#golden sable fur

[classyinfur]

[itsabouttimex2]

Could you write something for shadowpeach with yandere wukong? Maybe it takes place right after wukong sees macaque for the first time since he killed him or maybe it takes place during season 4 when wukong gets trapped inside the scroll and sees their relationship before he killed macaque and once he gets out of the scroll he got full on yandere? :3

(Hai, im rlly sorry. i just realized i sent this originally when your inbox was closed. im super sorry😭)

(Hey, no big deal! It’s sweet that you remembered your request!)

Lost and Found

“…you hurt a lot of people,” the Great Sage starts, plucking at the hair around his wrists, “and you don’t even feel bad, huh?”

“I’ve got nothing to feel bad for,” returns his rival, rolling a drupe pit between his palms- a remnant of the peaches that Sun Wukong so adores. “None of this was my fault.”

It’s hard to tell whether or not Macaque is being sincere right now- he’s more guarded now than ever before, even as rays of sunlight spill softly across his pitch-black fur and his stomach fills with sweet fruit.

He’s like shattered obsidian, inky blackness casting rainbows in the glinting light.

“Bud, you made a deal with the literal most powerful demon in the world, and didn’t even try to-

“Keep this up,” cuts in the umbrakinetic, “and I’m gonna leave.”

Wukong springs to his feet suddenly, crushing a few pink-white petals under his reckless soles, squashed into mangled clumps of cellulose under the reckless monkey- then crushes a few dozen more as he charges to Macaque and slings himself over the startled simian.

“No, no, no! Bud, you said we would-“

“Get off me! Dammit, I’m not some kind of toy!”

“No! Lay down and listen to me!”

Macaque struggles under Wukong’s iron grip, his claws digging into golden arms as the tension between them crackles like static. The multi-eared monkey snarls, his claws scraping at Wukong’s clothes and fur, but the Great Sage’s skin is long hardened by fire and trial- it remains unblemished.

“Listen,” Wukong huffs, his voice trembling somewhere between desperation and long-baked sorrow. “You can’t just walk away every time someone calls you out! That’s not how this works, Mac! That’s not how we work!”

Macaque’s pupils narrow to slits, his breath heavy as he glares into Wukong’s golden eyes. The sunlight dances on them, warm and radiant. “You think- you think a little chat will make ‘us’ work? ‘Us’ never worked!”

“It can! We can make this work, if you would just try!”

Macaque stills, his claws frozen mid-scratch against Wukong’s wrist. The afternoon sunlight filters through the cherry blossoms, casting fractured patterns across their fur. For a moment, the only sound is the wind rustling the petals around them.

He gives, eventually. The sable simian huffs and deflates under his old mate’s grip, going slack against the meadow’s grass.

There’s a moment where Macaque leans in, ruffled black fur thrown askew with effort and sweat, still flecked with debris from the Lady Bone Demon’s final push for utter “perfection”.

He’s tired, worn, spent from battle and spent from a lifetime of old regrets circling his heart.

But he’s still Macaque.

“…not in a thousand years, Wukong.”

Even though the rejection is tempered, the king wilts under it, golden fur dimming under the weight of his mate’s refusal.

“Mac... you can’t just-“

“I can. I make my own choices now, Wukong,” the darker monkey snaps, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp canines- a threat, if the matter is pushed.

...but the king just can’t let this go. Not after centuries spent waiting and wanting.

“...there’s no one else who can protect you.”

A harsh snort comes from Macaque’s creased snout, the unpleasant sound smoothing into chuckles.

“From what, O’ Great Sage? What do I need to protected from?”

“The Celestial Realm, bud. You think they haven’t already figured out who you threw your lot in with? That you made a deal with the Lady Bone Demon?”

A pause, sharp and stiff- he’s hit a nerve.

“...they wouldn’t. Not after I helped defeat her. Not after I put my life on the line,” he almost pleads, as though the court could hear his defenses. “They wouldn’t.”

“After what they did to me? You’re not off the menu, bud- you never are. Not after you’ve wronged the Celestial Court.”

There’s a dread rush of panic that starts to race through Macaque’s cold veins, an icy chill radiating slowly through his skin.

“They wouldn’t.”

Right after he says it, Wukong signs and rolls off of Macaque, offering a hand to help him up.

“They never let go, bud. The moment we sieged their home, there was no way they’d ever stop looking for a way to ‘repay’ us.”

His old rival sits up with panic in his shrouded eyes, slapping away Wukong’s hand.

“No,” he snaps, bolting upright under a shower of plink petals. “You’re right. They won’t. Which means I-“

“You’re leaving,” the king sighs. “You’re running away, again. You’re gonna leave me, just like every one always does.”

Macaque pulls his face into a nasty sneer, dark and creased. “You don’t get to try and pull me into some little pity part, Monkey King. Not after you put me in the ground.”

To his surprise, one of Wukong’s golden eyes twitch, lit with a sudden anger.

“You know what? No. No, you aren’t going anywhere,” the monkey snaps, snaring one of Macaque’s wrists in his hand. “Not until you’ve actually started to change. You spent five centuries down in the underworld and don’t even start to think “Hey, maybe there’s a reason I ended up down here?!” Not even for a second, Macaque?!”

The umbrakinetic pulls back a little, eyes wide with surprise at having his usual shit-slinging slung back at him.

“That’s not- shut your damn mouth. I don’t deserve to be yelled at, and-“

“Did I “deserve” to be alone under a mountain for five hundred years after one fight? Did I “deserve” to be abandoned while I was fighting the Jade Emperor? Did I “deserve” to be collared by the Celestial Realm while you got to run around wreaking havoc?”

Things are going wrong, Macaque faintly realizes. He’s not usually the one get reamed out for centuries old mistakes, a dynamic he was quite fond of- Wukong takes all the blame, and he slinks off to hide in the shadows. That’s what he likes.

And he realizes more and more with each passing second that things are going further south- especially when he see the way that Wukong’s hand dips into his pocket.

From it, he procures a gleaming circlet.

No. No. No.

It’s wound with the image of branching vines and flowers, a step up from Wukong’s own in term of design- perhaps someone had grown bored with it

The golden hoop exudes a warm, almost soothing aura- it’d be calming if Macaque didn’t know what it could do.

But he knows almost everything about it. He knows how it works. He knows who made it.

Guanyin.

She had been like a mother to the Monkey King during his short stay in the Celestial Realm, one of the very few gods that he thought of fondly- and one of the even fewer who looked on him fondly in turn.

“My dear Monkey,” she had cooed to the intruding demon, both her warm hands cusping his furry cheeks, “what have you come for today?”

“Guanyin, I… I found my old mate,” he admitted to her, his palms nervously clasping over her own. “And I don’t know what to do. I want him back, but...”

“Oh, my little pilgrim... you wish to reunite with... wasn’t his name Macaque, then? Well, if you do desire this... shadowy little imp... I will lend you my aid.”

Her head had dipped forehead, lips gentle on his forehead, a blessing born of warmth and love- a blue sigil etches across the skin-warmed spot, riding the king good luck and protection. “Anything for you, my dear Monkey. Take my blessings, and take this... this circlet. I trust that you will do good with them.

But Macaque hadn’t know that.

That Wukong had a plan all along, that it was backed up by an adoring goddess of mercy, that he had a damned tightening fillet from the start and was never above using it-

All he knows at this moment, frozen in place form shock- is the tightness around his forehead as Wukong snaps the hoop into place.

“We can still fix this, Moonbeam. I’m not losing you again.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Heraldry

Heraldry - is about showing people who you are.

In England, it started in the later 1100s, when knights began to wear helmets, and they couldn't be recognised. So they began to paint unique combinations of colours, shapes and animals, called their 'arms', on their shields and banners. Only one person was allowed to use these arms. When people saw a knight wearing them in a battle or tournament, they could tell who he was.

It is the science and the art that deal with the use, display, and regulation of hereditary symbols employed to distinguish individuals, armies, institutions, and corporations. Those symbols, which originated as identification devices on flags and shields, are called armorial bearings.

Strictly defined, heraldry denotes that which pertains to the office and duty of a herald; that part of his work dealing with armorial bearings is properly termed armory. But in general usage heraldry has come to mean the same as armory.

The Colours of Heraldry

The 5 traditional colours are, with their heraldic names:

Red = Gules

Blue = Azure

Green = Vert

Black = Sable

Purple = Purpure

Plus the two 'metals':

Gold or yellow = Or

Silver or white = Argent

There are also 'furs', the most common being:

Ermine: representing the white winter fur of stoats, with their black tail tips.

Vair: representing squirrel skins, in blue and white.

If something (say a dog or badger) is shown in its natural colours, it's called proper.

Conventional representations of tinctures used when it is not possible to print the actual colors:

Heraldic Ordinaries

Ordinaries - the simple shapes used on heraldic shields, against a colour, metal or fur background. If you are making your own design, choose one of these main ordinaries:

Fess = horizontal stripe across the shield

Pale = vertical stripe down the shield

Bend = diagonal stripe

Chevron = like a house gable, pointing upwards

Cross = a plain cross

Saltire = a 'St. Andrew's cross'

Chief = bar across top edge of shield

Bordure = border round edges of shield

Pile = downward-pointing triangle

You can also divide your shield into two colours, either vertically or horizontally, or into four different-coloured quarters.

You don't have to use an ordinary, but if you do remember to never put a colour on colour or a metal on a metal. Try to remember this heraldic rule: colours don't show up well against colours, or metals against metals. This also applies to charges.

Heraldic Charges

Charges - emblems added to the shield, on the background, the 'ordinary', or both.

There can be one big charge, or several smaller repeated ones. Here are some of the common charges you could use:

Crosses - of many different types

Stars

Rings

Balls

Crescents

Diamonds

Flowers

They can be any colour, but remember never put colour on colour, for example a green star on blue, or metal on metal, for example a white flower on yellow.

Many knights also used animals as charges.

Animal Charges

Any animal - either one big one or several smaller - can be used as a charge. They can be shown in many different ways, for instance:

Rearing up (rampant) - like the lion and the hare in the pictures above

Standing (statant) - like the dog

For birds, with wings outstretched (displayed) - like the eagle

Walking along (passant) - like the other lion

If the animal is looking towards you, it is also guardant or 'on guard'. So the lion in the picture is passant guardant.

The ancient royal arms of England are 3 golden lions, one above the other, walking along on a red shield: or, in heraldic code, gules three lions passant guardant or.

Just to make things more complicated, lions passant guardant are also called leopards - but they don't have spots.

Choosing Your Animal

Animals symbolised different qualities. So for instance:

Lions = bravery

Dogs = faithfulness, reliability

Stags = wisdom and long life

Eagles = power and nobility

Badgers = endurance or 'hanging on'

You could also design your own animal charge.

For instance a cat, horse or other favourite pet.

Or you could choose a fabulous beast...

Fabulous Beasts

Though often used as 'charges', these fabulous beasts never really existed.

But some people believed they did, maybe because they'd heard about them in stories made up by travellers to distant lands, like crusading knights or merchant adventurers. Pictures of them also appeared in 'bestiaries', a popular kind of illustrated medieval story-book.

Here are some you could use:

Dragon: the earliest and most common fabulous beast, also used as a badge by Romans, Anglo-Saxons and Welsh. A brave and cunning defender of treasure.

Griffin: a combination of lion and eagle. Symbolises watchfulness and courage - and also guards treasure.

Cockatrice: a cross between a cockerel and a dragon, supposedly hatched from a cock's egg by a snake or toad. Could kill by looking at you, and symbolised protection.

Manticore or 'man-tiger': a fearsome man-eating creature with a lion's body, man's face, tusks, horns and a deafening trumpet-like voice.

Cadency

Cadency - the use of various devices designed to show a man’s position in a family, with the aforementioned basic aim of reserving the entire arms to the head of the family and to differentiate the arms of the rest, who are the cadets, or younger members.

Heraldic works in the 16th century refer to cadency marks as:

a label for the eldest son during his father’s lifetime;

a crescent for the second son;

a mullet (five-pointed star) for the third;

a martlet (a mythical bird), the fourth;

an annulet (a small ring), the fifth;

a fleur-de-lis, the sixth;

a rose, the seventh; and so forth.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[chicinsilk]

Harper's Bazaar October, 1974

Cheryl Tiegs wears a sable fur coat. By Christian Dior Furs, New York. With this natural golden fur, Cheryl adds depth to her eyes with the new volcanic gray gel cream eyeshadow and the taupe tartar color pencil, warms up her mouth with the new secret rose cream lipstick touched with natural lip gloss. All by Christian Dior. Hair and makeup by Benjamin.

Cheryl Tiegs porte un manteau de fourrure de zibeline. Par Christian Dior Furs, New York. Avec cette fourrure dorée naturelle, Cheryl ajoute de la profondeur à ses yeux avec le nouveau fard à paupières gel crème gris volcanique et le crayon de couleur taupe tartar, réchauffe sa bouche avec le nouveau rouge à lèvres crème rose secret touché de brillant à lèvres naturel. Le tout par Christian Dior. Coiffure et maquillage Benjamin.

Photo Rico Puhlmann

[littlesapphicraccoonguy]

Alright fellas, here’s my furry design for everyone’s favorite Leigh Whannell character that got cannibalized, Matt! He’s a sable which is a species of Marten.

The reason why I chose to make him a sable is because it just made sense to me, but also because they’re known for their super soft fur which is often used for coats. I thought I could sorta tie that in with the whole cannibalism thing

(More doodles below the cut)

And here’s a few shitty traditional doodles I did of Matt and Nina as furries, Nina’s a brush tail possum with golden fur since the traits of possums like their intelligence and cautiousness suits her I think. And possums are also often used for their fur as well, if I ever draw Jack and Rebecca they will also probably be animals that are often used for their fur to keep up with the theme

[rocknrollbabydollblog]

★☆THE ESSENTIAL ROCK N ROLL STYLE GUIDE (PART 1)★☆

Second-hand, thrift and vintage stores are your best friend - especially the aisle that no one can find and the corners that no one is bothered to rummage. First priority is to choose a rock muse style icon. Pattie Boyd’s cut-crease makeup, perfect pout and psychedelic mini skirts, Marianne Faithfull’s thick bangs and love for velvet and snake-skin, Pamela Des Barres’ wild locks and clown makeup, Anita Pallenberg’s chunky belts, hot pants and huge sun hats, Bebe Buell’s 70s cover girl waves and backless halters, Linda Keith’s fur hats, Ginger Gilmour’s golden ringlets and lace bell-bottom sleeve tops, Mary Austin’s skinny scarves and bohemian prints, May Pang’s octagonal sunglasses and straight jet black hair, Linda McCartney’s classy midi skirts, Lori Maddox and Sable Starr’s spandex shorts, wedgie platforms and crazy hair, Charlotte Martin’s baggier effortless Parisian style, Alice Ormsby Gore’s bohemian layering and flowy midi skirts, Jenny Boyd’s medieval-esque dresses and peasant-style, Iggy Rose’s eye crystals and makeup, and of course Miss Priscilla Presley’s perfect feline Egyptian cat-eye, black hair and ivory complexion. Groupie rock muse style ranges from where you’re going to who you’re seeing. If you’re offering your boyfriend arm candy at his Album Launch, you’re not going to be wearing the same pair of hot pants and lace-up boots that you did at his last concert. And if you’re lounging around in the studio at 12am, you’re not going to be wearing that glam paisley dress you wore backstage on tour. Groupie style is all about knowing what to wear and where to wear it. Gigs and concerts will call for a more flamboyant, and ‘out-there’ look. Style staples for concerts and gigs include hot pants, knee-high boots, snake-skin, fur coats and of course afghan coats, chunky jewelry, face gems and body glitter, halter tops and mini skirts and dresses. This is very similar to festival style if your rockstar boyfriend is playing there - however, more flowy and bohemian styles are more welcome and especially face gems and body glitter. Sun hats, lace-up gladiator boots and sandals, and peasant maxi dresses and blouses. 

Stay tuned for part 2 where I will be discussing style staples for album launches and recording sessions.

[sedehaven]

The Golden Goose of the North

A golden goose upon the table chases away the winter chill. My lady's wearing fur of sable, and her singer sings that all is well.

A chill has come upon this home and blasted hearth will never light. The singer came in from a roam to pluck a lyre some stormy night.

My lady has the softest heart and begged the singer stay. I supped the man off mine own cart from the greener month of May.

And when my lady whelped a boy with curls like golden flax-- well, she and I are ravens both, so I set to my joyless task.

The boy is there, upon the table, waiting for his father's mouth. My lady's garbed all in her sable and future singers ought travel south.

[dopeycryptid]

So, I’ve been coming up with an idea for a Warrior Cats horror story (wow, what a surprise, Dopey *sarcasm*)!

This is obviously a work in progress, as I’m still trying to come up with a way to possibly start writing this. And also because its Warrior Cats AND horror-based story, there will be some mentionable unsettling topics: gore, animal death, psychological cruelty, etc.

So of course if you are uncomfortable by said things, please don’t subjugate yourself to reading it, your mental health is important!

I have some characters already hashed up, however I might in the possible near future be interested in involving other peoples’ characters, so don’t hesitate to hop into my askbox with your ideas (because that’s the best place to get ahold of me [I will make the discussion private as well if you’d like, just say so]).

I also always love and appreciate feedback, and if ya’ll have any questions about anything, feel free to pester me about it. *thumbs up*

---------

The Wastes Clan:

Silentstar (Leader) A tall slender all-black tomcat. Striking electric blue eyes. Personality traits: Calculated, somewhat cold, persuasive. Relations: Adderfrost (son)/ Spiderpaw (apprentice) 112 moons.

Goldenshade (Deputy) A large long haired yellow tomcat with faint tabby markings. Amber eyes. Personality traits: Proud, tends to throw his weight around. Relations: Sunbreeze (daughter) 89 moons.

Winterstrike (Warrior) A slender white tomcat with a long, bushy tail. Vibrant lavender eyes. Personality traits: Calm, secretly manipulative, strong sense of a bigger purpose. Relations: Adderfrost (former apprentice) 64 moons.

Duskblaze (Warrior) A semi-large long haired black and gray tomcat with dark bengal markings. Bluish-green eyes. Personality traits: Sharp-tongued, avid risk taker. Relations: N/A 21 moons.

Mothsong (Warrior) A brown she-cat with sokoke tabby markings and thicker fur around her neck and tail. Golden yellow eyes. Personality traits: Swift-pawed, doting towards younger cats. Relations: Spiderpaw (son)/ Ghoststripe (former apprentice) 44 moons.

Moonheart (Medicine) A medium haired silver tomcat with one crooked back leg. Crimson eyes. Personality traits: Fatherly, insightful, somewhat no nonsense attitude. Relations: Sunbreeze (former apprentice) 141 moons.

Adderfrost (Warrior) A long haired black and white speckled tomcat. Left eye is a striking electric blue and the right eye is a pale baby blue. Personality traits: Adventurous, eager play-fighter, kind. Relations: Silentstar (father)/ Winterstrike (former mentor) 12 moons.

Spiderpaw (later Spiderthorn) (Apprentice) A slender brown tomcat with mackerel tabby markings. Bronze eyes. Personality traits: Loner, short-tempered. Relations: Mothsong (mother)/ Silentstar (mentor) 11 moons.

Ghoststripe (Warrior) A medium haired bluish-gray tomcat with a lighter gray streak along his spine. Blood red eyes. Personality traits: Timid, a tad absent-minded. Relations: Mothsong (former mentor) 12 moons.

Sunbreeze (Medicine) A medium haired yellow she-cat with a nubby tail. Sable green eyes. Personality traits: Nervous, soft-spoken, loves playing with moss balls. Relations: Goldenshade (father)/ Moonheart (former mentor) 12 moons.

Other Characters:

An Anatolian Shepherd with silvery gray eyes, rightfully nicknamed “Wolf”, who guards a neighboring Two Legs’ junkyard. It's also implied that he is sometimes used for dog-fighting, hence a lot of the scars he’s sustained.

I want to also note that an experimentalist group of humans play a huge relevance to the story as well, mainly with a certain cat's backstory (*hint hint its Mothsong*). Iykyk.

[classyinfur]

[thoughtfullydecaffeinateddu-blog]

FMF Malagosia Bela Golden Sable

Riding in a fast flash car …

[golden-reedwolf]

Anything really will be merled these days. Even golden jackals come in merle now!

In the mottled animal’s case, the phenotype was highly resemblant to agouti or dark sable merle dogs’ look that is caused by a SINE insertion in the SILV gene. Using fragment analysis, we found a peak at 434 basepairs with a wild-type allele of 171 basepairs, which means the animal has a 263-basepair SINE insertion, which categorizes it as Ma +, atypical merle animal.

White and other fur colourations and hybridization in golden jackals (Canis aureus) in the Carpathian basin

[sephirthoughts]

Just Like Honey: Chapter 12

Summary:

****WARNING WARNING WARNING**** THREATENED SEXUAL ASSAULT HOMOPHOBIC SLURS DON'T WORRY THO THEY GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE WITH A QUICKNESS

NOTE: "fag" also used once, in reference to the British boys' school fagging system, in which younger students would do housework and other chores for the older students.

AU: organized crime, cabaret, sex work

SHIPS: MULTIPLE! rufus/cloud, vincent/cloud, sephiroth/cloud, reeve/cloud, rufus/cloud/tseng, cloud/other characters as clients because that's his job, weiss/nero, background aerti

RATING: teen and up

WARNINGS: violence, homophobic slurs, and references to sexual assault, sex workers, prostitution

ALSO WARNING: vincent wearing this outfit, which may be hazardous to your health/sanity

Chapter 12: Clouderella

Wutai’s upper crust tended to take a lot more joy in dressing in beautiful and extravagant clothing, than did the elite in Midgar, where the staid, black tuxedo was the standard for men’s formal wear. What would have been considered flamboyant and ostentatious, there, would not even be enough to stand out, in Wutai.

And yet, when Cloud and Vincent emerged from their limousine, at Da-chao Palace, they managed to turn just about every head in the place. There was an actual beat of hushed awe among the crowd of splendidly clad guests. Even the uniformed guards and smartly dressed servants couldn’t help stealing glances at the two beautiful gentlemen.

Vincent was rakishly elegant, like some sort of pirate king, with his long hair flowing loose about the shoulders of his gorgeous, crimson-brocade frock coat, trimmed with sable fur. His waistcoat and trousers were of the same fabric, and his shirt was black silk. In place of a cravat or tie, he wore heavy chains of antique gold, which complemented the brass toe-guards on his riding boots, the brass buckles on his thigh holster straps, and the brass epaulet he wore on one shoulder (denoting his position as head of a noble house, of the nation of Wutai).

Cloud’s outfit was similar to Vincent’s, but had been chosen to serve as its counterbalance, rather than to match it. His brocade was snowy white, his buttons and fittings were silver, rather than brass, and his frock coat was slimmer and shorter, to look best on his smaller frame (and without fur trim, which he objected to wearing in this warm climate). Rather than riding boots, he wore white, ankle-high button up boots, and a pearl-grey charmeuse cravat, instead of gold chains.

When the two walked the red carpeted receiving line together—one tall and black haired, all in blood red, and the other petite and golden-haired, in shining white—the effect was extremely striking.

The Valentine Patriarch was a prominent figure, so the whole place was immediately abuzz with curiosity, regarding the origin of the young unknown, who had managed to endear himself to the famously prickly and unapproachable man. No matter how much they asked one another, though, all anyone found out for certain was that no one else seemed to know who he was, either. Naturally, speculation ran rampant.

“I heard someone say he was sent to the Valentines as a child concubine, and they’ve been raising him in isolation, until he was old enough to accompany the patriarch,” said a young lady, behind her silk fan.

“That’s ridiculous. Who has concubines anymore,” another sniffed.

“Just look at that blonde hair and those blue eyes,” a third remarked wistfully. “I bet he’s a Shinra scion, who defected to the Valentine side, for love of the dashing and handsome Lord Valentine.”

“Ah, but isn’t Lord Valentine your fiancée, Princess Kyrie?” said a tall, lilac-clad young woman, with a hawk nose and a patrician air about her, who appeared to be the leader of this clique. “What ever is he doing escorting a young man to the ball? Shouldn’t he have come with you?”

The princess, who was standing nearby, blushed as pink as her gown and shot the lilac girl a glare.

“A lot of unmarried gentlemen attend with male friends, instead of a date, it doesn’t mean anything,” one of her own retinue retorted, in her stead.

“I heard he’s also refused to see her highness, even once, since he’s been visiting Wutai,” one of the lilac girl’s followers rejoined, with a pout of sympathy. “I do hope he hasn’t had second thoughts.”

“Lord Valentine is the head of a very important clan. There are plenty of perfectly valid reasons he might be indisposed,” another of the princess’ faction defended.

“Too true, too true,” the first young lady tittered, fluttering her fan. “If I had a lover who looked like that blonde boy, I’d certainly never leave the house.”

The lilac girl and her companions all laughed merrily at that, while the infuriated princess turned on her heel and flounced off, with her retinue in tow. Her intended had already embarrassed her, by declining to accompany her as her escort, and now he even had the gall to show up with a man. That was tantamount to deliberate public humiliation! Not that there was anything she couldn’t forgive him for, but this would require a very good explanation.

Not even the most colorful among the stories about the mysterious boy, that were invented and repeated that evening, touched anywhere close to the truth—that he was a gymnast turned cabaret-dancer prostitute, from the backwoods of Nibelheim, via the Midgar undercity slums.

His aristocratic good looks figured heavily into this, of course, but most convincing of all, was the fact that the boy was so graceful and at ease, around all these rich and powerful people. No one who hadn’t been born and raised among the gentry could be so effortlessly charming, when confronted with the rank and class of several nations.

The more those envious people watched the little upstart, hoping for him to slip up, the more they found that his manner was flawless—neither stiffly formal nor overly familiar, neither obsequious nor arrogant, and his face carried no hint of either trepidation or over-eagerness to please. If one didn’t know better, they’d think he was hosting guests in his own home, so impervious he seemed, to the relentless scrutiny.

What they did not know they were seeing, of course, was the carefully crafted stage persona of a highly skilled, veteran performer, who spent his life as a professional chameleon, shifting flawlessly into whatever role the situation required of him. Had they known the real Cloud, they would have been less baffled by his unflappable composure.

This was, after all, the young man who had fearlessly slapped President Shinra across the face, in his own office, who dared to be contrary and demanding with the Valentine Patriarch, and who was able to weather the violent and volatile temper of the psychotic, drug-addicted leader of the Remnants, unscathed.

Far from being afraid that a few rich people with fancy titles stuck to their names would judge him, Cloud was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to trot out his rarely used urbane-dandy character (which he had developed for a client with some very specific tastes, and was based loosely on several of the more famous homosexual socialites of the prior century).

Everything about his mannerisms, turns of phrase, and costume, was tailored specifically to fit this character. He had even had a silver cigarette lighter and matching case, filled with long, black cigarettes borrowed from Vincent, to complete the impression. Thus, what Cloud performed, the people at the ball saw—which was a sophisticated young elite, in his native environment.

The formal presentation to the Wutaian monarch was far briefer and less harrowing than Cloud had expected. King Godo was a bluff and gregarious old man, who had too many people clamoring for his attention, to be overly inquisitive regarding the young beauty on the arm of his guest of honor.

Vincent had just been greeted by some important whoevers of whatever country, when Cloud heard a shriek, and turned to see a young lady hurrying over, pushing people out of her way in her haste. He was instantly spellbound by this creature, who appeared to be a mass of contradictions, from head to toe.

Her dress was a poofy, pink confection of satin and flounces and ribbons, much like a little girl might wear in a fairytale, only the bodice was extraordinarily low-cut. As she trotted over, her ample, half-exposed bosoms bounced and jolloped in such a way, that it seemed it was only the will of the heavenly Dao that prevented them escaping entirely.

She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, and was pretty enough, but her features were somewhat spoiled by her overdone makeup (in the grand tradition of teenaged girls attempting to look older), and the gaudy jeweled tiara, that topped her stiffly curled hair, was more ridiculous than enchanting.  

She shoved right past Cloud, as if he wasn’t there, and stood in front of Vincent, all bright smiles and blushing cheeks, and big, doe-eyes only for him. Cloud concealed a smirk behind his champagne glass.

“Vincent, Vincent! I had a feeling I’d see you here!” the girl enthused, as if it were a chance meeting, and not a party given specifically in his honor. “Agnes said you might not come, but I was sure she was wrong, and here you are!”

“Your highness,” Vincent replied, with an infinitesimally slight dip of his chin, smoothly withdrawing his hand, as she attempted to grasp it. “I trust her majesty the queen is well. Is she not with you?”

Cloud’s smile widened imperceptibly. If he had greeted someone the way this girl just did, and received a response like the one she’d gotten from Vincent, he’d have left the party straightaway and committed seppuku, to spare his ancestors the shame he’d brought on them.

This young lady, however, had a much thicker face than Cloud, and didn’t even appear to notice the older man’s frosty reception of her effulgent greeting. It was almost impressive, the way she let Vincent’s barely concealed disdain roll off her, like water from a duck’s back.

“Oh, you know grandma,” she said breezily. “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere, talking politics with some councilman or another. Old people are so boring, who knows they even come to these things. Parties are for fun and dancing! Speaking of dancing, have you—”

“Your highness, allow me to introduce my date,” Vincent interrupted, gesturing around the animated young woman, to Cloud. “This is Cloud Strife. Cloud, Her Royal Highness Princess Kyrie of Junon.”

“An honor, your highness,” Cloud replied, with a languid half-bow, as the princess shot him a look of mingled disgust and resentment, then turned back to Vincent, without acknowledging him.

“What’s going on, here, Vincent?” she demanded, sounding like a wronged wife. “Who is this boy?”

“His name is Cloud Strife, your highness,” Vincent repeated, while Cloud looked amused and took a sip of his champagne.

The girl’s face quickly worked through a couple expressions, then she settled on a smile, playfully tapping Vincent’s arm with her fan. “Vincent, you goose, this is the royal palace. You can’t have your footmen hanging around, in the main ballroom. There’s a banquet set up for the help in the back courtyard.”

“Cloud is my date, your highness,” Vincent said, unperturbed, reaching past her to take Cloud’s hand and pull him to his side. “It was lovely seeing you again, but I’m afraid we’ll have to catch up some other time. I was just on my way to greet the delegation from Kalm. Give her majesty my best.”

Before the princess could even think of a response, her intended husband had absconded, with the blonde boy on his arm.

She planted her hands on her hips and very nearly stamped her foot in pique, but she noticed several people glancing over, and murmuring amongst themselves. Eyes reddening and bottom lip trembling, she hurried away to rejoin her friends.

Within a minute, she had gathered her loyal supporters in the ladies’ powder room, where she sobbed pitifully while she gave them a full (and somewhat embroidered) account of how she’d suffered, at the hands of the scheming, blonde mate-sniper.

“Lord Valentine is obviously just playing around,” one of her friends soothed. “It’s not like he’s going to marry a man. The clan will never allow it.”

“True,” another agreed. “He can’t give him children, and the clan patriarch has to produce heirs. Everyone knows that.”

“Besides, you’re the crown-princess,” a third chimed in. “That boy is just some nobody. Lord Valentine will get bored and toss him away, soon enough.”

“You really think so?” the princess sniffled, as one of the girls carefully dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief.

They all nodded enthusiastically.

“All men have their little dalliances, before they settle down. It’s nothing to worry too much about.”

“My father was notorious, before he married mother.”

“My aunt says the more they play before you marry them, the less they’ll stray afterward.”

Under their coaxing and ministrations, the princess began to feel a little better, but when she recalled the smug look on that blonde’s infuriating, freckled face, her anger surged up again, and she twisted her fan until it snapped in her hands.

“This is all that little slut’s fault,” she huffed, throwing it away. “How dare he cozy up to my fiancée! How dare he take what belongs to me! The future queen of Junon!”

“You know what we should do, is teach him a lesson,” said the girl who was fixing the princess’ hair.

The princess perked up. “Oh? What kind of lesson?”

“You remember my cousin, Gregor, right?”

“The one who was accused of excessive hazing, by all those boys, at Cheltenham Academy?”

“Yep, that’s him. He’s back from school, for winter holiday, and he and his friends are here, at the ball. All you’d have to do is cry a little, and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help knock that hussy down a peg, for you.”

Another girl made a face. “You heard what they did, right, princess? Are you sure you want to go so far?”

“True. I don’t want them to really hurt him,” the princess said.

“Oh, they won’t, they won’t,” her friend quickly assured her. “They’ll just humiliate him, so Lord Valentine won’t want to have anything to do with him, anymore. We’ll see if he dares to be so full of himself, then.”

“Well…alright,” the princess agreed. “Let’s go find Gregor.”

After they’d walked the social gauntlet, for a while, Cloud began to lag, and get a touch pink in the cheeks. The ballroom was crowded, and despite it being early winter, the Wutai weather was quite a bit warmer and more humid than a northern lad was accustomed to. Vincent noticed his condition right away, and promptly led him out to one of the balconies, to cool off.

“What do you think of the ball, little devil? Is it not as dull and tedious as I warned?” he said, with a rueful smile.

“I’m actually having a pretty good time,” Cloud replied staunchly, as he opened the lapels of his frock coat and fanned himself with them. “It’s just a lot warmer in there, than I expected. This brocade is very good at preserving heat.”

Vincent leaned on the railing and lit a long, black cigarette, eyeing his young lover appreciatively. “You can take off the coat, you know. No one will mind.”

“What, and be seen in such an indecent state, in front of all the gentry?” Cloud gasped, feigning horror. “My reputation in society would be ruined! How would I find a noble husband, after that!”

Vincent chuckled. “Never fear, my little tuft hunter. I would marry you, and then no one would dare to offend you, no matter what your reputation.”

Cloud’s cheeks were already two little apples, from the heat, so Vincent didn’t notice that they turned slightly pinker. “Ah, ha ha. All joking aside, that princess of yours is certainly a piece of work. How old is she, anyway?”

“Nineteen.”

“Wow, really?” Cloud frowned. “I wouldn’t have guessed a day above sixteen.”

Vincent nodded his understanding. “Her grandmother dotes on her, so she has been sheltered and spoiled, and has never faced any adversity. Unless she does some maturing, before the time comes, I’m afraid Junon will pay the price, for putting such a ruler on their throne.”

“Oh, I see. Queen Grandma is hoping you’ll marry her, so that your influence will do her some good, as far as growing up. And even if it doesn’t, Junon will be able to rely on Valentine military power, as a deterrent, in case granddaughter pisses off any other nations. Is that close to right?”

“Perhaps you should go into statecraft, little devil. It appears you are a natural.”

Cloud drew himself up proudly. “Well, not to brag, but I have watched a lot of Wutaian palace dramas.”

Just then, a servant came to say that Her Majesty Queen Mireille asked for Valentine-sama’s company, in the east gallery, at his earliest convenience.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine,” Cloud said, when Vincent hesitated. “I need to cool off for at least another ten minutes, before I’ll be ready to face the heat again, anyway.”

“Still, I don’t like leaving you alone,” Vincent frowned. “What if you are swept off your feet by some charming prince, while I’m away?”

“Then you’ll just have to challenge him to a duel and win me back. Go on. Don’t keep your Grandmother-in-law waiting.”

Pressing a kiss to Cloud’s hand, Vincent tore himself away and went off to attend the queen. Which was one of the weirdest things Cloud had ever experienced, on a date. Sure, he’d made President Shinra come on his dad’s desk and piss on a puppy training pad, and played somno-incest with Reeve, but having his date summoned away by real-life royalty was a new one.

He took one of his borrowed cigarettes from the silver case and lit it, then practiced leaning on the railing, trying to look carelessly cool, like Vincent. He felt he had it mostly down, but there was something to it he knew he wasn’t completely selling. Maybe you needed to be an actual old man to really project the kind of world-weary indifference, that made Vincent so captivating.

He was musing upon this, and watching his blue-white tobacco smoke curl up and waft away on the balmy night breeze, when there was a soft footstep behind him. Cloud’s spider-sense prickled and he tensed up to react, but in the next second, a throat was cleared.

“I beg your pardon, Strife-sama?”

Cloud turned to see a uniformed servant. “What is it?”

The young man bowed deeply. “Strife-sama, Valentine-sama requests your presence, right away. If the gentleman will please follow me, I will take you to him.”

“Sure, lead the way,” Cloud said, grinding out the cigarette butt, before he followed the servant inside.

They went through the main ballroom, his guide keeping to the fringes, so as not to drag him through the crowd, and then down a side passage, to a breezeway, which led across a courtyard, to another wing of the main building.

“What is he doing way out here?” Cloud asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Apologies, sir. I was only instructed to bring you to him,” the servant answered.

Cloud’s danger detection system was pinging faintly, but he chalked that up to his own paranoia, and unfamiliarity with the place. This wasn’t exactly a back-alley in the slums, anyway. It was the royal palace. It’s not like he was going to get mugged by a band of roving viscounts.

At length, the uniformed servant stopped at a door and bowed, as he opened it. Cloud stepped into the doorway and paused, frowning.

“Hey, it’s pitch dark in—” His sentence broke off abruptly, as several pairs of hands grabbed hold of him and dragged him roughly into the dark room.

A second later, a hand popped out, pushing a thick wad of bills into the servant’s hand. “You didn’t see anything. Now, get lost.”

The servant stuffed the cash into his pocket and practically ran away, across the courtyard. He felt terrible for tricking that pretty little blonde into going in there, with those thugs, but if he had refused, who knows what they’d have done to him. He was a literal nobody, and he couldn’t afford to lose this job, or worse, by offending the wrong people. At least this way, he got to keep all his limbs and make a little extra cash.

“Well, Vincent, here we are again,” the queen’s aged voice said, as he stepped into the east gallery. She was standing with her back to him, in front of the open windows, looking out over the palace gardens.

“Your Majesty,” Vincent replied, with a courtly bow.

“Don’t you ‘your majesty’ me, you old fox. We aren’t enemies, yet,” she snorted, turning to peer up at him in the bright light of the moon. “Good goddess, you get younger every time I see you. Where the hell do you get off looking like a damned kid, when the rest of us geezers are halfway to being mistaken for escaped mummies?”

“You know I can’t help it, Mireille. I never wanted to stay young forever.”

“You could have the decency to dye your hair grey. Or at least wear spectacles, or something.”

Vincent smiled. “I am pleased to find you are well, and in good spirits, my friend.”

“Yes, yes, I’m as healthy as a horse,” she said, waving her hand. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? What’s the meaning of you parading some cheap little doxy around, in front of all the gentry and heads of state, tonight?”

“That young man happens to be quite important to me,” Vincent said mildly. “Please don’t subject him to baseless insults.”

“Baseless? Ha!” The queen croaked out a laugh. “You think I don’t know exactly who and what he is? My intel agents aren’t that lazy. I knew all about him before he set foot on Wutaian soil.”

“As expected of my old friend,” Vincent said, dipping his chin.

“What the hell are you doing publicly associating with a whore, Vincent? You’re that determined to drag your family’s good name through the mud? What would your daddy think?”

Vincent’s smile remained tranquil, but his scarlet eyes glittered coldly. “My family’s good name means even less to me than my father’s opinion, Mireille. And the opinions of the gentry and heads of state rate lower, still. Are you not at all embarrassed, berating and disparaging a commoner, who is little more than a child, on your granddaughter’s behalf?”

The queen’s face worked, for a moment, as she tried to muster some royal indignation, but she quickly dropped the charade and her shoulders slumped. “Look, Vincent, I gave up on the marriage scheme, when Kyrie got old enough to start displaying her personality. She’s not the type to catch the interest of a man like you. She’s obstinate, impulsive, inconsiderate, and she only cares about being rich and pretty, just like her idiot father.

“Problem is, the damn fool thinks she’s in love with you, and won’t take no for an answer. You know I can’t bear to disappoint her, because of her mama, so I…I promised her I’d ask you again. Only, she got it into her head that I promised her you’d accept, and she’s been building her castles in the sky, since then.”

“Mireille, Mireille,” Vincent sighed. “A marriage will not solve your problems, and continued overindulgence will only make everything worse. You will live for a good long time, so take the opportunity to instill some discipline into the girl. I know that she seems hopeless, now, but if she’s anything like her grandmother, she has the capacity to mature into the wise and compassionate monarch, that Junon needs.”

“Hmph, you old flatterer,” the queen groused, pretending to be displeased. “Fine, I’ll take your advice, as best I can. I only wish some of that Valentine austerity had rubbed off on me, back when Grimoire was alive. Maybe I’d have been a better grandmother. Or at least a stricter one.”

“My father’s aloofness and austerity did not make me the person I am. You are already better parent to Kyrie, than my father was to me.”

“Alright, enough of that. Tell me about this little blonde, who’s so important to you. I never thought I’d see the day you’d open that cast-iron heart back up. Not after Lucy.”

Cloud, who had been at risk of very real bodily harm from many powerful men, including Sephiroth, Tseng, Rufus Shinra, and various others, over the course of his career, was expecting a lot worse than what he saw, when the lights went on, in the isolated storage room.

What he had expected, was Wutaian ninjas, or assassins from Junon, or Turks (on the off chance that Tseng had changed his mind and decided to kidnap him back to Midgar), or even Sephiroth, who seemed to have the ability to appear wherever he wanted, irrespective of the laws of time and space. What he got, was four not very bright-looking boys, aged between seventeen and nineteen, in tuxedos that seemed ill fitting and uncomfortable, despite the fact that they’d been tailored.

They were pretty big and brawny, obviously of the sports-inclined ilk, and two looked like they’d had more than a few broken noses. One of them had a cricket bat and one had brass knuckles, but those were all the weapons Cloud could see. They were just high-school kids.

“Is this all of you?” he asked, doubtfully, as they shoved him into the center of the room.

“What, you want more?” the dark-haired leader smirked. “I knew this one was a fucking slut.”

“Mh-hm. Just like those pretty little third-form fags, at school,” said the largest one, who had curly, fire-red hair.

One of them went to the door and made a big show of placing the old-fashioned locking bar and chain, intending to demonstrate to their captive that escape was impossible.

“Don’t bother calling for help, either,” the leader informed him. “There’s no one around to hear.”

“So you’re prep-school bullies, huh? I thought those only existed in movies and BL manga,” Cloud said, fascinated. “Wow, is that an actual cricket bat? Did you come right out of central casting?”

“Keep talking, faggot,” cricket guy grinned, slapping the heavy, wooden bat into his palm. “Every word outta your mouth is a tooth I’m gonna knock out, before I skullfuck you.”

Cloud squinted an eye at him. “You want to force me to suck your dick, and I’m the faggot? How does that make sense?”

“Shut up, slut!” the leader growled. “We all know you’re using your ass to worm your way into the Valentine family. Well, let’s see if that prissy vamp wants you anymore, after he sees what you do on your knees, for all of us.”

“I don’t have to hold the camera the whole time, right?” said the one who had locked the door, and who now had his phone out, apparently intending to record their criminal activity. “I want to do him, too.”

“I’ll take over for you, but I get to use his ass first,” the redhead leered, rubbing the bulge in the crotch of his trousers. “I’m already hard, just thinking about how he’s gonna squeal when I stick it in.”

The one with the brass knuckles laughed maliciously, seeing Cloud’s brow furrowed. “Finally getting scared, huh? Don’t worry, sugar. We’re gonna treat you right.”

“Hm? Scared?” Cloud blinked up at him, like he’d forgotten he was there. “No, it’s more like…out of my depth. See, I’ve never even been to high school. So, you’re going to regret this in ways I don’t have the vocabulary to properly express to educated young men, like you. Oh, I know. Maybe you could make use of those fine educations and help me think of some good words.”

“Enough talk, bitch,” cricket guy said, pointing the tip of his bat at Cloud. “Get on your knees, or we’ll put you on ‘em.”

“I bet you think that’s really intimidating,” Cloud replied pityingly. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it only works when the person saying it is actually scary. Not a soft little dumpling who’s barely off his mother’s tit.”

“You piece of shit whore! Fuck you!” the dumpling in question roared, rushing forward to swing the bat at Cloud’s head.

Cloud easily ducked under the clumsy attack, swept the boy’s legs with a whiplash kick, caught the bat midair, and brought it down with a hollow thud, on the back of his head.

It was all so fast, his cronies hardly had time to process what they were seeing, let alone react. Meanwhile, cricket guy curled up and started rolling around, howling like he was dying.

“What a fucking baby. I didn’t even hit you hard enough to crack your skull,” Cloud scoffed, stepping over his writhing body, toward his associates, who were suddenly looking a little green in the face. “Ok, who’s next? You all wanted a turn, right? What about you, red? Didn’t you want to hear some squealing?”

The redhead backed up hastily, stumbling over camera guy, who dropped his phone, shattering the screen. Knuckles guy had run to the door, but the lock bar and chain were too complicated for him to get open, before the blood-spattered cricket bat tapped the door in front of his face.

“You guys wanted to trap me in here with you,” Cloud said, with a deranged smile. “Now you’re trapped in here with me.”

The brass knuckles fell to the floor with a ringing clatter, as knuckles guy backed away from the little blonde, ash-white and visibly shaking with terror. “Y—your eyes! What the fuck is with your eyes, man! S—snake! Snake demon!”

Thanks to the forethought of the four would-be assailants, the servants on duty in that area of the palace had all been bribed or threatened to mind their own business, for a while. Thus, the cracks, thuds, crashes, wails, and screams that filled the storage room, for the next half hour or so, were heard by no one who paid the slightest bit of attention.

“Gross, there’s blood on my shoe.” Cloud scowled down at the redhead, whose face was so battered and swollen, the features were hardly distinguishable. “Vincent gave me these, you better hope it comes off.”

The boy gurgled out some pathetic, unintelligible noises, in reply.

“You’re right, they’re finished leather. Of course it will.”

So saying, Cloud bent down and ripped off the redhead’s cummerbund, which he used to carefully wipe the boot clean.

“Good as new. Thanks, red, you’re a lifesaver,” he said jauntily, dropping the soiled accessory on the boy’s supine person. “Oh, and give the princess my regards. I was in serious danger of getting bored, but you guys really livened up the evening. Sayonara, gentlemen.”

“Little devil, I apologize for leaving you for so long. The queen was in a rather chatty temper, this evening, and kept me longer than I intended,” Vincent said, when he returned to the balcony, to find Cloud exactly where he’d left him, seated idly on the railing, sipping a cocktail and smoking a cigarette.

Cloud smiled sweetly, looking like the purest sunlight and daisies in spring. “No sweat, I’ve been entertaining myself, just fine.”

Vincent leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, then drew away, frowning. “I smell blood.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not mine. I’m kind of over this party, though. Can we get out of here?”

“Mn. You read my mind.”

Vincent’s eye glowed like a small sun, when they were in the car on the way back to the Valentine ryokan, and Cloud told him what happened, with the four thugs and the storage room. He wanted to go back and raise (likely literal) hell, but Cloud soothed him with kisses and by stroking his hair, till his eyes drooped and he buried his face in the boy’s neck, purring like a big cat.

It did also help that Cloud had forced the boys to confess to what they did—and more importantly, who put them up to it—and recorded it on his phone camera, which recording he had already sent to Vincent, to do with as he pleased. Vincent sent the video right along to the queen, who only responded with, “I see. I will deal with her.”

“Hoo, boy,” Cloud shuddered. “I almost feel bad for your little princess, now.”

“You are my only little princess,” Vincent mumbled, muffled by Cloud’s collar.

“You’re purring like a cat, you know,” Cloud laughed. “Is that a demon thing?”

“It’s a Valentine thing, but it’s not related to the demon. It is rare, though. I only knew my father and grandfather to do it, aside from me.”

Unseen to Vincent, who was busy pressing his fangs gently into his lover’s soft neck, Cloud’s smile froze on his face. He knew exactly one other person, who purred like this, when his long hair was petted.

But it had to be a coincidence. There was absolutely no possibility that Sephiroth and Vincent were in any way related to one another. Was there? No. It would be insane to even suggest such a thing. It was definitely just a coincidence. A weird, weird coincidence.

Definitely.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY definitely

[chicinsilk]

Chanel Haute Couture Collection Fall/Winter 1960-61. Gitta Schilling wears a red wool dinner ensemble consisting of a dress and loose jacket trimmed with sable fur. Golden buttons and a golden jewel signed Coco Chanel.

Chanel Collection Haute Couture Automne/Hiver 1960-61. Gitta Schilling porte un ensemble de dîner en laine rouge composé d'une robe et d'une veste ample bordée de fourrure de zibeline. Des boutons dorés et un bijou doré signé Coco Chanel.

Photo Yurek

Photo Yurek

[unkledeath]

wip guessing game: oooh... "charm"! or if you don't have that perhaps "neck." :3

I'll do you one better and do both! The first one is from Libretto, my POV Ezra fic:

But such a limited quarry soon began to bore me, and I craved a greater variety still. The city’s bloodlines were gilt with elven aristocracy, their ancestry lending them a touch of glamor they otherwise lacked. None quite as beautiful or fey as my father had been, but close enough contenders to pique my interest.  My charm and loveliness bought me easy passage into society gatherings, as an entertainer or on the arm of a guest who craved more palatable arm candy than their own spouse. (And I was infinitely palatable in those days, a richer or more decadent bonbon could not be found.) I swayed among the marks, and I stalked, and inevitably I sniffed out a promising target.  My favorites were the ones who saw their own lineage in myself, the arrow points of my ears, the flint of my cheekbones. That shared mercurial beauty in our veins that made us just a little bit better than everyone else, though for what reason they could never quite say. How we’d laugh as we gloated over these silly humans and their mayfly lives!

And for the second, from my currently unnamed Banite sacrifice fic:

He fell to his knees as a new participant entered their vision. Their chosen had hung back during the initial performance, observing from the corner of the room. Now, clad in a golden half-mask and sweeping sable furs, he approached the sacrifice.

“My brothers! It is my exceptional pleasure to bring you tonight’s entertainment, delivered directly from the Black Lord’s hand.” He touched Ezra’s shoulder. “Our offering is one of a particularly distinguished pedigree, and I feel it only right to let you know just what you’ll be enjoying.”

Two fingers spider-walked up the nape of the bard’s neck.

“Our sacrifice is no mere supplicant, but a deserter from a rival - that is, a would-be rival.” A brief chuckle from the crowd. “Before you is none other than the chosen of Vecna, god of secrets. They come to you tonight as a gesture of the Maimed’s Lord’s goodwill.”

A spate of murmurs rose among the gathered men at this, the leering intensity in the room suddenly spiking. The offering was delicious on its own, but combined with the knowledge that they would be defacing an enemy god’s chosen mortal, its savor was tinged with a more piquant delight.

[freaklets-daily]

The world is full of weird creatures

I collect pictures of weird kittens and compile them here! Consider this a tag-organized archive of catlarvae. Feel free to submit freaklets via the ask function! All images must be sourced, though I can help find the source to an image if you don't have it!

Some of the breeds featured on this blog have health problems! Please do your own research if you're thinking about getting a purebred cat.

General tags: #daily freaklet #not a daily freaklet #video #reblog

Grub: #grub

Colors: #white #black #orange #gray #golden #sable

Patterns: #tabby #solid #bicolor #tricolor #tuxedo #colorpoint

Fur textures: #hairless #rexed

Click on the tags below to search by breed:

[moths-wc-aus]

boarclan’s kits!

COMET - a golden-furred charlie with fluffy ear tips.

the kit of codmask and fallinghail, comet is a loud, bright kitten who's so so ready to be an apprentice already!

EDDY - an orange and brown pointed molly.

IVY - a yellow pointed tom.

BLACK - an unusually speckled black molly.

SMALL - a red and black pointed tom.

the first litter of cinnamonhop and an unknown sire! they're excitable, rambunctious little things that cinnamonhop absolutely adores.

DAPPLE - a brown tortoiseshell tom with a white paw.

SABLE - a red and black braided tabby molly.

QUIET - a black and white tom.

treetail and twilightlily's second litter of kits, these babies are so baby that they haven't even opened their eyes yet.