[Header Description: a screenshot from the 1959 “Sleeping Beauty”, showing Maleficent transforming into a dragon. End header description.] [Icon Description: Maleficent, in her dragon form. End icon description.]
she is a princess and you are a dragon. she will be married tonight. do not keep standing outside of her room like that, go inside. go get her. that is what proper dragons do.
not that you have ever been a good or proper dragon. when you hatched out of your egg, your eggtooth was too smooth. the other dragons were rough with you, put little holes in your wings.
you were not bold. you were odd. you liked rippling water and the shine of chitin when bugs scuttle and of course the movement of the stars. those were all acceptable interests albeit maybe not traditional. perhaps you had inherited these through some great-great-uncle or something. certainly a dragon may be wise, or clever, if they are not bold.
yes, you have been a great deal of a puzzle to the other dragons. your body is smaller and rather more soft than it ought to be. so speed should have been yours, perhaps - your mother said it would be like fighting a shadow. if a dragon is not aggressive, it may instead be cruel, sly; a backstab. but alas your scales - so iridescent that they almost shine like the moon at night, a glow from within - you are not a shadow, you are a beacon like the flash of a knight's blade. your father has said at least you would make a fine egglayer, a nice mate to a good male. a dragon like you may still be a good mother perhaps; and that is a fine thing to be; although of course it would have been better if you'd been a trove-hoarder instead.
what a dragon must not be is kind.
you have watched her now for six moons. what a good and proper dragon would do is to go inside and to snatch her. a very proper dragon would have kidnapped her many times over, but you will be the delight of your brood to princess-snatch even at all. when you catch her in your jaws and bring her home, they will love you, then. they don't think you're capable of it, but you are, because you're a proper dragon. you can show them that. if you go in, now, right now.
you are rather too glossy to hide in the shadows, so instead you have learned how to appear flat and round, a puddle of light. (how your siblings would mock you! a dragon should be matte, to blend with the night). you dapple your flank with mud. you perch in odd angles atop of trees, scuttle like the bugs you love - hither, tither, frantic.
what you must not do is fly with your wings full-out. alight, you will be limned by the moon's corona. you will be a beacon. you must remember this when (not if) you snatch her.
____
you found her because of the lake. this lake in particular was your favorite - nestled deep in the woods, between two mountains. it is very quiet; there is nothing to horde there so no other dragon bothers you. a gentle waterfall spills over into a deep cove, and there are many mossy caves you've spent your afternoons napping in. while it is not proper for a dragon to prefer such things, you like to lay in rolling tenure just under the water. you have become excellent at holding your breath, can do it for hours. it is the easiest way to appear as a patch of sunlight.
she was not sunlight. she was the night's joy. the dark press of water. her face at first concealed by many diaphanous layers. her breathing quick and quiet.
she had pulled them back to drink from her water flask. and there she had been: a princess. your first very-real princess. right there, only the reach of a single talon from you. if you had simply lunged then, you would have been able to take her easily, in one single movement.
but you did not take her.
she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.
but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.
you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.
oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.
and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.
___
once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.
at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."
so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.
even so. you had gone looking for her (only to study, of course, so you may know how to snatch her best). but that night you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.
you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then, you wanted to study your prey as best as you could. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.
she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.
and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.
this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.
she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.
"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."
and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.
you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, after this. more than just back to the castle and her bed. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you had heard it said a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.
you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.
but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.
oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.
__
you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have since learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!
you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.
her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.
you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.
you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.
"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."
you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.
you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.
against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.
on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.
an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.
in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.
there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.
___
sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.
but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.
but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.
let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.
afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.
and in that moment, neither of you will be a title nor a story. she will just be herself, and you will just be you.
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Bulky spikey bois. They look angry and intimidating all the time but that's just their face spikes. Their wings are layered and thick like snowy owls, so despite their size, they're fairly silent fliers. (its dragon magic, dw about it)
Dossier page style document for Rainwings, very inspired by the Dragonology books! Pretty pleased with how this one came out, and I'm calling this guy Emerald (both the gemstone and the boa snake) I'm not even sure this looks like my style anymore lol but it was very fun to work on. Hope to get around to doing the other tribes too.
It’s funny how people will attempt to make black women prioritize fighting against anti-black racism over fighting against misogyny. To the point of policing us when we call out misogyny in our own communities due to the possibility of it making black men look bad.
Black women have the highest rate of intimate partner homicide among all female racial groups. And black women predominantly partner with black men (85% of married black women have black spouses). Which explains why 92% of these murders are intraracial, meaning they are committed by a Black man against a Black woman.
Misogyny in our communities materially harms us. But you want me to be quiet about that because…?
Intersectionality is important to understand misogynoir, but it doesn’t mean black women have to prioritize one form of our oppression over the other.
If you want sources on the statistics:
> Our Sisters’ House Statistics
> When Men Murder Women: Black Females
> CDC: “Over half of female homicides for which circumstances were known were related to intimate partner violence (IPV).”
[Image Description: artwork of a pure white dragon flying across a bright blue sky. The dragon has spiny scales, ragged wings, and an exceptionally long tail. End image description.]
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lesbian hate men? how about men hate lesbians? how about men ask me on a regular basis how lesbians have sex but “lesbian” is the number one term searched on pornhub? how about men tell me as a butch woman I have penis envy, and my femme sisters that they must secretly be straight? how about men being so offended by the idea of a woman not wanting to ride anyone’s dick that as a lesbian, corrective rape is a real threat? how about men targeting lesbians through the centuries, accusing us of hating them when all we really want is safety from them? so you can call me a man-hater. they hated me first.
The Antitan: Monticarpus gladiocornus (sword-horned mountain-devourer), from “Serina: A Natural History of the World of Birds.” Artwork by Dylan Bajda.
An unexpected predator of incredible size that eats among the littlest of foods.
“An immensely large Serinarctan giraffowl that reaches a height of 35 feet, the antitan is second only to the starscraper of Serinaustra in body size. A descendant of the skreehonk on a continent where giraffowl are still scarcer than in the south, this rare example of its kind in the region is extraordinary for its size even exceeds the size of some cygnosaurs. Only the gigantic ridgeback cygnosaur is unquestionably taller, though many are heavier. A lack of a tail means that length measurements, of course, are far less impressive, but compared to other giraffowl this one is stocky and sturdy with a long back and heavy-set legs. It reaches a weight of 10 tons, rivaling the lankier starscraper that exceeds its own height by 16 feet thanks to its own stilt-like legs and short body length. This is a size larger than the atrocious crossjaw and the cutthroat subjugator. And that matters because though it appears herbivorous, the antitan feeds mostly not from leaves, but on ant colonies it grazes from the branches of cementrees, making this animal and not those others the largest land carnivore in the entire world, if only by technicality. The antitan is the largest ant-eater ever to evolve, like a whale that walks the land, sustained in life by countless multitudes of some of the smallest of animal prey. It was once a browser, feeding on vegetation, but as cementrees spread widely over the plains, it became more efficient to focus their efforts on the branches that held the protein-rich insect's nests, until they eventually consumed vegetation purely to access this richer diet. Now, the adult antitan is exclusively dependent on spire forests and sky islands for nourishment, for the ants that collectively build and maintain these terrestrial reef-like ecosystems are the only food supply big enough to support their mass.
It feeds by gouging the inhabited upper portions of younger cementrees with its solid head crest, which works like a pick to excavate holes in the walls and access the nutritious larvae within. Its narrow beak then probes into the holes it creates, and a tongue that stretches five feet out of its jaws rapidly flicks in and out of the narrow tunnels through the structure, collecting vast quantities of insects which it swallows whole. It feeds continuously through the day, consuming some 350 lbs of ants in total every day - up to 50 million of them. It wanders constantly to new feeding sites, digging a new hole, feeding on all it can in several minutes, and moving on, which prevents total extermination of the colony and allows it to recover. Limited by its neck length, an adult can rear on its hind legs and prop itself up with hooked scales on its forelegs, but is still limited to a height of around 42 feet and is much too big to climb. So it aggressively cuts down the tops of cementrees that it can reach, slowing the spread of sky islands outward and keeping a supply of food accessible for it to return to later, once the cementrees have healed themselves. With each individual needing so much food per day, the antitan is solitary and territorial, driving off rivals from their feeding grounds and each requiring up to 25 square miles of prime territory in sky island-rich regions to find enough food. But where sky islands are rare or have already grown to heights where they are mostly out of reach, antitans may require up to four times as much territory to find the same amount of food, and may cross 40 miles per day in their trek to find it. Males and females come together only to mate, with males attracting females with bellow-like long-distance infrasonic calls that can carry for a mile in air but over 30 miles as vibrations in the ground. These rumbles also serve to keep away unwanted rival males. Females may mate as often as three times a year, demonstrating a very rapid cycle and high reproductive output even compared to the cygnosaurs that share their domain.
As giraffowl, female antitans rear their pupa in an abdominal pouch, keeping them warm, moist, and safe from most predators. Their pouch still opens forward in this species, unlike the skybreaker clade in Serinaustra. While those species have evolved backwards pouches so that pupa can be deposited directly inside as soon as they are born, antitans and their other relatives in Serinarcta must gently transport their pupa into the pouch opening near their chests by using their mouths. This is made somewhat easier by the presence of a newly evolved secondary placenta that surrounds an entire clutch of developing larvae in the mother's uterus toward the end of gestation, so that the whole lot of them - up to forty - are held conveniently in a sac that the adult can grasp in its beak and carry around to the pouch entrance after birth. Also unlike southern giraffowl, mother antitans continue to provide care to their young for up to six weeks after birth by permitting them to return into the pouch at night to roost. Though the pheasant-sized young are fully independent and able to fly and hunt small insects within two days of emerging from their pupal cocoons, they continue to return to their mother to sleep for as long as she will let them, which is typically until she has produced a new clutch of young and then seals her pouch to exclude them. Then they will settle onto the forested summits of the sky islands, remaining there for several years until they are too big to fly and eventually too big to easily climb, forcing them to descend down to the ground. Throughout the entire life cycle, insects make up 80-90% of the diet, though when very young they hunt all kinds of them and only transition to ant-eating when several years of age. Grown adults still consume some vegetation, but it may be incidental when collecting ants instead; their stomachs are small and have become inefficient at getting much nourishment from leaves, and these materials are passed in their droppings barely digested at all. They also feed on small animals that do not get out of their way, including nestling birds like mowerbirds, tree lumpuses, and small molodonts.
The mature antitan's large body size and formidable crest, which is suitable as a weapon, might be enough to deter even large predators. If this were not enough, however, the animal is poisonous, rare for a creature so large as itself. A diet of primarily huge masses of ants and their own chemical defenses has allowed this bird to sequester toxic alkaloids into its own body tissues, rendering itself foul-tasting. Its diet also provides a much more active defense. It stores excess formic acid, another chemical produced by its prey, in a pouch in an upper stomach chamber and regurgitates this foul-smelling, highly concentrated acid at predator's eyes and noses if threatened, potentially causing disfiguring burns and eye damage. Dragons may not be real, but the antitan's toxic acid spit may be the closest thing to fire breath, and deters even the most ferocious predators from coming too close. It takes several years for this defense to become significant in the young antitan, but development of it correlates to the time they begin to descend the islands and come down to ground, where they are more vulnerable. By 3 years of age, most have sequestered enough chemicals from their diets to utilize it sparingly while adults that eat such huge amounts of ants day in and day out have an all but limitless supply, leaving them one of a few animals with no natural predators as adults. Predation on the much more fragile flying juveniles by just about any small carnivore, and limited territory that can support the caloric needs of the adult, control their numbers instead.”
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Lien is one of those characters where if the series had been reversed and written from her perspective, she would be the hero of her own tragic story rather than the villain.
[Image Description: a portrait of Ling Tien Lien from “Temeraire”. Lien is an albino dragon with two frills framing her face, and long barbels on her snout. End image description.]
When we talk about "gay fetishism", the first thing most people think of is straight women fetishising gay men. They think of the obsession over heated rivalry, asking men to kiss each other in gay bars, and writing fanfiction about male characters.
But they don't think about straight men getting off to videos of lesbians getting raped. They don't think about lesbians experiencing corrective rape at the hands of straight men. And they don't think about how straight men abuse their bisexual girlfriends, how they force them into plots to trap lesbians in a threesome they never agreed to.
It speaks volumes that gay fetishism causes lesbians to be raped, yet people still focus on how gay men are made to feel uncomfortable by it.
Men feeling uncomfortable is considered the worst form of homophobia, but women being raped is barely considered at all.
[Image Description: artwork depicting a city shrouded in shadow. A trio of bleary-eyed lizard aliens have gathered on a rooftop.
“Trouble sleeping?” one alien asks.
“You too?” another asks in return.
In the distance, vast fields drenched in eerie light can be seen. Accompanying text explains where and what this place is.
“The Kiss is a mutagenic garden where the sun never sets, and plants never stop growing. It’s an agricultural miracle that feeds half of the Temple States.
You don’t want the Kiss’s light to touch your skin.
Workers live in a ring around the circular borders; venturing into the bright for the day’s work, and returning to the shadows when it’s done.”
[Image Description: greyscale artwork depicting an alien resembling an anthropomorphic lizard. They are wearing a work outfit consisting of an apron, a vest, and a hat. The merchant stands in a room cluttered with baskets and pots; some containing mounds of spices, and others holding sticks of incense. Smaller containers are displayed on shelves lining the back wall. End image description.]
[Image Description: artwork of an orange alien resembling an anthropomorphic lizard. They are standing before a table, upon which rests a strange contraption made from white ceramic. The alien nervously eyes the gadget as they jot down a note on a chart. Accompanying text explains what exactly the alien is doing.
“Cataloging artifacts. No two artifacts are alike. One can only make educated guesses about their properties by looking at them. Figuring out what an artifact does takes patience, and careful documentation. Only when its characteristics have been thoroughly explored is an artifact safe to use.
First, the artificer gives the artifact an exploratory wash of energy. They look for weak points, where energy can be applied to the artifact.
Next, they begin to carefully explore these inputs. Gently prod them with energy-what do they do? What effects do they have?
Each node gets marked with a ceramic tack, and a tag. Each one has its properties recorded. If there’s something exceptional about the artifact, it might be marked down for more research. But most of the time, it goes into storage.
Most artifacts are junk, with properties that are too weak or too esoteric to be useful. The federal archives are full of artifacts that produce a little light, a little heat, or give the user a strange muddled feeling in the pit of their stomach. These will sit in storage, or be ground down for components and ceramic dust.
More useful artifacts have strong, specific effects. They produce a clear feeling-satisfaction, fear, anxiety. They manifest useful physical phenomena, like a cutting torch. These will be issued to Federal artificers, sold, or donated to Families as a gesture of goodwill.”
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