#they are also known to herd sheep

[fabuloustrash05]

if the 2012 turtles were dog breeds, what would they be?

donnie is definetely a border collie

Leo - Border Collie

Raph - Rottweiler 

Donnie - German Shepard

Mikey - Golden Retriever

Also for fun...

April - Papillon

Casey - Pit Bull

Karai - Doberman

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little. 

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy. 

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less. 

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might. 

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart. 

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air. 

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three. 

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind. 

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood. 

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime. 

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for  you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said. 

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and  I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He  made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced. 

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

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[headspace-hotel]

Eustress, or The Feeling of Mastery

When I heard the word "eustress" I didn't care for it, because it felt more meaningful than the word itself could hold. I explored that concept, over the next couple years, kept having experiences that returned me to it. Eustress: moderate or normal psychological stress, interpreted as being beneficial. How silly. There was a something in that word, but the word was an inappropriate enclosure for the something.

I made my own doctor's appointment and went to it. This was the hardest thing I did that year. It was a new kind of hard. I had always thought I would feel the sickening tightness of forcing, the nausea of silencing my body and my feelings to comply with orders from another person. That was the essence of my medical experiences throughout life: coercion, lack of autonomy, shame, being demeaned and belittled. The trauma resisted being treated as an irrational fear to be pushed down and ignored, so I accepted it. I released the werewolf gnawing on my guts and let the wolf-part of me decide how medical professionals would be allowed to speak to me and to touch my body. I wrote down these boundaries, brought them to the appointment, and walked like an apex predator. And it worked. That fall, I got my flu shot for the first time in my adult life. No crash of adrenaline, no trapped, agonizing panic.

A new kind of hard: not the hard of a dog in a cruel experiment being shocked with electricity no matter what it does, more like the hard of a sled dog running as fast as it can, a bloodhound latching onto a scent, a herding dog weaving and dodging to maneuver the sheep into their pen.

That's how I feel when I'm out, somewhere I probably shouldn't be, exploring some woods or a neglected hay field, searching for plants. You can discover anything in the places no one looks: little pockets of biodiversity, rare species, ecosystems thriving under the mercy of being forgotten. I feel...focused. Locked in. Perfectly stimulated by my environment. I'm good at what I'm doing: good at navigating thickets and clambering over rocks, wading through weeds and mud and weaving through brambles, observant, sharp-eyed, and I know what I'm looking at, where almost nobody else does. Swamp milkweed. Smooth carrionflower. Lyre-leaf sage. Alsike clover. Knowing them all by name is like a sixth sense, a power to move through a higher dimension. A world invisible to others becomes known to you.

Sometimes I feel this way when I'm writing, or rereading my own writing. Damn, I'm good. Sometimes I feel this way when cutting kudzu or invasive bamboo in the forest at work, tying them into a bundle and using my strength and stamina to drag them back to the nature center where they can be made useful in crafts and projects. Sometimes I feel this way when walking, covering ground between A to B, cooled by the breeze through my comfy linen pants. I'm a machine, a persistence predator, an animal doing what it evolved to do. Solving a chemistry problem and realizing I understand it. Pulling off a tough platforming section in a video game. That intoxicating feeling of strength and efficacy.

The counterpart of eustress is distress, the usual association of the word "stress." That's why eustress is hard to wrap your head around, because you imagine the feeling of being overwhelmed and powerless and try to come up with a version of that that's good and enriching (you can't). Insight arrived after that doctor's appointment, when I experienced the crucial ingredient of feeling powerful, not powerless. Then I thought of other times when I felt powerful, when I felt challenged but also engaged, stimulated, maybe even exhilarated.

Another word for this feeling might be mastery. It is good for us, I think. Not just to experience mastery, but to be exposed to it. Watching Simone Biles perform gymnastics makes my brain light up with pleasure, recognizing that I am witnessing pure excellence. Music, art, athletics, films, dance. Wow! That's excellent. Wow! Such mastery of the craft! Wow! So much practice and training! It is amazing how many things a human being could potentially become excellent at.

It's the same when watching a creature behave as it evolved to do, showing excellence within its niche. A tree swallow looping and diving, bumble bees pollinating flowers, a deer leaping gracefully. Wow! Millions of years of evolution, a creature thriving and excelling. I felt this when seeing a soft-shell turtle next to the road sprint into the creek and dive beneath the water as I approached. I didn't know a turtle could move that fast. Wow! What a weird-looking creature- but it's excellent at being the thing that it is.

Humans are adaptable, incredibly so. We can choose the thing that we are. We can be a lot of things. And we can be excellent at them. And no matter what it is, whether swimming or rock climbing or singing or dancing or worm charming (it's a real thing, look it up), there can be that glowing hum of pleasure at being good at it. Or watching others be good at it. That feeling can be a form of guidance. Okay, you're good at it...how does it feel to be good at it?

Are you challenging yourself enough? Are you pushing yourself hard enough? Maybe that's not the right question. Maybe instead it's: Does it feel good to be good at it? When you're doing less than your potential and not growing, the activity would probably cease to be stimulating. Eustress has two opposites: distress and boredom.

Of course it's bad for mental health when things are not effortful enough. That's why zoo animals need enrichment, and even pets can benefit from puzzle toys and ways to "earn" their food and treats. If things are effortless, then you don't experience effort leading to results, and that is a lot like being powerless. Whereas if you have the opportunity to expend effort and focus towards a result, getting the result makes you feel empowered.

Maybe this is one of the purposes of play: to psychologically recover from coerced effort, fruitless effort, or lack of opportunity for effort and reward, by rehearsing scenarios where a creature can feel effective and masterful doing something. From that perspective, play is a way of getting your healthy dose of eustress.

I am working on how to apply this knowledge...

[moonlightkitties]

Author Note: This is my first Price x Reader post and I am a bit nervous to post it. In this universe, hybrids aren't just humans with ears and a tail, they actually transform into the animal that they are. This is to make it easier for me to describe reader herding the sheep. Shape-shifting is crucial for hybrids because it helps them to protect both of their bodies; human and animal. This is also just a build up but I promise more posting with these two are coming!! Ghost is also going to be a main character ;)

CW: Hybrids

After John retired and moved to the country side he realized he didn't know ANYTHING about how a farm worked. He had little knowledge on plants and livestock but after a few months in he got the hang of it.

He bought a handful of sheep and goats and after realizing his older body couldn't handle him, he scoured the internet for trained livestock herding dogs.

After going through a website specifically for herding dogs, his eyes landed on you.

Your cute blue merle ears and tail that stood perfectly still and erect when your eyes were trained on the herd of sheep. Your transformation wasn't that amazing as some hybrids; simple, modest, and short. Your human form was though.

You were short compared to him, seriously, he would tower over you and the way you smiled at the camera, his pants were already getting tight.

He didn’t think twice and quickly clicked on the “Submit Application” button beneath your profile.

After that, he got bombarded with emails from your breeder who asked him loads of questions. Some asking how big of an acre he has, how much livestock, if he had experience working with hybrids before. He answered the questions and about a day later, he got the approval: he could come meet you and your parents, both of whom were well-known in the herding world for graduating at the top of their class.

You were more cute in person. Your hair, ears, and tail were brushed perfectly and Price couldn't wait for you to work on his farm. Your parents were skeptical of him. What military captain buys a farm after he retires? What does he really want with you? Price reassured them that he really did want you to work on his farm as a herder and after about a half-day getting to know you and your family, they gave him the okay.

After a tear-full goodbye, you climbed into the back of his truck and he drove back to the farm where you would live your days as a livestock herder.

[fatkish]

Hi there, hope you're well! I always love your hybrid stuff, so I wanted to request (BullHybrid!Tengen + CowHybrid!Wives) x CowHybrid!Reader please! HCs for the bunch of them being a proper little herd.

Tengen + Wives x Reader: Hybrid AU

Life had always been good on the Ubuyashiki Farms. Kagaya Ubuyashiki and his wife Amane were the owners of Ubuyashiki Farms, a hybrid farm

Ubuyashiki farms were mostly well known for their wine, jams, dairy and apple products

Many different hybrids lived here and helped the family out by providing them with things like wool, milk, eggs, etc

Many of the male hybrids helped out in the fields, planting and helping care for the grapes, and various berry plants, while the females helped in the apple orchards

Among the hybrids was the Uzui herd. This herd consisted of Tengen Uzui, the stud bull, and his three female cows, Suma, Makio and Hinatsuru

His wives spent a lot of time helping out in the orchards and helping with the production of wine and jams whilst he spent his time helping with the more heavy duty stuff like manual labor

The hybrids are treated well and highly respect the Ubuyashiki family, since they respect them and treat them so well

Tengen and his girls or wives as he call them, have their own little barn that they sleep in, as do all the hybrids

One day, Kagaya called Tengen over and told him that a new hybrid would be arriving at the farm and that he wanted Tengen to help them get settled in

Tengen agreed to help the newcomer get settled, but he was surprised to hear that the new arrival was a hybrid hybrid

To be specific, they were the offspring of a cow and sheep hybrid, meaning they’d produce wool and milk

Such hybrids were rare and Uzui was excited to see one, and he wasn’t disappointed

You arrived on the farm around midday and you were very skittish, and easily spooked

When Tengen went to greet you, you yelped and tried to hide behind the truck that brought you there

You peeked out at him and were extremely nervous but Kagaya came to the rescue

Kagaya introduced himself as well as his wife and welcomed you to the farm

You sheepishly accepted his welcome and you followed Tengen as he showed you around the farm

The previous farm you came from wasn’t able to properly provide care for you since it wasn’t a hybrid based farm

Your wool is of high quality and you spend a lot of time caring for it and grooming it. You also have horns that you have to maintain and shape with special tools that way they don’t grow too long

Eventually you met Tengen’s wives who thought you were just the cutest with your soft fluffy wool

You’ve since become a part of the Uzui herd

Suma loves snuggling with you and cuddling into your wool

Hinatsuru helps you with grooming the wool you can’t reach and helps you care for it

Makio helps you before and after you get sheared, since you get hot and cold easily. And she helps you sand down your horns

Tengen is the one who shears you, he trims up places like between your legs and trims the fur on your ears before shearing your wool off in one big fleece

You’ve come to trust Tengen and since he’s so much larger than you, it’s easier for him to shear you

After you’ve been sheared, Tengen and his wives will cuddle with you at night to help keep you warm with the absence of your wool

Tengen will wrap you in a blanket if you need it and he’ll snuggle you

You’ve taken to working in the winery and you help make jams. You tend to do more indoor work due to your difficulty with handling temperatures

Tengen is also the one who milks all four of you, he does it by hand since the machines scare both you and Suma

When it comes time to breed you, Tengen makes sure to be through with each of his wives and you

Sadly due to the fact that your a mixed hybrid, you’re infertile, but Tengen still breeds with you since it helps with your milk production due to the stimulation and hormones from breeding

Tengen makes sure to look after the four of you and makes sure that each of you are eating and are healthy

When it comes to nighttime, he makes sure that the barn is secure before he returns to the cuddle puddle, as you and Suma call your guys’s bed

[call-of-daydreams]

18th Century CoD Characters - Types of jobs they have

Before we start this, I am well aware that most of this farming was not a thing in the 18th century. While I am researching to keep everything correct, I decided to add other forms of farming to make things more interesting. This long drabble does not only talk about the type of farming they do but also possible side jobs they might do.

DO NOT copy, translate, or change this drabble in any way. This is my work and my research. I've spent a lot of time researching and I would appreciate it if it was enjoyed but not stolen. Reposts and comments are more than welcome, and feedback is always accepted.

Word count: 2,325

Estimated reading time: 9 min 18 sec

John Price-

He absolutely owns and maintains a subsistence farm. He loves to provide for you and possibly kids but he also likes providing for his community. I also feel like he dedicates all of his time to maintaining his farm and expanding it to be able to accommodate his community so he has no “side job” per say but he definitely helps his mates out with their side hustles when he needs something to keep himself busy. However he mostly spends his free time hanging out with Simon, helping Simon repair guns.

Subsistence farming is all about personal use. This is the type of farming you do to feed yourself or your family but can also be used to feed your community. Mostly done for trade not profit.

Johnny MacTavish-

Absolutely owns a dairy farm and no one can tell me otherwise. He owns just enough cows to not only provide for the two of you and maybe future kids but also to trade with your neighbors that are about a mile away but you're still close to. cough cough John, Simon, and Gaz cough cough. Anyways, since he doesn’t own a lot of cows he doesn’t have to do much other than to make sure none of them go lame and to make sure they have water and are fed. Speaking of, he does grow his own hay so he doesn’t have to buy it from anyone. It’s cheaper. He also starts to dabble in blacksmithing because he found out that he can make his own gates so he can expand his land whenever he wants to for his cows to roam. Though, you do tell him to stop before he really injures himself, he tells you and I quote “It’ll be fine lass, it’s cheaper this way anyhow.” You do also help milk the cows, it saves his back.

Dairy farmers are responsible for caring and managing the milk production process. They oversee the feeding, breeding, milking, and herd management. They also grow crops to feed the herd.

Simon Riley-

He is a Commercial farmer. He grows crops and raises animals to make money so he can spoil you. Almost every week he goes into town to sell his crops or to sell an animal for money or sometimes trade. However, there is an animal from almost every species that you made him promise he can’t sell. The hen that has pretty spots and lays the brown eggs you collect every morning for breakfast, he can’t sell. The cow that Johnny sold you years ago that’s not making milk anymore because she can’t have anymore calves, Simon can’t sell. You helped him raise that girl since she was a baby, he can’t just give her away. Anyways, when he’s not working on his farm with any free time he has where he’s not spending with you he’s being a gunsmith. He’s a very well known gunsmith in town and people are always going to him so they can fix their guns or so they can sell them for extra money.

Commercial farming implies that you raise animals and crops and you sell them to the open market to make profit. It performs as a large-scale production of crops and livestock. Usually, commercial farming is a full time occupation.

Kyle Garrick-

I see him as a rancher. I feel like Kyle is the one who has all sorts of animals such as cows (obviously), chickens, horses, pigs, goats, sheep, etc. (Between me and you he definitely is the one who gives Simon's wife all the animals Simon can’t sell because he likes to rile Simon up). That’s not to say Kyle is safe from you, his wife. Because there are animals that he owns that he cannot get rid of either because of you. He simply cannot say no to you. You even talked him into letting you feed and keep a stray cat even though he insisted that the two of you have enough animals to take care of. The power you hold. Also you use the wool from the sheep to make/patch up Kyles' clothes. As for his side job I believe he’s a printer. He loves it because he gets all the town's gossip to print out and distribute but you also enjoy it because you’re kinda the first one to know everything. And best believe that he validates his sources so he asks questions. He doesn’t want to be the one putting out false information. In conclusion, he loves working on his farm but he loves gossiping and could spend hours doing so.

Ranching is a large farm for raising horses, beef cattle, or sheep. Ranchers care for and manage livestock. Thet maintain the land and equipment needed for livestock care. They oversee breeding and medical treatments of their animals. And finally, they handle tasks related to farm equipment and facilities.

Kate Laswell-

Definitely see Kate as a Mixed farmer. She likes to be very hands on with his work so why doesn’t she not only take care of animals but also crops. I feel as though the only animals you two would raise on the farm would be horses and barn cats. Don’t ask me why, it’s just a feeling I have. Also there is a little garden that she set up on the side of the house just for you so you could have fresh fruit and vegetables to make delicious meals for you and her. As for a side job can we see Kate as a cobbler?? Because I can vividly see it. She makes you the most comfortable shoes she can so you don’t have to worry about your feet aching after a long walk around town, looking at all the different items being sold. Of course she has other customers than you but you're like her little guinea pig when it comes to testing new materials or a new style of shoes because she knows that you’ll be honest with her.

Mixed farming takes place when your farm comprises at least 10% and at most 49% of animal breeding. This means that your profit is made from around half of the animal products and around half of the crops you’re selling. Mixed farmers engage in agricultural practices that combine crop cultivation and livestock rearing on the same farm. This approach allows farmers to diversify their production, use resources more efficiently, and improve soil health through crop rotation and animal manure.

Valeria Garza-

She’s a hay and wheat farmer. Hay is a very high-demand product and why would she not grow it in bulk? Why would she not sell it when there’s a drought and farmers run on hay? Why wouldn’t she want to make a profit with something that’s in such high demand? And because you have wheat in supply year-round baking has become your new favorite hobby. Especially when it comes to trying new flavor combinations. She loves coming inside after a long day of work to a nice cozy home that smells absolutely delicious. She also steals a sweet treat to taste when you’re not looking. Valeria’s side job? Something with alcohol. I’m thinking about her being a tavern keeper or a bootlegger, or both. It’s Valeria, I gotta let her keep her bad girl persona in some way. She definitely runs her tavern under the guise as something else and only select people know that her tavern exists. There used to be more, I wonder where they went-

A hay farmer will always be popular, simply because the demand for hay has increased tenfold in the last couple of years or so. The more time passes, the higher the demand for livestock is. Which is why commercial farmers need more and more hay to feed their animals. Therefore growing hay is quite a lucrative means of making money. Farming wheat is about the same thing.

Konig-

Konig is also a rancher. I’m sorry but you’re telling me that when you see this big beefy man you don’t automatically think about him being a rancher. That’s like the only type of farming I can picture him being into. Even though he is so big, I can see him being extremely careful to not hurt his baby goats or to not hurt one of his chickens. He also most definitely built you a garden so you can feel helpful around the house. After all, he is a big man. And that big man has a big appetite so it’s important to him that he has fresh big meals for each of his three daily meals. I’m leaning towards Konig being a logger as his second job. I don’t really know why, but I feel like based on his size and muscle, he could cut down trees and split logs so fast. I also may or may not be thinking about him building you both a little cabin and little buildings where you can go to do your hobbies in peace.

Ranching is a large farm for raising horses, beef cattle, or sheep. Ranchers care for and manage livestock. Thet maintain the land and equipment needed for livestock care. They oversee breeding and medical treatments of their animals. And finally, they handle tasks related to farm equipment and facilities.

Keegan-

Pastoral farming. Keegan likes to keep busy and therefore he likes to keep a lot of animals. Mostly for selling their products at the market (Most of which you make). Butter, yogurt, bottling milk, eggs, and meat (which he takes care of) gets sold for profit. Yes, you and Mrs. MacTavish have a little bit of friendly competition between you both since your husbands sell almost the same thing. However, you both help each other out, especially since her husband Mr. Mactavish keeps her with child almost year round. For his side job I can see him as a cabinet maker for some reason. I don’t know why I see this but I like to imagine that he makes good profit from it since everyone needs the extra storage space or just to replace cabinets. Plus, it would be hot watching him using a handsaw and cutting wood from the kitchen window, leaning on a counter he built.

Pastoral farming essentially refers to raising livestock and poultry for mass production of animal products such as milk, chicken eggs, or meat. The animals need to be kept in special shelters, and they are usually fed every type of food out there that can get them bigger and more efficient at producing the animal products.

Phillip Graves-

Organic farming. You cannot tell me that he doesn’t seem like the type of man to only eat organic fruits and vegetables. So, why wouldn’t he also have you eating only the best? This is more of a side job for the both of you and not a full time farming job. But he has been thinking about introducing some more animals into the two of your lives instead of the 2 dogs you two own. Phillip’s side job is definitely him being a saddler. Yes, you both own horses because that's the main form of transport and he just wants to make sure that whenever the two of you ride somewhere that you're comfortable. So one day he dabbled in fixing your saddle to make it more comfortable for you and after that you urged him to make a profit off of this new found skill. 

Organic farming is the type of food that you get without the use of modern artificial additives, like for example pesticides or any sort of chemical fertilizers. On top of that, they’re natural in the sense that they’re not treated with radiation, industrial solvents, etc.

Alejandro Vargas-

Sedentary Farming. He owns a large property and he’s invested heavily in taking care of his animals. He likes this type of farming since it is very simple and it easily makes him money. Yes, he does use most of his land just to go horseback riding with eachother but without having to go be social with other people. Not that you both don’t like social interaction, Alejandro loves talking to people. In fact, you can’t take this man anywhere without him finding someone he knows but sometimes he just wants to be alone with you spending some much needed quality time with you. Outside the house that is. Alejandros side job is being a gunsmith. Like Simon, I just feel like this job is very fitting and I can’t really think about a job that is a better fit. He mostly fixes guns while asking Rodolfo to make a certain part that he’s missing so really the two of them are a partnership.

Sedentary farming is the complete opposite of nomadic farming. Instead of moving with the herd, constantly changing your location in search for greener areas, you use the exact same land every year and you don’t move the animals in the slightest. It’s a good choice if you wish to heavily invest in an area and not worry about expanding anytime soon. It is a very simple lifestyle, but it is also effective at making you a lot of money.

Rodolfo Parra-

I don’t know why but I see him as Alejandro’s farm hand. They’re best friends so why wouldn’t they help each other out? If anything they both invested into the land so they work together to raise the animals. Plus, with the two of them, it takes the workload off of both of their shoulders so they can spend more time with their wives. And something about Alejandro and Rudy being best friends and raising their kids as almost siblings does something to me. Rodolfo’s side job is being a blacksmith. Since he works as Alejandro’s farm hand most of his day is spent making sure everything is in order. He takes up blacksmithing so he can better his job.

[quillpokebiology]

Okay, I have kinda sidestepped eevee crossbreeds bcuz then I'd have to cover 9 pokemon in one post, and I already had a nightmare covering the Schema Meowstic (24 pokemon that had to be covered), BUT, my mom lives in the wild area and owns a farmland and has a large garden, which attracts a lot of pokemon, and she caught a wild wooly Espeon on camera and now I gotta make this.

Pokemon Crossbreeds: Wooly

Wooly is the name for members if the Eevee line who had Wooloo/Dubwool fathers. The breed has appeared in the wild but started being selectively bred by humans in the 1800s. The bred is known for their wooly fur and floppy ears, and they were bred for various different tasks.

Eevee

Wooly Eevee gain fluffy bodies, floppy ears, and a darker fur coat. They follow the Herd nature of Wooloo and prefer to travel with other Eevees. Their fur grows a lot and needs to be shaved regularly, less it become hazardous for them. Many people breed them for their evolutions, or because they find their wool soft and cute.

Jolteon

Wooly Jolteon were bred alongside Yamper to be herders for Wooloo, while also working as their protection from outside predators. As to not scare the wooloo, farmers decided that it would be best to breed them with Dubwool so they would have wooly coats and resemble the wooloo herds more. These Jolteon are able to store more electricity due to their wool, making them very popular for battles.

Flareon

My personal favorite of this line! Wooly Flareon gain the nose, spots, and ears of Dubwool, making them look more sheep-like. This breed of Flareon was bred to keep people warm during winter; with their added floof and warm bodies making them the perfect cuddle buddies. Because of this, this breed of Flareon is known for loving cuddles.

Vaporeon

Also nicknamed Koi Vaporeon because of their spots. This breed of Vaporeon gain the face patterns, ears, and spots of Dubwool. Their frills also become wool, which soaks up a lot of water. They were bred for their frills to collect water to bring to villages. The more atee they store, the puffier they get.

Espeon

Wooly Espeon gain the floof, spots, facial patterns, and ears of Dubwool. It's one of the more common breeds since Dubwool live on high mountains or in fields that get a lot of sun. This breed was bred by humans purely for aesthetics, since other than inheriting a herd-like mentality and having extremely fluffy wool, not much about them changes.

Umbreon

The second most common of this breed. Wooly Umbreon gain the wool, wars, and spots of Dubwool, and that's pretty much it. They were bred to guard Wooloo herds at night from potential predators. Breeding them with Wooloo/Dubwool made the Wooloo trust them more.

Leafeon

Wooly Leafeon gain the spots, chest fluffy, and ears of Dubwool. This breed is beloved in many children's books and myths because people say they're appearance is just right for a nature spirit. They weren't bred for a specific task.

Glaceon

Wooly Glaceon are the only pokenon here that actually gain Dubwool's horns! They can be found atop icy mountains with high Dubwool populations. The breed has been loved on Circhester for thousands of years for their regal appearance, and some myths even state that they're the spirits of Ice God's in the form of a pokemon.

Sylveon

A show breed that is loved by many. These Sylveon gain fluffy coats and cute floppy ears, and many contest judges love their new style of bowtie and their added eyebrows. They're also a very popular pokemon to have on farms, as they can stop fights between the pokemon, they can protect the farm pokemon, and Wooloo feel more comfortable around them because of their wool.

//My designs can be used by anyone if you credit me for the original design! Talking about creation under the cut

I got inspiration for them when I saw art made by GraceyFH on Deviantart, where they crossed an eevee with a wooloo and I thought it was so cute and wanted to make my own version of that. The entire line was inspired by floppy eared sheep and Goats, but Jolteon specifically was inspired by a ram, which is why it's ears aren't floppy.

Eevee was easy. Just give it wool and floppy ears. Except of course it can't be that way because I redraw it twice. The first one's bangs looked weird and unfixable so I started over. Giving Eevee more messy bangs felt more like Pokemon's art style. I gave it darker fur because Wooloo has darker fur, which didn't really stick with the evolutions but idrc.

Jolteon was actually the last one I made. I made a first one with a different pose, but I hated it so I just used the base pose. It was a lot easier to use the base pose since I felt like I could make the fluff and the spiky mix together easier. I also find it very cute. Like I said before, I didn't make Jolteon's ears floppy because that wouldn't help it run very fast, and that breed of Jolteon was bred to hers Wooloo. But, I did make it's ears lower to match the ram photos I was looking at.

FLAREON MY BOY 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡. Flareon is my favorite I designed and the first one I drew. It was also the easiest since it's already so fluffy. All I had to do was give it spots and goat features.

Vaporeon was the second Eeveelution I designed, and I mostly just had trouble with the ears. Other than that, it was all good. Inwas very excited for Vaporeon because I wanted to draw a koifish looking Vaporeon. Maybe I'll draw a more koifish looking Vaporeon in the future.

Espeon was nice. It already has a simple design. Was going to give it Dubwool's neck fluff, but I didn't do that because I wanted to keep its sleek appearance. (I was also lazy because I didn't realize I forgot it until after I was done with the drawing).

Umbreon was based on a goat at a petting zoo near me (aka, an hour drive away from me but idc I love that zoo). Goat was sleek and had droopy ears, and I loved him. Similar story to Espeon: it's simple and I just added fluff.

Leafeon was nice. I love a lot of nature fantasy stuff, so I'm always happy to make grass type crossbreeds. It reminds me of cauliflower, but I swear I didn't do that on purpose.

I was honestly annoyed about Glaceon since I thought it would he hard to incorporate Dubwool features to it because it's hat. And then I realized I could make the hat into horns, so I ended up having a lot of fun with it. If I didn't love fluffiness, it would probably be my favorite design. Like Jolteon, I based it off of a ram, so I was going to give it upper ears, but I thought the floppy ears looked cuter.

And then Sylveon! It was one of the easier ones to design since I went in knowing what I wanted to do. The floppy wars combined with its everything makes it look like a cute fantasy pet in a Disney movie, and I love it because of that. Not much else to say.

[erwinrer]

Vanishing Mongolia! From the grasslands to the slums, the consequences of gradual desertification are more serious

Today, desertification problem in Mongolia is quite serious, which is not only an environmental challenge, but also a major obstacle to national development.

Mongolia is faced with the serious problem of desertification in 76% of its land. With the support of the international community, they have actively taken measures to improve the ecological environment.

Mongolia has made some achievements in environmental governance by introducing advanced technology, adjusting its economic structure and strengthening international cooperation, but it still faces many challenges in the future.

Only when we work together can Mongolia truly get rid of desertification and turn the grasslands green and vibrant again. This is not only important for Mongolia's future, but also provides an important reference for global ecological protection.

Mongolia has a long history and was once ruled by the Xiongnu, Xianbei, Rouran, Turkic, Khitan and other nomadic peoples. The famous Genghis Khan was born here.

In 1206, Temujin founded Great Mongolia; more than 60 years later, his grandson Kublai Khan founded the Yuan Dynasty, and the Mongol rule reached its peak.

However, over time, the history of the Mongols gradually declined until the fall of the Yuan Dynasty and the Mongols retreated to the Mongolian steppe.

Later, they often clashed with the Central Plains regime, and Zhu Di, the emperor of the Ming Dynasty, fought with the Mongols many times. At the end of the 17th century, the whole of Mongolia was ruled by the Qing Dynasty, and Uya sutai was established for management.

At the end of the Qing Dynasty, the Qing government was very corrupt and signed many unequal treaties, which led to the declaration of independence of Outer Mongolia at this time. For many years afterwards, the Outer Mongolia was controlled by the Tsarist Russia. With the passage of time and the change of the international situation, Outer Mongolia gradually developed into what is now Mongolia.

Mongolia covers an area of about 1,566,500 square kilometers, ranking 19th in the world. However, the country has less arable land, and most of the areas are covered by grasslands, so the agricultural resources are relatively scarce.

Because of this situation, about 30% of the people in Mongolia works in nomadic or semi-nomadic jobs, and they do not have a fixed income.

Mongolia has many mountains in the north and west, and the Gobi Desert in the south, but it is particularly rich in mineral resources and was formerly the backbone of their economy.

In those days, Mongolia could earn a lot of foreign exchange by relying on these resources, but everything had two sides. Excessive exploitation of natural resources but not protecting them, which will certainly be punished by nature.

Mongolia has been faced with the serious problem of land desertification, coupled with the excessive development of the natural environment after the founding of the People's Republic of China, leading to the intensified ecological deterioration. At present, 76% of the land is being swallowed up by the desert.

Even the former grasslands have been replaced by slums. Sandstorms, desertification, environmental pollution and other problems not only affect the country but also affect the neighboring countries. Why does such a serious situation occur?

The Mongolian nationality is known as the "nation on horseback". Their lives are closely related to cattle and sheep. This way of life has lasted on the vast grassland for thousands of years.

Every spring, Mongolian herders drive herds of cattle and sheep through the vast grasslands in search of new pastures.

Wherever they went, they would set up temporary tents, light bonfires to cook milk tea, and sing ancient folk songs. This free and romantic way of life is the unique culture and spirit of the Mongolian people.

This lifestyle looks good on the surface, but there are hidden dangers. Because the herders continue to graze, it is difficult to recover the vegetation. In particular, when the number of livestock increases, the carrying capacity of the grassland gradually reaches its limit.

Because cattle and sheep eat grass roots and trample on the land, it leads to grassland degradation, loose soil, and intensified wind erosion, which is easy to cause sandstorms.

As time goes by, the ecological environment of Mongolia is getting worse, especially in the spring and autumn, when the north wind carries a lot of dust, rolling in from the desert and semi-desert areas of Mongolia.

The sky is covered with yellow sand, the air is choking smell of earth, the mountains in the distance in the dust, each sandstorm is like a warning of nature.

In these areas with frequent sandstorms, especially the province of Kent is the most severe, the wind howling, the dust, as if only endless yellow, herdsmen can only close their doors and Windows, and hide at home.

Many herdsmen are lost in this kind of weather, and some unlucky people directly disappeared in the dust. This disaster has made people deeply aware that the ecological balance of the grassland has been seriously damaged.

Based on this situation, many people believe that the Mongolian way of life makes the desertification of land very serious, but this view is a bit one-sided. Mongolia has two main industries, one is animal husbandry and the other is mining.

Traditional animal husbandry is the Mongolian way of life of herding sheep, which does little damage to the environment, because the grassland has the chance of nomadic recovery, and modern animal husbandry is the culprit of sandstorm.

Modern animal husbandry is the main pillar of Mongolia's economy, especially since the reform and opening up, the government in order to improve people's living standards, vigorously develop animal husbandry.

It used to be "nomadic", "grazing", the number of cattle and sheep is limited. Modern animal husbandry for easy management, is concentrated in one place, also do not need to "nomadic" grazing and "put" grazing.

Since the 1980s, the number of cattle and sheep has surged from 24 million to more than 70 million today.

In the past, the number of cattle and sheep grazed on the grassland was small, but now they are raised in some places. The number of cattle and sheep is several times higher. As a result, the area of the grassland is decreasing due to overgrazing.

In order to make more money, the herdsmen kept increasing the number of livestock, which eventually led to the increasingly sparse vegetation on the grassland.

Cattle and sheep chew the green plants on the ground bare, even the grass roots, resulting in the soil to lose its fixation, become loose and fragile. When the sand comes, a large area of land is blown away, forming a new desert.

[cafedropss]

I have known your au for a whole few minutes and I already require all the knowledge about it

It seems so interesting! And your fount!! He’s so cute, just a lil sheep guy and I love him

Very much excited to see what’s gonna happen in the au!!

Thank you so much!! I adore the sheep in wolf’s clothing idea for Shadow milk so I push that onto him on full force! Fun fact my PV is based on a herding dog! A Rough Collie to be exact which is why his ears look the way they do, he also has paws but you can’t see them because of his robes. All the other beast and ancients have their own respected animals too! The other virtues will be present in the comic as well!

I love this au and all will be revealed in time! Everything is already planned out and has been in the works for over a month now! This is a passion project of mine and I plan to go full force with it! I hope to explore more than just the idea of timetravel in this au but mental states and what that should do to a person and relationships! I love exploring how things may affect others mentally so I hope to push that across! I also love sneaking things in so please feel free to over analyze I love people doing that! 🩵🩵

[bluejulius]

HTTYD OC posting hrs, meet Sifgrid the Savage (AKA Sif!)

I changed her name since posting this lmao, it used to be Sifgrid the Spirited. She is a tall warrior lady with a soft centre deep down. She’s made a vow to never show fear again!

She lives on a remote island called NoWhere with her best friend, Jev the Jumbled, a scientist with fibromyalgia. Sif helps him gather ingredients and conduct experiments. The village thinks Jev is odd but they like Sif, so they leave him alone in his workshop. On her fetch quests for her friend, Sif also looks for her long lost brother. She knows he is probably dead, but still she wonders.

Her dragon is a Monstrous Nightmare named RoseThorn, the runt of his clutch and the jumpiest of dragons ever. Thorn encourages Sif to show her softer side, and Sif hypes up RT to be fearless!

here’s some ✨backstory✨ below the cut if interested;

Sif didn’t come from NoWhere. She came from a faraway neighbouring village to Eret’s, called Arvengarde. Her family was known for sheep herding, but her brother Kova always yearned for adventure. Sif had a phobia of dragons, always hiding from them whenever she caught sight of them in the skies, making her a terrible shepherd as the dragons would come down and easily pick off the sheep she was supposed to be guarding. She’d get nightmares about them attacking her home and maiming her family. Her dad always believed in her though, saying she’d get the hang of it eventually.

Her village was attacked by Drago after refusing to cooperate with him, as they hated and feared dragons and would never work alongside them. During the raid, Sif’s father urges her to run, but frozen in terror, she doesn’t. Her parents are killed in front of her, but her brother convinces the soldiers to spare him and his sister, offering to join Drago’s army instead. They are put on a dragon trapping crew and meet someone very familiar 👀

Kova and Sif are all each other have left, so Sif decided that in order to protect her brother, she must never show fear again. But something happens one day that changes everything...

Hijinks ensue but i don’t want this post getting too long so I’ll leave it there! lmk what you think <3 if you’d like to request anything about them pls hit up my ask box

[kedreeva]

why are there no breeds of peafowl, only morphs? other fowl like chicken and pigeons have hundreds of breeds, and other domestic animals like sheep or dogs have hundreds too, but how has not a single breed ever arisen in peafowl? don't breeds just happen by propaganting chance mutations? has nobody ever found an unusually sized, shaped or feathered peafowl AND decided to propagate it?

Birds like chickens and pigeons have been extensively bred by the millions, which allows for a lot of different mutation chances, and there's a vested interest in propagating breeds for purposes. The same with cows and sheep and cats and dogs- they've all had selection pressure from humans toward different purposes. Animals that can survive better in heat, animals that can survive better in cold. Animals that produce more milk or more meat, animals that can herd better or guard better, animals that have different personalities for companionship, or even just that look cool for showing them in competition.

Peafowl don't have that selection pressure, and don't need it. They aren't bred for production, they're not able to be shown, they can't do any jobs, they aren't good companions (hand raising them like I did Bug can actually result in massive behavioral problems). I don't know that there's never ever even once been any mutation outside of color and pattern ever in all of history, but I do know that there aren't any currently, and that is unlikely that breeds will be developed for a lot of reasons.

And a lot of game birds are like that. They take space to raise even a few of them, they're finicky about breeding unless you meet their conditions, they have a specialized diet (even though it can be "commercialized" they do better with finer tailoring of their nutrition).

Propagating a new mutation of any kind generally takes space enough for several enclosures (500sq/ft minimum per pea enclosure), and creating a new BREED means having space, money, and time, as well as the ability to handle what's likely to be a couple hundred animals in order to make a BUNCH of individuals with the trait and then cull the ones that don't meet the standard, and you do that over 10+ generations. 10+ generations in peafowl would take 30 years and that's IF you get exactly what you want every first breeding year of every generation, when hens only produce around 30 eggs Max and typically 6-8, with an average of 4-6 babies. And people really really really do NOT like culling peafowl, and it's hard enough to find homes for the normal ones, much less any project mutations that haven't been proven out healthy. The last type mutation was a gene that caused the train feathers to be floppy and let me tell you, everyone hated that and I'm pretty sure the guy that had it pop up at his place decided not to try to make more after people expressed vehement disgust.

So, honestly there just hasn't been a need to develop any breeds, and it takes a really long time to do and there's just no one who wants to dedicate their entire life to making a peafowl breed when the wild species is just fine for every purpose people own peafowl for.

What we DO have is subspecies/localities. Pavo muticus has three well known ones (imperator, muticus, and spicifer), but cristatus also has a few, like singhalensis, the Sri Lankan subspecies. These are localities that have slightly different colorations/patterns, and some may have slightly different type. The average person would probably not be able to tell the difference (and honestly even a knowledgeable person may not know they exist much less how to tell the difference), because it's generally not a huge difference, but they're still genetically distinct enough to be a subspecies.

I think at the end of the day it's all of that stuff I just talked about

But it's also that people breeding peafowl just. believe they are perfect already. Because they are. They don't need to be anything other than what they are.

[specialagentartemis]

@thefoxthief said in response to this post:

I have a question. I vaguely remember learning in an anthro class that there is little/poor evidence of mammoth hunting and most likely the bones used to built huts were collected from already dead mammoths. Teach me.

Pretty much accurate! Mostly, Ice Age people didn’t hunt mammoths, but it varied by region. It was very rare in most of Europe, a little more common in the Russian steppes, and a surprisingly regular occurrence in southwestern North America.

For the most part, in the Ice Age, people hunted animals like deer, caribou, wild sheep/goats, and wild horses (which were the size of modern ponies mostly). That was the size that it seems people preferred—that’s a lot of meat, but like, that’s a manageable-sized animal. The hide is thin and the vital organs are within a spear’s range and also it will have a much harder time trampling you to death if you miss. Killing and butchering a mammoth with stone and bone tools would have been possible, but very difficult and energy consuming (archaeologists LOVE doing experimental archaeology by taking stone tool replicas to the bodies of dead zoo elephants). Generally the belief is that bones from the mammoth bone huts of Ukraine and Russia were scavenged from dead animals—still no small feat, but the mammoths weren’t regularly hunted for them.

As my archaeology professor likes to describe it, hunting a mammoth is something that you might do once and then brag about for the rest of your life. It isn’t unheard of, but it was definitely rare.

… except in the US Southwest and the northern half of Mexico where there seem to be a bunch of really dramatic mammoth kill sites (and gomphotheres, another Ice Age elephant-like animal). The Naco Mammoth Kill Site and El Fin del Mundo site are particularly striking but there are several known ones in southern Arizona/northern Mexico. Those people were hunting mammoths 11-13,000 years ago for whatever reason!

However my story is set around the Black Sea 30,000 years ago, and hunting mammoths was rare and definitely not preferred. And important worldbuilding context is that the clan spends its winters upriver on the steppes to meet the caribou herds migrating south for the winter… but this winter has been harsh, with early freezes and cold winds (and advancing glaciers because we are slowly approaching the Last Glacial Maximum, though they don’t know that), and the normal caribou herds… aren’t here. The clan’s normal winter food source is nowhere to be found. And they are deeply DEEPLY concerned and also starving.

So when the herd of mammoths pass through, this isn’t business as usual, it’s a climactic move of desperation to try to take down a whole damn mammoth to save them all.

[magicalmanhattanproject]

(Most) QSMP Characters As Dog Breeds

Etoiles – Great Pyrenees

Literally the reason I made this whole goddamn monster of a post. Sometimes a man is just So dogboy. Specifically, livestock guardian dogboy. Pyrs are massive, immensely strong dogs that are bred to protect flocks of sheep from wolves and bears and they are very, very good at it. They are fiercely loyal, but also independent and comfortable spending time off on their own and making their own decisions as they wander the borders of their flock's territory. While they're phenomenal at guarding the sheep, they don't have any business herding the sheep or trying to get the sheep to go anywhere in particular.

Philza – Border Collie

Herding the flock is the job of a dog like the collie. The whole point of them is to keep a whole massive flock all in one place and all moving the same direction. Keeping them together, keeping stragglers in line, making sure everyone is accounted for. Border collies in particular are considered the smartest breed of dog on the planet, making them highly adaptable to a wide range of new situations. On the other hand, a collie that doesn't have the space to roam freely and keep itself occupied can easily turn bored, anxious, and destructive.

Roier – Calupoh

Also known as the Mexican wolfdog as it was made by hybridizing with wolves, the calupoh is used for both herding and guarding livestock. While it's not hyperspecialized for either role like the pyrenees or collie are, it can more than hold its own in both. They tend to get along well with both children and other dogs, making them excellent family dogs.

Quackity – Chihuahua

He's short, he's loud, and he likes to start fights he can't possibly win. What more do you want from me? Chihuahuas also happen to be one of the oldest native Mexican breeds alongside the Xoloitzcuintli.

Tubbo – Cairn Terrier

Stubborn, clever, and prone to excessive barking, Cairn terriers are nonetheless loyal and protective of their family. They're playful with family and get along great with children. Bred to chase down vermin, they love digging holes and chasing after whatever catches their eye. They are also known to enjoy chasing things and digging holes. Some of their hobbies include digging holes and chasing after things. They are much less fond of being told to stop chasing or digging.

Tina – Lhasa Apso

The lhasa apso is decidedly not a working dog. Their job is to sit around looking pretty and being brushed and doted on until they hear any suspicious noise that might disturb their peace, at which point they start barking to alert the actual muscle to get to work. That being said, they're more than willing to do the biting themselves if they decide the muscle is too slow to react.

BadBoyHalo – Pit Bull

The pit bull is a breed surrounded by rumors, misinformation, and flat out lies. For one thing, it's not even a breed. It's at least eight breeds that people lump together because they assume they're scarier or more aggressive or dangerous than average, including weird made up lies about locking jaws and nonsense like that. On the other hand, other people will argue that every pit bull is completely 100% harmless and neither would nor could hurt a fly. The truth of the matter is that a dog can be sweet and loving and playful and affectionate and also muscular and toothy and capable of lashing out when hurt or scared or simply because it has a prey drive that it hasn't been properly trained and socialized to restrain.

Jaiden – Beagle

Everyone loves a beagle! They're chill, sweet, eager to please, and down for anything. This makes them a preferred breed for animal testing.

Missa – Siberian Husky

Incredibly dramatic creature. Everything that is going on in the husky's life is the most important and portentous thing that has ever occurred and it will tell all you about it. Loudly.

Carre – Dogo Argentino

Although they sometimes get folded into the "pit bull" label, the dogo is a mastiff bred to hunt pumas and wild boars. They have strong prey drives and love to chase, but are very affectionate with their families. They can also have problem with dog aggression if not properly socialized, but do well with human strangers.

Bagi – Bloodhound

If there's one thing bloodhounds are good at – better than any other dog at, in fact – it's following a scent. They have the best sense of smell of any dog and can follow trails long after they would have gone cold for anyone else. The problem is this leads to an obsessive tendency. They find an interesting smell to follow and they follow it no matter where it's going or who is trying to get them to stop.

Pierre – Pyrenean Shepherd

Another sheepdog, this time bred specifically to work with the Great Pyrenees. Highly intelligent, highly motivated, if they cannot find any problems to solve, they will create them.

Fit – German Shepherd

A trustworthy, versatile breed, German shepherds have the power and strength for aggressive guard and attack dog roles as well as the intelligence to work as service or search and rescue and dogs. In fact, these are some of the most likely dogs to get themselves a job.

Mariana – English Greyhound

Large, long, lean. Little loony.

Wilbur – Borzoi

Large, long, lean. Little loony. (Floppy hair version)

Spreen – Ovcharka

Type of dog to make you go "holy shit is that a bear!" and type of dog to make a bear wish you saw right.

Niki – Hovawart

Native German breed known as a guard for the home and the farm. They are very protective of children and loyal to their families, but take a while to warm up to strangers.

Mouse – Papillon

The smallest of the spaniels, the papillon is not a lapdog. They are highly intelligent and highly energetic and require plenty of daily exercise to meet their activity needs. They're friendly and outgoing and great fun to be around.

Rivers – Boxer

You know, because she boxes...

Pol – Basset Hound

These days, the basset is a companion dog that's perfectly content to lounge around the house all day and not get into too much trouble. And it's these days that we're worried about, right?

Felps – Brazilian Terrier

He's just a little guy who loves to dig.

Antoine – Dogue de Bordeux

An ancient French breed with a weird looking face. The dogue is calm and friendly with children, but aloof with strangers and serves well as a guard dog.

Baghera – Poodle

Look at that silly dog with that funny haircut! Surely that can't be a highly intelligent and effective hunting dog. Nope, none of that here. Just the funny haircut dog. Hey, did you hear the joke about the goldfish?

Cellbit – Fila Brasileiro

Bred from mastiffs and bloodhounds, filas are massive dogs with incredibly powerful tracking instincts and prey drives. They are loyal and protective of their family and especially children but can be aggressive with strangers if not properly trained.

Maxo – Portuguese Water Dog

Please stop trying to keep him on land. Please. He just wants to get off the island. You know, to swim.

Vegetta – Burgos Pointer

Native Spanish breed of gundog. About as close to purple as a dog can get. Generally mild mannered and even tempered, but a hunting dog to the core, they need space to run and roam and make some trouble for small animals.

Foolish – Golden Retriever

A gorgeous specimen of classical doghood. Bred for a similar role to pointers. Known as goofy, charming housepets, but also extremely intelligent, diligent, and hardworking. And gorgeous.

Pac - Irish Wolfhound

Introverted, intelligent, and easygoing, but prone to becoming destructive and morose if left alone for too long. Unreliable watchdogs due to their friendliness towards strangers.

Mike – Campeiro Bulldog

Powerful, strong, and active, with a real fighting spirit and a temper that's slow to activate but powerful when it's there.

Slime – Pug

I'm out of pictures. You know what these look like. Specifically with the most smushed face possible. Why would you breed this dog? Try again.

Cucurucho – Rat

Literally canon.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf (1)

1. The wolf and the sheep

MASTERLIST

Summary: Cregan Stark takes the capital

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, threats of mutilation, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon 

Wordcount: 2.2k

Notes: Sorry for the delay people jeje, anyways, this is a warm up for the real thing, this is and will be very political, I hope it can go smoother than this

King Aegon, second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, was dead

He had been poisoned by his own council

As Cregan Stark and an army of twenty thousand men strong, plus the survivors of the Riverlands, known as “the Lads”, and the Vale by the sea, all sieged the Capital in name of their late Queen Rhaenyra, he didn’t think of surrendering, he intended to keep fighting the war, killing hundreds of thousand more 

He was never going to surrender, and he was going to get himself, and everyone else on the Red Keep, killed

The king had grown mad in the last year

How couldn’t he? he had lost his entire family but his daughter, and his dragon, and he was the cause for millions of deaths all over the seven Kingdoms

It had finally catched up to him 

And he was going to harm the Princess, little Prince Aegon, and Baela Targaryen

Corlys Velaryon couldn’t let that happen 

So in the crack of dawn, the servants found Aeggon dead in his bed, he seemed like he had perished in his sleep, but he was still holding a cup of wine in his hand

People celebrated his death

And now people could call him the usurper out loud

Because everyone knows the truth…

Cregan Stark was coming

They were dark weeks in which the wolf was looming over the herd of sheep

And the remains of the small council were still discussing what to do, Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, Maester Olwyle, who was let out of his imprisonment by Rhaenyra, and Aegon’s former King’s guard, Gyles Belgrave,  and other Lords from higher houses, Borros’ younger brother

“Aegon the younger should be named heir”, said one

“King”, corrected another, “we are too late to name heirs, someone must sit the iron Throne”

“We have her older daughter” said Corlys, “if we don’t name her then all the war was for nothing, because we would be denying her in favor of the male heir”

“Let's marry them, they will rule together”

“Aegon is six, the princess is shy of turning eight and ten!”, fighted Corlys

“Aegon must marry princess Jahaera, to finally unify both fronts, and end this war once and for all”

“They are children”, fought another

“Addam Velaryon is alive, I will marry him to the Princess”, demanded Corlys

“Of course you will, so your bastard son will rule?”

“There is a inconvenience”, muttered maester Orwylde

“Which is?”, asked the Sea Snake

“According to the pact of Ice and Fire, a treaty signed by the late Prince Jacaerys and Cregan Stark, the princess is set to marry the Wolf of Winterfell” 

“That was two years ago”, said Corlys, “many things had happened since then”

“Stark is marching on the capital in revenge for his Queen!”, the old man fought, “as said treaty dictated”

“When he arrives… who will he find on the Iron Throne?”, asked Tyland, “his betrothed? or her six year-old brother?”

“It is dangerous to have Cregan Stark as a King consort”

“I think it’s exactly what we need”, muttered Corlys

“You just now wanted to marry the princess to your bastard!” 

“Where is the princess?”, asked Larys Strong, with a unsteady smile on his face

“She is her rooms”

“That girl is… she is not well!”, muttered Tyland

“She is traumatized…”, said another

“I checked her myself, she has no signs of being… unhinged nor unstable”, muttered Olwylde 

“Aegon made his dragon eat her mother alive in front of her”

“Aegon, a six year old boy was also there present, the one you would prefer to sit on the Iron Throne, a child!”

“She will seat the Iron Throne!”, said Corlys, “we must agree to it, don’t we?”

“Yes we have to” 

“Aye”, said Maester Orwylde 

“Has anyone spoken to her?”, muttered Tyland

“No since Aegon died”

“The usurper”, called Corlys

“We cannot call him that, we served him…”, remembered the Lannister 

“Cregan Stark, and the armies of the Riverlands are marching on the capital”, remembered the Sea Snake

“Do we know what his intentions are?”

“To take the capital for the blacks”, muttered Corlys, “and right now, we are all Greens”, the room was silent

“We have to please the wolf” 

“We have the Queen”

“We have to surrender the city to Stark”

Lord Baratheon just watched, amused, Larys had his eyes on him, curious about what he wanted to say

“Open the gates, we receive Stark”, he demanded, and everyone looked at him

“He will kill us all”

“Not if we don’t put resistance”, he tried, “the girl or the boy, whichever we place on the throne, is from Rhaenyra’s blood, not our Queen, but our enemy, Stark is coming here to kill us, and make sure one of them sits the Iron Throne, if you want to survive this week, i say we grab the kid, send him to the wolf and the Lads as a sign of good faith”

“What about the girl?”

“The road is no place for a princess”, he continued, “she should stay in the Keep, safe”

“As insurance”, mocked Tyland, “in case something happens to the boy”

“We send Aegon to The Lads, not to Stark”, said Alard Baratheon, “see if the Wolf takes the bait”

“She can’t know”

So the council grabbed Aegon the younger from his rooms, gathered a large caravan and delivered him to the Tullys, and leader of an army

While you… remained in your rooms unaware of what was going on.

. . .

The realms had been submerged in chaos for the last two whole years, brothers fighted sisters, kin usurped kin, dragons danced with dragons, and the results where incalculable loss of people, the fall of the greatest dynasty in Westeros, and the death of Dragons, the most incredible and powerful creatures

because dreams didn’t make the Targaryen Kings, Dragons did 

The Red Keep, House of the Dragon since a hundred years ago, had seen four monarchs in the last three years, people had come and gone, killed for their alliances, traded for others, like a mythological creature.

One man, with one monarch to serve lost his head, two more, following a different monarch rose on its place

Now the castle lay inert, quiet, those who followed Aegon had been decimated, those who had followed Rhaenyra were killed or chased away, now everyone who resided there seemed to be replaceable, taken for granted.

It wasn’t the home of the reigning family anymore

It was a carcass, waited to be filled by the next power who dared to take it for themselves, waited to be lived again by those faithful to the next Queen or King of the Seven Kingdoms

The castle was grim, silent, Viserys, Alicent, Aegon, Rhaenyra, and then Aegon again, all of them had tried to make his mark inside these walls, so now it had taken a form of some sort of Chimera, a monsters with a different head, body and feet, a part of each animal, a part of each monarch.

The colors gold, green, black and red, one started where the other ended, melted together sewing the bloody story of what it was about to be known like the Dance of the dragons, it was upsetting

Uncertainty

Doubt

Three survivors of what it once a big and powerful family

Three broken children

A empty castle

A divided Kingdom

An empty carcass, and no brave men left to fill it

None but one

Cregan Stark had come home after the defeat of the winter wolves, to gather a powerful army of forty thousand men strong.

The mission was to eliminate the remain of the Green forces, and strengthen the position of his Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen

Even though as he gathered his army, his Queen had been assassinated by her brother

That did not deter Cregan Stark, if anything, it made his mission even more imperative, now, he was up for revenge

He knew Rhaenyra had two remaining children, her oldest and only daughter, and her son Aegon the younger. The first one, two years ago, he agreed to wed, back when she was the second older child, behind Jacaerys, and a princess with nothing to her name but to make alliances

It was for her he marched south, to keep his word to her mother

He planned in taking the capital, no matter the cost, he planned on killing every single last green, even though The Lads had gotten ahead of him, eliminating Borros baratheon and the remains of his army, the Green army

As he had no news of the capital since he left Winterfell, he knew the Usurper sat the Iron Throne, no, he didn’t actually, he sat on a wooden chair at the feet of it, since he couldn’t even climbed up the steps for it

He was going to surrender the city or die at his hands

He was the late Queen’s biggest supporter, and he failed her, he took too long, he had to make amends, make things right

He, and his army, was going to mach to all corners of the Kingdoms, until everyone was accounted for their part in the usurpation of his Queen

A rider reached his army when he was passing through Harrenhal

King Aegon the usurper was dead, killed by his own men

But this did nothing but to disgust the wolf

Snaked inhabited the capital, no one else

His new Queen, and his prince were there, in midst of traitors and turncloaks, so the news of the Usurper being dead only encouraged him to march south even Quicker

The Lads were ruling those zones, assumed to ambush everyone who passes through the king’s road, but even though his scouts encountered men from the Riverlands, they did nothing to prevent him from passing

A silent truce, and agreement, they were on the same size

They did not join one another, but The Lads let Cregan Stark pass through the RIverlands uninterrupted 

Independently from Aegon the younger traveling to Harrenhal to The Lads as a gesture of good fiat, even though the young prince was part of Cregan’s mission, his main goal was to bring justice to the realm

And to keep you safe

With prince Aegon in his power, and the main commanders of the Lads, Cregan reached King’s Landing on the twentieth day of the sith moon of the year 131 AC

He found the city gates wide open, waiting for him

He found the city completely ready for the taking, the people didn’t stop him, he couldn’t see soldiers anywhere, when he arrived at the Keep, the small council was right there, on the steps leading to the great Hall where the Iron Throne was.

“Lord Stark”, greeted Corlys

Cregan was still atop his horse, looking down at this.. things, more serpents than men

He dismounted, not even caring to respond to the calling, his household, his most trusted men entered the keep, swords in hand

“This city is now under my control”, he demanded, “I have taken it, in the name of Late Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen!”, he said out loud

The soldiers there did surrender their weapons, as the northerners spread all over the courtyard and the main streets of the city 

A pack of wolves in a hunt

Cregan paid no mind to the weakened remains of the Green council, and he found no real authority there, Cregan Stark started to give orders

“Send word to Dragonstone, to send whomever is left from Queen Rhaenyra’s council”, he said to the maester Orwylde, who just nodded and limped away to fulfill the order. “Including a new maester”, he said with a demanding look on his face 

Nobody questioned him

He was tall, and broad, long black hair secured by braids, two piercing eyes and a reputation in battle.

The wolf had come to the capital

He had taken the city without even shedding a drop of blood, without even unsheathing his sword 

He entered the throne room, and he was not surprised to see it empty, The Iron Throne right there.

A strange wooden chair with wheels at the foot

“Have that burned in the courtyard, where everyone can see”, he demanded to his second in command, he nodded and took three men with him to fulfill his order, “For every green dragon banner that I see I will behead a Lannister, a Baratheon or a Hightower!”, he said aloud, and at least ten men from the Keep ran to get rid of the sickening symbol

He took only one step up the Iron Throne, he only needed the one, he turn around, to meet the council of traitors and cowards 

“Where is she?”, he asked out loud

“Where is who, my lord?”, asked Corlys Velaryon

“Where is the Queen?”, his voice resounded en the entire Throne Room

taglist! <3

@lyannesworld @unlesshouse @mxtokko

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Vampire Nomads

Hear me out. Vampire aristocracy is an awesome Trope, Dracula is one of the scariest books I’ve ever read and enjoyed, and I will always take a second look at a vampire wearing a cape, because so many have done it with style. And yet.

From a worldbuilding perspective, vampires as nomads has interesting possibilities.

Vampires are predators, and the real-life predators we’re most often familiar with take and defend territories. Lions, tigers, bears, oh my; all of them need a large expanse of territory not just to have enough prey, but to have areas to court, mate, and raise offspring. But these are not all predators. Take great white sharks. Zoologists have rather recently established that instead of hanging out constantly near swimming beaches, they commonly migrate from near the poles to the tropics and around various continents. They meet and mate as they travel; female great whites are capable of taking care of themselves, and great white pups are independent shortly after birth. They don’t have territories that we recognize as such; they don’t need them.

Folkloric vampires may or may not mate (look up dhampirs). But how vampires are created generally is not standard reproduction. There’s no courtship, competition with others of your sex, or territorial defense involved when a vampire arises from a suicide, or is infected with a bite, or by blood dropped into their food, or an animal jumping over the corpse. Or most of the other myriad ways folklore has said they rise. In that sense, a new vampire is like a newborn great white: perfectly capable of feeding and existing on its own pretty much from the start. So why shouldn’t vampires travel as they will?

This makes even more sense when you think about what vampires need to feed on. Almost invariably, they need blood. They need living animals. (Humans specifically, but not always exclusively.) And that implies they would want areas where there are more animals to feed on than plants. As in, areas where ranching and herding makes more sense than farming. A grassy steppe dotted with horses and sheep is full of blood walking around. A farm growing grain, where there are only as many animals as the farmer can afford to feed? Not so much.

On top of that, through most of history nomadic herders have had more meat to eat, hunted and from herds, than most farmers who subsist on grains. Meaning less anemia than settled people who have to boil iron in their rice and ram nails into apples to rust, then eat the rusty apple! Herders are probably going to taste better.

Plus, if you think of vampires as beings of eldritch lore and ancient knowledge? That also fits in with a lot of nomadic cultures. The Mongols, for example, were well known for giving extravagant gifts of silk and gold - things that are heavy to carry - while carefully hoarding intangible treasures like their language, knowledge of bone-setting, and skill at iron-working.

Of course, nomadic vampires are easier to pull off if they don’t burn to ashes in daylight. (Many vampires in folklore do not.) But even if they do... the Roman legions were known for building a whole fort every night they stopped. I could see a band of vampires digging out and concealing a hiding spot completely on their own. Or, if they’re part of a larger group of mortal nomads, just rolling up in the tents for the day, and taking the night-watch to look after the herds. Heck, with how many nomadic groups also sometimes drink animal blood from their herds, they might not even be considered that strange....

What do you think? Valid un-lifestyle?

[whencyclopedia]

The Nerge: Hunting in the Mongol Empire

The peoples of the Mongol Empire (1206-1368 CE) were nomadic, and they relied on hunting wild game as a valuable source of protein. The Asian steppe is a desolate, windy, and often bitterly cold environment, but for those Mongols with sufficient skills at riding and simultaneously using a bow, there were wild animals to be caught to supplement their largely dairy-based diet. Over time, hunting and falconry became important cultural activities and great hunts were organised whenever there were major clan gatherings and important celebrations. These hunts involved all of the tribe mobilising across vast areas of steppe to corner game into a specific area, a technique known as the nerge. The skills and strategies used during the nerge were often repeated with great success by Mongol cavalry on the battlefield across Asia and in Eastern Europe.

Hunted Animals

The Mongols, like other nomadic peoples of the Asian steppe, relied on milk from their livestock for food and drink, making cheese, yoghurt, dried curds and fermented drinks. The animals they herded - sheep, goats, oxen, camels and yaks - were generally too precious as a regular source of wool and milk to kill for meat and so protein was acquired through hunting, essentially any wild animal that moved. Animals hunted in the medieval period included hares, deer, antelopes, wild boars, wild oxen, marmots, wolves, foxes, rabbits, wild asses, Siberian tigers, lions, and many wild birds, including swans and cranes (using snares and falconry). Meat was especially in demand when great feasts were held to celebrate tribal occasions and political events such as the election of a new khan or Mongol ruler.

A basic division of labour was that women did the cooking and men did the hunting. Meat was typically boiled and more rarely roasted and then added to soups and stews. Dried meat (si'usun) was an especially useful staple for travellers and roaming Mongol warriors. In the harsh steppe environment, nothing was wasted and even the marrow of animal bones was eaten with the leftovers then boiled in a broth to which curd or millet was added. Animal sinews were used in tools and fat was used to waterproof items like tents and saddles.

The Mongols considered eating certain parts of those wild animals which were thought to have potent spirits such as wolves and even marmots a help with certain ailments. Bear paws, for example, were thought to help increase one's resistance to cold temperatures. Such concoctions as powdered tiger bone dissolved in liquor, which is attributed all sorts of benefits for the body, is still a popular medicinal drink today in parts of East Asia.

Besides food and medicine, game animals were also a source of material for clothing. A bit of wolf or snow leopard fur trim to an ordinary robe indicated the wearer was a member of the tribal elite. Fur-lined jackets, trousers, and boots were a welcome insulator against the bitter steppe winters, too.

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