#but to generally say that all of the ravens had to have known and they were just ignoring it is wild

[joanofexys]

idk you can insist that no matter how you frame it there’s no way that the ravens didn’t know about riko’s abuse but also some of yall have clearly never been in a cult, for which i am genuinely so relieved to know that’s never been your reality, and really have no clue what you’re talking about because it’s actually entirely plausible

[satori-runa]

—In the warmth

Summary: You are genuinely wondering why your captain doesn't show more skin despite Natlans hot temperatures.

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Natlan was quite the opposite of your home nation. The heat assaulted your body, forcing you to strip off your coat and minimize your movements before a heat stroke could knock you out in the middle of the mission.

Your hand barely created a cold breeze, no matter how hard you tried to wave it in front of your face to generate even the tiniest bit of fresh air. You could swear the air wasn't even moving; it was just warm and stuffy, even out in nature.

The only one unaffected by the oppressive climate was the captain himself. He still wore that large black coat lined with fur and heavy chains. His stance showed no sign of discomfort, indicating that he wasn’t affected like you or the others. In fact, he maintained his usual behaviour. It really irritated you—he didn’t shed a single piece of armour, didn’t roll up his sleeves, and never took off that giant coat in front of the team. Whenever you approached him to ask if he wasn’t hot, he would simply say, no, he wasn’t.

"If you need a break in this weather, you can take it." his deep voice told you. He shifted the focus from your concern for him directly back to you, like a mirror. After all, he knew you weren’t truly worried about him suffering in the heat. You were just curious to see even a little bit of his skin.

"I'll manage, but I appreciate the offer, Captain. I can’t slack off while the others are working so hard to set up the rest of the camp."

There was a hint of disappointment beneath your layer of gratitude, but he chose not to address it.

Later that night, Capitano sat alone by the campfire, his gaze directed toward the ground. He had sensed you nearby a while ago but said nothing as you approached his tall form. The heat of the nation was even worse at night, especially in a place like this, which only added to your irritation upon seeing the Captain seated in front of a fire.

"You should at least take off your mask." you finally said, breaking the silence. A few seconds passed before he responded. "There is no need." Of course, he wouldn’t, if he had wanted to, he would have done so long ago, even without your prompting. "I’m curious." There it was, the sheer honesty you had tried to mask with concern before. It made him chuckle. He liked that side of you.

Capitano and you had known each other for years. You were a loyal member of his regular troupe, yet you didn’t know him well. And still, he chose to trust you. His hands slowly lifted, removing the helmet and the mask that covered his face.

There he was, illuminated by the warm fire. His eyes were like stars, shining and deep, staring right through you with an expression that could be described as curiosity. His raven hair fell perfectly into place, framing his face and accentuating his features. But what caught your attention most was the rotting dark part—it looked strange, inhuman, more like it was tainted by the Abyss. It exposed part of his teeth, and yet, oddly, it suited him.

"I know what you’re thinking." He huffed, moving to put the helmet back on, but your hand caught his wrist just in time to stop him.

"The air feels good without the extra layer, right, Capitano?" He glanced at you, and all he could see was your genuine smile, no fear, no disgust, just radiant joy that burned in his chest more than Natlan’s heat ever could.

"It does."

[dogbites-puppylove]

Yandere Batfam: Incentives

TW: description of yandere mentalities and actions (obsession, possessive tendencies, stalking, etc)

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: The Epitome of a Hero

Batman without fail has proven himself a near-perfect hero, impressive for the fact that he's first generation and had tackled Gotham's cursed land. But obviously, as with any being on earth, the stress of the facade weighs on him. The stretch between the isle of Bruce Wayne and the Scowl of Batman no longer cut clean. They blur and tear at him ravenously until he sometimes feels he is nothing but a ghost of obsession, of a boy in the middle of an alley with his parent's blood puddled around his knees.

Bruce, in essence, needs something to define himself, he is a man who cares for his partners painfully (each robin has chiseled a part of himself out) and yet he cannot choose them over his city (over his villains). He has nobody else to define who he is, he is nothing without them and as much as he loves being their father the cowl is the only thing he has left of what was once an unbreakable will

The darling plays a sort of anchor, a guide, a definition that Bruce can cling onto. For Bruce who cannot say confidently that he can live truly as either a civilian or a hero without regret, his darling is all he has to cling to. For even should he forsake his sacred code that defines him, forsake his morals that he clings to, and go off the deep end never to return he can still manage to drench himself in you. 

You're in his bones, his flesh, and on his lips at all times of the night and day, the cowl and fatherhood are at his core and as they conflict, chipping away at him and forcing him into nothing but a broken mess you seep into the cracks and fill him up until all of him is nothing but you, you, you. Your scorn, your praise, all of what you say, you're what he can finally define himself off of.

It doesn't matter if your nails drag into his skin as a punishment, or even if you carve your woes into his flesh with a knife. He will take them as his law all the same he will revere your kisses, your soft touches, and your smiles. His unbreakable will is nothing in the end as long as he has you.

You have him in the palm of his hand, your word is law, you define who he is with your mood, whether he is a failure and must strive to be better or whether he can finally rest is all up to you.

Even from a young age when childhood should have been grass stains and scraped knees, Dick has always known an audience's eyes and dizzying heights. He knows his role, his actions and his expressions are all being watched, and taken into account and he knows best how to play the role of the easily lovable. Responsibility and acting all of this have been him forever, he's a natural at it. Basically, its second nature for him to mold himself into the one everyone likes, he knows the script and he plays it well

Richard Grayson: The golden boy

His entire life has been a role, something that he has to put his all into acting, the perfect robin, the leader of the titans, the leader of the young justice league, Nightwing-the vigilante who garners the respect of heroes and law alike. It is a tightrope walk of never-ending smiles and actions and if he slips it all comes crashing down and he cannot risk it. If he bows to the weight on his shoulders, even if it's all too much he has far too much to lose. Of course, he loves being loved, and he genuinely does love his family, loves his pseudo father and his little brothers and his friends but he knows who they love and it might not be him as a person.

The darling for him is a slow burn. a t first their a sort of self-fulfillment, just a little fix of appreciation from his favorite person, but the more he visits them, the more he drops some prefixes, is able to be a little rougher around the edges he gets lost in it, the brunt of his feelings finally flooding out from the cracks in his perfect facade and you're his addiction. He needs you to need him, to like him, to adore him he needs you to approve of who he is without the flashing lights and cameras. It's a strange mix of needing your approval to prove that he's still balancing, that the weight hasn't yet managed to take hold and drag him down, and needing you to see the fact that he is a broken grieving man. He's been used and weaponized and he just needs to know that outside of that Richard Grayson is still useable, love him outside of his role, be his everything meld your existence into his he's begging you

It comes to a point that he can almost no longer separate where you begin and where he ends, and he's never felt so intoxicated, so in love, because if love isn't the way he can barely focus, his brain clouding over and the way he basically turns into an animal for you, your loyal little dog he doesn't know what could possibly count. As long as he has your praise, your approval, and your need for him he's a brainless pet. Just love him, love him, love him or he might finally fall. 

What many forget about the second robin is though he is the robin who crosses the lines others won't, the one who sees things to a more permanent end, Jason is the one who is more in tune with his emotions. They overwhelm him and lead him more than rationality but Jason has emotions, he bares his heart on his sleeve, and others are simply too blind to see it. Perhaps it's because of this strange self-awareness, of how fucked he is, how broken he is that he cannot delude himself in the same way his family does. He cannot seem to meld himself with you(how could something like him even think of being one with someone like you), but he's so desperate for the connection. 

Jason Todd: The monster

In comparison to the other robins, Jason understands that he is replaceable. It's so easy to swap him out with any other broken street rat, hell he might even argue it would be an improvement. He's watched Gotham from its sewer, eyes glancing over crime alleys streets from broken street lights as a child, how women were beaten into submission by men with too much audacity and beer on their breath, how good men would be turned to corpses and looted, how children stood on corners and Gotham nods her head because his city is nothing it not vile and rotten in its core

He has known death intimately and hates life just a little bit more because there isn't anything he can feel truly justifies how Gotham lets the sewage and filth thrive. He's never had the luxury of childhood, of the safety of a child's innocence because he's aware that life isn't a gift, it's a cesspool of sin prepping souls on earth for hell. There's nothing good, but there are people who need protection from it and Jason goes about his days repenting for existing because there's no divinity, no god other than the men who see themselves on the top of the chain. There's no god before you.

His darling is a light, something near untouchable, someone who can do no wrong. Jason is the type of delusional where he can justify every single thing Darling can ever say or do, say the skies green and he’ll rearrange the dictionary just to prove you right. You in a sense define what is good or evil, something invaluable, something so good that they could even pity him. A benevolent deity bestowed open Gotham and he'd be damned if he let anything from the street touch you. Jason is the robin who came back wrong, the killer, the monster, the black sheep of the family of maniacs who want better from the world, and he's disgusting but he'll do anything for you.

In a sick way, he already knows well how his presence is painfully unworthy of you, but he longs, craves, and hungers for you all the same. He's reverent in his treatment. If he cannot connect with you by becoming one he'll be your loyal slave, your servant to the ends of the earth, his hands are already stained but even his own sins become virtues if there for you. He lives and breathes on you, everything he does is for you until the dead bodies piling his work are but offerings, sacrifices all for you. Carve a place in your body for him to reside, for him to leash himself upon so he can hide and forever more belong to you. A Divine and their monster acolyte. 

Tim is a being born of neglect, constant patronization, rejection, and scorn. His only sense of motivation had been at first obsession without a sense of preservation. Tim has always known nothing but a world where he has to be able to provide to earn his right to stay, to exist. He knows intimately what it's like to be looked through, to be invisible, to have his own name replaced with another, or to have never been born, so like money he exchanges himself and all his actions in a transactional way. Every relationship for him is a simple give and take, he gives them what they want, and they let him stay and remember his name. As long as Tim is functioning and working he can't be thrown away, can't be truly invisible. As long as he is working he is kept.

Tim Drake: The Forgotten 

Tim is smart, he knows how to run the table, and play the game and he does it well, he knows exactly how to pick apart everyone around him. Tears into them and learns, absorbs, and sees what they need, how he needs to act, what he needs to provide, and remakes himself for the sake of their approval. From the constant twists and turns of his character, Tim knows how to seek out the role, how to play it, how to thrive in it, Tim sees everything, and thus he is left feeling empty because nobody sees him. Something carnal in him screams for something, anything to tear him apart as well, to meet his obsession with their own.

His darling is someone who he needs to ruin him, he needs them to dissect him, to cut him up and tear away everything and covet his entrails. He's begging you to tear away at him, until Red Robin is nothing until Drake Wayne is but a far away title, and see him, see Time in all he is. Obsessive, disgusting, and desperate. He needs his darling to keep digging even as they see this and decide he's good enough to continue unraveling, to rip him open and keep something of him in your pocket.

As is apparent the relationship with his darling is almost masochistic in a way, with a clear power dynamic but what is to be noted is that while he is desperate he will never truly give up control. He knows when he is being manipulated, but he thrives on it, that you've picked him apart and have decided him worthy to manipulate, you get what he allows but he allows a lot for you. He wants his darling to devour him whole, to stitch themselves into a Frankenstein monster just as he has with them. Take on his mannerisms, remember his coffee order, his eye color, anything. He'd thrive just knowing they have a photo of him somewhere in their pocket. (as if it equates to the massive amounts of video he has on you, the photos, the cameras, the trackers, the microphones, the bugs, and chips)he just needs you to know who he is. He needs you to prove that Timothy Drake truly exists. 

What most cannot see off the bat due to confident words and even more confident actions is that the most familiar feeling Damian is acquainted with is unsurity. He is a being born with a purpose, and the purpose was not to be human, it was to be heir, to be a leader to be everything that he needed to be. His life is a mix of criteria he needs to meet, of missions and proving himself and needing to be perfect, needing the validation of praise and a good grade. He is the heir of a league of assassins and yet he can no longer kill, he is the protege of a notorious hero and yet he contemplates lethality for too much, day in and day out Damian defines himself by this conflict and with true humanity alluding him, he cannot tell truly who he is. 

Damian Wayne: The heir 

The source of his need for competency comes from fear of inadequacy. Because if he cannot fit the criteria given, if he cannot prove himself worthy then does he even have the right to exist? When he has been born for a role he can no longer call his own, where does that leave him? Lost, he's lost and wandering and he thinks something is rotting in him. It plagues him, the fact that Damian Wayne is a leader, son, brother,heir but not human.

His darling in his case plays the role of safe haven, a little home in the form of flesh and blood where he can bury himself alive. He needs the surety they bring, there is no throne, no rubric or evaluation, there is only their own eyes and lips and Damian's own heart in their hands. They are his humanity, if Damian is a role then they are his wants and needs, they are his tears and very heart, he's sure if he could tear his chest open his darling would be there, cradled precisely within his ribs. In their arms Damian feels so painfully useless that he remembers he too has lungs that need air, that he too has basic needs, he feels helpless and ragged and he thinks that this sort of helplessness can be nothing but love.

Darling is living proof that Damian Wayne has something to himself outside of Robin, outside of al-Ghul, and outside of his last name. He is flawed, he sleeps and dreams and cries and is so very weak. He eats from the palm of your hand, everything that makes him disgustingly weak, mortal, he's putty in your hands, even if you were to feed him poison he would drink greedily. The thought of death, the foe that drove his grandfather to the pits over and over again, feels no harder than a feather brush with your arms around him.

Alfred: extra 

Apologies 

He is far too old to fancy himself a darling, and far too sensible to feel infatuation as strongly as his wayward family but he can care, and he can love and he would do anything for his family as he always has

Of course, he feels bad, lucid as he is he can see how they covet you, how they stress you and pull you so thin you might disappear but he cannot let you go, he hopes you forgive him.

He does pity you, is fond of you and your softer nature in the cave of monsters that lurk around for you as their sole prey and he’ll protect you as much as he can but ever since they've had you the manor has a bit lighter and they've smiled so much more he cannot truly let you go

He’ll provide everything but freedom, he'll coddle you through the transition and until he too must take his place in a grave but he begs of you to stay by his family of beasts

You're his only hope 

Author's Note: Dipping my toes back into writing - if this seems familiar it's because it's a reupload! I was previously known as lovesick laboratories but my mental health took a nose dive but I'm back!

Tags: yandere batfam, yandere dc, yandere batfam x reader, bruce wayne x reader, dick grayson x reader, jason todd x reader, tim drake x reader, damian wayne x reader

[bumblesimagines]

this is just flirting. this will always be just flirting.

that's not what you used to say.

Maddy Perez

this is just flirting. this will always be just flirting.

that's not what you used to say.

pronouns: he/him, m!reader

Madeleine Perez had always been a force to be reckoned with. From an early age, she'd always been certain of herself and it shone through her confidence. She was the pretty popular girl with equally pretty popular friends. The cheerleader who dated the star quarterback. The girl who got everything she wanted one way or another.

Or, well, she had almost everything she wanted.

(Y/N) Daley. She'd barely given him a single thought growing up. He'd always been in the background, just another classmate and neighbor who blended in and stayed out of the more popular friend circles. Then, he changed from classmate to project buddy and it blossomed from there.

Maddy loved the attention. She loved the knowledge that she was wanted by others. Nate bruised her ego, he always did eventually, but it'd mend when she locked lips with some random guy who looked at her as if she were an angel that walked the Earth. Guys chased after her with hopes of getting with one of the prettiest girls in school and in hopes of finally one-upping Nate Jacobs. (Y/N) had been one of those guys. His head would turn when she walked by. He'd perk up when she spoke to him. He allowed her to dance around the subject of a relationship. He took the shoulder checks from Nate Jacobs when his friendship with her became known. And then, that disappeared, suddenly and abruptly the attention she had grown to desire and look forward to vanished. 

Not knowing knawed away at her like an anxiety she'd never experienced before. Nate always made her feel small during their fights, made her feel like a lost child looking for their home. He always made her worry, always ran circles in her mind each night. But this time, it'd been (Y/N) fucking Daley doing all those things. It hadn't been until Cassie, confused and concerned at her side, asked a simple yet heart-stopping question. 

"Maddy, do... do you think you love him?" She'd asked, voice soft and delicate as she ran her fingers through Maddy's raven locks. Maddy's body had stiffened, her whole body tensing at the mere mention of love. It had made Cassie backtrack and switch topics, but the question weighed heavy on her mind. She loved Nate. Or, she thought she did at least. He was everything she needed. Well-off, popular, good family, good future. She'd never have to work a day in her life with him, just as she always wanted. But did she actually want Nate or did she desire the life he could provide her?

Maddy couldn't concentrate, even with a bottle of cheap beer in one hand and BB's vape in the other. She stared at the swarm of teenagers grinding and dancing together, drunken voices singing along to a generic song playing over the speakers. Her nail clinked against the brown glass, a slow rhythm as her hawk eyes searched for his familiar face. Cassie stood at her side, phone in hand and her bright screen illuminating her face as she frantically typed. Likely another fight with McKay. Kat stood at her other side, her phone also in hand but awaiting a message. Finally, her phone vibrated. 

"Okay, Ethan says they're he-" Maddy passed the beer and vape off to a barely conscious BB and walked forward, those with sober minds immediately stepping out of the way for her. She slipped around the tipsy and drunk ones, calling out sharp 'excuse me's and 'move's until she reached the less crowded front door and watched with bated breath. It creaked open and Ethan stepped through with his phone clutched tightly to his chest. His brother followed with his phone in hand as well, his brows dipped and eyes focused on the screen in deep concentration. 

"Hey, Maddy." Ethan greeted, trying to sound casual but the high-pitched end to his greeting failed him. She plastered a fake smile for him and motioned over her shoulder in the direction of Kat, watching him nod in thanks and disappear into the crowd. (Y/N) lifted his head and dragged his eyes away from his phone at Ethan's movements, lips jutting out in slight offense at his brother's abandonment. His head tilted in her direction and they locked eyes, prompting her to glide over to him.

"Why do I feel like you're avoiding me?" She asked, arching one brow and folding her arms over her chest. She'd chosen a good dress, the dress that always drew eyes to her wherever she went. (Y/N)'s eyes, however, remained on her face and his casual shrug made her skin prickle. Her arms fell to her sides and she groaned, catching his arm and pulling him down a lonely hallway. He grunted quietly but otherwise didn't protest. 

It was foreign territory. Maddy Perez wasn't one to beg or chase or be tripped up over a guy. No, she was the one who turned the other cheek and moved on to the next prize that would have Nate doing all those things for her. Yet, there she was, standing in the middle of a dimly lit hallway because a guy- her crush- had decided to ignore her. How the mighty fall.

"Why are you so worked up, Mads? We're... classmates who occasionally flirt. This is just flirting. This will always be just flirting."

"That's not what you used to say." 

"No, it's what you used to say." She blinked, and then her heart sank into the pits of her stomach. "Why would I waste my time when you're always going to go back to Nate? I'm the rebound, remember? The guy you to go when Nate leaves and then ditch when he comes back. I'm not mad about it, Mads. I'm just treating you how you've always treated me."

"I-"

"And I prefer it this way."

[anthurak]

So I’ve been thinking more about one of the more subtle but striking questions brought up by Ruby’s tree vision:

Namely; to where or rather to who were Raven and Summer portaling to? After all, it’s been established that Raven’s semblance, Kindred Link, allows her to create portals specifically to people she has established a certain bond and connection with.

And this is particularly interesting, because of the people we thus far know have Raven’s ‘Link’, only ONE was otherwise not present in the flashback; Qrow.

And wouldn’t you know it; Qrow also happens to be one of the people we can definitively say DOESN’T know what happened to Summer, going off his talk with Ruby in Volume 7 where he mentions having no idea where Summer went or what she was doing on her mysterious last mission.

Now, as I’m sure some people will bring up, it IS possible that Qrow was actually present and is simply keeping quiet about it to Ruby. However, personally I seriously doubt that. As I simply don’t see the writers cheapening such a personal and important scene between Ruby and Qrow by later revealing that Qrow was actually outright lying to Ruby at the time.

So that seemingly leaves us with seemingly only one other option: That Summer and Raven portaled to someone else.

As to who that someone might be? Well personally, I think it would have to be someone we likely haven’t met yet. I know some people have suggested it could have been Ozpin, but frankly I don’t buy that one bit. Whatever happened to Summer is clearly meant to have MASSIVE implications, impact and general status-quo shattering revelations, all things it would make much more sense that Oz has NO idea to. Not to mention it’s kind of hard to imagine Raven forming a link, clearly a very close connection, with someone she seems to have always distrusted like Ozpin. Meaning that we’re left with a character that we simply haven’t be introduced to yet.

However, after giving it some more thought, I think there may be a THIRD option:

Raven and Summer DIDN’T actually portal to a person.

Remember just how we learned the mechanics of Raven’s semblance?

It was via Yang explaining it, via information she was told by TAI.

Here’s the thing though; Tai certainly knew how Raven’s semblance worked back when they were a team with Summer and Qrow. But it’s also been a LONG time since then. And wouldn’t you know it, these last couple volumes have ALSO introduced us to the concept of SEMBLANCE EVOLUTION.

So what if in the near-twenty-odd years since leaving her team, Raven’s semblance ALSO ‘evolved’? To the point where she can form her ‘Links’ with more than JUST people?

Perhaps now Raven can form a link with objects that have particular significance to her? Or, and this one I find the most compelling, LOCATIONS that are particularly important to her?

It’s funny that we’ve never actually known for sure where or to who Raven has been portalling to all the times we’ve seen her. Sure, in hindsight I think we’ve all been assuming it was Vernal in Volumes 2, 3, and 4, and to Taiyang at the end of Volume 5. But the funny thing is, we DON’T actually hear the characteristic sound of Raven’s portal opening in the V5 post-credits scene with Tai, only the flapping of wings. Implying that Raven may not have actually portalled to Tai directly…

Meaning that throughout the show, perhaps Raven wasn’t actually portalling to Vernal, but rather to the camp, the home which now has great significance and meaning to her. And at the end of Volume 5, she portalled not to Tai, but rather to the home she once had on Patch. Or, for the REAL spicy alternative, to Summer’s grave.

So what if at the start of their world-most-homoerotic-suicide-mission together, Raven and Summer portalled not to a person, but rather to a LOCATION that Raven was able to set up a link to?

(shoutout to @mikey-polo420 for the ask that got me thinking about this :D)

[waaayoutofline]

Murder on the Dance Floor (part 2)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: A tiny bit suggestive.

WORD COUNT: 2724

The pulsing beat of the music could be heard from outside the dimly lit street, matching Natasha’s tense state. She was usually calm, collected when handling missions, but this was the exception—because this time, she was working with you. Just the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Honestly, if someone had told her a year ago that she’d agree to cooperate with you of all people, she would have laughed right to their face. But that didn’t matter now. She needed to get her hands on Horvat, and, unfortunately, you were her best—if only—shot at it.

Adjusting her earpiece, Natasha willed herself forward, slipping past security and flashing one of her fake IDs to the bouncer. After a quick nod, she was finally able to sweep her gaze over the crowd moving around the dance floor. In her earpiece, Yelena’s voice crackled. “See her yet?”

“No,” Natasha muttered, keeping her tone low as she moved toward a secluded spot by the bar. “She’s late. And honestly, I’m not even surprised.”

The blonde hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm. She seems…”

“Irresponsible? Selfish? A brat?” Natasha interrupted, her words sharp as she shrugged off her vest and left it on the stool beside her. “Those are just on top my head.”

“I was going for interesting. I have never seen anyone getting under your skin the way she does.” The redhead rolled her eyes, tapping her feet on the ground as she was searching between the participants.

”This is just unprofessional. I mean, who even isn’t on time for their own plan?” She sighs. “I should've known she’d pull something like this.”

Natasha remembers perfectly your encounter a few hours ago. 

The two of you ended up meeting in a neutral spot to, as you put it, “chat things up.” It was weird for the two of you to just… talk. You were as teasing as ever when you explained that the way for you both to gain access to the Hydra operative was to do something as ridiculous as joining a dance competition.

“You are joking.” Natasha repeated, baffled. But you made no move to correct yourself. 

“It is what it is, Agent Romanoff. Seems our friend is one of those eccentric types—loves all forms of art, but dance is his favourite. The competition is being held here by him.” You handed her a slip of paper with a hastily scribbled address and a list of pairs. “These are the couples registered.”

Natasha scanned it, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Wait—some of these couples, I know them. They’re actual professionals, Raven,” she noted, using your codename. Not like she was sure that the name you’d given her was even your real one.

“Oh, calm down agent. You’ve got me on your dream team now,” you answered with a wink that did nothing to reassure her. “And it’s not like we have other options. The winners get a super-duper exclusive VIP card that grants access to the elite party Horvat is hosting.”

Natasha’s reluctance must’ve been clear because you sighed in exasperation at the clear lack of enthusiasm. “Look, it’s the best I could do given your strict rules, alright?”

“I wouldn’t say that not murdering or maiming anyone counts as strict rules,” she replied, unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure? Aren’t you the fearless Black Widow?” you teased, your voice low, just loud enough for her to hear. You leaned in, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “And here thought you were this fearless superspy. But See, I have a different perspective. To these people, we’re just amateurs. That’s our advantage.”

“Is it?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp, but something about the way you were looking at her made her uneasy.

You grinned, stepping closer, your breath warm against her ear as you leaned in conspiratorially. “Absolutely. They won’t even see it coming when I take them down one by one…”

The intensity in your voice caught her off guard. There was something almost dangerous in your tone, that manic glint in your eyes that she couldn’t quite ignore. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she put distance and shot you a warning glare.

You slightly raised your hands in mock surrender, but there was still something in your smile that made her pulse quicken. “Alright, alright, no need for that. I promise, no murder on the dance floor. Besides, I’m not here to show off.”

Her gaze never left you, knowing better than to believe that. You thrived on chaos, on the twisted thrill of it all. And she hated how it seemed to pull her in each time, how close you were making her feel to something she couldn’t quite control.

“This is the plan,” you continued, your voice soft but insistent. “We get through a few rounds, win that VIP pass, and make it into Horvat’s inner circle. Nice and easy.”

You closed the distance even more, your face just inches from hers. Without hesitation, you pulled a card from your pocket, letting it slip between your fingers with a practised ease. “Here’s the address. Dress to impress. Preferably black and burgundy?” you murmured, your hand brushing against her chest as you slipped it into the pocket of her vest, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “The color really suits your eyes.” You purred. 

Natasha could feel the heat of your touch, every movement too intimate for comfort, and yet, she couldn’t look away. You had a way of getting close—too close—and she watched every movement, every subtle shift of your body, all while her heart beat a little faster than she wanted to admit. It was like every single nerve on her body screaming in conflict whenever you acted this dangerously. 

She is only bought out of her stupor when she notices a shift in between the crowd. For an instant, she thinks that the contest already started, but that thought quickly goes away when she saw the true reason for the multitude to part like melted butter.

There you are, walking as if you owned the place with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Seemingly ignoring all the eyes landing on you like dominoes and yet preening under the attention like a lazy cat basking under the sun. Your smile was deceivingly innocent, gentle yet cocky in the subtlest of ways. 

Her eyes couldn’t help to take you in. 

The dark red dress you wore hugged your body perfectly, like a second skin, as if melting with each of your movements. The dress was seamless, held up only by thin straps that dipped into a daring neckline, exposing just enough to make anyone want more. The shimmering sequins embroidered along the curve of your hips glinted teasingly under the retro disco ball, casting a mesmerizing array of shimmering reds. The lacy fringe of the hem stopped just shy of your mid-thigh, blending with the flowery skirt that revealed both your legs in tantalizing glimpses.

As embarrassing as it was, she was just another victim that couldn’t seem to take her eyes away. Try to regain composure, she did her best to maintain a bit of her dignity, not wanting to give you any leash for you to tug on. 

Taking a steadying breath, Natasha forced herself to fold her arms, straighten her spine, and lift her chin, trying to cloak herself in her usual calm and untouchable persona. But her eyes had a mind of their own, betraying her as they lingered on you, watching every movement despite herself.

When you finally reached her, your gaze met hers, and Natasha had the unsettling feeling that you saw right through every barrier she’d put up. That awareness sent a chill of discomfort down her spine. Stepping closer, you set your purse down on the stool beside her with slow, deliberate movements that she couldn’t help but follow. Without breaking eye contact, you smirked.

“Enjoying the view, Agent Romanoff?” you purred, each word slipping from your lips as if laced with honey. But Natasha knew that the sweetness could be someone’s poison just as easily.

She scoffed. “Your arrogance is staggering.”

Feigning a pout, you tilted your head, feigning hurt. “Is it so wrong to give a lady a compliment once in a while?” Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you leaned in, letting your gaze trace over her in a way that was unmistakably bold, yet foolishly innocent. “Well, I’m not scared to admit that you look gorgeous.”

You complimented while taking her in. 

Her hair was pinned up into a tight braid that left her neck exposed. The dark red shirt she wore clung to her perfectly, the satin fabric being comfortable and hinting at the lines of muscle and curves beneath. Sleeveless, it exposed her toned arms. The neckline went straight into a tight V, just enough for showing the delicate, pale skin of her sternum. Opting for practically, she paired it with paired with sleek, tailored trousers in a matching deep red—almost black in the low light (not that she had in mind your previous recommendation when choosing this of course). A polished belt cinched her waist, the silver buckle slightly off centred.  There was no doubt in your mind that she wore a strapped in blade attached to her ankle, ready and waiting. 

The thought did nothing but send a rush of excitement up your spine.

A blur at the corner of your vision catches your attention, and the teasing persona you reserve for Natasha vanishes abruptly. As much as you enjoyed being the cause of her losing her composure, you had a job to do—and you’d be damned if you failed.

Without giving Natasha a chance to react, you catch her shoulders and pull her against you, manoeuvring both of you closer to the bar. Natasha flinches slightly at the sudden movement, instinctively placing one arm around your waist and the other on the counter to steady herself. Her eyes widen as she meets your gaze up close, the rich scent of vanilla filling her senses.

Your cool hand resting on her bare shoulder makes her breath catch in her throat. “What do you think you’re doing?” she manages to say, intending it to sound like a reprimand, but the words come out soft and breathless, betraying her surprise.

“Just trying to avoid starting at a disadvantage,” you replied smoothly, as if the lack of distance between you two wasn’t affecting you in the slightest. Natasha hated that—hated how unbothered you seemed. If anything, you leaned in even closer, your lips hovering just shy of her ear. Natasha heard a muted complaint of disgust, followed by her sister saying something about “This is worse than Papa and Mama.Cutting off now.” She wasn’t really paying attention.

“Over my shoulder. One of the three judges,” you murmured, voice low and soft against her skin. “They’re not just ranking our dancing skills, but the… chemistry between partners. So if you want this to go smoothly, I’d suggest pretending you don’t hate my guts for a while.”

The last sentence dripped with a teasing mockery, and Natasha clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. The word "hate" echoed in her mind, though, twisting uncomfortably as if not really settling in. Hate wasn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe her…complex feelings about you. Sure, you were frustrating, irritating, and always knew how to push her buttons with an infuriating ease. 

But did she really hate you?

She shook her head. This was exactly what she couldn’t stand about you—the way you made her doubt herself, fall into chaos in her own mind. She couldn’t afford to debate what she really thought about you now. Closing her eyes briefly, she exhaled, letting her professional persona handle her next movements. This was a mission like any other. And Natasha Romanoff always succeeded in her missions.

Just as she was about to locate the judge you’d told her about, her eyes fell on three men across the dance floor, next to the snack table. There was no mistaking the way their eyes draped all over you, watching you with no shame as their mouths likely ran with sick and degrading comments about what they would do with someone like you.

A tightening feeling in her chest struck her, taking root until the infection controlled her next actions. Strengthening her grip on your waist, Natasha pressed further into you, subtly spinning your bodies so that her taller frame shielded you from predatory eyes. Noticing the change in her demeanour and the way she glared at something behind you, you tilted your head slightly but decided to not comment on it. As much as you liked to keep her on her toes, you knew when to refrain yourself. 

“I assume you got the judge’s backgrounds?” she muttered, leaning in closer, taking a page from your book. Her hand slid over your waist, caressing your side while maintaining a firm, almost possessive grip. Lost at the moment, you opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated, caught off guard by the soft, deliberate touch. You couldn’t decide whether to feel relieved that she was listening to you or startled by how her fingers seemed to burn against your covered skin.

Natasha’s eyes glinted as they dropped onto you, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features at the rare sight of you losing your so well maintained composure. You never stuttered, always remaining a step ahead, but for once, it was you who was caught off guard. If only for a fleeting moment, Natasha couldn’t help but take the moment in, greedily absorbing your hesitation. Is this what you felt when you got under her skin?

For anybody who glared at you two, it would seem like an intimate couple, flirting and rendering each other speechless with seductive flirtation and close touch. If that's what you demanded of her, then that’s what Natasha will deliver. 

Sensing this shift, you cleared your throat and did your best to regain control. To return to your sleek persona that you always maintained. “You assume well. The first one is Ethan Cole, a dance professor on a wealthy university. Had big dreams for Hollywood, but his addiction to gambling and alcohol closed those doors for him. Owes Horvat some numbers.”

Deliberately, you moved your hand to her jaw, redirecting her face to the right, then leaned in as if you were whispering something inappropriate in her ear. “The grey-haired man, Richard Harper. A self-declared “man of the arts,” you stated dramatically. “More like a man of perversion. He owns several sex clubs, most of which don’t follow safety regulations and serve as covers for prostitution rings.” Natasha clenched her jaw ever so slightly, the feeling of it under your fingertips making you sigh in satisfaction.

“Perhaps when we’re done with this I ought to pay him a visit,” you taunted, making Natasha turn to face you with a warning glare. Before she had time to respond, you silenced her with a gentle but firm motion.

“Right behind me, just a few stools away. The woman with glasses and uptight lips. Leah Montgomery. Our biggest threat to win the competition. She was in competitive figure skating, pretty good, too. Until tragedy struck and she ruptured her ACL. Clearly, she hasn’t got over it yet as she now spends her days tormenting her pupils, “encouraging” them in partaking into illegal substances to win her titles.” 

Just as you finished, the low bass music cut off, a call for all the participants to gather on the dance floor resonating through the walls. As everyone started to move toward the centre, Natasha eventually released her grip around you. Just as you were about to tease her about the reluctance, she placed her hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd.

Surprised, but not wanting to reveal your true feeling, you hummed pleasantly, masking the unexpected stir in your chest. Finally reaching your spot, Natasha extended her hand to you. Her eyes look down on you, the green of her irises going a few shades of green darker. But this time, you can't find the anger. No…it was something else that you haven’t quite seen before. 

Accepting her offering, you place your hand into hers. 

This will be interesting. 

[miriani-lavellan]

Some interesting little tidbits about the world that are gleaned from Mementos found: It looks like there's already an almost full list here.

After the Exalted March against the Dalish, the Antivan crows signed some kind of treaty or agreement promising to take action if another march against the elves was going to take place. It seems they did 'stand with the Dales' in some form.

The Crow mementos in general seem to indicate when they realised the influence they had, they also began to discuss how they should use that influence, and the responsibilities they had.

When an archdemon is slain, the Grey Wardens recover a fang to keep as a trophy.

The Wardens keep a record called The Book of Ashes to record not the dead, but the Wardens who survived the Blights.

Scrying exists to tell the contents of certain containers or the function of certain magical items.

The Shadow Dragons disguise their manifestos and propaganda as spellbooks, in the hope the Venatori will pick them up and read them without realising what they are, and thus have their mind changed.

The Wardens wear blue because it's a local dye available in the Anderfels - I think we can probably say 'Anderfels Azure' is derived from Brona's Bloom. Poetic, as it's one of 'the first to fade when blight emerges' and that they mell of warm honey and rainy spring mornings—things the blight forgets.' The uniform is a reminder of what the Blight takes, and a hope for its return all the same.

Antivans typically have coffee (with or without an alcoholic addition) after dinner.

The Antivan Crows might once have been the Antivan Ravens. Both birds appear in early motifs, until finally crows won out.

Somehow, Blackwall's carved rocking griffon (or one of them) found its way into the Dellamorte estate.

Early post-Veil writings are found in a source called 'The Days of Death,' in which an ordinary elf records the realities of mortality, and grapples with the new need for food and shelter. Other early writings indicate they were attempting to map their new home.

One of the ways Kal-Sharok survived the Blight was by abandoning the caste system.

There's a scandalous... hit piece? book on the Inquisition, called 'Inquisition Exposed.' It's illustrated. Edit: My bad, it's smut. It's just smut.

In Nevarra, it's popular to give children coming of age a gift of necromantic, allegorical illustrations.

During the Storm Age in Nevarra, there was a trend of artists mixing their own blood into the paints. They were discouraged by the Watches as it kept leading to works of art getting possessed.

There's an undead thief making troubled around Nevarra City known as the 'half-made bandit'. He escaped from an anatomy class.

A Cassandra mention when considering the funeral of a Nevarran prelate.

Some spirits prefer possessing inanimate objects over the living.

Emphasising the Mourn Watch and the Mortalitasi in general's complex relationship with the Chantry, once a (probably possessed) Chasind shaman ended up sheltering with them.

Ancient Qunari did not have horses.

There seems to be, or have been, an element of ancestor worship in Qunari religion.

[pankekesito]

Rust Cohle's tattoos - A mini-essay on their possible meaning

Hi, this is probably my longest post, I may have to split it into two parts due to the length but I will try to see that everything can be compacted into one post.

DISCLAIMER!

This mini essay is done purely as a hobby by a die-hard True Detective fan, none of this is actually 100% confirmed (other than the interview part of ‘The Last Magazine’). While this is as logical and accurate a research as possible, it's just a hypothesis of what Rust Cohle's tattoos seen in the series could mean; if you don't think it's reasonable, that's fine. All opinions are valid as long as they are made on the basis of respect!

Without more to say, I hope you find this Mini Essay interesting and fun, I made it with all my love for you (and obviously because of my love for Rust); I would like to know your opinions about it, even if they are not the same as me! (I will leave a section in my profile to give you the sources used in the research in case you want to know more about the arguments to support my opinion).

An apology if something is not fully understood, English is not my first language ⸜❤︎⸝

And remember, ⥁‘Time is a flat circle’⥀

Rust Cohle has two tattoos which are a bird of unknown species on his right forearm and an unidentified symbol on his chest; right where the heart is located.

Focusing on the forearm tattoo, thanks to a short interview in “The Last Magazine” published on May 10, 2016; Josh Lord who is a renowned tattoo artist who has worked to perform various tattoos in the entertainment world along with Joji Fukunaga who directed the first season of the series mentioned that they wanted the tattoos presented in this one to have the same detailed realism that is reflected in the audiovisual product. For the case of Rust Cohle initially in Pizzolatto's original script his tattoo would consist of a pair of flaming dice. Personally I'm glad to know that this didn't happen because while they tried to give him that wild and dangerous meaning, Rust doesn't believe in the randomness of fate and every action he takes he does it consciously, carrying in him the responsibility for his actions and not granting it to fate. Josh and Fukunaga had something clear and that is that the tattoos would go from being a decorative element to a characterization, a symbolic element of the souls and the truth of the guts of the characters.

For this very reason they chose to draw on Cohle's undercover past as a member of a criminal motorcycle gang, whose emblem was originally intended to be a raven. Subsequent revisions turned the gang into the “Iron Crusaders” where very aptly the tattoos of its members refer to anvils, bones, engine parts, demons, weapons, etc. Something important to note is that the vision of the Iron Crusaders is dark, mysterious, funereal and gloomy (as all its operation within the series), the initial idea where the raven would be its emblem makes sense because in general the raven is associated with death because they are scavengers, predators and for some civilizations they embody death and the underworld.

But while the terrain where the Iron Crusaders unfold has a close relationship with the first and best known negative view (symbolically speaking) of ravens, its positive meaning has more to do with Rust Cohle's behavior and reason. The raven can also be a powerful animal totem, a protector and spiritual guide, a shape-shifter, a messenger and the symbol of transformation. In its benevolent symbolism, it represents giving up on the human world in search of wisdom, as well as being a cunning and intelligent animal capable of adapting and embracing change. In the Scandinavian tradition, the raven is a sacred and wise figure that brings virtues of “reflection” and “memory” while in Native American tribes, ravens are revered for their intelligence and spiritual importance. They are considered messengers of the spiritual world, possessors of universal wisdom and protectors against evil forces. It is also said that in Norse mythology there were two ravens that always accompanied the god Odin, whose names were Hugin and Munin. Hugin represented the power of thought and Munin represented memory and intuition; every time the sun rose both were sent to earth in search of information and every night at sunset they returned to Odin's palace and whispered all the news and events of which they had learned on their visit to planet earth.

A fact that may not be so relevant (and most probably I am just adding it to be interesting) is that there is a constellation called Corvus having four points in its constellation that make it to be, which is related to the raven (it is all due to a Greek myth). I like to think that this has a lot to do with Rust's tattoo because of the position of his tattoo (more properly speaking the wings) with the resemblance to the graphic references usually used for the raven of the constellation Corvus and the close relationship it has with the universe and the cosmic. Also the four points of the constellation remind me of the four stages of Rust Cohle seen during the series (1995, Crash Comeback, 2002, 2012).

Now we can't overlook the fact that the Celts held ravens in high esteem, associating them with battles and the Celtic Goddess of war and destruction (Morrigan). Ravens were seen as protectors and warriors, embodying the qualities of intelligence and strategic thinking. The raven's ability to shape-shift, attributed to Morrigan, further emphasizes its transformative nature. All of the above meanings attributed to ravens provided by various cultures, whether with a positive or negative focus curiously fit perfectly well with the ideology of our armored detective Rust Cohle. Rust is surrounded by silent anxiety, tragedy, death, chaos and pain. He himself struggles even with internal battles, his demons from the past. Yet he has a strong mentality, he uses his reason to adapt to even the most unsafe territories even if it means changing shape (like Crash). The fact that he more than likely made the decision to get the tattoo during his infiltration as Crash when he was in the narcotics department is reasonable as he was like a predator within the gang, a shape-shifting scavenger trying to get answers as he shrewdly roamed the rubble of human evil. The raven was his way of remembering his purpose and no wonder, Rust is very skilled with manual tasks. His hands allow him to do his work properly; watching them constantly do the dirty work and hide or reveal the ashes when necessary makes him evoke his intention in this world and how ephemeral it is on the earthly plane. It is not for nothing that the raven is on his forearm, showing his bones as a sign that death will always be with him until his last breath.

To focus on his last tattoo (and the most intriguing in my opinion) we must go back to Celtic culture. As we have seen throughout the series, symbols and religions (beliefs of something beyond comprehension) are always present because they touch the most sensitive parts of human beings. Their constant search for belonging and the meaning of life. In Celtic culture runes are used as signs, talismans, symbols and runic alphabets. Basically runes are a writing system that was used in Scandinavia and parts of Northern Europe from the Iron Age to the Middle Ages. Although it is not known exactly who invented runes, it is believed that they emerged sometime around the 1st century AD. Specifically “Rune” means secret. Runes are magical instruments of power, carriers of secrets and wisdom. There are several types of runes with vast meanings however in my research I found four runes which I will use to support my hypothesis about the possible meaning of Cohle's chest tattoo. First we must be certain that the tattoo on the chest of Rust does NOT exist as such in the Futhark Runes, or in any other compilation of symbolism so we can say that this symbol is a composite symbol; referring to the fact that although it is based on the Celtic runes, it has NO direct relationship, nor systematically objective. We can notice it even more thanks to the inverted cross of the tattoo (soon we will return to this point).

Talking about the possible runes used for the composition of the tattoo we have:

•Rune Thurisaz ᚦ

Meaning: Door. Reflection. New options. Magical use: Regeneration. Concentration. Override negativity. Meditation. New beginnings. When you need luck and control of any circumstance. Protection and defense. Neutralize enemies or opposition.

•Rune Raidho ᚱ

Meaning: Wheel. Travel. Communication. Help in taking risks. Self-healing. Magical use: Changes. Protection. Transformation. Justice according to good. Safe and comfortable travel.

•Rune Wunjo ᚹ

Meaning: Joy. Comfort. Harmony. Security. Tranquility. Magical use: Triumph. Motivation. Recognition. Achievement of goal. Success in travel. Luck in love or work.

•Rune Berkana ᛒ

Meaning: Growth. Awakening. Rebirth. Development of creativity. Magical use: Healing. Wholeness. Clarity. Motherhood. Self-realization. Fertility. When seeing the runes presented we can relate them with Rust Cohle because they present several descriptive concepts that define him; but to my point of view, of those presented the rune more linked (and similar to his tattoo) is the rune Raidho.

Throughout the series we can see the entire journey Cohle goes through both through the Lange case that is presented to him, as well as his growth individually. His journey in general has been dangerous, putting him in a vulnerable state but never fully achieving it, having Rust in a cathartic state of progression where although the road was arduous, it always ends with him having a safe process of introspection. This path was just like a wheel where he repeated over and over again aspects of his life that he had already lived (Time is a flat circle) but thanks to communication these repetitive aspects had a significant change. The clearest example of this is his relationship with Marty Hart; in the series they had a partnership that while solid was undeniably chaotic. Marty did not want to listen to Rust and Cohle could not stop spouting his pessimistic ideology until the issue related to Maggie happened which made them separate. It wasn't until 2012 that Rust swallowed his depressing verbiage in order to talk to Marty and he, took his time to listen to Cohle and support him in his plan. Changing their relationship and the situation through communication. Precisely to this, both were able to give the due justice that the case deserved and finally Rust was able to be a little warmer with himself, finally accepting the past that haunted him and taking the first step to self-healing.

Of course, the Raidho rune and the symbol on Rust's chest are not the same because as I mentioned earlier, Cohle's tattoo is (probably) a composite symbol but the resemblance both physically of the rune and allegorically to the detective's ideology is something worth mentioning. Rustin Cohle's first step in understanding his pain and being able to allow himself to open up honestly and vulnerably with someone as he did with Marty was to be humble about his feelings. Humility was an important factor in this, as well as dealing humanely with his penance given by the past. These two issues are ideological characteristics given in the Christian symbol of the inverted cross of St. Peter. According to tradition, Peter asked to be crucified upside down because he did not consider himself worthy of dying in the same way as his master, Jesus of Nazareth. However, in other contexts the inverted cross is often used as a symbol of atheism, humanism and occultism. This is also notoriously seen in Rust's philosophy as we know that the belief in something greater than the human being which governs the commandments of humanity seems ridiculous to him. A simple stoic belief to alleviate the rottenness of reality. That is why perhaps that rune was transformed according to Rust's philosophy (which makes sense, Josh Lord does not do work without tying up loose ends; much less from the hand of Joji Fukunaga).

While we don't have an exact answer about the meaning of the tattoos of our endearing and cold-hearted detective, I like the idea of trying to unravel the hidden meanings among the symbols that physically characterize his personality, trying to investigate as logically and clearly as possible the probable exact representations of Rust's philosophy embodied in his skin. I believe that the series is so well designed that even the smallest details count and that's why I took the time to try to dig into the secrets of what Rust's tattoos want to tell us.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read this mini-essay! It was really fun to do, I think that while I'm not sure what his tattoos really mean; I was able to better understand Rust in different and meaningful ways. I hope someday we can know for sure what they mean (although part of me doesn't want to, because that would take the fun out of it). I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a like if you found it informative or entertaining, comment on what you thought, if you have any other theories of its possible meaning or reblog this mini-essay so more people interested in True Detective could see it! A kiss to whoever reads this and I hope the Yellow King never finds you! 💛

[letaot-ze-magniv]

Infodump on birds in Israel? 👁️👁️ Pls go on

General guide to birds in Israel

This post is going to be very long

Level 1- really common ones

Hooded crow/o-rev a-for (gray crow)

These big boys are the most common birds in Israel. You can find them everywhere, especially in urban areas. They’re quite big, the average crow is 40-50 cm long with a wingspan of 1m. (That’s bigger then a pigeon).

Like all corvids, they are incredibly intelligent. They have an excellent memory, can recognise specific humans and pass on information through generations. They are fond of shiny things, have funerals, an understanding of games and a justice system. They can use tools and have a taste for peanuts and grapes.

Laughing dove/tzo-tze-let/yo-na

These are the second most common birds in Israel, and they’re also an invasive species. The vast majority of people call them “yona” and if you say “tzotzelet wont know what you mean. You can find them everywhere, especially in cities.

This is an invasive species, and is commonly thought of as the first invasive species in Israel. It was brought over by Muslims during the Ottoman occupation and has lived here since.

Domestic pigeon/yo-nat ha-Ba-it (house dove)/yo-na

Like the tzotzelet, most people call this bird “yona” too. That leads to the misconception that they’re the same species and confusion between the two. This pigeon is also extremely common, and you can find it in all urban spaces in Israel.

Feathering mutations are widespread among domestic pigeons, and they can also look like this:

House Sparrows/ dror ha-ba-it/dror

On the left, a female, on the right is a male. This birds are tiny and common and very cute. Can be found in all areas of Israel. They like eating small seeds and bugs, and you can feed them bread.

Monk parakeet/ tu-ki ne-zi-ri (commonly known as tu-ki)

They’re green, adorable, can speak, and you guessed it, are invasive! Like the maynas, monk parakeets were introduced to Israel in the 90s after they escaped the Tzafari. You can find them in all parts of Israel except the Negev, and they’re especially common in Tel aviv and it’s neighbouring cities. Monk parakeets are often confused with rose-ringed parakeets as they’re the only green birds in Israel.

Rose ringed parakeets/da-ra-ra

Above is the male, below is the female. Like monk parakeets, dararas are also an invasive species. I thought they were introduced in the 90s, but apparently they were introduced in the 1860s because they were kept as pets. Like monk parakeets, they can be found in all areas of Israel that aren’t deserts. It’s hard to tell them apart from monk parakeets if you can’t see their chests.

Eurasian Jackdaw/kak

Yet another corvid! Like all other corvids, jackdaws are extremely intelligent, have an understanding of death, can use tools, and so on. Jackdaws are unique in that they also have an understanding of monogamy and privacy around mating! They prefer to mate away from their murder (is murder what you call a flock of any corvid or is that exclusive to ravens?) and they also kill their ill. They can be found in all areas hooded crows are, but aren’t as common. Its possible to confuse them for a hooded crow, but they’re smaller and darker.

Hopoe/du-khi-fat

This lil girl isn’t extremely common, but it’s the national bird and is adorable so I HAD to include it. Hopoes tend to live near sources of water, and you can find them in coastal areas. There used to be more of them but sadly deforestation and invasive species hurt the population. They have a floofy feather thingy on their head that they can open and close and that’s adorable!

I’ll make a part 2 now about somewhat uncommon birds

If anyone is interested in learning more about the birds of Israel, I highly recommend אתר הצפרות הישראלי. They have detailed descriptions of the birds, they include scientific Hebrew and Arabic names, they have a map that shows you how common each bird is in what part of Israel, AND THEY HAVE RECORDINGS OF THE BIRD CALLS

They also have a page for every bird that was ever spotted in Israel, even if it was only once. Don’t ask me what they define as Israel, because I’ve wondered about it too and I don’t know

[anonymousbardd]

꒰ ☕ ꒱ ┊: Made For Each Other

↳ Makoto Hanamiya x FReader

"Mako-san! Ohayo!" The young bubbly girl greeted, and she made her way to her lover, Hanamiya Makoto, who was currently taking a break from practice. Her raven-haired lover smiled and gave her a pat on the head, "Good morning, how's your classes?" He asked, the young girl smiled and showed Hanamiya five test papers with high marks. The young man chuckled and ruffled (F/n)'s hair, "Nice work sweetie," he said with a smirk. Hara popped his gum and loudly complained, "Oi, stop flirting in front of me!" He shouts.

Hanamiya Makoto is a well-known man on the basketball court, he's considered an "Uncrowned King". Those who play very skillfully but don't get as much recognition as the GoM (Generation OF Miracles).

The Kirisaki Daiichi basketball team is known for its dirty playstyle, they don't play by the rules, and that's how they strive to the top. In a field filled with different animals, they are the predators that hunt those who're weaker than them.

Hanamiya Makoto, the captain and coach of the Kirisaki Daiichi basketball team, is known to be the most sadistic and selfish person. He's a man that steals people's dreams and crushes them.

A disgusting man who doesn't care about anything else but be number one. A lot of girls had confessed their feelings for him, but they were all brutally turned down.

Because those girls want nothing more than to irritate their parents, they're going through their rebellious phase and have a weird attraction for the "bad boy" type.

Due to the countless rejections that Hanamiya gave, everyone thought that he just wasn't interested in love at all, they all painted him as a man without a heart.

So what a surprise when they find out that he got together with the most kind and selfless person in their whole school, (F/n) (L/n).

No one has expected such a dynamic, especially for someone like Hanamiya.

"Ne... (L/n)-san, is it okay if I ask you something?" A young girl from asked approached, (F/n) smiled and stopped what she was doing to face her friend, "Sure, you can ask me anything!"

"Well... I know this is kind of inappropriate, but why did you choose to date Hanamiya-san?" The girl asked, (F/n) looked a little surprised, she then giggled and tilted her head, "Why not? He's such a sweetie!"

A lot of people heard, and they all turned their heads to her, in their minds, they were thinking, "What the hell does she mean by that?"

(F/n) sighed sat down on her chair and looked out the window, "He's really sweet and passionate about the things he's interested in, he always checks up on me and helps me with a lot of things."

As the young girl kept doting on her boyfriend, Hanamiya walked into the classroom which instantly filled the room with thick tension, his menacing demeanor had made everybody turn their heads away.

"Oi, move out of my way..," He said, looking down at a poor classmate.

"Mako-chan!" (F/n) called out in excitement, she ran towards him and jumped in his arms, she giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek, "We're in front of the whole class..." Hanamiya muttered, (F/n) rolled her eyes and smiled, "So? I don't care," she said.

Hanamiya noticed the lingering eyes and got frustrated, "What the hell are you idiots looking at?!" He said frowning, (F/n) lightly punched Hanamiya, "Hey! Don't say those things! They're your classmates!"

He groaned and rolled his eyes, the two of them then walked out of the classroom to get lunch together.

"I wonder what (L/n)-San sees in him..." A young girl muttered as she watched the two couple walk out of the classroom.

A boy hummed and thought for a moment before suddenly getting an idea, "It's because they balance each other out, one's the sun and the other is a moon, though they're the opposite, it sits in just right. Like salt and pepper!"

The same girl hummed and nodded, "You're right... I guess it's just the fact that those two are made for each other."

A/N: I know Hanamiya Makoto may not be everybody's cup of tea, but he's just my favorite character from KnB. I have a thing for sadists please don't judge me :'0.

[milkratz]

The ache in his chest was something he had gotten quite used to. What would be a dull throb in the mornings grew into a ravenous, burning monster as its hunger grew; Gale was often left out of breath, the feeling of something so terribly hungry crushing his heart and lungs, his mind panicking as he fought against the once unfamiliar sensation.

When the others glanced back at him, he'd give an embarrased little smile - It wasn't as though he was the most in shape amongst their friends. A year in a tower, plus a life of softness, led to quite a softer figure. But it wasn't as though he could say, "No, I'm not out of breath from casting a spell. It is the bomb in my chest that's trying to eat me."

Gale could see in Tav's eyes the little look of disappointment whenever they handed over a magical artifact. It didn't compare to the disappointment of Gale when the hunger barely abated as he devoured the essence of Weave in whatever shitty little artifact he pressed to his chest.

It was one of the nights, where not even the allure of a good book, something Tav had grabbed in their exploits and handed to him with a small smile, could distract him from the pain. It was unfair - He had devoured quite the artifact earlier that morning, and yet the orb in his chest demanded more.

He sat by the fire, pretending to read the book in his hands. The goblet of wine by his feet laid untouched, the taste of it overwhelming bitter. When he had swallowed but a sip, Gale could feel the anger of the Orb; How dare you consume something so impure! Vile! The ache in his chest had grew, cutting off his lungs and squeezing his heart, and he fought to carefully set down the cup, as to not alert the others.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel sat opposite of him, a heated arguement or another feuled by the Shadowheart's truly baffling intake of wine and Lae'zel's general... self. Wyll, Karlach, and Tav sat with the owlbear cub, who Tav had claimed the honor of simply naming Cubby, and Scratch, who was in a very heated game of fetch with Halsin, who looked half-interested in catching the ball himself.

Astarion... Gale frowned. He hadn't actually seen Astarion since the party returned to camp, victorious in their dungeon delving once more. He was often sat around Tav or even Shadowheart, indulging in the wine that he had once, bitterly, told Gale tasted like nothing more than rot and vinegar. But tonight, beneath the cloudless sky, Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

Gale tried not to let it concern him; It wasn't as though Astarion was known for his openness, but perhaps it was because of that, that his lack of presence made Gale feel iffy. Astarion had moved, just a bit slow enough to draw Gale's masterful eye towards him. He was of course aware of the situation between Tav and the resident vampire, but something in the dull eyes of Astarion made him think that the elf hadn't been taking as advantage of it as he should.

Gale pursed his lips, setting down his book. No matter. He'd take care of the issue. With the group progressively closer to the Underdark, which might be the safer choice in comparison to the Mountain Pass but still not safe, it was important that everyone was in tip-top shape.

No one paid him any mind as Gale shakingly got to his feet; The mouthful of wine he had all but spat out had no effect on him, but the others didn't need to know that his sway was caused by the piercing agony in his chest. A glance at Astarion's dark tent let him know he wasn't there, but Gale was not dismayed. He knew the vampire often forayed into the forest, perhaps in search of food or just to get away from the general rowdiness of the camp.

And in the forest indeed did Gale find him. Hunched over on his knees, Astarion made a rasping sound, apparently not having noticed Gale's tramping about - A whole new reason for concern, since the pain was such a ball of focus in the back of Gale's mind that he couldn't bother to keep his foot steps light even if he wished to.

Between Astarion's hands laid a rat, who despite it's limp posture, made a weak squeaking sound. Astarion stared at it, and Gale oculd see just the hint of wetness on his lips, glinting in the moonlight. Not red; Clear, just a hint of drool as Astarion stared down at the meal on the ground.

Gale cleared his throat, unable to take the stalemate any longer. Astarion's head snapped towards him and with a jolt, Gale could see a glimmer in Astarion's eyes, a dampness that made him feel weak in the knees and his heart throb painfully in something other than the crushing of his chest.

"Playing with your food, Astarion? Thought you were better than that." Gale kept his voice light, trying not to spare a glance at the rat. He wasn't a fan of them; God knows Tara, the damn beauty, hunted enough of the rats in his tower that he got used to seeing the rodents in all sorts of dismal states, but the pain in both Astarion and the rat's eyes made him feel some sort of way.

There was a scoff. Astarion sat back on his hunches, his dirtied hands resting on his thighs. The moonlight set his white hair aglow, his normally sallow skin having a hint of life under the radiance. It casted a light on the scars on Astarion's neck, which strained as the vampire seemed at war with himself. The rat seemed to take it as a queue to flee, and with a speed otherwise betrayed by it's pitiful state, streaked off into the night.

Gale frowned. "Didn't mean to scare off your meal." At the lack of sound, or acknowledgement really, from the elf, he stepped closer into the light.

Astarion opened his eyes slowly, staring up at him. If his eyes had been dull throughout the day, they were all but lifeless now. His breathing was labored and Gale realized why; Astarion was starving.

"You haven't been eating," Gale accused. "Why? Is Tav's blood not good enough for you? Are the scoundrels we kill not to your liking?" Gale didn't know why he was so angry; Perhaps it was seeing someone who was normally so haughty and high and mighty, on his knees in such a state of hunger he'd drool over a rat.

Astarion winced as though Gale's words hurt him. "I... I simply haven't found the opportunity, that's all. All the beasts in the forest seem to have realized there's a monster on the loose; It's getting harder to hunt more filling meals. And..."

The next words were so quiet Gale almost couldn't make them out.

"I don't want to go back to eating rats."

Gale pretended not to hear it; Astarion had not been open with the other members as he had been with Tav. Gale knew the quick and dirty details, of course. A spawn of a cruel vampire master, a slave. Forced to endure horrid torture and abuse for centuries. But Gale was arguably the least favored of the vampire, and he doubted that the other male would appreciate Gale asking him all the details of his horrid past.

"Has Tav not offered you their neck recently?" Gale asked, stepping just a bit closer. Astarion's gaze turned hard as he glared.

"You needn't make it sound like I'm just using darling Tav! Perhaps if you cared to know, they've been getting awfully close to Wyll and Karlach. I," Astarion mumbled, "Didn't want to overstep more than I have." His gaze turned moody and somber, his eyes turning downwards towards his dirtied hands. He twisted his palms up and Gale could see the scratches and blood; Undoubtedly from where he had struggled to catch a rat of all things, another sign of his weakness.

Gale pursed his lips. He knew, of course, that everyone had camp had their issues and it was unfair of them to treat Astarion with the level of distrust they had. Gale would be first to admit that the sight of Astarion's fangs had sent shivers up his spine when they first found out. But Astarion had been nothing but respectful, if annoying; Never bared his fangs at anyone undeserving.

An idea formed in his head, something he would later blame on the nonexistent wine in his system.

He sighed and stepped closer til he in front of the pale elf. Astarion stared up at him, curiosity and confusion warring with the distrust and perhaps fear in his eyes.

"Feast on me. I doubt my blood will taste like anything exquisite, given the current state of my being but, if you're so hesitant on drinking from Tav and there's no other sources of food," Gale said simply. He held out a hand to Astarion, who's lip curled at the sight. The elf refused his grasp and stumbled to his feet dazedly, his red eyes narrowed at Gale in offense.

"I do not need your pity, dear old wizard. Save it for someone who doesn't know you're a fool," Astarion's words cut bitterly to Gale, who was equally offended by the lack of flair to Astarion's words as he was the harshness. He really must be hungry in that case.

Gale scoffed. "Pity? Pity is much different from sympathy, friend. I know hunger too. You've been slow and weak recently. You tripped over a trap even I saw today and almost killed yourself and the rest of us. You're the fool if you think your hunger only affects yourself."

The tangent was perhaps a bit uncalled for, but Gale felt feisty tonight. Astarion shuffled on his feet a bit, his gaze defeated. Gale felt something in him, other than the actual orb of pure magic eating at him, stir at the sight. Gale sighed.

"Believe me, I doubt you'll enjoy this anymore than I will. Just, don't kill me? Because then you'll probably kill everyone here and that's just a hassle." Gale plopped down on the ground, his lungs grateful for the break. He could feel Astarion's gaze on him, but his eyes remained close. He, admittedly tauntedly, strained his head forward to reveal the length of his neck.

There was no warning as he felt twin fangs sink into his neck; He hadn't even heard Astarion move. There was a sharp pain, not unlike when he got his ears pierced, that quickly dulled to an ache. He could feel the wetness of Astarion's mouth on his neck, the pulsing as he sucked at the blood. Overall, despite the ache, the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. Gale let him drink until he felt his head grow heavy, and he reached up to tap at Astarion sluggishly.

There was a pause and Gale felt a tad bit of worry when Astarion didn't immediately unlatch. Then, he felt the fangs retract from his neck as Astarion sluggishly lapped at the twin pricks on his neck, cleaning the blood.

There was silence as Gale struggled to keep his head straight and Astarion, for the first time in days, had a light to his eyes.

"You're right. Your bloody tastes dastardly."

Gale let out an unbelieving laugh, surprise and the dizziness of blood loss coming together, making it seem like the whole situation was a lot funnier than it was.

It wasn't as funny when he felt Astarion grab the collar of his sleep shirt and yank him towards him. Gale didn't move as Astarion placed one, small, gentle kiss to the corner of his lip.

"I think I could grow to like it, though."

[faellain]

The Accidental Baby Trap Incident

Summary: About four years after the events of First Class, Erik arrives at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with two little twins who he didn't know existed. Thinking he doesn't know what to do, he runs to Charles, not knowing the state his old friend is in.

Snippet 6

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charles sighs as they wheel down the long walkway to the machine itself. the completed room is gorgeous, all metal panels with projectors ready to show the tour de force of charles xavier's telepathy. dust coated everything in the room.

"these are muscles i haven't stretched in some time," charles says somberly, picking up the helmet. gently, he blew the dust off. for a moment, his lips looked their correct shade, that brillaint natural almost-red. once, erik had insuated that charles' lips were a physical result of his mutation. that had made charles' laugh, wondering what telepathy would have to do with his lips.

raven had raised an eyebrow and replied, "why did my skin have to blue for me to shapeshift?"

charles settles the helmet onto his head. hank preps the machine, warning them before he turns it on. as it comes back to life, charles grimaces. erik quickly puts a hand to his shoulder, squeezing it trying to center him as the room is bathed in red and white. they had considered this- color coding the humans and mutants. his breath is caught in the beauty of it all as he watches charles try to locate sean, try to zoom into vietnam.

instead, the room starts spinning, charles unable to control the though. pained yells scrape their way out of his throat. all erik can do is move to hold both his shoulders, coming around the front. charles' shoulders shake beneath his palms.

"hank, turned the damn thing off!" he snaps.

just as hank comes alive, trying to do so, the power shorts out, plunging the room into darkness. charles all but throws the helmet to the ground, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. he's not well; erik doesn't need to be a telepath to know that.

"i-i'll go check the generators," hank murmurs before dashing off to do so.

charles runs his hands over his face, "this was a mistake."

"you said yourself you're out of practice," erik reminds him, "it wasn't cerebro that did that."

charles looks at him ruefully, tired and bitter. his hands shake again as he touches his forehead, "my power comes from here. from," his hand moves to his chest, but he abadons the words. a dispodant death resides in his tone as he sighs, "it's broken. i feel like one of my student's. helpless…"

erik moves to cup his cheek, thumbing at the skin there, letting his fingers trace over the scruffy beard. he finds he still truly hates it. perhaps it's the lack of familiarity to the clean-shaven scholar he had known when all this began.

"you're not," he says, "you've become scared of yourself. i know you. you can do this."

"it's too much," charles tries not to wheeze, still catching his breath, "we need to call your telepath."

"you are my telepath," erik replies, "emma is terrifying when she wants to be, but she is not you."

charles laughs bitterly, leaning back in his chair, "then she's good enough to work cerebro while i can't. i'm not jealous for heaven's sake. i just- i can't do this anymore. there's too much pain."

erik frowns. he knew that charles could know anyone's pain just by touching their mind. their history was an open book to him. he'd known erik's pain, his hurt. but he'd also brought back some of erik's happiness as well.

"let me take some," he offers, "you know my pain. let me have yours."

charles shakes his head, "no. god, no. you have enough pain-"

erik leans down and kisses charles' cheek, slowly, presses his nose against the side of charles' head, "which is why you know i can handle your's. give me your pain, charles. stop bearing it alone."

there is some hesitation, but charles opens his mind to him. everything is on his terms. that is the trouble with only one of them being telepathic. erik must trust that what charles is showing him is not just the truth, but that he withholds few things. but trusting charles has always been easy. no one else ever broke through his barriers. no one else could ever love him him.

and that is why the pain hurt so much.

erik knew there had been a stepfamily in charles and raven's lives, but he did not know they were cruel. their mother, already inattentive, started drinking. kurt marko was cruel. for all the house's beauty, each room had its own reminder of strikes against charles' tender skin who was but a child- a child. bruises should not litter a child's body. screams should not reach a child's ears.

he'd mocked this place, this temple to charles' forgone youth, this church of suffering. yet, charles continued to live here. when he had first started accepting students he wanted to fill it with enough good memories to wash away the bad. now, there were more bad filling up the empty air. charles was suffocating.

a few tears pass by erik's cheeks as charles pulls the memories away. he is crying too, far more than erik is, but it is a silent endeavor. erik kisses charles' cheek again, then his lips.

"i'm here," he whispers, "they're gone."

"i know," charles says, his voice waivering.

erik peppers kisses into charles' hair, "we will fill this place with good memories. you, myself, our children. students and teachers."

charles moves and cups erik's cheeks, "that's a nice thought. really. it is. but you have your world and i mine."

i will start with this school, erik kneels before charles' chair, presses his hands over charles' as though pledging feality to a lord, and then i will make a place for mutants to be safe. a utopia for mutants alone should your humans prove lack luster.

charles blinks away tears, "but erik-"

"i want you at my side," erik tells him, "i want you to hope again. i will build a world you will love brick by brick. with dirt beneath my fingers. with blood and sweat. if you can forgive me, i will give you everything."

as erik cups charles' cheeks, cerebro's lights flicker back on. they both smile and charles nods, letting his cheek lean and rest into one of erik's large hands. hank is on his way back up he can sense it.

"we'll talk more later," charles whispers, pecks erik's lips chastely.

it's not 'i love you'. perhaps, it is not the answer that erik wants to hear, but it's what charles can muster. he can still feel erik holding him, can feel erik screaming his thoughts as a plea to get charles not to plunge another needle into his arm. he'd forgotten how lovely it was to have another mind dance with his.

they have a second chance. maybe this time, things will go right.

hank's footsteps echo as he jogs along the path to the center console, "power's back. do you want to wait?"

"no," charlies replies calmly, "let's try once more."

the second time putting on cerebro still hurts as he forces himself to tune out things that are unnecessary. still, this time, he is successfully. sean is at some sort of facility in vietnam. most likely he'd be moved to a secret base where they might lose him forever. but for now, he was safe behind what should have been friendly lines.

"i've got him," charles says, then frowns, "and what seems to be a handful of other mutants but they're muted. something is blocking them."

erik shakes his shoulder, "i knew it. we have to save them. janos might be among them. "

hank mouths, janos?, to himself but with erik in his mind and he in erik's charles knows riptide's name now.

they deliver the news to raven who is visibly relieved to have some idea of where sean is. erik sits by a window as everyone talks, watching pietro and wanda play with the tire swing. a small smile crosses his face. still, he can feel charles' eyes watching him.

to no surprise when he turns, charles is smiling at him, lips quirked up playfully. fondness is sewn into the lines around his mouth. erik rolls his eyes at charles with exagerattion before turning his gaze back toward his children, cringing as pietro jumps from a tree branch, only avoiding a fall by wanda using her powers to make the ground become a hill to catch him.

"erik!" raven snaps. he looks at her and her raised eyebrows, eyes flashing like amber, "care to join us?"

"i'm listening," he assures, "we need to take the blackbird to vietnam. i'll have to call azazel- if janos is there, he'll want to be part of the rescue."

"he's the teleporter right?" asks hank, "because he seemed so nice when he was dropping fbi agents from the sky."

"azazel is twice the man those government hacks were," sniffs raven. erik smiles at her. both of them have come to deeply care for their russian brotherhood member. he grew up mistaken for a devil, hidden away from the world. he and raven had bonded over that. erik cared for his blunt candor.

"it will be better to have him," charles says, "and emma frost. i would just slow you all down."

"no, you wouldn't," erik argues, "your powers-"

"are still coming back," charles reminds him, voice soft. a gently hand seems to caress erik's stormy thoughts, "and someone needs to be here to watch the kids."

"we should ask angel to stay here," raven adds, "just in case. that way it's not just charles and the twins."

erik hadn't thought about that. missions had hardly crossed his mind when he ran here, but he should have considered it an eventuality. at some point, his kids would have to understand their father had work to do like any other. his was just more dangerous.

"you trust her to stay?" asks hank, skeptically. erik considers punching him, but charles reaches over and physically grabs his wrist.

i wasn't going to do it.

he's still hurt.

raven narrows her eyes, "do you trust me?"

"of course," hank replies, trying not to sound sheepish.

"then you can trust her," she ends the conversation there, standing, "i'm going to call the safehouse. hopefully, at least one of them is there."

erik turned his eyes back toward his kids once more. soon, his mysterious disapperance was going to be revealed. he could practically hear azazel calling him an old dog. charles' fingers threaded with his own, both of them coming to look out the window.

we should talk before you go, charles says, though his eyes train on wanda, trying to undo the small flat-topped hill she's made.

you know my feelings, erik reminds him.

charles shakes his head, we need discuss the school. your brotherhood. how that coexists.

it will coexist if i say it coexists, erik tries not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. instead, he feels the emptiness of charles's hand leaving his.

"stubborn as always," charles replies, though that fondness is still there. he takes his hands and rolls his chair back, "maybe you should speak to your brotherhood before me then."

"but charles-"

i'm tired, charles tells him, i'm going to rest before all the excitment starts. i think you'd better help your kids.

there is affection there, but erik is not a telepath. he can't tell if charles is shielding truer feelings from him. the realization leaves no small amount of frustration bubbling in his chest. nothing mattered but the promise erik had made to him. he would build a world charles could love.

his eyes moved from wanda to hank, thought of raven finally walking around her childhood home in her true skin. he thought of azazel who could not hide in plain sight. they deserved a world they could love too.

[one-squash-one-end]

An unhinged recap of Ronan's homosexuality

Hi! This once again belongs to my big Raven Cycle analysis, click here for the masterpost.

Again, there's not much room for speculation here, but i had to write it for completionist purposes. I apologize for certain metaphores used, for the most part when I was writing this I was going through it (brain was fried).

Here u go (also spoilers for Greywaren)

d) Ronan Lynch

Next to Adam, Ronan is the only other canonically queer person in the Gangsey. A flaming homosexual with a car fetish (because there was something unbelievably sexy about cars at night). Ronan is the original Be Gay, Do Crime. (Adam is the Be Crime, Do Gay to that.)

You get the gist; he is seriously involved with one guy but used to have some bits of self discovery (not only on the topic of his sexuality) with another, which ended because that guy kidnapped his brother because despite being gay, Ronan unbelievably was not into him. I’m sorry, I really do not want to dissect the entirety of Pynch in here, that would go way too far and I bet there are so many people who could do and have done this better than I ever could, so I’ll stick to elaborating some more on how we find out that he is gay, considering I think he doesn’t say the word until Call Down The Hawk.

In the first book, Ronan does not get a pov, maybe because Maggie needed some more time to figure out how to make a character subtly and thirst over another character in a secret and homosexual way. Still we get some small hints, based on conversations with other characters, or just his behavior in general.

Gansey: “From now on I need all of us to be straight with one another” Ronan: “I’m always straight” Adam: “oh man that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told” This, of course, is legendary. Ronan is gay, he jokes about it, Adam knows it. I genuinely cannot tell whether Ronan had come out to his friends, whether he just did it through jokes like this etc. If the latter is the case, I honestly doubt that Gansey would have known, as oblivious as he is.

We also have the case study of Declan and his Ashleys. Ronan seems to despise the heterosexual standards that his brother portrays, but it is not clear whether that’s because of heterosexuality, or because of Declan, because let’s be honest, in book one, Ronan would hate, absolutely hate, anyone Declan dates out of principle, because Declan’s just a bitch, or a manwhore, as Gansey would say.

Then it gradually all becomes very much obvious in The Dream Thieves. We got the parallels with religion, his nightmares (his night horrors/self-hate maybe being because of internalized homophobia?) and of course the secrets. The secrets you keep from yourself, the very obvious metaphor. Plus Kavinsky literally calls him the f-slur. You will very easily pick up on that if you’re not as oblivious as I was when I first read the book (I was in my Declan Lynch era with a tummy-ache ok?), but it is explicitly resolved in the epilogue. There is no more room left for ambiguity, thank you Maggie for ending the queer speculation yourself, within the book.

Then there’s gender, of course there’s gender. Gender is like Tad Carruthers, just always materializing out of nowhere, especially when you just want to stay away from it because it’s fake and a massive bitch.

Ronan definitely identifies as male, but if you look at this a certain way he is somehow trans or defies the entire concept of gender either way, considering he is a supernatural being, spirit, entity, that was just socialized as a boy. Ronan is like Cabeswater, or Lindenmere, which both don’t have a gender, obviously, they are forests. The Greywaren is often referred to as an “it”, which makes sense when people don’t know the Greywaren is human, but something about the entire thing smells very trans rights to me. Also that eldritch horror, not quite human at all,  jumble of dark matter thing in Greywaren was just so gender of him.

Ronan would wear a crop top, there’s no doubt to me.

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

Like her uncle, Vesper’s solemnity and wit not only coexist but intertwine, leaving her equal parts charming and responsible. The only true adventurer of her generation–she maintains that Gwen just likes getting into trouble–she seems, more specifically, to have inherited the unfortunate habit of flirting regardless of sensibility.

Her diplomatic filter is firmly on in most circumstances, but sometimes she truly can't help herself. Cerkonos definitely fell in that category, as did far too many of her "rivals". Honestly, she doesn’t have a good excuse for the vampire. She’s fairly certain she wasn’t charmed, and she needed a minute to think of her next move, and he had said she looked ravishing, and calling him a dozen synonyms for handsome was the first thing she thought of. Apparently, that particular stupidity runs in the family.

She’s also the only one to have met her uncle–twice. The first occurrence even Vex can’t be one hundred percent sure, but they both want to believe the specter that appeared to her in the afterglow of Vesper’s birth was her uncle, sharing, for a moment, in that joy. The second…well. Vesper has only been resurrected once, but it wasn’t pretty. It took so long for her to die she assumed he was just another hallucination, at first, at least until the pain and cold subsided and her vision cleared and he was still there. He held her gently, shaded by the arc of his feathers, and talked about tradition and divinity and flowers and a hundred little stories they would have shared, had they been alive at the same time. He stayed with her the entire three days it took her team to find and resurrect her. His words have never left her.

Like her uncle, Leona Pike De Rolo hates having her hair in her face, but can’t stand to have it completely pulled up and bunched away. She’s the older twin–by twenty-one excruciating minutes–and her preferred weapon is throwing knives. She doesn’t care what kind of blade, really, she’ll throw an ax if she has to–but still, close enough.

She’s also the one who talks to ravens. Wolfe likes to joke that she is a raven–a petty thief, always attracted to gears and widgets and other shiny things–but he’s the only one that says such things, and only in carefully chosen company. At first Vox Machina thought this might be her way of showing some druidic inclination, but the reality is much simpler; she hates being alone. When her twin huffs off in impatience, or her father delves too deep in focus to be disturbed by conversation with an amateur like her, she prays under her breath and sooner or later a bird tends to appear.

Like his uncle, Wolfe Kristof de Rolo is incorrigible to everyone except Vex’ahlia. The male twin of his (almost) matching pair, he finds himself liable to teasing for being prissy and vain; those that tease him too incessantly find themselves liable to bloody noses and crushed fingers, dealt by either twin. And yes, Leona may be a far better hunter, but Wolfe fights dirty, when he deigns to fight. He fights quick and decisive and disappears as soon as he’s dealt his blow. He fights like his uncle.

He’s also the only one as fearless as Vax was. He climbed a tree in a lightning storm to carry down one of Cassandra’s kittens at twelve years old; at twenty, he swam a mile and a half through floodwater. He’s not as brave as Vax–bravery implies an end goal–but he is every bit as selfless and reckless and unswayed by fear. It’s part of why the twins take their mother so seriously; she's the one who taught him such things, after all.

Like his uncle, Vax’ildan Fredrick de Rolo has dark hair, darkvision, and a dark-and-stormy disposition. The most obviously elven in ancestry, at least by Syngornian standards, he’s also the bearer of the most obvious inheritance. Vax’ildan isn’t a common name, especially since the second root derives itself from an ancient drow war hero, but it is a name that is commonly known, like those of all of Vox Machina. Vox, Vax, Vex…he almost named his bear Vix, to complete the set. He didn’t, only because Cassandra put her foot down at having a “Vax” and a “Vex” and a “Ves” and a “Vix” in one household.

He’s also the one who has never felt at home. It’s irrational, maybe, but anxiety is rarely rational and he is an extremely anxious child. He is slow to learn to walk, to speak, to make his first friend; there is a reason he bonds so thoroughly with Trinket and Charlie, and not another child. Besides, the twins are clearly Vex’s favorites, and Gwen is Percy’s from the moment she’s born; Vesper is gone a good portion of his youth, already an adult herself. He’s not smart or brave or charming like the rest of them, he's just him. He knows he’s loved. He’s the black sheep anyways.

Like his uncle, Gwendolyn Zahra Melanie von Musel de Rolo is the sneaky sibling. She loves growing her skills in shadowing and stealth, and taught herself to write at age three by making (terrible) forgeries of her father’s sketches. She’d rather stab a sparring partner’s armor through the back than lose following conventional chivalry, and she’s as quick a thief as she is a runner.

She’s also the first of her siblings to die. Tieflings don’t live as long as half-elves or the celestially blessed; rogues and wizards don’t live longer lives as they advance in power. They bury her with her father, adjacent to an empty, ceremonial, tomb.

[anthurak]

One thing that always feels so funny for me when it comes to the Rosebird Parents Theory isn’t when people simply disagree with the theory, but rather people apparently seeing the prospect of a ‘Raven is Ruby’s real father’ reveal to be this totally unthinkable thing and how could anyone ever think this could happen?!

Because once you get past the whole ‘two ladies making a baby’ hurtle, Raven being Ruby’s dad really fits into so many well-known fantasy/sci-fi tropes. Many of which RWBY notably has not done yet, or have already been tied to Raven herself.

I mean, the mysterious villainous and/or anti-heroic loner with ties to the family pulling an ‘I am your Father’ reveal on the protagonist? That’s a fucking CLASSIC. Hell, let’s consider a few things about Raven:

Big, intimidating helmet.

Clear Samurai inspiration.

Wields a katana-like sword that technically has an energy blade (dust=energy) which is generally RED-colored.

Possesses mysterious and terrible over-worldly powers.

Has a mysterious past tied to our protagonist’(s) family.

Was probably in love with our protagonist’s (apparently) dead mother.

Yeah I’d say Raven makes for a pretty good Darth Vader-expy.*

Beyond that specific case, we’ve already seen the story connect Raven to a BUNCH of ‘mysterious and angsty deadbeat dad who left their kid for unclear reasons’ tropes when it comes to Yang. Why not have those apply to Ruby as well? People have been clamoring for years about wanting to see Summer’s narrative dynamic with Yang explored as much as the one she has with Ruby, so why not have the reverse be true with Raven and Ruby as well?

After all, it seems that the story has now given Ruby a reason to seek Raven for answers just as Yang once did.

And as I’ve noted in previous Rosebird Parents posts, No I don’t believe Raven also being Ruby’s deadbeat dad would be somehow ‘redundant’. Particularly because the context is completely different: Yang has known that Raven is her birth-mother for most of her life, whereas Ruby would only just now be finding out that Raven is her birth-father. Far from being redundant, this would allow the story to explore two very different responses of kids to an absent parent: One who has had to live with the knowledge of that absent parent for years, and one who hasn’t and has to deal with this NEW information suddenly getting dropped on her.

Plus, as I alluded to earlier, it’s rather notable that RWBY hasn’t done some big ‘dramatic parent reveal’, given how much of a staple it is to the genre. And given how reimagining, twisting and flipping classic and well-worn fairytale/folklore/fantasy tropes (often via playing with gender-roles) is basically RWBY’s bread and butter at this point, I’d say giving the series heroine an ‘I am your father’ reveal from a woman would fit PERFECTLY in this series.

And if you’re going to ask ‘but how do two ladies make baby?!?’,

Raven can be intersex. Boom. Done.

Alternatively, magic.

As an aside, yes Summer being trans is a perfectly viable alternative. I just think logistically speaking, Raven being intersex and being Ruby’s ‘father’ makes a dramatic reveal a bit more streamlined. Also, the idea of Raven managing to be BOTH a deadbeat mom AND a deadbeat dad is just too funny XD

*Of course, this comparison gets even more fun when we consider Summer having her own Vader-parallels, ie; Summer almost certainly being taken by Salem and given what we can probably assume to be a Vader-esque makeover via grimm-hybridization in setup for a big reveal. So when we combine this with Raven, I think we can view what happened on their last mission as ‘What if Padme/Obi-wan got turned into Vader INSTEAD of Anakin?’ Like Raven in the present is basically Anakin doing Obi-wan’s traumatized hermit shtick, except all angry and edgy because it’s still Anakin.

[athenadione]

i wanna wear his initial (on a chain around my neck)

I know it's super late, but I wanted to share my fic for damirae sauce week. I hope you enjoy! (Rated E for explicit sexual content) Words: 2,059 Read HERE on a03

Raven’s sure that most people would never consider Damian to be a generous person. It doesn’t help that he keeps even the closest of friends at arm’s length. She’s also sure that it doesn’t bother him that most people refer to him as distant and cold. He’s always held his cards close to his chest, and keeps those he cares about most even closer. 

And as his favorite (a true honor), Raven knows that Damian is more generous than he’d ever admit. So much so in fact, that Raven isn’t surprised in the slightest when he’s knocking at her door with a quiet excitement in his eyes. All while holding something behind his back with both hands. Refusing to show her until he’s completely inside, away from the prying eyes of their teammates. 

“What is it?” Raven asks, taking the elongated velvet box from him carefully. 

“Open it and see for yourself habibti,” Damian tells her, affection clear in his voice. Her eyes flit up to him a moment, already feeling the smile growing on her face. Her lithe fingers make quick work of the sheer bow wrapped around it. When she lifts the top she doesn’t hold back her surprise. 

“Damian, this is…”

“Adequate?”

“…expensive.” 

It’s obviously hand-crafted, probably from some obscure jewelry artist requiring a password to meet at a secret location. (She’s kidding, well mostly). Even so Raven can only begin to imagine how Damian had the time to commission this without her knowing about it.

“Tch, you deserve the best omri. I won’t stand for anything less.” 

She touches the outline of the necklace delicately. It’s pure silver, and simple. A dainty chain, ending with an embellished ‘R’ full of tiny emeralds. R for Robin, so she can wear it out in public. My Robin. 

“It’s beautiful, put it on for me?” She asks, handing the box to Damian.

“Of course.” 

She turns around and walks to her mirror, gathering her hair over her shoulder. When she feels the ghost of his fingers at the base of her neck it sends a shiver down her spine. Then his hands come around her head with the necklace. 

“So…you like it?” He asks as he starts to clasp it. 

Raven trails down the R with her forefinger, staring at her reflection. The chain settling against her neck is cool to the touch and electrifying. Wearing his initial around her neck feels…thrilling. 

She turns back around to face him as he finishes. “I love it,” she says, standing up on tip-toes to kiss him. Her arms wrap around his face and his hands find her waist when she pulls him down to bring his lips to hers. “Thank you habibi,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“It’s just as much a present to me,” he admits against her skin as his voice drops an octave, “now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” 

A sizzling heat settles in her lower abdomen as goosebumps rise on her skin where his breath tickles her ear. “All those poor women are in for a world of hurt once they realize Robin is officially off the market.” 

“Good,” he says, nibbling the shell of her ear, “they should have known I’d never be interested in any of them anyway. How could anyone ever compare to you?” 

Raven’s never been great at accepting compliments, but with Damian she’s learning. Still, it doesn’t stop the light shade of red she feels heating her cheeks as she answers him with another kiss. 

The heat of his mouth moving against hers is a slow burn. They take their time exploring one another, delighting in the pathway of their hands on each other as Damian takes the lead—nibbling softly on her bottom lip. She sighs at his ministrations, relaxing further into his hold. Damian starts to play at the zipper on the back of her leotard while leading her backwards towards her bed. 

“Is this okay?” he asks her, and Raven nods, helping him slide the straps down her shoulders.

“Yes,” she breathes, “It’s more than okay.”

She leans into his chest, fingers slipping underneath his belt to tease him as his hands skin over her arms. Marveling over the gentle way he cups her face in his hands, and the care he takes to help her undress. Trailing soft kisses down her shoulder, following the path of her leotard as it slides down her legs. 

“Tabdū rāʾiʿan, you wear our initial so beautifully,” he whispers with reverence against her calf as he helps her step out of her spandex. Raven sighs at the feels of his 5 o’clock shadow scratching lightly against her leg. It’s not enough friction, she needs more, but she knows better than to rush him. Damian likes to take his time, and she’s learned the hard way what happens when she tries to push him. She nearly shivers at the memory. 

That night he had turned her into a wet, sobbing mess. It had ended with her begging for mercy as he had continued to make her come again and again. So many times that she had eventually lost count. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks and looks up at her, and Raven’s breath hitches at the sight of him. Inches away from where she needs him the most, hands tracing delicately over her skin to reach the swell of her hips. 

“You of course, and how very talented you are,” she teases, her hands finding themselves playing with the strands of his dark, curly strands of hair. 

He hums, “you flatter me,” his hands tighten around her hips and he lifts her up onto the edge of the bed, “but you’re just as talented you know.” 

“No argument there,” she laughs at his raised brow before drawing his face back up to hers for another kiss. Letting him push her back until she’s surrounded by pillows, and his frame settles over hers. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of his arms around her face. 

“I think you’re overdressed,” she says, her hands gripping the edge of his uniform tucked into his pants. 

He stops her with his hand on her wrist, “Not yet, I want to look at you first. I want to watch you come for the first time wearing my necklace.” He fingers the chain between her breasts, before brushing his thumb over one nipple. “All mine,” he says as he teases the bud into a tight peak, “I want them all to know you’re mine.” 

Raven moans, chest heaving as he turns his attention to her other nipple—taking it into his mouth. “Y-yes,” she stutters when his tongue swirls around it, “I’m yours beloved.” She pants as he continues, as wetness continues to gather between her thighs. She wants to squirm, press her legs together to relieve the tension that’s building there so quickly, but she knows the pay-off of waiting. So she doesn’t plead with him, just whimpers, when Damian traces a single finger around the hood of her clit, so devastatingly slow. 

“So good omri, you’re being so patient,” he grips one of her thighs before hitching it over his shoulder, the act giving him more access to her. “Can you be still for me? I want to taste how sweet you are.”

“Yes, yes, albi, please,” she responds, gasping when he lowers his mouth over her clit. Her back arches off the bed just a little as she struggles to not move. Her hands tangle in the bed sheets as hot pleasure starts to build inside of her. His lips expertly nibble as his tongue darts out, sketching circles around her nub. Then he slips a finger inside of her, and it starts to pump in a rhythm that drives her only higher towards her peak. 

Her orgasm catches her by surprise, ripping through her body, and she cries out—her hands reaching to entangle in his hair again as he helps her ride through it. He plants small kisses to both of her inner thighs, murmuring words so low she can’t understand what they are. 

There’s a light ringing in her ears and she’s covered in a line sheen of sweat when Damian starts again. Enclosing his mouth around her clit once more. Raven shakes her head against her pillow as her hands shakily reach to pull him up, “Please, no more Damian. I want to feel you inside.” 

He glances up, and brings his fingers up to his lips, covered in her essence. “You do taste sweet Raven. So sweet that I want seconds.” His mouth lowers unto her again, “One more, then I’ll give you what you want.” 

She’s shaking by the end of her second, gripping his shoulders like a life-line as he pushes her back over the edge. He tells her how beautiful she is, a goddess incarnate, when he considers going for thirds. She begs for him to stop instead, “You promised,” she says, still breathless. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry omri. You just taste so good, I couldn’t help myself,” he says as he moves to stand, giving Raven a short reprieve. She watches as he undresses, taken by the way his muscles ripple under the light from the nearest window. 

He catches her staring, sending her a light smirk before it melts into something more intimate, “Are you okay? Do you need a break?” he asks. 

Raven smiles warmly and shakes her head, “I’m good, just enjoying the view.” 

“Likewise,” he quips, moving to settle his length right over her core. He kisses her shoulder as she moves to grip his forearms. 

They groan together, breath intermingling, as he moves inside of her. Going slow until he finally bottoms out, and Damian gives Raven a moment to adjust to the feel of him. The delicious way he fills her up. And then he moves again and she throws her head back with a moan as he starts a punishing pace. One that she can’t help but be swept into, can’t help but drown in the tidal wave of their pleasure. 

Damian quickly finds the spot that draws out more whimpers from her lips, and he lowers her mouth to swallow her cries. She drinks in his kiss greedily as he builds them both back up to orgasm, his fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing tight circles that contrasts his more shallow and well-placed thrusts. Then he pushes them both over the edge together with a final stroke, moaning her name into her neck as he spills inside of her. 

Her own orgasm is mind-blowing, and Damian continues to thrust languidly, drawing it out as long as he can. He moves the sweaty strands of hair out of her face, curling them behind her ears as he kisses her again. Long and slow and full of devotion. For her. It makes her heart squeeze with emotion. 

“I love you,” she says, accepting more kisses at her temple. 

“I love you more,” he tells her, rolling onto his back while pulling her on top of him. She listens to his heart beat as it starts to slow, relaxing in the afterglow of their love making. One of her favorite parts. 

Damian makes them sit up as he reaches for her mini fridge, pulling out two bottles of water before uncapping one and handing it to her. She accepts it while murmuring her thanks, and takes a few greedy sips, not realizing how thirsty she really was. After a while they settle back against the headboard as Damian uncaps his own bottle.  

Raven starts to play with her necklace, admiring the shine of the emeralds as it reflects against the light. “You know I really do love my present, but next time I have a different necklace in mind to wear,” she says with a light smirk. 

Damian catches the playful lilt of her voice and looks down at her with a raised brow, “Oh? And what did you have in mind, beloved?” he asks, just before taking a sip of water. 

“Your hand.” 

Raven laughs as he chokes on his water in shock. The mess on her comforter is completely worth the look on his face. She’ll pay for it later for surprising him like that, but that’s okay. 

She’s counting on it.