#while females are born with bees in the place of their legs

[minorcoded-yoda]

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[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Hummingbird Clearwing Moth

Hemaris thysbe

The hummingbird clearwing moth is a part of the family Sphingidae or the hawkmoth family and was first described by Johan Christian Fabricius in 1775. The name Hemaris Thysbe is thought to be a reference to Thisbe, one of the doomed lovers in Ovid's Metamorphoses, due to the color of Thisbe’s blood-stained scarf and the maroon color of the moth. Additionally, the name hummingbird clearwing is due to the humming noise created by the rapid flapping of the moth’s transparent wings.

Description The hummingbird clearwing moth typically has an olive green and maroon back with a white or yellow and maroon underside. It has pale legs and no stripes, which is how you tell this moth apart from other in its genus, Hemaris. Its wings are transparent with a maroon border. After hatching, the hummingbird clearwing’s wings are a fully opaque dark red to black. Then the wing’s scales fall off when the moth takes flight, resulting in a clear wing with maroon borders and visible veins. However, a moth’s color and wing patterning varies between individual moths. For example, moths born in the south or later in the mating season are darker in color, and different populations have varying wing border shapes.

Average wingspan of 4.75 cm (≈1.9 in)

Up to 70 wingbeats per second

Can fly up to 12 mph (≈19.3 kph)

Diet and Habitat When in their caterpillar stage, these moths eat the leaves of cherry trees, European cranberry bushes, hawthorns, dogbane, honeysuckle, and snowberry bushes. Adult hummingbird moths feed on the nectar from flowers such as the Wild Bergamot and beebalm, red clovers, lilacs, phloxs, snowberry, cranberry, blueberry, vetch and thistle. The hummingbird clearwing prefers purple and pink flowers. They use their long proboscis or feeding tube to collect nectar from the flowers while flying in front of it like a hummingbird.

The average proboscis is 20 mm (≈0.8 in)

These moths are the most common in southern Ontario and the eastern United States. Their habitat ranges from Alaska to Oregon in the west and from Newfoundland to Florida in the east. They migrate northward from April to August and southward in late spring and the fall. They inhabit forests, meadows, and suburban gardens.

Mating The hummingbird clearwing has two broods a year in the south, but only one in the north. Mating takes place in May and June as females attract males with pheromones produce from glands at the tip of the abdomen. Female hummingbird moths will lay 200 eggs that will hatch in only 6 to 8 days.

Predators Hummingbird moths and caterpillars in general are hunted by birds, mantids, spiders, bats. To help protect themselves, these types of moths resemble hummingbirds or bees to fool predators.

Fun Fact Adults hummingbird clearwing moths are most active during the hottest parts of the day and have no hearing abilities due to a lack of “hearing organs.”

(Source: Wikipedia, Life On CSG Pond, United States Department of Agriculture, Georgia Wildlife Federation, Beyond Pest Control)

[diejager]

Pt 2 of the rook x female reader who knows archery, is born in December and knows a tiny bit of French ?

How they met ?

Fluff to nsfw

Sub reader plz

I've been stuck on this for a while, didn't know where it was headed but, I think it's fine now?

Ps. If you want translations, cuz I know that google translate fucks up even the simplest French sentences, tell me. I'll write it down at the end of the story.

Mon Âme Soeur

How they met

Rook Hunt x afab!reader

Cw: fluff, nsfw, cockwarming, creampie, soft sex, body worship, not proofread- tell me if I kissed a warning or smt.

Wc: 1656

Tracking was a specialty of his, silent steps and eyes catching everything that moved, from the slight buzz of Tony bees to the click of a deer's hooves. A hunter prepped for the kill, arrow drawn and sight clear on grazing animal, its delicate fur dotted with milky-white spots, thin legs that helped it frolic around clearings and past bushes, and doe eyes that seemed so big compared to its small head crowned with soft, swiping ears. A young and graceful deer was a prize well earned for a hunter, another beauty to his collection. Slowly stepping aside, around the tree he used as a hiding spot when the deer faced him, now back turned to him and heading towards a bright clearing, giving him a perfect view. One foot after the other, he advanced, shuffling closer to see what had caught the curious animal's attention. A new patch of grass perhaps, or fallen fruit from a tree too high for it to reach. Craning his head over the bark that hid the mystery, under the sun and behind the deer, he gasped. All of the above and more was what he was expected, but not this- sun peering down, past the treetops as they branched forward to greet their guest, crouched delicately over the irises painted in regal shades of purples and violets that thronged the center - where the dawn had stopped at. There, on the throne of irises, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, pupils wide and breath caught in his throat, he felt his blood rush to his face and heart beating into his chest as if it was trying to rip itself from him to meet you.In all your splendor and ease, coaxing the fawn closer with the wave of your hand and an apple in the other, a gentle smile on your lips and caring eyes. Perhaps you didn't - couldn't - see him from the shade, but he felt a pull when he saw you, a tugging in his chest that made him drop his stance, cheeks too hot for comfort. He knew the signs, he knew them well from seeing others experiencing this, his friends, his acquaintances, or strangers, it was a pull towards his fated one - a soulmate.

He was tempted by fate, throwing away his first thoughts to touch you, to be seen by you. A soulmate meeting another in the most peaceful place he could think of. Feet still moving as quietly as he did before, he didn't want to spook you or the feeding fawn, the sight of his soulmate connecting with the forest brought him to his knees - figuratively. He took a tentative step towards the sun, boots shining under the yellow rays followed by his leg and torso, and arms, face left cloaked by his hat craned down sheepishly, his sight still glued to you. When your eyes moved upwards, meeting his own, he saw the surprise in them, widening as a spark flew between you two. A connection formed there and then, eyes locked with one another, mesmerized by the appearance of your soulmate even with the small nudge from the deer's head. Turning its head to him, doe eyes blinking knowingly at him before it skipped to the edge of the clearing, as if it knew what it did, leading Rook to you although the threat of being hunted loomed over its head.

"You-" the word left your lips in a gasp, unable to say what you wanted to, still stuck at the moment. "You're-" "Soulmate," he finished after you, breathing out loudly, finding the energy to approach you.

You mutely nodded, waiting for him in your crouched position, hand reaching out for him to hold. He met you halfway, fingers lacing yours, his shadow bending over yours as he pulled you up, arms wrapping around your waist comfortably.

"You look... magnifique," he sighed, cradling your face within his gloved hands, thumbs rubbing under your eyes with a joyous grin. "Des fleurs de lys, how fitting, elles inspirent la royauté et la passion; de l'amour et du mariage; un union."

Although his words held so much love and passion, romantic in their profound meaning and language, you hardly understood them. All you could do his embrace him the way he did with you, holding him lovingly as your lips met. The soft touch of his lips over yours, tongue lapping your lower one for permission - one that you would grant. Tongues dancing, your muscle met his, letting him explore your wet cavern. It made your knees weak, and mind numb with the explosion of emotions and sensations caught together. When you pulled away, heaving a long breath, you told him about his words, how sweet sounding they were even though you didn't understand.

"It's french, ma belle," he chuckled, whispering his name into your ear.

***

You still remember his warm caresses, his nimble fingers dancing over your skin, leaving ghosts of his kisses across your body and the thrust of his hips. Slow and sensual, hitting deeply with every move of his hip, receiving lewd moans muffled by his lips. His tongue was lithe as his body pushed against yours in a drawn-out groan and deepened the kiss with the tilt of his head.

He tasted like a sin; sinful ambrosia.

His hips were steady as he fucked you, balls slapping your slick-covered ass and puckered anus from his short exploration of the muscle. His groans mixed with your moans, his long shaft feeling the way your warm walls sucked him in, swollen lips caressing him every time he pumped.

His body felt like a drug, a sugar-coated addiction to love.

The slow thrum of his fingers on your sides reminded you of your first night, fingers laced and legs crossed so deeply that you were stuck together and you couldn't help but tug him in deeper with your words, your gazing gems, your panting lips or your writhing body under his. All you knew was that you wanted him as much as he obsessed over you, two parts of a soul matching together. You fit so well together, like the way your cunt swallowed him so easily on the first try, taking him in with a swift cant of his hips. Into warm walls, moist from foreplay and gushing from the mere sight of Rook's cock. Lingering fears vanished, and all you could think of was the way he plowed your insides, his bulbous head kissing the mouth of your cervix with every thrust and the erotic squelch when he popped out. How lewd he turned you, once untouched and reserved for nature, he worked and watched the flower bloom, blossoming into the person he loved even more. The months of archery training and French lessons, giving kisses and cuddles as extra rewards over the usual hugs and kisses he gave every hour. A show of his adoration in words and caresses, he spoke words of love ("Ta peau est si douce, si délicate et si luisante. Une beauté de la nature que je chérirai jusqu'à mon dernier souffle, n'est-ce pas, ma belle?" It was more of a statement than a question, filled with certainty.) as his hands wandered the expanse of your skin, over your soft mounds, erect nipples, and between the crevice of your breasts, touching all he could see before him.

You craved the touch of his calloused hands as much as he craved your soft whimpers and whines.

"Mon amour, " he whispered, biting into your lobe with hot pants, a breathy voice, and a deep tone. "Do you hear how filthy your body is? How tight you got?"

You keened, head thrown back and eyes rolling as you felt the rush of ecstasy, a tight knot threatening to pop as your legs twitched and babbled out praises to him.

"Cum," Rook grunted, voice strained from the vice around his shaft, tight and enticing. "Cum for me, (Name)."

Canting your hips to meet his thrusts, your nails dug into his back, fingers leaving angry lines in raw pink for him to admire in the mirror afterward. Giving a few hard thrusts, he shuddered when you came, your warm walls gripping him tightly with the full intent of milking him dry. He slowed his pace, helping you ride out your high with mewls singing his name before he chased his own, moaning into your throat as he tried fixing his erratic pumps.

"Where d-do you want me?" he asked, mouthing the junction between your neck and shoulder, hearing you babble and moan.

"Where do you want my cum, mon amour?" he asked again, thrusting at every word until you answered him.

You cried out, back arching once more from your oversensitive and swollen pussy. The threat of a second orgasm hung over you, promising to drown you in delirious pleasure.

"I-ins-aah-de!"

Your toes curled and your head knocked back roughly, a whiny gasp leaving your lips as Rook's body shook and painted your walls white with potent cum, pumping slowly in hopes of pushing his seed deeper into you. Loud pants filled your ears, and a tired sigh from him made you wrap your arms around him, embracing him lovingly after such a tedious exercise. Rook returned the gesture and rolled to his side, bringing you closer to his chest, softening cock still sheathed inside to keep his cum in. He spooned you, his size dwarfing you as he peppered your face with kisses, adoring, and teasing.

"Je t'aime, Rook," you mumbled, your accent came out strongly in French, not used to speaking in French as much as listening to Rook talk. "Moi aussi, (Name)," he chuckled, heart warming at your attempt. "Sache que je t'aime et je t'aimerai à jamais. "

He worshiped you as much as you worshiped him.

*****

Taglist

@stygianoir

[mcnstercus]

" it's never too late to start being who you want to be. "

is that dove cameron? no, that's just andromeda " andie " finch. they were born on jul. 4, 2001 and are a fairy ( flower clan ) / mermaid hybrid living in northknot town. they work as an fourth year university student & author & works on her family's farm. some say they are caring and compassionate, but i've heard others say they are trusting and unorganized. when you think of her, don't you think of bumblebees, the color yellow, & seashell necklace?

andromeda charlotte finch.

S T A T S

name: andromeda charlotte finch / nickname(s): andie / birth date: jul. 4, 2001 (cancer) / species: fairy (flower clan) / mermaid hybrid / gender: cis female (she/her) / sexuality: bisexual / birthplace: northknot / hometown: northknot / residence: northknot / biological parent(s): michaela finch & wanted connection / sibling(s): beckett finch (older brother) / other family: charlotte monroe (aunt), waverly (auncle), alicia monroe (cousin, deceased) / physical & mental illnesses: eczema / dominant hand: right / known languages: english & spanish / occupation: author & works on her family bee farm & northknot university student / faceclaim: dove cameron

B I O G R A P H Y

( trigger warnings: death mention, murder mention )

andromeda finch was born to lucinda and kevin finch, a fairy mother and merman father, the second of two children. the finchs had a good and loving life, and it brought andie many ways to explore and have a large imagination. for as long as andie can remember, she was writing, making up stories, or playing pretend. running around with her older sibling throughout their family's bee farm, andie felt like she did have a good life. she was happy, and she felt safe.

growing up, andie was very close with her extended family, charlotte, waverly, and her cousin, alicia, especially. growing up andie and her often played pretend, andie initiating more and more stories. as they grew older, alicia drifted from the family and andromeda leaned into less adventures and more writing. by the age of fifteen, she wrote her first novel, though it never got published. after that, andie continued to write.

despite how close they were as kids, alicia and andie continued to grow further and further apart. andromeda felt upset, mostly because she felt that she had no control over it, she could see that alicia was struggling with something. andie fell more and more into her imagination, trying to escape the things she couldn't control.

everything changed when she was eighteen and she heard that alicia was dead. something in andie broke. that's when she truly started her novel. andromeda watched as alicia's family fell apart, even her own family hurt from alicia's death. not long after, the murders started to rise in northknot with the rise with the faction. andie decided that it was time to travel instead, taking many different semesters studying abroad, andie travelled from place to place, taking hold of the life she had.

when her second year of northknot university came around, she decided to stay in northknot. she took up a job helping her parents with the bee farm and making beeswax products and working on writing her novel to hopefully get this one published. while she is happy to find out that alicia is back after a spell put on the town blurring the veil between the ghosts and northknot, there is still a part of andie that is nervous about the murders. though she won't admit it, she is terrified of losing anyone else she loves.

H E A D C A N O N S

she has a western canadian accent.

she has a scar on her right leg after cutting it while running around on the farm with beckett.

her cousin, alicia monroe, died on mar. 17, 2020, and it really hurt andie, but she didn't want to let it show so much in order help charlotte. she left northknot a few months after her death to live her life and make the best of it because life was short. she backpacked around europe and north america. before returning in late 2021 to go back to university and work on a novel she's writing.

C O N N E C T I O N S

michaela finch. mother. andie has a really good relationship with her mother, from day one andie always wanted to be like her. andie looks up to her, and wouldn't know what she would do without her. she is grateful that michaela is very supportive of her and her dreams.

beckett finch. older brother. beckett and andie were always close growing up, though after the family lost alicia, andie grew more into herself. their relationship strained slightly, but andie’s trying to get it back to how it used to be.

alicia monroe. cousin & best friend & roommate. andie and alicia grew up thick as thieves, but when alicia fell in with the wrong crowd and rebelled against her parents, their relationship really started to disappear. this hurt andie a lot, and broke her even more when she found out that alicia was murdered. andie travelled for a while following her cousin’s death. she is so happy that alicia returned as a ghost albeit having something that kept her here. she is determined to build their relationship back.

charlotte monroe. aunt. andie and her aunt are pretty close. while andie can trust her mother with everything, charlotte was always the one andie went to to have some fun and ask questions that you wouldn’t be able to really ask your mother.

waverly monroe. aunt/uncle. andie enjoyed waverly being around, but now it’s been awkward since alicia died and the problems she had with charlotte. andie always thought waverly was pretty cool and wishes her the best.

saskia berry. friend. saskia loves bees, andie’s family owns a bee & berry farm, pretty self explanatory. andie is often dropping off beeswax products and honey to saskia.

flower fairies. clan.��she has a pretty close relationship with all the clan members.

L I N K S

all posts / ask memes / chats / musings / pinterest / playlist / self paras / wanted connections / visage

[beastlywoman]

INDEPENDENT, PRIVATE, HIGHLY-SELECTIVE BEAST ( from Kuroshitsuji ) ROLEPLAY BLOG. FOLLOWS BACK FROM @WRENNLY. GENERAL CARRD HERE

✦ BASICS.

FULL NAME.   Beast

NICKNAME.  Bee

GENDER. CIS Female

HEIGHT.  5 foot 6 inches

AGE (Verse Dependent). 24

ZODIAC. Unknown

SPECIES.  Human

✦ PHYSICAL.

HAIR COLOR.   Black with reddish tips

EYE COLOR.    Red

SKIN.    Fair

BODY TYPE.    Curvaceous

DOMINANT HAND.      Right

SCARS.   Wrists, hips, back

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Large breasts, always on display; prosthetic leg

  ✦ CHILDHOOD.

PLACE OF BIRTH.   East-end

SIBLINGS.    None

PARENTS.   Deceased

✦ ADULTHOOD.

OCCUPATION.  Beast tamer

CURRENT RESIDENCE.  Noah's Ark Circus

CLOSE FRIENDS.  Joker, Doll, Wendy, Dagger

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Multi-ship

FINANCIAL STATUS. Poor

CRIMINAL RECORD.  Various

VICES.  Sexual frustration, rage, fear

✦ SEX && ROMANCE.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Biromantic Bisexual

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.  submissive  |  dominant  |  switch  |  top |  bottom |  vers.

LIBIDO.  High

TURN ON’S.     TBA

TURN OFF’S.   TBA

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Relationship weary

✦ MISCELLANEOUS.

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.    American Horror - Snow Wife

MENTAL ILLNESSES.     PTSD, depression, anxiety

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.       Missing leg

PHOBIAS.   Losing her family

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  High

VULNERABILITIES.    Joker

✦ PERSONALITY

Beast is shown to be proud, womanly, and strong-willed. she has a firey personality and a flaring temper that often gets her into trouble. shown as unaware of Dagger's feelings towards her, Beast struggles with her self esteem when she's alone. she feels alone in wanting to leave their Father behind, and she hates what she does. she loathes the jobs that she's assigned, and tries to escape but to no avail. she betrays her family's trust with Sebastian.

  ✦ BIOGRAPHY

TW: HOMELESSNESS/HOUSELESSNESS, ABUSE, STARVATION

Beast was born on East End, a gutter where trash would be disposed of. her mother, Amelia, passed early upon her youth. Beast's original name is unknown, but I headcanon that it would be Elizabeth as well. somehow, it feels fitting for her almost.

Beast and the others struggled to make ends meet, and with their physical limitations, they quickly learned two things: nothing was free in this world, and that the world is a cruel place. often, they starved and struggled to survive. eventually, when she is at the brink of death, she is saved by a kindly gentleman... and he saves them.

this gentleman gave Beast a new body - outfitting her with a limb that allowed her to walk and work. eventually, she grows up and becomes beautiful. she is chosen as the beast tamer and dons an almost dominatrix persona for the circus. she is one of the head members of the group, but she is secondary to other men in the group. regarded as the leader amongst the women, Beast takes on a maternal role for her fellow orphans.

later, it is discovered that Beast and the others are involved with several hundred missing children cases spanning the entirety of Great Britain during the time period, usually kidnapping the child and "doing away" with eyewitnesses. Beast is later killed while trying to kill Ciel's family ( she is blown up, mourning Dagger's death ).

[tribbetherium]

The Middle Therocene: 45 million years post-establishment

Buggin' It: Therocene Insects of HP-02017

HP-02017 may be a planet of hamsters, but they are not the sole occupants of this seeded world. Many other organisms were introduced into this planet, organisms that were necessary to maintain the biosphere, ones that the local flora and fauna could not live without. Primarily pollinators and detrivores that were introduced to the planet, they too had been evolving for millions of years into strange new forms, converging on those that were absent on the initial roster of seeded life.

Among these are small, web-spinning hunters in the undergrowth that at first glance would appear to be spiders- until one counted their limbs and body segments up close. This insects, the spooders (family Saturnarachnidae), are in fact wingless, neotenic moths that have retained their silk glands from their larval form, which they now use to spin shelters and capture small, flying insects, while their long, coiled proboscis has adapted to become shorter and sharper: perfectly suited for piercing and draining the bodies of other insects.

Indeed, the spooders are among the less peculiar of the wingless moths here, as some, such as the weedsuckers (family Foliosuccidae) have become sap-sucking forms that fill a niche akin to aphids and plant lice. And some take their neoteny even further, by never metamorphosing out of their caterpillar forms at all: some remain, mature and breed in their familiar leaf-eating form, while others become predators, such as the caterpedes (family Chilopodamimidae), which have become scurrying, centipede-like predators on the undergrowth that hunt smaller insects.

Another strange insect that has filled the niche of another are the draclets (family Mimodracinae). Darting about in the air with four slender wings and a long tail-like abdomen, they look very much like dragonflies, but are in fact wasps: wasps that lost their stingers during the predator-free days of the Rodentocene and, with the coming of the ratbats, instead developed speed and agility as a means of escaping their enemies. They themselves are aerial hunters, with most species hunting smaller flying insects like bees, flies and moths that they snatch out of the air with modified grasping legs, and one species, the indigo draclet (Megaloculodracinus maleficens) is a specialized hunter of other species of draclets.

But by far the most widespread and diverse insect groups are unsurprisingly the beetles, which, as with Earth, are the most successful of all the insects. They attained a diversity surpassing all other insect clades back on Earth, and here, with the absence of some competitors, the beetles evolved into a wide variety of species and forms exceeding what they have on their original homeworld.

From an assemblage of various detrivore beetles initially introdused as decomposers arose many species that converged with other insects: some, such as the horned yeetles (family Iactoceridae) and the bioluminescent bulbugs (family Lucionoctidae) would converge upon other species of beetles like rhinoceros beetles and fireflies, while others would take on more distant insect niches. Fauxhoppers (family Pseudocaeliferidae), which fed on leaves and grass, would develop powerful jumping hind legs to escape predators, becoming close analogues of grasshoppers, while bloodsucking dreadbugs (family Dermopestidae) would converge on ticks and fleas: becoming external parasites infesting hamsters (the thick, shaggy coats of mison in particular) where they in turn are hunted by a different type of beetle, the nitpickers (family Pestivenatoridae), which have formed a symbiotic relationship with mison, feeding on the abundance of parasites attracted to their hides and in turn keeping the pest populations at a manageable level.

The beetles even thrive in the most inhospitable conditions and in unusual lifestyles as they evolve to fit their new environment. Even in the driest hottest deserts some of them endure: some, such as scurrabs (family Sabuloperfossoridae) which burrow under the sand to escape the hot sun, while others, such as the sandbugs (family Argentopteridae) have highly-reflective exoskeletons to deflect the excess heat- standing out like a shining beacon, but to no selective cost, as they live in the most extreme environments that no predatory hamsters could tolerate.

And one family, the wood-boring treeroyals (family Regnocimexidae), would even form complex societies similar to termites and ants, derived from a collective strength-in-numbers gregarious behavior that in time gave way to true eusociality. Minors, majors and soldiers are all females, whose size and caste is determined by the amount of food they recieved as larvae, while queens, which are born seasonally, being the only females able to reproduce. The drones, the only male caste, are able to disperse and join other colonies to mate with their queens, but unlike ants and bees, drones do not die immediately after mating and instead play a part in the hive's society, with numerous males serving as the queen's harem throughout her lifetime, and also helping to regulate the hive's temperature by fanning their wings.

But of course, actual ants are no slouches when it comes to kingdom-building in this planet, and in fact are partly the reason why the treeroyals evolved a colonial lifestyle to begin with. Thousands of species span the globe, filling a tremendous number of niches and forms that are far to numerous to each describe in their entirety.

Among the most remarkable species, of course, are the sailing raftants (Nauticomyrmex naviformis), a species that is native to the northern floodplains of Ecatoria, where they are forced to constantly deal with rising floods and sweeping currents. As such, they have evolved the ability to merge their bodies together to form a floating raft: a tactic used by Earth's fire ants, but the raftants take it one step further: they spend nearly their whole lives adrift in a raft, with each group taking turns to be at the top or down below, while the queen and her brood of eggs, larvae and pupae are kept safe and dry in the middle of the mass, a royal chamber made of their own linked bodies. Raftants are omnivores: feeding on fruit, seeds, nectar, insects and occasionally carrion, and it is one of the few times that the drifting colony anchors itself into place, using bridges of twigs and ant bodies to hold the raft in place while workers climb up and carry food back into the floating nest.

But the raftants have more to worry about than just floods, for a different- and more vicious- species of rafting ant makes its home in these waters: the hook-jawed pirant (Yarharomyrmex fidelldi), a predatory species that like the raftants, travels over flooded basins in masses formed of their own bodies. Feeding mostly on aquatic insects and small shrish, they have a particular tendency to target the floating raftants and in an undermatched colony, can result in complete eradication. Pirants are notable in possessing a unique caste called rafters, which, similar to water striders, can actively propel themselves across the surface of the water, and hundreds of these rafters quite literally carry the rest of the colony on their backs. Posessing a strong sense of smell, they can detect the scents of other ant colonies from some distance away, and once the target is located pheremone signals are released to the rafters to steer the colony towards their victims, and when the colony locks on to the prey's raft, the large-jawed majors -- the raiding party-- quickly climbs aboard, fiercely dispatching the crew and making off with the loot: the nutritious brood and reproductives of their quarry.

All in all, the insects of this planet easily number in the billions of individuals and tens of thousands of species, greatly outnumbering the hamsters themselves. Though small, simple and low on the food chain, they are ever-present and numerous, and form the root of the ecosystem that all life on the planet could not survive without. In a way, they were the dominant species of this planet from a certain point of view, just as on Earth: where amphibians, reptiles, synapsids, dinosaurs and mammals rose and fell in Earth's long history, but insects ruled all throughout and long before- an inextricable part of the planet's order that goes underappreciated in the shadow of bigger beings.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

[hashoterhatov]

Hidden talent | כישרון חבוי

You discover that your husband has been hiding something from you.

*

Eitan Konfino X Female reader

You pushed your way through the doors of the Petah Tikva police station, Danny’s lunchbox in hand. It was surprisingly empty at the front desk, Corinne being absent from her usual spot at the counter.

“(Y/n).” Yaacov Rabi appeared next to you with a surprised look on his face. “What brings you here today?”

“Oh, good morning Rabi.” You held the box in the air and smiled. “Yona asked me if I could drop Danny’s lunch off. I also had to fetch some papers from my desk.”

“Ah, okay. He should be in the breakroom. How’s everything with… You know…” He gestured towards your bulging stomach and you smiled, putting a hand underneath it.

“Coping.” you mused, “The baby is getting heavier each day, but we’re nearly there.”

“I can see. Every time I see you, your belly is bigger and bigger.”

The chief officer had such a way with words...

“I know.” you replied, “I hope it will disappear as soon as the baby is born, though.”

“Just a month and a half left, (Y/n). You will be fine. Do you already know when you will return to the station?”

You let out a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “No, Rabi. In all honesty, I haven’t thought about work in weeks.”

“Well, God bless you.” he told you, “I won’t hold you back any longer. If you find Danny, tell him his break is almost over, will you? And he needs to come see me as soon as he can.”

You gave him a nod before he went on with his work again.

Walking on through the police station, you soon found Danny and Corinne lounging on the sofa, Corinne’s legs pulled up, sprawled on Danny’s lap.

One of her feet was bare and Danny was working his hands over it, squeezing and massaging it firmly. His girlfriend seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, eyes closed, head thrown back to rest against the sofa.

“Hey there, lovebirds.” you greeted, smiling. As if they hadn’t heard you approaching, their heads shot up to see you, Danny’s fingers pulling back from Corinne’s feet as if stung by a bee.

“(Y/n)!”

“Your mother asked me to bring you your lunchbox, but from what I see, you’re too busy to eat.” you mused softly, grinning from ear to ear at the sweet couple in front of you.

“Oh, thank you.” he said. “Uh… Please don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Why not?” you said with a smile. “It’s sweet, I don’t judge you.”

“How did you even get this good at giving foot massages?” Corinne sighed. “I learnt it in Sweden.” She huffed out a laugh. “No, seriously.”

Danny took her foot into his hands again, working some oil over it. “When I was young, my father made my brothers and I massage his feet while he was watching the news. They stank like a shoe sole and the smell stuck to me all throughout my teenage years, but I mastered the craft.”

“Hold up.” you interrupted, holding up your hand, the other resting under your swollen stomach. ”You’re telling me that Eitan is a master at giving foot massages, too?”

Danny shrugged. “I suppose so. Dad always asked him to do it most often. He never told you?”

“No...? If I had known, I would’ve asked him for massages countless times already. Especially with the current state of my ankles. I can’t believe he hasn’t told me!”

Corinne hummed. “Perhaps he’s embarrassed about it?”

“Why would he be?” “Because he had to massage my father’s feet.” Danny said.

“Why would that be embarrassing?” you quizzed out loud. “Well, you know… Men.” Corinne said, rolling her eyes with a smile on her lips.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Danny protested, and you let out a laugh.

“Well, I will leave you two to it. Oh, Yona asked if you will eat at home tonight.”

“Corinne invited me over, so no.” “Okay, got it.” you said, “And Rabi told me to send you into his office soon.”

Danny let out an exasperated sigh. “What does he want now? Doesn’t he know I’m busy?”

An amused hum left you. “See you later.” “Bye (Y/n)!” Corinne greeted, waving as you left the premises, but not before grabbing the documents you came for in the first place.

A few hours later, you returned home from visiting the paternal home of the Konfino’s and placed down your bag on the floor before kicking off your shoes.

The house was already filled with the scent of food and you eagerly waddled to the kitchen, hands supporting your stomach. For a second, you stood on the threshold, admiring the sight of your husband.

“Hey handsome!” Your presence startled him a little, but he soon relaxed and a wide smile tugged at his lips. He turned the stove on low before turning to you, leaning down to kiss you briefly.

“Good afternoon baby and baby.” He cradled your tummy and pressed his forehead to yours. “How are you two doing?”

“Just fine.” you said with a gentle smile, bringing one of your hands up to tangle your fingers into his thick hair before letting it slide to his cheek, thumbing at his jaw. “Baby has been practising his summersaults today.”

“And my other baby?” You sighed and rubbed your nose against Eti’s. “Your other baby is very tired of hauling around all this weight.” “Did my mother pamper you at least a little?” he quizzed.

“She made me babka. How did she know that I’d been craving that all week?” A knowing twinkle shimmered in his dark eyes before Eitan pressed a soft kiss on your lips, turning back to the stove again, because no matter how much he wanted to cuddle you, the last thing he wanted was for you to be hungry.

“Who knows.” “Mujadara…” you said in awe, staring at the dish he was making. “That looks good.”

A pink blush appeared on Eti’s cheeks. “Well, I read somewhere that lentils are rich in folic acid, which is really important for brain development of babies.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you.” you whispered, kissing his cheek. He hummed in reply, almost shyly so, before you went to lay the table.

A few minutes later, dinner was served, and you were happily munching on your food while discussing how your day went;

“Rabi asked when I would return back to work again.” you mentioned, causing Eitan to scoff. “You’re heavily pregnant and that’s all your boss cares about? What a schmuck .” “Sadly.” you sighed, taking a sip of water. “Going back to work hasn’t even been on my mind.”

Eitan nodded and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “I still can’t believe that in a few weeks, we won’t be eating dinner with just the two of us anymore.”

He reached over the table and laid his hand on yours, causing you to blush. “Well, it’s not like the baby will eat solid foods right away.”

“I know,” Eti replied with a wink, “But still.”

You poked around your rice and took a few more bites before you were done eating. Your ankles were swollen and they caused you to sigh in discomfort.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Eti asked you. “Yes, just a little tired.” “Why don’t you lay down,” he suggested, “I will clean this up and join you on the sofa.”

You would’ve protested if it weren’t for a particularly hard kick to the inside of your uterus, causing you to grit your teeth in pain. “(Y/n)?” Eitan immediately quizzed in alarm, but you held up your hand to calm him down.

“I’m good, don’t worry.” you promised, standing up before wobbling to sit down on the sofa.

You laid down and rested your hands on your bulging stomach, gently rubbing at the skin through your shirt.

Sinking away in your thoughts, it felt only like a minute before Eti joined you, sitting down underneath your legs, resting his hands on your shins.

“Baby,” you began, “I had a conversation Danny today.” “Oh,” Eitan replied, interest piqued at the sudden mention of his older brother. “What of it?”

You looked at your husband with a slightly tilted head, reaching over for his hand. He took it and you guided it to lay it flat on your stomach, biting your bottom lip.

“Danny revealed a little family secret.” you told him. “Oh?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Which one?” You let out a laugh and hummed. “The one where it turns out that you’re experienced in giving foot massages.”

Eitan fell silent. “Oh.”

“What’s so bad about that, babe?” you softly quizzed, resting your hand on top of his.

He sighed and looked at his lap before speaking up. “Dad always made me and my brothers massage his feet while he was watching the news.” he explained. “Yes, Danny told me that.” you said.

“Well, I’m not very proud of that fact.” he said. “After all, it’s my dad! With his dirty, smelly, disgusting feet and unclipped toenails.”

“Why haven’t you told me?” “I thought it wouldn’t be relevant.” he admitted. “And so you deny me out of heavenly foot massages for years on end?”

He let out a light laugh and shrugged. “I believe so.”

“Well, it turns out you have talent. Danny said that Yizhar mostly asked you to do it.” Mischievously, Eitan raised an eyebrow. “You have already experienced what my fingers can do, (Y/n).”

A giggle left your lips at the innuendo. “I have. So… Why not put them to work?”

You wiggled your toes and he hummed, tracing his fingers over your calf. “Don’t you think it’s weird that I used to massage my father’s feet?”

“Of course not.” you assured him. “If anything, I think it’s sweet. And you should be very good at it. I’m sure your pregnant wife would love a foot rub now.”

“If that is your wish, then I certainly shall provide.” He moved your legs off his lap and stood to fetch some oil, returning soon enough.

He put a clean towel underneath your feet so there wouldn’t be any oil leaking onto his jeans and pushed your trousers higher up your legs, just past your calves.

Folding one arm behind your head, you took on a pose in which you could both inspect him and sit comfortably. Your other hand rested on your belly, supporting it.

Eitan spread a generous amount of baby oil over his palms before getting to work on your feet, first spreading it over the top and then on the bottom before taking one foot into his hands, gently squeezing to see how you would react.

You sighed in relief, smiling broadly at the feeling. “Wow… That’s even better than your shoulder massages.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to massage your feet sooner,” he admitted, “For you request shoulder and back massages occasionally.”

“It never sprung to mind.” you said, eyeing him through half-lidded eyes, for you wanted to look at him, but at the same time, you wanted to give in to the sensation. “Oh, that’s good …” you murmured when he ran his index finger on the spot underneath your toes, rubbing soft circles.

“Hush now, (Y/n)...” he whispered. “Just close your eyes and enjoy the feeling.”

Eitan gently took one of your ankles and gently moved around your foot in such a way that your joints relaxed, tendons being calmed in the process. His eyes were fixated upon you, a gentle smile on his features as his heart filled with all the love he felt for you.

You were absolutely stunning like this - your cheeks flushed, the exhaustion readable on your face, the curve of your lips and the way your hand cradled your swollen stomach. There was no way you could look any more perfect to him.

“I love you.” he murmured, and your eyes shot open at the confession.

“I love you, too.” you whispered back, voice tinier than before, as if you were close to falling asleep.

His eyes shimmered with love purely for you, momentarily going to your belly, and then up to your face again. “Just sleep, sweetheart.” he told you. “I will carry you to bed.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

Since he insisted, you gladly gave in to the calming caresses over your feet, lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

Eitan kept on massaging your feet and ankles until he was sure that you were asleep, then softly moved your legs away so he could stand, wiping his oily hands on the towel. Then, he leaned down, kissing your tummy, and then your forehead.

“I love you so much, (Y/n) Konfino.” he told you before scooping you up into his arms, carrying you to bed.

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 355

DIARY OF A HONEYBEE: Part 2

The honey I make is composed of water, sucrose and glucose and is very rich in vitamins. It contains enzymes to digest carbo-hydrates. It is very delicious and healthful. Some part of the honey I make may come to your table one day. I will have died by the time you are eating it. You have no obligation at all to remember me, but do not forget the One Who provides you with it through me and thank Him.

Day 32 - Thousands of bees die in our comb every day and other thousands are born. This happens in so orderly a way that no confusion is seen.

There is one among us without whom it is impossible for things to be in order in our comb-the queen. She is a bit larger than us and was programmed to do things different from what we do. She cannot collect nectar nor make honey, nor feed the larvae. She cannot feed herself either. We, her daughters, feed her with the royal jelly we offer to the young larvae.

The queen bee lays eggs. She must lay around 2000 eggs every day, for our lifespan is very short. While we are feeding her, she lets us taste from a substance she produces. We go round the comb and so cause all female bees to taste that substance by which a kind of birthcontrol is secured in the comb. On the day we do not taste it, we all begin to lay eggs. Since those eggs are not fertilized, only male bees come from them. Male bees have no task other than inseminating the queen bee. Their number is quite limited. If they were to be too many, the order in our comb would collapse.

Day 35 - A new factory has started to work in my body today. This factory installed in the back, lower part of my abdomen produces wax. I collect that wax with the sticks on my middle legs and chew it to mould it into the cells of the comb.

The cells we make are hexagonal in shape, because, compared with the amount of the wax used to build them, as much honey as possible can be stored in them. Also, a hexagonal form is most resistant to external forces. We make 35 thousand cells from half a kilo of wax and store 10 kilos of honey in them. We need three and a half kilos of honey to make half a kilo of wax.

We make cells in different forms according to need. While making them, we take gravitation into account. For example, the cells where the female worker bees lie horizontally form a vertical layer, while the cells where future queen bees lie vertically are parallel to the earth surface. The cells where male bees grow are bigger than those of the females. As you certainly understand, it is impossible for us and for any other things in nature, including what some of you call natural forces, to know and arrange all these things. There must be One Who does it. One Who knows us together with our relation with our environment and employs us in many important tasks.

Day 37 - (your June 11)- So far, I have left my comb on many occasions but only to throw out the waste matter and had opportunities to see the outer world from afar. Today I left my comb but not to discard waste but to fly around the comb, to obtain knowledge of the outer world.

Flying is very tiring for us. Unlike birds, we do not flap wings. When we start to fly, our wings move automatically in a way to make 250 complete turns in a second. While flying, our front and back wings are bound to each other.

When we start to fly, our wings curve along certain lines in a way to adjust our body to the air current. They draw a figure-of-8 shape in the air. In proportion to the size of our wings, our bodies are heavy (unlike birds which fly). They grow heavier when we collect nectar from flowers. Despite this, we can fly 15 kilometres an hour.

Like our flying, our landing is also miraculous. Unlike birds and your planes, we do not need to decrease our speed before we land. Thanks to the tips of our legs, while flying in the air, we can immediate- my alight wherever we want.

Since our wings move at extremely high speed, our need for fuel is high. Our muscles have a metabolic rate ten times faster than the heart of a man. We consume sugar as fuel. Before we start a journey, we take enough ‘fuel’. However, if the amount of sugar in our blood reduces to 1 per cent, we obtain new food wherever we are.

Day 38 - My new task is keeping guard at the entrance of the comb. No one, not even other bees, are allowed to tenter our comb. We know one another by our smell. The smell of each community of honeybees is different. Our antennae distinguish between the smells very well. The entrance of our comb is also marked with the smell particular to our community. Any other creature which does not carry our semll is prevented from entering.

Day 39 - There have been some changes in the comb. The cells of about a dozen larvae have been made bigger and turned vertical. The larvae in them will be fed with royal jelly until they become pupae.

The queen bee has accelerated laying eggs. She lays about 2000 eggs a day.

Day 41 - Now I am a fully mature honeybee. I will no longer do the housework because the factories in my body producing royal jelly and wax have stopped. From now, I will spend my days collecting nectar from flowers.

Today it was my first flight outside. When I flew far away from the comb, I found myself surrounded by a design of colours. The scents coming from all around nearly caused me to faint. Flowers attract us by their colours and smells. They have structures arranged as if to serve as platforms for our landing. When we land on them, we pass our tongues into the source of nectar in their centres. Meanwhile pollen from the flowers clings to the hairs on our bodies giving them the look of prickly sticks. We leave some of this pollen on other flowers we visit and thereby assist i the pollination of flowers. But for this service we perform, you would not enjoy the benefit from fruit-bearing trees such as peach, apple, pear, almond and plum.

We do not visit flowers at random. Whatever kind of flowers we visit first, we continue to visit the same kind in the same environment. If we did otherwise we would be carrying pollen of other kinds of flowers and therefore waste the pollen, uselessly.

We are mostly attracted by blue. However, we also visit flowers of other colours except red. Red flowers do business with butterflies.

We do not see flowers in the same colour as you see them. Only the nectar containing central parts of the flowers you see as yellow appear to us as yellow to attract us to you see as white appear to us as coloured. In short, when we go on a journey to collect nectar, we do not look for them. Flowers themselves smile to us and attract us.

Day 42 - I have spent today also among flowers. If you had followed, you would have seen that I visited around twenty flowers in a minute and as many as 20,000 by evening. I stored the nectar in my stomach and the pollen in the sacs on my back legs.

Since our return is difficult because of our load, we follow a direct way called the line of bees. Even if we pass through places unknown to us, we always follow that direct way. It is extremely easy for us to establish it. The place and position of the sun gives us our direction, Of course, the sun has changed position while we are visiting flowers. That is no matter at all. You cannot compete with us when it comes to calculating the exact place and position of the sun at any time of the day. If you kept me in a dark place and then released me hours later, it would not take me more than a few moments to find my direction. We use the atmospheric polarization and find the place of the sun by means of any little light coming from any corner of the sky. We have been doing this calculation for millions of years but you have come to know it only in the last forty years.

We cannot make our way only on completely dark days and therefore we do not go out on those days. We stay in and are busy with the work in the comb.

Day 44 - We are a big anonymous company with its tens of thousands of partners and personnel, agents, boards of directors, awesone storage and processing establishments and a well-developed communications network. We pursue big markets to do business.

We do big business. Many other insects, flies and butterflies visit the flowers with which we do business. However, when we find a profitable source, we rush toward it as an army of 10 or 20 or 30 thousand bees.

Five per cent of our population are responsible for finding a market. They constantly search big markets and we evaluate the markets they have found. If, for example, one of our friends finds a market of one million flowers in the morning, you will see their nectar and pollen transferred into our depots in a few hours.

Our communication system works perfectly. Let me describe this to you with an example.

It was nearly noon. One of the elder bees entered the hive in great excitement. Other grown-up bees crowded around it.

From the smell of the pollen on its body we could understand what kind of a source it had found. We tasted the nectar it threw up onto the comb from its mouth. It was a bit more watery than it should be. However, we had to take into account the heat outside and the fact that that sample had been collected in early morning. The amount of sugar in nectar in morning hours is less than at other times. In short, the kind and quality of the nectar seemed OK. But we did not yet know the location of the source and whether it was a rich site, nor how far away it was.

Our friend immediately began to dance. A few bees near it and I held on to it to follow its movements. While dancing, it uttered some sounds which meant that the source was rich, and drew a figure 8 over the comb, completing a turn in 15 seconds, which meant that the source was 10 kilometres away. Our friend was dancing according to gravitation. While drawing the line in the middle of 8, it made an angle of 28 to the right. Since we always take the sun to be at an angle of 90, the source our friend described was 62 to the right of the sun.

The information our friend gave to us was for a still, windless day. However, it was windy when we left the hive and therefore, taking into account the direction and strength of the wind, we corrected the angle given to us.

Day 47 - Our population has recently increased. We are about 60.000 bees. Our hive is not enough to accommodate all of us. Preparations made over the preceding few weeks mean that some of us will move to another place.

[tlk4dawnofanewera]

The Lion King 4: Dawn of A New Era Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Nala … Nala sweetie, wake up …"

"Huh?" Nala groaned, opening her eyes slightly. She let out a yawn as she looked up to see the blurry image of her mother standing above her. "Mom? What's going on?"

"There's been an accident." She said in a panic, breathing. "Mufasa and Simba … they … they …"

Nala shot awake and looked at Sarafina. "What!? Mom, are … are they okay!?"

Tears filled Sarafina's eyes as she slowly shook her head. "No … no baby … they … they …."

"They what?" Nala whined anxiously.

"... They're with The Great Kings of The Past now." She sighed.

Nala shakily took a step back. "The … The Great Kings of The Past …. But they … they …"

Nala burst into tears as her mother pulled her closer. "But I …. I just saw Simba this morning … I … I promised him that we'd …. We'd …. Play later …"

"Nala ..." Sarafina stroked her back with her paw.

"I … I didn't even get to say goodbye and … and I'll never get the chance to see him again or … or … or play with him again! And … and … Mufasa …. I … I … He was so mad about yesterday … I … I .. I didn't get to say sorry to him …. I …"

"Oh, Nala." Sarafina cried, pulling her closer.

They stayed like this for a few minutes until Sarafina pulled away. "I need to go talk with the other lionesses. Will you be all right on your own for a little while, hun?"

Nala sniffled but nodded.

Sarafina gave her one more loving nuzzle before heading out of the den. Nala laid there and sobbed into her paws.

Soon she couldn't bear to stay in the den anymore. The darkness and stiff air was suffocating to her. Nala forced herself up and headed towards the den entrance.

She made her way to where she had her bath yesterday and laid on the rock Sarabi had been on. Sniffling, she snuggled on top of the rock. Simba's scent was there, but it was overpowered by Sarabi's. Despite this, Nala found comfort in the vaguest hint of his scent.

"Simba …." She sniffled.

"Nala?"

Nala looked up to see Zazu fluttering above her.

"Zazu …" Nala said, hoarsely.

He landed beside her and gently put his wing on her back. "I'm … I'm sorry …"

Nala pulled Zazu closer and cried into his chest. He snuggled her gently and stroked her back lightly.

"Shh shh. It's all right." Zazu said, nuzzling her.

"They're gone …" Nala cried. "I ...I didn't get to say goodbye or … or anything!"

Zazu kept her in his embrace, trying to comfort her the best he could.

"Do .. do you think Mufasa was mad at me?" Nala looked at Zazu with teary eyes.

He frowned deeply and gripped her shoulder. "Why would he be?"

"Because Sim ...Simba and I … w … went to the … The Elephant Graveyard and we … we … almost got k … killed … by the … the … hyenas …" She sputtered out as much as she could.

"I'm sure he forgives you." Zazu said, tightening the hug. "When I was talking to him … this morning … he told me he was more worried about your safety than anything. He was just glad you were safe."

Nala sniffled and rubbed the side of her face against Zazu's chest. "Thanks Zazu …"

The two sat there in silence for a while until Nala spoke up again, "Zazu? What's going to happen now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean …. Who's gonna be king and all that?" Nala asked.

"Oh, uh, Scar is next in line, he'll be the king of The Pride Lands." Zazu said.

"Why can't Simba's mom just stay queen?" She sniffled.

Zazu sighed. "Unfortunately, that's not how it works. One of the rulers has to be of royal blood."

"Why?"

"That's just how it's been for generations." Zazu explained. "It's tradition."

"Oh, like that bee … thingy?" She asked.

"Bethrothyal? Yes."

Nala stayed silent for a moment before giggling slightly.

"What?" Zazu asked, lightening his tone.

"Does that mean Scar's gonna betrothed?" Nala laughed.

Zazu chuckled. "No, he's old enough to choose a queen for himself."

Nala laughed a bit more. "Who would ever wanna be his queen? He's so … weird …"

"I do admit, he always has been a little … odd." Zazu added, still finding it humorous. "Although he did have a few lionesses swooning after him in his Lion Guard days."

Nala tilted her head in confusion. "Lion Guard?"

"Oh, the second born royal cub's duty is to lead The Lion Guard, the protector of The Pride Lands." Zazu explained. "Scar was Lion Guard until the power went to his head …"

Nala looked worried. "You don't think that'll happen when he's king do you?"

Zazu was silent for a moment. "I sure hope so …" He muttered under his breath.

That night all the Pride gathered at the base of Pride Rock. Scar sat on top of a small ledge of rocks, readying himself to address the lionesses. Nala hid in between Sarafina's paws, crouched low to the ground.

He sighed deeply and cleared his throat. "I have an unfortunate announcement to make today. As you all know, Mufasa and Simba have both sadly passed away today in a tragic accident."

He let out another sigh and looked at the crowd below. "It pains me deeply to have to make this speech. Mufasa's death was a terrible tragedy, but to lose Simba, who had barely begun to live …"

Nala started choking up.

"Mom!" Kiara rushed over and nuzzled her. "Mom are you okay?"

She sniffled and looked Kiara in the eyes, nodding slightly. "Yeah, it's just … hard to think about … especially now that he's …." She looked to the sky again and returned Kiara's nuzzle. "I'll be okay … I just need a moment …"

Kiara laid down beside her and let her rest her head on her. Nala relaxed she snuggled close to her daughter. "Okay, I think I'm ready to continue now …"

Nala cried, nuzzling against her mother's leg.

"For me, It is a deep, personal loss." Scar continued. "So it is with a heavy heart that I assume the throne. But I must admit … I cannot bear this burden alone, and I will need some help … to ensure the safety of the Pride."

Silhouettes of the hyenas lit up on the side of Pride Rock, followed by their maniacal laughter.

Sarabi leaned down, "Nala, stay close."

As the hyenas emerged, Scar scaled Pride Rock and concluded his speech, "Yet out of the ashes of this tragedy, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era … in which lion and hyena come together, in a great and glorious future!"

Nala exhaled roughly.

"Mom … do … do you think that's what's happening again?" Kiara asked, gently.

The hyenas gathered inside of Pride Rock paid attention closely for her response.

"I … I don't know .." Nala said, just barely above a whisper.

"My guard and I have determined they were harmless." Vitani vouched for them. "They probably don't even know who Scar is!"

"I know!" Nala nearly snapped. When Vitani stumbled back in fear, she softened her tone. "I'm sorry … even that first night was hell …"

Sarafina pulled Nala closer as the hyenas flooded in.

Sarabi stepped away from their side and made her way up Pride Rock, a deep growl escaping her throat.

"Scar!" Sarabi said, taking her ground in front of him. "You can't do this!"

"Can't do what?" He asked, cheekily.

"Put the Pride in danger like this!" Sarabi roared.

"Why, what ever do you mean?" Scar asked, his tone not changing.

"Letting the hyenas in!" Sarabi snarled. "You're putting us all in danger!"

"Oh, dear, sweet Sarabi, the hyenas are here for the protection of the Pride." Scar said.

"Protection? You call this protection!?" Sarabi boomed, looking at all the hyenas. "Did you forget what happened the other day!?"

Nala winced and hid even more in Sarafina's paws.

Scar stared her down slightly before continuing, "Who do you think informed me about the stampede in the first place?"

Sarabi's eyes widened before it turned into a glare. "What do you mean?"

"My top scouting hyena, Shenzi, was the one who informed me about the stampede in the gorge." Scar said.

"I did?" Shenzi asked in surprise. Realizing what he was doing, she quickly changed her tone. "Oh, yeah, yeah! I did!"

"She was too scared for her life to tell Mufasa directly, so she went to me instead." Scar sighed. "Imagine if she had been able to go to Mufasa instead of having to have me pass on the message … Oh how things could have ended much, much differently. I won't let that happen again. The hyenas are part of our Pride now. We are one."

Kovu, Kiara, and Vitani had varying degrees of perplexation based on what Scar had said in the story.

"He … didn't mean it the same way you three do." Nala said, quickly. "He was trying to make us feel safe when we really weren't … I don't think he actually believed it …"

She sighed and kept going, hoping it didn't bother the three that much.

Sarabi let out another low snarl. "What about the cubs!?"

"Oh, they're great with children!" Scar insisted, looking over at the hyenas. "Isn't that right?"

"Oh, of course we do!" Shenzi said, playing along. She made her way down from her rock perch and headed over to Sarafina. "We just looooove cubs!"

She bent down to Nala's level. "Hey, no hard feelings about the other day, right?"

Nala shook in fear as Sarafina snarled at Shenzi.

"Besides, they're raising cubs of their own." Scar said, walking over to a female hyena and her baby. He grabbed the cub between her front paws and pushed her forward so the lionesses could see. "Why would a mother injure your children?"

Sarabi examined the child closely. The hyena whimpered as she scuttled back into the safety of her mother's paws.

She looked back at Scar, still angry.

"Unless … you want to challenge me for the throne?" Scar asked, a smirk on his face as he looked at all of his hyena supporters, surrounding them both.

Sarabi huffed and took a step back. Scar grinned.

"Trust me." He said. "This partnership will work perfectly."

He turned towards the den entrance. "We should rest now, it's been a long day."

The lionesses hesitantly made their way to the den of Pride Rock, … as did the hyenas who rushed in.

Sarafina clamped Nala securely in her jaw as she headed up to Pride Rock.

[jennywolfgal]

Bestiary: Centaur

Centaurs (Centaurus centaurus) are a race of giant sapient offshoots of mantids native to Greece. Origin/evolutionary history: They evolved from mantises, but it's as of yet unknown when they diverged exactly, but it's most likely at some point within the early new eras and epochs after the Mesozoic when life made an explosive return, and the major habitats that they were in were open areas on large islands, and due to the phenomenon known as island gigantism, and the need to grow big to thrive and fill in empty niches, they evolved a more complex respiratory system and exoskeletal structure to gain and maintain such a massive size, and thus became quite unique from most other arthropods in general. Later in life after gaining sapience/personhood thanks to a similar diet which included seafood, not that unlike a human's diet which led them to such a similar path, they eventually turned to a more herbivorous lifestyle, but as shown many times within nature, the line between herbivory and carnivory can be blurry, and they can go back to predatory habits. Physiology/biology: Centaurs are massive for arthropods, standing usually at a height of 7 ft at the head, and a body length of around 5 ft, they achieved this unique physiology thanks to a more complex respiratory system in the form of a pair of chambers that act as rudimentary lungs, along with a smoother modified exoskeletal structure that gives them a tetrapodal look to them, but they may still often run the risk of dying while trying to molt out from old shells as they grow, thankfully as they're a highly social people they can help each other out, so centaurs on their own have a much higher mortality rate, even if they were to safely molt, they'll be in an incredibly vulnerable state. Centaur bodies are a light tanned brown on the upper section with lightly darker brown stripes along the arms and front sides and large pale yellow compound eyes, and the lower section's a darker tone of brown with a lighter brown underbelly along with darker stripes along the legs and abdomen. The front and back thorax lacks any organs, which are located within the abdomen, much like a regular arthropod, but the back thorax does contain the pair of air sacks/chambers that act as rudimentary lungs which helps them take in enough oxygen to gain and maintain their massive size as previously mentioned. While mostly herbivorous ever since a few decades or so before ancient Greece, they have a tendency to delve back into a more predatory diet, and their powerful mandibles being more than capable of making short out of vegetation and flesh alike, having a max bite force of 230 lbs, this odd dietary habit is not too unlike whenever the line between carnivory and herbivory also blurs with other animals like deer and crocodiles, but happens slightly more often, with an average individual centaur having at least 12% of their diet being that of meat throughout their life. They're able to manipulate tools with their arms and are very good at it, even better than regular mantids which already are proficient at grasping items thanks to the more specialized tibia which has split into two digits. Thanks to their lean and powerful legs, they're able to run at top speeds approximately 40-52 mph for about 24-30 minutes. Their strength is also quite impressive, able to exsert approximately 150 lbs of force with their kicks, and thus are able to stomp at most attackers or prey to death, or at least cause some serious harm, which is their best means of deterring threats should they be unable to use any tools. Their mating season starts in mid-spring and can last throughout it and the entirety of summer. Females can lay up to 200 grape-sized eggs and the gestation period is 4 months. The rate of maturation for newly born centaurs is 7 years, and have a total lifespan of up to 30 years, with a few rare cases of some individual specimens reaching 52. Behavior: Centaurs are a highly social sapient species that live in herds of at least 13 individuals, always led by a matriarch. They're also often quite the militant people and are prideful of themselves, really only showing respect to other sapient species if they show them the utmost respect and admiration first, and those that end up offending them will quickly and brutally be ganged up on and trampled to death in a flurry of merciless stomps. This instinctive pridefulness has unfortunately led to the culling of uncooperative herds as the human and werecreature civilizations progressed, eventually, they would've been discovered by the growing new world and been utterly eradicated completely, thankfully there's still a suitably stable population, even though it's lower than desired, being around 830. Anyone who earns the respect of an individual centaur is treated as a minor acquaintance to the rest of the herd, and if one were to risk life and limb to save a centaur from danger they'd be treated fairly highly, even being given the title of master/mistress by the centaur(s) and will be seen as such throughout the centaur's lifetime. They're nomadic in nature and any sort of empires or other such settlements formed don't stay up for much longer, 4 years at most, and greatly sick or injured centaurs are left behind to die. Centaurs communicate with pheromones, gestures, and writing, and have a tendency to write on their old exoskeletons that they've molted out from rather than paper or wood, and what they'll most write down will be their past life experiences that they've had prior to molting, so they may keep such life histories remembered and collected. The tools they use are either made or found, they're not too picky of either so long as they know how to use them, and even though they'll usually prefer making their own tools, they can easily recognize better-made ones when they see and grasp them. Tools that they're known to use include but are not limited to spears, swords, clubs, bow and arrows, crossbows, poleaxes, armor, blades that're very curved and sickle-like, masks that resemble human faces, huts/tents made from all manner of material from various animal hides to vegetation, and clay or mud bowls. Weaknesses/termination methods: Centaurs are very vulnerable from attacks from behind, as their abdomen is essentially their heart, much like with all other arthropods, but slices anywhere along the body may also prove fatal, as it's basically mostly just a long neck with limbs. Much like regular mantises, they will die from losing their heads, but will still be mobile and run around frantically for up to 3 minutes, so it's best to stay out of one's reach until they expire. As their exoskeletons are fairly tough, they're invulnerable towards bites, cuts, and stings from small things like snakes, scorpions, spiders, bees, foxes, and dart weapons, but are vulnerable to stronger things like piercing and hacking weapons like axes, spears, firearms, knives, and the teeth and claws of bigger and stronger predators like chimeras, dragons, werewolves, etc. Containment/handling procedures: Herds are to be greeted by an agent who's tasked with gaining their trust and cooperations and become the emissary for them and this order, and are to be firstly trained and brief in on knowing centaur gestures and such before making any contacts, sometimes there's even a centaur present in person with the more experienced agent giving the briefing to the expected emissary. Once such pacts are made they're to be placed within large controlled mountain and plain regions that act as sanctuaries and go on for around 3 miles, and after spending enough time there are then escorted to live within new ones, most commonly via aircrafts or ships. There are indoor areas that can simulate such environments, much like a greenhouse, even though centaurs have a disdain for such things, they're smart enough to know it's sometimes a necessity. When making contact with a herd one must be on foot, for it's generally seen as greatly insulting and mocking to be on horseback or be in a vehicle. Herds that still wish to remain in the wild without The Order's help have learned to keep hidden from the progressing world, albeit with some more difficulty, and the amount of wild herds makes up 40% of the worldwide centaur population. Art is by www.deviantart.com/sheather888

[strandedhaze]

ONE : MEET NAOMI

FULL NAME: naomi june cheng-bradshaw. PREFERRED NAME: naomi. NICKNAME(S): most people call her nomi, noms, nao, nai and similar variations, elijah calls her nana. DATE OF BIRTH: may 3rd, 1994. GENDER: cis female. PREFERRED PRONOUNS: she/her/hers. ORIENTATION: heterosexual. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single in main verse. RELIGION: she’s not a particularly religious person. OCCUPATION: press manager for honda racing corporation. CURRENT RESIDENCE: madrid, spain ; she owns a house in the prestigious la finca neighbourhood.

TWO : NAOMI’S BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: marina bay, singapore. NATIONALITY: singaporean. LINGUISTICS: english is her native language but, asides from it, she speaks spanish, portuguese, italian, french, mandarin chinese and japanese. in some languages, she’s more proficient than others. for instance, she speaks spanish just as well as she speaks english. her spoken japanese is nearly flawless and though she can read and comprehend the language, she can’t write. she’s still getting around to dive deeper into mandarin chinese.  EDUCATION: she attended the massachusetts institute of technology - also known as MIT - and she has a double degree in business analytics and management. CRIMINAL RECORD: clean. BIRTH ORDER: first. FATHER: charles bradshaw was born on february 23rd, 1971 in windsor, england. he is an investment banker who resides in between hong kong and dubai.   MOTHER: sonoya cheng was born on july 5th, 1971 in sentosa island, singapore. she is a real estate tycoon who resides in between toronto, abu dhabi and singapore.  SISTER(S): none. BROTHER(S): edward cheng-bradshaw was born on january 15th, 1997 in marina bay, singapore. he is a software developer manager and resides in san francisco, california. OTHER RELEVANT FAMILY: constance mizuno, sister-in-law. SIGNIFICANT OTHER: naomi is single. CHILDREN: none so far. FRIENDS: to be done. EXES: andrea pagani, marco ricci and aleix martin. PETS: none so far.

THREE : GET UP CLOSE & PERSONAL

HEIGHT: 5′7″ ( 174 cm ). WEIGHT: her weight oscillates between 127 lbs ( 57.6 kg ) and 134 lbs ( 61 kg ). BODY TYPE AND BUILD: she is naturally slim - courtesy of genetics and her fast metabolism - but, despite that fact, she still has a willowy frame. by no means, does she have a hourglass shape with a big bust, tiny waist and thick thighs but with a good, healthy diet and a workout plan ( that she, often, forgets to follow ) consisting of some weight training and fun classes, naomi has still managed to achieve a shape she’s comfortable with. she has particularly long legs and, thanks to all the hot yoga and pilates classes, she holds a rather toned overall body. EYE COLOR: brown. EYESIGHT: she has perfect eyesight though when the work load increases, you’ll find her reaching for her glasses in order to give her eyes a break. she also wears blue light blocking glasses whenever she’s working on a computer. HAIR COLOR: dark brown. HAIR STYLE: her hair is, has always been - and will always be, according to her - long, hitting the middle of her back, at worst, when she goes for a trim to keep its healthy condition and it has a natural wavy texture which naomi has learned to love. styling wise, it rarely gets too eventful... during the season, she’ll throw it on a ponytail or a bun for the race weekends and allow it to dry into its natural texture on the remaining work days. if she’s attending an event of sorts or going out to celebrate, she’ll straighten it or go for a nice blowout. DOMINANT HAND: right. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: her lips or, possibly, their plumpness, her legs that often seem endless, her tan complexion and how it makes her dark eyes and hair standout, and for the rare occasions when it makes an appearance, her smile. SCARS AND MARKS: nothing outstanding - she has your average scars and marks here and there. TATTOOS: she has a lotus mandala on the inside of her right wrist, a symbol of enlightenment for her, as well as a way to symbolize all the growth she achieved throughout her life.  PIERCINGS: regular lobes. VOICECLAIM: nicole elise. ACCENT AND INTENSITY: having moved out and grown up in london, naomi developed a thick london accent which she never knew how intense it was up until she found herself in massachusetts. the four years spent there, softened the intensity of the british accent and the nearly six years in spain also played a part when washing away what once was a proper londoner accent so, these days, it’s hard to identify what accent she has exactly. it’s more of a mixture than anything specific.  ALLERGIES: cherries and insect stings, particularly bee stings. PHOBIAS AND FEARS: extremely deep waters and though it’s not a phobia, she gets really nervous when she’s driving over bridges. MENTAL ILLNESSES: none so far. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: none so far. SCENT THEY WEAR: it varies depending on a lot of factors, such as season of the year, time of the day, occasion and, above all, her personal mood. during summer, you’ll often catch her wearing soleil blanc by tom ford or replica beach walk by maison margiela, and during summer nights, she'll wear sundaze by byredo. for fancy events, her go-to is bewitching yasmine by penhaligon’s, same way her go-to for nights out with friends is slow dance by byredo. whenever she has an important business meeting, she’ll wear cuir celeste by ex nihilo, simply because in naomi’s opinion, the scent is the definition of boss bitch and throughout race weekends, she’ll go for rose of no man’s land by byredo. le labo’s patchouli 24 and maison margiela’s replica by the fireplace are generally the scents she wears through winter. for date nights where she actually cares to put some effort in and is actually interested in the person, she’ll specifically wear reine de nuit by byredo or santal 33 by le labo. ALCOHOL USE: socially, she does. SMOKING: she doesn’t smoke. OTHER NARCOTICS USE: no. INDULGENT FOOD: she prefers to eat healthy but there’s no denying that every once in a while, she needs to indulge in some soul food.  SPLURGE SPENDING: it happens every now and again, but she’s mostly a responsible buyer. GAMBLING: no. ADDICTIONS AND VICES: none.

FOUR : DIG DEEPER

CAN THEY DRIVE? yes, she can drive. CAN THEY COOK AND BAKE? yes and yes. CAN THEY CHANGE A FLAT TIRE? yes. CAN THEY TIE A TIE? yes. CAN THEY SWIM? yes. CAN THEY RIDE A BICYCLE? yes. CAN THEY JUMP START A CAR? yes. CAN THEY BRAID HAIR? yes. CAN THEY PICK A LOCK? yes. EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED? extroverted. DISORGANIZED OR ORGANIZED? organized, and she hates when things get messy. CLOSE OR OPEN MINDED? open minded. CALM OR ANXIOUS? calm. PATIENT OR IMPATIENT? healthy in-between and always depends on the situation. OUTSPOKEN OR RESERVED? outspoken. LEADER OR FOLLOWER? she's a leader, all through and through. OPTIMISTIC OR PESSIMISTIC? optimistic, mostly. TRADITIONAL OR MODERN? modern. HARD-WORKING OR LAZY? hard-working. CULTURED OR UNCULTURED? cultured. LOYAL OR DISLOYAL? loyal. FAITHFUL OR UNFAITHFUL? faithful. NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD? honestly, it all depends on the time of the year. HEAVY OR LIGHT SLEEPER? light sleeper. COFFEE OR TEA? tea over coffee, these days. DAY OR NIGHT? night. TAKING BATHS OR SHOWERS? baths. COCA COLA OR PEPSI? none. CATS OR DOGS? both. NETFLIX OR CINEMA? netflix. SHOWS OR MOVIES? both. LAPTOP OR GAMING CONSOLE? laptop. HEALTHY OR JUNK FOOD? healthy. ICE CREAM OR FROZEN YOGURT? ice cream. PIZZA OR HAMBURGER? pizza. LOLLIPOPS OR GUMMY WORMS? gummy worms. BEACH OR POOL? beach. SNOWBALLS FIGHTING OR ICESKATING? iceskating. LITERATURE OR SCIENCE? science. HISTORY OR ART? art. CHOCOLATE BARS OR COTTON CANDY? chocolate bars. XBOX OR PLAYSTATION? playstation. FACE-TO-FACE OR PHONE INTERACTIONS? face-to-face interactions. DRAMA OR SCI-FI? sci-fi. HORROR OR COMEDY? horror.

FIVE : NAOMI’S LIKES & DISLIKES

FAVORITE ACTIVITY: yoga. FAVORITE ANIMAL: giraffe. FAVORITE BOOK: everything i know about love by dolly alderton. FAVORITE QUOTE: ❝ when you’re tired, go slowly. go quietly. go timidly. but do not stop. ❞ — heidi priebe. FAVORITE COLOR(S): it’s a very specific beige/tan colour, a champagne type of shade.  FAVORITE DESIGNER: maison christian dior and acne studios. FAVORITE CUISINE: singaporean cuisine, all through and through. there are little things she’s more passionate about than her national cuisine, she often says no one does food like singapore.  FAVORITE DISH(ES): hainanese chicken rice, laksa, hokkien fried mee and dumplings. FAVORITE DRINK: matcha ginger latte and bubble tea.  FAVORITE FLOWER(S): lotus flower. FAVORITE GEM: diamond. FAVORITE HOLIDAY: new years. FAVORITE MOVIE: currently, it must be parasite by bong joon-ho.  FAVORITE MUSIC GENRE: she doesn’t have a favorite music genre. naomi listens to a little bit of everything because for her, it’s more about the songs and artists than the genre itself. FAVORITE SONG(S): xo by beyoncé. GO TO KARAOKE SONG: kiss it better by rihanna. FAVORITE SCENT(S): the scent of gasoline, melting chocolate and freshly baked goods. FAVORITE TELEVISION SHOW(S): la casa de papel. FAVORITE SPORTS: motogp, formula1 and football. SPORTS TEAM THEY SUPPORT: real madrid. FAVORITE EMOJI: probably the 💅🏽 though it’s not what she uses the most. FAVORITE WEATHER: she likes that type of weather at the end of a summer day, when it’s warm but not too much and you walk around the beach feeling that soft breeze of air hitting you, and the day is settling down and all that remains is a wash of what the weather was throughout the day. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR: summer. FAVORITE PLACE(S): a close tie between her childhood home in marina bay, singapore and her current home in madrid. she loves the memories and how much singapore grounds her, how it freshens up her ties to the culture and reminds her of better days. at the same time, she also loves madrid. the people, the culture and everything in between. both bring her a sense of peace she’s very fond of. SUPERPOWER THEY WISH THEY HAD: teleportation.  VACATION DESTINATION: if she was forced to choose, coppenhagen or amsterdam for a solo, self-reflection trip and anywhere in japan or thailand just to unwind.

[iamtrishski]

What Dreams May Come

This story is a one-shot fic that centers around my take on Prince Sigegar's first impression of Kanisa during the events of the Glacier's Forge arc by @ridersoftheapocalypse.

This is my FIRST-EVER attempt at writing any kind of fanfic, so I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: some of the events in this fic, including the explicit sexy times, are based on artwork by @s-kinnaly.

Characters in the story are the creation of the brilliant minds of @ridersoftheapocalypse, @mrneighbourlove, and @s-kinnaly.

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Ever since Sigegar laid eyes on Kanisa, the eldest son of Uskar’s High King Torbjorn and his queen, Brigritta, could not stop thinking of her. From the very first time she had set foot in the Grand Hall, time seemed to stop all surrounding motion as he gazed at the lovely sight walking past the throng of guests before stopping to greet the High King and Queen.

As he witnessed their exchange of greetings, Sigegar could not help being captivated by the Hyrule princess’s beauty as she introduced her brother and sister-in-law to his parents.

When she spoke, her smile shone radiantly with every word her lips formed and though he couldn’t hear her speak, he imagined her voice to be sweet and gentle.

Kanisa was absolutely gorgeous. The mauve-colored dress she was wearing was plain but accentuated her supple figure perfectly, kissing the curves of her body and boasting a neckline low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. Her long and wavy red hair looked soft enough to run his fingers through, and the way her hips swayed with every movement made him weak in the knees.

Kanisa stood at six-foot-five and was taller than most Direnor females by Uskarian standards. She's perfect, Sigegar’s mind whispered to him. The females he had dated were nothing compared to the Hyrule princess, whose red hair and skin color stood out amongst the sea of dark hair and pale blue skin.

Although Kanisa’s skin was a dark olive-brown – a stark contrast to his own – Sigegar still found her breathtaking, especially as her golden eyes marvelled at the beauty of the Grand Hall.

His train of thought, however, was interrupted for a brief second the moment Vidar walked in, arms crossed and looking upset as he moved to stand beside Kanisa.

While Kanisa looked cheerful, Vidar had a rather distant aire about him, a frown plastered on his normally-neutral face. He wondered what had caused the Hersir to display such a pitiful expression. Then again, he didn’t care why. He wasn’t particularly fond of Vidar, considering him inferior and perhaps even weak because he was not of royal blood.

“There you are,” Ragnvald mused to himself as he strode toward his elder brother.

Sigegar appeared to be deep in thought. He had not heard his brother approach but was startled as soon as Ragnvald slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what was that for?” Sigegar asked, rubbing the area his younger brother had touched then turning to see him smiling.

“Nothing, really. I happened to spot you from across the Hall looking all googly-eyed as soon as Princess Kanisa entered the room."

"I do not make 'googly-eyes'," Sigegar retorted.

"Says you," Ragnvald chortled with a wink.

Sigegar rolled his eyes and snorted, his gaze wandering back to the red-headed beauty.

Ragnvald paused before continuing. "You are aware that she’s married, right?”

“Obviously, if that ring on her finger means anything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look," Sigegar snapped in defense as he crossed his arms in annoyance and observed Kanisa introducing her brother and his wife to Bjarke, Jarl Brynjolf, and Angorn.

The second-born son of the High King and Queen only laughed at his brother’s response. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Ragnvald jested as he put his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

Sigegar glared at his brother. Ragnvald, still smiling, raised both hands in defeat as he chuckled. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But don’t stare for too long. You know how aggressive animals can get when it comes to protecting their mates.”

Sigegar shrugged his shoulders knowing very well what his brother meant.

"Who said she needed any protecting? I'm not doing her any harm by just looking."

And dreaming, his mind added.

As the evening progressed, Sigegar grew bored from just watching Kanisa. However, fortune smiled upon him as she excused herself to get a drink at the bar. He took it upon himself to converse with her and made a bee line to where she was with Ragnvald right behind him.

As soon as Vidar caught sight of Sigegar walking toward his wife, he bristled in anger. Vidar was not fond of Sigegar either, recalling the time Angorn nearly drowned because Sigegar made no motion to save him.

Ragnvald, keen on emotion, sensed Vidar's rage as his brother attempted to speak to Kanisa. She turned her head in time to see the rather tall Direnor greet her.

"Hello, Princess Kanisa. It's been a while. How have you been?"

Before she could respond, Sigegar took her hand and kissed it. "It's a pleasure.. to meet you," he purred as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles before releasing her hand.

With a blush on her cheeks, Kanisa bowed to the two princes. "It's good to meet you as well, Sigegar. Yes, it has been a while, Ragnvald. Kerugan keeps me busy. Being the mother of a fussy infant can be demanding, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

A smile formed across Kanisa's face as she thought of her baby boy, who was currently at home in the care of Vidar's parents.

Noticing the kiss that Sigegar placed on his sister's hand, Covarog whispered something to his wife then walked over to join the trio.

A loud "ahem" snapped her out of her reverie as she turned to see Covarog standing next to her with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh! Forgive me. This is my elder brother, Covarog, King of Hyrule."

Covarog bowed then eyed both men up and down and expected them to cower, but the three of them were all practically the same height, save for Sigegar, who was three inches shorter.

King or not, Sigegar was the least bit intimidated by the Gerudo male standing in front of him.

Ragnvald extended his hand, and Covarog did the same, as both men exchanged pleasantries. Not wanting to appear rude, Sigegar took Covarog's hand and gripped it in a firm handshake.

Once he felt that neither man was a threat to his sister, Covarog walked back to Zarazu and resumed his mingling.

Kanisa breathed a sigh of relief after her brother left.

"My brother is very protective of me," she apologized as she looked at the brothers. "Moreso now that I no longer live in Hyrule."

"But you have your husband to protect you and your son," Ragnvald stated matter-of-factly.

Kanisa gave him a weak smile. "I suppose you are correct." Uncertainty filled her mind as she reflected on the argument she and Vidar had earlier that day.

Kanisa paused briefly before uttering another apology. "I'm sorry, but I have to get going. Kerugan has difficulty falling asleep when I'm not there."

With that, she bowed and bid the two brothers farewell.

As Sigegar watched her retreating form, he felt a twinge of disappointment.

As the night ended, Sigegar walked back to his home. Opening the door, he took off his furs and set them on an ottoman under the living room window. He took off his boots next, placed them by the foot of the stairs, and proceeded to walk up to his room. Once he entered, he divested himself of his clothes and stared at his reflection in the mirror, marveling at the various battle scars that adorned his arms and chest. With a smirk, he turned and strode toward his bed not bothering to put on any undergarments.

As he lay himself down, Sigegar couldn't help but reflect on the night's events, which he spent mostly watching Kanisa from afar. He recalled Ragnvald mentioning Vidar's name, followed by the slight uncertainty in her response. Then he remembered the expression on Vidar's face as he entered the Grand Hall and stood next to Kanisa.

"You are aware that she's married, right?"

His conscience reprimanded him, echoing the words his brother asked earlier.

He shot back.

"But that doesn't mean I can't look."

Satisfied with his mental response, Sigegar drifted off to sleep. Moments later, the prince tossed and turned, his head moving from side to side.

Though he did not wake, it appeared as if he was dreaming. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead as the prince's body responded unconsciously to the events in the dream.

Kanisa was naked, a fur blanket obscuring her partially-covered bottom half but revealing her round and pert breasts. They were the perfect size, pliant yet large enough to fit in his hands. Her nipples and areolas were a bit darker than the rest of her skin but were just as enticing.

Standing in front of her, Sigegar made motion to remove his clothing slowly. As he worked on pulling his top off, Kanisa was mesmerized at the sight of his abdominal muscles contracting with every move of his body.

Following the bottom of his shirt, her glance moved up to his pecs, which flexed as his arms removed the last vestiges of his top.

Her cheeks reddened just like they did when she accidentally happened upon her eldest brother in the bath. Fortunately for him, she could only see his top half.

Noticing her flushed cheeks, Sigegar did the same with his trousers. Kanisa stared at him while he tantalizingly unbuttoned them, her eyes following the happy trail leading toward his nether region.

Once his trousers slid down his muscular legs, her eyes went wide, revelling at the sight of his now-hardened manhood.

Sigegar stepped out of his trousers and made his way to Kanisa, grabbing her face tenderly as he gave her lips a heated kiss.

The fur blanket dropped to the floor as they kissed each other with wanton desire, tongues dueling for dominance.

Amidst their steamy liplock, Kanisa grasped his hardened member and began to stroke it.

"Aaahh.. hmmm," Sigegar moaned in his sleep.

"Nngh.. Kanisa," he sighed.

Licking his lips, Sigegar thrashed his head to one side as the dream continued.

Feeling the heat course through his veins, Sigegar kissed Kanisa with more ferver, lifting her and carrying her bridal-style to his bed.

As he gently laid her on the bed, Sigegar began kissing her neck and making his way down her body while his hands fondled her breasts and teased the nipples into hardened peaks. He kissed the valley of her breasts before licking the nipple of one with the tip of his tongue then suckling it. Turning his attention to the other breast, he repeated the same action.

Kanisa moaned as he rained butterfly kisses down her taut body until he reached her womanhood, spreading her legs wide for what was about to happen.

Kneeling between her thighs, Sigegar wasted no time and laved her clit until he felt her legs shake. Using the tip of his tongue once more, he teased her swollen nub by drawing circles around it, repeating the motion several times until her hips began to buck.

With one last lick, Sigegar darted his tongue into her womanhood and wiggled it. When his tongue wasn't inside her, he kept the momentum going by alternating between sucking and licking her clit, feeling his bearded chin drenched in her juices with each strafe of his tongue. He then inserted his middle and ring fingers and crooked them both upward, applying pressure to her G-spot as he moved his hand in and out with a quick and steady motion.

Kanisa moaned loudly, her mouth forming an 'O' as she palmed and squeezed her breasts.

Hearing her moans made Sigegar hard with lust. He stopped what he was doing for a quick moment, stood up, and exchanged places with Kanisa. As he lay on the bed, he motioned for them to assume a sixty-nine position.

Grasping her ass cheeks, he resumed licking her pussy while teasing and sucking her clit. Catching on quickly, Kanisa grabbed his shaft and began to stroke it. Once she put her mouth on his tip and started sucking, Sigegar hissed and inhaled sharply. He tried to continue his ministrations, but her talented mouth assaulted his member sinfully, licking up and down the shaft with the flat of her tongue before laving the sensitive ridges of the engorged mushroom-shaped head.

Kanisa was so focused on what she was doing that Sigegar almost forgot to breathe, grabbing the sheets with his hands and bunching them in his fists. With his heart pounding, he squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath, feeling like he was about to explode.

Before he could do so, he moved out from under Kanisa quickly and knelt behind her. Using one hand, he guided his still-hardened member to her glory hole and rammed himself into her sopping wet entrance. She was very tight and felt amazing as her vaginal walls contracted with every hard thrust.

Sigegar could feel and hear his heavy sac slapping against her womanhood as he concentrated on bringing them both pleasure.

Turning Kanisa on her back, Sigegar re-entered her delicious pussy and continued to thrust into her. As he did, he stared down at the woman currently in the throes of pleasure, her hair fanned around her flushed face.

"Aaah.. ohhh.. hmmm," Kanisa moaned as she raised her hips to meet his thrusts. Grasping her hips tightly, Sigegar pounded into her pussy, slamming into her heavenly sheath repeatedly with brute force.

"Aaahh.." Sigegar groaned. Still asleep, his mind continued to fan his lust with images of Kanisa writhing beneath him.

Gods, she was so damn beautiful.

He was so close to cumming that he sped up his movements until his hips jerked. With one last look at her and a final thrust, he let out a long and loud groan..

Panting heavily, Sigegar snapped open his eyes. He looked around the empty room to find no trace of Kanisa. Frustrated, he rubbed his face with both hands and realized it was all a dream. However, a rather large problem made itself known as it protested against the confines of the fur blanket. Looking down, Sigegar let out a heavy sigh.

"Great, now I have to take care of this," he muttered under his breath.

Sliding the blanket down, he exposed his manhood and ran his hand over his balls then moved his fingers upward to feel the veins covering his shaft.

Once he reached the swollen head, his finger rubbed over the slit, feeling a bead of slippery liquid escape. He closed his eyes then grasped his shaft and started jerking himself slowly.

As images of Kanisa flooded his mind once more, he sped up his movements and concentrated on her face, her eyes boring into his in a lustful daze.

Sigegar began panting as he envisioned himself kissing the nape of her neck, one hand fondling a breast and the other in between her legs. He imagined her moaning relentlessly as she moved her arm backward to grab at his hair.

He could feel the impending explosion as his toes tingled, working its way upward to the base of his spine.

As it neared, Sigegar furiously pumped his manhood, seeking release. The moment he felt it, he heaved his chest upward as warm, white ejaculate sprayed all over his abdomen.

"Nnnghh.. aaarghh!" Sigegar almost yelled. Slowing down his pumps, two more spurts of ejaculate landed on his chest.

Panting very heavily, heart stammering in his chest, Sigegar was drained. He could barely move a muscle, let alone lift a finger.

Looking up at the ceiling, he whispered, "Shit.." into the night air.

He summoned whatever energy he had left to grab a towel and wipe himself clean before falling into a restful slumber.

[bijoux-finnigan-thomas-blog]

[ BIJOUX FINNIGAN-THOMAS, 20, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER, LANA CONDOR ] Have you seen [ BEE ] lurking around Lulach? It’s said they are a [ HALF-BLOOD ] and they used to be a [ HOGWARTS ] student. It’s said they now are an [ AUROLOGIST & ASPIRING CURSE-BREAKER ]. If you had to describe them, you’d probably say [ THEY ARE WANDERING EYES, A SWEET VOICE THAT MASKS WHISPERS, ROLLERBLADES, & THE COLOR YELLOW ]. Are they prepared for what’s to come?

Bio:

Bijoux was born to Theo Hussey (Squib) and Hoa Thach (Muggle). Hoa became pregnant and had a few stipulations about them getting married: they would not take Theo’s family name (”Neither I nor my child will be named Hussey.”) And that was that. Thus Bijoux Thach was born. 

At the age of five, Bijoux’s parents were arrested for home invasion--robbery specifically. They’d been doing this for a while to keep the family partially fed, but mostly to support their drug habit. Hoa was released on the account that she was a mother while Theo was put away. It was a mere month later that Bijoux, with her black swan stuffed animal in hand, stood on the dirt road outside her rundown house--barefoot and crying--as she watched her mother drive away with a man she’d never seen before. They got to the turn-off when Hoa turned back to Bijoux and waved good-bye to her daughter with a smile. 

Bijoux was six when Dean and Seamus came into her life, and she was more than happy to shed her mother’s last name. She never really got over the way that Hoa smiled as she waved good-bye to her. She adjusted to her new family with ease, trying her best to leave that pain behind. 

Bijoux has chromesthesia. A form of perceptual phenomenon where she can see sounds as colors. Her chromesthesia mixed with her magic created an even more unique phenomenon where the colors she sees matches the person’s (or other living thing’s) aura. She can tell what kind of “color” you are simply by hearing you speak. 

Her synesthesia has lead her to a love of divination and all other “soft” magics. Tea-leaves, tarot cards, Astragalomancy...it’s all in her wheel-house. Though, her main focus is aura reading and aura cleansing.

Bijoux has always been a Hufflepuff through and through. She’s sweet, loyal, hard-working--the kind of person you love to rely on. Wearing the yellow and black quickly earned her the nickname “Bee.” While she loves the nickname and now has a collection of bumblebee themed items (pins, a jean jacket with a large bee patch on the back, a bee-patterned skirt, several journals, and a self-made bumble bee themed tarot card deck), there’s a special place in her heart for those that use her full name. 

Though sweet and generally helpful, Bijoux has always had a bitter spot in her heart. She’s kept in so much anger and hate that if you catch her on a bad day, you may get quite the tongue-lashing or hex thrown at you. 

On a recent trip to the US, Bijoux discovered roller derby. It was an outlet that she never knew she needed and has been trying to get going here at home. Now, you’ll hardly see her without a pair of roller blades slung over her shoulder or in her hands. 

Roller derby also showed her that she was more fierce than she thought, and has inspired her to begin her journey to curse breaker--one that she always wanted to take, but never thought she could. 

Bijoux loves wearing overall dresses. She has a variety of them from blue jean to dark blue to white to pink to black to, of course, yellow. At any given time, Bijoux is always wearing something yellow--even if it is as small as a hair bow or a necklace. 

You’ll most often catch her in some kind of dress or skirt, the bruises and band-aids on her knees and legs proudly showing. 

Wanted connections:

Childhood friend/Best friend

Friends

Roller derby friends/girls she’s recruited to join her roller derby team

Divination buddies or people who come to her for aura readings/aura cleansings

Someone who is a bad influence on her

Someone who she is a good influence on

Biological sibling (probs separated at  some point)

Finnigan-Thomas siblings

[ainawgsd]

The honey badger (Mellivora capensis), also known as the ratel, is the only species in the mustelid subfamily Mellivorinae and its only genus Mellivora. It is native to Africa, Southwest Asia, and the Indian subcontinent. Despite its name, the honey badger does not closely resemble other badger species; instead, it bears more anatomical similarities to weasels. It is classed as Least Concern rather than a threatened species by the IUCN owing to its extensive range and general environmental adaptations. It is primarily a carnivorous species and has few natural predators because of its thick skin and ferocious defensive abilities.

The honey badger has a fairly long body, but is distinctly thick-set and broad across the back. Its skin is remarkably loose, and allows it to turn and twist freely within it. The skin around the neck is 6 millimetres (0.24 in) thick, an adaptation to fighting conspecifics. The head is small and flat, with a short muzzle. The eyes are small, and the ears are little more than ridges on the skin, another possible adaptation to avoiding damage while fighting. The honey badger has short and sturdy legs, with five toes on each foot. The feet are armed with very strong claws, which are short on the hind legs and remarkably long on the forelimbs. It is a partially plantigrade animal whose soles are thickly padded and naked up to the wrists. The tail is short and is covered in long hairs.

Honey badgers are the largest terrestrial mustelids in Africa. Adults measure 9.1 to 11.0 inches in shoulder height and 22–30 inches in body length, with the tail adding another 4.7–11.8 inches. Females are smaller than males. In Africa, males weigh 20 to 35 lbs while females weigh 11 to 22 lbs on average. The mean weight of adult honey badgers from different areas has been reported at anywhere between 14 to 26 lbs, with a median of roughly 20 lbs, per various studies. This positions it as the third largest known badger, after the European badger and hog badger, and fourth largest extant terrestrial mustelid after the wolverine.

Honey badgers live alone in self-dug holes. They are skilled diggers, able to dig tunnels into hard ground in 10 minutes. These burrows usually have only one passage and a nesting chamber and are usually only 3–10 ft long. They do not place bedding into the nesting chamber. Although they usually dig their own burrows, they may take over disused aardvark and warthog holes or termite mounds. Although mostly solitary, honey badgers may hunt together in pairs during the May breeding season. The gestation period is thought to last six months, usually resulting in two cubs, which are born blind. Its lifespan in the wild is unknown, though captive individuals have been known to live for approximately 24 years.

Honey badgers are intelligent animals and are one of a few species known to be capable of using tools. In the 1997 documentary series Land of the Tiger, a honey badger in India was filmed making use of a tool; the animal rolled a log and stood on it to reach a kingfisher fledgling stuck up in the roots coming from the ceiling in a cave. A video made at the Moholoholo rehab centre in South Africa showed a pair of honey badgers using sticks, a rake, heaps of mud and stones to escape from their walled pit.

As with other mustelids of relatively large size, such as wolverines and badgers, honey badgers are notorious for their strength, ferocity and toughness. They have been known to savagely and fearlessly attack almost any kind of animal when escape is impossible, reportedly even repelling much larger predators such as lions. Bee stings, porcupine quills, and animal bites rarely penetrate their skin. If horses, cattle, or Cape buffalos intrude upon a ratel's burrow, it will attack them. They are virtually tireless in combat and can wear out much larger animals in physical confrontations.

Next to the wolverine, the honey badger has the least specialized diet of the weasel family. Honey badgers favor bee honey, and will often search for beehives to get it, which earns them their name. They are also carnivorous and will eat insects, frogs, tortoises, rodents, turtles, lizards, snakes, eggs, and birds. Honey badgers have even been known to chase away young lions and take their kills. They will eat fruit and vegetables, such as berries, roots and bulbs. Honey badgers are able to feed on tortoises without difficulty, due to their powerful jaws. They kill and eat snakes, even highly venomous or large ones, such as cobras. They devour all parts of their prey, including skin, hair, feathers, flesh and bones, holding their food down with their forepaws. When seeking vegetable food, they lift stones or tear bark from trees.

[gotatext]

yo, im not gonna lie guys, im super drunk, so this bio is like.... completely ocpy and pasted but;.... pls plot with me..... im so excited to bring this baby here.... i feel it is the perfect place to write her and i hven’t had the chance to in so long ..... love me..... and greta........ please im so excited this is back, last time i played jack..... n willow??? i think....... maybe archie too...... dont even remember...... who i fuckin played..... but i was here...... and queer..... loud..... and proud..... god this dumb bitch needs to sleep.....

GRETA O'DRISCOLL

20. born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots. vert into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn.

( kristine froseth | she / her | cisfemale ) hey, you hear ( young lady, you’re scaring me by ron gallo ) playing over on the ( rv lot ) ? that’s where ( greta o'driscoll ) lives! i heard they moved in from ( marfa, texas ) exactly ( four months ) ago. they’re very ( zealous ) but also pretty ( erratic ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( libertine ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 20 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nora | 23 | she / her | gmt )

personality: easy-going, deceptive, manipulative, self-reliant, profound, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent unmotivated, self-corrupting, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring.

likes: art, music, philosophy, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, fish and chips on the beach, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, DJ sets, magnolias.

dislikes: bananas, coffee, mental mathematics, children, misogyny, the imaginary future, literature, Wes Anderson films

muse tag

pinterest

aesthetics: a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

cliffsnotes on biography

 - she’s called greta (under witness protection), and she’s a serial dater. she’s incredibly restless and doesn’t settle. before she came to seattle, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. born into a single-parent house with two older sisters so always surrounded by women and as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention  -   every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result everyone from her past views her as a completely different person depending on when she met them.   -   she’s been involved in a series of destructive relationships because when people discover she’s not who she pretends to be she often gets explosive and defensive.  -   (tw gun) she’s now under witness protection and moved to connecticut because she shot a previous boyfriend in self-defence and his family are trying to have her done for murder, but she got tired of being moitored so is now even on the run from the police / her faked identity.  - easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be entralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her   -  big into sports. big into gender politics. big into art. does a lot of art installation pieces to do with female and queer bodies. massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune. big fan of the honey bee.

full biography

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your bosom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out. 

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and daredevils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six-pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three-hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty-five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wildfire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you make your name as a downtown singer while he foots the bill with pills. they have a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you live like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self-defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to vegas where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[littalks-blog]

On October 27, 1932, Sylvia Plath was born in Boston, Massachusetts. On April 27, 1935, Sylvia’s brother, Warren, was born. In 1936, the Plath family moved to Winthrop, Massachusetts. While living in Winthrop, Sylvia published her first poem in the Boston Herald’s children section at the age of eight. Over the next few years, Sylvia published an array of poems in different magazines and newspapers of the region. Sylvia started keeping a journal around the age of eleven. In 1947, she won an award from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards for paintings. Plath was highly skilled in writing and the arts. She also had an IQ of around 160.

In November of 1940, Sylvia’s father, Otto, died. After a visit to her father's grave, Sylvia wrote the poem “Electra on Azalea Path.” Also, after Otto died, Sylvia’s mother moved the family to Wellesley, Massachusetts in 1942. It was in Wellesley that Plath attended Bradford Senior High School. She graduated in 1950. After graduating, Sylvia had her first national publication in the Christian Science Monitor.

Starting in 1950, Sylvia started attending Smith College, which is a private, woman’s liberal art college in Massachusetts. Plath was academically gifted and therefore excelled in school. In her third year of college, Plath was given a position as a guest editor at Mademoiselle magazine. During this time she also spent a month in New York City. However, the experience was not all that she expected it to be and quite a few of the events that took place during this time inspired her novel ‘The Bell Jar.’

Also during this time, there was a meeting being held with the poet, Dylan Thomas. Plath nearly idolized Dylan Thomas, so much so that she hung out around the White Horse Tavern and the Chelsea Hotel for two days in hopes to meet him. However, by this time he was already on the way home. A few weeks later, Plath slashed her legs to see if she had enough ‘courage’ to commit suicide. It was also at this time when she was refused admission to the Harvard writing seminar. On August 24, 1953, she had her first medically documented suicide attempt, by crawling under her house and taking her mother’s sleeping pills. Plath survived this suicide attempt after lying in a crawl space for three days. The next six months she spent in psychiatric care where she received electric and insulin shock treatment. She seemed to make a good recovery and she returned to college. Plath graduated from Smith with highest honors and then obtained a Fulbright Scholarship to study at Newnham College. Here she continued to write poetry and publishing work in the student newspaper, Varsity.

In 1956, Plath met Ted Hughes at a Cambridge party. She described him as “a story-teller, lion, and world-wanderer” with “a voice like the thunder of God.” The couple got married in June 1956 at St George the Martyr, Holborn and spent their honeymoon in Paris and Benidorm. Afterward, Plath returned to Newnham to begin her second year. It was during this time that Plath, along with Ted, became interested in astrology, the supernatural, and Ouija boards.

In 1957, the couple moved to the United States where Plath began teaching at Smith College. It was then that she found it difficult to teach and have enough time to write, so in the middle of 1958, the couple moved to Boston where Plath took a job as a receptionist in the psychiatric unit of the Massachusetts General Hospital. It was in the evening when she sat in on the creative writing seminars of Robert Lowell. Also in attendance of these meetings were Anne Sexton and George Starbuck. Both Lowell and Sexton encouraged Plath to write her from experience, so she openly began discussing her depression with Lowell and her suicide attempts with Sexton. This led her to write more from a female perspective and she began to see herself as a more serious and focused poet and short story author. Plath resumed psychoanalytic treatment in December, working with Ruth Beuscher.

In late 1959, Plath and her husband traveled across Canada and the US. In Saratoga Springs, New York, the couple stayed at the Yaddo artist colony. It was here that Plath says she learned to be true to her weirdness, however she remained anxious about confessional writing. In December 1959 the couple moved back to England and lived in London. On April 1, 1960, their daughter, Frieda was born; in October 1960 Plath published her first collection of poetry titled ‘The Colossus.’ In 1961, her second pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. This event is immortalized in several of her poems, including “Parliament Hill Fields.” Also, in a letter to her therapist, Sylvia wrote that Hughes beat her two days before the miscarriage. In August, she finished her novel, “The Bell Jar” and immediately after this, the family moved to North Tawton, in Devon. In January, their son, Nicholas, was born and in mid-1962 Hughes began to keep bees. The bees later became the subject of many of Plath’s poems.

In 1961, the couple met Assia and David Wevill. Hughes was taken with Assia, and she returned the feelings. In June 1962, Plath got into a car accident, which she later said was one of many suicide attempts. In July 1962, she discovered that Hughes had been having an affair with Assia Wevill and in September, Plath and Hughes separated. In 1962, Plath got a great burst of creativity which caused her to write most of the poems that she is now known for. In December she returned to London with her children. During the 1962-1963 winter, the children were often very sick and the house was very cold and had no telephone. During this time, Plath’s depression returned, but she completed the rest of her poetry.

In January 1963, Plath described her current depressive episode and how it had been ongoing for six to seven months. For most of the time she had been able to continue working, but her depression had become severe. This was marked by constant agitation, suicidal thoughts, and inability to cope with daily life. She also struggled with insomnia and lost 20 pounds. Her doctor, John Horder, prescribed her an antidepressant a few days before her suicide. Since he knew she was at risk and also alone with two young children, Horder visited her daily and made many efforts to have her admitted to a hospital. When his attempts failed, he arranged for a live-in nurse. When the nurse arrived she could not get into the apartment, but eventually was let in by a workman. This is when they found Sylvia Plath, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning and her head in the oven. She had sealed the rooms between that of her and her sleeping children with tape, towels, and cloths. It was at around 4:30 in the morning when she placed her head in the oven with the gas turned on. She was 30 years old.

While her life ended tragically, Plath’s legacy lives on in her poetry and novel. Thousands of people know her name, her works, and her legacy.