My all time favorite animal.
The red-bearded vulture.
The bearded vulture, or lammergeier, lives on a steady diet of bones (more specifically the marrow) and dyes its own feathers blood red.
Bearded vultures come in various shades, from pure white to orange-red. Soils stained with iron oxide give the birds their fiery appearance. Lammergeiers apply the dirt with their claws and then preen for about an hour to ensure a bright orange/red glow. They are also attracted to other red things, like leaves and red wood. Captive birds also partake in this behavior, which suggests the activity is instinctual, not learned.
The soil doesn’t have any practical purposes; it certainly doesn’t make for good camouflage (though the birds have no natural predators anyway). Scientists have noticed that the birds’ age and size are directly correlated to the intensity of color. It is theorized that the hue is a status symbol. More soiled feathers indicates that the lammergeier had the time and resources to find an adequate place to bathe; the brightest-colored vultures should have the most territory and knowledge of their surroundings. Interestingly, these baths are done in secret, so most of the information gathered has been through spying on captive birds.
Bearded Vultures are most commonly monogamous, and breed once a year. Sometimes, especially in certain areas of Spain and France, bachelor lammergeiers will join a pre-existing couple to create a polyandrous trio. Females accept secondary mates because it increases the chances of producing offspring and doubles her protection. The birds usually don’t lay more than three eggs, so they can use all the help they can get.
These giant birds can grow up to 4 feet tall. They have a wingspan between 7 and 9 feet and usually weigh around 10 to 15 pounds.
In other words, this bird is awesome and I love it forever.
This is it. This is the moment I have found my patronus. I love these vain fluff faces forever.
Lämmergeier means „Lamb vulture“ in german because people used to believe he snatches lambs and children right from the ground
cats opening doors with their faces is astounding. you got four paws little fool.
LISTEN DON’T JUDGE. IF OUR FACES WERE THAT BEAUTIFUL WE’D EXPECT THEM TO OPEN DOORS FOR US TOO.
Paws are just for pulling open doors that open toward you.
Also, in the case of my cat, the face push is only to confirm that the door will open far enough; after that it’s time to put a shoulder into it and heave it open as far as momentum will take it, because nO DOOR CAN STOP HIM!!!
Imagine Wade as a car mechanic and Peter as the supposed rich kid bringing him Lamborghinis and Maseratis to work on.
Imagine Wade as a hard-bodied, oil-stained, dirty, sweaty, huge guy, covered in ropy scars and corded muscle, towering above Peter.
Imagine Peter’s stomach doing a hot little flip, because damn, that dude is hardcore.
Like, literally the moment Peter sees Wade, Peter’s mouth falls open and floods with saliva. It’s an instant, undeniable reaction. All the way down to the reaction in his pants. Lust ripples through Peter like a wave of heat, making him flush and shiver and gasp.
Because Wade is clothed in nothing but sinfully tight jeans and a sticky, near-transparent tank top that clings pornographically to his washboard abs and his flexing, massive pecs. And his nipples. Dear god, the dark, pebbled, pointed silhouettes of Wade’s nipples through that tank top. Just the sight of them makes Peter stagger as he gets out of his car.
And it only gets worse. (Or is it better? Nah, it’s definitely worse.)
Wade’s muscles ripple when he moves, and he has this dangerous, loose-limbed prowl as he stalks toward Peter that makes Peter’s brain go offline.
Peter just stammers whatever the problem of the day happens to be, and gulps nervously when Wade slides himself under the car, screwdriver clenched in his teeth and legs spread, his muscular thighs bulging as the crotch of his jeans all but outlines his oversized package. His unfairly oversized package. Fuck, but Wade’s cock is downright intimidating.
And Peter sure is intimidated. Boy, is he ever. His throat swallows around the imaginary weight of that cock, the solid, inescapable girth of it as it’d push slowly past his lips. Peter’s practically drooling. He has to scrub his hand over his mouth to check that he isn’t drooling visibly.
Alas, Peter’s fantasies don’t stop there. The more he sees Wade, the more details he can’t help noticing–for example, the fact that Wade’s hands are so broad and callused that a single well-aimed spank from them would drive a grown man to tears. The sound of that heavy, stinging, resounding smack echoes through Peter’s mind like an actual, physical blow, making the skin of his ass flare and throb in anticipation.
Little does Peter know that all his blushing and stammering is doing it for Wade, and that, when Wade finds out Peter isn’t a spoiled li’l rich boy but is instead just the valet at Stark Tower, Wade begins to like him right back.
Guys, do I really need to write about them having sex on top of a sports car? With Wade just folding Peter’s legs back and up and rutting into him hard enough to dent the hood?
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