#Yard Cleaning Auburn

[annaroberts2404]

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[azsazz]

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices

Daddy!Eris x Reader

Summary: This one is a req from @acourtofmenandthirst: Eris' daughter drawing his scars on her doll.

Warnings: Mentions of scars.

Word Count: 1,639

_________________________________________

Eris peeks his head into the room, amber eyes drifting towards the cot his son, Rook, is currently crying in. The young boy, hardly a year old, has an iron grip on the bars caging him inside the intricately carved wood of his bed. Thick vines and leaves cut into the dark lumber, choked by his little fingers.

Tears stream down Rook's chubby cheeks and Eris coos, pushing into the room. Sunlight creeps in through the light linen curtains. The stained glass creation hung in the window casts colorful shadows across the creamy yellow of the walls. 

“My poor son,” Eris huffs dramatically, lifting Rook from his cradle. He’s clothed in only his nappy, reaching up to cling onto his father’s pressed shirt as if he’ll never let go again. 

Eris hopes he doesn’t. His children are growing up much too fast.

Rook sniffles, resting his head in the crook of Eris’ neck, and hiccups. Eris pats soothing motions into his son's bare skin, peppering his freckled cheeks with loving kisses as he calms his youngest child down. He rocks the little boy, waltzing up to the big windows and pushes the curtains open, letting the afternoon sun shine in full force. The room overlooks the small orchard in the back of his quaint home. Trees he’s planted himself with help from you and your daughters, an important tradition to your family. 

It started on your first date. Eris had already known you were the one—love at first sight—and kept his home away from home a secret from his family, only using it to escape Beron’s throes when he really needed it. Briar, he named it. He had cooked you a hearty meal with the most expensive, luxurious wine he could find, and after a delightful dinner, he’d walked you through the nearly empty rolling hills behind his home, hand-in-hand.

You’d commented how the fields needed more trees and had gushed on and on about what he could do with the space. His shadow hounds had run by your feet, chasing each other through the ankle-high grasses, and he’d immediately taken you to his mount and settled you in front of him, taking the both of you into town to purchase some seeds. 

It has been tradition ever since. Birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, any and all celebrations the both of you would go into the yard and plant a tree. Maude loves her cherry trees with all her heart, and Eris is convinced the only reason his daughter ventures outside is to pluck the fruit off the trees and stuff herself silly, stumbling back into the house with stained fingers and lips.

A juniper tree for his other daughter, Juniper. This one was harder to acquire, but thriving well in the backyard, closest to the home. June doesn’t seem to understand the value of the tree yet, but someday, Eris knows that she will.

And a sweet orange tree for his little boy Rook. It had been one of your cravings when you were pregnant with him, and to plant the tree only seemed fitting. Rook devoured any little orange bits he was given with the biggest smile on his face.

He makes a grabby hand for the tree, smart enough to know where his favorite treats are from. 

“You hungry, little man?” Eris asks, and Rook babbles in response. He lifts his son, blowing raspberries on his bare stomach that has cheerful giggles bursting through the room. Rook’s auburn eyes shine up at his father, laughing only harder when Eris catches a whiff of his nappy, grimacing. “Alright baby, let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Why is our son naked?” you muse, allowing Eris to press a kiss to your cheek while you scoop the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. Your mate and daughters had been helping you, but the girls had been more interested in eating the batter their father kept sneaking them, so you shooed them away to play with their dolls while the cookies baked and you patted Eris on the butt as he went to check on Rook. 

Your son keens, pressing his own open mouthed kiss to your cheek. It’s all slobber and suction, but you can’t help the beaming smile that splits your cheeks anyway. 

“Because he keeps burning them off, Fawn,” Eris answers you, nose wrinkling as he turns to the babe, “Isn’t that right buddy?”

Rook screeches in excitement as his father tickles his stomach. It isn’t abnormal for your son’s power to be flaring up with his emotions. You’d gone through similar situations with Maude and Juniper around this age as well. You still have the burn marks of waddling feet branded into the wood to prove it.

Placing the tray of cookies into the oven, you reach out to take Rook from your mate. “Such a little stinker,” you tease, bopping your youngest on the nose. He retaliates by grabbing a fistful of your hair and you curse mentally, knowing you should’ve tied it out of his reach. 

“Where are the girls?” Eris asks, peeking around the kitchen for any leftover cookie dough. In his mission to steal as much as he could for his daughters, he’d forgotten to sneak a taste for himself. The mixing bowl sits soapy in the sink and he deflates a little.

“Coloring in the den,” you answer, eyes twinkling. Your stomach swoops still at the sight of Eris, even more so whenever he interacts with his children. You knew he was loving, but seeing him like this, completely at ease with no worries tightening his shoulders, he looks ethereal. “Why don’t you get them washed up for some cookies?”

“Yes, please,” Eris says, stealing a kiss from you. Rook squeals and you swoon.

Leaving Rook with you, Eris takes off into the next room. He finds Maude and Juniper spread out on the floor, their coloring supplies strewn about. Thylix and Codon, two of his hounds, laze around both girls, having taken it upon themselves to become their guards. They hardly leave his daughters alone, often choosing to sleep beside their beds at night, though Eris knows his daughters let them jump into bed with them as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

“What are my baby girls drawing in here?” Eris asks, tiptoeing forward. They startle and the hounds’ ears perk up at the sound of their master, but they don’t move. His daughters look up at him with those big, round russet eyes, and Eris knows immediately that they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.

“Daddy,” Maude pouts, hiding something in front of her. Eris’ brows furrow as he wonders what she’s keeping from him, but her younger sister, Juniper, holds her doll up in the air, proudly. 

“Daddy!” June yells, pushing up onto wobbly legs and racing towards him. Eris scoops her up and she squeals, bringing her doll with her, showing off her artwork to her father. Marker streaks across the face of her plaything, reds, oranges, and pinks adorning the cheeks and dress, across the doll’s eye.

“What’s this, Junie?” Eris asks, admiring her artistic abilities. There’s potential, but if she’s going to continue her artistic streak, he better get her something more appropriate to color on. Maybe sign her up for one of the local—or Night Court—art classes.

“It’s Daddy,” she answers, beaming up at her father. His heart swells, but he doesn't seem to be comprehending what Juniper is trying to convey.

He looks around his middle daughter to his oldest, still in her spot on the ground. Her cheeks are pinked with a blush and she’s pouting at her little sister for ruining the surprise.

“Care to explain, Maude?” Eris asks, though he’s not really sure if he wants the answer.

She sighs, shoving up to her feet. She holds up her doll in front of her face like she’s going to get in trouble for what she’s done, but Eris doesn’t understand why.

Until Maude explains. “We drew your scars on our dollies,” she says, and it all clicks. The one across his cheekbone from when Beron has nicked him purposefully with the edge of his sword before he set foot into his first war. His father had said the scar would help him relate to his legion the more roughed up he looked. 

Another, peeking out from the strap of the doll's dress, right above her heart. It’s a rendition of the brand on his chest, another gift from his father. He tries not to let his children see his scars, especially that one in particular, but she must’ve seen it when she’d crawled into your bed after a nightmare perhaps.

Eris’ eyes prickle but he blinks the emotion away. His throat is thick, and he distracts himself by taking a second look at Juniper's toy. Upon catching her fathers gaze on the doll, Maude speaks again. “Junie drew Uncle Lulu���s eye scars on hers. I told her we were supposed to be drawing only yours, but she didn’t listen,” Maude huffs a little, annoyed that her younger sister didn’t follow her direction.

“That’s…that’s very thoughtful, Junie,” Eris places a chaste kiss on her forehead and she grins. “You both did such a wonderful job.”

“You’re not…mad?” Maude asks, staring up at him nervously.

Juniper kicks her legs, trying to escape Eris’ grip. He lets her down and she abandons her doll, racing for the kitchen where she can hear you talking to her brother.

Eris kneels, taking Maude’s hand in his and tugging her into his chest for a hug. “No, Maude, I’m not upset. I’m impressed.” 

“You really like it?” she asks shyly, pulling back so she can look him in the eyes.

Eris nods once, firmly. “I love it, Maude. You made me look perfect.”

[januaryembrs]

congrats on 3k!!!!! That’s such an amazing achievement!!

Also you write for Cal????? I love you

Mayhaps a coffee? With cal if you have a wip for him? If not that’s fine lol

FAMILIAR FACE | Cal Kestis x Sith!Reader

description: Cal wasn't the only survivor of Order 66

length: 0.6k

warnings: violence

It was him. You hadn’t heard that voice in years, hadn’t seen that auburn hair, those eyes greener than the blooms of foliage that surrounded you. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” He snarled, igniting his lightsaber and standing on the defence, “You can’t be the indomitable Sith they say you are if you’re too afraid to remove your mask,” 

Your jaw clenched beneath your helmet, your head turning to the side as you eyed up your prey. Five years. It had been five years since you’d been left in the temple to face off Vader alone, a thirteen year old padawan lost and vulnerable, left to care for the ones younger than yourself. You’d thought he had been slaughtered just like the rest of them, thought maybe if he had survived then he would come back for you. You were supposed to be his best friend. 

But he had left you there. Left you at the hands of Darth Vader, the only one who showed you mercy. Who trained you as his own, who crafted the force wielder you were today from the ground up. 

He cared for you. He had faith in you. He would never leave you defenceless; it was why he’d spent so much time and effort guiding you in the ways of the Sith. 

Vader allowed you to feel, the one thing the Jedi always forbid. And for that you owed him your life. 

“You’re a coward,” He spat, yet you spotted the limp in his leg where you had kicked him yelling and thrashing into the cavern the two of you stood in. He must have retained some of his training at least to have caught himself before the damage would be too severe. 

You smiled, something crazed and manic, because despite his brave words and seething expression, you smelled his fear on the breeze, and that was what made you lunge for him. 

Within a flash your sabre was ignited, a cardinal red crackle of light and you cleared the fifty yards in seconds, the hum of your training hot under your skin, and he had only a single blink to bring his weapon up to block his face as your sliced through the air, hurtling towards his neck where his head would have been scorched clean off had he not been quick enough. 

His eyes were wide, his breath crawling up his throat in a halted scream as he tried to save face and show no fear, but you could feel it pumping through his veins with every heartbeat. 

“Play nice now, Cal,” You purred, your smirk only widening when his face morphed into confusion, “That’s no way to speak to a woman, now is it?” 

“Who are you?” He asked, horror spreading over his expression as you lamented, taking a single step back yet keeping your artillery murmuring hungrily in your palm. 

You left me, Cal Kestis. You left me to die like a dog and never once looked back. 

You raised a hand up to your helm, yanking it up and over your face as you revelled in every second of his distress, the pools of emerald in his hues whirling with shock and something distraught. 

“I think you already know,” You said with a smirk, tossing your armour to the ground with a thud as it rolled over the Kashyyyk ferns that littered the floor. 

And you dived for him again while he was distracted, your sabre heading straight for his heart.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

hi I hope can you can a yandere scott and jean with child reader haunted mansion au please.

Hahaha, yes! So, Reader in this, I'm imagining they are a random kid who was dropped off at the wrong house. Let's see how it goes-

The house was really cold, you'd noticed.

And dusty.

And old.

It seemed rather large, with too many doors and too many paintings and too many mirrors and too many cobwebs to count. It seemed... abandoned. Lonely. And it made you scared. You were trying not to cry, you were trying to be a big kid, but it was hard when every time you walked the floor creaked, and spooky noises came from deep inside the twisting halls.

You were rather happy, then, to see someone. A tall someone, who wore bright red glasses.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" you called, your voice a loud whisper that echoed in the vast void of the room. That caught the attention of the tall person, who was a older teen. He looked pretty shocked to see you.

"What the...?" he said, then came closer. It was quite apparent now that you were tiny compared to him. Yet the moment he was near, you latched onto his leg, hugging it. "Um, hey, kid? Um... how. How did you get in here?"

"I was left here. They said this was where the babysitter was," you answered. He was really cold, almost freezing, like snow. It was weird, but he seemed nice. "Are you the babysitter?"

For a moment he looked conflicted, then he scooped you up, holding you rather gently. "Um, yep. For tonight. My name's Scott, what's yours?" He carried you through the different rooms, until you reached a dining room, setting you down on a chair carefully. For a minute he seemed to flicker, but it must have been a trick of the light...

"Oh... I'm Reader..."

"Huh... that's... that's a good name. Did you need anything?"

"I don't kn-"

"Scott!"

Another teenager soon appeared, one with bright auburn hair, who seemed happy to see him. The moment she saw you, her smile only widened. "Aaaawwww, hi, sweetie! Who are you?"

"That's Reader. Reader, this is Jean, Jean, this is Reader. We were just trying to see if they needed anything," Scott explained. He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "They were, uh... dropped off here."

"What?" Jean seems almost confused, then angry, then calm again. "Okay, I see... Well, let's take care of you, okay, sweetie?" she says to you, and you shyly grin at her. She seems nice.

"Can we play a game?"

"Um, sure, kid. What game did you have in mind?"

"Whatever you want, okay?"

"Um... what about hide and go seek?" you offer. That's met with two nods, and you quickly add, "Can I hide first?"

"Of course. Just... let's play outside, okay? I don't think all the rooms are clean in here, and we don't need you getting sick," Jean explains. Scott nods, and you simply race them to the door. When you look back, they're both closing their eyes, starting to count.

You giggle, racing out the large doors and working your way into the yard beside the large house. It's full of weird rocks and stones, with names carved on them, along with numbers. And there's even one with your name, scratched in and with some sweet words under it... But you decided to hide behind the two that have Scott and Jean's names on them, with rhyming words. It takes awhile before you hear them come out, the only way you know it being them calling, "Ready or not, here we come!"

It doesn't take too long for them to find you, after looking around the different stones and slabs and bushes. And when they do find you, you laugh-scream when hands suddenly pick you up, hugging you tightly.

"There you are!"

"Here I am!"

After that, you're soon put to bed, being kept in a small room with a smaller bed. The blankets smell a little old, and the room is slightly warmer than the others, but you settle down, lulled under by the story being read to you by your two new friends...

When you wake up, your parent is worried, quickly grabbing you and almost running through the halls and out the door, not stopping for a minute. "Where are we going?" you yawn, rubbing at your eyes.

"We're going home, baby, okay? I'm so sorry I left you here all alone, I thought this was the right house!"

"But I wasn't alone..."

Your parent's face goes pale, almost like a ghost. "You... there were people there?"

You nod your head.

With that, they start the car, speeding down the long, long driveway and out into the lonely road. You'd only later find out, when you're older, that the house, a mansion, had been abandoned for years... and that no one was living there at all...

But that didn't mean the dead weren't...

[ink-flavored]

Anthology Blast Prompt 2: Horsing Around

for the Athendroyln After Dark Anthology Full prompt list for the Anthology Blast Tips are appreciated! Contains: satyr/centaur, trans4trans, size difference kink, size queen kink, fingering, handjobs, oral sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, nipple play, teasing, begging, praise, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism Dysphoria warning: There is a trans man and a trans woman in this short story. The trans man’s genitals are referred to with these words: t-dick, ”little cock”, cunt, hole, folds, cervix. The trans woman’s genitals are referred to with these words: cock, dick, balls, shaft, head. Please use discretion if these words will trigger any dysphoria.

Harlan sat at the only open table at this entire party, if he had to guess, watching his frat brother’s backyard get absolutely trashed. It wasn’t his first one by any stretch, but it was one of his first times sitting on the sidelines of any party he was invited to, abstaining from his classmates’ vices. And boy, were there a lot of vices.

Getting a spot by the pool gave him a great angle of the debauchery taking place. He spotted four different couples and at least one threesome splashing around, and taking advantage of the satyr-heavy population’s lack of social modesty. It didn’t stop anyone from jumping into the water, to cheer them on or join the action themselves. Plenty of party-goers were making use of the wide array of potions provided at what passed for a bar. Even more were mixing it with mundane alcohol to create a new and exciting hangover tomorrow. The speakers were inside the house, but the sliding glass doors were wide open to let every note thump out into the yard. And it wasn’t even eight o’clock.

He wasn’t quite wistful, but Harlan did have to catch himself every time he thought about getting a hit of whatever they were brewing inside. There was a reason he planted his cloven hooves outside, where there was relatively more space, and wasn’t nearly as crowded as the dance floor inside. And it was worth it to hold off today—for her sake.

He checked his phone again, just to make sure he hasn’t missed a message. His last text was from half an hour ago. Harlan tugged his short beard, a bit nervous. She was late.

“Harlan, dude, there you are!”

He looked up to see two of his frat brothers, Jet and Darus, trotting closer, dodging other partiers on their way. Darus held a vial of something purple and shimmery over his head so he wouldn’t spill it. Not that it would have mattered, since his auburn and white patched fur was already matted down with something. Jet was clean—his solid white legs would have made it very obvious—but Harlan was almost positive he had a shirt on when they got here. Neither of them looked wasted, but it was only a matter of time.

“Dude,” Jet said, grabbing his shoulder, “Chaq is inside and he’s about to dunk his head in the entire cauldron of the potion of lunacy, you’ve gotta come see.”

“It’s gonna be so sick,” Darus added, white forelock dangling past his horns into his face.

“Tempting,” Harlan said, and it did sound hilarious, “but I’m gonna stick around here, you guys go ahead.”

Jet shoved him a little. “What’s with you, man? Have you even gotten in the pool or anything?"

"I’m binding today.” Harlan opened one side of his yellow button-down, revealing the peach-colored enchanted binder underneath. “Sooo, no, I haven’t.”

Darus handed him the shimmery vial. “At least have a drink.”

He shoved it away. “I’m waiting until Yvonne gets here, I told you. I want to make sure she’s comfortable before I get trashed.”

They gave each other a look. “Yeah,” Darus said. “About that. She’s not here.”

“She said she was running late. She had to get her shoes changed today and there was a line or something.”

Jet sighed and folded his arms. “I don’t want to be an asshole, but—”

Harlan put his face in his hands, flattening his ears against his head. “Not this again, you’re killing me.”

“It’s a little suspicious!”

“Don’t fucking do this to me, Jet.”

“Like, come on, how long have you been together and we’ve never even seen a picture of her.”

He popped up, indignant. “She asked me not to! What, should I just ignore what she’s comfortable with?”

“Obviously not,” Darus said, “but what kind of centaur—what kind of Clydesdale isn’t cool with that?”

“He’s got a point,” Jet agreed.

Harlan swerved around his corkscrew horns to run his fingers through his auburn hair. He contemplated ripping it out. “Look, guys. She’s shy. I’ve told you that a hundred times. We’ve been talking about it, and she’s going to be here, today, because she said she felt ready.”

“Sure, sure. But she’s late.”

“Do you guys really think I would pretend to have a girlfriend for this long? Just to—to, what, make you think I have a girlfriend?”

They looked at each other again.

“I mean, kinda.”

“Yeah, it’s not that hard to imagine.”

Harlan was this close to headbutting them both. “Go fuck yourselves, like actually.”

They both laughed at his expense, and Darus took one of the empty chairs for himself. “There’s no shame in admitting it! I couldn’t pull a centaur, Jet definitely can’t pull a centaur—”

Jet pouted. “Rude.”

“—so you have nothing to fear! We’re all in this together.”

But Harlan wasn’t listening, staring right over his head. A grin slowly spread across his face, and he rose with triumph out of his seat. Jet caught on first, and smacked Darus’ arm to get him to turn around. Both were at risk of their eyes popping out of their skulls.

Squeezing through the open glass doors, Yvonne made her way into the yard, a Clydesdale centaur with a beautiful bay and tobiano pattern. The white marks on her legs nearly reached the splash of white on her horse belly. The same pattern continued on her hands up to her elbows, before meeting the rest of her warm brown skin. Her long black hair was done in goddess braids, with one forelock a shock of white, and her tail swung in one thick braid. She glanced around, clearly anxious, until Harlan raised his hand to wave. She brightened and waved back.

“If you’ll excuse me, gents,” Harlan said, letting his satisfaction drip off every word while his friends picked their jaws up off the floor. He trotted off to meet Yvonne with a skip in his step.

That kind of petty revenge was short lived, though. The closer he got to Yvonne, the less he cared about showing up his friends, and the more he cared about being with her. Harlan weaved in and out of partiers, hopped over chairs, and interrupted a few make-outs on his way.

“Hey, you made it,” he greeted, as soon as she was in earshot.

“Hi,” Yvonne replied, pawing the ground with one of her hooves. “I’m sorry I’m so late, there’s not usually a wait at my farrier’s place.”

“Forget about it, you’re here now.”

She shyly tucked a braid behind her ear and shrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“When am I not sure, baby?”

Yvonne bit her lip in that way he loved, and stretched her arms down toward him. He took her hands and beamed up at her and… sort of forgot what he was doing. The most coherent thought he had was that the dress draped across her human half matched her saddlebags, both a bright, dandelion yellow with little white flowers. If anyone was behind him, they would have seen his short, feathery tail wagging.

“You’re wearing the new dress,” he said.

“Is it okay?” She turned to look over her withers at the saddlebags. “I remember you said satyr couples wear the same color, so I made sure I put this one today.”

“It’s perfect. You look beautiful.”

Yvonne nodded a bit stiffly, taking a heavy breath out. Harlan squeezed her hands.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She glanced around. “It’s loud. And crowded.”

“This is as good as it’s gonna get. Are you sure you want to stay?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled again, but this time, it was determined. “Yes. I can do this.”

“That’s my girl.”

Harlan tugged her arms—because he couldn’t get anywhere near her face, even on the very tips of his hooves—and she bent down for a kiss, in more ways than one. Yvonna knelt on her front two legs to get close enough to cup his face, and he held her as close as their angle would allow. When they parted, he traced the white blaze that ran up the bridge of her nose.

“Do you want to meet the guys?” he asked. “They were just over there sitting with me.”

“Sure, okay.”

Harlan led the way back to their table, but didn’t have to weave his way through the crowd this time. Instead, the party-goers parted for them, as Yvonne handed out soft apologies to everyone who stumbled back in surprise. He wished she wouldn’t—but that was a hurdle to overcome another time.

Jet and Darus were exactly where he’d left them, muttering to each other with their ears tilted unsubtly in their direction. Harlan cleared his throat and they both jumped.

“Boys,” he said, gesturing up, “this is Yvonne, she was able to make it after all. Yvonne, this is Jet and Darus.” He pointed to each of them in turn.

“Hi,” Yvonne said, with a little wave. “It’s so nice to finally meet you both, but I am a little embarrassed it’s taken this long.” Before Harlan could comfort her, both Jet and Darus spluttered their own consolations.

“Psssh, it’s whatever!”

“Nah, don’t even worry about it, it’s cool.” Jet gestured vaguely at Harlan. “Harlan, he’s like—he never shuts up about you, so—”

“Yeah, seriously,” Darus interrupted, “so we’re both excited, too! That you made it!”

Harlan relished his petty revenge again, unsure if he’d ever seen either of them so off balance. He avoided complaining to Yvonne that his friends didn’t think she existed, because he knew it would make her feel terrible, and he stood by that decision. Her feelings were more important than his ego. Watching them scramble was merely an added bonus.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he offered to Yvonne. “There’s a lot of space back here.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, kicking the grass a little. “As long as you all don’t mind staying outside? I don’t think I’d fit anywhere in the house.”

“Relax,” Harlan said, before his friends could fumble their way into doing it for him. “It’s a nice day, and we’re all out here anyway.”

“Yeah, I love being outside,” Jet lied.

“Nothing cool happens inside anyway,” Darus agreed, also lying.

A short distance away, one of the adventurous folks in the pool had a screaming orgasm. All four of them instinctively whipped around, and saw a naiad with another satyr literally drowning between her pussy. She lifted a shaky, watery hand and mouthed Sorry! They waved back to accept her apology, laughing to break the tension.

“Oh my,” Yvonna breathed, looking away with a hand on her chest.

“Like I said,” Harlan continued, “this is where the party’s at.”

He handed the chair he’d been sitting in to Jet to make room for Yvonne to sit down in the grass. She buckled all four of her legs, tucking her two front hooves underneath her and resting on one hip. At this height, Harlan was just tall enough to rest his head on her bicep—and he did, being careful not to poke her with his horns.

“May I?” he asked.

“Go ahead!” she replied, and waved him on.

Harlan hopped up to sit on her withers, where he was now tall enough to put his chin on her shoulder. Jet and Darus had gotten over being shocked and skipped right to exchanging impressed glances, but it didn’t dampen his mood any. He casually folded his arms around her waist, but froze when she sat up a little straighter.

“Too much?” he asked, ready to pull back.

“N-no, it’s fine,” she insisted, patting his arms to keep them where they were. He kept them there, but decided to keep one ear up for any changes.

“So, I hope this isn’t weird,” Jet said, and Harlan braced himself, “but I’ve never actually seen a Clydesdale before—I mean, I’ve barely seen any centaurs, period. Are you from here, or…?”

“Oh, no, my herd is from way up north, near the mountains,” Yvonne replied. “I’ve only been in Athendrolyn for a couple years.”

“Wow, that’s far. Why’d you move?”

“Well, it’s a lot harder to transition when you’re constantly moving around, and the herd physician has to split resources between thirty other people, so—” She shrugged to finish the statement. “Here I am instead.”

Darus snapped his fingers. “Oh, right because you two met at the clinic, right?”

“Yep!” She squished her cheek into Harlan’s face, and he returned the favor.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” Harlan said.

“Why wouldn’t I remember that?”

“Because you’re also the guy who asked why I never told you about ‘my sister’ when I showed you old family photos.”

“Ha!” Jet smacked his arm. “I remember that!”

“One time!” Darus wagged an angry finger. “Literally once!”

“You didn’t tell me that story,” Yvonne said, stifling her own laughter.

“Please don’t tell her that story.”

“Too late!” Harlan declared. “We’re telling the story!”

He took a few minutes to embarrass his friend, but from there, they had plenty more to talk about. Fraternity hijinks, horror stories from their classes, how much they were dreading exam season. Yvonne listened politely, as always, and even bonded with Darus over their matching forelocks, but every so often Harlan felt her shift uncomfortably. He tried to slyly ask her if she needed anything when they had a lapse in conversation. She insisted she was fine, but he had a feeling something was up.

It was her first time at a big party, after all. Harlan believed her when she said she wanted to be here, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if her social anxiety was killing the mood. She frequently glanced around at the rest of the outdoor partygoers, especially the horny ones splashing around in the pool. Harlan had been to so many of these that the sexual cacophony was more or less ambient noise he could tune out, but for Yvonne? Not so much.

He was just on the cusp of asking her outright if anything was wrong when someone came tearing out of the house, yelling and whooping and wearing a lampshade with their horns punched through it. A small crowd followed them out, some brandishing their phones with glee, and others looking close to calling the fire department. All four of them watched in slow motion as the crazed partier did a flying leap into the pool… and landed with a sickeningly loud splat! right on their belly. Everyone around the yard did a collective wince.

“Aaaand that’s gotta be Chaq,” Darus concluded.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Harlan asked.

“The entire cauldron of lunacy, if I had to guess.”

“Is he alright?” Yvonne asked, both hands pressed to her forehead in shock.

Jet sighed and pushed to his hooves. “I guess we have to go fish him out and see. Come on, Darus.”

“Wait, what? Why do I have to go?”

“You were the one who wanted to see him do it in the first place.”

Darus groaned, but stood up. “Fine, fine, whatever.”

“I can help too, if you need,” Harlan offered.

“Nah, you two stay here,” Jet said, waving them off. “We’ll be right back.”

“Probably,” Darus added.

Two of them trotted off. The rest of the yard started to congregate around the pool to inspect the damage. Even the exhibitionists had stopped to let Chaq’s buddies excavate him from his own bad decisions. The thumping party music sounded wildly out of place.

“I hope he’ll be okay,” Yvonne said, worrying with the end of one of her braids.

“He’ll be fine,” Harlan reassured her. “Chaq is kind of… bizarre. He does this a lot.”

“That sounds unsafe.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, it sure can be.”

A moment of silence lapsed. Yvonne dropped her braid to toy with his fingers instead. He nibbled her shoulder, and she giggled. He marked the spot with a kiss.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, “for coming out here tonight.”

She ducked her head. “Thank you. I… I’m happy I did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your friends are really nice.” She twisted her fingers up by her head. “And you all have the cute curly horns.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Why are they cute? You never explained why you think it’s cute.”

“I don’t know!” She waved her hands around, searching for an answer. “I don’t know, it’s like they’re made of candy. Or something.”

“That’s adorable and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does!”

“Whatever you say.” He squished his cheek into her shoulder. “Did you… notice if theirs were longer than mine?”

She folded her hands over his gently. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I can never tell if my horns pass enough.”

“Well… I didn’t notice a huge difference. But even if I did, it wouldn’t make you any less of a billy goat, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… hard to stop thinking about sometimes.”

“I know.” She tugged at the skirt of her dress. “I really like this outfit, but I think it was made for people with more—you know.” She cupped her palms up by her chest, where the fabric sat almost flat against her.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal. You still look amazing in it.”

“I guess not. But I feel like it hangs a bit loose.” She plucked it a few times.

“Maybe you can get it tailored.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “I just wish I could… fill it out on my own.”

“I’ll give you mine, if you want.”

Yvonne laughed, just like he hoped she would. Harlan gave her a full hug from behind, and she sighed comfortably, leaning back until her head was on his shoulder. Despite meaning everything he said, Harlan did notice that the bust of the dress left a gap she couldn’t accommodate—and that gap let him stare right down her chest.

“You know,” he said, “I think you might have grown a little.”

“Really?” She sounded earnest, and then folded her arms when she realized where he was looking. “You can’t possibly tell from that angle.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He mouthed a soft line up her neck. Her whole body shivered, against and underneath him. “I guess I’ll have to check later.”

“You can now.”

His eyebrows shot up to his horns. “Now? Are you sure?”

Yvonne bit her lip and whined, nodding into his neck. And… well, fuck, how was he supposed to say no to that?

Harlan pushed aside her curtain of braids, unzipped the back of her dress, and snuck his hands underneath. He took a moment to feel her back, her sides, slide across her ribs—go everywhere except where she wanted him, basically.

“C’mon,” she pouted, twisting her human torso to try and cheat her way there.

“Come on what?” he asked. It was a tease, sure, but also another chance for her to back off. She’d never been so touchy in public before, much less horny in public. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Yvonne told him outright, “Please, play with my tits, pretty please.”

He did as she asked, grabbing both of her breast buds and massaging them with his hands. She sighed hotly and openly, the picture of erotic relief. Harlan pressed her hard nipples against his palms, rolling them in tiny circles, and kissed up and down her neck some more. She squirmed for him, soft whimpers escaping her plush lips. When he caught one between his fingers and pinched, she moaned right into his ear.

At this point, Harlan felt his t-dick throbbing and was worried about leaving a wet spot on her back. More importantly, though, he could not believe this was happening. Yvonne had a hard enough time working up to coming to this party all, and now they were jumping right to public foreplay? It wasn’t the craziest thing Harlan had ever done, but for her, it was astounding.

Still, he couldn’t resist giving her what she wanted when she was clearly so desperate for it. Already she was panting heavily, little chest heaving under his hands. Harlan pinched and rolled both her nipples, hard. She gasped and her whole body writhed, including the part he was sitting on. Harlan grabbed her tits for dear life as she shifted her weight, nearly throwing him off.

“S-sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He had to move his hands to readjust, and took the opportunity to ask, “Hey, uh, not that I’m complaining, but what’s gotten into you today?”

“Uhm, well…” Yvonne shifted in place, like she’d been doing the whole time. “When I started estrogen, my doctor warned me that eventually, I’d develop an estrous cycle during the spring like other mares. And, uh, I think it’s. Happening. Today.”

A lightning bolt shot straight down his spine. “Oh.”

“I didn’t want to mention it, because I hoped I’d be able to ignore it. But there were all those people, h-having sex over there.” She mashed her face into her hands. “And it even made me late.”

“What do you mean? I thought your farrier made you late.”

“I—I lied. I didn’t want to leave the house because I was—” She wiggled around again. “I was really, really hard, and I couldn’t just go out in public like that, so I had to—to touch myself first.” A small whimper. “A couple times. Just to make it go away.”

Harlan was definitely leaving a wet spot on her back. “You should have just called me, baby, I would have helped you out.”

She uncovered her face just enough to look back at him. “Y-you sort of did. I thought about you, so…”

It was too much to bear. Harlan launched himself forward to lock lips, and after one surprised squeal, she returned his passion. He scrambled to any position that would let him keep kissing her, biting her lip, tasting her mouth. The fur between his legs was matted down from his cunt, his tail was going nuts, and above anything he needed to fuck Yvonne right now.

“I can help out a third time,” he breathed, “if you need to come again.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, I really need to.”

“Right here?”

“Uh…”

They both took the opportunity to look around. The sun was just starting to set, casting an orangey glow on everything in the yard, and he saw colorful fairy lights bouncing inside the house. The shocked crowd had more or less dispersed, but Jet, Darus, and Chaq were nowhere to be seen. Harlan spied a few couples still using the pool to spice up their sex lives, so nobody would be bothered seeing them fuck out here in the open. Yvonne chewed on her bottom lip.

“Can we go back there?” she asked, pointing across the yard.

A runway of grass stretched beyond their ability to see, hiding behind the far side of the house. It didn’t look like anyone was over there. It was far past the party, and they might even have a buffer from the music.

“Sounds perfect,” he agreed.

Yvonne stood up without warning, and he had to grab her to stay balanced again. Moving with urgent grace, Yvonne trotted across the yard, bouncing him all the way. Each step ground his t-dick against her back, and there was nothing that could have stopped his horny mouth from talking.

“Seeing those people in the pool turned you on, huh?” he teased, trying not to moan every time she took a step.

“Y-yeah, a little,” she said, in a way that he knew meant a lot. “I’ve never seen so many people do that and I—” She lost her rhythm and stumbled. “I really wanted to keep watching.”

Harlan felt his brain melt into a little puddle. “That’s really fucking hot.”

Her last few steps were awkward, but it didn’t stop her from making a beeline for their hideaway. She got down in the grass and let Harlan slide off her back before rolling over herself. All four of her big, feathered hooves in the air, belly exposed to the sky, Harlan caught a glimpse of her cock, unsheathed and rock hard. Only a glimpse, because she yanked him down by the shirt.

She crushed their mouths together and Harlan could only return the favor. Feverish with want, he slipped the sleeves off her dress and pulled it down to expose her chest. He got back to what he was doing earlier: pinching, rolling, and adding his mouth to suck on her nipples. Yvonne was open mouthed and gasping in seconds, hardly able to make a sound.

While he worked her tits, Harlan still felt himself reeling from her confession. She’d been getting off on watching those people, right underneath him. All those nerves he thought she had was her desperately seeking relief from her brand-new hormone cycle. Was she a voyeur? Was she an exhibitionist? Both? Was it a product of the estrous alone? Whatever the answer, he thought he’d make himself come just thinking about it. He’d let Yvonne watch him do anything, with anybody, any day of the week, if that’s what she was into. He’d fuck her while she watched someone else get fucked, give her pleasure while she took pleasure in others.

He sobbed a moan into her chest, positive he was dripping wet. Yvonne took his face in her hands and dragged him up to kiss her again. All he could do was pant into her mouth, so desperate he didn’t even care.

Yvonne separated, lips shiny with saliva. “Can I see you?”

“Yeah,” he panted. “Sure, yeah.”

Harlan scooted over, plopped back on his ass, and spread his legs. He knew he was wet, and now they both could see it. She rolled onto her side, propped up on one elbow for a better angle, and ran her fingers through the fur on the inside of his thighs. He shivered.

“Wait,” she said. “I think you got bigger.”

“You think so?” He tried to stick his head down to see.

“Look, I think it’s different.”

Yvonne ran a finger down his engorged t-dick, and he moaned so hard he bleated. He clamped his jaw shut, but it was too late. She put a hand over her mouth, but he could tell she was smiling underneath.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to laugh it off.

“No, don’t be. I think it’s sweet.”

She stroked with her finger again, and he dropped his head back in pleasure. When it was clear she was doing the right thing, Yvonne got bolder, dipping two fingers into his cunt to steal some of his wetness to stroke him faster. He moaned and fisted the grass under his hands. When she moved her fingers in a V-shape on either side of his little cock, he fell back onto his elbows. His head spun with bliss, already so far gone and they’d barely touched each other.

“Th-that feels fucking amazing,” he moaned, forcing himself up on one hand to look at her. “You’re so fucking good.”

Yvonne smiled, excited to be praised, and dove forward into his fur. Harlan gasped at the feeling of soft lips kissing his t-dick. She used her hand to keep his folds apart, took the whole thing in her mouth, and gave him a  gentle suck. Harlan groaned, eyes falling shut in his lust. When he managed to open them again, Yvonne was already looking up at him. Working her tongue in warm, wet circles, she fluttered her lashes. Harlan laughed breathily—he knew what she wanted.

“Look at how pretty you are,” he sighed, and felt her whimper into his cunt. “You’re such a pretty girl, Yvonne, and you look even better with your mouth full.”

She whined, desperate, and sucked again. Harlan moaned, but kept his composure to rub her cheek.

“Good girl,” he praised. “You’re a very good girl.”

Yvonne buried her face in his thigh and moaned, devastated. She kicked her back leg over and over, gasping into his fur. Harlan knew what that meant too, and watched as she tried to get any sort of friction on her cock. He almost drooled watching it bounce against her belly, rocking with the desperate rhythm of her leg. It was so wanton, so hopeless, he couldn’t resist moving on to the main event.

“You’re so good, I almost forgot why we’re back here,” he said, nudging her head away.

“But,” she protested, “don’t you want to—?”

Harlan crawled forward and kissed her silent, licking the taste of himself off her lips. He rolled her onto her back again, stroking a hand down her body as far as he could reach.

“I’ll definitely come from getting you off,” he told her. “Promise.”

Yvonne swallowed hard and whimpered. “Okay.”

Harlan staggered to his hooves. He raked his fingers through his thigh fur on the way down to Yvonne’s cock—the fact that he needed to walk there, even if it wasn’t very far, always made him shiver. Both her back legs were bent at the hock and spread wide, putting her on full display for him. Harlan ducked under her leg and made sure not to step on her braided tail as he took up his favorite spot: right behind her cock, so she could watch everything he did.

Yvonne’s dick was longer than his arm. Large, prominent veins ran up and down the shaft, and he knew if he touched one, he’d feel the pulse keeping it thick and hot. The head was wider than the rest of it, with a prominent rim and flared ends. At the other end, her shaft was cushioned by the wrinkled skin of her sheath, and her balls dangled in front of him enticingly. Too heavy to stand upright on its own, her cock rested against her belly, waiting to be touched.

He had no choice but to oblige. Harlan sighed hotly, and ran his palm from root to tip, savoring the smooth, warm skin. Yvonne gasped and arched her back, crumpling her dress in her fists. He leaned a little forward, grabbing her shaft with both hands and stroking her. She moaned, loud, much louder than he expected. Harlan kept going, aching to hear more. She whimpered and squirmed under his hands.

“More,” she begged. “More, I need it, more.”

Harlan bent over and licked the very edge of her sheath. She cried out in ecstasy, and there was no way that the rest of the party was ignorant to them now. Shocked, all he could do was keep going, stroking and lapping at her cock, out in the open.

The next time his hands went up, they came away with a sticky, transparent sheen. A steady stream of thick pre-cum flowed from her tip, dripping down her belly, and now all down her shaft. Harlan reached up to rub her head for more, stroking faster with the added slick. Yvonne keened and—his favorite thing—her massive cock twitched. The muscle jumped under his hands, throbbing with pleasure. Harlan shivered head to toe, at risk of bleating again.

It was no secret how much he loved her size. Yvonne insisted she was average for a centaur, maybe even a bit below average, but she was still bigger than every minotaur Harlan had ever fucked, combined. And it wasn’t just her dick, it was everything. Her hooves were bigger than dinner plates. She had to duck under every doorframe, even the ones built for centaurs. Harlan wasn’t short for a satyr, but next to her, he was tiny. And he loved it.

Every time they fucked, he did his best to gratify every inch of her. With both hands, mouth, grinding on her, using his entire body, whatever got the job done. He wanted to fill her gorgeous cock with pleasure and let it boil over into the rest of her. From the end of her tail to the tips of her fingers, he wanted her entire body, easily ten times his size, to tremble with bliss. That’s how he’d know he did a good job.

Maybe it was the estrous cycle, but Yvonne was already satisfying that desire for him. Her hind legs were tense trying not to kick, but her front legs had no such responsibility, failing wildly as he stroked her. She was at risk of tearing her brand-new dress right off, jerking it in every direction. If she wasn’t already on the ground, her head would have been thrown back in ecstasy, moans and whimpers tumbling out like they weren’t at a house party. Harlan had long since forgotten to worry about her anxiety, stroking her cock with renewed enthusiasm.

“H-Harlan!” she cried, her first coherent word in ages. “I want you, so much.”

“I’m right here, I’m giving it to you,” he soothed, stroking down hard. Wrong answer. She shook her head wildly. He laughed a little. “You’ve gotta tell me what you want, then.”

“More.”

“More what?”

She nearly sobbed, throwing her arms over her face. “Fuck me, please, I want to be inside you so much. Please, please fuck me!”

He had to stop to catch his breath. It was crazy to see her like this—so completely shameless. It was hard to believe this was the same centaur who apologized for walking, who always put everyone else’s comfort above her needs. But here she was, writhing in the grass of someone else’s yard, begging to be fucked, without a care in the world for who noticed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The sound she made was so grateful, he had to stop himself from racing down to kiss her. Harlan scrambled around to sit on her belly, his back turned to Yvonne now, and her cock staring him head on. It was shiny and throbbing from his work, the flowing pre-cum making her body slippery. Harlan scooted down, and leaned back slowly, spreading his legs wide.

“Please hurry,” she whined.

“I know, baby, I’m almost there.” Harlan cupped the head of her cock, tracing the rim. “You’re gonna be so deep inside me, I promise.”

She exhaled shakily. He used his pre-cum soaked hands to wet his cunt, and finger himself a little to prepare for what was coming. Then, slowly, he pushed Yvonne inside him.

The head was always the most difficult part to take. It was not made for a hole as small as his, and Harlan felt it every time. He exhaled deeply to make as much room for it as possible, pressing it inside a little at a time. A hot gush of her pre-cum spilled over his cunt.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his own little cock throbbing now.

“Are you okay?” Yvonne asked. She was still herself after all.

“I’m fine, just relax.”

Harlan took his own advice and took another deep breath. With the added slick, he was able to pop the head of her cock inside him. And immediately gasp, cunt stretched so wide already. He felt the flared rim pushing against his insides. It almost hurt to take so much of her, and it was just the head.

“Fucking fuck,” he swore, trying to catch his breath.

“Harlan?” Yvonna called, more than a little worried.

“I’m okay.” He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip and whimpered. The rest of Yvonne’s cock stretched out before him. “You’re so fucking big.”

Behind him, he heard a thump, like she’d collapsed back into the grass. “Y-you’re really, really tight.”

That was all the motivation he needed. Harlan took her shaft and guided more of it inside. Smaller and smoother than her head, the shaft was easier to take, but it was still massive. He had his mouth hanging open in a silent moan the whole time, filling himself with more and more and more of her cock, but there was still so much more left. When the head of her cock tapped his cervix, he writhed in pleasure, moaning like he’d never been fucked in his life. In the end, he hadn’t even taken half.

“I-I can’t fit anymore,” he gasped. “I’m so full, I’m so full of your cock, baby.”

Yvonne choked on air. “F-f-ahh-nn!”

Harlan moved by grabbing her sides and pushing. He felt every inch of the dick that slid out, and didn’t make it very far before pulling himself back down. They moaned together, completely crazed with lust. He continued at that slow pace, all he could manage, but it was plenty for both of them.

Yvonne had gone perfectly still for his sake, no more thrashing around. But he felt her breathing hard underneath him, her belly heaving as he fucked himself on her cock. Feeling her move—he wished he had a free hand he could rub himself off, but it took everything he had to hold on. He had no choice but to surrender himself to the feeling of being so full he thought he’d burst. He watched the miniscule amount he’d managed to fit inside disappear into his cunt, and compared it to the rest left over. He whimpered at the thought of more.

There was no way it was possible to fit more of her inside him, and he knew that. Not unless he was fine with a few ruptured organs. But fuck, it would be incredible. If he could take all of Yvonne and truly fuck himself on her entire cock, fuck her as deeply and thoroughly as she fucked him, there would be go going back. He might not ever do anything else. Every spring, he’d fuck her until she screamed and begged and came as many times as she needed to satisfy her estrous for the day. And then he’d do it again the next day.

His legs trembled, but he had to go faster. He yanked himself up and down, not wanting to hurt her, but fuck, he needed this. He needed Yvonne so badly, he needed to pound himself on her cock, to take as much of it as he possibly could.

“I love you,” he rasped. “I love you so much, I love how you feel, I wish we could stay like this. Fuck.”

“I—” Yvonne tried, voice broken and shaky. “I—Ha—”

He laughed dizzily. “It’s okay, if you can’t—”

“I—I’m gonna come!”

Harlan was just pulling her back out when it happened. Her cock twitched and burst inside his cunt, flooding him with her cum. He absolutely couldn’t take it anymore.

He didn’t even pull her out before furiously jerking off his t-dick. Neglected for so long, it didn’t take long for him to start bucking and moaning into his own hand. His cunt was slippery enough that he didn’t need any help, but if he needed any, cum leaked out the side of his hole in abundance.

Yvonne’s cock shrunk enough to pop out on its own. He gasped at the loss, but moaned for a different reason. Like a popped cork, all of her cum spilled out at once. It drenched his fur, drenched her stomach, and it felt endless.

Harlan arched his back and came hard. There was nothing that could have driven him over the edge faster, and he laid there for what felt like minutes, waves of ecstasy crashing over his mind and rippling through his shaking body.

It felt deathly quiet when he came back to himself. The evening had turned to a definitive night, stars twinkling above. The party music was still going on, somewhere. The only sound he cared about was Yvonne’s breathing, her belly still gently moving him up and down.

“That was awesome,” he concluded.

Yvonne laughed, groggy from her own orgasm. “Mhmm.”

He sighed, content. “I don’t really want to go back to the party.”

“Mm. Me neither.”

“Do you want to just go back to your place? Watch a movie or something?”

“That sounds nice.“

“Or we can go for round two?”

“Umm.” Harlan couldn’t see her, but he knew she was biting her lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiled into the starry night. “Whatever you need.”

-

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[satqrnsrings]

BEYOND THE WALLS prologue

Jean Kirstein × F! Original Character (Attack on Titan)

RATING SFW

WARNINGS Slow Burn. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of Death. Graphic Violence/Injuries. Enemies to Lovers. Rivalry. Eventual Romance.

ANNALISE KLEIN HAD her arms upon an old wooden fence, picking at the tainted bark softly. Her hair, which had grown lighter due to the summer’s warmth, framed her freckled face. She wore a small smile on her face, one that grew as the girl and her friend shared anecdotes of the previous days, as they did frequently together.

Her friend, Lyra, was one Annalise had known for almost all her life. The two had almost the very same interests, and evenly the same smarts. However, Lyra had features strikingly opposite to the girl; With bright, auburn hair and emerald eyes, she was nothing short of breathtaking.

Annalise’s sharp laugh echoed through the empty yard as she brought a hand up to stifle it.

“. . . She thinks I’m going to be playing school with you forever!” Lyra dramatically waved her hands about, groaning in protest. “I don’t think either of us want that.”

The darker haired girl hummed in agreement. “I’d rather die than be a teacher,” her lip curled. “Especially to those idiot boys in our class.”

The other girl giggled lightly, but it quickly died down. A few beats of silence passed before Lyra spoke up once more, in a more solemn tone than before.

“What’re you going to do when you grow up, Anna?”

“I’m joining the Military Police, duh.” The girl replied, a scoff escaping her lips. She glanced at her friend, nudging her subtly with her elbow. “You?”

Lyra wore an unreadable expression on her face at Annalise’s words. Something swirled behind her eyes, and she noticed how the girl had further tensed, knuckles turned white as she gripped the fence she sat on.

“What, so you’ll babysit the King for the rest of your life?” She snarled, but there was scarcely a bite behind her words. “Why not the Garrison? Or the Scouts?”

At the mention of the former, Anna stiffened.

“The Scouts? Are you serious? That’s a death wish.”

“Like the Police are much better.” Lyra’s expression turned sour. Annalise let a huff out, propping herself up to get a better look at her friends face. She quirked a brow.

“It’s much safer. Plus, I’d be as far away from the action as possible. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like the dream.” At this, her friend shrugged.

Lyra stopped flailing her legs, instead resting them on the bark beneath her. “All that training, and for what?”

“I’ve always wanted this, you’re not changing my mind.”

“I’m not trying to.”

It fell silent once more between the two, tension palpable. Annalise found herself digging her boot into the ground, coating it in mud, something her mother would surely scold her on for when she got home. Though, she’d clean them herself.

Anna and Lyra rarely fought. But, even when they did, they never held a grudge for long. Anna reassured herself of that in her mind, but still didn’t spare her friend a glance. They were still young, but knew how sacred their friendship was to eachother.

Annalise parted her lips, but her friend beat her to it.

“My mum will want me home.” Lyra spoke, sliding off the fence and landing on the ground with a thump. She brushed down her ragged clothes briefly before giving a tight lipped smile to her friend. “Bye.”

The other girl watched as she walked away, confusion clouding her thoughts. Did her friend truly feel that the Military Police was the worst option? Surely not. Her mother had always spoken highly of that Regiment - perhaps it had something to do with the fact her father had previously been in it.

Still, Annalise had always kept her mind set on it.

There was no way in hell she’d join the Scouts, and she was confident that no one would change her mind. Not Lyra, not—

“Is that Annalise?”

As if the girls day couldn’t have gotten any worse. She would have recognised that taunting voice anywhere. It made her stomach churn with disgust, hatred, envy.

Jean Kirstein had been out to get Anna since day one. Ever since the two got paired up in a class years ago, ever since he got the higher grade, despite doing the same project. Ever since he continued to best her in almost everything.

He hated her just as much as she hated him. Even if it was all fuelled by the same jealousy for each other.

“Not today, Kirstein.” The girl managed to grumble, shoulders slumping further as she heard his footsteps draw closer. She took a quick glance back, catching the glow of his bared teeth, the shit-eating grin that seemed to never leave his face.

Jean sauntered over, leaning against the very fence she did too. From the corner of Anna’s eye, she watched his lips form into a mocking pout.

“Aw, why not?”

She didn’t answer, instead averting her gaze, curling her foot further into the dirt. Of course, he noticed this.

“What’s wrong, Anna? You aren’t happy to see me?”

Obviously not.

Finally, she sucked in a breath and glared at him. Eyebrows furrowed, she clenched her fists ever so slightly. He knew just how to get under her skin.

The girl grumbled, “don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you what, Anna?” He smirked once more, folding his arms. Had he gone taller since the last time she saw him? The both were merely eleven, but he had always towered over her.

Annalise pushed herself off the fence, not even sparing him a second glance before she begun to walk off. It was inevitable that he would follow her.

It didn’t take long for him to catch up. With his legs being much longer, he had his hands in his pockets, a careless aura about him.

“Leave me alone, Jean.” She mumbled, but alas he wouldn’t let up. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Were you just born annoying?”

He put a hand to his chest, exaggerating his movements. He pouted again. “Your words hurt me, you know that, Anna?”

Annalise didn’t waste a second before replying, fighting her own small grin off her face. “I’m glad.”

As the girl turned a sharp corner, through the alleyway of two houses, she groaned inwardly as he continued to follow her. Attempting to pick up her pace, she watched as her surroundings grew familiar again, just as she approached her home.

She glanced back at Jean, who was still just a few steps behind her. “You’re still following me? That’s a little obsessive, don’t you think?”

Jean laughed emptily, “if that’s what you think.”

The girl grumbled again. Was it so hard to give up every once in a while? She watched as he glanced about, clearly unfamiliar in this part of Trost. Following his gaze, she watched his eyes trail up the Walls.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and trudged up the stairs to her door. She knew his gaze was on her, but she ignored it, slipping her shoes off before disappearing from his sight.

Annalise knew that he shared the same want of joining the Military Police, but that didn’t explain why his eyes lingered on the Walls so intently. Surely, he hadn’t thought of joining the Scouts?

Surely, he didn’t wonder what was beyond the Walls, too?

< masterlist. next. >

author notes.

first chapter yay! feel free to comment re blog or like :p

[harrison-abbott]

A Trip to Paris - Part Three

Down the street there’s a famous cemetery.

Waking up in the young morning you decide to go there.

It’s not that far a walk.

The graveyard is clamped off from the modern world;

Walled off, literally: but, when you head in there it’s like

Jumping back a couple of centuries.

Each person has his or her own tremendous tomb.

Small little houses of stone, pretty, bleak and with moss

Growing atop their rooftops, and often with stained

Glass within their interiors, with Latin and French

Words inscribed in the stone alongside the religious references.

The leaves of the trees are scattered or fluttering or

Lilting along the path as you venture,

Landing in your hair or making pirouettes on the pathways

In the November breeze.

Oh, and all in auburn and wine reds and sad yellows.

First on your radar is Marcel Proust’s gravestone and you find

It and it’s a handsome tomb, of black, with his name in gold

Lettering across its front, and, there are flowers lain atop it –

Fresh flowers – and it must be exceptional to have somebody come

To your burial place so long after you left, to leave you flowers.

[What you say, to Marcel, is, thanks Marcel, for the influence,

And rest in peace, sir.]

Buried in the same yard is Oscar Wilde.

When you get to his grave, the masonry is fenced off with plastic.

And there’s a sign on it from the council saying

‘PLEASE DO NOT DO ANYTHING SILLY AROUND THIS

GRAVESTONE BECAUSE IF THERE IS ANY DAMAGE DONE

TO IT THEN THE FAMILY WILL HAVE TO PAY FOR THE REPAIRS.’

But there are bouquets left under the plastic fences, too.

That’s Oscar Wilde …

His skeleton is underneath you. A chilling magical morbid feeling.

You compliment Oscar for his words, as well, and then you bounce

Elsewhere along the cemetery.

There are elder women placing flowers around the gravestones;

With that curt placid hardworking way that older ladies labour.

Next on the list is the lead singer of The Doors.

When you get there his tomb is completely incongruous to all that

You’ve witnessed thus far … for it is properly sealed off with

Metal gates, and the pipes of them are plastered with multicoloured

Stickers, tacky and out of place and belonging to a lost modernity.

There’s a photo of him. Flowers, as well. [You were never that

Into the Doors, but, the into to Apocalypse Now remains among

Your favourite movie sequences.]

And it is bizarre how a rock musician seems to hold such an impress

Over other artists, other people in general …

Marcel’s bit was totally different.

What is it about popular music that makes people so swoony?

Just a question, observation.

Okay let’s venture somewhere else.

When you leave the graveyard – Paris and its rapping pulse come back,

And you’re suddenly back in the veins of it again.

Where next?

Down to the botanical gardens

Across the other side of the Seine.

The Seine seems cross and not to be messed with and you feel

Careful as you travail the bridge.

The early winter has made dormant much of the botanical slots, but,

There are various evergreen trees from perplexing parts

Of the world that are still here and in full bloom and some of them

Are mighty spectacles far far older than yourself: if one of their limbs

Were to be cut off it would kill you in an instant if you stood underneath.

At the end of the gardens you reach the streets once more,

And turn a different way,

And come across a campus of one of Paris’ universities.

There are many young folks spilling about, with their budding faces

Perched upwards, speaking in mini rings that you have no part of.

Makes you envious to not be that age anymore; with that stab of nostalgia

From your own student days that occurred so long ago.

But – good luck to them, bright chaps: you wish them well!

Back to the hotel.

As you go up the stairwell, the cleaning lady is doing the laundry

And the floors and the bin bags all at once, and she also works

With a manic intensity and you step over the bags and bounce up the

Tired carpets that line the stairs;

And think about what this building used to be: because it’s an old

Place and was obviously not always a hotel;

And the room you have now is small and right in the city centre

And thus you think of who might have lived here back in time.

The hotel is ace, though; you really dig its atavistic quality.

Charge the phone up for a while inside your room.

Then head out into the addictive streets again.

Without much destination. Just wander.

The raw smells of coffee from the cafes,

And the ladies sitting under them with the wide eyeliner;

The shining pastry shops with their golden bread and croissants,

Where well dressed people move articulately inside;

The gaudy funk from the cheese shops and the grizzly

Slabs of meat, the dead animal in slippery plastic.

Then the chocolat shops with their exquisitely priced

Squares of cocoa and sugar displayed like wedding rings in the

Window frames;

Next to the niche shops that sell fancy electric lights;

Or a place that offers antique clocks; or this joint selling French

Paperbacks with brown pages that you wish you had the knowledge

To read; or these gnarly laundry joints with trundling machine machines

And women sitting under them gossiping about who knows what;

Or sandwich cafes with these sweating baguettes through the glass

With tired lettuce and tomato, pig and beef, all slippered up in that

Homecoming vibe that bread gives off when wrapped around.

There are a few spittles of rain.

It said on the weather report earlier that it was supposed to be

Raining heavily by now; but predictions of the weather are

As inaccurate and chaotic as anything else.

You get back to your hotel again.

The stairs smell like chlorine and they pingpong with echoes and

There’s a lady wanting to go down whilst you up, so you pause and let her pass.

Merci. She says.

Merci, you say.

[pictopye]

Figure Fridays #2

TLDR: First selection of figures picked by friends & family; Haslin 1:10 scale progress check-in; Figure #1 Last Alliance Elven Archer WIP; Failed on taking enough WIP Progress shots - will improve! Start on 1:10 Astarion figure. LONG (Rambley) Version: It's #Figure Friday - so here's a breakdown update as to where things are at from last week!

Last Friday: I asked friends & family on Facebook to pick some numbers/roll some dice for me to blind grab some miniatures from my craft-box to work on.

The current list is: 01. Last Alliance Elven Archer - LOTR 02. Glorfindel Lord of the West/House of the Golden Flower - LOTR/SIL 03. Gimli son of Gloin - LOTR 04. Strong - Fallout 3 05. Gondorian Warrior - LOTR 06. Pippin - LOTR 07. Nazgul #1 - LOTR 08. Cooper Howard/The Ghoul - Fallout (TV) 09. CX404/Dogmeat - Fallout (TV) 10. Ori - The Hobbit 11. Elrond with Mount - The Hobbit/LOTR

(Once I've worked my way through this list I plan to do another blind draw selection from folks who choose to participate!)

I then double-checked my clean-up on the first line up of models - ensuring sprue bits were removed, all mold-lines well sanded/scraped off, and prepped figures for priming.

The weather was alright (though a monsoon storm was on the way!) I lined my first seven up for priming on a paint stick with some tack. I used Vallejo black primer to base-coat everything. I had some gusts come up and get me when I was trying my best with the white Vallejo primer for a Zenithal highlight stage. I still need to work on perfecting how much flow medium to primer I need to use as well as usage technique to reduce speckles; but over all I was pleased with my 2nd use of an airbrush!

(I had primed my 2x 1:10 scale figures a few weeks prior but hadn't started documentation at that point. It had felt pretty easy - but I can tell more technique practice is needed to really 'get good'.)

I then proceeded to absolutely get sucked-into 'the zone' and by the time I realized I hadn't taken any WIP/progress photos I had done the base coat, some mid layers, and started detailing....

Suffice to say it was a facepalm meets a forehead slap moment; and hopefully will be a lesson learned, and retained! I also had prepped a small base for the figure with some muddy ground terrain mix, sand & gravel from my yard, and a small tuft of grass. I primed it all with black, and added some mid-tones to bring up some of the details. I then affixed Figure #1, and started detailing/blending the figure with the base. Which is where we're currently left off on - since the paint needs time to dry.

Other WIPS: (mostly prior to the establishing of Facepalm #Figure Fridays) I had been working on my 1:10 scale 3D printed Halsin from Baldur's Gate 3. I realized (belatedly) that I should have been snapping progress pics as I went along - but it's how I even came to the idea of starting up doing #Figure Fridays, so now you (and I) know that even continued 'oops' moments can have good results! I already had assembled, cleaned up, added to, primed, and base-coated him by the time I really had that thought. I have been working on his face details, and good gods nailing the hair color down has been a PITA! It's warmer than your standard medium brown but not as warm as auburn/reds; lovely for sure, but it's been a challenge to replicate. The clothing/leather/armor though has been a pretty easy-breezy painting experience though, so that's been really nice! I started him with an undertone painting of mixed greens - which really has lent well to the figure remaining cohesive as I work along.

And the last WIP update: After having gotten so far on Figure #1 I had wanted to use up what was on my pallet so it wouldn't go to waste. The colors currently left over were not ones usable on Halsin due to their cool-tone nature; So I started applying an undertone wash of blues, purples, and violets on my 1:10 scale figure of Astarion - also from Baldur's Gate 3. To replicate the success I was having on Halsin with his warm-green undertones. I did manage to catch myself before I completely doused Astarion - to show that yup I had used a Zenithal primer. XD Progress lol!

[givsmn2k05]

Little Birdie

785 word count

triggers: animal cruelty, animal harm, animal death

"Gianna! Gianna, come look!"

The auburn raised her gaze from her book to her kid sister of 7 years, her mane of flaming red like a halo in the sunlight. The child's face was alight in excitement as she bounded across the yard, grass stuck on her clothes.

"What, Gemma?"

"I found a baby birdie." The girl exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on her bare feet now as she stood at her sister's bent knees.

Gianna hummed, returning to her book. "Let it be. If your scent lingers then the momma won't take it back."

"It won't fly though. I think its wing broke."

Gianna paused at that. A moment, then she closed her book and set it on the bench, coming to her feet. "Show me,"

Gemma took her sister's hand and guided her to the pond behind their home. At the base of a towering oak was a collection of Gemma's rocks and sticks and a chick, about the size of a toddler's palm, cocooned by one of Gemma's shawls.

"See!" Gemma declared, startling the bird, which let out a chirp and flapped one wing, the other twitching at its side.

"Not so loud, Kid. You'll scare it." Gianna said, coming to a knee. Carefully, she scooped up the hatchling. It flailed hopelessly in her palm as she examined it. "Looks like a hummingbird." Looking up into the limbs of the tree granting them shade, she spotted what looked to be a nest, quite a ways up. "Must've fallen out." She returned to her examination and realized that the flittering wing was indeed broke. "Doesn't look broke," She said, petting the warped limb, "Just some residue on the wing, likely bearing her down."

"So she'll be okay?" Gemma asked, leaning in over her sister's shoulder to watch.

"She'll be fine. Go and retrieve me a rag, would you? We can get her cleaned up."

The seven-year-old ambled off towards their house, a skip in her step. "I'ma tell Momma we rescued a birdie!"

Gianna hummed in acknowledgement, enthralled by the creature flipping back and forth. It's feathers were green and blue and brown and shined almost iridescent under the noon sun. "Aren't you a pretty little one," She crooned, bopping the top of its head with her finger. It chirped up at her, tiny malleable beak opening and closing to snip at her. Gianna laughed, amused, and moved closer to the shore of the pond. "Feisty,"

Reaching down, she dunked the chick into the shallow water, fist closed about it, a tight pressure on the creature. She pulled back and it chirped again, so she submerged it into the water once more, longer, rubbing it into the water's soil. She felt a crunch. When she raised it above the surface, its chirp was weaker, choked.

She opened her fist and both wings flapped, equally futile now. "Aw," She doted, "Both your wings broke now, little birdie?" It flopped in her hand, trying to run over her fingers, but she clutched it tight. "Silly thing."

She admired it a moment longer before pinching its head between her two fingers and squeezing. The chick shrieked, writhing, trying to escape. Gianna took her time, gradually increasing the pressure until a sweet snap rang through and the bird went limp in her hold.

"Hm," The girl hummed, "Kinda like cracking an egg. Apt." She suspended the body by its head, turning it left and right, before reaching into the water for a decent sized rock. She set the body into a dip in the water's soil before covering it with the rock, insuring it wouldn't rise and be found. Sure it was secure, she rinsed her hands.

"Gianna! I've the cloth!"

Gianna turned at the waist and looked at her sister, remorseful. "I'm sorry, Kid."

Gemma slowed in her approach, gaze moving from her shawl nest at the base of the tree, then to Gianna and her empty hands. "Where'd the baby birdie go?"

"Her wing really wasn't broken. I sprinkled some water on her to get her cleaned up and she hopped out of my hand and flew off."

Gemma's mouth pulled into a deep frown, "But I wanted to clean the birdie."

Gianna sighed, reaching out, "I know, Hon. I'm sorry, c'mere." She embraced the girl and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, "But at least she's okay. She went up into the tree, so she likely just went back to her siblings."

Gemma sighed but nodded, relenting. "Okay. That's good. Maybe I'll see her again."

Gianna laughed, ruffling the girl's curls, "Most likely, Hon. Wanna go for a swim."

The seven-year-old perked up at that, "Yes! We can play frisbee!"

"Sounds good to me, Kid. C'mon,"

[fatherofgoblins]

Night by Roses

Prolog part. 1

       A stout wooden wall surrounded the outer yard and a low fire was sparking and hissing under a wooden canopy at "Lion's Dandy".  Mud filled the yard as four woodsmen sat and smoked from wood pipes, hardly making a sound over the rain falling around them.  Twelve patrons sat in the inner common with a working stove and bar along with three hot brazier's.  One of which had two men, cloaked and hooded, cooking a set of squirrels and a rabbit.  Two elderly women and a young man escorting them North to TallOaks sat looking over a map and sipping wine talking about their travels.  One patron sat at the bar sipping green tea wearing a long green hooded cloak making small talk with the cook.  

       Two knights and a squire sat at a table sipping an unappetizing cheap wine.  The squire looked sick but the bigger of the two knights looked near sober.  He had been poorly sneaking glances at the younger woman at another table. She was sitting with her husband and mother.  The wear of the road was heavy on the three of them and she was more than annoyed with his roving eyes.  The other knight seemed displeased with the taller knights staring as well but hadn't said anything, yet. Perhaps it was age or that his squire was in no shape to help him in a fight.  The lad would more likely get himself hurt falling over drunk.  Jillian Rosilin was the waitress of the common and she was another annoyed witness. Every few minutes she was at their table blocking his view to the others. She knew the man well enough and hadn't much fear of him.  "Need a refill Tom? You look dry" she would say with a slightly obvious squint of discontent and ignoring his title. It had little effect on the man.  The other woman looked little more than a girl and couldn't have been over 19 with Auburn hair.  The young man with her, her husband, was possibly the most annoyed but was trying to ignore it seeing well the knight still carried sword and dagger.   It looked like a cruel thing with a dark bronze pommel and a black leather hand and half handle.  A scabbard of plane dark unadorned leathers had a dozen nicks and scratches from fights in the not so far ago past.  

       Jillian was getting more annoyed with him and started thinking she might dump the drink in his lap next when the couple and mother stood and went to the stairs to retire to their rented apartment.  Sir Tom was near to saying something to the young lady as she left but the sudden interference of Jillian cut him off. "Mind your little tongue little man, she doesn't want anything from you." "I bet I could teach that lad of hers a thing or two about what she wants" Sir Tom replied before rolling his eyes over Jillian's body.  He was much more drunk than he seemed, she realized now.  " You are far too crass!," Said the other knight. " I give you my hope that you find manners with your time in the field.  The marches will be a harsher fight then you may think,"  he continued as he stood. 

       At first Tom looked amused as the other knight stood to leave but his mocking smile suddenly started to twist into a sneer.  He went to stand with a hand on hilt but before he was out from the table the squire intervened.  Red wine and vomit shot from the drunken boy's mouth, hitting the older knight on his pants and boots.  “Kenith! You drunken fool! You know you will be cleaning this, Damn you!” Tom sat back down after scooting his chair to a new table, laughing the whole time.  The older Knight tried to insist his squire then clean up the mess and Jillian was tempted to let him but insisted he leave and let the lad rest.  “He'd likely make it worse how drunk he is!” mused Tom all while laughing.  

An hour later and the mess was clean.  Jillian was washing off her hands with wet rags in the rain.  Tom had eventually gotten down and helped and even carried the covered table and chair out to clean themselves in the rain.  The only other patrons remaining were 2 woodsmen smoking and the one sipping green tea at the bar in a green hooded cloak  All the rest left to rooms or to wander through the rain to homes of their own.  Miranda and Neil were cleaning the bar and inner common and would be working all night but it was almost time for Jillian to leave for the night and walk the two miles back home with her father and younger siblings.  She was almost 21 and could run the whole way home in the light.  A shoulder length of sandy brown hair laid clinging to her head as much as her wet clothes clung to her body.  Tom had been nice enough while he was helping clean but his eyes were barely hidden as they kept roving over her.

"You know my,." Tom was cut off by Jillian quickly "Save it, sir. I have better things than you to deal with tonight. '' and with that she was walking away from him and back inside the inn's common room and bar.  "Do you need me to pull out anything from the storage? I can probably get Tom the pussycat to do it". Miranda laughed as did Tom Detrell from outside. "Nah, get on home dear. There are only three rooms being used and they ain't seem like early risers. Anyway, don't you have a father to take care of? Get home dear" Eli, the cook, added "be a safe walk home dear and tell’em ‘ello for us," after that she was about ready to leave.  The rain was as constant as it had been all day but there had been no lightning or even so much as a breeze.  “Take a box lanturn dear”, Miranda had said as she looked out into the rain.  “Nah, its a flat walk. I'll be home in a hurry” and she was off into the rain.  

The inn was low on candles as was most of the RoseWood and she didn't want to waste one on a quick walk home.  The shortage coming from the new trade deals made by the Royal Council of Kaya.  Besides. She figured there was enough light for her short walk. She had been working at the inn for almost five years and had done the walk in worse weather than this.  Short out of town she started to doubt herself though as the wind started to turn up and a clap of thunder could be heard far off. She was near the turn and straight lane through the swamps and bogs of the Orchid glades and decided to hurry her pace as the dimming light of the setting sun left her in growing darkness.   The rain started to turn as the wind started to howel and the clouds started to spin faster and faster until there was a funnel cloud reaching for the ground.  Jillian hid herself low in a ditch by the side of the road when she saw the twister. The sound was deafening.  Trees were ripped from the ground and thrown through the air and muddy water was flying in every direction  around her for several terrible moments.  Eventually the twister drove itself away.  Jillian had to lay in the deep mud and waters of the Orchid glades to avoid the windstream. The sun had set as the cyclone tore through the wetlands.  Rain fell hard and constant as she slowly crawled back onto the road and tried to get a sense of the world by intermittent crashes of lightning.  Soon the darkness began to grow a different kind dark in her mind as tales from childhood started to fill her imagination.  Stories of creatures like the Halu that would stand like trees in the swamp and snatch passers by in the dark and of allegatores that would stand up and run a person down on long legs like a dog.  The worst stories were of the swamp people from the South East, the Stevrins.  They were at least real or real enough, the stories of seeing in the dark and talking to trees seemed impossible but the attacks at night were true enough.  They were said to be cannibals and would eat you alive and worse.  That seemed true enough too if the horror stories from further Southeast were to be trusted.  Stories of whole villages burnt down and left in a grizzly show for whoever was unfortunate enough to find it.  

It was impossible for Jillian to find her direction in the dark and rain and the lightning was coming ever less and less as she tried to stumble to somewhere familiar. Soon the rain was just a drizzle and she was completely lost.  The trail was gone after she tried to go around a fallen tree and went waist deep in muck.  The trees of the swamp were groping claws as she stumbled through muck and mud and water.  

“Click click”, “hissssss” and a twig broke off to her left in the darkness.  The rain had died and the wind was gone.  The sounds of the Swamp were all around her.  "Hisss" tap tap tap  "What was that?” Jillian asked herself as she heard a whistling sound and another click "that didn't sound normal".  Sloosh, “that was mud, something is walking over there" she knew now.  She had lived in these wetlands too long to not be sure.  “Click click” came from just to her right, only a few feet away.  Suddenly the clouds shifted and the full moon peaked through illuminatingthe swamps and the person ahead of her. Standing in the swamp was a pale man with something in his hand.  She gasped as quietly as she could on impulse, trying to be hidden still, and another body moved out from a tree just five feet from her. 

       She turned and was running too fast for it to grab her.  Keen ears had stopped her from walking right into an ambush.  Two more bodies joined the chase as she ran with every muscle in her body.  Nothing else existed but run as she pushed through bushes and water. Over muddy banks and fallen trees and through muck she ran and stumbled.  Suddenly she was in the light. “Tom?!” She screamed as she dove to his feet. Instinct made him draw near four feet of steal bastard sword from scabbard as five painted Stevrens came into the light wielding one rusted Hunting blade of two feet of rusting iron, two rusted kitchen knives of different kind, a woodchopping ax and a heavy wooden branch fit for clubbing.  Tom Detrell wore no armor but he was fast and young and had enough fights to drive on instinct.  The first rushed and was paired before losing his wielding arm at the bicep as the second two rushed past on left and right trying to keep pressure on. He caught the left in the face as he lifted an arm and then he blocked the blow coming from the right. The fourth and fifth tried to rush but Tom kicked the wounded men into their way as the one armed man in the middle fell.  A stab in the throat of one and he was back slashing the one who tried to come to his right, slicing out guts.  With three men bleeding to death on the ground and one dead already, the last turned to run and was grabbed by the neck and a blade shoved deep through his back to the hilt.  He then took his club and brain-dredged the bleeding men to death.  Tom stopped himself after a moment and remembered Jillian. 

She was sitting on the ground with her head in her hands hyperventilating too badly to cry.  Her lungs were on fire. “The bastards are dead now my lady” said the blood drenched knight.  She did not hear him until he walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder.  She shreked as she felt his hand suddenly but heard his voice.  “I think it's okay Jillian I killed the Five of'em. you are safe.”  looking up, his face was a horrifying mock of shadows and red. The thunder was far away in the distance once more.  She looked at the ruin of bodies behind him and was numb.  She felt nothing but her burning lungs and his hand as he went to pick her up, “please no!" she jolted to her feet, electrified by the contact. “Please don’t touch me, Sir?"  she whimpered out now. “No no of course not my lady” looking around he found the torch he brought and picked it up.  A moment later and it was burning bright and dry again.  “Thank you ,Sir '' trying to respect his title as much as possible.  Her gratitude wasn’t lost on him but she was clearly too shaken to touch and he was being chivalrous “Of course m’lady.  Come we ought to get to your home best we get moving. Those bastards must have been after the storm looking for opportunity.  Glad I found them instead.  Miranda asked me to follow you just after you left but I told her I had no point but after that whirlwind l figured you had to be caught in it and I came to look for you. I was lucky I saw your tracks in the mud at all.  The road was just this way.  I think your fathers farm is only a mile further down the road. We will be there soon.'' He was trying to keep her mind on the present and away from the storm and the dark but Jillian had froze.  Tom stopped too to look at her.  "Tom, who is that?" Jillian asked him in a flat terrified tone.  He was by her side in an instant, looking into the dark with her. Standing just outside the light of the torch was a dark figure with a gleaming claw.  Tom tried to draw his sword again and he shoved her behind himself with a hard elbow.  “Run!” he yelled as footsteps in the mud came rushing at them.  A few moments later Jillian was shivering under a fallen tree.  She had only heard the short fight. Clang clang swish and a wet sharp sound over and over again. 

[greenpestdefense]

In Winter Season, How To Keep Your Home Rodent-Free - Green Pest Defense

Keeping your home rodent-free during the winter in Maine, where temperatures can drop significantly, is essential for both your property's integrity and your family's health. Here are some tips to help you prevent rodents from entering your home:

Seal Entry Points: Inspect the exterior of your home for any gaps, cracks, or holes. Mice can squeeze through tiny openings. Seal these entry points with caulk, weatherstripping, or other appropriate materials.

Secure Doors and Windows: Ensure that doors and windows are properly sealed. Use door sweeps to block gaps at the bottom of doors, and install weatherstripping around windows to prevent rodents from finding easy access.

Screen Vents and Chimneys: Install mesh screens over vents and chimneys to prevent rodents from entering through these openings. Ensure that existing screens are in good condition and free of holes.

Keep a Tidy Yard: Trim overgrown vegetation, especially near your home's foundation, as rodents can use these as hiding spots. Remove debris, woodpiles, and other potential nesting areas from around your property.

Secure Food Sources: Store food in airtight containers, including pet food. Keep your kitchen clean and promptly clean up any spills or crumbs. Regularly dispose of garbage in sealed containers.

Use Rodent-Repellent Plants: Plant natural deterrents around your home. Certain plants, such as mint, lavender, and rosemary, are known to repel rodents. Consider placing these near entry points.

Set Traps: Place traps in areas where rodents are likely to travel, such as along walls, near entry points, or in areas with signs of activity. Check and reset traps regularly, and dispose of captured rodents promptly.

Apply Rodent-Repellent Products: Consider using rodent-repellent sprays or granules around the perimeter of your home. These products often contain natural ingredients that deter rodents from approaching.

Maintain a Clean Home: Regularly clean your home, especially areas that are less frequently used. Rodents are attracted to clutter, so keeping things tidy can reduce potential hiding spots.

Inspect Attics and Basements: Regularly inspect attics and basements for signs of rodent activity, such as droppings, chewed materials, or nests. If you find any evidence, take immediate action to address the issue.

Consult with Professionals: If you have a persistent rodent problem, consider hiring a pest control professiona from Green Pest Defense which is the largest pest control in Auburn, Lewiston, Bangor, Portland, Brunswick, York, Augusta, Falmouth, Yarmouth, Saco, cumberland and more locations in Maine. They can assess your home, identify entry points, and implement effective strategies to eliminate and prevent rodent infestations.

Remember that preventing rodents from entering your home requires a combination of strategies. By taking these steps, you can help keep your home rodent-free during the winter in Maine or any other season.

[dansrubbish]

Dan's Rubbish Removal & Dumpster Rentals, LLC

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[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Seven

THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER, 1919

Tommy was playing cards with his brothers, drinking beer, and listening to their laughter. The Garrison was busy that evening, busier than usual for a Friday. He figured that it was due to the coming holidays, and the sense of ease that hung heavy in the air around that time of year.

The sense of ease that he was, of course, immune to.

Anna and Harry alternated between serving them through the private window to the snug, and he tried not to look at her when he heard her voice, instead opting for cool indifference. He hadn’t spoken to her since they last saw the horse. The horse which did not have a name.

His mind was elsewhere. The crate of guns were still in Charlie Strong’s yard, and his uncle had, quite adamantly, refused to move them during the snowy season.

Too much ice in the canals, his uncle said. It’ll get my boat stuck, and that will do us no good. Springtime, Thomas. We’ll move them come spring.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his uncle was right. Winter was here, and that would surely cause delays with shipments all across the globe, not just smuggled goods in Small Heath. At the very least, no one, as far as he knew, had come looking for the guns yet. In time, though. In time.

He needed a plan in place for the guns by the first thaw.

“Tom,” Arthur’s rasping voice tore him from his thoughts. “It’s your play.”

“Ah,” Tommy glanced at his cards. “So it is.”

“Where has your mind been?” John gave him a lopsided grin.

“I’d reckon that I could name a few places,” Arthur tilted his head toward the bar, which incited a hearty cackle from John.

“My mind hasn’t been anywhere else but here,” Tommy fanned his cards out on the table, revealing a winning hand. “Pay up.”

Both brothers groaned in unison and shoved the pile of their collective wagers to him.

“Another game,” Arthur bellowed, slamming an open palm onto the table. “I’m not leaving this fuckin’ place till I win.”

“It looks like you’re never fuckin’ leaving then.” John spat his toothpick onto the floor.

“Alright, alright, settle down.” Tommy shook his head and shuffled the cards. He dealt each one of them a hand and took a measured sip of his pint before plotting a strategy for the next round.

As John was about to announce his first move, there was a knock on the main door to the snug.

“Doors unlocked,” Arthur shouted while his eyes were glued to the cards in his hand.

The door slowly creaked open, and Anna poked her head through with a sheepish smile.

“I apologize for interrupting your game,” She motioned to the bucket filled with beer on the table. “Is now a bad time? I figured this pail would have gone warm by now.”

John waved a hand at her, and she made quick work of shuffling in and out of the room to replace their old beer for a fresh one.

Tommy watched her work carefully. Her hair was neatly curled and parted to the side, like always, save for the wild braid he caught a glimpse of when she worked on that fateful game day. From head to toe she was dressed in dark blue, the moody color brightening the auburn of her hair. The apron tied around her waist was crisp and clean, without a single stain in sight. He felt his lips almost twist into a wry smirk.

When she reached across the table for his glass, she caught him staring. She smiled for a breath, seemingly almost frozen in place, and then kept her head down as she finished topping off his drink.

Perhaps he looked at her for a few moments too long, because as soon as the door closed, his brothers started laughing.

“Is that where your mind’s been?”

“I knew it,” Arthur grinned and wagged a finger at him. “Charlie Strong says he saw you leaving his yard with a little red bird a few days ago. Was it her?”

“Could’ve been anyone,” Tommy tilted his head from side to side. “If either of you can beat me in a game tonight, I’ll consider telling you.”

John clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, there’s no shame in it, Tom,” Arthur said as he took a heavy swig from his pint. “She’s good-looking, yeah? When’s the last time you saw a girl that wasn’t doing it for the money?”

Tommy clenched his jaw at his brother’s crass comment. It was meant in jest, surely, but it still struck a nerve. She, Anna, wasn’t special, by any means. He hardly knew a thing about her, she was just another barmaid, and barmaids grew like weeds around the city. A muscle in his jaw feathered from tension.

He hardly knew a thing about her.

He placed a card face down on the table. “Your turn, Arthur.”

They played cards and drank until well after midnight, and much to each of his brother’s dismay, Tommy had the most wins of the evening.

The pub was empty when he left the snug, save for Anna who was wiping down the bar. He spoke before she even noticed he was there.

“Are you almost finished? I’ll walk you home.”

CONTINUE READING

[houseboatisland]

A Shed With a View

September 1950

Skarloey sat under his little canopy, and took in the world.

Through the open half of the shed to his right, across the Wharf and the Big Railway, he could see scores of terraced houses. They were blackened with a few decades worth of soot, but their windows were clean enough. Already, Skarloey could see a few washing lines being pulled in before the rain could start in earnest. That quarter of Crovan's Gate was known affectionately as "The Hammers," because hundreds of laborers employed at The Works and both railways lived there. Mr. Sam lived in Crovan's Gate, Skarloey knew, but he doubted he lived in The Hammers.

Skarloey's railway couldn't count more than a dozen workers as its own, anymore. He wondered momentarily just how many had left his railway to work on the Big one, over the years.

To his left, behind the brick wall, was the shed and workshop. It was often a bleak, musty place, with only candles and the hearth for heating and lighting. There was a window into it within his wall, but Skarloey was sat too far up to use it. Presently he could hear two or three men hammering away at some sort of metal. Most likely repairing a part for Rheneas when he got home.

The workshop was like a timewarp into a bygone era. It was filled with the most basic machinery and tools, like an "oil engine" that belonged to The Owner personally, as the men were so often reminded. How it smelled when they used it! There were also coils upon coils of fraying rope and chains rusting away. And, piled against one wall was a heap of broken water gauges, halved coupling rods, corroded tubes, and other odds and ends which for whatever reason were jealously kept rather than thrown away.

There was a ringing snap. One of the men abruptly cursed, in Sudric, at the top of his lungs. If he could jump, Skarloey very much would have. Something was tossed to land with several 'clinks' further within the shop. Whatever they had been working on must have broken, the old engine surmised, and they had tossed it into the pile of chains in rejection, or simply anger.

Skarloey glanced further down the yard. Three smudgy slate trucks, filled with boulders of coal the size of chairs, slept deeply near the carriage shed. They were more or less his age, he mused. He was sure he had named them at some point or another. Stacks of slates, sorted by color and thickness, accumulated weeds near the Exchange Siding, like abandoned playing cards. The carriage shed seemed more supported by the coaches within it than anything else. The slates of the roof were creeping away from one another.

The rails seemed sewn into the land, rather than built on top of it. Only a few dozen feet of the line from the shed was relatively clear, but the points were absolutely hidden by weeds which crept up to an engine's boiler bottom. They grew in a beautiful auburn color completely unlike anything he had seen in nature, soaked as the ground was with years of coal dust and steam oil. It always tickled Rheneas to roll through them, or rather, bob through. Skarloey chuckled. It reminded him of a time, it must have been forty years back, where one of the drivers had insisted on finishing his shift despite losing one of his shoes halfway through.

Now, only Mr. Hugh or his son drove.

A stagnant puddle was just ahead of him between the rails. It had to have been from the shed water tank, because the rain hadn't started yet. Skarloey took a good look at himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to see a reflection for more than a few moments.

Parts of him were clean enough. Sometimes, when Mr. Hugh or Mr. Sam had lots of time, they would polish his smokebox and funnel. Whenever a really heavy fall of rain was expected, they would sheet him up.

But most of himself was filthy, and there was no way he could have gotten so dirty all at once.

A nasty white trail of limescale trickled downward from his tank cap. Dust and soot seemed to have gotten in every corner and crevice. His cab windows were foggy. His whistle and valves had no shine to them. His buffers drooped from their stocks, and the paint on his bufferbeam had faded to the point of being nearly pink.

He was reminded now, seeing his reflection, that he was still painted black. Mr. Hugh had been the one to apply it, promising he'd have a new coat of red with blue stripes for him "for the summer." Which summer that was meant to have been, Skarloey couldn't remember. In the end, that had never come to pass. The war came on, although he was sure he had been black a few years ahead of it.

The last time he had pulled a train, and moved under his own steam, was in October of 1943. He remembered that vividly, because it was where everything had gone wrong. The nasty bulge in his firebox, where a stay had broken, was plain to see. He had to have been black for at least ten years before.

Skarloey, unheard by anybody, sighed and went to sleep. He knew Rheneas would be home within the hour, if nothing happened of course.

[oh-take-this-longing]

Prompt 6: Speculate

“I’m just saying,” the blond maid said, not having been asked to say anything at all,  while making almost no attempt at all to actually dust the marble bust of Kalloux Azemerien, the long dead and long revered head of the family name, “She’s trying to impress some sort of barbarian warlord from afar.”

“I don’t know why you think that,” the brunette maid responded, mopping the foyer floor with all the diligence that the blond maid lacked in her dusting. “I haven’t seen Lady Adelaide show interest in anyone in my entire life.”

“That’s why I think it!” the blond insisted, setting aside even token efforts at cleaning by placing her feather duster on a side table and putting her hands firmly on her hips to stare at her friend.

“She obsessively studies fighting styles. Swords this, swords that. But she doesn’t seem to have any interest in being an Ishgardian knight or guard.”

“So? She just likes swords.”

“I think she  likes a man who wields a sword. A man will only have her if she defeats him in combat.” The blond shook her head and corrected herself. “No. I know that’s the case.”

That did it. Marina, the brunette maid, couldn’t work under these conditions. How could she pay attention to cleaning the floor when her ears were being assaulted by this kind of gossip? She let the mop lean, forgotten, against the wall under a portrait of Auldene Azmerien, the current lady of the house and Adelaide’s mother. She fixed her gaze on Rosa, the blond maid, and said, “And how do you know that?”

“I clean Lady Adelaide’s room,” Rosa lied proudly. While, technically, it was her responsibility to keep that room clean, the room was never a mess anyway which was, frankly, good since Rosa had piss-poor cleaning skills that had been carefully honed from years of only ever pretending to do work. “And I've seen books in there. And I’ve seen letters.”

“You’ve seen letters addressed to foreign warlord barbarians?” Marina asked skeptically.

“They were addressed to Lady Adelaide. I don’t know where from… but I can speculate. I found two books in her room about a runaway noble-woman who got caught up in a passionate affair with a devlish swordsman from a violent, barbaric tribe from a far off land. Two of them, Marina! If you read more than one book about a specific topic in the romance genre it means it’s your thing. Her thing is violent swordsmen from far away. That’s her obsession.”

“That’s stupid. I’ve read more than one book on specific romance topics. That doesn’t make it my thing.” Marina disputed, rolling her eyes.

“What topic?” Rosa asked. When Marina refused to answer, instead blushing uncomfortably and muttering “Nevermind”, Rosa cackled victoriously. “I’m right! You know I’m right! Whatever that is that you keep reading it’s your thing. And Lady Adelaide’s thing is sword-wielding barbarian warlords.”

Marina sighed loudly and peered out a large window into the yard to make absolutely sure that no member of the family was returning just yet. Then she turned back to Rosa. “Even if that -is- her thing, and I’m not convinced it is, why do you think she actually knows one and is trying to impress him?”

“I don’t think,” Rosa answered proudly. “I know.”

Marina blinked. This was not the response Rosa wanted and she made that clear by huffing, “Ask me how I know!”

“Ugh. How do you know?”

“Because of the letters, Marina. Because of the letters.”

“...Fine. What about the letters?”

Rosa beamed ear to ear, quite delighted to finally be getting her due and to have an opportunity to brag about snooping on her employer. “There’s stacks of letters she keeps hidden in her dresser drawer and each letter has a very pretty ribbon attached.”

Marina blinked again. “And that says ‘foreign barbarian warlord’ to you?”

“The books!” Rosa whined, irritated that she was still not being taken seriously. “On the cover of each book the heroine is wearing a beautiful ribbon in her hair. In the first book, which I bought a copy of after seeing the one in her room-- just so I could understand her better--  the barbarian warlord gives her that ribbon to wear as a token of his affection and as a stand in for an engagement ring-- his culture doesn’t have engagement rings-- after the heroine defeats him in a super intense, super sexy sword fight.”

“That sounds like a stupid book,” Marina shrugged and Rosa agreed that it most certainly was. 

“But the point still stands! She’s reading books about big muscular men with swords. She’s obsessed with big muscular men with swords. The book has a big swordsman giving the heroine a ribbon. She’s receiving ribbons. I didn’t read the letters because I respect privacy--”

“--Because you didn’t want to get caught and fired.”

“Yeah, that. But I didn’t need to. The wax seal, Marina? On the letters? It’s ALWAYS a sword. A man who likes swords is writing her letters with ribbons attached. She ignores every man here in Ishgard. It’s like she hardly even notices them at all. Therefore--”

Marina didn’t want to be convinced by this. Rosa’s speculations were always stupid and over the top. They were never right. They never made any sense. But gods if they weren’t exciting.

“Therefore,” she agreed slowly, “she’s ignoring the men here because there is a man somewhere else! And that man--”

“Has challenged Lady Adelaide to a sword fight that Lady Adelaide won after obsessively training in sword fighting to get his attention and now he’s sending her engagement ribbons.”

“Halone’s mercy,” Marina whispered. “You’re right. You must be right!”

“Of course I’m right!” Rosa preened-- at the exact same moment that the door to the estate opened and Lady Adelaide, rapier at her side, and skin shining with sweat stepped inside. She looked an absolute mess with the first two buttons of her blouse fastened incorrectly, red brown eyes shining with manic life, and her auburn hair only barely contained by the very simple white ribbon it was tied into. 

“Marina,” Adelaide said breathlessly, “Will you start a bath for me? I’ve had a very long, very busy day of sparring.” She didn’t wait for a reply. She moved quickly towards her room to find a change of clothing.

“I bet you have…” Rosa muttered under her breath and gave Marina, who was staring slack jawed at her employer (and particularly at the engagement ribbon) as she moved like a storm up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, a wink.

“She’s engaged,” Marina said, convinced.

“To a barbarian warlord,” Rosa agreed with utmost confidence.

[mamagrimes]

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted its way into the master bedroom. Rick was probably up already, as he usually was an early riser even on his days off. Lori shifted on the mattress, pulling herself up as she rubbed her eyes, running her fingers through her long hair as she scrambled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She had showered late last night after the party to rid herself of the aching migraine, which thankfully had dissipated with a good night’s sleep. Yesterday was too long of a day, and she was grateful when she slipped into bed prior. Bare feet shuffled into the living room as the sheriff’s wife stopped abruptly, anger boiling already, and the day had barely started. She was going to make breakfast, pancakes as Carl liked to help with and eventually she would have changed out of her husband’s old baseball tee shirt and boxer shorts – however, changing her clothes and breakfast would have to wait.

The remnants of her brother in law’s birthday party lingered into the next morning in her living room. Beer bottles empty or half full left out on the coffee table, half eaten cake and some form of other desserts, touched or uneaten for that matter sat in small dessert plates to go along with the beer bottles and dirty paper coffee cups and wine glasses. You would’ve thought she had a party in a barn house with farm animals. Why the hell didn’t anyone clean up after themselves? And the lights were still on?! Seriously?! Had they been on the entire night? Dear God, Lori needed a vacation. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a quick, steady breath before she exhaled and calmed her anxious nerves. She needed to clean up this mess before it ate her alive.

First things first, she stomped over and flipped the switch, shutting the overhead lights as she made her way into the kitchen for a trash bag.

Pulling a new bag from under the sink, her eyes flickered out to the yard. Carl was asleep, propped up against his dad’s shoulder, Rick and Shane were sitting at the patio table with mugs in their hands, talking about god only knew what.

“Unbelievable.” Lori muttered, shutting the cabinet with a force too loud as she headed back into the living room. You’d think they would’ve shut the lights and cleaned up before going outside? Was she really the only one with any brains, or did everything just tick her off these days?

“I’m just the maid that lives here,” she grumbled to no one in particular, pushing her long auburn hair over one of her shoulders as she started to throw away the dessert plates first. It was disgusting that she even allowed a mess like this to linger overnight. But she had been tired, and her head was pounding by the time everyone left, she was even surprised Carl was up and outside already.

Regardless of the mess in the living room, it was peaceful, quiet even as she worked – the distant voices of Rick and Shane filtering in as they sat outside, but even so, Lori continued to clean up after everyone, as she always did.