#distant. much cooler cousin

[duck-in-a-thrift-store]

Oh my GOD this bird is gorgeous

The greater blue-eared starling

[answer2jeff]

from velcro to bunny ears — carmen berzatto.

warnings : mentions of emotional neglect ?? distant relationship from siblings. not an x reader.

a/n: i wrote this in 20 minutes please excuse me if there are any typos..

I have a feeling Carmen always had trouble with the milestones other kids his aged reached.

Mental math, riding a bike—it all came to him much slower than he was ever comfortably able to admit. Kind, but not smart. Polite, but not friendly. Creative, but not handsome. Imaginative, but not funny.

He's been this way for as long as he can remember, occasional dabbles in art and his passion for culinary being the only part of himself he could be sure would be seen as the best of the best, even if he didn't truly believe he was quite at the epitome of perfection.

Shoelaces.

Fuck, were those the bane of his existence at just 7 years old. Stupid Velcro that made a tearing sound that was similar to a bloodcurdling scream.

He'd been wearing shoes with Velcro strips, or short laces that purposefully looked tucked and didn't require tying, since he could walk.

Jesus. Carmen never even learned how to tie them. Asking anyone, even his mother, was simply too much to ask. Instead, he would insist that Velcro shoes were okay, and he wasn't too old for them.

Until Uncle Jimmy came to visit during the summer of 1998.

Mikey, barely 16, was out with friends for the weekend, possibly getting drunk on beaches and rolling joints on the roofs of parking garages. And 11 year old Natalie was celebrating her classmate, Ashley's, 12th birthday. Rollerblade hockey was the new craze. Why wait for mucky fishponds and vast lakes to solidify and freeze over in the dead of winter when you could just go across the street and bust your ass on the concrete instead?

It wasn't necessarily Carmen's idea. Cicero, being the overbearing babysitter he'd become due to Donna's negligence, couldn't handle seeing his poor little nephew cooped up in the tiny upstairs bedroom riddled with hand drawn artworks plastered on his walls. It wasn't right. Summer was for bruises and scabs that would be forgotten about with the booming sound of fireworks and taste of sugary popsicles dripping down your arms.

"Why don't you go hang out with the kids across the street, Bear?" Cicero asked him. Carmen picked his little head up from his sketch book and looked out the view of his window.

He only shrugged.

"They're playin' rollerblade hockey. Your brother Mikey fuckin' loved that, y'know? When he was your age, I mean. Give it a shot, eh? Might be nice kids."

The Raymondville's. Carmen didn't know much about that family. He didn't know they were nice, or played rollerblade hockey like his older, therefore much cooler, big brother. All he knew was that they were also older, therefore much cooler than him too.

That's all that mattered anyway. But he had this tendency to follow in his brothers footsteps. With Jimmy's rare visits and Donna's unpredictable and equally scarce moments of wanting to be an actual tender and caring mother, Mikey was the closest thing to a reliable adult he ever had. Natalie was too busy spending every moment she could out of the house until she'd come crawling back to Mom, who would only scold her for ever wanting to leave in the first place, to notice how perfectly Carmen blended into the wallpaper.

A happy house.

Rollerblade hockey sounds fine.

After a dig through the attic and rummaging through a box of old sports equipment—low and behold lied the skates. Black and turquoise. Mikey's favorite colors. The 4 wheelers were a little intimidating, but Carmen faintly remembered spending a week with Aunt Lisa and learning how to at least stroll down the sidewalk of his cousins neighborhood.

"Go on," Cicero gave a gentle push to Carmen's small and trembling shoulders, leaning back on the front porch to carefully watch his nephew try and be an active member of society from a distance. His little blonde curls blew in the evening wind, the humidity from earlier in the day still weighing them down. His hands shook vigorously which were tightly gripping a pair of Mikey's old rollerskates.

A jumble of "hi's, my name is," and "can i play's," fell out of his quiet mouth. They were met with nods from the 5 boys, easily ages 9-12, the oldest being 13. But this was only after shared glances and shrugs of discomfort were shown. The Raymondville's had never seen this fragile little kid in their lives: short and skinny. But they knew the Berzatto's. They knew cool Mikey and pretty Natalie—but not average Carmen. A breath of relief washed over Carmy, and he sat down on the fluffy and bright green grass to remove his white lace-less sneakers and shoved his feet into the slightly too big skates.

The straps snapped down easily. But those damned laces, thick and white with little black stitching, taunted him. He swallowed.

Carmen simply tucked them in, his stomach queasy at the feeling of the plastic aglet's poking his feet.

He stumbled a bit, but he secured himself as he remembered to bend his knees just a bit. It wasn't all too different from skating on the ice in mid-January. Except now it was mid-June, and every wheel could easily catch itself in the bumps and cracks of the old streets of the neighborhood that hadn't been patched in years. But alas, the laces came loose, and one had caught right in the metal bolt of the wheel and zipped right around it, knocking little Carmy off his feet and onto his bum.

Tears immediately pricked at his waterlogged eyes when he looked around just to see everyone had already started the 5th game of the day without him.

Uncle Jimmy simply sighed and beckoned his hand toward himself, shaking his head in pity rather than surprise. Carmen's shoulders shook with silent sobs as he held his skates in one skinny arm and his sneakers in the other. He couldn't even wipe the snot that pooled from his nose or the consistent tears that streamed down his cheeks and soaked his t-shirt.

"Jesus," Cicero swore under his breath, leaning forward "Nobody ever teach you how to tie your shoes, Carm?" he raised a brow, carefully taking his nephews Velcro shoes and setting them down on the porch beside him. At 7 years old, with a one sibling being 12 and the other being nearly 16, one would expect he could tie his own shoes. He couldn't tell which question was greater: how he hadn't learned through observation, or why he never just asked?

"N—no," Carmen hiccuped, wiping his eyes and taking a seat down beside his uncle. He carefully watched as Cicero went through step by step instructions of the 'bunny ear' method. The little boy was mesmerized by the simplicity of the loop Cicero wrapped around his thumb, pulling it into a tight and secure bow in such quick timing. He never forgot after that day.

Sometimes he still mumbles "wrap around the coop, push through the loop," as he ties the laces of his white Nike Cortez sneakers before going on his 3rd soul searching and ultimate sensory seeking 15 minute walk of the week.

"Bunny ears," Uncle Jimmy said to Carmy.

And 'bunny ears' he did.

tags : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[thehollowwriter]

The Official Bio of Alastair Blair

Basic Info:

Name: Alastair Blair

Homeland: Briar Valley

Species: Mostly human, however he is part fae. Specifically, a kelpie

Birthday: 8th September

Age: 68 in human years (he ages quite similarly to a human, though)

Height/length: 159cm

Dominant hand: Left

Occupation: Owns a seaside hotel (the irony is not lost on him)

Family:

Unnamed parents

Unnamed siblings

Unnamed aunts, uncles, and cousins

Godson: Finn

Preferences:

Hobbies: Cooking, swimming, photography

Likes: The water, food, seeing and learning new things, singing, dancing

Dislikes: Boring, stuffy places or situations, gloomy days, not being able to swim

Favourite food: People! ...He's just kidding. He really likes salad wraps

Least favourite food: Caviar (why does Ezra like that stuff so much... bleh)

Appearance:

Alastair is a short, chubby man with snow white hair and light blue ends like this:

At least, on land. Whenever he gets into the water, his hair changes to match the water. His eyes are bright yellow, and he has two small fangs. He's very tanned, and some of his face is scarred over.

He doesn't actually "Naturally" have many kelpie features, though he does have pointed ears, but he can shape shift as he pleases to seen more like a horse (he doesn't do it often cause people keep trying to ride him when he does lol). He's got a twirly moustache and some stubble.

Personality:

Though some people get the impression that he's serious, Alastair is warm, friendly, sarcastic, and a joker. He's got that wise old man vibe to him, though he's probably more likely to tell you to do something very unwise for shits and giggles.

He's always ready to do something or go on adventure, always filled with excitement and creativity. He often gets into some unexpected, chaotic situations but always finds some way to get out of them again.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info

•Alastair is loosely based off Rosie from Mamma Mia, with a dash of Donna

•He was Morrigan's other best friend at NRC

•During his time at NRC he would insist his name was actually Constantine cause he thought it sounded cooler than his actual name

•He was much more cold and closed off as a teen, but Morrigan brought him out of his shell. He didn't feel any need to rebel against his own family or anything, but Morrigan adopted him as a friend and dragged him into various shenanigans with Ezra anyway

•Between himself and Ezra, Alastair was hit by Morrigan's death the hardest, and for quite a long time, he couldn't say or hear Morrigan's name without bursting into tears

•He's Finn's other godfather

•He started out his career as a chef and sold a ton of cookbooks before getting into the hotel business

•He and Ezra keep close contact and always plan so they can visit Finn and Silas together

...........................................

A/N: I hope you like the other half of my new duo! He may not he quite as iconic as Ezra seems to be, but that's not his style anyways XD Thanks again to my friend who helped me out with him and gave me the idea of making him a kelpie

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch @ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk

@thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry @skriblee-ksk

@lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife @authoruio @jewelulu

@raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

[spirking-and-sparkling]

for the soft asks:

(you don’t have to do all of them, this one just had so many good asks)

3, 12, 13, 19, 29, 32, 38, 39

3.) If you could be anything or anyone who would you be?

Myself teehee mmmmm or maybe like modern day wonder woman

12.) Most attractive features of a person's face?

Eyes ^-^ and also freckles and smile

13.) Autumn or spring?

Autumn, I love the trees and the crunchy leaves, and it getting cooler. And it makes me think about a bunch of good fall memories. But I do really love spring. I like when it's so green before the summer makes everything dry out, and it's like 70 degrees, and all the flowers are blooming.

19.) Describe one of your favorite dreams

I dreamed of this little creek in the valley of the mountains. The ground was smooth and grassy, and it was by a little white house or church. And it was so still and peaceful. Also, that place exists, and I went there when I was like 3 and dreamed about it multiple times after. There's a picture of me standing in the creek standing on my dad's feet and holding his hands 🥹🥹

29.) What distant relative are you closest to?

Does my dad's cousin (so my 2nd cousin) count as distant? He's my dad's age. Awesome guy, we've gone camping with him many times and I've admired him since I was tiny.

32.) If you own any dresses, which is your favorite?

Oo! My favorite is my rust orange colored dress that is floor length and looks so princess-y. It spinds really pretty, and I wore it for my spring formal.

38.) What flower do you find most beautiful?

I love it when there's a whole bunch of wildflowers of different colors, and they look so pretty together. Also, stargazer lilies!!

39.) Favorite mug/cup

It used to be my 1960s orange and yellow mushroom mug, but I broke it. Now it's my Sakura Galaxy mug. It looks pretty much like this 👇 I want the cups and saucers one day

Also, honorary mention for my "best Dad ever" mug from my friend and my vintage morton salt girl mugs (I have two).

[dicenote]

I have some questions about Echo! First of all, I want to say that I liked her sm <3

So I wonder how her story would have unfolded if she had joined Kira's capture. Would she use tactics similar to L or Near, or would she be riskier like Mello? Or perhaps she would have her own way of investigating this case? I'm also curious about which Death Note character she'd like to work with, and which characters might possibly be friends with her!

Omg thank you so much! And thanks for the interesting questions <3 It's really given me a lot to think about!

(For most of this, I'm gonna use the pseudonym "Dix" for her since she wouldn't have the name "Echo" if she worked on the Kira case. I hope that's not too confusing!)

For the first question, let's suppose that Dix overheard Roger telling Near and Mello about L dying back in 2004 and that she wanted to join the case ASAP. How would she go about it?

I think the most important thing is that Dix would not want to deal with such a big case alone. She enjoys being around people, and the thought of having to isolate herself for years out of safety sounds horrible. She'd consider asking Near or Mello since they're already on the case, but Mello leaves soon after he hears the news, and Near is much too passive in his investigation for her tastes. So instead, Dix asks the third-best Wammy's kid, Matt, for help.

(Side note: I'd like to think that out of Matt, Mello, and Near, she'd be closest to Matt. And by that, I mean he plays games with her a lot. He also loses a lot. I originally intended for Dix to be about 4-5 years older than the three of them and be more of a distant "older cousin" figure, but I messed up the birthdate. So she's only a little older than Matt, but still acts like a cooler older sister.)

Matt, eager for adventure and kinda bummed that Mello left without him, agrees and sets off for Japan with Dix. They figure, based on their own observations, that Kira has got something to do with the NPA, so they start there. I'm not too set on the details, but they'd probably get wrapped up in a lot of goofy "sidequests" and such in their search for Kira. Maybe they try getting jobs in the NPA to do undercover work and run into Light? Again, not totally sure there.

I don't think that Dix and Matt alone are going to solve the case, unfortunately, though they probably speed things up by a few years. If Matt died, for example, it might motivate Mello to make his moves faster. Dix's work might be able to eliminate the suspects down to the Task Force quickly, but she probably won't be able to get the crucial evidence to get Light arrested. Regardless, Dix and Matt would have a very fun time on the case (if they both live, of course).

I'm getting kinda off-topic from your question, but I think Dix would have an investigation style that's most like how L investigates the Kira case. See, her deductive reasoning isn't as strong as L's or Near's (another reason why she needs Matt with her), but she is incredibly good at reading people. That means that in order to make good deductions, she needs to speak with her targets directly, or at least be able to observe them. If she were in L's shoes back at the start of the case, she would totally enroll in Light's university and play weird mind games with him to see what he does, much like L. She's a bit of a risk-taker like L, but she wouldn't go as far as to use Lind L. Tailor or actually handcuff herself to Light.

Now for the other question, which characters she'd work with or be friends with... This is pretty hard, since she's pretty removed from the cast once she leaves Wammy's. She probably still thinks fondly of the others and occasionally sends letters to the orphanage when she can.

Like I said before, if she was working on the Kira investigation, she'd wanna work with her fellow Wammy's kids. She'd prefer to work with all of them because they all have different skills that balance each other out, but that would never happen. Mello and Matt are her first choices over Near, but she does appreciate the work Near does.

In the normal version of canon where she isn't involved with the Kira case and instead is a radio host, Echo would probably run into Takada here and there since they're both in the same industry. Maybe they met at a convention or something early into their careers and ended up talking. This makes January 25th, 2010 a rough day for her, as two of her oldest friends and one of her only new ones die horrifically.

Also, I think she'd at least know of Demegawa. Maybe she's heard a few stories from friends and coworkers. She doesn't like him, though, and especially stays clear when he gets wrapped up in "Kira's Kingdom".

A funny random thought I had was that Echo and Matsuda live in the same apartment complex during the second half of Death Note. They run into each other at ungodly hours of the night and make small talk every so often. Echo thinks that "Taro" must be hiding an affair or something because he isn't home all that much and always looks "off" to her. Eventually, she figures out it's something bigger than that, but neither of them ever realize that they're both connected to Near.

Also, I don't think they'd ever interact in canon, but I think Echo would like the SPK members, especially Gevanni and Halle. Maybe not in a strictly "friendly" sense, but she thinks that what they do looks pretty neat.

[gorbalsvampire]

🔺and 🧐 for sorcha, 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 as a general “elaborate about sorcha and alistair’s family situation” question?

🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?

Sorcha can hurt you with a blade but not really in a combat type situation. She can sort of shoot (if you're raised by Alistair Fucking Dunsirn, you learn how to handle a gun). Her main recourse in combat situations, though, is being fairly nimble and scuttling the hell out of there.

🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional?

She was more emotional, before her total breakdown at the hands of Draven. The restored Sorcha is cooler-headed, more scheming, but she stays silly - and she is still, physiologically, nineteen, with all the brain worms that implies. Sometimes she wants to be cold and aromantic and dead inside, but then some stupid Malkavian comes along with his big blue eyes and reminds her she's a soppy wee bastard.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

Sorcha's grandparents - Alistair's parents - both died during the Second World War, and Alistair was effectively raised by his boarding school, passed around cousins and uncles and aunts during the holidays, learning a little about all the family trades. His aunt Elizabeth ran an urban farm up in Bishopbriggs, and was the closest thing he had to a mother figure. He knew Charley Dunsirn back when he was Charlotte Dunsirn, and was around for her Embrace, decades before his - they were probably playmates.

Finlay is Sorcha's cousin from Stirling, relocated to Glasgow when the family needed some fresh boots on the ground. Finlay is Alistair's mini-me, doing the street work that he can't do now that he's legally dead, and they bonded quickly. They weren't so keen on Sorcha at first, but now they've started to see what Sorcha can do and they're learning from each other (trading business knowhow for necromantic theory). Finlay also comes with baggage: Lucas Dunsirn, current spokesman for the board, ghoul to the Ollav Sir Robert Dunsirn and close second place in the run for their Embrace. Finlay knows Lucas is plotting SOMETHING but can't put their finger on what.

Further out, there's the array of more distant relatives in the company. Sorcha is kind of... removed from them, as Alistair's weird kid who got the fast track to the top. They're generally afraid of Alistair, and by extension Finlay; the Ollav may be the head of the family, but Alistair is its iron fist.

Sorcha's mother is in that extended sphere too. Sorcha is still very fond of Isabella, and Alistair is still in love with her, but they don't see her much and she's firmly embedded with her own people, the Venetian Rossellini. The same goes for the swarm of little 'uns Sorcha was raised amongst - they were like siblings and she'd be pleased to see them but she might not even recognise them after eleven years away.

Finally, and this is Sorcha-exclusive, there's the Duskborn to consider. All Duskborn are siblings in their hearts. The Three Graces, the coterie she was trying to get in with at first, didn't really trust her (and she didn't stand a chance, their bond was... not something an outsider could be welcomed into), but that instinct to nest in has found itself flourishing with Beetlejuice and Hazel.

Hazel and Sorcha are the same age in Kindred terms, but Hazel's that bit older and wiser and more pro-active as a person that Sorcha feels like the little sibling there. Maybe half-sibling: their blood is similar-but-different, as half-caff Lasombra and diet Hecata, but like calls to like in the shadows. Beetlejuice, of course, is their much older and loopier stepsister who's seen it all, done it all and survived. It's a found family and a witch-n-bitch coven and a long-distance very casual lesbian thing all at once.

[motownfiction]

first drink

Will had his first drink by accident. He was about five, and some of his dad’s old friends were hanging out at the house in the middle of summer. Old football buddies about to play a game in the backyard. One of the guys left a half-drunk bottle of Miller High Life on the kitchen table, and Will figured it was IBC Root Beer in a kind of bottle he’d never seen before. So he drank some of it … and promptly spit it out all over the floor. His dad scolded his buddy for leaving the beer around and helped Will wash the taste out of his mouth with some real IBC Root Beer from the fridge (on the condition he didn’t tell his mom he let him have extra pop). Will swore from that day on he’d never drink a real beer again. And while he didn’t exactly keep that promise, he’s gotten pretty close. That’s what happens when you become a dad shortly after you turn seventeen. Underage drinking doesn’t hold much power over you.

Lucy’s first drink, of course, was a different story. She was fifteen, and she went back to Connecticut for a distant cousin’s wedding. Before the ceremony, the women (and Lucy’s father, who stuck around the women’s side of the party so that he could help with hair) ate croissants and drank Mimosas, including Lucy. She says she had three and felt nothing, probably thanks to the croissants and Lucy’s mother’s tendency to use more mixer than alcohol. But Will always laughs when he thinks of the story of Lucy’s first drink. It’s classy, punchy, and sparkly, just like she is. Of course his story is cheap by comparison.

Today, Will has a chance to revise that story. It’s his twenty-first birthday, and he and Lucy agreed to share their first legal drink together at the kitchen table. She turned twenty-one two weeks ago, but her disinterest in liquor made it so she didn’t mind waiting a little longer. She picked the drink – two flutes of real champagne, which she bought the day after her birthday in preparation – but she almost balks before she has a sip.

“I don’t know, babe,” Lucy says, staring at the bubbles at the bottom of the glass. “It feels like I shouldn’t be doing it.”

“It only feels that way because you’re second guessing it,” Will says. “Come on. It’s my birthday. Bottoms up, or whatever they say.”

“Who’s they?”

“I don’t know. People who are cooler than we are. Daniel, maybe.”

Lucy laughs. She extends her champagne flute toward Will, and he reaches his glass out to match.

“Here’s to you,” she says.

“Here’s to me.”

They take their first sips of their first legal drinks. Will nods with his lips around the glass. The champagne tastes just as good as Lucy (who hasn’t had a drink since she was sixteen and went back to Connecticut for that same cousin’s baby shower) said it would, but it doesn’t feel like much at all. He lowers the glass and notices Lucy has the same look in her eye.

“Is this it?” she asks. “Is this what other people do when they turn twenty-one?”

“No,” Will says. “I think they do a lot more.”

“Yeah. Well. This wasn’t like … this wasn’t much.”

“No. No, it was not.”

“I remember last year when this kid in one of my classes turned twenty. He told us it was his birthday, so we all wished him a happy birthday. He thanked us and everything, but he kept saying, ‘One more year! One more year!’ And this is what he was looking forward to?”

“Once again, no. He was looking forward to blacking out with a model in his bed. At least, that’s what he hoped would happen.”

“Hmm. Is that what you hoped would happen?”

“No. You don’t have a modeling contract. And thank God for that.”

Lucy laughs again. She looks down into the bubbles one more time.

“It tastes really good, though,” she says. “Doesn’t it?”

Will nods.

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “The best. Way better than whatever cheap beer some other sucker turning twenty-one today is gonna have. It’s just that when you get married and have your first baby while you’re still in high school …”

“All the other milestones pale in comparison,” Lucy says. “I know.”

Will smiles. He thinks it’s pretty funny that Lucy, who’s never been interested in drinking or parties before, is suddenly a little disappointed by what it means to turn twenty-one. Because he doesn’t know what else to do, he raises his glass to cheers with her again.

“Here’s to you?” he asks.

Lucy grins.

“Here’s to me.”

[h3artf3ltint3nt]

SHIPPING INFO. Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

Jiang Cheng & Kexin or ChengXin. Look, she's a way cooler version of me and I love him, okay? xD

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

I love all sorts of different ship dynamics I mean, friends to lovers is probably my favorite but you know, I am down for other dynamics. That being said, I don't like writing the um sexual parts of relationships. A girl is ace soooo. Kissing, cuddling, roaming hands, alright. Past that? Fade to black please lol. And obviously there has to be chemistry. I won't just start off with romantic shipping.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

No one the age of the juniors we are not those kind of people here. Ick. And then I really would not be comfortable with an age gap where a character is around the same age as Lan Qiren or the MC's parents shipping with A-Xin.

Are you selective when shipping?

I can be yes. Mostly I just need to get a sense of the chemistry and if that chemistry could lead to shipping. And there are some canon characters that I wouldn't even entertain the idea of shipping with her (Xue Yang for one, definitely not Huaisang or Mingjue cause those are her brother in my mind lol and also actual distant cousins lol, and then none of the bad Wens).

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Fade to black is preferred so yeah. I'll go as far as maybe roaming hands before I'm like "yeah we can just insinuate from here"

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

well I don't have any romantic ships here lol. I don't specifically ship her with any other canon characters, but like I said, if there's chemistry I would be okay with discussing the possibility of a ship.

Does one have to ask to ship with you?

Yes. Look, I'm oblivious and so is Kexin. So if

How often do you like to ship?

I don't really have a preference lol. If you want to ship, cool. Ask and we can discuss it. If not that's cool too! She'll just continue annoying you as whatever relationship they already have lol

Are you multiship?

Yeah. I'm a sucker for multiple stories with multiple characters, love interests included lol

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

No not obsessed. I get moments where I feel like it would be nice to have ships, but platonic relationships can hurt me just as much if not more lol

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

Is it egotistical to say Jiang Cheng & Kexin? xD I love them a lot okay lol. I commissioned a photo and have made video and photo edits xD but I also love 3Zun, WangXian, SangCheng, Hualian, FengQing

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Literally just message me about it and we can bounce around ideas. I have a hard time plotting things sometimes but if I can bounce off of your ideas, it's easier

tagged by: @ghostlypath tagging: whoever wants to idk xD

[replicantdeviancy]

There was something very different about this distant cousin that had Connor's investigative mind buzzing with interest. Ever cautious as he was, wary as his intuition was telling him something his logical brain would have dismissed only months before. Beyond the emaciated frame of this rather tall man, his undeniably archaic speech patterns didn't merely suggest a man of class as his poised southern accent did. That, & the distinct chill of his hand as it had grasped the detective's own, thin digits clammy against supple, admittedly cooler than normal flesh. Connor was the type to run a little cold, & always had been. Often enough, those closest to him complained of chilled extremities. The tall man was different, nearly ambient, beyond surface level, in spite of his friendly demeanor. It helped solidify something in the younger man's mind, though his suspicion made him oddly…more comfortable, though not completely relaxed. Somewhat bemused.

It wasn't the first time the homicide detective had touched a corpse, but this was the first time said corpse had been walking around chatting him up with polite pleasantries & hints of nostalgia. As this intriguing realization slowly settled into his mind, Connor couldn't help himself as his faint smile widened briefly. "Jonathan, then." He agreed with a small nod, shifting his weight to one foot, hips cocked ever so slightly. He had been made aware of the distinction of Americans through their tendency to lean, either on things or in general. It wasn't all that commonplace for him, but he wanted to express his relaxation in the presence of James' family member. He was so hypervigilant normally, & that hadn't changed here, but now that he was more certain of what kind of entity he was dealing with, he was more at ease.

"It's a dying city, but it's home," he explained, his dusky voice holding more than a hint of affection when mentioning Detroit. A city carved from the wilds of Michigan & cursed with collapse, time after time. A city that knew how to rise from its ashes, hopeful for better things. "If I ever get back there & you're in town, you'll be welcomed." By himself or his family, hopefully. The siblings were a busy trio, but they were good natured souls, hospitable.

He wasn't at all surprised by the gentle warnings of city dwelling wickedness, invisible things that went bump in the night. It only further cemented Connor's conclusions of the tall man's origins; or could it be called a condition? He didn't know the politically correct logistics of it. All he knew was that his lover & this cousin of his shared a similar propensity for safeguarding others. “I promise I'll be careful. It sounds like protectiveness is a familial trait.” Again, a small bit of teasing - he wasn't ungrateful, just a little rebellious. Connor was still very much that brave kid who would wander into the derelict spaces & explore old, defunct factories with his brothers in their grade school years, wearing their nice clothes & looking like a pack of well-to-do little rascals. Fearless, perhaps apathetic to the consequences. He had suffered more in hospital in the aftermath of a police operation gone bad than he ever had banishing infernal entities from the mortal plane, & he had the scars to prove it.

Maybe it was the amygdala which incurred so much damage over his formative years, or maybe he was just crazy. Either way, he was content.

Jonathan seemed rather accustomed to danger, himself, though one had to wonder what a man like him had to fear in the early hours. The detective supposed it wouldn't have been overstepping to ask about him, perhaps offering a means of making a friendly connection. He didn't know much about the undead, but Connor imagined it could be lonely & they could both use the entertainment. Staring blankly at his phone screen scrolling through the internet wasn't going to help him quell the anxiety inside. So , he posed an invitation. "—Would you like to come up?" A gesture of his hand towards the hotel not far from them, barely a block away. It was late, but if it wouldn't be a bother to anyone, the lounge was a nice place to rest a while & converse. If not, Connor hoped that James wouldn't be opposed to him allowing the man into their little suite.

"I don't know if an invitation is actually necessary for your kind… but it stands, regardless." His statement was both polite & unsubtle, though he wasn't about to just come out & say what was on his mind. Was it offensive to accuse somebody of being a vampire? After having his world greatly expanded by meeting the exorcist, the term had very new connotations. As such, he attempted to reassure Jonathan with a light, calming smile. "It's not obvious, if you 're worried. I just have a certain kind of perception most people don't." An understatement, & quite a monumental one. Connor knew he was being modest , as it wasn't just his ability to perceive the past retroactively through evidence obtained by both conscious & subconscious mind. He could sense things the same as James could, perhaps even more keenly as he was unable to see the things a more psychically inclined individual could. He had never before realized that he was capable of such things, until he met James.

He was certain to make that clear. “& James has been teaching me well.” A soft huff of a laugh at that, a hint of tired wit. He held his book up casually to show the tall man before tucking it under his arm again. “I wasn't planning on going to bed any time soon. Waiting on him like this makes me anxious.” One could tell, as the pretty youth did appear quite tired. Just another part of the job, both at home & now alongside the priest.

"Indeed, the very same." Jonathan effortlessly replied with a single nod of his head, a surprising amount of warmth lifting his features despite the stark coldness of his skin or the lack of colour that refused to flood his cheeks. For every little thing that might scream 'vampire', to those who could never imagine that existed, he had plenty of excuses to get him by. His pale skin and inability to step into direct sunlight was simply a very rare and severe allergy to the sun, keeping him from stepping into its warm embrace without erupting into an unyielding rash of blisters and burns. It wasn't a complete lie, though the severity was a little more brutal, his skin would begin to burn, not only from the outside in, on the inside, he'd begin to boil as well. The terrifying thing was it wouldn't even kill him, it would burn and boil him right down to the bone and all he'd need is for the sun to set or to hide behind a cloud and he'd begin to heal all over again. Not that the whole ordeal wouldn't be completely and utterly agonising. But he didn't have to mention that part.

His cold skin was simply played off as poor blood circulation and, again, a lack of sunlight. While his inability to eat around people was merely put down to having specific dietary requirements, which also wasn't a complete fib, even if he left out the fact that he couldn't consume anything that wasn't blood without it coming back up after being swiftly rejected by his body. His figure did seem to aid with such an excuse, standing at a striking height despite his very lean and malnourished build making it clear that there was perhaps something amiss when it came to his eating habits. Yet the reality was just as sobering, he'd spent three years on the frontline in France during WWI, surviving on rations that had quickly whittled down, giving away what he had to his patients rather than taking it for himself. By the time he'd returned to London, he'd been a shadow of the man who had left years before, his cheeks skinny with bony angles, dark bags beneath his eyes, giving away a lack of sleep, lack of eating, scars on his face, a broken nose, his entire body screaming for rest and nourishment. What had he found when he came home? His own death.

Now, every time he looked in the mirror, it was that same man who had returned from war who looked back at him, eternally tired, unfed and marked with the same scars that would never leave him, never let him forget. They were both a curse and a gift.

To see his cousin with a face so like his own, slender but not starving, sun-dusted skin, grey hairs creeping into ebony locks, he almost envied it, wondering if that's how he might have looked if he hadn't been transformed mere streets away from his childhood home. He wanted James to see his life through, to live it, to reach an old age, retire, and be content in his last days. And what better than to do so with someone they cared for so deeply by their side? They could live together, grow old together, something that Jonathan never could.

"Please, call me Jonathan." The physician politely insisted, keeping his usual title for more formal situations, or simply those who he didn't particularly like. "I was made aware that you hail from America, but no, he neglected to mention which state." Though the accent did give him away a little, not specifically being from Detroit, but the American accent wasn't easy to miss. "I must say, I've never had the opportunity to visit Detroit. Most of my visits to the States are situated in New York. Myself and... prior family members, have held a number of lectures there from time to time." Meaning over the last century they'd all been him, looking exactly the same portraying another descendent. "Though I did travel briefly some time ago. Alas, I imagine much has changed since then." Particularly since the president had been Woodrow Wilson back then.

The thought was almost enough to make him frown a little, suddenly reminded of just how old he was in comparison to the fresh-faced mortal in front of him. Not that it had escaped him that the man seemed -- - tense. Jonathan didn't need to it see, he could feel it, his ungodly senses made secrets impossible to keep, whether just by tasting it in the air around them or by dragging the truth out of them by force. Nothing stayed secret for long. Did he know what he was? He didn't seem quite as shielded as James had been on their first meeting, but he wasn't exactly relaxed either. He was -- - apprehensive? Wary? "The gangs and... thuggery of equal measure, in this city are less of a concern, young man. It's... all else that skulks in the shadows that one should be mindful of." His own kind would be in that category, even he had to be careful seeing as his chosen pacifism wasn't welcomed by most of his fellow Ekons. Especially in London after he'd stood up to the Ascalon Club, the city's 'elite' club of British male vampires. Needless to say, his refusal to fall into line with their outdated ideals hadn't earned him any social favours in the streets. Not that he regretted it though. It was probably best they kept hiding themselves away like the pompous cowards that they truly were. "Take care, Sir, that's all I ask. These streets are not nearly as peaceful as they may seem. If you must wander, I would strongly advise well-lit areas that are highly populated. Other areas can be... treacherous."

[doorbloggr]

Tuesday 5/10/21 - Dinosaurs of the World Part 1; Australia and Antarctica

Something dinosaur enjoyers might not appreciate right away is that our vast knowledge of this group of reptiles spans a worldwide communities of scientists. And sure palaeontology may have had its foundation in the western powers of Britain and America, but some of today's most popular dinosaurs come from other continents newer to Palaeontology. Particularly, South America, and East Asia have become hotspots for many of modern palaeontology's most exciting dinosaur discoveries. I've been wanting to do an overview series to highlight some of the more exciting (personal opinion) dinosaur species native to different regions of the world.

Late Cretaceous Australia

For Part 1, I'm going to feature Dinosaurs from Australia and Antarctica, since I'm from Australia. Palaeontology is a relatively smaller field in my country than it is in America for example, and so many of our dinosaur species are less well known throughout the world. The only major piece of Paleo-Media featuring Australian Dinosaurs from memory is Episode 5 of Walking With Dinosaurs, which focuses on the wintery land of late-Cretaceous Australia-Antarctica. For much of the Mesozoic period, Australia and Antarctica were connected to each other, but separated from most other continents, so this is why I am featuring them together.

Cryolophosaurus ellioti

Cryolophosaurus, Hannah Böving

Cryolophosaurus was the first dinosaur species to be named from Antarctica. Its remains were found in the Transantarctic Mountain Range in the early 1990s and named in 1994. Its name means "Cold Crested Reptile" referring to the large comb shaped crest on its skull, and that it was found in Antarctica. It was an earlier therapod (Early Jurassic), probably more primitive in the family tree than more well known therapods like Spinosaurus, Allosaurus, or Tyrannosaurus. It was one of the largest meat eaters of its time, about 2.5 m tall at the hip, and 6-7 m long. During the Early Jurassic, Antarctica was closer to the Equator, but it was still a relatively cooler climate, so some artists speculate it may have had a coat of feathers.

Minmi paravertebra

Minmi, Sergey Krasovskiy

Minmi was a basal ankylosaurid nodosaur found in Queensland Australia. It was named after the Minmi Crossing, and as a result of incorporating no other terminology into it's genus name, Minmi long held the record for the shortest genus name of any dinosaur. It was recently dethroned by Chinese dinosaur Yi. Minmi's fossils were quite fragmentary and much of our current guess of its appearance are based on its close relative Kunbarrasaurus. Minmi not only had a short name, it was also a very small dinosaur, about 3 m long and less than a metre tall. Imagine an ankylosaur about the size of a family dog. Minmi was Early Cretaceous in age.

Muttaburrasaurus langdoni

Muttaburrasaurus, Johan Egerkrans

Muttaburrasaurus is one of Australia's best known dinosaurs, partially due to how complete its best skeleton was. The only Australian specimen more complete is of Minmi's cousin Kunbarrasaurus. It was named for the town of Muttaburra, Queensland, which was near to its site of discovery. Muttaburrasaurus was an Ornithopod, a relative of Iguanodon. It was a fairly large herbivore, about 2.5 m tall at the shoulder and about 8 m long. It had a large hollow nose cavity that some palaeontologists think may have been used to make loud trumpeting calls like some of its hadrosaur distant relatives, but the evidence is inconclusive at this point.

Australotitan cooperensis

Australotitan, Joshua Knüppe

A very recent discovery, actually only just June 2021, Australotitan is the largest dinosaur discovered in the country so far, about 6.5 m at the hip, and 30 m long. It was a late Cretaceous Titanosaur, the group that includes the largest dinosaurs of all time such as Argentinosaurus and Dreadnoughtus. Its genus name means "Southern Titan", from the same greek word, Australis, that Australia got its name from. Its remains were found in Central Queensland, Australia. Before a species name was decided, it was referred to as "Cooper", for the Cooper Creek nearby its discovery. Its species name, cooperensis, later took on this naming reference.

Leaellynosaura amicagraphica

Leaellynosaura, sm-forrester (deviantart)

Leaellynosaura was a small Early Cretaceous basal Ornithopod, found from Victoria, Australia. At the time that Leaellynasaura was alive, Victoria was located within the Antarctic circle, so it was a polar dinosaur. Although the Cretaceous climate would've been warmer in the south pole than it is today, Leaellynasaura would've still experienced several months a year without full sunlight, and skull fragments have suggested it may have had eyes evolved for low-light vision. It was named after the daughter of the two palaeontologists who discovered the fossil, Leaellyn Rich. The most peculiar part of this dinosaur was its ridiculously long tail, which has been reconstructed as 3 times longer than the rest of its body combined.

Australovenator wintonensis

Australovenator, @just9art (twitter and tumblr)

Australovenator was a Late Cretaceous apex predator therapod. Its bones compile the most complete predatory dinosaur remains in Australia. At 2 m tall at the hip and 6 m in length, it was a lightly built therapod, and was likely an active pursuit predator. Its name means "Southern Hunter". It was discovered in Central Queensland, Australia. Its best preserved bones were of its arms and legs, and study of these have led Australovenator to be classified as a Megaraptoran therapod, cousin to Allosaurus and Carcharodontosaurus, but more remains need to be found in order to be sure.

Thanks for Reading

If you enjoyed this read and learned about something new, please spread it around. This is only Part 1 in the series, and I will edit this to link to future parts when they're written. I'm thinking of writing about Asia next, since a lot of exciting discoveries have been made recently in that region. If you know any Asian dinosaurs you think really deserve a highlight, let us know. If you know any fun facts on other Australia-Antarctica dinosaurs, feel free to share them in the notes.

A lot of this article is based on my own general knowledge, but I did borrow some information from Wikipedia. Feel free to correct me on whatever in the notes.

|| Part 2 (Asia) >>

[hargrove-mayfields]

Everyone likes to pretend Billy was never even there. Life goes on, people change, the past gets forgotten.

A year isn’t enough time for Max though. Right now it feels like the rest of her life wouldn’t be enough time, but Neil and Susan, they were doing just fine.

It’s almost like they like not having him around, that extra burden they couldn’t shake. The plan only Max knew was that Billy was going to stay at home until she was old enough to go with him so she’d be safe.

She knew he was fed up and looking at some local apartments within walking distance of Cherry Lane anyways, but then July happened, and Billy died.

Now it’s July again, and her hair is in twin braids of red with pure white ribbons on the end, and her and her mother are wearing matching blouses. There’s bruises under the bangle on her mothers wrist and one under Max’s own sleeve, and she just wants her brother back.

It’s a holiday they told her, her father (he’s not her fucking father, they never made her call him that when Billy was around) is a veteran, they have to celebrate. Better just dry her eyes and get over it.

Her mother invites all the family they have in the area over to their house for a little get together picnic, and they do their little happy family routine for a while, but Max can only handle so much of it.

Billy should be here by her side, flicking watermelon seeds at her face and putting ice cubes from the cooler down the back of her shirt, being an asshole to distract her from the reality of her family.

And that was that she didn’t really have one, a family. It was always just her and Billy.

Even at these events made for bonding with family, they were off to the side, messing around while the adults talked like they weren’t even there, and she knew she was a little naive then, but it stung more than ever, knowing that even after she’d lost her brother, nobody even stopped to say hi or check up on her, it was just straight into gossiping about the neighbors and those disrespectful bastards across the street who weren’t flying a flag for the holiday and family members who couldn’t be there.

But Max never heard Billy’s name come up even once, and not even in a respect to the dead boy and his grieving sister type of way, but rather, in the way that they just didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. None of these people had come to his graduation in May of last year, or his funeral two months later.

Billy was a taboo that the Hargrove-Mayfields didn’t dare taint their celebrations of freedom and justice with. The irony made Max sick to her stomach.

Or that was at least, until Neil couldn’t help himself.

His words are slurring already, with an excuse to party he’s on what Max would guess to be his fifth or sixth beer that afternoon, and someone just made the mistake of mentioning their own son, Billy and Max’s third cousin or something, and it spurs Neil off on a tangent about his.

“That boy was always good for nothing anyways. It’s almost the same now that he’s dead, ‘Cept maybe now I get some more quiet around the house.”

Nobody knows what to do when he says that, there’s a couple awkward laughs and one shocked gasp, that one was probably from her mother, but Max knows exactly what she wants to do.

What she wants is to watch Neil choking on his blood instead of her brother, his body being lowered into the ground instead of Billy’s, and in the moment she feels like she could be the one to make that a reality, but instead she just stands abruptly, a plate of the food her mother worked so hard to prepare for them she’d been too queasy to eat falling off her knees to the grass, and she says everything she’d bottled up for the past year.

“Don’t talk about Billy that way!

“Now, Maxine-“ Neil starts, but Max is livid, can’t hold back all the things she wished she had said before Billy died, when she got grounded after the funeral, when Neil started beating her, “No! I’m not going to let you do to me what you did to my brother! You don’t get to control me like you did him, it’s your fault that he’s dead!”

It’s her mother’s turn to try to stop her, slender hand covering her mouth painted red, “Maxine..”

“Stop trying to reason with me! I’m sick of pretending to be a family when I had to watch my own brother die! And I’m sick of being treated like I’m crazy for being the only one that cares about Billy!”

More than one person chimes in on that one, offended by the notion they don’t care about family, though it’s Neil that insists, in that faux calm, close to snapping voice of his, “We do care, Maxine. We’re all grieving in our own ways.”

She fires back, “Grieving what? The loss of your punching bag? You hated Billy! You don’t care that he’s dead, all that matters to you is having someone to hurt, and you no trouble adjusting to beating up on your wife and step-daughter instead!”

She catches a backhand to the face for that, and all the background chatter comes to a halt, Neil gritting out through his teeth, “Inside. Now.”

There are tears in her eyes that sting almost as much as the knuckle marks on her cheek, but Max feels like she won, getting her step dad all riled up in front of their family, she feels almost invincible, and she sneers all smug like and bitter, “I can’t go inside yet. I’m celebrating your service to our country, dad. You know, as a family.”

But when Neil's face turns as red as the blood that dripped from his wife’s nose the night before and he stands from his chair and drags her inside by the wrist himself, she realizes that it wasn’t exactly a win.

And when her brain goes numb trying to focus on both the repeated slaps and punches that explode like firecrackers across her skin and the way Neil is yelling and lecturing her until his voice is raw, giving her the same lessons her brother had burned into the back of his mind, she feels like she’s lost everything instead.

When she has to choke back her tears and apologize for embarrassing Neil and for making him hit her as punishment, she realizes, this isn’t a game that can be won or lost at all.

Max isn’t allowed to go back outside to the party. That rule goes unspoken, but words aren't necessary with the way Neil storms off without another word, slamming the back door behind himself. She’s slowly starting to figure out what the things her step father does instead of says mean.

She misses being allowed to be clueless, having someone to protect her or take what punishment she had earned. She wishes she wouldn’t have asked so much of Billy though.

Her own room isn’t safe anymore, what once had been the place she’d be ushered off to when Neil got bad had become more like a trap, the place Neil went to first when he was angry. Everything that had been hers felt wrong, so she goes to Billy’s room and doesn’t come out for the rest of the night. Even now that he’s gone, he still kept her safe.

There’s a welt on her face and fresh bruises forming everywhere, hot tears wetting her sunburnt cheeks and the pillows that smell like Billy, or at least used to before Susan decided his room needed cleaned and washed away every trace of her brother.

All night long there are fireworks going off, a big show put on by the city downtown has her shaking, unable to close her eyes for fear those distant explosions would take her back to the mall, bring back memories she’d never forget, and covering her ear with her hands.

The cracks and booms that shake her windows and her entire life, a headache and a heart break even stronger.

She tries her hardest not to think about Starcourt though, so instead she thinks about how Billy would’ve been proud of her for standing up to Neil. He would’ve called her an idiot, but he would’ve cleaned up her scrapes and held her through the panic attack after, and he probably would’ve liked to see the person Max was becoming too.

That makes Max’s heart hurt, the fact that he won’t get to. She cries harder, and she feels so alone without Billy.

Some part of her knows that she isn’t though. She isn’t the only one that lost somebody last July.

Hawkins’ cemetery was alive with flowers and wreaths and decoration, and more than anything the grieving. All of the victims had families, or in the case of the Holloway’s where their whole family was killed, they had friends and neighbors in the tight knit community who remembered them. El was still grieving Hopper, and Max knew Billy had people like that too.

Billy was popular, his death had a huge impact on the younger population of the town, but not only that, he had his closest friends, Steve and Tommy and Carol and Nicole and Adam from the pool, and of course Heather couldn’t be there, but those people were all keeping her brother alive.

As much as it felt like everyone was trying to forget him, they weren’t, and that brought Max a little bit of hope.

Hope that Billy would be remembered for the things he did right, and who he was behind the boy he had to be to keep them safe.

Hope that with his memory kept in the hearts of so many, the burden of grief wouldn’t fall solely on Max forever and make things a little easier.

Hope that the wound would someday heal, and she could look back on the time she did have with Billy, those seven too short years, with a smile on her face.

For now, she wraps herself in Billy’s jacket and comforter, listening to his music to drown out the distant fireworks, and dreams of the day when things won’t be like this, when she can leave Hawkins and all it’s bad memories and the “family” holding her back to live a life her brother would be proud of, a life that would honor his.

Max decides then with determination, flinching when a bright flash lights up her window, a loud echo through the quaint neighborhood, that she was going to do what Billy hadn’t been able to and break the cycle.

Tomorrow, she’d tell the school counselor she’d been assigned when her depression was at its worst all about Neil Hargrove.

[w00wzerz]

WARNINGS : NONE

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Icons, Imagines, Headcanons, One-shot

_____________________________________________________________________

Sarah ran her soft fingertips over his metallic arm, simply contemplating all the majestical things he could do with it in the bedroom. Blushing at her own thoughts she quickly shook it off and pulled away. “Are you ready to help?”

It was the largest gathering that the small town in New Orleans had ever seen! Sam had invited his distant cousins from most of the neighboring cities. The Wilson family cook out was a popular event and was even crowned the most famous tourist spot of the summer! Only contested by the Louisiana folks during the majorly eventful Bayou festival in mid May.

The small dock erupted in cheers and laughter as Hey Ya! by OutKast blasted loudly, consuming the crowd and forcing everyone to the center of the dock.

“What you young-ins know about this jam!” Sam slid from the back of the boat, four cases of Corona beers in both hands,  with a contented grin plastered onto his face. Aj and Cass not too far behind.

“Where’s your mother anyway? Y’all been stuck with me all day.” Sam arched a confused brow at the two boys who shrugged their tiny shoulders in unison. “Last - I saw her with Uncle Bucky, packing the food.” Aj said before grabbing his brother’s hand and leading him to the center of the dance circle.

“Uncle Bucky?” Both of Sam’s brows shot up his forehead. “When did he get here?” He whispered to himself, when he placed the cases by the cooler on the table - and began his quest for his sister and his best friend.  

———————————————————————-

“This is my famous king crab Bucky.” Sarah shot a pearly white smile as she lathered the crab in spicy garlic butter sauce. She then gently stacked them onto one another in an oversized foil plate.

It was the time of the year where all of the eligible bachelorettes would slither their way to the dock in search of their “future husbands.” Sarah had already taken her loses and retired from the game - ever since the death of her husband. However, today seemed special, it was the first time in years that her stomach knotted in curls from butterflies so much so, that she thought she’d puke. Her youth sprung about anytime Bucky was around, similarly to a school girl with her very first crush. He just brought out the best in her, so she decided why not look the part.

Sam had mentioned to her that her skin glistened whenever she wore the color yellow. Despite how out of character it was for him to be so blunt about literally - anything, Sarah decided to take his advice and throw on her favorite off shoulder cut, form fitting sun dress. Her long senegalese twists were tied into a high bun and wrapped in a yellow ribbon that flowed behind her in pure elegance.

Turning the corner of her bedroom - on her way to the kitchen, she was greeted by a well dressed Bucky in a tight blue knit sweater that hugged his body in all the right places! And dark black jeans that displayed his full basketball trunk. He stood over a boiling pot of king crabs on the stove. Clearing her throat quite loudly, she caught his attention almost immediately. As he turned to face her his eyes widened in astonishment, almost as if he had sinfully taken a peak at the worlds most beautiful piece of treasure.

“Wow,” was all Bucky could muster when gravity became the main puppeteer, forcefully drawing them towards one another. He smiled sheepishly and continued “you look lovely Sarah.” Returning his grin she replied “and you don’t look so bad yourself, Uncle Bucky.”

Pulling him into a tight embrace Bucky’s chin rested in the corner of Sarah’s neck. He took in the scent of her sweet Vanilla Bean cologne. If he could have his way, he would have swallowed her whole that very instant. He wished for nothing more than to have her succumbed to his own desires, clawing his name on his back as she screams in pure ecstasy. Bucky swayed rhythmically with her movements, it took all of his energy not to instinctively plant a soft kiss between her neck and trail.

Sarah ran her soft fingertips over his metallic arm, simply contemplating all the majestical things he could do with it in the bedroom. Blushing at her own thoughts she quickly shook it off and pulled away. “Are you ready to help?”

————————————————————————

“When I’m done with this batch, can you wrap it in aluminum foil and carry it to the front table for our guests?” Sarah faced the stove top, her back turned to a confused Bucky, who watched her work in utter amazement.

Bucky was familiar with crab as a cuisine, and had tasted a fair share of it during his time in Wakanda. However, he had never seen it prepared before him.

“So does it like ... cry or anything when you place it in the boiling water ... alive?” He asked innocently, when Sarah sighed in disbelief and sat the lathering brush onto the table. Her heart fluttered at his innocence, but her mind pondered in continuous confusion. She wondered just how much Bucky had missed out on in the last 70 years or just seemingly had minimal to no experience on. Turning to face him a smile crept its way up her plump lips as she answered nonchalantly “I don’t have an answer for you Bucky.”

His blue eyes glistened in curiosity as they scanned over Sarah’s features, she was unlike any woman that he had ever seen. From her bright dark brown eyes to the cute little indentation by her nose, Bucky found himself lost in their tight gaze. Until he eventually landed on Sarah’s plush pink lips. Sarah noticed Bucky’s observance and smiled shyly. Her cheeks flushed when she subconsciously ran her tongue over her lips. Of course she wanted to grapple Bucky right then and there, she had wanted to do so since she first laid eyes on the man. But one of her biggest fears was getting involved with a hero. She already had her plate full with Sam, was she really ready to add another burden to the list?

————————————————————————

“There you guys are!” Sam grinned and pulled Sarah into a tight embrace “I was beginning to worry.”

“Aw Sam, you missed me, how sweet.” Bucky winked as Sam glared his way. Placing the trays of king crabs with roasted corn and potatoes, buttermilk biscuits and cajun shrimp onto the table, Sarah called for the event goers to each grab a plate and head for the grub.

Sam handed both Bucky and Sarah a pair of gloves before taking a seat at the edge of the table. He pinched Aj and Cass’s noses when they playfully snatched his plate from before him. “Y’all better stop playing before I tell your mama to send you to bed early.” He smiled when they took a seat next to him.

He watched bewildered by his sisters boldness when she took a seat by Bucky. Running her finger tips over his armored arm, he noticed that she began to play her fingers through her twists. Her grin from ear to ear as she engaged in conversation with Bucky, the same thing she used to do when she had a crush on a boy in high school.

“So where’s the crab opener?” Bucky asked, facing Sam who’s face scrunched in utter disgust. Sarah bursted into a fit of laughter when Aj and Cass joined as well.

“We don’t use that utensil around these parts, buddy.” Bucky’s brow arched in confusion when Sam picked up a crab leg and ripped it in half with one tug. “You see here?” He placed the piece into his mouth and used his teeth to crack the shell methodically, in an instant the entire meat was stripped from the leg. “Now that’s how you eat a crab leg! Let me see you do it.”

All eyes were now glued onto Bucky as he studied the crab leg. His blue eyes narrowed when he used his metal arm to pick up the leg and snapped it in half effortlessly. Sarah’s eyes widened as she watched Bucky smile contently to himself. He placed the crab to his lips, intricately running his tongue over every square inch of it. He shot Sarah a mischievous smirk, before pulling it out with a loud plop! “Tasty.”

Sarah flushed immediately, inching her way out of her seat. While Sam glared intently, picking up a piece of shrimp and sulking in his defeat.

[vickysaurus]

Interesting point about the orcas. I wonder if their intelligence does play a role in it, either through empathy or through a recognition that humans are very different from their normal prey, or even an understanding that hunting humans can result in retribution.

As for plenty back then eating their own young, I don’t think animals in the Eocene were specifically more cannibalistic than modern ones. If you meant the general geologic past by ‘back then’, it is important to remember that extinct creatures were animals that did animal things. Just like in modern animals, that does include acts that appear shocking or cruel to us, like the cannibalism you mention. But these behaviours are no more common in the fossil record than the present day, and are only a subset of animal behaviours. Extinct animals are just animals in the end, even the ones that appear strange or monstrous, despite what some movies will tell you.

Finally, let’s talk about what Cynthiacetus is, because while it’s not a dinosaur it is at least as cool as one! What we’re looking at is an ancient carnivorous whale that lived 40-34 million years ago, during a time called the Eocene when most modern mammal groups were evolving into recognisable forms. In the case of the whales, that meant going into the water, becoming gigantic, and losing their rear legs.

(Pakicetus pic by Kevin Guertin)

That all started to happen somewhere in south Asia about 53 million years ago, and may at first have looked like little deer-like creatures jumping into the water to escape predators. Their descendants, like Pakicetus, first became predators themselves, particularly of fish, leading them to spend more and more time in the water.

(Ambulocetus pic by Notafly)

The next step in whale evolution, like Ambulocetus, quickly grew to about the size of modern sea lions, and were probably about as capable of going back on land, spending most of their lives in the water at this point. They still have proper legs, but they are notably small compared to their large bodies and their fingers and toes are getting quite fin-like.

After that we get Basilosaurids like Cynthiacetus here. Like modern whales, they were fully aquatic, sacrificing the ability to hang out on land so they could become absolutely gigantic sea-bound predators. Many, many other changes happened in the process, for example their eardrums changed completely since sound works a bit differently underwater. But they weren’t quite like modern whales yet; for example, if you look closely at the photos, they still had teeny tiny back legs!

Around 34 million years ago, as the hot climate of the Eocene shifted to the much cooler and dryer climate of the Oligocene, the Basilosaurid whales died out and their close cousins, the modern whales, diversified and took on their modern forms. Feeding on much smaller prey became their specialty - plankton for some, fish for others. Dolphins evolved out of the second group, and among them the orcas began to start hunting large prey again, much like their distant ancestors.

Cynthiacetus. Humans are probably lucky we didn't go to sea until whales that eat large prey were mostly a thing of the past. Then again, orcas don't seem to view us as prey despite hunting plenty of animals our size, so maybe the early whales wouldn't have cared for a bite of human either.

[kouros-herc]

Summer memories that remain

Struggled to find a way to have Herc really explore either of the tasks this month, but I spent so much time thinking about his summers in Greece that this happened instead as a sort of combination of both. 

Herc stared out at Atlantis Lake. The wind ruffled the surface, and the sunlight bounced and sparkled off each individually. But the sun was weak. He could feel, on his face, a distant memory of the brilliant warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the soft rush of waves dancing up and down the sand. No those, had been summers...

He’d been to Greece before, on visits with his parents to see his grandparents and his cousins, but the summer he turned eight was the first summer he stayed there for the whole of the school holidays. 

He remembered waking up the first morning without his parents, rays of golden light trickling through the shutters on the window, while dust swirled. He remembered the tang of the fresh orange on his tongue for breakfast. He remembered the cool pools of shade under the olive trees and the shriek of kids playing among the gnarled and twisted trunks. Trees hundreds of years older than them shaded the little gang of cousins who darted in and out of them, who climbed their trunks and lay among their roots when they panted, breathless from their little games. 

Everything seemed brighter here, hotter and cooler and funnier, and he would come home dust coated, ready for a chiding and a snack from yiayia before dinner. 

He remembered being eleven, and the feel of the sun baking down on him. Salt crusted on his skin as the little gang hung out down by the water, hot sand burning at the soles of their feet. He could still feel the icy cold contrast of the water being splashed at him by Alexis, before the two of them wrestled their way into the embrace of the sea, still hear the laughter. Then the quiet, the shift in the world as he ducked down, weaving around the rocks and watching tiny silver fish darting around them. 

He remembered laughing until his stomach hurt, the sticky sweet of honey clinging to his fingers after baklava, the aching cold of sorbet wolfed down as soon as they could. 

He wished it never had to end, wished he could stay here in this vibrant life forever instead of going back to the dull grey of London.

He remembered being thirteen and feeling like he didn’t belong for the first time, but he remembered Sofia stepping forward to shout at the local boys who liked to tease him for his pale and pasty skin. He remembered feeling like he did belong, here among the people who refused to make him feel different, even when they teased him for his English accent and his ginger hair, even when he and Sofia bickered about who was technically the oldest cousin. 

He could remember being seventeen, and lonelier than ever until the plane landed. He remembered helping out with jobs for all his uncles, and his aunts deciding that this gangling stretched young man needed to be fed, to put some meat on his bones. He remembered learning to mend fishing nets, to bring in heavy bags of flour to the bakery, to clean the floors of the butchers shop. 

He remembered Angelena, the sweep of long eyelashes on her cheeks, her dark eyes staring into his in the moment before she kissed him, his cheeks burning to rival any Mediterranean sun. 

He remembered walking back to his grandparents’, feeling punchdrunk and slightly sick with nerves and excitement. Sofia had never let him live it down when she heard. 

He remembered being nineteen and Nikolas, the fishmonger’s boy, and trying to hide his blushes beneath sunburn. No longer quite the clumsy youth he had been, he remembered the strange feeling of the other man watching him as he swam, as he strolled along the beach. 

He remembered their hands brushing as they heaped crates onto the dockside, the static shock and the awakening of something he hadn’t been thinking about.

He could feel the cold of the tiles against his back as he was pushed against a wall and kissed hard. 

He remembered lying awake, trembling fingers brushing his own lips and trying to understand what had just happened. Something beautiful. 

He could remember the touch of his grandmother’s hand as she touched his cheek and told him how he’d grown. His grandfather’s strong and and steady embrace. The smell of their home - citrus and incense and nutmeg hanging in the air. 

It had been too long since he’d been able to visit properly. His cousins kept him in the loop, but he missed the taste of the bread, the oil, the fruit, the way the air smelled on a warm summers evening, the nights spent around the crowded table as everybody chattered over and across each other. 

Swynlake was nice. But the sun on his face felt like a pale imitation sometimes. Sometimes he felt like a pale imitation of himself too, compared to the man he was when he was home. 

[tribbetherium]

The Early Glaciocene: 90 million years post-establishment

Rolling On The River: The Polyceph River

The climates of the Glaciocene have been, unsurprisingly, frigid, with tremendous swathes of the northern and southern regions covered in glacier and tundra on the temperate and polar regions. Indeed, this is the coldest the planet has been since life first arrived in the world-- a harsh weather that had, just relatively recently, brought about the worst mass extinction the planet had to date.

Yet not all of the planet is consumed entirely by ice and snow. Near the equator, where climates are quite mild, life continues to thrive in temperate and subtropical conditions, warm enough for vegetation to thrive in the form of forests and plains. And indeed, in one particular region, the local biome has changed very little: the Great Ecatorian Desert.

The desert is now far cooler than it once was, nowhere near the arid climes it possessed during the Therocene. Yet it still remains blocked from rainfall by the mountain ranges of Ecatoria, which have only gotten higher as Ecatoria moved northwards and collided with Westerna. As such, the desert remains dry and barren as it was, with only the hardiest forms of life that can survive very long without water able to thrive here.

But one thing has changed from its Therocene days. The tectonic movements of the continents over time had opened up cracks in the earth, where water from inland sources were able to flow in in a narrow band through the desert, forming a massive, multi-headed stream merging into one big body of water cutting through the dry landscape and acting as its sole source of moisture: the Polyceph River.

And with this life-giving stream running through the barren wastes of the desert, its shores have exploded in botanical diversity: where the river moistens the soil, the ground springs up with plantlife, predominantly grasses, clackti, and low-lying shrubs. These in turn bring about several herbivore species that flourish in this elongated oasis, such as the dwarf hammoth (Minimammuthomys diminuta), a surprisingly-small member of the hammoth family that weighs about half a ton, and feeds primarily on the tough reedy vegetation by the water's edge, traveling in small herds and sporting a much thinner coat than its bigger cold-weather cousins due to living in a relatively warmer clime.

The drier, sandy soils of the desert would also be highly favorable for saberleaf: and once again, an ungulope, the painted unicone (Uniceratomys pintadus) would help keep it in check. Large herds of unicones, sometimes numbering hin the hundreds, congregate by the river edges where they crop away at the invasive foliage, preventing it from overrunning the fragile ecosystem and crowding out the more-palatable plants, allowing other herbivores to thrive.

Predators, meanwhile, are relatively fewer and further between, with the former dominant carnivores of the Great Ecatorian Desert, the hamyenas, having long ago been decimated by the changing climates of the Glaciocene. Instead, smaller hunters flourish, such as the speckled vulphog (Vulpecricetus suirrhinus), a small desert zingo specialized on small prey, that on occasion targets ungulope calves but, due to its size, has little to no means of actually hunting a full-grown adult.

Instead, this biome's primary carnivore lurks in the water: the river searet (Leopotamus pantherolutra), a distant and far more basal cousin of the ocean-dwelling leviahams, that feeds primarily on shrish-- but at times also targets drinking ungulopes in a decidedly crocodilian fashion. Another common hunter in these watery regions are the Policephian storkbats (Ciconyctus polycephopotamus), a wading ratbat that, despite being able to fly well, spends much of its time hunting food on the ground, such as shrish, invertebrates and small bite-sized rodents, and itself in turn is occasionally prey to river searets when they venture into the water to fish for small aquatic animals.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

[patricia-von-arundel]

Danse Macabre: Teaser - Anselma

Summary: A setting of stage: a series of teasers to introduce an upcoming dark AU by @lysissisyl​ and @patricia-von-arundel​. Coming perhaps too soon... 

Rating: G (teaser only)

AO3 || Additional Teasers (coming soon)

Danse Macabre Story Blog

There had been storms the night before.

Summer squalls were not uncommon in Enbarr, but they were usually brief and thunderous, leaving damp earth steaming and the air feeling as thick and sticky as melted sugar. Last night’s storms had been unusually long, unusually intense: heat lightning and throbs like the distant boots of some approaching giant, deep and ominous and growing closer and closer under a sky turned a curdled, heaving mass of green-yellow clouds. Then rain, and rain, and rain.

Anselma had felt the oppressive thrum of it, some monstrous manifestation of the same turmoil within her gut. Perhaps Edelgard had felt it as well; she had been excitable all afternoon, full of even more impossible store of energy than she always seemed to contain, a whirlwind of activities quickly abandoned, toys and books left scattered across every room and corridor, and endless, incessant chatter-chatter-chatter. By evening, when the heavy clouds finally burst into deafening torrents, she had become querulous and irritable, and dinner pushed with an aggravated whine to splatter across the floor was the last straw Anselma could take. She shouted, and Edelgard, with the righteous fury reserved for the most faithful of the church but also four-year-old children, shouted right back before descending into a tantrum that faded only with her consciousness.

She slept afterward as peacefully as if nothing at all had happened, never stirring as the wind took up howling and the rain drummed like mallets against the roof and the windows, each thunderclap reverberating through the floorboards. Anselma wished desperately that she could do the same - but instead, she remained restless, and watched the raindrops glisten golden as the sun finally made desperate attempt to rise and shine against a world of dark and tumultuous surprises.

Unavoidable surprises…

She took Edelgard outside, into that fresh sun, nursing her third cup of tea since dawn and wondering - not for the first time - how much more often such times would be allowed: Edelgard in an old dress, too short, and old boots, almost worn through at the soles from having once been a most beloved pair, both perfect for stomping gleefully in puddles or leaving hopelessly smeared with a canvas of mud. The stomping. The mud. The center of Enbarr - a world of palaces and of prisons - could be reached in less than an hour on foot, less than half that on a horse, but for all Anselma truly knew of it, it might as well have been Almyra. But there were children there - of course there were. In a cottage beyond the walls of the city, or a palace, or in Almyra or Faerghus or Dagda or anywhere else: a child was a child. They played, and chattered, and refused dinner with angry vehemence. Would that, for Edelgard, truly be any different?

Or so Anselma tried, for a time of which she had long since lost count, to convince herself. She tried as well to drink her tea - but it had no taste, and her throat seemed to spasm for a moment as she forced it down, leaving her chest burning and her eyes watering and some primitive corner of her mind convinced that she was drowning: ridiculous, all of it, and all of it she fought. Whatever the cause, tears solved nothing.

“Look!” Edelgard’s voice, eager and excited; she had finally learned where to click her tongue into place for an “L” sound, rather than settling for a “Y.” “Look, look what I found!” The tempests of the night before - internal and external - seemed completely forgotten, and again Anselma wished there was some way for her to do the same. She might live the impossibly-long life of a child of the Goddess, and still she would remember every moment, every detail, of the night of such summer storms.

She put her teacup on the windowsill - carefully; the stone was lumpy and uneven - and went to see what had this time caught Edelgard’s curious attention.

Edelgard was crouched on the broken stone pathway, almost to where the tall row of hedges separated their tiny piece of earth from the endless, rolling farmland beyond: the closest Anselma had been allowed to get to running free of Enbarr entirely. They would not let her take Edelgard from the city. She would not leave the city without Edelgard. As far as truces went, it was not a happy one. She had dreamed a thousand thousand times - both awake and asleep - of taking Edelgard regardless of what they ordered, of escaping to another land entirely, where no one would care who they were or of the fate of any chosen children of the Saints-cursed Hresvelg family. What were the true odds that anyone might care to find them, with so many other Hresvelg children who could be burdened with family mantle?

But it was the lack of absolute certainty - strong odds, but not absolute ones - that kept her from doing it, and kept her in Enbarr. She wondered frequently if she would ever know for sure if this was a good decision, or a very, very poor one.

None of these possibilities and speculations mattered a trifle to Edelgard, of course. Edelgard was four years old, and what mattered to her at that moment was a worm.

The worm had found its way from the depths of the earth to the warm, damp, crooked paving stones that made equally-crooked way from the door down the center of the overgrown garden. (Anselma had made a single season’s attempt at taming it, then was wise enough to return to purchasing her vegetables from the market square just inside the old city walls.) The worm was clearly now ready to return home, the cooler night sky having left it to the merciless beat of the summer sun. She could feel the same thing - the blessed break from oppressive summer dissipating almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the rays of sun sharp and glistening as fangs; the heat was not done sinking deep into Enbarr. Living within the mud must feel quite good…

“Gross,” Edelgard said - but her eyes were fixated and intent, and there was pure fascination in them, and in her little smile as well. The ribbons holding her hair away from her face - away from dirt; there would not be time to wash it again - were already coming loose; she’d been too squirmy to tie them properly, eager to get outdoors after a single day of rain had trapped her inside. Edelgard had never liked feeling anything was forbidden to her, and grew quickly stubborn if it was, no matter how practical the reason. Anselma knew exactly from where she had inherited such inclination… and also now somewhat better could appreciate the frustration she had once caused in others.

“Don’t touch it,” Edelgard added - a curt, firm mimicry of adult authority held carefully in her voice. “We don’t know where it’s been.”

It always took some effort not to laugh, when Edelgard unexpectedly took on tones that seemed impossibly incongruous from a frame so small. It was perhaps something all children did, but what did Anselma know of children besides this one? “And we don’t want to hurt it, do we?” she asked - a more practical reason for Edelgard to leave alone the poor creature, already struggling mightily to wriggle its way back into the earth.

“We could hurt it?” Edelgard looked up briefly - concerned. “I didn’t touch it!” She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if vehemence might erase any doubt of the truth in her words.

“Of course not. He’s just fine. He just wants to go home.”

“To the dirt.” The disgusted glee was back in her voice. “Are worms related to snakes?”

“Snakes?”

“Snakes are slithery.” Edelgard put her fingers on the stone - carefully apart from the worm - and dragged them in little curls. “Sssss!”

“Maybe they’re cousins.” Anselma knew as much about worms and snakes as she did about children, but it seemed a harmless-enough little fiction to satiate Edelgard’s curiosity.

“Slithery,” Edelgard said again. “Sss. Ssssss.”

“How about this?” Ribbons already loose, and frayed at the ends besides - they were as old as the dress and the boots. And unlikely to be needed again soon…

Anselma tugged one away with more force than necessary - more force than intended - as if she might too loosen and pull from her own head thoughts she desperately did not wish to think. She was lucky the knot was already coming undone; Edelgard seemed hardly to notice her hair falling to her shoulder, much less the force of the pull - she was still dragging her fingers and hissing. The worm, equally unconcerned, continued its fight away from the growing suffocation of Enbarr summer heat.

Lucky things…

Envy of a four-year-old and a worm - utterly ridiculous, and yet there it was. And quickly dashed with guilt: here was a four-year-old, excited to be outside, in fraying ribbons and old clothes, fascinated by a worm. A child. A curious, tempestuous secure child.

How much longer? How much longer?

Anselma dragged the ribbon along the stone, mimicking Edelgard’s little fingers. “Another worm! Can you help it get home?”

“Yes!” Eager, excited - content. Content with an old red ribbon.

For a time, the ribbon occupied her. She wriggled it from the stone, shuffling along without even rising from her crouch, into the grass, then back again - this worm needed several trips, or perhaps was attempting to show the other how this should be done. Then another idea occurred - “It’s time for lunch, worms!” - and Edelgard ran off for the hedges, gathering spiky little leaves and then tufts of grass. She mixed them and made careful, uneven piles, several more than she had worms, real or ribbon - perhaps the snake cousins had been invited to share in the meal.

Anselma watched. Watched, and tried hard not to think: a truly laughable waste of energy. She could still run. Take Edelgard, bring more old clothes; who would look twice at a young woman and a child in worn, ill-fitting things, just two more wretched beings spit upon by powerlessness and circumstances? The poor of Enbarr swarmed like rats in parts of the old city - she had seen them herself, more times than she could count - and very few of the more privileged ever paid them any mind, so long as they were not causing trouble. They could go further, see the world. How long had it been since even the thought of Enbarr had excited her? She could feel like that again, and share it with Edelgard, until they found together a place that felt like home. A safe place. A place where…

“Uncle!” Edelgard’s sudden cry once more breaking through wandering thoughts - Anselma had failed to hear the door, or the footsteps on the path behind her. “Uncle, I made lunch for worms! I found one! It’s here, look!”

“In a moment, Edelgard.” He wasn’t even looking at her - when Anselma turned, her brother’s eyes were quickly fixed hard upon her own. “Good morning, Anselma.”

“Is it?” She made no effort at all to hide the disdain in her voice, only her surprise at his arrival. Why should she hide it? She knew as well as he did the role he had played - had insisted upon - in securing Edelgard’s fate. And he also knew exactly how Anselma felt about that fate.

He ignored her question - as well as the disdain. “Worms? You think it wise to let a child of her birth play with worms?”

“What harm is there in worms? I don’t care a Saints-damned bit about her birth. And neither do you.”

“Anselma…”

“Volkhard.” Petty, puerile - but she also felt, sparking like a flame thought long since snuffed, a defiance growing once more inside her. She lifted her chin, staring up at him with challenge writ quite deliberately across her expression.

He saw it - he knew it well. He sighed. “It would be far wiser, and safer for Edelgard, if you might offer simply a facade of caring. Especially now.”

“I don’t see that it matters. Everyone had made it quite clear that my feelings, facade or no, matter somewhat less than horse droppings do to the horse.”

“You believe they will simply leave you be, no matter how your rash behavior might come to affect them, simply because Edelgard has taken what has always been her rightful place?”

“Her rightful place? There are ten more before her!”

“Not with the Crest of Seiros. The Vestra line -”

She wanted to slap him. Instead, she cut him off: “You’ve said that. A hundred upon a hundred times, you have said that. Say it a hundred upon a hundred times more, and it will still do nothing at all to change my mind.”

Again, he sighed - exasperation, now. “And your opinion on this will change the minds of no others. But that is irrelevant - Anselma, I am trying to keep Edelgard safe. Can you truly continue to refuse to see that, even now?”

“I can keep her safe.”

“You don’t -” But he stopped himself - shook his head. It was not the first time he had almost said more than intended… and just as every other time, the reminder of his secrets, his self-appointed superiority even where her own daughter was concerned, fanned the flames of her defiance and anger from spark to inferno. “There is no safer place for her here than amongst the protections afforded to the royal family.”

“The true danger is within that family. Or were you too busy in prayer to the Goddess to pay attention in your history lessons? You’re asking me to entrust Edelgard to a nest swarming with vipers.”

“She’s being honored by a sacred tradition as old as the empire. No one will harm her. Certainly not her own family - she will be with her father, her brothers and sisters. And the Vestra boy? Anselma, he is six years old!”

She snorted. “A baby viper is still a viper.”

She could hear it, an echo; Edelgard’s voice: Sss. Sssssss. She glanced back, over her shoulder. Edelgard was playing with the twigs she had gathered, arranging them upright in the muddy ground, but if she was listening, it would not be the first time she had appeared to be completely absorbed in something else while taking in every word. Would she say anything later, as in the past she had done to Anselma?

What will happen now if she does?

“Vipers or not, she will be safe,” Volkhard said. He, too, glanced at Edelgard, but his expression was unusually cold and closed - difficult to read. “This is nothing offered to her lightly. If anyone seems to take it lightly, it is you - why is Edelgard not yet dressed and prepared properly to leave?”

The inferno was a sheet of flame across her vision - but had not yet fully engulfed all rational thought. She fought the rage at his words: take it lightly. As if he had not picked such phrasing quite deliberately, knowing her months of refusals, arguments, and blunt anger. She fought it - fought it, and said, “You told me yourself you would likely not arrive much before dusk. Unless the definition of such has changed, you seem to be several hours early. You expected to find Edelgard demurely waiting in satin and braids by the front door, no matter the time of day?”

“I would love to see Edelgard that way, at any time.”

She bristled at that - and certainly, he noticed, but she still attempted to cover it, turning away from him to call Edelgard in. What he would not see were the tears she fought.

None of them would ever see that.

This will not be the end of it.

Words she repeated to herself in silent, determined mantra as she led Edelgard back inside, far earlier than her fevered brain could possibly have prepared for. Repeated as she tugged Edelgard out of her old clothes, wiped the mud from her face and hands, dressed her in a skirt and jacket in Imperial colors - a gift from the Vestra family she had until now tucked into the furthest, darkest corner of Edelgard’s wardrobe. Whatever happened, no harm would be done in making a positive impression on this day of all days.

Edelgard pulled at the pleats in the skirt and twisted the tiny gold buttons with her fingers. “Fancy,” she said. “Don’t get dirty…” She was already dirty - dark crescents under her nails, a stark contrast to the polish and gleam of the buttons. But there was no time for bathing. Not now.

“Be very careful,” Anselma said, and Edelgard nodded in solemn agreement. She was unusually reticent as Anselma brushed and tied back her hair - or maybe the unusual factor was Anselma herself, taking almost-unconscious care in what might be the last time she ever did this.

No… Tying fresh ribbons, new ones, and more tightly this time. A deep breath. For a moment, she held it.

This will not be the end of it.

The little trunk Ionius had sent - it was already filled with Edelgard’s nicest things, all those satins apparently so precious and so rare. On top of them, Anselma put the brush she had been using. It was the only one that didn’t make Edelgard scream and fight any time her hair was touched.

Closing and latching the lid seemed as difficult as lifting the house from its very foundation. She let Edelgard help her carry it to sit by the door, though it wasn’t heavy. The weight was not the point. Edelgard took the task as seriously as lunch for worms: watching very carefully each step she took, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. She looked more like her father when she was concentrating: the same thinned lips and drawn brows.

Volkhard did not let Edelgard help. He took the trunk and secured it to the back of the carriage - but Edelgard, distracted by the horse at the front, paid this no mind. “Does he have a name, Uncle?” she asked.

Innocent curiosity in her voice - no fear or uncertainty at all. But she had also not feared last night’s storms - very few things frightened Edelgard. A boon… except Anselma might once have said the same of herself. Standing now in the doorway of yet another home not truly her own, watching Edelgard stare up at a black beast towering above her - she felt not just fear, not just the anger she had nursed for so long, but something more like terror.

She could grab Edelgard, still, and attempt to flee. Perhaps they would simply be cut down by Imperial soldiers - could whatever skulked and screamed in an afterlife truly be worse than the most powerful men in life? Or they would escape, as she had imagined so often. Or -

“I don’t know,” Volkhard said to Edelgard - blunt. Still cold. “Into the carriage, now. Your father is waiting for you.”

“I don’t remember him,” Edelgard said - but quite matter-of-factly, and she did not hesitate to climb up the high steps. She required no help.

“You will soon enough.”

No goodbyes, just the slamming of the carriage door and a brief wave from Edelgard. It was likely for the best. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering how little Edelgard knew. Her stoicism in this might prove a necessary armor.

Anselma took a deep breath, and hoped only her own false stoicism showed. There was no one to see it - but that was not the point. She would wear this mask for herself. Wear it until…

Another breath, deep and slow and carefully even. This will not be the end of it.

Small, concrete things to do: clear away and clean the breakfast dishes. Tidy the toys scattered the evening before. Perhaps later scrub the floors. Things. Things to do. Things to distract. 

She returned first, though, to the garden; she had left her cup on the windowsill, interrupted from finishing her tea by Volkhard’s early, unexpected arrival. For a moment, she ignored it still - distracted by a flash of red further down the broken path.

Edelgard’s ribbon.

It was a coil upon the stone, bright against drab. Small and fraying, but like some helpless, pulsing creature, clinging stubbornly to life.

The worm had not been so fortunate. It lay next to the ribbon, prone and cracked and drying. Dead. Struggling for refuge, it had not escaped the sun.