#I could see the dirt on its beak

[onioneyez]

SANDHILL CRANES SCARE LOCAL ONION TRYING TO GET HOME IN TIME TO SAVE DEMOCRACY* (*vote in the state primary)

[hedgehog-moss]

Various ways in which I have underestimated my chickens (callout post to myself):

cognitive abilities (memory): I dropped some pasta while making a salad earlier and Louise was nearby so I opened the door and invited her into the kitchen to come clean up. At first she just meandered round the room glaring suspiciously at furniture because she's unfamiliar with the inside of my house, then I helped her locate the pasta and she pounced, but before she could eat all of them Morille came zooming across the room with Pandolf zooming behind her, which freaked out the hen who noisily flew-ran out of the room. She stayed away long enough that when I called her inside again I expected her to have forgotten all about the pasta, and that I would have to show it to her again, but instead she went straight for it, resolutely, having clearly kept this important goal in a corner of her teeny tiny mind this whole time.

hunting abilities: before getting chickens I didn't realise they actually hunted? (sometimes.) I pictured their search for food as quiet foraging, busily scratching the dirt for worms, but a) hens are never quiet they're always chattering to each other so already that part was wrong; b) when they find a worthy prey they hunt it with the fierce determination of a mountain lion. I once saw Dru chasing a grasshopper across half the pasture, running at full chicken speed and sometimes boosting herself with her wings Mario kart-style while the grasshopper desperately hopped for its life, until eventually she pounced with her beak wide open and managed to catch it mid-jump. With an action movie soundtrack this scene would have been every bit as intense and gripping as a cheetah hunting a gazelle in a wildlife documentary.

social abilities (empathy): one time Cordélia had a little bit of grass stuck in her eye and she kept rubbing her head with her claw to try and dislodge it unsuccessfully, and then she seemingly asked Dru for help, placing her face very close to the other hen's face like "see that stupid twig?" and Dru removed it with her beak. Again that's not something I would have expected from a hen... they're very disloyal creatures, so it was fascinating to see. They would stab their grandma for a dusty rigatoni but leaving a friend with something stuck in her eye is apparently a level of antisocial even chickens won't cross.

social abilities pt.2 (romantic sensibility): sometimes when the night sky is clear and you can see the Milky Way, instead of tucking themselves in at sundown like they usually do, they'll fly to the roof of their coop and sit there for a little while to watch the stars together. Okay this one may be a tiny bit less scientific an observation than the others but I don't have an explanation for this behaviour; I've never noticed anything wrong with their coop on these particular nights, the door is open, they can go in—and the girls don't seem stressed at all, if anything they look like they're having a nice peaceful moment and I feel bad for bothering them.

[solbaby7]

bloody mary pls make it neat and can you add a salt rim with a sprinkle of line? 🫶

*plops down drinks* *adds cute lil umbrellas* enjoyyy, bc who doesn’t love a good damsel in distress moment?

[ “it’s not safe for pretty thing like you to be out here alone.” “she’s not alone.” + smut/angst + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

The body is a mechanism, equipped with the most accurate radar for danger— and yours was sounding its alarm.

Hairs stand on the back of your neck, a cold-sweat breaking out against your spine and you can’t help but notice that all those chirping bugs and nibbling squirrels seems to have just…disappeared.

It’s eerily quiet and yet you’re frozen in place, heart hammering in your chest as your hearing seems to amplify tenfold under duress. The stems of flowers tremble in your grasp, the freshly plucked bouquet clutched like a lifeline as your eyes surveil your surroundings.

Perhaps you’d hidden yourself too well when dashing through the woods, leaving behind scraps of clothing for Azriel to find until you were left in nothing but a slip and the jewels adorning your neck. You’d found it charming at first—the thrill of being hunted by him.

But, Azriel was taking too long to find you—long enough for creamsicle skies of sunset to fade away into murky blues. Breath catches when you pick up on the distinct crackle of branches giving under weight and you only have seconds before a burly body appears on your right. “It must be my lucky day.” A rough cadence cuts through the deafening silence. “Seems like I’ve caught a live one!”

Eyes widen as another voice answers from the left, flower petals falling free in the haste of which you turn to face them. An unsettled shiver racks down your spine at the way they look at you; like vultures circling their prey, beady eyes honed in and beaks snapping for a bite. “One who’s easy on the eyes too—lucky day indeed.”

When they step closer, you step back. “It’s not safe for a pretty thing like you to be out here alone.” The words are crooned out like a lullaby but hit the ears like nails on a chalkboard.

You’re too frazzled for your voice box to properly function, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you struggle to maintain your distance. Every inch of you trembles, thoroughly caught off guard as your steps stumble. Lush grass cutting off into dry dirt and scattered branches; crispy leaves and the crawling critters taking shelter beneath them.

That's all you need—just a few more steps until you're able to blend into the heavy camouflage of thick trees and shield yourself from the perception of males and their polluted desires. It's instinct the way you shrink into yourself, maintaining a visual on both predators until you feel the warmth of another at your back. A warmth you recognize; the bulk of his body obscured by the darkness—by his shadows.

Under other circumstances, you might've even laughed at the way the males grins melt into gaping mouths of horror as Azriel appears from behind you; this tall, ominous presence carrying a vicious reputation for torture.

A High Lords most used weapon—his sharpest sword. “She’s not alone.”

He doesn’t allow you to witness the carnage, but you still see the residuals when it’s all over; blood splattered against the handsome cut of his cheekbone. “My hero,” You drawl out, sinking down to your knees to press a kiss to the hilt of the dagger used to save you. “How could I ever repay you?”

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hi lovely, to celebrate the new year! I was wondering if you could please do a fluff/smut with Cirden.

Does not have to be hardcore smut only a taste!! thank you so much 4 taking the time out of your day and writing we all appreciate your work.

A/N: took it in me to get this done before January ended!! putting this man in the spicy is so bittersweet b/c it feels so wrong (but so right). And thank you for your kindness!! Lord knows I've been needing some grace. Thank you for being so sweet I'm glad people actually see my stuff <33

CW: NSFW/SMUT, public(?) doing the dirty in the woods, hunting, elf X reader, established marriage

WC:2.8k

Gender Neutral Reader X Male Elf husband

"Raagghh. I haven't caught ANYTHING..." One of your arrows lands in the dirt, it's blade skinning against the ground before it fell flat. You couldn't even manage to stab a lizard that blundered past you, it's skittering body running as your arrow slumped.

"Don't get discouraged," Cirdan mumbled with unmoving lips, focused on the prey only a few meters in front of him. "It's only your first time with a bow and arrow."

He still managed to whisk away your heart in his crouched battle stance as you curled on the forest floor, his arrow flying as it released with a snap. The harsh squeak of a cottontail broke the silence of the ancient trees, a fatal jump being it's last movement before it succumbed to the ground in a helpless flop. Your husband moved forward without you to slice it's throat. You looked away in shame; he had been hunting for your dinners ever since your joint movement into the cottage currently a mile away; he had cut the heads off deer and ducks while you sat back and covered your eyes. You couldn't even shoot down a bird, not only from your poor aim but your heart lurched everytime you saw its feathered breast beat with life, its beak release a hymn of song. Every now and again you could garner the courage to help him defeather or clean the bones of his latest catch but when seeing their heads or lifeless eyes, it made your insides churn.

It was dispiriting, knowing you couldn't provide in the way he had learned to do since he was a child. But by Gods and Goddesses, did he not look fine holding that bow and pulling back its string, showing the strength in his chest and the unwavering focus in his grey-blue eyes. You memorialized the image in your head, toes scrunching deep in your sewn leather boots (created by cirdan and his many talents) with your knees pushed together, gaze focused on the ground.

"Whats wrong?"

You looked up from your place in the dirt and dead leaves, your spouse like a pretty ice mountain that you had to strain upwards to see. He placed three dead bunnies by their ears into the sack that was once on his back; if he were alone, he would've just carried them by hand back to the cottage.

"Nothing, I was just... thinking. It's beautiful out here."

You looked up at the canopy of trees, dappled light speckling between the small empty holes that neither branch nor bushy leaves covered to block the evening sun.

Cirdan bent down, placing his sack on the ground as a warm hand came to cover the top of your head. A calloused palm pushed your hair back, patting you with deadweight.

You couldn't see the rest of him with his gigantic arm in the way, his voice like an omniscient invisible God of the forest. 

"Don't worry if you can't hunt...I'll do enough for the both of us," His palm slid to your cheek in a messy fashion, attempting to be heedful of how firm his touch was, too used to handling his bow with untamed strength for the day. His hand was a pillow on your cheek as he pressed his thumb against your temple. "It's my job to take care of you."

He spoke as if mostly to himself, thin silver lashes disguising his eyes while he watches your lips with a small, almost unnoticeable quiver. But he didn't waver as you stared back, gaze running from his deep pupils to his strong nose bridge, down to his dripping jugular.

It was tension inside you and it was unbearable. It took choking yourself back to not scream "just kiss me, dammit!"

But elves weren't the hasty type,(especially your aloof husband), and you didn't know what Cirdan would think if you came forward so hungrily. Would he think you were just some lust-crazed old bat that replaced the careful spouse he once knew?

"Come, let's go back; the wind is picking up. I won't let you catch a cold."

The forest was all but blowing, a leaf tumbling every now and again but practically silent. And yet, who were you to argue with the seasoned elf who had survived in forests like this?

You took the outstretched hand cirdan put in front of you, allowing him to practically lift you to your feet as your bow held limply in your other hand with defeat. Alas, another day with no progress in conquering your woodland fear.

You let Cirdan lead you, following him past old oaks and emptied burrows, unable to keep your wide eyes off of him. It was nice, to distract your disappointed mind from your empty game sack to the hauntingly beautiful portrait of the manly elf before you.

"What is it?" Cirdan stopped, looking at you with those long locks covering his scarred eye, the other staring with a darkened brow.

"Nothing!" You'd repeat, looking away with your antsy feet bouncing, hoping he'd somehow read the growing need inside of you. And this carried on a countless too many times before you saw the clearing that led to the desire path back home.

What were you to say? That you wanted him here and now? That you wished he'd just smile and hold you and tell you to take off your hunting clothes and everything underneath as soon as you got back home? Yeah, right. As if the stoic beast that you married would be so forward, as hopeful and desiring as you.

You sneaked glances, learning better than before when aiming to witness the veins in his forearm that traveled to the hand interlocked with yours, the pants that fit his slightly toned ass just right. Gods, were you really so sinful? But, was it so wrong to want your husband, to think of him panting above you and his beautiful thighs encasing you with heartache and hunger?

Cirdan stopped again. You were about to tell him now this time you really weren't looking but he didn't face you, instead dropping his bag along with an unused set of arrows accompanying his bow.

"I think... I understand."

You tilted your head at him, maybe at a poor attempt to get him to look at your cute side.

"I'm supposed to do more than...be a a simple protector."

You would've pressed for more information, if it weren't for the oddly timed shove towards a nearby tree. Cirdan took the bag from your hands faster than you could ask "what the hell are ya doing," his sharp face only mere inches away and angled as if he was about to kiss you.

But maybe, that was just your imagination, your mind centered only on his smoothened pinkish lips.

"Is this what you wanted...?"

The elf brute inched down, nudging your nose with a deep exhale. His hands engulfed yours, holding them down at your sides as he pressed his lips snuggly to your cupids bow.

The sheer power of his face pushed your skull against the tree; along with it a warm, humid hand came from behind to press along the curve of your back. His pointer finger inched, massaging into your tailbone as the elf's thigh quickly entrapped you between he and the old oak.

That hand moved down to the waist of your hunting trousers, digging beneath them to reach more savory skin.

You almost jumped at the slight clutch of your left ass cheek, your husbands eyes shut as he rubbed his forehead against you.

Lost words were grumbled under his breath with a gentle rasp, his other hand leaving your fingers as they braced against the bark of the tree behind you.

"Cirdan-- wha," you tried to figure out what you were feeling, what the right thing to do would be. Which was, to tell him that this was not the right place, nor the right time. But that gentle nudge of his tented crotch against your leg made any thoughts of lucidity drift.

"Want you..." He spoke, barely above a hum. "Isn't this, what you needed? Looking at me, at my..."

"Don't finish that sentence," you warned, unable to meet his gaze as he softly squinted open his eyes. "Maybe so but--! Right here?? Right now? In the woods?! Even I'm not desperate enough to make us do it...here."

"No creatures come to the edge of the woods... too smart for that. We're too far away for any hunters to venture close enough." You could see even he wasn't one to normally suggest this idea; but if anyone knew this forest, it was him. "Besides, said I want to take care of you.. did you not think I'd follow through on that..?"

"But, wait, I mean-" you nearly whined, hardly able to contain yourself with the hand massaging your backside, the fat of his buldge grinding into your quadricep. He was almost as bad as the rabbits he so skillfully caught, their known libidinous currently rivaling his own.

It was still atleast a 15 minute walk back to the cottage when following the path directly back. Could you make it that long? If not, could you bare the anxiety of having him bend you over in the woods completely out in the open?

"I didn't know you were so... pent up." You choked. "I mean, you're not just doing this for me, right?"

Who were you kidding? He was practically rubbing on you like a fox in heat.

"Please don't make me beg." He looked at you directly, finding your lost-at-sea eyes that had been rapidly searching for any creature or holy figure nearby witnessing you and your husbands' immoralities. He wasn't whining nor desperate but rather asking you, to please, not make him put himself even lower at your mercy-- if that was even possible.

His directness caught you off guard; sure, you had been on the edge of ripping your clothes off and throwing yourself at him but-- to have him beat you to the punch?

You couldn't help yourself when he leaned in, his soft locks brushing against your shoulder as the tip of his pink tongue swiped your lower lip, his confidence having grown since the first time you made love to him in the dark.

You opened your mouth greedily, nearly starvingly so as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. How could you say no, when he asked you so genuinely, when your groin ached to be caressed by him?

With the confession of your open mouth and the lewd noises of your labored breaths, Cirdan moved quicker than with the normal diligent pace he tended to do everything with. In a split second your leg was wrapped around his hip, his large hand rubbing gently at the front zipper of your trousers, reaching in deep between your legs to get a good cup full o' you. 

You couldn't just ignore the cries of his loins as he lunged forward, desperate for your affection. You undid the two buttons holding the elf's own wood-colored slacks up. They drooped only slightly to show the clean grey of his happy trail, your palm digging in to reach for the stiff piece that craved a special touch.

It slid out so easily, his tip warm against your wrist. You couldn't help but watch him leak just a bit, slightly hard as a thin vein pulsed under your thumb.

"Gods please...I said t'not make me beg." He muffled in your ear, taken aback uncharacteristically as you stroked with the intent to milk him for all he had.

It was so cute and fat, the small grey-white hairs of the front of his cock leading down to his crowned jewels, making you appreciate the differences between humans and elves. His pointed ears twitched upward as he practically foamed at the mouth against your neck. A gentle palm came to push your shoulder against the tree with simplicity.

Without unzipping, cirdan shifted to pull your pants and undergarments down to your knees; in a matter of two seconds he managed to strip you half naked. Your hand was pulled away from the elf, interlocked instead with his fingers as your bare thigh was hoisted further up against his naked hip.

His chest pressed up against you as he slowed to get inside, looking at you with glazed over, hooded eyes. He didn't look away, he couldn't. There was something about the sweat at the corner of your brow, your slightly ajar lips that kept him going, entering inside of you with raw cock and raw determination, awaiting to see that expression of nearful ecstasy that would wash away all the neediness you had been experiencing.

You didn't know how he could do it, stare at you so intently without any break away while you sweated under his gaze. If he wasn't currently bottoming out inside of you right now, you would've felt like you were under interrogation. You both huffed simultaneously once your hole swallowed up the entirety of him, your right leg limp over his thigh as he pressed you up further against the tree.

"Feel okay?" Cirdan panted, and you could see he was barely keeping himself at bay. What a gentleman, controlling himself from fucking you blind-- not that you would've minded the latter, of course.

You responded in turn by grinding down on him, rolling your hips forward to have that needy, hungry and achingly thirsty spot become just a little farther quenched.

It was difficult to not throw your head back and scream, feeling so warm and full as you gripped the back strands of the elfs hair.

With the time you had spent with him you realized Cirdan wasn't much of a grunter, preferring unconsciously to huff and pant and wordlessly suck through his teeth when he was inside of you. If you were lucky, you'd get to see him furrow his brows in exasperation, frowning as if he was concentrating hard on something important and not just from rocking into you. The challenging part about being his first lover however, was that he was still learning not to finish in the first few seconds of plunging inside.

"Ill.. n'take care of yo..u" he muttered, lifting your hips as your bare ass scraped against the bark of the tree. "Take care so good..."

You would've laughed at his drunken fervor if you didn't find it so endearing, the urge to stick your tongue into his heated cavern of a mouth washing over you like a wave.

Cirdan accepted the kiss greatfully, placing a hand behind your head to grace your thump against the tree. You could hear the branches shake, a stray dead leaf falling on the top of your head as he rutted forward, your own pelvic floor pushing against his thrusts. The elf's nose smushed against the side of your own, lips practically consuming one another as his lashes brushed your cheek. Sweat formed on your back dripping to your legs, but you didn't care. It felt too good, your senses only focusing on where he was caressing or what would be next, the cold breeze reminding you that you were still outside.

That fear remained in the back of your mind, your eyes occasionally opening and scanning the forest that you could see beyond Cirdan. But there was nothing, nothing but the trees and dead fallen logs blocking pathways.

Your kisses drifted away as you saw a hunched over deer, somewhat 10 paces away with its head burrowed in a bush.

Cirdan slowed, the deep drilling inside of you now merely a thick discomfort of occasional thrusts. He could feel you were getting lost in your worry, your grip on his shoulders loosening.

"Ma’sal’shiral," he grabbed your chin, turning you away from the fear of the forest. "Going to make you feel love unlike any creature has known;" he kissed you with wet lips, giving you breath and teeth. "So please, don't turn from me."

The horrible ache in his eyes, the twitch inside of you-- for how torturous it was for yourself, it was just as bad for him. You would've apologized, turned the mood even further south into sourness if he hadn't begun rocking again, holding your back to keep your sensitive skin away from the tree. He huffed into your cheek, pressing hard up against you as he cherished everything he could touch. The deer that once took over your thoughts was now pushed to the edge, your eyes half-shut now that all you could feel was the depth of your husband, his precum mixing with the heat of your hole. The crude sound of skin on skin, the slight slap of elf balls hitting your ass-- it nearly sent your mind into overdrive.

And even with the pain of tree bark rubbing against your skin, the stench of petrichor and sweat in your nose, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

This might even be better than the bed... Okay, maybe not. But that didn't matter with Cirdan so far inside of you he huffed with inclination, tempting to keep his orgasm at bay.

[gladiatorcunt]

- DIRT IN CHAINS | X.

i can’t wait for the nights with you, i imagine the things we’ll do

cw: kinktober prompt (feet), semi crack treated seriously (he just comes back and says footjob. now.), pseudo incest (step brother & step sister), no shelly or chris 💀, set in the 90’s with brandon lee’s eric, small-ish age gap (reader’s in her early 20’s), fem ballerina!reader, random kurt cobain crush mention, implied inappropriate behavior when reader was 18 and after (nothing explicit but it could be seen as done with certain intent), attempted non con mention (not involving eric or reader)

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

Body of my body, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

If you serve a chunk of still bleeding meat to a gruesome stray dog, then that is love. If you toss a coin to a crow with a glint in its beady eyes, that too is love. Even when you scoff and grumble at the perceived inconvenience and continue your jaunt down the muddy alleyway. You are assuring an animal that you believe it deserves to have its hunger sated and tended to like a toothache. don’t be surprised when gangrene sets in around your ankles and wrists, bracelets made of red jade. They bite for the same reason that you sharpen their teeth and beaks with roadkill and gemstones. It is life’s greatest gift to ever be well fed, such neglect can open a void from which there is no escape. If only your heart could plug up the hole.

The most painful sentences in existence are hypotheticals that start with if. That's why this will be nothing of the sort, hunting season will be successful.

Your step brother Eric was shot about a month ago the night before halloween, and you’re coping by robotically moving through life as if it couldn’t happen to you too. It’s all too easy to succumb to the panic and the grief but you’ve never been wired that way, it’s safer for you to retreat into a cocoon of numbness.

You don’t want to think about where the woman he saved from being raped is, as happy as you are that she’s okay. Knowing any of that would only remind you of the knife Eric got thrown into his back before he was thrown from her apartment window. He lived in the same building and like the good guy your step brother was at heart, burst in the room with the best intentions.

His good deed got him killed, and all you’ve done is play his music on repeat as you rot in your bed. He’d want you to continue your ballet career, hell, he showed up to your recitals and performances more than your own mother. You always ignored how his presence made you feel simultaneously relaxed and confident but also so stressed you’d be worried about pissing yourself on the stage.

Wide smiles and long dark hair that glistened in the theater’s warm lightning, he would always be the one to stand up and whistle first.

Eric’s favorite ballet was your ballet company’s Swan Lake. He kept a picture of you as Odette in one of the pockets of his leather jacket.

Your parents had only been married 4 years, but you’ve changed a lot from the starry eyed 18 year old that mooned over your older step brother and tripped over your pointe shoes.

Your dad started teaching you how to play guitar before he left, when you were 5 and your chubby hands plucked at the wrong strings. Eric wouldn’t leave you alone when you told him the story, and spent an entire weekend getting you caught up on your missed lessons until you both had a swarm of blisters on your fingers.

Now you’ll never see him again, never get caught in the rain when you’ve begged him to drive you home and wish you could tuck a strand of his wet hair behind ear, never hump your pillow and muffle your sounds into your balled up fists because he’s staying in the next room and you have to be quiet.

You’ll never see him with his band again, caught in that weird space between a groupie and a supportive family member. He liked to embarrass you, make big shows out of looking directly at you and coming to the edge of the stage to poke your cheek. He’d ruffle your hair and your cheeks would be so hot, one wrong burst of electricity from the wires attached to their instruments and you’d go up in flames.

You never told your mom but you always wanted a brother, you should’ve known you weren’t gonna have him for very long.

Hangman’s Joke. God, you wish.

“Hey, peach, ya miss me?”

Hand on your heart you think you’re dreaming at first, but you’ve never really had any dreams where Eric was front and center. He haunts all your other ones, regular strange ones where you’re running around department stores and fucking Kurt Cobain but someintes he turns into your step brother, sometimes you fuck them both.

You shoot up in bed, the straps of your lavender silk nightie slip down your shoulders so you pull them back. It’s the middle of the night, and your vision is blurry, but when your eyes focus properly you see him standing in front of your bed.

It’s Eric, your brother, you don’t even care if there was a gas leak overnight that’s got you fucked up or if this reslly is a dream. You can’t pretend to be fine anymore if he’s right here in front of you, suddenly there’s an umbrella over your head in the pouring rain again.

“Eric, oh my god, what the fuck! How are you even- I mean- How the fuck are you alive?”

He sighs, tonguing his cheek and shaking his head. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise, ‘m tired, peach. Missed my girl, didn’t she miss me?”

It’s a little cruel because of course you have, but the dulcet tones lull you into nodding. You don’t want to cry, and you’re scared to reach out to touch him because of the chance that he might disappear. Eric’s haunted eyes soften, and he intertwines his bizarrely muddy fingers with yours. There’s warmth, and maybe it’s just your hummingbird heart but you feel a soft rhythmic thumping under his skin.

It’s different, slow as molasses, more like the chiming of a grandfather clock. But Jesus fucking Christ he’s real.

Your sham of a facade shatters as you bring your joined hands down to your breasts, forcing his knuckles to press into your sternum.

Eric pushes you back down on the bed, his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your hips. His stare is intense, dark and enticing as he reaches down to curl his hand around your calves.

“I used to be obsessed with uh, vampires, ain’t that a bitch?” He chuckles, massaging your ankles and staring off into space. “All that mysticism and unimaginable power and all I could focus on was the way they talked about their cravings. How they get hunger pangs like a normal fuckin’ and it’s bearable until it’s not, it consumes them like they’re boilin’ from the inside out.”

You suck in a breath, Eric’s eyes flick over to you immediately.

“Then I look at you and i’m right back in rehab, toes curlin’ at the thought of getting high again. I think I know how those bloodsuckers feel.”

“Eric- Don’t say that.” Your heart seizes up, but you keep yourself from falling off the ledge.

He kisses your ankle, his black lipstick leaving a stain as he leaves a trail of carnage up to your toes. His lips split wide on a fox’s smile, slipping his tongue in the crease between your toes and sucking each one clean, almost like he’s trying to eat your flesh off the bone. He nuzzles his nose into the sole and inhales deeply, taking in the dirt you didn’t wash off in the shower, the plastic hospital smell from your bath mat, your cherry almond scented body wash.

“Yes, all i fuckin’ need, right here.” He whispers, staring at you dead in your eyes.

He flicks his tongue out to taste the high arch of your foot as his hand caresses your still bruised toes. But they’re faded, you quit ballet a long time ago.

“You have pretty feet, y’know that? Always liked helping you lace up your slippers.” Eric laughs “You’d get so fussy about me doin’ them properly but you’d kiss my cheek after, all sweet on me.”

He lavishes every inch of both your feet with his tongue in broad strokes, making out with your toes because he can’t resist sucking them into his mouth one more time.

You moan, fisting your hands in your nightie, your step brother’s back from the afterlife apparently and the first thing he wants to do is get a footjob from his step sister.

Eric tucks his hair behind his ears so he doesn’t have to bother with it for right now, you can tell that this is like one of those moments on stage, he wants your full attention.

He’ll always have it.

You’re the one that pulls your feet out of his grip to slide them down to his crotch. You keep eye contact as you massage his clothed bulge with your toes, rubbing your heel into his balls and applying light pressure here and there.

You blink up at him, too innocent and too worn down by life already all at the same time, “Like that, big brother? Does that feel good?”

Eric grunts, wrapping his hands back around your ankles and pushing your feet further onto his cock.

“Yeah, peach, feels so fuckin’ good, holy shit. Just like that, keep doin’ me like that, baby.”

You bite your lip, nearly tearing through the skin in your efforts to make your newly risen step brother jizz in his ripped jeans. You wish you had psychic powers and had the foresight to know he was coming over, you would’ve put on those socks with the frilly edges and a red rose stitched on the white fabric.

But he’s so worked up from this already, he’s breathing heavily and rocking his hips forward to hump your feet. He’s grinding his teeth together, already so close to unraveling from how much of a little tease you’re being.

You hum and turn your right foot to ghost the edge of your toenail around the tip of his cock. He groans as he twitches and a bead of pre seeps through his clothes, you can trace the outline of his length so clearly you know he’s not wearing any underwear.

The look in his crazed eyes reminds you of all the times he’d take you to the attic of his loft, making up scary stories and playing guitar with you. When you turned 21 he surprised you with a cheesy golden heart shaped locket, with a picture of you two at your parent’s wedding, joking about how awkward you look with each other there. Eric’s penguin style suit and your agitated face that’s partially covered by gaudy turquoise puffy cap sleeves.

He chuckled and said that every time you look at it, you’ll feel nothing but happiness for what those two losers are about to experience.

Part of that experience is you curling your feet around his clothed cock while giving him just enough of a view of your hairy pussy, you forgot to put a pad on so there’s some blood trickling out of you that Eric is just so utterly enraptured by.

His groans are death rattles now, long and pain stricken, at some point he stops humping your feet and lets you worship him like this. Eric kneeling above you, drooling deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his baby sister caressing his painfully hard dick with her cute dancer’s feet.

Your mind is filled with all the pretty shoes you can put on and do this again, you just got a new camera as an early birthday present too.

“You can come if you promise not to leave again, Eric, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself this time.” You promise, digging the ball of your feet into his perineum.

“I crawled out of the earth back to you, didn’t I? Couldn’t let my sweet peach perform alone, she gets stage fright.”

He comes in his pants and you continue to gingerly move your feet along his length, soaking up the cum that wets your toes like a sunflower does sunlight at golden hour.

[diejager]

Hunger (A Drabble for Crow)

Watching you hunched over a body, dark crimson dripping from your chin with fingers soaked in blood and lips painted a striking red, Rudy can’t help but blush. The sickening sound of bones breaking and flesh ripping, between the wet squelch and rough crack, he can’t figure out what made him harder. Being in the military made blood and gore a familiar sight, something he couldn’t shun or be disgusted by. It was his usual day out, so finding you dirtied by life-giving ichor and eyes so dark he swore he could see madness within them turned him on bad.

Rudy took a step forward, towards your hungry figure feasting on the flesh and bones of your enemy. He knew you were there, aware of everything around you, your slight nod his way was a sign of that, but your entire being was a reminder of your self-control and awareness. A creature of madness and primordial hunger within its roots, you were a wonder to his small world, one he was currently and painfully turned on by.

He softly called out your name, catching your eyes darting to him, you flashed him a sharp-toothed smile of once white, human-looking teeth drenched red and gory. He failed to stop a pleasure-wracked shiver that ran down his spine at you, but he kept moving. One step at a time, he approached you, the closer he got the stronger the tang of blood and death hung in the air. He wanted nothing more than to fall to your arms and hold you tight against his chest.

“Rudy.”

Even when you wore the skin of a man, your voice was a chaotic mess of screams and muddled terror, multiple voices overlapping one another in a rhythmic dance. Every word you spoke seemed to come from many mouths. It might’ve been petrifying if he hadn’t known you, trusted you or loved you. Much like the rest of them.

By the time he stood before you, you’d reduced the corpse to a red puddle, his remains gone with only his wares as memory of his existence. He stared intently at your flickering tongue, laving across your palm and fingers, under the crevice of your claws and your lips wrapped around them, cleaning yourself. You looked like a grooming cat, licking and cleaning all the dirt and dust on your skin (he thought it was funny, seeing as you were an amalgamation of a crow, bristled feathers and large beak; a black glory.).

“Sorry, I was hungry.”

Rudy cursed at himself, he was also hungering.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

[lightryi]

Dragons of Pyrrhia (headcanon designs)

• Skywings:

-The shape of thorns on the spine is similar to the feathers of birds

-Narrow pupil, giving dragons very good vision, allowing to see a clear picture at long distances

-Arrow point, able to drive through the opponent with a sharp push

-The shape of the wings is similar to that of a bird

-Are the best flying dragons

-High ears, good hearing but inferior to sand and night dragons

-Very sharp claws, thorns, horns

-Pent face; the upper jaw may have various shapes, reminiscent of beaks of different birds

-Height reaches 4 meters

*The design was based on common European dragons and birds

• Mudwings:

-Rounded horns of various forms (like the horns of sheep, buffalo, bulls and goats). Necessary for defense

-The keeper of the horned nest is bigger than the other dragons from one clutch

-Large lower fangs, needed for eating and defense

-A large, rectangular muzzle with raised nostrils facing upwards so that the earthy could breathe, being almost entirely in water or mud and only looking at the top of its head

-Very mobile ears, necessary to discharge dirt/water that has entered

-Solid scale, which in some way pulls the face, because of which the grounders look almost emotionless and dark (this feature appears with age, so dragons look too cheerful and emotional against their background)

-On the sides of the neck and tail are thorns, same as on the back, extra protection for weak spots of the dragon

-Massive tail with a cluster of large thorns at the end, some kind of a pin necessary for protection. The tail itself is very mobile

-Although they are predatory animals, their pupils have square

-In general, the earthlings are slow moving, fly worse than other dragons due to their massive and heavy

-Some of the largest dragons, second only to ice, due to their short limbs and neck (reaching up to 5 meters)

*The design was based on ankylosaurus, crocodiles and artiodactyls

• Seawings:

-Long, massive tail with fins that may differ in different individuals

-Behind the ears is a fin with luminous appendages

-Round/oval eye

-Round, flat face (in the perspective where I drew this not very noticeable), giving a more rounded shape to the whole body

-There is a sexual dimorphism (external differences of the sexes). The distribution of the proboscis on the mordocus is different: in males they are near the nostrils, in females on the chin. With age the proboscis becomes longer

-2 row of teeth

-No earshell

-Horns often turn in

-Luminous glands and patterns are not only necessary for underwater communication, but also for attracting marine life in the dark

-They have, like earthen, rather short limbs. Only in the case of marine this feature is caused by frequent presence in water, where they use the tail more often than the paws for movement

-Also, the flying is not very good. But unlike the earthly, they have another reason, namely the anatomy of the wings, which is more adapted to swimming (plays the role of certain fins) than for flying

-Not too big, can reach a maximum of 2.5 meters

*The design was based on sharks, deep sea fish and partly dolphins

• Rainwings:

-Snake face (or more precisely, face of a cobra)

-Clawfoot

-The hind legs have a specific structure: 3 long fingers and one opposite finger located on the other end of the paw (structure like bird's feet)

-Double nostrils

-Huge ruffs, which in the stressful environment is fully opened and gives the dragon magnitude

-Eye structure closer to the snake

-Movable thorns on the neck (play the same role as the ruffs)

-Long horns with multiple ends, which resemble tree branches

-The horns themselves are brown in color, with few scales on them to completely change their color. Horns are usually hidden among the same branches, which have grown in the forest

-Long flexible neck, able to writhe like a snake

-The eye also has a collar resemblance, is some protection of the eye from branches and other foreign objects

-Claw on the thumb of wings is very long, the end slightly bent. It is necessary to grab with the help of wings branches

-Height reaches 3 meters

*The design was based on snakes, chameleons, dilophosaurus (Jurassic Park ver.), geckos, flying foxes and partly tropical birds

• Nightwings:

-Nose of a bat giving dragons good sense

-Huge ears, thanks to which they have a sensitive ear, the best among all dragons

-In addition to silver teardrop scale may have a star on his forehead, which shows the ability to see the future

-There are night with black teardrop and stars indicating that the dragon was born during the moon, but the egg was hidden from their light, because of which the night ability is not and only the black scales indicates its lost ability

-The lower part of the body, from the neck to the beginning of the tail, is present with a small fur that was previously necessary for warming itself and eggs (due to the low temperatures at night, during which the night wakes). But due to the relocation first to the volcanic island, then to the rainforest, the wool became practically useless

-There is a glare in the pupils, it does not affect the vision

-Good night vision, besides their eyes can shine in the dark (like cats)

-Structure of the hind feet specific: 4 long fingers (much longer than rainwing) and one opposite finger. This is necessary for strong coupling between branches and other surfaces

-Claws on the hind legs are also much sharper than on the front (for the same reason as the leg structure itself)

-Small web on the wings between the thumb and the rest. Need to use thumb to grab objects (similarly rainwings)

-Not too big, reach a maximum of 2-3 meters, but there are exceptions

*The design was based on the work of chiroptera, especially bats

• Sandwings:

-The upper fangs are very close to the nostrils, creating the illusion that they seem to grow from the nose

-Long ears, necessary for heat transfer and to prevent overheating. (the crest, presumably, also plays a similar role) Also add a dragon's pretty good hearing

-More than half of the body is covered with hard scales. Such armor is more necessary for dragonets, whose poison is much weaker than the adult dragons. For protection they curl into a ball, pointing up the tail with a spike. Because of their hard from the genus scales it is difficult to pierce them. By old age, these scales become much softer than in childhood

-End of the tail, namely a thorn, similar in structure to the tail of a scorpion

-Crest has the property of "flattening", so many individuals have some streaks

-Growth reaches 3.5-5 meters

*Design based on girdle-tail lizards and scorpions

• Icewings:

-Narrow-eyed

-The body is covered with sharp scales, from which protrude thorns

-Ear shell, like in the seawings, missing

-Large antlers, resembling deer antlers

-Very long limbs that make their gait remotely resemble a deer

-Have a pointed nose

-There are clumps of scales above the eyes, similar to eyebrows

-There are some small, soft thorns at the beginning of the neck

-The largest dragons in Pyrrhia, capable of reaching almost 6 meters

*Design was created partly based on the appearance of reindeer

[cougheemedicine]

Twisted Fairytales; Twisted Wonderland Fantasy!au - Prologue

Will include all main cast x GN!Reader

Summary: A nameless adventurer with an incredible amount of friends in high places. Each more infamous and conniving than the last. The things those friends are willing to do for you is only a glimpse of how a so-called "Nobody" ensnared the most powerful in the continent.

A/n: A little au I'm cooking up. Not entirely sure where this will go so I'm not going to put any warnings/specific content until I get the individual chapters out. If this goes anywhere I'll probably add Neige, Che’nya, Rollo, etc. I already have come ideas cooking up for them. Have fun, dear adventurer~ 〜(￣▽￣〜)

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

        Night Raven College. An incredibly prestigious academy, whose history goes so far back in time that only the oldest Fae of the Briar Valley can even begin to fathom the legacy that such a renowned institute holds, and whose reputation reaches even the darkest corners of the kingdom. Aristocratic families from all over the continent vie to send their children to study the art of magic in its' hallowed halls.

        You had attended such a college, once upon a time, though you are far from noble. You met the esteemed headmaster by chance one day, but you didn't know at the time. You had sold him a newspaper, and he grinned at you from under the beak of his mask and patted you on the head. He flipped a single gold coin into your shaking hands, it was the most money you had ever seen at the time. When you had turned around to thank him, more than ready to drop onto your knees and praise the dirt he walked on, he was gone. Leaving only a lone, ink-black feather in his wake.

        You can only assume he took pity on you. Some unclaimed, nameless child, too old to be taken in by an orphanage but too young to be sent off to the mines. In a village so small and far North it didn’t even have a name. The old crones of your small village would wax poetic about his benevolence and graciousness (only after they prattled on about his villainously handsome face). You couldn't even read, let alone weave illusions from incantations or summon a beast from a bubbling brew.

        But he appeared before you nonetheless, with a flurry of his feathered cape. He offered you his hand, that which dripped in gold, and swept you off to Night Raven College. Over the years he taught you everything you know now. He taught you how to paint and juggle, how to fluently read and speak every language used on the continent, even some more eccentric practices like how to identify cursed objects, how to weave certain sprigs of herbs together to create the most powerful warding charm, even which nerve to pinch to have any assailant drop unconscious instantly.

        While under the roof of Night Raven College, you met creatures from every walk of life. One could say you were popular, even. Everyone wanted to get to know the charge of the infamous headmaster Crowley. You grew close to many, some you would even call your friends. Some others, maybe more. But they led very different lives than you. Friendships fade, it's simply a way of life. Even if waving goodbye to them as they graduated and left you behind stung in a way you don't really wish to name.

        You stayed at the college longer than most. Not taking classes, simply acting as an errand runner for the headmaster as a way to repay him for guiding you to a much better path in life. But even he, past his grandeur and games, could see that you wished to spread your wings farther than the astronomy tower and botanical garden.

        With a final pat on your head, he sent you away to pave your own path. His name and the beautifully detailed dagger on your hip, an ivory crow head for the hilt, as your only weapons. On your own you ventured for more years, gaining wisdom from those you met on the way. You had all but forgotten your old friends from your school days. All until one fateful day.

        Sat on the edge of the cliff, you gazed down at the view below you. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues. You were in your own world, leaning back on your arms and kicking your feet over the edge of the cliff. Until a shrill meow drew your attention elsewhere. A scruffy grey cat emerged from the undergrowth. Eyes too blue to be a normal feline blinking up at you. A black and white bow tied neatly around his neck. In his mouth was a letter, the envelope only the most ornate of finery. The crest on the wax stamp was that of a noble house.

        The cat curled up in your lap as you used your dagger to cut the envelop open. The parchment inside just as luxurious as what housed it. You scanned the words on the page, language so flowery and formal it may as well have been another language of it's own, but you got the message.

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Where will you go first, dear adventurer?

Heartslabyul Manor, the home of the ruthlessly strict Grand Duke Riddle Rosehearts and his cronies. They say he bows to nobody but the queen himself.

Savanaclaw tavern, the home base of a ragtag group of mercenaries. Rumor has it their roguish leader, Leona, isn't of this land, and that his reputation is far from good where he’s from.

Octavinelle Gambling Den, a house of luxury and debauchery. The head, Master Azul, is said to be incredibly kind and benevolent. For the small price of your darkest secrets.

Scarabia Merchant's Guild, a travelling guild with gold flooding from every crack in their coffers. The ever-so-kind Master Kalim is said to only be the face of the guild. His servant is who really runs things.

Pomefiore palace, the main residence of the illustrious Queen of the region, Vil Schoenheit. His past is stained red, as is the story of how he managed to sit on the throne. But the people adore him, so what is there to see if not perfection?

Ignihyde tower, the hiding spot of the forsaken Lord Idia Shroud. Head chair of the Magic Council. His brilliance is said to be unparalleled, but people talk... and sources say he hid himself from society after committing a sin to magic itself.

Diasomnia castle, skeptics say that centuries ago, the old castle at the northern border was occupied by Fae royalty. Now it seems there's life in those haunted halls once more, for an air of regality hangs heavy in the fog surrounding the grand castle.

        Many a path to choose, and you have all the time in the world. But, even still, do you think it wise to keep them waiting?

        I wish you luck,

Choose wisely, my dear adventurer~

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

work belongs to @cougheemedicine, all forms of plagiarism, modifying, translating, reposting are not allowed.

[ero-heart]

Alright alright while I am making your request

Imma request another Reader x Ruv

A funny one i guess

Ruv getting attacked by Reader's pet crows (probably like 20-30 crows)

THIS IS AMAZING YES

This fic can be perceived as either platonic or romantic

It ended up being another hurt/comfort- Ruv has a lot of inner struggle

Cw: self harm, light description of violence

THE COUNCIL

(Ruv x Reader + crow army)

Ruv didn’t knew you very well, he was curious though, something about you just seemed to spark curiosity in him. Sarvente budged him to speak to you, eager to make him socialize, he begrudgingly complied. Now he was on the church’s stairs, trembling, waiting for you to arrive to your weekly visits. Quietly preparing a conversation starter on his mind.

“Hey, I want to be your friend!” This sounds stupid; “I find you cool let’s hangout!” Also stupid. Everything he came up with was stupid, everything would work with anyone else but him.

Ruv takes off his hat and throws it on the ground in a fit of anger, grabbing fists of his hair. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Ruv curls in a ball as he dig his fingers into his head. Still taking deep breaths, he didn’t notice the dark creature slowly approaching to peck on his hat, another flies down to also inspect the object. When Ruv opened his eyes, there was five crows picking on his hat. Ruv got up to retrieve his hat from the creatures before they flew farther from him, with his hat in one of their beaks, loudly cawing. Ruv sighed before charging at them, granting more cawing as they flew away farther. He felt something grabbing at his hood, discovering another crow with its claws secured on the fluff, pushing Ruv while it flies. He tried to shoo the crow away but another one rapidly flew in front of him, getting caught off guard and falling on the ground. More cawing.

“Tsk”

Ruv was ready to break those bird’s necks when he realized, in mild horror, the quantity of crows surrounding him. On the church’s stairs, the trees, the sidewalk, everywhere.

What. The fuck.

Soon his moment of shock was cut off by a familiar voice, quickly turning around to see none other than y/n, face filled with confusion. A crow flew past them, dropping his ushanka right on their hands. Realizing what was happening, y/n came running towards Ruv.

“Shoo don’t bother him! Shoo! Shoo!”

Some crows went away while others remained to watch y/n apologize profusely for what just happened.

“I am so so so so soooo sorry! I really am! They are such menaces! I am really sorry-“

Y/n kept on as they put Ruv’s hat back on him and brushed some dirt off his clothes. Ruv just looks at them, why are they apologizing.. for the crows?? His adrenaline still ran high with doubt and shame, but he managed to speak up.

“S’ ok..”

Y/n grabs his hands and pushes up, it took a while to Ruv to realize that they were trying to help him get up, so he lifts himself from the floor, immediately towering over y/n as they smile up at him.

“Are you sure? Are you not hurt?”

“I’m.. no I’m not”

“Then I am glad!”

They sighed as they continued:

“They do that all the time! Every person in my life has gone through that!”

Were you murder’s caretaker of some kind? Those birds were yours? That was interesting, that was actually a great way to start a conversation.

Both of you sat on the church’s stairs as you told your story with your crows, Ruv was a great listener, intrigued with your experiences. Sarv eventually went outside, worried with y/n who until now hasn’t showed up yet, to find both them and Ruv circled by crows, telling stories and jokes as the crow laughed with you.

Ruv could get used to that.

Haa that was it!~ it was a small one but I really hope you liked it! I’m sorry if it’s too ooc haha stay safe everyone ❤️ happy pride

[feartoxinjelloshot]

Poor little Jonny with guts made of straw;

Far from his bed did he go that night

Jon, Mama and Papa, early in thaw

Flew he to the cornfield, sickened with fright.

Too close, too close! Cried the mother crow

And with her beak tore poor Jonny's hand

The child asked weeping his parents to go

But all still and quiet they both did stand.

Checkered blue curtains his morning-bird;

Mama's scratch fire burning his blood

Laid sick little Jonny and said not a word

In his hospital bed of magnolia wood.

They had given him water and supper and tea

And ointments of healing all down the limb

Still Jonny said nothing: they could not see

The straw-filled man stood in front of him.

Threw up the supper and bled out the tea;

Pecked and scalpeled the arm that he kept

Woken by terrors in the moon's light of three

All of the doctors and nurses had left.

Jonny cried mercy to the spiders and dirt

Lord, said he, one who made me so sick

His prayer then he spits like a curse

Heal me, my God, sweaty hands in a grip.

And to the son's cross on high he turned;

For black into the morning the sun had crept

But Jonny was older and soon had he learned

That God was a scarecrow with a noose 'round its neck.

I actually have not talked about Jon's original-original scarecrow incident here (as opposed to the NJ hospital one or sitb), mostly because it didn't really exist in any kind of coherent form until recently: the story goes that Jon, as mentioned in my other posts, was a severely chronically ill child and spent large chunks of his upbringing in and out of the hospital. as a teenager (somewhere in the 14-17 range) he was on a very rare family vacation with his often-neglectful parents; he was of course ecstatic to spend quality time with them outside of a medical environment or school. during the vacation Jon went into a cornfield by himself and ventured too close to a mother crow's nest, who pecked and drew blood from his hand in an attempt to defend her babies. Knowing of his own weakened immune system, this frightened Jon immensely, but upon telling his parents of it they were skeptical and said as long as he cleaned and wrapped it it would be fine -- it was just a bird peck. It wasn't worth ruining a whole vacation over. And Jon didn't really want to go back to the doctor, anyway, so he did as they said and went on with the trip.

Within several days the wound got severely infected. Jon was carted to the hospital in a feverish fugue and pumped full of an antibiotic cocktail that, while it did save him the arm and eventually fight off the infection, gave him a medley of hallucinatory side effects. The important thing to know about Jonathan here is that this was not an isolated incident -- he had a history of bad medication reactions, and coupled with his severe anxiety and potential undiagnosed psychosis, over the course of his childhood he had come to personify his own fears in the form of a frequent sleep-paralysis-creature-slash-nightmare-visitor that he dubbed The Scarecrow. Up until the crow-peck incident he had purely been afraid of it: the Christian ideals pushed on him over time led him to think of it almost as a devil figure, haunting him for his imaginary sins.

But the delirious hallucinatory episode of the concentrated antibiotic treatment, over the course of a long hellish week or so, started to change his perception of it. He had elaborate out-of-body experiences where he took his Scarecrow's place, lumbering and silent, following a sick child in the night, peering into the windows of sleeping households. He unbuckled the white face of the straw-filled man and found his own rotting skull inside. He prayed to God and the Scarecrow answered, speaking in a deep hoarse voice that sat hollow in his lungs. For the first time in his life he grasped the purpose of his own creation beyond the clutches of sickness -- he was to become his own Lord. He was to hang on the nightmare's noose and leave his human body and mind behind him. For the first time he felt strong.

The fear hadn't left him -- it never would -- but when he emerged from his fever and into the new world, it was with a black fountain of faith at his lip.

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Snap. (may change later :)

-This is just a quick scene, an experiment with our dear Leo and his dear son. If you're curious about this Oc, I made an earlier post about him a while ago. This may be changed later, I tried drawing it and then I was writing so.. Im still working on how to have Leo as a character, so if its off base lemme know ;) I know your not a Leo gal but.. @redsrooftopprincess just wanna share..I will stop tagging you if it annoys you :V your writing is just awesome so-

(I hardly write scenes, so if this feels rushed. SOrry. Also angst. No fluff on this one Ya'll.)

-

Mucha was staring down hard at the flooring of the dojo, his tired muscles now shaking and aching. His father’s massive form looming over him. Leonardo was seated of course, his steely eyes closed in deep concentration, one who didn't know the mutant would think he was deep in meditation. Curved into a perfect form for the clearing of the mind, Mucha knew the older mutant very well however. He saw the taunt balled muscle of his Master’s shoulders. The hard line of his face, deep breathes too deep to be calm. More acquainted with trying to be. Trying to stitch together his worn thin threaded patience. Mucha knew look intimately, and his mind would not calm. A torrent of nerves rattled and washed his brain as he held his own seated position. Dirt and scratches littering his hide stinging sharply, with every twitch of his overworked flesh. His gaze had flickered to his father’s face after being sat down. He had grown too anxious to stare at the older turtle’s prized teapot. It had long grown cold. His father’s cup was still full, untouched through the night. “You're supposed to have your eyes closed,” A solitary brilliant blue eye opened, Mucha almost choked. “Or will you be breaking those simple rules too?”  Leonardo’s voice cut deeper than his twin blades ever could, any bit of composure that Mucha had was flayed away. “D..dad I'm sorry-” Leo’s fists clenched, brow bunching. “Do not ‘sorry’ me Mucha! You,” A deep breath through his nose, " broke the only rule I gave you.” Mucha bit his tongue to suppress his choked noise of guilt. “A rule I made you swear to, if you were going to take your cousin’s on patrols. What was it again Mucha?” Leonardo tilted his head, anger coating his words in a lowly growl. The young turtle whimpered softly, guilt clogging his throat. “Dad let me- Say. It.” With a shaky breath, Mucha forced out, “Never stay out past four, but Dad-” Leo interrupted him, “The only one, and you broke it! To what? Take a peak at a human?” Mucha opened his beak to argue, that the pretty redhead was more than just a ‘human’. His father blocked the response. “Oh no, I'm sorry, to chase after a human girl endangering your cousins,” Leo’s voice grew angrier with every syllable. “ Almost getting Maddie KILLED.” Mucha winced hard, Madonna's crumpled form flitting across his mind. “Over a crush?!” Leo was losing his temper, now frustration surfacing in a boil. Leonardo’s young son bowed his head, face and eyes burning. If he could just understand. Leo took a deep breath rubbing his temples, while something akin to anger began to overwhelm Mucha’s earlier guilt. His brow furrowing in memory of the girl’s soft crying. His promise to protect her. “Fathe-” “No stop, I don't want your excuses.” While Leonardo’s anger began to temper and harden. Mucha curled his beak into a scowl.

 “Nothing will change the fact you left the lair”, 

To save

“To go and see,”

 My friend

“a human you had no business interacting with! If she had seen you-..” Something flashed across Leo’s face, something that cracked that anger. Slowly his lead gaze narrowed on the new wounds his son had gained. Mucha’s scowl deepened, Leo’s face hardened. “Don't act like such a child, just because you got caught.” Leo leaned back, his breaths evening. “Pouting will just add to your punishment.” Mucha opened his beak once more, gaze pleading. “Nope, you're in trouble kid. No getting out of it.” “Dad-” Urgent and eyes glassy he tried again. “Enough, I won't hear it. You're not weaselling out of this.” Leo stood easily rolling his shoulders, face showing disappointment in his child’s seeming protests. Mucha felt the tears agonise his eyes at the expression, he hated that look. He just wanted to explain. But his Father had no care for it. That hurt. Rage snapped in his throat as Leo smirked. Condescendingly. “Not fun being a punk huh?” The jerk's smile dropped. “Maybe you’ll think about it next time, before you drag your cousins on some venture. Right at dawn may I add.” There was coldness glinting in the mutant’s eyes, Mucha felt the hurt filled frustration run over. It coated his heart, drowning his guilt at disobeying. The pain of disappointing the most important person in his life. Of Dad not listening, never listening. He felt an angry sob tear from his throat. Leo stiffened. Tears overflowed and Leo sighed softly. “Mucha-OH FUCK YOU!” Leo blanched. Mucha strained to stand, the sixteen year old’s legs trembling from jumping and climbing for hours on end.  Three fingered fist clenched and breathing heavy Mucha began, and demanded his Father’s attention this time…

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Can Qursuk, Tama and Daegred still communicate after he becomes a Lethrblaka? Btw Shrike seems cool. Second dragon to begrudgingly accept Daegred?

I think it will depend on the degree of dexterity Daegred can retain in his hands post-metamorphosis to still be able to use sign language. Other than that he might be able to write in the sand and ofc communicate via gestures and emotion-indicating vocalizations. He would still have the hardest time talking with Qursuk since they need Tama to speak for her dragon, since Daegred is incapable of telepathic communication.

As for Shrike...

Fly with me, young one. Let me show you something. Qursuk hesitantly complied and took off after the giant dragon. He no longer feared Shrike and managed to gain back some of the natural respect a dragon feels toward a larger member of its kind, but the old dragon's tone sent a wave of unease down to the tip of Qursuk's tail which now twitched constantly. The lush forests passed by below them, intersected by rivers and overgrown fields, until they eventually disappeared altogether. From so high above, it looked almost as if the land fell into a bottomless void. As the dragons began to descend, Qursuk was able to recognize more detail - the ground was not black, but all kinds of sickly shades as if all the life force was sapped from the earth itself. Dead trees were sticking from the discolored soil like thorns, with gnarled, misshapen branches the sight of which made his stomach twist when they got nearer. For they were not branches. They were the decayed, sun-dried bodies of countless Lethrblaka. Their skin had shriveled and turned pitch-black, their heads hung limp on their long skinny necks and their beaks gaped wide open in eternal silent screeches. Their toxic blood seeping into the soil, the long-dried trails of which could still be seen glistening blue-green on the wood, was the cause of the dead earth all around. There were rows and rows of trees with corpses impaled on them, going as far as the eye could see. During their travels around Alagaësia, Qursuk had seen the execution grounds near Dras-Leona where the leading members of the Helgrind cult were hanged after the Great War and their skeletons left there as a reminder of their crimes even five decades later. What he was seeing now was like a hundred of such execution grounds.

Worst of all were the Lethrblaka's eyes. Black, lidless and pupil-less, they were indistinguishable from how they looked in life. Despite his ancestral memories, Qursuk had little experience with their kind, and with limited ability to tell the subtle difference between individual Lethrblaka, every single one of these corpses seemed like his friend Daegred, dead and staring down at him from every direction. Qursuk was so taken aback by these horrible sights that he didn't notice where Shrike was leading him, not until he could feel smooth marble replace the dry soil under his paws. They were in a city, or rather a town, smaller than those in Alagaësia but rivaling the center of Aberon in style. Despite layers of dirt and grime, the walls still shone with white rock too smooth for plants to grow on. And among all this beauty, there was heavy, everpresent silence. There was only one place Qursuk knew with the same contrast of beauty and emptiness - the ruins of Doru Araeba. Qursuk already had more than enough, but Shrike apparently had one more grim surprise for him. In the middle of a wide town square stood a heap of bones. Human bones, bleached by the sun into near perfect whiteness putting the surrounding buildings to shame, and so old that some have already crumbled into fine dust that filled Qursuk's nostrils and forced him to fight the urge to sneeze. The most horrible feeling, he thought, sneezing due to dust that once used to be people. He barely noticed the familiar tooth marks on the most intact bones when Shrike spoke. This, the inner voice was laced with old indescribable pain, a deep sense of urgency and unshakeable duty. This was what we had fought against. This is the fate that we saved your homeland from. One yellow eye turned to Qursuk with an apologetic look. This is why I cannot bring myself to trust your friend.

[chimachapterbooks]

Gorilla’s Guardian - From the Activity Book Ravens and Gorillas

Ewar the Eagle sat on a tree limb. All was quiet. The Gorillas were asleep with no guard on watch. As far as Ewar could tell, anyone could walk into their compound and capture the whole tribe.

This was exactly what he had warned Gorzan about. Ewar had been helping the other tribes improve their security in case the Crocodiles or Wolves attacked. When he saw that the Gorillas had no protection in place, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"This is ridiculous!" he insisted to Gorzan. "Why, I'll bet I could sneak into your camp and take something, without any of you Gorillas ever knowing." Gorzan had just smiled. "Go ahead, brother. I'll put my favorite branch out in the middle of the compound. You try to take it, and if you can, we'll agree to any extra security you want."

Ewar had waited a few days before making his attempt, just to make sure the Gorillas guard would be down.

/ don't know why I bothered waiting, though, he said to himself. When is their guard not down?

Ewar flew straight toward the center of the compound. Just as he crossed the border, something grabbed him! It yanked him from the sky and flung him onto the dirt.

What grabbed me? Ewar thought, falntically. Was it a rope? A snake?

A Gorilla? Ewar scanned the trees, but all he saw were leaves and vines.

Hmmm, Ewar thought. That was strange. I must have snagged on a branch. I'll just keep to the ground and stay quiet for now.

Ewar crept toward the sleeping Gorillas. As long as he didn't make any noise, he was sure he could sneak in unnoticed.

Sploosh! A bucket of ice-cold water suddenly fell onto Ewar's head.

"Squawk!" he cried out. He immediately clamped a wing over his mouth.

Had he just given himself away to the Gorillas?

He stood perfectly still. A Few Gorillas snored, but none woke up.

Phew, thought Ewar. That was close. Now who threw water on me?

Again, Ewar looked up at the tree branches. But no one was there.

Well something is going on, Ewar said to himself. Maybe the Gorillas have a security system in place after all. It's time to try a new tactic.

Rather than enter the front way, Ewar decided he would go in from the back. He carefully tiptoed around to the rear of the Gorilla Compound.

Whump! Ewar tripped and landed flat on his beak! He shot back up and spun around. Sticking out of the ground was a gnarled tree root.

Ewar carefully stepped away from the tree root and started forward again.

Thump! He tripped again! He looked back and couldn't believe his eyes. A new root had sprung up in the middle of the path.

I don't know what's going on, but now I'm getting angry.

Ewar stood up and marched back to the front of the village.

Something grabbed me when I flew.Something tripped me when I walked. So now I'm going to run in, grab Gorzan's branch, and run back out. Nothing's going to stop me!

Ewar charged. But before he could even cross the border, tiny, stinging pebbles began pelting him from every side! He had to slow down to cover his eyes. The next thing he knew, a vine wrapped around his waist.

Sploosh! A second burst of freezing water splashed on his head.

"What in Chima is going on?" Ewar cried.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The pebbles dropped.

The vine loosened. And slowly, Ewar was lowered to the ground.

The Eagle took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Gorzan was standing over him, smiling.

"See?" said Gorzan. "We have all the protection we need."

"But I don't understand," Ewar sputtered. "You were all fast asleep. Who was attacking me?"

"It wasn't us, brother," Gorzan explained. "It was nature. We take care of the plants, and they take care of us. The lasso vine kept you from flying in. The bucket flower gave you a bath, the split-second roots tripped you, and the archer plant hit you with its seeds."

Ewar shook his head in amazement. "I wouldn't have believed it, but I'm convinced. You're right... you don't need any more protection. I don't even think a Wolf Pack could get in here. The next time I want to prove someone wrong, I think I'll sneak into someplace safer... like maybe a Crocodile's mouth!"

Gorzan and Ewar both laughed.

[atamascolily]

I rewatched The Sword of Life and Death and was once again charmed that Sha Wu Sheng refers to Lin Xue Ya as "Gale" (Ryō in the Japanese dub) which is simultaneously formal and informal in equal measure. It's the short form of Lin's art name, Ryō Fū Setsujin, which the official English subs translate as "The Enigmatic Gale".

Just for fun, I went and looked at the kanji to see what I could learn. Caveat: not a native speaker, just playing around with a JP dictionary; there's probably other subtleties in Mandarin that I am not aware of.

Anyway, Ryō Fū Setsujin is written out as 掠風竊塵, which Wikipedia translates as "Thief of the Wind Dust", but as you can probably imagine, it's a bit more complicated than that.

The first character, 掠, means "pillage" or "rob". It's usually used in compounds, but standing on its own, it's one of the Eight Principles of Yong, referring to specific kinds of calligraphy strokes, all of which are embodied in the character for "eternity" 永 (pronounced yong in Chinese). In the Tang Dynasty, 掠 was known as lüè or 'skim' (among other names); it's the sixth stroke, the sweeping curve at the bottom of the leftmost piece of the character. It's supposed to be drawn quickly, as if skating over the surface.

This dual meaning is preserved in the Japanese verb, 掠める, which means "to steal" but it can also mean "to deceive" or "to touch lightly", "appear or disappear quickly", "to do something while no one is looking" or "to hint and insinuate". In other words, Lin's character in a nutshell.

In English, I'd be tempted to take advantage of the multiple meanings of "skim" ("remove something from liquid" and "embezzle money") and say Sha is calling Lin "Skimmer", which is a little awkward but is also the name of a shorebird, which is fitting since they both have bird motifs. It would also emphasize the transitory nature of their relationship, where Lin is just "passing through" as will as his thieving nature. Skimmers also have a big mouth with the lower beak significantly larger than the top, which is funny because Lin is always talking! Unfortunately, there aren't any species native to China, but Rynchops albicollis can be found further south in Asia, and this is a fantasy world with dragons and monsters, so I'll allow it. "Skimmer" is also slightly classier (and more polite) than a more literal translation like "Thief"; alas, it doesn't fit as well when you add in the rest of the phrase back in.

風 is literally "wind", but with a secondary meaning of "manner" (compare with the English "air", which also has this dual sense). This is partly where Crunchyroll gets "Gale", which I like because Lin is a whirlwind pulling everyone along in his wake.

竊 is "steal, secret, private, hushed" - so once again, we have the thieving aspect coupled with the secrecy, in keeping with Lin's propensity for stealing non-tangible objects and the veil of mystery he operates under. This is where the "Enigmatic" part comes in.

塵 is "dust, trash, garbage" - "Dust" is obviously the more poetic term here, but I personally like the image of Lin as crow ruffling through a dumpster in search of garbage; it suits him. There's a kind of mocking element here; the things Lin steals are worthless in the monetary sense, but they are what his targets value the most, and Lin grinds his victims in the dirt by taking them away. Coupled with the wind imagery, it makes it sound like Lin is a dust devil, kicking up dirt as he goes--conveniently taking us back to "Gale" again. I also appreciate how we now have "trashy" to contrast with the implied elegance elsewhere in the construction.

As you can see, 掠風竊塵 is very challenging to translate succinctly into English; "Thief of Wind Dust" is very literal and covers all the bases ("thief" representing two different characters, lol), while "Enigmatic Gale" is less literal but more poetic in English, and does a better job of capturing the "coolness" inherent in the original. But there's also a lot of subtleties that I wasn't previously aware of; taken together, 掠風竊塵 basically screams "this is a charming but sketchy dude you should not trust", the effect of which is unfortunately lost somewhat in translation.

[spellsparkler]

22 :)

22: "It's like they always say..."

“Disgusting,” Wyll repeats – the point as accurate as it is unnecessary – and Row, staring up through dappled leaves, gestures lazily at him. They blink, careful. It doesn’t feel tender; their eyelid doesn’t stick. They kind of thought they’d be able to feel it more, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

“Your feedback is noted,” Row tells him, and lets their arm drop back into the dirt.

They’re lying on their back in the scrubby grass, the stuff lurid-green and itchy against whatever of their bare skin it can reach – hands, neck, lower back where their jack is riding up. The tree branches rustle up above, sending leaves drifting down around their head. Past that, the sky gleams, blue as cobalt pigment and utterly cloudless. It’s hot. They’re sweating something horrendous in their one dear shirt. Even the jack is probably beginning to smell.

Wyll is pacing around somewhere to their left. He’s got ridiculous amounts of energy – comes of spending years on the road, maybe, but it just makes him seem like a farmland dog. He seems like the sort of man that would need to be walked daily before he could get anything done. But he’s staying with them, kindly enough, because the others went ahead – nominally to scout a path, and actually because they looked justifiably disgusted almost to the point of illness, and Lae’zel in particular looked like she wanted to enact violence on something. Row suspected the thing would be them. They can’t even really blame her. But Wyll stayed, when the rest went off to do something else down the little dirt track, to make sure that Row doesn’t drop suddenly, startlingly dead or explode into a mass of tentacles. It’s very sweet of him.

(Nothing is happening. It doesn’t feel different. They might be able to see a little more, or a little clearer, but it’s hard to really tell; they aren’t dying, though, and their number of limbs remains steady. They’ve got the very barest edge of a headache, but that’s as much from staring into the sun for ten minutes as anything else.)

“Ugh,” Wyll says again – his revulsion is beginning to feel a tad performative – and he skims the edge of their field of view as he turns around, they think, to look at them. “How are you feeling?”

“Two eyes, all my hair, no beak,” Row reports. “I think we’re good.”

There’s a pause; Wyll’s horns come properly into their vision, followed by a vague peripheral smudge of his face. “Yes,” he says, “but how are you feeling? Did it – do anything?”

Row squints up at the quivering leaves.

“It didn’t kill me, or anything,” they say, because that had been their main concern – and not a very big one, seeing as they still did it. “Didn’t really hurt. It doesn’t feel any more crowded, back there – I’m not sure how that works. It doesn’t feel that different, yet.” (It doesn’t; it all feels a little sharper, the things the first tadpole gave them taken a little closer to the bone, but it isn’t as changed as it feels like it could be. Should be.) “But it will. I’m certain of it.”

Wyll thinks about this, if the slow tipping of the horns is any indication; “All right,” he says, and then he appears much more distinctly in view, face silhouetted against green leaves and blue sky. “Disgusting. Why?”

“You don’t need to keep saying that,” Row says, squinting at him.

Wyll twists his lips, wry. “You said you didn’t trust our nighttime caller,” he says. “So why in Balduran’s name would you put that in your eye?”

Row scrunches up their face. “Don’t sound judgemental,” they complain, largely facetious; “What, you’ve never gotten curious?”

Wind rustles its merry way through the leaves, sending one dried-out brown one fluttering down between Wyll’s horns. He raises a brow. “I’ve done many stupid things out of curiosity, but voluntarily housing an illithid parasite? That would be a first.”

Barely even a headache, and two tadpoles swimming around their orbital nerve; Row presses a finger to the hard-curved bone of their eye socket. Wyll’s brow furrows. He says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you stupid.”

That makes them snort. “You can,” they say, and shove themself up to sitting. “It was.”

After a moment, Wyll sits down in the dirt next to them. “Then why?” he asks – and why, indeed?

(Why would Row do such a thing? What reason would be consistent?)

(They know why they did it, of course – for the sixth sense the worm bestowed upon them the first time, garishly colourful and bitter-sweet on the tongue, the spider’s web of links between them all and the easy paths to follow down. Wyll’s body sits next to them, blood-warm and sticky with sweat, and Wyll sits next to them, and they can feel him there, all open spaces and effort. And disgust, right now, which is still fair enough. It feels tangible and present in a way that people so often aren’t; like his mind is a plum in their hands, the skin thin and smooth and yielding under the callused pads of their fingers. He would notice if they dug their nails in to reach the flesh, which is why they don’t, right now, but they could. It’s there. And the surface is mapped out, simple as anything, in the space behind their right eye.)

(It’s been, what, a week since the crash, and with all these new colours to watch – new cartography with every new face, charting what they want, what they don’t, how it all pins together – Row hasn’t slipped up once. Not with any significance, anyway. They’re a social person, but it’s never been this easy.)

(They look at Wyll, and they could crack him open like a walnut shell and make a home in the feast of his organs, and if they play it right then he would want them to.)

But no-one likes it when they say it like that, so they shrug, carefree, and say, “Honestly, I don’t know. I saw it crawling out and – I don’t know, Wyll, it just seemed friendly.”

“The tadpole,” Wyll says. “The parasite.”

“Yes!” It was friendly – very excited to see them, and quite desperate to make itself at home somewhere less exposed than the open air and a cooling corpse. It was mapped out, clear as their companions. “I’m not saying I thought it through. But I got curious, and it would be dangerous to just let it roam free, and surely two tadpoles isn’t much worse than one as far as removal is concerned.” It had been a snap second decision; perhaps they should have thought about it more, but Row’s never been good at worrying about consequences – never been able to fear anything other than imminent death, and that didn’t seem likely. They might be doomed for all eternity, but eternity comes later. “If it’s bad, at least now we know. And if it can help, we need all the help we can get. It’s like they say, you know – a tadpole in the head is worth two in the jar, or whatever.”

“Perhaps,” Wyll says drily, “that’s a newer Baldurian idiom that I’ve missed in my time away.”

There is a pause; some sparrows twitter in the distance.

“I understand some of that impulse,” Wyll starts, and Row tips their head to look at him. “But unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences. We would be rash, to take anything we’re offered until we know what it will cost.”

There’s hair in Row’s face, its curl dragged-down and greasy. Wyll is a better sport about himself than some of the others, they’ve learned; there’s a line they don’t want to cross, but he takes jibes easier than most, and he likes banter. “That’s good advice,” they say, considering, and they crane their neck, flicking their gaze just above his eyes. “Do you follow it?”

He smiles, lips droll, and leans over to jostle their shoulder with his elbow. “As I say,” he says, “not as I do. Do you think we can catch up, now, or should we give Lae’zel more time to cool off?”

[ainarosewood]

Teachings

FFxivWrite2024 Day 12 Prompt: Quarry

Focus on your surroundings look for the slightest disturbance then follow that mark to its end then you will find your prey

These words echoed in Eirunn's mind as she studied the ground before her looking for the barest sign of where the beast had run off too. She had been tasked with taking down a troublesome mark by the Grand Company and she had nearly had it before it bolted while she was stunned from its charge.

It didn't take long for her to find the barest smear of a hoof print in the sand and she whistled for her chocobo to follow as she trotted off after it. Within moments she spotted the beast again and unslung her spear gathering aether around her before springing into the jump ramming the spearpoint home into its humped spine.

The beast let out a bellow and shook her from its back facing her and pawing the dirt before it before its singular eye began to glow. Eirunn closed her eyes and dodged to the side as she felt the heat of its aether as it attempted to use its demonic sight on her before charging. It thenraced past and she opened her eyes and stabbed directly into its flank causing it to bellow once more.

She then ripped the spear free and faced off against it as it ran forward and snapped at her with its beak before lowering its head to gore her with its glowing horns. Once again she dodged and then drove her spear straight through the eye as it opened once more to cast its fell light. It gave one more bellow before crashing to the ground twitching in its last moments of life. Once again she pulled the spear free and then proceeded to dress down the beast, taking as many parts as she could that seemed useful.

She wrapped the parts she had removed in leather and then strapped it to her chocobo before mounting and making her way back to Limsa to inform the Maelstorm that the beast had fallen. Once she reported to Commander Rhiki the Miqo'te thanked her for dealing with the creature as she examined the horns Eirunn presented as proof.

"How in Seven Hells did ye drop the thing? Some o our finest couldn't manage to stand more than a few moments against it." she asked

"By remembering the lessons my father taught about hunting. He was a Viper of Tural and taught me all he knew about stalking, catching or putting down dangerous prey." Eirunn replied quietly

"I see, well it sounds like he was an excellent teacher because I honestly wasn't sure we'd ever see the end o this beasts reign." Rhiki stated

Eirunn nodded, "He was, if you have more troublesome beasts let me know. I'll do what I can to make short work of them."

The Maelstorm commander nodded, "You will be the first we contact, by the way what do you plan on doing with the rest of…it?"

Eirunn shrugged, "Not sure yet but another lesson I was taught was never let a hunt go to waste use all you can of it."

The Miqo'te nodded clearly not sure what to think of what the full details of that could mean. Eirunn just gave her a toothy grin and then rewrapped the horns she had shown her and made her way back to the stables where she had left the other spoils of the hunt to decide what exactly to do with all of it.