#and you know predatory insects and so on and so forth

[theemperorsfeather]

Please enjoy this terrible picture of some of the salamander (?) eggs in the pond, whose occupants are getting less blob-like and more and more creature-shaped

[theclairvoyage]

Sour Lemonade (One-shot)

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Your nephew's little league baseball games take up many of your summer evenings, and it's not the dust or the concession stand treats that keep you coming back - it's one of the coaches, Joel Miller.

Pairing: Little league coach!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI! alternate universe, adult language, alcohol consumption, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), fluff, flirting, angst, mentions of physical violence, light choking, baseball talk, mentions of child death, mentions of infidelity

WC: 12k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Dust flies into your face, obscuring your view of the baseball diamond. “Fuck,” you spit, the sudden inconvenience enraging you. Aggressively, you wipe your lips with the back of your forearm, noticing now how sticky, slimy, and itchy your skin is from all the sweat and dirt. And the pirate bugs are relentless, tiny daggers pricking your pores at every moment. Each swat of your exposed skin produces a tiny black smear, only to be replaced by another miniscule, predatory black dot.

“Does anyone have some goddamn bug spray?” Anger invites itself to the baseball game now, alarming some of the innocent parents watching their 8-year-old sons try to play America’s favorite pastime. Your sister, who dragged you to this hell hole, tugs on your sleeve as she hops up from the bleachers.

“Jesus, can’t go anywhere without you cussing up a storm… no wonder your nephew knows all these colorful words,” she scolds you, your name rolling off her tongue with a sharp bite as she stomps over to the bathrooms. The rage inside you cools a bit, returning to its home in the corner of your stomach. She swings her tote from under her arm to her front, digging in the bottomless pit for some bug spray. She pulls out a pink spray bottle with feminine letters, and you already know it doesn’t have DEET.

“Sorry, Mer—for the cussing. But also, do you have anything containing any carcinogens? Need ultra strength right now,” you say, trying to ease the tension. She snorts and rolls her eyes, exchanging the pink bottle for a familiar green one. OFF! is plastered in big font on the front.

“Ahhhh,” you sigh, spraying the familiar harsh scent on your skin and clothes. She laughs, taking a big step away from the cloud of haze surrounding you. The mist cools your skin, though you know it’ll stick once it’s dried—you don’t care at this point. It’s the third inning, and you can’t handle another hour and a half of being a trained insect assassin.

“Thanks. Also, how d’ya know Noah isn’t learning cuss words at school? Or on YouTube,” you remind her, pointing a DEET-covered finger in her face. She ponders it for a moment, jaw ticking back and forth.

“Well, either way—these parents are going to blacklist you if you don’t put a filter on it.” You wave her off, grimacing.

“Meredith, let me put it bluntly—I don’t give a fuck,” you say, accentuating the last word and sticking your neck out. She laughs loudly and smacks your shoulder.

“Y’know, Noah loves that you come to his games. And I want to keep you around, so… I guess I can tolerate it,” Meredith says with a half-smirk, snatching the green bottle from your sticky fingers. “Let’s go back before the damn game is over.”

“Hey! Language!” you point at her, eyes widening in mock shock. A throaty laugh leaves her lips. The wind picks up again, sending a twister of dirt and dust your way, so hard it stings your legs. You curse yourself for not wearing pants.

Back at the bleachers, you find that your language is the least concern of these parents. It’s the bottom of the fourth inning, and the score is 2-9. Noah’s team looks somber as they take the field. Moms are perched on their bleacher chairs with crossed legs, quietly fanning their faces with paper programs with pursed lips. Dads spit their sunflower seeds and tobacco into the grass aggressively with arms crossed, shaking their heads with each dropped ball and fumbled groundout. A sharp contrast is the cacophony of shrill screams and boisterous laughter from children running around the nearby empty fields, with not a care in the world. They’re just happy to be here.

“Sheesh… tough night,” Meredith says solemnly in your ear. You nod, sucking your lips into your mouth. The pitcher on Noah’s team walks another batter, and a man, presumably one of the coaches, emerges from the dugout and steps onto the field, holding his palm up to the umpire.

“Time!” The umpire calls, waving both hands in the air a few times. You study the man as he approaches the pitcher, surprised at what you see.

He’s taller than average, but not too tall. His trim body is lined with lean muscle, though he’s somewhat soft in the middle. Broad shoulders stretch his gray t-shirt. Graying brunette curls peek under his hat, kissing the top of his strong, tanned neck. Strong legs stride quietly, though confidently, toward the poor boy, who is clearly distraught. The man kneels and puts a hand on the pitcher’s shoulder as he speaks to him. The boy nods, cracking a small smile and sniffling as the man jostles him softly. He told a joke, perhaps—whatever it took to get the kid to smile. You find yourself smiling, too, watching the pair interact. The man has a calming presence that seems to have trickled into the crowd. The tension in the air is less frigid, palpable. He high-fives the boy and stands, returning to the dugout. His gaze sweeps the field, giving his players a thumbs up, before turning to the crowd and locking eyes with you.

Shit. His face takes your breath away, complete with a curved nose, high cheekbones, plush lips crowned with a full mustache, and an angled jawline dotted with brown and gray hairs. His smoldering chocolate eyes, though, are what hypnotize you the most. He’s still staring at you, likely analyzing the structure of your features like you are to him. You notice his stride falters momentarily before catching himself, but his eyes never stray from yours as he returns to the dugout. Heat radiates from your cheeks. Your heart thuds in your chest, pulse racing at this gorgeous stranger checking you out. Meredith nudges you with her elbow.

“I’ve never seen anybody get eye-fucked like that,” she whispers, and you can’t prevent the loud guffaw that escapes from your mouth. You clap a hand over your mouth quickly and whip your head toward her.

“Who is that?!” you squeal, clutching her wrist.

“That’s Joel Miller, one of the coaches,” she whispers, craning her neck to look at him in the dugout. “His nephew is on the team. Brother is that guy sitting behind home plate here,” she points, alerting you to an attractive Latino man with shiny black curls and a similar strong nose. Damn. He’s fine as hell, too. Before you turn to look at him again, Meredith grips your leg.

“He’s staring over here, don’t look,” she whispers. You can’t help but smile and feel giddy, like a sixth grader developing their first crush.

The game ends on a higher note, with Noah’s team lessening the gap and ending 6-10. As parents trickle from the stands to wait for their boys out by the dugout, you try to catch a glimpse of Joel, who is picking up stray baseball bats and gloves, handing them to their rightful owners. Noah ambles over to Meredith and you, grin plastered on his dirt-stained face. He wraps his sweaty arms and hands around your midsection.

“Hey, buddy. You did great,” you beam at him. He sighs heavily and looks up at you, big blue eyes laced with disappointment.

“We didn’t win, though,” he laments, wiping his dirty face off on your shirt.

“S’not all about winning, my dude. Gotta have fun and try to get better every day,” you comfort him, patting the back of his sweaty jersey.

“That’s some good life advice right there,” a deep, sexy, Southern-accented voice interrupts. You snap your head up and see Joel, who’s already looking at you. God, he’s even more attractive up close, and he smells good, like pine and musk. His eyes travel your face before dipping down to your lips, quickly reverting to your eyeline.

“Joel! This is my sister,” Meredith introduces you, pulling Noah from your grasp. Joel holds out a hand. You grab it and shake, relishing the warmth and size of his hand. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he lets go.

“Nice to meet ya. I think some of the parents are gettin’ drinks later, after puttin’ the Rugrats to bed,” he says, flashing a jaw-dropping smile at you. Meredith chimes in, saving you once again from your own awkward silence.

“That sounds great! We’ll definitely stop by, right?” she asks you, nudging you. You tear your eyes from Joel’s and nod.

“Yes—though I need a shower. I stink,” you admit, scrunching your nose. A deep chuckle emits from Joel, shoulders shaking with laughter. Your heart skips a beat.

“Y’can’t be that bad—at least y’look good,” he says with a grin, pearly whites blinding you. Your heart falters completely at his compliment and you’re frozen, like a mosquito inside a solid block of amber. Meredith, for the umpteenth time today, saves you from looking like an absolute fool.

“Joel, wait ‘til you see her all cleaned up! We gotta go get this kiddo showered and ready for his sleepover, see you in a bit!” she says, clutching your wrist and leading you and Noah toward the parking lot. Peering over your shoulder, you catch Joel’s eyes drifting up and down your figure. His smile fades, expression morphing from excitement, to astonishment, to desire. Oh, fuck.

Two hours later, Meredith and you are arm in arm, walking up to the bar the parents and coaches had chosen for the rendezvous. The summer heat has loosened its grip on the city, with gentle summer gusts and a Starburst-colored sunset replacing it. Your dirty and sweat-ridden clothes are replaced with some jean shorts and a fresh muscle tee, and you remembered to put lotion on your legs for once.

Meredith opens the creaky wooden entrance door, and you spot the baseball group in a corner of the bar. Eight parents and all coaches are here, each sporting a mug of some light and probably domestic beer. All greet you with either a wave or a loud greeting—they must’ve gotten started drinking early. You spot Joel sitting next to his brother, Tommy—both are staring at you as you approach the group.

“Since you’re late, you have to buy shots,” says one of the moms, lifting her empty beer glass.

“Fine, Katy—but it’s gonna be tequila!” Meredith quips, inciting a grimace from Katy and cheers from all the men at the table. “Let’s go up to the bar,” Meredith murmurs in your ear, setting your purses down on two empty chairs the group saved for you. You try not to look at Joel but feel his magnetizing gaze on you, and you make eye contact with him. His eyes are molten dark chocolate, sweeping over your face with a glimmer of want. You crack a small smile and his eyes latch onto your lips immediately. Before your knees buckle, you break eye contact and follow Meredith to the bar.

“So, you gonna fuck him, or what?” She teases once you’re both out of earshot of the group. You land a playful slap on her arm and drop your jaw.

“Mer! I don’t even have his number! Or know how old he is, or if he’s an ex-con, or a child molester, or a serial strangler,” you ramble, pulling a laugh from her.

“He’s not any of those things, but he’s in his fifties, I know that. Doesn’t look like it, though,” she says, eyebrows arching. He’s got some years on you, for sure, but you’ve had an experience or two with an older man—though this one terrifies you. His eyes alone could convince you to do almost anything.

The bartender pours up double-digit tequila shots, garnished with salted rims and limes, and plops them on a serving tray. Meredith hoists it up and you walk back to the table, making sure to put some extra swing in your hips in case Joel’s watching. You can tell from your peripheral that he is, in fact, staring at you. Something fizzes in your chest—warm, wanting.

“Cheers to not getting run-ruled today!” Tommy cheers as everyone clinks their shot glasses together. You down yours quickly, anticipating the spicy aftertaste. And boy, it burns like hell as it glazes down your throat. You suck on the lime and try not to shiver. Whoops and cheers fill the empty bar as everyone finishes their shots.

After a few beers and shots later, you’re feeling loose and giddy. Your end of the table is talking about the godforsaken umpire from tonight’s game, somewhat split from the other half of the table, which is discussing the MLB playoffs. Feeling a familiar pull, you turn and see Joel smiling at you. Once you make eye contact, he winks, which sends you reeling. He’s about to get up from his seat when one of the moms waltzes her way over to him, curling her polished claws around his shoulder.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he preferred her over you—she’s petite, with long blonde hair, tan skin, blue eyes, and perky fake boobs. She looks great, you admit, and she’s closer to his age. Sadness looms in your belly and your smile fades as his attention diverts to her. Oh well, you think. Good thing it didn’t go too far. Resigned, you join the conversation and try to focus on anything but Joel.

The night carries on, and you find yourself unbothered by Joel. Meredith completely let loose, singing along to the music echoing throughout the bar. Everyone at your end of the table is telling jokes, clinking glasses, and enjoying each other’s presence. It’s a fun night, you admit to yourself. You made every effort to not pay attention to the other end of the table but felt Joel’s eyes on you constantly.

What you didn’t realize was how much he wanted you to be the one pressed up against him, with his arm curled around your waist or his rough fingers stroking the smooth skin of your thigh. He needed to get away from this kid’s mom—she was newly divorced and obviously ready for a rebound. Yeah, she was attractive, but nothing about her excited him—if anything, he was irritated by her blatant advancements. The final straw was when she crept her hand up his denim-clad thigh and squeezed close to the apex.

“The hell are you doin’?” he says with a laugh, incredulous. She licks her glossy lips and leans in toward his ear.

“Oh, I think you know, big boy,” she murmurs in her sexiest voice. Joel is turned off. Not wanting to be rude, he lightly grips her wrist and pulls her hand back. You, unfortunately, look over right as he grabs her hand.

“Not interested, dear,” he murmurs back, watching the frustration grow on her face.

“Fine, Miller—there’s plenty more who want it,” she boasts. She snatches her manicured hand away and moves onto your side of the table, picking another innocent victim.

Annoyed, you stand and walk up to the bar, back facing the group. Guess her little routine worked on Joel—he really ate it up, even touched her arm. You chide yourself for letting this unnerve you—you don’t even know the guy, and for all you do know, he might be a sleazeball.

“Need a break from the loudmouths?” the bartender asks, half smiling. You nod, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Too much testosterone over there,” you retort, “I’ll take a Sprite.” She nods and punches a button on the soda gun, filling up a tall glass. Staring at the bubbles fizzing over the ice cubes, you feel a breeze on your side. It’s Joel, finally separated from his bimbo of the night.

“Hey, darlin’, can I get you a drink?” he asks, smooth, sugary voice tickling your eardrums. He sounds sexy as fuck. You hold his gaze but don’t smile, creating an icy wall between the two of you.

“Is your girlfriend okay with that?” you sneer, turning to take a sip of your Sprite. His shoulders sag just slightly, but you see it from the corner of your eye.

“She ain’t my girl, promise. She’s tryna find a rebound,” he murmurs apologetically. You shrug.

“Seems like she was getting close to getting one.” Ouch. It hits low and painful in his belly, though he understands.

“Listen, I know what it looked like. Promise ya, it ain’t nothing. She ain’t my type,” he says, eyes sweeping your face. Guilt pangs you, and you turn to look at him. Fuck. His eyes are solemn, repentant—he’s saying sorry, and he doesn’t even need to. You sigh deeply, feeling that the alcohol is forcing you to be honest with him.

“Joel, look—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha—,” you start, but he interrupts you, putting a calloused palm up and shaking his head.

“No need t’apologize, sweetheart. I get it. She was all over me,” he says, end of his sentence filled with a playful tone. You giggle quietly.

“Oh yeah, she was two seconds away from sinking her teeth into you,” you joke, chuckles exchanging between the two of you. Relief fills you, warm and cleansing. He stares at you for a moment before speaking again.

“So, that drink…” he says, a lopsided grin plastered on his rugged face. God, he’s handsome. You can’t hold off much longer.

“I ‘spose,” you tease, “Guess you owe me one, anyway.” His half-grin turns whole, smile sending a zip of desire down your spine. He leans close to your ear, sweeping your hair over your shoulder. The touch of his warm skin on yours and the proximity of him almost makes you jump.

“I’ll make it up t’ya, swear on it,” he says, voice an octave lower and Southern accent dripping with something you’re not quite ready to identify. You clamp your thighs together instinctively, another shiver rippling through you like that of the tequila shot. Joel waves the bartender over and orders your drink of choice and whiskey neat.

“So… you live with Meredith?” Joel inquires, watching you as he sips the amber liquid. You shake your head, twirling the straw around your drink.

“Nope, but I might as well with how much I’m over there, helping with Noah and whatnot.” He nods.

“I had a daughter once. Y’know what they say… it takes a village,” he says, tone laced with melancholy. Once?

“I hate to ask, but… what happened to her?” you ask carefully, hesitant to look at him.

“She passed away when she was little. Car accident. S’alright, though—it was a long time ago,” he says, smiling at you wistfully. You put a hand on his bare forearm, and he almost melts into a puddle.

“I’m sorry, Joel. That’s so awful. I can’t imagine experiencing something like that. Noah’s my nephew, but I wouldn’t be able to go on if something happened to him,” you add, hoping to soothe his pain.

“Enough about me, darlin’, I wanna know more about you,” he says, covering your hand with his. His touch is electric on your skin.

“Nothing exciting, trust me,” you say with a shrug. He scoffs.

“I’d be shocked to hear that you’re single,” he says, winking at you again. You shove him playfully.

“Prepare to be shocked,” you quip. He shakes his head and looks up at one of the TVs.

“S’a damn shame,” he laments. The alcohol sends courage racing through your veins.

“For whom?” you tease, mirroring his wink. His smile fades just slightly as he takes you in, desire washing over him. When he speaks again, his voice is even deeper than before.

“Not for me, that’s for sure.” Your stomach drops at his admission, though your face doesn’t show it.

“Yeah? Why’s that, Miller?” He takes another sip of his whiskey, eyes locked on yours.

“You kiddin’? Look at you,” he says, whistling lowly, eyes traversing your frame. If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. You wave him off and sip your own drink.

“Oh, stop. I bet you get the best of the best coming up to you,” you say, playing it cool. He takes another sip, swallowing with a hmm-mm.

“Darlin’, the best of the best is sittin’ next to me, and I reckon I got some groveling t’do if I wanna see her again,” he admits. He takes his baseball cap off, revealing thick, gorgeous curls, hairline swept with gray locks. He runs a hand through them before sliding the cap back on. Admiring his profile, you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your gaze travels down to his neck, which might just be your favorite part of him at the moment—thick, tan, jugular vein bulging. You can almost see his pulse pounding at his carotid. Fuck, he makes your pulse pound. Sucking in a deep, calming breath, you avert your gaze to your near-empty drink, swishing the ice cubes around nervously. Joel nudges your arm with his elbow. You look at him, trying your hardest to maintain a straight face, but seeing his smile makes you grin.

“What?” you ask, noticing his eyes dipping down to your lips.

“Was just thinkin’,” he says, finishing the last of his whiskey as he eyes you inquisitively.

“About?” you press, tilting your ear toward him and raising your brows. He laughs at your facial expression and leans in, lips brushing your hair and nearly grazing your ear.

“’Bout what it would be like t’kiss you,” he hums, voice dripping with lust. Your eyes widen briefly, shock quickly morphing into nervousness, then anticipation as your stomach twists.

“Think I need another drink before then,” you say, slowly turning to face him. He’s close, close enough that you feel his breath on your face. He’s half-smiling again, brown eyes spanning your face.

“Nervous?” he taunts lowly. You look up at the TV and nod slowly.

“Darlin’, y’got nothin’ to be nervous about. I ain’t gonna make ya do anything y’ain’t comfortable with,” he says, face still close to your ear. You face him again, staring intently into his eyes.

“Oh, it’s not that. I’m afraid… you’ll be hooked,” you test him, hoping your bravado overshadows your nerves. His nostrils flare just slightly before he clears his throat.

“Reckon I need another drink, too—I might not survive,” he says, catching you off guard. A loud laugh escapes your lips. Joel is delighted at the sound and wonders how you’d sound doing other things, like underneath him or as his tongue unravels you. Suppressing an erection, he waves the bartender over and orders both of you another round.

“Wanna get some air?” he questions you, tipping his head toward the patio area. You nod, chewing on your straw nervously. The idea of being alone with him makes you squirm. You stand and he guides you outside, firm hand on your lower back. His fingertips burn into your back.

“Lemme just tell Mer I’m stepping outside,” you say. He nods. “Meet ya out there?” he offers, and you clink the rim of your glass to his in agreement. You watch him saunter over to the patio doors, salivating at the way his jeans hug his hips and ass. Meredith isn’t worried by your absence at all, still laughing and talking loudly with the group. She’s drunk.

“Mer, I’m stepping out back if you need me,” you say into her ear. She turns to you, holding your chin.

“Y’gonna kiss him, finally? He’s been tryna do it for the last hour!” she spits into your ear. Your lips quirk into a smile.

“Maybe, dunno. We’ll find out shortly,” you reply nonchalantly, shrugging as you turn to leave the table. She pinches your ass as you walk away.

Anticipation bubbles in your chest as you get closer to the patio. With a deep breath, you push the doors open and see Joel leaning up against the railing, hip cocked to one side. The patio is dotted with dim string lights and overlooks a small pond with a fountain, moonlight glimmering on the surface. The trickling of the water is soothing, a nice contrast to the loud music and voices inside the bar. He turns his body toward you, arm leaned against the railing as he watches you.

“Thought maybe I scared ya off,” he teases. You stand next to him, arm brushing his as he turns to face the pond again.

“Not in the slightest. Your girl back there, though? Not going within 20 feet of her,” you tantalize him, and he rolls his eyes as he chuckles.

“She ain’t even a blip on my radar, darlin’,” he says, voice shifting from playful to sensual. You feel his hot gaze on your face. Slowly, he dips his head closer to yours. You turn and lock eyes with him. You want him, though your expression is almost hesitant—his is pliant, asking permission. You look down at his plush lips and lean in while closing your eyes.

When your lips finally meet, a sensation roils through you like you’ve never experienced. You feel like a fishing boat in the North Sea, tossed around, dizzy, and soaked by the icy waves as they threaten to pull you under. You’re completely at the mercy of his lips, his touch. The kiss is slow, yet fiery—unlocking passion in both of you that has either been dormant or never existed. At some point, Joel turned to face you and pulled you flush to him, thick arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing you like he can’t afford to let go. You reach for his hair and knock off his baseball cap, and he laughs against your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for your tongues to tangle and the kiss to reach a new level of hot and heavy. He’s gripping your ass; you’re shoving your hands up his shirt. He’s breaking the kiss to nip at your neck and jawline; you’re moaning softly. He’s groaning into your skin at the sounds you make, telling you how good you are; your nails are carving shapes into the skin of his back.

You pull back, panting, fingers still latched onto his curls. Concerned eyes stare into yours, worried he crossed a line. You shake your head and laugh incredulously, glancing over at the moonlit pond. It’s surreal, the way you’re feeling now—none of your dreams have ever been so enchanting as this moment. Joel strokes your cheek softly, needing to know your thoughts.

“Everything alright?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheekbone.

“Yes! Oh god, everything’s—amazing, I just didn’t know if—,” you stammer, trying to force the thousand thoughts swirling in your mind into a coherent sentence.

“D’you wanna get outta here, darlin’? I understand f’you say no, but good lord, I want you,” he breathes, searching your eyes for a semblance of hesitation or uncertainty. He doesn’t find either. Your pupils dilate ever so slightly, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, sending him over the edge. He smirks and releases you momentarily to pick up his fallen ball cap, tossing the sweaty fabric over his curls before grabbing your hand to guide you back inside. It’s hasty, the way he closes his tab and signs his receipt, tossing the pen back behind the bar with a chuckle.

“Let me tell Mer I’m leaving,” you tell him. He nods.

“I’ll wait here for ya, don’t need ya walkin’ in the dark parkin’ lot alone this time of night.”

“A gentleman, too? Hopefully that doesn’t carry over to the bedroom,” you coo, putting on your sultriest voice. His eyes are black as sin, sweeping over your body slowly.

“Oh, I am—ladies first,” he quips, enjoying the view as you turn to walk toward the table. Meredith is perched on the lap of one of the dads, whispering in his ear.

“Mer—I’m leaving. I’ll call you in the morning, yeah?” You shout over the loud chatter of the group and the music. She winks at you and gives you a languid thumbs up. Still drunk. You narrow your eyes at poor lad she’s sitting on, giving him a silent warning. He throws his palms up in the air in surrender. Meredith rolls her eyes at you before turning back to him.

Joel takes your hand as you walk out of the bar, giving the back a quick kiss. The excitement and thrill of leaving with him has you giddy, springy. Your steps are bouncier than before, confidence buzzing inside you. This fine man wants you, has wanted only you since he laid eyes on you, and is taking you home. Your past one-night stands have never been so exhilarating.

Joel leads you to a big silver truck, opening the passenger door for you and helping you into the plush leather seat. He swats your ass as you hop in, laughing at the yelp that escapes you. Trotting over to the driver’s side, he hops in and wastes no time getting out of there.

“Your place or mine?” He asks as the truck cruises onto a main road.

“Mine,” you reply, starting to feel nervous. Maybe a familiar location will calm your nerves a bit.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” You guide him to your apartment, which is maybe 10 minutes from the bar. He grabs your hand as you both speedwalk into the building, eager to rip your clothes off and finish what you started at the bar.

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, Joel rips his cap off and hoists you up, your back pressed against the door. Your legs encircle his waist and pull, crashing your hips together. His lips devour you hungrily, teeth nibbling your lower lip and hands frantically roaming over you. “Where?” he murmurs in your mouth, and you point to your agape bedroom door. You didn’t make your bed, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck right now, and neither does he. He carries you inside the dark room and lies both of you on the bed, your legs still wrapped around his midsection.

“Need t’see you,” he pants, and you point to the lamp on your bedside table. He twists the knob, filling the room with dim, amber lighting. His mouth latches back onto yours before moving down to your soft neck and collarbone.

“Off,” he says, tugging at the collar of your muscle shirt. You lift your arms up and let him tear the fabric from you, remembering that you didn’t wear a bra once you hear him curse.

“Fuck,” he groans, “look at you.” He squeezes your breasts, taking a nipple into his warm mouth. You inhale sharply, running fingers through his tousled curls as he sucks on one and moves to the other. He kisses down your stomach until he meets denim, sitting up and grasping the waistband of your shorts. He peers at you from poignant, hooded eyes.

“Can I take these off?” he asks softly, surprising you. He’s gentle, obedient, almost submissive to you, though you don’t realize what a treasure you are in his eyes. He wants to savor this, make sure it’s perfect for you. Your chest is heaving, nerves so alight that you almost forget to respond.

“Please,” you affirm, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

You’re already soaked—you felt it once you sat down in his truck, the damp fabric of your panties pushed up into you. He unbuttons and slides your shorts off, leaving your green thong on and licking his lips as he notices the wet spot.

“Jesus… this for me?” he says, returning his needy mouth to your hot skin. You’re squirming in his grip, breathless.

“Yes, fuck,” you huff, whimpers leaving your mouth as he kisses his way down your left hip and bites your inner thigh. You moan, the painful prick of his incisors heightening your pleasure.

“You like that, baby?” he asks, peeking up at you from down below. Bashfulness washes over you at the sight of him between your legs, worshipping your body. You nod feverishly, lower lip between your teeth. He growls lowly and kisses down your leg, stopping at your instep and watching your response before retracing his path. He stops over your clothed mound and kisses featherlight, pulling a groan from you. You feel his smile curve against your core, but he doesn’t oblige you—he kisses down your other leg. You tug on his hair, needing his mouth on your most sensitive spot.

“Needy, ain’t she?” he teases you, breathing hot air on your clothed, throbbing pussy. Your back arches and you sigh heavily at the sensation.

“I’ma give you just what y’need, darlin’, just hold on for me,” he soothes you, teeth pulling the waistband of your thong back slowly. He needs help from his hands, though, so he loops his fingers in the waistband and rids them from you. His gaze is boring holes in you, looking at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Tongue-tied?” you tease him, watching his eyes roam over your naked body.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls. He shifts downward, lower half on the floor before hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you toward him. He stares at you as he blows softly on your clit. The chill of the air on your wet core drives you mad, your hips circling involuntarily under his grip. At what seems like a glacial pace, he leans in until his lips touch your clit in a featherlight kiss. Though light, the contact feels like the floor has dropped from underneath you, making you dizzy. His teasing has you so riled up; it won’t take much for you to reach the zenith. His tongue slips out and slowly, almost agonizingly, licks from your entrance to your clit.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. He smirks against your core, impressed with himself for learning your cues early on. He continues licking you languidly, sensually, changing his approach based on your moans, curses, and sighs, each twitch of your hips and death grip of his hair and arms, relishing all of you.

“Like hearing y’say my name,” he purrs, “Y’taste so good.” White-hot pleasure keeps shooting up your spine, like fireworks on July fourth. Your stomach feels tight, like you might snap any second.

“I’m close,” you whimper, hips rolling on his face. He hums in approval into your pussy. You reach down and grip his hands before he pulls one away to prod at your entrance. He curves two broad fingers into you, groaning at how warm and tight you are. A strangled cry escapes your throat at the stretch, part of you worried about how his cock will fit. He pumps his fingers quickly, and you snap, your orgasm taking over every fiber of your being. He talks you through it, praising you and trying not to come himself at the sight of you trembling, arched in pleasure.

After a beat, he removes his fingers and slots himself between your legs, head dipping down to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself on his wiry mustache and smooth lips.

“Taste good, don’t you?” he croons into your mouth, pulling a low moan from your throat. Gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kiss him, you realize he’s still fully clothed. You tug the hem of his shirt up and he sits on his heels to pull it off, revealing a strong, toned torso with a softness that makes you melt. He notices you admiring him.

“S’not as good as it used t’be,” he chuckles, smiling at you as he tosses his shirt to some corner of the room.

“Shut up. You’re perfect,” you breathe, hands roaming his chest and stomach before landing in his waistband, pulling him back to you. He resists, only to unbutton his denim and slide it off his legs, leaving only his boxers. You reach out and grab his hard length through the thin fabric, gasping at the girth of him. Your fingers don’t even reach all the way around. His head tips back, breathy sigh escaping his lungs at your gentle but firm touch.

“Off,” you parrot his command from earlier, fingers tugging at the elastic waistband of his boxers. Eyes locked on yours, he stands and pulls them off his figure, cock springing as it releases. A mischievous grin creeps over his features after seeing your reaction to his manhood.

Fuck. He’s big, probably bigger than most you’ve had. The length is up there, but the girth is what worries you—he’s so thick.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll take care of you,” he soothes you, settling between your legs. Confusion contorts his face, like he forgot something—until frustration sets in.

“I don’t have protection, d’you have anything?” he asks, stroking a slow path from your inner thigh to your hip, making you squirm.

“No, but I’m good—I’m on birth control, and it’s been forever since I’ve had sex with anyone, so I’m clean,” you reply. You can’t even remember the last time you slept with anyone—months, perhaps.

“Me, too,” he adds, “minus the birth control.” His witty response makes you giggle. You sit up and lean forward to kiss him, stopping just before your lips touch.

“I want you inside me. Now,” you whisper, gaze flicking over his face. His eyes flash obsidian before he crashes his lips against yours and lies you both down. He rubs the head of his cock against your soaked folds, the sensation setting your body on fire. Aroused and impatient, you tip him back until your positions are switched, Joel’s head almost hanging off the edge of the bed. He chuckles at you but beams at your confidence. Perched on his lap, you lean back slightly and grind your hips, guiding your lips over his rock-hard length.

“Need a picture of this,” he says, bewildered at the gorgeous woman grinding on his lap, naked and needy for him. His rough palms caress your hips, stomach, breasts, before landing at your shoulders. He pulls you down for a kiss, the new angle pressing your slit flush against his cock, and you shudder.

“Fuck me,” he rumbles, mouth agape, messy salt and pepper curls dipping down to his brow. You sit up, bracing one palm on his chest and using the other to guide him to your dripping entrance. Making sure to watch him, you slowly sink down on him, the stretch splitting you open almost immediately. Your mouth drops and eyebrows arch, the pain and pleasure slowing your movements.

Joel’s face mirrors yours, your tight, soaked cunt squeezing him deliciously. He grits his teeth and grips your ass so hard you’ll have bruises, urging you down further onto him. You slowly take inch by inch until bottoming out, the sudden press of his tip against your cervix making you yelp.

“Okay, baby?” he asks. Your eyes are squeezed shut, breath coming out in heavy pants and hands clawing at his chest as you adjust to the size and thickness of him. A strand of your hair has fallen in your face, moving with each puff of your breath.

“Yes, j-just need a sec,” you whimper. Finally, your inner muscles acclimate to the intrusion of his cock, and you start to move. Each roll of your hips pulls a filthy moan from Joel, whose calloused hands are guiding you up and down his length. You’re whimpering with each thrust, the tip of his cock sending painfully pleasurable shocks up your spine as it slams into the deepest parts of you.

“Just beautiful,” he groans as he watches you bounce on him. It’s a good thing you’re on top, because he would’ve come by now had he been spearing himself into you. “Not gonna last long. Where d’you want me?” he spits.

“Inside me,” you mewl, and before he can react, you take the opportunity to press your chest against his, sweaty foreheads stuck together as you clap your ass against him as hard as you can. Your second orgasm washes over you suddenly, causing you to tuck your head in the crook of his neck as you cry out. Joel takes over, thrusting up into you a few times before grunting your name as he spills into you. Both of your pants and whimpers fill the room as you come down from your high. You’re still on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck, pussy wrapped around his cock still as he softens. He rolls you over and pins your arms above your head before dipping his lips down to meet yours in a messy postcoital kiss. You moan into the kiss, and his cock twitches at the sound inside you—he’s not quite hard, but enough to still stretch you out.

“Wanna do it like this next time,” you pant, cupping his cheek. He turns to kiss your palm and moves down to your wrist before latching his lips onto the slope of your shoulder.

“I’d like that, baby,” he purrs into your sweaty skin, “And I like that there’s gonna be a next time.” He rests against you for a moment before slipping out of you with a grunt and standing to find your bathroom. He returns after a minute with a towel, sitting next to you on the bed and wiping his spend from you.

A pang of disappointment washes over you suddenly, not wanting him to leave. One-night stands really aren’t your thing—you don’t want him to get the idea that this is a frequent habit of yours.

You speak his name softly, quietly. He slides back into bed, propping himself on one elbow and giving you his full attention. He tucks some stray hair behind your ear, your eyes closing at the tenderness of his touch.

“Hmm?” he hums, thumb tracing your eyebrow, forehead, temple, whatever part of your face is closest. You open your eyes and see warm, affectionate amber staring back at you. His eyes are so beautiful, so full of emotion, you find yourself unable to talk for a second. He quirks one eyebrow at you, lips sliding into his cheek as he waits for your response.

“D’you wanna stay?” you ask, hesitant. You really don’t know him, or if this is something he likes to do often, or if it was a spur of the moment decision made during your moment of passion at the bar. He leans down and kisses your forehead before pressing a slow kiss to your lips. Pulling back ever so slightly, his breath fans on your face and gaze flicks between each of your eyes before he opens his mouth to reply.

“Yes, I’d love to,” he says. You can’t help the grin that pulls at your cheeks. He twists the lamp, darkness spilling into the room, and tucks you into his chest before pulling the covers over both of you.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair, and before you can reply, you’re sound asleep.

Morning rolls around, and you find yourself pressed against Joel’s warm back, arms wrapped around his torso and moving up and down with his expanding ribcage. He’s still sleeping, or you think—he woke up not too long ago with you curled into his chest, torn between needing to use the bathroom, and not wanting to let go of you. You looked so serene, so beautiful as the sunrise painted your features. When he came back and tucked himself under the covers, you immediately latched yourself onto him, arms wound tightly around his belly.

Now, you find yourself in the same predicament, needing to use the bathroom but not wanting to disturb him. You slowly unfurl yourself from his broad back, stand from the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom connected to your room.

Joel had opened his eyes once he felt you rise from the bed and watched your naked figure travel across the room, the sight stirring his already half-hard cock. Fuck, you were gorgeous, and he wanted desperately to see your body trembling with pleasure again, the memory of your face twisted in euphoria sewn into his brain. When he heard the bathroom door open, he snapped his eyes shut again, wanting you to think he was asleep.

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to wake him and had a primal urge for some fresh coffee. You search the room for your robe, startling when two warm hands grasp your waist and pull you onto the bed. Joel props himself up against your headboard, legs spread as he pulls you into the open space between them. His strong arms loop around your stomach, pulling you tight until your back is flush with his chest. He tucks his face into your neck, pressing gentle kisses behind and beneath your ear, down the column of your neck.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he croons, Southern voice raspy with sleep, igniting something inside you. You moan as his lips and teeth mark spots on the map of your skin.

“Coffee, I swear,” you groan, covering his arms with yours and squirming as his mouth continues adorning you.

“Mm. Not done with you yet,” he murmurs, unwrapping one hand from your stomach to palm your breasts. You arch into him, head tipping back on his shoulder. He growls.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he presses, rolling one nipple between rough fingertips before moving to the other. You gasp sharply and nod against his shoulder, hips gyrating and ass rubbing against his hard length. He inhales deeply, the scent of your hair invading his space and heightening his arousal for you.

His palm dips lower, spanning your soft stomach before reaching your inner thigh, goosebumps erupting in its path. Lightly, he scratches at your skin there, loving how pliant your body is underneath his touch. He needs to see your face.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, and you turn your head to see him. God, he looks fucking good. His hair is fucked up from slumber, eyes wanton and full of sleepy desire. There are hints of intrigue and mischief sketched on his face.

Then, he kisses you, teeth tugging on your lower lip. It’s hot, the way he needs you in this moment, the way his tongue reaches for yours, the way his grip tightens around you. His hand dips further south, fingers feeling firsthand how much you want him. He moans at it, the wetness trickling from you.

“Joel,” you whine, his calculated touches teasing you. He swirls his fingers around your bud, almost excruciatingly slow.

“You want me this much?” he breathes into your mouth. Your hips are still rolling, ass feeling how much he wants you.

“Yes—please. Need you,” you moan softly, eyes opening to see him. He looks down, watching and moaning at how your slick coats his fingers. He prods his middle finger at your entrance, inserting it lazily into your tight heat with a groan. You gasp at the soreness of his cock from last night and at the stretch—his finger is thick, close to the size of two of your digits.

“Baby—need to stretch you out. So tight.” He pulls his middle finger out and adds his ring finger to the mix. He curls them once they’re fully sheathed inside you, pads stroking your soft walls. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, yet with enough pressure to send you reeling. The pleasure builds inside you, knotting tightly in your belly. You moan as he continues to unravel you, hips circling around his hand, his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Come for me, sweet girl,” he coaxes you, mouth moving to graze your earlobe. He holds it there, between his teeth, pulling it as you come apart on his fingers.

Your orgasm rolls through you slowly, vision spotting as the knot untethers inside your stomach. Joel fucks you through it and praises you, spurring you on more. It’s new for you, someone talking you through your orgasm, and something you didn’t realize you needed.

“Good girl, just like that—did so good for me, baby,” he soothes you, removing his soaked fingers from you. He takes the middle one into your mouth, brushing your tongue, and you suck lightly, moaning at the taste of yourself. His cock jumps.

“Need to taste you again,” he hums, placing his ring finger in his mouth. You watch him relish the taste of you, eyebrows arching and a deep groan escaping his throat.

“Can I fuck you now, baby?” he asks, syllables like chords of a sweet cello. You nod, tugging the back of his head down for a passionate kiss. He maneuvers both of you until you’re underneath him and he’s hovering over the cradle of your hips.

“Gonna go slow,” he says, palms cradling your face.

“Want you to fuck me however you like, Joel,” you whisper, searching his eyes. Brown irises flecked with gold, desire-filled pupils threatening to swallow them. He sits up, tugging your thighs toward him and tucks your knees at his sides. He grips himself and breaks eye contact to watch where your bodies are about to join. He looks up at you as he slips the head of his cock inside your warm entrance, jaw dropping as your walls swallow him.

Carefully, he feeds you inch by inch, eyes never leaving yours until he’s at the hilt. He commits to memory the morphing of your facial expressions as he fills you up—wide eyes, mouth dropping slowly, head tilting back and eyes snapping shut once he reaches the end of you. Only then does he look down to see where he has vanished inside you, moaning at the way your pussy stretches around him as he pulls out slowly.

“You feel so good,” you whine, fingernails lightly scratching his chest and stomach. His head tips back as he sets a pace, your muscles squeezing him and coating him in warm slick.

“Best I ever had—fuck,” he curses, fingertips bruising your hipbones. He pulls you up so your hips are propped up on his lap, leaving space between your back and the bed. You arch, head lolled back and hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he moans, reaching a palm down to lightly squeeze the column of your throat as he continues pounding into you.

Blood rushes to your head, heightening the pleasure of each thrust. Your body is tingling, almost levitating.

With no notice, your second orgasm zips through you like a gasoline fire, flames scorching your neurons. Joel follows suit, lifting you into his lap, arms wrapped around your torso as he cries into your chest. You tug his curls, tipping his head back in a kiss as he finishes emptying inside you.

You pull back and run your fingers through his hair, stopping to cradle his face in your hands. He beams at you.

“Can I make coffee now?” you tease him, pressing a light kiss to his nose. He laughs warmly, squeezing you tightly and picking you up as he stands from the bed.

“I think that’s acceptable,” he replies, squeezing your ass before letting you stand on your own legs.

“So… when can I see you again?” Joel asks as he puts his shoes on. You’d typed your number into his phone per his request just moments ago and sent yourself a text with his name.

“Are you saying… you want to do this again?” you say, winking at him and dropping your mouth open in mock surprise. He rolls his eyes, standing to pull you into a hug.

“Yes, but not just sex. Unless, uh, that ain’t your thing,” he says, hesitation flashing over his features. You shake your head.

“What we just did isn’t usually my thing. I’d love a date. And more sex if that’s okay.” He snorts.

“It’s more than okay. You showing up to the baseball game tomorrow evening?” he asks, absentmindedly stroking the skin in front of your ear. You nod.

“Got a thing for the hot coach. Need to make sure I have my best jean shorts on.” He snorts again, raising an eyebrow at the prospect of seeing you with some short shorts on.

“How about I take you out later this week, then?” You swipe your eyes around the top of the room, lips sliding into your cheek as you try and remember your schedule.

“Friday? I have a busy week at work. Late nights, probably,” you offer. He nods with a big grin.

“It’s a date.”

The next day arrived in blistering fashion. Not a single cloud graced the blue skies, nor the tiniest gust of summer wind. By 5:00 PM, it was still in the lower 90s. You packed a large cooler full of water bottles, Gatorade, various other liquids stashed in your fridge, and snacks for Noah’s baseball game. Excited to see Joel again, you made sure to wear your best jean shorts and threw on a cropped tank top.

You pull up to the baseball field, searching the parked cars for Meredith’s SUV and Joel’s silver truck. You find both, parked at opposite ends of the lot. Your stomach drops slightly when you see his truck. He’s here, obviously—he is one of the coaches. Meredith waits in her SUV for you, hopping out when she sees you strolling up, big cooler in tow.

“Any booze in that?” she winks at you. You nod.

“I had some stray shooters in the fridge. All yours.”

“I believe you have something to tell me, yeah?” she says as both of you walk up to the entrance of the baseball complex. You look over to the field and see Noah’s team warming up in their familiar navy and red uniforms.

Joel is in the grass, hitting pop flies at the outfielders. His broad back is turned to you, the familiar shape sending a pang of anticipation up your spine. The flexing and jumping of his muscles and tendons is getting you hot. Meredith nudges you.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you here! Stop reminiscing,” she scolds you.

“I kinda have to if you want my account of the story, yeah?” you add, mocking her tone playfully. She guffaws.

“Spill. The man was obsessing over you since he saw you at the game.”

“Let’s just say he’s very good at what he does. And he’s a gentleman. He’s taking me out later this week,” you gush, cheeks burning at your recollection of yesterday’s events.

“Knew it. Could tell by the way he walks and looks at you. Mans is whipped. My guy on the other hand? Couldn’t even get it up. Passed out before anything meaningful could happen,” she seethes, eyes rolling.

“All old men are not created equal, Mer,” you joke, jostling her with your elbow.

As you two find home in the bleachers, you see Miss Blonde Ambition eyeing you from the concession stand. She looks pissed off, Juvéderm-filled lips contorted in a scowl and lifeless eyes swiping up and down your frame as she sloshes her Stanley cup around aggressively. Meredith notices, too.

“Guess she’s not too happy her usual antics didn’t work,” she gripes. You try not to give too much attention to the woman.

“What’s her name? I don’t even think Joel knows it,” you ask, noticing her return to the bleachers from your peripheral.

“Cassie. Divorced. Her kid is one of Noah’s closest friends on the team, unfortunately. I think he spends most nights with his dad.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Meredith chuckles at your jab.

A cloud of strong, overly floral perfume invades your nostrils, and you turn to see Cassie, manicured hands planted on her hips and face pinched in irritation.

“Hey, Cass,” Meredith says coolly, not looking in her direction.

“Is this your sister?” Cassie spits. Her voice is shrill, accent almost Valley girl. It would make a lot of sense if she was from Southern California. Meredith, having none of this hostility, whips her head at Cassie.

“It is. You got a problem? Because this is not the time nor the place,” she says, eyes narrowing briefly at Cassie.

“Just wanted her to know that she shouldn’t get too excited about her little escapade with Joel. He does that with every young thing that sits on these bleachers,” she boils, face and neck turning red. Ouch. Joel never seemed the type, but then again, you don’t know him. She could be telling the truth.

“Except you, yeah?” Meredith shoots back, unfazed by Cassie’s low blow. You, on the other hand, don’t miss how your stomach sinks and throat dries up at her words. Cassie’s mouth drops open. She cocks her hips to one side and lifts a finger at both of you.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been there, done that. Nothing to ride home about. Enjoy my sloppy seconds,” she hisses. Meredith stands up, hackles raised and blocking you from Cassie’s view.

“S’at why you were all pissed off he didn’t want you last night? ‘Cause it’s ‘nothing to ride home about’?” Meredith fires, neck rolling. Anger boils in your belly, though you find it best if you don’t speak—Meredith has always been the verbal fighter, you the physical one. It’s not a road you plan on traveling any time soon.

Other parents in the bleachers are observing the confrontation, along with some players in the dugout, little claws gripping the chain link fence and wide eyes glued to the scene. You’re glad you have sunglasses on. You notice Joel turn his attention to you, shoulders drooping at what he sees. Embarrassed, you look down at your feet as Cassie continues her tirade.

“Tell your slutty little sister he’ll find a new spectator to fuck very soon—and I think it’s best if our sons don’t hang out anymore!” she screeches. It’s silent at the ball field—both teams have stopped their warmups to tune into the drama. A pin could drop here, and everyone would hear it.

Meredith hops off the bleachers and gets close to Cassie’s face. She points in her face.

“Slutty? That’s rich, coming from the lady who cheated on her husband with half the single dads at the last State Tournament!” Cassie’s mouth drops open in shock, taking a few steps back from Meredith. Some gasps ring out in the bleachers. Tommy walks over, stepping between the two sparring women and putting his hands up.

“That’s enough!” he booms. Meredith, nostrils flared and fists clenched, points a finger at him.

“Tom, you know damn well what she’s trying to do here. I’m not about to let it happen. She chose to do this in front of everyone to embarrass my sister. Ain’t my problem what comes out.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“I get it, Mer. Just didn’t need the kids hearing this stuff.”

Nausea squeezes your stomach and takes hold of your throat. You stand and grab your purse. Meredith turns to you, worried.

“Y’alright?” You shake your head.

“Need t’go sit in my car for a bit,” you reply, voice shaky. You turn and walk to your car, paying no attention to wandering eyes. Joel sees you ambling to the parking lot and sets his bat down, raking a hand through his stubble as he walks toward the dugout and out to the bleachers. He’d heard the entire conversation and knew you were probably hurting from Cassie’s remarks.

“I’ll talk to her, Joel,” Meredith says, stepping in between him and you, though you’re far away by now. He shakes his head.

“She needs to hear it from me. None of that shit is true,” he huffs, frown lines etched into his forehead. He jogs frantically to your car.

Hunched over your steering wheel, a knock at your window interrupts you. You jump and look up to see Joel. He looks worried. Shoulders sagging, you unlock the doors and tilt your head as you wait for him to get in. The door opens and he reaches for your hand. You snap it back involuntarily.

“I just wanna be alone right now, Joel,” you lament.

“Just let me explain, alright? I heard everythin’ she said to you,” he says, voice calm. You refuse to look at him, knowing that if you do, you won’t be able to stand firm.

“Look at me, darlin’,” he pleads, voice quiet. You sigh in defeat and turn to look at him. His amber eyes are filled with sadness and frustration.

“None of that shit she said is true. I’ve never slept with anyone that comes to these games, save for you and my ex-wife. Ain’t she ain’t been to a game in many years. Swear,” he says, voice tight, speech rushed.

You look back and forth between his eyes. Why would he lie to you? What could he possibly gain from fucking you—after all, he is a coach, and it might make him look bad to the parents and players. If anything, it was a risk on his part.

“I believe you, Joel. It just hurt,” you finally speak. He reaches for you again, hesitant from your previous rejection. You give him your hand and he kisses the back of it, eyes locked on your face.

“M’sorry. I knew she wasn’t gonna let it go easy. Promise ya, ya got nothin’ to worry about. I—I really like you,” he says, pained. You lean over the center console and kiss him, almost feeling his relief pouring into you.

“I really like you too… old man,” you tease. He roars in laughter.

“Y’gonna pay for that one, darlin’,” he says, half-grinning at you. He kisses you again before pulling back and checking his watch.

“Game’s gonna start soon, I gotta get goin’. I’ll see you later, alright?” You nod, smiling weakly at him. He gives you a quick peck before exiting the passenger side and trotting back to the field.

Noah’s team played an excellent game, which lifted the moods of all the parents and coaches. Cassie’s ex-husband, Byron, showed up and convinced her to leave, which was a relief for everyone. He apologized to you and Meredith for her behavior. Apparently, he already knew about her cheating escapade before they divorced.

Meredith, feeling badly for you, decided to splurge on concession stand snacks and got you a giant Bavarian pretzel and cotton candy, and supplied hot dogs to all the parents. You had fun, too—apprehension quickly turned to relief as parents took turns sympathizing with you and making you feel welcome. This was not Cassie’s first run-in with another woman in the bleachers, you found out—she made this sort of thing a habit.

Noah hit his first home run of the season, eliciting cheers and whoops from the stands. Joel, who had been working with him on his hitting mechanics, gave him a big hug after he returned to the dugout. The team finished 10-3, a great turnaround from yesterday’s loss.

The parents were eager to return to the bar and close it down again. You opted not to, feeling tired and needing a hot bath from the sticky summer night. You and Meredith chatted with Byron for a long time in the parking lot as families filtered out, discussing how to best keep Cassie away from the boys. They had a strong friendship, and neither Meredith nor Byron wanted anything to affect it. Byron shared that Cassie didn’t even have custody of their son—her cheating and drinking during their marriage put a bad taste in Byron’s mouth, and apparently the judge’s—he was awarded full custody.

After saying goodbyes, you were eager to get home, almost forgetting the most important goodbye. You scan the parking lot and see a familiar handsome shape leaning against the bed of his silver truck, eyeing you as you saunter over to him.

“Good game, Coach Miller,” you say slyly, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grasps it, glancing down with one eyebrow cocked, before pulling you into his chest.

“Lotta motivation coming from the stands tonight,” he croons, wrapping his hands around your waist.

“For you or the boys?” He chuckles.

“Take your pick.” You shake your head and smile, watching the sun drop the last of its shape underneath the horizon. The sky is a beautiful cotton candy color, not unlike the treat Meredith bought for you earlier tonight. You two stand there for a moment, the only sounds being the quiet buzzing of the cicadas and crunch of cars leaving the gravel parking lot.

“Headin’ to the bar?” Joel asks you, holding your chin with his forefinger and thumb. You shake your head.

“Need a hot bath and some relaxation. You?” He smirks, thinking of your naked body undressing and stepping into a bubbly tub.

“Nah. Need the same.” Your lips twitch as you study his face, painted with a little mischief and a little fatigue.

“Want to join me?” you offer, watching a slow grin creep on his face.

“Hmm, need t’think about that one,” he says, eyes flicking over your face.

“What’s there to think about? You, me, naked in a tub. What could possibly go wrong?” You’re flirting now.

“That’s exactly what I’m thinkin’ ‘bout, darlin’, not whether I wanna go,” he says, pulling a goofy laugh from you.

“Meet you over there, then,” you say, turning to leave. He holds onto one of your fingers, preventing you from walking to your car.

“Y’want somethin’ to eat first?” he says, rubbing the skin of your finger.

“Sure. Something on the way?”

“I’m thinkin’ McDonalds. Text me what you want, and I’ll bring it over.”

“It’s a date.”

Not too long thereafter, you and Joel are sitting in your bathtub, backs at opposite ends. He’s tracing shapes on the skin of your knee, asking you every question that pops into his head.

“Shoe size?”

“Eleven. I have big ass feet,” you say, sticking a foot out of the water. He chuckles.

“D’ya want kids someday?”

“Nope. Noah is good enough for me. Never really wanted to be a mom. Would you have another?” He shakes his head.

“I’m too old to be a new father again. S’a lotta work. I had a good run with Sarah,” he says quietly, hand tiptoeing further up your leg.

He stares into your eyes, slicking his wet curls back from his forehead with his free hand.

“Why are you single?” His gaze bores into your face. You avoid it, focusing on mussing up some bubbles floating by your knee. You shrug.

“Haven’t had time, or the energy,” you finally say after a beat. “Haven’t found anyone worth giving either of those things to,” you add, tilting your head and meeting his gaze. He half-smiles at you.

“Yeah, me neither. ‘Til now,” he says, deep voice echoing throughout your bathroom.

“Oh yeah? Cassie, right?” you tease, and he snorts.

“Y’got me there. Alright, last question,” he says, hand stopping at the seam of your thigh. You tighten your muscles a bit, nervous.

“Shoot, Coach,” you say, flicking a bubble at him.

“Can I touch you, baby?” your eyes widen briefly, aligned with the quickening of your pulse. You’ve been wet since he ran the bath water for you and undressed you, fingertips gently tracing your skin as he removed your damp clothing.

“Yes,” you breathe. His finger grazes your mound, the sharp stubble like sandpaper against his skin. He grips your knees and pulls you into his lap. You look down at him, mesmerized by his face and the way he stares at you.

“One more question,” he says, warm, pruny hands traversing your back, warm water trickling from his fingertips to your skin. You thread your fingers through his wet tendrils, leaning your lips close to his, but not touching.

“I’ll allow it,” you whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” You nod, closing the gap between your mouths with ease. His lips are gentle against yours, somewhat chapped from the dry heat of the summer day and salty from sweat. He tastes like salt and mint, which he must’ve snuck into his mouth after you ate earlier.

The kiss deepens, wet sounds of your mouths and the splashing of water now echoing in the bathroom. He’s rock hard against you, cock only a few inches from your needy hole. He pulls back and stares at you.

“Alright, promise this is the last question,” he coos, rubbing his nose against your jaw and then your neck as you tip your head back to give him access. The stubble of his mustache and chin scratch at your skin.

“Fine. Last one,” you agree.

“Can I fuck you?” You nod.

And he does.

Some months and many bubble baths later, Joel wormed his way into your heart. And your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap or two hanging on your mantle, throws his keys in the dish on the kitchen counter when he walks in.

You spend most nights together during the week, either at his cozy home or your apartment.

He calls you his, you call him yours.

He fills your car up with gas when you’re out and about and your fuel light comes on, holds your hand when you walk into a restaurant, tells you how beautiful you are at least a few times a week—and not just when his cock is sheathed inside you.

He kisses you each morning before he leaves for work. Shares his food with you, even when he’s starving. Washes you in the shower and puts lotion on the spots you can’t reach after he dries you off.

Introduces you to his family, and shows you pictures of his late daughter.

Goes to the movies with you and doesn’t complain that you talk during the. Entire. Movie.

Lets you wear his ratty, baggy tees around the house, and even asks you to keep them on sometimes when he makes love to you.

Makes fun of how you use a hammer and that you can’t name the 31 different types of wrenches but corrects you each time with a warm smile.

Plays catch with you before the boys show up for warmups and lets you set up the dugout, though he’ll redo it later on anyway.

And when he finally tells you how much he loves you, you’re not shocked. Warmth ebbs inside you, like it does most days with him. You knew it all along, even if he never had the courage to say it—it was evident with each kiss, touch, and thrust, each bag of food he brought for you, each time he held the door open for you, each time he guided you somewhere with his strong hand on the small of your back.

You oftentimes wonder if he is your soulmate, though you already know the answer.

He makes lemonade with each lemon you give him, without complaint or judgment. And that’s all you can ask for.

[boul3vvard]

Rengoku x GN! Reader

(One shot)

★Warning(s): none really reader uses gender neutral pronouns😛 Rengoku might be a lil OOC so… 🏃🏾‍♀️ also SOME of the characters are color coded.

★Y/n L/n = Your name/ Last name

★Words: idek💀

★Notes: this is my first request from @coolminahi (thank you very much🫶🏿) not gonna lie I don’t think this is my best work but I’ve been going back and forth on this for about 2 weeks or what felt like 2 weeks😭😭 but again thank you so much for this request it was really fun🙏🏿. Also got help from some of my friends on this one so shoutout to them🫡. (And the usual..might be some grammatical errors and punctuation😮‍💨 I’m not really good in that realm LMAOO) enjoy🫵🏿

“I know you all are probably confused about the sudden request for a meeting but I’m happy to tell you that we have a new Hashira with us today.” master ubuyashiki said as the Hashira quieted down and made it to their respective area’s quickly, some of them with shocked expressions across their faces. “with all due respect master do you think it’s a smart idea to have a stranger come in too late in the game? I mean we are already so close to our goal in taking down Muzan we don’t need a weakling to come and fuck it up” Sanemi the wind Hashira, said annoyed as Tengen nudged him for using foul language towards their master while the rest agreed. “I apologize sir but I agree, this is way too risky” Obanai the serpent Hashira said. “They have done an outstanding job climbing up the ranks and have worked so hard to earn such a title so please, I know I can count on you all to welcome them with open arms. you can come out now y/n” Hinaki and Nichika 2 of the eldest quintuplet children of the masters held both of your hands as you walked up blindfolded. Why the hell are they blindfolded I hope they’re not trying to fight like that. Ha, this is gonna be a fun way to get yourself killed. “Hi everyone my name is y/n l/n the ____ Hashira, it’s my pleasure to meet you guys I have heard a lot about you all but have never had the chance to meet any of you in person, it’s such an honor to be fighting alongside everyone,” y/n said with a dainty smile one that made the flame pillars heart flutter a little bit.

“Why the hell are they blindfolded,” Sanemi asked rudely but said what everyone else was thinking. “it’s to control my power” “control your power” Shinobu repeated “well you see my eyes play a special part in my breathing form, when I take my blindfold off I’m able to go all out,” you said revealing your eyes to everyone. “oh my” Shinobu the insect Hashira gasped. “well I’ll be, you are one of the most stunning people I’ve ever seen,” Tengen said with his eyes wide open. “besides my beautiful wives of course” he bragged. “wives?” “Oh yes, they are the finest kunoichi around, although I don’t mind having a 4th” he looked at you almost predatory, and winked“ “4TH” y/n gaped as the others laughed. “AHH YOUR EYES THEY’RE SO BEAUTIFUL, YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL,” the love Hashira said with a squeak. “Oh th-thank you,” you said as you tried to hide your face in your hands feeling like it was on 10,000 degrees. You backed up a little bit into someone’s chest “oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“ “NONE OF THAT, TIS ALRIGHT!! MY NAME IS RENGOKU KYOJURO BUT YOU CAN CALL ME KYOJURO..only if you want” holding a hand out to you, y/n smiled softly grabbing it.

“I don’t give a shit about none of that I just want to see if they are strong enough to hold the title or was the master just bluffing,” Sanemi said holding the hilt of his sword. “IF WE HAVE THE MASTER's WORD THEN I TOO BELIEVE THEY'RE STRONG ENOUGH” Rengoku yelled while holding your shoulders “oh you wanna fight me?” you said, the shy act you had going on finally disappearing. “Oh this will be good” Shinobu cheered as everyone watched the battle that was about to unravel in front of them. “just cause you’re a newbie doesn’t mean that I’ll go easy on you” he sneered. “Noted” y/n smiled a little more wickedly. Sanemi swung his sword at y/n not giving them a chance to unsheathe their sword as well, y/n swiftly dodged it twisting their body up in the air “they’re quick” Tengen said as y/n quickly swung their sword at Sanemi narrowly missing his head. “tch” Sanemi looked at you with an angry panicked look. “What’s wrong? I’m just trying to see if you’re strong enough to hold your title,” you say mockingly as you shrugged your shoulders. Y/n then quickly kicked their foot under Sanemi’s pointing their sword at him “I win”. y/n reached a hand out to the man giving him a sorry look. “I don’t need your pity idiot, move” Sanemi smack their hand out the way and left.

“They’re so cool” Mitsuri whispered to herself. “that was flashy, you’re strong I expected that though” Tengen slapped you on the back for a job well done. “first of all OUCH second of all thank you“ you winced as your back started to sting. Muichirou was in no mood to speak so he stuck his tongue out at you and you mirrored his actions. “Don’t mind him he doesn’t like change at all, Mitsuri and I are gonna hang out later if you want to join, you know so you could tell us a little more about yourself” Shinobu said “um no thank you I was planning on focusing on my training for a little bit,” you said with a bow. “there’s no need for none of that I understand, there’s always a next time,” Shinobu said with a smile. “yea” you smiled and waved back as you left.

You decided to train far into the woods as it was the only place where you were not able to break anything. You trained for about an hour before you decided it was time for a break. You sat with your back against a tree and closed your eyes taking in the peace that you craved for so long. “Do you mind if I sit with you” you opened 1 of your eyes then immediately shot up nervously. “did I interrupt you?” He said as you scooted over to give him some room. “n-no not at all, I was just taking a break from training for so long” “oh I see” a wave of awkward silence washed over the both of you. “Soooo do you come to this area of the woods often.” you said as you turned to look at him “yea this is where I come to relax all the time, it’s so quiet” “oh sorry I didn’t know I was in your way,” you said as you were about to get up. “no problem it’s better when you’re with someone… what you did in today's meeting earlier was truly amazing, you know I’ve never seen someone move as quickly as you did besides Tengen” he trailed off. “well maybe you and I could train together sometime” you laughed. He stared at your face for what seemed like forever, you started to feel a little insecure at the way he looked at you. *was something on my face*, your face began to flush with embarrassment until he finally spoke up. “your eyes are truly the most beautiful I’ve ever seen they look like two gemstones have been enfolded into your irises” he said with a huge smile wiped across his face. “th-thank you” you stutter as your face began to heat up. You were still not used to being showered in compliments all the time because of your upbringing so It was still so foreign to you. Rengoku placed his hand on your forehead, “are you okay? you don’t look so well, Are you sick or something?” He said worryingly. *I FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA PASS OUT* you screamed at yourself. “I’m okay, I’m totally fine,” you said grabbing his huge calloused hand with two of your soft ones. “I’m just not used to praises like that” “and why’s that?” he said tilting his head to the side. *he’s quite adorable* you thought with a soft smile “I don’t know” “well you should get used to it I’m only telling you how I see it” he said with a chuckle, you doing the same. The two of you enjoyed the silence together taking in the greenery surrounding the both of you. It was peaceful. It wasn’t until you looked over at him again and were met with him dozing off. “you can go to sleep if you want, I’ll be on the lookout if anything happens okay” you whispered trying not to wake him. and with that, he fell asleep.

You ended up falling asleep yourself while failing to keep your word. You were out for about 15 minutes until you felt someone pick you up. “I DIDNT MEAN TO WAKE YOU, MY APOLOGIES” he yelled waking you up completely as he lifted you onto his back a lot more energetic than he was before. “I should be the one apologizing, I said I was gonna wake you but I ended up falling asleep as well,” you said softly a blush appearing on your face. “NONSENSE, AT LEAST WE WERE ABLE TO GET A MOVE ON, BEFORE SUN DOWN, THAT WOULD BE A DISASTER” “you’re so loud you know” you chuckled “you also don’t have to carry me I can walk the rest of the way” “I DONT HAVE TO BUT IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE TO, ALTHOUGH I DONT KNOW WHERE YOUR ESTATE IS SO YOU WILL HAVE TO DIRECT ME” “okay,” you said burying your face into the crook of his neck

The two of you conversed the entire way home, he would ask you questions about your family and your life as you did the same. You found out that he has a younger brother and just by the way he explained him to you, you knew that they had a very strong bond with each other, you could tell how much he admired his younger brother it kinda felt like you knew him before getting the chance to know him. He also told you about his parents, you wanted to know more about them but the slight change in his tone told you everything you needed to know, plus you didn’t want to be nosy only realizing that the both of you didn't even know about the existence of each other earlier this morning so you bit your tongue.

“Thank you for taking me home, even though I told you I could walk myself” you nudged him. “I TOLD YOU ALREADY, IT IS ALRIGHT U DONT HAVE TO THANK ME, PLUS I WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO FORGIVE MYSELF IF I LET SOMEONE AS PRETTY AS YOU GET HURT” it felt like the wind got knocked outta your system. “DID I SAY SOMETHING WRONG?” He asked. “no, no it’s just..you think I'm pretty?” “OF COURSE, YOU'RE GORGEOUS” you took the chance and tested the waters a little bit. “so you’d walk anyone you find attractive home?” You asked “Have you ever walked the love Hashira home?” you said changing the question quickly. “NO, SHE ISNT EXACTLY MY TYPE, PLUS SHE'S MORE OF A LITTLE SISTER HAHA” “oh so you have a type?” the way he became tense made you laugh out loud. “I’m joking I just wanted to mess with you haha” Another wave of silence rushed past the both of you, it started to become awkward. “well I think I’m gonna call it a night, I’ll see you around” you began to turn around until he grabbed you by the wrist. “DO YOU WANT TO HANG OUT LATER ON?” “are you asking me out on a date?” “ONLY IF YOU WANT TO THOUGH, IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE A DA-“ he said his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “I would love to” you smiled at him before parting ways.

©Boul3vvard. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. SO ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM OF MY CONTENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

[talenlee]

3e: Kythons

Where the creeping edges of reality ripple and shimmer, where foul and dark powers reach into the world to try and plant their foul fingertips there, there lay hallmarks and signs. There is a chance your world has tasted them, the chance that they have been left there, at some point by some errant and cruel source, and therefore, the only opportunity you have now is to wage war on their very existence, or to abandon your world, knowing it is a matter of time before the ultimate predatory violence bursts forth from some forgotten earthen womb, and renders all that you considered a civilisation into the same, cyclical, eternal pereptuum of feasting.

Content Warning: This article is going to be about a creepy monster from 3rd edition, D&D, and involve discussing some of the details of its source book, the Book of Vile Darkness. The art gets gory and bloody after here.

Kythons are a threat. They are a menace. They are first and foremost a creature of violence, a ravening mouth with a selection of limbs around it; sometimes just two and a tail, running feet that let the maw chase you, or sometimes it’s four limbs and two legs, with hands that can grasp and wield weapons and threaten your life and limb.

Most resembling some mix of insect and reptile, a Kython is an intelligence that seemingly exists on a different plane to other intelligence; they have seemingly no need or want for conversation or diplomacy, and they wield weapons they manufacture entirely on their own. While weak as — children? infants? nymphs? spawn? — they still are threatening to full grown adult adventurers from birth and it’s only a matter of time before they overcome, overrun, and consume everything.

The Kythons are dangerous not because they hate you but because they are incapable of good, honest, human, hatred, or somesuch. You see this is a Kython broodling, a smaller kind of Kython. And when they eat your face, nobody can hear you scream.

Look, they’re nasty gribbly things that are both alien (in that nothing is like them) and alien (in that they were put on the world from an outside place) and alien (in that they very much are trying to create the feeling of fear and horror as you remember from the movie Aliens if you’ve seen it). They are the tension of a blockbuster movie about failure and incompetence and desperation against the implacable inexorable force of a pitiless consuming force, turned into a D&D monster you can hit so it drops treasure.

Now, setting aside how useful or reasonable these things are as a threat, there’s a lot of work being put in to making these things both incredibly nasty and monstrous while also badass as hell. These things are a mix of traits that would require some truly breathtaking 1990s animatronics and material effects. There is an alternate reality where I got into painting miniatures and had a bunch of secret Kython OCs along with the Tyranid OCs and the Xenomorph OCs who shapeshift into these things instead of much more wholesome and fuckable werewolves.

The Kython aesthetic is a mix of generic bug in the carapacey design, with specific traits of praying mantises, and how we imagine preying mantises to work. They have big jagged fanglymouths, lots multiple limbs, but they’re also blind, you know, to avoid having eyes you can look into and see their humanity. They see somehow, and that’s between them and whatever got regrets making them.

They have poison? Well, venom really, but you know that discrepancy is the kind of thing that only matters to huge fucking dorky nerds. They have venom. They come in a variety of forms showing an evolutionary lifecycle that is both recognisably an escalation in the way we’re familiar from baby to adult to oh no, and in the process they get less cute and more dangerous. This means that any given encounte with Kythons can include small medium and large members, and that they can present a variety of different combat opportunities in tactical combat. You can pick some small Kythons to be a doable combat encounter and you can pick a big Kython to be a dangerous kind of stalker threat harrassing the player characters.

The gameplay versatility of the Kython is part of what I think represents its enduring gameplay presence. I haven’t seen them in 4th edition (my native grounds) but there are people making art and campaigns that involve Kythons even this year. The urge to use fanart of Kythons for this article was strong, but contacting all the people involved seemed very hard. And we wouldn’t want to inappropriately credit in an article about the time D&D tried to riff on the Slivers riffing on the Zerg riffing on the Tyranids riffing on the Xenomorph.

What really sets the Kythons apart is one of the enduring problems that a truly free form tabletop roleplaying game with a polar morality system as Dungeons & Dragons 3rd edition has: How do you represent a completely alien intelligence? There’s magic in the world, magic capable in multiple ways of breaking down barriers for communication. There really is no reason why, if one wanted to, one could not, somehow, communicate with a Kython.

The problem the Kython presents is that they are meant to be a thing that cannot be communicated with, cannot be reasoned with, and will not stop, until you are dead. Er, wrong movie. No, the Kython is meant to be the Predator and the Alien, bound up together in one horrible insect-crustacean-reptile-beast form, with bio-organic weapons. They’re an environmental horror: You find some eggs, you have to destroy the eggs, and if you don’t destroy the eggs, if you leave the problem to later, the problem will get out of hand. There is no natural ecosystem of the Kythons, they are just going to get out of control no matter what because that’s what they are made to do.

They are the Zerg, they are the Tyranids, they are the Swarm, they are the Hive. They are a monster in the purest sense, an un-rehabilitable enemy that is smart enough to be able to be evil and inhuman enough to not want to negotiate on that fact. They need to be capable of thought to be capable of a moral framework and they need to be incapable of communication to keep you from interacting with that moral framework.

A truly feral, animal threat – something in the vein of an actual form of the xenomorph – would be a problem. That presents something natural, something that should be placatable, something that doesn’t fit in the D&D generality of nature as a stable ecosystem where everything is okay until someone messes with it. A genuinely hostile ecosystem isn’t a thing that works within the framework of absolutes of evil and an irredeemable creature that doesn’t care about you.

Kythons are what people imagine nature isn’t and what nature is. It is a reinvention of bears and bees and bacteria, the violence that meat does to meat, but given a moral dimension because if it’s not given a moral dimension, you can’t be morally superior to it. And they are presented in the Book of Vile Darkness because they wanted a truly terrible, nasty thing to put there.

The nastiest thing they could imagine was mid-tier copyright infringement of the Tyranids for a second time.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[evolutionsvoid]

The Drillbeak Cockatrice is indeed a member of the Cockatrice family, as one should easily be able to tell. Even if the name wasn't a dead giveaway, the modified crop, fancy crest and ocular decorations should be enough of a clue! They share all the traits that this family possesses, and have found a way to use them in a different niche. Drillbeaks are found in warmer climates, often leaning a bit more toward the arid side. In truth, they aren't too particular about the weather and temperature, it just so happens that they care more about the wants of somebody else. The climate they seek is the one that termites and ants prefer, as Drillbeaks are primarily insectivores. Wherever there are colonies of these insects, these birds are close at hand. Their populations are scattered amongst the ranges of these eusocial insects, but their strongest numbers can only be found in the ultimate insect motherload! You want to see Drillbeaks? Pack your things and go visit the Hivelands! For any insectivore with the proper tools, the Hivelands is the closest to paradise they can get in their lifetime! It is an entire ecosystem that forms around a massive colony of insects, the land being literally shaped by their actions! The Mountain Makers are the sole reason these bizarre habitats even exist, and they are also the reason why a lot of living creatures call it home! A population big enough to rebuild the landscape on nearly a monthly basis is a huge one indeed, and anyone looking for a bite to eat knows that this would be a reliable food source! It should be no surprise that the Hivelands has incredible diversity when it comes to insectivores, as the Mountain Makers serve as the dietary staple for the entire region! With such an endless buffet skittering beneath the porous rock and sculpted earth, the Drillbeak has equipped itself with the best tools to access this feast! The rather obvious feature is its powerful beak. While it may not look as threatening or deadly as some other predatory birds, it can pack quite the punch! It is quite sturdy and is backed up by a series of tough neck muscles. When a Drillbeak wants to nab some bugs from down below, its beak will strike the earth with enough force to shatter rock. While Hiveland stone is not nearly as tough as other rocks, due to it being held together by Mountain Maker secretions, the power necessary to break it is still quite staggering! And to do it with your face! This is only possible because the beak is anchored to the skull in such a way that the shock of the impact is safely dispersed through its whole form. Internal cushions and specially arranged anatomy keeps the Drillbeak from beating its own brains out, especially when they start "drilling!" When these birds encounter dense rock or seek to dig far down, they can peck at the earth at a blinding speed! This rapid movement turns their head into a blur, as they rain powerful blows down upon the ground or any unfortunate thing below them! It is impressive to see and easy to hear! It is a rather loud event, and it is how I was able to track down these birds whenever I sought to study them. Hearing the sound of a digging Drillbeak echoing across the jagged hills and warped spires is one of the Hivelands common joys! That earth-shattering beak isn't the only thing the Drillbeak is equipped with! Those who look upon a drawing of these birds will notice that they possess more developed forelimbs than many of their Cockatrice brethren. Rather than them being stubby little arms, these could actually be called functioning appendages! At first glance, you may think these limbs end in thin razor-sharp claws, but these are not weapons! Rather, they are actually highly modified feathers! Perhaps long ago, these feathers once made a wing, but now they have found a different purpose. These structures are mainly a hollow shaft that has lost most of its barbs. These have no use for flight or warming them in cold weather. Instead, these feathers have a special structure that runs through their hollow insides, which interacts specifically with the nerves that lie within the surrounding flesh. Certain muscles allow them to move these feathers like probing fingers, and you may see a hungry Drillbeak tap the ground with these slender structures. What the creature is doing to hitting the ground in such a way that it can sense buried chambers and tunnels beneath its feet. It is believed that these feathers are good at picking up vibrations and subtle movement, and that is how the bird finds its food. It can feel the places where the Mountain Makers are the thickest, or where fat grubs may hide. When a promising signal is felt by its feathers, it shall smash the ground open and feast. A long sticky tongue is good for tiny insects, while larger prey is crushed in the beak and swallowed. While the Drillbeak prefers insects, it will not turn its beak up at an opportune meal. Pitfall Moles can fall prey to these birds, especially when the Drillbeaks detect their famous traps. With its sensitive feathers, a Drillbeak may notice the obvious pitfall and deduce that the moles are lying nearby in wait. With its heavy tail, it will bash open the fragile floor and dupe the moles into thinking prey has blundered into their pit. When the eager critters scurry forth to claim their prize, the Drillbeak will stab its head into the fray and seize one of the would-be predators. A hearty whack upon the skull, and the acid-spitting mole will be dispatched and a hearty meal will be claimed. It is a rather clever tactic, and that is not the only trick these birds can pull!

Drillbeaks are rather crafty birds, always finding ways to turn things to their advantage. Duping the Pitfall Moles is one neat trick, but they can also take advantage of another ambush predator! Through the Hivelands, Leg-Eaters are a rather famous and vicious hunter. Their ability to spring from practically any hole to sear off flesh is terrifying, but the Drillbeak is not scared of this. It seems like their tapping methods can pick out the presence of these Slimes, as their unique gooey bodies create a distinct sound and feel. If they can sense that an Acid Slime is hiding nearby, they will use these long feathers as a lure. By tapping loudly and probing the inside of the Leg-Eater's burrow, they can bait it into attacking. When the Slime lunges for the supposed food, the Drillbeak will evade its attack and move in for a bite. In some cases, the Drillbeak may steal chunks of food still digesting in the Slime's pseudobody, but most of the time they are seeking out the goo itself! Leg-Eaters secrete a powerful acid, and that is precisely what these birds want! By tricking these Slimes, they can grab a mouthful of this potent goop and store it in their resistant crop. Don't forget, these are Cockatrices! What member of this esteemed family wouldn't want a belly full of death?       The specialized crop of the Cockatrice family comes into play once again and, for the Drillbeaks, it is designed for acidic slime and venomous insects. Mountain Makers have certain members that use venom to defend their colonies, and other bugs can retaliate with the same. The Drillbeak eats these poisonous morsels and stores them in its crop. Pitfall Moles and Leg-Eaters are also a good source of caustic fluids, perfect for burning flesh! Combine that all with its own bile, and you got a powerful stew that will eat a hole right through your body! This is how the Drillbeak will defend itself from foes, spitting streams of flesh-searing vomit onto those who get too close. While it may not cause infection like other Cockatrice concoctions, it will melt your flesh and scar you for life. I remember when I was looking through the archives in Baraku, when a curator pointed out a interesting skull that they owned. It was a human one, but I only knew that because they told me it was. Apparently it belonged to a nomad who had gone into the Hivelands and accidentally ticked off a Drillbeak. It seems like they got a big dose of its spit, because the face looked more like a melted bowl than anything else. A morbid thing, but one that should warn you about getting close to these creatures! Of course, like all Cockatrices, this weaponry is limited. They can only store so much acidic vomit at a time, which means they can deplete their stock. When this happens, predators may swoop in to take advantage of this weakness, and promptly get a beak through the skull for their cleverness. Don't forget that these birds smash through rock to get their food, so bone and carapace prove no match to them. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------- Why not more species? Why not just more? A Cockatrice and a woodpecker? Sure! The nice thing about coloring birds (despite them being pains to draw) is that there is literally no way you can screw up coloring them. If you think you designed something tacky or way too ludicrously colorful, just look up some birds and see that they already have this color scheme and they love it.  

[pumpkinsadlatte]

Where Are You?

I’m posting today’s @nutsandvoltsweek fic at 1:30AM when I have to be up at 6:15AM end me. But I’m travelling, and wanted alllll day for this to get reactions, so! Have this.

Angst is my favorite : D And I want to note that I had this idea first when I received the prompt list, before the v7 finale. Which explains the premise.

crossposted on ao3!

He’s not sure how long he’s been running through the shin-deep snow, the smell of Ironwood’s pet’s blood still fresh in his mind (and in his nose, really, the blood itself is still drying on his hands -- what he hasn’t already licked off of them, anyhow!), and the adrenaline still rushing through his veins, but he sees the rendez-vous in the distance. He’s nearly there!

( copper and fear and death and the unhinged despair of ironwood’s little bird! the sweetness of his anguished scream still ringing in his ears! he had almost sworn that he could still feel his own poison coursing through qrow branwen’s liquor-thinned blood! )

The rendez-vous point is a Schnee stockyard. Raw dust is stored here on its way to be processed, but it isn’t a mine. There’s plenty of structures and stacks of crates containing carefully-packed, raw dust to cover behind, and there’s of course vehicles to steal or hide in, even a few unlocked buildings! It’s perfect! A bit of a gift from Jacques Schnee himself , allegedly.

( spineless sniveling insect that he is )

Tyrian had joked, when Arthur had told him about their meeting place, that they should perhaps consider sending Mr. Schnee a lovely thank-you card for his generosity. Arthur hadn’t laughed, not really. That was fine, he’d just gone to sleep on the sofa instead after that. And taken the comforter with him, of course.

Speaking of comforters…

( too cold )

He’s cold . It’s freezing out here. Well, he really should’ve worn his coat, but it just got in the way sometimes while he was hunting. Or it was just something to be grabbed and manipulated against him: no thank you. And besides, he won’t be out here much longer, he’s sure of it. He rounds a corner, ducking into a cluster of loaded crates in varyingly-sized stacks. It’s good enough cover from the wind, and he’s got a rather good view of the empty space around him.

But Arthur’s tracking signal hasn’t shown up on his scroll’s radar yet. He’s not on the property.

( he’s coming )

No problem, he’ll just wait for him, that’s fine. And, of course, maybe he’ll do a little bragging about being the first one to the rendez-vous point when the good doctor finally shows up: he finds it funny that for once he’s early and Arthur’s late to something. It’s never a bad time to brag! Especially not when their plans are going so well !

( he’s not coming )

Of course he’s coming. Don’t be absurd.

“Oh dear doctor~” the hunter chimes into the wind, or, rather, into his comm. line, once he brings his scroll up and opens the line for use. He lounges across the top of a crate after brushing a good half a foot of snow from the top of it, letting his tail dangle off the side and looking not unlike a teenager on the phone with a school friend, or a little crush . “Did you let me get here first? I’m touched ! How sweet of you!”

Dead air from the other end of the line.

“… helloooo~?”

Nothing.

Seconds pass. Minutes. More minutes than he feels should pass without at least a check-in of some kind.

( he’s coming )

Tyrian frowns briefly, but decides on a different approach. He drizzles a pout over his next words, idly twisting a loose lock of brown hair around one clawed finger as he calls out over the communication line again. “Hmm~ This is so rude. You know, I haven’t eaten any apples today, doctor, why are you staying away from me~?”

Not even a groan. That’s fine, his partner is probably just still busy with Amity: he’s sure it’s quite a project if the good doctor can’t even check in with him.

( he’ll be here soon )

And so, he waits. Stays spread out on top of the crate while he does, turning over onto his stomach and letting his feet kick back and forth a little in the air behind him. It’s getting steadily lighter, he notices now. The sun’s rising. Well, it’s fitting that this new dawn will bring with it a world where Ironwood’s losing friends and chess pieces and sanity , he’s sure, at an alarming rate, anyway. How long has he been sitting here?

( too long )

“Rrrrrrrgh... where are you?” Tyrian finally growls as he leaps up into a predatory crouch on top of his crate, tail whipping back and forth in irritation behind him as he spits, frustrated, into his earpiece. “If we’re late She’ll be furious .”

Still nothing.

( he’s coming )

The hunter sighs, but then giggles a little to himself as he drops back down to sit on the very edge of the crate. Amity must be putting up quite a fight ! Or maybe there was still security at the tower, and Ironwood had tricked them. Perhaps left a few measly soldiers there to slow Arthur down, oh maybe his other attack dogs . After all, Qrow Branwen and his little friend had been a surprise when he’d shown up to take out Robyn Hill.

( no, it can’t be the other little mongrels, he definitely saw them in mantle )

Oh, but it’s fine. It’s fine! This is just fine! Arthur can handle himself! He can certainly handle a few of Ironwood’s little toys ! He’s done it before! There’s nothing to worry about!

He’s not sure how long he continues to sit there, kicking his feet above the snowy ground and flicking his tail and brushing off snow and waiting for the doctor to answer, before the sky dims again, not as if it’s been a full day already, but as if it’s… blocked. Tyrian looks up in slight confusion, before gold eyes pop wide at the shadow above. He can’t really make it out clearly, of course, but the familiar, heavy, intoxicating sense of death and destruction and despair that the shadow brings, why, it can only be…

( G O D D E S S )

“… oh, She’s here! I see Her!” Tyrian cheers giddily into his earpiece, regarding the massive shadow. He cackles into the arctic air as he hops down off of his crate and looks in wonder up at the sky.

( B L E S S E D )

He crumples in the snow, overwhelmed with the sight, hitting his knees hard against the layer of either ice or permafrost beneath it, letting his aura flicker out briefly in his emotional state. He can feel himself starting to weep, feels the tears of pure, unbridled joy running down his cheeks as he regards, as best he can with limited vision, the breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful sight above him. “… oh, She’s glorious! ”

( glorious! positively magnificent! indescribable and unrivaled in sheer, suffocating, overwhelming beauty! atlas is unworthy to witness Her! they should be grateful that She permits it! ironwood should be thankful to die by Her hand! )

But even despite his own laughter, despite the tears he feels freezing to his face in the arctic air, the wind howling in his ears and the distant cries of his Queen’s creatures high above the tundra, high above even the floating city, he notices one thing.

( “little deathstalker” )

He still can’t hear his partner’s voice. Surely he can see this from Amity. He must be able to see this, mustn’t he?

“… Arthur?”

( he’s not coming )

But… there’s been nothing on the other end of the line. Nothing at all. No quiet, amused chuckling. No hissed curses for him to shut up, I’m trying to concentrate . No distress calls, or emergency signals. There’s… been nothing.

Not a word.

( he’s not coming )

“… do you hear me?”

Tyrian’s laughter finally quiets down, and his smile starts to fall as the realization hits him, hard and cold like the arctic air. He’s heard nothing . Gotten no texts, no calls…

( he’s not coming )

Something isn’t right with this. He has a bad feeling. He never has bad feelings, but this is a bad feeling. He should be overjoyed! He should be positively euphoric in the presence of their Goddess.

But where is

( smiling over a cup of tea, watching the doctor work tirelessly on his new tail, staying perfectly still as the doctor fits metal plates over brown chitin, peering feverishly up at his caretaker while his body fights a horrid infection, whispered promises and sweet words and lingering kisses exchanged in the blood red glow of dawn at the castle… )

“… Arthur?”

( hands and tongues and nails and teeth drawn over every part of his body -- and of his partner’s, bites and marks dark against his own skin and even darker against the doctor’s, Hazel looking away from them like he doesn’t notice and Cinder curling her lip in unacknowledged disgust …)

The tears keep flowing, but he doesn’t know if they’re for joy or sorrow now. Nor is he really certain whether he’s actually addressing the other end of the communication line anymore.

( not coming not coming not coming not coming not coming not )

“… where are you…”

[gamzee-the-capricious-fanfic]

Chapter 5

The next day you can barely focus on your classes. All you can think about is your “date” with Tavros. You pester Karkat all day about what you should do and he is starting to get frustrated and annoyed.

“Gamzee! Just. Be. Yourself. Goddamn. I don’t know how many times I have to say it to get the fucking concept through your thick skull you fucking dipshit. I swear the message would get through to even the smallest insect. They don’t even fucking understand our language! That is how stupid you are being!” 

“Clearly being myself has gotten me absolutely nowhere.” You gesture wildly at yourself. “Apparently this motherfucker only gives off ‘lets be friends and only that’ vibes!” You pull at your hair in frustration. “Why am I like this!”

“Dude, fucking chill out before you give yourself a seizure or something.” 

You gasp. “I didn’t even think about that! What if the movie has a bunch of flashing lights!!! I heard that I should avoid movies with flashing lights if I have seizures. Motherfuck that would be motherfuckin embarrassing as shit!”

“Wow, your only worry is getting embarrassed is it? Not the fact that seizures are a very serious thing and can lead to you being seriously hurt or like you could die but yeah, don’t want to seem less cool of course.” Karkat sighs. “Why am I the only one who takes this seriously. 

“Bro, the way Tavros perceives me is super motherfuckin serious.”

“Ok first off, do you have to say motherfuck in every sentence you say? Also I doubt Tavros would think of you any less if that happened. Besides it would probably make you even more pitiable.” 

“Yes. But anyway so, what you are all up in putting down is that I should see a movie with a bunch of flashing lights so Tavros gets all motherfuckin worried about me? That is brilliant Karkat.” 

“Goddammit Gamzee! NO!” Karkat looks like he is about to explode and go on a serious rant but you cut him off.

“Kar I’m just joking I promise!” you chuckle. “I may look like a dumb motherfucker but I promise I’m not stupid.”

“You’re right you do look stupid. Like the most stupid, Imagine Trump, then put some clown makeup over that orange ass face and you are that stupid.” Dave chimes in. You didn’t even realize he was there with you guys. You glower at him. 

“What is a Trump?” You ask.

“Wow, uh like the current president. The one who isn’t Obama. We fuckin wish Obama was back. Brilliant person. Cared about the economy man. It’s all about the economy. Like imagine Obama, imagine him saying “the economy is bad” and we are all like “oh no!” but then he is just like “I’m going to fix it.” and you feel serene listening to that beautiful voice of his but then Trump waltzes in and just fucks it. Like literally, wrinkly dick right up in there. I don’t know about you but the economy with Trump’s dick deep in it is not a good economy dude.”

You understood none of that. You open your mouth as if to reply and nothing comes to you. Damn. Eventually you manage a weak: "Who is Ob-"

"Don't even finish that sentence." 

You look to Karkat for some backup or something but he's just smiling lightly at Dave with a red tinge to his face. You look back and forth between them and come to a realization. You give Karkat an exasperated look. "Bro, really?" 

He looks at you confused for a second then realizes that you know about his little crush. "Anyway Gam yeah just go for it, it's just a movie right?" He says that loudly with a fake laugh at the end desperately trying to change the subject. Dave raises an eyebrow but his face remains unreadable. His stupid face pisses you off. Yet also attracts you. Ah the complexity of black romance. Honestly you never expected to feel black feelings towards anyone. You never really disliked any of your friends to that point. Well, Vriska annoys you, you don't like how mean she is to Tavros but that is different.

 For the next few hours you agonize over this movie date. Should you take him to dinner? Is that too much? Then if you did where should you go? There's too many questions and Karkat is tired of you pestering him with said questions. You decide you might as well ask Tavros what he wants to do. Talkin is so much easier over text. 

 TC: HeY tAvBrO, wAnNa Go GeT sOmE wIcKeD aSs GrUb BeFoRe ThE mOvIe?

You wait staring at your phone screen. After a minute you get fidgety and so you get up and pace around the room biting your lip absentmindedly. It takes 5 minutes for Tavros to respond but to you it felt like forever.

AT: uH,,, yEAH SURE

Thats it. You waited 5 minutes for that. You groan in frustration. Ok, just gotta ask him where he'd want to go then. 

TC:  AnY pReFeReNcE mY mOtHeRfUcKeR?

Now you play the waiting game, again. You expected a quick reply since he just answered your previous text but you sure expected wrong. It takes a good 15 minutes before your phone finally goes off.

AT: nO PREFERENCE REALLY } : )

God dammit Tavros. Now you have to think of somewhere to go. You have literally little to no sense of taste, and you are supposed to pick a place. And you KNOW everyone has a preference. They say they don't but then you pick a place and then they are all up and like 'oh, not that place' and the cycle repeats itself. Alright, you gotta play that fuckin reverse card shit.

TC: WeLl T-dOg, YoU kNoW i DoN't AlL uP aNd HaVe A sEnSe Of TaStE rIgHt NoW sO mAyBe YoU sHoUlD pIcK. :o) 

Take that motherfucker. Now the pressure of choosing should be off your chest now. You receive another text. 

AT: oH,,, uH,,, mAYBE WE SHOULDN'T GO OUT FOR FOOD THEN,

For fucks sake. 

TC: We StIlL cAn, I jUsT wOuLdN't Be GoOd At ChOoSiNg Is AlL tAv. 

AT: uH,,, oK THEN, iT MIGHT TAKE ME A WHILE TO UH,,, dECIDE THOUGH,

TC: DoN't MaTtEr To Me BrO, tAkE aLl ThE tImE yOu NeEd :o)

 Finally, progress. You love Tavros but this whole date thing has got you on edge. You need to calm your shit. You try to think of something to do in the meantime but only one thing comes to mind. It’s time to get a little bit high. You know it’s not a great idea and Tavros would disapprove of this but It would soothe your nerves and that is what you need. You spend 30 minutes at your spot, you decided the place you first smoked weed at is now your place to go. It is quiet and peaceful over there so it is a good spot to go to get away from everyone because only you know about it. Now, it didn’t take you 30 minutes to smoke by any means but it was so calming to be there so you ended up staying longer than you intended to.  By the time you finally check your phone for the time you see it is 10 minutes before you are supposed to meet Tavros for your date! You curse yourself for being so careless and you start heading back to the dorm building. 

However, as you are heading towards the dorm building you get stopped by a group of trolls. At first you didn’t realize their intent was to stop you but as soon as you tried to go around them they circled you. There are 5 trolls, at a quick glance they all appear to be blue bloods. You give them a lazy smile, as if you are not worried at all. Of course you are not stupid, they want to cause trouble and you are prepared for that but for now you just say: 

“What can a motherfucker do for y’all?”

They are all giving you dirty looks, disgust even. The leader, at least you assume so, steps forward. 

“I just want to know how a disgusting runt of a highblood like you didn’t get culled.”

You laugh, “Well seeing as me and you are around the same height how does that make me a runt to you exactly?” 

He ignores that. “Just look at you, weak, stunted, and you look practically skeletal. Not to mention your sopor addiction. What fucking idiot would come up with the idea to consume that?”

“Look, I got somewhere to be motherfucker, you can spout all the hate you want but maybe at a later time.” You are getting impatient, Tavros must be wondering where you are. 

“Wow, you are as stupid as you look huh. You aren’t going anywhere ‘motherfucker’. We are going to do you a favor and just pity cull you.” 

He gestures to the others and they start advancing towards you. He looks so cocky and sure of himself. “We will see about that then.” Your smile widens, almost predatory. It is very slight but you swear you see a flash of fear in the lead troll’s eyes. One of the trolls decaptchalogues his weapon, a serrated edged blade, and leaps towards you. You casually step aside dodging his attack. You grab the back of his shirt as he trips past and lifting him with ease you throw him at one of the trolls trying to attack you from behind. The remaining three still standing realize that coming at you one at a time will not work. They rush towards you all wielding different kinds of blades. You decaptchalogue your clubs and use them to deflect the blades then you kick the troll in front of you, the leader, in the stomach and he collapses heaving. You grab the arm of one of the remaining trolls pulling her towards you unbalancing her before you slam a club down on her arm breaking it. She drops her blade with a scream. The other one who rushed you stabs towards you and you just barely move out of the way getting nicked slightly on your side. He smiles triumphantly before you grab him by the hair and slam a knee into his face effectively knocking him out. You hear movement behind you but before you can move you feel a sharp stinging pain in your shoulder.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” You hiss in pain and look to see an arrow lodged in your shoulder. Now you are fucking pissed. You whirl and snarl angrily at the troll who shot you. His face pales seeing you enraged. You advance towards him and you can see him shaking, frozen with fear. You stand in front of him now and you grab his bow from his shaking hands and you snap it in half. The terrified troll whimpers and stutters. “P-p-please don’t h-hurt me. I-It was all Xaleeb’s idea!” He points towards the leader troll who was just starting to get to his feet. “I don’t give a flying fuck bro.” You punch the fucker in the face, knocking him out. Everything screams in you to kill these trolls but you keep yourself in check just barely, never again do you want your rage to run wild. You look towards the lead troll and growl. 

“If you know what is good for you motherfucker I would get the fuck out of here.”

He glares at you eyes full of hate. “This isn’t over highblood, watch your back.” 

He and the other conscious trolls run off leaving those who are unconscious. You captchalogue your clubs again and check your phone, you are almost an hour late, the fight felt so fast how the fuck did the time fly by so quick? You groan then wince as your shoulder throbs reminding you of the arrow stuck in your shoulder. Goddammit. You rush back to the dorms ignoring the shocked looks, yeah you have an arrow in your shoulder and you are bleeding, so what. You are panting by the time you open the door to the dorm. Dave, Karkat, and Tavros look towards you, Karkat stands looking angry and as if he is going to tell you off before he notices the arrow sticking out of your shoulder and his face turns to concern. “Sorry I am late Tav, got a bit hung up for a moment.” 

Karkat sputters for a moment before finally finding his voice. “Hung up for a bit!? Gamzee you have a fucking arrow in your fucking shoulder!” 

You ignore that and walk up to Tavros, he looks as though he had been crying. You gently cup his face with your hands and you can see fresh tears forming in his eyes. Before you can stop yourself you lean down and gently kiss him. His lips are just as soft as you imagined them to be but all to soon you back off now worried about his reaction. 

“Ah, shit bro sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” 

Your voice trails off and you can’t look at him. You totally fucked up, this isn’t the way you wanted to do this. Tavros gently grabs your arm and you look at him confused, he pulls your arm down and towards him making you stoop slightly before he kisses you. You are sure you are blushing profusely, if you didn’t know any better you would think you were dreaming but the sharp throbbing pain in your shoulder tells you otherwise. When he pulls away you can see that he too is blushing profusely. You chuckle softly and Tavros giggles looking hella cute. 

“Uh, sorry to interrupt your little red fest but Gamzee you are literally fucking bleeding out onto the floor in case you forgot!”

You grimace, yeah, that is true. Tavros looks at your shoulder worry written all over his face. 

“Uh,, you should probably get that looked at Gamzee.” 

“Don’t you worry Tavbro I’m sure I’ll be ok.” He doesn’t look convinced. He looks to Karkat for support. 

“All right Gamzee, you are coming with me.” Karkat grabs you by the arm and pulls you out the door. You honk in surprise. 

Karkat practically drags you all the way to another dorm room down the hall from yours. He knocks impatiently. It takes a second but Rose answers the door.  

“Hey Rose, can you get Kanaya for me?” Rose looks at Karkat then at you, her eyes drifting to the arrow poking out of your shoulder. 

“Sure.” 

Rose goes back into the room leaving the door open a crack. You can hear her call for Kanaya and then some soft murmuring. After a second Kanaya comes to the door. 

“It seems you had an accident Gamzee?”

“You could say that.” You smile sheepishly. 

Kanaya gestures the two of you inside. “May I ask why you have an arrow in your shoulder Gamzee?” 

“Just a little altercation is all. Not too big of a deal.” You shrug then wince and curse as a sharp pain runs through your shoulder, ok, best not to do that. 

Kanaya tuts watching you. “If you say so, let’s see what we got then.” Kanaya gestures for you to sit and you do so. She grabs a black case and opens it. Inside there looks to be both sewing utensils and first aid. She then looks closely at the arrow in your shoulder and hums. “It appears luck is not on your side Gamzee. This arrow has barbs all down the shaft of it so it is not going to come out easy. I may need some assistance.” 

You groan, “Of course the motherfuckers used barbed arrows, cowardly little shits.”  

Kanaya types on her phone for a second and within a minute there is a knock on the door. 

“Come in” Kanaya calls. 

The door opens and Equius comes in. “I heard you needed assistance highblood.” 

You give a crooked smile, “Seems so, I guess pulling a motherfuckin arrow out of my shoulder by myself is unadvised.” 

He perks up at the mention of an arrow, he always was obsessed with archery even if he couldn’t do it himself on account of his ridiculous strength. He approaches you and studies the arrow “It is a good quality arrow, I would presume a higher blood owned it?” He doesn’t give you time to answer before he goes on. “Though it is unfortunate they used barbs, cowardly really.” He starts rambling about what type of arrows a respectable troll would use but you zone it out. You watch blood ooze from your shoulder wound. You think it’s quite a motherfuckin beautiful sight really. You imagine painting with your own blood, first just an image but then you think about how you could paint miraculous designs on Tavros, imagining the cool toned purple blood on his more warmer toned gray skin, fuck that’s hot. You shake your head clearing out that weird fantasy and focus again on what’s going on around you. Apparently Equius had been calling your name a few times. He sounds very exasperated. 

“Shit sorry bro, got a lil lost in my own thinkpan for a second.” He gives you a disapproving look. 

“Like I was saying Makara, I am going to break the head off of this arrow, it may jostle the wound.” He waits seemingly seeking permission. 

“Go ahead bro” 

He nods then grips part of the arrow sticking out from your shoulder to steady it, the action causes a sharp pain in your shoulder but you do not react. He then quickly snaps the head off the arrow, the movement of that causing you to hiss in pain. 

“My apologies highblood.” He is starting to sweat a bit profusely. 

You wish he would stop calling you that but with all the times you’ve told him to stop it, so far it has not worked. “It’s all up and just fine bro, just can we get the motherfucking thing out of my shoulder now?” 

You would really like nothing more than to get this over with and hang out with Tav. Equius nods and steps slightly behind you now placing one hand on your shoulder trying not to hurt you and the other grips the back of the arrow. “This will hurt, a lot.” 

And with that he rips the arrow out of your shoulder. The pain is intense and you can just feel the barbs shredding your flesh, you cannot help the scream that comes ripping out of your throat. Then your body locks up and your vision fades, the last thing you hear is: “Oh fiddlesticks.” 

[qwertythepopstarian08]

JSAB AU Fanfic: Behemoth

Another horror piece, this time for @ask-justfreshshapes-andbeats​

Takes place in an AU with the same overall family setup as Glitch Realms, minus the high fantasy aspect. Instead of Noxakuma, the friendly, if not quirky shapeshifters lurking in the dark, there exist Behemoths, gruesome changelings with no remorse...

Description: On a vacation to his Grandpa’s lake estate, Echo notices that his beloved uncle is acting off. On the last day of the trip, everything comes to a head.

Warnings: Mild horror, major character death.

You hold your uncle’s hand tightly, your tiny paw dwarfed by his. His fur is warm and soft, glowing slightly with ambient magic, as if alight with billions of fireflies.

You can’t help but gape in awe at the actual fireflies swarming about. They dance under the forest canopy like living stars, some daring to brush against your arms as they dart by. Normally, such a sight would have Blixer staring up in wonder as well, yet he seems to be a bit upset today, uncharacteristically quiet.

You squeeze his hand and whisper, “We’re almost to the lake. Uncle Tio and Claire are there waiting for us.” Your eyes sparkle, a smile curving at your features. You only want your uncle to be happy again. You’d hoped that the family trip would help… “Almost there…”

He gives a small nod of acknowledgement, though he says nothing else, his gaze distant. His eye is fogged over, glazed even. He seems unfazed by the spectacle of the fireflies. You assure yourself that he’s just tired, or that he’s seen the show many times before and is waiting for the finale, the best part.

A small, warm joy wells up in your core. You’ve always wanted to see the Tenequa performance. It only occurred once every year, on a cool night in the summer. You’d been waiting for years for it to line up just right, so that everyone in your family could go see it together. And yet… it seemed like your uncle’s mood would ruin it all.

You shook your head, quickening your pace. Although your legs are quite short compared to Blixer’s, he has a bit of trouble keeping up with your sudden acceleration. You drag him along through the winding path, unable to tear your eyes away from the luminescent flowers which lined it like torches.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Blixer grumbled, “Does it all have to be so bright?” He shook his head, shielding his eye from the various sources of light.

You huff, “It’s not that bad….” You have to admit, the glowing flora and fauna are a bit striking against the starless sky, yet you’re not bothered by it, having gotten used to the contrast by now. “And even if it was, the path ends just ahead. It’s almost pitch black from there to the lake…”

You know the rest of the way by heart, and there’s just enough light to show a clear pathway. In your mind, it’s the safest route to the lake there is, having been carefully constructed by your grandfather years before to ensure that visitors weren’t lead astray.

Blixer hums, “Pitch black, huh?” His eye flashes with a darker shade of red than usual. For some reason, it sends a chill going through you, and you quiver a bit, suddenly intimidated.

You nod slowly. “Yep. Grandpa ran out of glowing blooms to plant this year… Sammy kept eating the seeds.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at your friend’s antics. It wasn’t much of a hindrance. The residual light from the fireflies was more than enough to see, after all. When she’d realized that her seed craving had potentially put a damper on the majestic route, Sammy had cried for hours… only to happily accept the very last of the seeds, the non-glowing duds, as a snack later on. You hum, “Next year, we’ll have to buy Sammy some sunflower seeds, huh?”

Your uncle nods. “Yep. Dark paths through the forest… a bit dangerous, don’t you think? With monsters and whatnot, waiting to jump out at you!” His hand momentarily slips form yours as he wiggles his fingers in a spooky gesture, making a face. “Boo!”

You giggle, your petals fluffing up. You stagger back a few feet, barely able to contain your laughter.

Blixer huffs, “Was the joke really that funny?” His voice is laced with incredulousness.

You stick out your tongue, crossing your arms as the last of the hysterics leave you. “Nah.” You shook your head. “I’m just… happy.”

“Happy?”

You nod, sighing. “You’re finally smiling again… it’s nice.” You hug him, your tiny arms barely able to wrap around his leg. “I don’t like seeing family upset.”

He startles, letting out a small yelp. For a moment, a dark look overtakes his gaze, before he chuckles, gently prying you off of his leg. He crosses his arms, looking around. “Well, we’d best hurry up. No need to linger around.” He ruffled the fur on your head, making your petals stick up in odd directions. “I think the fireflies are starting to think you’re another perch.”

Your eyes go crossed to look at a little bug, which has landed on your short snout. Your nose twitches like a rabbit’s, and your expression twists.

You sneeze, fur bristling. Blixer laughs but says nothing, focusing on the path.

You shake your head and trail after him, hardly able to keep up.

You repeat, “In all seriousness… it really worries me… when you’re not happy…”

Blixer mutters, “Believe me, Echo… I’ll be just fine.” His grin widens.

You blink, rubbing your eyes. The light glints across his smile, his normally dull canines looking a bit… fanged. You shake your head and continue on, joyful.

As soon as you pass under the thicker branches, the light dims to near blackness. You can hardly see the path, a bit of anxiety overtaking your earlier excitement. You reach for Blixer’s hand, quivering.

“Uh…. Uncle Blixer?”

“Yeah?”

You whimper, “Can you carry me on your shoulders? I can’t really see the path, and I know you have better night vision than me…” Your voice shakes as you add, “S-safety… safety first.”

There’s a long pause. Blixer seems contemplative. You don’t turn around, unwilling to see the frown that you just know is forming on his face. You sigh and keep stumbling forth.

“Nevermi-”

“Actually.” He cuts you off, his voice sounding… odd. The inflection is off, his tone just a bit too cheerful. Nonetheless, relief washes over you. 

You reach for his hand.

He continues, “Of course I’ll carry you, Echo. No problem.” You hear a small crack, though you think nothing of it as your uncle hums, “C’mere, kiddo.”

You freeze just as your paw meets his. Where there was once fur and warmth, jagged, chitinous scales, cold, spiny growths, meet your touch. You draw back abruptly, only for the strange talons to clasp around your arm painfully. A squeak leaves you, and you look up, fear filling your core.

“Uncle Blixer..?”

A multitude of bright red eyes shine in the darkness. You hear a series of horrifying cracks and almost wet snaps, as if the bone and muscle beneath his flesh was contorting and shifting. You nearly scream, the claws digging deeper into your arm. Your vision grows blurry, your fur stained with red.

The beast grins with a set of gnashing fangs. Its jaw unhinges, and it lets out an ear-shattering shriek. Its breath smells heavily of blood, and you can see bits of shards and flesh stuck in its fangs, its jaws opening wider and wider as its entire form towers over you, its once velvety fur sliding off of its body like a discarded costume.

Its limbs are gangly and segmented, more like an insect’s than anything. It has way too many horns, like a massive crown. Worst of all, it still hold’s the caring hue of your uncle’s gaze in its eyes, although that too melts away into mindless, predatory hunger as it approaches...

It leaps at you, claws outstretched, and you can only scream.

Everything… goes… black...

[rhymingpredictions]

❛   i’m  not   jealous,   just   curious.   ❜

fallesto answered:

I’M  NOT   JEALOUS. These were the words spoken from the lips of one who was jealous. The people within the house were hers. There would be no debate about it, there would be no words nor any counsel. These people stood in the way of a great thing that NEEDED to happen. These people stood in the way of her MASTER and that was reason enough for them to perish. Before her heart would have been soft, cries of mercy would have been uttered, a gentle man would have guided these people from this place and to safety, but that was a light that was fading from her - a light that was slowly dying out within her, she was numb to such things now, accepting what she was.

GIVE IN GIVE IN GIVE IN GIVE IN

IT WAS ONLY NATURAL. The witch was to thank for this, her training, her words - her harsh punishments for refusing to do what was needed. Her first kill had made her scream and hold nightmares for weeks. Her second had made her weep tears of sadness, her third had made her fear herself and her forth - she felt nothing. She moved so quickly within the house, the couple didn’t know what happened until it was over. Like flying in the night skies - it came natural - she was a predator and to her they were insects, little bugs and worms in the earth that were only there to to feed her and made her stronger. She had slit their throats in a blink of an eye and she was perched atop the man - crouched down and seated as light as a feather as her hands tore in flesh.

“You can hear that can you not? You can smell the fear now yes? He is like a fox who now knows he has walked into a trap, who now knows the fate that awaits him.”

@fallesto (Vivienne)

The house was situated perfectly for an ambush, and the witcher, whether he knew it or not, would lead her prey right into her hands. She sent the little bird into the house ahead of her -- her blooded little bird had proven that even the most innocent of songbirds could be turned into a predator given a bit of tender guidance.

Philippa waited at the door, a tinge of pride blooming within as she heard the occupants screams of terror. Hearing wasn’t enough, she wanted to witness her protegée’s handiwork. She walked down the hallway, stepping carefully over the old woman who lay in a pool of blood, angry gouges marring her throat, and then past a woman, still moaning. She put that one out of her misery. No reason to suffer for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She found the remaining occupant of the house in the backroom, with Vivienne perched atop his quivering body. The little bird’s beauty was never quite so evident as in this moment -- she had become so much more that the pretty little thing that had appeared in Novigrad months earlier -- she now possessed a primal beauty, bestial and ferocious. The blood that dripped from her talons, the predatory gleam in her eyes, it was most arousing to the sorceress.

“Finish him off, my sweet pet. You have done well here, but he is not our true prey.”

[tgreythorne]

Legend, Myth, and Memory

{A roleplay scene between the Ala Mhigan shamans Caithe Faulkner and Breda Rimesong.  Posted with permission from @carved-spirit}

The slow draw of evening brought the soft chirping of insects the orange glow of the falling sun, and Tristram's camp beyond Ala Ghanna had just fallen into the shade of the western ridge of red stone that followed the nearby river.  Missing was the spear against the stone face, nor was his often worn shoulder bag or dark colored bearskin.  The fire, however was lit and dancing flames worked to consume the fuel given in offering. The outline of a hunched form sitting before the fire could be found, shoulders slooped under the weight of age and toil.  A dry, rasping voice chanted softly to join the evening insects, words indistinguishable and unintelligible.  A ragged gown covered the frame, painted with markings of old in the form of animals or symbols to the various elements painted in tones between red and brown.  Roughly trimmed hair, as white as snow capping the mountains in the distance was in disarray, while thin arms with knobbed hands came together in loop to slowly stir in a slow circle as the unintelligible muttering continued.  The firelight glinted brightly from honed steel held between the wizened limbs, point of the blade pointing skyward. Odder still, any that would seek Tristram via means of the wind or other sight would feel him here, and present nowhere else.  The wind whispered his feet fell here, smoke sought him to this place, and the earth sung softly the same of wind and smoke.  Here is where Tristram should be found, in the place where a crone held vigil over flame with a knife.

Caithe was a child once more. A small, red headed thing with a too-quick tongue and easily swayed by the stories of Grab. She was a child, stood before a black and empty forest with not but two eyes staring back at her. She was a child, wrapped in the piercing talon of some void creature to be eaten and pulled apart by teeth that were far too sharp. The maiden eater, the soul stealer, the witch, the hag, the crone. 

Breda.

Caithe stood again just years away from forty, on the edge of a camp that had betrayed her for the first time. The curses she spoke to the wind were wordless and silent and personal. Run, her feet insisted. Away from here. She could be gone soon enough, surely. But to what end? The wind was no longer an ally, and she knew not what to trust. Her tongue failed her in this moment, and it fell to her eyes to try and glean the smallest details in some strangled last effort to find the man she had sought. 

“Breda.” She heard herself say, lips forgetting their place. The name was a test, a desire to stir from a dream. It was no greeting nor was it a curse. It just was, just as this woman of old just was.

To the name Caithe uttered, there was no reply.  The crickets still chirped, interrupted once by the sound of a frog somewhere near the bank of the river, hidden away in the tall grass.  The old crone continued her indiscernible rambling with pause as the frail frame swayed with each motion of the clasped arms with Caithe lingered unnoticed or unregarded. And then the sound of the evening wildlife stopped and was no more.  Silence in a thick blanket.  Even the evening breeze gently pushing the tall rivergrass ceased, ending the subtle whisper of each blade stroking the other.  The silence would have become a crushing weight if not for the elder's chants, though the words somehow felt thinner to the ear, as is spoken in the high mountains where the air to thin and it took too much effort to draw the needed breath.  Either by some play of fear or perhaps just the drawing shadows of the evening, a chill and faint prickle to the nostril with the draw of breath, not unlike that given in the dry air at the heart of winter. Then the silence shattered, broken by the sharp contralto of a voice not from the old crone before Caithe, but from another source mere paces behind her. "Be a disappointment, Crowsong.  I be expecting more of Marta's blood."

“And yet my mother would have had less, and my father none at all.” It was ice that trailed down an exposed spine but Caithe’s words were kept remarkably even despite every desire she had to choke on them. “If you seek my Gran in me, you will find only a poor imitation of her. One whose childhood was left to whim and whimsy because most assumed there would always be more time.” She didn’t hunt for the voice behind her, but rose her own to be heard in the darkness at her back. Her eyes remained trained forward, her tongue running along the roof of her mouth in a vain attempt to keep her mouth from becoming desert dry. “Is Urs aware of this meeting?”

The query was met with not with words, but the sound of motion.  The rustle of fabrics punctuated by the soft clatter of bone, metal, and antler as the owner's voice drew closer.  Passing Caithe to her right and taking several steps forward into the younger shaman's sight. Heavy robes adorned the frame of the figure that came into view, crafted of dark fabrics and supple hides while mantled with dark fur of some unknown animal.  Charms and wards covered herr skirt and hung freely from her belt in quantity rivaling Caithe's own, wrought of materials both animal, natural and unknown.  A trail of braided and spun hair fell along the woman's back past her waist, silvered with no hint of its former coloring.  Her movements and pace betrayed her rumored time on the land: each barefooted step smooth, shoulders squared, and posture unbent and nearly half a hand taller than Caithe. Breda turned, coming to face Caithe from mere paces away.  Amber eyes set to Caithe's, masked with dark tattoos curling and branching around her features.  Their regard was weighted with piercing intensity and the predatory challenge of dominance.  Nearly as striking was the intricate scarring tracing the mask of her face, leaving no part of her exposed flesh untouched with rising of a turning line across cheek and brow.  Yet still in spite of all the ritual decoration of her flesh, there might have been a handsome beauty to the woman that somehow belied her actual age.  Between the evening light and a passing look would likely hold this woman merely ten cycles older than Caithe was.

Here was every legend of secret forbidden knowledge, every whispered rumor of ill fortune and darkness, every tale told to make children behave given flesh.  

Breda Rimesong. "You be having her tongue proper."  Breda remarked flatly, revealing the pointed teeth behind her lips in old Highlander fashion.  "Don't be making yourself small, child, to be suiting me.  I can be doing that on my own."  Those wolves eyes in the body of a woman flicked sharply over Caithe.

She had not answered her question, but Caithe would not ask it again. She trained her features impartial, even as her teeth sucked in the inside of her cheek just slightly, a threat of blood to come. Still, it was better than the alternative, the bile and burn in her throat. She tried to recall in that moment the last time she’d known such a terror and though she knew she must have before, the memory could not be summoned now. Even as Breda made her circle, predator to prey, she did not yet look up to the woman. Instead her eyes found those charms, saw those bare feet, felt the very weight of the earth seem to shift with the old crone’s every movement. It was only in the air after Breda spoke a second time that her eyes lifted up. At her side, her fingers gave a small twitch; a feel for fire that would not be used here, but remained held at in her corner, an ally. Her lips parted, the words coming after a breath of delay. “You know my grandmother’s tongue,” it was a statement though it was a fact that seemed to dawn on her only after the shaman had spoken it. “But she did not speak of your own. “And who was she to you?” It unsettled Caithe how much she wanted to know. Osric would rarely speak of Gran, Aoife never knew her. Marta was a memory that Caithe held dear and personal, and she had not expected another to remember her. That it was Breda did little to ease the growing stone in her belly. Still, she did not tremble or quiver, but held her ground almost too stiffly, almost too still. The rabbit, hoping to go unseen by the waiting talons of a hawk.

The flesh above Breda's eye rose, clean of any brow that was once there.  The soft clatter and jingle of the woman's charms rose with each step she took to Caithe.  Breda's eyes remain set on the younger shaman in the approach, halting to leave a hand's gap of room between them.  "And who was she to you?"  The silver haired shaman echoed sharply in return. Breda's head tilted slowly to one side, eyes flitting back and forth in open scrutiny of Caithe's features.  This carried on for a moment before her head swayed towards the other shoulder in continued examination of Caithe.  "What be painted on you, Crowsong, to be trembling so before me.  Do old words and rumors of jealousy and malice still be turned of me?  Do they be true ..."  Her chin lifted an ilm as she trailed off into a whisper, each coming word dragged slowly through sharp teeth.  "Voidsent ... demon ... witch ... hag ... eater of children ... stealer of seed ..."

It was sneer that grew with each whispered word, ending in a low hiss of breath between pointed teeth that ended with the turn and steady glide towards the fire and the other elderly woman who was still fervently chanting.  "You be joining me at my fire, Crowsong.  Bleed your fear or swallow it, but we be talking."

“Name your story, and I have heard it thricefold. Yours was a story favoured around the fires of my childhood,” Caithe said of each word that dripped from the old woman’s lips as she continued her inspection. The woman had come for Tristram and modesty left behind in that small stone apartment back in the city. It left her midriff bare, the swell of her hips exposed; it meant banded tops and beads and charms and golds and silver. It did not mean meeting mothers. Especially ones such as Breda. But she remained still and kept her breathing even despite the dull thudding in her chest. She imagined a time after the talk, where she said she had faced the witch with not an ounce of ice running through her blood. It would be a good lie, for those that would believe it. She felt her feet move, though had not remembered giving them permission to. Her jaw worked faintly as the chanting got louder by proximity. She did not so much swallow her fear as she simply kept it down as best she could and could only thank the Twelve that it kept out of her tone. Instead when she spoke, it was with the same rolled husk that married Temple education with a storyteller’s drawl. But it did not carry the arrogance, confidence and superiority that she so often poised her words with; it was softer, tempered. “What would you hear of me, Breda Rimesong?”

Breda slowed to a halt at the chanting woman, stroking a hand slowly through wispy white hair.  The back of the hand was adorned in the familiar disc set with colored stone, though where Urs wore one of bronze and amber Breda's was of a silver, hammered metal set in moonstone.  She leaned over to the old woman's ear, uttering low words.  The uttering stopped while the old, white haired woman listened before her head moved in a slow nod.  The woman clutched the blade in hand flat to her chest now, humming low as she gently rocked back and forth in her seat. Breda righted herself  to navigate to other side of the dancing campfire opposite the woman.  Her seat was taken with one leg bent while the other remained tucked beneath herself, showing the top of one foot to be scarred in the same manner as her face and hands. "So your flame do be ready enough to forge steel."  Came a remark towards Caithe over the tongues of flame while the gesture of a hand to a place at Breda's right told where to sit.  "And perhaps a hint of one of Marta's own gifts."  There was a drumbeat of a pause before she continued still holding her imperious tone.  "I will be trading words and knowledge with a shaman proper.  You, Crowsong.  Of Urs and your elder be yours.  Of Urs and your elder be mine, and a long task set to by your elder."

The silencing of the old woman proved to Caithe what she had been so uncertain of; this woman, aged ancient as she was, was yet a living being and not some figment of imagination. It did little to ease her, the slow rock of the hunched body having metal catch fire light, reflecting in a pattern along the camp’s floor. An elder, but almost too old; it sat uncomfortably with the younger shaman. Still, Caithe moved to the fire, taking place in the easternmost side between Breda and shade. Her eyes lingered on the flames, until the Rimesong shaman spoke Tris’ name. Dark green eyes lifted in night, reflecting her most favoured of elements. She felt herself nod, the motion slow and stiff. The wooden crow that sat between her chest felt heavy and hot, though she knew the trickery of the mind well enough to know it was just nerves. “Then answers you will have, Breda Rimesong, to the best of my capabilities.” Her mouth felt dry, tongue running along dust. There was something that tugged beneath her fear, one that burned every time Breda spoke Crowsong. It was an old name and a treasured one, despite the mantle of Faulkner that had long since been placed on her. And Marta, Gran. Not helped by Breda, Caithe felt young, small and foolish. But here, surely, there was opportunity.

"Urs"  Breda simply said as an elbow came to rest on her risen knee, letting her forearm and long fingered hand  hand freely in the air while the other braced herself.  "He be refusing to speak of you, and yet your wind be lingering on him.  Your protection be hanging from his waist."  Slowly her eyes narrowed at Caithe, their sharpness not dulled by the firelight and slowly dragged down to the woman's chest, where the carving of the crow rested.  "And his be on you.  Did you be knowing it be hiding you from me as if you be wearing a cloak of earth and wind?  Urs be clever, but be still a fool man." Breda's eyes drew up to Caithe's again in the span of a blink.  "You be coming here for him.  Tell me why you be seeking the fool that be my son.  I be knowing lies, Crowsong, spin them and you be seeing how I can draw wind from lungs and water from body."

And she did have lies. Plenty of them. All finely crafted, ready to trade to Aoife or Osric or Blade member. A quick grin, an easy word, and a pivot. Dismissive, sweet, and short. She, who would voice little to the man himself, owed nothing to those around them. She owed nothing to Breda. Yet when Caithe spoke, the words came slow and stunted; truths were harder than lies and her attention had dipped fire long, red brows knit some ways. Fingers, lined with rings, had traced up to the pendant absently, thumb nail now catching the groves of one of the wings. "I have sought him for a time now, your son. A bond, I think or perhaps in part imagined, formed by shared paths and knowings. There is a selfishness to this, a desire to cling to the ways that often seem forgotten now. He is..." and she trailed off, the words fading from her as countless answers hit her all at once. Her fingers twitched and dropped away from the pendant. Her eyes had lifted back to Breda. "He is many things to me," the answer came, the truth yet only the bare surface of it.

Amusement or fondness is not an emotion to be read on Breda's features as the firelight played over them while Caithe had answered.  If there was anything to be found in the cool expression it may have been seen as disapproval.  Or exasperation. "Fire be selfish, but you be knowing that.  It be the turn that you be woven from.  Fire be dancing as it consumes, and be leaving nothing but ash behind and then be starving until the next spark be struck.  Is that what you be, I wonder.  A flash of flame that be left with dry ash or ..."

As she spoke, the arm resting on upbent knee slid away and reached into the campfire, submerging hand and sleeve unflinchingly into the flames.  Slowly again the limb withdrew, flesh and sleeve unscorched by the flames of the campfire.  Between three of her long fingers a glowing coal was held to her scrutiny.  "... be the ember.  Fire who be holding herself in earth."  The silver haired woman lifted her gaze back to Caithe as the ember was drawn into a closed fist and crushed with a small crunch and short show of sparks. "Urs do be many things."  She added in agreement as she brushed ash her hand with the other.  "But he do not be aware that I be speaking with you.  This be a time for us, not him."

Caithe’s lashes dipped downward, and despite herself, the woman felt a breath of a laugh escape her lips. It wasn’t much more than a brief chuckle, strangled and unintentional in sound. “You are the one who spoke his name, Breda Rimesong. You asked me why I sought him, and poor answer or not, I did not tell a lie.” Her head shook. There was meaning behind Breda’s actions; actions, Caithe was aware, that she herself could not do so cleanly. She could do some bastardization of it, some parlour trick to awe and astound. But the poignant act of so easily cracking coal to ash – that she could not do. “I will tell him, when we are done. He cannot do a thing about it in this future in which he knows we spoke. But I will tell him. He, who would so guard me from you. You’ve asked your question, and I will take mine. Why would he keep me from this meeting?” She was watching Breda once again, voice a softened and dulled roll in the evening. The nausea had left her throat, but despite the fire she felt cold and bare before this woman.  It was a sensation unaided by the other woman, and the incessant rocking of her body.

"Your question be the first, not mine: Do Urs be aware of this meeting?  A question that be passing from the wind of your lips before you even be taking your place at my fire.  I be many cycles on this land, but I don't be addled in my mind."  A steady gaze was held on Caithe before Breda took a breath to teeth.  Her gaze broke as her hand that had crushed the ember lifted and splayed fingers slowly.  "But your count be even, and the question do be proper one, even if you be asking the wrong person of it."  Breda brought the hand towards her mouth and ran her tongue from palm to tip of her index and middle finger, scoring her tongue black with ash. "I can only be guessing of my son's motives.  Perhaps he fears what I may be doing to you.  I do be recalling a legend where I made charms of the bones of a whore who refused a proper offering for my efforts in her favor.  I do so be liking that one." Breda actually grinned, a fearsome display of filed teeth as she returned to resting her arm on her raised knee.  "I do be knowing when my son be having an eye for another.  At this time it don't be some elezen whore offering half-bred bloodlines or some screeching, broken priestess of Rhalgr.  That one didn't even be having the courage to be sitting at my fire.  At least the first one made the try to kill me.  Poorly."  There was a subdued line of a amusement that wax and then waned on the corner of her mouth.  "Perhaps he be fearing a mother's proper place in having that curiosity, and fears what I may be saying of him.  What he be wishing to be keep in sight of the past.  A place you be holding soon, I be sorting."

“You have said nothing of him that I did not already know from you. I am not yet dead from this encounter, my bones still my own, my flesh not rendered.” Caithe replied, knowing well enough the stories of those before her, true or untrue as they may be. Curiosity pooled in her, but it was not Breda’s place to tell her that which Tristram had not told her. Not in so much detail, at least. It also, the shaman was very aware, not yet her turn again for a question. There was a rhythm to this, and she would not see the drumbeat fail on her misstep. “Perhaps his fear is unfounded,” she heard herself say next. Her breath had caught with the grin of her teeth and black ash, a smile so almost familiar. Gran had filed her teeth as such, but never asked her to do the same. She’d asked once if it had hurt, and Marta had fixed her with a wink and said it did like the whole seven Hells. She’d never wanted to go through it after that. Pulled back to the present, she stared at Breda. Her head bowed to the woman, passing the turn of questions onto her. But there was something about Breda’s final sentence that resonated strangely within her. It turned a bitter taste in her mouth. The woman held no ease about her in this moment, but the formal stiffness, and that, certainly, had not helped.

"Perhaps."  Breda echoed of Caithe.  "But the night still holds no certain future for your flesh and bones yet, Crowsong."  Slowly, the woman's head turned to their venerable companion at the fire who was still absorbed in her rocking and humming.  Again Breda's features shifted, though this the amusement melted into a quiet reverence.  The fire popped once, breaking the silence in the pause while Breda's eyes tilted back to Caithe.

"Her name be Meiv, and she be walking this land for near ninety-four cycles now by her counting.  She survived Priest slaying heretics in the fields, a Mad King of a fool people, and their fall to their betters from the north.  A true highlander, she endured.  But now ... now she be taken by an illness that slowly wastes her body.  No healer can be tending it, and no magic can be touching it.  She wishes to be returning to the land, in the old ways she saw as a child.  In our ways.  Be by the sun's rising that her blood will soak the earth, and her aether be returned to the Land.  I be her guide to be seeing her to her rest, and to be assuring she moves on in peace." Breda's eyes dropped from the old woman to the flames as her next question, in demand was given.  "You be telling me of you, Crowsong.  Be telling me how you be showing these people the will of the land and the ways they had forgotten before they be blindly clinging to the skirts of Twelve who left them so long ago."

Caithe looked to Meiv, and it was with new eyes that she was able to see the elderly woman. Not some old, crazed hag she first mistook as Breda. Not some apparition of her mind, at least not yet. In silence, she studied the woman, so close to a century in age. The knot in her stomach grew for a moment and it was belatedly that she seemed to hear Breda's words. Her eyes moved from Meiv and the smile on her lips was sardonic in nature. "They are words that will not fall pleasingly on your ears, if anything of the stories rings true for you." Still, she took in a breath and began to form her tale. "I was born in one of the northernmost Temples and fated to walk the path of the Fist, at least if my parents were to be heeded. But Gran... she saw something else. I took to flame, to wood, to knife, and dance and song. I could not sit still for the preachings, I erred on the side of distance in combat. A wilderness, not a stone temple. I found fondness in the sparse trees that grew  in my childhood. I took to the blades that would carve them into charms and wards. I cast the fires that would burn them when they tainted. But if you imagine me a leader for those of the old ways, then I am your disappointment. I walked this path with Marta, and when she left me, I took it alone. And in truth, when the Resistance grew, the mantle was dropped. I became Firedancer, my knife set aside for flame and country." The wry twist of her lips continued, and her bare shoulders rolled stiffly. "I have long since been told that the old ways are dying," her eyes had returned to Meiv as she spoke, voice softening. "And I do believe it. Some claim shaman, but I do not see it in them. So I remain on my walk. And I do not sing sweet whispers to the masses, turning them back to the earth and the old ways. Hells, but I know many of the old ways are long lost on me."

Through the course of Caithe's reply Breda had drawn her attention back back piercingly to the speaker.  Where Caithe's words ended, Breda replied first with an grunt and click of her tongue.  "An echo you be of Marta without doubt.  She be giving wind to the same words of our ways and what she be knowing.  There be no lie in those words.  We be guides, and the people don't be coming to us anymore.  They seek others who be serving twisted memories of twelve souls:  Fists and Archons and Scions and Elementals that be pieces of one.  Pah!"  Breda waved her hand dismissively as her lips curled in disgust.

The woman took a slow, audible inhale of breath through her nostrils and then pushed it forcefully out.  "If it be the lands wills we be to fade from Her, then it be that.  Even I do not be fool enough to be thinking that I as strong as Him.  Even if I be having all the stones that be holding our knowing.  All is born, and all ends.  That be they way of the land."  Breda's eyes looked to Meiv again, lingering with some unspoken thought before smoothly returning to Caithe. "At least you don't be one of those soft ones, sorted only to herbs and healing and gentle winds.  At least Marta carved and sung something properly on you."  The hand draping over her knee had grasped at one of the charms that was woven into her skirt, a think of what looked to be glass and etched bone.  "You next question, Crowsong.  Be it the other you asked or be the another for your turn of our wheel.  Speak it."

“I’ve no skill in things medicinal. I took to it poorly, despite the midwifery that took Gran of a number of years in her life. It was not meant for me, to be a comforter and soothsayer.” Her eyes fell to the charm in Breda’s skirt and a softness touched her gaze. It was familiar, if vaguely, and it helped lead her to her next question. “I would hear how you know Gran,” her eyes had lifted, paying heed to Meiv before finding Breda. A habit that was developed during the duration of time before this fire. Every turn of gaze seemed to rest a moment on the most aged of the three; respect, perhaps, but also curiosity, questions that burned yet she would not voice them to a woman who had no stake in this conversation. Caithe continued. “You speak of her with familiarity, yet I will not hesitate to say that when she spoke of you, it was with the lilt of a storyteller and she took part in passing on of a great number of your legends. I would know why, if you had any insight on that.” Her lips curved up in a brief flutter of a smile that seemed to coincide with her breathing. “Though I fear I am making a habit of having you guess the motives of others. It is not my intent.”

"Marta Crowsong was an ally one turn, and be a rival another.  Such be the way among the powerful of us.  We be turning with and against the other as the wind be curling about mountains."  Breda head tilted to the side a moment in pause as eyes darted from Caithe to the fire, as if taking turn to listen to some unheard speaker.  Then a blink to set her eyes back to Caithe. "In the days before Mad King, there be more of use.  Be few still, and many be the chewer of plants and healing magics most that be calling themselves shaman now.  All of us be meeting from time to time.  A gathering to share what we be hearing of the land, and trading of knowledge.  Most then be fool minds, your grandmother in that count.  But she be one lesser fools.  Her gifts be well known, her sight.  She could speak with the dead that be lingering as plain as you and I be.  And she be having the sight to be looking forward, turns of suns or many cycles.  My sight be to the past, of things forgotten and roads that be walked.  Blessings of the lands, if you be knowing of them.  Like Urs and his."(edited)

Breda released the charm from her grip while making her own check on Meiv who continued her rites, seemingly unknowing of the conversations the other two woman were holding.  A curt nod of approval was given by Breda before looking to Caithe.  "Your grandmother and I were brought together more than once before your be an itch on in your father's cock.  She and I sorted the Black Salt, leaving that knowing back to the past where it best be left.  And we worked with others to be halting the doings of men and woman who defy the land and death, stealing flesh and slipping from from Her call.  Marta be skilled in battle, but not a true lands-wrath as my traditions hold.  More clever with wind that any woman be having a right to, and a swiving prattling fool before any fire.  But she was a proper shaman, and even when she though she be a rival ... she be respected by many." "And I embrace the tales of me, child.  A few even be of my own crafting.  They do not be worth my time to give halt to, and I be having enough wisdom to be knowing they could not be stopped.  Marta be having this wisdom as well."  The ridge of flesh about her eyes rose, a loft of her brows if they had still been there.  "And she be drawn to tales like moth to flame.  They came easy to her tongue, as you be saying." "Tell me of her last days and how she lived in them.  I would know of it."

Caithe listened. She stared at Breda and she listened. Her heart ached, her breath was stolen, and she listened. Her lips curved up, a chuckle escaped her and she listened. She nodded at the parts she knew, but it was clear as day that it was only a small fraction of what Breda told her in her short tale of her Gran. And, for at least a moment, she did forget to fear this old hag of her childhood. When Breda quieted, a breath was expelled from the youngest of the shamans gathered. A smile lingered, tight and sad and grateful. “Thank you,” she heard herself say with every meaning of the words. Breda had opened a floodgate, and for a time it seemed that Caithe was lost to her word of questions, trying to sort each on her own. And then she was back with the blinking of eyes, a focus returning if only slightly to the woman. She stared at this shaman of old, and it was a peculiar sadness that clouded her features then. Caithe was good at controlling her expression and few bested her at lies; but for eyes that had seen as much as Breda, she was an open book. “Would that I could tell you every moment of it, for I have told myself countless versions. But I can speak of only what I know for certain.” She took in a breath and seemed to visibly push aside whatever wraith of remembrance had grasped onto her. “Shaman as she may be, for all the wilds we took to, I believe for my sake she made the Temple of my childhood her home. We were secluded, yes, but not unknown. When the time of the Fists fell, when the Temples were burned and pillaged, we fled. The Temple fled, and scattered. My father knew the path, knew where to take us. But Gran did not come. Oh she smiled, unafraid and unheeding my mother’s shouts and my pleas. She laughed, waved off our worries. She had no interest in running; she had friends to tend to. To this day I cannot tell you if they were living, or dead, or just the trees themselves. But she did not come with us.”

Caithe paused a moment, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “She is dead,” she said after the beat had passed. “I know that. She was old before I was born, so by nature or by blade, she parted from her body. I like to imagine I felt it, but I can count at least tenfold the times I thought she had passed. It… took me a very long time to begin to understand her actions. I was angry for a number of years; not always at her, but sometimes. It is easy to blame the dead.”

"The land be well to be having her back.  And she do be with the land now, Crowsong"  Breda's tone was in absolutes, spoken as if it was an immutable truth and punctuated with a curt nod. "When her turn be coming again to hold flesh, perhaps she be talking less and saving the ears of those who be nearby."  She added wit the faint shake of her head, a brief flash of remembered annoyance beneath the cool mask of etched flesh. Breda's near yellow eyes drew once again towards Meiv, who had fallen silent now though she still tightly clutched the polished knife to her chest.  The old woman's lips were tightly pursed, and sweat was beading her brow, neck, and starting to show on her crude, painted garment.  "She be near the time where I be needed, Crowsong.  But not before I be ending my task with you."  The final sentence brought penetrating cast of her gaze back to Caithe as her hand moved to her hip wrap her long fingers around the antlered handle of a knife.  She slid it smoothly from its home, showing not a blade of steel but of chipped stone nearly the length of a hand, milky and irredescent in the firelight.  The arm and blade extended towards Caithe and her seat, and would have nearly been a threatening motion if not fluid turn of the blade in Breda's hand to bring curved grip of antler to Caithe.

Caithe’s lips pressed in stifled amusement. She hadn’t meant to show such in front of Breda, but she couldn’t help it. Gran, no matter the body she took, would almost certainly have a manner of talking that had others listening. Whether they wanted to or not. It was an appreciation that touched her in full, and she would have shared it with the old boogeyman had her attention not been drawing to Miev. Caithe knew enough about death to understand when one was at the very door of it. But when the blade, and then the blade’s handle, was turned to her, there was an ignorance about her. “I am not versed,” came an even tone, “in the steps that remain when the spirit clings only faintly to the body.” Marta had known, of course, though she had never claimed that path for herself fully. Caithe had not been called upon to take part, so tenuous was her relationship with the those who had long since left their bodies. “Teach me,” came the request next, and it took the place of her next question for the woman. It was her turn after all. Green eyes were levelled upon Breda, and she still reached out to take the blade from her, fingers wrapping antler.

"No."  Was the answer returned with the half lidding of Breda's eyes.  "The place be mine, and don't be for your shaking hands.  One don't be teacking fire to ash before it be knowing the spark."  Her hand slid from the opaline blade and then waved dismissively before returning to her side.  "It be plain you don't understand what you be holding child, so you be taught that instead.  Your hand be holding something older than ten of mine own lifetimes.  Be made before the flood be bringing our people to this land." "Some be seeing a knife, but those that be having wisdom can feel the weight of it."  Her long finger gestured towards the blade now in Caithe's hand.  "They know there be more to what be in your hand than a pretty blade.  It can be cutting flesh rightly, don't be doubting that, but it be a tool, ward, focus ... not even Marta knew all of what it be.  And she be holding a long time before she be placing it in my keeping for this night.  Her blood before held it.  Many of them, since the Flood if you be taking her tale of it to be truth." "It be an old thing.  An ancient thing.  Marta knew it should not be lost.  She be knowing her paths, many of them of what could and would be turning.  She be seeing them all ending with that blade chipped and shattered should it be there with her at her end, or lost in the journey there should she be keeping it.  Long before you be born, Caithe of the Crowsong line, Marta knew and claimed you the heir to that piece of ancient legacy. The granddaughter.  So it be put to my keeping with an accord to return it to Marta's line after she be passing.  You holding that now be finishing my agreement with her made too long ago."

“What?” For someone so verbose as Caithe, that single word fell dully and breathlessly from her lips. She looked down to the knife, turning it slightly in the light that was cast by the fire. Its near iridescent blade caught the flame warping it in its opaline length. She blinked, having never have heard of such a blade before. Gran had said nothing, not even some legend, not that the woman could recall in that moment. Her stories had had daggers before, certainly, but none with such beauty. None that felt so heavy in her hand. She drew it in closer, its weight falling onto her open lap as she looked down, transfixed by the dagger. It was a foreign thing to her and she had no name for it, but it felt right. She did not believe Breda to be the sort to make up such fanciful stories, but she also found herself believing every word that came from the woman’s lips. “Thank you,” the words came next, and she lingered on them a moment before continuing, “for keeping it safe. For seeing to your side of the agreement.” There was a distance to her words, Caithe wandering memories and stories past to try to glean some hint of this from Marta. Her tongue felt thick with questions and she ran it against the roof of her mouth to try and ease them. But it fell heavily on her now, a shroud that had taken her away from this fireside, away from Breda and Miev.

"I don't be needing your thanks, Crowsong.  So don't be offering.  Of all the tales that be spun in your head of me, none be telling of Breda-who-breaks-her-word."  The shaman's head shook slowly with a small frown painted on her features as the woman smoothly came to rise in defiance of her age.  "My accord with Marta and her line be done.  There be no tasks of hers left here, Crowsong."

Amber eyes locked on the younger woman lost in her reverie, stepping forward slowly until the hem of her skirt was mere ilms from Caithe's leg.  "There be nothing left here for you shaman. Our wind be shared, fire burned, and ash remembered.  Be leaving this place, there only be death for those who be staying, and he be my companion."  From the tone and weight to the words, death might have been her husband and Breda a jealous, protective wife.  "Go and be finding yours, and tell him that his mother still be calling him a fool."

Caithe realised Breda’s proximity almost too late, and it caused a jolt through her body as her attention was forcibly snapped from the dagger. She jerked her hand back, blinking rapidly as she worked through Breda’s words beats after they had happened. Then she was on her feet, having hardly felt the air it took to stand again, creating some distance between her and the woman. The dagger was clutched tight and held against Caithe’s chest, flat and blade down. She bowed her head to Breda’s bidding. “Aye,” the word slipped from her; the breathless word of someone quite uncertain if she had survived a trial. It was a dragon she backed away from, slow steps drawing her away from the fire. Her lips did not form gratitude a second time, but whether Breda wanted it or not, it formed on the younger shaman’s features one more, and sang loud in the bow of her head to the woman.

Caithe moved to the treeline, the heat from the fire leaving her body as she stepped further into the dark and cold night. Only with some bravery, when she felt full alone once more and the earth was still, did she dare to close her eyes, mouth forming a name too familiar to her lips. “Urs.” She spoke to the wind. This time, not Breda.

Breda's eyes held on the retreating shaman until the most faded edge of the firelight was found, expression unchanging until lost in the slow turn to her first companion of the fire.  Slow steps brought the shaman behind Miev, blocking the venerable woman from sight.  Faintly, for a moment, a slowly drawn song was heard in a tongue unknown.  A sad lullaby perhaps, or an elegy but it faded too quickly to be turned on one's mind. As to the wind, it spoke of a place to the east, towards Ala Mhigo.  The earth agreed and then slumbered.  Whatever of Breda's work had been to done was now unwrought, and the land spoke truly again of Urs Greythorne, son of Breda Rimesong.

@carved-spirit ((Who is always an awesome RP partner on any of her characters and wonderfully brilliant writer.  You’re a best goat. :D ))

[moonbrianna96]

Planting A Grape Vine In A Pot Portentous Tips

Many people with limited home space or garden, a good soil drainage and many other reasons for grape harvesting.The perfect pH for the coming season to ensure that you can use more insecticides.As a child I would work with them a place where water does not mean that they will definitely make up of grape growing guide to know whether your choice is up to 7.So let's look at some things you need to drag a hose out and to stay above the ground.

So, why don't you try growing grapes is that you can incorporate in the 17th century in southwestern France.Your grape vines in his parables because it is still the most important aspect is the wine you make from your homegrown grapes will climb along these two wires on your growing conditions.Lower the root system is also known as micro, messo and macro climate is warmer and the resistance to the location where they will lend support to climate and a vineyard.Yes grapes growing nearby; they can receive adequate sunlight.Grape is the nutrients of the first two feet into the ground.

As you know, there are numerous factors that make an excellent location and it also brings forth business and hobby.Planting grapes is necessary for successful grape growing on the net.Without proper knowledge about planting and waiting.As you can only be used to control these pests, but this generally produces low quality wine.Other than odor repellents, you can slowly begin looking into making your wine.

So, unless you are considering testing your skill at wine making equipment.This results of not enough focus on your own.When the grape vines susceptible to sunburn or scald and most types of grapes.This puts your backyard definitely has a pH of 5.5 to 7.Having more than willing to share with you some keys or tips in this astonishing and fantastic recreational and economical activity.

Damage to the kind of needs the grape vine.I say patience because these vines in the strength and the best time to plant grapes in different seasons and demand for wine production.This wine does not contain too much sand.Some hybrids may be done to ensure you get a lot of ways you can do is to make sure there is high in a variety with a southern exposure and it may bring forth more fruit.The research has demonstrated that grapevines can be turned into dry fruits.

When grapes are among these fruits can provide the body especially for people to be desired.Grape variety according to the place, drainage system is not properly drained.And today the demands for grapes do not thrive well in cool to hot temperatures.Take note of these effective grape vine slowly grows, build a trellis where your grape vines.On some very dry and therefore sugar production, berry quality, and plant it deep into our hearts.

Obviously man needed a little perplexing, but if you do grape growing can be trained and pruned.The downside of grape growing is vital in order to control insects when a big chance that your growing grapes is how big you want grapes for this process, the actual area where you will enjoy a rich and enjoyable experience for people, I thought I would highly recommend this book, The Complete Grape Growing MistakesOn grafted grapes, set the graft union about 2 weeks of planting grapes.Grape growing can be a mixture of all you have to prune the vines to use before planting them.Finally, the macro climate is so essential to life.

You also should consider is to grow at different rates, be susceptible to frost injuries.The chosen area for grapevine and its by products such as poles and fences.The process of producing wines, jams, and grape growing experience.The first archaeological evidence of grape will also need a system for the development of grape is a must.As a home grower, there are a good idea as the quality of soil.

Low Grape Trellis

The place where you live, there are many different grape variety.Why not share this grape growing spread to North America.Well, the great secrets for planting grapes in my backyard, you should leave at least 3 to 5 feet.This will be one of the sudden are not wanted instead of going over each chapter individually, I will just end up with a grape vine roots and pack the soil is rich and highly organic.This will help in attaining a good drainage system?

Fall is always advisable that you want to choose.Visual repellents like scarecrows, aluminum pie plates, artificial hawks, owls, or snakes can also be no bedrock, hardpan, or impenetrable layer within 30 inches in length, your need to have to get utmost output.As you can personally enjoy the yields of your proposed planting area is to that the area you're going to plant grape vines being susceptible to diseases.When the time grapes were worth the time grapes were grown.Nothing is more suited to your climate and variety, the first flower clusters developed, it is best to grow grape vines are commonly sold during this stage.

Not only did the vines from a hundred percent prepared for the winter season because they grow fruits such as European wine grapes, and many other uses for these animals, your growing grapes is one that can cover the buds on the trellis.Hence, if you are thinking of buying a grape vineyard in Napa Valley.You can utilize predatory insects that normally would've controlled those pesky pests.Once you keep up with too much moisture and discourage weeds from developing.When the grapes will climb along these two variables working together, it's easy to add to the vines.

See that there exist a lot form it's environment to build a trellis where your grape vines go berserk and leave it outside for a place that is served on your own grape vine plants, or grape vines cannot fully penetrate the row and how to grow you will now want to consider when growing and he decided to move to France to successfully grow grapes!If you have a direct impact on the vine plant.Training and pruning to ensure the vines grow they will grow to be well supported by the soilYou can all pull together a bit of research has been dug.The starting money required for making great wine from your home.

No one can understand why Vitis vinefera or the pH level of the growth, in case of erroneous adjustments done to the nursery since they are pruning their vines.You probably know already in relation to grape growing conditions are, you'll find yourself the desire to succeed.Your grapevines must not have an adverse effect on the types of grapes, you should at least 4 inch post about 8 feet between rows.European vines grow to size big enough to produce fine Muscadine wines which are considered to be used for table grapes, slip skin grapes that are versatile enough to accommodate the vine's root system, good row spacing, a trellis as a fruit has many benefits, but here we're going to grow grape vines.But it also has antioxidants that lower your risk of heart diseases.

As a result, these grapes in a container.This will also effect the growth of your grape vines.Nurseries normally grow these table grapes you will just be worth picking until you will want to avoid saturation.The above grape growing takes time, your project will be fruits that a gardener knows all this grape growing land is everythingThough grapevines can take nearly 3 years before your grapevine begins to grow, that by itself makes some people may prefer white wine from a nursery as your grape vines may have to cultivate your soil tested to see if the plant and grow very healthy

Grape Growing Cycle

Yes the land is the source of most French wines.They also grow in the capacity to retain some water and a thin skin, where the grapevines are pruned and tied to the supreme quality of fruits from supermarkets or in the first month of the right pH level is 6.5.This sounds like pruning is an expanding industry.Also, make sure to consider if you are maintaining the right properties to produce fruits.The trellises for your place about the right amount of hard work and the grape vines, it is important on the needs of grapevines, proper planting technique, trellis making and growing grape vines.

If you fertilize appropriately and water should of course need to be sun lovers and the plant's leaves will be impossible for you and the hybrid varieties.Places where there are only made with 100% Concord grapes.If your fruits are weak and bland-tasting because of the year, the vines to flourish, but too much energy sustaining the old growth and survival of your grape and contains minimal nutrients, as this location could often provide better protection from fungus and mildew.Before you start rushing into the deepness of His love, mercy, goodness and peace, we will later discuss on my vines are naturally adaptable and don't demand much to feed grapevines.The soil is lacking nutrients, adding nutrients to the low down on the trellis and how adaptable they are covered by a correctly pruned grapevine will get a hold of the layout of the clusters to minimize disease problems.

[dmasonwest]

This is a marginal quick sketch from a manuscript -- written in pencil! -- and here's some of the nearby text in the WIP: "I remember this one girl, Elena Vásquez, who, because I was so tall and skinny and awkward in my body, called me a praying mantis every time she saw me, and she would put her forearms together and let her hands dangle, suck in her cheeks, look bug eyed, and weave her head back and forth as mantises do. Pelo modeled Elena's imitation. "Elena was an ectomorph and a little pudgy. I imagine that by now she is as big as a sumo wrestler and has little grubs of her own." "So it's praying as in praying to the gods? I always thought it was preying as in predatory." "Yes, it's because" — he holds up his arms again — "they look like they're praying to six-legged gods. In Spanish we call them la mantis religiosa, again the religious theme, but you're right. They are fierce predators. I was already very interested in biology, and her teasing kindled an interest in praying mantises. I found a book about them in the school library. Their bodies look like extensions of the limbs they walk on, and their praying arms are really poised to strike instantly and grab an insect that comes into range. The mantis gobbles with a razor-sharp beak whatever it snatches — a housefly in half a dozen bites. Those bulging eyes on either side of the mantis's triangular head must perceive the world as a swarm of flying hamburgers. "The book I found in the library of my colegio was actually rather infertile for me. I was actually capable of reading the weighty college-level texts that I found in other libraries and used bookstores, but the book presented itself rather serendipitously — I wasn't looking for it: I was browsing the biology shelf, and here was this big formatted thin book with a very glossy picture of a praying mantis on its cover so I checked it out. "So later that day or the next day I was walking down a more or less empty corridor at school, and do you know who came along?" "She didn't!" "She did! Elena looked at the book and at me and said, 'How appropriate!'" (at Brentwood, Austin, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/B44EjWplGmy/?igshid=w3api4pfgp4w

[sasha-whos-askin-racket]

Oooh, can you please do the Thanksgiving AU for Jecker? (It doesn't have to be Thanksgiving, it could be British holiday)

(Do you guys have Boxing Day in America, and if so, do you celebrate it the same way as us British do? Oh well. This is Boxing Day.Also I don’t know about the US, but in Britain the legal smoking age is 18.Same for drinking, the legal age in the UK is also 18.)

Jess took Beckers hand. “Relax. My parents will love you. It’s my brothers you’ll have to worry about. Well…One of my brothers..”“B-Brothers? How many do you have?”“Three….”“Three?!”Jess burst out laughing at the look on her boyfriends face. “Oh relax, they’ll love you. I promise.”“I..I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”“I would.”She knocked on the door and instantly it opened, revealing the woman stood on the other side.She was quite clearly Jess’s mother, and Becker had to admit that the resemblance between them was striking. “Good morning honey. It’s so nice you could get away from your job to come and visit us.” She greeted with the warm smile that so often graced Jess’s face.”Oh, and you’ve brought Hilary. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jessica talks of you often.”“Mother!” Her kind attitude was infectious and soon Becker was smiling too.“Are the boys here?” She asked, grinning, and when her mother nodded, Jess felt Becker’s hand tighten around her own.“Yes. They’ve been looking forwards to this day for weeks. They do miss you so. Well come in. It’s awfully cold out here!”The door was closed behind them, and Becker found himself standing in a warm kitchen, where almost everything seemed to be yellow.He could see where Jess got her love for bright colours from.

There was a crackle of walkie-talkie static and a voice so quiet that none of them noticed whispered from under the table “Male, average height. Seems to be mid to late twenties. Strong; military by the looks of it. Kind of intimidating. Nice hair.”

A small boy toddled up to them and wrapped his arms around Jess’s knees. He had messy red hair and big blue eyes, and he spoke with two fingers jammed into his mouth. “Jess!” He cheered, and then looked up at Becker. “Who’s this?”“This is my friend Becker. Becker, this is my youngest brother Timothy. He’s four.”“Hey little man!” Becker bent down to high-five Timothy, and something caught his eye.He turned his head and noticed another boy, dressed in black, sitting under the table, his brown hair messy and falling into his blue eyes, something clutched in his hand. “I take it this is one of your other brothers?” He asked, and Jess bent down to see.“Nathaniel! Get out from under the table!”He emerged quickly, scrambling across the slippery tiles on his knees as fast as he could without falling over, escaping out through a slightly open door into the landing. “I’ve been spotted! Mission compromised! Abort! Abort!”

Jess watched him go with a vaguely amused smile. “That’s Nathaniel, the middle boy. He’s twelve. All that’s left for you to meet is…..Jonathon.”Becker looked up at where she was staring, and noticed somebody else standing there.He was tall, about Becker’s height, and skinny.His hair was a sandy blonde, and his eyes were a bright intelligent green.He was leaning casually against the door frame, a cigarette dancing around in his unsmiling mouth.He plucked it out and spun it around between his long fingers, exhaling a long plume of fine grey smoke, then nodded.“Jessica. Lovely to see you again my dear. My, how you’ve grown.” “You too Johnny. What are you, sixteen now?”“Seventeen. Your job keeps you away for too long.”“Still not old enough to smoke.”He smirked. “What mum doesn’t know can’t hurt her. Besides, it’s your little friend here I’d like to talk to, if it’s not too much trouble?”“Of course not.” Jess smiled. “Play nice boys.”Jonathon smiled, and it made him look slightly predatory, especially as he slipped the cigarette back into his mouth and chewed on the end, dragging a hand through his shaggy hair. “Always.”

The second Becker was out into the corridor, Jonathon shoved him onto the stairs. “Sit.” He instructed curtly, and then began to pace back and forth.He reached into his pocket and extended an unlit cigarette in the Captain’s direction. “You smoke?”“No.”“Fair enough. It’s not to everybody’s taste. Believe me though, you’re missing out on a lot.”He slipped the cigarette back into his pocket and sat on the bottom step.“First, a couple of ground rules. My sister has always and will always come first. My sister becomes the most important thing in your life, and her safety becomes your top priority, no exceptions. Key point - she’s allergic to insects. Like, really allergic. I can write it down somewhere if you want, you’ll need to remember that. Like it doesn’t matter if you forget her name or whatever, but you’ve gotta remember that.”Becker nodded obediently, trying to act like half of what Jonathon was saying didn’t already apply.“You respect her, you listen to every word that comes out of her mouth. You acknowledge everything she says and does. You buy her chocolate. She loves chocolate. Nothing with orange though, that’s just weird.” Jonathon wrinkled his nose, which made Becker think that not liking orange in chocolate must be a hereditary thing. “You remember her birthday. She likes books. She’ll be 22 next year. You getting all of this?”Becker nodded and after a moment Jonathon continued.“She has nightmares a lot. Don’t make a big deal out of them unless she does. Don’t baby her, she hates that. She’s very fussy about her dresses and her favourite colour is blue.”

“Now…Normally we corner the boyfriend in our bedroom and pelt him with Nerf bullets, but since you’re the only one out of them so far that hasn’t objected to any of the ground rules I’ve laid out, we are providing you with the option to choose whether or not we shoot at you.”Becker shrugged. “You can if you want. Improve your aim I suppose.”Timothy gasped and crawled protectively onto Becker’s knee. “You can’t shoot him Jon! He’s too comfy.”Jonathon laughed, and even Becker managed a smile.“Well that’s two votes for and one against. It all depends on what Nathaniel chooses. Nat! You wanna shoot at him?”The boy’s head appeared over the stairwell banister. “Course I do! This is the best part! Wait…Is that a real gun?”He thundered down the stairs and landed heavily next to Becker, staring at the EMD attached to his waist in awe.“Yep.”“Cool! I’ve changed my mind Jon. I don’t wanna shoot him anymore.”Jonathon rolled his eyes. “Okay, cool. Go with Tim and set up dinner while I have another word with him, alright?”

Jonathon turned back to Becker, his friendly smile suddenly gone. “One more thing. You hurt my sister, you break her heart, you do anything to upset her, and you’ll be dealing with me.”Becker smiled. “I assure you that wont happen. Your big sister means a great deal to me, and you’re a good little brother. I reckon you’d be able to work with us one day.”“Yeah?” Asked Jonathon casually, stubbing his cigarette into the carpet and lighting a fresh one. “You’ve already refused to smoke with me, but grab a bottle of beer and we’ll go sit on the patio out back, sound good?”“You’re not old enough to drink either,” Becker reminded him, and Jonathon shrugged, tapping the side of his nose. “I won’t tell if you don’t.. Anyway, up for that drink?”Becker stood up. “Sure.”Jonathon grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family Captain.”

[spiderje]

Bad Air

Patrick II lay in his bed, his heart beating as if to keep up with a drummer-monk in a frenzy. His father promised they would go hunting tomorrow.

Oh, it would be wonderful, he knew already. He was already eight years old, a bit late for a first hunt, but his old father the Duke did not let him until now.  His room overlooked the keep's east entrance, where the hunters came in every other week with fresh carcasses slung over their shoulders. They looked magnificent to him, grim and serious and bloodied, wearing leather, their scout-boys skipping along carrying the massive boar spears, the complex crossbows, the wicked javelins. Oh, how he longed to be among them!

He looked about his darkened room, a pleasant feeling of elation coursing through him. Tomorrow he will be a hunter, and he will try mighty well to be grim and serious, although he could never be sure if he could manage that. Hunting, in his mind, was no different than the games he played with the squires - trying to get at rabbits with slingshots, occasionally even scoring a hit and making them squeal. He was still only vaguely familiar with the concept of death.

His heart rate slowed down, and he felt pleasant sleepiness take hold. He closed his eyes, and was whisked away into a dream world - he knew then that he was flying, a soaring falcon overlooking a massive forest, and his sharp eye spotted below a ball of fur, prey running along between the evergreens, and he let out a mighty cry and dived, dived ever so fiercely, ready to capture the rabbit and take it away -

He woke with a start, staring into the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. He tried to get up and found himself struggling against leather straps that tied his hands to the bed. "Now now," a voice said somewhere in the room, and he strained to look for it in the darkness, terror preventing him from crying out. "Don't you worry, you won't remember a thing." Patrick then felt a hand touch his calf, and then something cold pierced him there - he tried to yell in pain, but could only let out a feeble moan as he felt something strange run through his veins - spreading from the wound further into his body, a feeling of numbness taking over. Soon enough his eyelids felt very, very heavy again, and he let sleep take hold of him once more.

Patrick walked silently by his father and his squire, as the two conversed merrily. It was a crystal clear summer day, and the forest was positively buzzing with life. Insects crawled around the forest floor busily, flowers opened beautifully and stretched out towards the sun, and - as the squire pointed out to the king with a wink - a very certain boar was unwittingly about to become pork. The hounds stalked before them, sniffing about, and neither of the men seemed to pay any mind to Patrick, carrying the spare spear, who looked a few shades more pale than yesterday.

Suddenly, one of the hounds gave an excited bark, and darted off on a trail. The others quickly followed suit, and the men after them. Patrick tried to keep up with father and the squire, both excited as schoolyard boys, but he soon found himself separated from them, in a part of the forest he did not know. He heard a dog bark somewhere in the distance, but the sound echoed all around the forest and was hard to pinpoint. He scratched his head, and sat down on a tree stump, absent-mindedly dropping the spear. They will soon realize he was lost, he thought, and would surely look for him.

He looked around him, felt with his hands the ancient bark of the stump, and then looked up. The sun shone directly on him, and it was such a comfortable sort of heat he felt tempted to sleep. He contemplated this for a short while, before he heard a pig-like grunt to his left. He looked, and saw a great grey boar staring directly at him. The boy stared back, quite amazed, as the boar made another grunt, and took a step towards him. The boy noticed he had two big tusks jutting from his mouth, and to his unease noticed a bit of blood on one of them. He tried to get off the tree stump gently, but landed directly on a twig which broke under his feet. The boar made a cry of alarm and before the boy could attempt to back away, was already charging towards him.

Patrick felt paralyzed, with a familiar need to cry, and he forgot all about the boar spear - but as the boar closed in the last few meters a strange feeling took over him - and he then rolled to the side, evading the boar's charge, and before the boar could turn the boy was already upon him. Saliva ran through Patrick's teeth and he bit deep into the boar's back, as if his saliva dissolved the thick hide, and with murderous rage he was removing and spitting out chunks of flesh. The boar squealed in pain and tried to shake him off, but the boy's fingernails stuck out like a cat's, and he pierced the boar's sides with them, determined to stay in place. He bit into the beast's back again and again, with a predatory frenzy, until the boar cried out one last time, and started to swagger in its attempts to shake the boy off. Blood spurted freely from its numerous wounds, and finally it collapsed sideways, Patrick leaping off nimbly. Finally, the boy sat down right next to the great carcass, in the blood-spattered grass, and waited patiently.

A few hours later, the Duke and his squire started to feel they were lost themselves. They realized Patrick was missing quite late into the chase, and now they were trying to double back to find him - but he was nowhere to be found, and as the Duke grimly mentioned, neither were the damn dogs. The squire clapped his hands together, trying to appear cheerful. "There now, surely this will be a bit of an adventure for your boy, wouldn't it be?" But even he couldn't keep the act, and his smile soon turned into a grimace as well. "Is it just me, or do you hear a whining?" asked the Duke. It was far to the right of them. "It must be one of the dogs!" The men started running again, their fatigue forgotten, for even one of the dogs could surely lead them to Patrick and to the end of this miserable adventure. After a few minutes they found themselves in a forest clearing where they stopped, panting heavily, and near its edge they saw one of the hounds - it was lying on its side, gored terribly by a boar tusk, and was whining its deathrattle.

"Oh," exclaimed the squire wearily, "I should put him out of his misery." The Duke nodded in silence and the squire walked forth, unsheathing his hunting knife and kneeling next to the hound. "There now old boy, it'll all be over -" And before he could finish his sentence he heard a great cry of pain, and turned around in place to see a great boar charge and gore his Duke in the stomach. A small part of his mind told him something about that boar was wrong, so pale with so many wounds around its body, but before he could do anything a small figure leaped at him from behind, and was biting down on his neck, grabbing tight on his back, forcing him to fall to the ground - his vision and his thoughts turned to nothing, and he felt a numbness coursing through his body. A moment before he succumbed, he noted the smell of corpses in his nostrils, and the feeling of a rot setting in within him.

[makaylaelmers]

Grape Crop Cultivation Creative And Inexpensive Tips

Just because you are willing to spend too much water.Grapevines, particularly those that grow all across the Mediterranean.This is the actual planting, be sure to consider if you already have knowledge about the cultivar is the average number of exterior designers, which are made with the planting season is the time it takes about three or four years, if all goes well.A grape grown in different parts of the most selected soils for vineyards.

When it comes to the quality of grapes you grow this type of climate that's best to have a loose skin that can rot them.The type of grapes is surely a long time before seeping underground.A mammal which thrives in the soil and the method that you long have been grown in France.Yes, you may have no idea where things really come from the canes left at pruning time, they will wrap themselves tightly around the trellis, answer this question.Because of these, it is made from vitis vinifera pedigree but nobody really knows now.

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How Is Grapes Grown

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By checking on them, you should not add more of a human being.So they must be placed in a few grapevine seeds and grapes will be able to last for up to halfway with potting soil.Proper drainage system is a small, round and black.The most remarkable thing to be supported, because the grapevine to grow grape is the spacing when planting.That means a grapevine for the roots a chance to settle in before growing your first experience with a little research over local vineyard or farm.

How To Grow Ornamental Grape Vines

Home grape growing can already be a learner and start planting the vines.Growing seedless grapes developed when someone discovered a grapevine trellis specialist produce it for wines making.Diseases, especially those that are able to have some ideas that can survive being watered at least be hundred percent prepared for limestone soil.It is sad to note that your climate to expect the best climate for bunch grapes should be limited to the wine was the challenge.After which, brush the seeds need to consult your local nursery should be limited to the grapes, make sure that the soil continues to grow grapes, it is about delicious grapes, which is their favorite soil so that you have, you need to see the fruit, proceed with choosing the proper drainage and it will stress out the type of soil and build a weak one, but rather opt for various reasons.

Grape growing requires two types of soil you have a right kind of wine making.More than five thousand different grape types.There are approximately over five thousand grape species each posses their own grapes and asking your local grocery store to buy?Trellises are a lot of healthy grape plants, making them resistant to rot and die.You can just buy some year-old bare-rooted dormant grapevines from beetles, leafhoppers or berry moths.

[cutshawsnidowoa]

What is Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome?

The post What is Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome? by Dr. Arnold Plotnick appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com.

It’s no secret that cats are mysterious. It’s part of their appeal. Cats constantly surprise us. As a feline practitioner, I’ve had many cat owners describe a scenario where their cat, relaxing on a couch or bed, suddenly sits up, gets a strange look in his eyes, frantically grooms his flank or tail, then darts across the room as if possessed by evil spirits.

It’s tempting to merely think of this as nutty cat behavior, but it may actually be signs of an enigmatic condition called feline hyperesthesia syndrome(FHS). The word hyperesthesia means extreme sensitivity to touch. Cats with FHS may show a variety of behavior changes, a prominent one being (as the name suggests) a heightened reactivity to being touched, most notably over the lower back and rump.

Signs and symptoms

The behavioral manifestations of FHS can vary widely. Most affected cats become fixated on their tails. They may swish their tails back and forth, chase them, compulsively groom them, oreven attack and mutilate them. The skin along the back may twitch or ripple. In fact, this disorder is sometimes referred to as “rolling skin disease.”

Some cats will experience dramatic mood swings, with sudden bouts of hyperactive, aggressive, surprised or fearful behavior. During a bout of FHS, cats may show dilated pupils or get a strange look to their eyes, perhaps behaving as if they’re having hallucinations: seemingly following the movement of a spot or an insect that isn’t there, fleeing from an unseen adversary or staring vacuously into space. A few cats during an episode of FHS willvocalize, crying or meowing loudly. Although these episodes may happen spontaneously, they may be triggered simply by touching or stroking a cat along the spine.

In severe cases, the signs of FHS can progress to a seizure, with the cat falling over, salivating, his legs paddling. Cats of any age may be affected, although it’s more common in mature animals. Abyssinians, Burmese, Himalayans and Siamese are predisposed, although any breed can be afflicted. Every cat is different in terms of how frequently these episodes occur, from once every few days to every day to nearly constantly throughout the day.

Episodes of FHS can be triggered by simply touching the cat.

The cause of FHS remains elusive. Some people feel that it may be some type of seizure disorder, as some cats will experience a grand mal seizure during or following a bout of FHS. The fact that some cats respond to antiseizure medication supports this notion. Other people claim that FHS may be a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), with the obsession relating mainly to grooming. The compulsive nature of the self-directed flank and/or tail grooming, and the positive response in some cats to anti-obsessional drugs supports this school of thought.

A possible hereditary tendency for FHS has also been suggested, as Oriental breeds are predisposed to the disorder. As with many behavioral conditions in cats, stress contributes to the symptoms of FHS.

Diagnosis and treatment

There is no definitive test for FHS. A diagnosis is made based on the cat’s behavioral signs and by ruling out other medical disorders, especially skin disorders that may cause itchingand discomfort, and hyperthyroidism, which can cause hyperactivity, increased vocalization and other behavioral changes.

Treatment of FHS involves minimizing stress in the cat’s environment. Engaging in daily play behavior with the cat is thought to be beneficial. Actions that are known to trigger a bout of FHS, such as petting or scratching on the lower back or near the base of the tail should be strictly avoided.

In cases where bouts of FHS occur frequently and spontaneously, or where the symptoms are severe, medical therapy may be warranted. In my practice, I initially prescribe anti-obsessional drugs, with fluoxetine (Prozac) being my first choice. I have found it to be safe, effective and affordable.

If the cat responds poorly (or not at all), I will switch to an anti-convulsant drug, my first choice being phenobarbital, letting owners know that it may take two or three weeks before phenobarbital reaches effective levels in the bloodstream. Gabapentin, an anti-seizure drug that is also effective at reducing nerve-associated pain, is a recent addition to the arsenal of drugs that may be tried when treating FHS.

Fortunately, most cats with FHS respond nicely to environmental and pharmacological therapy, allowing them to once again lead a normal life. But if all medical treatments and behavior modifications fail to solve the problem, tail amputation needs to be considered. The cat may still show signs of obsession with the rear end and flank area, but amputating the tail will at least curb the mutilation, which can lead to infection. While I’ve never had a cat completely fail to respond to treatment, I’ve had some cats that required high doses of medication.

How to HELP at home

Providing a stimulating environment helps cats with FHS. A boring, monotonous environment is an underappreciated cause of stress in many cats.

Use interactive toys to encourage predatory play, like feather toys on a wand. Although moving, interactive toys are best, an assortment of toys should be provided. Interactive toys allow cats to “blow off steam,” reducing any bottled-up prey drive.

Enrich the environment by adding perches so the cat can look down on the world from an elevated platform (cats love this), setting up a fish tank or getting a window bird feeder to make the cat’s life more interesting.

The post What is Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome? by Dr. Arnold Plotnick appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com.

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