#same with tan/otter

[the-chattering-tower]

goddamn my brain is going brrrr now about making bunny tundra* adopts even tho i Can't

but if i did!!

the choices for "genes" would be self, agouti, point, and harlequin, exact colour regions pending bc aside from self i'd ideally want there to be 3 each. and of course the primary/secondary divide would still exist so you could have an adopt with self primary and harlequin secondary for example

terts? who knows. idk how many of them i could make work on something like this

regardless of terts i'd like to give the option to add a broken or "dutch" white marking on top of the whole thing

*based on tundras in that they'd have big fluffy manes so that the tiny wings aren't the only secondary region, but i'm not gonna stop anyone from ordering an adopt for any other breed of dragon

[amber-tortoiseshell]

A, B, C, D, E - Cat vs Rabbit

My comparative cat and rabbit color genetics post

Wild type (black agouti) rabbit and cat

My color genetics interest started out with rabbits, and while I know much more about cats now, they'll always have a spot in my heart...

In this post I'll go through the most important color genes, although sometimes I'll make comparisons based on phenotypes too.

All the photos are from the Warren Photographic Image Library.

A. Agouti

Both species have the dominant agouti (A) and the recessive self or nonagouti (a) alleles.

Black self rabbit and cat

Beyond these, cats add the charcoal (Apb) from the leopard cat, while rabbits have the otter or tan allele (at).

B. Brown

Black (B) as wild type, chocolate (b) as variant for both, and an extra recessive allele for cats: cinnamon (bl).

C. Color restriction

The most dominant allele of the series is the full color (C) for both species.

In rabbits the next is dark chinchilla (cchd), this gives the chinchilla and related colorations. Phenotypically basically the equivalent of silver tabbies in cats, despite silver (I) being a different gene. Chinchilla doesn't show up meaningfully on solid rabbits, so there's no smoke there.

Silver tabby cat and chinchilla rabbit. These are genetically very different colors, but manifest similarly: the animal loses the yellow-red pigments, and keeps the black.

The next rabbit allele in order of dominance is the sable or light chinchilla (cchl) which can be interpreted as the equivalent of sepia/burmese (cb) in cats, although they probably aren't the same mutation, because like the dark chinchilla allele above, sable has "silvering" effect on agoutis. Their shared characteristics are the slightly darker extremities and the intermediate interaction with the point allele.

Sable rabbit and sepia (or possibly mink) cat

The colorpoint pattern is also present in both animals under the names siamese (cs) and himalayan (ch). It manifests as pale body with dark extremities.

Pointed cat and rabbit

Edit: unfortunately I made a mistake here: while the color of this rabbit is indeed called point, it's not himalayan, it's nonagouti+sable+red. A real black himalayan rabbit looks like this:

Note the red eyes of the rabbit and the blue eyes of the cat - both suggest depigmentation.

Cats have a rare extra allele called mocha (cm).

And lastly, albino (c) is also present in both.

D. Dilute

Pretty much the same both genetically and in look. Dense (D) is dominant, diluted (d) is recessive.

Diluted (blue self) rabbit and cat

E. Extension

The mutations of this gene can be grouped into two categories:

increase of function: overproduction of black pigments. The animal is dark, melanistic. Dominant alleles.

loss of function: underproduction of black pigments. The animal is yellow/red. Recessive alleles.

Rabbits have two dominant alleles in the first group: full extension or dominant black (Ed) and steel (Es); cats have none. (Although this group isn't absent from the cat family either: black jaguars for example have a dominant black mutation.)

In the second group we have lots of different alleles: harlequin or japanese brindle (ej) and red (e) for rabbits, and amber, russet and copal/serdolik for cats (but their red is a different gene!). These all give different reddish phenotypes.

Red rabbit and cat - same name, similar color, different genetics.

The orange gene of the cats is an entirely different matter, and it's just a funny coincidence that harlequin rabbits look so similar to tortie cats. Brindle in rabbits is its own allele, not just the phenotype of the heterozygotes, and it's not sex-linked. Buck rabbits can be harlequins just as easily as does.

Harlequin rabbit and tortoiseshell cat - similar look, different name, different genetics

To make everything even more complicated, the word "tortoiseshell" (or shortly "tort") is used in rabbit breeding too, but it means a completely different thing than in cats: a nonagouti red. I assume because a nonagouti red rabbit (just like to the genetically very similar nonagouti amber cat) is darker than the agouti counterpart, especially on the extremities.

Tortoiseshell rabbit and cat - same name, different look, different genetics: bunny is a recessive homozygote for not sex-linked red, kitten is a heterozygote for sex-linked red.

+1. White spotting

Rabbits have three different white spotting genes: blue-eyed white or viennese, english and dutch. The latter two are strongly linked, the crossing over is rare. It's suspected that all three patterns are caused by mutations on the KIT gene. KIT is also the gene where all the so far known cat white spotting alleles: dominant white, white spotting and white gloving were mapped to.

Black dutch rabbit and black bicolor cat. They are remarkably similar, aren't they?

Summary:

[bad-author777]

The Hunt pt 1

G/T(Giant/Tiny) STORY

TWs(tell me if I missed anything please!!): fear play, fear of death (no one dies), fear of being eaten (no vore!!), panic, Jayden not knowing how to deal with emotions, THE GAYS

FINALLY ACTUALLY WROTE SOMETHING WITH THESE 2😱😱😱

this is actually a rewrite / new au of an old one shot I have up on the w app link here

Gliding through the kelp forest, Milo smiled and hummed a melody he’d heard years ago. He’d been collecting sea shells from the bottom of the kelp forest for hours at this point, not realizing how dark it had slowly gotten as the kelp blocked out most light anyways. He only realized his mistake once he was barely able to make out the shape of his hand in front of him. The small, sardine sized, boy shivered. He began to spin, searching for a light source to follow back to his home. There was no such safety in sight. 

There was a flash of movement from his right, though it was gone by the time he turned. The same odd situation happened four or more times, slowly the ripples of water being moved towards him by the movement became stronger, as did his fear. Milo stopped his dizzying spins when he felt the last push of movement, whatever was in this forest with his was big and it had gotten close enough he doubted it would wait more than a few seconds more to strike. He was being hunted. Without a glance behind him, he darted forwards. The dark green kelp’s lack of hiding spots wasn’t usually an issue for him with his dark green tail, sadly his tail was metallic. Had he been still he would've blended into the kelp, yet his was moving and had been for a while and he was sure he glittered in the water in the same way a shiny coin or a cool rock would glint and dance in his own eyes. He could feel the rush of mass moving towards him as he flicked his tail harder to move quicker, never had he felt slower than in this moment. As he swam he could feel whatever this predator was chasing no more than mere inches behind, his heart hammered in his ears as he used all his energy to move, not looking back in fear of what he would see. 

The hunt continued for what felt like hours but was likely less than 40 minutes at most. Milo was running purely on adrenaline, some how any time he thought he’d lost the creature it managed to pop up and start their game of cat and mouse all over again. He had never realized just how large the kelp forest was before now. 

Milo was slowly running out of energy, already having pushed his small body to the limits, his tail ached and his head pounded. He had no clue why he had yet to be caught, he knew whatever it was should have more energy than he ever could, and his slowing movements would’ve left him easy prey. It was playing with him. The thought of being viewed as nothing but a plaything for the amusement of a larger being made his stomach churn. Someone would loose this game, and Milo stood no chance. With the knowledge he had no way of winning this sick deadly game, he chose to end it on his own terms rather than allow himself to be used up before his death. 

As Milo slowed, bracing himself for an attack the moment he slowed, he glanced back to finally lock eyes with his pursuer. He had expected a seal or an otter of some kind, he was half right. There, wading mere human inches from him, was a giant seal-mer. The giant mer’s head was filling his entire vision, large black pupils focused firmly on his tiny form. Milo trembled and backed away from the giant face, not missing the way its giant mouth had been only an arms length from his tail. He flicked his tail weakly on instinct, only moving a pace away before bumping into a wall. His head whipped around as fast as he could manage in his weakened state, flinching when he saw it was not a wall, but rather a large, tan, fleshy hand blocking him from escaping. Milo whimpered and clamped his eyes shut as he felt himself be pushed back in front of the giant face by the hand behind him, wishing he had stayed home rather than search for pretty shells in the kelp forest that morning. “Whoa…. What.. what are you?” He felt the words more than heard them, his heart pounding like thunder in his ears. He flinched when the giant spoke, noting the deep, slightly amazed, voice so close by. “Please- i- please just make it quick…” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, his voice starting and finishing the speech before he himself could even comprehend what he said. Hopefully pleading won't make it worse…“Make what quick?” He felt a poke to his side, a flinch racking his small body. “I'm not gonna hurt cha’ if that’s what you're asking” The giant had the gall to laugh at the idea. As if he hadn’t been chasing him mere minutes ago like he was a snack he’d been craving for days. “Don’t- Don’t lie to me!” Milo surprised himself by the anger he felt in his voice, and at the outburst against a giant. His eyes snapped open as he was poked again, soon feeling the giant hand begin to close around him. “Wait! Please don’t!” He braced himself for the possibilities running through his head, being eaten alive and whole, being squeezed to death, having his limbs bit off one by one…somehow he was unable to close his eyes as the hand fully encased him, his own green eyes meeting the dark brown larger ones. He could almost see guilt swirling in those eyes, but he pushed the idea away as he heard the giant begin to speak yet again. “Woah, woah, I'm not going to do anything! I just wanna get a look at you, I've never seen another mer before. Let alone such a cute small little guy~” The mer chuckled at his own words, moving his hand, and Milo in turn, just barely away from his face. Making more of his bare chest and stomach visible from Milo’s perspective. Had he not been fearing for his life, he would have blushed. “I- I'm not small or cute. You- you’re just very large..” His words earned another chuckle from the big guy. “Sure. so, what’s your name, little thing? I'm Jayden.” The hand holding Milo was moved closer to the gian- to Jayden. Milo scrunched his eyebrows and attempted to push Jayden’s fingers off of his small body, to no effect. “I'm Milo. why do- do you care?” It came out as a sarcastic remark, but Milo’s question remained serious. “Milo, hmm?” Jayden tested the name on his tongue, ignoring the tiny boy’s struggles and questions. A wide smirk was spread across Jayden’s face, likely spanning the length of almost Milo’s entire body. Milo yelped as Jayden began to move, slowly swimming forwards with Milo still secured entirely in his hand. Luckily his hold was firm, but loose, Milo wouldn’t be hurt yet he also wouldn’t be leaving the grip any time soon.

guys it totally is fine that this is late/ not posted in mer-may cuz it’s the gays so pride month is basically gay mer-may

[phill-art]

Commissions open!

Here's the character I did:

race: otterfolk

class: armorer-artificer

sex: male

personality: very intelligent, curious, impulsive, naive

age (what they look like in human years): He is 6 years old (equivalent of 20 human years)

height: 2ft 10in

weight/build: 16lbs

hair style/color: (Normal North American River otter) Light brownish coat, with a tan or beige jaw/underbelly

eye color: dark brown (almost black)

skin color: covered in hair

items/weapons: no physical weapons.

Get as detailed as you can with the outfit/armor (and colors). :

White wetsuit/attire that has jade/sea green accents on his entire arms. Same green accents down the middle of his torso from his armor. His attire is adorned with armor that looks like it’s made out of light grey stone/ore held together intricately in some places by wood. That armor (stone/ore) takes up his upper torso, a gorget around his neck, small spaulders, gauntlets, and knee pads.

All of his armor with the exception of his elbow pads are imbued with light foggy blue crystals that illuminate. 

He also has a heavy black leather utility belt with dark maroon red accents. On his right side this belt contains a small square pouch. On his left side is another medium round ouch that Carrie’s glass vials on the exterior.

He also wears goggles on his head the same color as his belt.

clothing top: his grey stone chest piece has a blue crystal in the middle. His spaulders (shoulder pads) each have three crystal imbued in them.

The crystals protrude from his shoulder and float when in battle.

Arcane armor that looks like translucent flowing/swirling water. Wraps his stone armor

clothing bottom: white pants with jade green accents around the thigh. Stone knee pads imbued with one crystal each.

Wrapped in arcane armor when in battle

footwear: no footwear / just otter feet

[eminsunnytoons123]

The teppums Show gang characters!!

Part 6, 7 And 8!

Heres Asher the sheep/lamb And insane axel redesign ^///^

And also i'll post the other few parts either later or tommorow! =^_^=

Now some info about them:

Elias the Alligator - Elias the Alligator is Clifford's teppum counterpart, he is an sassy, laid back, chill, hip And sorta sarcastic alligator Guy in the teppums Show gang and teppum hour gang, he is 24 years old like Clifford And he is bisexual And genderfluid. He is good friends dr Lips And lavi the King lion, theyre somehow like Brothers i can say. He plays the bass in the fresh Lemon band. His headcanon voice actor is Dave "Sasquatch" Ward, And his voice claim is Aldo from sitting ducks.

Cassie - Cassie is Vicki's teppum counterpart, she is an friendly, sweet, polite, kind-hearted And young girl in the teppums Show gang and the teppum hour gang, she is 15 years old like Vicki and she is pansexual. She is timrek's helper for the teppumtelevision, And she is like an big sis to Liam the miniature horse. Her headcanon voice actress is Cree Summer, And her voice claim is rayna cartflight from the buzz on Maggie.

Abram the semi laptop Guy - Abram the semi laptop guy is digit's teppum counterpart, he is an friendly, sorta confused And naive, laid back and Nice Guy in the teppums Show gang and the teppum hour gang, he is 25 years old like digit And he is bisexual. He sorta has a crush on Elias, but he doesnt Admit it to anyone, neither him. He is even half an Android, And he has an laptop on his chest And he can always Open it And use it. His headcanon voice actor is Jon Lovitz, And his voice claim is radio from brave little toaster.

George E. flyer - George E. Flyer is Waldo C. Graphic's teppum counterpart, he is an friendly, optimistic, enthusiastic, Nice And sweet hummingbird in the teppums Show gang and teppum hour gang, he is probably 16 years old like Waldo And he is pansexual And aromantic. He isnt really an digital flying animal like Waldo, beeny, nor Iggy, but George does like digital things. His headcanon voice actor is Alex Rochon, And his voice claim is Caine from the amazing digital Circus.

Liam the miniature horse - Liam the miniature horse is bean bunny's teppum counterpart, he is an sweet, cute, friendly, kind, Nice And optimistic miniature horse in the teppums Show gang and teppum hour gang, he is 13 years old like bean And he is genderfluid. Liam sees Cassie as his big sis, And they always hang out with each other. He always tries to help And he loves being cute to others. His headcanon voice actress is Tara strong, And his voice claim is Timmy Turner from fairly oddparents.

Berengar the gecko - berengar the gecko is Lindbergh's teppum counterpart, he is an friendly, sorta sarcastic, chill, Nice gecko Guy in the teppums Show gang and the teppum hour gang, he is 21 years old like Lindbergh And he is bisexual, he is dating ben the otter. He is interested in mechanism, And is a mechanican. His headcanon voice actor is Thomas Lennon, And his voice claim is Topcat from jellystone!.

Ben the otter - ben the otter is Leon lizard's teppum counterpart, he is an sassy, scamming, teasy, slightly rude And arrogant Guy in the teppums Show gang and teppum hour gang, he is 22 years old like Leon And he is bisexual, he is dating berengar the gecko. He is interested in hot macho men And bikini women on television And money, he even gets his ideas from Leon. And he is timrek's cousin, even tho theyre not the same species. His headcanon voice actor is Andrew Frankel, And his voice claim is fancy fancy from jellystone!.

Belladonna "Bella" or "Donna" - belladonna is Zondra's teppum counterpart, she is an rude, arrogant, ignorant And sarcastic gothic Lady in the teppums Show gang and the kapre television gang, she is 23 years old like zondra And she is a Lesbian And a demi-girl, she has a crush on fresh Lemon accordionist a.k.a Mackenzie. She is actually light tan Skinned but puts on the White powder on her face, And she carries an black umbrella with her. Her headcanon voice actress is Laraine Newman, And her voice claim is lacey ladybug from the buzz on Maggie.

Gunner the kapre - Gunner the kapre is Ubu the gorilla's teppum counterpart, he is an optimistic, tough, strong, sarcastic And friendly kapre Guy in the teppums Show gang and the kapre television gang, he is 25 years old like Ubu and he is pansexual. He is the leader of the kapre television gang, And he gets along with Ubu very well. Oh! And he calls belladonna "belladon". His headcanon voice actor is Ian Jones Quartey, And his voice claim is Rad from Ok K.O! Lets be heroes.

Arthur the game designer - Arthur the game designer is chip the IT guy's teppum counterpart, they is an ignorant, arrogant, sarcastic, but an friendly And helpful Guy in the teppums Show gang and the kapre television gang, he is 23 years old like chip And he is bisexual And a Demi-boy. He is very interested in designing games And sometimes even playing them, And he gets along with chip very well. And he is the only chip the IT Guy counterparts go not Wear glasses. His headcanon voice actor is Donald Glover, And his voice claim is Marshall Lee from adventure time.

Tiana - tiana is Skeeter's teppum counterpart, she is an sassy, tough, friendly And sarcastic girl in the teppums Show gang, she is 17 years old like skeeter And she is a Lesbian, she is dating Emily the Cheetah. She is Travis' big sister, And she knows his crush on Zane, so she likes teasing him about it. She likes roller-skating, skate-boarding, but even reading magazines And sometimes do makeup, And she is an acrobat like Hector And likes doing acrobatic tricks with him. Her headcanon voice actress is Tara strong, And her voice claim is Dawn Swatworthy from the buzz on Maggie.

Madame gerbilsy - madame gerbilsy is miss mousey's teppum counterpart, she is an flirty, sassy, friendly, sweet And caring gerbils Lady in the teppums Show gang, she is 26 years old like miss mousey And she is bisexual, she is dating monsieur gerbilso. She even danced with timrek in the teppums Show scenes called "dancing with the teppums". She is from France And has an squeaky french accent. Her headcanon voice actress is Maria Darling, And her voice claim is Cici from roary the racing car.

Insane Axel - insane Axel is crazy Harry's teppum counterpart, he is an Crazy, insane, wild, psychopathic And enthusiastic Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 25 years old like Crazy Harry And he is pansexual, he is dating Raphael abadie. He is insane over grenades! And he even has his Apple Bois like how sir pentious has his egg boiz, but Axel uses his Apple Bois for his acts on the Show. His headcanon voice actor is Alex Brightman, And his voice claim is sir pentious from hazbin hotel.

Asher the LAMB - Asher the lamb is Robin the frog's teppum counterpart, he is an sweet, friendly, cute, optimistic And enthusiastic lamb in the teppums Show gang, he isnt 5 years old like Robin, he is infact 7 years old like Rosalie. He is the nephew of timrek And he likes being with him, And he even likes being with Robin to be his play mate or someone to play with. His headcanon voice actor is Gudmunder Thor, And his voice claim is Ziggy from lazytown.

Madame Li-Li - madame Li-Li is foo-foo's teppum counterpart, she is an cute, friendly, adorable, And playful kitten in the teppums Show gang, she is probably 5 years old like foo-foo. She is one of madame camela's cute And sweet pets, madame Li-Li doesnt chase mouses, rats, Gerbils... Nor any small animal. She likes playing with ball of wools. Her headcanon voice actress is Lori Ann Mahl, And her voice claim is Bunny from courage the cowardly dog.

Journalist man - Bobby huxtera, or also knows as the journalist man is newsman's teppum counterpart, he is an polite, akward, friendly And sorta sarcastic Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 27 years old like newsman and he is bisexual. He always does his journalist stuff, but he always gets bad luck. And he is a vegetarian. His headcanon voice actor is Tim whitnall, And his voice claim is Plugger from roary the racing car.

I'll post the other few later =^_^=

@splashy900 @kxllboii @cheezecirno @aquamarine-dream-queen @dayzsaclark @oscarandgrinchfan @moshywoosh @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @nuggetaubrey @nightkit92 @familyoffood @mysafespaceblog13 @thelazzyblogzz @sugar-miss1 @shrimpathizer @shypeachrunaway @iggyguyy @sophia-does-skits @typical-sophie @peaceforpeople @ben5569 @princessmishka22 @xxkurosakutisaxx

[awhphooey]

Glee Hybrid AU headcanons/thoughts for the whole one person who asked 😼

Gonna try to keep it short but trust me I have SO many thoughts on hybrid aus

Species wise, Kurt is a cat (a brown spiral tabby), Finn is a Labrador retriever (black lab), Rachel is a beagle, Mercedes is an elk, Artie is a rat, Tina is a fruit bat, Quinn is a lion, Puck is a raccoon, Santana is a cat (black cat), Brittany is a dog (tan (?red?) border collie mistaken for a corgi), Sam is an otter, Mike is a snow leopard, Blaine is a curly coated retriever. I have reasonings for most of these, but I'll just keep it at this.

Headcanon time (the best part):

- cat hybrid's hair sticks up when they're pissed or spooked. Kurt tends to brush his hair down obsessively because he's almost always one or the other and doesn't want it to show. Santana liked her cheerio ponytail because it kept her hair in place when she was mad.

- Rachel tries to harmonize with just about anything that makes noise, much to everyone's annoyance, but she blames her beagle side (its just her)

- Tina spent the same amount of time lying about her stutter lying about being a bat that drinks blood to keep people from picking on her and Artie. the stutter keeps teachers off her back, but that keeps bullies away

- Puck steals things almost habitually, but he also cleans them the same. it's more of an issue with food

- they dont all lean into animalistic traits as much as others, but Finn is definitely one to. it's why he loves sports with balls he can chase and hoard. Burt isn't a dog but he doesn't mind tossing a ball around for Finn.

- Puck has made jokes several times about putting a bell on Kurt or Santana and has gotten hissed at. they're just naturally light on their feet, though, and tend to spook the others

- Kurt likes to sit with his legs tucked underneath him whenever possible, like a cat loafing, but it's only when he feels safe- so mostly at home. similarly, he also keeps his tail pretty close to himself to avoid it being stepped on, grabbed or crushed between things. Santana on the other hand likes to sprawl out, usually with her legs on Britt's lap or a chair. her tail tends to lash around freely, and she considers it a win if it hits someone

- a lot of the glee kids w long tails tend to have better balance than those without, esp Mike, who uses it to his advantage while dancing. their tails are proportional to their bodies in the same ratio as the animal, which means Mike has a nearly 6ft long tail 😭

- Sam likes to hold hands. like very much so. even with his friends. it's another thing Finn had to warn him against when he first arrived bc it would be seen as 'gay'. he holds his little siblings hands while they sleep, though.

- the cats can all purr, Santana very VERY rarely does, even in private. Kurt has a few times around the glee club, but it's more common around his dad. Mike purrs the most, almost every single time he's dancing. he's a bit embarrassed about it because he cant really help it. Quinn cant quite purr, but she rumbles in a very "unladylike" way, according to her.

- Finn's tail barely stops moving, he had a bad case of 'happy tail' as a kid and his mom had to put a pool noodle on it so he'd stop getting hurt. it's a bit like a metronome, always bouncing back and forth. really the only time it's still is when he's scared and it's between his legs.

- hybrid genetics are a very fickle thing and it's a bit hard to tell whether a child will be born a hybrid or not, let alone what species. both parents being hybrids heightens the chances of having a hybrid baby, but it's never 100%. similarly, both parents being the same species doesn't always result in a baby of the same species. when that does happen, it's considered admirable on the part of the parents in certain circles. most Dalton students that are hybrids are from families like this, that favor the hybrids that 'fit' the family.

Blaine's family is not, his father is a wolf but his mother is a human. that combination is not the reason he and Cooper were both born as domestic dogs, but his father is pretty convinced that's why. though Cooper being a husky is easier to pass off as a wolf than Blaine, which doesn't work very well in Blaine's favor.

- Kurt and Quinn are both born to the same species parents. Burt and Elizabeth were both cats, just as Kurt is, and Quinn's parents are both lions. Kurt's parents didn't really care if he was a hybrid or a cat, but Quinn's family takes pride (ha) in the fact they're all such a 'regal' species, and this adds onto Quinn's stress about being perfect.

- some of the kids, like Tina and Sam, are the first hybrid in their families, or the first of their species in the family, which tends to mean they don't behave as animalistic as others. Finn and Carole are both very much dogs, it's obvious in the way they behave. Finn was raised to embrace the things that made him a hybrid. on the other hand, Kurt was not raised that way. when his mom was alive the three of them would purr, or chirp, or groom each other, but when she died, he and Burt didn't as often. it's not that he's ashamed of it or anything, it's just not a big part of his identity like it is for Finn or some of the others

- generally hybrids aren't as rare or odd to see as people might think. it really depends on where in the world you are, but hybrids are about 1/4 of the population. no species is more or less common than any other, not really, but some traits are easier to hide

This is not actually important but I was writing a little fic where the Warblers are discussing their families and wanted to share the species for the main birdies mentioned in it (plot twist they're NOT birds): Wes is an Akita, David is a bear, Trent is a Moscow watchdog, Thad is a mountain lion.

If anyone has questions or wants me to elaborate on anything or whatever please please pleasseeee send me an ask im literally begging i love yapping

Forgot I was gonna share these oops

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

The girl stood under the cover of a red umbrella that bloomed in the autumn rain like a rose hanging listlessly upside down, and she stared out through the soggy air as expectantly as a child overturning geranium leaves to look for fairies. Her eyes were a brown the color of blood, and her hair was a purplish black like a mourning gown.

The girl's name was Anthea, which meant flower, though few people who knew the old ways of the world would recognize it as a name Hera was called when her mortals sang their thanks for her blessings and sighed their relief having avoided her jealous wrath. Anthea had no such believers, or even many friends, so it was a name she had given herself instead of getting it bestowed upon her, a soft pink-petaled word that she whispered to her heart in the dark velvet cover of night when her parents weren't home.

She was a polite and sad girl, and if one accused her of anger one could never be wrong, for all teenaged girls felt anger like a railspike being driven into their spine, and doubly so for teenaged girls who kept secrets.

In truth she had only one friend, if an audience did not count the hummingbirds at the feeder or the wasps taking up residency in her old overturned wagon, or the rabbits she halfheartedly scolded away from her vegetables. It was her friend she was waiting for, and with every passing second she wondered more and more how she was going to forgive them for not making good on this promise.

Just when she believed her patience had run out, her friend came stumbling through the rain, parting it like a curtain. They were already half-drenched in an ill-fitting raincoat, and their otter-brown hair was misty and glimmering. Anthea brightened, which did little to dispell the shower, which had already set itself on the course to rain for several days without tiring, and hurried over to pull them into the comparatively drier shelter of her umbrella. Their body fit next to hers like a marble falling into its grooved track, and she did not mind that they were damp and cold and sluggish underneath her.

"Where were you?" asked Anthea.

"I got held up by Mr. Schiller," said her dear friend, whose name was Sicely. It was a name as mislaid and assymmetrical as they were, and they took a certain begrudging pride in that. Their eyes were two indecisive shades of green, and their tan face was broken up by the mocking ghosts of pale scars. "He wanted to talk about the yearly project and my grades."

"It seems a bit silly," Anthea remarked. It wasn't like there was any school board to collect the grades.

"Kind of a moot point," agreed Sicely.

"Are you worried about it?" She began to walk, and Sicely followed her behind her elbow to stay under the canopy. She wanted to hook her arm around theirs, but they might not permit such a thing. The prohibiting veil of rain discouraged voyeurs, but Sicely worried frequently about maintaining a certain plausible deniability. About what, Anthea could only roll her eyes.

"It's the same old song. That I could have straight As if I applied myself."

"Well, you could." High marks came easily to Anthea. Dewy grass clung to her socks as she walked through the grass.

"I don't think there's any point to homework. If I do good on tests, that ought to be the end of it."

[twys-agere-archive]

I DIDNT KNO THAT I CULD B LITTLE IN FICTIV MODE

this is revlation! i can be little girl!!!!! :D myb thas y i felt weird cuz iv only been lil boy an iv nevr been partial fictiv an lil at same time , an im rarly girl a t all bc im only grl wen in fictive mode an iv been avoding it for som reson :< myb bc im not usd to having a mama an i do hab a second mama if im fictiv

i lik wen partial ficive bc bc i feel les awkward tan wen im not an i tink im nicer ? myb tats y i gotted tis mode insted of jus chaos an whwole mode bc thos ons are strssful :(

aso is less tiring :D so wen is combind wit bein lil i mite be sooper less tird? dat wuld be cool

aslo i hab two mommas now :0 on i my dadas gf an te otters anoter ficive . my da didn kno he likd girls until he met moma

im supr happi dat te older hedmates are intracting wit te fictivs more btw :> w used to be seprated a bit from dem bu i tink tats changin an w can be frends esier! i wondr if anyon els in here has multipl modes other than actor/full mode (actor mod is bery common bc dada wantd to make sur we didn hurt anyon wile writing an we writ a lot) isa mystry y tere's so mny fictivs tho, but theyr cool folks :>

btw im watchin a horsie video wit a horse an i tink is gon be a good video :D bc thres a horse an animals good bu i was watchin a horor video befor an it had not so good anmals :(

do u lik horses ? i lik oter anmals mor but horses are pretti

Wow, that is so cool to hear! I love horses! I have rode one a few times when I was younger!

[whitepolaris]

Crypto Cats

Gauging from the number of sightings, Oklahoma appears to be virtually crawling with large unidentified felines. Though there is little to no hard evidence to support their existence, it seems everyone and his neighbor has spotted one of these big cats roaming the countryside.

Now, we're not talking about the usual bobcats or mountain lions here. And that looks to be the point exactly. Few people are precisely sure to what they did see, but they know what they didn't see. The mysterious beasts, according to reports, are larger and huskier than native species and are totally black.

Oklahomans in virtually every part of the state have run across the big black cats. Drivers have swerved to miss the animals, stopping briefly to get a view of the abnormally large and darkly colored felines before the creatures dart off into the brush. Some ranch owners have witnessed the cats skulking about their acreage. One resident say he was able to watch the mystery cat for several minutes as it stalked a group of deer on his property. Yet, despite numerous deny that any such beast exists.

Now, before we get much further, let's clear up a few things. Mountain lions, cougars, pumas, panthers: these all the same thing. In fact, the same cat has more than forty names in the English language alone. For our purposes, however, we're going to stick with panther. These panthers, which are unusual in Oklahoma, but not unheard of, are slender and measure about eight feet, including their lengthy tail. They're generally yellowish or reddish brown in color. Bobcats, which are quite common in the area, are well known for their spots, which cover an otherwise tan to grayish brown coat. They measure about three feet long and feature a distinctively wide face, pointed ears and with a stubby tail.

With this in mind, the mystery witnessed by so many residents are unlikely to be simple cases of mistaken identity. Occasionally, one of these cats is described as having spots, but is much too big to be a bobcat, not to mention its thick, "ropelike" tail. Many believe the creature at first o be a dog, its size being comparable to a Great Dane, but its features are distinctively feline.

As already mentioned, however, the cat is often said to be uniformly black. And this is where the sightings become so unusual. Although there are a number of recognized panther subspecies, none has ever been recorded, as having an all-black coloring. The term "black panther" is actually a misnomer, which refers to melanistic jaguars or leopards, not panthers. An actual black panther has never been scientifically documented.

So, could the mystery cat in fact be a jaguar or a leopard? Well, first off, leopards don't even live on this continent, and jaguars, while native to the Americas, certainly don't reside in Oklahoma. In fact, the only jaguars known to live in the United States are a small population in Arizona. Besides, black jaguars, even on the whole, are exceedingly rare. So, to find a jaguar, especially a black one, skulking around the suburbs of Tulsa would be nigh impossible, which is certainly why the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation denies any existence of such a cat.

Still, there are too many reports across the state of the large black cat to simply ignore the possibility. So, what could it be? Some have suggested that it may be a northly migrating jaguarundi, an odd-looking, medium-sized cat that normally lives south of Texas, looks something like an otter, and sports a coat that can be blackish to brownish gray in color. Others think it might be some kind of bizarre hybrid such as the jaglion, the pumapard, or the popular liger. Some propose that it might even be something that escaped from Hugo in southeast Oklahoma, which has long been known to serve as the winter home for generations of circus folk.

Then again, there are some close encounters with the beast that are a bit harder to explain. In some circles, the ebony animal is known as the Ozark Howler, a fear-provoking feline that prowls Arkansas, Texas, and Missouri, as well as Oklahoma. Those who's gotten a better look say it's dark fur may, in fact, have a reddish hue, as do its eyes. Moreover, it proudly displays small horns, or features that appear like horns, as well as something resembling a beard. Its yowl, which gives the creature its name, is a bone-chilling sound that's much closer to a woman's terrified scream that any kind of roar or growl.

Unfortunately, there have yet been any reliable photographs of the Ozark Howler or its counterparts, as most encounters are fleeting and occur at night. And, honestly, those are probably moments in which one is at least likely to hold anything steady, much less a camera.

[agayvampire]

~♡ pinned post ♡~

Welcome! My name is Moss, I am a non-binary artist who has many original characters, both humanoid and furries, and even some uncategorized creatures :3

Furries are tagged 🌿furries , humanoids are tagged 🌿humanoids and other creatures are tagged 🌿creatures . Art is tagged 🌿art and text fiction posts are tagged 🌿fiction

The following is a list of my OCs with a short description and the tag to find them at in this blog!

List under the cut

Aaron

Tag: 🩸Aaron [He is the one this blog is named after, the gay vampire lol. He is the oldest OC I still create about :0 I created him in like 2013 or so?] [He/him] [cis, gay, aromantic] [in his 30s in human years, probably several hundreds of years old fr] [appearance: tall/lean, muscular, hairy and bearded, long brown hair and a tanned skin tone, many piercings, a tattoo sleeve] [he is a vampire by night and during the day he acts like he is just another gay vegan hipster, next to hipster, his "real" vibe is baroque-esc goth, mostly feminine clothes like dresses en corsets]

Moss

Tag: 🪻Moss [yeah I know they have the same name as me idk man lmao... he is my main fursona, basically me if I was physically a furry] [23] [he/they] [nonbinary transmasc] [neurodivergent] [aro/ace spec] [appearence: average height, soft/curvy in a masc way??, lavender grows from his neon green hair, their main fur color is lilac, they are based off a maned wolf, he has many piercings, his vibe is soft grunge/artist core]

Angie

Tag: 🔪Angie [one time someone called him a "scene queen" and tbh yeah. Also big anarchist] [he/they/it] [20s] [transmasc agender] [neurodivergent] [aroace] [energetic af] [appearence: it is based off a skunk, dark brown and soft white are their main fur colors. His hair is hot pink with a checkered pattern streak. The same pattern is on its tail, he has many piercings, their whole vibe is 2000s emoscene]

Dante

Tag: 🍓Dante [my oldest fursona that still exists! I made them in that era of the Internet where the "soft boi aesthetic" was a thing, so that is his vibe] [early 20s] [he/they] [ftm] [gay] [theatre kid and a big emotional softie] [neurodivergent] [appearence: they are based off an otter, his main fur colors are a soft brown and a soft white, added details are pastel blue and pink (can change), he has pastel blue, teal, purple and pink hair, and from his head grows a strawberry, they have a band aid on their nose and an earring in one ear]

Bobbie

Tag: 🎃Bobbie [it is a shape-shifter, it's shape can alter from humanoid, furry, animalistic, monstrous or anything in between. It has no facial features, except from when it experiences strong emotions, then features show up] [ancient] [it/its] [agender] [neurodivergent] [semi verbal] [appearence: it can have different shapes, but it's color scheme is always the same, dark and light brown, orange, black and glow in the dark yellow/green, when wearing clothes it's vibe is goblincore/nature grunge]

Rain

Tag: 🌈rain [he is based off the colorscheme of the album In Rainbows by Radiohead. He is based off a rat as well] [just a little clown guy, short] [early 20s] [he/him] [transmasc] [gay t4t] [ace] [very energetic when anxious, calm when comfortable] [uses humour to cope] [neurodivergent] [appearence: his colors are all color picked from the Radiohead album In Rainbows. His fur pattern makes it seem like he is wearing clown makeup, he wears a clown hat and a big clown collar, his fur pattern has rainbow colors underneath his top surgery scars]

TV-head (unnamed)

Tag: 📺TV head [He is a spirit/angel who protects forest animals against being hunted by humans, he is a big fluffy guy with a TV for a head because he is both nature and technology in spirit] [ancient yet modern] [he/him] [gender and sexuality are not for him] [big sweetheart, loves hugs, but very good at fighting when needed] [he lives alone, but is always aware of every forest animal in his forest and can sense when they are in pain or fear] [appearence: huge! Big hands/arms, covered in beige fur, on his back grows moss/grass and flowers (may change with the seasons), his head is a TV with glowing red eyes on the screen for a face]

I have more OC's but their concepts are currently unfinished.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 1, 1 janvier 1882, Paris. Toilettes de la Mon Fladry, Mme Coussinet Succr. 43 r. Richer. Collection of the Rijksmuseum, Netherlands

Description de toilettes (Bibliothèque Forney):

Toilette de ville. Jupe ronde et corsage en peluche ombrée de plusieurs tons havane et loutre. Son bord inférieur est garni de deux volants plissés faits en satin havane. Au-dessus de ces volants se trouve une bande de même satin découpée, sur son bord inférieur, en dents arrondies. Les vides qui se trouvent entre ces dents sont remplis par des éventails faits en même satin plissé. Le devant du corsage est à doubles pointes, et sous ces pointes, se trouvent de doubles paniers composés d'écharpes de satin formant, derrière, des poufs très-bouffants. Une draperie de satin garnit le bord supérieur de la manche, ainsi que l'épaule. Une traîne mobile, en satin havane, s'adapte à cette jupe quand on veut la porter en guise de toilette de dîner. La toilette de ville est complétée par une grande visite en peluche loutre, bordée de fourure. Chapeau de peluche loutre avec grandes plumes havane.

Toilette de dîner. En moire et velours nacarat. Devant de jupe en moire entièrement recouvert de volants de blonde blanche, avec broderie en relief. Robe princesse en velours, ouverte sur ce devant de jupe, à pouf et traîne, avec corsage ouvert et manches demi-longues. L'encolure est garnie d'une haute blonde blanche posée à plat. Les devants sont brodés de tons camaïeu (plusieurs nuances nacarat), mélangés d'or. Sous le pouf, de chaque côté, se trouve une écharpe de moire nacarat terminée par un gland. Les deux écharpes sont nouées par devant.

—

City ensemble. Round skirt and plush bodice in multiple shades of tan and otter. Its lower edge is trimmed with two pleated flounces made of Havana satin. Above these ruffles is a strip of the same satin cut, on its lower edge, in rounded teeth. The spaces between these teeth are filled with fans made of the same pleated satin. The front of the bodice is double-pointed, and under these points are double baskets composed of satin sashes forming, behind, very puffy poufs. A satin drapery adorns the upper edge of the sleeve, as well as the shoulder. A movable train, in tan satin, adapts to this skirt when you want to wear it as a dinner dress. The city ensemble is complemented by a large plush otter muff, lined with fur. Otter plush hat with large tan feathers.

Dinner ensemble. In moire and nacarat velvet. Front of skirt in moire entirely covered with ruffles of white blonde, with embroidery in relief. Velvet princess dress, open on the front of the skirt, with pouf and train, with open bodice and half-long sleeves. The neckline is trimmed with a high lay-flat white blonde. The fronts are embroidered with camaieu tones (several nacarat shades), mixed with gold. Under the pouf, on each side, is a nacarat moire scarf finished with a tassel. The two scarves are tied in front.

[beatrice-otter]

fic: Righteousness and Respectability

yuletide authors have been revealed, so I can post my fics here! I wrote two fics. One was a treat that I actually started last year; then it was going to be a New Year's Resolution; then the 2022 NYR collection was closed because Yuletide 2022 was starting and I checked and oh, happy day, that same person had the same prompt! So I could finish it for this year's Yuletide. And so I have. The premise was that Marianne in Sense and Sensibility is described as "brown", which just means that she's a little more olive-skinned and likely to tan than most English people are. But daisyninjagirl wanted an AU where no, actually, "the Dashwood sisters either have, or are assumed to have, African ancestry? How would that fit in with the intense Abolition politics of the time?" And that was a fascinating idea, and I had a great time figuring out what exactly the consequences of it would be. But, alas, because it would probably make John and Fanny think even worse of them than they do in canon, I couldn't think of a way for Elinor to even meet Edward. Title: Righteousness and Respectability Author: Beatrice Otter Fandom: Sense and Sensibility Characters: Marianne, Elinor, Willoughby, Brandon Rating: T Length: 10,506 words Written for: daisyninjagirl  in Yuletide 2022 Betaed by: Kalee233 Summary: The Dashwood ladies are mixed race. Some things change, but others do not. At AO3. On Dreamwidth. On pillowfort. Mr. Henry Dashwood's first marriage had been a celebrated match, in its day. Both were from ancient, well-connected families of the middle gentry, long-established in Sussex; both were well educated, sensible people; and while they were not in love, neither of them had any expectation that such a feeling should be a pre-requisite for the married state. They liked one another, and when the first Mrs. Dashwood died, Mr. Henry Dashwood grieved her loss but was not overset by it. When his year of mourning was over, he looked around for a new bride. His son John, off at school, was too old to require a mother, but Henry missed the companionship his wife had provided. And, as he had his own small fortune, a life-interest in half of the first Mrs. Dashwood's fortune, and the prospect of inheriting his uncle's estate of Norland Park, he was quite an eligible figure, not only for the widows and spinsters of the community, but also for the girls newly out in society.

So it was a great surprise to all when his choice fell upon Miss Jones, the daughter of a retired Navy captain and his American wife. Miss Jones was a young lady of no great fortune and few connections, and there were some who did not care to dignify her with the name of lady, for she was a mulatto. A great many people tried to talk him out of it, with various specious and unpleasant arguments about the unsuitability of the match; but Henry Dashwood was determined, for he was in love as he had not been with his first wife. Indeed, so incensed was he at the slanders of his beloved that he ended a number of friendships of long standing over the matter.

The new Mrs. Dashwood was a sensitive woman of deep feeling and compassion, and though she rejoiced in her husband's support, she feared the day he might regret his choice, and worked to repair and strengthen what relationships she could. Mr. Dashwood respected her goodness, but saw too well the pain she suffered in so doing to think most such relationships worth the effort, and at last they settled into a social circle that suited them both: smaller than his had been, but of better humor and compassion.

One relationship they did work to maintain, however, was that with Henry Dashwood’s uncle, Mr. Dashwood of Norland Park. There was no chance he would leave the estate free and clear to Henry and his second wife; no, upon his death it would pass to his grand-nephew John. But, with suitable attentions, he was persuaded to allow Henry a life-interest in the estate, at least, and with reasonable economies and savings, that would provide for Mrs. Dashwood and the three Miss Dashwoods even after Mr. Henry Dashwood’s death.

Provided, that is, he lived long enough past his uncle to see such plans put into fruition, which proved not to be the case; scarce a twelve-month after his uncle’s death, Mr. Dashwood sickened, succumbed, and died.

It was not a long illness, but it was, fortunately, long enough to call his son John to attend him in his final hours. And, even more fortunately, long enough for him to extract a promise from John that his stepmother and half sisters would be provided for.

If the second Mrs. Dashwood had been more like the first—pale-skinned, of English descent with no other admixtures, accepted in any company including that of her husband’s family—perhaps Mr. Dashwood would have accepted his son’s verbal promise. But she was not; and Mr. Dashwood had seen too often the cruelties and ill-treatment of society to trust in mere words. The tenor of his relationship with his son since his remarriage only confirmed his suspicions. He had, accordingly, called a solicitor to his deathbed to draw up a contract obligating John Dashwood to give his half-sisters 1,000 pounds each and his step-mother a further 500. All that was required was for John to sign it.

"Father," said John as he perused the document, "you cannot imagine I would settle half so much on your daughters." He congratulated himself on his civility; certainly, in the depths of his indignation, he might have put it much differently. His later years at school had been filled with mockery for his father's choice, and John felt himself very ill-used in the matter. But he was a man of cold temper, by nature, and he did not wish to quarrel with his father when such disagreements would have no hope of mending.

"Please, John," his father said, struggling to lift himself up from his pillow.

John leaned forward to help the manservant lift his father's body and adjust the bedclothes. His father had never been a large man, but he had been possessed of a great dignity of manner that his son had always envied. Now he seemed half what he had been mere months earlier when they had last met. John was struck by the unwelcome realization that his father was, indeed, on his deathbed; this was no passing illness that might be mended in time.

"I have a duty to them," his father said.

"You have a duty to me and my son, too," John said, "for am I not your first born? Your only son and heir?" It was something John had long clung to, given his father's vociferous championing of his second family and the social disapproval that had brought.

"You are well provided for, always have been." His father stopped for breath, then forged on. "It's less than a year's income from Norland." He took a breath, and his whole body shook with the effort of it. "Less than a year's income from your mother's legacy." Another dreadful pause filled with wheezing. "It will be nothing to you, and everything to them."

Having spent his energy, Henry Dashwood sagged back against the pillows and coughed wetly.

John came to the distasteful recognition that, if he wished to spend what little time his father had left discussing anything other than his father's second family, the simplest (and, indeed, only) way to accomplish that would be to do as his father asked of him. And he had often made his way in life by choosing the easiest path and bowing to the wishes of those around him.

He eyed the document again. It was true that his father's second wife and her children had a pitiful legacy compared to his own. He owed them nothing, he was sure, but he wished to be a good son, and it would set his father's mind at ease.

Fanny, his wife, would be furious, of course, but he could present it to her as the cost of seeing them gone. She had charged him most faithfully to evict them as soon as might be possible, for she considered the connection the greatest embarrassment of her life. Indeed, she had almost refused her husband's proposal because of their existence, and accepted only on the assurance that she would never have to host them, or visit them, or acknowledge them in society. Yes, he thought, such a sum might be tolerable to her if presented as the price of cutting that connection forever.

And of course it was an act of charity, and duty to his father; yes, he would do it. He signed with a flourish, showed it to his father, and was able to spend his last hours with his father undisturbed by talk of the ladies he so resented.

…

…

Mrs. Dashwood’s grief was deep and profound, but she could not afford to indulge it. When her husband died, they would have to leave Norland as soon as was practical; and to accomplish that, they would need a house. Preferably far enough away from Norland that they need never meet with the younger Mrs. Dashwood. Accordingly, as her husband's health worsened, letters were sent out far and wide to her friends and relations, begging for word of any place they might know of that would be available for sufficiently easy terms.

By the time the letters began returning, Mr. Dashwood was dead.

"I do think that Sir John's offer is the most suitable," said her eldest daughter, Elinor, as they sorted through the post. Her eyes were red from weeping, and her skin paler than usual, but her voice was firm. Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters had gathered in her sitting room.   Though the business was urgent, none of them had much heart for it.

Margaret, the youngest, lay on the floor before the fire playing with the cat. Mrs. Dashwood, in a newly-dyed black gown, rested her forearms on the table, and though there was a letter in her hands, her eyes scarcely knew what they looked at. Elinor sat at her right hand, and Marianne at her left.

"I should prefer a city," Marianne said, "if it can at all be managed." She was, of the three, closest to her mother in both temperament and in appearance. At sixteen, she had experienced some of the cruelty of the world, but her parents had succeeded in shielding her from much of it.

"There are as many unpleasant people in cities as in the country, my dear," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Yes, but we would not be the only ones of our kind," Marianne said. They had always lived in the countryside, but her parents maintained an extensive correspondence with like-minded people, many of whom were of Mrs. Dashwood's race; and most of them lived in cities.

"I do not think we can afford to live in a city, at least not on short notice," Elinor said. "Everything is more expensive, not merely housing. We would need to find a suitable house for a very good price, and none so far have been." She gestured at some of the other letters scattered on the table. "And at Barton Cottage, we would be under the protection of our cousin, who is a man of considerable influence in the community."

"It has been too long since we have seen Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said. "He is always very kind in his letters." She took Marianne's hand. "If it is intolerable, my dear, it need not be forever; but we must go somewhere, and soon."

"Cannot we wait another week to see if a more eligible offer presents itself? Not everyone you wrote to has responded," Marianne said. "Surely Mr. Dashwood—" for they all knew better than to call him their brother "—would not begrudge us a week, so soon after the death of our father."

"I had half expected him to turn us out the day after the funeral," Mrs. Dashwood said. This was only the second time she had met her husband's son, and neither meeting had been amicable. "No, the sooner we go, the better."

Elinor nodded soberly. Marianne sighed and slumped back in her chair.

"I shall write to Sir John to thank him for his kindness," Mrs. Dashwood said.

…

…

Not two days later, Marianne stormed into the sitting room where Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were directing the servants in packing up the furniture and accoutrements that belonged to the Dashwoods and not to Norland itself. "Mama, what may I do to help prepare for the journey?"

Mrs. Dashwood raised her eyebrows, for this was quite a change; Marianne had spent the last two days avoiding the work her mother and sister were engaged in, in the vain hope that some suitable house in Brighton or Portsmouth or some city further afield might present itself. "Elinor, I have this room well enough in hand; you and your sister can go through the attics."

Elinor agreed and, with two manservants following, led Marianne up to the attics, where she immediately pointed out several chests which she knew to be their own. Once the men were engaged in carrying the chests downstairs, Elinor inquired as to her sister's mood, for she was as alert to the change in her sister's attentions as their mother.

"Do you know what the new Mr. Dashwood has done?" Marianne hissed. "He has sacked poor Robertson!"

"But why?" Elinor said, bewildered. "He has always been an exemplary butler."

"He's getting a glowing reference, of course, but they want to bring in their own man from their London residence," Marianne said. "But since their pick has never served in a country house, Robertson will have to train him. But that is not the worst of it."

Elinor sat down on a convenient stool. "Tell me," she said.

"The new butler," Marianne said grimly, "is a slave." Besides the obvious evil of the practice, Marianne was on fire with the personal insult to herself and her mother and sisters.

Elinor swallowed down the first three responses that came to mind; they were true, but would do no good to say, and besides it would set Marianne off. She did not think any of the servants would tell their new master, but she could not say for certain; and they could not afford to anger him before their departure. "Well," she said at last, "it seems the new master and mistress of Norland wish to make quite clear to everyone that they are different from the old ones in every way." She turned to the stairway at the clomp of feet. "We should return to our business. Perhaps we should have brought Margaret up here."

"She would not be much help," Marianne said, "for she is too young to remember the house we lived in before coming to Norland."

"True, but she would find rummaging around in the trunks fascinating," Elinor said, and they turned their attention to the various furnishings and other items as the footmen reappeared to take the next load.

Elinor noted that her sister was perhaps overly generous in which items she declared to be theirs, but upon reflection decided not to say anything. She had little respect and less affection for the new master and mistress of Norland Park, and the chances of their missing anything that was stored in the attic was small indeed.

…

…

Traveling in winter was difficult indeed, and though the weather was not bad that year, the Dashwoods were very grateful when they arrived at Barton Cottage. Although the sun was setting as their carriage arrived, there was a fire burning in the hearth and a candle in the window, and the manservant and maid they had sent on ahead had made everything quite cozy for them.

"This is a very small house, is it not, mama?" Margaret said over breakfast the next morning.

"Compared to Norland, certainly," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It well deserves the name cottage. It is about the same size as the house I lived in as a girl, but that was in a city." She scarcely knew what she said; Mrs. Dashwood had set her grief aside as much as possible to accomplish the move quickly and efficiently, but now they were safe in their new home at last and every feeling was making itself known at once. The house was respectable, and comfortable, and would be more so once their own things arrived; that was all she had the strength to notice.

It was a quiet day; none of the Dashwoods had the heart for serious exploration of their new home and its surroundings, nor for any work of arranging it to suit their tastes; rather they spent the morning each absorbed in their own thoughts, and adjusting to the dramatic changes that had so recently befallen them. Tears there certainly were, though all but Margaret tried to hide them to spare the others' pain.

Around tea-time, Marianne observed a gentleman riding a horse up the lane and reported this fact to her mother.

"It is Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Oh!" Marianne cried, "could we not have a day's peace, at least!" She had only just emerged from her room after being reduced to tears by the sight of a book which had been her father's favorite, sitting on a new shelf in a house he had never seen. A half-hour earlier she would have borne the visit with perfect equanimity; a half-hour later she would have recovered enough to sit with composure. But now it was too much, too soon; and she retreated again into her chamber.

So it was that when Sir John Middleton came to greet them, there was only Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor to sit with him.

He waved off all apology that Marianne was not with them. "Nonsense, nonsense! You have all had a very great loss—for your father was all that a gentleman could be, a fine man—and you've been in black less than a fortnight. I know I was not fit for company after my father died; and I was not immediately thrown out of my home. I've not come to make merry, nor to press myself upon your grief; I am here to welcome you to Barton, to offer what consolation I can, and to assure you that here, at least, you will not suffer the likes of your half-brother. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Sir John was a good-humored man, of no great intellect but much warmth and generosity; and, as his father had been one of the few in the family that had not cut Captain White's acquaintance when he returned to England married to a Negress, he and Mrs. Dashwood had played together as children. Those happy memories had made him a staunch supporter of his cousin and her people, far more than his own parents had been. Abolition was the one political opinion he had of any weight, and though he was neither thoughtful nor perceptive, and prone to the sort of common, careless remarks which those of dark skin must endure in English society, he was kind and meant no harm.

He did not stay long that day, but warmly pressed them to come to dinner any day their spirits were up to it; promised them game and garden stuff from the park; offered to frank their letters and send down his newspaper daily for their enjoyment.

"There is one other thing," Mrs. Dashwood said, after a significant look from Elinor.

"Name it, and it shall be done," Sir John said.

"Our carriage and horses," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It is hard to live in the countryside without them, but I am afraid our current income is not up to their maintenance."

"Of course, of course!" Sir John said. "There are one or two fellows in the area looking for a handsome carriage or a trained team; I shall put the word around and see that you get a good price for them. Do not you worry about transportation, my dear Mrs. Dashwood, for on any day we have no prior need of ours, it's yours for the asking."

Mrs. Dashwood exclaimed over the generosity of this offer, to which Elinor added her thanks; Sir John waved this off. "Nonsense! Why should you not use it when otherwise it might sit idle? Besides, I am the most active host in this part of the country, and I've no doubt many of the engagements will be at Barton Park. In fair weather the young ladies may find it no hardship to scamper up to the Park, but I should hate to exclude you if you were not up for a walk that day."

The visit concluded soon after; Sir John left them with a promise to bring Lady Middleton down and introduce her, and to have them to dinner as soon as they felt up to it.

Two days later, Sir John brought Lady Middleton to visit the new tenants of Barton Park. She had felt some anxiety over them, which her husband had dismissed. Lady Middleton had no objection to abolition, but her opinion of the African race was based almost entirely on hearsay and cartoons. She was pleased to find the Dashwood women as elegantly dressed as full mourning permitted, capable of polite conversation, and willing to admire her children. This was everything she required in a neighbor. If the skin of Mrs. Dashwood and Miss Marianne was darker than she was used to, it was of less importance to her than their obvious gentility and their flattery of the young Middletons.

…

…

It being winter, many of the principal families of the area were in London or other cities for the season; those that remained took it in turn to visit when the weather allowed for evenings of merriment to drive away the winter's dark chill. As the Dashwoods were in mourning, they could not partake of such entertainment, nor did they wish to. But even the voracious hospitality of the Middletons could not fill every night with guests, and, when it was merely a family party, the carriage was often sent for the Dashwoods.

The food was excellent, but the conversation was insipid; Sir John had little conversation besides sporting events and recounting parlor games from previous parties, and Lady Middleton had none beyond fashion and her children.

Marianne, in particular, was disappointed, because she devoured the newspapers Sir John sent down every day. She had opinions on everything she read, for it was her largest window into the world outside the small rural communities she had been brought up in. But Sir John only glanced at the headlines and the first paragraph or two of each story, and Lady Middleton read only the society columns, which Marianne had little interest in.

Still, the evenings with the Middletons were at least a distraction and a change from the monotony of their daily lives.

…

…

"Do you think it will ever stop raining?" Margaret said drearily as she stared out the window one afternoon. She had done her sums and her French and her embroidery, mended the stockings she had torn the day before, practiced her scales, and read a chapter of the Bible and a chapter of Mr. Equiano's autobiography. In between all of that, she had played with her dolls, run up and down the stairs, and teased her older sisters. In short, she had done everything that a young girl might do indoors.

"Yes, of course it will," Elinor said shortly, not looking up from the worn patch she was darning. "It only feels like the rain is eternal." She might have been more comforting, if Margaret had not crashed into her and almost knocked her down earlier in the day. Elinor was a thoughtful young woman of good principles, sense, and compassion; but she was also tired of the rain. They all were. And lonely, and sad. She looked up at her sister, and noticed the carved wooden horse clutched in her hand. Elinor looked back down at her mending. It was the last present their father had given Margaret.

"I have cried until I have no more tears left," Marianne said. She was sitting at the desk writing something, but her pen had not moved in some time. "I think the sky is crying for us. Or perhaps this is merely the normal weather for this country, and we shall be trapped indoors until we drown."

"Rain, winter, and tears only seem to last forever," Elinor said. "I am sure that when the weather clears, and our grief is lessened, and we have made new friends, you will feel better."

Margaret sighed loudly. "Yes, but when will that be?"

"Spring has already begun, Margaret," their mother said. "Elinor is right. A little patience is all that is required, though I know it is hard." Mrs. Dashwood, of course, would still be in mourning for another six months at least; the girls, however, would be free to accept all Sir John's invitations by the time the weather had fully turned, and they badly needed the change. It had been a hard winter for all of them.

"What do you think of Sir John's friend, Colonel Brandon?" Elinor asked. He had been staying with the Middletons in the hopes of going shooting with Sir John, but the same weather that discouraged Margaret had prevented all hope of outdoor sports.

"He's not as wearing as Sir John can be," Marianne said. "I did appreciate that he didn't tease any of us even once. But he is very old and too quiet. No opinions on Blake or Goethe or Cowper, and no opinions on Sancho or Wilberforce, either."

"That's not fair, Marianne," Elinor said. "He approves of abolition; he is merely not very involved in it."

"Or knowledgeable about it," Marianne said. "And he is old."

Mrs. Dashwood laughed. "He is younger than I, my dear. And—" her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her dear late husband "—he is about the same age as your father was when we were married. No, I would not call him old."

"How old were you?" Margaret asked. To her, all people over fifteen were adults and anyone over twenty was positively ancient.

"I was three-and-twenty," Mrs. Dashwood said. "But four years older than your sister Elinor. He was very handsome, in a solid sort of way. Not dashing, but everything that was courteous and genteel. I was surprised when he sat across from me at a card party; half the unmarried ladies there would have been thrilled by the attention, and I was not considered eligible by most in attendance. But we played well together, and he came to call the next day, because of it." She had told this story many times before, but the dreary day seemed made for stories and the girls loved to hear about their father, and so she continued on.

…

…

Much to Margaret's surprise and joy, the weather did turn, and spring did come. After such a wet and dirty winter, spring seemed bursting with life and possibility. Sir John sponsored parties and picnics and musical evenings and card parties and dinners and any other entertainment he could dream up, as families returned to their estates for the spring planting, and the Dashwoods were invited to all of them. Mrs. Dashwood as chaperone, only, for she was still in mourning; but the Miss Dashwoods' time in black had passed with the dreary winter.

It was at one such event—a garden party where lawn bowls had been interrupted by a sudden shower—that they made the acquaintance of a young gentleman of uncommon handsomeness named Willoughby. In addition to a perfectly formed figure and face, Mr. Willoughby possessed style, elegance, taste, and wit in abundance. With outdoor games postponed, he volunteered to read to the assembled party instead. A volume of Shakespeare was produced, and he read Puck's monologue from Act III in such a way that the whole company roared with laughter. Much encouraged, he then turned to Jacques' monologue from As You Like It, and read it with pathos that brought a tear to many an eye, including Mrs. Dashwood.

"Encore, Encore!" cried Sir John when he had finished.

"Nay, I cannot be the whole day's entertainment," said Willoughby. "Surely there is someone else among our company who might oblige us with a reading?"

"I believe Miss Marianne is the most accomplished reader among us," Lady Middleton said.

So summoned, Marianne stood and took the book, and gave two monologues, glowing with pride and curtseying after each one. Then the book was handed around and various ladies and gentlemen tried their hands, after which Willoughby and Marianne were called on by popular acclaim to do a scene together; they chose the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, passing the book back and forth between them.

They might have done another scene, but the sun came out and the group tramped out of doors to see if the game might be salvageable. It was; but several of the ladies decided to sit out for fear of damp hems. Marianne, wearing a dark dress unlikely to stain, declared herself not so feeble, and returned to the field.

"Mr. Willoughby is very well-spoken," said Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Middleton.

"Oh! Yes, he is a very great favorite with everyone here," Lady Middleton said. "We do not see him often; his estate is in Somersetshire. He comes here every year to visit his aunt at Allenham Court, which he is to inherit." She proceeded with a description of his carriage and his style of dress, which proved nothing more than that he was a gentleman of taste and fashion, which Mrs. Dashwood could see for herself.

When another lady came to speak with Lady Middleton, Mrs. Dashwood excused herself and went to join a group of ladies seated on benches that the servants had brought back out for them. She was not quite friends with any of them; friendly acquaintances, perhaps; but their conversation would be livelier than any with Lady Middleton.

And it offered an excellent spot to watch the game. Marianne played with great spirit, matched only by Mr. Willoughby, such that the eye was constantly drawn to them both. He was watching Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood noted, and spoke to her more often than the game required. They made a very pleasing couple, Mrs. Dashwood thought, as she had thought when they read together; but, much though her romantic heart might wish to swell in fancy, she knew all too well that gentlemen were even more fickle with Negresses (even gently-born ones) than with their fairer counterparts.

And when, once home, Marianne was filled with fire at their new acquaintance's taste and genius, Mrs. Dashwood smiled and said nothing. If he proved uninterested or unworthy, they would discover it in due time; but for now, she would not dampen Marianne's spirits for all the world. Their spirits had been so low, since Mr. Dashwood's death; it was good to see Marianne smile.

Perhaps it would be well. She remembered the joy of her own courtship with Mr. Dashwood, and wished Marianne all the love in the world.

…

…

In addition to the purely social events the Middletons hosted and escorted them to, the Dashwoods began holding occasional meetings to discuss the question of slavery, and what might be done about it. Sir John rarely attended but always spoke well of them to others, and offered the use of his drawing room, for the parlor at Barton Cottage was too small to host such a gathering comfortably. They had, if nothing else, succeeded in introducing the Autobiography of Olaudah Equiano to the attention of their neighbors; but the level of ignorance was disheartening to Marianne in particular.

"'Tis no worse than Sussex was, when we moved," Mrs. Dashwood said philosophically after one such meeting as Sir John's carriage carried them home. "And we could not host meetings such as these without offending your great-uncle. Here, we have the support of Sir John, and at the very least his partisanship has made our detractors quieter than they otherwise would have been."

"I do not wish for people to be silent merely because they fear exclusion from Sir John's hunting parties and musical evenings!" Marianne cried. "I wish for them to know the evil in the world, and act to change it!"

"So do we all, Marianne," said her sister, linking arms with her. "But many do not want to know, or to act, and we cannot compel them to; and I personally prefer their silence to their open hostility."

"Is there any whose silence particularly distresses you?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

"No," Marianne said. "Only, Willoughby said he would be at the meeting tonight, but was not. He was so passionate on the subject when he came to call, but then he did not show."

"Perhaps he had forgotten another engagement?" Elinor said.

"What other engagement could be half so important as our meeting?" Marianne cried. "What are hunting parties and morning calls to the suffering of so many?"

To this Elinor had no answer. Unlike her sister, she appreciated the ways in which the mechanisms of society might be used for their cause, and she understood that one cannot devote every waking breath to any cause, however worthy. But to profess support in the privacy of their sitting room, and then avoid the meeting where that support might have to be publicly given, was a painfully familiar pattern. Mr. Willoughby might indeed have a good reason for his absence from a promised engagement, but he would have to present his defense himself. Elinor would not do it for him.

"I thought Colonel Brandon had an interesting perspective," she said, changing the subject.

"Do not speak to me of the Colonel!" said Marianne. "His maunderings on the subject of British actions in India were only a distraction. There are no Negroes in India!"

"I found it quite pertinent," Mrs. Dashwood said. "We should not care only for the plight of our own people. The hand behind the suffering of our enslaved brothers and sisters is the same as the hand behind the subjugation and suffering of India. A desire for profit at any cost, combined with a willingness to see anyone not English as a mere brute: this is the root of the problem."

At this Marianne sat back, with a look of surprise on her face. Here was a perspective she had not considered, so caught up was she in her passion at the plight of those who shared her ancestry. But the fundamental logic of it was plain to her, once her mother laid it out.

By the next day, she was sufficiently convinced of it to condemn herself as a heartless wretch for never having thought of it before, and the actions of the British East India Company (and the British Army in India) were added to the list of things for which Marianne scanned the newspaper daily.

…

…

Willoughby presented himself mere days after the meeting with a pretty bouquet of flowers for Mrs. Dashwood and an account of his aunt's controlling nature and dislike of abolition.

"I am not her only relation, after all," Willoughby said, with a self-deprecating smile. "Though I am the only one who comes to visit her regularly, she might write me out and give Allenham and her fortune to a more distant cousin. She's threatened it before, and I do believe she'd do it if I gave her cause—and she would consider attending an anti-slavery meeting to be cause indeed."

"But you have Combe Magna, yours with no restrictions," Marianne insisted. "You have all the provision you need; why should her money be worth sacrificing your dignity and your principles?"

"Combe Magna is worth but seven hundred pounds a year," Willoughby said. "Enough to raise a family on, to be sure, but … not well. Not if there are many children to be provided for."

Marianne twitched and sat up straighter at the implication. Eleanor looked up from her sewing and caught her mother's eye across the room. Unmarried gentlemen did not speak of raising children unless they were contemplating matrimony. It was not a declaration of intention, but it raised the possibility that such a declaration might be forthcoming.

"And, of course, political and legal causes work much better when there are adequate funds," Willoughby went on.

Marianne was not fully convinced, but by the end of the interview she was at least no longer angry at him, and Willoughby went away with great hope of being admitted again to her favor within a very short time.

"Do you think it right, to feign beliefs you do not have, out of a desire for wealth?" Marianne asked, once he had left.

"I think it depends on a great many factors," Mrs. Dashwood said. "For example, if one has no other prospects, that is different than if one already has a comfortable security. And then one must consider how much one must feign. When we were waiting for your father to inherit Norland, we did not host antislavery meetings; your uncle was aware that we held those views, but we did not speak of them in front of him. And we had enough to live on, without your uncle's money, as long as your father lived; what we did not have was enough to support myself and you girls after your father's death. If your father had lived longer, we should have profited a great deal by our silence. As it was, in the end we gained little for it."

"I think it also matters how long the silence must be expected to continue," Eleanor said thoughtfully, "and whether mere silence is enough, or whether falsehoods are required. It is one thing to avoid infuriating an elderly, sick person who will not likely live many years. It would be quite another to say things one does not mean, and keep on saying them, over the course of many years."

"So, then, you both think Willoughby right in his silence?" Marianne demanded.

Mrs. Dashwood sighed. "I think it is a complicated situation, to which there are no good answers, and I do not know enough of the specifics—or the personalities involved—to judge his decisions."

This Marianne found quite unsatisfactory; she wanted clear answers, with heroes and villains; and if Willoughby's aunt Mrs. Smith was a veritable dragon of a villain, Willoughby himself had not managed to redeem himself enough in her eyes to seem a hero. Marianne had been too young to really be aware of the compromises her parents had made in pursuit of Norland Park, and she did not like hearing of them now; but while her father might be slightly tarnished in her memory by his willingness to descend to stratagems to ensure their fortune, his willingness to marry Mrs. Dashwood despite all the social and financial repercussions had distinguished him as the great romantic hero by which all others must be measured. Willoughby had made no such act of love and sacrifice, which Marianne felt very keenly. What were all the flowers and poetry readings in the world, without actions to back them up?

She did not know what to think of Willoughby, or what to feel; her heart pulled her in two directions at once. Certainly, in private, he was everything she could have wished; but she saw the gap between private assurances and public actions, and could not reconcile them.

…

…

Sir John's mother-in-law was due to arrive for a long visit to her daughter, and the Dashwoods were apprehensive about the change in their situation. While they had no doubts as to Sir John's steadfast support, his wife was another matter; and should her mother prove hostile to their race, their life here at Barton Cottage could be made a great deal less comfortable.

Happily, their fears proved largely unfounded in this instance. Mrs. Jennings was a merry, fat, elderly woman who loved jokes and, though rather vulgar, her teasing was dedicated to finding out whether they had left their hearts behind them in Sussex, or begun a flirtation here in Devonshire. Upon hearing from her son-in-law that Miss Marianne had captured the heart of Mr. Willoughby, she dedicated several minutes to asking teasing questions about parlor games they had played, and how frequently he called upon them at Barton Cottage.

Sensitive as she was, this common-place raillery would have vexed Marianne under the best of circumstances, but her confused feelings made it especially painful. Her face warmed, she stammered out answers; the complexity of her feelings and thoughts on the matter were such that she could only have spoken coherently of them to someone with far greater patience and tact than Mrs. Jennings possessed, even if she had trusted that lady with her confidences, which she emphatically did not.

After what seemed an eternity (but was only a few minutes), Mrs. Jennings turned her attention to Miss Dashwood, for, she said, there must surely be something there to ferret out, for what young lady would leave her sister all the lovers and have none for herself? "And it shall be all the easier," said Mrs. Jennings, "for unlike your sister, I shall see very easily when you blush." This was said as if it were a joke, and indeed it might be meant with no slight at all to Marianne, but still it made them wary.

But her attentions to Elinor were no more or less good-natured than those to Marianne had been, and when no attachments (or rumors of attachments) were pried out of her, Mrs. Jennings turned to speculating what sort of things she might be looking for in a husband. "For, you see, I take good pleasure in finding husbands for all the young ladies I know," she said. "Never fear! I do always succeed in the end, though some cases," her eye fell upon Colonel Brandon, "are harder than others."

After dinner, Marianne was called upon to sing for their small party, and then there was conversation until it was time for the carriage to be called for the Dashwood ladies.

Mrs. Jennings kept a sharp eye on Colonel Brandon throughout the evening. She had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; he was rich, kind, gentle, and dependable, and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl. Brandon listened attentively to Miss Marianne's performance, but Mrs. Jennings suspected no attachment there; he was courteous, and the singing was very good, but Miss Marianne was not pretty enough for such a catch, and anyway she already had a lover.

Mrs. Jennings saw no particular attentions to the elder and fairer sister either, and resolved to look further afield for her. To catch the master of an estate such as Delaford was too high to aim for a girl with such antecedents, unless the man in question was particularly smitten; but there were many men of less fortune who would do quite well for her.

…

…

The social whirl of Barton Park increased slightly further with Mrs. Jennings present, which Eleanor and Marianne thought quite a feat. But neither of them minded. Quite apart from the entertainment such lively gatherings provided, they were a respite from the teasing attentions of Mrs. Jennings. That lady must always have some young person about whose attentions and intentions she might make jokes about, and in a small family party, she made much of Marianne's conquest of Willoughby, and inquired minutely of Elinor's opinion of any gentleman who had crossed her path. But in a larger gathering, Mrs. Jennings turned her attentions to those she considered more eligible. The two Miss Dashwoods were not snubbed, but neither were they the center of attention.

And so, spring passed into summer. There were garden parties, and card parties, and picnics, and dinners, and musical evenings, and although nothing quite so formal as a ball took place the tables were frequently pushed back to allow for dancing, should anyone call for it.

At a garden party, Elinor was exchanging pleasantries with another young lady when Mrs. Jennings caught her eye.

"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings said once Elinor had presented herself. "Where has your sister got herself off to, do you know?"

"I do not, ma'am," Elinor said. She had seen Marianne return to the house some minutes earlier; but she might have come out again, and even if she were still within doors, Elinor did not know where in the house she might be. But wherever she was, she would not want Mrs. Jennings seeking her out.

"It seems she hasn't caught Mr. Willoughby after all," Mrs. Jennings said, "for I have just heard from Mrs. Clutterbuck that he is going back to Combe Magna directly after the party. Unless he has asked for her hand?"

"He has not," Elinor said. Marianne liked him, but was not sure of her own liking; his continued absences from their meetings was painful to her, and there had been many conversations at the cottage about his character. If he had declared himself, Marianne would not have concealed it.

"Well, I haven't seen him about for some minutes either, so perhaps he has pulled her aside for a private interview. Or perhaps his absence will be a short one and he'll be back soon to resume his courtship?" Mrs. Jennings shook her head. "But I shouldn't wonder if we don't see him again until next year. A flirtation is one thing, but I doubt her charms are enough to lure him into matrimony. A pity she takes after her mother in looks. Ah, well, we shall have to turn our thoughts to your prospects, my dear Miss Dashwood! The elder—and fairer—sister should by rights go first, and you are fully twice as beautiful as she is, so we should find you someone soon enough."

Elinor bore this speech with as much grace as she could, and endured some few minutes of talk before another girl came near enough for Mrs. Jennings to call out a teasing remark, and Elinor could escape without notice.

Leaving the party behind her, Elinor headed indoors. Marianne would want to hear this news, so that she could be prepared for the whispers that would follow. Willoughby's preference for Marianne had not been subtle.

The drawing rooms were empty, as were the sitting room and the billiard room and the dining room. But there were voices coming from the library, a room little used by the Middletons despite its handsome proportions and good light. Elinor stepped close and listened to see if Marianne was there, or if she should continue her search.

"Let go of me!"

"Marianne, be reasonable—!"

Elinor flung open the door. Marianne and Willoughby were standing in the middle of the library; Willoughby had a hand around her arm and Marianne was twisting it to try and break his hold.

"Mister Willoughby, what are you doing?" Elinor demanded.

"I was taking leave of your sister, but she has taken leave of her senses," Willoughby said, with a disdainful glance.

"I? I? You are the one who—" Marianne broke off, jaw working.

"You cannot possibly have thought—"

"Let go of me!"

"What is the meaning of this, Willoughby?"

Elinor turned to find Colonel Brandon standing behind her, staring at the tableau with a thunderous expression.

"Ow!"

She turned back to see Willoughby hopping on one foot, having let go of Marianne. Marianne had backed up several steps and was regarding him warily.

Willoughby called Marianne a shocking name.

"Me?" Marianne said incredulously. "You are the one who wanted—" she broke off, hand over her mouth. Eleanor came close and wrapped her arms around her sister.

Brandon darted forward to confront Willoughby, seeming to loom over him despite being two inches shorter. "Apologize to the lady." His voice was low and rough.

"Me? But you saw what she did," Willoughby said. He'd stopped hopping but was not standing straight; Marianne must have stamped on his foot, hard.

"Yes," Brandon said coolly, "and I saw what you did to deserve it. Apologize, and leave quietly, or I shall tell Sir John that you were harassing his dear cousin, and you shall never be welcome at Barton again."

Willoughby's mouth worked silently, but after a short while he straightened and bowed minutely in Marianne's general direction. "I apologize for having troubled you."

Brandon cleared his throat meaningfully.

"And for calling you a rude name," Willoughby said.

Marianne gave the slightest of nods.

Willoughby stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Marianne, are you alright?" Elinor asked.

Marianne collapsed into tears, which was, if nothing else, a reassuringly normal response to a distressing event. Elinor held her closer and made the sort of soothing noises that were usually appropriate. She led her sister over to a sofa and Marianne sagged gratefully onto it, clinging to Elinor as she did so.

"Did he hurt you, Miss Marianne?" Brandon asked, kneeling before them. "Was there a more serious insult given?"

"He—" she gulped "he said—that is, he wanted me to—I thought he loved me, but he only wanted me to—and when I wouldn't kiss him back, when I demanded that he stop, he said no gentleman would ever marry me and he knew my race was passionate, so what was the harm?"

Elinor felt heat rush to her face. If Willoughby were standing before her now, she could gladly run him through with a poker from the fireplace. "Vile," she said. "How awful! Oh, Marianne, I am sorry."

Brandon stood. "A villain in truth," he said. "He must answer for it."

Elinor grabbed his hand before he could leave. "No! Whatever he deserves, surely my sister's good name is more important still."

"I beg your pardon?" Brandon said.

"If you call him out, it will be known," Elinor said. "There will be talk. Marianne has done nothing wrong, but she will be blamed. Willoughby is well-known and well-liked, with one estate already and the prospect of inheriting another. At best, they will assume Marianne is a flirt who led him on. At worst…."

"I understand," Brandon said grimly. "Is that also your wish, Miss Marianne?"

"It is!" Marianne cried. "Oh, I do not want to have to see or think of him ever again, and when he is gone I want people to forget I ever looked at him!"

"I will do as you ask," Brandon said. "But if he gives you any more trouble, please do not hesitate to call on my services. I know how to handle men of his type."

"Do you think it likely?" Marianne asked. Elinor squeezed her hand.

"No." Brandon said. "Willoughby is a coward and a braggart. He will not like to think on how he was made to look a fool, and he will not wish to chance it again." He paused. "If he should make a nuisance of himself again, instead of stamping on his foot, you should kick him in the—that is, at the juncture of his thighs."

"Will that hurt him more?" Marianne asked.

"Oh yes, much more," Brandon said. "Men are very sensitive there."

Elinor was pleased that Marianne seemed less distressed. No doubt there would be more tears at home, for such a distressing incident could not pass unnoticed. But there were immediate concerns of practicality to be addressed. "If we wish this to pass unnoticed, you will need to be as calm as possible when we rejoin the party."

Marianne protested that this could not be, and they must leave immediately, she could not face the party and Willoughby and Mrs. Jennings, and they must leave at once.

"We shall have to face Mrs. Jennings some time or other, we cannot escape her," Elinor said. "If we leave now, with your eyes red from crying, the talk for the next month at least will be about how Willoughby broke your heart. If you can manage to go out, head held high, and laugh and talk as usual, there will be very little for unkind people to remark upon."

At Marianne's look of horror, Elinor patted her hand. "If you cannot, of course we will go; but if there is any way you can, we should try."

"There is also Willoughby to consider," Brandon said diffidently. "Why should he be able to stay and enjoy the party, and you leave in distress?"

Marianne looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "He is the one who should feel shame. He is the one who behaved in a manner unbefitting a gentleman." She paused, biting her lip.

Elinor rubbed her sister's arm, letting her take whatever time she needed to decide.

"I should like to think of myself like the heroine of a novel," Marianne said, "able to bear up under any insult. I do not want to flee before Willoughby. I do not want to give him that much power over me. But I do not know if I can bear the company of the party at this time."

"Would it help to joke and cheer you up?" Brandon asked.

"Perhaps," Marianne said.

"Well, then, let us see what we can do," Brandon said. His lips quirked. "There are several stories from Sir John and my time in the army that would bring laughter to a man on his deathbed, but none of them are suitable for ladies' ears."

"Do tell them, Colonel," Marianne said. "I will promise not to be corrupted by them, and in any case, they will at least divert my mind from Willoughby, which is all I ask."

Brandon told three stories in quick succession. By the end of the first, Marianne was smiling. By the end of the third, she was laughing so hard she cried, and she declared herself ready to face the crowd.

Brandon bowed and took his leave with Marianne and Elinor's grateful thanks.

"Does it look very obvious I have been crying?" Marianne asked Elinor.

"No," Elinor said. "To one who knows you, perhaps; if mother were here, she would see it in an instant. But Mrs. Jennings is not so perceptive."

Thus reassured, Marianne took her arm, and out they went.

They left the house by a side door, so that they might come upon the party as if they had merely been strolling about the grounds instead of closeted inside on such a lovely day.

A game of Battledore and Shuttlecock was being arranged as they rejoined the main party, and Marianne immediately volunteered both herself and Elinor to play. If Marianne was not quite her usual self, the exuberance of the game gave her cover.

Elinor kept an eye out for Willoughby, but it seemed he had heeded Brandon's words and left, not merely Marianne's presence, but the party itself. Elinor played a few rounds, before leaving the field to the more athletic (or, at least, the more enthusiastic) players.

"Willoughby took his leave, you know," Mrs. Jennings said. "I looked for your sister so that she might say her good-byes, give him a chance to come up to scratch, but she was nowhere to be found, and he wouldn't wait. Has anyone told her he's gone, do you think?"

"I did," Elinor said.

"Well, then," Mrs. Jennings said. "Not terribly distraught, is she? I am glad she hasn't got her heart broken too badly, but then, there was never a real chance she might get him."

Elinor made an inconsequential reply, and excused herself to talk to someone else.

Marianne held herself together tolerably well for the rest of the afternoon. They were not the first to leave; but neither did they remain long after that point.

…

…

Marianne was out of sorts for several days after the encounter with Willoughby, but Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were both relieved that she did not seem deeply affected.

"Marianne feels everything so deeply," Mrs. Dashwood said, "but from your account it was a brief encounter, swiftly resolved. And she has the comfort of knowing she did exactly as she should."

"I think it is more the deception as to Willoughby's character that is likely to have long term effects," Elinor said.

Mrs. Dashwood agreed. "I would preserve her innocence for as long as possible, but the world is not a kind place. I hope that knowledge will not make her bitter."

Marianne was out in the garden with Margaret while this conversation took place. She drew near to the house and called in to them through the window. "Colonel Brandon is coming down the lane from Barton Park. He may be headed here."

"Oh! I am glad he is come, I have been wishing to give my heartfelt thanks," Mrs. Dashwood cried. She had already written him a note, and only strong arguments from Elinor had prevented her from going up to make her thanks in person. Mrs. Dashwood's serenity was greater than Marianne's, as befit a woman with two daughters grown. But it would not have been equal to placidity while thanking the man responsible for assisting her daughter in such a difficult hour, and after all Marianne's bravery on the day of the garden party, alerting Mrs. Jennings to something worthy of gossip now would be insupportable.

By the time the colonel reached the house, Mrs. Dashwood was seated in the parlor with Elinor and Marianne flanking her, and tea set out ready to pour. Margaret had been sent off to play, as the weather was fine and the coming interview might touch on subjects too delicate for young ears. (Margaret had been told the outline of the incident with Willoughby, but not the details.)

Upon his entrance, Colonel Brandon was greeted with effusive praise and thanks from the ladies of the house, which he received awkwardly. He enquired after Marianne's health, and was pleased to hear she was in tolerably good spirits. He announced that he was taking his leave, and would be returning to Delaford the next day, and thus would be absent from their meetings for a time. (Though, as he was a frequent visitor to Barton Park, this parting was not likely to be of long duration.) His imminent departure was greeted with dismay, and a discussion of his obligations at his own estate and elsewhere occupied the next several minutes of the call.

But the unhappy events of a few days previous were not far from any of their thoughts, and soon they had circled back to it.

"I do wonder," Marianne said, "if any of it were my fault."

"Not at all, Miss Marianne," Brandon said. "You acted entirely as you ought to have done."

Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood agreed.

"Not then," Marianne said. "Earlier in our acquaintance. If I gave him some sign that I might be open to such a liaison? It was quite unintentional, if so, but I cannot think where he might have formed that opinion of me."

Mrs. Dashwood shook her head. "No, my dear, no. You did nothing wrong. You gave him no cause to think you willing for anything other than a respectable courtship. Some men—not all, my dear, but sadly too many!—require no encouragement from the object of their lusts. Their own thoughts give them all the support they require to draw any conclusion that supports their wishes. And, sadly, this is even more true when the woman in question is a Negress. Of course a young lady should always take care to act with propriety, but your actions cannot change a man's character." Mrs. Dashwoods own experiences in her youth had taught her that respectability was a flimsy shield indeed for one of their race, but it was one of the few they had; it should not be relied upon, but neither should it be neglected, and she had tried to instill this knowledge in her daughters as best she could.

"Your fondness for Willoughby was apparent, but no more apparent than any other young lady with an attachment might be," Brandon said. "If he saw something lascivious in it, that is entirely due to his own character and no reflection on yours. You are a compassionate, honest, forthright person, Miss Marianne, and I would be heartily sorry if any undeserved self-reproach were to blight that."

"Thank you, Colonel," Marianne said. "Your honesty and integrity have been of great comfort to me of late." He had been a rock of support for her in a difficult time, and she would not forget it. Here was one who had immediately moved to help her in her greatest need, who had listened to her wishes even when they contradicted his own. If he did not look like the great heroes of literature, Marianne valued his character all the more for it.

He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Marianne, I hope I have been of service. Equally, I hope you will not need such services again. I have had a discreet word with Sir John. Willoughby will not be welcome at Barton Park in the future."

"Will excluding him stir gossip?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

Brandon shrugged. "It is possible, but if so, I doubt it will be linked to any here. Willoughby only comes to visit his aunt once a year; no one will think anything of it if we see him no more until next summer, and by then memories of his having been partial to Miss Marianne will not be fresh in anyone's mind."

The conversation turned to lighter topics, then, and before long the Colonel went on his way. He left Barton Cottage that day with increased admiration for all the Dashwood ladies, but especially the one who had borne such hurt with such strength and resilience, Miss Marianne.

The next time Colonel Brandon visited Barton Park, his visible preference for Marianne was but little more than it had ever been, for he was not a demonstrative man and he had always appreciated her vivacity. She, on the other hand, was markedly more attentive to him, asking him to turn pages when she played the piano and partnering him at cards whenever the opportunity allowed. There was some talk, but as Mrs. Jennings had gone to visit her other daughter, it was not enough to seriously annoy either Marianne or Brandon.

Before many more months had passed, he asked, and was granted, permission to court her formally; and when at last he asked her to marry him, Marianne was delighted to say yes, for her heart had long since belonged whole-heartedly to him.

"Well, Miss Marianne has done very well for herself, I dare say," Mrs. Jennings told Elinor when next she came to visit. "All those years I have been trying to lure the good Colonel into picking this girl or that one, and in the end he chooses … well. We shall have to see about finding a husband for you next, my dear. You should have your new brother take you to London, for I know he has a house there."

"I am sure they will," Elinor said, for such a scheme had already been discussed, though no definite plan had been settled on.

The ladies of Barton Cottage went often to visit Marianne and the Colonel at Delaford, and when next the Colonel went to London, his wife and her relations went with him. But when Elinor married, it was not to a gentleman of an estate or a gentleman of fashion in London, but a quiet country solicitor who practiced not far from Delaford and was pleased to call her mother his own.

Marianne and Elinor were both pleased with their husbands, and with being settled so close together. Once Margaret was married (to a merchant who lived in London), Mrs. Dashwood came to live at Delaford in the dower house there, and they were all very happy.

End notes:

I had a lot of fun figuring out what  would change and what would stay the same. For example, can you imagine  Fanny Dashwood's reaction to being related to Black people? That  relationship would be much worse than canon. And also, Henry Dashwood's  uncle would probably be less kind to his second family, so no legacy  there, and no chance of inheriting the estate. But also, because of that  Henry Dashwood would be less likely to just trust his son's bare word,  so they might actually get some money instead of meaningless promises.  And because Mrs. Dashwood and the girls wouldn't stay after John  inherits the estate, Elinor wouldn't meet Edward Ferrars and fall in  love.

Willoughby would be less interested in marriage and more interested in a tumble.

Marianne's passion would be at least partly directed towards racial justice, and not just romanticism.

Mrs.  Jennings would pay less attention to them and focus more on the other girls, so Colonel Brandon's interest could slip in without being   remarked upon.

All sorts of little things like that!

[strelles-universe]

Pre Story Allegiances - WindClan

Leader: Tallstar [Former Runner]: A short furred black and white tom with a long tail, long legs and a narrow muzzle. Tallstar is a fair and kind leader who would like to avoid battle and keep his clan healthy.

Deputy: Deadfoot [Former Hunter (Tunneler)]: A small-fully black tom with a twisted front left paw with pale green eyes and a long tail. Deadfoot can walk on his left paw but it hurts and he only does so when he really must.

Diplomat: Grasswhisker [Former Guard]: A pale brown long whiskered molly with an even longer tail and orange eyes.

Medic: Barkface [Healer]: A short furred brown tom with a naturally bobbed tail and yellow eyes.

---

Warriors

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Volespring (Runner): A dusky brown tom with short fur, short whiskers and a long tail. Yellow eyed and short-whiskered, Volespring used to be a Tunneler but switched to being a Runner.

Tornear (Guard): A dark gray tabby tom with yellow eyes and one missing ear. He has white front paws. His stripes are black and thin laced close together like an interlocking brambles. Tornear is bulkier than the average WindClan cat.

Milkblossom (Runner): A predominantly cream, short furred tom with brown legs, brown ears and a brown tipped tail. Milkfur has yellow eyes and unusually sharp upper canine teeth that stick out from his mouth and pink pads. Like most Runners, his legs are long and lanky.

Sunwhisker (Tunneler): A short furred, pale gold tabby tom with pale green eyes, brown paw pads and a brown nose. His legs are short and powerful. He’s also constantly smeared with dirt.

Smokepelt (Tunneler): A short pelted gray molly whose fur is darker along her spine and gets lighter going down her body. Her underside is silvery gray and thinner than the rest of her body.

Redtooth (Guard): A russet pelted tabby tom with longer, thinner legs than the average Guard and seems more suited to be a Runner. His pelt is coated with thin and braided together sharp  yellow eyes.

Cottoncurl (Escort): A mostly white furred molly with an unusual curly coat of fur. Her legs, tail and face are all gray with a pink nose and pink paw pads.

Haresprint (Escort): A short furred tan tom with blue eyes and hindlegs longer than his forelegs. He has four white socks and a white tipped tail.

Hornettongue (Guard): A pale tan-tabby with thin black stripes and intense orange eyes. Honettongue's stomach, paws and chest are all brighter than the rest of his pelt.

Mudclaw (Guard): A short and tangled furred mottled tabby tom with yellow eyes. Both of his ears are torn from various battles.

Onewhisker (Runner): A mostly pale brown tom with long gangly limbs and ears. Onewhisker’s eyes are yellow - all but one of his whiskers are short and close to his muzzle as if they’d been chewed off.

Tumblestrike (Guard): A deep brown spotted tom with amber eyes and long legs. Tumblestrike has long legs and a short tail and is known for being fairly clumsy. His whiskers are long and feathery.

---

Apprentices

---

Webpaw: A very dark gray tabby tom with sharp orange eyes and small paws. Webpaw’s toes have a layer of skin between them like an otter’s. Apprentice to Mudclaw.

Runningpaw: A light gray tabby molly with a white chest and paws. Her legs are very long and her eyes a pale yellow. Apprentice to Tornear.

Whitepaw: A small all white molly with light green eyes and pointed ears. Apprentice to Onewhisker.

Heronpaw: A medium furred molly with small ears and brilliant yellow eyes with pink paw pads and feathery whiskers. Apprentice to Ashfoot.

Wagtailpaw: A mostly pale, cream furred tom with the same sharp eyes as her brother. Apprentice to Smokepelt.

Cranepaw: A light gray mackerel tabby molly with a white chest and paws. Her legs are very long and her eyes a pale yellow. Cranepaw’s ears and paw pads are all a pale gray color.

---

Monarchs

---

Morningflower (Escort): A long furred predominantly cream tortoiseshell molly with amber eyes. Her legs and ears are the darkest parts of her body, but her paws are white. Morningflower’s whiskers are long and feathery. Mate to Cloudrunner and nursing his kit, Gorsekit

Ashfoot (Runner): A short furred and long-legged molly with blue eyes. Her coat is gray, and her coat is speckled with darker gray. Nursing Weevilkit

Meadowslip (Head Sitter): A pale gray short furred molly with orange eyes. Meadowslip has the round, soft features of her mother and a charming smile. Her whiskers are long and she has a darker mantle along her back. If you look closely, you can find small flecks of yellow and red nearly obscured by the rest of her pelt.

---

Elders

---

Crowfur (Lecturer): A short patchy furred black tom with green eyes and a silvery muzzle

Whiteberry (Retiree): A small, short furred completely white tom with blue eyes.

Eagletooth (Retiree): A short furred thick pelted brown tabby tom with amber eyes with white back paws.

Ryestalk (Lecturer): A dark gray tabby molly with kit soft fur and amber eyes.

Redclaw (Lecturer): A small dark ginger tabby tom with interesting brown stripes and pale green eyes.

[twistedtummies2]

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

----------------------------------------------------

Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for…um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ‘Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

 The End

[symphonic-scream]

Still thinking of the Zoo Au so,, have some general thoughts and things

The zoo uniform, let's talk about it. The main shirts with the zoo logo over the heart come in three lengths; full sleeve, short sleeve, and tank/Muscle. They come in primarily black, with special blue shirts for the Aquatic department, and a very light grey for the Arctic. Chloe, in the shop, has a polo version of the shirt to wear

The pants, which also come in shorts, are that kind of khaki/cargo hybrid, very durable, shades of tan and brown. Again, special dark blue for Aquatic and dark grey for arctic. The jackets are much in the same line of things, solid black in both wind breaker and a larger down jacket. There are little stripes, the colour based on their little department

Then there are the wetsuits. Dark blue with the zoo logo over the heart, little splashes of colour based on department. Only four keepers have wetsuits on hand; Ondine, Marc, Nino, and Alix. Alix only uses hers during the special Water Week, where she swims around with the water snakes in the big tank while the usual sea creatures are checked. Ondine and Marc's have blue splashes, Nino's has pale pink, and Alix's has black

There are a series of optional hats, big straw sun hats like the one Rose wears, as well as ball caps with the zoo logo like what Nino wears when he's not in the water with his otters

Every department has a special colour that is displayed on little bandanas they all wear in different ways. Some wear them as scarves, headbands, on their wrists, ankles, etc, and each colour matches up with the colour coded zoo map

Felines (Adrien) is bright green, Insects (Marinette) is red, Reptiles (Luka, Kagami, and Alix) is black, Small Mammals (Mylene and Nino) is pale pink, Petting and Farm (Rose and Juleka) is magenta, Primates (Ivan and Kim) is brown, Canines (Alya, Lila, and Sabrina) is orange, Arctic (Aurore) is white, Aquatic (Ondine and Marc) is blue, Bears (Caline) is purple, and Africa (Mendeleiev) is beige

[artsy-moonwalker]

Would you go into more details about your OC’s backstories?? They all look so cool 😆

I would love to! Thank you so much for this question :)

I'm going to focus distinctly on their childhood for these descriptions.

(mentions of drug addiciton, war, and violence)

Before I get into their backstories, it is important to address their environmental situation for context.

In their childhood, there was a civil war going on within America. This is a fictional war, of course, taking place in the early 2000s. Lenis, Everest, Flint, and Darryon all have their parts to play, and the war affects the four in different ways. While Lenis, Everest, and Flint are trying to escape war from their hometown and cross the country, Darryon and his siblings are attending shelters and risk their lives trying to help in any way they can.

So now that we have some context of their biggest childhood dilemma, let's get into the four individually. I won't go into complete detail to avoid any spoilers I'd like to share later on, but I will dive into their personalities and importance. I don't know how long this post will be, but I'll try to keep it as short as I can.

Lenis, 13 years old - tall, blond, a bit tan, a distinct scar on his left jaw, brown eyes

Lenis lives in a small town in Ohio. It's a bit run down, and his house is in bad shape. Considering his family is lower class, he doesn't have much money to spend, and he gets by with what he has. He lives with his two strict parents, him being an only child. But he takes care of a stray cat that lives in a forest behind his home that he calls "Otter." Whenever he tries to get the cat to stay in the house, his parents don't allow it. They can't exactly afford to take care of an animal, especially when they have to pay for his monthly medication and doctor visits.

He has a bone condition where his bones are incredibly fragile. He can't walk for very long, and running is even worse on him. It doesn't take a lot of force to break a bone either, and he's had to visit the doctor numerous times for fractures and snaps. So he has a medication that helps him not feel the aching as much, and allows him to walk or run for a time. He is in no way a strong person. His physical strength is constantly challenged and he feels like a burden to those he loves whenever they have to make sacrifices to just to help him. Especially when it comes to his best friend, Everest.

He is always being protected by Everest. He's taken multiple punches for him, he has to carry him sometimes, he can't do a lot of outdoor activities with him due to how easy it is to get injured. Lenis hates this. He hates being held back and he hates that his best friend has to be held back too because of it. He often tells Everest that he can do things himself, but that ends with him getting hurt more than not.

Lenis really is a grateful and humble soul. He tries to find the good in every situation no matter how painful it can be. This is especially apparent for his friends. If anything is troubling them, he will do what he can to get them through it. His optimism was a lot more prominent when he was a child, though. After escaping war, he finds it difficult to find the good in bad situations. But that doesn't mean he won't try to. It's safe to say the light in his eyes are faded as he grew older.

Everest, 13 years old - short, red head, blue eyes

This is Lenis' best friend, that's how everyone at his school titles him. Because he is constantly by his side more than he is alone. He knew Lenis since he was a toddler due to their mothers being friends, and ever since then, Lenis would nickname him "Evvy." Everest was always like a brother to him. He was incredibly protective and would often put Lenis before him.

Emotions and Everest don't exactly work well together. He tends to be reserved. Cold and bitter, even. If he's showing any extreme emotion, it tends to be anger or frustration. But he has a soft spot for Lenis. He's really one of the only people around him that can make him smile. Other than his mom, of course, who he lives with down the street from Lenis. His mother was pregnant before he left home; his father having left after a short and abrupt divorce. Little information was given to him about why that occurred. But his mom was happier, and that's what he wanted. He was never close with his father anyway.

Everest knows that his protectiveness over his friends, especially Lenis, can be a fault at times. He's gotten hurt many times due to it, both mentally and physically. And it isn't even because his friends are defenseless. He knows they can protect themselves if they need to, but he cannot help himself. He can't let them get hurt if he can stop it. He speaks bluntly, and his words may go over a few lines, or he may be prone to starting arguments, but he is incredibly selfless. He means well in every action he takes despite all of that.

Flint, 12 years old - short, black buzz cut, large dark eyes

Flint is a troubled child to say the least. He's callous towards others, he seems to only care about himself, and he isn't afraid to use force and threaten violence. He was Lenis' biggest bully after ending his friendship with him in a desperate fit to steal his pain medicine. Yes, Lenis and him were friends before that. And Flint truly wanted to continue the friendship, but he needed those pills. Lenis wasn't going to just give them to him. So he had to resort to violence, thus harming Lenis, and regretting it later.

It's easy to think that maybe Flint had a drug addiction, and stole Lenis' pills because of that. But that isn't the case at all. It wasn't because of an addiction, it was for a much deeper reason.

His younger sister, Penny, was facing a horrible sickness that was going to kill her if she didn't get the right treatments. His mother, being constantly intoxicated with alcohol, spent all of her money on things she didn't need. So she couldn't afford Penny to have any treatment at all. Flint, who has been basically raising his little sister, decided to take matters into his own hands, and find any possible way to make her feel better. Even if it meant harming Lenis for some pills.

Flint loves his sister more than anyone. Or loved, at least. She unfortunately didn't make it long after the pain medicine incident.

He wants to be good, he really does. But Flint is difficult to get along with. Especially with Everest. Much like the red head, Flint has a short temper, and they always fight with each other. But also like Everest, he has a soft spot for Lenis (he is sort of like the peacemaker of the group). Flint is incredibly emotional, and he always says what's on his mind, even if they're not so nice things. He feels regretful for a lot of things, though. He's trying to be a better person, and befriending Lenis again is something he is determined to do.

Darryon, 12 years old - Average height, black curly hair, dark eyes, has an intense burn scar along his face

Darryon lives in California with his siblings, and only his siblings. His parents died in a car crash while they were on their way home from a relative's house. The war was breaking out, and they were caught up in it at the worst possible time. Darryon's oldest brother was a soldier in the war, and his oldest sister was her younger siblings' guardian while he was gone. He has five siblings, not counting himself. Three girls and two boys. And he is very close with each of them, especially his oldest sister, Carlitha. She followed shelters, and he did the same. For a long time, she was concerned for his wellbeing considering just how dangerous a job like this was. They were always venturing in war zones and had to face many hardships. But even at a young age, Darryon wanted to be part of something bigger than himself. His parents' death were a big motivator in his efforts, and he found that helping others get through the war was an effective coping mechanism.

He didn't go through these hardships without consequences, though. On one occasion, a shelter he was attending got bombed, and he was caught in the flames, leaving the brutal burn marks you see on him now. These marks filled the mouths of the other kids at his school when he tried going back. But how can anyone go back to a normal life after that? Luckily he had a good group of friends to back him up during his good and hard nights.

He has a very distinct sense of humor, and finds it easy to entertain himself when no one is around. Some of the kids at his school think he's weird because of his behavior at times. He talks to himself out loud, he has a funny laugh, he has a few imaginary friends (one stays with him even in his adulthood), etc. But he embraces those things more than anything, and his friends don't care, so why should he?

When he isn't helping at a shelter, he finds time for himself or his family. For example, he's very fascinated with nature, and enjoys drawing what he sees around him in a sketchbook. He's pretty good at it too. What started as drawings of birds or gardens soon turned into drawings of burnt landscapes and debris of towns. He liked to draw the people he would meet in shelters as well, and he kept every drawing, not knowing if that person survived after they parted ways or not.

Darryon's story does collide with the others at some point. He and his sister go to great lengths around the country, of course they're going to befriend Lenis, Everest, and Flint at some point, and it will certainly stay that way.

If you read this far, thank you! I really hope this little introduction to them has intrigued you, and if not, that's okay too :) I want to share more about them later on, and I plan to write out chapters to get the full story soon as well. I've been working on this story for more than a year now in private, and I'm really having fun, so I'm excited to share it with you. Thank you again!