insistently, “All I can do is scare people, I’m no good to you. Just parlor tricks.”

Zeke did his best to steady his voice, “No, I tried to tell you, it’s not like that.”

But with his only defense disabled, the fear split him anyway. “Then what?! What do you want?!”

Something like guilt made Zeke’s temper flare, “I just - wanted you to know you got fucking caught! That somebody who knows something about conduits is going to see through you if you keep this up!” Zeke turned on his heel, away from the palpable tension in the room.

Terry did nothing to cut it; he stayed stock still, looking at the ground until he finally slipped to his knees. Roscoe backed away a step.

Zeke put a hand over his mouth and sighed through his nose, trying to ignore the tiny adrenaline tremors still coursing through his arms. He turned back with a suspicious squint.

“If it’s all just tricks of light then how did it hurt?”

Terry looked over to the jackalope display, conspicuously fingering the hole where his cuff-link had been, “I mean, objects can be disguised…”

Zeke’s face felt hot. Had he really reacted so dramatically to something so small? Fear had a power all its own.

“The hunter - you asked about the hunter, Anderson,” Terry twisted his hands together, “He- he caught me. And said… said I could use him as part of the story…”

The subtext settled neatly beneath the silence, like dust beneath a sheet.

“You wanted to talk, that’s where I am. He hasn’t imposed much and it’s been good for business. So what do I do?”

Many questions compounded into one. None that Zeke had the answers to.

“What do I do?” He repeated, shoulders drawn in.

Zeke opened his mouth, but all that came out at first was another sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t-” He walked past them into the hall on autopilot. He needed out of this suffocating place.

Roscoe picked up for him, knelt down next to Terry and produced from their vest a light purple business card. “The best we can offer is somewhere to run, if it comes to that.”

Terry took the card like it might come alive and snap at him.

Zeke heard the two continue to talk, softer now, but didn’t tune in to what else was said. Then Roscoe’s hand was on his back, leading him outside.

The light of day was blinding after the all-consuming dark Terry imposed, every bit of metal or particularly bright rock boring into him. Zeke breathed deep the smell of ceder and hot stone as he put his sunglasses back on.

“Coulda gone better.”

Roscoe laughed and put their hands on their knees. “It was not one of your better showings… I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

“Two pieces, but yeah.”

They laughed again as they straightened up, letting their arms hang loose. “But are you okay?”

“Okay as I’m gonna be. Feel kinda stupid.”

“Normal, then.”

Zeke punched their arm, smirking anyway, “Asshole…”

Across the lot, Juliette was hanging out the window, arms crossed on the edge.

Zeke looked to Roscoe, but from the corner of his eye, he could see movement in the lobby. Inside, Terry quickly looked away, the card still in both hands, face drawn. Zeke sighed. “Put it in the Rolodex… I think we’ll be back.”

#Infamous #Infamous 2 #Zeke Dunbar #that's a dumb trans joke toward the end. because I'm trans and dumb

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dollfaceeeeee · 4 years ago

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somewhere in the pacific north west..

It’s cold, colder than I anticipate, and the rain settles against the outside of the small, compact house like a heavy breath; drilling into the windows and dragging me out of a heavy sleep.

For the first time in a long time, I’ve slept through the night, finding peace in the silence of Paul’s home, nestled gently against the coastal line of La Push beach, one of my favorite places in the world.

I know I’m late, beyond late, and I know my mom may or may not have called a search team out for me, because I notice the hazy sunlight that threatens to spill out from the clouds.

And, once I take a look at my phone, I know I’m right.

Paul’s arm is thrown tightly across my waist, his fingers slightly brushing against the waist band of my jeans, and his breath slides smoothly across the top of my head; even with sleep, something he doesn’t get as often as he should.

It feels like centuries ago that he and I became something more than friends, finding a solace in each other that I’ve never found in the gloomy town of Forks, and he’s never found in the exciting reservation of La Push.

I know that’s not true, because the women here are way prettier than I’ll ever be, in my opinion.

Attempting to slide out from Paul’s grip, I soon realize, is impossible, because once I do, his eyes snap open and he tumbles headfirst onto the floor at my feet.

“Damn it,” he hisses, rubbing his shoulder as he drags himself, groggily, to his feet; my lips straining to hold back the laughter that threatens to spill out.

He tries not to smile, but his attempts fall short as I watch that familiar warm grin curl across his face.

“I’m sorry, that was just too good.”

Fumbling with my school supplies, I shove them all back into my backpack and zip it up before tossing it across my back, stumbling slightly under the weight.

His smile drops slightly before it ghosts away, his eyes training on my movements in the semi darkness of the gloomy morning day.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” I answer him, shrugging, “I’ve never been out all night without letting my mom know where I am, and she’s probably freaking out. I think I should...get back.”

Friday’s, normally, are spent on the reservation with Paul and the guys, doing schoolwork and helping Jake work on his fresh new project - this just so happens to be a 1963 Jaguar E Type.

It’s what I look forward to, every week.

“Let me go with you,” he instructs, pulling on a grey Tshirt and sneakers before pulling open his bedroom door for me.

Paul is a werewolf, like Jacob, Sam, Quil, Embry, Seth, Leah, and Jared; sometimes this fact doesn’t quite settle in to my skull correctly, and I have to repeat it to myself again.

Paul is a wolf.

Unlike Jacob, his protective wolfy instincts kick in around me, considering I’m his imprint, which means he’s technically going to be attached to me for life, whether it’s romantically or not.

Luckily for me, I think I’d do just about anything for Paul Lahote if he asked me to.

Well, besides avoiding the Cullens, but that’s impossible to do, given that we go to the same school, and Emmett is my lab partner.

More on that later.

Paul leans into the door to let me by, his tall figure towering over me like a weed, and I watch as he pulls the door shut behind him before leading me outside.

The rain is a constant companion in Washington, bringing a heavy ambush of constant precipitation and wind chill that makes it always hang at a steady 50 degrees Fahrenheit.

I know this town like the back of my hand; I’ve lived here all my life, went to school here, ate here, had my teeth cleaned here.

My mother even dates one of the natives from La Push, which still bothers me sometimes, only for the meager fact that my father died barely a year ago.

I’m interconnected to this land in ways I’ve never thought I could be to something that isn’t human.

Paul orders me to wait at the door while he rushes to get my SUV, a lingering black mass at the edge of his property, and I notice his father’s vehicle is gone; probably out to work for the day, an early riser, much like his son.

It doesn’t take Paul long to bring my SUV up close to the door, and I slide into the passenger seat comfortably, grateful for the heavy blast of heat that sways from the vents.

Tossing my bag into the backseat, I sigh loudly before getting comfortable in my seat, watching as Paul pushes the car from the property with accuracy and precision.

“You didn’t have to do this. I know Sam will be coming to look for you shortly to track down that vampire.”

Paul rolls his eyes, his hair slightly damp from the rain, and it looks great on him; his chocolate brown eyes set on the road, screening through the heavy drizzle of rain.

“Bella Swan is not, and has never been, my priority. You are. Sam can wait.”

Having a fresh new vampire face in town makes me uneasy, and rightfully so, because I know this new addition is not here for a pleasant trip.

She, also, doesn’t drink animal blood, much like the well known Cullens do.

I know Jacob wants to protect Bella, but it’s for a hopeless cause; he’s in love with her, and killing the vampire targeting her won’t get him what he wants.

He will never get what he wants.

“Yes, but isn’t it your sworn duty to protect humans? Isn’t that in your handy, dandy werewolf manual, somewhere?”

Paul’s jaw locks, his eyes stealing a glance in my direction, sparkling with irritation and mischief and I can’t help but laugh.

“Handy, dandy werewolf manual? Christ, do I wish there was one of those. Having to unwillingly share my fantasies of you with my pack is fucking awful.”

This time, he’s the one to laugh as I shoot him a glare, the interior of the car barely illuminated with light.

Fuck you, Paul Lahote.

“Seriously? Are you serious?”

“No,” he states sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter, “of course not, baby. Those fantasies are only for you to know. Do you honestly think I’d be able to let any of them live if I was?”

Smiling, I shake my head as I picture Quil, unwillingly, having to see an image of me naked, and how disgusted he would be.

Well, gotta love Quil Ateara.

“You’re probably right. With your insane anger issues, there would be no way any of them would live under those circumstances. They’d be dead.”

“Exactly.”

Leaning over, I watch as he twists the vents off on his side of the car, grimacing slightly under the weight of the heat coming in, and I instantly feel bad as I reach for the heater dial.

“Just turn it off, baby, I’m-“

My words are cut off as the vehicle sharply swerves dangerously at an angle, cutting across the asphalt like glass; Paul hitting the brakes heavily, his hands controlling the steering gracefully before everything pulls to a direct stop.

Paul inhales sharply, his eyes dusting around the trees along the sides of the road, darker than usual and cold as ice.

He pulls the car to the side of the road before cutting the engine, his hands hovering over the steering wheel, clenching it so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“Paul, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“There’s a vampire, somewhere,” he says softly, locking and unlocking his jaw before looking at me, “it doesn’t smell familiar, like those Cullens, either. This is different. Something..new.”

Inhaling sharply, I move to look out the windshield at the trees that lay before us, cold and wet and dark, before I hear Paul lean back and grab my bag.

“I’m going to have to change. I’m not sure I can get you back to Forks if they’re following us. Do you trust me?”

I’ve never seen a vampire up close, a real one, outside of the Cullens, and it makes me strangely uneasy and discouraged, as I try to focus on what he’s saying.

“What about my car?”

“Do you trust me,” he repeats, eyeing me sharply in the dark, and I can hear the rain slamming into the sides of the car before I nod.

Of course I do, of course I trust him.

“You know I do.”

“Then listen carefully, because once I change, I can’t talk. Get out of the car, put your bag on your back. And hop on my back. I’ll run you to Sam’s where I know you’ll be safe.”

“But, my mom, what about my mom?”

Paul runs a hand down the length of his face, glancing to and from the forest that lay beyond, looking more and more menacing.

“Once I’m in wolf form, I’ll contact Jared and Quil and make sure they get to your mother first, I promise. She will be fine. I can only care about you right now. Do you know what to do?”

I can only get myself to nod, my heart hammering in my chest, before I shrug on my backpack in the small space of the front seat.

Leaning toward me, Paul grabs my face and presses his lips against mine, and for a split second, it makes me feel safe, like nothing can hurt me; like I’m as weightless as a cloud, forming and shifting above the earth.

“I love you.”

Giving me a slight shove, I slide out of the car and into the rain, yanking the door shut behind me.

I know he isn’t in the car anymore, much like I know that we aren’t alone out here, and it makes me feel like a lamp in a department store window, flashing to passing customers.

Focus.

I jump once I notice Paul’s wolf form sidle up next to me, his shoulders knocking against mine before he snarls into the dark.

There’s my cue, I suppose.

Inhaling sharply, I heave myself up onto his massive wolf form, much larger than a normal horse, and I’m impressed when I find myself sitting comfortably on his back, his fur brushing against my open skin.

And, just as fast as he became the wolf, he was gone.

Now, I’ve ridden many roller coasters in my life time; I’ve hit the loop de loops, the tall drops, the upside downs, but nothing has ever prepared me for this.

Even in the darkness, it’s exhilarating; the rain whips against my face like a battering ram, jarring me out of focus, but I learn to adapt as Paul leaps under and over shrouds of greenery in the early morning light.

I don’t see anything else, besides me and Paul, but I’m sure my human eyes can fool me, because every so often, I’ll notice Paul look over toward the right, into the patch of darkness that seems to stretch on and on into the early morning.

My fingers curl around the fur on Paul’s back, and I find myself leaning into it as he moves through the forest, racing as the animal he was born with, the animal that’s always been a part of him.

Inhaling, I can smell the damp earth, coated with moss and ferns, and the fresh ocean water not too far away that seems to coat everything in a vice grip, and it seems to clear away my senses for a moment, just a moment, as I steal a quick glance behind me.

In the darkness, a patch of red seems to bloom from a patch of trees, and a smile dances across a phantom face.

#paul lahote #twilight #twilight imagine #forks washington

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dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt · 4 years ago

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Not me saying I wasn’t going to post any of my writing and then immediately going back on my word, no sir!! I’m actually really REALLY proud of this tho, so... up it goes. His Dark Materials AU for my OCs!

[For those that don’t know, in the HDM world everybody has something called a dæmon, which is the physical manifestation of their soul in the form of an animal.]

Dusk bruised the sky, ugly purple-black with smoke and the oncoming night. No stars dared to tread above this city. Even the moon hid her face.

Below, the streets were populated only by shadows. It was easy to mistake them for one, hunched as they were on the stairs in a dark suit and with their face hidden behind an even darker sheet of hair. Only the ember at the tip of their cigarette separated them from the night.

Footsteps descended down the stairs behind them. Their owner had his hands tucked into his pockets, refusing to touch the brass rails mottled with grime. A staccato of claws clicked between each step.

“You’re late,” the living shadow said, the memory of a thousand other cigarettes burnt into their throat.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to come at all.”

A ribbon of smoke curled from their lips. “Don’t give me that shit,” they said, disgusted. “You always do. You always will. We both know it.”

“You’re in good spirits tonight,” he responded mildly. His name was Dante, and he regretfully knew the shadow too well to be offended. He hated them less than they deserved. His dæmon stood by his side in the form of a large black dog, the feeble anbaric light of the streetposts settling on her fur and gleaming in her calm eyes.

The shadow had no dæmon to be found.

They merely grunted and rose to their feet. They flicked their cigarette away; it carved a red arch through the air before it winked out on the pavement. They started walking.

Dante exchanged a glance that spoke volumes with his dæmon. But they followed, because he did know. They both did.

The shadow’s name was June, and Dante was their only friend (though, that may be too strong a word.) The reasons for this were immediately obvious, not limited to the miasma of cigarette smoke that seemed woven into their clothes, nor their frankly ugly tongue. Their voice was complicated, interesting, but their face was ordinary; long, with stark bones beneath dark golden-brown skin, an interesting nose and eyes the colour of charcoal. They were also abysmally short, the crown of their head barely reaching Dante’s shoulder. He didn’t mention that.

They barely had to flash their card at the bouncer before he swung the door open for them, his lizard dæmon curled nervously along his forearm. June strode through without a backwards glance. Dante gave him a nod.

It was dim inside the den. The air ought to have been stained red for the stench of copper, sweat and alcohol that clung to every breath; Dante thought he could feel the effects of a pint just from inhaling. The walls were panelled with dark wood, packed to bursting with people. Barely people – raucous grins, jostling, laughing, screaming like fiends in human skins. Even their dæmons seemed inebriated, staggering between their legs with tongues lolling against chins. Nevertheless, all parted for June and their silent, bulky shadow.

June didn’t spare them a single glance. They had bred this intimidation, this mystery, fed it with the tender care of a mother and watched its first steps with pride.

“Just keep your mouth shut,” they had told Dante. “You’re unknowable now. Their fear and uncertainty will make you great.”

That suited him just fine. He never was a man of many words.

Darodrey stayed pinned to his side like a moth to a board. The angle of her ears still read as calm, but she had begun to pant in the crushing heat of the den. He rested a soothing hand on her head. He could feel her anticipation crackling beside his own. They never felt quite so alive than when they were in these ratholes.

He drew back the shabby curtain that sectioned off the preparation quarter, allowed June to step in first. He pulled it to behind him, hands immediately dropping to unbutton his short coat. It fell to the floor, revealing an expanse of scarred olive skin and the lines of thick muscles. He opened the tin set to the side on the bench.

“Nova,” June told him, low. “Dumb as a barrel of shit, but he hits like one too.”

“His dæmon?” It was Drey who asked, as Dante slid a guard over his teeth. The shock of his dæmon speaking to them had been worn away by familiarity long ago.

“A mountain lion.”

Drey noted, “Also stupid.”

Dante pulled a white roll from the tin and began to unwind it around his knuckles. “Only Nova?”

“Mitchellson could be taken as well, if you’re fit after the first.”

“I’ll take him.” Dante flexed his fingers experimentally. “A bear, right?”

“Black,” June confirmed.

Maybe I’ve finally found a challenge, Drey murmured to him and him alone.

Dante secured the final bandage. “What do we get for both?”

“Enough.” June tilted their head, their hair falling against the blade they called a jaw. “As long as you don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t.” He couldn’t.

They’re depending on us.

They, they, they. The two men currently warming his bed with their dreams, wound together in a lover’s knot. Maybe they did depend on him, but not in a way that led into an underground fighting den. That would break them to know.

A roar went up from behind the curtain, more ferocious than any bear. Darodrey’s fur rose along her spine, lips pulling back in fierce delight. Dante rolled his shoulders, knocked his knuckles together till they ached.

“Get out there,” June said, and then their hand closed claw-like over his wrist. “Do not disappoint me, Diệu.”

With the adrenaline biting in his pulse, he didn’t even deign to answer that. Instead, he merely gave them a measured look and pushed through the curtain. Darodrey’s tail whipped out on his heels.

June watched after him for a moment. Their expression was unreadable, their fingers hovering over the red kerchief folded in their breast pocket. Then their jaw set, and they followed him out.

Dumb as a barrel of shit seemed to be the perfect way to describe Nova. His angelic name didn’t look like it belonged to the brutish man with a vividly new scar wound across his bald head. His eyes were, by all means, bright blue, but even they looked dull in his face.

To his credit, he wasn’t prancing or hopping like he was on hot coals, like some of the other peacocks Dante had fought. He simply leaned against the metal links behind him, taking in his competition from under furrowed brows.

Dante ran his eyes up him, down him as if in a mere cursory glance. His fingers were still purple with fresh bruises, darker on his left hand than his right. The muscles in his arms were massively developed. He was also very actively trying to convince Dante he held his weight on his right side. He was concentrating on it harder than he was concentrating on breathing.

Meanwhile, Drey was summarizing her opponent. She found her wanting – the same dull eyes, patchy pelt and a tediously swaying tail.

“Don’t be arrogant,” he told her.

“Vrox is right. You confuse arrogance with confidance too much.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Utter modesty never got anyone anywhere, Dante.” She stretched out one hind leg and then the other, unbothered. “We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think we were the best.”

Dante hesitated. Something troubled curled like lead in his stomach.

“Pay attention,” she warned.

Their opponent and his dæmon had leaned to their feet. The crowd was stirring around them, a great wave of excitement, raw in the way only betting could achieve. Dante knew three quarters of those bets were on him, and he knew that would chafe at his opponent’s pride. Sure enough, he saw something close to hate flicker in Nova’s deep-set eyes.

The referee pushed between the two men, a smile fake and white as a skull’s wide on his lips. He dove enthusiastically into his usual spiel, but Dante tuned him out. He could recite it in his sleep already. He watched the lion dæmon’s claws unfurl from their sheathes, ticking lightly against the floor. Her eyes were locked on Darodrey. On her throat.

Good luck with that, bitch, Drey growled.

The bell sounded early, ringing clear above the crowd’s uproar. A look of frightened consternation darted across the referee’s face, but he did the sensible thing and tossed aside his dignity to sprint out of the way of the two fighters. Not a second too late, either: Nova came at Dante like a boulder in an avalanche.

Nova jabbed with his right hand, but expectedly the blow was weak enough for Dante to smash it aside with his forearm and return one of his own. It snapped Nova’s head back, snapped something else as well. Blood splattered down his chin, his nose a pulpy mess. His dæmon hissed in pain.

There was definitely hate in those eyes now.

Dante flicked some of the blood of his hand as Nova came at him again. A grimace crossed his face as Drey fastened her teeth deep enough in his dæmon’s foreleg to scrape bone, but his next punch whistled toward Dante’s face. Dante had to duck to the side to avoid it. It clipped his ear instead of knocking out his teeth, and Dante didn’t bother straightening, just slammed his fist into his stomach.

The angle was wrong, but Nova folded anyway, and Dante jerked his knee up. It caught his chin was a satisfying clatter of teeth. Nova fell backward, and cried out – not for himself, though.

Darodrey had his dæmon’s neck between her jaws and was shaking her violently, back and forth, back and forth as if she were trying to rip clean through to her spine. The lion twisted under her, loose skin bunching, and ripped at her face with jagged claws. Darodrey fell back reluctantly with red dripping from her mouth, snarling like thunder.

Claws, teeth, fists, two fights tangled into one. The noise was atrocious. Curses smudged into growls, roars, the sound of flesh ripping, skin and bone colliding.

Nova kicked Dante’s knee, forced him to down or risk a break. An arm found its hold around his neck. The demented cheers of the crowd dulled as if Dante had submerged his head underwater. Blood pounded thickly in his ears.

No time for fear, no hesitation. He grabbed Nova’s wrist in an iron grip and began to inexorably pry it away from his throat. Nova grunted from the strain – from surprise – his weight wavering on Dante’s back. The moment he could draw in a breath, he gathered himself and threw. Nova slammed into the ground, every scrap of air rushing painfully out of his lungs. His dæmon yowled. Dante was only half surprised when he rolled to his feet and came at him again immediately.

A sloppy mistake. To stay on the ground would mean the end of him, but to swing so quickly, so desperately, with his weight falling now onto his left side–

Dante left an opening. Waited.

And there was the left hand, twice as fast as the right, angled to catch him on the chin and knock him senseless.

Dante caught the punch by the wrist. He saw the panic flash in Nova’s eyes and waited just one moment more to let it set in, let him feel it. Then he twisted his arm under his own and drove downward with brutal efficiency. The bone shattered, and Nova screamed.

It was a ragged noise, an animal noise, the same that his dæmon gave as she writhed on the floor. Drey took advantage of the distraction by sinking her teeth in her shoulder and flinging her against the metal barrier.

Dante let the momentum carry Nova forward. The other man crashed to the floor, clutching at his arm. Dante noted distantly that he could see a shard of bone poking through the ripped skin at his elbow. Distant, far-away, nothing. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t a man. He was the roaring in his ears, the blur behind his eyes, the molten heat coursing through his veins. He was the mechanical action of kneeling over him, caging him in his knees, and smashing a punch into Nova’s cheekbone, feeling it give. Then his jaw, the imprint of the teeth within against his knuckles. Blackening an eye, splitting a lip to ruin. One punch ran into many. Raining until Nova resembled something out of a nightmare.

“Enough, enough or you’ll forfeit, I swear you’ll forfeit–”

He paused. There was a frantic, quiet voice in his ear. The referee had been trying to hold his arm back, but he hadn’t felt any resistance as he destroyed Nova’s face. Nova, whose body was a wreck. Nova, who he held between his knees.

In his mind, Jesse smiled up at him. His hands smoothed down his stomach, his thighs. Curious and trusting.

Nova groaned, blood bubbling from his lips.

Abruptly, Dante was sure he was going to be sick.

He staggered to his feet and lurched through the open cage door, shoving through the crowd. He would leave smudges of dark, dark crimson on their clothes wherever he touched them, he knew, but they couldn’t seem to get enough of it: hands showered down on him, patting, smacking, gripping, pushing and tugging. He could hear Darodrey snarling, only white noise that buzzed in his ears.

He burst through the back door into the reeking alleyway beyond. He stumbled against the wall, nails drawing bloody streaks down the uneven bricks. He stood there, and he shuddered.

But he wasn’t sick. He was nothing at all.

Darodrey whined and pressed her nose into his palm, licked at his trembling fingers, trying to clean off the blood. He could still feel the gore caught between her teeth. The torn flesh of a soul – such a terrible thing.

Diệu, Diệu, Diệu, she whispered.

The nothing coalesced slowly, becoming simply the bricks rough against his forehead. Out here in the cool and the smoke, the clouds had made good on their promise: a thin veil of rain misted the streets, gathered and trickled down between Dante’s shoulder blades. It should have steamed where it touched his skin, but it didn’t, because nothing here was pure. It tasted like soot in the back of his throat.

The door crashed open behind him. The violence echoed in his ears.

“They need you back,” June said, sharp as broken glass.

Dante didn’t reply.

“I said get back in there, Dante.”

Darodrey said, “No.”

“What.” The accent of the city made their voice flat and vicious. They turned their gaze to the dæmon.

The one without a soul, she thought.

“He hates this,” Darodrey said. She looked back at Dante, her eyes fathoms deep, gleaming starlike. “We hate this.”

“Liar!” June snapped. Drey laid back her ears. “You can be sweet with your boys as much as you like, you can pretend to be a husband and a friend, but this is you. This is what you were made to do, and you enjoy it.” A snarl twisted their voice.

Dante stood still for a terribly long time. An eternity, hanging in the faint drizzle, printed in stinging flesh. Jesse would call it a postcard moment. He knew it would never leave him, even when it was nothing more than a memory.

June let their words sink in in silence, their nails biting red crescents into their own palms.

Then Dante pushed off from the wall and it was a horribly efficient, broken motion. He straightened, wiped the beading rain from his face with one bloodstained hand. He didn’t look at June, nor Darodrey, but as he turned back to the den she moved with him, closer than his shadow. The roar and the heat thundered through the door to welcome them both.

June was left standing in the alley alone.

“This will ruin them,” Thyne said. It shifted where it hid tucked behind their breast pocket, wings fluttering in the place of their heartbeat.

They said nothing.

#Drey is a Hmong docked tail dog #and Thyne is a shrike #my writing #Dante #June #my OCs #I'm so fucking proud of this asdfghjkl #......... sigh.#long post #look at me actually trying to edit something for once lmao

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parasite-core · 2 years ago

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It varies by society.

Humans: Human beauty standards are a healthy body weight—a little softness would mean someone is likely nobility rather than working class so a little fat would be more attractive than someone being very lean. Other than that, many societies in Xeon inherited the extinct Warlock society’s love for hair—humans being one of them. Long well cared for hair is attractive in both men and women, especially if it’s braided nicely.

Angels: Angels look at a person’s bone structure, with sharp features and high cheek bones being more sought after and softer features being less attractive. Angels also have their own hair styling habits, but they have nothing to do with attraction—hair style in Aurarius shows status at a glance. The beads and braids in an angel’s hair tell what their position in society is at a glance, with them first getting their hair braided and beaded when they come of age. The color of an angels wings is mildly attractive—the color of their wings shows what their elemental affinity is. Well kept wings are of course more attractive than dirty wings, and angels often gravitate towards like-element angels, although this is not a certainty, just a trend.

Shapeshifters: Shifters have literally no particular biases based on appearance as a society since they have no set form as a people. A given shifter can have personal preferences, but as a society there’s no particular trend.

Shifter-beasts: The various “werefolk” have more opinions on appearances than their full shapeshifter cousins. Typically physical prowess and fur pattern in their beast form are what are most attractive to the shifter-beasts as a whole. The cat-folk prize those who are swift and dexterous. The wolf-folk prefer those who are both agile and strong. The bear-folk like those who show great endurance and strength. There are scattered groups of other animal types who likely have other preferences of their own, but these are the three most common groups.

Shadow demons: Shadow demons find those who are tall with sharp facial features and large dark colored wings attractive. Dusky purple or black are the most attractive wing colors, while grey or dark blue are less desirable. For both men and women hair can be worn long or short, with short hair being considered slightly more attractive for both genders. Dark hair is considered most attractive as black hair is the only natural hair color for shadow demons, although in some parts of Umbra light hair is considered attractive due to being exotic.

Fire demons: Fire demons find those who are physically strong, with sharp claws, a square jawline, and long ears to be attractive. Fire demons are on average shorter than the other peoples, and a man being too tall can actually be considered unattractive to fire demon women. Most fire demon women are taller than their counterparts, and this is considered desirable.

Water demons: Water demons are the least human-looking of the demons, with colorful fins and gills. Accordingly they look at these colorful fins when determining if they find someone attractive—larger more vibrant fins, especially ones with patterns, are more attractive. Some water demons will gets tattoos on their fins to add patterns artificially to spruce up their looks.

Wind demons: Wind demons rely on their flight capabilities to live in societies above the canopies in their jungle homes. And they mostly look at each other’s wings to determine who they find attractive. Wing demons’ wings are streamlined for fast and accurate flight—and the better for flying a demon’s wings are the more attractive they are. The color doesn’t hurt either—darker greens are preferred over brighter or paler greens, and any green is preferred over yellow, white, brown, or black, as green is the best color for camouflage in the canopy (followed by brown which is also considered somewhat attractive just to a lesser degree). Both genders wear their hair long, usually in ponytails or braided.

Earth demons: The society who inherited the most from Warlock society. Women wear their hair short and men wear their hair long, with the opposite being considered extremely gender non-conforming (and depending on who you ask extremely unattractive). Other attractive features are being tall, having brown or blonde hair, and being particularly good at magic.

Light demons: Light demons are the smallest and physically frailest of the peoples of Xeon. They as a whole tend to find intelligence attractive. However a few physical traits they also find attractive would be: an open honest looking face, soft round features, and particularly opalescent scales on their wings (for absorbing light magic).

What's considered attractive in your story setting? Is there any reason for it? How does your character measure up to these ideals?

#Xeon Universe #worldbuilding

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ustrinagenesis · 4 years ago

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Chapter 7: A Feral Mind

“Bullet! ... Lightning! ...” Cade calls out through the echoey apartment “Darn it why won't they answer?... Bullet!, Light-" his ears catch a faint whimpering coming from upstairs “Boys?... are you okay” he swiftly trotted up the swirly staircase every stair creaked sharply with age, echoing eerily through the empty room. The air was heavy so tangible that Cade felt like he was wading through it, something was off, something was wrong. He sprinted faster up the stairs; a sharp metallic scent started to drift up his nose “ oh no" he dashed as fast as he could up into the attic “ Bu-" the air shut off in his throat, blood was splattered and spilling across the floor a nurse lay on the floor steeped in blood, Lightning sat terrified shaking and whimpering in the corner and Bullet sat at the ledge under a clouded window his .hands on his face and claws digging into the sides of his head with a look of terror and disbelief plastered on him, his maw dripping with blood.

Earlier that day...

“Bullet had a high fever this morning, I gave him medicine before I left so hopefully he has stabilized by now but can you go check on him and Lightning for me because I’m really busy right now,” Cade says with a stern and tired expression on his face while scribbling down things on documents on a large and messy pile “but sir I-" “ also can you go to the store and get something for their lunch, they haven’t eaten yet," he says cutting her off “ but-" “ Diana I know you have nothing on your timetable right now, I wrote it. Just do this now and ill give you a bonus at the end of the week. She stood there her brow furrowed and a strained obviously fake smile “hmpf- you’re lucky I’m in a good mood today” she says as she pivoted on her heel and trotted in the other direction “only for you Dens" She said as she walked out the door. Diana sighed and walked towards the vending machine down the hallway and stopped and searched her pockets for change. “Man I wish they had lunches in vending machines,” she said and sighed to herself “Well Actually something similar to that is rolling out soon," A deep voice said behind her "AAH” she swivelled round shocked to see a tall thin dark figure with light grey combed back hair and thin piercing eyes, his tall towering ears stood high to attention and the bat stood high almost regally behind her “Jesus Christ Ivoss don’t come up behind me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she said clutching her chest ”Sorry Miss grant-" “Doctor” she interjected as she pressed some buttons and put some coins in the vending machine, “I overheard you wanted some lunches, well I had made some lunches for my son and his friend but it seems they had found some pizza vouchers and wanted to use those instead.” He says as Diana stared at him with a concerned expression “So, do you want them it’ll save you the trip” Ivoss said with a smile while holding up a see-through carrier bag with two lunches in cheap plastic containers, she looked at them apprehensively however she quickly realised that she was too tired to contemplate. Diana sighed and took the lunches and two juice boxes that dropped from the vending machine “Thank you Ivoss” she answered as she started to walk away “No problem Doctor Grant" Ivoss said in a quite tepid tone, however with is staple wide smile on his face.

Diana walked down the echoey hallway towards the staff elevator, the sounds of her heels clacking bouncing off the walls, that was saturated in the mid-morning sun spilling through the hallway windows. Trotting up to the elevator, Daina got out her key and slotted it into the staff elevator and rode it up to the residential area. As the elevator doors opened again she clutched the bag plopping in the two juice boxes while walking up to the library and she opened the doors and walked through the tall walled maze. The smell of old leather and parchment filled her nose, the dim warm brown light swirled throughout the old library, reflected off the sea of books, the light came from the old yellowed circle windows. The windows spotted the heights of the shelves and looked like old eyes overlooking the astoundingly large library; after a while, she navigated herself to the small parting in the shelf wall to an antique-looking door. Diana knocked hard on the old door that looked like it would shatter under a little more force and the sound ricocheted through the apartment. Diana stood there for a bit before she could hear small footsteps running down the stairs and up to the door, a small light bluish boy opened the door his excitement visibly turning to shyness once he realized it wasn’t his Grandpa “Cade wanted me to bring you lunch" she sighed and handed the bag to Lightning, he nodded at her “ill come back to check on you in half an hour” she said dryly and he nodded again in response. Afterwards, the little boy closed the door and she could hear him run upstairs to give his brother the lunch. Diana walked back through the library to the computer area and started to do a little work to pass the time, she enjoyed the muted echoes of the quiet library as it was usually quite empty and loved the rich vintage atmosphere, she could easily get lost in it and as a result she quickly became saturated in the thick classic feeling and while she worked 40 minutes flew by. Absentmindedly Diana checked her watch and put it down but quickly took a double-take as she realized the time; she quickly saved her work and logged off and swiftly went to the two boys apartment to check up on them. Once again she knocked against the rickety door however a frantic scrambling of feet came from behind the door and the door flung open revealing the same bluish boy, however pale and with a look of terror pasted across his face. Lightning flung himself at Diana grabbing at her jacket and his eyes pleaded at her in silent horror, his looks sent chills down her spine “What’s going on, what’s wrong?” she said hastily, his fear prickling wavers into her voice. Lightning just pulled at her jacket while he pointed up the winding staircase and her eyes followed but she quickly started to hear manic scuttling, scratching and crashing up the stairs that dashed across the upstairs with insane speed and ferocity. Without hesitation Diana started to dash up the stairs “Bullet!, Bullet!, Are you okay?!” She shouted up the stairs as she ran, Lightning right behind her. Diana swung open the door “B-" the sound shut off in her throat as she looked in abject terror.

Bullet stood hunched over on all fours however somehow seemingly towering over his surroundings, his crimson fur was on edge, his face curled and scrunched up, his nose flared, his mouth grimaced showing monstrous blade-like teeth. Dark unknown black liquid and viscous dark blood dripped from the dressing on his eye finally his eye, a brilliant almost glowing red with 3 strange white circles spinning in the iris, and it was staring right at her with blind fury. Bullet’s dripping maw parted slightly letting out a booming growl as he started to turn towards them stalking on all fours like a predator, snarling, as he pursued them they started to scuttle to the other side of the room and with their sudden movements Bullet’s growling became more intense; Diana startled by it tripped over onto the floor and started to scoot backwards on the floor and Bullet was now only focused on her. As Diana stared at him she could notice his fur getting darker and it seemed like his back got longer and his tail started to puff up, his lower ears started to shrink and by the time he was only a meter away he was a large black feral beast that had smoke that drifted from his nostrils and As he edged closer she started to look frantically around her for an escape. Finally, he stopped as he loomed over her still snarling as piercing red eye stared at her intensely, but suddenly in her delirious fear she dashed in the direction of a pencil to distract him with but without warning, he lunged at her going directly for her throat.

Blood sprayed across Bullet’s face causing him to recoil, he looked at Diana, a pool of blood started to form as he looked at it his fur started to shimmer and red started to come through again and he slowly started to turn back. Bullet regained his senses and he finally looked at himself he fell backwards and scurried away from the expanding pool of blood, he leaned himself against a ledge below a bright circular window in the middle of the room, his breathing became shorter and shallower, his breaths became short and gulping almost like he was drowning in the thick sharp air and his stomach started to convulse dryly as he coughed violently. Tremors drifted throughout his small body and he dug his claws into his face as he shook and a mixture of wine red liquid and a black dripped from the soaked bandage. Time seemed to come to a thundering halt, milliseconds or centuries could have passed and he wouldn’t be able to tell over the crashing of his own heart. Scorching heat spread across him as his grip on reality started to waver as the dizzying pain that spread across his core started to drift away, everything became distant and intangible, his very existence almost seemed foreign, detached, unreachable. “Bu-" The door opened.

Later that evening

Air was suffocating Bullet as he waited and his impatience was maddening. Bullet sat on a waiting room chair outside a surgery room as he tapped his fleet anxiously at the floor, holding himself tightly as he stared intensely at the floor “Are you okay?” A voice asked suddenly in front of him. Springing upwards Bullet exclaimed “AH!... where did you come from" a small black, fluffy little figure with tall towering ears and large round dark eyes stood right in front of him “Hey! If I'll be your friend will you be happy!?” The boy said with beaming excitement “Huh?” Bullet said confused “There aren’t a lot of Sover kids in the in this part of the hospital so we get lonely so we’re gonna be friends ok!” The small bat said with a bright smile “W-we?” Bullet stuttered “Hi" another unexpected voice uttered from his side “GAH!” Bullet shouted once again shocked to see another short black little figure but instead with a short greyish beak fluffy ruffled feathers everywhere except his head “Oh! I forgot!, my name is Ivory but my friend calls me Wings and this is Raver!” Wings gestured to the small Raven boy beside him “U-uh” Bullet stammered as Wings jumped up and sat beside him “Hey! Do you know why he calls me wings! Because I was born with an extra wing, but it made my other wings go bad a little bit ago so they all had to be taken away” he pointed to bandages where his wings would be. Bullet gave him a wondering gaze “Hey! Also, my dad works here in the lab and dose aneelisis on stuff, that’s a hard word" Wings said loudly; Bullet just looked at him confused at his loud and over-enthusiastic nature “So! I’m going back to the library come meet us there ok, byeee!” Before Bullet could comprehend what was going on Wings was already gone and the Raver trotted contently behind him. Bullet had to take a moment to process the barrage of information but by the time he collected his thoughts the door opened and Dr Cade Emerged from the room off to the side, he silently motioned for Bullet to come to him.

The two walked to the other side of the room and into an adjacent office where Cade sat down in a large plush swivel chair and sighed as he put his hands together and looked down sullenly Bullet immediately knew what was coming “Firstly, Dr Grant sustained quite serious injuries however because I was there so quickly she did not get any irreversible damage. The artery in her neck was grazed and she lost a lot of blood, but thankfully one of our staff knew that they had the same blood type and so they had a blood transfusion so Dr Grant is recovering. As a result, she had to have a lot of stitches in her neck.” After Cade paused Bullet gave a sigh of momentary relief “Also luckily she decided she didn’t want to press charges however, now you have to be under constant supervision.” Cade Continued “But Grandpa-“ Bullet said but was quickly cut off by Cade “Because I agree that this isn’t like you, so I will have Dr Ivoss do physical and physiological tests on you to get to the core of your issue”. After Cade finished his sentence a dark figure cantered into the room that sent shivers down through Bullet’s spine, it was the ever-smiling bat standing tall with his large hands behind him; his presence was dark and thick, practically physical and his thin sharp eyes felt like it bore straight through Bullet’s very core. “Dr Ivoss is a good friend of mine so he will also be supervising you daily” as Cade uttered those words a low unknown panic started to well up inside Bullet “Lightning will also attend just in case he is capable of the same thing” Cade gave a large sigh and got up and turned around facing a window letting in the warm afternoon sunlight. Bullet eyed Dr Ivoss warily “Grandpa I-" “Unfortunately Bullet because of the situation you’ve put us in we cannot discuss or debate it, it has already been decided. Do you understand?” Cade asked flatly "Bu-“ "NO" Cade shouted as he swung his head towards Bullet, his brow furrowed and a mix of anger, disappointment, fear and confusion flickered like flames in his eyes. Cade dropped his head and sighed turning back towards the window “Do. You. Understand?” he asked again, laboured, Bullet nodded somberly “Good” Cade pause and moved his chair to face the large window “This will become effective immediately so Dr Ivoss is ready to take you now” Cade’s words wavered as he stared out into the afternoon sky. Dr Ivoss opened the door and motioned for Bullet to follow him, Bullet opened his mouth to say something to his grandfather but no words followed only the prickling of tears at his eyes. Dr Ivoss silently led Bullet out of the room and Bullet stayed silent as he followed fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, they walked down turn after turn, making so many that it almost like spiralling through a labyrinth. Finally, they ended up at an elevator door that was crested with what looked like years of dust, rust and wear, very different to the usual elevators that looked pristine from regular cleaning; it almost looked abandoned. Ivoss put a key in and the two walked inside, as the doors creaked open Bullet became increasingly more anxious and shifty on his feet. Stale air drifted through Bullet’s nose as the door closed with a loud clunk “So uhh, where are we going?” Bullet enquired but his question was met with unchanging silence, Dr Ivoss just stared blankly into the industrial-looking metal triangle pattern in the wall. Searing shrieks of metal reverberated throughout the elevator as they started to descend; the tall bat subtlety tapped something into the level keypad and suddenly the elevator came to a shuddering halt "W-what happened, wait where are we going” Bullet asked frantically.

Two loud clicks accompanied by two violent shakes of the elevator “What’s happening!” once again Bullets questions were met with silence only this time the Doctor’s smile grew “Wh-“ The whole elevator convulsed cutting Bullet off when out of nowhere the elevator started to hurtle downwards at terrifying speeds “W-WHATS GOING ON!” Bullet shouted desperately, lights from the levels flashed through the gaps of the door “WAIT A MINUTE WHERE IS LIGHT-" before he could finish the elevator came to a thundering halt and Ivoss walked up to press the door button, instead holding it down and then bending down a little, a flickering blue light flashed out from a tiny bead on the wall wiping across Ivoss’ eye “-ning" Bullet finished as the doors opened revealing some sort of shadowy room with towering a ceiling l spotted with black metal structures and pillars making it look like a sort of sweatshop or factory. Tables were strewn throughout the large dimly lit area filled with testing tubes, chemicals, strange machines, equipment, large cylindrical tanks and right in the centre of the room stood large silver ring and right in the centre of it suspended was Lighting, restrained, held up by his arms and legs and an attachment with long wires leading up to the ceiling along his spine. “ LIGHTNING!” Bullet screamed in horror as he scrambled towards his hanging unconscious brother “I wouldn’t do that if I were you" The elevator door slammed behind them and Ivoss’ plastic grin stretched further across his face and a platform with buttons rose from the floor. A long claw from his winged arms pressed a button, various sharp-looking surgical tools rose from the ground attached to mechanical arms. Laser attachments on more mechanical arms descended from the ceiling like thin sliver spindling spiders and they pinpointed points across Lightning’s body. “Listen, kid, if you want your brother to walk away from that thing alive today I’m going to need you to do exactly as I say” the large bat stalked towards Bulle, his movements were silk-like, light like twisted royalty. Ivoss loomed over Bullet and clasped his claws around his face “I’ll let you in on a secret” he whispered mockingly “A while ago I started researching this strange substance that interwove with and manipulated Sover DNA, research that eventually hit a dead end, however suddenly it started reacting again. I wonder, do you know when that was" he sneered as he pressed a claw onto Bullet’s eye bandages “Surprise, Surprise, it was when you came along” he lifted Bullet up by the shirt “ You don’t understand the kind of breakthroughs possible with this. I will singlehandedly bring the world into a new age of evolution” Ivoss reeled back and basked in awe of himself. Bullet flailed at his grasp simultaneously terrified and infuriated “Now boy lets make a deal, you let me do my tests anytime on you without you telling anyone and I won't kill or test/torture your brother, Deal?” the dark doctor dropped his clasp on Bullet and he stood completely speechless and terrified as he scanned the room with his eyes spotting many completely dangerous machines and tools that could hurt torture or kill him, he was frozen with fear feeling completely helpless and small “Listen kid, you better decide soon or ill just kill him and do my tests on his corpse. 5...4...” Bullet panicked and the situation spun through his head violently almost making him sick “3 ...2” his bandage started to soak again with blood "On-“ “DEAL!” Bullet cut off Ivoss in desperation and fell to his knees tears streaming down his face. Ivoss gave a sharp wide almost demonic smile "Good choice kid, now let's have some fun”

To be continued

#ustrinagenesis #shardsoffire #story #original story

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dahcyst · 8 years ago

Text

Purplish Blue [Chapter 6 : Coffee Thing]

[AO3 link here : http://archiveofourown.org/works/9645383/chapters/23421822 ]

Thace didn't come back that night, nor did Sendak. Lance had spent the rest of the day stuck in the appartment, alone and wandering between his bedroom and the living room. After they got back from town, his room hadn't felt as comfy as before. It was so dark that it scared him, and he had to take refuge in the living room. The moony light wasn't so weird anymore, he had to eventually realize, even soothing his mind from the usual stress.

Shiro wasn't present by his side anymore. After being back, he'd disapeared pretty quickly in Keith's room, and Lance had finally understood that the man was probably as tired as Ulaz and Keith. Maybe even more, as he was only a human being.

Laying on the sofa, Lance sighed deeply, bored as hell. There truly was nothing at all to do, and to be honest he was scared of doing something weird right when one the two Galras could wake up. Like..He didn't know, but he knew that he had the worst timing ever for that type of things.

He hadn't stopped thinking for the reste o the day, trying to get used to his Galra form. When he didn't have to look at it without clothes, it wasn't so terrible, he had to admit. The claws weren't his thing, it was hard to master it -he could remember Shiro complaining about it through his suit.

The claws at the tips of his toes weren't that disturbing; they were hidden in his boots, and in the thick fabric of his suit.

Did they have to always wear this, by the way? Lance clearly remembered Keith wearing, well, nothing at all when they met in the morning. It could be explained easily if those suits were the only thing they had. But now, he knew for sure that Glaras in general could also ear other clothes, he'd seen some in a few shops displaying them-in addition with those dark and purple military suits, of course.

Lance sighed again.

When they'd walked, the city hadn't felt awful and scary anymore -or, less actually. People walking casually hadn't even bother looking at him. He was like any of them and it had felt...

Lance had felt like he was normal.

Slowly, he sat on the sofa, pondering about that. Normal wasn't something he was used to.

His daily life was made of royal stuff, of people not daring talk to him, of worrying look from the other students in class, of teachers trying their best not to upset him when he was wrong -but it made him even more upset, because well, he knew he was wrong and only wanted people to act with him like with anyone else.

It was the first time he was feeling like that, and that freedom had suddeny overwhelmed him, scary, full, and leaving him breathless when they were back in the appartment.

Somehow, he was starting to realize that becoming a Galra was giving him something he had always wanted.

"You look so fucking depressed, I want to punch you hard."

Lance jumped when the voice suddenly reached his ears. Quietly walking in the living room, the youngest Galra of the appartment had appeared. The prince swallowed at his view, but quickly recovered from the idea he had of the young man: at least, he wasn't naked anymore, and he was even proving Lance that soldiers could wear something else than those fucking tight suits.

His shirt wasn't made of that black surrounding them all the time. It was a deep dark shade of blue, the first buttons undone to give space to the body in it. The skin -the fur was at display right there, a small puff of purple fur slightly apparent there.

On his legs, and thanks God this time his crotch was covered, it looked like a suit, dark and tight around his thighs muscles. But it wasn't. There weren't the particular purple lines on it and the cut was a little less tight actually, the shape taking the butt pretty nicely but it let the calves kind of free under the fabric.

Under Keith's gaze, Lance soon tore his eyes off his contemplation, mumbling. "You almost did it this morning."

"Oh?"

The Galra walked to the small part they called 'kitchen', his bare feet silent on the cold floor, and pretty soon a smell filled the whole place after a bunch ofweird metal sounds.

"Where's Shiro?" Lance suddenly asked after a moment listening to Keith, remembering that the man had left him for Keith's room in the afternoon.

"Sleeping. You exhausted him."

"I didn't--"

"Kidding, relax."

His tone sounded a little annoyed when he was back, a large mug in his hands and something probably hot in it. With a dark glowing gaze, Lance understood immediatly that he had to move aside on the sofa to make some place. He did, and the next second the cushions where creacking under the weight of the second body, heavy with muscles despite his thin and tonic line.

Another moment of silence passed. Keith's ears were twitching more and more on his head and Lance suddenly got what it was; it remembered how his own ears moved according to his feelings, and there...Keith's face was showing some curiosity toward him -Lance couldn't deny the glowing eyes often looking at him from the corner, like he didn't want to look at him but couldn't help at all.

Lance grimaced when Keith started to drink what he'd made in his mug, the smell suddenly hitting his nostrils.

"What the fuck is that?" he hissed before stopping himself.

"Uh? They call it coffee. Weird, right? It stinks."

"Coffee?" Lance winced even more. "Never heard of that."

But the second the words had left his mouth, he immediatly regretted them, turning white. Oh, no. It probably was some Galra's drink, something pretty courant and--

"Same, but Shiro asked us if we could bring some from his planet, I really wonder what he likes in it..."

Lance refrained a deep sigh. Fuck it. At least, it was a safe topic. Curious about it, he leaned a little on Keith without a warning, nose frowning a little at the scent. His belly rested against an arm and a shoulder, and he felt the muscles tense under his weight. He didn't care about that, staring with interest at what was inside of the mug. A dark brown fluid was steaming, hot, and the smell reached his nose so suddenly that he winced deeply.

"Oh my god, do you have to actually drink it?" He complained.

"As if I could!" Keith did something that looked like a awful grimace of disgust at the idea and Lance blinked with surprise.

"Why did you prepare it then?"

"None of your business!"

It was weird to see Keith pout, and somehow Lance had to compare him with a giant kitten as his ears were falling flat on each side of his head again, lips pursing a little and eyes avoiding him to concentrate on the coffee. But under Lance's persistent gaze, he finally mumbled.

"I'm trying to get used to...The smell...At least..."

It was even weirder. "Why?" Lance asked.

" 'Cause I--Are you fucking making fun of me?"

"I wouldn't dare!" Lance raised his hands up for his innocence, trying not to shoot the mug and instead his fingers brushed hard on one of Keith's ears. A mix of a gasp and a whine filled the air and the Galra jumped before turning with wide eyes at lance.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

"What? I didn't do anything!"

"Don't fucking touch my ears, are you fucking insane!?"

If Keith didn't have the mug stuck between his hands, Lance was pretty sure that he would have jumped on him -to punch him or anything. His face was a dark shade of purple, his eyebrows frowning deeply and--

Wait, Thace had been that dark before, his cheeks turning darker and darker like that in the cockpit a few days before. It was when Lance had touched his hand, brushed the fur, try to go further under the sleeve.

Without a warning, Lance leaned again on Keith, staring at his face intensely, to Keith's dismay.

"Wh--what are you doing?"

"You're blushing?" Lance asked.

He would lie if he was saying that it wasn't working as a small revenge for the morning in the bathroom. Keith had scared the shit out of him, to be honest, and now was quite the best moment, with something somehow innocent and funny.

"What? I--"

"What makes you blush, actually?"

It seemed to make Keith even more embarrassed, cheeks darkening more and more and he suddenly put a hand on the top of his ears, the second one still holding the mug.

"That's sensible, dumbass! Your mother never told you not to slap people's ears!?"

At that, Lance stopped, mouth slightly parted. A part of his lie was right here, on the tip of his mouth, but it was something Thace and he hadn't really took the time to really think about. The truth and lie sometimes melt together, and Lance swallowed, moving aside to it properly at his own place on the sofa.

"She didn't," he murmured.

There was an awkard silence, Keith staring at him. His hand on his hair scratched a little between his own ears and for a second Lance noticed how much of a dark hair Keith had. For a Galra, it was a lot. Behind his neck, the lenght was almost tickling his shoulders, and dark long strands of hair were hidding most of his forehead. Lance just couldn't understand why both sides were cut that short though.

"How comes?" Keith asked, and somehow the Altean prince felt his concern in it.

It was weird to think that he was casually talking with a Galra now, that he had even done it all day long -somehow, compared with never, because he couldn't put Thace as a casual Galra, the man was too different.

Keith, too, sounded different. He looked different and Lance couldn't understand what it was about.

He sighed. It was difficult to find the right way to go through all that.

"She died when I was little."

He refrained a shiver at the half-truth. She died, but not so long ago. A few years ago, actually, but the sadness overwhelming him was still here. Keith didn't anything else than a simple "oh", mouth shutting tight after that.

It was...Awkward, Lance noticed. Keith let his hand drop from his head, nose coming close to the mug again with the hope that the smell would be more tolerable.

It didn't work, and Lance huffed at the facial expression the Galra gave to the big cup.

"There's no change!" he whined. "That's so gross, eeeek!"

"Wait again, maybe? How did you prepare it?"

"Uh, hot water and that thing inside, he does it this way," Keith grunted. At first, the low growl that escaped the Galra's throat threatened Lance, but he quickly got it that Keith couldn't help and wasn't really doing it on purpose this time. The situation was so unlike their first meeting. Somehow, it felt like Keith had always been...There. Or rather, it felt like he, Lance, had always been in this place. Keith was acting like everything was normal, as if it was not a problem having Lance around.

Actually, he would notice later, Keith had changed the topic of their conversation with that coffee thing.

"What the hell are you both doing, boys?"

The voice made them jump in unisson, and Ulaz let out a deep sigh as he was entering the living room. Keith sank deeper in the cushions, snorting a little at the other Galra.

"Youngsters' things," he said. "Not your business, grandpa."

Ulaz rolled his eyes with an annoyed face but didn't answer to that. Instead, he went tot the small kichen, looking for something to eat. He quickly found the fresh meat in the cold and small stock fridge and soon the smell of meat filled the place. Lance's held a grimace back. He would get used to it. He had to, if he wanted to live. As long as they didn't ask him to--

"Did you eat already, Lanice?" Ulaz asked.

He shivered a little, hoping that Keith wouldn't notice despite the fact that they were arm to arm. "Oh, uh, yeah, I--"

But his stomach didn't agree, and the loud growl coming from his body kind of betrayed him right away, shutting him up in a instant. Shit.

But Ulaz just laughed at it, whereas Keith was...Smirking at him. "What, you can't cook for yourself?"

Lance blinked in surprise at the young Galra. He had actually never thought about the idea. "Should I?"

If he'd already seen Thace cooking and Shiro snooping around in the kitchen, he didn't know a thing about using a single cooking tool. And he had never thought that he would need it one day. Well. Royalty things and stuff. This and the fact that eating meat would make him sick again were going to put him in a lot of problems, certainly. But seeing Keith with wide eyes and mouth half-opened was worth it.

"Keith, did you forget that you didn't cook at the garrison?" Ulaz cut them, voice a little high to go through the sound of cooking.

The Galra siting next to Lance frowned at it. "Aaaaand?"

"And you--Wait, are you drinking that shit again?"

Lance felt the muscles tense at the question, and he stared at Keith's hands clenching aroung the big cup. The hot steam hadn't stopped rising to the dark grey ceiling of the living room.

"None of your business," the young Galra muttered, with a death glare to the elder one.

Ulaz sighed, shaking his head with a hint of tireness that Lance instantly caught; it was the same face that Coran was used to give him in situations like this one.

"You're gonna be sick again," he stated casually, and Lance turned his eyes to Keith's blank expression.

"Sick?" he asked.

"I don't--"

"Yes," Ulaz cut out. "That stupid boy always does...things like this one!"

"That's not stupid!" Keith suddenly argued. "It's--"

Ulaz made a face at Keith attempt, wincing. Silent -and a little scared that they would get dangerous all of a sudden, Lance was listening carefully, ready to run if he needed.

"It's?" Ulaz repeated, narrowing his already small eyes.

"It's more...Learning about other races!"Keith quickly said.

"Really?"

"YES! Are you--are you so narrow and stuck in the Empire that you never try to understand others, Ulaz? Do you know that there are other races, other cultures, other ways to live?"

Lance blinked.

Ulaz, on the other side, wasn't moving anymore. He was staring at Keith with darkly glowing eyes, silent for a moment, and Lance could see Keith's teeth appearing between his slightly parted lips. The small claws were already working against the smooth surface of the coffee cup.

Keith's words had reminded Lance of Thace's talk in the cockpit. Denying the Empire in any way could lead you to your end.

But Ulaz just shook the tool he was using, abruptly pointing Keith with it, and the whole scene would have made Lance laught if he hadn't been so much on his guards.

"This, Keith," Ulaz slowly said, "is your second warning."

"What?" Keith hissed at it, and Lance couldn't help but frown in his lack of understanding. Was it a Galra thing, too? Threatening people with a big metal spoon and warning at them?

Lance put a hand on Keith's shoulder before he could even think of it himself, questionning.

"Hey, Keith, what does--"

But an elbow violently hit him in the ribs as Keith was shoving him away, in a hard and painful gesture that made him pitifully whine under the shock. It didn't stop Keith -the sound actually didn't reach his ears and the Galra was already heading to Ulaz, fists on his thighs, muscles tensed and he--

"KEITH!"

The voice had made Lance awake from the dull pain in his ribs. He felt ashamed for not instantly recovering from the quick hit, but he knew that if it had come from an Altean it would have been way different and smoother; Galras had an amazing strength that he didn't really know anything else than what was written in history books, and this time it was like they were right about it.

Under Shiro's voice, Keith had stopped right away, looking for the human who was already by Lance's sides with a deep frown on his still sleepy features. He'd probably just awaken from the sound of the two Galras arguing.

"You're ok?"

It took Lance a moment to process, but soon he remembered the most important thing of the day : Shiro knew that he wasn't a real Galra and, by thinking about it, it also meant that he wasn't as strong as a Galra. And that something as little as being shoved away like that could make more damages than what they could think.

He finally nodded, unsure if there was more to say, and Shiro gave a look at Keith whose face was the same as a kitten not understanding anything of the situation. On another hand, Ulaz was quite the same, spoon still up at Keith and making a face at Shiro. He eventually switched for anger.

"Shiro! Second warning for your master! Should I warn you too for doing more than what you're allowed to?"

Sitting properly on the sofa, Lance glanced at Shiro who had slightly paled at the words. His expression was hard to understand, resignation hidden under his humble features, but Lance didn't feel at ease with that. Shiro stood up, straight, and turned his attention to Ulaz.

"I'm sorry. Keith could have injured Lanice who--"

"What!? I didn't even touch him!" Keith cut out but Shiro continued.

"--is sick and weacker than all of us. Even I could kill him easily and without even thinking about it. I thought Thace had talked to the both of you too. Were you even listening to him?"

Ulaz wasn't arguing anymore, spoon down on the counter, and his face showed a hint of fear at the kind reminder. The smell of cooked meat was making Lance uneasy and it probably helped when Keith and Ulaz gave him a heavy gaze.

"Uh, sick, yeah..." Ulaz mumbled. "I...Forgot...Keith! Apologize!"

The young Galra froze on place, suddenly turning his attention to his cousin. "WHAT!? That's YOUR fault if I--"

But Shiro sighed, immediatly by Keith's side and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. It's ok. Be careful next time, ok?"

Lance blinked as it looked like the simple gesture, the nice touch actually, was enough to work on Keith's nerves. The sudden tension in his shoulders disappeared, his figure relaxing quickly under Shiro's hand.

Keith left the living room after that, pretending to be tired again -he probably really was, Lance remembered Shiro saying something about staying awoken for days and days during their mission. The place sounded more quiet, with the sound of Ulaz eating noisily for a few minutes before crashing in the bathroom for a moment. The sound of water made lance wonder a second if Ulaz would allow anyone to come it during his shower, like he'd tried to do in the morning.

The cushion next to him moved a little without a warning, making him jump in surprise.

"Ah, Shiro..."

Between his hands, the man was holding a big cup that looked like Keith's earlier. But here and now, even if the content looked the same as well, the smell was rather different. It didn't smell as gross as what Keith was trying to drink. Shiro gave him a tired look before leaning back against the sofa with a soft sigh -were humans sighing a lot?

"How can you drink this?" Lance asked.

"Want to give it a try?" Shiro replied with a smirk.

During a instant, Lance wondered if Shiro was serious. "Ulaz said that Keith was going to be sick if he drank it," he remembered pretty fast.

Shiro chuckled, lowering his voice suddenly, what made Lance lean a little to get his words. "Keith is a Galra, he can't drink it without throwing up for the whole week."

Lance winced at the idea. He knew pretty well the situation for himself to be fully in it. He wanted to vomit with just the smell of meat lingering in the air right now.

"I see."

"Want to taste it?" Shiro asked again.

This time, Lance stared at Shiro, unsure, then at the cup. "I--I don't know if--"

"You're not a Galra."

And Shiro's voice lowered again. Lance swallowed thickly at that, his heart bumping hard in his chest.

"You won't be sick or anything, I think?" Shiro added, and somehow Lance felt like the man was...Honest. "I've thrown Keith's cup in the sink. This one's safe."

Shiro moved his hands a little, putting the cup closer to Lance who felt a little like he had no other choice. The smell was different, for sure. Not as strong as before, not as bitter.

But still, it was weird and Lance grimaced. "How can you drink it?" he mumbled, sniffing the dark drink again.

Shiro shrugged with a smile. "Not every humans can, actually. But I like it. It helps me to wake up in the morning."

"We're almost at night," Lance sorted. Or whatever it was with a non-stop moon in the sky, he thought.

Shiro laughed gently this time. "You're right. There's kind of a jetlag for now, we've had a awful rythm of life for one month, even if I've tried to sleep a little more than them."

"You did?"

"I'm a human being," Shiro reminded him. "I don't have their strong system. They're made to be soldiers, they're trained for every situations--"

"But you're a gadiator!" Lance couldn't help but replied all of a sudden, more surprised by Shiro so-called unabilities. The human blinked at him, mouth half opened.

The next second, Shiro's free hand was reaching for the dark necklace around his neck, half hidden under the high collar of his suit. At that moment, Lance could almost feel Shiro's embarassment at the word, at his originale condition, and he considered the possibility of regretting it and apologize.

But he didn't. He didn't know Shiro enough, he didn't know the man's story, he didn't have to worry about it. Not for now. If he didn't know, he didn't have to worry about things of that kind.

Easy.

Those had always been Coran's words when Lance, younger, was worrying oo much about anything happening around him. People's fear, people's sadness, people's anger.

"I'm a human being," Shiro repeated slowly, and this time Lance didn't cut him, remaining silent. "I need to rest more often than them even if I'm trained for being up more than a average human."

"I see."

Lance wasn't sure how, but the cup of coffee was in his hands, the smooth glass burning his fingers' sensible pads.

He drank it. His nose first didn't agree with the idea, the smell filling his nostrils strongly, but...

The taste wasn't as awful as expected.

Bitter, for sure.

Strong, of course.

Lance didn't know how to define the taste of coffee, staring at it after the first sip.

"That's weird," he said.

Shiro took the cup back with a amused laughter. "Of course."

They stayed on the sofa for a few hours, not talking so much, but somehow it was more like a discussion made out of glances and short statement. Shiro didn't talk about his condition anymore, nor as a human nor as a gladiator and Lance tried not to say a word about it anymore as well.

Later that night, Lance joined his own room. Shiro had left the living room for long, their quiet discussion about the butcher and the jeweler from earlier that day ending pretty nicely, and the Altean prince still wasn't sure how to take the situation. Even at home, with people he could trust, everything was different.

Here, he was just Lanice.

And in just one day, he'd started to like it somehow.

His bedroom was darker than the rest of the appartment and he quickly found the small light. The yellowish colour soon was running on the walls, and he spotted the blanket on the undone bed on purpose; it had permitted him to hide the rest of the food under it so the shape wouldn't be too weird. Only the idea of putting food on the sheets wasn't appealing, but still...At least he could eat. Crackers weren't his thing anymore after three days eating this only and he sighed at the view of the brown colour of the food.

He was hungry, and somehow that simple sip of coffee had made it even worse.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lance chewed his crackers without speeding, wondering how he would manage to live like this for years. Would his body change a little with time, allowing him to eat meat so he could survive? He doubted it, but at the same time e knew that he would have to eat -and be sick- again soon, more than once. He could remember Thace's worried face when he had turned green (gray? What was actually the fur color for a sick Galra?) after dinner on the day before and the feeling of eaten meat burning the back of his throat.

He sighed again, giving a poor look at the now empty papercraft on his knees. No crackers anymore, he thought.

Thace wouldn't come back this night, and Lance wasn't feeling in security after what had happened in the morning. He looked at the small pass on the bed table, frowned at it. Keith hadn't needed it to opened the bathroom. Would he dare use his skills to open Lance's room? Could he? Or was it secured enough?

The possibility of someone entering his room suddenly hit him. It was only the third day. He had just decided to stay under this Galra form on this day. But he wasn't sure if he was able to keep it while sleeping.

What would happen if someone had to enter the room and find him as...An Altean? Plus, being Altean was a thing, sure, but his royal blood had given him some physical particularities and it was impossible for him on Altea to just walk in the street without people recognizing his rank, if not his face. The slightly brown skin was a thing, something pretty usual now for Alteans. But not the soft white hair on his head. This was the royal attribute given by their blood. Something amazing that he should be proud of, his mother had said once, years and years ago when he'd simply gotten rejected by other altean kids for being too different.

The usual hint of fear crawled under his skin at the idea of being discovered during his sleep, and he swallowed with dificulties, trying to think as clearly as possible. Sinking under panic wouldn't help at all, but it was hard not to let himself drown in it.

Keith and Ulaz were sleeping for now -for now only, so he might be safe for a few hours again. On the next day, they wouldn't be at home; Shiro had talked about it during their small chatting. It seemed that they were needed at the main base with Thace, probably due to that attack on Balmera. According to the human, Keith's mood and behaviour today were due to the situation out there, but Lance didn't get to know more about it -and didn't really need to know why the Galra was so unpleasant most of the time.

Lance stayed on the bed, sitting for a while, thinking about this and that from the day. It had been too much at once, actually. Shiro, Ulaz, Keith, the city, the gems -the best part of the day, Keith again.

Keith blushing -purpling? Lance wasn't sure how Galras would say it. Would they even agree on being disturbing in that way?

With curiosity, Lance raised a hand and patted his own head, searching for the bae of his Galra ears. It didn't feel that bad, he had to admit. Not that good, but he could dea with it pretty well. No need to feel turned on or anything actua--

He stopped, his brain working too fast. Oh, shit. His fingers had brushed his own soft spot while taking his fingers off, that one right under the lobe of his ear, a little backward. Uner this form, it was situated a little differently than usual, but still present.

He got it.

Ears were the soft spot for Galras.

And he'd touched Keith's.

For an Altean, it was the most embarrassing thing ever.

It was even worse when it meant he had touched a Galra in this way.

Even if Keith had looked pretty cute while blushing like a damned, with his wide glowing eyes and--

Urgh.

[Thank you a lot to those who try to read actually! >w< I’ll be a little slow to write from now for the two next months due to a huge activity beside as a cosplayer and as a worker, but I don’t give up on anything, I just have another priority for a short moment ç_ç ]

#voltron #Voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #galra keith #galra empire #lance mcclain #altean lance #fanfiction #au

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