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naffeclipse · 4 months

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Have you seen anything about Lethal Company? The idea of your cryptid lads watching over and protecting y/n while y/n looks for scrap in their territory makes me smile. They always make sure Y/n meets their quota to avoid any repercussions with The Company

I have seen so much about Lethal Company and this ask makes me go crazy because AUGH I've been chewing on a sort of AU with the DCA in a Bracken-esque role but, perhaps, a bit more interested in Y/N than a monster otherwise would be.

You're just a measly intern. That's all too clear with how the company sends you the utmost dangerous moons searching for loot and scrap. The hauntingly empty facilities and lifeless manors hold the keys to fulfilling your quota for the week, but you're not alone.

On the occasions when you get separated from your crew or find yourself left behind, you feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, aware of something—someone watching you. You carry a piece of scrap that most likely isn't worth the effort (but how could you return empty-handed?) The sinking feeling that, as much as you dread isolation, it would be safer than the near-silent footsteps following just behind you.

Your mouth grows dry. The pulse in your ears begins drowning the metallic echo of your picked-up pace, and then panic takes hold. You burst into a run, racing for the door, and when you frantically grab the handle, a cold, long-fingered touch seizes the cloth at the back of your neck before you throw yourself outside.

In the dusty air of the moon, you turn back to the door, now slammed shut. You drop the scrap to touch the back of your neck—the orange jumpsuit is torn into ribbons just below your helmet. Claws, you think. Claws so close to grabbing your neck and never letting go.

The next day, with only your flashlight and a walkie-talkie, one of your fellow interns abruptly cuts off mid-sentence (was that a scream or just the static crackling?) Left without even a voice for the company, your skin prickles with full-body goosebumps under the eerie weight of eyes watching you.

You turn slowly to look up the stairway you had just descended. The air in your lungs freezes. You clutch the flashlight tighter. Your helmet system blinks across your vision.

New creature data sent to terminal!

In the darkness engulfing the upper platform stands a dark figure with two piercing, white eyes. You whip up your flashlight and beam it on the terrifying being, catching strange frond-like petals of yellow surrounding a flat, disk-like face. Rooted to the floor in terror, you stare. It tilts its head, petals ruffled, in a snap of agitation. It grumbles low in warning.

You drop the walkie-walkie and run deeper into the darkness, your flashlight beam swinging over the walls with the pounding of your steps echoing horrendously through the deep belly of the facility. The primal instincts of your mind take hold, impulses firing to stay alive.

You come to a dead end. A lone light flickers along the ceiling. Cornered, your palms slamming against the bricked wall as if you could push it down, you start to tremble. You turn back, back pressed against the wall, your helmet softly clanking against the stone.

The beam of your flashlight cuts off. You drop that, too. A whimper of fear escapes you when a shadow moves at the end of the long hallway. Though darkly swathed, pale eyes pinning you in place, the figure crouches, creeping forward on hands and knees. The petals about its face have shifted, dropping to the back of the head and swinging down like a tapered tail. You can't look away. The creature tips its head to one side, the appendage trailing over its shoulder like a nightcap. It grumbles low, displeased.

You turn your head away, pressing deeper against the wall. Your every heartbeat is a swing of a sledgehammer chipping away at your ribcage. Bile rises in the back of your throat.

Then silence.

You clench your hands. Slowly, you carefully lift your eyes and gaze at the end of the hallway.

It's gone. The sunflower face and now nightcap head creature vanish like a bad dream in the morning.

You don't move for several seconds, and when you finally straighten and hug your shaking self, you carefully make your way through the darkness. The sinister awareness of being watched doesn't leave. It never does. You find an emergency exit. A chance to live yet. You feel something cold and heavy standing at your back.

You reach for the door when a large hand grabs the back of your neck. A scream jams itself in your throat. Breathless, frozen, you stand very still. It squeezes lightly as if testing the bones of your spine. Its shadow falls over you. Its other hand enters the corner of your vision, reaching for your face as if to smother you through the helmet. It begins tugging on your throat, pulling you away from the door.

"Stay... friend..." it rasps near-silently.

The flashlight in your grip is heavy. Before the creature captures your head, you throw it back at the beast. Light flares when the plastic hits, sparking with one drop of juice still left, and then you rip yourself free. A quiet grunt of pain echoed under the flash. You throw yourself outside, only turning back to slam the door and unwittingly catch a glimpse of the creature clutching its face. Petals twist and writhe around and behind its head in a clash of its early appearances. Between its long fingers, a face, half yellow and half dark with a static grin peeking out at the corners, twists in shock.

The resounding shut of the door reverberates in your head. You escaped. You gasp and clutch your chest. Somehow, your heart is still within you, fluttering like an injured bird in front of a cat. Your system sent new information to the bestiary catalog.

You keep breathing and unsteadily make your way back to the ship, carrying the searing imprint of the monster's hand on the back of your neck.

#bracken!sun #bracken!moon #bracken!eclipse #lethal company au #definitely wasn't tempted to break your neck the first time no siree #he wasn't going to drag you into the darkness never to be seen again ha ha ha!#ha...#lethal company y/n at any given point: bruh how am i an essential worker

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anechomirrored · 1 month

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Comedy and Tragedy - Follow

#fnaf moon #fnaf sun #lethal company #bracken lethal company #Comedy and Tragedy au #my wips #echoes transcribed #echoes art

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theemeraldforesthideout · 2 years

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Perseids Sunset

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strangegreen · 11 months

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Had a wonderful walk today!

#saw speedwell #which in case my pp doesn't make it obv is one of my favourite flowers to encounter in spring #ferns in amongst the bracken #lots of evergreens #lots of hawthorns flowering #a few interesting wildflowers I'm gonna try identify at home #moss of course #AND I SAW A DEER #I'm always so overjoyed whenever i see a deer :-)#now arriving home soon. 5 hours later #so worth it #it's always weird leaving a forest walk bc it was nice and cool there. and now I'm back in tarmac baking sun land it's noticeably warmer #evening traffic but i missed the schoolkids #what i love about that wood is there's so much variety. my pictures don't do that justice #i hadn't been there in at least 3 years but i remembered last time i went we regretted it a LOT bc it was Extreme Slop Shoe Stealing Mud #it was.... very. wet.#but we haven't had rain in a week so today was great #hmmm uhhh #my photos #nature photos #??#i CANNOT remember my tags #natural world #yh that's it #for the trees #personal posting

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apoemaday · 1 month

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Birches

by Robert Frost

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them. But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust — Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows — Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father’s trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It’s when I’m weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig’s having lashed across it open. I’d like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it’s likely to go better. I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

#poetry #robert frost #birches

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

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Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is!

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place!

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish

Fish

Bass

Bream

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone

Apricot

Barley

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc.

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #?#Im tempted to use these in the au #some characters deserve some more fun names hehe #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors #warriors names #warriors naming #warriors prefixes

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mymreaderlibrary · 4 months

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Maybe it's just cause I'm replaying Dying Light but with Cod zombies being a thing I'm thinking about the TF141 in an apocalypse type scenario. Just a blurb idk if I’ll do anything with this.

Gonna lean heavily into the story of Dying Light here because I love it. Note that mc/ reader takes a combined role of Bracken, Jade, and Kyle C. That being said there is no Bracken, Jade, or Kyle in this universe and Rahim is reader’s younger brother.

[TF141 x male reader, no relationship (yet), zombies, death and gore, ramblings/ lore skimming]

[Length: 1,480 words]

The 141 are given a private mission to infiltrate the city of Harran and hunt down a terrorist residing in the area. He's stolen highly sensitive documents and is threatening to have them released through an informant if something happens to him. A standard deal where the task force is concerned however Harran itself is the dangerous part of the mission.

A disease has ravaged the city, being the first documented case of what is now known as the Harran Virus. It is a strain of rabies that zombifies any of those infected, making them instinctively hunt down other warm blooded creatures to spread. The city has been completely quarantined and the virus has not gotten outside of it yet, but this also makes the area a cesspool, concentrated with death and disease. Reports say there are no living (or at least non infected) residents remaining aside from the terrorist group which have holed themselves in an unknown location. Because of this a strike has been permitted to raze Harran in hopes of destroying the virus or at the least any violent infected. A counteractive medicine is in development with its prototype being given to the task force in case of emergency, however there is no solid solution beyond massacring infected. It's not pretty work but the world can't risk this disease breaking out.

The 141 are given specialized equipment, thick gear, loads of medical equipment, and a collection of high end firearms. The team are air dropped into the lower city and instructed to start their search immediately.

The sun is already beginning to set by the time they land. It would almost be pretty if it weren’t for all the viscera in the streets creating a sour rotten stench. Both Gaz and Soap wretch but do their best to push through, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of life. It doesn’t take long for them to find hostiles except to their surprise it’s not infected. Instead a group of well armed thugs attempt to corner them. They’re all carrying machetes and nail bats, some with masks while others have paint creating three jagged stripes across their face. Ghost notes their lack of firearms as odd but chalks it up to lacking proper equipment (even if their body armor told otherwise).

Regardless it goes about as well as you expect for the thugs against such well trained soldiers, however hell breaks loose when Soap decides to fire his pistol. A banshee like scream is heard from across the street and their attackers scatter without hesitation, even leaving behind their wounded. Quickly a horde of infected begin rushing towards the task force, mouths gaped wide and moaning. The zombies they were told of were slow and bumbling but these were ravenous. They ran, yelled wildly, clawed at the 141 with a fervor, and with each shot of the team's firearms another horde would soon follow. It was clear they were overwhelmed and the fear that the mission was over before it even began quickly hit. A pained hiss sounded from Ghost as a zombie managed to pull off his glove and bite into the calloused flesh of his hand. Another slammed Gaz onto the pavement and began chewing into his shoulder. Price and Soap just barely threw off their friend's attackers but the assault only continued.

As another infected went to claw at Price's face the zombie's head flew clean off. The corpse flopped down to the side, convulsing wildly, but unable to keep attacking. A group of young men and women, wearing uniforms unlike the thugs from before, began dragging the team out from the horde. They threw firecrackers over their shoulders and onto the street, catching the infected's focus and separating their numbers. A man in particular seemed to be leading the 141's saviors, giving quiet orders through hand signals to his comrades.

They got a solid distance before the same man began looking them over for injuries in a building. The lowered visibility from the growing dark made it difficult but not impossible. Gaz and Ghost were the only ones bitten meanwhile Soap and Price were scraped from their scuffle with the thugs. Despite the bites being small they bled heavily and the two men had already broken out into sweats. Shaking violently Gaz’s legs buckled and he began to cry out in pain. Ghost faired no better his eyes looking dazed and unfocused as he could only hiss out panicked breaths. Gaz's pain seemed to recapture the attention of the infected outside as banging began on the door of their refuge. A young woman went to barricade the entry but the vicious sound persisted. A fist broke through the wood and scratched at the woman's eye but she didn't falter, using her back to block the entry.

In the commotion Price recalled the prototype medicine he had been given by their contractor and quickly pulled out two small syringes. Their rescuers gave them an odd look before the leader snatched it out of his hands and injected both men without question. It took a moment for the medicine to take effect but the pair began to go lax, heartbeats slowing to a normal pace. However they were still too weak to stand and the door was beginning to buckle. The woman barricading it was grabbed and dragged out into the dark street by the vicious creatures. The rescue leader tried to pull her out but it was too late.

With a pained look in his eye the leader commanded the remaining men and women to take the 141 back to "The Tower" while he distracted the zombies away from them. He left no room for argument and they were whisked away quickly from the regrowing horde. The now nearly black streets greeting them as they ran, carrying their fallen comrades.

The journey to this tower, which turned out to be an apartment complex covered in UV lights, took a lot of climbing but eventually they were welcomed through the front gates. Or well, welcomed was an overstatement, it was more like begrudgingly let through after some convincing from their rescuers. The guards at the door glared at the men and Price could hear them scoffing about their missing leader and how “Rahim is gonna be pissed”. Seems that man wasn't just a leader to those runners but to this tower as a whole. And well if that wasn't a way to instantly ruin your reputation.

They were transferred to the medical ward where Gaz and Ghost stayed, far too out of it to get out of their cots. It was honestly quiet odd seeing the two laying dazed and pale. While the medicine seemed to have some sort of effect, there was no saying for how long. It was still only a prototype.

Soap and Price on the other hand could leave after getting bandaged, only suffering superficial wounds. They were instructed to rest, guided to some rooms a floor below where they saw several civilian types. Men, women, children... a mother in the corner cradling her crying baby trying to convince him to go back to sleep. A father sitting beside his two daughters resting on a cot covered by a thin sheet. A teen boy sitting alone, curled up on a chair shaking. Life. Something they were told didn't exist down here outside of terrorists.

One day on and the mission was already a mess, two soldiers down, emergency meds already in use, a whole community of civilians discovered, a possible ally MIA, and they had not an ounce of info to show for it. Sleeping after that just didn't feel right but the two men supposed there was nothing they could do as the tower was locked until morning. If the screams and yowls of dead were anything to go off of, it sounded like the infected were more active in the night. Who knew if this tower’s leader was even alive out there amongst the savage undead.

It took what felt like a year for the sun to rise again but just as daylight cusped the window Price could hear commotion downstairs. Cheers, shouts, panicked calls for a medic. As him and Soap peered onto the floor above they spotted that same leader from before now being dragged in to the medical ward from the stairs. Blood trailed behind him, his arms littered with cuts, bruises, and bites, but he was conscious and attempting to walk. A thick stream of red pooled from his temple down his chin and for a split second his gaze caught Price. His eyes were near unreadable, murky like Ghost's but still alert enough to be aware of what was going on. He seemed almost satisfied seeing the captain alive and well but quickly was taken away to be bandaged.

This mission was already hell.

#mw #my work #cod #cod mw #dying light #crossover #captain price #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick #male reader #unspecified male reader #x male reader #cod x male reader #zombie apocolypse au #zombie au #dying light au

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bignostalgias · 5 days

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Hello!! Listen i have GOT TO KNOW what the White Winter Hymnal AU is about???

like??

It looks amazing?? The art is GORGEOUS and i am foaming at the mouth for more information about the story behind it!! And i LOVE the song by the Fleet Foxes!

But yeah pretty much im obsessed and i'd like to know more about what im obsessed about. Hope you're having a wonderful timezone and take care! <3<3<3

Thank you so much for the ask and interest in Hymnal!! ☺️❤️ it’s a slow burn of an au that’s mostly based on vibes and drawing/writing them has been so cozy for me. Have a wonderful day/night as well!!

Gonna take the lazy route and post of screenshot of me summarizing it from a little earlier this week:

Aaaaand here’s a little snippet of how the forest Hymnal is set in feels:

The forest bordering the sturdy little hamlet of Berk was rich with wonder. This was known. The dark, twisting vines and roots of the wild ended shy of the ring of protective runestones, and if a vein was cut open, it seeped glittering green sap. When venturing past Berk’s protections — which should never be done alone — the sun-dappled ground of the forest was laden with moss and lichen, ethereally soft to the touch. On fortunate endeavors, gatherers returned with newborn lambs bundled in their arms, harvested like fruit from the branches of trees. However, as beautiful as it was, the wild threat the forest posed was ever present in the minds of Berk’s people. At night, lights twinkled from the depths, will o’ the wisps casting their lures. Bobcat yowls startled children from their slumber, mistaken for a human scream. The blinking eyes of wolves, reflecting torchlight, lurking between tree trunks. The forest was hungry and wanting and demanded to be satiated.

Every so often, it was.

Hiccup knew he worried his father, his friends, the farther he strayed from home, the longer he dared to be absent past sunset. How was he to tell them the once unnerving black eyes of birch trees were keeping careful vigil over him, that the bracken and tangled foliage gently parted for him instead of barred his path?

It was well known that to avoid losing ones way, a warrior must wear his tunic inside out, watch where he stepped for stray sods, and never trust trails of weathered cairns.

Hiccup had trouble recalling the last time he’d been lost.

Eventually when Hiccup is out exploring with Toothless he meets Jack, and the plot gets ✨homosexual✨

Something something something, Jack gets his head popped off and this short comic is the result

But wahoo everything turns out fine in the end!

And here’s Kai’s extremely lovely post-canon drawing of them recovered and happy 🥹

❄️ the entire hymnal tag ❄️

#mine #white winter hymnal au #q

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dabiconcordia · 27 days

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Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them. But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows— Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It’s when I’m weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig’s having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. By Robert Frost

#robert frost #poem #birches #photo carlee mitchell #via pinterest.com

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mousetoe-wc · 7 months

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I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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darkearthsuggestions · 4 months

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Thank you for the kind words, and apologies for the delay in answer-- Each result can be found below! Thought it would be nice for any others with the same question to find this answer.

The Shadow

Something walks behind you, nipping at your heels. You know the shape it takes, though you cannot see it. You think you know. Its edges look like yours, but clean and concise, close-cut lines articulated into iridescent air. Turn around and catch it-- and it slides away. Your shadow shines and you are blinded. You half-hear it whispering words that stick to your skin like mist and evaporate under your gaze, but they shake you. Even their echoes are true. It knows you. It wears your skin. It is more you than you are. Are you the chaser? Are you the shadow? Which, really, were you rather be? Walk backwards if you must. You must keep looking back.

The Moth

What a lovely light-- what a shining thing, just outside your reach. But you were given legs to walk, so really, you are blameless. Adoration, exultation, fluttering bark-winged joy. Never mind the dark beyond. Never mind the aching wings. Never mind the part of you that curls inside the cocoon, husked and rotting in its acid desire-- why should you always be the moth, and never the flame? Where is your lantern? Where is your light? But you were not made for that. You love to love. Never mind. Never mind.

The Hidden Rot

Something in you is wrong. Deep and curling. You know it will show itself one day, a slick fuzz slinking across your tongue, blackened, pitted teeth. There is no sign of it now, of course, but it is there. It eats away your depths. Has it hollowed you already-- is that why you feel so shallow, sometimes, so sick? You can see it in their eyes when they smell it. Everyone knows. Your curse does not hurt, and you wish it did, because maybe then you would know where it was. Until then it is everywhere. You cannot tell anyone, but you cannot step too close, lest it spread. You cannot forget the rot.

The Waxing Moon

Of hunger. Of envy. Your curse pricks along your skin, calls your nerves to attention, electric soldiers glaring in the moonlight. You know what you want. You can taste it. You have imagined a hundred times what it might be like for those hungers to be filled. But you know what you would have to become-- what you have secretly always been, under the tight-stretch gauze of your sun-time skin. It may have been a wound that made you, but the tooth left behind looked strangely like your own. Swallow your hunger tonight. Maybe all you need to change is ache.

The Turning Heel

Bracken crushed beneath your foot, waving the spiderwebs away-- a new path to leave for others to follow. How bold you are. And then the heathen-faced oak, again. And then the scum-scoured pool. Another try at breaking ground-- and the oak grins with its leaves. Your feet turn so slowly that you cannot notice, but you are back on that same path again. Your curse lays in cycles and cycles and cycles again. You will always end up here. You can never stop walking.

Dessication

Sandal feet in sliding sand, the light's hollow teeth grazing your skin. Others join you, but they flush and sweat and swim through it all, strange, foreign fish under this shared glare of sun. They feel so strongly. They weep, and you lick your lips, the chapped edges smarting under your tongue. You do not know the last time you felt like that. When they tell you of the sunset, you wonder what oils have set their canvas aflame-- all you see is another cooling night. Your curse is a shallow life. A dry mouth. Bloodless cheeks. What are you missing? What do they know? Where do they find all this water-- and why can’t you ask them to share?

Dispersal

You had a home once. You've seen it in the broken glass, heard laughter on the wind and remembered the way it used to move you. It's not yours anymore. You couldn't stay. But there must be another one along this road-- there must be a place where your skin could grow soft again, where you will be tumbled and ruffled and fall gasping in the joy. You know how it would feel, how your chest would fill like a glass of wine, heady and reeling with ease. You have walked with others before, but it wasn’t like that. It would help if you knew where you were. It would help if you knew what to do. It would help if you had the words to fill your ragged howls-- a pack to teach you the tune.

Warren's Wend

Over and out and down and out and in-- the warren winds and writhes and wends another net into the earth, another untraceable shape of your own clawing need. You must always find another tunnel. Another mouthful of dirt to stain your tongue. And when you think that you are done, the smell of smoke to set you off again. You need to keep digging-- because something is chasing you. You need to keep digging-- because when you dig, you do not think. And down and out and on itself, weaving the turgid air. The surface is never nearer. The dogs are always close-- they could not turn back if they tried. You are the rabbit. You are the snare. You dig.

The Sculptor's Skin

You've always been soft. Bruise easily- wear down quick when cold eyes grate against you. This is your curse. Every finger that brushes your skin, every breath, to help or to harm, lingers there. You wear them. You change. You are clay under the sculptors’ hands and you cannot help but let yourself be shaped. With every thumb that leaves its spiral behind, you feel yourself move farther from what you used to be. It's hard to remember what that was. One day you will be something else altogether, pinched and molded and mended until you are nothing true. Barely even human. And then you will change again.

The Lantern

You hold it up so high that your arms ache. You strain to hear above the winds for the calling of your name, but all it carries is a low and painful moan. This is your light. One day people will come to it, like you have seen so often, those swinging lamp smiles and rolling laughs. You know that a spirit with lanterns in its eyes cannot help but be adored. It hurts to hold it for so long-- the long wick nips at your palms-- but you know that this is in you. You are good. You have the heart of a king. You have to be something But it must look easy, or they will not come-- those who are seen always look so easy. Your arms tremble. You raise the lantern higher.

The Dream

You know that there is more than this. Haven't you seen it before, don't you remember? Last night, or the one before-- the lapis lazuli and how it crumbled in your palms, the way it turned to beetle wings and bluegrass fields, and how the sun burbled to the ground. Your breath is shallower with your eyes open. Even the light is thin. Your curse is the vivid dream, a world that is always richer than this. You cannot take anyone there. It is not real to them. But to you, walker of waking-dream, you know better. And what is here, for them, is so little. It will never be the dream. There is always another world-- and even in this shallow echo, you can hear it sing. What is another day awake, when asleep, you can have the sky? Lose yourself in the certainty of story, song, and sleep. Why bother with waking at all?

Poor Man's Prophecy

How is a prophet meant to live? When you can see the threads of fate and watch as they fall into folly's knot. You can see the mistakes a year away. You know best how to weave them. When it comes time for your own hands to work, you know they are naturally clumsy-- you know they ache; you know why; you know what would make them whole. You know why you choose to keep weaving. You know why you know why you know. No one can help you because you already know-- what can they say that a prophet has not already weighed? What new stones can they turn when you spend your nights watching the butterfly's wings? Some things do not have easy answers. You know this too. And yet still-- you hurt. You will always hurt. You know.

#hope you enjoy!

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naffeclipse · 4 months

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Hello there Naff! I return to your inbox with gifts based on your semi-recent Lethal Company drabble!

The paper sketch and semi cleared up line-art on digital!

OHHH THEM!! Oh my gosh, the brackens on their design are *mwah* and I love how you captured Sun's petals around his face! The leaves on Moon's back and flowing down his head are so good! Oh, they're such a creature!!

Thank you so much for sharing! <3

#look at them #great monsters #bracken!sun #bracken!moon #lethal company au #rose-feilds

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dracodazaii · 26 days

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The Green Queen And A Greener Future

Chapter 4

Conversation dwindled slowly as the feast ended. The only sound heard among nobles quiet whispers was the raging anger of King Viserys as his took guidance from Lyonel Strong, in attempt to calm himself from the political headache that is Rhaenyra, absconding from her duties, typical of her, Alicent remarked snidely.

As the sun slowly drifted away, Alicent joined both her father and kingly husband, along with an entourage of nobles, off to hunt while Viserys was stewing in shame and anger.

A hunt where a grand white stag was rumoured to be lingering about, a grand omen for Westeros.

Yet the Hightower Queen knew it was more than that. Her father knew it was more than that. While in the past, Alicent had missed this momentous opportunity. She now knew that if her political faction is able to discover the white stag today, it will set aside a good omen for Aegon and possibly sway nobles to their cause.

More importantly than this, was the fact that this evening was where the most significant turning point in favour of Aegon would occur. After all, this was when King Viserys declared to his wife that his naming of Rhaenyra as heir was a whim, keeping Daemon from the throne. Furthermore, he tells Alicent of his dragon-dream, his faltering in Rhaenyra claims, instead believing that Aegon could truly be the heir he dreamed of

Gossiping with her Ladies-In-Waiting as the men set out to start a fire, Alicent looked onwards to her close cousin Margareys fiery eyes, laying her gaze on Ser Daemion Velaryon, cousin to Laenor Velaryon. Recalling the events of the future, the Hightower women remembered how it was Daemion’s own father Vaemond, who she had allied with. Who ruled over Driftmark for 6 years, only to be replaced by Rhaenyra’s whiny bastard boy Lucerys, who couldn’t even handle ocean waves. Yet neither became Lord, as his uncle, Corlys, ignoring the murder of his blood-brother, preferred to have his bastard rule, if he couldn’t have Rhaenyra’s bastard as heir. Snidely, Alicent remarked on the fact that this beloved bastard of his, Alyn Waters had betrayed his granddaughter Baela, replacing her with her own niece, young enough to be their child. Just like his father, both heinous greedy men, she noted. And just like Viserys.

“Lady Bethany..” She whispered, surprising the young girl fully engrossed in her staring at the fair-haired knight, twirling her hair in admiaration.

“Ah.. I wasn’t doing anything!” She then stammered, hands flailing in exasperation.

“Don’t worry Lady Bethany, every young maiden longs for a handsome knight…”

Intent on denial, the young lady fumbled and flailed around, not wanting to expose her feelings.

Alicent looked onward to the Velaryon man, seeing his eyes flicker in interest in Bethany’s direction “.. and it seems your knight is interested in you.”

Mixed feelings were clear inside the Bracken maiden, pausing her attempt of denial as the incredulity of her knightly crush possibly reciprocating her feelings. “What….”

“Really my Queen, do you mean it?” She replies in shock, as Alicent then quietly instructs her to discreetly take a glance at Daemion Velaryon, who was seemingly mesmerised gazing at Bethany Bracken’s deep mahogany hair and comely figure, blushing red as he observed the Queen and Bethany noticing his intense ogling.

Witnessing youthful maiden and knights falter, showcasing their hearts made Alicent reminiscent of her childhood. Before marrying King Viserys, when she was just Lady Alicent, the companion of the Princess. When she and Rhaenyra would gaze at handsome knights in tourneys, gossiping in the godswood and dreaming of giving their favour to these aforementioned knights.

“The Velaryons will be joining the Royal entourage, hunting along with members of your noble house. You should use this time wisely, I’m sure Ser Daemion would enjoy it.” The Hightower Queen urged, causing a smile to arise on the wilful yet currently shy, Lady Bethany.

Alicent knew duty was important and understood why her father had impressed upon her to become the King’s Queen.

She knew alliances with fellow nobles is necessary, yet she wanted to give maidens, like she once was, any potential of happiness to be in their grasp. And by matchmaking the innocent maiden beside her, willful, wild, alike to Rhaenyra, Alicent’s heart would warm. Knowing that she can give a dutiful girl the opportunity to have an enjoyable life, starting with an enjoyable marriage.

——————————

As the entourage of nobles trekked forward, Lord Jason riding ahead on his noble steed, the infamous Tyrek, he boasted arrogantly about, Alicent smiled inside.

After all, she had successfully created many alliances during Aegon’s nameday. Unlike the untamable Rhaenyra Targaryen, who had further destroyed her reputation. Not only embarrassing herself with her lack of political awareness, but by having a pathetic screaming match with Viserys, and even further, with her absconding and abandoning her duties as heir.

As she stood beside the noble ladies, gossiping and gaining allies amongst the multitude of Lannisters, Velaryons, Arryns, Strongs and more, Alicent watched onward, viewing her husband’s pathetic attempts at hunting.

He may be a King, but he certainly cut no kingly figure.

However, as much as she disliked the man, twice her elder, decaying, breeding her only to abandon her children, Alicent didn’t hate him. As she now was mentally the age of her husband, it felt unfit for her to imagine romancing nobles her physical age, yet mentally young. And gazing at her husband, she could see that, while he was no great Targaryen beauty, alike to the Conquerors and even that rogue, Daemon, King Viserys was still a handsome man. Unlike the deteriorating corpse he became, after The Seven punished him for his misdeeds.

As the night began to end, the only light remaining now derived from blistering flames among a campfire, Alicent firmly walked forward, resting her hand on the bump below her, her baby Helaena. The chances that her dear Aegon had been reborn to her was incredulous and yet Alicent couldn’t help but hope that her other children would return, with the help of the Seven. She even wished for more perhaps, gaining the motherly perspective she never had as a young girl breeding out children for her husband.

As she stumbled over to Viserys, whose gaze was mournfully focused on the flames of brutal fury, Alicent questioned if he was alright, yet knowing deep inside that he wasn’t. After all, this campfire was strongly reminiscent of the Valyrian funeral rites, of which Viserys caused for his previous wife Aemma, after her murdered her callously for a son that did not live for longer than one day.

As they both lingered beside the fire, Viserys finally responded, solemn in his tone. “ You know, I..”

“I named her… to protect the realm from Daemon. She was my only child. I named her out of love because I no longer believed..”

“Believed what, my love?” Alicent spoke, knowing that Viserys’ cause for keeping Rhaenyra as heir was just a precaution-turned guilt-fuelled decision, that stole Aegon’s birthright.

He then sighed deeply, as if unwilling to admit his true thoughts.

“Many in my line have been dragonriders, very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of a dragon.. next to the power of prophecy?” King Viserys rhetorically questions, after all what saved the Targaryens from the Doom was not their dragons, but rather the dream Daenys had which foretold the calamities which occurred in Old Valyria.

“My King, I must confess..” The Hightower girl spoke softly, using Viserys’ pathetic demand for dreams to manipulate him, after all through the will of the Seven that Alicent had witnessed the future.

“While our babe grows within me, I have begun dreaming visions.”

“I’ve seen a Targaryen man wear the Conqueror’s crown, standing beside his sister-wife he calls Helaena.” Alicent states, inside her thoughts, knowing that this could be the thing which finally shifts Viserys’ pathetic mind on his forsaking of Aegon’s birthright.

Viserys’ figure erupts in shock, interpreting this to mean that Alicent has gained the Targaryen dreamer trait through the child she carries, and recognising that the wife’s name is heavily reminiscent of her dear friend Otto’s late lady wife, Helene.

“When Rhaenyra was a child.. I too had seen that in a dream, as vivid as these flames. The vision you speak of, was one I have known of deeply, haunting my actions for years.”

“I wanted it to be true, for me to be a dreamer. So I poured all my thought and will into it.” He then stutters forward, reluctance exuding from him, as if unable to speak the harsh truth he knows of. “Killing Rhaenyra’s mother in my hope that I was truly a dreamer, and that a male babe born to me would do great things for the Realm.”

“Viserys.” Alicent faintly spoke, in attempt to break him from his solemn rant of guilt.

Regardless of his wife’s words, he continued in his melancholy tirade, “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss. And that naming her heir would right my wrongdoings to Aemma and prevent my brother’s reach to the throne.”

“I never imagined that I would remarry, that I would have a son.”

“That I was a hypocrite, after mine own place in society was given to me as a male, yet I wouldn’t give this to my first born son.” Viserys spoke, ending his depressing monologue yet suffice in showcasing to Alicent that her machinations in influencing Viserys had worked, as he had deviated from his past thoughts.

“What if I was wrong?”

Viserys was conflicted. Stuck between doing what was right or to continue festering in his grief, giving Rhaenyra a title she didn’t deserve, all because Aegon wasn’t his beloved Aemma’s son.

“My King.. Viserys, if the gods have granted us our favour, then surely they will guide us to the right path. We just have to look for a sign.” Alicent remarks, stroking her bump in the meanwhile, knowing that Helaena’s dreams, and Viserys’ were a sign for the Gods, that Rhaenyra was unfit for the throne.

——————————

Roaring sounds erupted, grunts and barking alike, mixed into one as the clamouring sounds of treading horses bellowing around. Alicent fondly gathered with ladies, diverting away from the noble men focused on hunting.

As she gossiped with Lady Jeyne Arryn, her Redwyne cousins and Rose Tyrell, Alicent noticed Ser Harwin Strong approach King Viserys.

The infamous “Breakbones” himself.

The man who callously betrayed the Kingdom, breeding bastard boys into Princess Rhaenyra, forsaking his duty for selfish pleasure. And yet while Alicent had hatred for him, her mind was dually overridden with guilt. For Harwin Strong and his strong-minded father were casualties in Alicent’s late attempt at a grasp of power, and how Larys Strong then exploited her yearning for authority into a reason to burn his own kin to death and blame Alicent for it.

As the Strong heir lumbered over to the King a great brown deer, while the carriages stopped momentarily to watch Viserys perform the murder, suddenly a galloping horse intruded into the moment.

As the bellowing horse trotted over, a domineering figure followed swiftly. A knight beckoned himself over toward the entourage, carrying with him a white stag.

The great white hart.

An omen of the Gods.

Her brother fulfilled her task, sneakily finding the white stag before Rhaenyra and Ser Criston, and for that Alicent had great love in her heart. Now her husband should surely abandon his foolish choices.

Perhaps Viserys would perceive this as a sign.

A sign that Aegon was the rightful ruler. To cement the precedence before him, forsake his hypocrisy and supplant Rhaenyra as heir.

“My King! A sign from the Gods!” Retorted nobles basking in the presence of this divine figure.

“The Great White Hart. A good omen for Prince Aegon, Second of his name!” Gwayne erupted as his released the stag from ropes, watching as it walked onwards to Alicent’s direction. Toward both her, and Aegon, carried by a maid.

The stag trekked slowly and bowed at the feet of Alicent in respect.

This was a clear sign Alicent had been chosen by the Gods, even if she engineered this event. After all it was she who had travelled to the past, and nobody else. And she whom the omen of the Gods showed loyalty to.

But perhaps the nobles watching onwards, and Viserys himself, would perceive this to be the omen bowing down toward young Aegon, signifying his place as the righteous heir, chosen by the Gods.

“By the Gods”

“Oh My!”

“Seven Hells!”

Retorts of shock erupted among the entourage of nobles, Jason Lannister and Lord Ormund Hightower especially loud in their exclamations.

“Viserys.. Perhaps this is the sign you have been looking for.” Alicent softly pressed, while gazing back at her father smugly looking at her, impressed at the machinations of his daughter.

No longer a pawn, but now a player in this game of thrones.

A player with the knowledge to win.

And the Gods, real and not real, on her side.

——————————

The Hightower Queen stood unwaveringly, Aegon on her side, as she gossiped and chatted mindlessly alongside the noble ladies of Westeros. Rhea Royce beside her, remarking on her brother Gwayne’s hunting prowess and inquiring on Alicent’s horse-riding capability, a fun hobby of hers in her girlhood which she had abandoned, after being instructed to act like a submissive wife by Viserys.

As nobles continued their chatter, a bloody figure strutted through the camp.

There she was, the Princess of Westeros, in all her arrogance. Riding among her horse, bloodied and battered, as if she was a battle-worn warrior, alike to Visenya Targaryen, when Alicent knew in reality that all she was, was a little girl who abandoned her duties and got caught in the thralls of blood, just alike to her devious uncle, Daemon.

Whispers emerged, snide glances transpired, as all nobility gathered looked beyond at the disruptive force that was Rhaenyra.

Alicent gasped in false shock, “Poor Rhaenyra! How unmaidenly of her to be covered in blood. This is why maidens shouldn’t go off alone. Thank god, Ser Criston was there to save her!”

Alicent snarking loudly, in attempt to demean Rhaenyra’s hunting efforts, after all nobody other than Ser Criston was present with her to verify false rumours, as she abandoned the Royal entourage, shamelessly fleeing from her duties.

Rhea Royce then remarked softly, almost under breath, in great intrigue, “Who’s that man beside the princess?”

“Oh Lady Rhea, that’s Ser Criston Cole, who Queen Alicent mentioned earlier. He most likely saved the unruly Princess from a wild animal.” Lady Delena Redwyne answered, as Alicent looked onwards, invested at the glances Rhea Royce was giving Criston Cole.

Rhaenyra continued her hubristic strut and led herself into the Royal carriage, shutting herself out from the whispers.

Viserys then swiftly followed, fury beckoning inside him. Ending Aegon’s nameday with an upset petty Rhaenyra and disgruntled father.

Alicent passed over Aegon to his maid and subsequently joined her husband in the Royal carriage, embarking on a journey back to Kingslanding.

Carriage culminating in silent fury, as Viserys and his daughter did not speak a word in response to Rhaenyra’s impertinent actions.

Yet the Hightower Queen was happy, among her companions filled with sadness.

As she had gained allies for her children’s livelihoods, and most importantly, she had emphasised the importance of Aegon to her husband.

Surely Viserys must give their son his rightful title as heir by now.

He couldn’t stay a hypocritical coward, ignoring the insolence of Rhaenyra, and finally give Aegon the claim he deserved as firstborn son to the King.

#hotd #asoiaf #house of the dragon #game of thrones #team green #got #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd fanfic #alicent hightower defense squad #pro alicent hightower #rhaenyra critical #anti viserys i targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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aloysiavirgata · 9 months

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Hi AV! A prompt for you: rhubarb, pond, watercolor.

Pie plant, her Aunt Olive always called it, and that’s when Scully realized she’d never had rhubarb without strawberries. She started experimenting with it. She cooked it with chicken, pickled it, made cocktail syrups. There was a seemingly endless supply in the garden.

“I like it best in pie,” Mulder admits over a beet and rhubarb salad.

“Better than sweet potato?”

“Scully,” he says, looking offended. “Let’s not be dramatic.”

The pond lay like a dropped mirror in the grass, silver and still in the gloaming.

“Watch,” he whispers. “This is when they come.”

“I still can’t believe you made them meatballs!” she hisses back. “They’re literally famous for eating garbage!”

They come out of the thick tangle of raspberry canes and honeysuckle then, a mother raccoon with four fuzzy babies waddling after in a crooked line.

They snuffle around in the bracken, nosing out the meatballs Mulder set out for them. The little ones watch their mother examine the food in her clever black paws, mimic her scrutiny with their own clumsy hands.

Scully is grinning. “They really are beautiful animals,” she whispers. She laughs softly as one of the babies tumbles sideways into a sibling. They squabble briefly over a meatball.

“Cat monkeys,” Mulder says.

She bumps him in the ribs with her elbow. “What did you name them? And I know you did so don’t lie.”

He sticks his tongue out. “Mom is Judy because she reminds of the woman who used to help us out with car requisitions. Babies are Eeny, Meeny, Miney, and Moe.”

She leans against him, deeply contented as the night world comes alive.

He leaves the painting on the table for her, looks shy when she gasps.

She stares at it, at him, still taken aback at herself in his eyes even after so long. The determined lift of her chin, the long lines of her nose and cheekbones. Does she look like this?

He’s painted her in soft, sun drenched watercolors amid a field of purple irises. Her hair is swept up in a Gibson Girl pompadour and she wears a white Edwardian dress with a wide, sky-blue sash.

“John Singer Sargent should have painted you,” he says, playing with the garlic press. “Waterhouse, Cassatt, someone like that. You have the face for it.”

“I just can’t believe you made this,” she says. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

He grins, back in familiar territory. “You want one?” he asks.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 10 months

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Unveiling Jupiter’s upper atmosphere A North East planetary astronomer has been granted rare access to the world’s largest deep-space telescope, providing him with a unique opportunity to discover more about the largest planet in our solar system – Jupiter. Launched in December 2021, NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) uses infrared radiation to look deep into space, meaning it can observe the first stars and even the formation of the first galaxies. Now Professor Tom Stallard, of Northumbria University, has been awarded a highly sought after opportunity to use the JWST later this year, allowing him to further his research into Jupiter’s atmosphere. This is only the second year scientists have been given the chance to request access to the telescope, and with fierce competition from across the world, Professor Stallard’s observation is the only one chosen this year which will focus on a planet within our solar system. He and his co-investigator Dr Henrik Melin, of the University of Leicester, will use their time to examine Jupiter’s ionosphere – the planet’s upper atmosphere – and how it is impacted by the space environment above it, and Jupiter’s lower atmosphere below. As Professor Stallard explains: “The ionosphere is a very interesting layer because it is buffeted by massive systems surrounding it – with energy pushed up from below and solar winds and volcanic activity from Jupiter’s moons affecting it from above. “We have some existing images and data of the bright aurora at Jupiter’s poles, captured through ground-based observation from here on Earth, but data and images of the equatorial region are much harder to achieve. “Although Jupiter appears very different to Earth there is actually much we can learn about our own planet by studying Jupiter. The processes going on are very similar, but Jupiter’s magnetic field is much stronger, and stranger. “Time on the James Webb Space Telescope is rare – and time to study planets within our solar system is even rarer, so to be given this opportunity is incredibly exciting.” Professor Stallard’s access to the JWST will take place on 7 September and has been timed perfectly to coincide with the positioning of the Juno NASA space probe, which orbits Jupiter. This means he will be able to compare the images taken from the JWST, which is positioned between the Earth and the Sun looking towards Jupiter, with measurements from Juno, positioned behind Jupiter and looking back at Earth. Professor Stallard added: “The images we are going to get from the James Webb Space Telescope will be profoundly wonderful, I’m sure. “We’ve already had a taster of what to expect following an early observation by my colleague Dr Melin, which suggests there is science going on within Jupiter’s atmosphere which we simply don’t have any understanding about yet, and there is a lot of excitement within the community of scientists studying upper atmospheres about what the images we get from the telescope will tell us.” Professor Stallard’s success in being awarded time with the JWST during this latest cycle, helps secure the North East region’s reputation as a hub for space technology research and innovation. Members of Northumbria University’s Solar and Space Physics research group collaborate extensively with partners including UK Research and Innovation, the UK Space Agency, the European Space Agency, the UK Met Office, and over 40 industrial partners. And last year global aerospace and security company, Lockheed Martin, announced a collaboration with Northumbria University that includes a £630,000 investment to support the development of skills, research and technology across the region. Speaking about Professor Stallard’s success, Professor Louise Bracken, Pro Vice-Chancellor (Research and Knowledge Exchange) at Northumbria University commented: “Securing access to the James Webb Space Telescope is a highly competitive process and is a testament to the quality and timeliness of the research that Professor Stallard undertakes. “This award underlines and builds on the existing work of our Solar and Space Physics researchers at Northumbria University and cements the North East’s reputation as a centre of excellence in this field.”

#space #science #Astronomy #physics #news #Jupiter #nasa #esa #james webb space telescope

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