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lisbeth-kk · 27 days

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May Prompts (27) Jealousy

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter27)

Summary: Rosie and Timothy travel the Greek islands. An intriguing experience on Santorini, puzzles and irks Rosie immensely. When Timothy doesn't react to her liking, there's only one option on how to move forward.

Twenty-Seven Years Old

To celebrate my birthday and my new fulltime job as a political risk analyst, Timothy and I went island-hopping in Greece. Liwia and her girlfriend had done it last year, and it appealed to us both. Having nothing but the flights planned, made me feel a bit reckless but it was quite freeing as well.

The only thing we’d decided on was to stick to the Cyclades and we started our journey by taking a ferry to the small island Antiparos. Several people who let out rooms stood waiting on the quay as we disembarked. An elderly and friendly looking man caught our attention, and the room he had to offer was more than sufficient.

Our first breakfast is one I’ll remember forever. The small restaurant was situated by the seafront where the fishing boats came in with their catch. Faded coloured fishing nets hung to dry in the sun, the scent of salt weaving its way to our nostrils.

Freshly pressed orange juice and the fluffiest omelette I’d ever come across, ensured the perfect start of our day.

We hired a moped to explore a little. The trip took us through a landscape of olive trees and flowers we didn’t have in the UK. Our destination was the famous cave with stalagmites and stalactites. The stalagmite at the entrance is apparently 45 million years old, the oldest in Europe.

We were warm and a bit sweaty after standing out in the sun, while we waited for our guide. The air inside was pleasantly chill and got even colder as we descended the 411 steps to the heart of the cave. It was a mesmerising sight, and knowing that this was the nature’s own doing, left me amazed and humble.

At a cosy taverna we ate the best Greek salad to date. The ripe tomatoes paired with the salty feta cheese, olives, onions, the rich olive oil and the homemade bread, almost made me religious for a moment.

The beach close to our quarters, was small, secluded and blessedly free of crowds. We had taken a boat to a famous beach the day before, but we’d barely found a free space to lay down our blankets, so this felt like paradise in comparison.

Another short boat ride away was the bigger island Paros. We took the bus to the other side of the island. I don’t remember anything else from that trip than the hours we spent in Naoussa. Several boats painted in bright colours lay bobbing in the water close to the restaurants that encircled the bay. It may sound simple, but it was the most beautiful view, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. We sat there for hours, eating seafood and drinking Greek white wine.

***

So far, it had been a “normal” vacation, or tedious as Papa would’ve called it. That all ended when we sat foot on Santorini. Getting a room was easy enough, and relieved of our heavy rucksacks we went for a stroll in the main street of Fira. Every other shop was a jewellery shop, and the necklaces displayed bore the resemblance to what pharaohs and Cleopatra wore. Heavy, massive and ridiculously expensive. For each shop they seemed to grow bigger and uglier. We had quite a laugh at that.

The most peculiar thing happened at the restaurant we had lunch. It was a terrace with a breathtaking view over the Aegean Sea. We’d decided to stay for a while and ordered more iced tea, making ourselves comfortable under the big parasol. We had both brought a book, and for a while we read in silence. A repetitive sound of paper being ripped, caught my attention.

An elderly woman had taken up residence at the table next to ours. She had short frizzy hair, more grey than brown now, her glasses were round with a white frame. The summer dress she wore had big patterns in green, red, white, and orange. On her feet were white flip-flops.

“Stop staring,” Timothy whispered.

He startled me and I looked annoyed at him, but averted my eyes and took a sip of my drink. The moment the sound of ripped paper reached my ears again, my eyes were drawn to the spectacle at the other table.

The woman read a book too. A paperback. The curious thing I almost couldn’t fathom, was that whenever she finished a page, she ripped it out and placed it in a pile under her plate. Why would anyone want to do such a thing? What if you needed to go back some pages to look up something you’ve missed. It could never be read by another person, since she apparently left pages wherever she sat down to read. It bore no logic, and it irked me.

“Aren’t you curious about why she does it?” I whispered to Timothy.

“Not particularly. My book is far too interesting, and you won’t get an answer unless you ask her, and I guess you aren’t inclined to do that,” was his phlegmatic answer.

Timothy’s ability to turn off the world and disappear into his reading or writing, was admirable, but now it almost made me jealous of his book. I wanted to speculate with someone, solve this odd conundrum. There would be no more reading on my part after this, so I took out my phone instead.

Want to solve a mystery for me?

Pray tell! I’m bored to death and about to shoot the wall. P

Also available on AO3

Friendly warning: after 25 years the mystery is still unsolved. Don’t be shy about suggesting what the meaning of this appalling behaviour could be 🤭

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 27: jealousy #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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fluffbruary · 1 year

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2023 Prompt List

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February 28: wreck | veil | wind

Bonus prompts: yearning | wrist | lick | motorcycle | birthday

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #prompt list #image prompts #bring on the fluff #please reblog

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b00kdiary · 2 years

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Unexpected (Part II)

Aemond Targaryen X Betrothed Baratheon reader

Aemond Targaryen is sent to Storm's End to secure a marriage pact to gain the Baratheon's alliance in the war. And yet, when he discovers Y/N Baratheon, the black sheep of her family, hidden away at his arrival, he knows that fate has predestined their meeting. He has to have her.

Warning: long chapters, swearing, eventual mature content (18 +)

Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen)

Her bellowing laugh of joy and disbelief ran over me like a cool breeze, the bright smile across her a lovely face a beacon in the darkest of shadows. The wind blew the loose strands of her soft hair from her grinning expression, and I unconsciously inhaled as her addictive flowery scent brushed against me and invaded my senses.

Lady Y/N did not shriek or even close her eyes as Vhagar had shot like lightning into the darkening clouds above, instead, she marvelled at the feeling, her body shivering against mine as her wide eyes took in the spec that was now her familial home and then danced in wonder as the broad and never-ending landscapes passed by.

Her excitement, her appreciation for both Vhagar and flying had been a pleasant surprise, and despite not intending to bring back my bride with me today or anytime soon, I found a sense of unease in the idea of leaving her behind.

As if I would not be able to take her the next time I returned.

She glanced toward me when noticing my stare, her head ducking in embarrassment at being caught, but I merely smirked in response.

“Are you content, My Lady?” I asked after a few moments, Vhagar now riding a smooth and undisturbed path. She beamed, her head turning as she locked onto my face.

“Yes,” She breathed softly, her gaze turning to glance at the pillowy clouds and gradients of the sky. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, My Prince. You’re truly lucky to have this.”

The words were earnest and my hands tightened unperceptively around the reigns, hugging against her body.

“Do not worry, this is the first of many rides Lady Y/N” I said definitely and tried not to feel too offended by the look of genuine disbelief she threw me. “You were expecting something else?” I muse and she quickly shakes her head.

“No, I just-“ She paused, biting her lip again and it takes more effort than I’d like to admit to not stare. She doesn’t continue, the words seeming to fall apart in her pretty mouth.

“You said that you enjoyed being outside yes?” I rasp rhetorically, my eye slanting forwards for a moment as I steer Vhagar to the left. “You have a notable knowledge of Dragons, or at least of my dragon, and you didn’t scream or cower as we took flight as most would do.”

I looked at her now, contemplating and she seemed to be breathing unsteadily at my regard.

“I don’t see why this would be your last flight, not when you’ve taken to it so naturally.” I shrug and she smiles shyly in response.

“And it’s not an issue for you? Riding with another?” She asks curiously, her head cocking, her eyes doe-like in obvious thoughtfulness.

I inhale sharply, my mind shifting into obscenity and filth at the stare of those big eyes and her lovely face and I have to shake my head to clear it.

“I do not mind, My Lady,” I say sincerely, a mischievous grin lighting my face as I press my body against hers, my lips coming to her ear. “I find I rather enjoy the warmth of a soft and lovely body pressed against mine, in fact.”

She visibly shudders at my hoarse words, her cheeks reddening with heat as she shoots her eyes to the sky, avoiding my stare and my chuckle of amusement.

It seems that perhaps marriage would not be the worst term to ensure allies.

***

I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop staring.

We’d been flying for quite a few hours now and every second was an intoxicating, thrilling ride that had my blood thrumming. I watch the skies fade from the effervescence of a cerulean blue into the darkening shadow of Aegean blue as the day continues, the wind cools and ices over depending on the beast's altitude and every scent that brushed past were of nature and the wilderness of Westeros.

Prince Aemond and I had discussed a little on our journey, light topics such as growing up in Storm’s End, the reality of having four older sisters and then what my favourite weapons and fighting styles were.

Our conversation flowed easily, not awkward or uncomfortable and as he asked me more questions regarding myself and my life, I felt much calmer and at ease in his presence.

The wind had begun to ice over as the temperature dropped and despite the warmth of the male at my back, my body still shivered and my teeth chattered in response to the cold.

The Prince noticed this instantly, a warrior's eye that was honed to magnify even the smallest movement and detail.

“My Lady” He called, his brow furrowing slightly “If you are feeling cold, perhaps you would like to lean into me more for heat. Your body has been unnervingly stiff the entire journey.” The words aren’t harsh but they are firm, his eye watching me.

I tried to relax, several times in fact, but the laces of my dress kept my body tucked in so severely that in this bunched position, my body would begin to slowly asphyxiate from the pressure pushing against my stomach and ribs.

I blush, stuttering as I beheld his expecting gaze “My apologies My Prince, I meant no offence… I just didn’t want to seem improper-“

“Forget what is proper Lady Y/N” He interrupted with a slight sneer, his eye-rolling “You’re beginning to freeze, lean back against me.” The words were authoritative, dominant, and a command from a man used to getting what he wanted.

I bit my lip, too embarrassed to speak plainly and instead, gritting my teeth, I relaxed into the heat and welcome of his chest and arms. The warmth that enveloped me as his arms circled tighter around my waist felt amazing and I leaned my head against his shoulder to keep out of his sight.

He seemed content with my actions, not hesitating to draw me close, even as my breath began to shake out unsteadily. I ignored his unyielding stare, as he probably felt the rasps of slight pain that brushed past my lips with every inhale and exhale and how my back was still pin straight.

I’d endured this kind of pain before at important events, the familiar crushing ache of the corset against my ribs, the lacing digging into the flesh at my back and that relentless pressure that kept my back straight as an arrow, no matter how uncomfortable.

It was a slow torture but effective in ‘maintaining appearances’ as my mother liked to say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Lady Y/N or do I have to force it out of you?” The words were icy and cold, and as I glanced up at his face, his expression mirrored that stormy calm.

“I’m just cold-“ But I don’t even bother finishing the lie at the flash of warning that darkens his eye, or how his fingers seem to dig into my hips in a harsh, but not painful, warning.

“Do you find discomfort in being so close to me?” He asks sharply, and despite that formal mask, I can hear his aggravation, as if indeed the other shoe had dropped as he anticipated. “I could get your riding hood if you would prefer-“

“No” I sigh, shaking my head, wishing that my saddle would rip and I could just fall out and plummet to my demise.

How do you tell a man that your mother stuffed you into a gown too small to make your body look more pleasing to him?

“No,” I repeated again, lifting off his chest and looking at him with weary eyes. He looked back in bewilderment but remained silent.

“I can’t breathe properly while leaning back,” I said quietly.

I looked down with a heated neck and face, the stare of his consideration far too overwhelming as the silence dragged on. After a moment of reflection, his hands began to shift and as if remembering his confusion back at the hall, his hands gently grazed over the sides and stomach of my gown.

“Your dress is too tight” He strained, the rasp lower than usual.

I grimaced as my eyes lifted to his but faltered at the rage and irritation flaring there. Before I could speak, Prince Aemond was quick to unsheathe his dagger from his side belt and without even uttering a word, he began running his fingers down the seams of my back before he cut the knot tied at the bottom.

A protest rose in my throat at that vicious severing but as I felt my chest expand with air, relief filled me.

His eye looked at me when that small exhale left my lips and he was quick to begin pulling and loosening the laces all the way up the spine of my back with one hand, while the other remained to hold the reigns on Vhagar.

My body felt like it was on fire at the feeling of his touch that danced over me and brushed my bare skin, the nimble and swift fingers that moved with such precision and skill, and I had to bite back the ire that filled me, the gnawing irritation at how many other women he’d done this for before.

I pulled at the front of the gown, slackening it from my skin and exhaled in a steady and fluid breath that rushed much-needed oxygen back into my body. The Prince's hands snaked around my waist after tying a looser knot at my back and this time I did not hesitate to rest my body and melt against him.

A small groan of appreciation left my lips at the delicious heat that encompassed me.

“I’m honestly surprised you did not faint from the exertion of climbing Vhagar. It is a difficult task to do anyway, never mind with limited air supply and body movement.” The tone was chiding as if he was furious, outraged at the ridiculousness of such a thing.

When I don’t reply, his ringed hand grips my chin and turns my eyes to his, the lethal glare in them strong enough to keep me there. I scowl, my eyes narrowing in annoyance at his interrogation but he doesn’t relent.

He wasn’t wrong in the stupidity of the corset, but that didn’t mean he was going to chastise me like a child.

“As a man, My Prince, I do not expect you to understand the physical turmoil that women endure to appear attractive for some entitled Lord or Ser” I sneer, my glare unyielding as well.

He snorts, shaking his head with a stern frown “I saw you in nothing but a sheer and light nightgown in our first meeting today, and on spying the clothes scattered around your room it is obvious that gaudy gowns and pleasing figures are not something you care about.”

I blanche at his reminder of my inappropriate attire, even as I’m impressed by the level of observation and intel he gained while with me.

“I certainly could not care less about how small your waist appears or how proportionally pleasing some expect you to be, especially if ensuring it means overwhelming you with laboured breath and posture.” He wasn’t yelling, but that growl of frustration lacing every word made his displeasure quite obvious.

“Gods, do not be so overdramatic” I hissed, even as he blinked in surprise as I rolled my eyes. “My mother has had servants shoving me into these dresses since before my first bleed, and I suppose she wanted me to resemble a fine and pretty Lady when meeting the King and Queen mother in Kings Landing.”

“You look like your sisters” He grimaces, obvious distaste lighting his face at the thought and I choke on a shocked laugh at it. His face softens marginally at the light sound and he too thaws and chuckles quietly regarding it.

Our stares lock, unwavering as we scrutinise and consider, our stubbornness butting heads as neither of us speaks.

“I am going to ask you once My Lady and I wish for you to answer me honestly.” He says, returning back to that voice of authority, that title of Prince shining across the intensity in his eye.

I nod, sighing in acceptance.

“Do you enjoy, actually enjoy, wearing and the feeling of your dresses corseted and laced in so thoroughly?” His words came out much quieter, and he waited silently as if to give me time to think.

“No,” I said softly, shaking my head at that obvious and blinding truth. “No, I find it burdensome and painful.”

“Very well then.” He nodded resolutely “ Then you shall never wear it in such a manner again.”

I snapped my attention to his and frowned, “But with the wedding season, my mother-“

His eyes darkened and narrowed, and I felt my heart stutter as he inched his stern face closer to mine, so close I could feel the harshness of his breath against my lips.

“Tell your mother, and your servants that should I see you wearing a gown laced tight enough that your body is not as supple and soft as I know it to be, as I saw it to be today… then regardless of our surroundings, I will tear the fucking thing off of your body with my bare hands.”

I gasped at the obscenity, the growl of pure carnal and primitive savagery as held his dark gaze to my own. My body shivered at that promise, that unyielding, cruel promise of violence and fury but also his protection and desire for my body that laced within it.

“Is that clear?” He rasped, his eyes trailing dangerously across my face, over my eyes, my nose, my lips.

I resist the urge to gnaw on my lip out of habit and instead, raised my chin and nodded, “Yes, my Prince.”

He hums, that furious storm melting into a lax calm and as his gaze shifts back to the path ahead, I simply slant my body forward, glad for the ease and comfort that comes as I lean my back against his chest and rest my head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t hesitate to draw me into him, our bodies moulding into one.

***

The warmth and suppleness of her body melding against mine was a welcome pressure, both a defence against the cold of the skies but also a resolute comfort at having her within the protection of my arms.

Without that fucking dress half killing her.

It was hard to stamp out my fury at the knowledge that her mother, in her own self-serving selfishness and weakness, was willing to inflict suffering onto her own daughter merely to appease some standard of beauty.

I had seen Lady Y/Ns body, perhaps not in the most appropriate situation, but I was content with her beauty and found her and her body to be more than pleasing in every regard.

I would follow through with my oath should anyone deem to disfigure her again and not only will I tear the gown off her body but I will tear out the throat of whoever gave the command.

Her mother. Her father. The Gods themselves.

They would fucking pay for it.

I silenced the wrath in my veins as we neared closer to Kings Landing, the Red Keep at the centre of all the chaos. Y/N was sitting straighter now, her eyes firmly ahead and scrutinising every detail as we flew overhead.

“Nervous, Lady Y/N?”

She huffed lightly, her weary eyes shifting to mine “You’re family are not expecting me and yet here I am dropping from the sky, astride your dragon with you. It seems… improper.”

I scoff out a light laugh as that word falls from her lips again.

Improper.

“There is nothing improper in it. You are my betrothed and I have brought you with me to Kings landing to see and be accustomed to your new home. The wedding will occur swiftly, this just means I have saved you the effort of days of travelling.”

She nods absentmindedly and despite wanting to, I have little knowledge of what it means to comfort someone and instead, I take to distracting her.

“There” I point and she perks up, her sight following my regard “That is the harbour, we have all our trading routes through there and get our resources from all over the continent” She smiles as she takes in the clear and shimmering blue waves and the ships docked and bustling as they unload.

“And there” I point further down, “That is the Dragon Pit, where we house all the Targaryen dragons and their eggs.” She looks in awe at the large and looming building that sat atop the Hill, her eyes lighting in recognition.

“That is where Vhagar stays?” She asks, looking at me and I nod in confirmation.

“You’ll be accustomed to the place, it's where we will go to take Vhagar for rides and where we will return to have her fed, looked after and for her to rest.” Her face brightens at the word ‘we’ and I grip her waist tightly in response.

She continues to marvel, smiling and pointing and asking several questions as we near Dragon Pit. I imagine that had it been anyone else, I’d have grown agitated long ago, yet the more she asks and I answer, the bigger her smile and eyes seem to grow.

I was not accustomed to having something so pure look at me like that.

And I decided that I rather liked it.

***

I braced my hands onto the handles as we began to slow, Vhagar tunnelling down and sailing towards the grounds in front of the infamous Dragon pit.

It was all unbelievable, every single thing was incomparable to the drear of Storm’s End.

I huffed out a laugh as Vhagar slumped and tucked her legs under her body, her wings tucking in against her.

“Sȳrī gaomagon Vhagar,” Prince Aemond said loudly, his hand reaching forward to rub against Vhagar’s head in what appeared to be praise and I grinned as the beast purred back in satisfaction.

“Do you want to try?” He asked with a quirked brow and I timidly nodded with delight.

He smirked, his large and calloused hand clasping mine and placing it over the scales and ruggedness of her, his hand laying over mine. I blushed as I looked over my shoulder at him and he smiled at the vibrations that reverberated through our palms.

“Emā dohaertan nyke sȳrī Vhagar,” Prince Aemond said, and then repeated, syllable by syllable when I scrunched my brow in confusion.

I stuttered the first few times, but he was patient with me as I eventually managed to bellow out with a laugh “Emā dohaertan nyke sȳrī Vhagar” and nearly screamed with glee when the beast answered back with a low hum.

I laughed, looking at the Prince, his face a mirror expression of mine, contentment that I’d never seen before shining there.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“You have served me well, Vhagar” He translated and I nodded with intrigue.

“Aemond!”

I started at the voice female voice that called from below and when I noticed the Prince's stern expression and stiff body, I turned to the left and peered down.

Where Alicent Hightower and King Aegon Targaryen stood waiting.

I shook lightly as Prince Aemond gently removed his hand from mine and I focused on honing my breathing, listing my favourite things about the new place as he unclipped the ropes strapped into place.

Pros.

The sea was so blue and clear. There were so many bustling people and markets. The Dragon Pit where I could come with Prince Aemond to ride Vhagar.

Prince Aemond.

I realised rather foolishly that Prince Aemond was a pro for being here.

“Ready, My Lady?” He asked quietly, his gaze unwavering as he watched my shaking exhale.

“Ready, my Prince.”

And we descended down into the real belly of the beast.

___________________________________

@ephemeralninon @sluttyaemond @dreamsxoxous @moonmaiden1996 @letmeloveyouuuu @yoshiplush @sonnensplitter

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond x plus size reader #aemond targaryen smut #team green #aemond fanfiction

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firefirefruit · 6 months

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Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Ten

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Ten: Fight, Flight, Freeze

Eyeballs. Gleaming with an off-white sheen, red veins like half-wriggling worms bulging out of its moisture. Magenta, glowing and unprotected by the lack of eyelids, they gape at you in its darkness.

No one breaks the silence. In fact, you’ve forgotten about the samurai lingering a few steps behind you, how firmly his hands are clenching at his hilts, how alert and focused his eyes are as he slightly bends his knees into a defensive stance.

The wind blows through you with a rustle. The shadow garbles, making wet, whistling noises as it inhales.

“The fuck are you?” You demand, your voice echoing from across the thundering fields.

The entity simply stares.

You grit your teeth, eyes widening in fury, and instantly, hail splinters into the ground like earth-splitting knives.

“What business do you have here?”

Your voice, strong and resolute, fights against the flurry of wind, a wind that tries its best to silence you, to force you down on your knees and make you beg for breath. But you choke your words out, suffocating whilst air is fed down your throat, dishonouring its overbearing will.

Again, the entity simply stares. The only sound it makes is the moisture of when it rolls its eyes as it takes you in.

“Dumb fuckin’ ghost,” Zoro mutters, wiping the hail from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t think it’s here to talk.”

“Then I’ll make it,” you hiss, slowly flexing your fingers into the air.

A cloud of icicles thunder into the ground in front of your feet. By a simple twitch of your fingers, it gains more and more speed, rolling across the landscape like a pathway of dominoes. It shoots itself forcefully into the earth as if beckoning to splinter through, to whistle straight down to the planet’s molten core.

And finally, as they thunder across the hills like an avalanche of death, they near their final destination; the looming torrent of darkness as it gargles idly in front of your home.

Your hand remains flexed out by your side, joints denying to bend, skin biting at your folds, as if the harder you flex, the more fury you unleash.

There would be only one reason in the world for you to slacken your hand in that moment, the most impossible scenario that would make you lose your senses.

And that’s exactly what happens.

From behind the polluted entity, a tiny figure begins to sidestep into your line of sight.

And your heart clenches. Your hand snaps, rolls and falls. The ice that once fell across the ground like glacial meteorites ceases to exist; instead, it all crashes down. Like a cascade of water, it misses the shadow and the figure behind it by only an inch.

Silence. Again. Everyone remains where they are, looking between faces, asking themselves unanswerable questions, and feeling conflicted feelings.

The entity garbles with a whistling breath. Its eyeballs roll their vision to Zoro, like wet snooker balls before they slither onto you.

“Are they familiar to you?” It finally croaks out – and even for talking at its normal level, the ground rumbles like a suppressed inflammatory cough, burning your very feet that it trembles on.

Gramps, unwavering in his stare, shakes his head once.

“Decades you’ve known of me, barely a thing you know about me,” Gramps muses, his arms folding behind his back. “My distaste for their kind is palpable.”

What? A surge of rage washes through you. You didn’t ask to be fucking protected, to be hidden, to be saved. You want to fight, not to fucking cower away.

“So be it,” the shadow gurgles. With a loud moan, completely disregarding you and the samurai, the body twists to Suki. “Then, shall we commence?”

“So be it,” Gramps echoes, dragging one hand into the air while the other unsheathes his weapon.

“Fight me!” You scream, charging at the entity. “You want his blood? I’ve got—”

A gust of wind slaps you across the face, sending you flying upright and into the air. You tumble, hitting the ground multiple times like a skipping stone, choking on the air that punches out of you.

The shadow, disinterestedly fixing its gaze from you to Gramps, continues with its conversation. “You hid yourself well this time. Or is this an unsuitable moment for flattery?”

Gramps, although choking out his words, forces to remain neutral. “Recognition, in any sense of the word, is not something I actively search for.”

It grumbles out a wet laugh, hoarsely croaking out a tremor across the land. “Then you should have remained in Wano.”

A streak of black fluid jets out from beneath the entity’s position, striking at Gramps like a wriggling, wet serpent. As it consumes the ground with its essence, the field that exists within its radius begins to be sucked of colour and life, wilting like dry corpses begging for sustenance.

Instantly, Suki faces his hand to the ground, and with a flex of his fingers, a gust of wind escapes his hand. He jets into the air like a bullet, only narrowly missing the all-consuming liquid as it burns all the life that it touches.

You gasp, the air in your lungs refusing to release. You gape at him, at his hands that exhale with wind, at his eyes that gleam against the mist. You gape at his body that floats in the air, the spinning tornado that holds him like a self-induced cocoon. You gape because he hid all of this from you.

Immediately, the entity springs up into the sky, meeting Gramps’ gaze with ease, and with a mist of translucent liquid that escapes its hand, it spurts out and tries to snap at Gramps’ face.

You scream, pushing yourself from the ground. You charge again, Zoro following you, your hand a blend of fire and ice, of blue and red, a bruised-like violet consuming your arms with every stride you take. You instantly gaze at the scrap-sword in your hands, looking over to the same ones by Zoro’s side. Fuck. This won’t do shit. This won’t do.

“Bushido!” you bellow, adrenaline rushing through you like poison. “Drop down!”

You flex a finger, a pathway of ice forming beneath Zoro’s feet, and immediately, the samurai lets himself go. Without question, he smacks his body against the glaze, letting himself slide all the way downhill to the workshop.

And, thankfully, he seems to understand what he needs to do; as he charges into the studio, you see a faint silhouette grabbing at the swords that were meant for battle.

So you propel yourself upward, a tower of burning fire screaming to reach the two figures in the air. And as you reach and reach and reach for them, your flames almost licking the entity’s back, you instantly get punched hard in the face.

A vigorous blow of air extinguishes your flames, and the realisation dawns— your head snaps to Gramps as you’re pushed down by the resistance of wind, surging back down to the earth. His hand, hovering in the air, is pointed in your direction, his eyes locked onto yours.

No. You can’t let this happen. Fuck. Fuck.

Falling at a furious speed, you desperately look to Zoro who’s now on the roof of the shop, three glinting swords fading in and out of your vision.

“Do something!” you scream with all your might, the resistance of the wind constantly battling against your desperation as you keep on dropping down.

The air trembles with anticipation as Zoro readies himself, a living tempest poised to unleash its fury. As the sword lays in between his jaws, his eyes flickering with fire, he flexes his arms, poises his body in a graceful tilt and--

Zoro gets punched right in his stomach.

The sword in his mouth is choked out into the air.

Gramps, with an authoritative gust, hurls him down onto the roof. The swordsman crashes against the tiles, a symphony of metal against ceramic.

“Stop this at once!” Gramps yells, glaring the samurai down from his position. Gramps’ hands tremble a little before he steadies them, the constant stream of power directed to you and Zoro eating at his strength.

Suki’s furious eyes rest on Zoro’s. A second passes. With a voice that can move mountains, he bellows from his chest.

“Either you let me fight this myself, or you make me fight with no hands. The choice is yours, bushido.”

Zoro rises, caught in the vortex of his internal struggle. His swords gleam in the fading wind as he stands, torn between his instincts and Gramps' demand. The atmosphere stills as Zoro, swords at the ready, bears witness to the unfolding confrontation.

Gramps, facing the ethereal entity, draws a deep breath. The air crackles with tension as he strides forward, his gaze unwaveringly locked on the seeping darkness.

The entity, silent and poised, readies itself for the inevitable clash. Gramps unsheathes his weapon—a blade that gleams in the dimming light. With each step, Gramps exudes power—an orchestration of elements responding to his will. The battlefield transforms into a stage, a tableau for a confrontation beyond the comprehension of mortals.

And Zoro simply stands there.

Trapped in the relentless grip of Gramps' wind, your frustration boils over, an unrestrained torrent of anger. Your voice pierces the air, a desperate plea that echoes across the battleground.

"Zoro, damn it! Don’t fucking listen to him! Do something!”

The dance of blades intensifies, Gramps and the entity locked in a cosmic struggle. With every clash, you feel the surge of power coursing through your own veins, a power you’re barred from channelling into action. You are merely a prisoner, powerless and obedient to the wind that imprisons you.

"Zoro, please!" You scream, panting and choking, your body scrambling to fight against the heavy boulder of wind. "Don't let him face this alone! Fuck, move! Fight! Fuck!"

Zoro, torn between what looks like obedience and instinct, simply stands there.

His swords, gleaming and perfectly clean, hang by his side.

As Gramps manoeuvres with unparalleled grace, you strain against the invisible bonds, yearning to contribute to the fight that could decide his fate. The entity, a manifestation of darkness, seems impervious to the pleas echoing through the air.

"Zoro, I can't just fucking watch!" Your voice trembles with frustration. “Do something! You fucking moron!"

The wind tightens its grip, suppressing your every attempt to break free. Gramps, seemingly aware of your silent struggle, maintains his unwavering focus on the entity.

With each passing moment, your frustration transforms into a visceral roar, a plea for Zoro to shatter the chains of indecision. The wind howls in response, a symphony of forces locked in an eternal struggle.

The battleground becomes a canvas, painted with the clash of steel, the ethereal dance of dark tendrils, and the unyielding force that binds you.

And Zoro simply just stands.

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

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another snippet! my first Flight Rising one, featuring my darling couriers Honey and Grace having a chill time <3

If he had to choose his least favorite place in Sornieth, Honey wouldn’t hesitate to name the Southern Icefield. More specifically, port Hillberg.

The ramshackle town nests at the base of the Cloudscrape Crags, near where the continent starts to break apart into the Floes. It’s large, but shabby - tarp and rope holds together half of the buildings. Honey suspects that the residents simply couldn’t be bothered to rebuild time and time again. Sparse vegetation dots the steep landscape, if it could be called one. The dragons who have made Hillberg their home are just as blunt and harsh as the environment.

None of these things are strangers to Honey. Perpetual bad moods and subpar architecture aren’t what makes him dread every delivery to the region.

No, no… it’s the wind.

The constant, inescapable, Shade-cursed wind.

It isn’t that Honey doesn’t like wind - oh, he does. He hails from the Windswept Plateau, and spent his happiest years tumbling through gusts and zephyrs. His blood sings in the air.

Hillberg’s wind, though, is an utter nightmare.

At best, it’s a frigid breeze that even a tundra can feel through their thick coat. At worst, it’s a howling force barreling down from the Crag’s peaks, tearing through Hillberg with a vengeance. It carries biting flurries of ice and sleet with it, leaving a trail of frost and unfortunate frozen creatures in its wake. Everything not bolted down is lost in moments. Hillberg is lashed together and fixed to the earth to withstand the daily barrage.

It’s so terrible that ropes line the streets for dragons to cling to so as to not be blown away in the gales. Wings are bound, claws are left long for purchase. Hillberg’s larger inhabitants have an easier time of it, but they’re few in numbers. The majority of residents are too small to withstand the greatest winds.

This horrible natural force even has a name - the Crag’s Breath.

Honey wouldn’t give it such a tame title. It’s a roar, a howl, a bellow. It rivals the Crescendo’s outer winds.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to put up with the Breath’s ordeal all that often. Hillberg doesn’t get many deliveries, and Honey isn’t the only courier available on this route. More often than not Honey gets months between trips here - sometimes he gets even luckier when the Breath isn’t howling during his brief stop.

That luck isn’t holding this time around.

Honey untenses one of his talons to flex feeling back into his claws. It’s a useless endeavor, of course. It serves him right for not wearing full gloves. He shivers and puts his talon back down, curling his claws into the frozen divots they’ve carved. A gust hits him from the side, and he clenches his leg muscles to keep from staggering.

The wide, desolate landing zone offers no comfort. The frozen ground yields no natural protection from the freezing wind, and the setting sun gives no relief. The gales yank at his apparel, his tail, his tightly folded wings. Honey doesn’t dare imagine what would happen if he opened them.

It’s cold. So devastatingly cold. The chill cuts right to Honey’s bones, and he’s certain that he’ll never be warm again.

During times like these he curses his lifestyle. Being constantly on the wing keeps him fit and light. Not enough fat lingers in his muscles to provide insulation, and his lithe form struggles to withstand the wind. He rarely meets a dragon larger than himself, yet right now he feels no bigger than a fae.

Honey huffs through his nose and glares across the icy field at the lights in the distance. The debris from the Breath and the shadows deepened by the waning sunset cast Hillberg into a darkening haze. Soon all that will be left of it in Honey’s sight are the lights. Those too will vanish as everyone hunkers down to wait out the brewing storm.

At least the wind doesn’t allow ice and snow to melt on him. The only thing worse than being in the Breath is being in it while wet.

If only his welcomers would hurry. In Honey’s opinion, the protocol Hillberg has for arrivals - especially inter-regional ones - is absurd. Honey always has to wait an hour or more before they lead him into town, and more importantly, shelter. He wouldn’t mind it if the Breath wasn’t active, but at this rate he really will freeze in place. At least Hillberg would have a shiny new statue for their proverbial doorstep.

In truth, though, Honey is being dramatic. Even if he was forced to wait all night, he’d survive. It would be long and miserable, but he would make it to sunrise. It isn’t him that he’s worried about.

It’s his assistant, Grace.

Honey crouches lower and cranes his neck to try and peer into his scarf. His slush-smeared goggles blur everything into indistinct shapes and monochrome colors. He shoves his nose into the scarf and snuffles - he can smell her, he thinks, but she hasn’t moved in some time.

“Grace,” he grunts. The wind snatches his words away, and he says louder, “Grace!”

Tiny talons push his snout, and he pulls back. Grace peeks out from the navy folds to peer up at him. Getting a read on her expression is impossible - the helmet and goggles betray nothing. Despite how sheltered she is, the wind still snags at her frills and presses them around her face.

“Hanging in there?” Honey yells.

Through the blur, she nods.

“Still warm?”

Grace makes a show of shrugging before burrowing back down. She squirms further down into the scarf to rest where Honey’s neck meets his chest. Hopefully both the scarf and the thick arctic coat provide enough insulation for her, along with her own matching apparel. Not enough of his own body heat will seep through - staying warm is up to her. Still, Honey wishes that he could tuck her into his jacket.

Honey shakes out his frosty mane and casts another look at the vanishing town. The guideropes staked into the ground leading there dance in the wind, empty.

Please, he thinks as a violent tremor wracks his body. He lifts a talon and immediately lurches forward - he slams his haunches down and angles against the wind. He rests the lifted talon over Grace. The faint press of her eases the knot in his ribs, though it won’t entirely untangle until they’re both out of the cold and warming by a fire.

It was a harsher trip than usual, getting here. Usually the route takes them along the Floes, where they can rest at established checkpoints along the way. But the first checkpoint had directed Honey to make one continuous arcing journey over the ocean to Hillberg. Why, he doesn’t know yet. There was some sort of issue.

What he does know is that he’s beyond exhausted. Flying for so long unbroken is well within his capabilities, but it isn’t fun. Not to mention that the transition into Hillberg airspace had nearly knocked Honey out of the sky. The battle to the landing field almost did him in - his limbs almost gave out upon landing. Only half of his current trembling comes from the weather.

As soon as they’re in the hanger, Honey is sure to collapse and sleep for hours. It will set back their schedule, but it’s a much needed rest. Especially so if they can’t take the Floes for the return trip.

Honey hunches his shoulders higher. At least his folded wings protect the courier satchels. It would be horrific if the straps broke or the clasps came undone. Dozens of letters, documents, and parcels all spilling out and whisking away into the sea… Honey’s next tremor isn’t so much of a shiver as it is a shudder. He might throw himself into the ocean after them if that happened.

Frantic tapping against his talon shakes him from his thoughts. Honey’s eyes snap open and focus on Grace, who’s frantically waving and pointing. He follows her gaze and relief soars in his ribcage.

A tundra slowly struggles towards them in the growing darkness. They’re big and burly for their breed, though that must be the uncountable pounds of fur covering their body. They remind Honey of the giant shaggy goats he sometimes sees while flying over the Icefield.

The tundra stops, gripping the thick rope with both claws as they angle themself into the wind so that they’re nearly sideways. Their fur billows around them. When Honey lifts his head, the tundra jerks their own towards Hillberg. They carefully turn around to make the return journey.

Thank the Windsinger.

Honey helps nudge Grace back down to safety, and they spend a moment making sure she’s secure. Once they start walking, Honey won’t be able to spare her a moment of attention - he’ll be too busy staying upright.

The Breath gusts under and around Honey as he stands, filling the new openings. He curses and stumbles. One talon slips on an icy patch, nearly sending him to the ground. In any other situation, Honey would be embarrassed about shuffling forward with his hindquarters still tucked. It must look ridiculous, but it’s the most stable position.

Honey moves as quickly as he can manage, though even that is still slower than he’d like. It only takes a few minutes to catch up with the tundra. They don’t seem to be struggling, which is expected of an experienced Hillberg resident. Still, it can’t be easy.

“Would you like assistance?” Honey yells over the howling wind. The tundra looks up at him, and he moves the wrist of his wing away from his body to open up a pocket the tundra could climb into.

They regard him for a moment through their own goggles, then at the long path ahead. They nod. Honey crouches as low as he can and angles his wing to create a buffer from the wind. The tundra lets go of the rope and flings themself at him, clinging to his thickly-padded shoulder. They clamber into the offered pocket and press up against his side, their fur frigid against the seam of his wing. Once they seem secure, Honey closes his wing tight and continues the trek.

Each stride gets slower, and Honey’s legs tremble more with every one. The lights grow brighter and streak across his goggles, incandescently blinding him. The path curves up as he heads to the mountain-carved bunker.

This isn’t the worst weather he’s withstood, Honey reminds himself. Yes, it’s freezing. No, he can’t feel his own body anymore. But when has that ever stopped him? He has deliveries to make, including two lives tucked against him.

The icy soil finally gives way to an equally cold stone plaza. Honey staggers across it to the huge door. Carved stone and wood arc into an overhang, jutting directly out of the foothills and offering very little relief from the Breath. The hanger is the only area entirely safe from the wind - something carved into the earth itself can’t be blown away.

Honey slams his shoulder against the thick heartwood door, tough as iron and sturdy as the Crag. He leans desperately against it, flagging fast.

Eternal seconds drag by.

Snowflakes gather in Honey’s exposed fur.

The sun’s final light fades from the horizon.

The door shudders, groans, and lifts. The horizontal slats fold into the roof, and Honey yearns for the firelight spilling from inside. Only a couple more steps, now. Only another minute or two.

Honey squeezes through as soon as the door lifts enough for clearance. He slips into a long, warm hallway ending with the glow of a roaring fireplace. The door slams back down behind him, nearly landing on his tail. The door locks into place.

The abrupt silence almost hurts. Honey blinks hard and tosses his head against the ringing in his ears. The crackling of embers is barely audible.

A tap against his side - ah, right. Honey uncurls his wing to let his passenger out, wincing at his frozen stiff muscles. The tundra jumps to the floor and shakes themself out. Ice crystals fly from their fur to shower the ground in glittering bits.

“Thank you,” the tundra says, her voice clear in the hall’s calm. When Honey inclines his head, she butts her head against his wing and inhales deeply before trotting down the hall. He hopes she remembers his scent as an ally.

“We’re in the clear,” Honey murmurs into his scarf as he pushes himself forward once more. Just a little further.

Grace clambers out of his scarf. She shakes herself before launching into the air, flitting in Honey’s blurry peripherals and performing complex acrobatics. That’s one way to warm herself.

Only part of the bunker’s warmth reaches Honey, and he still feels frozen. His apparel crunches with every step. The stone floor seems to burn under his talons, even though it’s surely cold. Grace perches on his unbroken antler as they enter the bunker proper.

There aren’t many dragons inside, shockingly enough. The tundra he already met is settling into cushions set up by the circular fireplace. Three more tundras lounge about, along with a ridgeback that looks Arcane, a young guardian brooding in the corner, a pearlcatcher who already seems set on ignoring him, and a few specks that may be faes or spirals. Perhaps both.

Not that any of this matters much to Honey. He only has eyes for the empty cushions surrounding the blazing hearth. He stumbles towards it even as his vision tunnels until only the bright firelight remains.

Just a little further.

A few more steps.

One more…

Honey is unconscious before he hits the ground.

#this one was vaguely experimental? very vaguely. no! Practice! dragon writing practice!#i just wanted to have some fr fun!#i do want to write more little snippets for my lair #especially penumbra...#snippets from the bog #flight rising #fr writing #honey and grace are fun to think about sometimes #theyre just flying around sornieth! delivering things and meeting dragons and seeing the sights #i feel like they'd have the Worst luck and would manage to be there for every big event #the ancients reawakening? there. the obelisks emerging? delivering messages from the site. Luminax? barely dodged that bullet. etc!#honey just wants to do his job man... cmon...

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kinopioa · 16 days

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Various Echidna tribes/civilizations (Part 1)

While Knuckles doesn't know of the latest tribe he specifically came from, the games have had a multitude of tribes and civilizations to represent Echidnas, even outside of Angel Island/Pachachamac's

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/kinopioa/752676073211412480/various-echidna-tribescivilizations-part-2?source=share

-Outside Angel Island Civilizations-

1. Pachachamac's tribe (Knuckles Clan)

3000 years ago, Pachachamac's tribe had established itself as an undefeatable force thanks to the leadership of Pachachamac himself. The tribe itself was wiped out from the Earth due to enraging Chaos, with the remaining stragglers to use the Master Emerald afterward to lift the landmass to the sky, forming Angel Island. As such, any later Angel Island tribes have this for the base

2. Unknown tribes

In the Sonic Adventure Perfect and Softbank Guide in Japan, we learn that other Echidna tribes neighbored Pachachamac's, with Pachachamac's tribe being small and scrabbling before Tikal's Grandmother died. After her death, Pachachamac took control and aggressively supressed other tribes with brute force

3. The Echidna Pyramids

While Eggman defaced most of the pyramid and surrounding area during the events of SA2, the more intact Wild Canyon and Dry Lagoon area neighboring it shows us hieroglyphics and moniker of an Echidna civilization living alongside typical human Ancient Egyptian based statues. In Pyramid Cave there are even imposing Echidna statues in the background

Interestingly, there are murals showing us upright other animal headed people, which given the many anthros in Sonic might be legitimate. It's unknown what happened to this civilization, though they seem to have had the Master Emerald before it wound up in Pachachamac's area. Chao are also noted in murals, likely as pets

*Note: The SA2 Perfect Guide doesn't state either this or Wild Canyon as a part of Angel Island. Pumpkin Hill/Aquatic Mine connects directly to the city, nor has evidence of Echidnas despite similar ghosts

4. Holy Summit Volcano Tribe

In Sonic Battle, Knux is temporarily residing in this area given an ancient echidna tribe lived there besides a now inactive volcano. While not much is said, the battle arena here has ruins depicting Chao

*Note: The Japanese guide doesn't label this area as a part of Angel island, despite the Master Emerald Altar. Knuckles similarly makes no reference, and the area is accessed without flight

-Angel Island Civilizations-

Given the size of Angel Island and the distinct locales, Zones will be specified

Hydrocity

A series of ruins, the architecture consists of gold, malachite, and steel blue brick, several decorated towers with dangling balls inside (likely to measure water pressure), high ceiling arches, pulleys and fans, tunnels and chutes. It's important to note that the area is flooded in 3K mainly due to the island being forced on the ocean. Regardless, it is a water oriented site, with waterfalls pouring in, and chutes to manage the water

Marble Garden

Located in the mountains and deep forest, Marble Garden is a site heavily littered with spikes, spike balls, crushers, even motion triggered arrows. It implies that the former residents here were very mistrusting of outsiders

The blue mechanisms directly shift the landscape, allowing access to hidden passages. A pulley powered handle can help those that can't traverse up the steep slopes normally. Apricots/Peaches and Orange brickwork adds a splash of color to this otherwise green/tan site, same for intricate designs on various walls and blue loop-deloops

Drill tops can be used to flat out fly in the air. This tribe was very innovative

Ice Cap

In Sonic 3, Eggman's environment machine* has heavily impacted the area. As such, the ice structures are far more warped than intended. Though there is still bits of architecture intact

For starters, the bungee platforms that launch the user to higher areas. Intricate ice bridges and towers can also be seen throughout the area

Closer to the forest, we see more elements that use wood, such as gates and bridges

Residents may live in shacks and brick houses qnd windmills scattered across the mountain as well

*The Sonic 3 and Sonic & Knuckles Japan guide notes that the environment machine seen in Mushroom Hill impacted more areas than just Mushroom Hill. This might explains Adventure's drastic change.

*It's also important to note that Ice Cap is found on Angel Island in Sonic Adventure, as Angel Island crashed into Mystic Ruins

Welp, 30 image limit reached. See you in Part 2!

https://www.tumblr.com/kinopioa/752676073211412480/various-echidna-tribescivilizations-part-2?source=share

@skaruresonic

#sonic the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 7 months

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Fossil Novembirb 14: Lost in the Woods

Eurotrochilus by @iguanodont

Even though parts of the landscape were opening up, the forests of Europe weren't done yet - in fact, many began transitioning to the drier temperate forests we know from Europe today! This transition through the Oligocene would have major consequences for bird evolution - I mean, why else would I bring it up? The formation of the first permanent ice sheets in Antarctica made the world drier, and in turn lead to many of the European Islands of the Eocene connecting with one another, forming an actual continent. Well, sub-continent.

So we saw h ow birds were adapting to the plains - how did they adapt to the temperate forests? Well, by more modern groups appearing, too! In fact, this was a busy period of evolution for most animals, as early forms gave way to modern clades and the early adapations that make those clades unique begin to pop up.

Aviraptor by @otussketching

Eurotrochilus, known from Germany during the Oligocene, is a prime example of this phenomenon: it looks almost identical to living hummingbirds, but - unlike living hummingbirds - it was in Europe, not the Americas! Though it wasn't quite a modern hummingbird, having long finger bones like ancestral forms, it had the adaptations needed for feeding on nectar and hovering while foraging for food. As a pollinator, it would have been a key component of the forest ecosystem, helping to pollinate flowering plants and keeping the forest growing. It was also exceptionally common, and may have lead to many plants co-evolving with hummingbirds in the Eastern Hemisphere - so that when hummingbirds disappeared from the region, the niche was left open for the passerine Sunbirds to one day fill it.

We also start to see more and more flighted birds of prey, like Aviraptor. Though small in size, it had long slender legs and sharp talons, and was thus the first raptor adapted for eating other birds as prey - to capture them in the air mid-flight. Sure, it mainly ate small ones, but we all have to start somewhere! And, with all of those lovely hummingbirds and early passerines and barbets around, it certainly had enough food to eat.

Rupelramphastoides by @drawingwithdinosaurs

Yep, I said barbets - the earliest known barbet-like bird comes from the Oligocene European Forests, Rupelramphastoides. One of the smallest members of the Toucan-Barbet group, it had a lot of very modern traits from the group for its early evolution - including long and slender foot bones like living Toucans! It had a small beak, like barbets, and squat wings for flitting about between the trees. Like its living relatives, it probably ate fruit - which would have been plentiful - as well as insects.

Wieslochia, which I discussed on Passerine day, was also present in these forests - it was just a great place for modern tree-dwelling birds to really get their start! Relatives of hoopoes and hornbills, like Laurillardia, were also present - and had long wings and tails, probably for display in addition to movement. Palaeotodus was present in these forests as well as in the savannah, indicating that it was flexible in its preferred habitat - like the living todies of the Caribbean today. Why todies today are only limited to the Caribbean islands, however, remains a mystery.

Oligocolius by @quetzalpali-art

Mousebirds haven't been limited to their modern range yet, either! Though not a Sandcoelid, Oligocolius was a weird Mousebird with the hooked bill of a modern parrot! So, clearly, Mousebirds were experimenting with lots of different niches prior to the modern day - and this is a neat example of convergent evolution to boot! It had a crop, unlike its living relatives, which allowed it to digest tougher plant material. It was common in its environment, found both in the forests and in more lacustrine and coastal areas, indicating it was flexible in this changing world - an extremely helpful adaptation as the ecosystems evolved!

Primotrogon, an early relative of trogons, breaks the pattern of "Like Modern Relatives but Slightly Off" that we've been seeing with these birds - unlike living trogons, it had long wings, a short tail, and small eyes! In addition to it's weirdness, we actually know the color of this bird - it had green secondary coverts, with grey secondaries and primary coverts, though the color of the primaries is not known. Given the rareness of green in animal colors, but how commonly it comes up in birds, this is another example of that phenomenon!

Primotrogon by @albertonykus

Tree dwelling birds aren't the only birds that live in forests, and they aren't the only ones that underwent radiation during this period of environmental change. A weird group of "shorebirds", the Buttonquails, first appears in this ecosystem in the form of Turnipax. Like quails, they are small round ground dwelling birds, but weirdly, their closest relatives are gulls and sandpipers! Turnipax seems to have already been much like its modern relatives, and its possible that the lower diversity of landfowl allowed other avian groups to fill these niches. Rupelornis, a relative of albatross, also lived in the forests of this time - and probably was an ocean going bird, living like modern storm petrels and plucking food carefully from the surface of the water. Like other sea birds, it may have been in forest habitats for the protection - for nesting, rearing young, or other activities. It's a lot easier to hide in the trees than it is to hide at the beach!

This time of environmental turmoil gave dinosaurs new opportunities to diversify - and required flexibility to do so, as the landscape ebbed and flowed between savannah and forest much as it does today. Alas, the climate would not remain stable, and as we continue through the Cenozoic, more and more ecological turmoil will continue to have lasting effects on the evolution of living dinosaurs.

Sources:

Mayr, 2022. Paleogene Fossil Birds, 2nd Edition. Springer Cham.

Mayr, 2017. Avian Evolution: The Fossil Record of Birds and its Paleobiological Significance (TOPA Topics in Paleobiology). Wiley Blackwell.

#Fossil Novembirb #Novembirb #Dinovember #dinosaurs #birds

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norsesuggestions · 6 months

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On the topic of 19th century polar expedition were everyone are greatly unprepared for what they were actually doing

Well the original reason i started to look up different polar expeditions was because i stumbled over the swedish engeeiner Andrée attempt to reach the north pole in:

A hydrogen balloon!

When the technology was new! And he knew very little about actually using the balloon. But he knew even less about the north pole.

They went in summer because:

"The north pole got great weather in the summer for a balloon. Always sunny and and calm above the still ocean and smooth ice sheet"

(In reality summer means non stop fog and shifting winds. The ice sheet is melting and then freezing when the temp hovers around zero degress. This means it melts, moved and crashes into itself non stop.

The ice at the north pole is not you know. Anchored in land. Except at the edges were it sometimes reaches land. But in the summer it does not always reach land. So, no calm ice sheet, it is stormy broken landscape of arctic ocean with gigantic ice sheets crashing into eachother, breaking eachother, building up fun ice walls etc while the wind and oceans moves them around)

But! Andrée was gonna go with two lads across the north pole in a balloon.

2. Start in Svalbard and then just go were the wind takes them. Then he would land in "alaska, russia or canada" and just "walk to the nearest town and then take the train back to sweden idk"

(seriously his plan for post north pole flight was. Well i will be somewere in the arctic, i guess i will find humans and then go home?

At least, to his credit he knew and admitted that humans lived nearby the north pole, and he would be able to. Talk to them about how to get home. On the other hand, he was swedish so.... sweden has 30% of its surface within the polar circle. He started his travel from Norways Svalbard. So honestly, living in total ignorance of the people in northen sweden and norway would be absurd. And that it logically should be lots of people in equally northen places who knew in which direction the nearest train station/harbour were.

But! Some southern 19th century swedes would not have realised this so??? The bar is so low it have sunken to the south pole, but!)

But problem here is of course not that he gets that there are people to talk to when you have crossed the north pole. It is, that he do not grasp he might need to walk 1 week to reach these people. And what would our three stockholm dwelling southern swedes wear for their north pole expedition?

3. Normal southern swedish winter clothes! For you know around -10 to about -0 C. And living in a city were one can walk inside at any time.

Anyway their balloon crashed two days into the expedition on the that summer arctic ocean ice. And they needed to walk back to Svalbard archipelago.

It took 3 MONTHS. Because somehow Andrée had lived in denial that he might you know. Just crash into the arctic ocean. So all that. "I will just go the city and buy some coffee" planning did so not work out.

It took 3 months because Andrée and his two other expedition lads had no planning to actually needing to trek across the previously mentioned moving ocean ice. Also, the ice was as i mentioned MOVING.

Something they did realise. They did have all the academic skills in have to measure there movement across earth via stars, but not the.. pracitcal skills to solve how to get were they wanted to go.

Tbh i impressed that these 3 stockholm lads, all academic types, made it 3 months. What i mean is that, i would except most current day stockholmers to die much earlier tbh.

They also hunted polar bears like it is no big deal??? I mean they had guns so it was not difficult as such. But once again, tbh would expected my fellow stockholmers to be eaten earlier.

In general they appear to be good at hunting, which tbh finds interesting in contrast to other failed polar expedition were they run out of food. Perhaps swedens population having a hunting tradition were it was a important part for both getting food and the get money for ones household helped?

What i mean is that hunting was not just a upper class hobby as in some european countries at the time. It was just a normal way people got food.

Anyway, ones again the bar is low it sunk to the south pole haha. The 3 lads of Andrée expedition knew how to hunt and prepare wild animals. As the majority of people living within and near the polar circle

ANYWAY

In the end they did reached the Svalbard archipelago again. Finally not on moving ice anymore! But it was a remote island few ever visited... Shortly afterwards they all three die.

Exact cause of death is unknown, but personally i am surprised these 3 stockholmers even lived 3 months on sea ice?? 3 unprepared stockholmers? Like i am just like, obvoiusly they would not survive, there are so many things that can kill when you are just 3 indoor lads out in the arctic so....

We know all these details btw because in the 1930s the found the expedition and all there papers. And photos! Lots still able to be looked so

Anyway this was a rambling info dump of what i learned about the Andrée expedition these lasts days

#blogkeeping #andrées polar expedition #there are so much more things that made it obvoius this was so badly planned #and a unrealstic plan #doomed from the start!!#long post

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runwayrunway · 1 year

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No. 13 - condor

Condor Flugdienst is a German airline which operates medium-to-long-haul scheduled and charter flights with a specialty in flights from Europe to locations associated with vacation and leisure, such as the Mediterranean. They’ve been doing this for 70 years now, but in April 2022 they unveiled an overhaul of their livery. They would get a quick start on rolling it out, as they very confidently ordered 59 new planes to paint it on!

Oh boy.

The worst thing about this livery is that it’s not a thoughtless choice. It’s very intentional and very thought out, and that makes me sad because I’m about to angrily insult someone’s earnest hard work. In fact, they have an entire webpage dedicated to their inspiration and thought process. It will be the source of all images and quotes used in the remainder of this review.

Vacations are striped. And Condor is vacation. Umbrellas, beach towels, ice cream shops..who doesn’t love them and the stripes will make you smile. They stand for easiness, freedom to experience the world, for the gentle breeze in your hair, sunshine on your face and now for Condor. In the future our fleet will also be in this new design. For decades, stripes have had meaning in our way of life. Timeless, elegant and recognizable – just like us.

I hate to say it, but they’re right (despite the fact that the paragraph is written pretty jankily). That’s a really clever association that’s clearly been thought out and is very recognizable. Like, in isolation I really like this idea. It just sucks that it’s very ugly?

I mean, it really doesn’t help that they picked a colorway that blends right into this picturesque island landscape for this particular shot, but I think what I’m angriest about is that despite committing to this absolutely vile candy cane look they didn’t even extend it to the wings and nacelles, which would have really hammered home the beach blanket look! Also, the black text is practically invisible and looks super out of place. It feels like they have this vision but they get so wrapped up in it that they mess up all the details and forget to make it good.

But the green is very purposeful, too.

Our five colors: Sunshine, Passion, Sea, Island and Beach. Colors are not only found around the globe on holidays, they also stand for the fact that our world cannot be defined by a single color. Therefore our “Fleet” is looking forward to a new design, visibly striped and colorful in Sunshine (yellow), Passion (red), Sea (blue), Island (green) and Beach (beige).

I really really like these! This feels really nice, the rare airline livery with an explicit meaning that reflects what it doesand isn't just vague corporate jargon about how the color blue somehow reflects Scandinavian identity. If you’re going to do a jellybean livery this is how you should do it - every aspect of the livery swapped, visible at a glance, bright and exciting, everything intentional and explicit in its purpose.

I love the idea and it makes me angry that it looks hideous.

Like, it could be good. They could have tried horizontal stripes, maybe, even diagonal stripes, or some sort of wave pattern to them. I don’t know. With how much care was put into the idea surely someone could come up with something better than I have.

My friend @elyvator's (who took the above photograph) mother recently flew on a condor flight. There's something so surreal about seeing this big garish thing parked in a miserable soggy grey airport next to tarmac and a jet bridge and concrete.

You could miss the text entirely if you weren't looking for it. The stark white engine adds to the perception that the wing doesn't even look attached to the fuselage - like it's floating away. This doesn't belong here, and not in a good way. This isn't a plane that screams 'I might be on an awful rainy airport apron but I'm going to take you to a magical faraway beach', this is a plane as seen by someone still half-asleep after a party with a throbbing head while they're going downstairs to get a glass of water. And it had so much potential to not be that, to be something good. They came up with a great idea and then made every possible wrong choice in implementing it.

I can at least work up a bit of ironic affection for it, a sort of charm in its ugliness. It’s not the planes’ fault, and they wear it as well as they can. They’re still fundamentally cute to me. But that’s not what I’m here to judge. I’m sorry, airplanes. I'm sorry they did this to you.

This...this hurts me. It really does.

condor is getting Runway Runway’s first ever grade of F.

I love the thought process. I love everything about the idea. This could have been so fantastic if only they didn’t make it ugly.

AN ADDENDUM

I still agree with everything I have said here. However, I have since slightly reframed condor's standing. To fully understand how I feel about this airline, I recommend this as a sort of part two to this post.

#tarmac fashion week #grade: f #region: europe #region: west/central europe #region: germany #era: 2020s #condor #leisure airlines

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the-elusive-soleil · 5 months

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Thinking again about a Silmarillion TV series, and how I would set it up if I were High King of Hollywood and also copyright law (long post):

Let's say we have a three-season setup. Three Silmarils, three acts, and everyone making and watching it knows there's a predetermined endpoint. No spiraling out into infinity, no matter how popular it gets. And I'll roughly hazard ~8 episodes per season; that seems to be the average amount these days.

Will there be whooping great battle sequences? Probably. But as is my wont, I'm focusing more on the ~interpersonal drama~

Season 1 would start off like I've posted about before, with Finwe telling the Ainulindale as a story to kid!Feanor, as a segue to bringing up the remarriage, and then a post-opening-credits cut to Feanor as an adult. We're in the very early YT 1400s. In the first episode, we're laying a lot of groundwork for a Normal Day in Tirion. Various members of the House of Finwe are introduced, and we get a sense for the familial and political landscape. Everybody seems to believe that life is completely perfect--and then there's Feanor, who knows it's not.

And then the news comes that Melkor is being released on parole.

In the next couple of episodes, we see reactions to this, through dinner-table conversations and such in each of the three households. People are tense, but...for the most part, life goes on.

Except for Feanor, who gets an Idea and eventually unveils the Silmarils.

Through part of the third episode and escalating through the fourth, we start to see Melkor stirring the Noldor up. They're making weapons, and the political tensions are starting to get higher. The different sets of Finwean cousins are training with swords and such, and coming up with increasingly thin excuses to each other as to how they picked up those minor injuries.

Episode four ends with a bang, as Feanor's sword incident and banishment occur.

Episode five jumps five years ahead to the festival in Tirion that Feanor's supposed to go to. We get the "jail-crow of Mandos" scene in flashback as he leaves the Silmarils behind. Everything seems fine on the surface, but the background music keeps slowly increasing in tension, and everyone's happiness is just a little too frenetic--and then the Trees go out.

Next episode, we get the Oath, the Flight of the Noldor, the Kinslaying, Losgar. (We're keeping the version where Amrod lives btw.)

(Side note: I think it would be very cool if we got little flashes of foreshadowing that gradually escalate as time goes on. Give me shots of Maitimo's right hand that linger just a little too long. Give me Maglor or Curufin in an early episode, talking about upcoming wedding vows that bear a suspicious resemblance to what the Oath will be. Give me Finrod wrestling with a family dog; give me Turgon and Aredhel teasing each other about his love of cities and how she'd rather die than be kept from running wild. Give me Feanor by firelight, Feanor being gently reminded by Nerdanel that he doesn't have to rush ahead and tackle a dozen projects all at once, Feanor insisting over and over again that things need to be written down and portrayed and preserved because nothing is really, actually permanent...)

Episode seven cuts back and forth between the people struggling across the Helcaraxe and the Feanorians in Middle-earth. The Feanorians fight orcs and lose Feanor, and the Helcaraxe group has their own battles with ice monsters and also the sheer. horrible. cold. Maybe we can have Fingon and Turgon and Aredhel arguing about the Feanorions along the way. Maybe we can have the argument cut short by Elenwe falling through the ice. Maybe we can have that lead Turgon to reiterate that the Feanorions are Doomed and have doomed everyone else with them - and then cut to Maedhros about to ride out to parley with Morgoth.

The episode ends with the Nolofinweans mourning Elenwe, and Maedhros being dragged out to hang from a cliff.

Season finale starts with the Nolofinweans arriving. There is most definitely an emotional, sweepingly epic sequence of the Thangorodrim rescue, the stuff edits and gifsets are made of. And we end with Maedhros ceding the crown, and with Fingolfin's coronation.

Season 2 starts with the Mereth Aderthad, which gives us a chance to catch up, via dialogue, with how everybody's been settling in and what they're planning to do next. We also get the skinny on Thingol and Melian and Doriath. (Luthien should definitely be mentioned at least once.) (Celegorm should definitely be in the shot when she's mentioned, although 50/50 whether he visibly pays attention or reacts.)

We get Finrod and Turgon's dream sequences and them discovering the places where they're going to put their respective cities. Also Artanis meets this Guy...

Dagor Aglareb is probably an episode 2 thing. After it, and after any significant conflict this season (attack on Hithlum, Glaurung, etc.), there should be someone assuming out loud that they are now past the worst of things. Bonus points if there is fire in the background of the shot when the person says this.

We meet Dwarves. I think the optimal way to handle the Dwarves-and-Caranthir thing is to have them be very blunt and no-frills with each other, and leave it up to interpretation whether this is actually them getting along.

Finrod, of course, is so very (gestures demonstratively) Finrod at his Dwarves, and also at the Men when they show up.

(checks timeline) Maeglin is born in YS 320, and he and Aredhel flee to Gondolin in YS 400, and Andreth is born in YS 361. I think it could be interesting to start out an episode with Aredhel being snared and having Maeglin, and interspersing creepy Nan Elmoth stuff with Aegnor/Andreth and Athrabeth stuff. Towards the end, Finrod has a conversation to the effect that it's not just that Aegnor and Andreth's romance was doomed, it's that they're all doomed here (possibly referencing the Amarie situation) and there is no way to have a good love story under such circumstances. And then, of course, we have Aredhel and Maeglin running to Gondolin (and Maeglin meeting Idril) and the deaths of Aredhel and Eol.

I have less of a specific outline for this season, because I want a lot of it to be filled up with...just Long Peace stuff. I want to see the Noldor having their Beleriand Renaissance. I want to see hunting trips that give us beautiful sweeping shots of the landscape, and glittering social events laced with politics, and little moments of relationships between different characters.

Basically, I want this season to make it very clear just how much stands to be lost here.

And then, of course, the season finale is the Dagor Bragollach, culminating in Fingolfin's last stand against Morgoth.

Season 3 opens with the utter chaos that is the aftermath of the Bragollach. We also get to meet Hurin and Huor and see their visit to Gondolin, which contrasts so sharply with the state of things literally everywhere else.

The first episode also introduces us to this random human guy named Beren, out there in the wilderness. And it ends with him stumbling on something in Doriath...

Second episode is just ~*Beren and Luthien*~. It has a very cultivated fairytale feel, right down to the lighting and the music. The world we just saw last episode is so very harsh, but not here, not now. There is never any doubt that there will be a happy ending. And there is! The episode ends with their wedding.

(...and distant wolf howling but don't pay attention to that)

Third episode has the wolf hunt. Beren dies. Luthien goes after him. They both come back. They don't really explain themselves to anyone, and I'm leaving the details mysterious. Luthien singing to Mandos should probably be treated like the Ainulindale in that we don't attempt to make humans portray it. What we do see are the beginnings of fallout: as Luthien and Beren come back to life, Maedhros is wrangling with his brothers. As Tol Galen is settled, as Dior is born, Fingon and Maedhros start to plan the Union, and it's hovering in the background that they need to do this because with the Oath, the only other option is going after the Doriath silmaril, and they're not doing that.

Episode four is the Nirnaeth, and it. is. devastating. If you read the book (and maybe even if you didn't), you know this isn't going to work. But the characters really believe it will! And the music and cinematography are fully conspiring to make you believe it too! There might even be some leitmotifs from the Thangorodrim rescue during the battle to suggest maybe it will turn out this time... And then it doesn't. It was never going to. It was always going to end with trampled blue and silver banners and broken bodies and the sons of Feanor scattered in the wilderness and Hurin chained in a chair to watch his family suffer.

Episode five should be 50% Children of Hurin, and 50% Tuor's story, cutting back and forth for maximum contrast. We go directly from Turin and Nienor's deaths to Tuor and Idril's wedding.

Episode six is all Fall of Doriath, starting off with Hurin showing up with the Silmaril, escalating through Thingol's paranoia and death, and ending with the Second Kinslaying. Bonus points if there is a very subtle Girdle of Melian leitmotif that has been in the background for all Doriath scenes so far, and abruptly cuts off when Thingol dies and Melian leaves. And we end with baby!Elwing being taken through the woods with the survivors, clutching the Silmaril.

Next episode is the fall of Gondolin. I would really like for there to be a specific leitmotif throughout the show for people (Maedhros, Fingolfin, Hurin, etc.) defying Morgoth, and for it to initially emerge for Maeglin...only to break down. And throughout the episode, Eol's theme keeps getting stronger and stronger, until it fully emerges when Maeglin falls.

We end with tiny!Earendil arriving in Sirion and seeing Elwing, and the Silmaril, for the first time.

This season is going to have to be nine episodes long, because what's left might take up one Silm chapter, but I have too many things I want to do with it. Specifically:

Episode eight opens in the middle of the Third Kinslaying. I don't want it to be dramatic like the other two. I want it to be frightening in its banality. I want it to be very, very disturbing how habituated the Feanorians are to this now.

When Elrond and Elros first appear...something shifts. It's not really like the world-apart, fairytale vibes of the Beren and Luthien episode, but there is something Different about these kids. They're who this whole violent, convoluted story was meant to produce. They're going to build a better world someday.

We spend most of the episode going back and forth between Maglor and Maedhros doing their best to raise these children in a world that is falling apart at the seams, and Earendil and Elwing in a Valinor that is almost unsettlingly pristine after the past couple of seasons that we've spent in an increasingly entropic Beleriand. I want M&M and the twins to camp out in ruins of a place that was built "only" a century ago, and Elwing to wander through a building that she assumes is brand new and expensive, but is actually very average and older than the Silmarils.

At the end, the Valar authorize an army, and we see Gil-Estel rise, and the War of Wrath begins.

Most of the final episode is epic War of Wrath stuff, definitely including the slaying of Ancalagon, definitely also undercut by comedy relief bits of people trying to guess who Gil-galad's parents could be. (It's never revealed.)

In the last third or so, Maedhros and Maglor steal the Silmarils.

When Maedhros takes his out and looks at it, he sees himself as he was back in Valinor, perfect and whole and unbearably innocent. We have this whole golden-lit mini-flashback sequence of him and Maglor just messing around at home, teasing each other. Their brothers are in the background. They are almost unrecognizable.

Maglor glances in a mirror and it shifts back to him in present-day, face twisted in pain and screaming at the Silmaril's burn. Maedhros startles, notices that he's burning, too. He doesn't scream, although he's clearly in pain. He just reaches over, gently brushes the Silmaril out of Maglor's hand and onto the ground, kisses his brother's forehead, and then stands and with a great deal of outward calm, walks over the edge of the nearby lava chasm.

Maglor weeps and can't stop, but he has to when footsteps start approaching. He flees to the shore, and flings the Silmaril in, and stares for a very long moment at the water like he might dive in, too. But then he just turns away with an unreadable expression and vanishes into the fog.

The last moments of the show are spent with Gil-galad and Celebrimbor and Elrond and Elros and Galadriel, talking out what they're going to do now. The world didn't end, but their world sort of did. What do you do with that? What can they possibly build from the ruins around them?

They have to try, is the one thing they all agree on. If they give up, what was even the point of everything in the last 600-odd years? And in any case, they can't possibly do any worse than the mess they and their predecessors just lived through.

Right?

#silmarillion #silm adaptation: the impossible dream #this got...longer than intended #i have opinions on this i guess

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ghirahimbo · 2 years

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wip wednesday

More of the wandering spirit AU, tentatively titled Eternal Sunshine. Now that I've named it, I guess it's an official wip? Hooray :')

The first time Link appeared atop the ice-encrusted wing of Vah Medoh, silent and grim and flickering green, Revali almost refused to acknowledge him.

After all, what was left to say between them? Their collective failure had been laughably absolute, or near enough so. The princess may have awakened her long elusive powers at last, single-handedly halting the Calamity and draining the poisonous pink from Medoh’s veins—but not in time to save her Champions, who one by one had sent out frantic distress signals destined to go unacknowledged. Not in time for Revali, shot in the back, in the dark, in the rain, battling corrupted winds and an oozing mechanical beast he now suspected was merely an aspect of Calamity Ganon himself. Not even, it appeared, in time to save her fated hero and Hylian partner against the Calamity, whose oh-so-special sword had done him so little good in the end.

Revali felt the faintest stirrings of vindication flutter to life inside him at the thought, sticky sweet and malicious. Hadn't he predicted this all along? Sworn up and down that Link lacked what it took to avert this calamitous end?

Still, catching the mournful blue gaze that wouldn't quite meet his own, Revali felt any hint of condemnation shrivel to fine, bitter powder against his tongue. For all that he had foreseen Link's failure, he had never predicted his own. Superiority felt miles out of reach above him with the cold corpse of Medoh stranded in the icy wastelands of Hebra, grounded from its once triumphant flight—and his own spirit bound and stranded alongside it.

"You too, hmm?" he said instead with weary resignation, not even a wisp of steam rising from his insubstantial breath. Link's silent grimace was answer enough.

Sighing, Revali turned from Link to survey again the dismal landscape surrounding them, little though there was to see. The impenetrable depths of the blizzard that had roared unceasing since the hour he fell cloaked his view in every direction, rendering even Medoh's inert form no more than a hulking, indistinct shadow in the snow.

Though the wind raged with obvious fury, neither his braids nor Link's hair so much as stirred, separated irreparably from the element Revali had fought so hard in life to master.

"Are you here to mock me at my lowest?" he asked abruptly, imbuing each bitter word with the chill he could no longer feel. "That's only fair, I suppose, given my previous grandstanding. Witness the wonder of Revali, who soared at the greatest of heights only to plummet to the most shameful of depths!" He spread his wings out wide with a grandiose flourish, sardonic. Expectant. "What an inspiration, truly! What a tragedy!"

Link… stared, which was the reaction Revali should have expected, really. The silent knight had always been the most unsatisfactory audience.

Eventually Revali scoffed, drawing his wings back into his chest.

"As speechless in death as in life, I see," he muttered. "Just my luck."

Link's white teeth pulled at his bottom lip, blue eyes fixed on the ground between them. Then, as if with the sole, maddening purpose of proving Revali wrong, he spoke.

"I'm not dead."

The whistling wind almost swallowed up his quiet words. It was Revali’s turn to stare, first at Link in disbelief, and then pointedly at the flickering green flame that engulfed him in its ghastly glow the same as it did Revali.

"Do tell," he said flatly. For all that Revali had utterly failed, at least he'd come to terms with his own defeat.

Link shook his head again stubbornly, denying it still without explanation. Well, let him have his delusions for now. He would realize the harsh truth of things in the end.

#wip wednesday #this... might end up longer than expected #(gasps of surprise etc)#which i don't really love because i don't like writing longer angst?#and the story is pretty angsty #unless it pulls a Pinesong and shifts on me midstory?#we'll see...#revalink #wip #eternal sunshine #revali #botw

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