#because their have particularly large and muscular wings

[toadslug]

A TON of my WoF OCs use weapons like swords and spears, and I've gotten people who question the practicality of that. "How would they use a sword on all fours??" WELL, I present to you:

Why don't they substitute their wings for their arms? It'd probably allow more stability than rearing up on the hind legs to make a move. This pose might look a little awkward...? But I think this is plausible. (I'm not a dragon, though, so what do I know.)

And if that's not good enough for you... Rule of Cool.

[storm-and-starlight]

Headcanons for a Batfam Wings AU

Preliminary notes

First of all: flying is hard. Humans aren't really designed for flight -- too awkwardly shaped and too heavy -- and while for the purposes of the AU I am mostly ignoring that, flying is still hard. It's a lot of very demanding physical work in order to get aloft and stay aloft; in this universe, it's probably equivalent to a hard sprint.

Flying is also very dependent on wing type/wing shape/body weight/body-weight-to-lift ratio. High-speed wings like falconiform or swallow/swift or small elliptical or most waterfowl are very dependent on active flapping in order to gain enough airspeed to stay aloft, and high-aspect-ratio soarers like gulls are generally bad at flapping but nevertheless rely on strong winds in order to get enough lift; meanwhile, broad-winged soarers like most large raptors have an easier time staying aloft, but tend to struggle to get into the air and have low overall airspeed. Body shape is also important -- the lighter you are, the easier it is to fly.

Most people can't really fly, or at least can't do sustained powered flight. It's a pretty major athletic ability, the modern world doesn't really require it all that much, and it requires consistent and constant practice. It's a little like being able to run ten miles, where most people could do it, if they trained for it, but most people don't train for it. The Bats, being Bats, train for it like crazy.

Some people have the physiological advantage of being overall lightweight with high-lift wings (look at Cass, who is tiny and slender and has enormous owl wings), which means they don't have to work as hard in order to fly (this is basically true for all sports, just a little more pronounced with flight since wing shape varies so much).

You can usually make up a deficit in the lift-to-weight ratio by active flapping, but you have to have the ability to perform that level of muscular exertion in the first place and also wings that are well-suited to powering themselves that way. Long, narrow falconiform or short elliptical wings work well in this situation;gliding-optimized wings (gull, albatross, vulture/hawk/buzzard, owl) do not.

In addition, just like sprinting, running out of energy is a problem. If you have high-energy-output flight (aka, high in flapping), it tends to limit how long you can stay in the air purely because at some point you just run out of energy.

Ground takeoffs are hard. Powerlift wings (waterfowl, some raptors, some elliptical) can usually flap their way up with a fuckton of effort, but anyone who has good soaring but bad flapping or a poor weight-to-lift ratio or even just needs high airspeed is usually out of luck.

The Batfam!

Bruce: Swan wings in a shade of grey that looks black until you see it next to something that is actually black, and then you realize it's actually a very dark, dusty grey. High-lift wings, high-power flapping flight style, which easily compensates for his overall body size (Large) and also means that he has the highest weight-carrying capacity out of all the bats, to the point where he can actually carry another person for short distances (Cass, Damian, and Tim relatively easily, Steph for short effortful flights, and Dick is about his weight limit). Physically capable of a ground takeoff without a runup, but it takes a while and a lot of effort. Slow-to-moderately-quick airspeed, good at steady flight, not optimized for agility and usually doesn't bother trying for it. Not a huge marathon flyer -- he's got the best potential for it out of the entire Batfam, and he can certainly pull it off when needed, but it's not something he does a lot.

Inherited his wings from his mother -- Martha Wayne had similarly-sized white swan wings that were particularly noted for their "classical beauty" -- she never bothered to put in the effort to fly as an adult, though

Dick: Wings are built somewhere between raven and accitripidae/forest hawk, in corvid black with a subtle iridescent blue sheen over the feathers (think brown-headed cowbird). Elliptical wings, pretty long for the overall shape but still, for his height, the shortest wingspan in the Batfam. Very mixed flight style depending on activity/conditions; he's capable of both a high-power active flight as well as powered level flight and periods of soaring, but he's optimized for high-speed, high-agility pursuit flight, both in terms of open-air acrobatics and close-quarters slalom and he is very fucking good at it. Nightwing is acclaimed one of the best flyers in the world, and Dick Grayson isn't all that far behind. Wide range of possible flight speeds and capable of bursts of extreme speed, as well as being a decent marathon flyer -- his wings aren't super optimized for it but he spends enough time in the air that steady level flight for multiple hours isn't really a challenge.

Both of his parents had corvid wings  -- John Grayson had jackdaw wings, while Mary had iridescent starling wings, which is where Dick gets his blue oversheen from.

Cass: Truly massive owl wings, with a dark sooty owl patterning of white spots on a dark charcoal background and a slightly lighter and unpatterned underside. She's got the full silent-flight feather adaptations, which combined with the fact that she's the smallest of the Bats means she's got the highest lift-to-weight ratio of the entire Batfam and thus the easiest time flying out of all of them. She's also got the lowest airspeed limit of the group (again, highest lift-to-weight ratio), but that's more because her entire speed range is downshifted: owl wings are not well-optimized for high-speed flight or extreme acrobatics, and they tend to be unwieldy for power-flapping. She makes up for it with The most ominous dead-silent low-speed glide you've ever seen in your life, and also just by being Cass.

Jason: Big thermal-soaring Buteo wings (New World hawks) in a redtail pattern, cream-and-brown on the undersides with a dark rust-red topside. Despite being the heaviest of the Bats (more so than Bruce!) he can still make it into the air, and honestly he's just grateful he can still do that. Makes the most use of thermal and wind patterns of the lot of them, because his lift-to-weight ratio is almost perfectly balanced and he'll take any advantage he can get. Needs to take off from a high point that he can drop down from, because a ground takeoff is Not Happening (not even a launch takeoff like Tim: his wings are the wrong shape for it).

Steph: Iridescent purple swallow wings (and she is so incredibly proud of the color you don't even know). White undersides, which she tints to be Spoiler (it's similar to hair chalk? but for feathers. Bruce uses it too to tint Brucie's feathers more of a light dove grey). Very swoopy in flight -- she'll power-flap up to a high point and then dive or loop on a glide. Not much of a long-distance flyer because the power-flapping takes a lot of energy, but in flight she's the second-most acrobatic of the Batfam -- she really likes loop-the-loops.

Tim: Very long, narrow falconiform wings, patterned like a gyrfalcon in white and dark silver bars on the top and white and slightly lighter silver bars on the underside. Falconiform wings are hard to fly with in general because they're high-speed wings, which makes him wicked fast in the air but also kind of awkward, because the low lift-to-weight ratio (and the fact that falconiform wings are not optimized for gliding) means that he can only stay aloft if he's moving at extremely high-speed powered flight. Cannot do a ground takeoff on his own at all because he just cannot move that fast on his own two feet -- he needs to either dive from a high point or launch from a moving vehicle (he does this off a motorcycle or the roof of a car a lot, it's very cool).

Damian: Merlin wings (inherited from Talia) in Bruce's dark grey front-and-back but with Talia's green-gold oversheen. Falconiform wings, but not as long and narrow as Tim's -- his wings are built for high-power pursuit flight, with a lot of fast strong flapping and very high-speed turns. Currently the fastest of the Batfam in the air and the second-best at a slalom, though that will probably change as he grows and gains more body mass, but he's got limited endurance since he's basically sprinting every time he goes aloft. Also an afficionado of the launch-from-a-moving-vehicle takeoff, much to his and Tim's mutual disdain.

Duke: I'm not sure about Duke yet, but I think he's got something like goose wings -- solid, efficient, working wings without anything fancy but high-lift and strong enough that he doesn't really need to care about things like windspeed and airspeed and thermal locations like a lot of the other Batfam. He started flight training extremely late (Steph, despite also being trained later in life, was very adamant about learning to fly right from the start), so he's still working on getting up to speed, as it were.

[pkmn-lillie]

TOTK AU idea!! spoilers for the ending of the game!!!

so you know how Zelda got un-dragon-ed by Sonia and Rauru at the end. what if it didn't work right? like, it only *mostly* reverses the draconification, so zelda has horns and a tail and spikes and scales, all that fun shit. But where did all that extra energy go?

It went to the other three dragons, who are now hanging around in hylian-adjacent forms in Hyrule (or the Depths ;)) and having fun/making trouble. I'm going to posit that they didn't start out as mortals like Zelda, so they have more memories of being dragons, unlike Zelda who was 'sleeping'. Also I'm bringing Ganondorf back, but getting exploded has knocked a lot of memories out of his head.

While the defeat of the Demon King has slowed the Blood Moon phenomena and greatly reduced the number of monsters on the surface, it has correlated with a surge in monsters and stalfos in the Depths, making it incredibly difficult to traverse, even by the Yiga. the Gloom has also disappeared from the surface, and only pockets of it remain within the Depths.

Because both Zelda and Link are trying to recuperate and manage the kingdom (and her new body,) they don't find out about this development until a few months after the defeat of the Demon King.

I've been alternating between he/they/she pronouns for all the dragons btw, i don't think they'd particularly care. (all three of the dragons are also wearing their respective armor set for convenience)

More on the dragons below the cut

FAROSH:

They are the tallest of the trio, (3.5m) and also bear the most resemblance to a Gerudo voe.

I have no way to describe his hair other than that it's Gotenks hair. Their hair conveniently sticks up like their horn.

Prefers one-handed weapons and shields.

He wakes up on the shores of Rassla Lake, heads to Tuft Mountain to get the lay of the land, and runs into Bolson.

Farosh: my name is Farosh.

Bolson: like the dragon?

Farosh: ??? of course???

I don't think anyone would immediately clock her as being The Thunder Dragon, just some weird Gerudo who chases off all the pirates.

They don't go to Gerudo Town because she gets mistaken for a voe by a stable attendant, and he misunderstands it as 'dragons aren't allowed'

NAYDRA:

They have the smallest stature, and besides the dragon features he also has a variety of malice scars (a la botw) and feathers (for flavor).

She also has the longest hair, like a waterfall, and white/light blue in color.

Prefers bows and wands/staves.

He initially patrols Mount Lanayru and slowly starts interacting with Kakariko, Hateno, and the Zora as a 'lone wolf monster exterminator'.

I think she would be the first one that Link & Zelda would learn about, and the least cooperative (they don't want to leave their territory.)

I think that their horns would look a bit different than the frostbite headdress, having three large separate spikes with smaller shards in between.

DINRAAL:

Poor Dinraal got their legs while they were in the Depths, and being unable to fly means that he's just kinda stuck down there-- not like she's complaining!

Dinraal is the most muscular of the dragons, and his skin has a rocky texture where it's not covered by scales. Their skin tone is also notably grayer than a normal Hylian.

His hair is very curly, in red/orange/yellow hues, and she keeps it tied back with a metal band.

Prefers two-handed weapons and hammers.

They are the one who finds the returned Ganondorf, who is stumbling through the Depths trying to avoid dying (he is bad at it, because he's lost most of his memories: Dinraal saves him.) She takes him under their metaphorical wing, and tries to teach him how to be the wielder of the triforce of power *without* becoming corrupted by Demise.

thank you for coming to my ted talk. if you want to write/draw anything from this, just tag me because i wanna see 🥺

[soft-stxrlight]

the calling of wolves and vipers, chapter 2

unexpected guests of all varieties

ao3 link: the calling of wolves and vipers

tumblr masterlist: the calling of wolves and vipers

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Theodore Nott x Hermione Granger

description: draco, theo, and hermione navigate growing affections as they fight for werewolf rights. there are forces, however, which will stop at nothing to ensure their efforts are for naught.

word count: 4222

Hermione sat at her cluttered desk clutching her pen tightly. Theo was out sick with some kind of flu and she had to catch up on work for their proposal. He took his work home, but she was pulling more weight because she hadn’t wanted him to stress while he was ill.

When lunch rolled around Hermione figured she’d just work through it and snack on the grapes and cheese she had brought with her. She would’ve gone to lunch with Ginny but the morning sickness was hitting her hard and she couldn’t leave the house much this week. 

Two strong raps came upon her office door. “Come in,” Hermione yelled, but didn’t look up from her work. 

“Oh, is Theo still out?” Draco’s deep rumble brought her out of her intense focus. When she met his gaze, she suddenly felt self-conscious of her curls knotted with her wand, askew atop her head and cardigan she wore that drooped down one shoulder. She promptly jerked the sleeve back up and smoothed back her hair only for a curl to spring right back into place in front of her eyes. Draco merely chuckled. 

“Yeah, um, he is,” she muttered, blushing furiously. Draco looked straight out of a magazine with his crisp black slacks and eggshell cashmere sweater. An expensive looking watch sparkled on his right wrist. Draco is a lefty, interesting, she thought. His white-blonde hair was the longest she’d seen it and he’d abandoned the slicked-back look of his childhood. It settled as though he’d just carded through it and stayed that way. With his slimmed features and sharp jawline, he was particularly dashing. 

“I guess I’ll leave you be then.” Draco’s eyes dropped toward the floor and he toyed with his watch. 

“You could stay?” Hermione chided herself for the way it sounded more like a pleading question than an offer. “I mean to say,” she cleared her throat, “we’re both close with Theo, it’s time we at least make an attempt at bonding.” Hermione knew her face was hopeful and vulnerable. Open. She felt drawn to him lately and itched to explore it. The flutter in her gut agreed.

“Hm, I suppose you’re right,” Draco drawled, pulling the door shut as he stepped inside. “Where should I sit?” Draco motioned to the paper covered desks, then to Theo’s chair with her personal items on it. 

“Does the floor work?” She asked, “When Theo and I eat together we do it on the floor for obvious lack of desk space.” She gestured at the surroundings and blushed again. Surely, Draco Malfoy could afford a big enough desk and office space. He was an auror afterall. They got better funding. 

“I’m well aware of that little quirk of your workspace. The floor will do fine,” Draco’s smile was teasing, but warm. Hermione returned it, and tossed in an eyeroll to boot, ignoring entirely that the very first thing he did was agree with her.

It was comical watching a large alpha werewolf fold in on himself and spread out his lunch on the floor of her office. His long muscular legs were crossed and his back hunched to reach his food on the floor. Everytime he leaned over Hermione could see how wide his shoulders were, making it look like his anatomy was more suited for wings and flying than suits and offices.

“How’s work going?” she asked him cautiously. It was the awkward small talk of acquaintances who are only just slightly familiar with one another, but don’t know anything specific enough to have a conversation of substance. 

“I like it. It’s fast paced, aside from the paperwork, obviously. I get to put away the wizards who want us to go back to how we used to be.” He tucked back into his sandwich, brushing a crumb off his lip with his knuckle.

“Oh, that’s really good,” she mumbled, a small piece of cheese flying out of her mouth directly onto her jumper. A sheepish grin and she slapped it off.  

“Has McLaggen bothered you anymore?” Draco asked nonchalantly, eyes fixed on some finite grain in the floor. She wouldn’t have thought much of it, save for the irritated tick in his jaw on the name.

“No, I haven’t even seen him recently.” 

Draco’s eyes darkened for a moment. He shook his head and looked to her as pleadingly as a Malfoy could–which is to say his composure remained while his eyes pierced her, “I’m not joking, Hermione,” a thrill ran through her at the sound of her name on his tongue. 

“If he so much as looks in your direction you come to me or Theo.” The thrill collapsed into cold discomfort as she thought about Cormac. Draco’s inhale was audible and he cocked his head. She saw his hands flex as though nails begged to rip through the skin of his fingertips.

“I’m okay, really,” she tried to comfort him.

He spoke through clenched teeth, “Please don’t humor me, I can smell your fear. The mere sensation grates on my baser side.”

“Alright, he unsettles me,” she admitted, “but I’m safe and I don’t really think he’d do anything,” She was fairly sure her words were true, but Draco’s eyes narrowed acutely. “Besides, I have an alpha and a beta ready at my beck and call, right?” Hermione raised her chin in a teasing flourish.

Her attempt to cut the tension was fruitless. Draco should’ve bristled at such a comment, to equate his alpha to no more than an attack dog. It should’ve been a playful insult. He was supposed to grumble under his breath about silly witches and she’d laugh him off. Instead, he nodded solemnly, gaze intent.

“You need only point,” his words were a blistering promise. Hermione was rendered breathless. Her mind scrambled for some inane small talk to diffuse such a proclamation. No, she didn’t want to ruin the tenuous verity that wound between them. 

A gulped fortifying breath, and then she asked, “Draco?” His head perked up, silver eyes boring into hers. His name was foreign in her mouth, always Malfoy, but he was a new man and deserved a new name. “Can I ask you some personal questions?” 

“Considering all you’ve done for wizarding kind, I’d say you’ve earned the right to bypass small talk. Ask away.” He gestured with a sweep of his large hand.

“I know you apologized to me and I know you’ve changed. I guess I’m just wondering why? There’s no doubt you were an indoctrinated child, but I’m still curious as to why you chose to go against what your parents so deeply believe?” The words rushed out before she could stop them.

Draco gently placed the remainder of his sandwich down and took a deep breath, before looking at her with such searing vulnerability that her stomach roiled. Her eyes begged the reprieve of looking away from his scouring gaze. Surely some ancestral magic had bestowed him with a sort of enchanted look that laid all one’s secrets bare to his discretion.

“I saw you brutally tortured. In my home. I never wanted to be a part of their cause, but my parents forced me. It became horribly real though when you writhed bloody on the drawing room floor. My aunt had a unique penchant for inflicting agony. When I didn’t–” he winced, “well, I chose never to freeze again.” He nodded to her. Like that was that. Then raised his forgone sandwich and resumed eating as though he hadn’t just dredged up both of their long-held trauma. 

The inner Draco, however, was far from composed. His baser side was clawing at his skull, his sternum. The discomfort was palpable and his instincts screamed at him that he’d failed her. Despite not having been turned at the time of her torture, his alpha instincts balefully whimpered that he’d failed his most important purpose. Her protection. The urge wasn’t purely chivalrous, it had a dark edge that wove through his muscles and settled like an unbreakable vow. 

She wouldn’t sustain such torture ever again. Not if he was still breathing. Draco would sooner gut himself and offer her his intestines wrapped in a bow for her to strangle him. Hermione Granger could not be harmed.

“I suppose that’s a,” she coughed subtly to clear the lump forming in her throat, “fairly terrific reason.” 

Draco gave her a warm look that stirred the floaty feeling low in her belly. One that brought the edges of his lips up in a subtle curve and accentuated the crinkles around his eyes that she’d not noticed before. His silver eyes seemed to soften even more as they held her own, and his blinks were slow and measured. Hermione felt caught up in his ethereal gaze, entranced by the, dare-she-say, tender moment. 

The door swung open and Hermione’s eyes shot to the head of disheveled black hair that had popped in. Harry’s green eyes went wide and darted between Draco and Hermione, then repeated. Draco had schooled his expression into cool indifference a moment too late. Harry surely witnessed whatever just happened.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I was looking to see if you wanted to come to lunch with me, but I see you’re already occupied.” Harry nodded once to Draco. 

“Yes, um-” Hermione started, brain still mush from his simmering molten gaze. 

“Right, well. Bye.” Harry closed the door as quickly as he’d opened it. He’d already managed to deconstruct the moment between them with his inept grace though. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to be mad at him. Her best friend could be thick sometimes, but even he couldn’t be blind to the downright visible tension radiating between them. She rather thought the surfaces in the room blurred and fizzed like concrete in the dead of summer.

“Do people normally burst into your office unannounced? Have I made a fool of myself by knocking?” Draco drawled, clearly mocking Harry’s poor manners. It was harmless in a way that pleasantly disarmed her. They were… joking.

“No, those are just Harry’s delicate manners at work. You’d know all about those right? I’m sure you had a lesson dedicated specifically to entering a room gracefully.” Hermione bowed her head at him in faux respect and tucked back into her grapes. 

“I certainly did, in fact, I’d say I’m an expert on entrances.”

His eyes burned into hers and a wicked grin split his lips. It took her a moment to recognize the innuendo for what it was. Was he flirting?! Hermione threw a grape at him and the motion made her miss the way his eyes flashed with a supernatural obsidian glow before settling back to his silver hue, he snatched it from the air and popped it in his mouth. His seeker reflexes had not dulled in his years since teenagehood.  

“You’re an expert on idiocy.”

Draco and Hermione settled into the rest of lunch that way. Eating between comfortable conversations, with the occasional joke or jab. She found that as she stood, stretched, and bid him goodbye, she truly didn’t want him to leave. 

Hermione stood in the doorway and watched as his broad shoulders disappeared into the crowded halls of the ministry, but not before he glanced back over his shoulder and shot her a wicked grin when he saw her watching. Her stomach fluttered traitorously. She leaned her forehead against the coolness of the door frame after he rounded the corner and sighed. Godric help her, since when was she a simpering school girl.

⭑⭑⭑

Hermione’s mom always made her pastina when she was unwell. 

So there Hermione stood, brow beading sweat over a pot of boiling chicken stock and pastina. She adeptly poured in the measured cheeses and sighed happily as she mixed them in. Warm memories bubbled to the surface of her mind with the steam. If she focused hard enough, she could feel her mother’s hand guiding her own in wide clockwise sweeps. Her throat caught with emotion but she diverted the thought back to Theo. 

She didn’t even know if Theo liked pastina. 

Ginny had insisted it was a great idea and a good way to show care for her friend, or maybe more. And if it succeeded in comforting him, then that was enough. Lunch with Draco had made Hermione even more confused, as she told Ginny, but she was still just as interested in Theo. Ginny then told Hermione that wizards were more progressive than muggles in the senses of sexuality and potential partners, insisting it was fairly common for triads or polyamorous couples to become bonded or even married. Hermione scoffed at Ginny’s implication.

Hermione had never been interested in two men in this way before. And it was far easier for her to look the other way and pretend the Draco factor was no more than a passing fluke than to acknowledge these potential budding affections for the mysterious man. Theo had quietly been on her mind for months now, snaking his way around her very heart and sinking his slow-acting venom in until she was paralyzed, prone for him.

The pastina was meant to be a gesture of her love. Hermione’s subtle way of saying, you’re always on my mind and I want you to be well. 

There were three main ingredients in pastina, warm chicken stock to bring a hearty taste, the pastina itself which swelled into sweet little stars, and pecorino romano cheese which melted and tied it all together decadently. Of course there was also some salt, pepper, olive oil and butter as well. Once the cheese was melted, she grabbed a container and began spooning it in. 

By the time she was en route to Theo’s flat–he’d long abandoned living in his family manor–she had three very full containers in her arms. Theo’s flat was further into wizarding London than hers, and she had to take the tube to get there. She couldn’t floo because they didn’t have an established connection and she couldn’t apparate because she didn’t know the area well enough to be sure she would arrive somewhere sans muggles.

Hermione hesitated briefly on Theo’s stoop, hand poised to knock, second guessing her gesture and worried it would be too overbearing. But she forced herself to gently thump at his door and plastered on a pleasant smile.

It took a moment for Theo to get to the door. She could hear his slow shuffles. As the door peeled open and Hermione got a good look at him, her heart melted at his puzzled head tilt. 

His usually bright forest eyes were dull with poor sleep, deep bruised pockets beneath them. His cheeks were pale and colorless, where they were normally flushed and full of life. Indulgently, Hermione thought of the stubble that crept along his jaw and considered how it would feel running along her skin. A pair of muggle pajama pants printed with cartoon panels of spider-man hung low on his hips. But, the vulnerable way he had one of Hermione’s crocheted blankets wrapped around his head and body so he looked like a tall sickly nesting doll had her cooing. 

“Oh, Theo,” Hermione adjusted the containers where she stacked them on her hip. His eyes widened innocently, relishing in her doting indulgence. Hermione knew at that moment Theo would milk this for all it was worth. And she’d let him. This sweet, kind, dramatic man she cared for so much. Because maybe she did? Maybe she’d cared for him for a while, and only now she could admit it.

“What are you doing here?” Theo rasped, his voice clearly overused from coughing. 

Hermione held up the containers and gushed, “I made you pastina. In my opinion, its healing benefits are better than chicken soup, but maybe you won’t like it? I mean you don’t have to eat it-” 

“Take a breath Mione, I’m sure I’ll love it.” He gave her a toothy grin, which was interrupted with a chest rattling cough. He ducked his head into his elbow and then smiled sheepishly at her this time.

“Aw Theo, that sounds awful. And is that the blanket I gave you for Christmas?” She tugged it a little tighter around his face, finally allowing her fingertips to trail his clammy cheek softly. Theo’s eyelids fluttered and he leaned into the warm touch.

“Mhmm,” he groaned, “it brings me comfort, reminds me of you.” His eyes snapped open, Hermione thought he might not have meant to say that last part out loud. 

“I’m glad then.” She grinned at him and passed him the pastina, “I don’t want you standing too long so you should go rest.” She began to turn away but Theo’s fingers caught on hers handing him the containers.

“Go on a date with me,” he said, seeming to startle himself with a jerk. He shook his head and color finally came to his cheeks, pale but there nonetheless. He straightened, “I mean, would you go on a date with me when I’m no longer sick?” His eyes were marginally brighter now, vulnerable even. Hermione’s stomach did somersaults and her brain became pure static. 

All she could do was nod.

⭑⭑⭑

Theo insisted Hermione allow him to walk her to their date. So, she sat in her living room and stared at the small clock on the bookshelf. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was broken, moving as agonizingly slow as a sloth and holding her future time with Theo hostage. 

It was two minutes to five on a warm Sunday afternoon in October. Hermione had opted for a creme colored floral maxi skirt with a ruffled hem paired with a forest green silk front-tie, quarter sleeve top. She wouldn’t admit it, but she selected it for its similarity to his eyes. Her favorite brown double breasted jacket hung off her shoulders. Her favorite necklace from Ginny hung just below her cleavage. She’d chosen a loose braided coronet to tame her hair. She felt beautiful. 

Finally, a soft pattern tapped at the door and Hermione shot up, nervously smoothing a hand over her skirt before approaching the front door. As the door creaked open, it revealed Theo’s glowing smile. Hermione could’ve sworn his teeth sparkled like a cartoon prince. His curly dark brown hair fell haphazardly in handsome waves along his brow. 

“You look absolutely lovely Hermione,” His eyes twinkled as he seemed to savor her appearance. Hermione’s stomach turned inside out in the absolute best way. Theo always managed to make her feel like a young girl again, giddy and lovestruck.

“Theo, you look so handsome,” Hermione replied, breathless. 

“Thank you, love. Are you ready to go?” He offered her his elbow gallantly.

Hermione took it, eager to unravel their mystery date. Theo wouldn’t tell her a word about what would occur, only that she would be “dazzled and hopelessly in love” by the end. That had earned him a soft smack to the ribs in jest. 

He steered her toward the street at a slow stroll, “We have to take a portkey to the location of the date. Is that alright?” he asked gently, a flash of uncertainty crossed his face. How sweet, Hermione thought, he’s nervous too. 

She nodded immediately and he pulled out a pretty rose from the basket dangling from his elbow. “It’ll activate in a minute so grab on and then we’ll be there.”

They stood in serene silence, gripping the rose together in a side alley by Hermione’s flat. Theo snorted awkwardly when the silence went on too long, Hermione’s answering laugh was cut short by the whirling of the portkey travel tugging behind her navel. Their landing was smooth with Hermione never releasing Theo’s elbow. 

When the world stopped spinning, Hermione glanced around her to find the rolling green hills of Scotland, clearly not far from Hogwarts. There was rumored to be a fairy pack that lived in this region. Hermione had always wanted to see the fairies but the conditions had to be just right, they had to feel safe to show themselves. 

Theo brought her a few steps forward and then pulled his wand out of his pocket. He winked at her, “Revelio.” A shimmer of sparkles parted the air and revealed a beautiful picnic facing where the sun would eventually settle over the mountains in the distance. 

“Theo, this is brilliant,” Hermione exclaimed. She dropped to her knees on the picnic blanket and inspected the food. It was obviously being kept warm by a warming charm, as heat emanated from the containers. The scents wafting out smelled delicious and looked… “did you make the food?” 

Theo grinned, “With my own two hands. Nothing but the best for the Golden Girl,” nudging her shoulder with his thigh. He knew she hated being called the golden girl but could never seem to scold him for it. Maybe it had to do with the amount of reverie in his tone every time he said it?

“Sit down wolf-man, I want to try all this delicious smelling food.” Theo rolled his eyes as he dropped down and languidly spread himself out on the blanket. They started in on the food and some small talk. Mostly recounting their weekends and going over favorites. Hermione’s favorite color, lilac, Theo’s, sage. 

Going over childhoods, Theo’s mother died when he was young and his father died in the final battle, Hermione’s family was tight knit until she obliviated them. Now they don’t trust her. Touching briefly on work, Theo’s pursuit of the shifting houses and Hermione’s inquiries into rights laws. 

As they ate the little tea cakes Theo proudly proclaimed he had painstakingly prepared, Hermione laid down on her back and watched the sky as it blossomed lilac and tangerine. 

“Theo, what’s it like being in a pack?” She turned to face him and propped her head on her hand. Theo was on his back as well, arms crossed behind his head, the picture of utter relaxation.

“It’s a natural urge. The pull to those like you and a rank that suits your character. I trust Draco as a leader and he trusts me as a second. It’s kind of a duty hardwired into your blood.” His brow furrowed as he considered his words carefully.

“Maybe this is stupid,” Theo looked at her, as if to say nothing she could ever say would be stupid, “but do you ever like it? Being a werewolf I mean?” 

“Sometimes. It’s brought me things I wouldn’t otherwise have,” his eyes darted to Hermione where she’d resumed staring at the sunset, “my, uh, pack and stuff, and the power is exhilarating, when I’m not afraid I’m going to tear someone to shreds.” he chuckled. His eyes darkened and he threw an arm in the air as if to say c’est la vie. 

“Does it scare you?” His voice was quiet and he avoided her eyes.

“Never,” her reply was certain and swift, “I trust you implicitly. I know you’d never hurt me.” Theo’s eyes flashed a beautiful cyan. Betas have cyan colored eyes. Hermione noted and filed the piece of information away.

“I don’t think I physically could, Hermione, you’ve got me utterly bewitched.” He smirked, trying to mask the vulnerability of his statement. 

Hermione didn’t understand just how much he meant it. Theodore Nott had always been an easily distracted child. Hyperactive, some would say. But suddenly he understood singular focus. His had turned on her as his subject. She is mine, I have her now, I’m not letting go. The voice in his head took on that tone that it got when his baser side was influencing him. 

Theo was more wary of his instincts than Draco. He did not relish his newfound possessive urges toward Hermione. Though, when his inner wolf would urge him to lay himself at her feet and give in to her every whim, he was decidedly less reluctant. Hermione possessed him, body and soul, and he’d have it no other way. 

Hermione sat up then, eyes searching his for something she must have found, because the next moment her mouth was hovering just centimeters from his and with her eyes questioning. Theo answered by gently pressing his lips up against her soft, velvety ones. The kiss was sweet as butter melting into a muffin, all fluttering eyelids and subtle passes of tongues on lips. Comforting arms encircled waists and wandering hands found purchase on chins and tangled in hair.

The bliss of the moment was enhanced by Hermione’s gasp released upon opening her eyes and finding little glowing figures inspecting their basket and playing with the curls of their hair. Fairies. 

Hermione sat up and slowly held up a small piece of bread. Tiny, fluttering fingers snatched it from her, only to hum happily and then zip up to her cheek and give her a petite kiss. The fairy’s touch was like being tucked into your bed, pure and warm. Their beauty encapsulated the lovers like crisp air after a fresh rain. 

They spent the remainder of their evening observing their ethereal dinner guests, their soft pink light rivaling the newly risen stars in the sky, and pressing chaste, exuberant kisses to one another simply because they could. Content in their company and lovely evening.

________________________________________________

hermione and theo are getting a headstart, maybe draco will get his shit together soon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[pleasuregave]

[ intimacy ], [ positions ], [ body part ]!

sexy abcs // accepting . . .

[ intimacy ] ― how are they during sex? do they prefer a more intimate / romantic approach or a more casual one?

Jin USUALLY prefers a more intimate approach. Just because he finds it to be more enjoyable with somebody he knows well and had romanced up. Or, I guess in the fucked up case of Jin and Lambda - somebody he friendshipped up. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ However, he won't always turn down a casual fling. But usually that only happens if somebody manages to impress him.

DJ is uh... I wanna say more casual but casual is not the right word to use for DJ ever because he's never casual. But you see, DJ isn't particularly romantic, either. But like Jin, somebody will have to impress him, too.

[ positions ] ― what are their favorite sex positions? is there something they typically default to? a special position they've always wanted to try?

Jin loves, loves, LOVES missionary. Some people may find it boring, but Jin doesn't. One great thing about sex is to experience the affect his actions have on his partner. One good thing about missionary is that he gets to look at their faces and seeing what he's doing to them. He gets to see their brows furrow, their lips quiver and mouth ajar. Also, pinning down their wrists is nice, too. Plus, it's easier to lean down and bite their neck...

DJ prefers doggy style since well... he usually fucks rather animalistic, anyway. He likes to mount somebody or be mounted. However, being mounted isn't always a good idea for his partner, as he tends to stretch his wings out when he's getting close or even climaxes - therefore, his unlucky partner might get hit in the face with some large wings :')

[ body part ] ― what is their favorite body part? what kind of body / parts would they like their partner to have ( e.g. big boobs, long cock, etc. )?

Jin definitely likes big boobs lol. You know what? We bring up the unfortunate Golden Showers fetish a lot. But we don't bring up his breast milk kink a lot and how he often fantasizes about drinking breast milk. 🤨 Other than big boobs and a decent sized butt, there's not anything else particular that Jin likes... at least, not that I can think of rn.

DJ usually prefers his partners to have more muscular bodies, but it isn't always a must. Like Jin, DJ does prefer bigger boobs... and he also likes wide hips and thick thighs.

[atozphantomsquadron]

Chapter Seventeen: Bestiary

(cw: sexual assault)

Day 7

     I feel surprisingly refreshed this morning, which is a good thing because I’m probably about to die.

     When day breaks in Hell, it’s not exactly like a pleasant sunrise in the real world.  You only know it’s morning when the screams intensify from the damned.  It’s this cacophony that awakens me; Abaster has kept watch all night, and as such is already up on his feet, waiting for me.

     “Come, Alanna, we have far to go and not much time to travel.  We must hasten your search.”

     My hand is already on the Sword’s hilt at Abaster’s words.  He warned me yesterday that the remaining Circles would be harder to cross through, and I’m going to take him at his word on that.  The tightening of my grip on the weapon is a comfort right now.

     Abaster leads me deeper into the landscape of the Inferno, past the last of the burning graves of Dis, until we reach a varied landscape of red rivers, trees, and deserts.  I can see across this area, and the torment of the sinners here is more palpable than those before.

     “This is Circle 7, Alanna.  The sinners here were guilty of the sin of violence.”

     That doesn’t seem right.  “Why aren’t they swimming in the Styx with the wrathful?”

     “There’s different kinds of acts of violence, child, and not all of them require wrath.  Some involve malicious intent, others self-loathing, and still others are violent but don’t seem that way when being committed.  Come, we must not delay … have your weapon ready, we will need it.”

     Uh oh.  He hasn’t warned me before about a fight forthcoming.  This can’t be good.

     Nearly before that thought ends in my mind, I hear a bull’s roar from a short distance away, followed by the thunderous trampling of hooves.  Without thinking, the Sword comes out of its scabbard, and I’m ready for anything.

     Except this.  The creature stampeding toward me, looking to plow through me, has the torso of a man but the head and legs of a bull. 

     The Minotaur, of course.  Why not?

     The beast roars, as I watch Abaster shuffle his way quickly past the creature and into the Circle proper.  It roars, stamps the ground, gnaws on its wrist, then charges.  I flap my wings to get over the monster, barely tapping it on the back of the neck with the tip of the Sword.  It crumples to the ground in a heap.

     I sheathe the Sword, running to catch up with Abaster.  “What just happened there?”

     Abaster is smirking.  “The holy power of the Sword is too much for the Minotaur.  A simple touch was able to defeat it.  Come, Alanna, that isn’t the last of the dangers that will confront you.”

     I nod and continue to follow Abaster, even as the landscape shifts from solid earth to large, shifting rocks.  Many of them have a hard time holding my weight, and start to shudder as I step on them.  My wings remain slightly away from my body, in an attempt to keep my balance, but even this isn’t enough sometimes when particularly large rocks underneath me shift and fall away.

     “What happened here?  Why is the land like this?” 

     Abaster shakes his head.  “An earthquake.  Millennia ago, an event occurred which rent Hell open and allowed many of the demons your family fought passage to Earth.  What you’re traversing here is the ruins of a great city which held those demons long ago.  You must be cautious while traveling over this terrain, for much of the land is still unstable.”

     Well I can figure that one out on my own.  I step on the wrong pile of pebbles and go sliding down a hillside, out of control, until I eventually roll within my wings to the hill’s base.  When my head stops spinning and I’m able to look up, I see that I’m at the feet of a horse.

     Or part of one at least.  Above the feet, glaring down at me, is a muscular man, attached at the waist to the horse’s body.

     Centaurs.  Again, why am I surprised?

     “Who are you, woman?”  The timbre of lust vibrates in the beast’s voice.  As I come to my feet, I see there are other centaurs approaching from behind this one.  A couple of them have sinister expressions on their faces, ones which scream rape.

     “Stay back, all of you.  I am on a holy errand!”  I spread my wings to emphasize my words.

     “You’re still a woman.  We haven’t seen a living woman in many thousands of years.”  That same expression of lust is still on the lead centaur’s face.  I reach for the Sword, only to have my hand slapped away from the weapon by another beast who snuck up behind me.  A third one is reaching for my other arm.  A fourth has a grip on my wings.

     They’re picking me up.  Oh God …

     I scream and writhe against the centaurs’ clutches, but they’re all horribly strong, all of them holding me fast.  The lead one has his hands on my body, fondling me …

     William, I’m sorry … I wanted it to be you …

     “Halt!  All of you!”  Abaster’s commanding voice echoes toward the gang of rapists.  They turn to the source, but the lead one only laughs.

     “Alastair Abaster.  We had our fun with you before, why do you come back for more?”

     Abaster’s face … what’s left of it, at least … is angry.  “I am Alanna Sharpe’s guide through the Inferno.  She has been sent on an errand by He Who Is Called I AM.  You have no business with her.”

     The leader turns away from me to confront Abaster.  “Listen here, damned soul, you cannot command us.  What business of yours is it if we have this woman?  We have gone without for far too long, it’s only fair we should have our fun here!”

     Abaster’s voice is back in commanding mode.  “Who said fairness was part of being in Hell?  You’re here for punishment, so you act as guards in this Circle!  Leave her be, or it will be to your detriment!”

     The other centaurs are confused and start to slacken their grip on me.  That’s all I need.  My hand grabs the Sword and quickly draws it, closing the gauntlets around my forearms.  Without thinking, I swing and behead two of the attackers trying to hold me down, reducing them to dust.

   “You should have listened to Abaster, bastard!” 

I raise the Sword toward the gang leader, rushing with every intent to run him through.

     “Enough!”  A different voice booms through the air toward us, and is the only thing that stops me from making dog food out of the centaur gang leader.  Another centaur, this one obviously much older and more respected, clops toward us.  He makes a quick assessment of the situation, and then turns to the gang leader.  “Pholus, are you disgracing your race once more?”

     My breathing is fast.  I level the Sword along Pholus’s throat, making my intentions known. 

“Tell me who you are and why I shouldn’t destroy Pholus where he stands.  He tried to rape a Guardsman.”

     The elder centaur narrows his eyes.  “Is this true?”

     “Lord Chiron, we have had no females for centuries, millennia, eons.  Please let me have this one.”

     Chiron comes up to Pholus and slaps him across the face.  “You damned fool, Pholus.  This isn’t just a woman, this is a Guardsman.  See her weapon?”  He points toward the Sword, still dripping with the blood of the two destroyed centaurs.  “One swing of this weapon and you are done for.  You’ve caused the destruction of your brethren.  Go!”

     Pholus looks downcast as he obeys his elder, turning away from us and trotting away.  Soon the others join him, leaving just me, Abaster, and Chiron at the site.

     “Abaster, don’t think you’re being allowed off the hook.  What are you doing with a living Guardsman here?”

     I don’t think Chiron is going to be much of a threat, so I sheathe the Sword finally.  My head spins, but I do my best to hide it.  “He is my guide, Lord Chiron.  I come on a holy errand, to seek the soul of a Guardsman imprisoned wrongly in the Inferno.  Please allow this task to continue.”

     Chiron levels his eyes toward me.  Maybe I shouldn’t have sheathed the Sword so soon.  The expression in his eyes, though, is not lust like Pholus but more understanding.  “I see.  I have seen this soul you seek, the soul of Cole Sharpe.  He passed through here not a week ago, going further into the Inferno.  I fear you will not find him here in this Circle, lady Alanna, but you may pass through here.  I will assist you as much as I am allowed to.”

     I bow to Chiron.  “Thank you, sir.  I will remember you fondly to the world of the living.”

     Chiron actually cracks the first smile I’ve seen since I’ve been in Hell.  “I appreciate that.”  He motions toward a different group of centaurs, from which one approaches.  “Nessus is my right-hand assistant, lady Alanna, and as such he will guide you.”

     Nessus bows toward us.  “Please, come with me.  You must ride my back, for we centaurs are the only ones who can ford the river.”

     I don’t want to fly much more here, as it seems to sap more strength than usual.  I climb up on Nessus’ flank, with Abaster behind me.  The centaur rears briefly before breaking into a run toward a suspiciously red, bubbling river.

     “We’re crossing through the souls of those violent against property and other people.  Vandals, fighters, and murderers are in this river.”

     The temperature’s rising.  “What’s up with this river?”

     Nessus answers me, although his voice shows his pain.  “This is a river of boiling blood.  As the sinners submerged here have drawn blood in the world of the living, so now do they reap the fruit of their violent acts now.”

     Abaster leans forward.  “This is not limited to people being directly violent, either.  Look out there.”

     I narrow my eyes and spy some of the souls being boiled alive in the river.  Many of them have had the flesh boiled from their faces, and so are only identifiable by other features.  Two skulls in particular draw my attention, one bearing a two-colored long beard and another with a toothbrush mustache. 

     I know these souls …

     Another soul bubbles to the surface and screams.  “ALANNA SHARPE, YOU BITCH!”

     My heart jumps in my throat, because I know that voice.  I turn in the direction it came from, and see her.  A recent arrival, since she still has most of her skin, though it’s blistered and raw.  A gaping hole which is filling in with more and more of the river’s boiling contents.

     Yolanda French.

     “She cannot hurt you, Alanna, so pay her no mind.”  Abaster’s words in my ear are slightly reassuring, but I’m still tense as she swims through the boiling river toward us.

     How can I deal with this?  I guess I have to confront her.

     “You are here by your own acts, Yolanda.  Your acts of violence against supernaturals left you here.  I’m sorry you died the way you did, but you can’t blame me for your punishment.”

     She grits her scalded teeth.  “I can’t blame you, but I can still KILL YOU!”  Her arm rises out of the blood, revealing a gun arm.

     Good God, she still has her powers here!

     My hand is on the Sword, but when Yolanda’s gun fires, instead of shooting a bullet it rips her entire arm off of her body.  She screams in pain, only stopped short by Nessus’s back hoof making contact with her face and knocking her back down into the blood.  My heart races, but I know I’m safe now, and Abaster was right.  She really couldn’t hurt me.

     An advantage of being a Guardsman in Hell.

     Nessus reaches the opposite shore of the boiling river shortly after our encounter with Yolanda.  He shakes off some of the blood, and then urges us to dismount him.

     “This is where I leave you.  Continue to the south, you will reach your destination.”  Nessus turns to me.  “Chiron wishes you the best of fortune in your search for your father, lady Alanna.”  He bows to us before turning back and crossing the river once again.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a  shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ‘Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.”

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

[sweetsmalldog]

The Subterranean Gods

Philza- The Deep Dark

The god of the Deep Dark wears a veil when around “top side” Gods. Philza has great nightvision but overall horrible eyesight. He usually relies on his sensor, like that of sculk sensors and the Warden, which allow him to hear movement. A consequence of this is that he’s learned the diffrent sounds of many gods footsteps. Their are holes at the top of his hat so that the sensors can stick out. His wings are remicent of a night’s skin, a deep navy blue with pinpricks of lighter colors that unintentionally mimic stars. The wings are also huge, easily large enough to wrap them around multiple people.

Philza is also the oldest god, having known multiple gods who faded away and were eventually replaced. Some may use that, along with his cane, to mock him but the wisdom and skill that comes from that kind of experience cannot be overstated. As well as the impressiveness of his cane sword. Made from oxidized copper, deep slate, diamonds, lapis, sapphires, and unofficially gifted Blackstone from Technoblade the cane is a marvel of magic and skill.

Wilbur- Dripstone Caves

The god of the Dripstone caves is a bit sharp, with heightened hearing from pointed ears not much gets past him. Wilbur’s skin can turn to stone at will though a consequence of that is that his skin is clammy to others. His eyes glitter like amethyst geodes. Similar to the sharp shards of amyethyst and smoky quartz that Wilbur wears as jewelry. Or the jagged crystalline knife that’s concealed in his coat just in case.

Wilbur is not a particularly old god nor is he a particularly new one. He likes some of the surface god such as the Bamboo Forest goddess and the Mountain God but of the others he hears the whispers, that the subterrian gods are “too alien” like they don’t inhabit the overworld together. This has caused Wilbur to dislike of most of the surface gods. Similar to Phil he has his own marvel of magic, a conduit for it if you will, a guitar made from oak wood and carved with scenes from the underground.

Technoblade- Lush Caves

The god of the Lush Caves wears the skull of a boar. His tall muscular form cloaked in a red cloak with gold detailing that lets off a soft amount of light. He has a slight hunch and a netherite sword on his belt. He wears a crown of gilded blackstone and braids his hair with strands of gold for formal events. He has an opulent amount of golden jewelry but nothing that would restrict movement. Occationally he has an axolotl or two on his shoulder. One pink one purple and orange. He almost looks like a strange pig themed version of the stereotypical wealth subterrian god.

But Techno wasn’t always a god. He wasn’t even born in the overworld. He is (was?) a piglin hybrid who left the nether but died in the then godless Lush Caves due to temperature shock and lack of food. Before he woke up an immortal and soon met his fellow subterrian deities. It was a bit of a trip learning about how everything worked but he soon became confindent in his new abilities. Though with input from Phil and Wilbur he decided to hide the fact he was once mortal. The boar skull was altered by Phil so that it made it look like his own tusks were just a part of the mask. Wilbur helps him make sure his very clearly pig ears are always hidden before formal functions. And he’s done his best to show he cares. He spent weeks crafting Phil and Wilbur one of a kind axolotls (already his own creation) to show his appreciation. He gave Phil his blackstone. He helps Wilbur farm amethysts. He does what he can because he doesn’t know how else to express it.

[the-silentium]

Siren Song

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 3025 words

Warnings: Blood, monsters, ANGST.

A/N:  Thanks to @shadow-hyder​ who helped choose who got hurt in this chap ~

Taglist:  @haloangel391​ / @lightning-wolffe​ / @cherrydemon5​ / @and-claudia​ / @clone-rambles​ / @mandaloriandin​

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"Wrecker. I knew you'd come to help me." 99 whispered through his comm.

Wrecker couldn't contain his excitement at his ori'vod calling out to him. He was alright, on this planet, away from the long-necks and their experiments, away from the dirty looks and degrading whispers, away from all the forced maintenance. He left the rainy planet like he always dreamt he would. 

For so long Wrecker ached for the reunion with his brother. He had so much to say to him, from his biggest explosion to date to his best prank on the regs with Crosshair and he couldn't forget to relate how he fought a giant snake that could have easily swallowed him whole in a single bite! 

He could already see 99 listening intently to each of his words, nodding and smiling as he would move his hands around to illustrate his words, because words weren't powerful enough to convey the power of the moment. 

Clone force 99 would be complete with its fifth member on board. All they needed to do was get him out of there with the rest of them. 

"That's not him! Guys!" 

For a split second, Wrecker had forgotten their newest teammate. Their cabur'ika. He was so wrapped up in helping his vod that he forgot everything else and let his body take control. His body knew what to do, fighting was in his blood. 

A new spark burned to life in his chest at the prospect of presenting you to his very wise sibling, maybe he could help you with your insecurities like he helped them all with theirs. 

"I know his voice Y/N! That's him!" He pushed forward, his team right behind him. 

You'd see soon, it was worth it. 99 was worth it. 

"Stay under the trees!"

He would have laughed at your words if he hadn't caught a glimpse of a man standing near a river. Trees were everywhere on this planet, you didn't have to worry. Instead, he forced his legs to move faster. 

A huff resonated through the comm just as 99 called again, the newfound fear in his voice made Wrecker's blood boil in worry and anger. 

He was almost there. He'd help. He'd save him. 

A nagging feeling plagued the back of his mind. It was just like when he forgot to close the light of the fresher one night and caused the ship to be inoperable for a couple of days or when he forgot Crosshair in a secluded village while on a supply run. He couldn't tell what was wrong, all he knew was that something wasn't as it was supposed to be. 

Wrecker got to the edge of the river, 99 just on the other side of the large angry stream. The ravine they had followed for a while was visible from his spot on the bank. It seemed they had moved a klick away from it and deeper into the jungle. The tall wall of rock and mud abruptly stopped and disappeared under a tumultuous waterfall that would be breathtaking in broad daylight. 

He doesn't see them, but Wrecker heard the soft steps of his brothers joining his sides. He didn't acknowledge their presence in the slightest, his eyes being glued to his elder kneeling on the ground clutching his chest, the grunts of pain leaving his mouth were too clear over the roaring water separating them. 

Without thinking he took a step forward, carefully setting foot in the deep river to reach the other side without getting carried away by the rapids. 

“Wrecker, what are you doing?” Hunter put a hand on his pauldron to keep him from going further into the water.

“He’s hurt!”

Without wasting a second, Wrecker harshly shrugged Hunter's hand away to venture into the raging water, fighting for his balance against the strong current pushing against his abdomen threatening to take him further through the jungle. Wrecker winced as static took over his comm, drowning the words of his team behind him. 

99's voice overflowed the nagging sound to encourage him forward, inciting him to grab the outstretched hand as soon as he was within reach. 

"Stay back." Wrecker ignored the help, he didn't want to pull his older brother into the river where he'd have no chance to survive. 

The ignored hand gripped his armpit in a useless effort to assist him, water dripped down his soaked blacks and armor, nurturing the grass below. 

"Are you okay 99?" Without wasting a second, Wrecker turned to his brother, already reaching for his frail shoulder. 

The sight squeezed his heart in nostalgia. There he stood, smiling just like the last time the Batcher saw him when they departed for their mission on Devaron. He even opened his arms like he always did whenever they’d all return from their assignments. This was him.

An urge to jump into the long-awaited embrace propelled his body forward to carefully wrap his strong arms around the fragile form of 99. Relief flooded his brain as soon as he felt arms wrapping around his own waist, numbing his senses to concentrate solely on this moment.

"Thank you for making all the way to me." He heard his voice in his comm, as clear as day, the background white noise abruptly muted as Wrecker's eyes widened in understanding. 

He managed to pull away slightly before the sight in front of him paralyzed his muscles. By fear, surprise or sadness, he couldn't decide which one had more control over his body. 

“Thank you for saving me Wrecker.” 99's lips stayed glued together despite the words echoing through the soldier's head. The once calming smile had lost all its warmth only to be replaced with a way more sinister grin. 

Half of 99- no, half of the monster disappeared under a layer of darkness slowly bleeding from its eyes, nose and mouth, the black goo covering its right side morphed into parts of someone else. Brown hair, a youthful smile, a broad muscular arm, they all appeared for a moment before the goo engulfed them again and changed over and over again, never truly setting on anything in particular. 

The shiver running up his spine brought the man to his senses long enough for his brain to order his body to move away from the threat. His chest separated from the smaller one as his feet stumbled backward. Unfortunately, his left hand didn't have such luxury. The liquid tightened around his fingers, crept over his palm to reach his forearm and slide under the sleeve of his blacks. 

He pulled and pulled again without any success. He was trapped. 

"So long…"

It was cold as death, enough to chill the giant to the bone. Bile raised in his throat as the sticky feeling crept up his skin. He tugged as hard as he could, but inches by inches the wicked sludge reached his elbow, gaining complete control over his arm. 

"It has been so long…" 

For some reason the tank of a man has never felt as small as in this instant, heterochromatic eyes staring up at him right in the eyes like his opaque visor wasn't even there. 

"We're so hungry." 

Before he could register the meaning behind his words, Wrecker went flying backward a few meters away from his initial standing spot, a heavyweight on his chest pinning him to the ground. 

Everything was happening too fast. Wrecker had some difficulties keeping up. That is until the unprotected skin of the underside of his upper arms burned worse than a blaster wound, his brain instantly knew what happened. 

With a yelp followed by a powerful kick, the clone tried to once again to dislodge the opponent clinging to him. His movements didn't send the gigantic thing rolling like he hoped, instead it merely shrieked in his face and flapped its cracked white wings to fly away, claws still locked around his arms. 

Fortunately for once, the beast doesn't get off the ground. Unfortunately, it meant that some parts of its prey had to go. 

Massive maws closed around his helmet, offering an absolutely atrocious view of the beast's mouth and throat. Wrecker would never admit it, but the sudden fear forced his eyes closed for a split second, protecting his fragile orbs by doing so.  Shards of his visor exploded under the assault of some particularly sharp teeth, scratching the sensitive skin around his eyes. 

This high level of panic was completely new for him and he didn't like it one bit. A nice adrenalin rush was one thing. This was far from the enjoyable spectrum. He wanted to yell for help, but who would hear his call? He was alone. 

The pressure around his head was increasing fast. Saliva covered his helmet, leaving Wrecker to blindly touch around his head for the maws, fingers slipping between the sparse teeth to force them open. The grip around his upper arms tightened, shooting a new wave of searing pain through his body as the claws dug deeper into his flesh. 

Ignoring his agonizing arms, he put more strength behind his movement and had the toothy vice open in a second. A well-placed kick on the bird sternum sent it flying backward, liberating his lacerated skin in the process. 

Hands cleaned his visor in a haste but stopped as soon as his fingertips started to tingle. The soft feeling soon morphed into full-on burning, prompting the soldier to wipe his hands onto the grass at his sides. 

Holes adorned the once intact tactical gloves, showing the damaged skin that it was supposed to protect. 

Before he could question the condition of his hands, a screech pulled him back to reality. 

The milky bird was big, easily four times his size with weird legs and two pairs of arms. The long white beak was pretty sharp with nasty teeth occasionally poking out, its maws opening frantically on a high pitch screech, its old-paper like wings flapping in anger at its side. 

Following the blue trail of bolts hitting the creature, the calls of his brother resonated through the comm without any interference as soon as his eyes landed on their offensive positions. 

His brothers. He remembered them now. He wasn't alone. They were here. 

"-ot responding." Tech 

"Wrecker! Come back here!" Wrecker winced at the very loud order coming from his sergeant. Apparently, it wasn't the first time he barked his instructions. 

"I'll get h-" Static filled his ears once again as 99 appeared at his side, hands wrapped around his pauldron.

"Don't leave me. Please Wrecker, help me.."  

"I'll hel-" His words were cut off by a sudden pull from behind, quickly followed by water engulfing his armor. 

Gasping, Wrecker tried to keep his head above water by instinct but failed miserably. The strong current left him totally helpless, the force of the water digging into his injuries to make him totally unable to move them around to get to the surface. Where was the surface? He turned on himself so much that nothing made sense anymore. 

A pull on his back stopped his body from turning in all directions, halting his quick descent down the river. Multiple hands pulled him out of the stream and wasted no time to pull him upright. 

"Wrecker can you hear me?" Hunter shook his shoulder forcefully. 

Too soon Wrecker tried to lift himself up using his arms to reassure his brother. All he managed to do was to almost faceplant into the wet dirt beneath his torso. 

"99." Was all he could say. He still felt a pull towards the other bank where he knew his oldest brother was still waiting for him. 

"There's nothing there. It's not real." Hands lifted him by the armpits to take him back under the cover of the trees. "It was a trick."

"No he's right there!" The clone was getting frustrated as everyone ignored his hand pointing behind them focussing instead on keeping him upright. 

A shriek pierced the night followed by a sudden splash of water, causing the three soldiers to jump simultaneously. Wrecker turned just in time to see the bird emerging from the river and fly away with something bright in its mouth.

Once the beast disappeared over the horizon, every memory repressed by the weird fog obscuring his brain came back to the front of his mind. Tears ran down his cheeks as he remembered that 99 died in a Seppie attack on Kamino, that he wasn't there to help. 

He had to bite his bottom lip to keep his whimpers from escaping, the pain of losing his brother a second time was way worse than it originally felt. Whatever it was back there felt so real, so warm, it told him exactly what he needed to hear and acted like the one and only 99. Deep down maybe he knew already but allowed himself to be blinded by hope. 

And hope crushed his heart in the more twisted way possible. 

Crosshair was the first to let go of his brother when they got deep enough into the line of trees, moving his attention to the grapple fixed under his rifle to put it away. So that's what pulled him into the river. 

"Are you okay Wrecker?" Hunter's worry pulled at his already suffering heart. 

"I am." He weakly mumbled, quieting down the hisses of pain menacing to erupt from his throat. 

"We don't have much time." Hunter carefully lowered himself to set his brother at the foot of a large tree. "We have to patch you up and search for Y/N before anything that might 've heard the noises comes this way." 

 Wrecker perked up at the mention of your disappearance, his eyes roamed the surroundings to get a glimpse of your shirt painted in blood and guts that always gave him a tiny heart attack every time he looked at it. He never thought not seeing that shirt would fill him with dread. 

"What happened?" He asked just as Tech removed his helmet to toss it at Crosshair for examination. 

The jungle looked way more terrifying without the night vision helping his sight. Without it, every shadow looked like an Algax silently staring with its inexistent orbs. 

"We don't know. We were too…" Tech trailed off, quickly assessing the wounds on his arms. "focussed to notice anything." 

Wrecker winced at the same time Crosshair did, although for a totally different reason. Tech stopped poking at the edges of the wounds to stuff some gauze pads on the bleeding lacerations before wrapping them with a sterile wrap. 

"Cross?" He asked his brother that stopped analyzing the helmet to lose himself in his thoughts, eyes fixed on one of the holes in the visor. 

He seemed taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered, rolling the customized helmet in his hands. 

"Night vision stopped working on one of the lenses. Too damaged. The front is melted at some places," He turned the helmet over to trace a long crack at the back of the head. "and it may not resist a hit to the right place." 

The frustration in his tone wasn't lost on anyone. Clearly, the helmet wasn't the subject of his irritation and no one had to ask for the truth. They were all prey of the same guilt. 

"I'm sorry. She told us not to follow voices." Wrecker averted his eyes, not able to look at his fuming brother anymore. Whatever happened to you was his fault. If only he hadn't followed the voices, you wouldn't be missing. 

Bile raised in his throat as his mind wandered on the dreaded questions. What happened? Were you in danger? Or hurt? Or dead? 

From his experience on this planet, Wrecker knew it was safe to assume that you crossed paths with a monster of the night. This was a certainty. All there was to speculate on was your wellbeing. 

"Her tracker is still working, we'll find her." Tech applied a small bacta patch that he pulled out of his belt onto the palm of Wrecker's hand, the latter hissing in pain. 

"You're lucky the water washed off any remaining chemical that burned your skin or else we'd see some bones if the state of your helmet is anything to go by." He admired the edges of the burns that weren't covered by the patch. "I'll wrap your fingers together to keep them from moving on each other so refrain from closing your hand. You'll only damage it more."

"But I won't be able to shoot!" He frowned, teeth clashing together as Tech put some gauze between his fingers and wrapped the bandages tightly together. 

"Blasters don't work anyway." Hunter grumbled as he turned back to them, letting go of the hair at the back of his neck to face his team. 

"But light does." The engineer got on his feet to help Wrecker, offering his forearm to pull him up.

"Light?" 

"I threw an emergency light stick at it." 

"How did you know it would chase it?" Wrecker pulled on his helmet that Crosshair held out to him. 

Having only one night vision lens would make it difficult for him to continue, hopefully, it wouldn't slow him down too much or cause him to miss some monster out there. He couldn't be more of a burden than he already was at the moment. 

"I didn't. It was merely a theory." He typed away at his vambrace, missing Wrecker's bewildered expression. "And I was only partially correct. They indeed are reactive to light, but they do not fear it as I initially thought. Turns out that light enrages them. It gave up on you in order to eat the stick." He explained in his signature matter of fact tone.

Before anyone could add to the previous conclusion, Tech continued. 

"I got her position. She's close” The corners of Wrecker’s lips lifted slightly. They could track you, everything would be fine from here. You weren’t lost. “and unmoving." The whispered last words rang loud and clear in all the clones' ears.

Wrecker's breath wasn't the only one to abruptly stop.

[youarejesting]

Wild Space

Pairing: Alien!Jimin x Reader Beta: @jung-hoseok-s-airplane​​ Genre: Romance, Angst, Fluff, SFW Rating: 16+ (slight mature themes implied something) Words: 4.6k

Summary: You are on an expedition to explore a new world, the one you encounter is so beautiful and unique but you find the real beauty in its people. Though they are a little different you feel yourself falling in love with culture, their way of life and their cute ears and tails.

“This is unit one we have finally finished docking and are now beginning assembly and exploration of planet B52. It seems this planet's flora are similar to that of earth, none have started to move or eat us which is a bonus.” It took a whole day to land the station so you weren’t as excited to be here as you had previously been. Your team leader cleared their throat disapprovingly which earned him a rolling of your eyes. “I mean none of the participants within the exploration have been consumed to date.”

The wording though correct probably didn’t need to be said with the snobbish tone, but you were feeling particularly sassy. Wanting to get away for a while after being cooped up in the station you picked up your bag full of supplies and headed out.

The air was fresh like dizzyingly so, the place was green and rich with life and you thought if the earth needed time to rejuvenate then this could be the new substitute in that time. But the colours were odd, it really was a new world. The green grass had a pink tinge to it, the oceans were mauve. But it was all deemed safe perfectly so. We humans are smarter and have figured out how to promote the world's health and well-being.

“The temperatures are stable and the solar flares are filtered by the Ozone layers.” Watching one of the two suns ‘set’ was relieving, sure it wasn’t the fore sun but it did cool the air significantly. The fore sun was practically the same distance between earth and our sun with a slight more reddish tone than our bright yellow one. But in this solar system there was a dwarf sun well really it is just a burning planet but it orbits the sun so close, burning just the same but in a vibrant blue. No one could get close enough to test the elements on the dwarf sun that made it burn that colour but it was beautiful.

As one of the suns moved behind the other a beautiful pinkish haze took over the planet giving it a hazy romantic feel. Talk about rose coloured glasses. This transition revealed the neighbouring planet of B52 a large celestial body with rings which in the glow of the afternoon sun were in shades of pink and purple and the planet was a deep lavender.

The astrologists and physicians had both determined that the two planets moved together in harmony and both planets were deemed liveable but they were never going to collide as they equal gravity, each pulling the other at the same intensity. The sky was never the typical sky blue but always a haze of purple, at its lightest it was a soft lilac and at its darkest the sky was a deep byzantium.

Because of this the water on the planet reflected the purple tones and the clearest waters were a mauve but the darkest were a heavy plum. “The fauna is also similar to that of the earth with a few abnormal features, here and there.” You looked upon a small group of tiny animals; they walked on all fours and were fluffy somewhere between a hamster and a cat. They were predominantly ears and eyes, which is probably how they found you, turning and freezing. Big round orbs looking shiny and innocent and with a squeak they were gone.

Being a linguist you didn’t really have anything to do, the crew usually just gave you odd jobs and as of late that job was completing the reports. You were exploring and recording your observations while the others set up the station and greenhouse. The sooner one can grow their own foods the better off for all of you.

You followed what almost looked like a tiny dinosaur that walked slowly to a nearby tree and began eating berries. You had decided you would be useful and started sketching what you see whilst moving about. The ferns moved in the gentle breeze and an almost odd and yet sweet floral scent enveloped you. A river on your left trickling quiet quickly and in the distance you thought you could hear a waterfall.

From the river emerged what looked like an axolotl each foot pulling it onto the red toned grass and shook itself like a dog and you realized it was fluffy. This caused you to giggle, you began drawing the animal while singing softly. When you were done you continued reporting.

In the middle of your ramblings about the health of the planet and such, you heard a rustle behind you. It was odd because when you turned there was nothing there. You were out of earshot so you dropped your professional jargon.

“There seem to be no immediate signs of danger but the crew is working as per protocol for the safety of the team.”

You watched as a flying mouse landed in a tree squeaking and chewing at some sort of fruit it gathered. It was very much the bumble bee dilemma wings too small for the size of its body. It was colourful though like a rainbow lorikeet, it’s tail multicoloured.

“No sign of intelligent life, so far-”

Another rustle behind you accompanied by heavy breathing, you tried to glance around at whatever it was. Looking as far as you could out of your peripheral vision the only feature you caught was a long red tail swishing low, and whatever it was walked on all four legs. You tried to grab your radio but you heard a low rumble from the animal in question. The thing seemed to change shape and moved until it was right behind you mirroring your posture on two legs, its nose pressed to the back of your neck sniffing.

The figure moved around you and you saw it completely. A man, well mostly. He was muscular and lean, he had claw-like nails and teeth that were sharper than a human. On the top of his head were two ears that were peaked and alert. His tail puffed and he growled. In fear of this strange new life especially the fear of being killed caused a tear to roll down your cheek, he circled around you faster and breathed you in.

You stood still as he stepped behind you once more and seemed to brush past your ponytail; it must have startled him as he pulled it firmly, causing you to fall back. He growled at your sudden movement and jumped on top of you baring his teeth over your neck. Unmoving once more you watched him slowly circle your form, he sniffed you here and there licking the side of your boot and you were thankful for the fact he had some sort of fabric over the lower half of his body so you didn’t see anything unnecessary.

His eyes were dark, his hair a vibrant red as were his ears and tail; he was mixed in appearance. You couldn’t determine whether he was canine or feline, he had features from both sides.

Sniffing he nudged your arm burying his nose against the underarm of your shirt. You knew you were sweaty, it’s not like deodorant was a priority on a space trip there was some but not enough to last a whole expedition. And if you know anything about the animal kingdom, smell was what they used to identify each other.

He growled circling you again before curling up beside you and placing his head on your chest watching you as his eyes drifted shut with a heavy sigh. He was beautiful, he reminded you of the exotic people in the avatar movie where those blue aliens were so tall and human-like but just slightly off. He wasn’t blue, but he was very naturally beautiful.

After an hour or two of trying to get out from underneath him you gave up entirely. At another point you accidentally started patting the young man’s head forgetting he was not a sweet domesticated animal despite the ears and tail.

As the fore sun began to set over you, the cold breeze began seeping into your skin and shivers bloomed from within you. The action seemed to wake him, eyes widening as he launched himself away. Backing away, you shared equal expressions of fear. Trying not to move, wanting to appear harmless, he was also unwilling to move. Eyes searching the area for any danger, he saw you shiver again curling up with a small whimper. He looked around calmer as the minutes passed. He said something softly and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you said?” you whispered, blinking he made a face. Very slowly you sat up reaching into your pocket to retrieve an apple. He watched you curiously as you took a bite and proceeded to sniff the air. Holding out the apple, he braved getting a little closer to examine what you were eating. He gave it a lick and again before taking a bite.

“What are you?” You asked, he watched you cautiously talking back in his strange language. Clueless to what he was saying you took your time repeating his words and he blinked almost shocked. He sniffed your pocket which you had left unzipped to retrieve the apple and he sniffed getting dangerously close to areas he shouldn’t but he pointed and spoke in his funny language.

“What’s in my pocket?” you pointed at the pocket and he pointed again at the pocket.

You pulled out dehydrated meat and held it up, “Meat” he snatched it sniffing and eating it quickly before reaching into your pocket grabbing the rest. He also found some berries they were almost like ones he was used to but these were so unique.

You sat there as he ate, you tried to talk to him but he was busy eating. Stomach growling signaling dinner time and you looked at the empty bag and frowned.

He noticed the frown of your face and looked at the empty food bag. He held it in his hand and took your hand in his, his claws brushing your skin but not causing you any harm. He pulled you through the woods and turned back as you tripped and stumbled your gait generally slower than his.

You passed a beautiful purple waterfall and the water as it fell reflected a purple glow on the rocks around them and as it splashed a mist of purple sprinkled the air and a typical rainbow prism appeared. You looked down, noticing you were walking on a trail. The flowers on either side were a gorgeous blue that in the shade of some trees seemed bioluminescent. He didn’t seem impressed by your abilities or in this case lack of, and deciding to pick you up over his shoulder and run. He was also unaffected by your added weight, running as he normally would.

He arrived at a small cave, the rock was metallic and each piece reflecting beautifully in the light of the setting sun. He placed you on your feet and you walked towards the stone and touched it brushing your fingers over the smooth arch entrance way.

You knew he must have carved and smoothed this himself, he watched you curiously as you ran your hand along something at the top it almost looked like a form of writing and you traced it slowly and turned to him pointing.

“Jimin,” he said and he patted his chest referring to himself.

“Jimin,” you pointed at the sign and then turned to him stepping closer and placing your hand on his chest over his rapidly beating heart. “Jimin.”

He gave a strange gesture with his hand but his eyes seemed light and his smile told you, you were correct. You slowly and gently took his hand placing it on your chest so he could feel your heartbeat.

“Y/n,” you breathed and his eyes searched yours. You repeated your hand on his chest and said his name before placing it back onto yours “Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he said, his mouth forming the name with a heavy accent.

The moment was broken as voices could be heard talking in the strange language and he pushed you inside the cave walking you deep inside and sat you on something soft. He said something sternly gesturing to the ground with his palm and you nodded as he ran back out.

He was asking you to stay, his body language was pretty clear. And you pulled out your rechargeable lamp, turning it over to turn the large dial underneath. With a satisfied click it turned on, lighting up the space.

With the light you could see every little detail and couldn’t help getting up and exploring. There was an area with stacked wood and sticks and beside it a pit with some ashes and coals in it and you understood it was a fireplace.

Above the fireplace was a hole in the cave again it was man made and impressed you greatly. The craftsmanship of how he made his house and a chimney and everything made you proud.

There were shelves with items wrapped in big leaves and a pile of the strange fabric he wore.

You looked to where he had sat you, it looked like a bed filled with soft iridescent furs. These animals must be magnificent.

You hung the lamp from a rock, your stomach rumbling again. If you remembered correctly there was a small selection of foil sealed food in your backpack.

Shrugging off your backpack you looked to the fire pit, stacking wood you took out your flint and started a fire. It was teal, the flames looking similar to the northern lights. You had a small pot that looked like a metal cereal bowl and you poured the contents into the pot and added some water.

It was a stew and you mixed it up, you didn’t want to seem selfish so you made sure to serve him some in the little metal dish. Hearing footsteps, he entered the cafe sniffing the air curiously.

“Jimin!” You smiled and he lowered his head with a smile. He had started blushing as he placed down handfuls of fruit. You handed him the plate and he watched you eat mimicking the way you used a spoon. He followed your lead scooping the food and blowing on it gently before he put it in his mouth. He hummed his tail flicking back and forth rapidly in excitement at the flavour.

You grew tired and it was late, you wanted to return but you couldn’t and you knew that. Not only because you didn’t know your way back but he seemed to not want anyone to see you. You instead tried to talk to him some more pointing at things and repeating what he would say and he realized you were trying to learn the language of his people.

He helped you and you were able to process so much. The whole reason you were on the trip was for this. You were a linguist and you wanted to learn and decipher their language. You noticed so many things about their language.

You pointed at the soft fur area and he said something that sounded complicated and you tried to say it. His laughter was like soft bells and you tried again, he continued laughing and he kept saying it until he shook his hand. You understood this gesture to mean yes.

He was teaching you so much, you had filled at least five pages of your notebook with new words and information you had learned about him. After an hour or two you had almost figured out the sentence structure and he was amazed.

He was preparing fruit and telling you what you assumed were their names as he handed them to you. He was so sweet, smiling and talking to you, while you were drawing him and his beautiful features.

He turned away looking through the basket of fruit while you packed up and walked over to the furs and laid down curling up. They were soft like silk but warm. You blamed the strict sleep schedule you all had to maintain on the expedition for your inability to stay awake. The crackling embers of the teal fire lulling you to sleep.

You dreamt of B52, but you didn’t dream of it colonised, you dreamt of it exactly how it was, you moved through the soft two toned grass and waded through the mauve waterfall playing when Jimin called your name. He smiled brushing your hair from your face and gently rubbing your ears affectionately.

They weren’t normal human ears, they were like his and you looked down to see his tail had hooked around yours and he leaned in to press his lips to yours when you woke.

Laying in the furs Jimin's body pressed against your back and his arm around you buried in the Furs. Standing you wanted to leave but you knew you couldn't leave without a trace. So you left behind the drawing of him concentrating looking down while he cut fruit.

Sneaking out you used your tracking device to not only mark this location but to also navigate your way back to the station following the trail of flowers until you arrived back.

“Where the hell have you been?” The leader hissed

“I was making friends with the locals,” You said, reaching for your backpack for your notebook.to show them what you had learnt.

“Haha, you are on cleaning duty for a week,” The captain said and you frowned and headed inside. “Grab a shovel, you are turning soil today.”

Ignoring him you walked to the small area inside the green house and began shoveling.

“Seriously though I met them, well one of them, he was super nice.” You tried to explain to your friend but she laughed looking at you like you were crazy.

“Did you eat something you shouldn’t have, breathed in pollen from a poisonous flower?” She turned to look at you “Bitten by a space tick, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“I am perfectly sane Namsoon and I am telling the truth,” You breathed, “It was cool they have their own language and they look like us except they have different ears and get this they have tails.”

“That sounds gross,” she blanched at the thought, “like a rat.”

“No, they are beautiful,” you tried to defend him.

“I think you should go rest today, you can help tomorrow” Namsoon took your shovel and turned away and you sighed and headed back to the station. On your way through the corridors to your chambers you passed the kitchen. Pausing in the hall, a big grin spread across your face, you turned around taking out your day’s rations and a small digital camera for photos of the planet turned back to the station entrance. Slipping into the woods wanting to find Jimin.

You arrived at his cave, thanking your forward thinking for marking the location on your navigation device. Entering it was quiet and he wasn’t there, you sat on his bed lying down staring at the roof.

You were working on the vocabulary when he came back in growling. He pounced on you his ears and tail puffed and teeth bared. He froze when he noticed it was you again and you were wide-eyed staring at him.

“Annyeong haseyo.” He smiled down at you, trapped below him, he was drenched and his hair was dripping water onto your face.

“Annyeong haseyo,” you grinned back, he beamed, flicking his hand in approval and he sniffed you, you spoke in english even though you knew he couldn’t understand “I went back to the station, does it smell weird?”

His nose tickled your neck and he paused catching a familiar scent and traveling down your body. You blushed as he got awfully close to certain private areas but he detoured to the pants pocket and tried to get the Jerky from your pocket.

“Meat,” he said and he used his claws but it not only ripped the pocket open but also scratched your leg causing you to call out in pain. He snatched the meat and was chewing happily. You frowned seeing the blood stain your light grey pants.

Opening your backpack and pulling out your little first aid kit. Trying to calm your heart, you knew he didn’t mean it but it scared you how wild he was.

You pulled the side of your pants down to reveal the area he had clawed on your thigh and you hissed at the sight. He turned confused by your noise and saw the cut, his smile fell and he lowered his head watching you.

He got closer looking at the wound and then at his hands, Nose scrunching at the smell of the paste you put on the wound. He stormed out of the cave, you continued to clean and dress the wound, you readjusted your pants and took a needle and thread and began sewing your pant leg. He came back with some fruits and he hung his head carrying washed fruit which he cut and gave to you.

It wasn’t easy to sneak away from the station, but you did almost every day to meet with him. You were so good at his language now you were able to hold conversations with him but he still had to explain a lot of things as best he could.

He liked it when you sang or played music and he would move around the cave with a smile. The two of you went to see the silky iridescent almost cow like creatures. He took you around showing you different flowers your favourite had to be one where he pulled you inside and sat on the leaf with you and the flower curled up around you both and inside it was like a galaxy all spotted with tiny little glowing creatures. They were completely harmless but reminded you of glow worms. He had you to try different foods. It was heaven not eating the bland genetically modified food everyday. That is until he gave you a particular fruit that made you super itchy, you decided to take an antihistamine from your first aid kit and he apologized and the two of you got back to Jimin’s favorite which was a sour fruit.

He took you swimming at the mauve waterfall and you were splashing one another and playing. He got scared when you were underwater for a long time. Diving under the water he grasped you by the waist and swam you up and called for you. “Y/n, gwaenchanha ni?”

He pulled you against the rocks holding you there with his hand on your waist and took your face with his other hand, his eyes burning in worry. You placed one hand over his leaning your cheek into his touch, “Nan gwaenchanha.”

He sighed in relief pressing his forehead to yours and looking down into your eyes. He stole your breath away, you licked your lips trying to keep them from going dry and he noticed the action licking his own. He leaned in slightly and you elongated your torso trying to bring yourself closer to him, his pupils dilated wide.

You felt his lip just touch yours, the two of you hadn’t kissed yet before his ears turned and pulled away grabbing you and pulling you through the water. He pushed you behind the waterfall and pressed his palm to your mouth and made the no gesture with his hand before slipping away.

There was a small group of them and they played and spoke, you watched them interact. They were no different from playful boys or puppies except they were fully grown men. Time passed and he finally got them to leave but you were freezing and wet.

Jimin grabbed you from the water and looked at you all blue and shivering. He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and raced back to his cave where he started the fire. He turned to see you had removed your clothes and found a spare shirt from your bag you curled up in the furs. He too changed out of sight and laid behind you trying to warm you with his body heat.

It was sweet he wasn’t trying to do anything but keep you warm, however, you knew how it must have looked to the young man who walked in, the deep growl traveling through the cave. Making you stiffen and he sat up and growled back his body crawling over yours protectively and they began arguing. You spoke to him slowly and he looked alarmed that you understood him.

He told you, to leave before you two were caught and someone was hurt. Jimin growled saying he didn’t want you to leave and at that moment you thought maybe he felt the same way as you. With a sigh Jimin agreed to return you in the morning and Taehyung nodded thankful for his defeat before he told you both he would guard the place.

Jimin explained the village were aware of the new people and were sceptical, he also said it was a festival tonight and everyone was in good spirits visiting neighbours. You leaned in pecking his lips with yours and grinning. “Gamsahabnida.”

He sat up looking at his pupils wide with affection.

You woke early and took your sketchbook and the camera. You went to leave and Jimin grabbed your hand a sad look on his face and pressed his hand to your chest. “Y/n. I love Y/n,” he said, he hadn’t remembered much from your lessons of your own language but this phrase was one he practiced well. You asked him to let his leader meet with you and your leader for a discussion, promising your men would come without weapons laughing about how weak your kind were compared.

You passed Taehyung and he sniffed you and began scolding Jimin all you understood was the words bed and you blushed realizing he knew more than you thought. You said goodbye to Taehyung and ran off to the ship.

You showed the captain the pictures and the drawings and explained how they lived peacefully but had things and resources we didn’t. “Jimin will meet me this afternoon and I would like you to meet him with me alone and without a weapon, if you bring a weapon I will actually kill you myself.

Another meeting came to a successful end and you smiled walking over to Taehyung, Jimin, and Namsoon who showed them both videos of earth, every meeting she would show them another video and they were amazed.

“Jimin-ssi,” you called and he turned beaming his ears perking up and tail swishing back and forth he began sniffing your neck and giving an almost purr. It was still unclear if they had more canine or feline features but you didn’t care.

“Why is it everytime you two meet he becomes more and more adorable, doting on you?”

“The pregnancy pheromones?” Namjoon said in english to Namsoon his nose and tail twitching. He learnt English quickly and you exchanged languages and linguistics with each other and each took your time teaching them each other's language. You blushed as Jungkook grinned patting your swollen stomach and handed you a big woven leaf basket full of berries. He was a sweet kid and looked up to Jimin. “We are very domestic people, when one of our own is pregnant we protect them?”

If you enjoyed this story don’t forget to Like | Share so others can enjoy it too. PLease see my [Masterlist] for more of my work.

[jayfrost-designs]

This is also from December of last year.

I've had a new idea in my head for Darkstripe for a while now, and after getting all those other ref sheets that I needed to do done, I decided to run with it.  You may have noticed a change in the name of his father in his bio. Don't worry about that just yet.  I'll get to it after talking about the design.

The reverse side of his design can be seen here.

On his wiki page, Darkstripe is described as a large, lean, sleek, and thin-furred tom. I misread the "thin-furred" part of his description as "thick-furred" when I started designing this, so he ended up with a rather thick pelt. Oops.  My explanation/excuse for this is that the thin-furred description comes from his appearance as a Dark Forest cat, so as a living cat he had sleek, thick fur, but after dying he started going all patchy and ragged and his fur started to get pretty thin in places. So that's my half-baked excuse for that.  I went pretty free-hand with this design, but he's mostly based on Turkish Vans, and is meant to be decent-sized and muscular, with a thick mediumish pelt. He has a smaller version of his mother's ear tufts and a decent amount of scars, since he was always pretty aggresive.

For his pattern, Darkstripe is described as a dark gray tabby tom with black stripes and yellow eyes. I completely changed his design from his old one and went for a smoke tabby look for him this time around. His black stripes don't stand out as much as on his old design since the rest of the pelt is darker now, but they're still there, and he's overall a very dark-looking cat, so Dark- fits him well as a prefix. I played around with his design a lot before I was happy with it, but I'm really happy with the end result. ^^ I came up with a fresh shade of yellow for his eyes as well. ^^

Now for the fun part. Since Tawnyspots is no longer listed as his father on the official family tree, I decided to come up with a new headcanon for who his father is. I considered a few cats from ThunderClan at first, but none of them seemed to fit. But then I had a really interesting idea for his father - and for the reason he's a smoke tabby. I'll explain everything below - starting with Willowpelt's story. Apologies in advance for the length. ^^

~-~-~

As a young cat, Willowpelt gets lonely sometimes. Her sister is busy training to be a medicine cat, and Redtail throws himself into his warrior duties so much that he doesn’t spend as much time with her as either of them would like. She doesn’t begrudge either of them their ambitions - she knows Redtail wants to be the best warrior he possibly can (and later has his eye on the deputyship), and Spottedleaf will make an amazing medicine cat. But she doesn’t share their ambitions. She’s always been a much more relaxed cat, content to do her duties as a warrior, but not pushing beyond that, preferring to spend her time racing through the forest on the wild excitement of the hunt, and spend lazy days sunning in the grass, rather than busying herself with constant patrols and duties.

So while her siblings are busy with their work, Willowpelt seeks out companionship elsewhere. She’d always been curious about twolegplace, hearing stories about how their last leader had left to live there, and decided to check it out one day. She doesn’t find Pinestar - but she does find some friendly kittypets who welcome the visit of a real wild Clan cat. She continued to visit occasionally over the moons, whenever she’s feeling particularly lonely. She’s never swayed by the thought of becoming a kittypet herself - she loves her Clan, and her freedom, too much - but she’s happy to visit her kittypet friends whenever she can.

She grows particularly close with a sleek, handsome smoke tom called Sparky. A few moons later, she finds herself expecting the tom’s kits. The two aren’t in love, and Sparky rejects Willowpelt’s offer to join ThunderClan and help raise the kits, but it’s all very amicable and the two remain on close terms. Willowpelt is perfectly happy to raise her kits alone. She later gives birth to a single tom, Darkkit, who looks remarkably like his father. The Clan gossips a little about who the father could possibly be (Willowpelt covers her tracks visiting Twolegplace better than Featherstorm had), but overall they’re just happy to have another kit after the nursery has been empty so long, since White-eye’s last litter.

Willowpelt plans to tell Darkkit about his parentage when he’s old enough, but the young tom grows bitter after moons of some of the stricter cats whispering about his unknown parentage, and the loneliness of being the only kit in the nursery. Willowpelt always assures him that there’s nothing wrong with him and is a fiercely loving mother, but her laidback attitude about borders and rules bothers him - other warriors take these things seriously, so shouldn’t she? A kernel of doubt begins to weed its way onto Darkkit’s mind - what if Willowpelt won’t tell anyone who his father is because his father doesn’t want him? What if it was because he isn’t good enough to be this mystery tom's son? Willowpelt longs to comfort her son that his father does care and does want to be part of his life, but she’s not sure he’s old enough to understand the truth about his father, so she waits.

With all this doubt and bitterness swirling inside him, it’s no surprise that upon becoming an apprentice, Darkpaw immediately attaches himself to the first cat who seems ready to take him seriously and see some potential in him - his new mentor Tigerclaw. To Darkpaw, Tigerclaw is everything a warrior should be. He has the strength of TigerClan, the courage of LionClan, and  is the wisest, most loyal warrior in the entire Clan in the young tom’s eyes. He can’t believe his luck in snagging such a skilled and brave warrior as his mentor, and quickly learns to worship the ground Tigerclaw walks on. A secret part of his heart wonders whether Tigerclaw is his father. They both have dark tabby pelts and fur that grows darker at the points, and while Darkpaw isn’t nearly as tall and long-furred as the older tom, he’s still broader and taller than his mother, and could have inherited that from Tigerclaw. He works tirelessly to mold himself after Tigerclaw’s image and takes all of his training to heart - including his views on loyalty and cats from outside of the Clan.

Willowpelt had intended to tell Darkpaw about his father a moon or so into his training, but the longer he trained with Tigerclaw, the more disdainful he grew of cats outside of the warrior code, especially kittypets. She worries about how much the tom has changed, but he doesn’t seem willing to listen to her anymore, so there’s little she can do to curb Tigerclaw’s influence on her son. She resolved to continue hiding the truth of his father, as Darkpaw is probably happier not knowing the truth, and resolves to keep an eye on her son. It’s not all bad, she assures herself. Tigerclaw has taken the fatherless tom under his wing just as Thistleclaw had done for him, and he seems genuinely proud of his young apprentice - in his own stoic way - and is molding him into a strong warrior. As long as Darkpaw is happy, that’s what matters - right?

Though Darkpaw, then later Darkstripe definitely grows more scornful of others and more conceited over the moons, Willowpelt tries to stay optimistic. He’s a bit of a jerk, yes, but otherwise he seems like a perfectly loyal and happy warrior. But that illusion starts to chip away little by little after Tigerclaw’s exile as Darkstripe continues to show an unhealthy attachment to such a traitor, and then comes crashing down completely the day that Darkstripe tries to poison his own half sister. Unbeknownst to the rest of the Clan, Willowpelt sneaks out after Darkstripe as he’s departing the territory for his exile.

Rage and heartbreak bubble under her pelt in equal measures as she faces her eldest son. Something inside of her is wailing at the loss of the son that she’d loved, and her failure to protect him from becoming this, but the rest of her feels an icy calm. She faces Darkstripe, coldly informing him that if he’s fool enough to follow Tigerstar on his rampage against “impure” cats, then he’d better hand himself over as well for being impure. He’s the very thing that he’s always hated, the thing that he has been relentless in mocking Firestar for being - he’s half kittypet. Darkstripe flies into a rage, shrieking that it isn’t true, it can’t be true, that Willowpelt never loved him and is just lying to make him doubt himself. He tries to attack his mother, but she dances out of range, still glaring at him with icy calm while her heart continues to wail its pain inside of her. She tells him that she loved him with all of her heart, and that if he’d let go of his bitterness and his unhealthy devotion to an admitted traitor long enough he would’ve seen that, but that now it’s too late. She’ll always love him, but she will never forgive him for what he’s done to her daughter. She leaves him there on the border between ThunderClan and TigerClan. He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then he slips into TigerClan territory.

Unfortunately, Darkstripe’s reception at the TigerClan camp is chillier than expected. It was true that Tigerstar had once felt genuine pride and companionship for Darkstripe as his apprentice and as a fellow warrior. He’d always known that Darkstripe was a bit of a suck-up, but he was still strong and a powerful warrior in his own right, and Tigerstar had been proud of the efforts of his first run as a mentor. However, his opinion of Darkstripe had lessened after the tom refused to follow him into exile, and had dropped even more sharply after one of his Twolegplace allies had told him about a smoke kittypet who’d mentioned being friends with forest cats. Tigerstar had taken the chance to spy on the kittypet from a tree one day, only to be shocked at the sight of a cat nearly identical to Darkstripe.

After that, Tigerstar had put together the pieces and realized that Darkstripe was the son of a kittypet. He tells Darkstripe as much when he arrives in TigerClan, glaring down at the groveling tom with a sneer. That kittypet blood has tainted him with weakness, he claimed, weakness that had kept him from following Tigerstar into exile, that had made him fail again and again at Tigerstar’s commands as his spy, and that had made him fail at the simple task of killing one insignificant little kit. Darkstripe quivers before the tom, protesting that it couldn’t be true, though with Tigerstar’s account of the smoke kittypet, he’s starting to realize that it must be. He wails that he’d never known, that Willowpelt had hidden it from him, that she is the true traitor. He didn’t care who his father was, he whimpers - his loyalty was to Tigerstar, it had always been to Tigerstar, and it always would be.

Tigerstar watched the sniveling display with disdain. The tom was undoubtedly tainted by the weakness of his blood, but he’d always shown devotion to Tigerstar. Perhaps he could be given one last chance - but only one. He tells the tom that if he is ever to be anything but the sniveling son of a kittypet, he must prove himself willing to eradicate any disloyalty in the new Clan and pledge himself entirely loyal. He considers ordering the tom to hunt down his kittypet father and slay him, or to sneak into ThunderClan territory and kill his treacherous mother. But there are more pressing concerns facing his Clan right now, and he can’t have one of his warriors off on some lengthy mission to get one well-guarded cat alone when TigerClan is on the verge of conquering the other Clans. Such tests of his loyalty can come later. For now, perhaps a simpler task will do. He still needs someone to take care of those halfClan prisoners after all...

Of course, Darkstripe fails in that task too, and Tigerstar’s rage at yet another failure from his half-kittypet lackey is fearsome to behold. It is only the need for every fighting warrior available for the battle to come that keeps Tigerstar from punishing Darkstripe more severely. A worse fate may have awaited Darkstripe after the battle’s end, had Tigerstar not fallen under Scourge’s claws. And yet, Darkstripe continues his nearly obsessive devotion to the cat he still thinks of as his true father, even if he isn’t a father by blood, and he ends up dying in his quest to avenge the murderous tom. And yet, even a death in service to Tigerstar isn’t enough to truly raise him in the tom’s eyes, and he spends his seasons in the Dark Forest being overshadowed by a Tigerstar’s true sons, until the end of the Dark Battle leaves him to wander alone in the darkness forever.

~-~-~

Anyway, that’s my mini-essay on Darkstripe’s father and life story. XD Overall, I'm really happy with how his design turned out, and I had a lot of fun coming up with his parents' story and his story in regards to thinking of Tigerstar as his father. I also like how silhouette-wise, he looks a fair bit like Graystripe, but their patterns make them decently distinct from each other.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

What is handsome/pretty by ghoul standards? I have a tall buff lion looking immortal type guy and I hc the ghouls find him very handsome cause of how strong, hairy and intimidating he his lol

He’d be very popular among Air and Fire ghouls for sure! :D 

-

National Geographic on Ghouls - Physical beauty Standards 

A few notes to make about Ghouls! 

Ghoulish beauty standards tend to lean more towards what is considered ideal from an evolutionary standpoint. So traits that make a ghoul attractive can be considered ones that are good genes that can be passed from ghoul to kit. Features that are good for survival or indicators of strong elemental prowess are prized in all ghouls. 

It’s important to note that many human standards of beauty are not shared or acknowledged by ghoul society. Traits that are valued by humans like facial structures, facial features, superficial builds, and even very specific body types aren’t usually considered when studying a ‘beautiful/handsome’ ghoul. Now these traits CAN be considered attractive to individual ghouls, but typically, these aren’t sought after in general ghoul culture. 

On the flip side, traits humans consider ‘ugly’ are also not viewed the same in ghoul society! Humans have a horrible habit of being picky about scars, birthmarks, wrinkles, or even certain body types. But to ghouls, these aren’t even regarded as remotely unattractive! It is found when conversing with many ghouls that ghouls typically rarely find ‘ugliness’ in others- ghoul or human. The only ‘ugly’ that has ever been recorded has been attributed to strong biases against enemy tribes/elements, scents of unethical magic and practices, or scars brought on by disgraceful acts.  

General:

Shiny and Thick Horns - Horns actually show a lot about a ghoul’s health and physical wellness. Healthier ghouls have very shiny or naturally covered horns. Thicker horns are just an aesthetic preference for many, as it can make a ghoul look more sturdy and stronger. 

Bigger, Sharper Teeth - Color of teeth is never a factor- Just that the jaws and teeth themselves look ready to be able to fight and tear down prey. 

Sharper, Long Claws - Self explanatory. Like Teeth, claws are a factor for tribes to consider a ghoul with strong genetic traits.  

Fire:

Long Hair/Facial Hair - This one might seem odd to many, but long hair is particularly treasured in fire ghoul tribes. Mainly because it is a physical testament to one’s control over their element. Even with control over it, fire can come back and bite a ghoul- hurting or even killing them. One of the consequences of not controlling your fire element is losing hair and eyebrows. So a fire ghoul with long that’s not SINGED is very attractive. On that same note, as not all fire tribes wear long hair, having any type of well groomed facial hair is also very attractive. Again, fire can easily give you a clean shave too close for comfort- so this falls in the same boat! 

Battle Scars - Scars that are won in battle, hunting, and other honorable activities are actually prized amongst many fire tribes! Marks are a lifelong testament to a fire ghoul’s ability to survive whatever is thrown at them! The more scars the harder it is believed to kill that ghoul!  

Medium/Short but Thick Horns - A common ritual between fire ghouls is to head butt and lock horns. Normally you might consider longer, bigger horns to be the preference. But those are seen as easier to break and damage. Also the thicker the horns, the stronger they are! Shiny Black horns are the common color preference among fire ghouls. 

Aether:

Tattoos, Body Art, and Piercings - A lot of Aether ghoul culture is based around individual ghoul’s tattoos and piercings. They are very symbolic of one’s family, tribe, and even rank. Usually by adulthood, Aether ghouls can have a huge array of piercings or ink on their bodies. An aether ghoul is expected to at some point make at least one distinctive tattoo on themselves. The steadier hand and more attention to detail is better. Nose rings or an abundance of ear piercings are a popular choice for many tribes. 

Otherworldly eye colors - The aether is the very blood of these tribes, and sometimes this shows up in Quintessence ghoul genetics. Once in a while you will get a ghoul kit born with purple, electric blue, or even almost white eyes! These are all colors associated with a direct link to their element and are considered an unblessing from the Aether itself. Alternatively, one tribe prizes an entirely black eye above all! 

Partially shaved heads - A very fashionable way to have your hair in most aether tribes is to have it partially shaved. HOW and WHERE on the head it’s shaved varies amongst individual tribes. Some prefer mohawk like styles, while others will only shave one side of the head. 

Earth:

Bigger body types - Normally body types aren’t a common preference amongst ghouls. But Earth ghouls, especially forest types, absolutely adore bigger body types. Whether that be curvier figures, plush bodies, big muscles, or just large all around. Some have speculated that this could be tied to the forest tribe, who values fertility and the bearing of kits. While this preference does have roots in fertility, it is not unique to admire on just kit bearing ghouls. Aether ghouls, who typically are bigger and thicker in stature, are very popular among earth types for this reason. 

Longer or curled horns - Opposite to fire ghouls, Earth ghouls value the longest horns or most complex of horns! The ideal horn set is either like those of a goat or a deer buck. Antler like horns are the ultimate signs of attractiveness amongst Stone ghouls. They are considered strong, pleasing to look at, and easier to decorate. Alternatively, many Earth tribes prefer very curled, satyr-like horns. 

A bare chest - While more so fashion focused than actually body types- a chest bare of clothing is the most common way to dress in Earth tribes. Typically only covered up if a kit or part of a mated pair. Bodies are normally celebrated and considered a sign of a stable, trusting tribe of one another. Also a good indicator of mate status or availability. Some tribes may cover their chests in necklaces and other decorations instead of wearing shirts when in more humid or warm climates. 

Water:

Long tails - Particularly valued in Oceanic tribes, long tails are very popular. Long tails can actually be beneficial when swimming and are regarded as aesthetically pleasing. Fresh water ghouls tend to prize thin, longer tails with shiny scales while oceanic tribes prefer them to be thicker with barbs and long fins.  

Colorful or Shiny Scales - Shiny scales usually show a ghoul who is in good health and are just amazing to look at in general. But colorful scales can be popular in freshwater and land locked tribes. Colorful scales and markings typically only come from a few tropic tribes located in remote parts of Hell. So a ghoul who has them will be hailed as amazingly stunning! 

Legs - Whether they are long dancer legs, or thicker athletic legs- water ghouls have a strong penchant for legs! Like with tails, this is to go with their ability to swim and travel in both water and on land. Long legs tend to be the favorite in oceanic tribes. Muscular or thicker legs are a preference in swamp tribes. Wardrobes designed to show off legs are the most functional and preferred in these tribes. 

Air: 

Long Ears - Air ghouls tend to hair longer ears. It is Air ghoul belief that longer ears means you can hear their element better- which is crucial for a ghoul to figure out their environment or weather patterns. The longer the ears, the more prized. Long ears with a slight curve back towards the head, like a bat, is particularly favored among many. 

Pronounced shoulders - The attraction to strong or pronounced shoulders comes from the old times of more ancient air ghouls, who had wings on their back. Their shoulder structures tended to be a bit more strong than other elements. Even though wings have been nearly wiped from the Air tribes, the appreciation for where they once rested has not. 

Softened face - This one is a rather weird one to explain. When a softer face is preferred, it does not mean not wrinkles or blemishes or anything of the sort. Rather, Air ghoul territories tend to be very harsh and it can make many air ghouls look stern or solemn. So a ghoul who tends to regularly have softer expressions or features is considered a rarity. But it’s also hard to have to not seem weak in one’s tribe.

[westerosiladies]

Brienne of Tarth Fancast Resource

Brienne is unfeminine in appearance and is considered unattractive by Westerosi standards. She is tall, muscular, flat-chested, and ungainly, with long, shoulder-length brittle straw-colored hair and broad, coarse features that are covered in freckles. Brienne's teeth are prominent and crooked. Her mouth is wide, her lips are swollen, and her nose has been broken more than once. She has large, beautiful blue eyes. Her fingers are thick and callused. (x)

This one was also really difficult. Why can we not have more big, muscular, awkward teen girls in medieval fantasy? Is it so much to ask?

Anyway:

MILLA JOVOVICH - JOAN OF ARC (THE MESSENGER)

100% no question my favorite Brienne fancast. She’s got Brienne’s broad features and unfeminine look, the right eyes and hair, and is wearing medieval armor to boot. She was 23ish when filming this movie, so a bit old for Brienne, but I’m not about to complain about that.

CAMILLA CHRISTENSEN - MODEL

I’ve seen Camilla frequently used as a Brienne fancast, particularly for edited photos and modern AUs. She also really matches the descriptions of Brienne, although I’ve only found content of her in modern clothing. She was born in 1994, so material ~2012-2016 is most age-appropriate for Brienne.

KAROLINE HERFURTH - MULTIPLE ROLES

Karoline would probably be my #2 choice if she’d done any period pieces at an appropriate age for Brienne. She’s pretty much exactly what I imagine based on the book description. The images above are from Madchen Madchen (age 15), Berlin ‘36 (age 24), and The Reader (age 23), which are the films in which I found the best Brienne material.

ELISABETH MOSS - ZOEY BARTLET (THE WEST WING), MINDY (EARTHLY POSSESSIONS)

So I included Elisabeth Moss mostly because I think she has a strong Brienne aesthetic now, with her wide-set eyes and blond bob. The thing is, now she’s 37 and much too old for canon Brienne. The images above are from The West Wing, which she filmed ages 17-24, and Earthly Possessions, which she filmed at 17.

Anyone who’s got other favorite fancasts, particularly in period clothing, feel free to add them to this post! The full set of my fancast resources can be found here.

[f-nodragonart]

Vertebrate Wings, PART 3: Flight

Return to main post + TOC >>HERE<<

Flight TOC

  Basic Flight Theory

  Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

  Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

  Special Cases: Hoverers

Basic Flight Theory

I will openly admit here and now, I’m not well-versed in physics. I apologize if this section is a bit disorganized, since I’ll be stitching together others’ more comprehensible flight descriptions/explanations.

This first bit is from a kind follower, Rahjital, who sent us this quick explanation of flight theory a while back (sadly the images they added no longer seem to be working, so I tried to find fitting images as substitutes):

The first step to learn how lift works is to debunk the popular explanation of how lift forces are created, called the Equal Transit Time theory. The reasoning is that air flowing around the wing splits into two streams, one of which has to travel over the wing and another which travels below it. Due to the shape of the wing, the upper stream has to move faster to cover the same distance. This difference in velocities generates a difference in pressure and therefore lift.

However, what happens if you fly upside down?

The upper side of your wing points towards the ground, and so does the lift force. I would have said you’d fall like a rock, but the fall would actually be faster since your wings would drag you down. We all know that’s not how flight works, though, so how is lift actually created?

All you need to do is tilt the wings a bit. Seriously, I’m not kidding. No need for a specialized wing shape, as the majority of people seems to believe. (although it helps.) Why? Let me explain:

There are two phenomena causing lift to be created:

1. As air flows around the wing, its direction changes downwards and it leaves the back edge of the wing moving slightly more down. Mister Newton tells us that every action has its reaction, so if the air moves down, our wing has to rise.

2. Due to the tilting, the air flowing on the underside of the wing ends up colliding with it and slowing down, raising the pressure. On the other hand, the air flowing over the wings goes upwards because it has to get over the raised front edge, but as it can’t get back down immediately, it ends up travelling in an arc over the wing. This forms a small ‘pocket’ of low pressure straight above the top surface of the wings. These two fields of pressure then generate additional lift. (this is similar to how the Equal Transit Time theory states lift is generated, but with a very different reason, and not as important as the theory states it to be).

Next time you are traveling in a car, try reaching out of the window with your arm when going reasonably fast. As long as you keep your hand parallel to the ground, not much is going to happen, but once you tilt it even a little, the wind is going to push it up. (or down, depending on which direction you tilted it.) That’s it - your hand is generating enough lift to hit the frame of the car window. Just imagine how much lift does a properly built wing get in a similar situation.

The tilt I am talking about the entire time here is called the angle of attack, often abbreviated just AOA. The greater the angle of attack is, the more lift is generated, but the more drag there is, too. For airplanes, the AOA is negligible from an artist’s perspective, but for winged creatures, this is far more of a concern.

Therefore, the flight theory rule #1 is: Whenever you draw a flying creature, always make its wings slightly inclined. It wouldn’t be able to fly otherwise.

~~end quote~~

Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

This first bit will be borrowed from Koryos’ article “Bat Flight Versus Bird Flight” (which I highly suggest reading in-full for a deeper explanation). Fair warning though—from the short explanation they give of basic flight/lift, it seems they do believe (at least at the time of writing the article) in the now-defunct Equal Transit Time Theory, though their points on bird vs. bat flight are still valid otherwise:

If you look closely at the above gif, you’ll notice that at several points during flight, the bat actually bends its fingers, which dramatically changes the shape of its wings. Birds do not have joints in their feathers, so they cannot do this.

....

Flexible joints are not all the bat has in its arsenal. Its actual bones are flexible, due to a lack of calcium in its diet. This means that they deform and reform their shape during flight.

Birds minimize air resistance by rotating their primaries during their upstroke, allowing air to slip between the feathers. Bats, with solid membranes, can’t do this- so they have an even finer means of control. There are lines of muscle present within the bat’s wing membrane that can actually change the stiffness and malleability of its skin. You can see them quite clearly under the skin of our entangled bat friend.

This is a big brown bat (Eptesicus fuscus), by the way.

These muscles allow the bat to make their membranes flexible during their upstroke to decrease resistance, yet stiff during their downstroke in order to provide lift. It also allows them to change the camber (angle) of their wings on a whim!

This slow-mo video really displays just how incredibly flexible bat wings are.

Bat wings are also covered by millions of tiny, hyper-sensitive hairs that allow the bat to sense air currents and adjust accordingly.

So what does all this control do for the bat?

Well, for one thing, it means they’re not limited by symmetry. Bird wings will almost always mirror each other in shape, while bats may form two different wings shapes at the same time, allowing them to perform some crazy aerial acrobatics. Some insect-eating bats will actually grab an insect by wrapping one wing around it midflight (don’t believe me? You can see it in the beginning of this video!) and then get the insect in their mouth all in a split second, while still flying.

Now, in terms of speed, birds can generally outpace bats. But in terms of maneuverability, bats can fly circles around birds.

The fact that bats’ bones, unlike those of birds, aren’t hollow, and that their skin is heavier than feathers might seem like a disadvantage- but it isn’t. Birds have much more mass in the center of their body than they do in their wings; by contrast, bats have more mass distributed through each wing (12-20% per wing). This means that bats can actually push off their own mass to do things like flip, spin, roll, etc. No bird can stop midflight and flip over to land upside-down, but bats can.

Because they have such fine control over their airfoil shape, bats can also generate lift using less energy than birds. Remember when I talked about minimizing surface area during the upstroke and maximizing it during the downstroke? Bats can bend their fingers and ‘crumple’ their wings as they raise them, conserving energy. Think of it like opening and closing an umbrella. While birds can pull their feathers together more tightly, they can’t exactly clench them like fists.

Decreasing energy costs is good in any situation, but particularly for fliers. It takes a lot of energy to fly. In this case, bats can outcompete both birds and insects for energy efficiency- one study found that nectar-feeding bats, though the largest in size, expended the least energy hovering when compared to both moths and hummingbirds.

~~end quote~~

As for pterosaurs, I’ll leave it up to Mike Habib’s article “Feathers vs Membranes”:

The structure and efficiency of pterosaur wings is obviously not known in as much detail as those of birds or bats, for the simple reason that no living representatives of pterosaurs are available for study.  However, soft tissue preservation in pterosaurs does give some critical information about their wing morphology, and the overall shape and structure of the wing can be used (along with first principles from aerodynamics) to estimate efficiency and performance.

…((I’ll just be pasting the basic findings, but please read the full article if you’re interested in specifics))…

Now, for some punchlines...

Based on the structural information above, we might expect the following regarding pterosaurs and birds:

- Pterosaurs would have a base advantage in terms of maneuverability and slow flight competency.

- Pterosaurs would also have had an advantage in terms of soaring capability and efficiency

- Pterosaurs would have been better suited to the evolution of large sizes (though this was affected more by differences in takeoff - see earlier posts about pterosaur launch).

- Birds will perform a bit better as mid-sized, broad-winged morphs (because they can use slotted wing tips and span reduction).

- Birds would have an advantage in steep climb-out after takeoff at small body sizes (because they can work with shorter wings and engage them earlier).  This might pre-dispose them to burst launch morphologies/ecologies.

~~end quote~~

(other articles by Habib about Pterosaur anatomy and flight can be found here and here, for anyone interested)

When Exdraghunt linked us this information about pterosaur wings, it was in relation to a question about pterosaur keels and why they differed from bird keels. Exdraghunt suggested this might be due to pterosaur preference for soaring compared to bird flapping. However, plenty of inland pterosaurs could have been flappers, so I think the shallowness is more likely caused by their muscular setup compared to birds, discussed in more detail in the Basic Anatomy section.

Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

Now that we have a basic understanding of the different modes of vertebrate flight, we can get to the fun stuff—wing diversity! Believe it or not, my friends, wing shapes and sizes can drastically effect an animal’s flight style.

Aspect ratio is the ratio of length to width in a wing, where high ratio indicates narrow wings, and low ratio indicates wide wings.

Loading is the ratio of body weight to wing size, where low loading = large wings + small weight, and high loading = small wings + large weight.

Measuring these two aspects against each other helps us determine different flight styles.

For a short n’ sweet rundown:

1)      Long, narrow wings (low loading, high ratio)= gliding, low speed

 2)      Long, wide wings (low loading, low ratio)= soaring

 3)      Short, wide wings (high loading, low ratio)= high acceleration (burst speed), maneuverability

 4)      Short, narrow wings (high loading, high ratio)= high speed

Though there are other aspects of wing shape to take into account as well.

(via^)

Pointedness refers to a wing tip’s position on the leading edge; IE- is the longest point of the wing further back behind the leading edge (A, round), or does the longest point lie along the leading edge (B, pointed)?. Rounder wings increase thrust, and lend towards greater maneuverability-- particularly in short/wide wings. Pointed wings reduce drag on the air (which increases speed), particularly in short wings, and can make for smoother flight.

Convexity refers to the acuteness of a wingtip; IE- is the shape of the wingtip curved relatively inwards (C, concave) or outwards (D, convex)? Concave wings are better suited for constant high speed. Convex wings create more lift, so are ideal for slow flying and increase acceleration.

Measuring these two aspects against each other gives us another fun chart of wing types.

(via^)

And let’s not forget that slotted wings—those whose primary remiges have notches which create gaps between these feathers—reduce drag and tend to be found in wide (low ratio) wings.

Put all these aspects and little details together, and you can observe some very unique flight patterns. Most ornithologists tend to organize wings into 4 different types, as shown below.

Though I personally like to use a few more types as organization (list via):

  1) Marine soarers are birds that fly for long periods over the open ocean and have very high aspect-ratio wings and average or low wing loading that reduce the energetic cost of flight. Birds in this category include the albatrosses (Procellariiformes).

  2) Divers/swimmers are birds with medium to high aspect ratios and high wing loading, including murres, loons, grebes, scoters, mergansers, ducks, and swans. These birds fly rapidly, but with limited maneuverability, characteristics useful for birds that often fly long distances (e.g., during migration or to feeding areas) and take-off and land on water where precise maneuverability is not as important.

  3) Aerial hunters are birds with high aspect-ratio wings and low wing loading, a combination permitting rapid flight and excellent maneuverability. Aerial hunters include swallows and martins (Passeriformes), swifts (Apodiformes), nightjars (Caprimulgiformes), Swallow-tailed Kites (Falconiformes), frigatebirds (Fregatidae), terns (Sterninae), some falcons (e.g., hobbies and Eleonora’s Falcon), and tropicbirds (Phaethontidae).

  4) Soarers/coursers include birds with low aspect ratios and low wing loading, characteristics that allow relatively large birds to either soar or fly just above the vegetation in open habitats in search of prey. Birds in the soaring category include hawks and eagles (Falconiformes), vultures, condors, and storks (Ciconiiformes), and cranes (Gruiformes). Coursing birds include some owls (e.g., Barn Owl and Short-eared Owl; Strigiformes) and harriers (Falconiformes).

  5) Short-burst fliers are birds with low aspect ratios and high wing loading that fly infrequently and only for short distances. Birds in this category include those in the orders Galliformes (e.g., turkeys, pheasants, quail, grouse, and megapodes) and Tinamiformes (tinamous).

  6) Hoverers are birds capable of flying in one position without wind and have high aspect ratios and, surprisingly, high wing loading. The high aspect ratio reduces the energetic cost of flight, whereas the high wing loading permits relatively fast, agile flight (Rayner 1998). The only true hoverers are the hummingbirds (Apodiformes).

~~end quote~~

I don’t have an outside source to verify this observation, but I’ve found that a longer “hand” section and shorter arm generally correlate with high-speed flight, while a shorter “hand” and longer arm correlates to low-speed gliding. I can only assume this may be due to a shorter arm section being easier to flap rapidly, but again, this is conjecture.

While much of this information is bird-specific, I was able to scrounge up a graph of bat aspect ratios and loading, so I can only assume these concepts similarly apply to bat flight.

(via^)

There sadly seems to be much less information available on bat wing/flight diversity…

As for pterosaur wing diversity, exdraghunt sent in some great input (as well as that chart of different bat wings featured above~):

There actually is a fair amount of wing diversity among pterosaurs, and it fairly closely parallels that in birds. (Though they do not reach the extreme variety in shapes that birds do, due to the limitations in variety of “arm+wing finger” combos)

One of the most extreme examples is Nyctosaurus gracilis, a long-distance marine soarer, similar to albatrosses. They have very long, thin wings (and also lost their other wing fingers, presumably because they came on land rarely)

Other species of pterosaur, like insect eaters (which need short, broad wings for manuverability) or over-land fliers would’ve had different wing shapes.

Some of this difference was achieved by varying the ratio between “arm” and “wing finger” lengths. You’ll notice that smaller, earlier “Rhamphorhynchoids” (the top half, with the long tails) tended towards  short arms vs long wing fingers. While larger, later Pterodactyloid species developed longer arms in relationships to the wing finger. (Especially in the wrist)

Wing shape silhouettes, by Mark Witton. (Not to scale, obvs.)

~~end quote~~

Special Cases: Hoverers

Hoverers such as hummingbirds are special cases in the world of vertebrate flight, because much of their lifestyle and physiology mimics that of insects-- including their flight.

The basic rules of flight theory discussed above won’t exactly apply to these guys, because air doesn’t travel over their wings in the same way it does in other vertebrate flyers. Take a look at this post and compare the animations between the hummingbird, goose, and bat. What exactly is unique about the hummingbird animation compared to the other two?

A few things-- for one, hummingbirds don’t have nearly as many points of wing articulation during flight. If you look closely, you’ll see there’s no bend at the elbow or wrist for a hummingbird; they move their whole arm in a completely stiff, figure-8 pattern. Such high-speed flapping can’t handle that much articulation.

Why a figure-8? Here’s the thing-- hummingbirds don’t technically have an upstroke they have to account for. Every stroke of their wings is a downstroke because when they pull their wings back, the topside of their wings tilts down and also pushes against the air as a “downstroke”. Thus, there’s never a gap between downstrokes-- they’re always efficiently pushing down against the air.

This is also why, unlike most every other flying vertebrate, their flight is more vertical than horizontal. In order to properly swing their wings in a figure-8 motion, they have to tilt their bodies up.

While hovering flight is cool as hell, it comes with a lot of restrictions; mainly, hoverers are always small. The energetic restrictions required for hovering are so incredibly high that bodies much bigger than a hummingbird wouldn’t be able to consume enough energy to make up for hovering. Plus, hoverers tend to live right on the edge of starvation because what energy they do manage to consume is used up so quickly.

If you do want to integrate hovering into your dragons, consider making it a secondary form of flight that they can only keep up for short bursts, rather than their primary mode of flight. Unless you’re ready to give your dragon a lot of physiological restrictions, which is cool too.

-Mod Spiral

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

OCs So Far Master List

I wanted to compile my OCs somewhere as a reference. I don't have many, but I don't really have a masterlist so I figured might as well. Most of them I've made in those fun dollmaker games so there's that. Anyway this is more for me than anything so I'll put everything under a cut so it doesn't get too long!

Whumpees:

Blue/Ruka; Merman; strong, stubborn, proud, defiant, but deep down lonely

Rhyss; winged character (early 20s; batlike wings); adventurous, brave, kind, easily excited but easily discouraged; breaks easily

Shae; fairy; tiny! real tiny; quiet, timid, gentle, kind, loves sweets and sunshine, fearful, SO SO EASY TO BREAK

I don't actually have an image of him yet, need to fix that

Cloe; smol winged boi (feathery wings); not tiny! like Shae, smol like...not even 4 feet tall; slender, fragile, emotional; breakable, introverted; needs someone big + strong to protecc him

Arinn; demon, specifically an incubus but unlike many incubi (who get their energy from sexytimes with humans) he gets energy from affection; he is often quite litterally touch starved; smart, clever, snarky, stubborn, wants affection but hates having to ask for it

Emmeline; immortal; lady whumpee; has been alive a long time; curious, adventurous, loves learning and traveling, but has terrible luck & often finds herself in dangerous situations in which she's hurt but can't seek help because someone will discover what she is; lonely and wishes she had a companion. Has a healing factor but some circumstances can slow it, like if she's tired or sick.

Helos; android; has been used as an assassin in his past but is now free and lives with a scientist named Desmond; withdrawn, rough around the edges but has a good heart; very protective of other androids

Ambrose; vampire; has been alive a long time; cold, distant, aristocratic, but also thoughtful and smart and deep down lonely (..i'm sensing a theme here..)

---

Types of whumpees I want to make:

-more tiny characters!

-an angel/large feathery winged character

-just more non-human whumpees in general tbh

---

Caretakers:

Sage; my personal favorite; runs a flower shop! left home because his family wanted him to become a warrior but he is gentle and loves plants and hates violence. Great for gentleness, snuggles, treating injuries with herbs and kindness.

Vale; wealthy but secluded; has a soft spot for non-human creatures, particularly fauns; helpful, generous, just generally wants to help people

Blaise; makes furniture; strong and muscular but gentle (also a theme for my caretakers...); a bit insecure

Alex; technically Arinn's caretaker/boyfren but I am willing to loan him out. really has a thing for cute demons. bit of a loner, has a rough past with his family, tends to be very loyal to whoever he is close to but not trust anyone else

Maria and Cole; friends who are members of a group who rescue and help non-human whumpees who are harmed by other humans who treat them poorly. Just good generic caretakers really.

----

Whumpers:

I don't have many NAMED whumpers actually. I tend to have them be just sort of generic nameless jerks and then mold them into whatever I need for a particular story or RP.

But one go-to for me is a guy named Mr. Prescott, he's a rich asshole who hates any sort of non-human beings with a passion. He uses his resources to have them captured and brought to him where he hurts them basically as a sick hobby. Often he doesn't even kill them, he'll just have them dumped somewhere completely broken once he's bored of them. If you ever want him to whump one of your bbs, let me know~

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIP

This is a melancholy little entry that I stopped working on back in 2015, apparently, since Mary and John’s daughter is an “Amelia” rather than a “Rosie,” and Mary’s real name is “Angela” not “Rosamund”  During the period in which I was writing it they announced, filmed, and released the film “Mr. Holmes” which deals with some similar subjects but which I did NOT rip off. I ripped off a Mitchell and Webb sketch:)

Age, eventually, makes mockeries of all of us.  When I was in my sixties and seventies, I discovered that I did in fact have a heart. And a pancreas.  And many joints, none of which seemed to want to work together properly anymore.  And several other failing body parts that required me to take a dozen pills every single day of my life.

None of this happened to Sherlock.  He remained more or less exactly as he’d always been, just craggier.  He kept his hair, and when it changed color it started in elegant wings over his temples then became a flattering overall silver. Meanwhile I discovered that even once I gave up on blonde, I would have to keep coloring my hair, since it was an unattractive yellowish grey when left to its own devices.

Despite my array of minor ailments, our life together was… good.  We split our time between the Sussex downs, where his bees were, and London, where our grandchildren were.  He took cases, but only the most interesting ones.  I wrote my novels, but only every three years, instead of the annual volumes I’d churned out in my prime.  Sherlock wrote a practical handbook on beekeeping and was furious that nobody wished to buy it.

It was a snowy winter afternoon in Baker Street, and he’d just come in from the cold.  He was flushed and excited to tell me all about what he’d been up to since he’d been gone for a week: a commonplace-seeming garroting that had led to the discovery of an active human-sacrifice cult with multiple sites across Europe.  I vaguely considered putting it into a story but decided it was so wildly implausible that even my extremely patient readers wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you should have seen it, Mary!” he exclaimed, “There I was, tied to the altar below the statue of Czernobog, and the priest was saying the chant and holding the rope over my head, when all at once the door burst open and-“

He paused, then, and said, “Oh, hell.  What’s his name?  The detective inspector?  Amelia’s boss?  Black, muscular, gay?”

“Ted Gregson.”

“Yes.  Right.  Him.”

He didn’t continue on, but flung himself into chair and stared into the fireplace.  I prodded, “So then what happened?”

“I believe something’s gone wrong with my mind, Mary.”

I rolled my eyes at that. For someone who was always as healthy as a horse he was a terrible hypochondriac.

“You had a senior moment. Anyway you never used to remember Greg’s name either… you may have some sort of block for DIs.”

“No.  This is something different.  And it’s been going on for a while.”

Sherlock was right. He mostly was.  Like a lot of intelligent people, he’d been able to compensate for the earliest stages, but he was right.  After that, the progression seemed terribly fast.  We spent several months in a haze of scans and therapy, and he accumulated enough prescription bottles to rival my own collection.  Some of them were highly experimental and provided by his brother’s network of mysterious scientists.  None of them really seemed to do much.

Amelia, being the dear that she is, volunteered to take us in when it all started getting too much for me to handle by myself.  But she had three young children and a husband to look after, a hugely busy career with the Met, plus far too many stairs for me to manage every day.  Therefore I sold the house at Baker Street for an obscene amount of money to a city stockbroker, and we moved out to the downs for what I knew would be the last time.

I’ve spent my life moving on and leaving things behind me.  I’d dropped the original version of myself with no real regrets.  I’d quit my first two careers, both of which I’d been proud of and enjoyed.  I’d managed to get through the death of a husband who I had loved so much that even thirty years later it still hurt to think of him.  So it’s silly how many tears I shed over that dingy Georgian money pit.  

But the cash I got for the place was very helpful.  Despite the continuing success of the Jim Winston novels and the fact that Sherlock had softened up on taking dull cases for money as he aged, we weren’t exactly rich. Then, too, we had new expenses.  I had to hire a nice young woman to help me look after the house, and a large young man to keep an eye on Sherlock in the evenings, since he tended to want to wander after dark.

Then I had to hire another nice young woman because Sherlock had deduced that the original one was unfaithful to her husband, and had of course done it to her face.  Then another large young man since Sherlock, who took a while to experience any of the physical debility that comes with Alzheimer’s, got confused and shoulder-threw the first one across the lounge one evening. At a certain point I arranged for a local hippie couple to come by and look after the bees in exchange for the honey.

We carried on for a few years.  He had his good days and his bad ones.  On his good days he’d still consult, by email, since he had a rock-hard certainty that England couldn’t get by without him.  I published “The Mountain of Fear,” which sold as well as any of my books but as always was savaged by the critics for popularist dreck.  

I started work on my next novel and got about a quarter of the way through it.  Then one day I realized that it was likely that it would be the last one I ever had time to write, and that after it was done, there would be no more Jim Winston stories.  I could face not writing it, but I couldn’t face a world where John, even a fictionalized and imaginary John, wasn’t around, and so I put the MS in a drawer in my desk and turned the key.  “Caught in transition from imagination to life” was the best epitaph I could have written for him, with my limited abilities.

We had fewer and fewer good days.

On a brilliant indian summer day, I went to London to have a new and complicated type of bone scan that couldn’t be done locally.  This was mostly uneventful, although we incidentally discovered that I had finally shrunk to the point where I was less than five feet tall.  The nurse said the radiologist would look over the films and be in touch in the next few weeks.  I took Amelia to lunch and we talked about the grandchildren, mostly, and she promised to bring them out for a visit at the weekend.  Then I took the train back home- I still drove, but didn’t care to do it in the city any more.  

When I got back from the station, there was a long black town car parked on the gravel drive in front of our house.  The driver, a lovely young woman and obviously a Secret Service agent, was leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette.  She nodded politely to me as I passed by.  I therefore was not surprised to see Sherlock’s brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea.  He shared the Holmes tendency for turning up where he wasn’t expected.  

Or wanted.  

Like his brother, he was well-preserved physically, though in the case of Mycroft the adjective “mummified” always seemed more appropriate.  He had to be nearly ninety but his eyes were as bright and judgmental as they ever had been.  He nodded to me as Vithnya, the second housekeeper, helped me out of my coat.  

“Mycroft.”

“Mary.”

We weren’t ever particularly friendly.  He’d never trusted me, and had verbally disapproved of my relationship with Sherlock until it was so well-established that it had become a pointless gesture on his part.  For my part, I despised the constant needling that was his preferred method of interaction with his younger brother.  To the best of my knowledge he and Sherlock hadn’t met in person for nearly three years.

Even with all that, it was oddly relaxing to talk to him.  We were both such skilled and professional liars that we never bothered trying it out with one another.

“How’s he done since I was out?” I asked Vithnya.

“Pretty well.  He had a nice chat with Mr. Holmes – with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, that is - and now he’s out with his bees.  But he was a little agitated this morning.  He kept walking around looking for someone called Angela.”

I could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring in to me over the rim of his teacup.  I smiled at the girl and said, “He was looking for me.  It’s an old joke we used to have.”

She giggled, and I realized abruptly that she was relieved, that she’d worried I’d be hurt that my husband, in his confusion, wanted to see another woman.  This was a thought that was so ridiculous on so many levels that I could have giggled myself.

Vithnya grinned, white teeth in her red lips, and said, “I don’t know about that.  This Angela sounds like a most desperate character!”

“I was quite the firecracker when I was younger, my girl.  Can you keep an eye on him while I chat with Mycroft, please?”

She poured me a cup of tea of my own and went off to do just that.

Mycroft said, “You don’t seem at all nervous of discovery now that Sherlock has lost what - minimal filters - he ever had.”

“I’m not.”

“No statute of limitations on murder.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was the one, after all, who had replaced my rather half-assed false identity with something that could stand up to any scrutiny.

“She won’t think about it for more than thirty seconds after leaving this room.  I am a little old lady.  In the mind of a twenty-two year old, not only am I obviously harmless now but it is inconceivable I ever would have been otherwise.  You ought to consider hiring some of us on at MI-6. We’re practically invisible.”

“Perhaps I ought.”

I took a biscuit, damn my blood sugar, and dunked it into my tea.  

“Did you and Sherlock have a nice chat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“We did,” he said, eventually, “For seventy-eight minutes.  Not once in that period did he recognize me.  I could tell he was making his best deductions.  Sometimes he thought I was John Watson.  Sometimes Greg Lestrade, sometimes Victor Trevor.  I didn’t realize-”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That he had become so debilitated.  That he was so far gone.”

I sighed.  

“He’s dying, Mycroft. What did you think it would be like?”

He took another biscuit from the packet on the table and put it into his mouth.  Chewed.

“I never thought that he would be the first to go.  I always assumed that I wouldn’t be the one left standing.  When he’s gone-”

He trailed off.  But I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been my own.  When Sherlock was gone there would be no one left with the same sort of mind that Mycroft had… except the departure had already happened, and he’d missed it.

I had some sympathetic pangs – for Mycroft Holmes, of all people – and I said, “He generally perks up a bit in the evenings.  I’m happy to put you up, if you’d like.  Perhaps you could… try again?”

The British Government responded as I should have expected.  He rose, brushed nonexistent crumbs off his lapels, and took up his hat and umbrella.  

“I think that my presence is of no help to him any longer, Mary.  I expect that I will see you again.  At least once.”

He actually bowed to me on his way out.

I finished my tea, and looked out of the window.  Vithnya was sitting in the grass, folding a basket of laundry.  Sherlock was sitting on the bench that looked out over the garden. Both of them seemed contented, at least as far as one could tell from that distance.  The sun was at a deep angle, and so I picked up a blanket and left for the outdoors.

I was glad I had done, as it was starting to get chilly outside and he was in shirtsleeves.  Had I married any other man but this one I would have thought that his indifference to the elements was a sign of his decay, but frankly he’d done the exact same thing when he was forty.  “Just transport,” is the motto he maintained, in far worse weather than this.

At some point in his life someone, presumably his mother, drilled some basic forms of politeness into Sherlock Holmes.  He was terrifyingly, frankly rude in ordinary conversation but when you handed him a cup of tea or tucked a blanket around his body you would inevitably receive a gracious, “Ah, thank you.”  It’d be in the tone of a king addressing his subjects, but you’d get it.  I got just that as I settled the afghan around his knees, and sat down next to him to look over the hives.  

“I’m expecting John and Mary to turn up.  Have you seen them?” he asked me.

When he’d first become ill, he’d asked me to always correct him when he had his lapses.  I’d agreed, but, again, I was such a natural liar that it didn’t much trouble me to say now that, “I believe they’ll be along shortly.” Awful, I know, but sometimes I just wanted not to see him upset.

“Ah,” he replied.

A drone, a late survivor of the autumnal purges, buzzed up and landed on the blanket over his knee. He gently nudged it onto his hand and raised it to eye level before setting it down on the ground.

“I’m a bit worried,” he said, conversationally.

“About what?” I asked.

“Occasionally John’s wife lets me shag her.  And I’m not sure that’s right.”

I blinked. Occasionally?  Thirty-odd years, and I’m not going to go into details about our sex life but it was really very acceptable, and occasionally is what he remembered?  And that I ‘let him’?   But all I said was, “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t do that if John objected. So it’s all right.”

“Ah, good.  You know Mary, then?”

“I do, yes.”

He squinted at me, which, Gawd-help-us, was still terribly cute.

“You’re… one of her relatives,” he said, hesitantly.

I smiled.  “I am,” I said, “How did you know that?”

He grinned at me.  No matter what he’d ever said or how much he’d griped about the unobservant nature of most people, I knew that he loved to explain his deductions.  

“It’s the ears,” he said, setting the pads of his fingers on my chin and turning my face to the side, “Not quite as uniquely identifying as a fingerprint but with a strong genetic component.  The pendulosity of the lobes, the position of the pinnae… clearly you and Mary are closely connected.  You’re too old to be the younger sister, and the mother is dead, but..”

He took hold of my hand and looked at my fingers.  “There’s other things.  You and Mary both have a minor congenital deformity of the smallest finger.  It angles slightly outward.  Not enough to disable either of you, but distinctive, and…”

He turned my hands in his. I have nearly perfectly matched scars on my palms… on my right hand, the souvenir of a Caracas knife fight when I was twenty-seven.  On my left, the souvenir of reaching into a sink filled with dishwater and one broken glass when I was forty.  

And then he stopped, still staring at my hands, and said, “Oh.  Oh Mary.  How could I have forgotten you?  I had you off by heart.”

I lifted a hand and stroked his grizzled chin.  

“It’s fine,” I said, “You have me back.”

He just tangled his fingers in mine and stared.

“That’s my mother’s ring,” he said.  “Did I give that to you?”

I looked at the amethyst on my right ring finger and said, “Yes.  When we got married.”

“I remember that.  You were beautiful in your dress.”

I laughed, unwittingly. “That was my first wedding.  You and I just went to a registry office at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Really?”

“We did. There wasn’t much time to plan a wedding.  The exact words of your proposal were, “If I have to be Sir Sherlock you can damn well be Lady Mary.”  It was the day before you got your KCBE.”

“By God.  What a rubbish proposal.”

I smiled.

“Unconventional, definitely.  But I wouldn’t have had you any other way.”