#the horses are usually depicted as lesser

[juniemunie]

*taps this harder*

Is how to train your dragon a horse girl movie?

[whencyclopedia]

The Origins of British Pub Names

Pubs remain a prominent feature of the rural and urban landscapes of Britain, but their names very often date back to medieval times. Red lions, white horses, and colourful characters peer from pub signs as landlords choose names to represent local history, legends, landmarks, national figures, or simply imply their drinking establishment has a long and prestigious heritage.

This article presents the meaning behind some of the most common pub names seen across Britain from Penzance to the Hebrides. According to The Wordsworth Dictionary of Pub Names, there were over 50,000 pubs in Britain at the beginning of the 21st century. The same source identifies the top 20 pub names. Red Lion, Crown, and Royal Oak are the top three, then (in alphabetical order) Anchor, Angel, Bell, Bull, Coach & Horses, George, George & Dragon, King's Head, Nelson, New Inn, Plough, Railway, Rose & Crown, Swan, Duke of Wellington, White Hart, and White Horse (269). As the appeal of pubs and inns has widened to other countries, many of the traditional British pub names can be seen today around the world from New York to Melbourne.

English Pub Signs

Mark Cartwright (CC BY-NC-SA)

The pub names below have been selected because they are especially common, their meaning is obscure, or the history behind them is of particular interest. Self-explanatory but, nevertheless, very common names such as Hop & Grape, Jolly Sailors, or Duke of Marlborough are omitted for want of space. As shall be seen, many variations of a name are possible, even in broad meaning, but a local would always have known the precise significance of their pub's name since, from the late Middle Ages until the mid-19th century, when most of the population was illiterate, it was the pub's sign which gave the establishment its name (and not vice-versa, as is usually the case today). Pub signs, which were made obligatory by a 1393 law, can take the form of a painting, a representation in wrought iron, a three-dimensional model, or even a weather-worn example of the object itself.

Anchor

The name Anchor is, naturally, most popular by the coast where fishing traditions are strongest. However, the name was also common for pubs near canals, particularly overnight stops for barges carrying goods such as coal and wine between towns and cities. The name can be qualified by all sorts of adjectives related to seafaring such as Foul Anchor (used to rescue a ship in distress), Sheet Anchor (a ship's largest and most reliable anchor), and Raffled Anchor (an entangled anchor). For extra cachet, the name might be upgraded to Royal Anchor. A lesser-known significance of the name is when it is used in reference to Saint Paul who, in the Bible, mentions that faith is like an anchor and gives hope, hence the pub name Anchor of Hope. As the colour blue is symbolic of hope, pub signs for this name very often depict a blue anchor. Finally, there is the common variation Crown & Anchor, which refers to the arms of the Lord High Admiral and the badge of petty officers in the Royal Navy.

Continue reading...

[huramuna]

the calico bastard - chapter 3.

 aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) previous part | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, depictions & descriptions of death

wordcount: 3.4k

a/n: alys rivers doesn’t exist in this universe, alysanne takes her place somewhat. a/n 2: this is my first fic, i got the courage to post it -- please be nice n' leave a like if this interests you!

art by me of alysanne • an edit by me of alysanne as a child • aesthetic board

wuthering heights - kate bush • leave me for dead - GAYLE

Alysanne didn’t get much sleep that night, not after what she’d seen— the future and the present. 

She paced around her small room until the light trickled from the horizon. Aemond’s harrowing screams echoed in her ears, her chest heaving and falling. 

There had only been one time before she had such a violent vision. 

It was eight years before— Alysanne was only ten years of age, just an unloved bastard girl of Harrenhal. 

Except, she had one who loved her. The only one. 

“Pick me up, pick me up!” Alysanne cried gleefully, “Breakthbonthes, pick me up!” she held her arms up, her words whistling through the gap in her baby teeth— she’d yet to lose those last few teeth right at the front, causing an admittedly quite silly lisp. 

Ser Harwin Strong— her brother, or half-brother as it may be, had returned to Harrenhal after a long time away. 

Her father, too, had returned— but Alysanne could care less, they were indifferent to one another. 

But Harwin— Harwin was hers, her brother, the only person to ever treat her like a person, like she wasn’t lesser. 

She ran on bare feet out to the gates, jumping and waving her arms as she saw the procession arrive. The little girl would recognize the curly mop and mountainous build of her brother anywhere. 

“Ah, my little lilac!” Harwin boomed from atop his horse, spurring the stallion into the gates, “By the Seven, Alysanne, you’ve grown.” 

“The maesther says I’m too schmall for my age,” she grumbled, kicking up dirt. 

“Ahh, and what does he know, anyhow?” Harwin grinned, dismounting his horse and leaving the reins to the stablehand. “The poor sod can hardly see past those caterpillars of eyebrows atop his head, eh?” 

Alysanne giggled, putting her arms up once more, “Please pick me up— wanna be thall… t-tall,” she tried to correct, spitting a bit through her gapped teeth. 

Harwin chuckled— it was a rich, soothing sound. His whole body seemed to erupt with the joy he brought as he laughed, like a deep and generous clap of thunder before the skies opened up. 

Alysanne felt her heart rattle around in her chest at the noise. 

“Let me get this heavy armor off, lilac,” he hummed, “C’mon, tell me about what you’ve been up to.” 

Alysanne skipped and hopped alongside Harwin as they walked through the courtyard, where he left his armor at the smith to be polished. She babbled on about the books she read, the birds she saw, and any innocuous thing she could conjure up. 

Each thing, no matter how small, boring, or insignificant it may be, Harwin would respond, whether in agreement, asking a question, anything at all— anything to make Alysanne feel special. 

“Alright— c’mere, little lilac,” Harwin finally acquiesced, kneeling down slightly. 

Alysanne squealed in delight as he ran into his arms— only to be met with darkness. 

A cold, withering darkness. Usually, being encapsulated by Harwin was warm— warm and bright, like the sunniest summer day.

But she felt cold— cold like the North was, colder than anything she felt before, like after a flame had been extinguished. 

Then, her vision went red— red, orange, yellow, crackling fire— warm, warm, too warm. Hot, hot— it was smoldering, she was screaming, feeling the skin melt from her bones and char into ash— and she wasn’t the only one screaming. 

She heard the cries of men— two very familiar to her— 

Harwin, Harwin— open the door, open the door, brother, please! She screamed and clawed at the door until it melted before her into glowing lava, sizzling at her feet— and behind it, Harwin— his hand on the knob, no, fused to the knob. 

His hand wasn’t attached, snapped off like a charred piece of firewood, his body strewn across the floor. His face peeled from the muscle and sinew, popping and blistering against the heat. His mouth, now just a hole, was twisted into an everlasting scream—

And then she was back. Back to the warmth and brightness of Harwin’s arms. He was shaking her softly, jostling her shoulder as a small crowd was gathered. 

“Alysanne,” he murmured frantically, “Alysanne, wake up, my girl.” 

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with tears— they rolled down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimpering sob came out. 

“Shh, don’t speak, it's okay,” he cooed, turning her away from the prying eyes of the crowd, “I’ve got you.” 

Ser Harwin Strong and his father, Lord Lyonel Strong, perished that same night in a fire— a supposed accident.

But Alysanne— she had known. She saw it, and had said nothing. She hears Harwin’s ghost muttering to her at times, his warm and gentle voice now saddened by ash and smoke. 

She contemplated her life for days, months and years after— she had lost the only family she had— and she could’ve stopped it. 

Since then, she relented from touching people or being touched. She never wanted to have that power— she didn’t want to see their deaths, hear their screams and have their ghosts linger in her head for the rest of her life. 

Now, after seeing Aemond’s supposed death, she felt a responsibility to change it— not for herself, not for Aemond— but for Harwin. For what she could’ve done, should’ve done. 

She wiped an errant tear from her cheek as she dressed for the day. She forwent the corset— damn the thing— and dressed in another kirtle, a paisley color. 

Her hands moved deftly as she tied her curly hair up into two braids— nothing like Flora and Beth had done— but it did the job nonetheless. 

The rest of the keep wasn’t awake yet— or so she had thought. She walked out in the courtyard barefoot, as usual, and found it odd as she heard another pair of feet crunching gravel near her. 

Turning around, she came face to face with Aemond. He looked… exhausted. 

His brow perked, “What are you doing up this early?” he asked as he kept walking, a nod of his head in indication that he wished for her to follow. 

She let out a sniff, “I’m always awake,” she grumbled, “I need to tend to Banshee.” she trotted alongside Aemond, her short legs having to work double time to keep up with his long legged strides. 

“‘Banshee’? I know that Harrenhal has its fair share of ghosts, but I haven’t heard the wail of a banshee yet— and even so, how does one tend to a Banshee?” he prodded, putting on a pair of leather gloves as they walked. 

“… Banshee isn’t a ghost,” Alysanne said, a slight tinge of annoyance lacing her voice, “Banshee is my horse.” 

They stopped at the stable, which now housed more horses than usual on account of the soldier’s occupation. Alysanne slunk to the last paddock, which was in truth, not in good shape. It had its fair share of bite marks and hoof prints. 

Aemond watched as the strange little bastard lady stood on her tippy toes, clicking her tongue and holding out her hand over the top of the stall door. 

A rumbling snort was heard before an absolutely monstrous horse head dipped over the door. It had a gray spotted snout and a neatly trimmed forelock and mane. 

Alysanne hummed as she undid the lock and led out Banshee. He was a ginormous draught horse, built purely of muscle and power. He had a light gray coat with black dapples— as well as some long feathering near his hooves. He was easily taller than Aemond by a foot.

The gelding let out a snort as he looked at Aemond, then turned his focus back to Alysanne, nuzzling the top of her head, earning a small giggle from her.

Aemond Targaryen, rider of the largest dragon in the world, was slightly aghast at the size of this horse. He exhaled, “That has to be the biggest fucking horse I’ve ever seen,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. He looked back and forth between Alysanne and Banshee, “How do you even get on his back?” 

Alysanne looked at Aemond, slightly bewildered, “You ride Vhagar— how do you get on her back?” she countered as she led Banshee out into the courtyard. 

Aemond, fascinated by Alysanne and her monster horse, followed, “Well— a fair bit of climbing, and she has some rope rigging around her saddle.” 

Alysanne pat Banshee on his neck— at least, as far as she could reach. “Well, think of Banshee as a small Vhagar,” she hummed, “It isn’t graceful, but a fair bit of climbing,” she mimicked his tone, “does the job.” 

The prince was slightly amused by this. “Well then— go on,” he pressed, “Let’s see how the bastard fares getting atop her horse.” 

Alysanne let out something of a growl or a grumble in annoyance, clicking her tongue after. Banshee lowered himself slightly, to a point where she could snag onto his mane and scramble up his neck, sliding down onto his back. It was hardly graceful, and was comparable to how a bat scrambles upon walls before taking flight.

“No saddle? Reins?” he questioned further. 

Alysanne cocked her head, “No?” she snorted, as if it was the silliest question she’d ever heard.

The prince pinched his brow in what seemed to be frustration, “How silly of me— you don’t even wear shoes, of course you’d ride your beast without the proper tack.” 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything further. She murmured something to Banshee, who let out a whinny and began his walk— it was slow and bumpy, but Alysanne kept her composure. 

“Be here when I return, girl,” Aemond said before they got out of earshot, “I’ll have need of you.” 

Her brow furrowed. Need of her? For what? And where was he going? 

Alysanne and Banshee’s leisurely walk turned into a relaxed trot as they exited the gates of Harrenhal. They were half a mile away from the ancient castle before a thunderous roar was heard, and the rising sun was eclipsed by the gargantuan green beast known as Vhagar. 

Alysanne scratched Banshee as he got a bit fidgety as the dragon flew low in the sky, just above the treeline. “S’okay, my sweet boy,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck as far as she could reach, “You won’t die by a dragon— I’ve seen it.” 

As Vhagar began to disappear from sight, something clicked in Alysanne’s head. The dragon was riding towards the God’s Eye— which meant Aemond was as well. 

It… it felt like too soon— no, the battle couldn’t be today— but she had seen Harwin’s death just hours before it happened… 

She spurred Banshee into a full on gallop, pressing low to his back to hold on, “Please, please,” she whimpered, tears already forming in her eyes. 

As they approached the shore of the God’s Eye, she looked around, scanning the sky for any sign of the bloodwyrm— or even Vhagar. 

She slid off of Banshee’s back, letting him graze as she walked the pebbled beach of the lake. She paced back and forth until it was high noon, the sun rising in the sky to its apex. 

A few more hours passed until late afternoon, the sun beginning its descent back towards the earth. A temporary eclipse of Vhagar returning had Alysanne giving a small breath of relief— until the giant dragon turned, lowering down to find a spot to land.

Banshee strayed near the woodline, as far from the dragon as possible— Alysanne shared his unease, a deep pit settling in her gut. 

She ground her teeth as she approached the landing dragon, the powerful flaps of her wings actually causing Alysanne to fall over— which apparently earned a laugh from Aemond— a laugh? When had she heard him actually laugh? 

Watching as he gracefully slid from Vhagar’s saddle, not before unstrapping himself (earning Alysanne a breath), she got back to her feet, dusting off her dress. 

“I thought I spotted that elephant horse of yours,” he called out, walking towards her. 

She shrunk back, “What do you want?” 

As he got closer, his expression became more visible. He seemed… lighter. More elated. His hair was swept back from the wind and his mouth was crinkled in a small grin— not that of a predator like usual, but like that of someone who was… joyous?

It was a difference of night and day— his pained anguish the night before, and his almost boyish  demeanor now. 

It confused Alysanne— she hadn’t accounted for this, such a strong change in emotion from him. It settled the pit in her stomach ever so slightly. 

“What do I want?” he repeated with a questioning tone, “Nothing— I merely wished to see if your beast had bucked you off yet.” he stopped a few feet away from her, not getting too close. His arms were behind his back in their usual resting position. It seemed as if he was respecting her boundaries. 

“Banshee wouldn’t— not to me, atleast,” she picked up a smooth stone from below her idly, rolling it around in her palm, “He’s a killer, you know.” 

“A killer, hm?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, “Stomped in a few men’s heads over the years— ones that tried to ride him, besides me.” 

Aemond’s lip curled slightly, “Seems he’s bonded with you as his sole rider, then. Dragons are much the same. They get to choose who they bond with— test their mettle, and find them worthy.” 

Alysanne looked towards him as they conversed— they began walking around the shore near each other and she hadn’t even noticed. He still kept his distance, to which she was grateful. “Vhagar finds you worthy,” she commented, “It must be an honor.” 

Aemond picked up a rock as well, weighing it in his palm, “It is. It’s the highest honor of any Targaryen’s life— to be chosen by a dragon.” 

She stopped at the lapping waves, dipping her feet in the water. With a swift movement of her hand, she sent the stone skidding across the surface. Once, twice, thrice. 

A few moments later, Aemond did the same. Once, twice, thrice. 

Alysanne gave a lopsided smile at that as she straightened back up. She felt at ease— like a leaf on a cooling breeze. Not only at ease, she felt brave. 

Slowly, she lifted her head, taking in the features of Aemond’s face before landing on his eye— which looked right back at her. 

She felt a rattling in her chest— like a caged bird flapping and ricocheting against her bones. A strange heat came to her cheeks. “We make up one pair of violet eyes, you and I,” she murmured suddenly, “One lilac between each of us…” she stared at his remaining eye, to which he stared back at her one, paired with the rich, earthy brown of her other eye.

His brow furrowed momentarily, “An interesting observation,” he picked up another rock and skipped it across the waves, “You remind me of someone, you know. My sister— Helaena, her grace, the queen,” he whispered, his voice taking on a softer note, “I feel like you two would have much to talk about.” 

“I’ve heard she is fond of insects,” Alysanne answered, walking from the shore to the grass, where she began picking plants from the soil, seemingly with purpose, “I quite like a good moth myself. They liken themselves to have false eyes on their wings, so they do not have to stare down predators.” 

Aemond didn’t comment— he just watched her pick plants. 

“Herbs,” she said, as if feeling his questioning stare on her back, “For my medicines.” 

“I didn’t know you were a maester as well as a bastard,” he said– more likely than not with a smug grin on his face.

“I may be odd in appearance, but you must be blind in both eyes if you think I resemble a smelly, mean old man.” she quipped back.

He didn’t say anything more, just setting his jaw in a hard line. This earned Alysanne a satisfied smile– the bird had silenced the dragon. 

In her joyful reverie, she went to pick a bundle of chamomile– but her hand plunged into a bush of stinging nettle. She let out a yelp like an injured animal, pulling her hand back and looking over it.

Apparently, her yelp had caused some concern from Aemond, who rushed over– he broke the boundary they had set, and even more, he reached out to her hand. “Let me see,” he grumbled.

“No, no–,” her cry was cut off as they touched, and her vision went black once more.

It was storming. Thunder rumbled the ancient stronghold– but they were not in Harrenhal. She couldn’t quite fixate where they were, until she heard the tumultuous crashing of waves against chiseled stone. Storm’s End– the seat of power for House Baratheon.

Why was she here– why… Aemond was here as well. He was stanced as usual, his hands behind his back.

Another boy was there, as well– brown, shaggy hair and brown eyes. Harwin? He looked like Harwin– he was turning away from Aemond, walking out.

“Wait,” Aemond called out, “My lord Strong,”

Strong? There were no more Strong Lords– and not a young boy like this. Who… was he? When was this?

“Did you really think you could fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne; at no cost?”

“I will not fight you– I came as a messenger, not a warrior,” the young boy spoke. Alysanne could see his body language– he was… afraid.

Aemond smirked, “A fight would be little challenge. No,” he said, putting his hand up to his eyepatch, taking off the leather and revealing his sapphire eye underneath, “I want you to put out your eye. It is payment for mine. One will serve,” the prince drew back his coat, throwing a dagger to the floor towards the boy, “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.” 

The boy shivered, falling into himself inwardly for just a moment– then he took a breath, puffing out his chest, “No.” he declared, staring Aemond down.

“So you are craven, as well as a traitor.” Aemond hummed for a moment, the sound of Lord Baratheon’s cries to stop drowned out from blood pumping in his ears– hers as well.

Alysanne felt his contempt, felt his rage– bubbling, boiling right under the surface, just like the Fourteen Flames of Valyria. The madness in him was palpable, threatening to break his bones and turn him into a beast hewn of scale and wrath and tear this ‘Lord Strong’ apart brick by brick. 

She shivered; he truly was fire made flesh, an echo of a warrior long past– a god of War in his own right. 

“Give me your eye! Or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond exploded, advancing on the little Lord Strong like a predator–

Then they were in the sky, Aemond chanting taunts atop Vhagar– words that Alysanne didn’t inherently understand, but she felt it– in her bones, rattling around her chest and stomach.

It was a chase– a game of cat and mouse– or dragon and dragon as it may be. But Alysanne knew it was nothing of fairness. What was fair in a dragon of War, named after the Goddess of War, chasing a hatchling just large enough to carry a young boy? 

What was fair in that?

What was fair?

In her fairness, in her twisted justice– Vhagar’s massive jaws snapped the smaller dragon into pieces, along with Lord Strong, the remains of his existence scattered into the sea. 

The rage of Aemond quelled– quelled into a dull ache. It was replaced by a new feeling, mayhaps one Aemond hadn’t felt before.

Guilt. Remorse. 

Kinslayer. Accursed.

What had he done?

Her eyes opened– she wasn’t crying like usual, when she saw death. Usually it was impending death, something that perhaps she had a chance to change– but this… was the past, wasn’t it? Something she never could change, something that had already been lived and gone and was a done deal, sealed with the bow of death. She didn’t feel panicked, no– she felt hollow.

Aemond was holding her up again, cradling her like a delicate flower. He cleared his throat as he stared down at her. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. 

“Kinslayer.” she murmured in response, her voice broken.

[acemarkey]

horse

Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK.

You love being STRONG.

You are so strong, you would surely be the class of the elite legion of RUFFIANNIHILATORS. And while such a calling would be quite honorable, you would prefer to join the ranks of the ARCHERADICATORS, perhaps the most noble echelon the imperial forces have to offer. Unfortunately, you SUCK AT ARCHERY. You have not successfully fired a SINGLE ARROW. Every time you try, you BREAK THE BOW. You are simply too strong. You have broken so many bows, it has developed into a habit BORDERING ON FETISHISTIC. You have to stop. But addiction is a powerful thing.

You have a great appreciation for THE FINE ARTS. You use your aristocratic connections to acquire PRICELESS MASTERPIECES, painted in the oldest and most respected Alternian tradition of NUDE MUSCLEBEAST PORTRAITS. These striking depictions of the EXQUISITE FAUNA native to Alternia remind you of the PUREST PHYSICAL IDEAL that must be sought by anyone who professes a LOVE OF STRENGTH. When those of lesser bloodlines turn up their uncultured noses at such stunning material, it MAKES YOU FURIOUS.

Practically everything MAKES YOU FURIOUS. You have so much rage, it can only be expressed through STAGGERING QUANTITIES OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE. You build strong and sturdy robots, set them to kill mode, and BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THEM in caged brawls. Sometimes you LOSE TEETH. But they usually grow back.

Your trolltag is centaursTesticle and with your bow and arrow ever at the ready, you D --> Take e%ception to 100d language unbefitting of b100 b100ds

What will you do?

[juniemunie]

how to train your dragon can be classified as a horse girl movie. misunderstood child is a misfit and is disliked by peers, doesn’t do well in school. child finds solace in company of a four legged animal which child then trains secretly in a secluded environment. there’s an edgy love interest and comic relief friends. parent disapproves of this animal due to past experiences, but animal/child prove themselves to family and receive affection/heartfelt confession. 

[candela888]

The Wild Hunt is a folklore motif. Wild Hunts typically involve a 'soul-raving' chase led by a folkloric figure(s) escorted by a ghostly or supernatural group of hunters passing in wild pursuit.

THREAD BELOW:

In German folklore, it is known as the Wilde Jagd or Wütendes Heer. The leader, often called der Schimmelreiter, is generally identified with the god Wotan. Seeing the Wild Hunt was thought to presage some catastrophe, it was also believed that people could be pulled away.

In Scandinavia, the leader of the hunt was Odin & the event was called Odens jakt or Oskoreien. Odin's hunt was heard but rarely seen, and a trait is that one of his dogs was barking louder and a second one fainter.  When it was heard, it meant changing weather, war, or unrest.

In France, the 'Host' was known as Familia Hellequini and Maisnie Hellequin. This hunt was usually led by the devil or a demonic entity. Other similar figures appear in the French folklore, such as 'Le Grand-Veneur', a hunter who chased with dogs in the forest of Fontainebleau.

In England, it was known as Herlaþing, Woden's Hunt, Herod's Hunt, Cain's Hunt and Gabriel's Hounds. Different interpretations of the hunt had different leaders, some by demons, others by cursed men, and others by pagan gods, fairies, or angels. They are said to carry people off.

In parts of Britain, the hunt is said to be that of hell-hounds chasing sinners or the unbaptised. In Devon these are known as Yeth or Wisht Hounds. In Cornwall, they are Dando and his Dogs or the Devil and his Dandy Dogs. The hunt is particularly associated with Wistman's Wood.

The American country song "Ghost Riders in the Sky" from 1948, tells of cowboys condemned to chase the Devil's cattle through the night sky of the Western USA. Cowboys can be condemned to chase the Devil's cattle when they die if they do not repent for their sins.

In Welsh folklore, Cŵn Annwn were the spectral hounds of Annwn, the otherworld. They were associated with a form of the Wild Hunt, presided over by Arawn, king of Annwn. In Wales, they were associated with migrating geese, and are considered a portent of death.

The Santa Compaña is a folkloric belief in rural northwest Iberia: Galicia, Asturias (Spain) and Northern Portugal. The common belief is that of a procession of the dead that wander through the village paths of a parish beginning at midnight wearing white, hooded cloaks.

In Welsh folklore, Gwyn ap Nudd was depicted as a wild huntsman riding a demon horse who hunts souls at night along with a pack of white-bodied and red-eared 'dogs of hell'. He is the king of the Underworld who makes sure that the imprisoned devils do not destroy human souls.

In the Czech Republic, divoký hon or štvaní is a term for a group of demonic beings, often considered the souls of the dead or hunters, who roam the sky or the earth with their leader, often at night. Stories of them are more common in the Bohemia region, and during Christmas.

In León, Span it is called "La Hueste de Animas", and involves a procession of the dead in forests or the sky at night. It is also called La Estadea, led by a woman who wanders the roads and cemeteries. It has no face and smells of the humidity of the tombs.

Dziki Łów or Dziki Gon is the Wild Hunt of Polish folklore. It is very similar to the Germanic variants but the leader is usually a Slavic deity instead of a German one, or the leader of the host is the devil himself.

The Jinetes en el Cielo is the Wild Hunt of Mexico and some of the US Southwest. It involves Hispanic cowboys (vaqueros, jinetes, or charros) condemned to chase the Devil's cattle through the night sky. Vaqueros can join them if they do not repent for their sins.

In Italy, especially in the Alpine area, the Caccia infernale is associated with distant lights, hoofs, dog barking, demonic screams, and a loud hiss of the wind. It is associated with the figure of Theodoric the Great or the Devil. Catholic faith can drive away the procession.

Count Arnau (el comte Arnau), a legendary nobleman from Ripollès, Catalunya, who for his cruelty and lechery is condemned to ride to hounds for eternity while his flesh is devoured by flames. He is the subject of a classic traditional Catalan ballad.

Hyakki Yagyō (Night Parade of One Hundred Demons) is from Japanese folklore. Sometimes an orderly procession, other times a riot, it refers to an uncontrolled horde of countless numbers of supernatural creatures known as oni and yōkai.

In Slovenia, the hunt is usually led by Jarnik (Jarilo), also called Volčji pastir (Wolf Herdsman). In some variations mythical wild Baba leads the hunt.

In Hawaiian legend, Nightmarchers (huaka'i pō) are the spirits of ancient Hawaiian warriors. On the nights honoring the Hawaiian gods Kane, Ku, Lono, or on the nights of Kanaloa they are said to come forth from their burial sites, or to rise up from the ocean, and to march.

In the Netherlands, the hunt is led by Wodan or Gait/Derk met de hunties (Gait/Derk and his little dogs).

La Chasse-galerie also known as "The Bewitched Canoe" or "The Flying Canoe" is a popular French-Canadian tale of Coureurs des bois who make a deal with the devil, a variant of the Wild Hunt.

The sluagh sídhe—"the fairy host"—is sometimes depicted in Irish and Scottish folklore as a crowd of airborne spirits, perhaps the cursed, evil or restless dead. They are also known as "the horde". The siabhra, may be a type of these lesser spirits, prone to evil and mischief.

The missa dos mortos is a Brazilian legend. One night a church caretaker sees lights in the church. Thinking they were thieves, he investigates. To his surprise, he sees that the temple is full of the the Faithful, chandeliers lit and a priest preparing to celebrate a mass.

Everyone was wearing dark clothes and remained with their heads down. He also realizes that the environment was colder than the open one outside. When the priest turned, he saw that his face was a skull, and that everyone in the church was dead, a chapel full of skeletons!

The Flying Dutchman is a legendary ghost ship which was said to never be able to make port, doomed to sail the oceans forever. The legend is likely to have originated from the 17th-century Golden Age of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) and Dutch maritime power.

[antiloreolympus]

6 Anti LO Asks

1. RS really is into modern purity, because in ancient Greek, the corpses of the dead would be wrapped in white and it was more of a mourning color. Brides back then would wear yellow veils.

Orphism also associated Apollo and Aphrodite with white, though usually Aphrodite was accompanied with pearls or diamonds instead of pure white, and even Zeus was considered associated as white poplar was burned in sacrifice to him.

There's also mentions of Leuce, a nymph who Hades fell in love with and who ended up becoming the white poplar. So it would make a lot more sense for Hades to be dressed in white than Persephone. Which once again shows just how little effort Rachel puts into LO.

2. that other ask is right bc the way rachel made sure persephone couldnt even look at another guy or have experience outside of her future husband is so unintentionally reinforcing conservative control over womens' bodies and that they can only have/enjoy sex with their husbands and thats it. I think she was trying to have it that persephone just happened to marry the "perfect" man right away, but it ends up having the opposite effect by making the couple look rather unhealthy.

3. white isnt even a partocularly good color on current persephone's harsh, neon pink shade. the discover/canvas version of her as pastel pink fit much better with the white, IMHO. current neon persephone looked much better in greens, yet for some reason that was used only for a few episodes before going back to white or making her all pink. the alll neon pink especially doesnt look good with the red eyes and all black outfits her "queen" look is supposed to be.

4. maybe it's just me but i feel like part of the reason lo seems lesser than it could be is bc its too grounded in reality. like its just now trying to pull high fantasy with magic fruit or w/e but like olympus and the underworld are businesses, they have cars and cell phones and it all looks like modern NYC, why would they still adhere to mystical stuff like that? if it embraced how weird myth could be from the start that would have helped, but its too late now to be added for it to mesh well TBH

5. i know its beating a dead horse at this point but the height difference isnt really that big of a deal to me?? its combination of it with how young she is and how childish/immature shes drawn and depicted as that it becomes an issue. tbh if she was 400+ year old firecracker with a loud mouth who stood up for herself and was confident w/ adult features i think the small height would actually be beneficial, but bc shes depicted as a child instead it becomes an issue. maybe thats just me though.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

6. In fastpass Hades was kinda mean to hermes and questioned everything he said, even though putting persephone in good light, so he should be happy. He was probably jeolus that he and perephone were good friends spent a lot time together and that he said that he really cares about her. Even after he said that what perephone wanted from him want books but friendship and that they have beautiful friendship, hades interruped him and said that it has nothing to do with case, even though it was context

[dwollsadventures]

The principal dinosaurs of the plains, whether hunted and domesticated by halflings since time immemorial. All of these dinosaurs, of the medium to small, unadorned and ornithopod variety, are called fastieth. Dryosaurs are the most famous fastieth, known for their use as steeds by the tribal halflings. Unlike Camptosaurus, Dryosaurus utilizes speed as their primary defense against predators. This, coupled with their striped tails, makes a herd of dryosaurs running zig-zaggedly across each other's paths hard on the eyes and obscures them from predators. Dryosaurs live in relatively large, 100-150 member, horse-like herds with a small group of breeding males and many females and youngsters. Lesser males usually trail behind. These fastieth live in the wide brushy basin year-round, but can also be found in the forests. Forest dryosaurs are smaller, less social, but also faster. Despite their speed, dryosaurs are not very agile and cannot jump high. In the wild they run parallel to one another in straight lines as defense against predators.

These fastieth have been domesticated by halflings for millennia and are incredibly ingrained into their society. Wild ones are not hunted as often as camptosaurs and rarely bred due to their jumpy tendencies. Halfling religion, a mixture of animism and animal worship, contains many references to the dryosaurs and treats them like the "other half" of the hunter. They are treated with honor, and killing one, even for practical purposes, is very taboo. It's even believed that the halfling hunting mask is specifically designed to look unthreatening and friendly to their saurian mounts. Other races find them too small to ride, but a small riders club in Zilargo, populated by gnomes, has gained in popularity ever since the Last War's end.

Dryosaurs produce their green coloration with two different coloration systems: both yellow and blue (cyan) pigment cells. How many blue pigments they produce depends on the amount of water they drink. This means during the dry season they produce very little blue, making them yellow, while in the wet season they produce a lot of blue, making them green, and allowing them to blend in with the lush ferns. Because of this, domesticated dryosaurs range from bright green to cyan. Recent breeding has even produced pastel blue mounts. Their dark masks are harder to select for when breeding as they are an ancient trait (the exception being the piebald morph popular in Zilargo). Selecting for and against stripes is easier, as there is a lot of variation in wild dryosaurs. Normally they have light stripes on only their tail, but forest dryosaurs have dark melanin stripes.

Depicted above is a typical wild fastieth and the most common breed of domesticated fastieth used by the Talenta. As well as a piebald variant found only in cosmopolitan breeding circles in Zilargo.

[fallout-fallen-knight]

What specifically is so bad about Honest Hearts though? I mean I think it's kinda flat, but I didn't think it was *bad*, and I wanna hear your opinion

I can feel this turning into a long post so apologies now.

It’s easily the worst of the DLCs, which feels worth mentioning simply because the other three are so good that “kinda boring to play” feels like a cardinal sin. On terms of gameplay and story, I would put it on a level with maybe the Pitt (I also didn’t *love* the Pitt, so take that for what it’s worth).

To start off, it’s incredibly racist. The way that the game depicts tribals based on Native American stereotypes is racist. No tribe gives their people names like “Follows Chalk” or “Walking Cloud” or god forbid “Two Bears High Fiving”. JE Sawyer has admitted the tribals were incredibly poorly handled and that they did basically no research into Native American tribes, in Zion or otherwise. It also asks you to accept a missionary narrative without questioning it (more on that later), which is incredibly insulting if you know the history of missionary work perpetuating violence against indigenous people.

My second reason that I think Honest Hearts is bad is Joshua Graham (and, to a lesser extent, Daniel). Joshua and Daniel are Mormon missionaries from New Canaan who have come to Zion to convert the native living there; Graham is also an ex-Legion Legate and one of the Legion’s co-founders. Joshua and Daniel both, for lack of a better term, seize control of a tribe in Zion - Joshua the Dead Horses, and Daniel the Sorrows - with little pushback from tribe leadership because it doesn’t seem to exist. Joshua and Daniel both work to mold the tribes to their own image - Joshua to defeat the White Legs who destroyed New Canaan, and Daniel to make them peaceful and non-violent.

As I mentioned before, it asks us to accept the missionary-turned-savior narrative without much questioning. In real life, missionaries have done and continue to do indescribable damage to indigenous communities, usually being the first ones to begin the process of cultural (or actual) genocide. So presenting this kind of narrative leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Daniel’s treatment of the Sorrows also relies on the “noble Savage” and “white man’s burden” tropes - that these poor innocent natives are too naive and fragile to exist in the Real World, so they must be protected at any cost.

Anyway, that’s just my thinking. Others have written much more cohesive and comprehensive critiques of Honest Hearts and I encourage you to look around to see what’s out there.

[unearthly-space]

RDR2 - Monsters AU - Van der Linde Monstrous Statuses; Pt.2/2

Pt.2/2 of the Van der Linde gang’s Monstrous statuses.

Abigail Roberts: A swan maiden. Yeah, not really “monstrous”, but not every cryptid is grotesquely horrifying. Swan maidens shapeshift from their human to swan forms (well, most cryptids do, but here me out). The key to her transformation is some sort of garment made of her own swan feathers. If one were to take away her garment, she would be trapped as she is, unable to transform or fly away/swim away without it. Many men hunt the swan maidens to force one to become his wife in such a way.

Jack Marston: A hellhound pup. Cutesy little Jack takes after his father in this regard. Typical hellhound features include mangled black fur, glowing red eyes, super strength and speed, and ghostly or phantom characteristics. Some say that if you stare into a hellhound’s eyes three times or more, you will surely die. Still, though, Jack is but a pup and most of these abilities and characteristics have yet to rear their head. Though he does have the terrifying red eyes and is quite a fast little one.

Susan Grimshaw: A Futakuchi-onna. There’s nothing I really tied this one to miss Grimshaw with, I just thought it would be an interesting and different creature. A Futakuchi-onna is a mostly humanoid monster with two mouths, their normal one located on their face, and their second one hidden away on the back of their head beneath their hair. The Futakuchi-onna’s skull splits apart and forms lips, teeth, a tongue, ect. It creates a completely functional second mouth one can eat with.

Simon Pearson: A shen. This one was more as a joke, but still funny and the idea is growing on me. A shen is a sort of clam monster from from chinese mythology. They’re a shapeshifting “dragon or sea monster” believed to create mirages. 

Leopold Strauss: A Nachtkrapp. A south German and Austrian bugbear creature. They’re supposed to be a tale meant to scare children off and up to their bedrooms to sleep. Several variations exist, but we will be (mainly) focusing on this - “In most legends, the Nachtkrapp is described as a giant, nocturnal raven-like bird. In Norse mythology, the, Nachtkrapp (Swedish "Nattramnen", Norwegian "Nattravnen") is depicted with no eyes which if looked into cause death. It is also depicted with holes in its wings which cause illness and disease if looked at.” - quoted straight from Wikipedia until I can get a more valid source.

Josiah Trelawny: A Djinn (Genie). A thing to note about the Djinn cryptids is that they are neither innately evil nor innately good. They’re usually held responsible for misfortune, possession and diseases, ect. However, the djinn are sometimes supportive and benevolent. They are frequently mentioned to be summoned and bound to a sorcerer with some form of brass object. (i.e. a lamp.)

Orville Swanson: Ghillie Dhu. A solitary male fairy. Kindly and reticent, yet sometimes wild in character but had a gentle devotion to children. They typically have dark hair and are clothed in leaves and moss. A rather unusual nature spirit (most commonly of the mountains), that lived in a birch wood he lived in a birch wood within the Gairloch and Loch a Druing area of the north-west highlands of Scotland. 

Kieran Duffy: A dullahan. I will accept all hate for this horrible, horrible thing I did. For those who don’t know, a dullahan is depicted as a headless horse rider, usually on a black steed, who carries their own head in their arms. The ancient Irish believed that wherever a dullahan stopped riding, a person was to die. They all but have to call out that person’s name which draws there mortal soul from their body, making them drop dead. It is also said that golden objects can force a dullahan to dissapear. I’ve always loved dullahans (thanks to lots of research after watching DRRR), and I couldn’t help but make Kieran one for this AU. Very befitting, due to his in-game fate. 

Molly O’Shea: A banshee. “Woman of the fairy mound”, “fairy woman”. Banshees were female spirits of Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member, usually by wailing, shrieking, or keening. I liked the idea of Molly being a banshee, especially because of her downward spiral further into the game.

Davey Callander: Cerberus. I really wanted to include these next few deceased members just  for a storyline’s sake and as respect for the characters we never new. Cerberus, as most would probably know, is the three-headed hound of Hades that guards the gates to the Underworld. A common description includes - three heads, a serpent for a tail, and snakes protruding from multiple parts of his body.

Mac Callander: Orthrus. I contemplated Davey and Mac both being separate heads of Cerberus, but decided to use Orthrus as inspiration, the lesser known brother of Cerberus. Orthrus, though, is only two-headed and guarded Geryon’s cattle in myths, until he was killed by Heracles, that is.

Jenny Kirk: A harpy. I would have loved to see Jenny and Lenny in the game, but sadly we were robbed of it. Harpies were half-human, half-bird personifications of storm winds. Generally speaking, they were depicted as birds with the heads of maidens, faces pale with hunger and long claws on their hands. Pottery art depicting the harpies featured beautiful women with wings. Ovid described them as human-vultures. 

Annabelle: A siren. Oh how I love sirens. They were dangerous sea dwellers that enjoyed luring sailors to a watery grave with their enchanting voices and songs. I liked that being the idea of how her and Dutch met, her intentionally trying to drown him in a lake or some sort, before falling in love with him.

Bessie Matthews: A kitsune. I thought it would be cute with Hosea as a majestic centaur with a beautiful nine-tailed fox as his bride. Kitsunes are usually seen as intelligent legendary beings that have up to as many as nine tails. According to some folktales, Kitsune are usually seen employing their shapeshifting ability to trick humans, but others (that I favor for Bessie) portray them as faithful guardians, friends, lovers, and wives.

----------

That’s it for the Van der Lindes. As for other characters, I’ve only figured out Mary Linton’s status if I decide to make her a Cryptid.

I also want to make Albert Mason (I’m weak for this cinnamon bun) a Cryptid, but I’m at a loss of what he should be. Any ideas?

[paleolithic-art]

Do you have any more facts/info about the chauvet cave occupation? I’ve never heard of it before and would love to learn more!

So in general we don’t know much about the actual purpose of the art in the cave, which is true of all paleolithic art. We have NO idea. Chauvet is unique in its age [oldest know decorated site in Europe I’m pretty sure] as well as its preservation. It was pretty much totally sealed by a cliff collapse around 27,000 years before present and no large animal entered it again until it was rediscovered in 1994.

The actual arts also sorta unique in the species it depicts. In the vast majority of decorated sites, the main stars are the big ungulates- bison, deer, aurochs- and any predators that are depicted are usually hidden, disguised, or in hard to reach areas. [For example, in Lascaux almost every depiction of a feline is in a narrow chamber in the very back of the cave, then one in the axial gallery that is a vaguely feline-shaped collection of dots. Then a bear in the hall of the bulls is almost entirely inside the belly line of a bull, with only a paw, shoulders, and head visible.] In Chauvet, lions are very commonly depicted and in a very detailed and central way. Bears are also common. [There are other sites- Tres Freres and La Marche for example- that also have detailed lions. But yea it’s not common iirc!]

Anyway, I have lots of chauvet art on the way, so keep an eye out for that ! It is one of my favorite sites, and it’s also one with lots of easy to find info. It along with Lascaux and Altamira to a lesser extent are the most famous recognizable sites. You’ve probably seen lots of art from Lascaux like the ‘pregnant horse’ or the huge bulls.

[stars-are-just-ghosts]

2. Harrisco

Absolutely. This got a weeee bit long. A warning: there are mentions of PTSD and a depiction of a panic attack. So if anyone has any triggers to those things, please don't read. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy! -QD

* * *

There were days when Cisco couldn't handle the sound.

It was settled there in his head, a low-grade hum that attached itself to every brain cell like velcro on steroids. It had started when his powers did, a background entity to the visions that became constant the more and more he had them. Till eventually the hum would break into his normal thoughts, his normal every day everything, resulting in panic attacks like he hadn't had since he was a kid. Except these were worse. So much worse. Because he couldn't stop them, he couldn't control them. And it usually ended in him passing out and lingering exhaustion. For the most part, he'd been able to have these panic attacks alone. He'd been through enough of them now to know when they'd hit, and could usually disappear before it happened. It seemed like everyone else knew he was going through something at regular intervals, too. They were smart enough to notice his shifts in mood, or that he'd leave work at an early hour when it happened. But he denied everything. 'I'm just beat.' He'd say. No one pushed it too far. Not because they didn't care, Cisco knew. But because Cisco wasn't making it easy.

He'd catch Harry watching him sometimes, expression unreadable and eyes glistening what he thought was agitation, like the man could tell that Cisco was keeping a secret. But he didn't say anything. In fact, he did the opposite. He kept being... well, Harry. And Harry was pretty much one of the only constants in Cisco's life that made the crazy tolerable. When the hum had first really started to affect him, it was Harry's presence that seemed to keep it in check the most. Cisco thought it was because Harry kept him focused, on track.

They worked so easily, side by side, completely at ease in each other's presence, whether they were joking or bickering or brainstorming. It was like that's exactly where they were supposed to be, and exactly what they were supposed to be doing.

Sometimes, it felt like Harry was more in tune with Cisco's own emotions than he was. He would reach out and grip Cisco's shoulder when Cisco was getting tense, or he'd nudge him gently when he was unfocused. Other times, Harry would just rest his hand there on the small of Cisco's back. No reason needed. And Cisco used each of those small touches like a grounding point. Whatever the reason, it worked. And he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Caitlin was the only other one who had tried to get more out of him at one point, but he'd ended up snapping at her. He felt horrible about it the next day, after it all had passed. And he'd doted on her like a puppy for nearly a week because of it.

He made it his mission after that to work even harder to hide his unschooled emotions. And after awhile, he thought he'd gotten pretty good at it. People stopped pestering him. He got to have his crazy-ass panic attacks. And the hum continued being awful background noise in his head.

But today was different.

Today was... bad.

He hadn't had an overdose of the hum in nearly a month and a half. He was actually beginning to think maybe his brain had finally gotten used to it. Or maybe he'd just been too busy for it to register as much. But as soon as they all got back from taking on their latest meta problem, the hum was so loud and overpowering that he felt like his whole body was being crushed by it. The walls were caving in. The noise was too much. He couldn't see up from down. And he got out of the Cortex as fast as he could, peeling his uniform off in pieces as he went, desperate to breathe as he flattened himself to the wall of the nearest empty lab and let himself slide to the floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming out of his eyes as he fought the need to just scream and scream and scream. The hum was too much this time. Just too fucking much. He'd give anything for it to go away. Anything. He'd even sell his soul to the fucking devil to be rid of this.

But it wasn't the devil who tracked him down.

It was Harry.

At first, Cisco didn't even notice him. He couldn't hear anything beyond the hum and he knew if he opened his eyes, the world would be swimming in nauseating circles. So when he felt firm, warm and strangely familiar hands on his shoulders, it startled him so badly that he let out a strangled yell, hands flying away from the tangles he'd made of his hair and latching on to whoever it was.

Then there was pulling. He felt himself being moved. And for reasons he couldn't even fathom at that point, he didn't fight it. He just let this person, this tangible presence, reel him in. But his body was so tense, it was slow going. Or maybe it just felt slow. Eventually, he found himself sitting in... that was Harry. He was in Harry's lap. He knew it, now. He felt Harry's warmth, and that's why the hands had felt familiar because he would know those hands anywhere. And Harry was cradling his head with one of those hands, right up against his chest in a way that was all too comfortable and fragile.

"Ramon," his voice sounded like a whisper below the hum. But it was there. He felt it rumble through Harry's chest, mixing with something else. Something he desperately wanted to focus on. "Listen... just listen. Hear my heartbeat?" He felt Harry's fingers begin to card through his hair once it seemed he was certain Cisco wasn't going to pull away. "Just focus on that..."

Was that the-something-else he could hear, a steady and heavy octave somewhere below the register of the hum? It came to him then, the thud-thud-thudding of a heartbeat.

No, not just any heartbeat.

Harry's heartbeat. He focused on it, just like Harry had told him to. He let it become his intent, his only need. He let it push away that hum with every steady pound, every deliberate pump of the heart doing its damndest to keep Harry Wells alive. Slowly, other things began to come into focus. Little things. Like Harry's fingers so tenderly stroking Cisco's hair, or how Harry's other arm was curled firmly and safely around Cisco's back and hip. Or how his own hands were clinging to Harry like he was a life preserver.

He could hear the rushing swell of each of Harry's breaths. He could feel the cozy warmth that Harry's whole body emanated. He could smell the settled fragrance of Harry's aftershave and something else that was very distinctly Harry.

Slowly, minute by minute, the hum faded. It went back to its place of background noise and unimportance. And eventually, Cisco found himself opening his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. But he knew, without a doubt, that this was different. Normally, his panic attacks ended with his brain spectacularly overstimulated and eventually passing out. But this time...

Cisco relaxed his hands where they clung to Harry's shirt, and he lifted his head very slowly, a little afraid that moving or even not being able to hear Harry's heartbeat might make the hum come back full force. But that didn't happen. All he felt was calm and tired and... grateful. He caught Harry's gentle gaze as Harry dropped his hand away from his hair.

"You don't have to move if you're not ready to." Harry offered, his voice soft, his eyes lingering on Cisco's. He'd never seen Harry look at him like that before. Or maybe he had, to a lesser degree. Harry never completely outwardly showed his emotions, but for whatever reason he was very clearly showing Cisco everything.

There was worry there, and kindness, and affection. And it made Cisco sit up a little straighter, though he didn't dare move away. Because Harry was his focal point right now, and he couldn't lose that. Not yet.

"Harry," he managed. His voice sounded strained, like it did when he was yelling. But he hadn't yelled this time, had he? He blinked at the sound of it, cleared his throat lightly. "I'm sorry, man." He felt himself blush in embarrassment, the realization that Harry had just seen him pretty much have a mental breakdown made him tear his eyes away instantly. He should have been more careful, should have gotten back here sooner or even breached himself to another-

Then he felt Harry's hand back on him, but not in his hair this time. Harry's palm was on his cheek, fingers smoothing against his skin as his thumb stroked the wetness that still lingered beneath Cisco's eyes. He had no choice but to look at Harry.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Ever. You hear me?" Harry demanded. He sounded almost angry about it. But honestly, Cisco couldn't tell for a change. "None of this your fault." He smoothed his hand down Cisco's neck, to his shoulder and back to his side, till both arms were safely fit around Cisco's torso. "Ramon, how long have you been going through this?" He asked pointedly, brows knit slightly. Cisco swallowed and blinked.

"It's... kind of hard to explain." He nearly whispered. It was strange. After all this time trying to hide it from everyone, he actually found he wanted to explain it... to Harry. "It's been like this since... since I got my powers." Harry's brows raised in surprise and then his jaw clenched as he breathed out slowly through his nostrils. "You're mad." Cisco stated, "You look mad. Are you mad?!" He felt his chest tighten. He did not want Harry mad at him, not right now. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it. But Harry shook his head quickly and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Cisco's.

It stilled everything in him instantly. Had Harry always been this touchy-feely? Did it matter? Why should it matter? Because Cisco admittedly really needed this right now. And honestly, he couldn't picture this with anyone else.

"I'm not mad at you, Cisco. I'm more... disappointed in myself. That I didn't do something sooner." Harry sighed lightly. "I thought I saw things... signs. I tried to be close when I thought you needed it. I should have pushed more. I should have asked. I'm the one who's sorry."

"You're sorry? Shit, Harry." Cisco shuttered out, some tears escaping at the sentiment. "You just saved me from an overload of panic and passing out ungracefully on the floor. You don't have to apologize for anything, either." Harry smiled lightly, lifting his head. He searched Cisco's gaze quietly, then nodded.

"Think you can stand?" Harry asked gently. Cisco looked down at himself, at the disheveled uniform and rumpled t-shirt, at the way he fit so perfectly in Harry's hold...

"I think so. But..." He looked back at Harry's knowing gaze and cracked a light smile, "I kinda like it right here." Harry chuckled. Then did something Cisco hadn't expected. Sure, he'd dreamed about it and maybe there had been times he'd come inches away from doing it himself. But it was still surprising... in a really good way.

Harry's lips pressed to his in a soft, tender sweep, lingering as Cisco instantly let his lips attach right back. It wasn't deep, and didn't last long. But there was a comfort in that. Because he wanted to keep kissing Harry. Seriously, who wouldn't? But he also wanted a much clearer head. And it seemed Harry didn't want to take advantage of the situation. Which was downright respectful and caring.

Harry urged Cisco off the floor, keeping himself in close proximity so Cisco had something to hold on to. He didn't pull his hands away till he seemed sure Cisco wouldn't topple over.

"Come on. Let's get you home. You need to sleep. And then maybe we can talk more about it all in the morning?" He offered, taking a side step toward the door. But Cisco was focused more on how Harry's hands had fallen away, how the warmth and steadiness had gone with him. He reached out quickly and slipped his palm into Harry's, entwining their fingers. Harry looked down at their conjoined hands, then back at Cisco.

"This is gonna sound... maybe kinda childish." Cisco tentatively began, looking back up at Harry's eyes. "But... would you mind staying with me? I don't... I just... okay, look..." he attempted to explain, unable to find the words. No one and nothing had ever pulled him out of his panic attack like Harry had only moments ago, and Cisco simply wasn't ready to let go of that. Or Harry.

"Ramon," One word. He'd always loved how his name sounded on Harry's lips. "I'll stay."

And he did.

He brought Cisco home, and held Cisco all night in the quiet of his room. And for a change, Cisco didn't have nightmares like he usually did after a panic attack. The hum barely registered. And Harry didn't ask questions or push for explanations or demand results. He just let Cisco exist in that in-between place that he usually fell in after the hum had exploded in his head.

When morning came, they shared coffee, they ate waffles, they sat in sweatpants and t-shirts on Cisco's lumpy couch and talked about lighter things, laughing till Cisco's face hurt. And when Cisco felt like he was ready, he told Harry all about the hum and what it did to him.

Harry didn't tell him he was crazy. He didn't shove possible answers in his face. He didn't try to make sense out of something that really didn't have any.

However, he did open up to Cisco right back, telling him about his own panic attacks. He had them about as frequently as Cisco did, which was surprising to hear. Harry had PTSD. He'd had it for years, long before he'd come to Earth-2. And it had only gotten worse after Zoom. He'd learned a thing or two about how to handle them on his own, but it had taken far too long, as far as Harry was concerned.

"I don't want that for you, Cisco." They were sitting face to face, one of Harry's arms draped along the back of the couch, "I couldn't really let anyone be there for me. Or at least... that's what I told myself." Harry explained, reaching his free hand up to curl some of Cisco's hair behind one ear. He smiled fondly. "I'm hoping you'll let me help you. You deserve better than suffering through it alone." Cisco smiled warmly, unable to really stop himself.

And without a word, he moved forward and kissed Harry. Soundly, this time. And twice more for good measure.

"You're the only one I want to let help me." Cisco assured, and the smile they shared after was exactly the medicine Cisco needed.

Harry had always been a good listener. A fantastic bickerer. A safe and steady presence. Cisco should have let himself open up to Harry much sooner. Hindsight was always 20/20. But they were here now. And he had a feeling when the hum tried to take over again, Harry would be right there helping him through it.

Cisco could hardly think of anything more comforting than that.

[my-name-is-dahlia]

Vocabulary (pt.cmlvi)

Words taken from Her Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham:

lovesick (adj.) languishing with romantic love.

poteen (n.) Irish. alcohol made illicitly, usually from potatoes.

pottage (n.) archaic. soup, stew.

sweetmeat (n.) an item of confectionary, such as preserved or candied fruit, a sugared nut, etc.

psaltery (n.) an ancient and medieval instrument like a dulcimer but played by plucking the strings with the finger or a plectrum.

donjon (n.) the great tower or innermost keep of a castle.

rouncy (n.) archaic. a riding horse. [x]

torque (n.) jewellery. a metal collar, neck ring, or armband consisting of a bar or ribbon of twisted metal curved into a loop, the ends of which are fashioned into knobs ornamented with motifs such as volutes or depicting animal heads or are drawn out and bent abruptly so as to hook into one another. The torque is a unique neck ornament in that it is not flexible and was often of great size and weight. [x]

high king (n.) a king who holds a position of seniority over a group of other kings, without the title of emperor. Similar titles include great king and king of kings. The high kings of history usually ruled over lands of cultural unity; thus high kings differentiate from emperors who control culturally different lands, and feudal monarchs, where subordinates assume lesser positions. High kings can be chosen by lesser rulers through elections, or be put into power by force through conquest of weaker kingdoms. [x]

elderberry wine (n.) [how to make elderberry wine]

[upside-down-peonies]

Gossip Gods

Chuck Bass:

- Hades; Greek Mythology. God of the Dead, Riches, and the Underworld. His name means “unseen one.” He is the only God to not reside on Mount Olympus. In some depictions he is seated on an ebony throne or riding a chariot pulled by black horses. He has a dark personality and is not liked very well by the other Gods. He is described as “fierce and inexorable”, and is one of the most feared and hated Gods by mortals. He is not evil, but is stern, and unpitying. He is also very fair. The three-headed dog Cerberus, who guards the gates of the Underworld, can usually be found at his side.

Blair Waldorf:

- Frigga; Norse mythology. Goddess of Fertility, Household, Motherhood, Love, Marriage, and Domestic arts. Her name means “beloved one” in Old Norse. She is considered “foremost among the goddesses.” She is the Queen of the Aesir and the sky. She is the only being other than Odin who is allowed to sit in his high seat and look over the universe. Her most prominent roles have to do with her husband and children. She is said to be blessed greatly, as well as suffering from profound heartbreak; both are her legacy. She has three maidens who she shares secrets with, sends all over the nine worlds with errands, and sends to protect people.

Serena Van der Woodsen:

- Freya; Norse mythology. Goddess of Love. She is associated with Sex, Lust, Beauty, Fertility, Sorcery, Gold, War, as well as Death. Her name means “lady.” She is admired for her striking beauty. She loves jewels and fine things, and will use her beauty to get what she wants. She can fly and loves traveling. She is known to lend her cloak of falcon feathers to other Gods and Goddesses when they need to visit another world quickly. She drives a chariot pulled by cats into battle. She likes poems and will sit and listen to songs for many hours.

Nate Archibald:

- Baldur; Norse mythology. God of Light, Joy, Purity, and the summer Sun. His name means “bold” in Old Norse. He is loved by all the Gods and Goddesses. He is strong and athletic, and was said to be so handsome and magnificent that light emanated from him. In some stories he is not as passive and innocent as first thought in most Old Norse tales. He began to have dreams of his own death and his mother went to every being in the world and ask them to never harm her son. Loki found that Baldur’s mother had not ask the mistletoe and he had Baldur killed with a spear of mistletoe.

Dan Humphrey:

- Momus; Greek mythology. God of Mockery, Poets, Writers, Blame, and Criticism. It is his goal to find fault in everything so he can ridicule it. It is thought that Aphrodite annoys him because he can find no fault in her. He mocks the Olympians so fiercely that he is eventually banned from Mount Olympus by Zeus. Because he is from the Underworld, his darker side leads to him instilling feelings of failure in men for their new ideas. His association with writers is because he is God of Censure and Satire.

Jenny Humphrey:

- Oizys; Greek mythology. Goddess of Anxiety, Grief, and Depression. She is a second generation primordial goddess and sometimes only shows up in spirit. She plays part in starting many wars, disputes, and feuds. She is a lesser known goddess, and though her brother Momus eventually became known as an amusing harlequin, Oizys never received light-hearted favor in any tale. She did not have a large following.

Georgina Sparks:

- Apate; Greek mythology. Goddess of Fraud, Deceit, Trickery, Deception, and Guile. She is an evil spirit that came from Pandora’s Box. She then roamed Earth for thousands of years tricking humans and teaching them to be deceitful. Her way of thinking is vile and twisted, and she is very cruel as well as cunning. She has no love for anyone, and takes joy in finding people’s weaknesses and using them as weapons to aid herself. No one is safe from her, and she will lie flawlessly and without second thoughts. She acts out of her want for power and revenge.

[caitlinsmithfmp2]

Dragon Subspecies

Due to the large amount of Dragon like creatures that appear in almost every ancient culture in the world, many Dragon subspecies and variations have popped up over the centuries. Some of these variations appear in my story and I will cover these and other subspecies that make up the main basis of the Dragon family, although the main type that appears in the story is regular Western Dragons, I would like to explore the different variations that could be implemented into the story and my project:

Fae: The smallest subspecies of dragons, a fraction of the size of usual dragons, Fae are one of the newest dragon variations and stay at quite a small size for the majority of their lives. They are also called fairy dragons due to their tiny size and much more harmless appearances compared to their full sized ancestors.

Wyverns: A type of bipedal dragon subspecies, mainly identified by their lack of front legs and ferocity in battle despite a lack of flaming breathing abilities, Wyverns are one of the main subspecies of dragons are are almost as popular as usual dragons. Using their wings essentially as a set of front legs, Wyverns have an interesting design and can move around in numerous ways. With Wyverns almost first appearing as the emblem on the Welsh flag, Wyverns have gained lots of popularity in dragon and fantasy based media and games, some of the dragons in my story appear as Wyverns to add variety into the designs.

Cockatrice: Subspecies of Wyverns, Cockatrice are essentially two legged serpent like creatures with the head of a rooster and chickens feathers covering a portion of its body. Although they are small, they are extremely deadly creatures that can breath fire and kill any animal simply by looking into its eyes, first appearing in Old English Myths, it is thought that by incubating a chickens egg under a toad that a Cockatrice can be created, alternatively this process can also produce a Basilisk (a small snake like creature that is extremely venomous and can kill with just its eyes).

Drakes: Another one of the main dragon types are Drakes, this subclass is very similar to modern lizards, lacking wings and four legged, Drakes cannot fly but host some of the most fierce aspects from their dragon relatives. They are though to be very agile and fast, able to harness the elements and attack with great velocity, Drakes are often depicted as being the size of a horse or rhino making them smaller then typical dragons. They are a newer subspecies but are very popular, I already have a few in my story as their abilities and appearance is interesting.

Hydra: One of the most well known dragon subspecies is the Hydra, known for having upwards of three heads, Hydra are a type of aquatic monster and are most well known from Greek mythology. Famously part of Heracles twelve labours, any warrior forced to face off against a Hydra would have to be careful as cutting off any of the creatures heads would cause two more to grow from the wound, defeated only by cauterizing the wounds before the heads can grow, Hydra have poisonous blood that can be deadly even after the creature is defeated.

Kirin: Also known as Qilin, Kirin are one of the more unusual subspecies of dragon, similarly to Drakes, they have a lack of wings and walk on fours but are more similar in appearance to Chinese dragons. With scaled bodies that are shaped similarly to a horse or deer, Kirin often have manes around their heads, cloven hooves and modern versions usually have unicorn like horns. Although they can look very intimidating as they can set themselves alight, Kirin only harm those who perform foul deeds and are actually shown as very gentle, beautiful, nature loving creatures.

Amphiptere: Another unusual type of dragon, depicted as limbless but winged serpents, they originate from North African myths and are one of the lesser known dragon types. Unlike many other dragons, this type have bat or bird like wings mixed in with colourful feathers that make it a rather unusual looking creature, Amphiptere also sometimes have beaks, making them a lot more bird like then reptilian.

Lung Dragon: Lung Dragon is the main terminology used to describe the classical Chinese dragon, best known for their lack of wings, short legs and iconic colouration, Lung Dragons are often colourful with unusual mask like faces, long bodies and the ability to fly despite not having wings to aid them. Most regularly associated with water, air and the Chinese royal family, Lung Dragons often hold the aspects of other animals such as turtles or fish, this determines some of their main features and colouration. Lung Dragons are likely the oldest of the dragon species ad myths as dinosaur bones found by the Chinese were placed into draconic like forms.

Wyrm: Although there are many strange dragon types, Wyrm Dragon are some of the weirdest, lacking both legs and wings, Wyrms are somewhat more snake like then other dragons. Despite not being able to fly and having no elemental abilities, Wyrms are said to be fast and agile creatures with the ability to paralyze other living things, often living in or around water to conceal themselves, there are also subspecies created from Wyrms including Sea Serpents and Quetzakoatl (winged Aztecian Wyrms).

Lindwurm: The final main dragon variation is the Lindwurm, origination from Old English and Germatic myths, this dragon type is also very strange looking. With a serpent like body, lack of wings and two clawed front legs, Lindwurms drag themselves around and are very flexible and fast creatures, they appear most often in European myths and are uncommon to be found in media. Salamanders are a subspecies of Lindwurms, having great control over the element of fire, Salamander have many legs over the Lindwurms two but still lack wings and the ability to fly.

I find all of these dragon types really cool, it is interesting the variety that have popped up over the centuries and how different cultures have their own versions that each vary fairly widely. There are a few types that I find cooler then others such as Fae, Wyverns and Drakes, these are the ones I would be most likely to put in my story along side normal Western Dragons, I will keep this in mind when designing the dragons I want to model and will try to add a cool variety to the story and this project.

[imintheunderworld]

Night Of Gods Worldbuilding: Skraros

Skraros

The skraros are low vibrational beings that desire to take over the world and Heasora, the place where the anara gods live.

Their leader is the Chief of Shadows. He is usually depicted as powerful, riding a skeletical or a dark horse.

They feed off humans’ insecurities, negative thoughts and excessive ambitions and will try to get them in spiritual contracts with them to help them achieve their goals, in exchange of making the human’s dreams come true.

This contract can be offered directly by the Chief of Shadows, depending on how important the person in question is; but usually is presented by a spokesperson when it comes to common folk.

Before the contract the victims usually go through a grooming process, where they see some skraros in their room, get followed and, in some cases, might get attacked. However, although they will be scared of them in the beginning, especially if attacked, they will quickly feel like they are not there to harm them.

If the person refuses to work for them, they won’t usually give up, unless not so easily. They will keep stalking the person, although to lesser degree, trying to find ways they can vulnerabilize them to a point where they feel they have no choice but to accept it.

Abilities

They are extremely powerful beings. They can make themselves invisible or shown at will. They are able to switch between two appearances: the one they usually show to the humans and their real one — only shown to humans during the offer. They can also manipulate energy around them, being able to cast illusions onto people and, potentially, even kill them through them, however they usually only do this when needed or during fights.

They are also good at influencing people, but they need to feed off lots of human’s energy in order to be able to cast illusions and influence someone effectively. Usually influencing is most effective on people that are unaware of them and that are scared or angry.

They can also create fire and control it, same with air, but the occurrences of them using these powers are rare. They are said to be able to teleport, communicate through telepathy, especially if the human in question is clairaudient or clairvoyant and are able to jump into people’s dreams.

They have extremely good night vision and can predict the outcomes of every decision.

They do not bleed. If you attack them with a sword, they will evaporate into the air and then reappear anywhere possible, multiple times behind you, in order to counter attack.

Physical Appearance

The appearance they usually show to humans is a completely dark figure one, no face to be seen, no lines, no body definitions.

Their true form, however, is almost skeletical, dark grey with ripped back cloaks on their backs.

They live in another realm. Just like the anara gods live in Heasora, the skraros have their own place. They enter earth through portals.

Defeat

The dark knights are responsible to get rid of them and they usually do so by luring into portals that lead to Seazsora. Luring them in is relatively easy, as the portal sucks them into if they come within a few meters of distance and it can be easily covered by trees, making its location hard to figure by most low and medium rank skraros.

It is said that Seazsora locks them inside forever and is guarded by the god Vaendn and his crows. It is also said that its vibration is unbearable to them and even after their body adapts to the energy, their mind might start to dissipate with the urge to go back to earth or their point of origin.

There were many times that the skraros invaded the planet, but only two of them resulted in big wars between humans and them, with the humans becoming victorious both times. There are also stories about how the cirines defeated them during their days of ruling over Hescad, but little is known to human beings about this, as cirines keep all their knowledge and power away from humanity.

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Other Night of Gods’ worldbuilding posts:

The Kingdom of Hescad

The Anara Gods

The Pentacle Sisters

The Dark Knights

Veoks

Ephryas

Cirines

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