#Forest Guardian

[alexmurison]

The Ent This absolute stunning veteran oak tree hidden away in Cannock Chase is one of the most stunning trees I've ever seen. A true Tolkien Ent if ever i've seen one.

[asyayordanova]

[orcbardneeul]

AU!Gus having a little fruit snack while traveling downstream. He's a bit messy but its fine. He'll just take a dip to wash it off.

🎨:@hasthund (Also on Twitter)

Check under the cut for an even more explicit view.

Shorts can take a while to dry, so he figured he should just keep them in his bag until he reaches his destination. In fact, he might not put them back on for another day or two. Not like there's any reason to stay modest out in the woods.

[bogkeep]

forest phoenix guardian, commission for my friend!

[yoga-onion]

[Photo above by:  Ossi Saarinen]

Legends and myths about trees

Forest myths, Estonian traditional beliefs (6)

The world of the Estonians’ ancestors – Metsik, the forest elves

Metsik is the elf of the woodlands. According to ancient Estonian folklore, Metsik were wood elves who lived everywhere there were trees, from coniferous woodlands to shallow swamp forests. When Metsik appears to people, they assume the appearance of a bird, a wild animal, or a beautiful tree. A singing bird who truly is Metsik sings songs that humans can understand. They can also understand the language of the aspen tree that rustles in the wind for that aspen tree is Metsik.

If birdsong is heard, it may be a Metsik singing. People can hear Metsik in an aspen tree that rustles in the wind. Metiks are the guardian spirits of the forest. They do not approve of cutting down trees, bonfires and, above all, waste dumping. When people enter the forest with cruel intentions, Metik misleads them away from their sacred home.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

森の神話・エストニアの民間伝承 (6)

エストニア人の祖先の世界 〜 森の妖精メツィク

メツィクは森の妖精である。古代エストニアの民話によれば、メツィクは針葉樹林から浅い沼沢林まで、木があるところならどこにでも住んでいた森の妖精である。メツィクが人々の前に現れるとき、彼らは鳥や野生の動物、あるいは美しい樹木の姿をとる。本当にメツィクである歌う鳥は、人間が理解できる歌を歌う。また、風にそよぐアスペンの木の言葉を理解することもできる。

鳥のさえずりが聞こえたら、それはメツィクが歌っているのかもしれない。人々は風にそよぐアスペンの木からメツィクの声を聞くことができる。メツィクは森の守護霊である。彼らは木を伐採したり、焚き火をしたり、とりわけゴミを捨てることを認めない。人々が悪意を持って森に入ると、メツィクは彼らを神聖な家から遠ざけるよう惑わす。

[daanziart]

A crop of my most recently finished art. A forest guardian <3

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

Oh god I'm making a new blog banner-

It's not even halfway done theres more fandoms...

[vocaloidderivativeotd]

Today's Vocaloid derivative of the day is:

Megurine Luka: Forest Guardian from MikuColle!

[pink-onyx-au]

i have the feeling that pink onyx would mug poeple who litter

Yeah. Violent forest guardian.

[Disclaimer: Steven asks that everyone camp responsibly. Also recycle please and thank you. No Smokeys were harmed in the making of this doodle]

[pulpsandcomics2]

Forest Guardian

[adrianecarday]

[of-teeth-and-tenderness]

Recipe

M Forest Guardian x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Discussions of food, very minor creepy elements, deep-throating (I guess), p in v sex, creampie.

(Tagging @when-the-sun-goes-dark )

~~

3/4 cup sugar, two sticks—wait two? Yes, two sticks of butter. Cream together—where’s the hand mixer…?

You dig through the cupboard and locate the mixer behind a stack of pie tins. They clang and grate together as you shove them aside to yank the machine free. You need to reorganize, apparently.

Huffing, you stand, move to the bowl, and connect the appropriate attachments to the mixer. As you cream together butter and sugar, your head bobs along to the song crooning through your headphones.

Switching off the mixer, you glance over at the little post-it note stuck in your recipe book, cookie ingredients shakily scrawled along the top half. Next is an egg. Perfect, your lovely chickens gave you several fresh this morning.

You turn to retrieve the egg, but movement in your peripheral makes you jolt. Sudden alarm turns to relief in a heartbeat; you recognize the creature looming in your kitchen. His white, lidless eyes are trained on you, observing.

A tremulous sigh rushes from your lungs. “You scared the shit out of me,” you chide, palm coming to rest against your chest to calm your fluttering heart.

Silence. The creature’s head—a massive bull elk skull—tilts slightly. When he speaks, the exposed jaw bones don’t move. Instead, his deep, rolling voice emanates from within, conjured from whatever resides inside bone.

“I…certainly hope not.” You snort and tug your headphones from your ears, hastily shaking your head.

“No, no, not literally. It’s a figure of speech.”

You receive a long, “Ah,” of understanding in response, the sound reverberating around the room. You feel the buzz of it in your own chest. Grinning and nodding, you finally retrieve the egg for your recipe.

The creature, currently crouched on four legs, pushes up to two. He’s hulking at his full height, antlers brushing the ceiling. Too big to fit in the kitchen at his current size, he simply shrinks to fit the space. You watch in amazement, no less astonished by his magic than you were the first time.

“What do you craft, child?” he asks. His curved, black toe claws click on linoleum as he approaches and curiously peers over your shoulder into the bowl. The coarse, dark fur of his torso tickles the backs of your arms when you crack the egg.

“Cookies,” you reply simply, glancing over at the recipe once again. You loose a quiet, “Oh,” of surprise when a long, black tongue scoops the eggshell from your fingers. It disappears into the mouth of the skull, but no crunching sound follows. You briefly wonder what became of it, thinking the creature must absorb it somehow.

“For the holiday,” he states—asks? It’s difficult to tell with the way his words seem to roll on forever at the ends. He lifts a spindly arm, a long, black claw pointing toward the decorated tree standing in the next room.

You chuckle, “Yes, exactly.” Carefully following the directions, you work together the rest of the ingredients, now under the watchful eye of the Creature of the Forest. As you work, you rest your back against the warm fur of his chest, his body heat relaxing the tense muscles of your shoulders, his petrichor scent filling your lungs.

You’re still not sure what he is or how he came to be. Any answers he gives about his origin are cryptic at best, nonsensical at worst. Even his name is a mystery. You’ve taken to calling him “Shepherd” for his apparent role as guardian of the great forest stretching just behind your home.

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” you tell him as you arrange the dough on a baking tray. “She wrote it down on half a sticky note—

You pause when you finally notice Shepherd pawing at your hips. His talons catch on the fabric of your pants and you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Are you liking this?” you tease, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Your…domesticity allures, little one,” comes the measured reply. The tugging at your jeans grows more insistent.

“Wait, h-hold on,” you urge, hastily setting down your baking tools and ripping off your apron. “Don’t shred these, please. I’m running out of pants.” A long, annoyed exhale sounds in your ear, but the claws relent, poised in the air and twitching impatiently. Very little of Shepherd’s mannerisms could be described as ‘human,’ but his impatience is certainly familiar.

Biting your lip to stifle your giggle, you fumble with the button of your pants. You only manage to shove them down to your knees before you’re gripped around the waist. Shepherd’s thick length pushes between your thighs. The honey-colored fluid leaking from the tip smears between your folds.

Your eyelids flutter. Reaching up and back, you tangle your fingers in his scruff. Languidly, you roll your hips, grinding against the ridges along his shaft. Shepherd’s appreciative growl is felt more than heard, a pulsing vibration that ripples under your skin and pulls a little mewl from your lips.

A clawed hand wraps around your throat, the other resting on your belly. Claws set against your skin with a touch so gentle it merely tickles, never slicing. Light pressure against your neck makes you arch and tip your head back.

Shepherd’s tongue returns, this time sneaking past your teeth to brush against your own. It burrows deeper, snaking into your throat until your moans become choked and garbled. Simultaneously, the drooling head of his cock eases into your heat, his girth carefully stretching slick muscles until his hips meet your rear.

A rumbling groan buzzes against your back. You hollow out your cheeks and suck on the tongue buried in your throat, earning you a sharp thrust. Your wanton cry is muffled, more following soon after with Shepherd’s rhythmic bucking.

The drag of his cock makes your knees tremble, each pass off those delicious ridges sending waves of pleasure rolling through you. Unable to swallow, saliva pools in your cheeks and spills past your lips to drip off your chin. Shepherd presses his palm against your lower belly, holding you in place so he can thrust into you more forcefully.

“My beautiful mate,” he purrs, his voice cascading from the skull to wash you in toe-curling vibration. “I feel your soul like this.” Eyes hazy, face hot, every nerve humming with bliss, you nod in understanding. If you could speak, you would beg him to never stop, to keep you both forever entwined.

With the tongue stuffed in your throat, you can’t warn him you’re close so you dig your nails into his fur. You’re certain he knows with the way your cunt clenches and flutters. He’s nearly there himself if the frantic driving of his hips is anything to go by.

Ecstasy claims you together. Warmth floods your insides as you stumble over the precipice, every muscle in your body seized in rapture. A rushing breath like wind through the trees ruffles your hair, Shepherd’s arms possessively wrapping around your quivering form.

With a squelch, the tongue withdraws back into the bony maw. You suck in a deep inhale and pitch forward, catching yourself on the counter. Shepherd moves with you, curling over your back to rest his bony jaw on top of your head. You leak from where you’re still joined, sticky essence trickling down your thighs.

You utter a shaky laugh, fingers clumsily patting his jaw in appreciation. You’ll form words when they return to you. Shepherd trills, claws tenderly stroking through your hair.

His hips twitch. You blink, shoulders shaking with your incredulous laugh. He’s still hard, his flesh still heated and wanting within you.

It seems the cookies will have to wait.

[pokemon-cards-hourly]

[nyxemisa]

The forest guardian! 🌿🌱🌸🌼⚜️👑

[sunnys-aesthetic]

Caught!🌼

[thirstycrab]

Unicorn forest guardian

This beast was created from the unfading meadow plants that grew at the scene of a monstrous massacre committed over a herd of magical unicorns. Liters of magical blood were spilled on a wooded meadow, which gave rise to this forest guardian, filled with a thirst for revenge against all foreign invaders. In the second and third versions of the character, its main weapon is grass. That may sound silly at first, but the edges of the blades of grass are sharp as real steel razor blades. These grassy limbs can wrap around the opponent and immobilize him like ropes or just slash their throat open. The grass that makes up the body is held together by magic, which allows the creature to change shape, disintegrate and reassemble. Stabbing and poking a creature with a sword is useless, because the weapon just passes between the blades of grass. It is more effective to cut or chop it, but the blades of grass quickly grow back because of magic.