spotted feathers

anonymous asked:

Have you ever thought about Fakes origin where Geoff kinda was the little brother of the roosters and hey let him do his thing and by the time they thought to look he was already setting up his court in Los SAntos, and by the time they thought to worry he was alreadt setting his sights on something bigger.

What if Gavin was already the golden boy in los santos before Geoff even got there?

When the Roosters branched out everyone was moving with purpose; they were so successful at such a young age that no one even considered getting out of the game, were just expanding to focus on their own specialities, to grow and improve without murdering each other in the process. Gus set up a terrifying web of covert intelligence and stolen secrets, Joel transitioned full time into the absurdly lucrative domain of white collar crime, Matt spent his days schmoozing impossibly high level contacts, Griffon took her roving gang of assassins on the move and Burnie still orchestrates the whole thing from back in Liberty City. Geoff was the odd one out, really, sort of adrift in the world, still playing, getting by on his wealth and reputation, simply chasing entertainment across the country with no real direction or responsibilities.

So when Geoff first started making noise about getting his own crew together, a proper full time affair, the other Rooster’s thought he was kidding. It’s not that they’d thought he couldn’t, exactly, it’s just that he’d never really had that drive. Never really exhibited any lust for control, for personal power over his own domain. For Geoff, who liked to drink and coast and party, who’d always suggested the most outlandish laughable ideas, who’d always shrugged and gone along with whatever everyone else decided like the little brother happy just to be involved, to run his own crew all alone seemed ridiculous. They weren’t laughing at him, really, not for the most part anyway, it’s just that they never really considered Geoff to be a leader.

Geoff, of course, goes off in a huff, utterly offended, but that’s not terribly alarming. They’ve all been in each other’s pockets for so long they are more than used to weathering the storm of tempers, have all had their share of petty tantrums, and everyone comes back eventually. Worst comes to worst Geoff will play with his idea long enough to tire of it, possibly call for some help if it all goes to shit, then everything will be back to normal. In the meantime everyone’s got too much on their own plates to bother chasing him down.

Burnie keeps track of him, of course, keeps an ear out for any rumours of a Rooster getting into trouble, keeps in contact even if the updates aren’t as regular as they could be. It’s how he knows where Geoff is, finally stationary in the strangest of places, knows something’s caught his eye even if the contrary bastard isn’t ready to share exactly what it is yet. Burnie knows Geoff’s holed himself up in Los Santos, and isn’t that so typically him, finding some kind of hidden treasure in the worst city in the country.

Curiosity gets the best of Burnie and, when a month or two pass and Geoff still hasn’t moved on, he can’t help himself from trying to dig a little, calling on various contacts to send their feelers out and work out what could have possibly captured Geoff’s interest so thoroughly. The results are somewhat unexpected.

There’s a kid, they say, some cocky foreign creature that has Geoff fascinated, captivated, the strangest of anchors tethering him to the city. There is no shortage of rumours about the stranger, he’s apparently a particularly talented fixer, though his age comes through in arrogant bravado, in outrageous displays of wealth and a blatant inability to look before he leaps. He’s the kind of character everyone in Los Santos seems to be aware of, everyone seems willing to bend over backwards to know, and it appears Geoff is no exception.

Which is, honestly, the strangest part of the whole deal; Geoff has loyalty in spades for those who matter, but he’s not the most open of people, is no one’s fool, he’s lived through far too much with the Roosters to be taken in by some pretty face with a sob story. There must be something else going on. Geoff might have made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anyone else butting in on his business, that he’s sorting out his plans all on his own thanks very much, but surely this warrants some kind of concern. Burnie settles on sending Jack down to scope it out; she was passing through anyway and Geoff might be keeping his cards close to his chest but he’s always liked Jack, it seemed like a good call at the time.

Jack doesn’t come back. Sends Burnie word that all is well, that he doesn’t need to worry, that she plans to stay and help Geoff out with whatever it is he’s working on, but she won’t say what exactly that is. In other words she piques Burnie’s interest even more then laughs in his face and keeps her mouth shut, which honestly, what was Burnie expecting? Jack’s always been loyal to a fault, but not to him. Jack and Geoff have always had each other’s backs and when you break it down her alliance with the Roosters has always come from that friendship; it stands reason that if Geoff is still cranky about their lack of faith Jack will be no more forgiving.

As far as Jack’s concerned she’s been waiting an age for Geoff to sort himself out, and if finally getting there means flipping Burns the bird and cosigning herself to some ludicrous plot in the depths of hell then so be it. When Geoff asks for her help, eyes lit up with the wild determination she remembers from their mischief back in the day she’s hardly going to say no. Perhaps Los Santos isn’t exactly the ideal location, isn’t where she necessarily wanted to end up let alone start in, but given the chance to explain himself Geoff’s ridiculousness is, as usual, based on pretty sound reasoning.

Because Geoff was, once, just passing through Los Santos, an entertaining pit stop on his journey to scout out a worthy crew, but then he found Gavin. Heard the rumours well before he actually met the kid; the Golden Boy of Los Santos, a shiny novelty amongst the grime of the city. The stories were interesting, entertaining, enough that Geoff decided to stick around for a while, enough that Geoff was perhaps drifting into the territory of a stalker, but oh boy did his curiosity pay off.

When Geoff found Gavin he saw far more than he knew he was meant to, far more than he would have if he wasn’t looking, because the kid was good. Was all flash and sparkle,  cheeky jokes and bright laughter, an endearing softness covering the sharpness of his teeth, the blood dripping from his fingers. When Geoff found Gavin he saw everything they could do, everything they could be, saw the broad strokes of the future he’d been toying with falling into place all at once.

Gavin was an interesting conundrum, the criminals of the city completely unsure as to whether or not they like him, whether or not he’s useful, whether or not the kid is a joke or a genius. They say Free is easy, full of all kinds of valuable information and simple enough to buy; offer him some pretty trinket, something pricey or showy or rare and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. And yet they’re all still clamouring to talk to him, still tripping over themselves to work with him, still offering absurd bounties just to catch his fleeting interests. They say he’s controllable, vulnerably alone and far too trusting. Geoff is not convinced.

Because all the information Gavin hoards comes from somewhere, and no one else seems capable of extracting it. Because everyone’s so convinced they’ve got him worked out that they open their doors and let him bypass the usual weapon checks and security protocols. Because Gavin’s reputation of weak-stomached and harmless, useless in a fight, doesn’t add up to the practised way he twirls switchblades between his fingers, deftly flicking them up his sleeves and out of sight. Because for all that the persona of the Golden Boy has captured the city’s unwavering attention no one seems to realise how neatly they’ve been blinded by it.

If you cared to compare the crime scene in America to the one in England you’d realise the game there is played with entirely different rules. Gavin didn’t come into Los Santos swinging, probably wouldn’t have made it two days if he had, but he’s been busy chasing power all the same. Gavin knows every crew of note in Los Santos, knows names and hierarchies, knows base locations and key distribution points. Gavin has integrated himself so neatly, so desirably, that he can get an audience with just about whoever he wants to, can meander across territory lines and police tape with the same unerring charm. Geoff’s seen him play up his age in one meeting, wide eyed and painfully naïve, only to catch him mere hours later leaning into confidence, brisk and clever and entirely untouchable. He’s witnessed Gavin seemingly fall for obvious ruses only to walk out with exactly what he was after, seen him talk his way into deals and out of handcuffs, seen a thousand different ticks and quirks and personalities that shouldn’t all fit comfortably within the same person.

Geoff’s seen more than enough to recognise that familiar air of hungry ruthlessness, of vicious self interest and callous amusement. Maybe Geoff hasn’t got the past experience of being a leader but he’s always known how to help himself by using other people, how to make the most of their particular talents, fit them all together to make a bigger picture. Growing a crew from scratch is harder than it seems, growing one thats loyal from the start, strong enough to stick together and win the uphill battle of taking the most untamable city in the land seems near impossible.

Unless, of course, someone had done all that groundwork already. Unless someone had already wormed into the ecosystem, plotted all the intricacies of power, all the feuds and pressure points, the hidden weapons and unprotected weak spots. Unless someone had already made all the necessary contacts and connections, curried favour with all the best dealers, buttered up the crooked cops, identified all the individuals who might be seduced away from their current gigs into something better, something greater, the ones worth trusting, the ones who would come out on top.

Geoff is no stranger to charm himself, to subtle manipulation, and maybe you can’t kid a kidder but you can certainly enchant a kid, can sell safety in numbers, talk up comfort and protection and organised direction. Geoff might want to outgrow the ever present shadow of the Roosters but a history of royalty is a weighty bargaining chip when your adversary covets nothing more than the appearance of wealth, of power. It’s still not easy by any means, Gavin is cautious, quick witted and wily, running his own game through every conversation, but eventually they come to an understanding. Then Jack turns up and all of a sudden things are in motion, the plan is unfolding, and nothing is going to keep Geoff from forging his own crown.

By the time Geoff thinks about giving Burnie an update his inbox has been flooded by dozens of warnings about the mystery crew taking Los Santos by storm. Increasingly concerned messages telling Geoff it was time to move on, that it wasn’t worth trying mess with such a dangerously effective group all on his own, that he should reach out if he was in trouble. By the time Geoff gets around to giving Burnie a call the old rules of Los Santos have already fallen, the city is running scared and those surrounding it are following suit. Even as the phone rings Geoff knows Gavin’s combining the termination of a problem with teasing the Vagabond away from his current employers, knows Jones and Dooley are having a crashing good time clearing the last of the warehouses down near the docks, knows Tuggey’s pulling some new blood into the support crew and Jack’s off to see a man about a sniper.

By the time Burnie finally hears back from Geoff the writing is well and truly on the wall, the days of being underestimated and overlooked are over, and not even all the grudging apologies in the world will save the Roosters from a lifetime of Geoff’s smug vindication. Geoff isn’t just an ex-Rooster anymore, he isn’t a follower, a drifter, a little brother or a side thought. He is Geoff Ramsey; leader of the FAHC, king of Los Santos, ruler of the worst of the worst, unrelenting and horrifically creative. He is a feared man, he runs an unquestionably dangerous crew, the city shivers in his shadow and they say nothing can stop his reign.

All this over stubborn determination, over hurt feelings, all this in mere months; not even his own crew are ready for what is to come, for the highs and lows of Geoff’s depravity, but he knows they’ll be here with him, will rise to every occasion, and together they’ll set the world alight.

Imagine Warren in the morning, and his hair is just a mess. Sort of like a blond halo of curls on his head. His blue eyes barely peep open for a minute before he shuts them again because it’s just too early for sunlight. He sits up, groggy, stretches and groans. His wings stretch with him, twitching at the end, a few feathers out of place as he tossed and turned during the night.

He lifts his arms up above his head and continues stretching, rolling his shoulders and bringing his wings back towards his body.

Then suddenly, Warren pauses. Looking to the right, he spots you, under his feathers, and the blanket curled up tightly. Warren swallows, the muscles in his neck contracting as he does. He scans your face for a few seconds, a small smile breaking onto his cheeks as he remembered what had happened last night.

He didn’t toss and turn like he usually did, and he could still feel your fingers rustling his feathers idly as he craned his head down to give you kisses along your sternum, collarbone, jugular and jawline.

If he focused, he could almost taste your skin on his tongue still.

Warren lays back, expanding his right wing so it’s not bothering you. 

He’s still looking down at you, and you start waking up. He stifles a small laugh, letting his hand push back your hair so he could get a clearer view.

Warren takes a deep breath in, letting it linger in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

This was peaceful, perhaps, the most peaceful he had ever been. And the moment you’re awake enough to understand what he’s saying, you hear him whisper to you, in a voice that’s almost vague enough to be a ghost, “I want to wake up like this every morning.”


Because cindersart has decided to start a war

Jason glares down the first years being a little too loud while working on what looks to be potions homework. They feel him staring and immediately clam up, hunching over their parchment and pretending to scribble away furiously. He shakes his head at them but lets it go, Godric knows he struggled with potions enough his first year. Slowly he winds his way through the library, throwing little waves or smiles to the students he knows and making sure no one from Gryffindor has any ideas about getting up to any trouble. As he makes his way towards a group of tables he spots a certained feather-braided bother, who he’s fairly sure is responsible for several student’s shoes tying themselves together.

Reprimanding Slytherin students isn’t exactly in his duties as a prefect, and he has no real proof it was her, but Jason decides to talk to her anyways. Just to make sure she knows he knows what she’s up to. Halfway to her table he hears the whispers coming from a table nearby, packed with a group of his least favorite Slytherin students. He realizes most of them are staring at Piper, tossing her disgusted looks. Jason stops, doing his best to make out the muted whispers coming from the group.

“Can’t believe she’s a pureblood.”

“Look at her, pureblood or not she’s still a taint to the bloodline.”

“Are people like her really purebloods? Her ancestors-”

Jason’s face feels as if it’s on fire and he tunes out the rest, afraid if he keeps listening he’s going to do something incredibly stupid. Instead he turns to Piper, watching her reaction as she hears the words. The students are being loud enough with their idiodicy for her to hear, and it’s likely on purpose. They mean to do this to her, eager to make themselves feel superior to anyone they can. Even if that’s one of their own.

Keep reading


DADEVILLE, Ala. – A 53-year-old man says he and another person witnessed a huge black bird flying over their heads while boating in an Alabama lake. They spotted the feathered creature at about 10 p.m. in July of 1998. The boat was about 19 feet long and the alleged bird was almost as big. It had a wingspan three to four times as wide as the boat. It was jet black. The estimated wingspan would be about 20 to 30 feet. The birds body shape was that of a raven or crow, but extremely large and had finger-like feathers. The man states that the sighting didn’t last longer than 10 or 15 seconds. He believes that what they saw was an Argentavis magnificens, also known as Terrator and believed to be extinct. Remains of this bird, which lived in Argentina about 6 million years ago, were found by curator at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County Kenneth Campbell.

Confession:  I love how Dragon Age makes even characters you don’t like into something more complex so you can’t just dismiss them 100%.  For me Vivienne embodies this, because seriously, I loathe how she treats mages who don’t tow the line and I disagree with her methods in a major way, but at the same time I really admire that she’s a strong talented self assured woman who is beautiful and fashionable on top of it.  Long story short I ended up naming one of my chicks Vivienne because she ended up developing a beautiful spotted pattern on her feathers and just looks so regal (I know, a funny word for a chicken but there you have it).  She also takes no shit and charged a robin that landed on the grass near her even though she wasn’t much bigger, right then I knew I had made the right choice in her name.

Jurassic World Nods to Feathered Dinosaurs

As a professional in paleontology, I’ve been both publicly critical and privately grumpy about the choice of Jurassic World filmmakers to leave the raptors bald (Link). However, I noticed something new on my last run through. Others have noticed it before me, but this was the first I spotted it—a feathered lizard in the lab where Indominus was designed. Not enough to forgive the sin of what they put those poor shivering raptors through, (where’s PETA when you need them?) but a nice gesture :)