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iguanodont · 8 months

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Introducing a new birg culture, and the reason the Twowi go to such lengths to cross the icy equator with their cargoes of rare metal and pungent gall-spice. The Ss’wassoum are a wealthy empire based on the far southern coast, where the sea-ice melts more quickly in the spring and its people first built their wealth on the sea-harvest. Their language is heavy on harmonized syllables, which lends their speech a distinctive musical quality. Family units are smaller than the fiercely clannish Twowi, and the gender divide is less rigid, though still distinctly matriarchal. Some of their most lucrative raw exports are refined tree-plastics and sea-silk, which is valued for fine textiles.

While the Twowi run on highly specialized industrial clan-towns, the Ss’wassoum exist in more diverse cities, though the class divide is impossible to ignore. The nobility are loud of dress and voice, with their ornate refined plastic head-dresses, vividly patterned veils, and resonators worn over the rear spiracles to enhance their voices. But despite all the attention they draw to themselves, their faces are always covered; to be perceived as gray-furred mortals akin to any commoner is inconceivable. They walk the streets as living demigods. Just below the nobility are the merchant class, which may approach their influence in wealth and education but are legally barred from the elaborate headwear and home exteriors of their superiors. Instead they adorn the insides of their homes with the latest in art and technology, particularly elaborate electric light fixtures crafted from imported Twowi metal. Commoners wear little at all in the sunny months, save for the occasional beaded sash and brass mandible-cuffs. Sailors and other hard laborers frequently adorn their bodies with scarified and dyed patterns to mark themselves for the goodwill of protective gods.

The Ss’wassoum government does implement a standardized education system of sorts, though only those of the upper class can test or pay their way into the finest schools, where they can master the high dialect and the art of Opinion. Historically, etiquette laws forbade the discussion of controversial topics in public spaces; these were reserved for halls of judgement. The rule is more of a social taboo these days, but an ancient loophole ruled that written forms of debate could be presented anywhere, and with the subsequent invention of movable type, a colorful written debate culture flourished. Wherever there is a public bulletin, a cafe wall, a blank space where people gather, you fill find posted essays on anything from the hypocrisy of the noble class to a long winded treatise on the merits of toe-biter clams. It is not uncommon for a debate topic to outlive the original essayists, as hills are chosen to literally die on are then proudly upheld by the writer’s descendants. So ingrained into Ss’wassoum society is this debate culture, that committed debate rivals may be legally recognized as a marriage-like partnership. Though the Ss’wassoum carry no expectations of monogamy to a reproductive partner, the correlation between rivalry and mating season partners does not go unnoticed. As a general rule, a worldly and strongly opinionated individual is more attractive.

Big thanks to @primalmuckygoop for pitching so many great ideas for these guys, including most of the lore on their debate culture, and the very name of this civilization!

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#birgworld #birdbugs #worldbuilding #speculative biology

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perpetuallydaydreaming · 1 year

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Can you do a Sirius x reader where the reader goes to visit him in Azkaban

winter’s only pretty when you’re warm.

tags: sirius black x gn!reader,, soft angst,, azkaban,, ambiguous ending,, mention of yn,, short around 1k wc or so

a/n: thank you for the request,,, i hope you like it anon! <3

“jus’ hand over your wand, empty pockets, that’s it—“ the security, if you can even call him that, was a lanky, gaunt-looking man. he looked to not even bother to weigh your wand before stashing it away and waving you off. though you imagine, there’s hardly any need for him anyway, no one would even dare to step foot in this place.

the stone walls, dusty and narrow. the windows, hardly even considered as such for how small it was, was unreasonably high. like they don’t even want the inmates gazing at the sky. there was no light fixtures in place, except for the small weak fires lining up the hallway.

you hear the howling winds outside, and waves crashing against the the building, the silent echoes of groans, the crying pleas and the manic laughter deep inside the building.

the doors slammed open by the rough winds of the sea. you jumped, whirling to look at the source of the sound, fingers circling around your absent and locked up wand. an occupational hazard, moody calls it. you unclench your fingers, stretching out the tension.

you asked, no, begged dumbledore to do this. to be the one to talk to him, at least once.

the guard called over another, barking out, we have a visitor. as if it was a joke.

it could be. rarely anyone gets granted visits to azkaban, but dumbledore isn’t just anyone. you even had the absolute pleasure of getting bloody tips on where to go and what to say and who to say it to.

it was another guard, a familiar man that once worked for the dmle, though you fail to remember his name.

“i’m here for—”

he clicked his tongue, “i know who,” standing up with a groan and adjusting his trousers, “not like we have a line-up of visitors shceduled in this charming place. follow me then.”

elevators don’ work, always malfunctionin’, someone almost died last year, if you could believe it. ministry didn’t want to be liable so they jus’ removed it. didn’t even think of the older employees working here those bastards, the familiar man ranted.

on a regular day, strangers talking to you would have been your nightmare come to life, but you’ve come to appreciate the noise in your ears rather than the raging heartbeat echoing in your chest.

as you go further, raising floor up to floor, the colder it got, the more unsettled you feel. for once, it wasn’t because of the dementors that caused the chills down your spine but something greyer and darker than they are.

he led you to a room, locking it as he says wait, off to fetch him.

you stare at the scraped up table, the scruffs and scorch marks on the walls. wondering what must’ve happened from past visits before.

you pick at the skin around your nails, biting and ripping, until the red bead of blood seeps out.

the metal door creaks open, murmurs of warning exchanged between prisoner and guard, and then all you can see is grey and dark.

his sunken eyes, holding the once vibrant grey eyes that have now gone dull and misty. the dark luscious waves now in knots and matted down. he looked so different but he brightens up all the same once he sees you.

he runs to you, engulfing you in a hug. one that you know he needs more than anything. you see the guard reach for his wand and you stop him with a shake of your head, assuring that it was fine. he reluctantly nods and leaves you two alone.

you hear sirius take a deep breath in the crook of your neck as he clutches unto you for dear life. “angel, i di-didn’t—“ he sobbed, arms tightening as he did so, “i would have n-never, i would never betray james like that. you believe me, don’t you? please say you believe me. please say.” his voice cracking, body shaking like a damn leaf. he felt so cold, shaking in thin, shabby looking clothes.

you slowly raised your arms around his waist, hugging him back.

“i believe you,” you whispered, offering mere words as a consolation for losing everything, he cries harder. “shh. sirius. i’m here, i believe you,” you breathed, repeating this like a mantra, as he hugs you more and more into his chest. one of his hand smoothing out your hair at the back of your head and the other firmly wrapped around your waist.

the way he hugged you, and looked at you hadn’t changed, why should anything else?

you stay like this until he resembled the warm heat of a living person. sitting in front of each other but clutching each other’s hands. you struggle as you remove your, his, jacket but you did, placing it on his shoulders right after. hoping the heat from your use, can warm him just a bit more before the inevitable arrives.

“i c-can’t believe they let you be here.” he breathed, voice rasping like it was the first he’s used it in weeks. it probably is, you imagine dementors to be rather dull conventionalists.

“they had to,” you laugh bitterly, imagining the loud protests from the order, when you requested a visit. “else i would have never stopped. i had to come see you no matter what.” you look at him, dirtied and thin. chest clenching and something heavy dropping into your stomach as you gulp, “i should’ve come sooner, if i had known—“

he softly smiled, grey eyes looking so tired but actively roaming around your face, as if memorizing every minute detail. every blemish, mark, scar, mole and line. like it was the last time “no, this is perfect. i didn’t even think i could see you—“ he looked down at your hand completely engulf by his, an overtly misplaced fond smile on his still handsome face, “let alone touch you.” raising your hand to his cold lips as if to emphasize his point.

you dragged your chair over to him, clutching at his arms, pulling him to you—hugging him once more, unable to look at him as you bury your face to his shoulder. it hurt seeing him so happy here, of all places, just for the mere fact that he got to hold your hand.

resting your head on his shoulder, and him nuzzling your hair, taking deep breaths in. as if hoping your smell can somehow be engrave into his brain before the inevitable.

it was easy to forget where you were, being with him like this, but the distant moans and screams was just as easy to hear.

running your tongue over your dried bitten lips, knowing of the time and the limit set. “i don’t how to get you out, sirius,” you sniffled, clutching his dirty and muddy clothes. “they won’t listen to reason-”

he whispers back to you, face still buried into your hair, “because they’re afraid, angel.”

“they have nothing to be afraid of,” you scoff. “you don’t deserve to be here. you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“haven’t i?” he laughs, “i mean it was my idea—“

you shook your head, “don’t. you thought of it as a strategy, a damn good one if that. it was him. he was the one who couldn’t be trusted. it isn’t on you.”

“but i trusted the wrong person—“

“that doesn’t make you responsible for his actions, i don’t even want to—“ taking a deep breath, calming yourself down, “i just want to focus finding a way to set you free—“

“jus’ you here is fine,”

you frown, pulling away from him to look at him in the eyes. grey still misty, still dark.

“why do you sound like you’re just giving up.”

not a question. an accusation, a soft one—a disbelieving one.

he reaches to you. rough hands on your cheeks that used to be so soft, sullied after a year. “because it wouldn’t matter, james is gone, lily is gone, pete—“

“i’m not.” you cut in, smothering the rage at even hearing the traitor’s name. “remus either.” you steered your voice to be firm, “and harry, we’re still here waiting for you.”

conversation became quieter after that. less important, less imposing, more normal. like you were in your flat rather than a cell. in front of a comfy fire, rather than the howling sea winds and cold chills of the floating spirits around you.

chatting in the living room, talking about your day and the plans for the week after a hearty dinner.

hands, arms and even ankles twisted and tangled with each other. needing nothing else but to melt and meld with one another, never to part.

but then the inevitable, the door clanking and creaking open, indicating the end.

you pull each other, hugging fiercely just like the first.

sirius kissing your neck and cheek and forehead and nose and mouth. whispering promises, you don’t know if he’ll be able to keep.

he wasn’t shivering now, all warmed up and looking content but this offered no peace of mind knowing what he has to come back to. how sensitive he is to the cold.

he was escorted back to his cell, a lingering look sent to you as he goes, and each step he takes away from you makes you feel a little colder, a little more frustrated and a little more hopeless.

sooner than you’d like, you were already going down again, your jacket warmed by him hanging off your shoulders.

you get your wand and your portkey and leave.

the portkey beeps, counting down the seconds before it activates, as a trickle of snow softly fall down from the sky. snowflakes catching into your sleeves, beautiful shapes and designs in each one. the howling winds, cold and strong, but warmed by your jacket, you can hardly feel it. then you think of the thin, shivering, man holding your heart, trapped in the tower. with his cold lips and tired grey eyes.

#perpetuallydaydreaming #sirius black x gn!reader #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #marauders era #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #sirius black fanfic #lily evans #sirius in azkaban #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black x reader

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