#the pigment is somewhat loose but very blue

[munkamouse]

interesting markings from the spine lining of a book I removed

[nattikay]

kaltxì ma frapo, it’s more infodump about my ocs time!

Today we have why I chose the Anurai clan for Se’txelu’s family. According to le internet, the Anurai clan are known for the astronomy and renowned craftsmanship, and they revere the mighty thanator.

...so...considering the thanator is baaaasically a big alien panther....they are basically a clan of artsy night-owls who love cats. hmmm yeah i like these guys lol. They do have somewhat of an edgy reputation as well due to most of them living in a “bone sanctuary”, but that’s ok cuz they turn the bones into pretty art haha

I thought this would be a good fit for Se’txelu mostly because of the thanator thing. Those of you who’ve been keeping up with these ocs from the beginning may recall that Se’txelu is loosely based on Toothless the Night Fury, and thanators give me Night Fury vibes with those big display plates on its head. Plus the astronomy thing; astronomy -> night sky -> nod to the “Night” Fury.

It also fits because their reputation for craftsmanship gives Neyntìsti, an artisan by trade, a reason for being interested in the clan. I never wanted Neyntìsti and Se’txelu to grow up in the same clan, as I didn't want them to meet until they were a bit older (childhood friends to lovers is a great trope and all, but not something I was vibing with for these particular characters), and seeing as they both stand out pretty obviously in a crowd I figured it would be nigh impossible for them to grow up in the same clan without knowing each other. That said, I still have yet to decide what Neyntìsti’s birth clan was.

I imagine that a group in Neyntìsti’s clan aimed to travel around to other clans, including the Anurai, to trade, and Neyntìsti was allowed to tag along due to her enthusiasm to find observe the skills of these renowned craftsmen firsthand. Of course, while there she met Se’txelu and they were instantly intrigued by each other, having never met a fellow not-blue person, etc. etc., and of course that was probably the biggest motivation for Neyntìsti to switch clans permanently...but she never would’ve visited the Anurai in the first place were it not for her interest in their art.

A bit of a tangent, but speaking of Neyntìsti and Se’txelu being not-blue...there are two ways one can wind up with melanism or leucism: randomly mutate it, or inherit it from a prior family member who randomly mutated it.

In Neyntìsti’s case it was random; she didn’t have any leucistic ancestors or clan members; something just happened to go whack in her genes when she was conceived. 

For Se’txelu, however, it was inherited. I just think would be cool, with their respect for the thanator and all, to have the melanism gene just kinda floating around in the Anurai clan. It’s both rare and recessive, so it doesn’t actually show up in anyone’s phenotype very often, but every few generations one does pop up. The most recent before Se’txelu was his great-grandfather, though he died some time before Se’txelu was born, so alas, they’ve never met (well, not physically at least; I suppose there’s always a possibility of meeting through eywa dot net but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

That said, because both traits are recessive and neither Se’txelu nor Neyntìsti are carriers of each others’ mutations, if they were to ever have children together, said children would present with standard blue pigmentation.

[gwaeddblaidd]

Feed the Wolf Chapter 4: Monster (Excerpt)

I return to the waking world with what feels like an electric shock coursing through my system. I would’ve jumped right out of my skin if it weren’t for the restraints keeping me tied in place. Wait, restraints? I look down. I find myself sitting upright in a chair, my arms pinned to its own by cold metal chains wrapped around my wrists and torso. I jerk my arms upwards, testing the hold of the chains, but find that they’re wrapped very securely. Whoever tied me up… This isn’t their first rodeo, that’s for sure. My mind races. What is this, a kidnapping? If so, who would even have a reason to kidnap me, let alone the nerve? It just doesn’t make sense. I’m no one at Nevermore, a loner amongst my own kind and just another werewolf to everyone else. My family is relatively unknown and I’ve never made any waves, so what the fuck is going on?

A deep breath calms my hundred-mile-an-hour stream of thoughts, the logical part of my brain demanding silence; wild speculation will get me nowhere. The last thing I remember is falling asleep next to Enid. Where is she, anyway? A procession of dark thoughts floods my mind and again the pragmatist in me is forced to put an end to the speculation, forcibly shutting up the voices of my anxiety, fear and dread. Such emotions serve a purpose, whether we care to admit it or not, but right now they’re a hindrance above anything else. Much like the fight-or-flight response, I need to direct my limited supply of energy to where it is most likely to be of use. The intrusive thoughts can wait until later; all I need right now are the facts. My senses are coming down from their heightened states due to the passing of the full moon, leaving my perception of the world somewhat hazy. But, if I focus, I know that they won’t fail me.

First: touch. When I wolfed out, I was naked, but now I find myself fully clothed, if a little messily. My jeans aren’t buttoned and my shoes feel loose, the laces presumably untied, and I’m not wearing the jacket I brought with me to our meeting. If I had to guess, I’d say that someone else must have dressed me, and they didn’t care enough to do the job especially well. Even without the jacket though, it’s clear that these are the clothes I was wearing before wolfing out – not the spares from my rucksack. I left those in Enid’s bathroom, meaning whoever dressed me must have had access to her and Wednesday’s room. Aside from clothes, I don’t feel any injuries – well, at least not any new ones – which suggests I wasn’t taken by force. Was my wolf lured here? Or, was I carried when I was asleep?

Second: sight. I find myself in a small room, the floor, walls and roof all made of old, greying wood. Daylight streams in from frosted, paned windows at the top of the large double doors ahead of me, painting the room in a slightly eerie blue light. The walls are plastered with drawings and paintings of all manner of media; ink, oil and charcoal chief among them. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a standing easel holding a large canvas, its contents covered by an old sheet plastered with brush marks and paint stains. The floor, too, is practically rainbow-coloured due to the blots of pigment painting the planks. Clearly, this is an art studio of sorts. The question then, is whose?

Third: taste. A somewhat distant metallic taste is present in my mouth – blood, but it isn’t mine and it isn’t Enid’s. In fact, the blood isn’t that of a human or any outcast breed; it’s that of an animal. That’s a relief, for sure, though I’d rather my mouth was clean lest it distract me from my surroundings. As I breathe in, the air is surprisingly fresh. I taste the morning dew on grass nearby, as well as hints of soil and fallen leaves compacted on the forest floor. So, we’re out in the woods, then? Knowing that doesn’t help all that much, though; Jericho and Nevermore both are surrounded by thick swathes of woodland on all sides, so I could be just about anywhere within a several mile radius of the town.

Fourth: smell. Art supplies dominate the palate of the room, the air thick with the scent of paints, chalk and other artsy stuff that I can’t pick out by smell alone. Slightly less prominent is the scent of flowers, spices and minerals; whoever owns this place must dabble in the mixing of their own pigments. More subtle still is the smell of mould and slightly rotted wood. Although the room isn’t clean, it is tidy for the most part, but it seems the owner has failed to address such structural issues as rotting support beams in the ceiling. If I needed any further confirmation that the room is its own free-standing structure, mould and rot in the rafters – say, due to a leaky roof – is more than enough.

Fifth and final: hearing. The room is silent. The area outside the room is silent. As far as I can tell, nothing but silence exists for miles. Either we’re in the middle of nowhere, my estimate for the time of day was off, or both. If we are in the woods as I suspect, though, why can I hear no signs of wildlife? Even if most woodland animals, prey and predator both, had fled the area due to my scent, I would still expect to hear the morning chatter of birdsong. Birds have never really avoided me like mammals do, and I can’t help but wonder what would have caused their vacation. As I shut my eyes and hold my breath, straining my ears to pick up on the slightest sign of life, I hear it. It’s not especially significant, but I can hear someone, or something, breathing. The breaths are shallow but measured, coming from some distance beyond the door in front of me.

I fight the urge to call out for help. If it’s an animal, there’s not much point; if it’s a person, there’s a decent chance they’re responsible for my current predicament. Even if the breathing does belong to my kidnapper, does remaining silent help me at all? Is it better to let them know that I’m awake so that we can move on to the torture, murder or whatever else they have planned? I consider what I know so far. I’m chained to a chair in what I can best describe as a shed converted to an art studio, and so far as I can tell there’s nothing I can really do to escape. My wolf is sound asleep, having tired itself out during the full moon, so I can’t rely on its strength to aid me. The shed is somewhere out in the wilderness, and it appears to be mid-to-early morning based on the colour of the light and the smell of dew outside. The only living beings in the vicinity are myself and whatever’s breathing outside, a deathly silence having fallen upon our surroundings. So, what do I do? What can I do?

Footsteps. They’re so very quiet and distant, but the sound of dried leaves and twigs crunching underfoot is unmistakable. The falling of feet comes closer, the breathing growing louder in tandem, and I realise that my solitude isn’t going to last much longer. I count the steps as the distance between us closes. Ten steps. Fifteen steps. As the eighteenth footstep graces my ears, a shadow comes into view through the window – it’s definitely a person. I hear the sound of metal against metal – perhaps a key entering a padlock – followed by the fumbling of a chain that soon drops to the ground with a hollow thud. A hand grips the door handle and the wood begins to creak. I brace myself for the worst. The door opens outwards…

---

Title: Feed the Wolf

Fandom: Wednesday

Rating: T

Chapters: 7 of 12

Links: AO3, FF.net

Summary: As the dust settles on the Hyde incident, Nevermore is slowly but surely returning to a calmer, safer state. But for those involved, the scars may take a while longer to fully heal. Gelert Davies, a half-werewolf student, has always kept himself out of trouble as best he could, but a chance encounter will test his resolve and force him to face parts of himself long abandoned.

Tags: Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams, Original Character(s), Enid Sinclair/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Wolf Instincts, Loss of Control, Injury Recovery, Self-Hatred, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Courting Rituals, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, POV First Person

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! :)

[wevegottogetaway]

A hundred percent (Part 2 of Crashing into you)

It looks like the same bottle you had reached for before all hell broke loose. You found it lazing on shore, in that space between water and dry land where objects greet the wet sand but still submit to the waves. Along with the plastic container, you’d encountered a wet blanket you’d immediately laid out to dry, a corkscrew and the ice bucket that had accommodated the champagne you turned down during the flight (you’d gladly have a glass or four now, but alas the Champagne bottle wasn’t accounted for in your scavenger hunt). All things considered, it’s a relatively good inventory; it seems the currents were in your favor.

It makes sense actually, that the waters would shepherd the lightest of items to you. Yet your heart remains heavy with doubts and fears. You’re not versed enough in geography to have the slightest clue as to whereabout you’ve strayed in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. And with that comes the big question: if you don’t know where you are, how the people meant to save you will? Then how much time will it take for them to figure it out and will you be able to hold on for that long?

Everything is a big question mark as of now, and you hate it. You’re resourceful and quick on your feet, but you like to be prepared; you usually study the situation ahead and plan in accordance for every potential contingency, positive or negative. This however, never in a billion years would you have thought, much less prepared for the appropriate M.O. to follow in response to a freaking plane crash.

If anything, it makes you twice as grateful to have Harry by your side. Once for obvious reasons; the mere thought of associating his name with death in the same sentence could make you physically ill. But also, if there were one person that could make this ordeal that much bearable and give you the strength to withstand the pain for that much longer, it was him. He’d done it before; granted times weren’t as critical as they may be now, but he’d always been your beacon of light in the darkest of times. You’d just have to be his as well this time. Like a planet reflecting back the light of the star it revolves around.

Speaking of stars, the sun is unbearably warm. It feels like it is sitting right on top of your shoulders and breathing down your neck, as opposed to hundred millions kilometers away from your sweltering form. You’ve been pacing up and down the shore for over two hours, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so uncomfortably hot. Your skull is throbbing from the heat,(though the brutal impact of the crash and your brief encounter with death probably have something to do with it as well) and your top is positively drenched in sweat. Harry’s shirt didn’t fare much better and is now rolled and folded atop is head in a makeshift hat. You’re both very aware that a sunstroke is highly likely in this sort of climate, and very much the last thing you need in your preexisting predicament.

"Think we should head towards the forest before this heat grills our skin to the crisp, love." It’s the first thing either of you have uttered in a while, but you’re quick to agree to Harry’s proposition.

"You’re right. Let’s see if we can find a water source nearby," you nod towards the stretch of green wildness awaiting you, before shooting one last glance at the ocean behind you.

Harry is closely watching you before putting a hand at the small of your back to usher you both out of the beach. "We can always come back later and see if there’s anything new on the shore," he guesses the reason for your hesitation. You swear this man can read your mind sometimes.

As soon as you cross the border into the forest, the sound of the waves quickly fades to be replaced by the chirps, squeaks and buzzing of the jungle’s inhabitants. It sounds like the all jungle community is in conversation, and you gulp as you wonder what kind of animals are also roaming this place. It’s clear the smartest option is for you to set up camp closer to the beach so you can be safe both from the wildlife and the unforgiving sun, as well as be in plain sight in case rescue is scouring the vicinity. For now though, you have no choice but to wander the very much alive woods if you count on fending dehydration off.

As you weave through the thick and luxurious foliage, Harry is staying glued to your side, not willing to let is sight off of you. His shirt finds its way back over his torso to protect his smooth skin from the somewhat hostile vegetation. From the way nature seems to prevail over every inch of this seemingly impenetrable space, it is clear this land has never witnessed the wrath of human activity. The realization is rather unsettling as it weakens your hopes of finding civilization in this godforsaken place.

Once again, you feel indefinitely grateful for the man walking by your side. You’d always felt lucky to have him in your life, but that soft tug in your chest from his hand grazing your shoulder blades as your tread the muddy earth, has never been so strong and comforting than in this moment.

"Careful, love," he is quick to tug you against his broad frame when you’re about to step on a small snake. The creature hisses as your footsteps disturb its tranquil existence but apart from shooting what you could swear is an annoyed glare, the serpent remains put and lets you go on your merry way.

It takes a second for your heart to calm down from the sudden movement and you realize your fist is still clenching the soft cotton of his shirt. You mutter a small but genuine ‘thanks’ as you quickly remove your hands from him, and despite the tropical heat you find yourselves in, Harry can’t help but feel a coldness on the spot your hand just abandoned.

An hour goes by and you’ve yet to be successful in your quest. The sun is finally starting to relent some of its intensity and the air feels slightly easier to breathe. At least in theory. In practice, every minute that ticks by without you encountering even the smallest of water source, feels like a new brick dropping in-between your ribcage to crush your lungs. You are running out of time for the day and the anxiety that comes with that realization is not one you can gulp down and just ignore.

As the sun slowly retires, so does the light of your surroundings, and it’s enough to have your own light start flickering before finally shutting down. You need to make your way back to the edge of the shore and set up camp before darkness engulfs everything in its black coat. Your hand find Harry’s before you shift your body towards his. "We should head back before it’s too dark," you utter dejectedly.

He nods with the same despondent expression before wrapping an arm across your shoulders and directing you both towards the beach. "Come on, then," a small kiss is pressed against your temple and your heart leaps back out of its gloom for a moment. You’re not a total stranger to gestures like this one, but they’re usually spurred by a drink too many or they occur for these special occasions where joy is so exuberant it pigments your cheeks and leaves you no choice but to show your affection in a more physical manner. You relish those moments as much as you can, wrongly assuming they mean more to you than they do him.

You don’t day anything back as you wrap your arm around his waist and start making your walking again. You’re both in need of comfort right now, is how you rationalize it. Still, it doesn’t stop you from staying as close to him as humanly possible, your body molding his curves better than a puzzle. He doesn’t seem to mind, on the contrary, his grip on your arm tightens briefly, and though you don’t see it, his lips also twitch in a side smile.

You arrive just in time for what must be the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever witnessed in your life. The ocean has calmed some, waves now gently licking at the sand and in the far distance, a large sphere of tangerine flares, rests upon a blue canvas whose only bounds stretch to the horizon. "S’beautiful," Harry softly comments before your eyes meet for a minute. You answer with a small smile, admiring the tenderness of his gaze. It’s partly due to tiredness at this point, which is what you surmise, but you’ve been on the receiving end of this gaze countless and non-tired times before, unbeknownst to you.

Fifteen minutes later, you are trying your best to light a dry piece of wood on fire while Harry endeavors to built some kind of shelter. It takes you both a few attempts and a lot of cussing, but eventually you find yourselves sitting under a makeshift branch-made roof in front of a small fire. Thankfully, the blanket you’d recovered from the crash had dried entirely - one of the few perks of the scalding sun, you suppose - and is now wrapped tightly around you both. If the situation wasn’t so critical, you’d rejoice at the opportunity of being cuddled up with Harry so closely. Every intake of breath he takes you feel against your ribs. Your bones ache from tiredness, thirst and hunger, but as your head lays on Harry’s shoulder, you also feel lightness in your heart. Things will be all right. Tomorrow you’ll go back to explore the jungle and you’ll find water, maybe even catch a fish or two and you’ll repeat the process until the rescue team comes to get you. Soon.

"How’s your leg?" Harry gently breaks the silence. You’d almost forgotten about your respective injuries, and the question has your eyes shift to the cut on your shin. There wasn’t much to do anyway, your fateful time in the angry waters had taken care of all the cleaning that could be done without proper medicine. It’s uncomfortable and the sort of wound that would linger on your mind if you were back home, but there and then, you’d minded the sting for all of 5 minutes before more pressing matters needed your undivided attention.

"It’s fine. I was too distracted to notice the pain, I guess," you answer just as quietly even though you are the only two souls breathing for hundred miles around if not more. The mention of your injury also reminds you of his, though you don’t quite need as vocal a reminder as the gash above his eyebrow is much more conspicuous. "How’s your face?" you decide to return the question even though you have a feeling his answer won’t me much different from yours.

"Itchy but it doesn’t hurt."

Your eyes once again focus on the cut, making sure that no dirt made its way on the damaged tissue. Your lips curls slightly to the side when you take in the probable reason for the itch. "C’mere, your hair keeps falling into it," you say while your hand reaches up to tuck the rebellious curl behind his ear. The strand goes straight back to its previous spot as it lacks a bit of length to obey your ministration. You reach up again, this time running your fingers towards the back of his head to get the curl out of the way. Harry doesn’t dare move an inch, air caught up in his throat as he revels in your tender touch. You’re oblivious to his intense stare, as always, while you inspect the cut. "Shouldn’t leave a scar, I don’t think," you offer in reassurance.

"Well, that’s a relief," Harry answers almost absentmindedly though there’s humor lacing through his voice. He couldn’t care less about a scar, not after everything you’ve been through. Hell, you’re both lucky to have escape the crash with just superficial wounds. Besides, he’ll take a thousand scars over having your unconscious body under his palms again.

The conversation feels much lighter than the ones you’ve entertained all day, so you keep the playful tone going. "I know right, can’t have permanent damage on that Grammy winning face," you quip back with a smirk. Mischief is distinct in your eyes and Harry has never been more thankful to see that sparkle lit up your iris. If he focus hard enough, the sand beneath him can disappear to morph into the fluffy cushions of his sofa back home, and this can just be a regular hang-out where you pretend to watch movies and banter over every character’s decisions.

That’s why it’s so easy for him to indulge in the oh-so familiar back and forth; it’s a dance he could do eyes closed. "My career would be over," he retorts with a faux distraught expression.

You giggle and give him a smile before copying is fake air, "the end of the world."

He chuckles and for a moment there is nothing but silence between you two. You can feel the playfulness dissipate as Harry’s eyes don’t waver from yours. They suddenly hold a fervor that tells you he’s gonna say something serious. And of course he does, you know him so well. "I think my world would have ended today if you hadn’t woken back up on that beach." The statement is uttered barely above a whisper but it echoes like a hundred church bells chiming Cinderella’s midnight in your head.

"Harry…" Needless to say, you are speechless. Neither of you have ever shied away from voicing your affection towards the other, but this, coupled with the intensity of his stare, has your heart stopping for the second time today.

"You have no idea how terrified I was," he continues quietly, like his own heart is threatening to jump out of his throat if he dares speak louder. It’s obvious it’s painful for him to remember, perhaps even more painful than it was for you to actually endure. "The longer you wouldn’t-"

"Shh, stop, stop," you quickly halt him with a hand to his cheek. "Don’t torture yourself with the could haves. I’m here, alive and breathing. All thanks to you. And you are too. Alive and breathing." You say it all in confidence though you have the same chocked up feeling he did when you think of the alternatives. "That’s all that matters right now. You have me and I have you and nobody’s losing anyone." Your thumb is drawing soothing circles onto his skin as he nods at your statements as if to make their truths stronger. A second passes and your eyes shift to the ground before you gulp, "my world would have ended too. Had you not made it to the beach."

It seems the sentiment strikes a chord in his chest too, as Harry pinches his eyes close as if to make sure he is not hallucinating your words. His body is taken by a strong pull to kiss you but he knows his lips can’t quite fall on their most desired destination. He settles for a harsh forehead kiss instead, taking your head between his two shaking hands.

When he leans back, his eyes frantically search your face and you can see his breathing picking up from the motion of his chest. "Y/n, I…Fuck it’s…" the more the words escape him, the more frustrated he becomes, running a hand through his wild curls even though they’d stayed in the place you had brushed them last.

"Shh it’s okay. Harry, you’re working yourself up," you try to calm him down with a hand on his heart. Just as you suspected, the organ beneath your palm is jackhammering against his skin, but Harry shakes his head at your suggestion.

"I just have something that I need to say," he gulps, "and it’s terrifying-"

You can’t stand the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. He looks exhausted despite the wild look in his eyes and you realize that’s probably not helping tame the stormy thoughts in his mind. "M’not going anywhere, Harry," you reassure him, "we can talk tomorr-"

"No. No." He shakes his head forcefully between your hands. "I need to say this now because I already should have done it a long time ago, and as much as it is scary for me to say, today was a hundred times more scary."

You take in his adamant look and realize this is far more serious than you were led to believe. "Okay, you know you can tell me anything."

He nods at your reassurance before taking a deep breath. "You’re my best friend, y/n. The one person I don’t ever want out of my life, the one person that understands all of me and that is besides me for everything." You try to remain impassive and not wince at the f-word as you listen to his sorrows. "And I can only hope that will never change, because like I said, my world wouldn’t be the same if I had you any less in it. And that’s the thing that is scaring me, because as much as I need you as my best friend, I’m also in love with you and that has the power to change everything." He barely pauses before carrying on, still locking eyes with you. "I used to be able to pretend, but earlier on that beach, when your life was hanging by a thread in my hands, all I thought was that I couldn’t ever look at myself again if you left and I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. I don’t want to be that guy anymore, because now I know. Being that guy is more terrifying than telling you I love you."

The words are buzzing in your mind. Ones you’ve heard before in daydreamings and fantasies but that you never thought you would get to receive in the realm of reality. At least not from the person you wanted them from. "Harry," is all you can muster to say without tripping over the rest of your words. You realize your vision is getting blurrier by the second, and you could swear there were droplets pearling at the corner of his eyes too. You let out a nervous chuckle, quickly wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. "Fuck, you dumbass, making us cry when we’re already fighting dehydration." The exclamation has him mirroring your smile as his thumb replaces yours at the crease of your eye. "I love you too, Harry," you say shakily through your grin. "So much it is the scariest thing to feel for a best friend. But you’re right, today was much scarier and I don’t want to be that girl anymore either."

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy and he makes a note to call his Mum as soon as his back on civilized land, to tell her she was right. Love does work in mysterious ways; sometimes you need to be the most lost to finally find it. And part of him hates that he wasted so much time with you everyday he wouldn’t say anything, but the other part of him also feels like it was worth the wait. "Fuck, promise? You’re not concussed from the crash and you really l-"

"I love you, Harry," you don’t let him finish vocalizing any doubt about your feelings. "Hundred percent sure."

"A hundred percent?"

"A hundred percent." He loves how confident you are when you reiterate the affirmation, looking straight in his eyes. Your faces a barely inches apart and your bodies still tightly embraced in the flimsy plane blanket.

"Christ, this is the best day of my life," he marvels before kissing the wrist of your hand still cupping his face.

You raise a brow at the statement, "the day you were in an air crash and found yourself stranded on a desolate island is the best day of your life?" You tease him in humor though you know exactly what he means by it and share the sentiment equally as strongly.

"The day I made you mine," he proudly explains with a smirk.

"Mmm am I?" you tauntingly bite your lip, though you’re not fooling anyone. You are absolutely and irrevocably, a hundred percent his. Knowing this perfectly well himself, Harry doesn’t even give you the curtesy of an answer and kisses the sass right off your mouth. It’s a fierce contact at first, as though he was kindly telling you to just shut up. Then he eases into a slow and emotional kiss, as your lips wrap around each others. He doesn’t pull back until you’re both out of breath and he’s had a proper taste from licking your supple lips. When he does, you only want to dive in for more, and it seems he shares the same desire as he barely retracts from your face.

"You most definitely are," he asserts with that same teasing smirk.

"Hundred percent?"

"A hundred percent, darling," he acquiesces before giving you the second best kiss of your life (the first having occurred a mere minute earlier). This time he drags his hand away from your face to wrap his arm around your small frame. "C’mere, come closer so we don’t freeze." It feels like close enough will never be an achievable concept for you both, but you’ll content yourself with the weight of his limbs intertwining with yours as you lay down besides the small fire. He brings the blanket high enough beneath you so you don’t have your heads directly on the sand, and you don’t realize how physically exhausted you were until your head is tucked underneath his chin and all your muscles loosen up some.

"Comfy?" He inquires as he hears you sigh in relief. You nod against his collarbones a small ‘yeah’ whispered against his skin and the feeling has him shoot a smile to the stars. He’s quite comfortable himself if he may say so.

"Good, now gimme a kiss."

"Making demands already?" You keep teasing him because let’s face it, you’ll never get tired of watching his reactions to your taunts. The cute crease between his brows, the twitching of his button nose or even better, the small pout enhancing the cherry color of his lips are probably the things that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

"You’re not complaining."

You laugh at his self-assuredness, sad not to see his precious pout though the newfound spark in his eyes makes up for it and then some. You can’t help but to confirm the bold statement, "yeah, a hundred percent not," and he smiles at the now familiar words, like it has become an inside joke that only belongs to the two of you.

For a while you just cuddle in silence, reveling in the embrace you’ve shared a couple times in the past but that now beholds an entire new meaning. You’re just about to surrender to Morpheus’ arms when Harry muses aloud, "imagine this was all a dream and we just wake up in LA tomorrow morning."

Paradoxically, the suggestion forms lump in your throat. Had he asked an hour ago, you would have let a wistful sigh and longed for a reality where you didn’t hop on a doomed plane and landed both yourself and you best friend in what can only be the hardest trial of your life. And yet, now you find yourself unsettled at the idea that your very much reciprocated feelings wouldn’t be out in the open if none of this had happened. You wouldn’t know the taste of his lips had you not plummeted in the sea only to wash up on a desolate shore.

"It doesn’t matter. I’ll still tell you." You affirm confidently. Now that you know; not about the mutuality of your feelings, but about how scary it is to find yourself on the precipice of forever regrets, you’ll take the chance every time. Wiser from the same tribulations, Harry just smiles softly before returning a faint ‘me too’.  

"Yeah?"

"Not that guy anymore, ‘member?" He is quick to remind you, eyebrow cocked upwards, to which you simply respond with a whispered ‘good’ against his chest. Harry kisses you on last time and then you both let your unconscious take over at last, still wrapped in each others’ arms and not even caring about your perilous surroundings anymore.

[obediencess]

for @leducdeorleans​

It began in Rome. The influx of Parisian hopefuls that flooded Rome with their soft clicking argent tongues and expressive eyes. Riccardo had been free of the coven a spare ten years before they came, speaking in tongues, studying the great marble hunks that were unearthed from the cities ancient bowels to sketch by and render in magnificent paintings that copied the old Master’s Riccardo had been schooled by. It was again the fashion to look backward, to gaze upon the great Italian school that Riccardo himself had come from, and among these young artist’s Riccardo made his new home. He painted with them, traded secrets behind his hand, showed those that were kind to him how to mix their own pigments and soften the edges of their works in a sfumato reminiscent of their adored Raphael. It was among these Frenchmen that Riccardo gained preeminence again. And it was there that he gained his first apprenticeship in almost two centuries. It seemed the French King had grown a taste for the Italian Baroque, and no Frenchmen was better at satisfying this hunger than Charles Le Brun. It was for Le Brun that Riccardo was acquired, and retained for a time in Paris among a number of other young French and Italian artists, to join an atelier of such artists that would assist the great Master in executing some of his immense works which would sprawl across the new great palace that the young King of France was steadily building and re-building. It didn’t matter to Riccardo that he was above such work -- whatever experience this Charles Le Brun had acquired, he was mortal --  he was ever loyal to his new painting Master, and he would take any such opportunity to leave Rome behind. Riccardo was drawn like a moth to a flame to the very idea of France. They called this French King the sun itself. And though Riccardo hadn’t seen the sun in two hundred years, he imagined the warmth of it must radiate from the palace walls even in the darkest of nights. 

It felt good to be dressed in fine clothing again. It didn’t matter that the court regarded him as little more than a well-schooled workman, under Le Brun he was dressed in silks and frills and fitted with frock-coat, his inky, tight curls restrained at the base of his neck poorly by a length of ribbon. There were ruby rings glittering on his fingers again. The dust of the catacombs was finally out from under his glistening, glassy, long fingernails. And now he moved among these mortals, disguised by his olive-toned skin, as if he were one of them, simply another pretty young ornament to adorn the court. Their minds as much as their whispers met his ears in a cacophonous, sweet symphony, and he tested his newly acquired modern French among them, kissing the ladies hands, careful that they not feel the point of a fang against his smiling mouth. His ambition wouldn’t allow that he simply remain under Le Brun, no matter how kind, nor talented he was. Riccardo longed to paint more than the mere under shadows and the flushing blue sky that reigned behind Le Brun’s kittenish goddesses. It was from one of the Baron’s wives that he first learned of the King’s brother. Unorthodox, she had called him. Her much less kind companion had used a myriad of very different words, but both had concluded in much the same way. He adored the arts as much as his brother, the King. And he could no doubt be persuaded to patronize Riccardo, if it was truly his wish to step out from Le Brun’s shadow. And he must, since Le Brun’s uncontested position as the King’s favourite was now waning. 

It was. Riccardo couldn’t deny that his ambitions had grown in the confinement of the catacombs. He wanted more than to hide his work beneath the over-painting of a more famous Master. In France, he would renew himself. He painted three portraits, two of wives, one of a vicomte, before he was granted an introduction. Riccardo traded two of his rings and sold another of his works to purchase a suitable brocade waistcoat of rich Venetian silk for the occasion. He was clutched on the arm of one of the King’s old favourites, herself a patron of the arts, the somewhat disgraced Madame de Montespan, and it was she who pointed out the elegant figure of the duc d’Orleans. Even among the throng of richly dressed courtiers, the duke’s refinement and poise distinguished him as much as the long dark that fell around his unusual, but nevertheless handsome face. Riccardo studied him for a time before the Marquise urged him forward. Riccardo had come from the Venetian Republic, he had grown among men that, at least of the higher classes, looked upon one another as brother’s and equals, and only now did it occur to him that he had never been so near to royal blood. But he stood under the duke’s azurite, piercing gaze, now, and Riccardo’s face flushed with an anemic blush before he bowed. The gesture loosed a number of tight, inky coils of hair which fell to frame his face. “Your royal highness,” he said, his unusually smooth voice slightly fraught with his uncertainty. “Forgive my interruption, I was told I must speak to you, above all others, you see I...” he faltered again, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. His accent was slightly clumsy with a floral, Italian emphasis. “I wish to paint, my liege, that is all. I wish to paint, and to paint you.” 

[lycomorpha]

Drawing paper review: Strathmore medium surface drawing paper 130gsm

Hello lovely people, here’s my next drawing paper review. This time it’s a Strathmore medium paper, one of three kinds I’m trying from this brand. TL;DR review is at the beginning of this post, full review is after that.

[Content warning: profanity]

STRATHMORE MEDIUM SURFACE DRAWING PAPER (OFF-WHITE)

Source: Jackson’s art online

Description: acid-free medium finish paper for dry media, creamy off-white colour, says “heavy weight” - but at 130 gsm? Mate... This is drawing paper not printer paper, so I think the fuck not.

Price: £5.70 for 24 8x10 inch sheets (mid-range)

TL;DR review: does what it says on the tin - good with dry media for sketches/finished work. I liked it, but for me personally; I prefer brighter white paper for work destined for print. It’s not as all-round-amazing as the Stonehenge from last time for detailed commission work. So I’m going to keep it as an affordable paper to draw less finicky-detail-heavy work, and for sketching. It’s still good for the price, and it’s the kind of paper that stops me obsessing TOO much over tiny details (well, as much as anything can) because it’s too rough for any of my bullshit.

Blue tack test: 3 out of 3, no tearing.

Shading test: survived 8 colours well. But by the end there was some fluffing (of the paper fibres, get your minds out of the gutter you dirty sods) where the pencil point started to distrurb things.

Strathmore medium paper tests; the blue tack and shading tests determine how well the surface of paper keeps its shit together. Details of tests are here

What did I draw? A teeny illustration of the hawkmoth species Pergesa acteus, in polychromos oil-based pigment pencils. My Patreon patrons will find a digital print of this moth in their May round-up post. More WIP for this piece is below along with the drawing experience notes.

Drawing experience

This paper is not as smooth as I usually use, but it’s a good middle ground for pencil work between a smooth/hot press, and cold-press paper. It’s rough enough to hang onto pastel/charcoal/carbon black pencils, as well as graphite & colour pencil. But it’s not sooo rough that I end up sharpening my pencils every 30 bastardtittyfucking seconds (which really gets on my nerves.) And I mean fair enough if we’re talking about something like a cold press watercolour paper - those papers weren’t designed for colour pencils. So I can’t be too tetchy about them being a bit cheesegrater-y on my pencil points. But given a fuck of lot of us drawing types often find we only have hot and cold press papers to choose from... It’s nice to find something different, and if you’re looking for a surface between hot and cold-press for drawing, this might be for you.

However, it’s not as easy to render extremely small details on rougher paper, and you know me, I tend to over-obsess about those. So my first impression was; this is an ideal sketching paper! But this paper doesn’t take so kindly to layering very fine lines by repeatedly using a pin-sharp colour pencil, or my beloved 0.3mm mech pencil. Unfortunately for this paper, I do like layering. Also it is SOMEWHAT cheesegrater-y relative to Stonehenge fine art paper.

That said, I enjoyed using it; it feels comfortable enough for drawing on the go, because it has a good sturdy hardback on the spiral-bound pads (I also have a tiny 4x6″ pad of this for graphite travel doodles). And because it isn’t too spendy - or too heavy - I was less worried about getting bends/creases in it (something which really pisses me off about some heavier papers that I otherwise love.) Also… It’s not a bad thing  to have a paper that encourages me to draw more loosely. I need to remember I can draw in the moment, and not every gahdammed thing has to be detailed down to the tiniest dot!

My overall feeling about this paper; it’s good for what it says it’s good for, but don’t expect too much, y’all. It does what it says on the tin; it’s good for dry media for sketches/finished work, but with the caveat that you really can’t overwork your layers/detail on it.

[megalony]

Captivating

A Roger Taylor imagine that was requested by the lovely @bluutac I hope this is what you were looking for lovey.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez

Roger Taylor masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running a hand through his hair, Roger brushed the strands back so they weren't hanging over the glasses perched on his nose. Feeling the strands fluffing out and sticking up on his head but he didn't particularly care, his hair usually looked like it had been in contact with static, especially when he was working at the studio.

Today was different from the usual days Roger spent in the studio for more reasons than one. This wasn't the usual studio in London where Roger worked on songwriting and recording, it was a different environment which the drummer hoped would help. The other difference is that Roger wasn't in the studio with the band, he was here on his own to work on his first solo album. The boys had almost finished up their current album and with the spare time in between, Roger had asked Miami if he would help produce an album with him.

It was definitely a welcomed change, to be able to decide what the riffs on the guitar would be, to create a rhythm on bass and to sing the song on his own. He was in charge of all the music-making and the decisions rather than sharing that with a band. Roger knew he wanted to branch out and do something on his own in the spare time he managed to get when he did a song on his own for the band. He had written and performed every instrument and vocals on the song Fight from the Inside on one of Queen's earlier albums and he loved it. It was just a strange experience to get used to.

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Roger scribbled down a few other words before dropping the pencil down on the table. Leaning his head back, Roger closed his eyes for a moment to try and rid himself of the headache that was starting to form behind his eyes.

Glancing his eyes up from the table in front of him, Roger felt his eyes widening in their sockets when they locked onto someone passing by the lounge area he was sitting in. Roger didn't know many of the people who worked at this studio. He had met the people who were going to be recording when he got the songs ready for recording. He knew Miami and a few other producers and the album was going to be produced under EMI just like with Queen. But there were still workers wandering around who Roger didn't know.

Roger didn't know her.

He didn't know the girl who passed him with a very shy smile that disappeared when she tipped her head down as she passed him by. He watched her as if he were in a trance as her hair fell partially in front of her features that were capturing his attention. Roger watched with intrigue at how she slowly brushed the strand of hair to the back of her head, raking her fingers through the strands causing little indents and lines to run through her hair that was now wavy.

He noticed her shoulders rising slightly as she walked as if she was trying to hide away from him to save from some kind of embarrassment. Roger watched her grasp the lanyard hanging around her neck as if it were some kind of good luck charm or to convince herself that she was actually meant to be here.

When Roger watched her disappear down to the table at the end of the room that held drinks and some snacks, he decided he would grab a cup of tea. Pushing himself up from the chair, Roger stretched his arms above his head before slowly following the intriguing girl to the long rectangular table. She seemed to have the same idea as he did for she stopped at the left-hand side of the table, pouring herself a cup of coffee which gave Roger the perfect excuse to stand next to her.

He noticed the way she took in a sharp breath when she felt Roger's arm very lightly brushing against her own as he reached for the tea and a cup. Roger kept his focus on the pot of tea so he didn't spill any before he poured the small amount of milk and three sugars into the cup. When the drink was safely in the cup, he slowly stirred the contents as he dared to turn his head to his right so he could see the girl who intrigued him so much in so little time.

Tilting her head to the side, (Y/n) glanced her eyes up, allowing a few loose hairs to fall in front of her eyes which felt like a protective barrier to try and save her the hassle or remarks she knew would come. She bit the inside of her lip at the calming yet somewhat nervous smile Roger sent her way. (Y/n) kept both hands around the cup on the table in front of her but made no attempt to pick it up or begin to walk away.

"Hi, I'm Roger." He knew that there was a high chance that this girl would know who he was considering she seemed to be working around the same area he was recording and there were no other artists in the studio today. But he felt it would be rude or cocky to simply presume she knew who he was and his name. He didn't want to give off the wrong impression.

"I'm (Y/n), I'm one of the technicians." Lowering her head down to look at her cup of coffee, (Y/n) chided herself.

He was being nice, he was being kind and offering a small conversation. She had no need or reason to tell him her job here as if she was trying to show that she was meant to be here, that she actually did work here and didn't sneak in just for a glance. When she dared to glance her eyes up to Roger again, she found that he wasn't rolling his eyes or shaking his head in annoyance at her words. He wasn't looking away in boredom or lack of interest and he hadn't walked away from her. Instead, he had turned himself around so he was leaning against the table, cup in hand as he seemed to be waiting for her to either walk away from him or to engage him in conversation.

Roger liked that she hadn't commented with a snarky tone or a laughable response that she already knew who he was. She seemed to be acting like he was a normal person and that was something that he craved a lot. He didn't like people fussing around or acting like he was bigheaded or someone high up. He liked a sense of normality that he couldn't seem to get very often these days.

"Do you like working here?" Roger questioned, his tone gentle and just a little quieter than usual so no passersby would listen in on their conversation that he wanted to stay between them.

(Y/n) momentarily forgot the reason why she usually kept her head bowed when meeting people or talking to others in general. She lifted her head to look at Roger, about to give a response when she noticed the look on his face.

It wasn't the usual look that (Y/n) was used to. She was used to seeing people crinkle their nose in either disgust or shock. It was normal to have people not want to look her in the eye when they talked or for them to drift off in conversation. It was normal to have people stare at her like she was a statue in a museum to be admired or pointed at. But no one had looked at her with the kind of emotions that Roger did. No one looked at (Y/n) with such a look of adoration in their eyes or their lips ever so slightly parted and curved into the sweetest smile she had ever seen that looked to be made of sugar.

No one ever seemed to be amazed when they looked at (Y/n) in the way that Roger did.

Roger tried to pull himself out of the daze he had fallen into but he couldn't quite manage it. He didn't know how to do anything but stare into her eyes that were capturing his full attention. Trying to gain back control over himself, Roger cleared his throat as he pushed himself from the table he was previously leaning against.

He didn't know what came over him. Roger had known this girl for only five minutes yet he found himself reaching a shaking hand out towards her. Slowly brushing one stray hair from her eyes so he had a perfect view of them. He let his touch linger at the corner of her eye as he leaned his head to the side with wide eyes full of amazement. His lips curving as he tried to commit her features to memory.

He had heard of this before but he had never come across it. This was a topic that had come up once or twice in biology at university. The topic of heterochromia. Where either the eyes, hair or even the skin had different colour pigments. Roger had always wondered what it would look like, especially to see someone with different coloured eyes but he had never come across it before until now. Roger found himself captivated by her eyes. Her left eye was a very light shade of hazel that was as if it had been captured by the sun and faded the colours that now had sparkles of white light caught in them. But it was her right eye that was controlling Roger's sudden feeling paralysis.

(Y/n)'s right eye was a beautiful shade of aqua blue that was intensified by the lighting of the room but around the rim of her pupil, there was a small circle of sea-green.

"You're beautiful." Roger's words seemed to snap him out of his daze as he realised what he said and the fact that he had just spoken those words out loud. His eyes widened as his jaw stayed open but no more words filtered through his lips. Turning his head to the side he closed his mouth as he realised he may have said the wrong thing there. It was extremely forward to tell someone he just met who he didn't know at all that he thought they were beautiful.

She might think he was either coming onto her or was too forward and simply looking for someone to spend the night with before dumping in the morning. He knew a lot of people thought he was like that even though he wasn't. He didn't want her to think that of him.

But she didn't seem offended by his words, more surprised yet amazed that he had said them at all as if she didn't get that compliment very often. If that was the case then Roger was now confused, she had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his life, her hair looked like silk and her features were just the cherry on the cake. She seemed so shy and sweet and very intriguing to Roger that he didn't know how people couldn't stop in the streets just to admire her eyes.

"Too forward?" Roger whispered, trying to pull his hand away from where it was still resting near to her eye but he couldn't find the energy to do so. His fingertip was sending (Y/n)'s nerves sparking beneath the touch that was so light it was barely there at all.

(Y/n) didn't think she would even be able to talk to Roger when she found out he was at the very recording studio that she worked at, let alone talk to him alone like this and get one of the most heart-stopping compliments she had ever gotten in her life in five minutes time. She couldn't help but lean into the touch as her head shook very lightly to indicate that she didn't mind a compliment that she had never gotten before. Some people did tell her that they liked her eyes even though 'they were different'. But no one downright told her that she was beautiful or seemed so enraptured by her eyes.

"N-not at all." (Y/n) breathed, trying to stop her knees from buckling when Roger plucked up the courage to move his hand. Trailing his finger along her skin so that his hand was now resting on the side of her face, his thumb delicately brushing the corner of her eye that he swore was now sparkling.

"I've never seen heterochromia before, you're captivating, love."

A shallow breath escaped (Y/n)'s lips before she bit down on her lower lip to stop her smile from widening too much. Why was he saying this? Why was he being so sweet to her? Although these types of questions were running through her mind, (Y/n) couldn't find herself to care. Roger was talking to her, more so he was admiring her and telling her so. Why should she question his actions or reasons when it was clear he seemed to want to know her? He wasn't being put up to talking to her or doing this for a bet, this was real and made her knees weak.

Brushing his thumb across the skin next to her eye again, Roger let a charming smile pull at his lips as he glanced to the clock above the table that told him it was the perfect time to go and get something to eat especially since he had skipped breakfast this morning.

"Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

[crystalkleure]

It’s him! That’s my boy! I suck at making ref sheets and on top of being Generally Messy the main sketch here is also old as shit [and drawn entirely with the mouse] and I just cleaned it up a lot, but!! This Is My Son. [Well, one of them, at least. He’s got a boyfriend that is in desperate need of some updated art and that’s what I’m working on now 👀 It’s kind of a crime not to post them at the same time though tbh, they kind of. Go together.]

Info:

19

Male

Birthday: September 28th

Height: 5'7''

[Way more detailed info under the cut because this is The Favourite OC Child and also one of my oldest lmao]

Russian, but moved to America and has been living there for about 6-7 years [specifically New York City]. Can speak/read/write both Russian and English basically perfectly fluently. When he feels like cussing at something [or someone], he's gonna do it in Russian.

Has a pretty bad case of hyperdontia. New supernumerary teeth are constantly growing in, and forcing the old ones out. He usually has at least some loose teeth, though he pulls them out once he can.

If he bites down hard on something that is firm enough, there's a decent chance he's gonna leave some teeth in it. He does not like apples.

His teeth didn't puncture the skin of his face all on their own; he got into an accident and a lot of that skin was torn away, so when it healed it actually healed around his displaced teeth. Now even when the teeth are removed from the holes in his cheeks, the holes will remain and new teeth will eventually just grow in the same places. He would need some kind of surgery to correct this, and he won't get it because he doesn't trust most doctors.

Moderately terrified of motorbikes, because the unfortunate face-shredding accident in question was getting sideswiped by one. The actual impact didn't do nearly as much damage as skidding across the asphalt afterwards did -- that's what ripped flesh away.

Can speak just fine, surprisingly, though does occasionally have a tiny bit of trouble with certain sounds, like rolling Rs and Os. Depends on how many teeth are in the way in specific places at any given time. Any impediment is pretty much negligible, though.

He can actually sing. He has a lovely voice, though he's a little quiet/soft.

Wears an allergy mask to hide his unfortunate dental problem. Very few people get to see him without it.

Horrible eating habits. Refuses to eat in public for obvious reasons, but Eats Fucking Everything once he gets home.

Actually does NOT usually dress like this, if left to his own devices he'd be in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater [or intact hoodie]. This is basically a stage costume, his bf leads a shitty rock n' roll coverband and he's the one who convinced him to wear it.

Squishy. Took awhile before he got comfortable showing a lot of skin, he was especially reluctant to have his stomach exposed. Self-conscious about his appearance in general, actually. In spite of this, he takes really meticulous care of his hair -- figures it makes a good distraction from his face.

Has somewhat disproportionately large hands.

You know those little bead gun machines that stick sparkly shit in your hair? Those things that are like, marketed towards middle school girls and are usually Excessively Pink? He's got one and he uses it. Who says dudes can't put sparkly shit in their hair too.

He's wearing ice cleats over his shoes. Those metal spikes+shells and platforms come off, there's a fairly boring pair of black boots underneath them.

There is no reason for him to be wearing those cleats in this picture. It is clearly not wintertime if he is wearing that hoodie [or what's left of it]. He likes them and he'll wear them anyway though, if there's no reason he can't [and alas, there are usually reasons...they fuck up any floor they touch, for one.]

Knows sign language [РЖЯ]. Before the accident, just keeping his mouth shut was usually enough to hide his teeth, so he used to be selectively mute instead of wearing a mask. Always good to learn how to communicate with different people, anyway -- he has also learned a good amount of ASL.

Lives with his alcoholic mother in a small apartment, and he pays a good chunk of the rent. He works the night shift at the front desk of a pretty seedy local hotel, part-time. He would move out on his own, but he worries about his mom.

His design is based loosely on a Tolype laricis moth [barring the teeth, obviously]. That's why his hair and eyebrows are Like That.

Loves bugs and arachnids, particularly the ones most people find scary or "disgusting-looking". Three guesses why.

At certain angles his eyes look blue or purple, and at others they actually look red. He is a true albino; due to the lack of pigmentation in his irises, sometimes you can see the blood vessels behind them. It's a little startling.

He doesn't have perfect eyesight, though it's not completely horrible either -- things are a bit fuzzy and bright lights are dazzling. He won't wear glasses, but he does wear contact lenses.

His "claws" are stick-on fake nails. They're metal, and they do nothing except look fierce and make life more difficult. He only wears them when he's hanging out with the bf. It's clearly impossible to manage contacts while wearing those unless you just feel like poking an eye out.

Greatly prefers colder temperatures to warmer ones. Pretty much melts anytime it gets hotter than 75-80°F.

[galaxy-parker]

Build Me Up, Buttercup

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Where Spider-Man crash lands on your fire escape and ruins your garden, so you force him to help you build a new one. 

Request: The reader is someone who isn’t too crazy about spider man. (It’s not like she hates him!! She just knows that he’s a little bit destructive) one day spider man accidentally swings into her porch destroying her prized flowers. She makes him promise that he’ll help her rebuild the garden!!

Warnings: There might be cussing but I don’t remember

Word Count: 1969

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Thank you to @minnie-marvel for the prompt (love youuu) 

~~

It was on a rainy night four years ago that you’d realized your fire escape was just really boring.

There wasn’t anything distinctly wrong about it, there just wasn’t anything distinctly right about it either and that bothered you, even if it was only just a little bit.

So, that day you’d decided that you would decorate the little balcony with various sorts of plants and flowers in various different colors and various different shapes and sizes, and it was magical.

Really, it was your favorite part of the tiny apartment you and your parents occupied. It filled the drab home with life and washed it with pigmentation- even if it was from behind a glass pane.

It was your happy place- that is, until the Queens renowned Spider-Man messed it all up.

~o0o~

‘So what do you think?’ Liz’s voice snaps you from your reverie and you look at her quizzically for a moment, before realizing she was trying to hold a conversation, one that you’d rudely zoned out of.

‘What?’

Liz rolls her eyes playfully and crosses her long arms across the lunch table. ‘Spider-Man?

‘Right,’ The words come out harsher than you intend and you quickly offer your friends a sheepish smile before shrugging somewhat nonchalantly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ Betty raises a perfectly tailored brow and all you can do is shrug again as your friends stare you down in interest.

‘I’m just not,’ You hesitate. ‘I’m not crazy about him.’

Betty hums and Liz- to her credit- tries not to look appalled ‘So, you hate Spider-Man?’

‘I don’t hate him,’ You hiss, shushing your friend before she draws unwanted attention before sighing deeply. ‘I’m just not very fond.’

‘He’s a hero,’ Liz challenges with a small shake of the head- more in disbelief than anything else. You can’t blame her, the girl is practically in love with the webslinger.

‘He’s a vigilante,’ You simply retort before the warning bell rings, signalling the nearing end of lunch. ‘See you in seventh.’ You’re answered with a few bye’s and see you later’s and one mumbled response from a still shocked Liz as you swing your way-too-old and way-too-crusty bag over your shoulder.

But you can’t bring yourself to feel even remotely bad as you push through the cafeteria doors and step into the hall. Your statement holds a true point. Spider-Man is a vigilante and he is working outside of the law. He’s reckless and careless and if you’re the only person who sees it, then so be it.

You reach your classroom just as the last bell rings and take your place towards the back of the class, immediately resting your head on your hand.

It’s safe to say you zone out the second your history teacher walks in the room.

~o0o~

You’re halfway home from school when the sound of sirens reach your ears. They’re faint at first, barely there, and you think nothing of it. Police sirens aren’t news in New York, but it’s only when you’re crossing the street five minutes later that your heart finally begins to pick up pace- when the sound of horns honking and tires screeching grows louder and louder until it’s unmistakable and undeniable and right in front of you.

What you can only assume to be a crazed to driver is barreling towards you, followed by at least five police cars and you barely have time to scream- barely have time to brace yourself before it’s too late and-

You’d imagined dying to be like falling or a white light or a painstaking nothingness- you didn’t imagine it to be like flying. Wind whipping in your hair, arms braced around the body of someone or something unknown.

A quiet gasps leaves your lips as the wind ripples through your clothes and- do dead people gasp? Do dead people wear clothes?

You wrench your eyes open and immediately regret it.

From the feeling of your stomach turning loops you can say with full conviction that you are indeed alive. Alive and flying high above Queens. A scream lodges in your throat and you choke on it, arms gripping whatever the hell they’re gripping tighter and tighter until you’re sure they’ll fall off.

‘I’ve got you,’ A voice yells, the words getting muffled in the wind for barely a moment before you’re landing with a thud.

You unwind your arms and stumble backwards but you’re caught again before you can hit the ground. You look up at Spider-Man (who might be a little too close for comfort) and laugh dryly.

‘What the hell,’

He releases you quickly, taking a step back to distance himself from you before whipping his head around to glance over his shoulder, the eyes of his mask whirring strangely as they grow and shrink.

‘I’ve got to go,’ He starts to jog backwards and you watch him, still gaping. ‘You good?’

Not waiting for your answer, he shoots a web from his wrist and lets it pull him away and, suddenly, he’s gone. He’s gone and he’s left you on the roof of a random building.

Spider-Man sucks.

~o0o~

By the time you’d made it home you were ready to gut Spider-Man and whoever else tried to tell you how amazing he is.

You had called Liz after you finally made it off the building and she’d rambled on and on about how lucky you were and how much she wished she could have been there and blah blah blah- and to make matters worse, on the long trek home you heard civilian after civilian do the same.

Thankfully, after half a week of torture Liz mercifully dropped the subject of your near death experience and you moved on. Or so you thought.

~o0o~

An orange-pink hue casts over the city- courtesy of the sunset- and causes the flowers on your fire escape to give off a luminescent glow.

You breathe deeply, relishing in the sweet evening air, the somehow peaceful sound of bustling New York streets and the feel of the breeze against your skin. It’s a perfect night.

And then it’s ruined.

Your first tell of something being horribly off is the sound of grunting. Not sexual grunting, rather a sound of pain. The second is the sound of something you can only describe as a thwack. It sounds wet and sticky and again not sexual, but it’s there and it’s alarming to say the least. The third is the sight of a blue and red blur crashing into your fire escape.

A scream leaves your mouth as the figure makes contact with the metal, sending your beloved plants flying and crashing down to the streets below and for a second, for half a second, you’re worried for them- that is, until you see the face (or rather mask) of the intruder.

‘You?’

‘Hey,’ Spider-Man grunts from his position below you, raising his head slightly and and wiggling his fingers at you in greeting before letting them both fall down again.

‘What the hell?’ You take in the damage, the ruined flowers, the broken bits of pottery and felt a renewed anger fill you. Honestly, it was like he was trying to get on your bad side.

‘You say that a lot,’ He scoots back, pulling himself upright and leaning against the back railing. The eyes in his mask narrow to what almost looks like a wince and you can’t help but note how he’s holding his side. He sees the incredulous look on his face and shakes his head, gripping the railing with the hand that’s not gripping his side and slowly- difficulty- pulling himself up. ‘Please don’t call the cops, I’m just looking for a first aid kit and I’ll be gone,’

That’s when you see the blood slowly seeping through his gloved fingers, nearly invisible against the red of his suit.

‘Oh my god,’ You whisper and suddenly all grudges are out the door as you scramble over the remains of your shrubs and race into your small apartment, praying for silence while you open up drawers and cabinets, hands grappling for the first aid kit your mother keeps somewhere.

After what feels like hours but what can only be minutes, your fingers wrap around the little tin box and you wrench it to your chest, practically vaulting over your couch and through your window to get to the wounded webslinger on your fire escape.

‘I thought you were bailing on me,’ He jokes as you kneel next to him, already clicking open the box.

‘Shut up,’ You mumble, rifling through the half empty contents until you find some antiseptic and a few Hello Kitty band aids.

You grab Spider-Man’s wrist, maybe a bit too harshly and he hisses, but lets you move it out of the way as you inspect the torn suit.

In reality you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’ve seen a few episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and that should be enough knowledge to care for an enhanced individual, right?

‘I need to see the wound,’ You push, glancing up at him and he nods solemnly before pressing the Spider- emblem in the middle of his suit. You try not to let your eyes widen too much as the once skin-tight suit slackens until it’s loose and ill fitting. He lets it slide down his shoulders and off of his chest until the cuts are visible.

‘God,’ You shake your head, wetting a few cotton balls with the antiseptic and pressing them against the wounds gently. Spider-Man hisses from underneath you and you wince, dabbing a few times for good measure before taking the little band aids you’d found and sticking them on his side.

‘Hello Kitty?’ His voice is gravelly, but filled with humor and you roll your eyes.

‘Deal with it.’ You pull his suit up over his shoulders and avert your eyes as he tightens it again.

Darkness has fallen over the city now, and you stare out over your broken paradise in silent heartbreak. Spider-Man must pick up on it because he takes your wrist gently. ‘Thank you,’

You nod, not yet looking at him.

‘And,’ He hesitates, squeezing your wrist. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you on that roof, and ruining your plants.’

‘Well you saved my life,’ You glance up at him now, feeling your face grow hot. He quickly releases you and clears his throat, looking over the fire escape. ‘But you have to do something for me,’

He whips his head back towards you, and you’re surprised at your own words, furrowing your brows and worrying your lip. ‘What is it?’

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt for a moment before bowing down and picking up the first-aid-kit. ‘Help me rebuild it,’

‘What?’

‘You destroyed my garden,’ You shrug, trying to find out yourself why you’re trying to make plans with Spider-Man when you don’t even like him. ‘Might as well help me fix it.’

A quiet chuckle. ‘I guess I owe you that much,’ He motions to his side, where the Hello Kitty band aids stick out between the rips in his suit.

‘You bet your ass you do,’

He laughs now, loud and joyful, throwing his head back. ‘I’ll see you around, Y/N.’

‘Mhm,’ Your grip tightens on the kit in your hands and rock back on your heels as he climbs over the fire escape and shoots out a web- much like he did that first time you met him. He glances over his shoulder at you one last time.

It’s only hours later when you’re curled up in bed, tired and overwhelmed that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

And it’s only days later, on Monday, when you notice Peter Parker staring at you from across the hall.

[autumnpawtribe]

The Naming

((Preface: one, this is SERIOUSLY long.  This RP took place on January 26 of this year.  I know, I am slow to post things, you may make fun of me for it.  A special thanks to @seilune, @varianwrynn, @zynros and the multitude of others who came to celebrate))

Janaret sat on the wall, watching out on the road.  His troll mate's brothers sat with him, watching as well.  He spoke in Zandalari , playing with a peice of grass and waiting on the visitors.

Rythyren flapped, carrying his companion to their destination with a huff of frosty breath.  "Do you still have Mox'tilek? I know she cannot keep up with me.." "Your little one is fine, I assure you..." Ryleyth hummed thoughtfully, ears twitching, and cradling the little whelp in his arms. When they landed , Rythyren was quick to shift, revealing both dragon and the magister were clad in similair attire. The dragon in a silken robe of blue and white, with a cloak that ended in scale like designs of pearlescent white. Ryleyth was quick to give the sleeping whelp back to her father, adjusting his own robes. The magister was wearing crimson and gold, flowing, with a cloak that sported phoenix feathers along the bottom hem. Meanwhile, Zul'Jaryn was never far from Kit'raka, and elsewhere, Draigarth was not far from Lowenthal.

Janaret smiled, recognizing the dragon he had recently met.  He was in full Zandlari Prelate regalia, holding his weapon up high next to him as he watched and waited.

Sam arrives via gryphon, flying low, lazy circles over the gathering party to ensure he's in the right spot before landing nearby.  The bird, small and white, follows him after he dismounts, pressing her beak into his neck, his hand, his shoulder--anything, really, in hopes of a treat.  He laughs at her softly, scritching her neck and adjusting his dark travelling cloak.  His armor, where it shows through at hands and collar and feet, is silver, ceremonial, polished to a high sheen: nothing like anything he ever wore at the Cove.  His distinctive blue-crested helm sits on the pommel of his saddle. His eyes seek out Ryleyth, never a difficult task given the other man's distinctive wardrobe, and he makes his way in that direction--still with the gryphon at his side.

A portal tore through the air out of nowhere, leaving behind a shimmering shower of arcane dust that sparkled across the ground. Out from the other side stepped the mage who had spawned it, all adorned in fine Pandaren silks in shades of blues and golds, and various trinkets of Zandalari jewelry. In tow was his husband, the ranger Draigarth, who he smiled upon before turning to Janaret. "I believe I landed us in the right place..."

Rythyren seemed thoroughly distracted as he approached the trolls, offering a bright smile towards the prelate, Stepping forwards with snoozing whelp draped over his forearm. Ryleyth seemed somewhat distant, his arms folded over his chest after he had handed the young one off, his golden gaze shifting here and there, for faces he recognized, which were surprisingly few. When one in particular started his way, however, he froze, and his ears slowly perked, mouthing the name without actually speaking. Draigarth stumbled a bit on entry. Portals had never been his forte.. Adjusting chainmail with a soft grunt. "Looks like it.. Don't think there's many groupings of trolls in Hillsbrad.. I.. think?"

A loud Kodo was heard marching in, a young adult was apon its back. Hitching the beast to the ground, he'd hop off, lifting a cigar from his side, half tempted to smoke to avoid the awkward conversations he'd endure. eh.. He'll be fine. "Hau, tauren for hello." He'd smile to the group that were there. "Right place, I hope for damn sure." He'd grit his teeth. harmfull memories. but also good ones as well. It was time to barry the axe.(edited)

The troll that awaited the guests sat on the wall of the rundown keep, another male troll next to him laughing as he told jokes in Zandali.  He was dressed very simply not formally; black shirt, leather pants, shoeless as his people tended to be.  On his face was a line of blue pigment, just under his left eye, bright red hair braided down his back just past his shoulders.  His staff was a long gnarled stick covered in flowers and mushrooms, both living and in full bloom.  The druid smiled around tusks that stood straight up and angled out a bit.  His amber eyes glowed in the setting sunlight.  As he rose, he called attention to himself and spread his long arms wide as he stood tall.  The second male, standing up next to the druid, was dressed in the traditional clothing of a wandering grandmaster monk and wearing his smile proudly, face clean of all but a matching orange stripe of paint under his right eye.  He was as Red-haired as his companion, both with matching deep amber eyes.  The pair were definitely siblings, though the monk seemed to have a few years on the druid.  Next to them sat a Zandalari, standing in full regalia as the druid spoke.

“Welcome, Guests of mah bruddah Vol’raka an’ ‘is mate, Xiao Chun.  Ah be called Jura.  Dis be ouah bruddah, Venyabi and Janaret, Vol’raka and Xiao’s mate.  We ‘ere ta guide ja ta da ritual site.  Aftah da namin’, ja all welcome ta stay, eat, sing an’ dance ef ja feel da desirah, an’ make new friends mebe?  Come should ja be followin’ en peace.”

A large fel bird, green and purple in plumage, flew in from high above, circling the area before letting out a great cry before landing and flapping its wings. "There there, girl" the man said before hopping off the bird and patting her side. The great bird flapped again and took off into the sky to either perch or hunt somewhere, who knew. Zyn was dressed in his finer clothes, an ornate black leather vest with silver inlay over a black satin long sleeved shirt. Form fitting black slacks tucked into black leather boots with ornate silver inlay. His eyepatch, normally just a leather one, was also custom made (by him) of black leather with a silver inlay...lots of silver inlay.

With that, Jura shifted to a great, pale stag.  Feathers and bones dangled from a thick leather collar of sorts that lay over his shoulders at the base of a furred neck.  Turning his antlered head to the group, he began walking toward the sea on the southern coast of the region.  The monk moved to float upon a cloud of chi, beckoning those assembled as Janaret called upon a golden direhorn.

An odd-looking spiked rock moved slightly, shaking as dirt and brush fell away from its base to reveal a shell of some kind. An ankylodon wearing a silver torc rose from the earth to follow the group, eying many of them warily... perhaps even hungrily? It was hard to tell, but it seemed to slowly improve in its mood as it walked behind the group.    

The group would come upon the cliffside, the sun not quite setting in the west and the sounds of the Great Sea not far away.  There were torches around the area, tables set with food and drink set apart a little from a ritual circle closer to the cliffside.  There were several figures, mostly troll, and a few orcs in the circle as final preparations were made by an orcish girl.  Two small troll boys were playing among the tables, the older, red-crowned boy of about four chasing a green-haired barely toddler as he crawled around.  A pale haired troll woman was off to the side caring for two other small trolls, one of them squealing loudly.

Tal flew in separately from his mate, likely so they could have enough room for the children they were bringing. Anyone who might babysit was already here, so the entire family showed up, split between the backs of their two drakes. Tal's recognizable and rather massive black nether drake flew down carefully before landing and allowing its passengers to climb down. Cradled in each arm, Tal held a bundled Balore and Luna, the older Kal'dorei girl known as Ely for short, around six years of age, also climbed down; though she stuck incredibly close to Tal, nearly clinging to his leg. He offered a smile to those gathered and then spotted a few faces he did not expect to see. He immediately stared down Sam and Kagtu, his blindfold folding inward on its ever so slightly as he narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if they were friend or foe. Surely friend, since they were here. He shook himself of the worry and moved to stand beside his fiance, looking to pass him one of the twins and smile at Vynnie who was surely beside them now as well. "There is a nice crowd here, this will be a wonderful ceremony I can already feel it." He said as he began to follow along and gaze out over the cliffside as they came upon it.

As they walk, Sam heads over to Ryleyth's side quickly, the gryphon aiding in clearing a path through the crowd, but then slows down considerably.  By the flush on his face, he seems not quite certain of what to say, and settles for something neutral: "It's a beautiful location, isn't it?"

Lowenthal glanced around at the gathering crowd, curiosity glinting in a green gaze. He wasn't completely seasoned on the traditions of trolls nor pandaren, and it was easy to see his interest was piqued. Looking around for familiar faces, he made sure to wave at Rythyren, and made a mental note to meet with the dragon as well as Vol'raka at some point after the ceremony.

Kagtu tagged along, lifting both of his hands into his pocket. He'd look conflicted, being here. Along with some of the people here as well, but the past is the past, and it'd be better to look to the future. with a deep sigh, he'd look back to Tal. "..Hey." He'd say softly. yet weakly. like he was afraid to say anything else. "Didn't know you turned babysitter." He'd tease.

Vyn had ridden with his dad and had hopped off Melody with the man, but where Zyn was dressed like a proper noble (though he wasn't one), Vyn was awkwardly dressed in black slacks tucked into simple leather boots and a loose fitting black cotton shirt. He did, however, have a couple of ribbons tied to his horns thanks to his little sister Ely. "Dad...who're all these people?" he asked while standing between his two fathers and taking his baby sister in his arms.

Amongst the few orcs present, one massive male seemed incongruous with the rest- a 7 foot wall of toned muscle, clad in hide pants and a set of ornate engineer's goggles was rushing about, taking turns between hanging around a short orc woman and fussing over one of the troll babies nearby. Spotting this, the dino-thing that followed the group let out a low rumbling noise... was it laughing?

The druid called Jura spoke and letting his voice carry, addressing the gathering.  “Come, stand around da circle.  We ask ja not step en til et be time ta speak.  At da end, da Farseeah gonna ask ef ja wish ta say a few words ta mah baby niece an introduce jaself ta ‘er.  Ef ja not want ja children seein’ some tings what be a lil scary fer em.  Best leave em wit mah mate, Zaita ovah dere.” Another troll walked up to join the brothers and Aret, his own visage painted in white and green, bright orange atop, spiked, but cut at his neck and the simple robes of a druid covering his body.  He seemed to want to disappear into the crowd and sat next to his kin.  He spoke in his native tongue, looking at the crowd for a moment longer.  “Fi riva difus Deh so yeyewata honnah dim fus dim cyaa fus deh'yo cyaa chaKa deh craaweh.”

((Tsal: “So many elves.  Not my favorite people, but the one with the silver-white hair isn’t bad looking.”))

Draigarth stuck close to his husband, amused by the sparkle that had been absent in his eyes for a little while hence. He seemed pleased enough to follow along for now, though he was clearly close enough, that the predator within him would read as possessive of the Cryomancer.. at least, for a fellow predator. Rythyren smiled cheerily, nodding to Lowenthal when he noticed his adopted son. Rocking the sleeping whelp from side to side, he picked a place to settle out of the way, waiting and watching, himself. He settled off to one side with a curious expression as they were told where to settle. Ryleyth offered a weak smile, tense, as if he feared all the worst reasons for the paladin to be before him. "Y-Yes.. Yes it is... H.. How have you been?" Zul'Jaryn shifted on his feet, adjusting his garb, which consisted of traditional attire, bones and feathers hanging from robes and headdress clearly styled for the Loa he followed. Bwonsamdi.

Tal offered him a small, slightly tentative smile when Kag spoke. However, when he mentioned babysitter, Tal broke into a grin and chuckled. "Is it considered babysitting if they are your own children? Hm... I never considered." He said with a shrug. "I think you met Balore and Luna." He looked back to the sheepish Kaldorei behind him now and wrapped his free arm around her to pull her forward with a quiet nervous whimper from the girl. "This is Elysara, we call her Ely. We adopted her after Teldrassil..." He murmured the words in Orcish, glad the girl couldn't speak it well just yet, knowing that it made her upset to think about it. It was then they were called to stand around the circle, moving to guide Ely to follow him as he stood where he was indicated to so he could bear witness to the ceremony.

Lowenthal glanced at the source of the Zandalari words, and then raised a brow, looking around. Now was his chance to socialize, perhaps. "And who would that be?" he said, smiling as he pronounced the foreign words carefully.

Seilune materialized at the designated spot in a faint, amethyst dust of arcane, remnants of the magic lingering on her tulle gown as she sauntered over to the gathered group. A glowing, lilac gaze slowly swept across the woman's surroundings, taking in the spectacular sight of the cliffside view of the Great Sea, and a soft, blissful sigh escaped between her lips. "Greetings, everyone," the woman spoke with eloquence, bowing deeply to the band of faces that were both familiar and foreign to her. "A beautiful locale indeed. Most fitting for such a joyous occasion. I thank you for the humble invitation, I have not attended a ceremony of this kind before."

Kagtu moved with Tal. odd considering he was a demon hunter. The human paused. face twisting with guilt. he'd switch to Orcish as well. "..We should-" Once more, he'd pause. thinking about the past.  His face showed it. Kagtu waved to the two kids. he'd look up to Tal. Guilt cleaving his face in two. "..I'm glad your out." He'd look around, using his right hand to point to the group. "To this band of misfits. family, even, if I am bold to call it that." He'd say with a hit of heart in his voice.

Zyn gave a wave to Kagtu with a grin before moving over with Tal when they were all motioned, Vyn following his parents and probably remaining silent for the remainder of the ceremony.

The altar was not fancy.  It was a simple flat stone, propped up on three other stones to keep it off the ground.  A piece of leather, crossed with sky-blue silk, woven with tiny silver phoenices covered and kept the stone’s occupant clear of smudge or damage.  On the altar lay a simple, but heavily bound book.  The leather did not look like it came from an animal.  The pages covered in drawings and runes that could be seen from a few feet away.  It was a focal point for the troll family gathered around to welcome a new soul to their lives.  This book was their guide to the rite they sought to complete that evening.

A female troll farseer stood at the small stone altar, clad in simple leather robes, but with items and adornments that she only pulled out for very special occasions.  Traditional pigments graced her cheeks and nose, blue, red and gold over face, arms and neck where her clothing did not cover sky-blue skin.  Red and blue axebeak feathers and golden beads were woven into the shaman’s straight thin braids as she looked to her right and left, gold hoop earrings jingling from her ears.

To the shaman’s right was a tall, well built and fierce looking troll woman, standing in a simple brown linen cloth skirt and short top, forearms covered with bone and iron bracers.  The warrior woman was painted in blue and red as well, a collared, golden-scaled raptor standing quietly at her side.  The woman, her violet hair pinned and braided behind her ear on one side and shaved on the other to show off the golden hoops in her ears, gave the well trained beast an occasional scratch on the chin.

On the Farseer’s left, a small half-orc mag’har girl stood with an obsidian knife and stone bowl, a small smile on her face.  She was painted just as the other two, her hair braided simply in comparison and tucked behind her ears.  She did not wear golden earrings, but iron as her own people.  Her own robes tied at the waist by a leather strap decorated with bone beads and laced up with a black strap of leather at her chest like a bodice.  The bowl she held was old, rough and not at all ornate, but it radiated with magic for those who could sense such things.  It was  well used, and passed down along this family’s line.  The runes upon it denoted it as Zandalari in origin.

Tsal blushed, looked at the elven mage and just grinned.

"Home," Sam says to Ryleyth in a low voice as the ceremony begins, "and glad of it.  One of the others followed me and took up work there as well--I had thought to offer the same to you but...I understand if you don't wish to leave whomever you've found a place with now.  Still, you're welcome to come visit whenever you'd like."  It's awkward; he doesn't want it to be but it is, and the fears that he'd abandoned Ryleyth there echo in his voice.

Lowenthal chuckled, but seemed to take that for an answer and went back to minding his own business. He observed the altar, then whispered to Draigarth. "I wonder what they meant when they mentioned things that may not be safe for children... I am not familiar with these ceremonies."

"Ah guess et be rude fer meh to stay like dis for de ceremony," grumbled out the dino-thing as it began to be enveloped in a halo of green energy. Standing upright, the Zandalari druid strode off to one side, examining the wrapping around a 3 foot parcel nestled safely away from the group.  

Across from the druid, stood a giant of a troll and his very small pandaren mate.  The troll stood upright and was dressed in a soft gray leather kilt slung low on his hips, held up and fastened with a darker gray leather strap and small silver medallion that resembled a Rush’kah mask on his hip.  His face was free of its usual warpaint, but his shoulders were coated in blood-red pigment.  The line of what did not look like paint crossed from his right shoulder to just below his left pectoral muscle, where a new looking tattoo in the shape of a tiny gray troll handprint lay just in the palm of the pandaren paw print already on the left side of his chest.  His hair, green and gold down to just above his ankles, was not braided.  He had it bound with leather in places to keep it from flying everywhere as the evening had a bit of wind from the nearby cliff face.

The unusually small Pandaren wore something as equally traditional as that of his mate, but starkly different from the Trollish design of the others. Wrapped around his form were silks of a deep crimson with brilliant threads of gold designs inlaid into the fabric. It was a traditional Pandaren kimono, draping along his form until it was cinched in the middle with a matching crimson silk belt tied loosely at his waist. It didn’t seem to fit him just right, and the aged look of it would imply it likely wasn’t made for him and instead was passed down from someone else; perhaps a woman, given certain folds in the material that would likely be made to compensate for breasts where this Pandaren obviously had none. His hair that was usually tied up in a loose topknot of sorts was instead tied back in a tight bun with ornate Pandaren chopsticks poking out of the brightly colored locks; the chopsticks having matching intricate gold-leaf designs on them to compliment the kimono. In the Pandaren’s arms, was a snugly swaddled and slightly fussy baby troll, with light blue-gray skin and the bigger male’s green and gold hair, with a dusting of sapphire blue.  Amber eyes looked around, not focused, but following the face of her pandaren father who held her in a sling over his shoulder and chest.  The fabric, a deep green, was embroidered with intricate cloud serpents and lined with black and white rabbit fur to keep her warm.

Intrigued by the ceremony and the prospect of learning more about Troll culture, the ambassador approached the alter a touch closer, just enough to get a take a closer look but distant enough to not disturb. Seilune bowed her head to the two Trolls respectively in greeting, the woman's gaze lingering on the young Mag'har girl as a grin spread across her visage from ear to ear. "Beautiful braids," she spoke, gesturing to the hairstyle with a single, slender finger. The trail of her gaze continued to the alter itself, closely inspecting the necessary tools with a slow nod of the head, a brow lofting in curiosity at the Zandali runes etched intricately into the stone. With the flick of a wrist, a floating tome and accompanying ivory quill conjured from a puff of arcane, the writing utensil scratching away at an open page to recreate the runes she saw.

In the middle of the circle as all saw it, was a stack of dry wood that stood about three feet tall, with small parcels of herbs tied up and tossed in regular intervals around the base.  The circle was cast with white salt, a bag from the Echo isles leaning against the stone altar.  She spoke first in Zandali, then switched to Orcish. “Lok'dan honnah reespek sca tor Wha fus Deh atuad iman fus'obeah Wha im ting cyaa is difus weh cyaa ju”

((Kit : Welcome, nieces, nephews, brother and kin.  May the Loa bless this gathering.  May no harm come to those who join us.))

“Ah welcome ja, all who come ta dis place ta welcome new life.  Ef ja ‘ere, ja welcome ta da fa’das of dis child.  Ef ja mean harm, leave dis ritual, for when da spirits be comin’ da loa will be sought fer blessin’s an da family of da lil girl who be named taday.  Dem what mean harm will face da consequences of dey actions.  Ah be called Kit’raka, and ah welcome ja ta da namin’ ceremony en da way of ouah family.”

Kag looked over to were Sam, Ryley and the other guy that he met in Dalaran. He'd was tempted, The young adult desided to move his way to behind the Elf. He'd didn't bother nodding to Sam. More or less wanting to make sure nothing was pulled. "Hau." He'd reply dryly. and his gaze was put back to the Ritual. looking back at it once more. Hopefully this wouldn't be.. bloodly.(edited)

Hands clasped neatly before her as the ceremony began, Seilune's eyes snapping to Kit'raka as she began to speak. She listened closely, nodding with a soft smile on her painted lips, the tome floating idly at her side still being documented with the sights and sounds the woman was experiencing so that she may reference later. The last thing she ever wanted was to appear hostile, her eyes widening a touch at the mention of harm being inflicted , idly looking to the others who were gathered at her sides. "I wish for prosperity for ba, papa, and child," she assured with a nod. "No hostility will come from my hands, and I hope none comes at all this day."

Zyn took Balore from Tal so his fiance could focus on Ely while watching Kit, he understood some of what she was saying in Zandali, enough to put it together. Vyn on the other-hand was completely lost on the troll language, poor boy.

Rythyren's attention went from the trolls, some of which caught his interest more than others, to the ceremony as a whole, quiet, even as his little one awoke, and he pulled out something small and soft for her to chew on, a crimson colored object that smelled faintly of blood, and emanated frost. Ryleyth seemed to relax slightly. "A-ah.. I had.. thought you.. were.. s-still with them.. It.. It is good to know that you are back where you wished to be..." He swallowed hard, before looking down at his hands. "I.. I have not... been... With.. them for several weeks now.. I.. I was.. forced to leave.. by Kou.." "I don't know.. certain there are .. some form of rituals they do not wish children seeing.. Not sure what though.." Came Draigarth's response with a chuckle. Zul'jaryn was settling off to one side, watching the proceedings as he shifted a small leather satchel in his hand.

The warrior troll and mag’har woman knelt on either side of the shaman, each with knees tucked under themselves and forearms on the winter grass beneath them.  Their heads touched the ground as the druid lay down on his belly.  Xiao and Vol’raka did not kneel, but both bowed their heads in reverence as Kit’raka spoke.  The element of air seemed to toss her braids up playfully as her arms raised.  Wordlessly, the farseer seemed to call fire to lick and begin to consume the wood, the bundles of herbs slowly beginning to burn.  The sweet smell of shaman’s smoke filled the area and those that inhaled the fragrance and were affected by the shaman’s grasses, would see three ephemeral forms standing next to the parents and now sleeping infant. For those who may react negatively to certain ‘intoxicants’, even the Shaman variety, it seemed there was another bundle of herbs smoking as well. These were of Pandaren origin, smelling of the sweet calming scents known to many as the tranquility incense that many Pandaren leave lit on long journeys. It brought peace of mind, calm, serenity, and most of all would help keep people prone to paranoia from certain smokes, Shaman or otherwise, from reacting negatively and panicking. “We call ta ja, spirits who come bearin’ witness ta da namin’ of dis girl.  Come ta give ja blessin’s ta dis one of ja blood.  Cyaa Uptfeel cyaa Craaweh Cyaa difus weh weh yu iyaz dim nehjo difus smadda ting skam Difus weh yudo sca nehjo difus deh'yo”

((Kit : Come, Mothers, come fathers.  Come those who are at rest, but guide their family from afar.  Those who once, and still, grant wisdom.)) Kit gave the Shal'dorei a small smile of acknowledgement, looking to the rest of the circle of people and nodding to those she may know, which were not many.

Lowenthal tilted his head, deeply inhaling the sweet smoke that mingled with the air. It certainly brought the tranquility it promised, balancing out the effects that the shaman's smoke brought. Blinking, the mage rubbed his eyes, wondering if anyone else could see what he was suddenly seeing.

The smell hit his mind like a truck. fingers wrapping around his face. as he'd breath the smell in. "What.." He'd say softly, as he'd look back up to the Ritual, some of his paranoia was eased, The young adult looked around. he'd look to his hands. giveing a small smile. smelt like home, sweet home. Kagtu lifted his gaze once more, over to Seilune, He'd only say one thing, "Arcwine Lady!" He'd wave happly, oh man. he loved that time he tasted Arcwine.. Oh, right, the Ritual. he'd dart back. breathing heavly. calmer, more.. at peace with himself for the moment.

"For those who ain sure of what ya be seein, yes ja be seein dem," said the druid who joined the circle after he finished his inspection.

Tal smirked as he saw the smoke forming, taking a deeeeeep inhale to let some of the smoke take effect. However, he didn't think of the fact that Ely was standing right beside him. The little girl did a little sway and tugged at Tal's pants, speaking in Darnassian in a low murmur. "Papa I feel funny..." Tal looked down and bit his lip to bite back a chuckle. "Zyn, I think our little Ely just got high for the first time. Here I thought I would be the one to do it." He scooped the girl up into his arms and brought her over to Jura's mate, speaking in Zandali. "I made the mistake of not thinking about the smoke, she may be a bit anxious due to separation anxiety, but she should be alright. Jura mentioned you could watch her?" He said in a hushed tone, not wanting to distract from the ceremony.

A mirroring smile pulled at the woman's lips at the sign of acknowledgment, idly looking to Xiao and Vol'raka as Kit'raka continued to speak in Zandali. Being one who did not partake in many substances other than arcwine, the intoxicants within the fumes began to take effect on Seilune almost immediately. Her eyes fluttered shut as the fragrance sifted through her nostrils, a blissful smile pulling on her lips as a sense of calm and relief washed over her body. Upon hearing Kagtu's, her eyes snapped open, the woman nearly jumping out of her skin as she looked to him with surprise. "Oh! Hello, Kagtu!" She said, laughing awkwardly. "Please, Seilune will suffice."

Upon seeing the herbs and smelling the scent, Zyn looked to Tal before frowning and glancing over to Vyn. "Hey, take the kids te the babysitter over there fer me, aight?" With a nod, Vyn took his baby brother before nodding to Ely to follow...hopefully she followed as he moved through the crowd to keep the babies at least from getting high...they were hungry enough on a regular basis as it was.

Those influenced by the smoke would see the spirits that came most clearly.  One was a Zandalari woman, the bearing and demeanor of a matriarch in her power.  Her violet hair was spiked up and falling in braids over shoulders and back.  On her neck was a high golden collar, long ears graced with large hooped earrings, and deep amber eyes that matched the trolls who stood around the circle of whom she was ascendant.  Her clothes were in black and dark blue, a simple dress that clung to her form loosely with an obsidian bat hanging from a leather strap around her waist.  The spirit bore no accent as she spoke, her words the native language of the listener.

“I, Azu’lana, come to greet my great granddaughter.” The spectre grinned at Shu'kilo, looking around at the ones gathered to see the girl.

A smaller male, Darkspear from his look and build, materialized.  Green-skinned, he was clad in white and black, the colors of his order.  The mask he wore was that of the visage of the Loa of graves that he had served in life.  He did not pull the mask away, his balding head covered with feathers protruding from the mask.  He wore no other adornments, but his voice was full of mirth and a bit of snark as his words mimicked the Zandalari woman’s.

“I, Un’lai, come to greet my granddaughter.”

Lowenthal's eyes widened and he nudged Draigarth, speaking in a loud, awed whisper. "A ghost..."

A small pandaren woman manifested, starkly similar to the red-furred Pandaren holding Tiny, materialized. Red fur just like Xiao, long flowing hair that was tied up into a bun with chopsticks holding it in place much like Xiao was wearing. She was actually wearing the same kimono Xiao was wearing, except it was clearly made for her and the unusual folds in Xiao’s now made sense as they were filled out by the Pandaren woman’s natural curves on her upper half where Xiao had none, being a male. She looked at those gathered before looking directly at Xiao and smiling with a brightness that carried to her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was like a melody on the wind, feminine and gentle, rich with the love and warmth of a mother.

"De honored ded, I hear you have dem too."

When the voice of Mei Ling rang out, Xiao’s eyes nearly popped out of his head with how wide they opened. It was a good thing Tiny was cradled in the sling because Xiao’s head whipped around to look at her in shock and disbelief as his hands came up to his mouth and cupped over it as he gasped. “Mama…?” He whispered, his eyes glistening. When he pulled his hands away, he was smiling wide, a single tear trailing down his cheek now as he composed himself for the ritual, though not breaking eye contact with the spirit of his mother for several moments before looking forward to Kit’raka again as he needed to focus on the ritual.

Draigarth smiled softly and nodded. "So it would seem... Yes.. I.. I have spoken to my mother before... Thanks to a very kind shaman."

Azu'lana, the first spirit pointed at Shu'kilo.  "We speak Latah, Shiftah."

All that were around the salt circle stood once more, waiting patiently.

The cryomancer fell silent, looking as though he were deep in thought -- wondering why it had never occurred to him before to reach out to his own deceased kin.

When the ghosts began appearing Zyn just raised a brow before nodding and giving them all a grin, "neat". It wasn't the first time he'd seen the ghosts of others ancestors...man Xiao looked like his mom. She was cute!

Kagtu /really/ wanted to speak back to Seilune, but now wasn't the time, he'd give a salute to the Elf, then back to the Ritual. "Holy fel.. those are the spirits.." He'd saw with awe. the tauren /were/ right. Should- no. don't. the Wolfmane are your own kin. your blood, you are no human. These thoughts were pushed away as Kag gained a smile, As he said, Just like a family.

As the phantasmal apparitions manifested from the fumes' psychedelic influence, Seilune's attention was stolen by them, her eyes widening to the size of saucers in intrigue and a touch of fear. The scratching of the quill against the tome quickened, the pages turning at a rapid pace as the woman's thoughts were being recorded. "Oh Stars..." She muttered quietly to herself, a hand lifting to her mouth as she noticed Vol'raka and Xiao overwhelmed with emotion at seeing their ancestors.

“We welcome ja spirits.  May da Loa ja serve…”  Kit’raka smiled with a bow of her head.  “Or Ja Celestials as et be…  Guide dis child.”  She turned her head up to the sky, arms raised to shoulder height and palms out before she let her head drop in reverence.  Lifting her head to gaze at the fire, her voice rang out, singing her words in lyrical Zandali. “Gonk, Riva fu fus Worl, Icense fu fus Yudo. Ju caang wha deh fus oondasta fu iman siame fu siare. Ir dim iyaz quashi iman t'ief is iman difus weh cyaa is ackee iman dim skam Ting siame skam godehsi deh riva sca ju weh whutless is wha worl deh weh or'manley.  Iresh’ka, Vahari.  Quick as ja can.  No sufferin’.”

((Kit: “Gonk, Lord of the Pack, Master of the Hunt. We thank you for the offering of this child of yours.  He has been chosen this night to feed those who come to greet this new life.  Your child will provide for many and we are grateful to you both for his sacrifice."))

The troll and orc nodded, Reshka standing with knife and bowl in hand.  Vahari spoke softly to the raptor, the golden tinted animal almost cooing as she quickly snapped its neck.  One hand on the back of the beast’s head and one on the muzzle made quick work of it.  She held the animal in her arms as it attempted to slump to the ground. She stood behind the raptor’s head as the mag’har waited a moment before slicing into the dead reptile’s neck and letting blood pool into the bowl.  With great care, she left the bowl on the altar and helped the troll woman carry the beast away, their task done.

Lowenthal couldn't help but flinch at the sound of bones snapping. "Ah... so that's what they meant..." He crinkled his nose at the sight of the pooling blood, but continued to watch, curious nonetheless.

"Mmm, can smell its blood" Zyn mused, but he didn't seem to say much else, focusing on the ceremony rather than the hunger starting to build from the scent.

The human watched as the blood pulled down into the bowl. figured, he'd asume some blood would be needed. The young adult gave a soft twitch. as the crack of bones were heard. yet.. he was dull, giveing a dull yet amused face watching this.. tribal practice. In a way, he felt pride, his inner animal pleased for the ritual, even if he wasn't a Troll or Pandaran. His blood was calm, not raging. good thing he took a pill before he got here.

Janaret stood back with Jura, Venya and Tsal, watching Hari and Reshka take the raptor away, murmuring a small prayer to Gonk out of thanks.  The Three brothers watched, quietly, bending their heads as well, both Tsal and Jura Druids of the Master of the Hunt.

Like a siren beckoning the tides, the rhythmic uttering of Zandali that Kit'raka spoke lulled Seilune to its melodic effect, the woman swaying from side to side idly in her intoxication. Being an elf who followed not patron deity or religion, the mention of Loas and Celestials held not personal meaning to her, but she could appreciate the sentimental value behind the presence and offering. In her trance, she barely reacted to the grisly sound of bones snapping, her pearlescent brows merely flicking as the kill was made.

Xiao carefully removed the sling from his form and cradled Tiny in his arms before carefully passing her off to Vol’raka. He looped the sling over his mate’s neck for him as his mate held onto their daughter and then moved to the front of the circle before the altar, standing in front of the woman, his mate, and the spirits. He cleared his throat and spoke out to those gathered. “We would like to sincerely thank you for coming to our daughter’s naming ritual. I know some of you may affectionately know her as ‘Tiny’, but after today she will be granted her true name in front of all of those that matter to our little family. As some of you saw, there is a little bit of blood involved, but for those of you who might be squeamish, the worst of it should be over.” He said with a reassuring smile to those gathered. “Once we prepare the ritual and our daughter is named, we will have words from those who wish to speak them, any of you who wish to introduce yourselves to our daughter before the spirits of her ancestors. Once we finish with the formalities of the ritual, there will be a traditional meal served to honor this ceremony that I hope you all will be happy to stay for.” He looked back toward the working Trolls behind him and saw they had just about finished up and smiled back toward those gathered. “With our little greeting out of the way, it’s time to get to what you all came here for. Without further delay, I will pass this back my mate’s lovely family.” With that, he offered a small little bow of his head before making his way back beside Vol and smiling at his mate, hoping he did well for their daughter.

Zul'jaryn watched them as well, a softness in skull paint framed eyes as he watched the Raptor's sacrifice, before returning his gaze forwards, unblinking, or so it would appear.

Kit turned her head to smile at Zul'jaryn, Medi and Tir, their sons, having broken away from Zaita and sitting quietly next to their father.

Seilune smiled to Xiao fondly as he removed the sling from his body, the woman nearly squealing in excitement as Tiny was procured from the cloth and handed to her mother. She nodded slowly as he made his speech, bowing her head in turn to him as he returned the floor to Vol'raka and their kin.(edited)

Ryleyth had settled somewhat stiffly next to Sam, his ears twitching slightly. Somewhat embarrassed, and cautious, it would seem, a bit awkward, but it didn't seem to be directed at any one person, moreso if others grew too close to the effeminate mage. Rythyren, on the other hand, was all up as close as he could get, a soft chuckle escaping him as Mox'tilek bobbed lazilly out of his grasp, having to snatch her up again. "Not right now little rose... After the ceremony.. you can't cuddle yet.." The little whelp let out a soft chirrup of disappointment, looking towards her friend's bundle. Draigarth frowned slightly, letting out a low murr as the Raptor was sacrificed, somewhere between  curiosity and something more primal, like the Felidae within had been upset it couldn't join the kill, an urge he suppressed, in respect for his companions. Zul'jaryn's unblinking stare softened once more, as he briefly brushed a hand across each of the boy's backs, and offered a nod towards Kit.

Reshka, the mag’har girl, came back with a large basket of bones, stripped of most of their meat and sinew.  She was not quite covered with blood, but her arms and parts of her chest were the crimson of the drying fluid.  She placed the bones in the fire, the smell of the flesh that was left becoming charred filling the air.  The smell was a bit strange between that and the shaman’s smoke that still lingered, but not unpleasant.  At the bottom of her bundle, she pulled out the sacrificial beast’s head, moving to place it before the altar.  The jaw was removed, only the golden-scaled skin covering the bones, and glassy green eyes staring into the crowd.

Vol’raka walked up to the shaman, tiny troll in his arms snuggled in her fur-lined blanket and the big troll waving Xiao over to them.  Kit’raka dipped her fingers into the bowl of raptor’s blood and spoke to each father in turn.  The infant was between them as they faced each other, Kit positioned at the child’s feet, the assembly only able to see the top of her head once the sling was pulled away.  The hunter knelt so that the child and he were more at eye level with her pandaren father and the shaman as she performed her rites. The woman’s blue finger, coated in blood, ran from between the male troll’s eyes up above to his hairline, leaving two lines of blood again on the hunter’s left cheek.  “Vol’raka Raptahblood, dis be ja daughtah?”

The towering Darkspear nodded, smiling around his tusks as he looked down at the child and then to his aunt then mate.  “Dis be mah daughtah, Ah claim er as mine by blood.  She be ouahs.”  The tiny infant took the opportunity to whine and wiggle before settling back down again.

Turning to the pandaren monk, she left a similar mark on Xiao’s forehead, fur only lightly coated in blood.  She touched his right cheek, leaving two small marks of raptor blood on that side, marking him in the exact opposite from his mate.  “Xiao Chun Autumnpaw, dis be ja daughtah?”

Xiao smiled widely despite the blood, seeming to take it better than most would anticipate given how fussy he could get about the condition of his fur. He nodded happily and stared down at his daughter with such love in his eyes. “This is my daughter, our daughter. She may not be mine by blood, but by spirit, love, and a bond I know will never break, I claim her with all of my soul.” He looked down at Tiny and took the opportunity to lean down ever so slightly and give her a little kiss on her forehead, eliciting a happy little squeal from the girl as her Ba’s fur tickled her face ever so slightly.

Shukilo forced a smile as he watched the ceremony, stealing glances towards the babysitter's group of young ones now and then. The druid seemed both happy and profoundly sad, and after a bit of time passed, he mumbled something and had to turn away for a moment, as if hiding something.

The presence of dried blood on the girl took Seilune aback a tad, much more so than watching the earlier raptor kill. It was certainly unlike any practices performed in Suramar involving children. In her youth, she had attended parties with cakes and sweet treats, and children were covered with streamers and confetti. But this contrast to the customs to which she was accustomed only intrigued her further, the woman watching closely as the bowl of blood was brought forward for the ceremony. As the scent of bones and raptor flesh blended into the fumes of the smoke, the woman's nose twitched slightly, trying to identify its properties but soon discovered she was unable to. Part of her felt she should be slightly disgusted, given that she was aware of the grisly remains that were laid before her, but yet the rather pleasantness of the smell prohibited her to be. She smiled with fondness at the parents' combined words and expression of love for their daughter, the woman's gaze lingering on Tiny.

Kit’raka dipped her fingers in the blood again, looking down with a smile at her great niece.  “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka.  What name ja give dis child?  Da one ja claim by blood and spirit.”

Xiao’s smile turned into a grin as he looked to Vol, biting his lip in anticipation before happily speaking out. “We bestow upon our daughter the name of Tarja Tian Autumnpaw.” He was practically beaming, the epitome of pride and joy as he stood beside his mate and gazed down at their daughter.

Kagtu struggled to get to his feet, he'd start clapping. living the place up. "Tarja!" He'd lift a fist up. "Tarja! Tarja! Tarja!" He'd chant. man, was he going to remember this? Though.. he sounded full of pride, for someone he only met once.

Tarja Tian Autumnpaw, he liked it! Zyn also decided to join Kagtu in chanting "Tarja! Traja! Tarja!", full of his uncle pride.

Lowenthal merely grinned widely, clearly happy for the two parents and sharing their pride. He began to applaud in tandem with the chanting.

Tal smiled happily as he watched the beautiful ceremony before him, but when Kagtu... and then his own mate began chanting, he just facepalmed and broke into a giggle. He slowly shook his head, just grinning. "Ohhhh gods..." He didn't seem embarrassed in any way, simply incredibly amused.

"Tarja? Oh, what a beautiful name," she commented, nodding with approval. The woman looked to her left and right as the chanting began, a pale brow lofting in confusion. Was this customary at a naming ceremony? She hadn't the slightest clue, and thus she chose to stay quiet, smiling in soft amusement.

There was an audible smack as Draigarth facepalmed. Cheering? "I.. do not know if that is.. entirely.. appropriate?" The pridelord sighed. Rythyren blinked, while Ryleyth muttered. "Kag..." Zul'Jaryn spoke, a low rumble escaping that skull visage. "Calm jaself an Listen.. we ainna done yet boy."

Kit gave the human teen a look then her employer...and went back to working her magics.  Medi and Tir looked up at their mother and then to Zul'Jaryn, confused. With a nod and using her thumb, the farseer gave the tiny girl a small brush of blood on her forehead and lines on both sides of her face to mimic her parents.  The girl didn’t seem to like the fluid on her face very much letting everyone know her disapproval with a soft cry.

“An’ who ja dedicate ja child to, be et Celestial, Loa or Spirit.” Vol’raka straightened his back, smiling as Tarja wiggled in his arms, still upset at the blood on her face.  “She be dedicated ta da Spirit of da Old Shadowhuntah, Vol’jin Darkspeah.”

Kagtu paused. looking like a fish out of water. he'd slowly stop, and chuckle. Muttering a sorry under his breath, but damn, didn't he feel alive today.

Kit nodded, Vol’raka still kneeling down to be at eye level with his mate and aunt.  The woman’s voice rang out to the assembled crowd, hands in welcome and looking toward the blue tiger druid.  The old troll shifted, gray-haired and Amani in looks, walked forward toward Kit, Vol’raka and Xiao with a blue candle and small box in hand.  Kit resumed speaking as she looked to her brother. “En ouah family, dere be traditions.  Dis one, da ritual of namin’ passed down fer da generations dat stem from da Zandalari, da people of mah mothah.  Fer a male child, a bone rattle be blessed and presented by da fa’da.  A female child be gifted two paiahs of golden earrings on ‘er namin’ day.  Da first be fer ‘er childhood.  Da second be fer when she an adult.  Dis traditionally given by da ma’da.  Dis a child wit more den one fa’da.  Today, dey give ‘er da gift of er earrings.”

The old male druid stood next to the shaman, holding the candle and box, opening it and holding it out to the pandaren.  In the box was a silver needle, an ornate golden Pandaren-styled dagger, and two pairs of earrings.  Both matched save for size, golden and inlaid on the inside of the hoop with deep green jade.  Kit pulled out the needle and spoke, her voice clear and even.

“Xiao Chun, nephew, et be ja place ta complete dis task.”  Holding out the long needle and held the candle above the now fussy baby who seemed to know something was going on.  “Dis needle be da one what pierced da ears of her ancestahs, aunties, cousins, an’ morah.  Et be mah hope dat da same be said fer ja grandchildren, one day.”

Volraka held Tarja as still as he could as he looked toward Xiao, smiling seriously and giving a nod.

Zyn didn't seem ashamed at the chanting, just giving a grin up to Kit as they continued on. He had to admit, the whole ceremony was really interesting to watch!

Xiao offered a small smile and spoke toward those gathered. “I suppose since this is traditionally done by the mother, it makes sense for me to do it, hm? I am not going to be so idealistic as to think we do not all know who is the man and who is the woman in this relationship.” He said with a small chuckle before looking a bit more serious again. He murmured something in Zandali now to Tiny, though loud enough for those gathered to hear if they were listening hard enough and spoke the language. Though it was a bit stilted due to Xiao being a novice with the language, it was still coherent enough to make sense; having likely been coached by his mate. “Godehsi fu flimeff zutopong fus yudo skam ir ting cyaa J craaweh”

((Xiao: “Forgive me, dearest daughter, the pain will be over soon, I promise.”))

After he spoke, he reached for the simple yet beautiful small Pandaren blade and took a small inhale. He closed his eyes and brought the blade to the furred flesh of his palm, biting back a wince as blood slowly dripped down from his hand onto the ground. He let out a breathy sigh and reached for the needle now and carefully held the tip over the lit flame of the candle. After letting the heat sterilize the needle for a few moments, he pulled it away and placed his other hand behind the small earlobe of their daughter. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let a bright teal energy form around the hand behind her ear, the distinctive essence of Chi gathering around him as he channeled it into their daughter. As he did, he gave a small squeeze in the cartilage of her ear, triggering some small pressure points to numb some of the pain that would soon come. He pulled his hand away now to hold the needle with the unbloodied hand and squeeze his cut hand over the tip. Another wince came with the squeeze as blood dripped out from his hand and coated the tip of the needle thoroughly.(edited)

He switched hands and put the needle between the fingers of the bloodied hand, though making sure to keep the blood from the actual part of the needle he was gripping so it wasn’t slippery, and continued to prepare. With that same hand now, he brought it back to her ear and let the mists gather in preparation before separating his fingers to leave room for the needle. In a split second, he moved the blood-soaked tip of the needle forward with lighting precision and pierced it through the sensitive flesh of their daughter’s earlobe. Immediately an ear splitting cry broke the silence as she still felt pain, even if it was lessened. However, the cry quickly began to dull to a fussy whimpering and whining as Xiao’s mists filled the wound as quickly as it formed. He made sure not to heal it completely, instead simply sealing the flesh back together where the blood was coming from but making sure not to close the actual hole and instead simply cause the flesh to seal itself shut around the needle without adhering to the metal. Once he had healed it enough to slow the bleeding but not so much as to make the needle be stuck, he pulled it back out seamlessly and finished the healing so that only a bit of pink was visible inside of the fresh piercing. He carefully took one of the gold earrings and slid them through the piercing, eliciting another whimper from Tiny before it settled in place and no longer bothered her as the metal stopped moving against the freshly healed flesh. Soon after he repeated the process on the other ear, mirroring his actions perfectly. Heat, numb, coat the needle in his blood, pre-heal, pierce, more screaming, seal the wound, remove needle, insert earring, and one last touch of healing on both and it was done.

While Tiny still fussed a bit, the second touch of healing and soothing mists seemed to be enough to soothe the infant as her fussing slowed mere squirming and unhappily babbling as Xiao nodded to Kit upon being satisfied with his healing job on them, offering their daughter an apologetic smile after. “Now you will always be mine not only in spirit… but in blood as well. Our beautiful little Tarja.”

Ryleyth winced. He did not envy her the pain of that piercing, his own hand briefly going to the delicate amethyst studs he yet wore. and his were far smaller than troll jewelry. He yet fidgeted where he stood, seeming to attempt to avoid touching anyone. Rythyren was wincing, holding a squirming whelp who didn't understand what her friend's cries meant, only that she was in pain, going so far as to feebly scratch at her father's arms. He hushed her softly in draconic, reassuring the small violet creature that everything was alright. Draigarth, too, winced, the memory of a few recent piercings leaving him with sympathy pain, though he was sporting a warm smile at the family that showed before him. Zul'jaryn seemed to be concentrating now, his swirling eyes of blue and amber closing for a moment as he recalled the words and actions he would have to commence soon.

Lowenthal empathized with the small girl; the sound of a baby's cry made his heart ache, and briefly he wondered how Calam was doing back at home before he continued to concentrate on the events.

Kagtu felt a frown, but didn't say anything, wasn't his rules. besides, ear piercing were bad ass. he thinks.

Illustrations of the objects being used for the naming ceremony were scribed into the floating tome while Seilune watched the process closely, her eyes widening and gut twisting a touch upon seeing the procurement of the Pandaren dagger. She acknowledged Kit's words with a nod, knowing that the piercing of a female child's ears was custom for these ceremony, but yet she couldn't fight the grimace that appeared on her countenance. The woman reeled at Tarja's crying, looking to the child with a sympathetic look, the  sounds of her wailing making the Shal'dorei's heart ache.

It seemed the tiny troll baby getting her ears pierced didn't bother him, though her crying made him want to calm the poor child. He also wondered how his four kids were doing, though once he looked back and saw Vyn helping with the babysitting of all the kids he knew they were all fine. Poor boy.

When the deed was done, the girl no longer fussing and her pain healed by the skills of her experienced mist weaver father, Kit waved to have them stand to the side as they passed their daughter to the shaman.  She bounced the little girl in her arms, smiling at her great niece.  “Child, da spirits gonna smile on ja, da be mah sincere wish.” “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka.  Who Ja choose ta guard an’ guide should da Loa take ja before she can care fer ‘erself?” Vahari and Reshka came back at this point, the raptor butchered and ready, both clear of blood and clothing changed  to simple half shirts and kilts.  Reshka moved to stand next to Dumbuss and watch him work, Hari moving to wrap an arm around Shukilo.

Xiao spoke up again now after Vol nodded at him, looking out in the crowd toward those he called the names of. “There are four people we trust with the life of our daughter. There are many we consider close friends, family even, but these four are ones we would trust not only with her life, but even ours if push came to shove. The woman who raised the man I love so much. Kit’raka, daughter of the Redwalker, and her mate Zul'jaryn. The other two are… well, they are my closest friends and they very well may be Vol’s as well.” He said with a smile now. “They are kind, caring, protective, and parents in their own right. Talrethriel and Zynros. Between those four, caring for our daughter if anything ever happened to us… I would have no fear for Tarja’s fate. With your collective knowledge; Darkspear,  Frostmane, Thalassian, and all of the worldly knowledge you each have between you. I trust you will raise her well in our absence, Celestials and Loa willing that never happens, but Vol’raka and I instill that trust in all four of you."

With a nod, the farseer called forth the three males that were to be spiritparents to the girl.  “Talethriel Shadethorn, Zul’jaryn Frostfirah, Zynros Shadestriker.  Ah be called as well.  Ah be acceptin’ dis task ta raise Tarja Tian Autumnpaw en da old ways of da Zandalari an Darkspeah, an da edicts of da celestials.  Ja accept dis task?  Et will be ja charge da rest of ja days an’ er’s."

Tal comes forward as he is called, grinning widely with happiness and a bit of pride at being granted such a honored position in the little girl’s life. He opened his arms as Kit offered Tarja and carefully cradled her against his chest. He was only wearing a kilt, formal at that, but simply a kilt all the same. As such, Tarja felt the warmth of exposed flesh and warmed right up to him, making happy little babbling noises as babies do while the large Sin’dorei held onto her. “I accept the honorable task of raising Tarja Tian Autumnpaw to the very best of my abilities, should the day ever come. While I am neither Darkspear nor Pandaren, I will do my best to teach her the ways of her people, if the time ever comes. Thank you, you two… really. It means a lot.” His smile was warm, his words heartfelt and genuine. He was truly honored. After leaning his head down to give Tarja a little kiss on the forehead, he carefully passed her to the man on his left who happened to be Zul’jaryn.

Taking the child gingerly from the elf, he offered the demon touched fellow a slight nod, before looking down at her. The elemental mage was wearing his finest ceremonial attire, which was to say a full length kilt, beaded halter and thick headdress that rested over his head and about his shoulders. The caster leaned down, smirking slightly. "Lil Tarja be a strong'n.. dis da bones be tellin me..  She be a fightah.. an one ah would be happeh ta teach all o' what ah know, should dere ever be a need. My eyes be seein many a ting. Ah be raised in tha old ways by a darkspear ma'da an ah be trainin her da way ah was trained, should it eva come ta pass. Till Bwonsamdi be takin us all, ya have ma word." Gently, he offered  her then to Zynros with a slight nod, his hand once more falling to the leather pouch at his side.

Stepping up to the front, Zyn eyed the crowd, nervous a little bit but just nodded before turning to the tiny troll baby. She wasn’t his, but he already loved her like family. “So uh, I’ve never done this before...I mean ye haven’t either, so here goes.” Clearing his throat, he glanced around and eyed Vol and Xiao before looking back to Tarja. “I, Zynros Shadestriker, accepts the role’a bein’ one’a ye god fathers. I promise te protect ye like me own, te sit ye when ye dads need’a do stuff, te spoil ye like the proud uncle that I am.” He also had a gift for her, his own blessings of sorts (even though the gift of blessings wasn’t happening yet). Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny little braided leather bracelet, carefully putting it around her wrist. “This’s more fer ye parents than fer ye, but with this bracelet, ye dads will always know ye safe.” After he put the tiny bracelet around her wrist, he would hand her back to Vol’raka.

Vol grinned, taking Tarja back as she made noises, she liked looking at the new people.  "Ja lil one, ja gonna meet everyone who wantin' ta do so, en a bit." Kit nodded, beckoning each of the three forward to place a line of blood under their right eyes.  She brushed a line under her own right eye to match the others.  “Ah name us all fouah ta be da guardian’s of dis lil troll.  Ja be obliged ta fulfil ja oath ta dese mons an da babe.” She nodded a dismissal to the elves, turning to her own mate, Zul’jaryn.  “Ja who be called Uncle ta Vol’raka.  Ja been asked ta roll da bones.  Ja tell us da fortune of dis girl.  What da Loa speak?”

The mage, blue eyes shining a bit in the lowering light, came forward.  The book that rested on the altar was set aside a little as the big male moved to kneel on the outer side of the altar.  Zul'jaryn knelt and pulled out a bag made of leather.  The leather strap, where usually tied with a knot, was held shut by what looked to be a tooth, small and sharp, like that of a young raptor.  His hand came out with a pile of what looked to be large chips of bone, dark runes cut into the white polished pieces. He studied the ossein fragments quietly for a moment, a finger scratching his chin as he speaks.  One ear twitched, causing the chiming sound of one his chains, marks of Bwonsamdi’s claim on him.  It caused one earring to clatter as he ducked his head, looking closely at the three that came first to his sight.

"Da first be As Or Os.  Action, Thought, Inspirin' Enthusiasm.  Et brin wisdom and favah da intellectual.  She gonna go through a time where ever'tin' be about Talking, discussin'.  Time be comin' where knowledge be necessary, more den we all be knowin.  Tarja be needin' ta listen tadem what be know ta be wise an' informed en da ways of da world.  She do dis, et be a positive fer all involved.  Patience gonna be a powahful ting fer dis lil life.

Da second be Is.  She gonna need ta learn ta stand back.  Sometime et be where et best ta not take action.  Too many tings get en da way."  His hand waves from side to side, as if sweeping things from before his vision.  "Things will be troubled, en many ways.  En dat time, et be a time ta wait, ta watch.  She gonna know when et time ta take action, ef she listen ta wisdom of 'er own an othas."

He moved his finger to a third bone, smiling.  "Ger Or Gar, da third.  Transition.  Heraldin' da end of dark times.  Ever'ting happen en ets own times.  She gonna have ta learn ta adapt.  Be a willow, not a mighty tree.  Da reward be worth et when she able ta do dis.  Adapt an' be calm when tings be gettin' crazy.  En' da end, She gonna use dem skills ta do great tings en da name of 'er people.  One day, she gonna help bring change.  Othas be involved, but she gonna be one what help wit da change." "May one day, lil Tarja, ja help right da wrongs.  Be kind ef ja gotta impose ja will.  Bein' a good person be hardah den ja tink, but ja loa, ja spirit reward en dey time."

“Now, dis be da time fer blessin’s.  From da Fa’das, da spirits, da guardians, and Ja.  Ja what be ‘ere considered family en some way ta dis new family.  Et be time fer ja ta speak should ja wish.  Et not be required of da family, but et mebe nice fer a lil hello da ‘er?  Come wit’in da circle, be careful of er’ head when she given ta ja fer ‘er blessin’s.  Some of ja be from otha traditions an’ faiths.  En dis place, dem blessin’s welcome and wanted.”  Kit chuckled softly as she stood to the side with Zul’jaryn, their own sons sitting remarkably quietly next to them, but just inside of the circle with their parents.

Vol moved to take Tarja back from his Aunt, sitting on his haunches, pulling Xiao to stand next to him.

“Mah Tarja.  Daughtah.  Ah, Ja Papa Vol'raka and ja Ba Xiao Chun, choose and gift ja da name Tarja Tian.  Ah declare myself to be one who will teach you the old ways of da Loa, Zandalari an da Darkspeah.  We be helpin’ ta guide ja path and care fer ja until ja ready ta do fer jaself.  As we be settin’ ouah foot upon dis path wit’ ja, we be promisin’, ta Loa an’ Celestials both, dat we be givin’ ja what knowledge we be possessin’ and hope dem what witness dis be doin’ da same.

Wit raptor's blood we grant ja courage, wisdom, patience an’ strength of will.  Wit dese virtues, may ja fight for ja Loa, protect dem what be ja’s an’ be successful en ja walk en dis world an othas.” The troll mon passed her to her Ba, smiling down at Xiao Chun as he kissed both his daughter and mate on their foreheads.

Janaret smiled from the side, looking at his little family, grinning proudly.

While his mate was holding Tarja, Xiao picked up a nearby sealed box and carefully opened it, setting each of the seemingly mundane objects in four distinct places. One East, one North, one West, and one South. Upon finishing his preparation, Xiao took Tarja back from his mate and gazed down at her, such love in his eyes as he spoke. “I, your Ba, Xiao Chun, declare myself to be one of the ways of Pandaria. Even as Troll blood courses through you, you will be just as Pandaren as those who are furred head to toe. I promise to teach you in your Ba's ways, to pass along our ancestral knowledge and show you how to live your life to its fullest, under the Celestials and Loa both." He smiled down at the relics he had placed and continued. "With these four relics of the August Celestials, a tuft of fur from Niuzao, a shed scale of Yu'Lon, a broken claw of Xuen, and a lost feather of Chi-Ji, we grant you the fortitude of the Black Ox, the foresight of the Jade Serpent, the agility of the White Tiger, and the mindfulness to keep your hope burning as bright as the Red Crane against all odds."

Azul’ana did not take the babe, but her spirit moved to stand before Xiao Chun as he held the child in his arms.  “Great granddaughter.  Great things will come from you, equally great things expected.  There will be happiness and tragedy, wonders and pitfalls.  None here can nor should shield you from that adversity, for because of it you will grow like a flower in sand.  Never forget to grow.”

With that she moved to float behind the altar.

The beautiful kimono-clad Pandaren spirit moved forward to stand before her son and her granddaughter, smiling down at them now. As she spoke now, more than her simple announcing of her presence before, those gathered would hear where Xiao got the melodic undertone to his voice. Mei Ling had a voice that sounded like music on the wind, sweet and rich, gentle and soothing to the ears. The smile on her face carried to her words, making the harmonious notes of her words that much more euphonic. “My dear granddaughter, while I may not be living and breathing beside you, I will always be there to watch over you…” She paused to look at Xiao, her eyes sparkling with joy. “... and you.” She then looked to Vol. “All of you, in this beautiful family. Your life will be filled with more love and compassion than you will know what to do with and I know that you will become an amazing woman with an even more incredible soul. The Celestials smile upon this one… and your life will reflect that. Never forget that you have the love and support of those in the realm of the living and beyond. Your mama Mei will always watch over you.” Her smile only widened now as she stared down at the baby girl for a moment before offering one last lingering look toward her son only for him to return it with a grin of sheer joy as she moved back to stand behind the altar. Xiao didn’t even hide the tears that were streaming down his face. He was too happy to care.

The masked spirit came forward, smiling down at his youngest granddaughter.  “There were ones before you, there will be others after you.  Forget about none of them.  All will have something to teach you.  You will have something to teach them.  Lessons come in many ways, granddaughter.  Teach and Learn.  And, don’t forget to laugh.”  His spirit moved to stand behind the altar, all three watching.

Tal came forward now, Xiao smiling at him and offering his daughter over to the Illidari carefully. Tal cradled her against his chest again, more happy babbling coming from her at the unusual warmth of his skin against her. He couldn’t help but to chuckle a bit. “You beautiful little girl… you are truly lucky to have such a loving family. No matter the strife, no matter what mess life may throw at you… I know that you will always have this entire village of loving people to hold you up and make you strong enough to face anything. I am more than honored to be part of that village, to be able to be part of your little family as one of your spiritfathers. Whether you need, no matter the time, no matter the place… I will always be there, all you need to do is call. Celestials, Loa, and whatever other Pantheon may be looking… this one is special… and I know they know it. You are going to have an important life, little one. You deserve it.” With that, he smiled and carefully passed her off to Kit as she came up next.

Kit came forward, holding Tarja yet again in her arms.  Her words were in Orcish, soft and sung as a lullaby would be to her own two sons.  “Da loa keep ja safe, Ja heart guarded from harm, ja blood strong.  One day ja grow ta fight fer what ja believe en.  Dat could be da path of da motha, da path of da warriah, da path of da healin’ crone.  Whatevah et be, little Tarja, we all ‘ere ta help ja.”  She said a few more words in Zandali that caused Vol’raka to give her a look and the Spirit that was once Un’lai cough.  “Deh'yo dim J skam difus wha fu yu so han smadda fu ir smadda fu fu Iyaz Deh deh yahsoda worl m t'ief ting fu deh fus'obeah Wha skam deh ackee fi fus craaweh fu ting.”

"Tarja, ja gonna go on ta great tings.  Ah be a creature of da Loa of graves.  One day we all gonna meet 'em eat at 'is table.  Dat inevitiable.  When ja go, make sure ja sent many before ja."

Zyn took baby Tarja into his arms to hold her close to himself, smiling down to her. "Tiny...Tarja. I'm not  as good with words as ye Uncle Tal, but I as I said before, ye part'a me family an' that means ye under the protection of Shadestriker. May the Shadows ever be beneath ye, give ye a place te hide if ye need it, give ye safe haven from dangers that may lurk.  An' know that when ye be old enough, if ye wantin', I'll teach ye how te be one with the shadows." Leaning in, he kissed the girl on the forehead before handing her over to Kit with a nod.

Rythyren perked his ears, listening, thankful that when Tarja had stopped crying. After a moment, he spoke softly, with a smile. "If.. I may?... I have you lovely gentleman but a short time, however I find myself fond of you, if for nothing else than you have given someone very dear to me a new friend, and I think, perhaps, lifelong, if she has anything to say about it. As you may be aware, I hide little about what I am.. I am yet young, my youngest, however, has an eternity ahead of her." Mox'tilek perked up, before squeeking out softly. "Can I be with Tarja now?" Her snoot wiggled and a tiny serpentine tongue blepped out from where she rested in her father's arms. The entire display made Ryleyth giggle, if a bit hesitantly. The delicate magister, crossed his arms over his chest as he did so, his head down and his ears back, a flush to his cheeks. Draigarth was amused as well, though he wrapped an arm around Lowenthal, clearly something on his mind, but he wasn't talking, as he glanced sideways at his beloved.

Kit wandered to Zyn, standing next to him. "Now fer all da assmebled, et be ja time ta say hello, ef ja wantin'.  Step up an be speakin' ja words as ja be seein' fit.  An ja can aftah everyone who wants ta has held er, lil ting."    Kit now waited for whomever came up to hold her and speak.

Tal watched everything play out, grinning at the little whelpling and her incredibly adorable display. However, his gaze remained on Ryleyth the longest. Seeing the man giggle, show any sign of happiness at all really, it was something that made the Illidari incredibly happy to witness again.

Shukilo shifted from foot to foot, looking to Vahari for guidance."If et be de time for meh to speak, ah ave a gift for de family o de babe. De Loa I revere bade me make dis for jah, and ah know bettah dan ta disabeh de masta of shapes." Striding over, he collected the large hide-wrapped parcel and carried to rest before the family. Slowly he unwrapped the package, revealing a stone plinth much like the ones seen for the fallen in Pandaria. Almost three feet tall, its sloping rectangular form was topped by a silver-and-steel bowl for incense, and its base was almost a foot wide and nearly square. engraved on all four sides of it was a modified version of the Darkspear spear-and-shield that would take a moment to Identify. At the foot of the front was a metal weapon bracket, empty as Shukilo unwrapped a beautiful stone and silver mockup of of a specific glaive, of which no other quite like it had been known to exist. Reverently, he placed it in the bracket, and then stepped back and proclaimed "By order of Gonk, de master of shapes, ah shrine ta da fallen chieftain o' de Darkspear ta watch over ya home."

Vol bowed, looking to his sister and his brother-in-law of a sort.  "Ah be tankin' ja,  Dis be a blessin' on mah family, Shu'kilo, an ja too, Sistah."

Lowenthal smiled at his beloved. What do you think, love? Quite touching... I almost wish we had given Calam something like this. He communicated to his husband via thought, and through their link he wondered what the ranger was thinking.

Seilune stepped forward as the invitation for others to come forward and given their blessings to Tarja was made, the woman gingerly taking the child and cradling her in her arms as she spoke broadly. “Friends and family of this beautiful child, I am Lady Seilune Astrande. I thank all of you for the humble invitation to bear witness to Tarja’s naming ceremony, as well as for being welcoming of me. I have no tutelary deity that I follow. In fact, many of my people have abandoned the religion of old over the span of ten thousand years. But with that being said, I bestow best wishes and tidings onto Xiao, Vol’raka, Tarja, and all of you gathered here today. May this child always walk an illuminated path, one that is paved with success and strength, and that each and every one of us can give her the love and help that she needs to fulfill her goals and wishes.” A lilac gaze swept slowly to the child, resting on her cheerful visage before fluttering shut. The Shal’dorei pressed her nailed thumb upon the child’s forehead, and as she did so, the sound of soft Shalassian could be heard emitting from between the woman’s lips. “E’rath omnas…” Intricate, leyline tattoos inscribed across her periwinkle skin shifted to an amethyst hue as she muttered the incantation, a prismatic barrier of arcane engulfing Tarja’s form before becoming invisible. “I have placed a shield upon the child, one that is invisible to the naked eye to protect her from any and all that could, Titans forbid, attempt to do her harm.” Before passing Tarja to the next person who wished to speak, Seilune conjured a leyblossom with a quick flick of her wrist, carefully tucking the efflorescent flower behind the child’s pointed ear. “Erana-dora isil.”

Vol smiled, Tarja making a happy little newborn noise at the flower.  "Ah tank ja, Lady Astrande."

Reshka came forward, taking Tarja and bouncing her a little.   “I’m your cousin, Reshka.  I hope that anything I teach you will at least be positive.  I hope you have a far easier time keeping your temper than I ever have.  You should know that you have a great big family who loves you and will help guide you.  There will be punishments, and rewards.  Life’s not easy, Tarja.  The family who you choose as yours will help you through.”

Draigarth smiled softly. It would have been nice, yes... but... perhaps.. He glanced towards Rythyren, thoughtfully for a moment, before glancing back to Lowenthal. Perhaps... ah.. nevermind.... this is hardly the time.. He responded in kind.

Lowenthal lifted a brow, looking concerned. If you say so... but would you tell me later?

Xiao remained silent, watching the ceremony with a proud smile... but then Seilune's magical display made his eyes widen a bit and an impressed look crossed his features. The conjured flower caught his attention the most, grinning widely and having to resist from reaching out to touch it. "It is beautiful, and so is that gesture. Thank you, really."

It's nothing bad my love, I promise.. just.. ideas... He blushed , ducking his head and offering another smile.

Sam steps forth and takes the baby, uncapping a tiny bottle of scented oil and anointing each cheek with a little.  "I offer to you two gifts: the ferocity of Goldrinn, and the peace of the Light.  May your heart always know the balance between them, and may you never lack for the courage to do what you feel is right."  He kisses her forehead to seal the blessing, and passes her on.

Tsal, the orange-haired brother of Vol’raka smiled as he held the youngest of his niece.  “Ah be ja Uncle Tsal.  Ah not got much ta say, but May da Eart’motha guide ja en er wisdom.”

The cryomancer looked rather relieved, and smiled. "As long as you are untroubled... I think I will go congratulate the parents and meet the baby." He planted a kiss on the ranger's forehead, and stepped away into the gathering, waiting his turn patiently to meet the youngling.

Dumbuss got up and walked up the the young one, smiling wide with a box in hand. Opening it slowly, he addressed the babe as he handed an ornate mechanical raptor in Zandalari styling To Vol. "Dumbuss bring companion thingy for little one. Give to papas for now. will be fun for you when are allowed to play with later. Will help protect too. Dumbuss is with Reshka, you ever need Dumbuss, Dumbuss will smash things for you."

Reshka grinned.  "Awww its cute!  Dumbuss, no smashing one elf with other elf..."

"Well.. I mean.. Can't argue with the outcome of last time.." Jested Draigarth with a low chuckle.

Lowenthal glanced over at the mag'har woman. "Ah, that story certainly has made its rounds, hasn't it..."

"They are mated.. I'm certain he bragged about it.." Draigarth smirked.(edited)

The little Mag'har smiled.  "Oh Runda and Harken have even been regaled of THAT Exploit!"

Lowenthal exclaimed. "The only one allowed to smash Draigarth here is me."

"LOWEN!" Now the pridelord was blushing.

Dumbuss spoke.  "Need help 'frostypants'?"

The cryomancer grinned devilishly, but the gesture was countered by an innocent grin.

A bright redhaired male came forward, “Ah be Ja Uncle Jura.  Ah hope ja like mangoes.”  He gave a chuckle as he held the tiny sleepy child.  “Ja got two good fa’das.  Ja got all dese people ‘ere ta see ja.  May ja one day find ja place an’ ja footin’.  An' et sound like ja got an interestin' otha side da family as et be.."

Rythyren cleared his throat, covering mox'tilek's head. "PLEASE...."

Xiao made a quiet 'Oooh' as he saw the raptor, deciding to hold it for his mate for now. It was his curiosity that got the better of him as he found a little dial to turn and promptly began to turn it and set it down to see what it actually did.

"Of course not!" The mage let out a harrumph, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder.

Janaret:  “Tarja, Ah am Janaret.  A am new to your family, and newer to your life than you are.  Ah am welcomed by your fathers as theirs, welcomed as a new love in their life.  They welcome me as father to you as well.  I hope to be a good one, a good member of your family, So Zutopong."

Zyn moved from the group crowding around the baby over to his own kids on the far side with the babysitter and Vyn to check up on them all as well as bring Luna and Balore and Ely back over now that the scent was gone. "Hey, Tarja, why don'tcha meet ye cousins? This's Luna an' Balore." Holding a baby in each arm, he held them up to the troll baby and whoever was holding her.

As the raptor was set down, it whirred and clicked, its eyes flashing red, then yellow, then green and finally to blue. Looking around, it cocked its head one way, then the other, and let loose a tiny roar as it scampered around through peoples feet.

Lowenthal peered over shoulders in order to see the child, letting out a soft "aww".

Hari held Tarja up to see the babies, the infant very interested in looking at EVERYTHING.  “Ah be Ja Auntie Vahari.  Bwonsamdi guide ja.  May all da Loa smile.  Make sure da firah en ja belly nevah go out.  Fight fer et.”

Vol laughed, kneeling down and looking at the raptor. "Can ja make em.. full size?"

"... Oh Celestials, wait come back!" Xiao said as he hurriedly tried to scamper after the construct, looking to snatch it up and try to turn it off.

“Ah be ja Uncle Venyabi.  Not seen ya before this day, little one.  Mah blessin’ be simple.  Ef all ja can save en dis world be one, be sure et be jaself.  Nevah set jaself on firah ta keep anyone warm.  Remembah othas, but not forget jaself.”  The othre redhaired male grinned down at the girl before He and Tsal dragged Jura off.  They would be found by the fire, drinking beer and roasting pieces of raptor and Tsal inspecting the hide.

Dumbuss nodded once, then looked thoughtful. "Expensive, need to keep light.  Would need lots of special metals and would want actual hide from large dinos."

A moment into the mad scramble after the raptor, it was floating above the pandaren's head, shrouded in a glow that bordered violet and a firey orange, as Ryleyth's hand held outstretched, golden eyes glowing as he concentrated on holding it still. "Missing something?"

"Ja an Ah gonna talk latah, Cousin."  Vol nodded at Dumbuss and Reshka smirking.

"I didn't necessarily prepare a fancy speech or anything, but could I hold her for a moment?"

Hari handed Tarja over, letting Lowen hold the wiggling infant.

Xiao hadn't even noticed it was off the ground until he heard the whirring of the gears above his head and looked up. He chuckled and reached up for it, smiling as he recognized that hue of magic. He looked over to Ryleyth and nodded. "Thank you, yes. I did not realize how fast that little thing could run." He looked to Dumbuss now. "This is nicely made, Tarja will love it. I am more intrigued with it than I should be as well, but some things can't be helped, hm?" He said with a playful little glint in his eyes before he finally turned the knob the other way to cease its whirring and running.

Ever so carefully, the mage took her into his arms and held her close. As he stared down at her, he could only think of one thing: don't make her cold, don't make her cold... He smiled, cooing softly. "Hello there, pretty lady... look at how lucky you are, surrounded by love and warmth."

Rythyren smirked slightly, padding forwards a bit, before murmuring quietly to Vol'raka. "I.. did bring you something as well..." He paused for a moment, before offering a small package. "This... may help.. when her teeth begin to press farther..." The small semi-squishy object looked like a leather pouch, shaped to look like a Zandalari mask, cool to the touch, clearly enchanted.

Vol reached out to take the pouch.  "Dis bet bettah den booze on 'er gums."

Lowenthal rocked the child gently, beginning to regret having not brought a gift. After mulling it over a few moments, his eyes lit up with an idea. Balancing Tarja in one arm, he used his other hand to conjure something made of ice -- it was a small rattle, the handle shaped like an icicle. He let the baby observe it. "This is enchanted so that the cold will not bother her, but it is very delicate. If it breaks, I can make a new one without issue."

Tal waited for Lowen to finish his greeting before heading over. "May I?" He asked kindly once he finished, taking the little bundle into his arms now. “Perfect little Tarja… I am your uncle Talrethriel, one of your spirit fathers. Whenever you need help, support, advice on men even… who knows maybe you will like the Shimmerweed as much as two of your spirit fathers do.” He said with a small chuckle now. “You already have my heart even so soon after your birth. I always told Zyn children were hit and miss for me, but our beautiful twins, our wonderful Elysara, and now you… you all are a wonderful exception to that rule. I could not love any of you more if I tried and I look forward to getting to know you for the rest of your life.” He gave her a playful little boop on the nose and smiled before passing her off to the next person.

After Tal finished his speech, an unfamiliar form to almost everyone would appear near the back. An older, grizzled Pandaren with the more traditional black and white fur, spotted with bits of grey edging on the black, observed from the shadows. He was dressed in full Shado-pan formal wear, his full uniform with the low-brim hat, a large glaive strapped to his back with an ornate dragon acting as the head with the blade coming out of its mouth. He cleared his throat and stepped forward from the shadows now, speaking in an even more accented Orcish than Xiao did. “I… would like to introduce myself.” He said tentatively, staring at Xiao. Xiao’s mouth just about fell open, gaping slightly as he stared at the older man. “I-... ah… yes, please.” He said quietly, gesturing for Tal to hand Tarja over to the mysterious Pandaren. Tal seemed uncertain, but he nodded and brought the small girl over to the Pandaren as he moved to the front of the group of onlookers who had either already given their speech or were waiting to do so. The Pandaren took the child and held her against his chest, the cool leather seeming to not bother her much. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Tarja… I am your grandfather, Lin Xuen Autumnpaw.” He a took hard swallow and offered a small smile, looking almost a bit choked up yet slightly conflicted. “I… have made my share of mistakes in life, with your father. I… look to fix those with you.” His speech was stilted as he spoke, odd pauses here and there as he tried to find the right words in Orcish without anything coming out wrong. “I may have had trouble coming to terms with… what your father chooses to do with his life, in truth, I still do. You… my granddaughter, are far too important and far too precious to let any of that get in the way of me meeting you. I am sure your fathers and I will have a long discussion after this, but right now all that matters is you and that you know… your Yeye.”(edited)

He smiled now, looking up to Xiao. “Thank you, for… inviting me.” He bowed his head slightly before offering the little girl back to her Ba. “I… am honored to meet my granddaughter.” Xiao looked like he had just seen Vol’jin come back to life, do a little dance, and then shapeshift into one of the Celestials. The shock was apparent on his features. It was only upon Tarja being given back that he snapped out of it and took her into his arms. He took a slow inhale and nodded at his father, offering a tentative smile. “I am glad you could make it. Shocked, but… glad.” It was only then the spirit of Mei Ling let out a scoffing chuckle, giving her husband all kinds of side-eye. “He knew he better come or I would go and haunt his Shado-pan tiger everyday to the point of it bucking him off every time he tried to ride it had he not.” She spoke rather hurriedly in Pandaren now, fluent and exotic, the tone pointed. “Nǐ zhīdào wǒ bùnéng xiāngxìn nǐ děngle zhème jiǔ cái jiēshòu nǐ wéiyī de érzi. Suǒyǒu zhè yīqiè dōu shì wèile nǐ yúchǔn de chuántǒng, méiyǒu rén guānxīn. Nǐ hěn xìngyùn, wǒ bùnéng dǎ nǐ yúchǔn de móhú de tóu…” Xiao had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, the noise still escaping him as his father paled before chuckling a bit as well. “I forgot how feisty your mother is.” He murmured to Xiao before the ginger-furred male nodded back. “So did I. I have not heard one of those berratings in a very long time.” After a shared smile, Lin cleared his throat and looked at those gathered. “I will go back to the crowd, I… will see you after, I would guess.” With that, he turned back to the crowd and snuck back into the shadows of it to let the introductions continue as he watched silently.(edited)

Vol just kinda.. blinked, looked down at his furred mate, looked at the spirit again and spoke.  "Dunno Pandaren...  but..  she mad." Janaret smirked, nodding.  "His mother is.. displeased."

Vol’raka stood, Xiao in front of him, their daughter in the Pandaren’s arms and a bottle of goats milk being devoured by the tiny creature.  He spoke first in Zandali to his family.

“J ju cyaa is caang wha J iyaz honnah iman bwoyar ting oondasta Fidong sca Craaweh iman bwoyar ting reespek deh wha Ju wha deh ir ackee fu ting wehnehjo J iyaz difus Worl Noh saakes ju dim skam riva or'manley riva siame fu fus duti Ju  iman tor han wassa wehnehjo honnah wassa Tor han worl J iyaz cyaa Wha sca Duti skam iman difus han smadda wassa deh difus han whutless J craaW Caang wha deh wehnehjo fu fu wi'mek quashi is cyaa is iman dim.”

((Vol: I, we, want to thank you.  I know coming here caused some conflict.  Zulana and Alashzu have caused some trouble for you.  We may not be close as some families.  I know since Mama Azu passed, we all  just.. scattered like seeds in the wind.  We have our own lives, families, people, loves.  Our own ways.  I know soon Kit and Hari will have their own naming rites for their own children.  I just…  Thank you for thinking of me highly enough to come to this one))

His words changed to Orcish, the words far less well pronounced, but carrying.  “Tank ja, ones who may not be blood, but be family.  Ah be raised wit da teachin’s of Family ja be born ta an’ family ja choose.  Ah happy ta call all dat come taday family of mah choosin’.  We be happy ta see ja here and hope ja consider us a small part of ja family too.  Now..”  Blue hands clapped together softly, even that upsetting his apparently hungry daughter.  “Tarja be awake at leas’.  Xiao be havin’ dinnah prepared ef ja wanna eat.  Meet new frien’s, dance round da fiah.  Ef ja curious, Da Raptah, be name of Tigah.  He feed ja dis evenin’.  But der Rice an’ vegetables fer dem what not like etin’ raptah.”

When everyone did make it over to the food, they would find that alongside the raptor was a medley of Pandaren vegetables as well as freshly steamed rice. The rice had a very unique flavor, jasmine most prominently but there was something more exotic and slightly bitter. To those with a trained palate, they would be able to identify it as being Golden Lotus, the rice apparently having been steeped in the sacred Pandaren herb to bless the meal before being flavored with jasmine for taste. It was all masterfully made, the raptor counterbalancing the delicate flavors of the Pandaren cuisine with the wonderfully biting spices of Darkspear cooking. All in all, it would be delicious all around!

[cephalopod-squad]

Thought it’d be neat to draw up some kind of Zapfish progression/growth thing. Some rambling under the cut:

1. Egg: 
Eggs are a bright, somewhat translucent orange, with the fetal Zapfish sporting a large, distinct head. Eggs are hand-selected from the batch; the most healthy are set aside to be incubated, hatching into Zapfish. Less fortunate eggs or duds are usually sent to the fish market. These eggs are a delicacy, but are generally frowned upon to consume. 

 2. Hatchling: 
Fresh from the egg, they resemble tadpoles more than the Zapfish they grow up to be. Their lips are yet to fully develop, and whiskers are absent, aside from a small hair on their head. Colouration is rather pale; it darkens to a lemon yellow as they age. Their vision, as suggested by their tiny eyes, is poor. Their fins are puny, another factor attributing to their dependence on their caretaker. Hatchlings become anxious without other baby Zapfish; they are the most healthy and content being reared in groups. 

3. Mini (juvenile):
 They now more closely resemble a typical Zapfish in shape and colouration. The single whisker is now established on the juvenile’s head, indicating that it’s electrical organ has started to grow. This means it can now be harnessed for electricity. It is not recommended, however; this can be exhausting and in the long term, fatal. 8 Minis can produce the equivalent of an adult in terms of voltage, but lack the energy to continuously generate electricity. 

 4. Adolescent:
 This stage can be defined by the Zapfish developing its whiskers in its cheeks, and the gradual shrinking of the one on the top of the head. It is at this stage that their electrical organs have began to properly function, but they will still lack control. This is the period in which the fish begins to prefer being in small groups or pairs, opposed to large schools. It is not uncommon to be shocked by a maturing Zapfish; wearing insulated gear and avoiding agitated individuals is recommended. 

 5. Adult: 
It is a pivotal point in the Zapfish’s lifespan; they have full control over their electricity, and are now sexually mature. Other than size, this stage can be physically noted by the Zapfish gaining a second loop in its whiskers. Colouration is a prominent gold with deep orange lips. This is the most commonly seen form of Zapfish; they are often used by public places (hospitals, schools, etc) as a power supply. It is generally required to have more than one, so they can be rotated to avoid overexertion. 

 6. Greenies (middle-aged):
 The Zapfish begins to grow large; it’s body elongates, and they begin gaining their deep blue colour; they are commonly called ‘greenies’ due to their colour transition. They begin to grow their fin that runs down the ridge of their back; the tail fin also begins the split and loose its black coloration. Sadly, this is when they begin to be unfavourable; as their appetite exponentially grows, many cannot afford to keep an ageing Zapfish. This usually means it needs to be re-homed. 

 7. Senior: 
It has now grown its blue pattern with a tan belly, in which the former darkens more with age. Green and gold coloration of the fins becomes noticable. Electrical generation requires little to no effort, and one can power a whole city block, provided the individual is well looked after. If one lives to this point, it has a high chance to become a Great Zapfish. People with a Senior are seen as dedicated, patient and kind-hearted, but it can also be seen as a sign of wealth. 

8. Great Zapfish:
 Very few Zapfish make it to this stage. It is at this point they finally gain the third loop in their whiskers, iconic of the very one sitting on Inkopolis Square’s central tower. It is said that particular Zapfish can power all of Inkopolis. Specimens have been recorded to live to nearly 300 years, and span almost 100 meters. Due to their size, appetite and high voltage, utmost care must be taken to properly look after one. Thankfully, they are docile, and only discharge electricity if their whiskers are pulled. 
While very few make it to being giant, and even fewer have abnormal colouration. There have been documentation of a specimen many years ago owned by royalty that had golden colouration. It is assumed to be a rare and unusual result of the Zapfish not developing its deep blue (and in some cases, almost black) pigment, instead keeping its yellow colour from young adulthood. 

[makeitupp-blog1]

Eight Makeup Hacks Tested: Which Ones Would I Recommend?

           Makeup Hacks. We have all seen them scattered across social media, but do they really work? I decided to put some of the most common hacks to the test. Did applying powder through a tissue keep my lipstick in place? Did a piece of scotch tape help me achieve Instagram worthy winged liner? Keep reading to find out which hacks I recommend and which hacks I think need to be taken off the internet.

1.     Scotch Tape Winged Eyeliner

This hack has been talked about for years, and has been the inspiration for many products on the market today. I have seen bloggers achieve the perfect winged liner with this hack and since I struggle with this technique, I decided to finally give it a try. What you need for this hack:

·      Scotch tape

·      Liquid or gel eyeliner

Start by applying a piece of scotch tape to the corner of the eye. You want to position the tape slightly under the lower lash line so that the tape extends off your eye at an angle. Then, begin drawing your liner from the inside of the eye to the outside corner. Proceed to draw out along the tape and fill in the wing. Did the hack work the way the bloggers say it does? Yes, and no. It did create somewhat of a wing shape, but the tape continued to move around on me causing a smudged and messy line. I would be interested in trying different tape or maybe a different liner to test the hack once more, but for now I will stick to normal non winged liner.

2.     Highlight Your Way to Pouty Lips

Ever since Kylie Jenner came onto the scene with her perfectly pouty lips, the beauty world has become obsessed with trying to achieve the perfect pout without a pricey and dangerous procedure. For this hack you will need:

·      Your favorite highlighter and highlight brush

·      Lip exfoliator

·      A liquid lipstick of any shade

This hack is one of my new found favorites. Right before you apply your lipstick, lightly exfoliate your lips with either a sugar scrub or a lip exfoliator. Once your lips are nice and smooth, apply a light amount of highlight to your cupids bow (the area that comes to a v in the middle of the upper lip) and to the outer edge of your lower lip. Then simply apply your favorite shade of liquid lipstick. The highlight will peak out from your lipstick giving the illusion that your lips are poutier than usual. I can fully support this hack. Every time I have tried this out, I have gotten so many compliments on my lips and my roommates have even joked asking me if I secretly got lip injections!

3.     Sticky Fallout Fix

Is the colorful fallout from your eyeshadow ruining your perfectly applied foundation when you go to wipe it away? This hack is here to save the day and all you will need is a piece of scotch tape! Once you are finished applying your eyeshadow, fold a piece of scotch tape into a loop with the sticky side facing out. Then, slide your fingers into the loop and pat your under eye to pick up any loose pigment that has fallen during application. This hack works wonders for lighter pigments, but be careful with blues, reds and darker pigments. I found that if you are not gentle the pigment can still smudge and stain your under eye. Applying loose translucent powder under the eye prior to application works much better because it catches the pigments before they can even get to your skin and then you simply sweep it all away with a powder brush when you are finished.

4.     DIY Gel Liner

I had never heard of this technique until I came across it on lifehack.org. Gel liner is a great product to use when you want to achieve an intense liner look, but if you only have a normal pencil liner do not worry. To complete this hack, you will need to gather the following products:

·      Lighter

·      Pencil liner (do not use a pencil that self sharpens by cranking the pencil)

Make sure the pencil is sharpened to your liking. Then, hold the tip of the liner above the flame of the lighter for only one second and let it cool for about fifteen seconds. The heat will intensify the pigment and make it smooth as butter when applying. This technique will not permanently turn your liner into a gel liner so you will have to use a lighter every time you would like to achieve this look. My recommendation? One hundred percent give it a try! It made my liner so easy to apply and the intense black pigment made my eyes pop.

5.     Powder Coat to Make Lipstick Last Longer?

Have you ever left the house loving your lipstick, only to have it completely disappear an hour later after a bite of food or sip of water? For me, this is almost a daily occurrence and it is so frustrating to keep having to apply my lipstick throughout the day. For this hack you will need:

·      A lipstick of your choice

·      A piece of tissue paper

·      Translucent loose powder and a powder brush

Apply your lipstick as normal and then press a piece of tissue paper over your lips. Once the tissue paper is in place, dust the powder over your lips to set the lipstick in place. Remove the tissue paper and the lipstick should be set to stay all day. I tried this hack with both a normal lipstick formula, and a matte lipstick formula. It worked great with the matte formula, but when I attempted it with the normal formula, it made my lips look blotchy and they had a gritty feel to them. For matte liquid lips, I would definitely give this hack a try.

6.     DIY Lip Gloss

Are you clumsy like me? Do you have some eyeshadows that you accidently dropped and broke, but you do not have the heart to throw them away? Then put them to good use by repurposing them with this hack! You will need:

·      Petroleum jelly

·      A broken eyeshadow pigment

·      An empty circular lip gloss container (can be found at any beauty supply store or on Amazon)

For this hack, remove all the eyeshadow pigment and place it into the lip gloss container. Then, take a generous amount, in respect to the amount of pigment, of petroleum jelly and place it in the container along with the pigment. Using a clean toothpick or quetip, stir the two products together to create a beautiful pigmented gloss. I used a taupe shimmer shadow for my gloss and it has become my favorite go to nude gloss when I need to dress up my look. I would suggest adding the pigment in increments. It is a lot easier to make your gloss more pigmented rather than less pigmented.

7.     Dry Mascara? Revive the tube with this hack!

Is your favorite mascara starting to dry out? Well do not worry because I have found the hack that brings mascara back from the dead. You will need is:

·      Saline solution

·      Your tube of dry mascara

Remove the wand from the tube and put two to four drops of saline solution into the tube. Start with 2 drops and add more if needed. As you place the wand back in, wiggle it around in the tube in order to mix the solution. Let your mascara sit for about five to ten minutes before applying it. Almost like magic, your mascara is alive again, and working just as well as the day you bought it! Just because your mascara is dried out, does not always mean that it is time to throw it away. Mascara can try out very easily especially if you are constantly pumping the wand in and out of the tube. Sometimes, all it needs is a little pick me up.

8.     Conceal in triangles instead of semi-circles

I have seen concealer applied with many different techniques, but this hack or technique is the only one that works for me when it comes to successfully cancelling out redness and dark circles under my eyes. Many people apply their concealer under the eyes in a semi-circle shape, but the best shape to apply concealer in is a triangle. By using a triangle instead of a semi-circle, you cover more area and you are able to cover some of the redness that tends to draw out from the nose and cheeks. I have found that a triangle application makes my eyes ten times brighter and my redness is almost nonexistent. You also need a concealer that will perform and provide you with the coverage you need. Some of my favorites are Tarte Shape Tape, Makeup Revolution (a shape tape dupe), and Maybelline Age Rewind. They all provide the perfect amount of blurring coverage while also creating that brightening effect under the eye to make your eyes pop.

 I would like to thank www.lifehack.org for giving me the inspiration for this blog post!

[sayaratyriea]

What's the physical appearance of all your main characters? I like to have a vague image of characters in my head and they all seem really interesting.

I’ve actually drawn them all a few different times, if you take a plunge into my blog’s /tagged/taz-draws-things archive. Just be warned that there’s a lot of weird crap in there too. But since I’ve drawn them, and actually contemplated making a comic with them before, they have pretty well-established designs for the most part!  

-Sayara is fair-skinned, with dark blonde curly hair and greyish-blue eyes. She’s about 5 feet tall for most of the series. As an adult, she still only grows to around 5′2″. So she’s decently short. She’s built stocky, one of those people who accumulates muscle mass easily and doesn’t look quite right without a certain level of physical fitness. She straddles the line between hourglass figure and brick wall, she’s got pudge but also a lot of muscle. If she doesn’t do her hair right then she risks looking like a Lego minifigure because of her somewhat squared-off face shape. She’s pretty when she puts in the effort, but she usually can’t be bothered. She likes to wear her hair in two big fat braids. She has butterfly-morph wings with a whole lot of colors in them, but the dominant color is blue. 

-Hope is a platinum blonde, one of those people who’d be accused of dying her hair IRL. Her hair’s also pretty straight, though it would wave if she let it grow past her shoulders. She’s taller and slimmer than Sayara, around average height with a more bottom-heavy build. She’s a pretty average white girl, not gonna lie. Also grey-blue eyes, but with a touch more green to them than Sayara’s. She also has more olive undertones to her skin than Sayara, who’s pretty rosy. Hope has mainly-teal butterfly-morph wings. 

-Violet and Lavender are identical twins, the only visible difference between them is how they part their hair. They’re fantasy East Asian, so slightly tilted monolid eyes and flatter noses, but they both have somewhat long faces and very sharp cheekbones. They have purple eyes, Violet’s are a bit darker than Lavender’s. Their hair is black and very long, reaching to around their waists in book 1 and getting longer as they grow up--in book 3 it’s past their hips. Lavender almost always keeps hers in a bun, but Violet can’t be bothered to braid or style it half the time and lets it fly loose and get everywhere. Both girls are skinny and very tall, measuring at 5′11″ when they’re done growing. Lavender looks healthy, Violet looks like she needs to stop skipping meals. Vi wears a ton of silver jewelry all the time. She also has a belly button piercing that she thinks her mom doesn’t know about. Since they’re Irkatzi, the twins have purple blood, which means they look like they’re drowning sometimes. The magic purple underneath skin with any pigmentation at all creates this ashy, washed-out look that’s very alien but winds up suiting them nicely. Violet is canonically the most attractive fairy, I firmly believe that on Earth she could be a supermodel. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Lavender is too, but there’s something very striking and sharp about how Violet presents herself that Lavender replaces with softness. I have a thing for girls who could beat me up. They both have dragonfly-morph wings. Violet’s are purple and black, Lavender’s are pale pastel purple with slight blue and seafoam-green accents. 

-Aelia’s also Irkatzi, and thus also purple-blooded with purple monolid eyes. Her eye coloring is more intense than Violet’s and has more red to it. She also has yellow streaks in her eyes, which is neat. It doesn’t happen often with the Irkatzi because usually yellow eye coloring merges with the purple and produces a dull brown if it’s present. Elli has short hair, since she hasn’t had her seventh evolution yet and the Irkatzi traditionally don’t (and can’t) grow their hair much longer than chin-length before the bulk of their magic comes in. She’s bit darker-skinned than the twins, but that doesn’t say much because the effect of the purple blood still makes her pretty pale-looking. She’s built tall and slim like her sisters, but she’s also pretty buff. She looks like she has bigger boobs than the twins but they’re actually just pecs. None of the Ravenharts are very well-endowed. She likes to wear tight-fitting clothing to show off how much muscle she’s got... it doesn’t always work, because she’s still a Ravenhart, and her frame just isn’t capable of building up that much visible beef. She’s pretty upset about it. Aelia’s wings are dragonfly-morph and mostly orchid purple. 

-Amalie’s physical appearance is in a state of flux at the moment because I keep redesigning her, but she’s some shade of brown. Brown eyes, brown wavy hair, brown skin. She was originally based off of an IRL friend who’s simply rather tan, but I feel like next to all the pale-ass Tyrieas and Ravenharts I should have at least one major character who’s not that? Amalie’s around average height and average weight, nothing really remarkable. Her interesting feature is her wings, which are special. I don’t want to spoil what’s weird about them right now, but they don’t look or function like normal fairy wings. Amalie usually wears cloaks and other long flowy dramatic articles of clothing, so her physical features are ~mysterious~. 

As for the villains... 

-Kyrina’s tan, with light caramelly brown hair and very intense green eyes. She’s got mixed parents, her mom was very pale and her dad was medium brown, so the result is that she’s somewhere right in the middle there. She’s around the same height and build as Sayara, but she’s more pudgy than muscular. She’s got that nice Renaissance painting fat, or at least as much of it as fairies are physically capable of accumulating. She has a very nice-looking nose, and she styles her hair in very fancy ways. When she grows up, she matures into a really nice hourglass figure, but as a teenager she’s just not there yet. She’s definitely never gonna be skinny. She has the largest wingspan of the main teenage cast, even though she’s one of the shortest. Her wings are butterfly-morph and bright red.

-Dusk is another tall-and-scrawny, I seem to have a thing for that body shape. She’s fair-skinned but tanner and more olive than the Tyrieas, with dark hair and very pale silver eyes. She’s around the same height as Aelia. She dresses very nicely, almost always wearing the same dark red suit jacket, which is one of her favorite items of clothing. She and her precious jacket are nearly inseparable. She also wears a lot of makeup. Her signature look is casual red lipstick. She’s tall and wears high heels a lot, so she can fool people into thinking she’s a lot older than she is when she wants to. As a 14-year-old this is unsettling, but she grows into it over the series. In book 1 she keeps her hair short, but she grows it out later. She has pointy triangle bangs. One of my IRL friends nicknamed her “Red Satsuki” (after the character from Kill la Kill), so yeah.

None of these necessarily have to be written in stone, of course--I have my detailed descriptions, and my own canon art, but I also like hearing other people’s interpretations! Ultimately most aspects of the characters’ appearances aren’t that important, it’s more about the stuff they choose for themselves. 

[empressxmachina]

--Also on Wattpad--

Mouse Trap, pt. 2

“You found me. It’s only fair if I do the same.”

More mess drained from Lauren’s lips, staining her clothes through to her skin, yet her physical self didn’t feel as unclean as her mental state. She had dabbled in hacking jobs every now and then because money is money, after all. So, it was always a little more likely to come around back to her, a la karma. However, because of the supreme privacy under which she generally kept herself – encryptions, aliases, and locks galore – the idea that someone found her was impossible to put into words.

As a joke, they would’ve been concerning enough, but the handfuls of words on her monitor carried much weight within them. While Lauren got her gigs, she never pushed for people to come to her. She wanted offers and advertised, yes, but never strived for anyone directly. Word of mouth without a face to put it somehow did well for her. On top of that, with how reserved she was, engaging new relationships, platonic or otherwise, was never in mind.

Every sign pointed to supreme severity and only one nauseatingly fitting answer.

A shaky silence, only cut from more smoothie dribbles contacting the floor, endured for a few moments before the monitor spoke to her again, clearing out its first, discomforting message,

“Are you still there?”

Despite it yearning for her existence, Lauren had slight relief knowing that the mystery interlocutor wasn’t listening in through her multiple mics or peeping through her collection of cameras. But a glance at her desk showed her lattice-leaking glasses and her multipurpose watch still on the same connection as her computer, even though they didn’t have to be.

Her ways of apparently extra-planetary exploration were linked to her most private of personal pieces. Her presence was evident with them. Lauren’s eyes expanded. No wonder she was found. They… it… he found her. How long had she been detected?

Why come out of hiding now?

“Don’t bother hiding if you are,” the messenger dictated, practically reading Lauren’s mind, causing her to re-question her lack of being tapped with every word. “Besides the fact I know where you are, I’m not going to hurt you. It’d be such a shame to eradicate an aberration before knowing if it could bring me some use.”

Surprisingly, or probably not, the envoi’s assurance wasn’t very assuring. Along with being unsafe, it wasn’t very personifying, classifying Lauren as a number she’d throw around on a chart or something. Who was he to say how she lived her life? Though, if his visage was a mirror rather than a magnifier, then who was she to fight it and him?

He detailed, adding to the tension, “I just want to see what I’m dealing with here.” His particular word usage was concerning; however, learning why it was didn’t seem like a good idea. “Though, technically, that’s inaccurate.”

‘Huh?’ Lauren couldn’t help expressing some confusion, though silent in form. Her head cocked at the latter clarification, curious as to why such a seemingly sagacious source would admit fault.

She soon found out he hadn’t.

After a moment of stagnant staring, his sans-serif message popped off the screen, returning to a relatively standard state and the reappearance of her mouse cursor. Lauren stood in her puddle of punch, waiting for anything to occur within the dark void of her monitor for minutes, but nothing happened. Her pointer just floated in the center alone, just like she was.

For some reason, Lauren wasn’t committed to believing that. The crater on the other side of the river and all of its calamity were still being dealt with. It’s rather difficult to count the number of lost lives in a town when the said town was wiped off the map – literally written off by a pen. Knowing such damage came from so little, Lauren couldn’t help but wonder if anything else in the world had origins as outstanding, all the while holding regrets for being unable to believably explain why.

Believably. As valid as this was, what person in their right mind would willingly believe… this?

Could Lauren willingly walk away from it if she tried, now that she knows?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” a new message suddenly popped on the screen, lingering chillingly before being replaced by, “I just want to see the new source of potential with which I’ve been presented.”

Lauren attempted to rationalize, never having heard such a word blend that wasn’t physics-based. ‘“Source of potential?” Do… Does he mean me?’

The disembodied speaker answered that himself. “No, that’s not entirely accurate, either.” So, she was in the clear… except in the head. The repetition of extraneous considerations helped nothing. “What I want to do with you is hard to put to words,” he continued cryptically, still helping nothing, “but this shouldn’t be.”

Obviously, there was no reason for Lauren to know anything about this distant, dominant, puppet master messing with her. But if he was into puzzles, then she wouldn’t be surprised. The complications of her and him existing with their extreme magnitude difference were enough of a mystery of their own. What would be a few with her? As she imagined what he would throw at her next, he brought it to her on a silver platter, beginning with another message,

“After all, I…”

The use of an ellipsis was an unexpected sight. Lauren knew well enough that it implied there was more to be said, but to intentionally break up thought was both intriguing and sickening. To add to the now majority smoothie-based, growing sickness inside her, the screen, for the first time, replaced its total blackness with a vomit-like mosaic of colors and dark letterboxing.

So many hues were literally blocked together, resembling one of those sliding puzzles with the squares, to create a readable, movie-like image brought chaos to Lauren’s eyes. Thankfully, it was stagnant, but it still hurt more the longer she looked at it. Yet, in the face of the multiple times she looked away, she managed to catch something on the screen that made the fight of looking worth it.

The mouse cursor was now a magnifying glass, and it appeared to be as zoomed in as it could go.

‘Oh, no,’ Lauren internally griped, knowing fully well what he was pointing her to do.

What could he possibly have for her to see? She hadn’t a clue, but she had to find out. For all she knew, it was life or death.

As she took hold of her mouse and scrolled backward, seemingly meaningless blocks became pixels, shrinking, multiplying, and growing more variant. A black speckle turned into a square of blueberry yogurt. That azure became a scoop of Neapolitan ice cream. The new trifecta of hues transitioned into a chocolate drizzle that later ran into a cherry syrup sea. The waves of crimson didn’t seem to end as long as Lauren kept scrolling out. However, a contrast came to her when she happened to pan downward from a nervous twitch and collide with an ecru island.

The gradient seemed somewhat familiar at first glance, and it only got clearer as time went on, as she saw more and more with them.

She was met with splotches and tiny holes with which she was all too familiar. Straggly tendrils of darkness going every which way also came: some scattered but most collected in two copses. Deadened lily pads as lifeless as they were bland floating atop white, inert puddles enter the fray. Yet, the slight radiance of emerald within them was anything but. The green glow across everything was, indeed, everything. For a while, the other colors faded together, emulating watercolor more than oil or something similar. But the jumble of pigments eventually combined into something more.

Before she knew it, Lauren was looking in a mirror.

Of course, it wasn’t a real mirror. The webcam was still shielded and off, and to make the screen into fully reflective material in the blink of an eye was impossible. Though, the present presence of enormous omniscience behind an untouchable trellis beyond universal bounds combated all bounds of reality at the moment. Nonetheless, it was a mirror into the past in the form of an extraordinary, extraordinarily aerial photo. There, it displayed her glasses-donning self from that unexpected sighting from days ago in the middle of Mesa Metro, amid a mob in the same oversized, blue sweatshirt she was currently wearing and dirtying more, along with the rest of her overly casual, barely cohesive clothing looking up to the sky.

She never would’ve thought how, then with her haggardness, her eyes had actually met something else’s – his – in some way or another. Her seeing his sizable satellites through an unreachable matrix, sure, but not them looking back. It knocked her thought processes loose, so much so that it sent herself and her chair scraping toward the wall behind her, only to be complemented by a singular, new message printed within the upper strip of the letterboxing this time – the unmistakable, horridly literal cherry on top:

“I can see you just fine.”

[naukha]

Realistic Wings Tutorial: Part II

(Part I can be found here.)

In my last tutorial, I went over the different types of wings, different feather shapes, some dos-and-don’ts, and how to draw wings overall. In this tutorial, we’ll be talking less about realism, and more about how I paint wings in general, using watercolor techniques such as “wet on dry” and “wet on wet”. 

Step 1: Decide the shape and pose of the wing. 

Here I have lightly sketched out the shape of my wing. I chose an elliptical wing shape, since I don’t do those often, and loosely determined the shape of the secondaries and primaries. Keep in mind, with watercolor you want to sketch lightly especially if you know you will be painting with light or transparent colors later. 

Step 2: A little more detail...

Unless you are very confident with what you are painting, I recommend further detailing your drawing to make sure the details (in this case, feathers) that you have in mind, will look alright once put down on paper. Again, work lightly. Even this pencil here is a bit too dark. (Ideally, you would sketch with an H pencil, not mechanical, but I don’t follow my own advice there. ;’D )

Step 3: Pick your colors! 

This could be it’s own tutorial, but I’ll get to that another time. For now, you can see that I cleaned up my sketch to the lightest bare minimum I could, while still being able to see what I’m doing. 

Then I take a scrap piece of paper (I save watercolor paper scraps from my paper cutter and keep them for this purpose) and experiment with colors that I have in mind. Generally, I try to pick out three separate colors for light, medium, and dark values. 

In this case, I knew I wanted light Manganese Blue wings that faded to a rich Windsor Blue, but I wasn’t sure what my dark color should be and what would really go well with my other two colors. So I laid out some options I thought might work, compared them, and decided on Indigo! 

Step 4.0: Washes

When a wash of color, you have to work somewhat quickly. You want to put down and blend your color before the water dries, but you also don’t want to put down SO much water that your color “floats” above the surface of the paper, or your paper buckles excessively. I personally pick out manageable sections to apply my washes to. 

Here, I started with only the primaries, and laid clean water down ONLY where I wanted pigment to be, then I applied color at the tips since I wanted my wings to have a dark to light (nearly white) gradient. Then I moved onto the secondaries, and then up to the coverts. 

4.1: 

While my first washes were drying (very important!) I decided I wanted to add in another color for the primary and secondary coverts, maybe like a parrot wing of some kind? I decided I wanted to include one of my favorite colors: “Cobalt Turquoise Light” and then decided on Cobalt Turquoise as the medium color, and Perylene Green as the dark color. 

It’s very important for my blue wash to be COMPLETELY dry before I add in the turquoise in the middle, because if it’s damp, my turquoise and green will bleed into the blue and I won’t get clear edges and it will get wonky pretty fast. 

4.2: 

A few things happened between the last picture and this picture: 

1. Once the Manganese Blue Hue wash was dry, I applied a clear wash of clean water to the middle feathers, and made a nice gradient of Cobalt Turquoise Light just like I previously did with the blue on the primaries and secondaries.  

2. Once the Cobalt Turquoise Light wash was dry, I went back to the blue areas and applied clean water over those feathers again, and created a second layer for a gradient of Windsor Blue, just to add in more color. 

4.3: 

In this picture, I added in the darker turquoise to the middle feathers with the same gradient technique as with the blue, and begin adding the Indigo.

Once all of my previous work is dry, I then decide that it’s time to start getting more detailed with each layer. I want there to be a nice gradient between a very light blue (almost white), to a rich vibrant blue, to that dark indigo color I picked out earlier. At the same time, I want to add in some clean lines. 

I accomplish this by using a mixture of watercolor techniques known as “wet on dry” and “wet on wet” as shown below. 

This technique allows me to create dark-tipped wings that refine into a clean line up the front of each feather as shown in the painting above. 

Step 5: Adding the details!

Once I decide that I’m done adding washes and gradients of various colors, I add in all the details! Here I used indigo to detail the blue feathers and coverts. I loaded my brush up with dark color, and began at the darkest parts of the feather, naturally allowing my pigment to become thinner and thinner as I reached the lighter parts of the feather, and added more water to my brush.

With small details, it’s important to not let your brush get dry. I don’t let my brush run out paint and water, I just use more water in relation to the amount of pigment in my brush. Controlling the amount of paint vs the amount of water in your brush is a good thing to practice, and not allowing your brush to get dry keeps your lines smoother. Also, for most detail, I do “wet on dry”, therefore there is no bleeding or blending that occurs, with a very small brush, you can almost get a “lineart” look going, if that’s a style you enjoy. ^_^

Step 6: Complete!

I didn’t complete my mini-painting above, but you can continue building layers and then adding detail to your hearts content! This techniques can be used anywhere, not just wings. I use very similar methods for the layering and detailing of scales, fur, hair, etc. 

Hope this helps in some way. Thank you for reading! :D

[doodlewash]

Hello, I’m Brittany.  I have been painting and drawing since I could walk, but watercolor is a relatively new adventure for me.

EDUCATION

I graduated from Brigham Young University in 2003, where I studied fine art and art education and earned degrees in both.  My emphasis there was painting with oil paint and soft pastels.  After graduating, I taught art privately for 8 years.  I have shown and sold paintings throughout Utah and Idaho.  I also have painted plein air extensively, especially in the years living in Idaho.  After moving to Washington 6 years ago, I just paint for my own pleasure and an occasional commission.  (Although anything I paint is for sale…)

I’m a mom to five fantastic kids ages 4-15, and they keep me very busy.  I try to paint or draw a little bit every day to “keep my foot in the door” of the art world.  My kids love to paint right along side me most of the time.

I only had one watercolor class in college, and though I have dabbled a bit here and there, I am still relatively new to the medium and somewhat self-taught.  My instructor at BYU was the great Robert Marshall who passed away last year.  He really taught his students to love the mishap and unpredictability that brings beauty to the aqueous medium of watercolor.  I try to remember to keep areas of the painting loose and soft to preserve the fresh beauty of the medium.  When I overwork an area to try to perfect it, I almost always regret it.

While I’m very comfortable with drawing and using most painting mediums, I have always been a little scared of the unpredictable nature of painting with water.  (So hard to fix mistakes!)  I have been following the World Watercolor Group and Doodlewash for some time on Instagram.

I was inspired to finally buy a watercolor set and dig in to overcome my watercolor insecurities once and for all.  The August challenge was perfect timing for me- and such fun prompts!  I mean, who doesn’t love to paint their favorite things?

PALETTE AND SUPPLIES

I chose this beautiful Sennelier half-pan set, and added a few colors to fill up the palette.  I am delighted with the intensity and quality of these paints.  They are far superior to the student-grade watercolors I have tried in the past.

The palette came with Lemon Yellow, French Vermilion, Alizarin Crimson, Carmine, Dioxazine Purple, Ultramarine Deep, Phthalocyanine, Blue, Forest Green, Phthalo Green Light, Burnt Sienna, Payne’s Grey, Warm Sepia, Naples Yellow Deep, Bright Red, Venetian Red, Cinerous Blue, Raw Umber and Ivory Black.  I added Caput Mortum, Sennelier Orange, Gold Ochre, Hooker’s Green, Opera Rose, and Cobalt Violet Light Hue.  I would like to add a primary yellow in the future.  As you can see from the photo, I use a lot of yellow.  The lemon yellow is just a little too cool and almost fluorescent for some applications, and the Naples is a little too warm and creamy.  They mix well with other colors, but I think if I had a more neutral yellow that this palette would be complete.

Surprisingly, the Burnt Sienna is the most disappointing pigment of this set.  It’s not very intense or as warm as I would have expected.  In oil painting I use loads of Burnt Sienna, but I have hardly used it in watercolor.  I think I’ll replace it with the yellow when I have a chance.  My favorites are the gorgeous blacks, Diox Purple, and the Pthalo Blue.  The darks are rich and lively, unlike many “black” pigments I have tried before.  The Ivory Black is really a dark sepia brown.  I love richness it adds when mixed with greens and blues.

I use two synthetic brushes I picked up at a local craft store.  I bought high-end synthetic brushes: a round with a nice point and a ¾ inch wide long wash.  I would love to buy nicer brushes someday, but these work for now.

Arches 300 Cold Press is my favorite paper from art school.  I admittedly haven’t tried many other kinds, but I’m a complete paper snob.  I believe in using high quality paper, and Arches is the best.  I prefer using the paper in block form, for convenience and ease of transport.

Another thing I have fallen in love with is the portability of this little set.  I have my little palette, block of paper, two brushes, a pencil, a water container, and a couple of paper towels, and I am ready to go anywhere.  I can fill a car with my plein air gear for painting with oil or pastels, so the freedom is exciting.

PAINTINGS

I don’t have too many watercolor paintings from the past to share, but here I’ve shown some of the paintings I have completed this month in response to the August Challenge.  All paintings except for the building are 4.5 by 6” and some are cropped to a square.

I have learned so much about layering, edges, mixing, wet in wet, and adding details to paintings.  It’s remarkable how much improvement comes from painting every day.  Thanks for the inspiration!  I have really enjoyed seeing all the beautiful paintings and posts to this group.  Happy Painting!

Brittany Lane Allen Website Instagram Facebook

  #WorldWatercolorGroup - GUEST ARTIST: Watercolors by Brittany Lane Allen #doodlewash Hello, I’m Brittany.  I have been painting and drawing since I could walk, but watercolor is a relatively new adventure for me.