#masked singer deer

[neviagreatestart2003]

The Masked Singer Season 1 Characters!

List of Contestants/Celebrity.

1st: Monster - T-Pain

2nd: Peacock - Donny Osmond

3rd: Bee - Gladys Knight

4th: Rabbit - Joey Fatone

5th: Lion - Rumer Willis

6th: Alien - La Toya Jackson

7th: Raven - Ricki Lake

8th: Unicorn - Tori Spelling

9th: Poodle - Margaret Cho

10th: Deer - Terry Bradshaw

11th: Pineapple - Tommy Chong

12th: Hippo - Antonio Brown

[whocaresifwearecrazy]

The Masked Town Headshots...Part 1

[whiterosebrian]

Around a year ago, I began writing exercises in poetry, as I had developed a very serious interest in learning to write (and perform at some later point) original poetry for reasons well beyond this post. I drew myself as a masked bard for title-cards to accompany texts on posts on Instagram. Gradually I discovered that I really did have an aptitude for poetry, so I kept writing more exercises. Now I've drawn and posted an updated image. Where the previous one was complete Tolkien-like cosplay, this one is closer to how I might show up on stage. I do indeed own a mask and cloak for magical training (and might show up on stage for some poems), though I still doubt that I can play and maintain an elaborate and expensive musical instrument. I do hope to reach a point very soon where I feel ready to start performing poetry in public. Do expect me to post more written exercises in the near future!

[nostallicca]

The Memory Remains

~ Heavy rings hold cigarettes, up to lips that time forgets, while the Hollywood sun sets behind your back. And can't the band play on? ~

Episode 2: For the better, For the worse

Episode 1

Warnings: Alcohol use

He walked calmly and confidently through the hallway until he pushed open one of the doors. You picked your head up from the ground and saw that you had entered a bedroom. A big one. Probably the master. Hardwood floors, hardwood walls, a fireplace in front of the unnecessarily large bed. And a few decoratives here and there. He let go of your hand and turned to close the door shut. Your stomach started turning and it felt like it started doing cartwheels. Cartwheels of nervousness but also excitement. No amount of alcohol could have prevented the effect this man had on your body. At this point you had realized who this man was. It was James Hetfield. The lead singer and rhythm guitarist for the biggest band in the world. Metallica. And now you were in what you could only assume, his bedroom.

You could feel his presence behind you. His smell penetrating your nostrils. A smell of perfume but also a slight smell of leather and beer. You didn't dare turn around. This position gave him perfect opporunity to get closer and lower his head to the point where you could feel his breath in the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your entire body. This feeling, similar to what you would imagine being hit by thunder would feel like.

''I've been watching you all night, you know'' he says in a low tone, almost whispering into your ear. His voice was something else. His speaking voice alone could make you feel a plethra of feelings that were undescribable. It was like music to your ears. ''Oh yeah?'' ''Yeah...'' he says while humming. He puts his hands on top of your shoulders, caressing them until the straps of your dress eventually falls down a little on your arms. You stand frozen, unable to move. Like a deer in headlights. There's no way he couldn't have noticed the amount of control he had over your body already. ''Am I coming on too hard on ya?'' he asks while now keeping his hands on either sides of your neck. ''No'' you say with an insecure and nervous tone that you tried to mask with some sort of confidence. All of a sudden you feel his hands leave the frail sides of your neck and he only lets out a small ''hm'' before leaving the back of your body and moving across the room to grav one of his guitars that was laying on top of his bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a small sigh. Not looking up at you even for a second. You just stand there, feeling completely lost with an inner urge to run out of there and just forget that this ever happened. However, an opposing force that wants to stay here for as long as possible is stronger.

The stilence gets cut off by him playing a few cords on the guitar. ''Do you play?'' he asks, still not looking up at you. ''A little'' you say while smiling at the ground. You did play a little, but it was nothing compared to what this man was playing as a profession. ''C'mere then'' he said, giving you a side look and nodding his head towards his side of the room. You walk over, slowly, almost hesitantly. You take a seat beside him on the bed crossing your hands in your lap, noticing how insecure this hand placement must make you look. You instantly uncross your hands and place them on either side of your legs. He hands you the guitar, an acoustic one. You grab it carefully, almost afraid you were going to break it by just touching it. You take a few seconds adjusting your left hand on the neck of the guitar, and your right arm starts instinctively resting on the light brown body. You start playing the song you knew you would not mess up. Messing up in front of the James Hetfield would embarrass you to no end. The sounds of Extreme's more than words starts almost echoing through the room by the soft movement of your fingers. James watches the your fingers move intensely. ''You have a nice touch'' he says which causes you to stop playing. ''Thank you, honestly it's been-'' you get cut off by the sound of Celeste shouting your name outside the door, probably in the hallway. You quickly hand him the guitar and start walking towards the door. Opening it up you're faced with Celeste. ''There you are! I've been looking for you'' she says with an almost exhausted look on her face. ''What's going on?'' you ask curiously. ''We have to go, NOW.'' She says with a dead serious look on her face. ''Why? What's happening?'' You hear steps behind you, realizing that James is now walking towards the two of you. Celeste gives him a look, then you. And then she switches her eyes between the two of you a couple of more times before giving you a final look. The look. She did not have to say anything. That look alone told you everything you needed to know. You turn around and give James a disappointed look. ''I have to go''. He walks across the room and starts scribbling on a piece of paper before coming over again. He places the piece of paper in your hand before giving you a nod. A nod that clearly was his way of saying goodbye. You give him one last look before following Celeste downstairs and out the front door. She's walking with quick feet across the big lot of land down to the rocky trail. You know better than to ask what's going on. You know already. And your brain is honestly too busy thinking about James anyway, selfishly enough. The ride home comes to a screeching halt.

The night was unusually cold. A strong contrast from the beginning of the night. Maybe this was a sign for what was yet to come. You had no idea that this day, this night would mark a change in your life. From this night on, your life would take you in a completely different direction from what you ever could have imagined. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. One thing was certain though. You were here for it. A change was going to come and you were going to be here for it. For better and for worse.

End of episode 2 - Sorry if this one was quite short, it just seemed the most logical to end the episode here! Hope u like it <;3

[ifievertoldyou]

"A Deer Mistaking Candles for Headlights" by Crywank for tHAW!Quackity

this song can be listened to with manberg!quackity in mind, so i'm going to analyze that now

(under the cut is a lyrical breakdown of this song for quackity)

“You could call me a coward and you'd be correct/ Oh, my neck is safely off the line now/ I'm keeping my mouth shut until this is over/ Why bother speaking my mind?”

just a note before we get into this, this is an unreliable narrator analysis, aka: i'm not actually calling quackity a coward or any or these things, but i think he would call himself these things when thinking of himself at that time.

with that out of the way, quackity almost never stood up for himself or others when he was in manberg. and when he did weakly protest against tubbo's execution, schlatt punished him severely for it. he was never safe enough to speak his mind back then, but he still hates himself for not doing so more. hence the theme of deep self-loathing for one’s own passivity that is seen throughout this song.

“You can call me a liar and that would be true/ Though I do disagree, I don't challenge you/ I am docile and lazy, I show no respect/ You can call me a coward and you'd be correct”

this entire song is basically the embodiment of the fawn response, and quackity definitely went through his fair share of fawn responses during manberg, where he was forced to go along with things he would never normally go along with, in order to keep himself more safe, and avoid any more dangerous confrontations from arising. The ram expected him to give up his self-respect (hence the 'i show no respect' line) in order to give Him more ‘respect’ (even though it was more just forced obedience, since respect should go both ways), and the singer here is talking about how much they don’t like the fact that they feel so obligated to forget themselves for someone else, out of fear that something bad would happen if they were to stray from this expected method of behaviors. and that very much what quackity went through while he was in manberg. and he hates how pathetic that whole experience made him feel, both for how the ram treated him, and how he had to treat others in order to protect himself.

“Distant but rational/ Bringer of rage/ To get to a level where I will engage/ I am a tentacle, incapacitated obstacle/ I am obsolete and apathetic/ Thoughtlessly apologetic./ Watch my actions -or lack the thereof/ Negate the person that I said I was”

manberg!quackity would always take responsibility for things that weren't his fault, to the point where it just seemed like second nature to him to apologize; even now, quackity still has to stop himself from apologizing unnecessarily, lest he fall into old habits. and we see him actually falling into this habit again after q loses his eye.

this specific passage is also very reminiscent of tubbo’s execution. it took a child almost getting publicly murdered to get quackity to somewhat look past his fear of the ram retaliating and stand up for his values. but in the end, he still didn’t do a lot to stop the execution from happening, other than just weakly rebutting against it happening. it was still a lot for him to do within the context of everything, and of course, his small dissents were very significant to the ram, based on his reaction to just that minor retaliation. it’s more than understandable why quackity couldn’t do more than that, for his own safety, but he still hates himself for not doing more, enough that he considers himself a monster for it, even though this obviously isn’t true and he did what he could at the time. quackity has so many regrets surrounding his time in manberg, and he hates himself for how he was then, which he projects onto q for the first part of the story too.

“You could call me a phony and I would agree/ Oh, I see the many versions of me that I perform/ Moulded to suit/ I know the real me just convolutes”

thaw!quackity wears so many different masks to hide his true emotions and to keep up all his different appearances. but every single mask he wears is crafted by him to perfectly fit both the situation and person. he doesn't let the mask completely down even with q. he stopped his habit of taking off his shoes when he gets home once q started living with him, so that q would see a very specific side of quackity. a more put-together side. a less human side. and it can be argued that this tendency to wear so many masks really started with manberg. before then, he still wore his emotions mostly on his sleeve with people, unless he was gambling. but manberg changed all that, made him more closed off with his genuine identity, it made him have to perfect his different masks for his own survival. of course, he only got more closed off from being his authentic self around most people the more things happened to him, but this all started in manberg.

vv link to the song vv

thanks for reading, and here's where you can read thaw if you haven't already!!

[vikkirosko]

Masterlist Happy Hotel 2

🌈 Charlie Morningstar 🎶

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Porcelain Angel

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Hard life

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Trust issues

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Together since childhood

Charlie Morningstar x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Charlie Morningstar x Reader headcanons Traumatic mutism

Charlie Morningstar x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Umbra witch

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Protection from a harasser

Charlie Morningstar x child!Reader platonic headcanons Bear Bite

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader Platonic headcanons Fire of Rage

❌ Vaggie 🎀

Vaggie x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Hard life

Vaggie x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Vaggie x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Umbra witch

Vaggie x fem!Reader headcanons Protection from a harasser

Vaggie x fem!Reader Platonic headcanons Fire of Rage

Behind closed doors

🕷 Angel Dust 💖

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Flexible skater

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Self-harm

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Suicidal thoughts

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Hard life

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Mask

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Trust issues

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Fear of pain

Angel Dust x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Traumatic mutism

Angel Dust x fem!Reader headcanons Appreciated

Angel Dust x fem!Reader headcanons Protection from a harasser

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Flirty spaniard

Angel Dust x fem!Reader Platonic headcanons Fire of Rage

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons CIP

Angel Dust x gn!Reader headcanons Vkei Singer

📻 Alastor🎙

Alastor x Reader headcanons Flexible skater

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Evening care

Alastor x Reader headcanons A little more time

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Porcelain Angel

Alastor x Reader headcanons Self-harm

Alastor x Reader headcanons Suicidal thoughts

Bad anxiety

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Hard life

Alastor x Reader headcanons Soft side

Alastor x Reader headcanons Perfect Date

Alastor x Reader headcanons Freeze from shock

Alastor x Reader headcanons Deer Man

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Mask

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Trust issues

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Fear of pain

Alastor x fem kid!Reader platonic headcanons Powerful demon

Alastor x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Rescue from a roach

Alastor x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Alastor x Reader headcanons Fleetingly said

Alastor x Reader headcanons Traumatic mutism

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Appreciated

Alastor x hellborn fem!Reader headcanons Human child

Alastor x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Umbra witch

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Protection from a harasser

Alastor x Reader headcanons Flirty spaniard

Alastor x Reader headcanons Remembered

Alastor x Reader headcanons Cane

Short stature

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Newfound feelings

Alastor x Reader headcanons Shortening the distance

Alastor x fem!Reader Platonic headcanons Fire of Rage

Alastor x Reader headcanons Memorabilia

Alastor x child fem!Reader Platonic headcanons Battle of the Witches

Alastor x Reader headcanons Wolf

Alastor x Reader headcanons Staring

Alastor x Reader headcanons Excessive determination

Alastor x Reader headcanons CIP

Alastor x Reader headcanons Kiss hand

Alastor x gn!Reader headcanons Vkei Singer

Alastor x Reader headcanons Why me?

🧹 Niffty ❤

Niffty x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Niffty x Reader headcanons Starling Goetia

🃏 Husk 🥃

Husk x fem!Reader headcanons Evening care

Husk x Reader headcanons A little more time

Husk x fem!Reader headcanons Sick

Husk x Reader headcanons Self-harm

Husk x Reader headcanons Suicidal thoughts

Husk x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Hard life

Husk x Reader headcanons Perfect Date

Husk x Reader headcanons Freeze from shock

Husk x Reader headcanons Mistletoe

Husk x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Mask

Husk x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Fear of pain

Husk x Reader headcanons Fleetingly said

Husk x Reader headcanons Starling Goetia

Husk x Reader headcanons Traumatic mutism

Husk x fem!Reader headcanons Appreciated

Husk x Reader headcanons Remembered

Husk x Reader headcanons Shortening the distance

Husk x Reader headcanons Memorabilia

Husk x Reader headcanons Letter

Husk x Reader headcanons Staring

Husk x Reader headcanons Excessive determination

Husk x Reader headcanons Kiss hand

Husk x Reader headcanons Why me?

🐍Sir Pentious 🎩

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Dating

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Pacifist

Sir Pentious x shy!Reader headcanons Confession

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Talkativeness

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 okay okay here it is.

Alastor x OC fic

Deborah walked into the club, her tail dragging behind her as she did.

She had heard that Valentino's club had a singer that was to die for.

Ironic, considering everyone here was already dead.

Usually Deborah wouldn't walk into clubs. She was a catholic woman and wouldn't hear of such things as strip clubs.

But everyone had told her that this performance was more of a nightclub thing, which she much preferred over whores and sluts stripping down, dragging Jesus' sacrifice through the gutter.

Deborah found a table near the front, the smell of alcohol and other liquids making themselves known through her cat nose.

"And now, one of the more popular attractions of the night, coming from the house of valentino, everyone give it up for Aponi!" The announcer called.

As the music started, Deborah looked up in shock. The scent of her early departed daughter wafting its way through the club.

Love makes me treat you the way that I do Gee baby, ain't I good to you?

Deborah's mouth dropped.

Lillian?

Her baby, down here in hell?

Either the heaven-hell system was fucked up somehow, or Lilly did some very awful things.

There's nothing too good for a boy that's so true Gee baby, ain't I good to you?

Deborah looked at her daughter.

The dress she wore, while revealing, was fairly modest for a nightclub.

Thank God.

I bought you a fur coat for Christmas, a diamond ring, a Cadillac car, and everything

Her daughter's voice rang through her ears.

Lilly, with pale skin and black orange and yellow markings all over her body.

And her body had changed.

Not that Deborah could judge. At least her daughter wasn't a cat demon.

Love makes me treat you the way that I do Gee baby, ain't I good to you?

As Deborah watched her daughters performance, a gentleman looking no older than 35 sat down at her table.

"I do apologize for the intrusion, but I always do love her performances," the man says as he sat back to watch Lilly.

His main color was red. He seemed to be a deer demon, and was fairly handsome.

Love makes me treat you the way that I do Gee baby, ain't I good to you?

"No trouble at all. She's my daughter," Deborah stated as she took a sip from the martini she didnt remember ordering.

The man glanced at the woman in shock.

"Well then I'm obligated to tell you, your daughter won't be here any longer. I'm going to make a deal with her later today to sing at my new nightclub. She truly is interesting," the man explained.

There's nothing too good for a man so true Gee honey, ain't I good to you?

Deborah raised an eyebrow.

She knew her daughter was a good singer, but she never thought she was THAT good.

Deborah looked away to bring her attention back onto her daughter, and when she turned back the man was gone.

I know how to make a good man happy, I'll treat you right with lots of loving just about every night

Deborah turned to her daughter, only to make eye contact with her immediately.

Lilly's eyes went wide in shock before she glanced around and gained her composure.

She recognized her mother.

Love makes me treat you the way that I do Gee baby, aint I good to you?

Aponi walked down the stairs of the stage and to where Deborah could make out the outline of the man she was speaking with earlier.

Lilly sang to him in a seductive way.

Deborah did NOT like that.

Maybe Lilly was a whore after she moved out.

She was probably asking for it with Jason. Yes. That's why.

Lilly was a little whore and killed herself, ending up down here.

Deborah glared. She knew the system wasn't messed up. God has a plan for everyone.

I served you candelit dinners, and breakfast in bed. Took your car to be serviced when your engine went dead

Deborah returned her attention to her daughter as she walked back on stage.

Love makes me treat you the way that I do Gee baby, aint I good to you?

Lilly walked to the microphone stand, placing the kicrophone in it as she sang.

They got me paying taxes for what I gave to you, Gee baby, ain't I good to you?

As Lilly belted out the last notes, Deborah grabbed her purse and briskly walked out of the club.

Aponi walked into her dressing room and began to bite her nails.

"Knock knock toots! We gotta rush outta here if we're gonna move into the happy hotel soon," Angel stated as he walked into the room. "'Poni whatchu bitin' ya nails for? Val woukd kill ya if he found out you were damaged even a little," Angel spoke as he walked and took Aponi's hands out of her mouth.

"I think my mother was here...." Aponi muttered.

"What? Oh please. She's probably still on earth livin' her life. Ya got nothin' ta worry bout. Now cmon. The only boxes left is your shit and I ain't movin it all," Angel teased before taking Aponi's hand and practically dragging her out of the club.

[jadekitty777]

The Emotionalist: Chapter 1

Hi, did you think Deer!Clover was over? 

In this house, Deer!Clover is never over.

(Thanks Scath so much for helping me with the title on this!)

Prompt for Day 2: First Meeting

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: Clover Ebi was a huntsman who, like most Atlesian soldiers, hid most of his emotions behind a mask of calm professionalism. That is, unless, one knew where to look. And Qrow looked a lot.

Or, 5 times Qrow learned to read Clover's mood not from his face, but from his ears. [An adjacent story to Hunting Season Hunting Season; events from Qrow's POV]

Ao3 Link: Unexpected like a Gift

~

“Every single person on this planet deserves to be treated with dignity, no matter where they come from or what their ancestry is or even what semblance they are born with.”

Those were the words of a very wise man who once held a renowned and esteemed position in Remnant. A man who once hoped so much of the world he resided over, that he believed his words would influence and inspire the many around him to do good and be good.

That being said, if Ozpin had a grave to roll around in, he certainly would have been if he could see Qrow right this moment, walking five paces back and one to the side so that he was exactly in line with Clover Ebi’s backside.

The only slight positive? His eyes weren’t as far south as many might assume.

The trade off? He really, really shouldn’t be staring at a Faunus’ ears so intently. It was probably (read: definitely) rude at best and maybe (absolutely) objectifying at worst.

But he just… couldn’t help it.

Qrow wasn’t dumb. He knew when he was attracted to someone - and Clover was kind of the whole package. Handsome, strong, with striking wavy chestnut brown hair, had a great smile and a voice so smooth it would make a blues singer jealous. But then all that sex appeal was juxtaposed by those overly large, rhombus-shaped deer ears that, ridiculously, made him more alluring. Because they made Clover, on top of everything else, cute. Like they held the key to eternal youth, perpetually keeping a boyish look about him. 

With the way they stood out, it was impossible not to notice them. The backs of the ears were just a few shades lighter than Clover’s hair, the slight tans giving it an almost caramel coloration. But the inner part had linings of white fluffy tufts that screamed ‘touch me I’m soft’. And how Qrow wanted to.

Could the Gods really blame him if he did? Adorable and sexy was a dangerous combination and Qrow was but a mere mortal. 

Those ears were also just so oddly fascinating. It seemed Clover had full control over them - a rarity among Faunus with ear traits - able to move them almost in full rotations. In the short time he’d known the other, he’d already seen him angle them up, drop them down, pull them back and even move the two individually from one another.

Even now, they were constantly in movement, angled slightly upward so Clover could rhythmically move them back and forth, almost like a pendulum. Qrow couldn’t stop watching it, as if hypnotized.

The spell broke when they shot straight up.

Then Clover was reaching for his weapon and barking, “Qrow, down!”

It was only decades of instinct and training that had him diving to the floor, Kingfisher’s deadly spear-end swinging scant centimeters above his falling form and plunging straight into the cranium of an emerging Centinel. It gave a chittering cry before bursting into smoke.

Qrow stared at the empty hole left behind in shock.

Clover gave a sigh of relief, drawing back his weapon. “Good reflexes. You alright?” He asked as he offered his hand.

Numbly, Qrow took it, allowing himself to be hauled up. As he caught his footing again, he blurted out, “Did you hear it?”

It was the wrong thing to say, because Clover’s eyes widened marginally, before his ears dropped low. “Yeah. Course I did.” He turned, striding back down the hall, calling without looking back, “Come on, we need to get moving.”

Great going idiot, you made it awkward. Qrow quickened his pace to instead walk next to the other huntsman, wracking his brain desperately on how to save the situation. Change the subject!

“Gotta say, I’m uh,” He started awkwardly as they turned down into a wider tunnel, floundering for something, anything. “Not used to working with other huntsmen on the field…”

Maybe it was just his imagination, but he swore Clover’s left ear perked up ever so slightly, as if giving him his attention. “Really now? I figured people would be falling all over themselves to work with one of the best.”

Something about the way that was said fired off all sorts of warning bells in Qrow’s head, so he was careful as he replied, “Let’s just say my semblance doesn’t make that the easiest thing to do.”

“Hm. What is it?” The question was almost dismissive, like the other was expecting to be fed a line of bullshit.

That was about when Qrow’s mind decided to do something useful and actually work beyond the rampant attraction to figure out what was actually going on.

It was no secret that even in the Hunters Guild, Faunus weren’t well received.   They were often overlooked for high paying gigs and when they did work one, it often didn’t get the news coverage a human huntsman would get. In some districts, it was so bad that mission reports were often outlined with a “No Faunus” requirement and many fellow guild members outright refused to work alongside them on joint missions - or if they did, it was often begrudgingly.

Qrow allowed himself two seconds to feel indignant for being profiled - before quickly letting it go. 

Because he was part of the problem, wasn’t he?

As a huntsman, he had a responsibility that far extended past simply: Kill Grimm, Get lien. With all his prestige and fame, he could easily make headlines by doing missions with some Faunus hunters that wouldn’t be overlooked by the networks. Get the other hunters thinking that ‘if The Great Qrow Branwen will work with Faunus, maybe I should too’.

Ugh. As Tai would say, he needed to set an example.

But he didn’t do that.

He couldn’t do that.

It didn’t erase the fact it gave him a bad look, however unintentional.

So maybe it was all that, that had him admitting something he never intended to, if only because he so desperately wanted Clover to understand him.

Or maybe just have a better reason to hate him that didn’t make him feel like the dregs of the earth.

“It’s… misfortune. I bring bad luck to those around me, whether I want to or not.”

The way Clover’s ears shot up made him tense, almost expecting another order to duck. But when the other only looked at him, nothing given away on that calm and composed face, Qrow realized it wasn’t alarm this time, but surprise. “Does the general know this?”

“Uh. Yeah?” He replied hesitantly. Then, more suspiciously, “Why?”

Clover blinked, then looked away, his stare calculating when he finally said, “Oh nothing, just something he said this morning makes a lot more sense now.” 

Then, slowly, his ears came back down. 

Relaxing. Qrow corrected. Suddenly, he could breathe again.

What happened next blindsighted him entirely.

“Well, don’t worry too much about it.” Clover shot him a grin and a wink. “Let’s just say, you’ve got a very lucky partner.”

So taken aback by the very obvious and sudden flirting, Qrow tripped on his own feet. He yelped as he plummeted head first towards the ice - only to be caught and pulled back up by strong hands. His heart was racing so fast, he was pretty sure his chest was about to implode.

“Whoa now, watch your step.” And Clover was laughing, the absolute bastard. 

It wouldn’t be until the end of the mission that he would find out how literal the other man had been about the lucky part.

Somehow, Qrow couldn’t find it in him to even be that upset about it.

[deepseamuse]

Thinking about making Pokemon designs based on the fervency ROs, here's what I've got so far:

The Physician: Dark/Psychic type, with a plague doctor mask (obviously) and being reminiscent of a raven. Maybe a few fox features too. Colored dark blue and white.

Aubrey: Dark/Ghost type. A skeleton cat, obviously; how could he not be? Along with the white of the bones, there'd be green and gold accents.

Vesa: Dark/Fire type, sort of a fusion of a wolf and a squirrel, very elegant looking. Silver and black with a bit of red.

Narciso: Dark/Water type. This is sort of a weird one because I'm basing it off of an already existing Pokemon. Primarina is very clearly inspired by opera singers, so I thought of making a similar design with a larger body and a stronger inspiration from sirens. (Since another IF- the one I drew the mermaid for a while back- has sirens being created from mermaids that've been consumed by anger. He isn't, but no one would blame him with his backstory.) there'd probably be a few bat features as well, to differentiate it more from Primarina.

Roswhen: Grass/Fairy type. A cute rabbit made of wood with some features resembling a rose, and holes that make it function like a woodwind instrument. It'd kind of look like an ocarina.

Elan is the only one I don't have a particular idea for; definitely part fighting type, and maybe like an exceptionally furry deer. I don't have many ideas beyond that, though. Maybe Normal/Fighting type?

[spotlightstudios]

My mom just showed me the designs from The Masked Singer, and I went on a rant to her about character design for like, 45 minutes.

Not only did the digital renders of the singers (that were advertised btw) look WAY better than the actual costumes worn, but half of them had fundamental changes made by the time they got on stage. (I'm fuming over the fact that they put a unicorn horn *between* the deer antlers on the Jackalope.)

Anyways, I'm no professional, but I think they need to find some new costume production teams, and maybe hire some furries, because I'm going to cry.

(Mind you, this came up because I'm working on a fursuit head, and she said she looked from the TV to my wip and said she knew she had to bring it up with me.)

[wordsbymae]

Here is a continuation of the blood cult au. In the au, I will call each of them by their nickname. (Songbird =Scratch /Boyd's) (Bunny= Leroy/Talon's) (Asmodeus/Clemont's=Wifey)

Leroy Bunny Songbird and Boyd were all in the same orphanage. Songbird left first because she was adopted by a singer who used to be famous. Bunny was then adopted by a regular couple. Then Boyd and Leroy were adopted. Boyd and Leroy had remembered a specific memory tied to them. For songbird it was her trying to sing on what was on an old television set in the orphanage. For Leroy it was a memory of when Bunny was playing with Leroy hide and seek when he was it. The thing on the old TV was phantom of the opera. Songbird tried singing the part of Christine. Leroy always thought of himself as the phantom in phantom of the opera to rescue his Christine from an evil man. Bunny had worn a headband with bunny ears before she was adopted. Also note this when the boys wear their masks. Their hair becomes red with sometimes white strikes. Their lovers all had weird dreams involving a woman in their dreams. Wifey met a woman with deer antlers with butterflies on the antlers wearing a long dress. The deer woman was Viviana. Bunny met a nun who was holding a rabbit like a baby. The woman was named melangell. Songbird met a woman named Euterpe who was holding an umbrella which covered her eyes and was wearing a long following gown. After this, Wifey, a teacher of a school for the disabled, wanted to try dating went on a blind date turned out the guy was a player so the date didn't work. Songbird went to practice for her role again. Bunny woke up and was walking in the woods until she saw a wounded rabbit. Bunny noticed an eagle trying to get near the rabbit so Bunny went to stop the bird's attack. Bunny nursed the rabbit back to health and released it back but as Bunny turned back the eagle caught the rabbit but never ate it. In stead the eagle brought the rabbit to it's nest. That fate might fall upon Bunny when their not on guard.

This is so cool! I love the dreams that they all have and the meaning behind them! I do love childhood friends to separate to a reunion but one of them isn't all there anymore. this is such a cool AU and thank you for telling me all about it!

Lots of love mae xx

[memento-morianon]

memento mori book 1 chapter 7 draft

masterpost of rough draft chapters over here.

cw for drunkenness and violence towards the end of the chapter.

(one of the clan elders stands on stage and hushes the gathered guests. I never did work out an idea of what they say to open the dance ceremony. Something about the death of He-esh, probably. A few words about him. Probably an introduction to the concepts that will be illustrated in the dance, or something about ancestors. Hm. I’ll figure it out eventually. At any rate, the musicians start their quiet music. They have drums made of wood and hide, and string instruments. I was thinking, like, a harp made on a pair of elk antlers with a hollow wooden piece for resonance. Bone flutes are classic, of course, but I worry it will come across a little stereotypical, while the idea of orcs making string instruments with all that sinew and using bones/antlers/wood for the resonance chambers would be more interesting. Also there is at least one non-magic singer here, reciting a prayer of guidance and telling the story of how spirits are guided to the afterlife.)

The singer’s voice rose in a mournful cry, expressing the grief of losing a loved one and pleading for comfort. K’arik emerged from the shadows behind the stage, hunched over and covered in a massive cedar shroud. He stepped as delicately as a deer, so quick and subtle he seemed to float over the stage until he reached the center.

Though he could not hear the song, Evarin knew he relied on the feeling of the drum beats resonating through the hollow stage to keep his time. He turned in a steady circle, pulling the shroud apart and dropping it around his feet as he straightened up and turned a few quicker circles on his toes. His skin was coated in white powder, with red and black painted symbols on his face to connect him with He-esh’s spirit. The costume he wore was made of loose layers of white hide and wool, swirling around him and sparkling with metal beads. At the back of his head, he wore an antler headpiece tucked tightly into his hair, holding a circle of woven cedar above him to represent the soul of the dead. Most importantly of all, he wore a neck collar of leather and bone where He-esh’s tusks were carefully tied in place.

Finishing his spins, K’arik paused and looked this way and that, raising his hands as if he was asking for help. Evarin’s ears perked, catching the light sound of Morianon’s clattering beads as he hopped onto stage. The song turned to the takran, telling the tale of the guiding bird, he who lead hunters to their quarry and spirits to their rest. Morianon’s head was hidden under a mask of wood and leather, shaped like a takran’s skull. He bobbed his head as he moved, taking short, bouncing steps across the stage. He kept his arms tucked under the top of his costume, where beaded embroidery drew the shape of a ribcage on the dark fabric. The music picked up speed to match the energy of the takran, plucked notes and short drum taps accentuating Morianon’s dance. When he reached K’arik, he circled around his friend, leaning down like he was pecking the discarded shroud here and there. K’arik waited for him to stop, and then they turned and bowed to each other.

A strike of the strings cued the guiding dance. A test of improvisational skill that proved the bond between the dancers and the spirits, granting safe passage for the dead as they entered the afterlife. Evarin leaned forward, watching her loved ones dance and show off their skills together. Morianon lead the dance, using his wings like arms to gesture and cue K’arik into each new step. He turned circles and kicked his feet, stopping and jumping back. K’arik followed every motion, eyes locked on his tiny friend, reacting so quickly the delay between Morianon’s steps and his was almost imperceptible.

The audience clapped to the rhythm of the dance, lending their own power to the synchronicity. Evarin’s heart raced to the beat as well, feeling the energy of the crowd grow and spill over. Whether the spirits of the dead were in attendance or not, she didn’t have the ability to tell, but she could feel the swell of her own soul, connecting her to the people around her, connecting all of them to the earth beneath their feet.

Morianon and K’arik danced around the fallen shroud, expanding the circle of their dance further and further away from it. Their feet struck the stage like another set of drums, echoing in the hollow space. Both of their costumes clattered and jangled as their beads swung around, joined by the rippling flap of leather and cloth.

Morianon’s spring molt was too fresh to scatter feathers with every step, but a few still fell loose and spun in the air, tossed by the breeze of Morianon and K’arik’s feet.

So the belief went, a dance that was more complicated brought better luck for the dead and the living alike. It wasn’t enough for the two dancers to merely stay in time with each other; an easy dance was a careless one. For a soul as beloved as He-esh, Morianon and K’arik were using every skill in their shared arsenal. Twirling leaps and skipping steps, sudden halts and reversed motion. The only moves they left out were the sort that only Morianon was capable of, and Evarin was already tense with anticipation for the solo dance he would show off in the second half.

At last, as the song came to a peak, full of gratitude for the guiding birds and the ancestors who welcomed the dead into their arms, Morianon lead K’arik back to center stage and turned another circle around him, ending the dance. They bowed to each other again and Morianon sent K’arik to the shadows behind the stage, flapping his wings and shaking his head. The crowd and the music hushed, but the drums kept their beat as Morianon looked out into the hall. He dipped his head again, stepping around the fallen shroud and mimicking a takran’s curious pecking once more. He stood in the center of it and lifted himself to his fullest height, wings spread wide. The song rose in volume, telling of the scavengers who feast on the dead, taking nourishment and returning flesh to the earth. Morianon flapped his wings and shook his beads again, taking a deep breath and letting out a few short, wordless howls; the call of a hungry takran.

His call cued in the next song and the wolf dancers waiting at the sides of the stage; mostly orcs, but there were a few dwarves and elves in the mix. The drums were barely audible beneath the sound of so many feet thundering over the stage. Two circles of wolf dancers, all clad in browns and greys with wooden masks, ran past each other in a frenzied dance, leaping and shouting as they picked up the cedar shroud and began to tear it apart, tucking the shreds into the belts that criss-crossed their costumes. The audience joined their shouting song, clapping again and stomping their feet. It nearly brought Evarin to her toes before she felt the edge of the seat below her and thought twice.

Morianon had vanished in the circles of wolves, catching his breath, but he wove his way back out and danced around them. After a full turn of the stage, he gave the audience the show they had all been waiting to see. Letting a non-orc dance the part of the takran was against tradition, in every way. The guiding dance was sacred, always performed by a spirit dancer who was deeply connected to the deceased, and a takran dancer who could match that bond to lead the dance. Morianon only ever came to the role when K’arik’s family requested it, but many of the other clan members had asked him to dance as the takran during the wolf circles alone, trading places with their own traditional dancers at the end of the guiding dance.

Morianon leapt into the air with a flap of his wings, performing an aerial twirl and landing on another dancer’s shoulders. He bent low and bounced from dancer to dancer, occasionally leaning down and stealing cedar shreds from whoever he was perched on. The trickster takran, summoning the wolves to a corpse only so they could tear it open and give him access. The audience laughed and whooped as Morianon performed aerobatic stunts and rode the shoulders of the wolf dancers even as they spun and tried to shoo him off. No other dancer in the clan or in town was able to match him. He performed a flip off one wolf's shoulders and landed on another dancer, shaking his head playfully. Evarin laughed and cheered for him, standing on her seat to stomp her approval, much to the amusement of those nearby who recognized her.

The shouts from the crowd and the dancers turned into howls as the energy of the room burst. Tears poured down every cheek, laughter and sobs breaking out in tandem. The wolves brought their dance to its final steps, gathering at the back of the stage and twirling as they brought K’arik back out to the center. They all dropped to their knees and howled loud and long. Morianon landed at the front of the stage and spread his wings again, inviting the audience to join the mourning howl.

It was impossible to pick out individual voices in the howl; Evarin could hardly identify her own cry in the cacophony. She called to her ancestors; her grandparents and great-grandparents and all who came before her, calling out to let them know she had not forgotten, that she could still feel their blood in her veins and their names in her heart.

The voice of the crowd filled the room and left with the hearth smoke, carried up into the darkened sky. It faded into gasps and coughs and slowly the hall fell silent again, everyone staring up into the shadowy rafters and breathing deep. Morianon folded his wings and bowed himself to the floor, leaving K’arik the only dancer still on his feet. K’arik sighed, closing his eyes. His face paint was streaked from his tears.

While everyone was quiet, the elder returned to the stage and tapped his staff, bringing everyone’s attention to the lone echoing thud. (and then he says another special speech/prayer thing to wrap up this ceremony.)

K’arik’s brother came to the stage as the dancers all hurried off to the sides, returning to the changing rooms. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly, signing for those who could not hear.

“Thank you all for coming. I am sure my grandfather has seen and heard you all. May as’els soul be at peace and have joy amongst our ancestors. Now, I and my family ask that you please enjoy the feast! There is more than enough food and drink for everyone! Anyone who wishes to tell stories of He-esh can gather at the stage and entertain us with their tales. And as you grow tired, you may follow the path of blue rune lights outside to our guest halls. Thank you again.” He stepped down from the stage and into the crowd, exchanging greetings and hugs with those who approached him. Evarin wiped the tears from her cheeks and hopped down from her seat, weaving her way to the side of the stage where Morianon had vanished.

She watched a few other dancers emerge first, all still wearing most of their costume pieces. A few guests passed her by as well and expressed their appreciation for Morianon’s dance. She waved them off politely, thanking them, and continued to wait. Soon enough, Morianon and K’arik both left the changing rooms alongside a few of their fellow dancers. K’arik’s face was smudged from the rush to remove his paint and come back to the party. He was the only dancer who had changed into a fully normal outfit, save for his tusk necklace.

“Ev! I could hear you in the crowd,” Morianon hopped off the stage and nibbled at her sideburns lovingly. “I’m starving, are you?”

“Hungry enough,” she laughed.

“I just need to take care of these, and I’ll be right over at the buffet,” Morianon continued, holding up the fistful of cedar shreds he had stolen off the wolf dancers. Evarin nodded and followed him with the other dancers, pausing here and there as guests stepped in to thank each dancer, and especially Morianon and K’arik, for their parts.

Upon reaching the hearth in the middle of the room, every wolf dancer took their portions of the cedar shroud and threw them into the fire, watching the sparks and smoke rise through the chimney hole above. Morianon tossed his fistful into the flames with a solemn but satisfied look on his face, staring at the pieces as they burned and watching the embers fly into the night sky.

“You danced beautifully,” Evarin murmured, leaning into his shoulder. She didn’t mind the dark smudges his wings put on her clothes and cheek.

“Thanks.” Morianon sighed and stepped away from the hearth. K’arik tapped his shoulder and signed a brief message.

“Thank you for dancing with me again. Go get yourself a plate. I’ll be with my family, or maybe with other friends, if you want to join me for the rest of the party.”

“Of course,” Morianon replied, and Evarin nodded in agreement. K’arik twitched his snout and blew a soft snort as a friendly farewell before he stood up straight again and disappeared into the crowd. Evarin and Morianon made their own way through the room, finding the buffet tables and all their bounty.

There were tables of different heights, all piled with the same delicious food (and drink. Blackberry wine, liquor made from pine needles, probably some form of mead, maybe even sunflower liquor? I don’t want everything to always be blackberries and pine, but they certainly are commonplace here). Roasted meat and fish, biscuits and flatbread, jam and dried fruit and jars of pickled things. Evarin wrinkled her snout at the smell of the pickle jars, all of them open for easy access. Morianon gleefully picked out a platter of fish and began to swallow them in large chunks without hesitation. He reached for a jar of pickled fish, but Evarin stopped him with a sharp look and he pulled his hand back.

“It’s a party,” he pouted, “I can eat what I want.”

“And you’ll still get the same consequence you do at home; no sleeping near me or preening my face or any kisses as long as you’ve got pickled fish breath.” Evarin narrowed her eyes at him and he huffed but left the pickled fish alone. Evarin gathered herself a plate of food; strips of roasted elk and handfuls of dried fruit. She glanced over the drinks, humming thoughtfully to herself before she poured a cup of sweet pine liquor. It was a mild drink, far less troublesome than the blackberry wine or the goblin whiskey; almost non-alcoholic compared to the dizzying intoxication of pixie mead. Of which, she noted, there was none on the tables, though she was certain there would still be a few bottles of it quietly making their way around the room, especially as the night grew late enough for those with young children to leave the party.

From the area near the stage, laughter rippled out into the crowd. Guests were getting up one by one, or two or three— some of them already half drunk— telling stories from their memories of He-esh. It was hard to hear the details over the chatter that filled the room, but already someone had started a tale of He-esh traveling north and fighting off a bull moose barehanded, while guests near the stage shouted exaggerated edits to the story. One bull moose, then five, then it all happened in the middle of a blizzard. Evarin snorted into her drink as the crowd burst into raucous laughter at the addition that He-esh had been nude during the entire blizzard brawl against several raging bull moose.

“I’ve got to get up there,” Morianon said with a gleeful lilt. He scarfed down a few more chunks of fish but carried his plate with him to the stage. Evarin followed, eyes gleaming humorously. She nodded to other people she recognized along the way; friends and family scattered in the crowded room, all having their own conversations and eating as they talked.

She sat on a bench as Morianon took his place in line. He bounced on his toes, eagerly waiting his turn. (insert possible other funny He-esh stories here I guess) [and then it’s Mori’s turn. For the sake of convenience, just know he is signing everything as well as speaking it cuz that’s how things go here]

“It’s always an honor to dance for this clan,” Morianon started, getting a few cheers from the audience, “I might never have done it, if I hadn’t met He-esh and had as’el introduce me to K’arik. But, you know, I was absolutely terrified of He-esh at first.” The crowd chortled, many of them probably remembering their own first meetings with Morianon. Evarin couldn’t help a quiet chuckle at her memory of the new Larak child hiding behind a fence post or a taller family member every time she had tried to say hello. “As’e was so much bigger than me,” Morianon continued, gesturing far above his own head, “I could have hung a rope swing on as’els tusks!”

“Big as a tree!” someone shouted.

“Coulda put a whole rope bridge between those tusks!” another voice called out.

“I never would, of course, for fear that as’e might swallow me whole!” Morianon plucked a small roast trout off his plate and ate it in a single gulp. Laughter bubbled over in the crowd, some guests clapping and goading him into doing it again. He repeated the trick twice more before he held his hands up and tried to finish his story. “Oh yes, I was terrified of He-esh. But I conquered my fear after a few fishy bribes, and now who else in this room can say they’ve sat on that old man’s head and used as’els hair for a nest?” He laughed with the crowd and ducked off the stage, making way for the next person in line. Several folks stopped him with friendly shoulder pats, all chuckling and thanking him for his role in the dance.

“Feel better?” Evarin giggled as Morianon returned to her side, eyes gleaming with tears of laughter and grief.

“Much,” he replied, “did you want a turn?”

“No, I’m fine.” She sipped the last of her drink carefully, letting the bittersweet taste roll over her tongue. Pine liquor had an acrid undertone to it; a unique sort of flavor that made it a less popular drink than the fruity, sweeter things. Evarin found it refreshing, like a breath of cold air that left the mouth feeling oddly dry yet satisfied. It brought her mind back to the funeral of her paternal grandfather; far more solemn and quiet, with only a meager spread of bitter food and drinks.

Morianon kept his eyes on the stage, chuckling softly as someone else told the story of He-esh feeding a flock of takran until as’e was half buried in dark feathers.

“Oh, while I was up there, I spotted K’arik. He’s with his friends, and I think I saw Kith and Ashe with them as well.”

“Are they? Lead the way then.” She followed Morianon back through the crowded room, pausing to drop their plates and cups in the bin by the kitchen door.

K’arik’s family had separated into the crowd, but he stood in a small group with his friends, close enough to a wall bench that they could leave their plates and drinks aside while they conversed. Kith and Ashe spotted Morianon and Evarin first, waving them over and bringing them to the attention of the rest of the group.

“I watched your story,” K’arik signed with a breathy chuckle, “thank you.”

“I haven’t seen you go up there yet,” Morianon replied. “I’m not ready for it,” K’arik responded, turning his glance aside. Morianon tilted his head sympathetically and left Evarin’s side to climb up onto a wall bench nearby so he could join the conversation circle.

“Take your time,” he assured K’arik, “I’m here.”

“We’ve been passing around our own stories,” one of the others signed, “Morianon, have you heard about that time He-esh was so drunk on pixie mead as’e forgot who Elkha was?”

“And Elkha thought it was so funny, they both just flirted like strangers all day?” Morianon ruffled his feathers in amusement, while another friend picked up the story and continued it.

Evarin was quickly distracted from the conversation by Ashe and Kith, the latter of whom crouched down to be closer to her wife’s height.

“We’ve hardly had a chance to see you since yesterday,” Kith lamented. “Have you recovered alright from singing?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Evarin patted her friend’s large hand. “You don’t need to worry over me, you know. Singing is my job, I’m used to it.”

“Oh, we’re supposed to worry over our best friend,” Ashe chided. Evarin shrugged.

“I really am fine. I slept off the headache. But anyway, how have you two been?”

“It’s been hectic over here,” Kith replied, “all the party setup and everything. That fellow, Amahr, I kept seeing an-hil around the village all day, just watching everyone. It’s unnerving. I haven’t felt so small since I was a kid.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel,” Ashe teased, grinning widely. “My clan’s elders have also been trying to talk to Amahr all day. Don’t know how well it’s going.” She shrugged. “It would be amazing if our people managed to establish trade with the centaurs; I’m sure they have a wealth of resources to share, and I can only imagine what they’d want from us in return.” She craned her neck to stare into the crowd, but it wasn’t hard to see the centaur towering over everyone else. An-hil was lingering near the buffet, holding a jar and poking the contents with a narrow fork.

“Can you imagine having access to centaur fabric?” Evarin mused, “The weave on Amahr’s clothing is gorgeous. I think it rivals the work I’ve seen from elves, maybe even drow. If they traded with your folks for beading, and with the drow for silk—“ she caught herself rambling and ducked her head, blushing slightly. Ashe and Kith giggled.

“You sound like your dad,” Ashe said, waving her hand, “he was over here recently going on and on about that tapestry.” Evarin blushed harder and frowned, the hair on her neck bristling slightly as she recalled Ikar’s comment before the party. Ashe blinked and looked apologetic.

“Sorry, I meant it as a compliment.”

“No, it’s not—“ Evarin sighed, “you’ve said nothing wrong. I think the liquor’s getting to me, that’s all,” she muttered, though she had only had the one drink. “It’s just, well, I had an encounter with Ikar before the party and he made a comment about how I take after my father’s side. Kinda got to me, but probably not for the reason he intended, since he doesn’t actually know me.” She caught herself touching the day-old stubble on her jaw, and shook her head reactively. “It’s just been a long couple of days.” Ashe and Kith gave her a sympathetic look and patted her shoulders gently.

“Has anyone told you today how lovely you look in that outfit?” Kith awkwardly interjected. “I’ve always liked how you look in dark red, you know, it’s a good color on you.”

“Oh, good topic switch, Kith, very smooth,” Evarin snorted, “but no, you’re the first. Thank you.”

“I’ve got a better topic,” Ashe said, “tell us about your summer plans, huh? Tropical forests for your anniversary? I’m so jealous.”

“We’re very excited!” Evarin perked up, glancing at Morianon while he laughed at a joke she had missed. “He’s been in contact with someone there for years now, and they’ve helped us work out a lot of details. A place to stay, a guide who knows our language. I know Mori had it rough last time he visited his birth country, but this time I think it will go better.”

“Well, of course. Wasn’t he there for work last time? Always better to go somewhere for love than work,” Ashe laughed, “but you must bring home a few souvenirs! And tell us absolutely everything when you come home!”

“I will, I will!” Evarin waved her hand and rolled her eyes playfully. [oh look a transition paragraph! Or something! Scene change, go! Time for chaos!]

Polite conversation and amused chatter all faltered and stuttered into awkward silence as one angry voice rose over the crowd, slurred and stumbling. Evarin’s ears pricked and she craned her neck to see what was going on. K’arik and his friends didn’t react at first, oblivious to the sudden shift in the room until Morianon alerted them to it and those of them who could hear a little noticed how silent the crowd had become. Above the rest, Amahr was visibly stunned, leaning closer to the wall while he continued to eat from the jar in his hand. “What’s going on over there?” Kith stood up on her toes to see better. Whispers traveled in waves through the quiet crowd, bringing the trouble to even the farthest corners of the hall.

“Ikar’s gone into a drunken rage,” someone hissed to the group, waving down K’arik’s attention and signing their message to him. “Your uncle is causing a scene; he’s just insulted He-esh.” They hesitated and their posture shrunk, eyes falling to the side. “He said He-esh was a fool for choosing you as an heir.” [I will work out more details on the early part of Ikar’s rant later. Right now I’m just gonna focus on the parts that are most relevant to the main characters here.] K’arik’s ears flattened and he straightened his back, jaw and shoulders set tight in anger. The hair on Evarin’s spine bristled at the sight; her dear gentle friend’s eyes were sharp as warrior’s glare, his soft demeanor replaced with the power and purpose of a leader ready to defend his loved ones.

Morianon leapt into the rafters, traveling over the crowd to reach the scene of the conflict. Ikar’s voice was slurred and muffled behind the mass of guests. K’arik strode through the crowd with ease, parting them with a gentle hand as he approached his uncle. Evarin took advantage of the gap in his wake to make her own way to the scene. She ducked into the open area where Ikar stood facing his siblings, red in the face and baring his tusks. His wife stood near him, holding his arm like she had been trying to lead him away, but he stubbornly remained where he was.

“Nothing but foolish choices!” he ranted, “as’e went soft from old age, we all know it. It’s an insult to our whole clan! My own family has been passed over, all for you and yours.” He waved a hand at Th’elir, scoffing at her. “Couldn’t even pick your eldest, had to pick the one that can’t hold a conversation without help!”

“Ikar, if you say one more thing about my son-” Th’elir growled, snout raised in threat, fully baring her own tusks. Ikar huffed, spitting on the dirt floor. He turned and glared at K’arik, who had just emerged from the crowd and fixed his gaze on his uncle.

“I know you know how to sign.” K’arik remarked cooly, staring down his snout and gesturing with sharp motions. “If you want to insult me, do it directly.” The whole hall fell into a quiet chill, despite the press of warm bodies and the hearth fire in the middle. Apart from whispers passing details to those who couldn’t see, everyone was as silent and still as a hunter’s trap waiting to snap closed. Ikar sneered at K’arik, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he snapped in hasty sign, “you want the truth? This clan doesn’t need any leader who shares his bed with outsiders and the children of traitors.” He jerked his chin towards Morianon and set his glare on Evarin. She bared her teeth reactively, revealing the blunted tips of her own filed-down tusks. Morianon dropped from the rafter to land beside her, all his feathers flat on his skin, holding his wings out defensively.

“He’s not worth it,” Morianon muttered under his breath, “this isn’t our fight.” By the way his hands tightened on her arms, Evarin knew he was speaking to himself as much as to her. She backed into the crowd slightly and soon heard her parents’ hushed voices as they hurried through the masses to reach her and stand by her side. K’arik remained stoic, eyes still cold as he stared down his uncle.

“I expected better from one of my own predecessors,” he replied, “did we not learn diplomacy from the same man? I looked up to you, once.”

“You’re as much of a fool as my father,” Ikar retorted, “abandoning our traditions and our clan. Our ancestors used to be lead by great warriors! Now we follow softhearted fools who rely on gentle words and magic rituals.” He snorted and stamped his foot in a challenge. His wife stepped back from him, face contorted in offended disgust. [I didn’t make it very clear earlier, but she is a spiritual leader in her own clan and very much relies on magic rituals. She also outranks him in her own clan]. Izune clicked his tongue dismissively.

“What under the Sun’s burning gaze does he think he’s on about?” he muttered, and Th’elir shushed him. Evarin shook her head in agreement, feeling the tension in the room rise to a suffocating degree.

“Ikar!” Th’elir moved forward, answering his challenge with a stomp. “How long will you insult our family and our clan? You’re the only fool I see here.” She lowered her head, tusks forward. K’arik’s tusks were curled like his grandfather’s, tips facing his own cheeks. But Th’eilr’s tusks jutted forward like a pair of curved knives, poised for battle.

“Don’t pretend you’re better than me, little sister,” Ikar growled, “you’ve stolen what should have been mine. You’re not fit to lead, and your son will destroy everything our ancestors valued! He’s weak! You’re weak! I’m the one who should be leading this clan!” He abandoned the sign language to shout his last words, but if he had anything more to say, Th’elir slammed it out of his throat in a split second. The crowd came to life with shrieks of fear and shock. K’arik lost his cool demeanor and rushed forward with a gasping cry.

Th’elir’s mouth was around her brother’s neck, her hands on his arms, and her momentum shoved him back against the nearest support pillar. He coughed, blinking in delayed surprise. K’arik, his father, and his older brother all hurried to Th’elir’s side, but she stood back on her own, blood dripping from her tusks. Ikar grabbed his throat and stumbled, leaning against the pillar. There was fear in his hazy eyes, and his breath sounded ragged.

“By the Mountain’s great glacial tits!” Izune exclaimed, clutching at his own throat to grab the pendant he wore. “What— !?”

“Watch your tongue,” Tawei hissed, her hands tight on her husband and daughter’s shoulders. Izune gestured wildly at the scene in front of them but lowered his voice.

“Watch my tongue? I almost just watched a murder!”

“Hush!” Tawei hardly seemed to be paying attention to him anyway, her eyes wide and her whole body tense as she stared at Ikar. He stood up shakily, lifting his hand to his eyes and staring in disbelief at the blood staining his palm. It dribbled from the puncture wounds Th’elir had inflicted, coloring his collar as it seeped into his tanned hide shirt.

“Ikar,” Th’elir snapped, lifting her head, “you have insulted this clan again and again. You insult me, my family, and our father. As the clan matriarch, I banish you from this land. If you ever dare show your face to us again, it had better be kissing the dirt to apologize for everything you have done and said.” She huffed, still breathing heavy from her sudden burst of action. No one else spoke a word.

“Th’elir,” Ikar coughed, glaring back. She snorted at him, stomping her foot in warning.

“You are no longer my brother,” she spat, “get out of my home now.” She stood back and her family moved with her, all of them shifting their gaze between her and Ikar, their expressions a blend of shock and resolution. Evarin felt her own breath catch and release in a stunned gasp. Morianon held her close, wings trembling.

Ikar’s wife avoided eye contact with Th’elir’s family as she grabbed her husband’s arm and pulled him away, leading him forcefully out of the hall. Their two sons were still in the crowd with their own wives, confusion and fear crossing their faces. Th’elir turned to them and sighed.

“I have no quarrel with you, nephews,” she tutted, “only with your father. Where you go now is your own choice.” She shook her head and reached up to touch her tusks, staring at the blood that came off on her fingers like she had never seen it before. Tears welled up in her eyes and poured silently down her cheeks. He husband wrapped his arms around her and lead her to a bench, sitting her down gently. K’arik and his brother looked at each other and turned to the crowd, holding up their hands for attention.

“Forgive the interruption,” K’arik signed, and his brother spoke the words for those who could not see, “emotions run high in the wake of grief. Please, remain with us as long as you are able. Our guests houses are still open to everyone, and there is plenty of food and drink to go around.” K’arik’s hands trembled but he pressed on. “We truly appreciate your presence here. To see such a large and diverse crowd at our grandfather’s funeral means more to us than we can say. Thank you all.” He dropped his hands, and his brother put an arm around his shoulders.

The crowd murmured in hushed tones, shuffling back to their conversations. Some left the party, disappearing into the cold night air. Evarin still felt shock clutching her heart and she could only focus on steadying her breath. Tawei’s eyes hadn’t left the doorway since Ikar had been banished. She humphed quietly.

“Well. May the moonlight guide him home,” she said in a haughty tone, nodding sharply. Izune grunted in annoyance.

“Oh sure,” he muttered to Evarin, “she tells me to watch my tongue.” Evarin coughed out a short laugh.

“Mom’s just more elegant with it than you are,” she whispered back. Izune rolled his eyes. He tapped Tawei’s shoulder and turned properly to Morianon and Evarin.

“I was hoping to leave soon, but I think we might have to stick around a little longer after all that,” he said. Tawei nodded, her expression falling into one of sympathy.

“This is my family too,” she murmured, “I should stay and offer support.”

“We were going to spend the night with K’arik again,” Morianon replied, “I don’t know how long he’ll want to stay here.”

“We’ll be alright,” Evarin assured her parents, “you do what you need to do, and we’ll handle ourselves. If we don’t see each other again before the morning, I guess this is goodnight.” She held her arms out and her parents embraced her, pulling Morianon into the hug. The crowd around them was still buzzing over the altercation with Ikar, but they paid it no mind, separating to different parts of the room.

Morianon lead the way to K’arik’s side, tapping his arm for attention. K’arik crouched beside his small friends, cheeks gleaming with tears. “I think we all knew it was coming,” he signed in small gestures, “but it still hurt.” He looked over his shoulder, where his mother was surrounded by the rest of their family. His brother sighed, clearing his throat.

“We’ll find a way to handle this,” he replied, “we’ll soon have other reasons to celebrate, and Ikar won’t be there to cause any more harm.” He patted K’arik’s shoulder and lifted him to his feet. “You are brave, my brother, and stronger than Ikar could ever understand. I am glad to have you by my side as a leader of this clan.” They hugged each other tightly, tears freely falling down their cheeks. Morianon and Evarin waited at their sides, lightly touching K’arik’s waist in support. When he pulled away from the hug, he turned to them with an apologetic frown.

“I don’t think I can stay here much longer,” he admitted, “don’t let me keep you from the party.”

“We wanted to go with you anyway,” Morianon replied, standing straight and ruffling his feathers. K’arik’s eyes softened and he nodded.

“I’ll say goodnight to my family first,” he signed, and then turned and walked away with his brother. Evarin and Morianon waited, watching him enter the embrace around Th’elir. The crowd gave their family a wide berth, allowing them their privacy. Evarin didn’t try to track how long it took for K’arik to return and walk with her and Morianon out into the night.

In silence, they followed the dimly lit paths back to Karik’s family home, passing by other guests who chose to linger at the central bonfire rather than dealing with the crowds. The family home was just as silent and even more empty. The younger chidren had long since gone to sleep and no one sat awake around the hearth. In K’arik’s room, under the soft rune light, Morianon had Evarin help him out of his costume. K’arik delicately placed his grandfather’s tusks on a shelf, letting his fingers trail over the curled ivory before he left them alone and turned out the light.

Though Morianon’s wings were still stained black, Evarin and K’arik snuggled against his feathers as they all laid down together, curling around each other in the pile of furs. Evarin’s chest ached with grief and worry for her friend, more than it had after He-esh’s death. She rested her head on K’arik’s palm, wrapping her arm around his, and kissed his fingers. Morianon stretched his wings over both of them, as if he could shield them from their grief while they all drifted to sleep with tears staining their cheeks.

[incorrectmaskedsinger]

Hippo: Here's what I wonder about zombies.

Hippo: What happens if they can't get any human flesh to eat? They can't starve to death, they're already dead.

Deer, to Peacock: You take this one. I spent an hour last night on "How do vampires shave when they can't see themselves in the mirror?"

Peacock: Well-groomed vampires meet in pairs and shave each other. Case closed.

[bubblybumblebee44]

Deer: Truth or dare?

Rabbit: Truth.

Deer: How many hours have you slept this week?

Rabbit: Dare.

Deer: Go to sleep.

Rabbit: I don't like this game.

[cbab-freak]

Happy (Late!) Birthday to TeruTeru Hanamura and Deer! (Aka Terry Bradshaw)

[fill-me-with-your-memes-daddy]

*goes to the grocery store in this*