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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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writerdreamxs · 27 days

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WELCOME TO MY BLOG ! fearless era.

in which you know a little about me and make requests for short stories to me and I turn your dreams into realities. after all, I am a writer of dreams. 💐

first, introductions: my name is clarice, but you can call me clary.

I'm brazilian, so obviously english is not my first language, so there may be some errors in the imagines.

I love taylor swift (my favorite album is fearless, but I think you get the idea :) and one direction, as well as lana del rey, artic monkeys, among many other artists.

I love romcoms, whether films or books, clichés, sun, spring, roses, dogs and I am a person who really likes to talk.

my mbti is enfp, - at least that's what i think, at the moment! - and I have a sanguine temperament.

and I DON'T write smut.

below I will put a list of the characters and fandoms that I mainly write about, but if you want to request something different, feel free.

masterlist. 🌤️

BRIDGERTON 🐝

colin bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, anthony bridgerton, gregory bridgerton, simon basset.

FORMULA ONE. 🏁

all of the grid, but mainly, lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell and max verstappen.

FOOTBALL PLAYERS ⚽

richarlison, rodrygo goes, jude bellingham, vini jr, pedri, gavi, and all of the real madrid team.

HARRY POTTER (golden era)🪄

harry potter, draco malfoy, blaise zabini, fred and george weasley, ron weasley, oliver wood, charlie weasley.

HARRY POTTER (marauders era) 🕰️

remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, peter pettigrew, regulus black, severus snape.

THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA 🦁

peter pevensie, edmund pevensie, caspian.

CELEBRITIES 🍾

timothée chalamet, josh hutcherson, louis partridge, andrew garfield, william moseley, tom holland, ben barnes, archie renaux, cameron boyce ✝.

RANDOM ��

trodrick heffley, peter parker 1 and 3, matteo balsano, simon alavrez, ramiro ponce, gaston perida, gabo moretti, lorenzo guevara, dede duarte, willy wonka, chad denforth (hsm), will turner (potc) legolas greenleaf (lor), laurie laurence, supa strikas, luke ross (jessie), carmen sandiego characters, zach mitchell (jw), jurassic world: camp cretaceous caracthers, carlos de vil, jay ja'far, harry hook, ray beech, charlie delgado, aurek, jim hawkins, jack frost, ever after high characters, scooby doo characters, hiccup, the greatest showman, dick grayson and wally west (young justice) .

🦋 well, that's it my sweeties and I hope you liked me and send your requests. 💗

WRITERDREAMXS ©, 2024. 📖

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lady-of-tearshed · 11 days

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Eris Vanserra x OC!Hope

Summary: Eris has a secret meeting with his mate, though it seems he's not the one to be having secret meetings...

Word count: 2k

A/N: Tieflings are based on DnD.

Warnings: Mention of arousal, mention of a toxic family dynamic, angst

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears 💕

Walking quietly in Autumn Court was nearly an impossible task, for anyone, even for the most skilled warriors. A dry dead leaf, a random stick, everything in this Court’s environment was a threat to give off your position, a real challenge.

Except for Eris.

His boots were like feathers, his footsteps as silent as a cool breeze. He made sure that with every step he took, the rustling of the pine needles and crispy leaves under his sole would be muffled by the dampness of the soil.This part of the forest was familiar to him, as it was his usual hunting grounds. But today, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one hunting, no. And that other hunter was a complete fool, a complete stranger to discretion.

A fool whom he had fallen desperately, pathetically, unreasonably head over heels for.

He smirked when he finally got a glimpse of the tiefling. Of Hope, his Hope. He had followed her down for hours now, tracking each one of her imprints on the ground, and following every draft of her ambrosial fragrance. She was beautiful. No, beautiful wasn’t sufficient to describe the bewitching sight of her, standing there, stretching her gracious hands towards a tree branch, only a few feets away from him. He was only a few steps away from touching and tasting you.

But he stayed there for a while, admiring her from a distance, watching how her fingers worked around the tiny, yet stubbornly tough and spiky, pod a beech nut. As if she had suddenly been burnt by his gaze, her brown eyes shot up to meet his warm amber ones. Eris' breath hitched when he caught the glimpse of the mesmerizing golden hues shining in her eyes, caused by the sun rays filtering through her long eyelashes. The tiefling’s lips curled upwards, revealing a radiant smile, a smile that could light up his darkest days instantly.

“I just arrived,” He lied, even though he knew very well that his attempt was unsuccessful since you could easily hear how his heart thrummed faster beneath his chest. “Is that so?” Hope taunted, devilishly biting her lip as she approached him, every step she took was making his whole soul shake with excitement. She stopped inches away from him, their breath dancing in little white clouds in the raw weather of the afternoon. It was the closest the two have been in weeks. Hours, days, and weeks had felt so atrociously long since Eris had met her, since the Mother had judged him worthy enough to grant him her heart, to tie his soul, his entire being with yours.

Eris parted his lips softly, his eyes fixed on her fingers as they pushed the kernel in his mouth. He playfully bit the tip of her finger, the faint bitterness of the pine sap that coated her digit made him quickly free her from his teeth, preferring to munch on her tasty offering instead. She had worked so hard to peel the nut from its shell. Eris hummed in approval once he first sank his teeth in the kernel. The nut felt smooth on his tongue, and tasted surprisingly good despite the astringency.

His fingers reached for her hair, untangling gently some wild strands of hair as she popped a nut in her mouth as well. “Tasty?” She asked, enjoying the simplicity of the moment, of sharing her favorite snack with her mate as the sun bathed them in warmth despite the cold weather. “Mhm,” He confirmed, his fingers moved up to the curved horns that molded the shape of her scalp. He admired every detail on them, letting their ridges rub against his skin. He poked the slightly sharp tip of her left horn in his thumb. She was a beauty. A rare, undervalued creature.

The world has always been horrible to their kind. Especially his Court. Beron has been horrible to the tieflings, still was. His father had played with their undying loyalty, and turned them into living shields to shatter once turned into soldiers. No wonder why it took her so long to accept the bond, to accept Eris, to understand that he wasn’t his father. That he would never, ever hurt her. That he would sacrifice the world, his happiness, his very own life even, in order to keep her safe.

Hope saw how his eyes turned cold, distant, how the wildfire that usually shone in his eyes when she was around smothered. His hand fell to her hip, and she cupped his jaw, feeling it twitch, as if he was in an internal fight, which wasn’t unusual for Eris. His mind was always fighting demons. “Why am I always the messenger of bad news,” Eris grumbled, his eyes squeezing shut as he debated how he’d drop the news to her.

There was no good way to announce to his lover that his coward of a father once again decided to suck more Tithe out of these poor, kind-hearted people. He tried to figure out how to break the news of his father’s unreasonable Tithe augmentation, simply caused by the hatred of the High Lord for Autumn’s farmers, which was majorly composed of lesser Faes, like Tieflings.

“It's the Tithe again, isn't it?” Eris' breath hitched at the sight of his lover's face turning ever so slightly tensed. He nodded, and he opened his mouth to apologize for something he had no control of, for a decision that wasn't his, but she cut him off. “It's alright,” Hope continued, her eyes shining with determination, “I'll tell my people. We'll figure it out.”

Eris fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with pure, raw anger. It wasn't alright. They shouldn't have to figure it out. If only his father could see these people like he did. If only Beron could open his eyes to his Court, and become a better ruler. But Eris knew deep down that his father was a lost cause. That Beron Vanserra was, and always have been a monster. Always will be.

Rain started to platter on the leaves, and landed on his skin. The soft noises and the coldness of the droplets on his skin calmed him down little by little. Hope uncured his fists, and held them in hers. “You shouldn't have to figure it out,” His brows furrowed, his pupils dilating as he continued talking, voice low, “Maybe I'm no better than him after all. I'm not doing anything to-”

“That is not true!” Hope flicked his nose, cutting him off mid sentence. She threw an accusatory finger at him, making him feel like a child being scolded all over again. “What about the school getting miraculously renovated? And the new tools that our farmers found the other day in the barn?” Eris' cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. He didn't think she would've caught him doing that to help her and the other tieflings.

“You're taking so many risks for us, Eris. And that's what keeps us going, hope,” She brushed her knuckles on his cheek, the tiny raindrops formed paths with every movement of her fingers. “The hope that one day, Beron’s crown shall rest atop of your head,”

Eris took her hand in his, his lips kissed her fingers gently. They were warm, as if he was trying to chase the cold off her fingers with his love. “Will you dance with me now, my love?” Hope whispered, the soft rain was thrumming on the leaves above them, creating the most enchanting melody.

They danced, and danced, until their feet were painfully sore, and their clothes completely drenched. Eris was now cradling Hope in his arms, her cold nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck, seeking for some heat. Her blond locks were a shade darker now because of the rain, and Eris pressed his cheek against them, enjoying the tickling sensation it left on his skin. He was walking deliberately slowly down the path leading to her village, to her home.

But she was his home.

Hope lifted her face out of her warm shelter when she felt Eris' sadness through their bond. Her eyes dove into her mate’s, only to find his warm embers irises already staring down at her. His feet had stopped moving, and his arms tightened around her as they now stood only a few meters away from their parting spot. Reluctantly, he settled Hope down on her aching feets, and tucked away her messy hair behind her ears.

Words weren't always necessary between the two of them. They understood one another better than themselves at times. Eris could feel her reluctance to part with him thrumming on her side of the bond too, and he swallowed down, his throat bobbing under the weight of the emotions he tried to tuck away. “When will I see you again?” She asked, although she knew the answer would always be the same, so long as Beron’s lives. “I don't know.” He muttered, his voice the exact description of monotony, although sadness could be heard through his words too.

The tiefling tugged the collar of his irresistible black shirt, the fancy golden embroidery feeling nice in her grip. She pulled him until her back was pressed against a tree, his hands caging her frame. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes, and she closed her eyes, a silent request for a kiss. She waited one, two seconds, then opened her eyes slowly when she didn't feel his lips devouring her whole as he would usually have wasted no time to do so.

Eris was staring behind the tree she was pressed on, lips parted, eyes wide. Hope turned her head to peek over the tree trunk behind her back to see what was the cause of her mate's surprise. She scoffed, “Oh my, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” and playfully hit Eris on the chest, making him growl in annoyance. “He should be more careful, stupid teenagers,” He grumbled. “You’re not one to talk, Eris Vanserra!”

Cauldron could boil and fry him, he loved the way his name sounded coming from your lips. His body felt like it had been set ablaze, and he chased her lips as if they were the sole remedy to cool his blazing feelings. But it wasn’t. The softness of her lips on his only fueled the burning passion he had for his lovely Tiefling.

“I am being very careful, my precious little goldfinch,” He said, still panting as he rested his forehead against hers, his lips still itching with need of wandering on every inch of your skin. The fabric of his pants was painfully, tightly pressed against his hardness, he could feel his cock twitching, begging to be set free and given some attention. “That is why I am going to stay right here, and watch you walk away until I’m sure you’re home safely,” Smt cute “Then, I’ll discretely warn my audacious and reckless little brother to be more careful before attending that awfully long and boring dinner surrounded by at least five other brothers that wish me dead.”

Her eyes saddened, but he quickly brushed that pained look off her face with a last kiss on the tip of her pointed nose. “Don’t be sad. I'm alright,” He held her tight in his arms, his cheek pressed against her cold horn as he kept his emotions in check. He filled his lungs with her scent one last time, then slowly stepped away. He gestured with his chin the path leading out of the forest, to her village, indicating to her that it was time for her to go. “Go, before I get too tempted to capture you and lock us up somewhere for the rest of our ridiculously long existence,” She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders as if to say that she wouldn’t object to the idea.

Eris rolled his shoulders back as he watched her take the first few steps away from him, the first steps were always the hardest. “Hey,” She called from behind her shoulder, before walking out of the woods, “I love you.” Eris' cheeks turned bright red, and he didn’t care about hiding it from her. “And your love is the beacon of my heart,” He confessed, his voice soft, but loud enough for her only to hear through the howling wind. She blew him a kiss, and jogged away while he stood there, staring at her until she reached her tiny cabin safely, as promised.

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria

#acotar #fiction #my fic #acosaf #angst #eris vanserra #eris #oc #eris vanserra x oc #eris x oc #my oc #oc acotar #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris fic #eris vanserra fic #pro eris vanserra #goldfinch

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meadowlarkx · 9 months

Text

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

#wanted to post this one in as tumblr friendly a format as possible since it's not long !#thank you so much for running this event!!! 💕💕#thranduil #elrond #elwing #oropher #evranin #silm #silmarillion fic #silmarillion #etc.#lotr #the hobbit #thingol #menegroth #sindarweek #sindarweek2 #my fic

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monstersandmaw · 2 years

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If you are doing the one-word prompt game, then, scarecrow for my prompt

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Wow. This one really got away from me, but then again, I probably owe you a longer story after all these years anyway! Thank you for the prompt! (heavily inspired by this haunted village ambience video on YouTube that I listen to a lot while writing).

Contents: a rather lonely male scarecrow x artistic gn reader, haunted village, a cheeky magpie, a cute rabbit, lots of soft fluff, sfw Wordcount: 2987

(prompts closed)

___

The last rays of sunlight glanced off mounded clumps of moss that choked the old, drystone wall on your left, and gave them all a little glint of gold. Part of you almost believed that if you were to risk a closer look into the cracks between the stones, you would find fairy coins and gems stashed there for safe keeping. Mud splashed up your boots from the rutted, potholed road which wound away down the hill, and off to your left, the looming beech wood whispered and rustled constantly, sending spiralling copper leaves out into the open fields to the right of the road.

Between the trees, twilight now began to pool and stretch, spreading like an ink stain over the carpet of fallen beech leaves and driving off the sun as night took its turn to watch over the woods and all the creatures who dwelt there.

A tawny owl took up a call from somewhere nearby. The broken half-refrain that sought a mate to complete the melody rang softly between the still trees, and you sighed, hoping he’d find a mate.

You’d heard about this place, the abandoned village in the valley, and had been travelling on foot for days to reach it with your sketch book in your bag and enough food to last you a week if you were careful. To your surprise, you glimpsed bright, fat, round pumpkins growing in the fields on your right, their coiling tendrils spreading merrily across the roughly tilled earth despite the place having lain barren and empty for generations. No one who lived within ten miles of this place ever dared come down this road, and yet there were fresh crops still growing in abandoned farmland.

“Full of ghosts and demons that place is,” the old baker’s wife had hissed at you that morning when you’d bought a loaf for the journey at the nearest town. “Don’t you go wandering around there…”

As you’d left that small, riverside town, with its creaking water mill and ringing blacksmith’s, a tall young man in a dark green cloak had come up to you and pressed a charm into your hands. He’d had a sharp, serious face and deep, black eyes, and people had whispered in the pub the night before that he was the witch’s son. You’d looked down at your hands and found a smooth disc made of antler with a familiar stave rune carved into it.

“To keep you safe,” he’d said, and turned away. You watched him walk a couple of paces before he stopped, sighed, and turned back to you. “I’ve been there,” he said. “To the village. Don’t take anything from there unless it’s given to you first.”

Unnerved by his odd advice, you’d just nodded, thanked him, and donned the protective amulet. It had warmed against your skin as it hung on its leather cord around your neck, and you ran your fingers over it a few times as you walked, thinking about this words again.

Now, as you peered over the planks of a rotting, dilapidated fence overlooking the village, you caught sight of a twisted old apple orchard swathed in evening mist in the wide, verdant valley off to your right, and what seemed to be a dark figure standing in the centre of it. Your heart fairly stopped beating until you realised that they weren’t moving at all, and it was only the faint breeze tugging at the corner of an old coat that was catching your eye. It was a scarecrow.

You camped that night in the only house that still seemed to have a solid, thatched roof, lighting a fire in the cold grate and sleeping in your bedroll on the flagstone floor rather than occupying the empty bed that had been left behind. It felt rude and presumptuous somehow.

After a spot of breakfast the next morning, you banked the fire and left your belongings neatly by the hearth, and looked around the small, single-roomed stone cottage before leaving. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” you said aloud to no one in particular.

It seemed a bit silly, but it also important somehow, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a magpie flapped its wings in the rafters above and laughed at you. “No harm in saying thank you,” you muttered to it, and stumbled out of the door, embarrassed.

Your morning was spent wandering the village, getting to know the layout of the old, tumbledown buildings, but your afternoon took you to the ancient apple orchard where you found the scarecrow again, standing sentry in the centre of the trees with his arms spread wide, almost in welcome.

You came to a halt in front of him and looked up into his weathered face, surprised at how friendly his features were. Sure, his face was made of sack cloth and bits of pale straw stuck out at the cuffs and hem of his linen shirt, but the roots that had been chosen for his hands all had four fingers and a gnarled thumb, and the branches that made up his legs beneath the brown broadcloth trousers stuffed with straw were in proportion with the rest of his body. He had big, leather boots on which, like the rest of his clothes and the wide-brimmed, leather hat he wore, were in far better condition than they had any right to be after he’d been presumably hanging on his post for a hundred years or more.

“I almost want to offer you an apple,” you chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I haven’t come to thieve from your orchard. I’ve just come to draw the trees. I hope that’s alright. You mind if I sit with you a while?”

Obviously, you got no answer from the silent scarecrow, and although his face was warped with age, it seemed to have a kindly, almost curious set to its vague features, and the stitched mouth seemed to smile a little at the corners.

You sat with your back resting against his post and lost yourself in the careful skate of charcoal and graphite over paper, drawing the speckled feathers of a thrush as it hopped about looking for snails, the curve of the old, white gate that hung off its hinges at a jaunty angle, the lines of the roofs of the village with their ribcage rafters showing, the twisting trunks of the trees like gnarled hands reaching up from the earth to share their fruits with the world. Your magpie joined you for a while and hopped about, chattering away to himself, and you laughed as he began to play with a fallen leaf for a while before flapping off and leaving a single feather behind. You drew that too, lying in the dewy grass, but left it where it lay. The warning of the witch’s son reminded you not to take what had not been offered.

It was only when a cool breeze caressed the back of your neck like a lover’s breath that you jolted and realised how long you’d been sitting there.

The had light faded unnoticed from the brilliant pinks and oranges of sunset to the calm, quiet lilacs and blues of dusk that you blinked, and you could barely see three feet in front of you now. It was only because your paper was white that you could see the marks after all. Fog rolled in from the edges of the low-walled orchard, but despite the way the white fingers crawled across the grass, it didn’t seem threatening in the least.

Groaning and rolling your neck to ease the built-up tension and stiffness, you set your sketchbook down and clambered to your feet, joints creaking after so long in one pose, and you stretched out your back as well. You looked up at the scarecrow and frowned. You could have sworn he had been looking towards the gate when you’d arrived, but his head was bowed down now and looking in your direction.

“You’ve been watching me sketch, have you?” you said, not sounding quite as confident as you’d hoped. Perhaps he’d just moved in a breath of wind earlier. “Well, don’t judge me too harshly, hm? It’s the having fun that counts, not the end result. I’m sorry I intruded on your peace for so long though.”

Again the softest, gentlest breeze wafted around your face and the pages of your sketchbook fluttered open until they stopped on one you’d done of the scarecrow himself.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You like it?” you asked, not really believing that you were actually communicating. “I’m not sure I captured your smile quite right. I can come back again tomorrow and try again though. You’ll tell me if I’m not welcome, right?”

In a flash of black and white wings that came down out of nowhere and made you yip in surprise, the magpie landed on the scarecrow’s shoulder and gave another harsh, laughing chatter at you. He almost seemed to be mocking your startled reaction. Then he fluttered down onto the grass, hopped around a bit, and stooped to pick something up. When he flapped back up to the scarecrow’s shoulder and hopped about, he had the iridescent feather in his beak. He cocked his head a few times and then stuck his neck forwards towards you.

“For me?” you asked, reaching slowly for the feather.

The bird nodded, and as you took it, he spoke. “For you.”

Your eyes went wide and you almost dropped the feather. The black and white bird danced around, apparently enjoying your surprise. Then he made another few cawing noises, flapped his wings, and then disappeared off through a gap in the apple trees. “Well, thank you,” you croaked into the silence he left behind. You knew that corvids could imitate human speech, but that had all been very… precise.

Patting the scarecrow’s chest near his shoulder in an informal farewell, you turned to pick up your sketchbook from the dewy grass and looked back one last time at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you stepped over the ruined gate to the orchard the next morning, you made deliberate note of where the scarecrow was looking, and it had definitely changed overnight. Now he was looking across at his right hand that was stretched out wide on the cruciform support from which he hung. In it, you saw a flash of white and a few flashes of colour, and frowned. He hadn’t been holding anything the previous day.

As you approached, you could see better what it was that he was holding, and you exhaled slowly. It was a beautiful bunch of silvery dried grasses, with bright dandelions, red poppies, and dusky blue harebells, all wrapped around with the fluffy heads of old man’s beard that loved to ramble freely over the hedgerows and walls.

“Is… Is that for me too?” you asked. “How did you get them?” An idea lodged itself in your mind and you couldn’t shake it. He was definitely able to look in different directions, so that must mean… “Can you move?”

Only the wind answered you for a long, stretching moment. Then, with the kind of aching slowness that made your heart stop, his head began to turn. Slowly, carefully, he nodded once.

You swallowed and took half a step back, heartbeat thudding. “Is it… Is it alright that I’m here?”

Again, to your immense relief, he nodded again. He moved like the rusty hinge of an old barn door.

“Can you speak?”

He paused, and for a second you thought perhaps he hadn’t understood, but then he nodded a third time.

You licked your lips nervously and looked at the flowers. “So… are they for me?”

Yet another nod was your only answer.

“Did you gather them yourself? I mean, can you… get down from there?” The idea of him roaming around the fields while you’d been fast asleep was partly terrifying and partly rather sweet, and it prompted another question before you’d even waited for the first to be answered. “Are we the only two people here?”

A warm, amused chuckle, like the crunching of autumn leaves, sounded from the scarecrow. He shook his head slightly.

“‘No’ we’re not alone or ‘no’ you can’t get down? Or ‘no’ you didn’t get them yourself?”

The gnarled fingers of his left hand twitched and then the rope that seemed to hold him lashed to the support loosened a fraction and he held up a finger in a gesture that asked you to wait, to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping back again. “I get a bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

Another friendly laugh sounded and you watched the stitched gash that formed his mouth stretch upwards at the corners. His hollow eye sockets lifted a little too and his whole face expressed a gentle mirth. “I can speak…” he said in a rasping, reedy voice. “Though I have had no one but that wretched magpie to talk to for years.”

He spoke fondly enough of the creature, despite his words, and you smiled.

“I can move and get down, though it takes… effort.”

“Oh. Do you mind if I stay and draw some more?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come down and join me. I could even draw you again… see if I can get your face right this time.”

He laughed, and the ropes uncoiled on their own, gently lowering him down to the grass. He was about your height, though he stood crookedly, leaning against the support behind him. He kept the brim of his hat tilted down as if to shield his face from you, and he shifted self-consciously as you looked at him. He held out the flowers and you watched the way his hands moved like living flesh, though they were undoubtedly made of the roots of a tree.

You took the flowers carefully from him and felt oddly choked. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

“There’s not much out at this time of year, but…” he shrugged. “I found what I could. You were kind to sit and chat with me yesterday, even though you didn’t know I could hear you, and the magpie said you were polite in Old Rose’s cottage…”

“Thank you.”

Setting the flowers down beside your satchel, you drew out your sketchbook and sat cross-legged on the ground nearby. He sat as well, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting his hands lie softly in his lap. For a while he just watched you and then seemed to doze as the sun rose and lent a little weak warmth to the autumn day.

After a while, you began to ask him about the history of the village and why it had eventually been abandoned, and he talked in his rasping, faltering way for hours. A rabbit snuffled through the grass as the day wore on, and you froze, not wanting to startle it. It came right up to him, ears forward, nose twitching.

“Hello,” he murmured with a fond chuckle, and the creature leapt straight up into his lap. He cradled it and you carefully turned a new page in your sketchbook to try and capture it.

Luckily, the rabbit was in no hurry to leave, and he stroked his fingers through its fur long enough that you got three decent sketches out of it before it hopped off in search of the dewy dandelions growing between the trees. When he looked up at you and found you watching, he dipped his head again in a clearly bashful gesture.

“Want to see?” you said, waggling the sketchbook.

He nodded, and you went over to sit beside him. His finger shook as he trailed it carefully around the edge of the sketch, mindful not to smudge it, and then he looked up at you. This close, you could see the weave of the sack cloth that made up his face and the crinkles where the material pulled around his mouth and empty eye sockets. “You… I… Is this really how you see me?” he asked in a whisper barely louder than the breeze through the grasses.

With a frown, you turned your gaze back to the sketchbook to look at the drawings more critically. Was he offended? You thought you’d managed to capture the gentle way he’d cradled the rabbit’s soft body, the way his gnarl-knuckled hands had gracefully stroked its fur, the fond tilt of his head as he’d regarded the vulnerable creature in his care, but you’d also taken your time to match the way he listed slightly to one side, his broken-branch spine and crooked limbs not keeping him perfectly upright. It lent him a soft, shy quality, and you nodded. “I think you’re beautiful,” you said and then flushed hot with embarrassment.

He turned his head away and then looked back again, regarding you from the dark, shadowy hollows of his eyes. “No one has ever found me beautiful,” he said. “Not even the farmer who made me. I’m supposed to be frightening, you know? All the village children used to be afraid of me.”

“I’m sure you could be if you needed to be,” you said. “If I were here to steal apples, I mean. The rabbits aren’t a threat, and the magpie is only playful.”

“You could take anything you liked,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“But could you if you wanted to?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You brought your hand to his cheek and found the sack cloth warm beneath your palm despite the autumn chill in the air. “Let me stay and sketch a while longer?”

“As long as you like,” he whispered back. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”

___

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#scarecrow #male scarecrow #scarecrow monster #scarecrow x reader #(but not DC scarecrow!!)#just an ordinary old scarecrow lad #monster boyfriend #exophilia #one word prompts #gender neutral reader #gn reader #male monster #male monster x reader #male monster x gender neutral reader

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ilaw-at-panitik · 4 months

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[Y]our love and the one I profess for my country have melted into one... Could I forget you? [...] I called upon your name. I thought I could see you in the mist that rose from the depths of the valleys, I thought I could hear your voice in the whispering of the leaves, and when the folk songs the peasants sang as they returned from their work would reach me from afar, they only seemed to harmonize with my own interior voices, which sang for you and gave reality to my illusions and dreams. Sometimes I would lose myself on mountain paths, and night, which falls slowly there, would find me still wandering, searching for the trail among the pines, beech, and oak. Then, if the rays of the moon floated down through the openings in the thick canopy, I thought I could see you in the heart of the forest, like a vague, loving shadow, shimmering among the light and the darkness of the thicket. And if perchance I could distinguish the varying warbles of the nightingale, I thought it was because I could see you, and you were its muse. Did I think about you? The passion of my love for you not only brought life to their mists but color to their ice.

José Rizal, from "Noli Me Tangere" tr to English by Harold Augenbraum (First Published, 1887)

#José Rizal #philippine literature #novel #happy valentine's day!

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paperpeacock · 2 years

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Eddie Munson x Shy Reader - Sweet

♡Summary- You've always thought you were too soft for Eddie, but your mind often played tricks on you.

The morning sun bled gentle rays past your kitchen window, illuminating the once darkened sky. An assortment of doves gathered on the beech tree, chattering upon its branches. The paper boy had delivered most of his rounds, his satchel becoming ever lighter. The old women set out their flowery dresses, preparing for the Church Service.

You steadily stirred at the pale mixture; your hands aglow in summery light. Once every bubble had been chased away, you plopped a finger inside, checking its taste. Nodding in complete approval. Next, you let the butter dance upon the pan, before finally hearing the sweet sizzle of batter. You made six, plush pancakes, wrapping them up in cloth before setting them inside your bag, before setting off on your journey.

You lived quite close to the trailer park, a short walk through a woodland trail and you found yourself in Eddie’s neighborhood. You wouldn't usually visit him in the morning; however, his uncle Wayne was out of town for a couple of weeks so you wanted to make sure he was okay. of course, he could take care of himself; he has been doing that for a very long-time, you would never belittle him like this. After all, he deals drugs and dives into mash pits, not flowery mornings and fluffy pancakes. Your worries took over, swarming your thoughts and good intentions, you suddenly felt like such an outsider in a place you consider a haven. Your mind would never be at peace, constantly drumming on hundreds of possibilities, one of them being that maybe... maybe you were not Eddies' ideal partner.

Being trapped in your woes, you hadn't registered the open door. That is until you felt pressure on the end of your nose.

“Hellooo, earth to Y/N” his ashen voice called, roping you back to the present. Your eyes flashed like that of a midnight deer, caught at the road. Eddie leaned against his doorframe, removing a finger from your nose and lending you an amused smile.

“Hi” you replied quietly, peering at the bag in your hands. Eddie welcomed you to his humble abode, removing the array of clothes on his couch before the both of you sat down.

“You don’t usually come this early” he commented, propping his feet up on the table.

“Yeah, I um, wanted to see you” You timidly spoke, words soft like falling snow. Eddie felt his chest warm.

“I'm not complaining! My doll is always welcomed” he beamed, drawing a blush from your cheeks. You sat in a silent moment, contemplating the contents of your bag. You clutched at the fabric; the all too familiar butterflies flooded your stomach. It would be a shame for your effort to be in vain.

“A-actually” you called, meeting his mahogany gaze. You lifted the container from your bag, placing it in your lap. “I made these for you” You outstretched the pancakes, ducking to hide your reddened face. Eddie gently took them, removing the lid and setting his gaze upon airy pastries, dusted in sugar and care. Eddie felt his heart melt like candle wax, someone had made these for him. Someone had taken the time to do something thoughtful for him! Eddie Munson. That, someone, was you. Sweet Y/N.

You hadn't dared to raise your gaze, slightly kneading at your legs, much like the bread you often baked.

“Aren't you precious” Eddie clasped your face in his calloused hands, gently smushing your cheeks against his palms. Your face was painted scarlet, as he gave you a honeyed smile. He pressed his nose against your own, letting out a slight, amused snicker. Eddie and Y/N, the rough and the soft, the loud and the quiet. Only God knew what made you such a perfect pair, whatever it was, you couldn't be happier as your worries were chased away. Temporarily, of course, those tyrants were quite the mighty foe. However, they could never stand a chance against, Eddie Munson, certified rockstar and lover.

You pressed your forehead to him, your eyes boring into his own. Love was brewing, like a warm cup of tea, on a cold winter's eve.

#eddie stranger things #my writing #fiction #fluff #demagorgon #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x shy!reader

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woodlandtrust · 2 years

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A Walk In the Wood, by Dennis W. Turner

As I walked through the wood, on a bright, autumn day, I was dwarfed by the trees that were lining my way. In amongst all the broad-leaved, with branches half-bare, Were the conifers dotted about here and there. A few broken off branches lay scattered around And I ploughed through the debris that littered the ground: There were pine-needles, conkers and moss-covered stones; Lots of beech-mast and leaf-mould and squirrel-chewed cones. There were sycamore keys and a spread of acorns And a tangle of brambles with menacing thorns. I was choosing my path and avoiding tree roots As they all seemed determined to ambush my boots. With the feel of the breeze in a small, open glade And the dank smell of bracken in sun-dappled shade, A small rabbit caught sight of me trudging on by And was suddenly gone in the wink of an eye. I saw squirrels cavorting with consumate ease While the birds chirped and cawed in the tops of the trees. I was filled with delight at each sight, smell and sound. They were all just for me, with no others around. Near the edge of the wood, it was both dark and bright Where the trees broke the rays of the low-angled light. Then I came to a stile where I stopped and just stood And I savoured the joy of that walk in the wood.

#woodland trust #Dennis W. Turner #poetry #tree poetry

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augustusaugustus · 2 months

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11.139 Neutral Territory

Sun Hill plays a friendly against the Canley youths and it goes about as well as you’d expect, with Steve getting red carded off and Reg not exactly being a great talent in goal. Andrew getting way too involved on the sidelines is a nice touch. Damn shame that it was almost impossible to get any decent caps with crappy video quality + constant movement.

#the bill #steve loxton #andrew monroe #jim carver #reg hollis #derek conway #ray steele #dave quinnan #rod skase #alan woods #george garfield #don beech #bob cryer #the bill: episode: neutral territory #the bill: series 11 #the bill: 1995 #the bill: writer: david g mcdonagh

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collabwithmyself · 1 year

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I FORGOT TO POST THIS. Silly little video featuring some of the regulars from the in-character group chat from my server's sister RP server! Characters include:

@eyekaros's Aestate

@boopboopitydoop's Ray Sonora

@artsy-dragoness's Edwin Adair

@wizardmolars's Milton Beech

@randomgooberness's interpretation of Gordon Feetman

@aderblack's Brian Neuer

#collab doodles #collab animates #eyekaros #boopboopitydoop #artsy-dragoness #wizardmolars #randomgooberness #aderblack

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forensicated · 3 months

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Information for use in fan fiction and anything else related to The Bill. This will be added to and edited every so often and please feel free to comment if you want to add or edit anything.

Part 1

The Bill is set in the fictional Sun Hill which makes up part of the also fictional Borough Of Canley. It's roughly set around the areas of Whitechapel, Stepney, Shadwell, Spitalfields, Portoken, Limehouse and parts of Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Shoreditch and Mile End. It's also known as the Tower Hamlets area. Maps of Sun Hill show the Isle Of Dogs area.

The station address is: Sun Hill Police Station, 2 Sun Hill Road, Canley, London, E1 4KM. The telephone number is 020 7511 1642.

The caution: I am arresting you on suspicion of (OFFENCE: eg murder or sexual assault). You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.

This MUST be said, IN FULL, each time someone is arrested and officers MUST make sure that the person understands it ALL.

Vehicle Call Signs:

Area Car (Sierra 1, Sierra 1-2, Sierra 1-7, Sierra Oscar 21 and Sierra Oscar 22)

Van (Sierra 2)

CID Cars (Sierra Oscar 5 to 9) (Sierra-1-1 has lights/siren hidden like below but they have a magnetic light to stick on top like below)

TSG (Sierra Oscar 1-3)

IRV (Sierra Oscar 2-3)

Panda (Sierra Oscar 8-4, 8-5, 8-6, 8-7)

Officer call signs:

Sierra-Oscar 5-2 - Superintendents used this so it was the call sign for Brownlow (and Derek when he was acting Super), Chandler, Okaro, Prosser, Heaton and finally Jack Meadows.

Sierra-Oscar 5-4 was for Chief Inspectors so Derek, Cato and Stritch but the call sign and roll was retired at Sun Hill after Derek was killed.

Sierra-Oscar 5-5 was the call sign for DCI's so this is Kim Reid, Frank Burnside and Jack Meadows.

Sierra-Oscar 7-5 was used for Frank Burnside when DI

Sierra-Oscar 3-3 was used for Roy Galloway when DI

Sierra-Oscar 7-0 was used for Neil Manson when DI.

Sierra Oscar 7-1 was used for Sam Nixon when DI

Need to check on those for Johnson, Wray, Haines and Deakin if required but they can just use rank/surname as described below.

Sierra Oscar 3-2 was used for DS Geoff Daly (In All Change)

Sierra Oscar 6-7 was used for DS Don Beech (In All Change)

Sierra Oscar 2-8 was used for DS John Boulton (In All Change)

Sierra Oscar 3-6 was used for DC Will Fletcher

Sierra-Oscar 9-8 was used for DC Gary Best

Sierra-Oscar 4-2 was used for DC Grace Dasari.

Sierra Oscar 223 was used for DC Rod Skase (in All Change)

Sierra Oscar 613 was used for DC Duncan Lennox (In All Change)

CID would most often use their rank and surname too.

Sierra Oscar 1 was used for all inspectors at the station from Deeping, Kite, Frazer, Monroe, Matt when he was acting Inspector, Gina, Smithy when he was acting inspector, Rachel and then finally Smithy when full inspector. (Smithy was 833 as PC and 54 as Sgt)

SO25 - Rachel Weston

SO30 - Callum Stone

SO33 - Craig Gilmore

SO46 - Jo Masters (after moving from CID to uniform)

SO48 - June Ackland (SO643 when a PC)

SO48 - Diane Noble for one night (she was supposed to return but the ITV cut backs and the show moving to one episode a week meant her two-parter return was edited down to one episode and new scenes filmed to explain she was transfering to Barton St.)

SO54 - Smithy (833 as a PC and Sierra 1 as an Inspector)

SO54 - Jane Kendall and Tom Penny

SO55 - Ray Steele

SO61 - John Maitland

SO66 - Sheelagh Murphy (SO661 wheb demoted to PC)

SO79 - Matt Boyden

SO82 - Joseph Corrie

SO87 - Nikki Wright

SO92 - Bob Cryer

SO95 - Stuart Lamont

SO96 - Alec Peters

SO99 - Phil Hunter (during short punishment stint in uniform)

SO101 - Taffy (Francis Edwards)

SO128 - Lewis Hardy

SO134 - Phil Young

SO139 - Timothy Able

SO140 - Nick Klein

SO148 - Mel Ryder and Yorkie (Tony Smith)

SO149 - Gary Best (Changes so SO 9-8 in CID)

SO158 - Honey Harman

SO171 - Reginald Percival Hollis

SO201 - Dave Litten

SO202 - Kerry Young

SO201 - Pete Muswell

SO212 - Millie Brown

SO217 - Laura Bryant (was SO7667 when a PCSO)

SO218 - George Garfield

SO227 - Viv Martella

SO235 - Roz Clarke

SO249 - Gemma Osbourne

SO251 - Jamila Blake

SO258 - Beth Green

SO275 - Roger Valentine

SO294 - Danesh Patel

SO298 - Yvonne Hemmingway

SO315 - Dan Casper

SO330 - Robin Frank and Ron Smollett

SO335 - Donna Harris

SO340 - Dave Quinnan

SO342 - Abe Lyttleton

SO351 - Malcom Haynes

SO354 - Arun Ghir

SO355 - Cameron Tait

SO358 - Gary McCann

SO361 - Emma Keane and Vicky Hagen

SO362 - Luke Ashton (for his return post 2002)

SO363 - Steve Loxton, Lance Powell and Kirsty Knight

SO408 - Nick Slater

SO416 - Sam Harker, Ken Melvin and Gabriel Kent

SO432 - Luke Ashton (for his first 97-99 stint) and Des Taviner

SO437 - Leela Kapoor and Leon Taylor

SO452 - Adam Bostock

SO469 - Polly Page

SO483 - Diane Noble (was SO48 for her one night stint as Sgt)

SO487 - Cathy Marshall and Rosie Fox

SO510 - Billy Rowan (though poor love lasted half a shift)

SO517 - Mike Jarvis

SO518 - Cass Rickman

SO543 - Will Fletcher

SO561 - Debbie Keane

SO570 - Cathy Bradford

SO577 - Barry Stringer

SO595 - Tony Stamp

SO600 - Jim Carver

SO643 - June Ackland (SO48 as Sgt)

SO659 - Suzanne Ford

SO661 - Sheelagh Murphy (SO66 as Sgt)

SO682 - Di Worrell

SO686 - Sally Armstrong

SO740 - Ben Hayward

SO743 - Pete Ramsey

SO759 - Steve Hunter

SO795 - Ben Gayle

SO800 - Richard Turnham

SO832 - Delia French

SO833 - Smithy (SO54 as Sgt and Sierra 1 when Inspector)

SO876 - Nate Roberts

SO876 - Nick Shaw

SO888 - Amber Johannsen

SO943 - Andrea Dunbar

SO988 - Eddie Santini and Ruby Buxton

FED REPS: Federation Representatives support and advise officers if they've been accused of something or matters like pay, rights, allowances, conduct, equality and development etc. It's often mocked, mostly when Reg is in the position as everyone's favourite busy body, however it is a responsible position and Reg was very good at it if only due to his nitpicking and love of the rule book.

Fed reps: Reg Hollis, Barry Stringer, George Garfield, Nick Klein, Leela Kapoor

The Area Car can only be driven by the officers who are qualified to drive them for example: Roger Valentine, Tony Stamp, Kirsty Knight, Callum Stone, Ben Gayle, Gemma Osbourne, Yvonne Hemmingway, Matt Boyden, Vicky Hagen, Gina Gold, Steve Loxton, Mike Jarvis, Will Fletcher and Des Taviner.

Civillian Staff:

Jonathan Fox - Senior Crown Prosecutor and one time boyfriend of Gina Gold. He left Gina because she wouldn't commit right as she was about to commit to him. She tries to tell him this when he returns during her cancer fight but he's moved on with someone else... she can't handle just being friends so asks him to leave.

Matt Hinkley - Senior Crown Prosecutor

Eddie Olosunje - CSE

Lorna Hart - CSE

Audrey ?? - A CSE who checked Gabriel's clothes and is very friendly with Gina - they play poker together.

Dean McVerry - CAD

Marilyn Chambers - SRO - Reg was about to propose to her and was waiting for her where they had their first date when Colin Fairfax drove his van into the front of the station.

Julian 'JT' Tavell - SRO

Robbie Cryer - SRO (SRO's used to be Front Desk Officers)

DOPA Mia Perry (Press Officer) - Mickey's girlfriend who cheated on him with John Heaton

Margret Barnes - Cleaner who was obsessed with Ramani

Special Constable Terry Knowles (Killed on his first day trying to be like Des)

PCSO Colin Fairfax - Racist who drove a van into the front of the station, killing Ken, Marilyn and Andrea.

PCSO Laura Bryant - Became a full PC.

Marion Layland - Charles Brownlow's long suffering PA.

Rochelle Barrett - Drugs Referral Officer

Tom Kent - FME in the early 90's

Important Reoccurring Characters (Police):

Guy Mannion - Chief Super to Brownlow and then Borough Commander. Pain in the arse.

Trevor Hicks - DAC/Assistant Commissioner

Georgia Hobs - DAC

Roy Pearson - DAC. Neil Manson's father in law and user of rent boys. Murdered by one after attempting to retrieve a video that was being used to blackmail him.

Lisa Kennedy - Commander (Her son is involved in an altercation that leads to disaster at a football match)

Jane Fitzwilliam - Borough Commander

Louise Campbell - Borough Commander

Ian Barrett - Borough Commander - tried to blackmail PC Dan Casper into ending his affair with his wife, Rochelle. Ended up getting Dan held at gunpoint and left Sun Hill alongside his wife.

Amanda Prosser - acting Superintendent whilst Adam took time off following the death of his family in an RTA. Upset a bereaved father who then took her hostage at gunpoint and caused a siege at Sun Hill (second live episode)

Rowanne Morell - DI/DCI who came in to investigate a case and then came in as cover for Neil whilst he took some time off after his father in law's death/end of his marriage.

Andrew Ross - DCI if I remember rightly he was part of MIT and kept coming over for murders - the Serial Killer/Des's Fire bombing/Cathy's murders etc.

Frank Keane - DCI from MIT. Rubbed everyone up the wrong way and thought the sun shone out of his daughter - Emma's - arse.

Karen Lacy - stuck up DI from SO15 who immediately alienated most of Sun Hill after Emma's death by refusing to let her friends in uniform help and would only let them man a cordon and then told Jack that CID could only help if EVERYTHING was ran through her and came back to her and her alone.

Tom Baker - TREV which was a fan coined term that stands for Totally Reliable Extra Veteran'. Tom was an outstanding back up CID member for over a thousand episodes. He's even in the Guiness Book Of World Records for it.

Terry Knowles - Terry was a Special Constable who idolised Des and wanted to be like him. He tried to copy how he'd seen him pick up a woman and flirted at a blonde in a convertible. Unfortunately it all went wrong when she stabbed him in the neck and severed his jugular and he died, leaving a 2 year old son fatherless.

Doug Wright - husband of Sgt Nikki Wright. Nikki transferred to Sun Hill when she got fed up of the confusion over two Sgt Wright's and then having to work opposing shifts. He's based at Sun Hill but they cross over to police a football match. Sadly Doug ends up getting stabbed and they realise there's a Cop Killer on the loose after he taunts them and goes on to murder new recruit Billy Rowan on his very first day.

Mark Rollin - Lance Powell's Boyfriend/Fiance/Civil Partner/Husband. Mark is a Sgt in CO19 and keeps his sexuality hidden to avoid the banter and bullying. He goes to pieces after shooting dead Jeff Clarke and he and Lance separate - only for Lance to go out drinking to try cheer himself up and be murdered.

Steve Hodges - an irritating little man who was the Detective Superintendent at CIB at the time that Claire Stanton was undercover trying to get information to prove that Don Beech was corrupt. He expected Claire to pull evidence out her arse and moaned constantly.

Rachel Kitson - Crime Scene Photographer who murdered old school friend turned Super Model Cindy Statham. She got away with it and someone else was accused and locked up...but then Jo went back and looked at the footage again as she had a niggling feeling. Rachel realised she was on to her and took her hostage at gunpoint. It was Stuart getting suspicious when he received a text calling him 'hun' and realising that something was very wrong that saved her life with seconds to go.

Important Reoccurring Characters (Civilians):

Rod Jessop - June's second husband after Jim. He is a headteacher and a good man who has 2 children of his own. At first June isn't too sure as she thinks he's a little too keen but she warms to him and they fall in love and take early retirement together.

Irene Radford - Mother of Karl, Wayne and David Radford, a large crime family with a history going back decades with Gina. She takes Gina hostage at one point and she and David are literally seconds from killing Smithy and Kerry at another point!

Louise Larson - Wife of Pete Larson. Unhappily married but settled until she met Smithy. Feisty, sarcastic and full of one liners, she kept him on his toes and they wanted to leave after she agreed to give evidence (Pete was arrested after almost murdering Smithy. I'm sensing a theme here).

Abi Nixon - The cause of Sam shrieking "MY DAUGHTER!!!!!" Had a fling with Matt Boyden - as you do. Then ended up pregnant and engaged to Hugh Wallis - a profiler - who manipulated Abi into it as revenge. He forced Sam to think her daughter was a victim of the Serial Killer. She keeps the baby and her relationship with her mother improves.

Cindy Hunter - Phil Hunter's wife who sees all he does on the side and - usually forgives him, even when a major criminal demands he be allowed to sleep with Cindy. Gregory doesn't force her to sleep with him but does take degrading pictures of her to wind Phil up. She still forgives him... but she can't get past finding out he has a daughter with another major criminals wife when they are trying for a baby of their own and they finally split.

Jenny Delaney - The girlfriend of George Garfield at first, Jenny is the nurse who looks after Dave Quinnan when he is attacked and left for dead in a youth club. She and Dave fall in love and have an affair which ends up in George leaving Sun Hill. They marry but do not get their happily ever after as Dave and Polly grow closer... and closer...

Kristen Shaw - Drug dealer who Zain goes undercover to catch and he ends up falling for her. She accidentally murders Honey by shooting her when the gun goes off in a struggle (Honey was trying to get Zain to do the right thing and arrest her with him). Zain reluctantly puts Honey's body in the water and they try to escape but in the end he can't go through with it and refuses to get on the boat with her to escape. He removed the bullets from her gun and so both end up arrested.

James Tennant - The father of Amy Tennant. This storyline goes on forever for over a year and Neil and James get close and become good friends through it before Amy is found.

Scott Burnett - Scott is the husband of a woman who is found murdered. At first his best friend is charged with it and as his FLO, Honey helps support him through it. They fall in love and in a whirlwind romance they get married.... only for Honey to realise that Scott actually murdered his first wife!

Laura Meadows - Jack's long suffering wife who put up with a lot, including affairs. It comes to a head when Jack - in full midlife crisis mode - thinks he's in love with Debbie McAllister and wants to support her and her new baby. Debbie thinks of him mostly as a father figure and is horrified when he finally puts the moves on.

Lilian Rickman - Cass' mum is devastated when her daughter is killed by the Sun Hill Serial Killer. She travels down and bonds with the team and later invites them to the funeral in Liverpool which some travel up to and then have to go straight on shift once they get back to London. She later returns to tie up the sale of Cass' flat and she and Tony grow closer and end up sleeping together.

Marie Graham/Carver - The bereaved mother whos daughter killed herself after being accused of sleeping with underage students. She's an alcoholic who seemed to understand Jim and all his problems... and then started to abuse him 2 days after their marriage. (he should have known it was a bad omen when he and June almost kissed the day of the wedding when trapped with Polly and Tony!)He is accused of abusing her before he ends up in hospital (Gabriel hit him over the back of the head with a vodka bottle - long story) and he cracks under accusations and shows his many wounds. He leaves Marie and goes on to recover and get back together with June... only for Marie to turn up on THEIR wedding day and cause a scene at the reception and then fall down the stairs and knock herself out. Jim, with a sprained ankle, ends up going into hospital too!

Pauline Smith - Smithy's mum seen in Killer On The Run. His father was an abusive drunk who used to knock her and Smithy around until Smithy was old enough to go out with his friends. Smithy has little to do with his unnamed father and next to no contact. She adores her son and is very proud of him. They are close and Smithy has a key to her house. He also had an unnamed little brother as a PC (mentioned in Soft Talking) but this seemed forgotten when he returned as a Sgt.

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