#convex grunt

[edenspoem]

⁶⁶⁶♡ perverted ♡⁶⁶⁶

𖤐 ellie needs a little extra care.. 🦢

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; elita harkov- perverted

cw/tags; nsfw, perverted!ellie, subtop!ellie, nipple play, grinding, vibrator(giving), overstimulation(giving), fingering (receiving), squirting, 'mama' petname

an; wanted ellie to call me mama ina dom way but also wanted to make her squirt, so, tada!!! way simpler writing this is just a drabble ellie's masterlist

♡

it was ritualistic. the way her hands feel voidly empty when she's not cupping your hips or molding to the convex of your waist constantly. it was sick. lacking the aftertaste of your juices, dying breathless to lap your folds again. it was twisted. visions of you naked, moaning, on the edge, plaguing her mind.

so when her eyes settled on your silhouette, attired in nothing but a shapeless tee, underwear, and socks, plunging your hands in the sinks foamy water, she can graphically visualize those exact pieces of clothing on the floor.

ellie's body behind you, pushing your otherwise stagnant rump into her needy groin, grunting 'fucks' and 'shits' in the raised skin on your neck. her flys' already unbuttoned and poking the cloaked valley of your cheeks repititively. the drenched sensation of her slit is titillating enough, smudging her panties with each chafe that only suffices minimal friction. her poor clits' not getting enough. bending her knees purely to rut her throbbing crotch into your ass.

''need' mama in bed..'' she purrs, indulging a latch to your neck, pink tongue suckling a bruise.

you play her game, but with little reaction. sutured lips and no words in reply to her plea, hands remnant on the dirty dishes.

her voice grunts again, ''m' so fuckin' horny.." as her fingers trail from your hips and grasp your loose tits above the fabric, gently squeezing.

"hmm, baby?"

''i need you...'' she whines further and deviates from your neck, looming over to get a glimpse of your face, "been thinkin' bout you all day." you feel her hand slither down between your bodies, biting her lips and putting pressure on her angry pulsing clit.

you had an entirely different vision in your mind.

this lead you to where you lie now, nude beside her, prying her leg open, the kickback of a vibrator rattling your knuckles and rolling the tip around her sensitive little red bud as she twitches and writhes in pleasure.

her own toughened hands flick her hard nipples, eyes engaging to the back of her head as she revels in the stimulation that's just too fucking good. her puffy eyes fall to ogle your tits, mesmerized in a trance. creamy nectar streamlining into a puddle beneath her. she's your needy little mess.

''c'mon mama~ go faster, nghhhhh.. fuck..'' ellie bellows out, drooling from her agape lips.

you up the speed on the toy, rubbing slow linear motions over and under the hood of her clit, all the right spots that have her nearly squirting all over your hand. pearly white serum gathers at the base of the toy, dripping off the edge.

"ooohhhf.. ffuck, oh god-" a groan hitches in her larynx, casting those dozy eyes over to watch the toys bulbous end coated in sticky slick part her folds and judder the skin. specks of her juices splatter the inside of her thighs, beautifully casting a wet halo around her swollen cunt.

"feel good els?"

"yeah, u're so fuckin' good- mama makes me feel s'good.."

after slapping and digging the vibrator into her clit a bit more, she's clenching her muscles up and splashing squirt everywhere. she's got her lips hung open, curling her head back til' the pillow hits her nose, whole body trembling. yet, she doesn't want you to stop. striving for another orgasm.

''keep tha- shhhshh-shit on, don't fuckin' stop..'' her stern voice mixes with quaking chords, choked up in the joy ride.

you don't. you listen. those husky groans of desperation boil over you. she's always so forward even in this position. you fucking love it. it only catches you by surprise when her calloused fingers drift over your belly and dive into your pussy, taking no time to prod your g spot with such fluidity.

"what'cha doin'- mmh- there, ellie?" you coo between throaty whimpers, lighting brushing her chin with your vacant digits.

"don't wanna leave ya- gh! ..neglected." bobbing hiccups jolt her body slightly, loving the way your pussy swallows her in like it knows her.

it's scary how she even barely handles the overstimulation, purely just turned on by the fact you're both fucking eachother, so.. so well.

and it satisfies her, so.. so much, beady green eyes watching you closely, rasping, ''mhm.. that's more like it."

her perverted little mind always wins.

♡

[cowboyemeritus]

Shovel Bums (Cardinal Copia/Reader)

Shovel Bum (n): a slang term referring to a contract archaeologist; someone who works in the cultural resource management industry.

Or, you and Copia help each other get through a long week of fieldwork. (18+)

Tags: workplace relationship, secret relationship, outdoor sex, archaeology au

Read on AO3

Notes: this is so incredibly self-indulgent, but it is basically my life (not the affair part, lol). i hope it's not too niche.

still slowly working my way out of writers block. lots and lots of ideas that i want to share with you all :)

feedback is always welcome!

It’s only September, but fall is in the air. The mornings are chilly, the days are still annoyingly hot, but the nights, for now, are just right. The rest of the crew has already gone to bed, leaving just you and Copia sitting around the dying campfire. Though the sun has set and the day has been long — everyday, it seems, lasts forever in the field — there is still plenty of work for you two. Gadgets need to be charged. Data needs to be reviewed. Site forms need to be completed. If you had time, you’d make a plan for tomorrow that’s more detailed than “walk in a straight line and don’t die,” but it would be a fruitless endeavor. Seldom do your expectations actually come to pass.

This project, for instance, has just been roadblock after roadblock, mishap after mishap. Equipment failures, rough terrain, and perplexing sites merely scratch the surface of all the things that have worked to slow you down. That’s all par for the course in this line of work, but when you haven’t interacted with society in days, it starts to eat at you. When you know you’re sleeping in a tent tonight and your next shower isn’t coming for days, there are only so many transects you can walk, only so many rocks you can look at, before you lose your mind completely. And with two days left and still so much ground to cover, it’s hard not to feel the pressure building. You’ve already done two sessions out here, and there’s only enough cash left in the project budget for this week, a fact that haunts you and Copia like a specter. This thing has to be done by the end of Sunday, or else.

But who cares about that when there’s cool, old shit to look at?

“I’m telling you,” you say quietly, for the sake of your sleeping crewmates, “that point Dew found this morning? Elko Corner Notched.” It’s a fantastic specimen, knapped from one of the many chunks of petrified wood that erode out of the mesas, littering the landscape. This one is red, with bands of orange and yellow that, to you, resembles a sunset. To illustrate your point you hold up one of your (many) artifact guides alongside your tablet, a photograph of the projectile already on display. Copia looks up from his paperwork and squints at it from across the dying fire, eventually coming over get a better look. You gaze up at him as he takes the device from you, admiring how handsome he looks in the orange glow. Though he’s more diligent than anyone on the crew about applying sunscreen, you swear he gets more freckles every day. Not that you mind. His nose scrunches up a little as he looks back and forth between the screen and the book.

“I don’t know,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Still looks like Chaco to me. And wasn’t it by that room-block we recorded yesterday?” You put on your best faux-pout, secretly delighting in the mirthful look in his eyes.

“Well, yeah,” you acquiesce, snatching back the tablet so that you can zoom in on the stem of the point, where it would have been hafted to the shaft of an arrow. “But, look. The base is concave. Chaco is convex or straight.” Copia plops himself down next to you with one of his cute little grunts, resting his chin on your shoulder. “And look at how serrated it is.” He hums in agreement, at this point merely feigning interest in the artifact’s true identity. You feel an arm slink around your back, his hand coming to your hip and gently squeezing the flesh there.

“I love it when you correct me,” he murmurs into your ear. It’s meant only for you, but sound travels in strange ways out here and you can’t help the chastising look you give him. Copia flashes you a cheeky smile to show you just how not-sorry he is and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not gonna be saying that for long, ‘co-Project Manager.’” You laugh, nervous excitement bubbling up at the thought of your recent promotion. Copia had been instrumental in helping you get it, arguing to the company that he needed the help and you, already his right hand, could handle the responsibility. He’d held your hand throughout the process of applying for your state supervisor permit, too, a truly harrowing process that makes your skin crawl to think about. And while the change has brought a staggering increase in the amount of hours you work and corporate bullshit you put up with, splitting the project with him has definitely helped you ease into your new role. With his attention to detail and your obsession with efficiency, you make a pretty solid team. Copia has made this nightmare bearable; you’re grateful to have him, even if he��s a little shit sometimes.

Copia chuckles, finally closing the gap between you. His lips are chapped from the sun, but you’re certain yours are, too. Under the fresh coating of smoke from the fire is the smell of exertion mingled with the artificial scent of cleansing wipes. No one on the crew has had a proper shower in days; that’s just how camping projects go. They’re sweaty, and dusty, and seem to drag on forever, but the satisfaction of looking at a filled-out map at the end of the session (and the notion of several days off) makes it entirely worth it. At this point, though, you’re more-or-less blind to the sweaty human smell, and the feeling of having him so close, especially after the hellish few days you’ve had, is too tempting to resist. Pressing further into the kiss, you can’t help the quiet, contended hum that emanates from your chest.

There’s a rustling from Cirrus’ tent, and both of your heads snap in that direction. Copia, suddenly skittish, scoots away and a moment of tense, almost fearful silence passes over you. What you’re doing isn’t technically against the rules, but with the promotion, it looks a little suspicious. When the opportunity presents itself, you agreed, you’ll make… whatever this thing is, known to any affected parties. For now, though, it’s easier to lurk in the shadows, stealing kisses when no one is looking.

When she, when anyone, fails to emerge and spoil your fun, you give Copia a pleading look. He’s back at your side almost instantly, capturing your mouth again. Eagerly, your arm snakes behind his back, fingers twisting into the thick brown hair at the base of his skull. You lightly scratch at his scalp, and can feel the shiver that runs down his spine. Copia groans quietly into your mouth, then nips at your bottom lip. The lingering traces of warmth from the fire are nothing compared to the heat his advances stir within you. Suddenly needing him desperately, you allow your lips to part, tongue slipping through to prod at his. Copia’s mouth is sweet with the lingering taste of the candy you’ve carefully rationed all week, and you press into him greedily, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on your body. You get a very risky, very tempting idea.

There’s a string of saliva connecting your tongues when you pull away. For a moment, you wonder how that’s even possible with how much you sweat all the damn time. “Let’s,” you start, nodding in the direction of the trees. Copia gives you a confused look. “Somewhere more private.” The realization hits him. He quirks an eyebrow, now looking rather bemused. Mischief is attractive on him.

“Bellissima, we could be seen… together. People will start to talk.” No one on the crew gets paid enough to care and you both know that. He’s just riling you up. You grunt, stealing another desperate kiss.

“Not if you’re quiet,” you grumble, planting your lips on his pulse point. Emboldened by desire, your hands find his, bringing them to your breasts. “I need you. It’s been…” You have to restart your count when he thumbs over your nipples, already hard through the flimsy fabric of your camisole. Your thighs press together as you recall the last time you had him; frantic, hurried, just minutes before mobilizing on Monday morning. “It’s been five whole days. That’s far too long.” Copia looks like he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. The only option is to silence him with your mouth, but when you finally let him escape for air he’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face. Suddenly, it’s not so handsome anymore. You scowl. “I’m dying here.”

“A snake could bite you on the butt.”

“I’ll bite you on the butt,” you say. Copia cocks his head as if to say don’t threaten me with a good time, and you roll your eyes. Huffing, you stamp your foot, kicking up a small cloud of dust. “All you do is fucking question me. Got me promoted, for what?” You stand up from the log and wince as your hip pops. When the session is over, you’ll need to thoroughly stretch every part of your body. “Let’s go.” You take a few paces away from camp, looking over your shoulder to find Copia tailing you. This is greatly satisfying, and you smirk at him as you saunter off into the forest.

“I’ve created a monster,” you think you hear him say.

The first step in your scheme is to put as much distance between you and the camp as is possible. To that end, you walk out about 50 meters into the trees, stop, decide it’s still too close, then trudge out another 20 or so. It takes a few tries to find a good spot; one large juniper has a colony of ants eating away at its base, the ground beneath another is pockmarked with rodent burrows. Eventually you find a tree about 75 meters out and decide it fits your needs. It’s tall enough for you to lean against, and one large branch juts out right around waist height. You’re only screwed if someone needs to take a piss and chooses the wrong direction to walk in. Liking those odds, you plant yourself down on the branch, watching impatiently, arms crossed, as Copia catches up. Without needing instruction, he slots himself between your parted legs.

In an instant your fingers are tangling into the front of his shirt, pulling him in. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, you need as much of him as you can get. His tongue pushes past your lips the moment your mouths meet, and when he presses his hips into you the hardness of his arousal is obvious. Encouraging him, you grind into him as best you can, planting a hand on the branch to steady yourself. On one stroke the zipper of his hiking pants catches your clit and you moan quietly, pleasure winding up in your gut like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. Copia chuckles into your mouth, cupping your cheek to stop you from following when he pulls away, glancing at his wristwatch.

“It’s already 9:45,” he observes. You stare at him, deadpan, needing only the exhaustion in your bones to tell you it’s probably too late to be doing this.

“Be quick, then,” you mutter, reaching for the button on his trousers. He grunts when your knuckles brush against his hard length, but he lets you work without complaint. Your mouth fills with saliva as you pull him out of his briefs, taking a moment to admire his manhood and savor the weight of it in your hand. Even in the dark — it suddenly dawns on you that you didn’t bring a flashlight, which will make getting back to camp interesting — you can just barely see that the head is flushed a deep pink that blooms all the way down his shaft. He likes to tease, but you know he needs you just as bad. You spit into your palm, giving him a few quick jerks. Copia groans, head falling back as he starts gently fucking into your fist. Watching him, you’re overcome with the desire to take him in your mouth, but that’s not a good idea until both of you have had a date with soap and running water. Instead, you take his hand and again bring it to your chest, untucking your shirt so that he can reach under it. There’s a pleasant jolt when the pad of one of his fingers brushes across your bare nipple and you whine, tilting your head upwards so Copia knows he should kiss you. With a quiet hum he obliges. This kiss is more gentle than before, simpler, but that’s okay. It makes you slow down for what feels like the first time in days.

It’s an exquisitely beautiful evening. The sky is dusted with more stars than you could ever get in the city, twinkling like fine crystal beads against the faint backdrop of the Milky Way. Even in the darkness the forest around you is alive, a symphony of crickets scoring your tryst. An owl hoots somewhere, the sound carried on the cool, lazy breeze. Moments like these, when you’re able to liberate yourself from the demands of the job and appreciate your surroundings, have become increasingly rare. It’s hard to be mindful when you’re constantly, both physically and mentally, in motion, and the deadlines often overshadow your interest in the material. Sometimes, it’s hard to be thorough and scientific when all you want to do is lay down in a freezer and sleep. Sometimes, you forget that you chose to do this, that you’re an archaeologist, and not some drone at the mercy of whatever utility company is footing the bill.

Right now, though, none of that matters. If only for a little while, work doesn’t exist. It’s just you, him, and the endless night.

Soon, though, the moment is over. You grow impatient. Growling, you shoot up from your seat, fumbling with the fastenings of your own pants. Your mouth is still interlocked with Copia’s, the sudden motion causing your teeth to clack together. Somehow you just can’t get the button undone. The piece of plastic keeps slipping through your fingers, still slick with saliva and smears of precum. Suddenly, you want to fucking scream, to give up this game and go flop down in your tent and pass out, but then Copia’s hands are shooing yours away. He pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours, encouraging you to take a few deep breaths in and out your nose. You recognize the look in his eyes from the field, from the moments of stress and crisis you’ve had over these past few weeks. Your heartbeat begins to steady, knowing its meaning:

Chill out, baby. I’ve got you.

You sigh, eyes sliding shut as you let Copia take over the task of unbuttoning your pants. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as he does, planting a kiss to the sensitive flesh. You feel the glide of his tongue, sampling the salt of your skin, and shiver. Once he’s done with your zipper he grabs your trousers at the hips and tugs them down your legs, leaving them bunched up at your knees. You feel almost childish, needing him to undress you like this, but can’t deny how arousing it is to watch him take care of you. As if to prove that point, the tips of his fingers ghost over your outer lips, just enough for him to feel the wetness soaking through your panties. Even the most simple touch is electrifying against your frayed nerves, and you whimper. Copia’s hand slips under the waistband, skilled digits immediately finding your clit and drawing tight circles around it. A choked sob leaves you when he bites down on your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to evoke the image of him claiming you in your whirling, lust-clouded mind.

“Cope,” you whine, about to rag-doll against him. “Fuck. Come on.” He snickers into your neck, the stray hairs of his normally well-kept mustache tickling your skin, before leaving another playful nip just under your jaw. Grinding his hot, hard cock against your hip, he grunts. The hand pleasuring you retreats, his pointer finger hooking under your panties and tugging them down. He delves between your folds once more, gathering your arousal and using it to slick up his length. There’s a pinprick of loss, of missing having him close, as he turns you around to bend over the tree limb, but it’s quickly replaced by anticipation when the head of his cock prods at your center. Bracing yourself against the branch, you need only wiggle your hips enticingly and he’s pushing into you, a held-back moan rumbling deep in his chest. The stretch is heavenly, hitting all the spots that have gone so tragically neglected. Copia gives an experimental thrust and your head falls between your shoulders. “Oh, fuck, yes.” Your legs are already wobbling. You choose not to think about how the ten hours of hiking on tomorrow’s agenda will feel.

For the time being, both of his hands snake around to your front, sliding under your shirt to fondle your breasts. He latches onto your nipples almost instantly, and each time he pinches the little pink buds a shockwave travels down your spine. Already, that climactic energy is building, nestled deep in your belly. Copia’s pace is casual, unhurried, as if he wasn’t griping about the time only minutes ago. You can feel the heat of his body against your back, his still-damp field shirt sticking to your equally sweaty skin. When you get home, you’ll take the longest shower known to mankind. If Copia is lucky, maybe you’ll invite him to join you. Right now, though, you need more from him. Much more. Twisting your head back, you smash your mouth into his with a needy whine, nipping and tugging at his bottom lip.

“Faster,” you beg, pressing your backside into him so that he can reach even deeper inside you. “Please.” Copia chuckles against your lips, a hand traveling to the apex of your legs to toy with your aching clit. You swear there’s a glint of something wicked in his eyes as he watches your whole body convulse with pleasure, but before you can chastise him for teasing he captures your mouth once more, tongue pushing forcefully past your lips. He keeps you like that a while, using the hand at your chest to hold you in place until you see stars. Once he’s had his fill you finally get your wish, his hips bucking into you with earnest. The clap of skin-on-skin makes you a little nervous, but it’s just so hard to care about being caught when he’s doing you this good.

Copia grunts, pressing his cheek into yours. You can feel the sweat beading at his temples. “You make me work like a fucking dog all day, and still all you do is boss me around. I had better be getting overtime for this.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. Sorry I’m so-“ The head of his cock hits your sweet spot perfectly and you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan. “Demanding.”

Copia snickers, kissing you again. “Anything to please you, Boss Lady.”

At this pace, it doesn’t take long until you’re teetering on the edge of your release. From the intensity of Copia’s breathing and the small stutters in his thrusts, you can tell he’s not far off either. The tree bark, sun-dried and peeling off in strips, digs into your palms, but you cling tighter to the branch as your knees begin to knock together. He still has a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. One of yours, smaller and not nearly as worn (yet), comes up to rest atop it. Absentmindedly, you trace the thin line of a scar running down the length of his middle finger, a souvenir from his field school days. He takes that as a cue to intertwine his digits with yours. Something about that finally sets you off, and with a few more swipes around your clit you’re falling apart, shaking and cursing. It’s like every thread of tension in your body decides to relax at once, forcefully expelling the stress you’ve been bottling up all week. Copia says nothing but is with you through the entire ordeal, planting soft kisses on your cheek as you come down. Once you start squirming from overstimulation he stops playing with your clit, but keeps fucking you just as hard and fast. A few moments later he moans through gritted teeth, pulling out to jerk himself off the rest of the way. Over your combined breathing you can just barely make out the sound of his release spattering onto the sandy soil below.

You remain like that, him hunched over your bent form, for a few beats. After collectively catching your breath Copia straightens back up, stretching with a satisfied groan. Before either of you can forget, he kicks some dirt over the newly consecrated, cum-soaked ground, concealing the evidence of your rendezvous. “That do it for ya?” He asks, tucking his softening member back in his pants. Contented, you sigh, nodding as you pull your own trousers up. You don’t bother with the accursed button, choosing to have faith in just your zipper.

“Oh, yeah.” Once you’re confident your pants will stay up, you pull him in for another kiss. “Thank you for indulging me.” He smiles gently at you, green eyes twinkling like the stars above. All of sudden, the entire day seems to hit you at once, your eyes growing heavy. You and Copia yawn at the same time, then share a laugh. He checks his watch again, letting out another amused huff.

“9:57,” he notes. “That’s a new record, I think.”

“Congrats,” you say, stepping around to give him playful smack on the ass. “We’ll get you a medal.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“How about a raise?” At this you both crack up again, giggling until your sides begin to hurt. After a few deep breaths, you shake your head, taking a few paces back in the direction of camp.

“This project will kill us first.”

Still basking in afterglow, the journey back to the tents is comfortably quiet. The silence remains as the two of you go about packing up all the tools and papers you left around the fire, now completely dead. To be safe, though, Copia grabs a shovel and dumps a load of sand onto the coals, stirring the whole mess around until he’s absolutely sure it’s been smothered. You watch as he does, already dreading the chill the morning will bring. A decadent thought, that of curling up next to him and drifting off to sleep, crosses your mind. Something in your chest flutters, and you quickly stamp out the idea, lest you get carried away. With a sigh, you sling your pack over your shoulder and shuffle towards your tent.

As you’re unzipping the rain-flap, you hear Copia approach from behind. Turning to acknowledge him, you have to stifle a surprised squeak as he cups your cheek and presses his mouth to yours, keeping you there for a good, long while. Even after making him fuck you, and though you’re exhausted, you can’t help but feel at least a little excited by it.

“See you tomorrow,” he says. It is, sadly, bedtime.

“See you tomorrow,” you whisper, already missing him. Unable to help yourself, you lean in for another chaste kiss, relishing in the warmth and softness of his lips. Before it can turn into another, you open the tent the rest of the way, flopping down on your mattress pad. After sealing yourself inside, the last of your energy is spent shucking off your dirty, sweaty clothes and crawling into your sleeping bag. As soon as your eyes shut, you’re asleep. When you wake in the morning, the only dream you can recall is of Copia, gazing up with wonder at a sky full of shooting stars.

You’ll tell the crew, and maybe HR, eventually. For now, though, what you two have is precious. It’s all yours, and you wouldn’t give that up for anything.

[identifying-deer-in-posts]

how do you tell red deer and elk apart? sorry if its obvious they just look the same most of the time to me

It's not always obvious! Some subspecies can look incredibly similar, which is why all elk were considered subspecies of red deer until about 2004.

So, generally speaking, here are the main differences, which are easier to see in males:

Red deer (Cervus elaphus)

(sources 1, 2)

These handsome fellows live in most of Europe, southwestern Asia, and northern Africa. They've also been introduced to Australia, Aotearoa, Chile, and Argentina.

They're much smaller and leaner than elk at 260-530 lbs (120-240 kgs). Their faces appear shorter and eyes larger, with straight or subtly dished noses.

Their fur is solid reddish-brown, which becomes grayer during winter. Sometimes, they have slightly paler faces or white eye rings. Either sex can have faint spots along their backs during summer; during winter, stags (males) grow dark neck manes. Their rumps tend to be pale red or orange, and their tails are longer than elk's.

Most red deer have basket-like antlers with distinct crowns at the top, though some subspecies have incredibly small antlers lacking said crowns. They tend to be dark with white tips.

Their vocal range includes low grunts, groans, and warning barks. During the rut, stags make guttural roars to attract mates.

Elk (Cervus canadensis)

(sources 1, 2)

These guys live in central and western United States and Canada, as well as central, east, and north Asia. They've also been introduced to Aotearoa, Argentina, and Chile.

Weighing in anywhere between 375-1,095 lbs (171-497 kgs), they're far larger than red deer, with thicker bodies and longer legs. Their faces are longer, too, sometimes with slightly convex noses.

Their coloration varies greatly, but most subspecies have sandy, cream, or light gray bodies in winter. In summer, they range from cream to orange to brown, though their heads/necks, legs, and undersides are darker. Their rumps are pale cream or yellow, with stumpy, round tails.

Elk antlers tend to follow along the sides of the body rather than spread up and in like those of red deer, and they're typically pale. The tines are more vertical, and they usually have no crowns, though sometimes they may produce similar points.

As opposed to red deer, elk make high-pitched squeals, mews, and alarm barks. Bulls produce a whistle-like bugle during the rut.

Here's a video taken in Aotearoa where both species are invasive, showing just how massive elk are compared to red deer!

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 13. Butte

Featuring: Weird West AU - Desertwalkers by @scrollsfromarebornrealm Characters: Zellita (Y'zel Tia), Fordola Lupis, The Professor(Claudien) Expansion: Endwalker (Characters and Concepts) Rating: T Summary: Fordola briefly talks about her past. Notes:

Fordola looked over her shoulder as Zellita steered his horse around some rocks, The Professor following along. The sun bore down on her, making her almost regret not joining the boys in the waters of the quarry. Zellita catching up to her, she huffed lightly. “If we go east of  here we might find some respite from the sun east of Quetzal's Wing,” she said, gesturing to the convex butte a few hundred yalms away.

Zellita nodded lightly, letting Fordola guide him to the lee of the towering mountain. Once there, they dismounted from their horses and stretched their legs, enjoying the reprieve from the heat. “Was there a reason you decided to accompany me instead of joining your friends today? Rrahnald seemed to be in high spirits about his planned outing,” Y’zel asked as he fed his horse an apple.

“They’re off to a watering hole and my idea of a good time doesn’t involve being surrounded by friends when they have dumb-sticks out,” she said curtly. “And Rrahn said someone would come help out Claudien look for whatever he’s after out here today. I didn’t have anything better to do. Speaking of which, why didn’t he come out with us?”

Zellita let out a small laugh at Fordola’s response before looking at The Professor, the golden-haired wolf beating his tail slowly on the ground as he looked out into the desert. “Claudien is a bit sensitive to the heat lately. Perhaps it was the sudden humidity from the storms,” Zellita lied.

“Well it doesn’t do a lot of good for us to be searchin’ for this auracite or whatever it is without him here to help us look. How sure is he that there’s any even out here?” Fordola asked.

“The Professor has a nose for it. He’ll sniff it out if we get close,” Zellita assured her while reaching down to pet the wolf, getting a grunt out of him. “It is rather beautiful out here.”

“My father thought so…,” Fordola said, furrowing her brow as she watched a cactus in the distance, making sure it didn’t move. 

“Thought? Is he no longer with us?” Y’zel asked.

Fordola shook her head. “No. I live with Arenvald’s folks. When we caught the sights of our eastern interlopers, he was too trusting and sought a means to welcome them to a reluctant Stonewood. When they found no ground with the townsfolk, the people he was trying to help, turned on him and put a bullet in him, leaving him for dead,” she said briskly. 

Zellita frowned. “I had no idea. The Garleans shadow seems evermore a shroud of death,” he said, getting a small lick on the back of his hand by The Professor. He gave the wolf a weak smile then pet his ears while Fordola avoided his gaze.

“It’s in the past,” Fordola said dismissively. “Come. We’ve been here long enough. Let’s get back to rock hunting.”

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 10

Prev/Next

I am so sick. but yay convex chapter. hope they kiss and get to be evil together

“Cleo! You didn’t tell me- can you also-?” Scar rushed forward and grabbed at their shoulder, but was promptly shaken off.

“I thought your reaction would be funny. I was right,” Cleo shrugged, shooing Scar further away, “Back on the wheel, boat boy, pay attention before we crash.” Scar yelped as he was shoved into the wheel. But there was absolutely no way he would be able to pay attention now.

“You can hear us?” Impulse pointed vaguely at himself before squinting to get a better look at the island, followed quickly by the rest of the ghosts. Well except maybe Mumbo, who declared he did not want to be here anymore before walking down the side of the boat and disappearing underwater. Grian followed him with an alarmed squawk. Always so dramatic, those two.

“Yup! This island is great , you guys are going to love it. It’s like ghost paradise. Probably? I mean, I think 90% of the ghosts there are certifiably insane, but they’re loving it. What are your names?”

“Oh, wow, it’s been awhile since I’ve had to introduce myself hasn’t it.. Well, I’m Impulse. The tall one who just went overboard is Mumbo, and the guy who followed him is Grian.”

“Pearl,” Pearl grunted, when Cleo looked her way, “Where are we going anyway? Clearly this involves us. What are you planning?” Her tone was accusatory as she stepped forward to tower over them. Cleo didn’t seem bothered at all.

“This is a gift! A ghost vacation, as Scar so aptly put it. Sausage is forcing him to be nicer to you guys, isn’t that sweet?”

“Alright, that’s enough, Cleo, you can navigate this better than me,” Scar left his station at the wheel, forcing Cleo to take his place and steer. He crouched near the edge, yelling into the water, “Mumbo! Grian! Get up here, will you?” Scar felt a chill over his back, turning to see Pearl standing over him. He scowled. “Did you just try and push me?”

“Wanted to know if I could touch you,” she deadpanned, looking extremely disappointed. Scar looked back just in time for Grian’s head to surface, flashing him what was probably meant to be a middle finger. Due to his disfigured water-hands, it was hard to tell. Mumbo surfaced next, looking quite resigned as he walked back onto the boat.

“Ay, why so down? I thought we had fun?” Scar mumbled, offering a small smile.

Mumbo closed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“Fine, fine,” Scar pulled back before Grian could lunge for him, settling at the sail, “Alright everyone, listen up. You’re here for some pirate mandated fun, and I’m here to be miserable and possibly die, which means all of you should be on board. Once we dock, you can go crazy, just stay the hell away from me. Enjoy it, because we aren’t coming back. Got it?” His answer was a resounding silence. “Perfect.”

“Inspiring,” Cleo rolled her eyes. “Well we’re here! Get ready to tie up the boat, Scar, the dock is pretty shit. Try not to fall through it.”

“Got it!” Scar grabbed the rope at the front end of the boat, leaping off as Cleo eased in next to the pier. It was weird hearing the ghosts talk amongst themselves. He tried to ignore it, a task made much easier when an anvil plummeted from the sky(?) and smashed directly next to him through the center of the dock. Battered by splinters, Scar fell back into the murky water with a scream. The water felt thick and warm, and he gasped as he surfaced.

“Cleo! What-?” Scar blinked in alarm as his hats began to float every which way, hurriedly wading around to gather them. Apparently, the ghosts were as shocked as he was given their silence, but Cleo didn’t seem fazed.

“Hey, Cub! Missed again! How long were you waiting here this time? Miss me that much?” Cleo stepped carefully onto the remaining edges of the dock, balancing until she could hop to shore.

“You brought someone new,” Cub, presumably, walked up to the water’s edge wearing a passive frown. He was short, wearing a lab coat that looked ever so slightly too big, but the detail that grabbed Scar’s attention the most was that he was a ghost. Maybe he.. should have assumed that one. He didn’t like the way Cub was looking at him.

“Yeah, and like four other ghosts, care to introduce yourself?”

“Nope.” Cub stepped into the water, reaching for the final hat. Scar snatched it away, but Cub’s expression didn’t change. Scar glared, but had a feeling this was a staring contest he wouldn’t win.

“Alright, Scar, have fun! Try not to touch anything!” Cleo waved.

“Hey- wait- how did you..” Pearl began, but Cleo gestured for her to join them on land.

“Someone else can show you, long story short, ghosts have a lot of power here. Let’s let Cub be, I’ve just given him a great gift.”

“You- you’re not leaving me are you?” Scar yelped, moving with great urgency from the water. The mud at his heels begged him to stay.

“Just let it happen, Scar,” Cleo waved.

“I am NOT-“

But Cleo put their fingers in their ears, yelling nonsense as she walked away into the fog. Pearl gave her an indecisive look, but quickly followed, dragging Impulse with her by the hand. Mumbo looked like he might stay, but Grian made sure to pull him away as well. Scar couldn’t escape the water fast enough to follow them, like the mud was working actively to pull him in the opposite direction. When he managed to scramble out and to the tree line, there was no sign of anyone through the fog.

“You won’t find them. The fog is confusing when it wants to be. And I want it to be. I can show you some pretty cool stuff though if you follow me.” Somehow, Scar wasn’t surprised to find Cub directly behind him.

“I am not following you. I have no interest in becoming part of your human taxidermy collection or whatever it is you do.”

“Taxidermy? No no, you’ve got me all wrong. I want a live specimen. And I certainly don’t have a collection, geez.”

“Live! You just tried to crush me with an anvil!”

“Well, maybe undead. The dead are easier to work with. In theory. I haven’t had the chance to test it on anyone, since no one ever visits except Cleo. Well, there was this one time I got to play around a bit, but Joe was watching, so I could only get a couple stitches in. I hope she gets horrifically injured again soon.”

“Stitches- are you talking about her face?”

“Yeah!” Cub’s intonation raised for the first time, and Scar couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now, let’s get out of here before Cleo tells Zedaph about you, he’ll have like a billion questions, and then the others will want to meet you and then they’ll get attached , it’s a whole thing.”

“Hm. Well I don’t like that.”

“Perfect, come on then,” Cub began walking into the fog, which Scar thought was rather arrogant, but he figured it might be better to keep an eye on him rather than just waiting to die. After all, Cub couldn’t touch him directly at least, so as long as he followed Cleo’s advice and didn’t touch anything..

Scar hurried after him, stumbling a bit over roots and mud patches that Cub could float over, “So visitors are pretty rare, huh? Human visitors?”

“Uh huh. Most sailors that try end up shipwrecked on the rocks,” Cub chuckled to himself, examining his own nails. Scar noticed with slight unease they were sharp. “We’ve had a couple ghosts join us that way. Though, it’s been awhile.”

“If you want bodies, why didn’t you just take them from the ships?”

“Oh, those have long rotted. The museum is a new venture, and I want someone fresh. Or, just alive I suppose. I’m not picky.”

“You know, Cub, I think you might have a marketing issue on your hands! No, no, this island is in crisis territory! Luckily, I’m an expert.”

“Oh?”

“You want bodies, right? Alive, dead, whatever, you want them. Well, I can make that happen for you, guaranteed. What’s the catch Scar? Nothing much, really, especially in exchange for my services. See, I’ve got a ghost problem. You saw them! When they’re happy, I’m happy, when they’re sad, my back hurts, so, as you can tell, not ideal.”

“I don’t have the power to cut ties between a ghost and the soul they’re bound to.”

“Ah, well then, I have a feeling I’ll be visiting again, and you won’t want me dead, no, no.”

“I don’t? Are you sure?” Cub turned, revealing a sly smile. Scar returned it with his own grin. This was his element.

“You need people now, and later, you’ll need other items that those ghostly hands of yours won’t have access to. There’s all sorts of things I could ferry back and forth for you. If I’m stuck here in an exhibit, especially when you could just as easily have someone else in a snap, I won’t be of any use. Well, besides looking pretty. But I guarantee I’ll draw more eyes with my other, wide range of skills.”

“I feel like a lot of this hinges on trust.”

“Well, sure, doesn’t everything? But I understand, I get it, why take a chance when the body you’re looking for is right in front of you?” Scar removed the hat at the top of the stack, presenting it to Cub in a dramatic bow, “These mean a lot to me. The hats of my old crew, my family, struck down in a storm on the wild sea. Consider it insurance. I will be back.” Scar recognized the twinkle of interest in Cub’s eyes as he tilted his head, reaching forward to touch it. His hand, maybe not surprisingly, fell through it.

“Hm. I’ll need my gloves for that.”

“So it’s a deal? You get my services, and I keep my life?”

“Not yet. I want to know how you plan on getting humans here.”

“Aha! Of course, of course. Now, as I was saying, this island has a marketing problem! The Haunted Island is possibly one of the worst names I’ve ever heard! I’m looking for something more.. exciting. And boy, you should know that I know my way around a rumor.”

“Alright, shoot. What should we call it then?”

“Hm, let me think. How about.. GHOSTS: A Trial in Terror. An Experience That Is Sure To Blow Your Fucking Socks Off! For short, Ghost Fucking Island. That’s what they’d put on maps at least, ideally.

“Haha, that’s awesome, man,” Cub stopped, hands in his pockets.

“You could call me an expert,” Scar puffed out his chest, placing his hat back in its place at the top of the stack. He didn’t see the wall before slamming into it, falling back with a yelp.

Cub snickered, “I never get tired of seeing humans do that. Bring a lantern or something next time, will you? Can’t appreciate the architecture if you can’t see a foot in front of your face.”

“Well I-“ Scar hurried to his feet, but stopped short as he followed Cub’s glowing form inside. Behind the massive front door was a dimly lit, but grand opening room, filled to the brim with all sorts of odd knickknacks. Scar might’ve stopped to read some of the labels, if he wasn’t so awed by how beautiful it was.

Cub smiled beside him, “Like what you see?”

“How did you do this? It-“ Scar broke off, leaning over to touch a table and then a picture frame, “It’s solid. How could you even move this stuff? You decorated, I assume?”

“There’s interactive exhibits if you insist on touching, otherwise, hands off,” Cub walked forward, far too fast for Scar to look at every little thing that caught his eye, but he wasn’t keen on falling behind, “This island works differently. The things that grow here, the rocks and minerals, and even the animals that are born here; all are solid to both ghosts and humans. That’s how we can build all this stuff. Only catch; some world ending disaster strikes the island every couple years or so and changes its form. So we start over. Build anew. Humans don’t like that, there’s a reason no one lives here. Besides the ghosts, of course.”

“Oh, wow. Mumbo and Impulse are going to have a field day with this. Grian too, maybe. Him and Pearl might just try and hit me in the head with a rock though,” Scar paused, taking another moment to look around, “This is amazing. Gosh, I’ll have to come back and see the outside! Light it up for me, will you?”

Cub chuckled, looking quite pleased, “Thank you. I’ve been collecting artifacts from our current.. season you could call it. I believe we’ll be nearing the end soon.”

“And you’ll lose everything?”

“Right. Don’t be too sad on my behalf, it’s always fun to start over. Come on, follow me. You can see the rest another time.” Cub bent down over a hatch near one of the walls, opening it to reveal a ladder leading down. How lovely and not sinister at all. Scar frowned, but he was in too deep now.

He wasn’t overly shocked to see a sterile looking lab space at the bottom, complete with fluorescent lights, dark countertops, and rolling silver tables. Just by being here, he was sure his chances of getting murdered and/or turned into some gruesome exhibit just increased tenfold. What a way to go.

“I thought you were into what I was selling,” Scar mumbled, examining the room for some sort of weapon. He had his sword, but that would pass straight through; not that any other weapon could do much to a ghost, but maybe Scar could at least slow him down.

“Oh, I still am,” Cub mused, sliding on an odd looking pair of gloves. Scar tensed as the ghost approached him, but Cub only plucked a hat off the top of his head. “Relax. Scar, right? I’m ready to make this deal, but I want one more thing from you. Sit.” Cub tapped one of the sterling tables. Scar didn’t move.

“I’d rather not.”

“Scar, if we’re going to be business partners, I’m going to need a little more. How much is your life worth to you, hm? I could live without, given what you’ve offered so far.”

“What else do you want, then?” Scar’s tone was flat. Wary.

Cub gestured vaguely with his head, turning to one of his shelves and gently pulling down a jar. Inside was.. Scar wasn’t really sure. It looked a lot like a ghost, but small and sharp, and quite angry. “This is a vex. They inhabit this island, although rare, and I’m quite fond of them. I’ve modified my body to fit some of their features, as you may have seen.” Cub tapped his clawed fingers on the glass, smiling with teeth for the first time. Sharp. Just lovely. “And this, with help of course,” Cub turned his back to Scar and unfurled small, spiked wings, seemingly from inside his lab coat. “Stitched to my back, right from the source.” Cub tapped the glass again, turning back around.

“You want to do that to me?” Scar breathed, feeling slightly ill.

“Not all of it today, unless you volunteer. I’ll be happy to work on you during future visits. I want to know what it will do to you, to combine the living and the dead. It might not work at all.” Cub set down the jar, sliding open the top and violently snatching the vex inside before tearing off its wings. His neutral expression didn’t fade.

“Is- is this going to kill me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That doesn’t fill me with very much confidence!”

“Well, you don’t have a choice. Besides, you’re the perfect subject! A bonafide conman with a silver tongue who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. I don’t see any reason why the vex wouldn’t take to you.” Cub held up the wings, dripping with.. something. The creature they came from writhed at the bottom of the jar.

“I don’t suppose this procedure includes any anesthesia or pain killers?”

Cub actually laughed, a reaction that was answer enough, “No. But if you promise to sit still, I won’t strap you down. Good enough?”

“Guess so.”

“Great. Now sit down and take off your shirt.”

[idiotwithanipad]

Stolen (part 10)

(Set in my Gore Au. Shortly after @shebeafancyflapjack's A Slip Through Wolrds series. Set during her fic Trigger Ft her OC Silver)

The crackling of wood flame. The scent of moist rock. The sound of soaring wind and sleet. There are others nearby, multiple. She can't see them, but she knows they're there. She hasn't opened her eyes yet. She is still swaddled inside a furred boot. She'll be ready for her own furs soon, the boot is getting tighter, harder for her to wriggle and contort herself into a cozy spot. She's getting bigger.

One of her hands pull from within the tight little cuckoon around her, reaching up to lazily rub at her eyelids, wake herself up. The fire is still big, waving yellow flames unbeaten, the way Moonah made it. With Solar's help, of course; Moonah can give many things, but she needs help from brother Solar to give warmth and flame.

She sees stoic uncle Shul and big cousin Kroff grinding up a colourful berry paste inside some hollowed out stones. Good. They didn't forget. Giddy joy beamed in her heart as she slowly lowered her head back down and squinted her eyes, pretending to still be asleep. Soon it will be time to put her eighth handprint on the cave wall, a joyous occasion for all cubs, each yeah on their special Moonah given day. Whenever the cold times are at their coldest, the tribe knows it's her special day.

Mama and Fada still aren't home yet, must still be looking for wild dog to cook for party. Predictably so. A spear careens past uncle Shul's back and clashes with the cave's back wall, the eagle feather tied to it fluttering gracefully. Mama.

Uncle Shul looks up from his crafting with an exasperated glare, he almost spilled his work. He slapped the cave floor and grit his teeth, grunting.

"You nearly spoil surprise! Nearly wake Pin cub!"

Mama responds, unbothered.

"Riva know when Pin cub wake. You kept on work!"

Fada chuckles, knowing he wasn't currently the unfortunate soul at Mama's mercy. Fada sets down a wild dog, it's neck twisted, must've been an easy kill. Mama crouches by the animal, plucking a sharp stone from her furs, readying it at the dog's neck. She pauses and glances back at Fada just standing there, watching.

"What Rogh wait for?! Big idiot. You wake Pin cub, her special time big soon. Moonah is bright and high. Special night, big special"

She quickly closes her squinted eyes as Fada's furred boots step closer to her. His knuckles press to her forehead, proding gently before stroking tenderly at her hair.

"Time for wake up, Pin. Party time for birthday girl"

--

Amy jolts awake from the bizarre dream. One of her eyes dropping from it's socket. She flinched as the still warm orb splatted against her cheek. She fidgeted out of her father's body's arms in order to fix her eye back into place. Pushing her hood up out of her face, the equivalent of opening her eyes, since her own eyes could no longer close in their bulging convex position just beyond her eyelids.

The body's arms tiredly guided her to lay back down, rubbing at her arms. She complies, but she is wide awake. The strange dream still fresh in her mind. She remembered every little second, every little detail. Even the name that the hideous feind had uttered.

Pin

Amy glances towards the window. The sky was a bright stark white, Silver should be awake by now. Amy pulled one of the body's arms from around her shoulders and stepped down from the bed. The body, feeling her movement, rose also, clasping her hand before she could make a move for the door. It tugged at her, wanting her to stay in bed.

Amy pressed her finger to the back of the body's hand, writing slowly.

'Be. Right. Back'

The body released her hand reluctantly, it's shoulders already tensing and it's free hand clenching into a fist. Amy watched it's immobile form briefly, taking a few steps to the door, it didn't try to follow her, but it's hands lingered ahead of itself, edging slightly from side to side slowly.

Amy finally passed through the wall, down the dark corridor.

"Ah, she rises!"

Amy swivled around on her boots, her eye once again dropping from it's socket, promoting her to quickly fix it and stomp her boot hard into the floorboards; a slightly less satisfying alternative to opening her mouth to shout a curse or a swear. But what else could she do? Opening her mouth even a fraction has her vomiting up the stale, warm, flat, sour liquid that had killed her and gotten left to ferment inside her windpipe.

"... Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, Poppet" Humphrey's head called from a top the small cabinet by the wall outside her room. Amy groaned through her nose, throwing him a look.

"Anyway, glad to see you up and about. Where you off to?"

Amy lifted her hands to sign.

"To... Find... Silver... Alright then, well- would you mind taking me down there with you? I still don't trust that-" He ended with a growl before remembering himself and blinking.

"... That thing not to show his groveling snout at our doorstep"

Amy paused, contemplating. There was still a problem brewing in her mind; her dream had distrurbed her, why was her subconscious placing her in the eyes of someone else? Someone she didn't even know. Someone completely lost to time. If anyone could give her an answer, especially in the world of the whimsical and magical, it was Silver. The adults would just brush it off as 'trauma' and assure her it meant nothing.

Amy inched further away from the cabinet, itching to find Silver. She signed.

"Kinda... In... A... Hurry, well, hurry or not it ain't safe yet. Now you take me downstairs or he'll have to come with you" Humphrey strictly bargained, his eyes flicking over to her bedroom door. No second guessing who he was referencing, the alternative would be nightmarish. Amy sighed and approached the cabinet, plucking the head into her hands and heading for the stairs.

The house was eerily quiet, no sound of crackling from Mary or giggling from Silver. Even the other supposed ghosts were nowhere to be seen. Eerily quiet.

"Mm!"

"Mmm!" Amy groaned, trying to 'call out'. Humphrey spoke from her hands.

"Never mind, Poppet, she must be around here somewhere. Just put me on the table there, Mary will come along soon. She's probably looking for an empty room she and Silver can use while they're with us" Humphrey prompted.

Amy stepped over the the squat little coffee table near the hearth, placing his head down into the dusty surface.

"Alright, you run along then. Remember what I told you, love, if you need him to come just stomp those boots of yours"

Amy almost rolled her eyes at his constant reminders, she didn't need reminding; half the time she didn't even need to 'call' for the Tudor's body, it came of it's own free will and plucked her off her feet. She gave a nod and polite smile before fleeing into the library. Silver had been sitting in there with her the day previous, Amy assumed she could start the search there.

Empty. Not even a spider.

A soft giggling caught her ears. Silver. Amy peered through the window. Silver stood on the foggy lawns, alone, slowly moving deeper into the mist. What had she missed while she was asleep? Had Mary decided to take Silver back to the woods? They made amends with the creature so soon?

Passing through the wooden walls, through the brick that followed, Amy was out onto the expanse of grass and fog, running to catch up. Silver didn't seem to get any closer the more Amy ran, an optical illusion created by her mist. Yet, her heavy platforms never failed her, as she gained on her stoned friend, she heard her talking.

Speaking softly, almost fondly. Imploringly.

"Mm!"

Amy made an attempt to call out to her again, but it fell on deaf ears. She watched as Silver's arms rose from her sides and she wandered deeper into the fog, something large and dark standing ahead of her in the whiteness. Oh no.

The creature came back. It wrapped it's arms around Silver and swayed her softly from side to side like a devoted friend. They were talking. About what, Amy couldn't make out, but she could hear Silver's gleeful voice and the beasts deep groans. The mist dissipated slightly framing the two like a portrait, horrifically, Mary was nowhere in sight.

They were out here all alone with him, again.

Take Silver and go back to Mary, drag her back if you have to. Take off your boot and bash his head in. Claw his eyes out. A jab to the throat and a knee to the gut.

As Amy got closer, she saw the beast release Silver and his eyes drifted from Silver's to her own. Amy's heroic mindset crumbled instantly, collapsed as she skidded to a stop in the wet grass. Only meters away. His face stiffened and fell into a soft regretful stare, almost paternal. Horrific.

He straightened slightly and held out one arm. Enviting. Yeah, right, pull the other one, you deceitful, ugly old-

"Pin"

Fuck. He spoke. He actually spoke. Something thick and ice cold washed over Amy's brain. She could practically feel it as it dug and prodded and wrenched and pulled. Amy stood, rooted into the soil, she wanted to run, sprint. But she couldn't feel the strength to turn and flee. She couldn't feel anything but the ice cold chill running down her spine as she creature clutched Silver by the hand and stepped closer, hand reaching out.

"Pin.."

There it is again. What else is he hiding? But this time, the word seemed to slice even deeper into her brain. Little did Amy, or even Silver know, this had been a trap. His cunning plan. He didn't attack for good reason. He waited for them to come to him. In this exact spot. Here, halfway between the house and the woods, on the lawns of uneaven grass and dirt, sunken beneath the soil, crumbled to rubble, lost to time, buried deeply in the earth. Meters down. The remnants of the blessed stones remained, along with their ancient magic. All that he'd need was some code words, ones he'd gotten them accustomed to over the past month. The foundling law was at its strongest over this spot. Anyone standing in it would become brainwashed. Conditioned and changed.

As Amy's stoic yet fearful face slowly faded into a dazed and almost hypnotised stare, the creature's face softened further, knowingly. They stood no chance against the Moonah Stone's power. Ancient magic, one that even the witch couldn't fathom. This was the way it had to be, on hiatus for a while maybe, but now they're all back on track.

Silver turned her head, her clouded eyes searching for Amy, giggling to aid her echolocation.

"Sister? Is it you? Haha"

Sister?

Amy's hands rose to sign, fruitless.

'Sss- Sil--'

Amy's arms dropped limp at her sides. What was her name? Both their names? Where is Mama? Uncle Shul? Fire? Cave?

"Pin?" The creature attempted, tested to see if she was finally conditioned.

Amy's eyes flicked up to his at the mention of the old name. Finally, she recognized the sound of her true name, it was done.

He rose his own hands.

'Pin cub grow big fast. But she still need Fada. Still just cub. Fada not mad. Pin like wandering off sometime. Pin must come home now'

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but something foul and sour poured from her lips. Quickly closing her mouth and clutching at her throat, she glanced fearfully up at him, almost begging for an explanation.

Why couldn't she speak? Where was her voice? Why did it hurt? Where's Mama?

"Pin?" He spoke aloud. Prompting her to gawk up to him again, hands still clutching at her throat. He signed.

'No talk. Pin big sick. Moonah will fix'

He held out his hand closer to her, edging closer, bringing Silver with him, a pitiful and imploring look in his eyes.

'Come...'

The land's curse, the law of the creature's tribe was in full swing, figuratively peeling away the layers of the girl's memories like wet paper. Filling their heads with the memories of the two cubs he'd loved. The closer Amy stared at the creature, the more he seemed to change. Even when she absentmindedly took his hand, he drastically changed. His eyes were brighter, his 'language' was clearer and even the deep bear claw gashes which trailed along his chest seemed to vanish.

Silver reached forward to clutch at Amy's sleeve.

"We aren't in trouble anymore, Pin. Fada not angry, he tell me so. Don't feel bad" She smiled.

Amy only nodded, her brow knitted. She was confused. Why? What did she forget? There was something in that house she forgot. But what? She wanted to go back. But why?

[novankenn]

Altered Destiny

= One =

Despite Pyrrha's tutelage, Jaune still felt weak. He was lasting longer and longer against Cardin in his almost daily spars, yet still he had yet to achieve any type of victory. His peers were just so much further along than him, and it weighed heavily on his mind.

So in an effort to test himself, he gathered his armour and weapons, intent to traverse the Emerald Forest. To make the journey from the cliffs to the ruins and back again solo. It was a spur of the moment decision, fuelled by his most recent rejection from Weiss, piled on to his most reason failure in combat class.

Had he taken a second to consider his choice, he would have recognized the inherent danger of his decision. Surrounded by an air of depression, self-deprecation and frustration, he would be a glowing, irresistible beacon to any nearby grimm. Yet he wasn't thinking in such a clear way. He was entirely focused on going out and testing his limits. Set on proving his worth.

Jaune ignored the looks and whispers of those he passed as he traversed the halls and then the expansive ground that made up the Beacon campus. His destination, the initiation launching pads. He recalled that the bridge across the chasm had been destroyed, and with no way known to him to cross that natural barrier, he opted to also test his landing strategy.

Why the pads were still active, Jaune didn't know, nor did he care. After inspecting a few and figuring out the mechanism, he deduced how to manually set them off. A substantial application of downward force near the back end would cause the latch style restraint to pop, activating the massive spring, and flinging whatever was on the pad skyward.

Jaune: Alright (taking a deep breath) it's now or never.

Stepping on to the launching surface, he positioned himself basically at the edge furthest from the spring. Then he jumped, driving all his of his mass in the edge of the pad. He never heard the click of the launching mechanism activating. He just felt the sudden acceleration as the pad threw him somersaulting into the air.

Jaune's mind raced as he tried to figure out a way to stop the wild tumble he found himself in. This hadn't been part of his plan. He had expected to be just thrown up and forward. Activating his shield, he hoped the added wind resistance of the large, slightly convex sheet of metal would allow him to gain some control.

By some fluke of physics and logic it worked, and soon Jaune found himself hurtling towards the tree tops in a more stable trajectory. Gritting his teeth, he struggled slightly to bring his shield into proper position before hitting the first tree. The snapping off of the arm thick trunk sounded like a gunshot, causing the few natural birds in the forest to take wing.

The impact shook Jaune's bones, but there was no chance to recover or brace further, as less than a second later he slammed shield first into a second trunk. It was the thickness of his thigh, and amazingly it also snapped off, slowing his descent even further to the point that when he impacted the next trunk torso thick trunk he actually bounced off, and ended up slamming into a similarly sized tree.

His landing strategy was reduced to a shambled as he found himself free-falling through larger and larger branches. Grunting with each impact, she saw the rapidly approaching forest floor, and tried to focus his aura. Luck was not with him as he caught one final branch that sent him tumbling.

The breath in his lungs was expelled in explosive fashion, and the sudden searing pain in his side, told him that things had gone from bad to worse. He lay there in a heap, among forest debris, trying to catch his breath. With a hissing intake of air, he used Crocea Mors much like a cane to assist in regaining his feet.

His chest burned, and his side was very tender. Perfect indications that he had probably broken at least one rib, probably more, and the only reason he was aware of this was due to the tutelage of his mother and third-eldest sister. Both who as practising medics decided everyone in the family should know the signs of the most common injuries people suffer in severe accidents.

Breathing hurt, and it hurt a lot. Jaune knew he was in no shape to continue his little expedition, and elected to make his way back to the cliffs. It would be easier for the medical staff to find him there. Pulling out his scroll, he tapped his thumb against the SOS icon, sending the alert to all the staff of the academy.

{Table of Contents}

(AN: So another male!jaune to female!jaune story. I've no idea why I like writing stories like these here on Tumblr, but I'm setting up another one. I've just recently started watching "Kashimashi: Girl meets Girl" and I'm finding it cute and funny. So I am definitely going to try and concentrate on keeping this one in the realm of attempted comedy.)

[spikyhairedsilhouette]

Cerunnos.

Click. His cupped hands cradle the unsheathed flame, as she teases the tip of the dampened cigarette. Spectral gaze fixed upon her seductive sway, he allows himself to be hypnotized, eyes boring into the tiny blaze until tears begin to blur his line of sight. His cheeks hollow, his breath hitching as he inhales the embers the way one reels in a fish – slow and controlled, leaning forward to give way before lurching back to haul in the catch. Head reclining, he can just see the stars sprinkled in between the bare branches of the overgrown trees like spots dappling the hide of a fawn. He exhales a few distorted rings of smoke, each climbing higher than the former, and watches them vanish in succession, a queue of souls marching for the heavens.

Sticks and stones crumble and skid as he trods barefoot through the wood, the soft earth cushioning his every step, as though carving a pathway just for him. He takes another drag from his cigarette, this time holding the smoke in his mouth until he rounds a bend and briefly beholds the mecca of his pilgrimage, a gargantuan harvest moon. Smoke streaming from his nostrils, he closes his eyes and again drops his head back, bathing his face in the gleam. He continues to stride blindly forward, following the cool current of his lunar lover, her pallid rays skimming his skin like the silk of his robe as it gently falls to the forest floor. 

He stumbles, his legs beginning to feel weak, knees faltering as he steps over a large root breaching the soil. His blood seems to thicken with every step, menthol chilling in his veins as his head begins to pound, skull splintering into thirds while his jaw protrudes as if broken, the bridge of his nose collapsing as though crushed. He clenches his fist around the still-lit cigarette, wincing as it singes his palm before dropping onto a smooth, flat rock, extinguished by a cloven hoof with a soft clap. 

Standing erect under the blistering bite of his beloved mother, he wails in both grief and ecstasy, horns bursting through the crown of his head like the limbs of the surrounding trees. The harsh snap of mutating sinew echoes across the thicket as his knees bend backward like the hind hocks of an elk, a thick shroud of hair covering his legs and stretching up to his navel. He grunts in either pain or pleasure, unable to determine which, the sound bellowing deep and bestial like a demon beckoned. A demon... or a god. 

He huffs rhythmically, his doe-like eyes blinking open, pupils dilating to reflect the night sky, a pair of convex, occult mirrors. As his breath quickens, his hands join to perform a series of complex mudras, his inhales levitating his satyric shape off the ground and his exhales suspending him in the air. With a final breath in, he finds himself facing his goddess, a transmuted black silhouette against a milky, dimpled canvas. He holds the thinning air in his lungs until his heart thumps wildly, beating against his chest as though trapped within a burning building. Tension rises in his throat, looking for a way to escape, the pressure culminating under the base of his freshly formed antlers, threatening to uproot them already. Trembling violently, he swallows the urge to exhale, emitting a small pop as he shatters into a cloud of dust, celestial motes drifting across the sky. 

[inwire]

045. a mysterious trail found in the woods. (bobby)

“This ain’t right.”

The path ahead looks eerily identical to the path behind, to the point Bobby won’t let Sam turn around on the same moments he does. Someone needs to keep track of where they’ve come from at all times, lest they end up treking the same thirty feet back and forth all night.

“This really ain’t right.”

 He had a shroom trip like this once. A zillion years ago, when mixing malt liquor and fungi seemed like a good idea to his punk ass friends. The break in the tree line convexed the exact same way it does now, like the dusky gullet of the woods intended to swallow up any sorry sucker dumb enough to wander through.

He doesn’t remember how he got home back then. 

He doesn’t remember how to get home now. 

What a crapshoot. About time they took a break, anyhow.

Bobby bends down with a grunt to draw an arrow in the dirt. It points forward, or whatever way he assumes is forward, and his back creaks terribly on his way up.

"Well." He dusts his hands on his jeans. "If it's not a damn time loop, my money’s on a wood spirit of some kind.”

Which, sounds more obvious out loud than it did in his head. Mostly fairy tales he’s drawing from here, stuff he's only heard of outside the US, but he wouldn't be surprised if one of those showed up around here just to screw with them. They’ve been dealt stranger cards.

He pulls a salt box from his pack to funnel into the channels he’s drawn in the ground, just in case. Oughtta last longer than bread crumbs.

"You got the compass? There any interference?"  

[wiinestories]

Nothing could possibly exceed the sight of a beautiful woman being exposed bare before him, more so when her face seemed carved by angels and her body held no imperfections for Angelo; his own set of scars adorned his back, faintly concealed beneath the intricate tapestry of his tattoos. Among them, a testament to his devotion to women: a naked figure etched alongside a crescent moon, silently narrating his journey through love and loss. Beside such ink, an eagle and the fierce visage of a wolf stood as symbols of his true essence, each revealing a facet of his persona: strength, resilience, and an untamed spirit. He was the opposite to her soft, ink free skin, and he was learning to adore such contrast.

His gaze followed her hands with curiosity and intrigue about what she was willing to do. Her hand gliding down past her navel to her folds to spread them apart as if inviting him to them made his fingers apply pressure to his cock. He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his arousal being clear as day. His strokes stopped, a hand reaching to curve his fingers around her wrist to gently pull her hand away from her folds as his knees sunk. “You did turn out to be so fucking filthy,” He grunted, hands hooking around her thighs to pull her pussy closer to his face and keep her legs spread apart, the smell of her arousal reaching his nostrils. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy this as much as I will, and you get to remember it for the rest of your life.” Truth be told, he was now keen on making her experience that over and over again.

Concave and convex. He was taking his time. He wanted to see her writhe and squirm beneath him. Angelo blew some hot breath against her pink soaked flesh before his tongue slipped past parted lips, slowly dragging the tip along her folds while placing wet kisses all over it. His gentleness was firm, for now. Then, he dragged his tongue slowly and painfully against her clit, a satisfied hum leaving him as he tasted her. And god, her taste was intoxicating, addicting. His gaze pierced on her face to gauge every reaction she had from his tongue. Then, he took another long lap at her flesh, eventually lowering it to her entrance and pushing it between soaked walls to tongue fuck her pussy. His tongue quickened its pace once inside her, sucking on her flesh at the same time while thrusting it inside, hums and moans leaving the older man’s throat. He couldn’t wait to thrust himself into her, given that he was painfully hard.

That satisfied hum that came from his throat made her like her core melted, she could've quite happily settled into hearing it often. Moments later his fingers were sinking into her, stretching her apart in the most delicious way and it only spurred her imagination to run wild. She kept thinking about how his cock was going to feel when it pushed into her, she wasn't sure she could be any wetter, his fingers fully coated in her arousal. She quickly moved her arms, one and then the other sliding out of that dress so within seconds it was simply bunched around her waist and both breasts exposed along with more of that goddamn irresistible flesh. The only newly revealed imperfection was a scar on the front of her shoulder, one she hoped he'd not touch or bring up. It was small enough, old and faded but there none the less. It didn't take away from her worth or her beauty like she worried that it might.

Eden was flushed, her face red and the more his fingers pumped into her the more she moaned, the way his name kept slipping her lips being both a sin and plead for more. She actually whined when he withdrew his fingers, absent of that delicious stretch they gave. Her back pushed down against the counter and tomorrow she'd clean this down and pretend the whole day she served people, that she didn't get pounded into it the night prior. The moment she was laid back her legs parted, she let him see the view of her pussy spread apart, the glisten of her arousal coating her, the pink swollen clit that begged for more. Why be shy now, when she knew she got that impressive length that hard?

One hand cupped her own breast, fingertips dragging and teasing around her fingertips for him to see, but the other dipped down, trailing her middle in a slow line until Eden was spreading her folds for him to see, to serve it to his memory how she laid out bare before him, her own eyes looking over the way he lazily palmed his shaft and to stare at it with desire burning her eyes, when she was touching herself like that? Delightful. she bit down on her lower lip thinking about his words and she wanted that, she wanted to see how much of him she could take in her mouth, if she could pull those low groans from him and satisfied hums, if he'd sigh in relief at the way her cunt would squeeze him, if there'd be a sting of pain mixing with the pleasure when he fucked her with that kind of cock. She'd never taken anyone quite as big as him. Ever. She impatiently wriggled herself down the counter, getting herself closer and as that perfect position, her end just on the edge of it. "I want you Angelo, making me moan your name, fucking me 'til I'm raw, so I hurt the next day from where you've been... I can be so good for you Angelo."

[martuzzio]

Concept: Convex invasion and most of them are driven away by an angy BDubs, except for one who is two injured to leave the ship. X asks Stress to fix the man whom they will keep as a hostage for a bit and while everyone else is like “WHAT ARE YOU DOING” Stress is like “aight cool got it boss”

Iskall’s cybernetic fingers twitch as he glares through the window between him and the med bay. The convex thug they took hostage is sprawled across Stress’ surgery table as she flits around him, tapping at her tablet to prepare for the upcoming procedure. The being’s triangular skull drips traces of purple goo. Iskall yearns to crush it beneath his hands. That being, the one Stress is worrying over so much, hurt Mumbo. They crushed Mumbo’s hand with a scaly paw to destroy the remote he was holding and in the process almost completely shredded his dear friend’s hand to the bone. Iskall wants to shred this being’s skin in return. He wants to make them feel the pain Mumbo felt before Stress patched him up and loaded him with painkillers.

Iskall is dragged from his thoughts when he senses Xisuma silently approaching. He doesn’t bother turning to greet him. Once reaching the window, the Voidkind stands next to him and most likely takes in the scene within the medbay. “You seem troubled.” Xisuma says at last. “But I know you understand.”

Iskall turns to his admin. Xisuma gazes back, eyes and star-ridden robes glowing in the dim hallway. Iskall’s jaw clicks with tension. “I understand why we took the grunt as our prisoner and I understand why Stress is patching them up, but that doesn’t mean I need to like it.”

Xisuma is silent for a moment, but then murmurs, “We try to do as little harm as possible. I have faith that you know what that means.”

Iskall looks away, back at the monster on the operating table whose head has finally stopped bleeding. His cybernetic fingers form a fist and in that moment, he wonders if he’s the monster. “I have never known what that means.”

Space outlaws lore can be seen here.

[side-of-art]

I am having entirely way too much fun with Lan but I don’t care! He’s precious and I love him.

From @martuzzio‘s space outlaws au, the amputation coming from @wooshofficial‘s writing that they did for it!

[tieronecrush]

the lakes

joel miller x reader

rating: M

word count: 1.9k

summary:

take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die / i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you / those windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry / i'm setting off, but not without my muse

warnings: nudity, skinny dipping, talk about grief, death, family tension, self-doubt, self-deprecation, idk man it’s just sad

a/n: my first song for the folklore anthology!! can’t wait to share others & read all the other great works from my pals <3

The sounds of birds chirping surround you in echoes across the valley, mountainous hills convexing in front of you and dotted with evergreens. Underneath you is sun-warmed sand, interspersed with smoothed rocks from rushing water shaping them over hundreds or thousands of years. The fresh, gentle waves of the lake lick against your bare feet, knees bent up as you sit at the shore, eyes trained ahead on the glassy surface reflecting the late summer sky above. Joel is sitting next to you in the same position, his hands joined together in a circle and forearms resting on his kneecaps.

It’d been a quiet hike to the spot you discovered while on patrol. Lately, Joel has been his own worst enemy — closed off to you, stewing in his thoughts about his strained relationship with Ellie and continuing to adjust to life in Jackson, a world so slow and still that he can’t seem to find a place he fits in after moving for so long. His inertia hasn’t caught up to his lifestyle change; he is constantly picking up patrol shifts, and volunteering to oversee new construction and renovations across the town, but even through his go go go, he can’t find a place to land.

This place was the perfect spot to take him; to abate the anxious energy that vibrates throughout him every day with the halcyon elements of nature. Animals that live their lives with no concept of time, a lesson in living in the present, trees that have been around for hundreds of years, solid and strong like the man himself, and the lake. The lake that provides for everything growing around it, that reflects beauty in sunrises and sunsets, that finds itself full no matter any barriers built in its feeding river, replenished by other means from rain to groundwater.

The silence between the two of you breaks for the first time in hours.

“You know what I first thought of you when I met you?” you question him, eyes trained forward on the view. Joel offers a soft grunt in response, hinting for you to continue.

“I thought: Wow, this guy is an asshole,” he scoffs with the hint of a smirk, shaking his head while your own grin plays at your lips, “But then, I got to know you. Forced proximity really tells you a lot about a person. And I very quickly learned how much you care. This world should have jaded you, should have broken you to the bone with what you have been through, but yet, you still find means to nurture. You protect, and you provide. You love so deeply, so incredibly much. Every day I wake up next to you, I thank the lucky stars that I have Joel Miller in my corner. By my side. Watching my back.”

“I know you are feeling something, thinking about something in that head of yours all the time. And I want you to know that I love you as deeply, that I care as much for you as you do for everyone in your life. You can share with me, whatever you feel like sharing.”

Joel is quiet, squinting in the sun as he tosses a round pebble from the sand between his legs into the shallow waters. The ripple appears and dissipates before he speaks.

“That sounded like a eulogy, darlin’.”

You scoff now, that same type of soft smirk that he held minutes before pulling the corners of your mouth up.

“Is that all you took from all of what I said?”

“No, ‘course not. Just, I don’t know, felt like I was listening to what you would say about me after I’m gone.” At that you turn towards him, hand wrapping around his nearest forearm and squeezing with even, steady pressure that says ‘We are not talking about that, I can’t talk about that.’

“I do wanna share with you, I just—I don’t know how. I’ve kept all this inside, locked down in my chest. Anger, temper, violence, even, as armor to keep me alive. Don’t ever think I’ve been very nurturing since, well, since…” His throat chokes up, head drops to stare at the ground. Another squeeze to his arm, this time to say ‘It’s okay. I know. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.’

Something that he said sticks out in your head, a means to attempt to combat his walls going up again now that they have crumbled slightly. You stand, glancing around out of habit before you pull your shirt over your head, your jeans following with your undergarments in their wake. Joel looks up, expression puzzled as he watches your naked form wade into the water. You hiss as the still-icy water engulfs you from the shoulders down, treading and turning back to your man on the shore. A gentle smile covers your face, beckoning him in with one nod of your head.

He follows suit with stripping down, clothes mixing in a pile with yours as they do on the floor of your bedroom. His own pained expression from the cold lake makes you giggle quietly, a scolding stare aimed your way. He paddles over to you smoothly, the water hitting his chest where he can continue to touch with his feet at the bottom. Your arms slither around his neck, wet fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head. The leverage against him is used to tug you closer, his large palms settling at your waist under the surface while the two of you bathe in the fresh Adam’s ale of these cliffside pools. Two pairs of eyes communicate without words, the soundtrack of the birds and rustling trees occupying the dead air until you speak again, hushed despite the fact that you are the only humans for miles.

“You can take your armor off around me.”

Joel’s eyes flutter closed, a long sigh exhaled as his hands grip your curves tighter. When his burnt chestnut and amber irises are revealed again, he speaks in the same reserved volume that you had.

“I don’t belong there. In Jackson.”

Silence gently urges him to carry on.

“What I’ve done, to strangers, to myself, to Tess, to you, to Tommy, to Ellie…I don’t deserve any chance at life. With what I have taken from others, I don’t deserve to be given anything. Kindness, respect, care, love. From anyone.”

“I’ve been selfish this whole twenty years. I almost left Tommy alone. I dragged us up north to Boston. I got Tess into smuggling. I kept Ellie at a distance for so long because I couldn’t bear to feel that kind of responsibility, that familial tie. And then I chose for her, in that hospital. I couldn’t lose another kid.”

“It—it feels like I should be over the past, over what I have done now that I have a chance at a fresh start, or as close to a fresh start as I could possibly have here in Jackson. I have a shot to build a life with you, to work for Ellie’s forgiveness, to be an uncle to Maria and Tommy’s baby. But what has been chasing me — what has been over — it feels like it’s burrowed under my skin. And all I can feel when I start to forget is these—these heartstopping waves of hurt.”

“And I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know how to forget when my body, my mind, my soul won’t let me.”

Across his cheeks, salty tears have carved rivers, the dampness still in his eyes shining in the midday sunlight. The water sounds as if it’s rushing in your ear, your pulse racing as you attempt to process his confession. His head has bowed in a prayer position, awaiting your means to reconciliation or absolution.

Hands settled on his broad shoulders, another communicative squeeze, this one to say ‘I don’t know either. But I know how to try.’

“You let your people heal you,” Joel’s eyes meet yours, drops cascading from the damp bits of hair hanging over his forehead, attention completely and utterly on you, “Time can’t fix everything. The past can hold us in its grip even with all the time in the world. But people can help you forget. They can help to lessen the pain in your body until it’s merely a pinch. Their love can pull you up when you fall. Their care can nurture your soul to grow resilient again. Their reassurance can teach your mind to hear those sordid thoughts you have but pay them no attention.”

“I want to do this for you, Joel. I want to help you. To care for you. To love you, completely. Your people want to do it for you. And if you can learn from experience, you can do it for Ellie…” Your hands move from his shoulder, skating across his glistening skin and wrapping around the sides of his neck, thumbs resting against his jaw.

“You made choices you had to. Including for Ellie. She was — she is a child. Your kid, if not by blood. She may not understand now, but I know she will find a means to forgive you, or at least understand you.”

“Maybe when she’s older, if she has a kid of her own, she’ll understand.”

Joel’s mouth quips to one side with a faint smile, tears drying on his cheeks as he thinks of the image.

“Reckon we’d be pretty fun, well, sorta grandparents.”

“I think so, too,” you speak with a grin stretched and thumbs brushing back and forth at his jaw, “I can’t wait to grow old with you. To sit on the porch and watch you still yell across the street to your brother for full conversations instead of the two getting off of your asses —”

“Watch it, darlin’,” he warns playfully.

“Hey, it’s true. I listen to it nearly every day. Now, back to what I was imagining, cowboy.”

He nods for you to continue, a full-blown smile on his face.

“We’ll have Ellie over weekly dinners, and whoever else makes up her family. You’ll play me guitar and sing whenever I ask ‘cause you love me so much. I’ll help to heal you, and we will be happy together. We will take our second chance. And you will enjoy your time with your family. And me, hopefully.”

“Definitely with you. My beautiful girl,” his own hand leaves the water, wetting your hair as he brushes it out of your face with tender eyes, “You’re like—like a red rose that’s grown out of my ice-frozen ground. I am so lucky to have you. That you chose me, and continue to choose me every damn day. My grief sometimes feels insurmountable; like I am going to be stuck here forever with no way out of that feeling. But if I get stuck here, with you in my arms and all my people around me, I’d be fine if I simply grow old and wither away back into the earth.”

“I love you, darlin’. So much it might just end in tragedy, that my heart might just explode from lookin’ at you one day. But I do love you.”

A gentle kiss is shared between the two of you, the bitter water combined with your torrid love stirring up a tornado of tingling nerves.

You pull away, only enough to get the words out that you have told him, Joel, your man, every day and will continue to tell him every day you have him, “I love you.”

taglist: @wannab-urs @atinylittlepain @bearsbeetsbeskar @serenaxpedro @casa-boiardi @rav3n-pascal22 @dinsdjrn @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @johnwatsn @amanitacowboy @leeeesahhh @isitmelookin4u @javiscigarette @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sugarspiceanthrax @orphanbird95 @space-cowboy-like-me @tuquoquebrute @rsquared31 @morning-star-joy @canseethebrushstrokes @atremises @sstarboy777 @undrthelights @butiknewyoudlinger @dayrdreaming @disassociation-daydreams @joelsversion @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mydailyhyperfixations @diamndx @mingiast @kdogreads @blxsphemy7 @marchai @littlevenicebitch69 @ghostofbrock @iwrotethissky @ladynightingale @jksprincess10 @swiftispunk @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters

[martuzzio]

Convex Grunt!!! Good art. Good good. They look so confused and cute! :D Also I relate so hard to the nightime color thing. Getting good light to take pictures is way too freaking difficult.

Convex Grunt? Convex grunt. @martuzzio, have some extremely confused prisoner of the Hermits!! :-)

Didn’t bother coloring it, ‘cause it’s currently night when I finished this, and night time makes color looks bad on my camera

[doubtingthomasin]

kinktober: hellcheer edition

prompt 24: objectification - eddie the human sex doll

word count: 1.4k

MINORS DNI

@viharker

-------

It's not the first Corroded Coffin show Chrissy's ever been to, but it's the first one that puts her on a knife's edge by the time they're only halfway through.

Maybe it's because Eddie's a bastard and knows she's in the audience, but he takes his shirt off after the first few songs, wiping the sweat from his forehead before throwing it down on the stage. She's subjected to the sight of him for the rest of the set: the way his arms flex as he moves the guitar around the front of his tight black jeans, how the sweat drips down his chest and over his barely convex stomach, his hair sticking to his forehead and shoulders as he dominates the stage.

She knows she should feel bad, but she stopped listening to what specific songs they're playing once the shirt came off. Squeezing her thighs together is a lost cause, and the raw need gets so dire that her bottom lip starts to tremble. The town still doesn't know about them beyond a few sordid rumors, but the bar-goers sure as hell would if any of them were to catch even just a glimpse of Chrissy's face as he plays.

She's practically drooling as he falls to his knees on the last chord of the last song, going out with a bang as the graciously responsive crowd whoops and claps. There's more people than usual since it's summer and he stands to wave and bow, catching her eye with a wink before he disappears backstage.

He always does that and it always gets her hot, but this time she feels she might actually combust.

Almost knocking the stool over, she rushes toward the access hallway leading to the green room, which is basically a large converted closet. She throws a hurried hello to the guys as she passes, closing the door once she's through and sliding the lock in place.

"Thought so." She whips around to see his smug smile, and he briefly bites his lip before she’s on him. She pushes him onto a small table, straddling his thighs as she laps into his mouth, and he’s already pulling her shirt over her head before he breathlessly asks. “Right here, right now?”

“Right here, right now,” she moans before kissing him again, running her hands all over his back and chest. He’s as wet as she is, just in a different way, and that knowledge has her rutting against him. Their lips separate, panting before they’ve begun. “You looked so damn hot out there. Please, please.”

Her pleas turn out to be unnecessary, his hand already diving into her panties to stroke her, but she shakes her head with a little sound. “’M getting some mixed signals here, baby.”

“Don’t need it.” She firmly kisses him again, her hand briefly cupping him before undoing his pants. She lifts her skirt while she pulls his cock from his underwear, pumping him completely to hardness as he gasps and groans her name. “Please?”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m saying no to this,” he struggles, pulling her hips in roughly and pushing her panties to the side. She smoothly sinks down onto him, letting out a sigh so loud that he covers her mouth, pressing her mouth into the crook of his neck as she starts to ride him in earnest.

She grunts as he rolls her hips into his, grabbing her ass and burying his teeth in her neck to hear her muffled cries. She comes so fucking hard, and he climaxes so quick that he gets a little dizzy, but not before she climbs off him.

He tries to hold it back, but some of him spurts onto her cheek before she can get him in her mouth, milking him down her throat while he grits his teeth against a shout. She grinds her palm into his balls just to make sure she's swallowing every last drop before sliding off him with a lewd little pop, catching the bit of him on her cheek with her thumb.

“Now,” he breathes, both of them struggling for air as she stands and he recovers, “let’s go home and do all that again.” She chuckles, knowing full well that they will.

By morning the feeling’s fully returned, gripping Chrissy’s stomach tight, despite the fact that she felt well ridden from the three times total that he fucked her the night before. She holds his shirt as she pleasures herself, breathing in the scent of him while her fingers rub her cunt vigorously. 

It doesn’t last long before she decides it isn’t enough. He’s watching TV when she walks into the living room, hair disheveled and a feral look in her eye.

“You okay, princess?” he asks idly before he’s fully noticed the state of her, but his eyebrows raise once he does. By that point, she’s kneeling on the couch next to his thigh, pulling his boxers down to free his length.

“Please, Eddie.”

“Baby woke up hungry, huh?” he asks sympathetically, and she nods with a little uh-huh as his hand rubs the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. “Take what you want, sweetness.”

She takes him down her throat almost immediately, working only to make him hard so she can ride him again. Once he is, she straddles his lap with her bare hips, guiding his cock into her already quaking cunt. She cries out when she fully envelops him, and he slides his shaking hands up her body to fondle her breasts as she slams down on him over and over.

“Needy little vixen,” he praises as he groans. “Can’t get enough, can you?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, her words shaky from her movements.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, fingers trailing down and digging into her soft waist. “Lay it on me, gorgeous, I want it all.”

She takes her sleep shirt off, grabbing him by the hair and pressing him to her breast, which he obediently sucks into his mouth. She rides him harder, wailing at the ceiling until her body snaps and he tumbles over the edge with her.

But even full of his come as they lean against each other, chests heaving for oxygen, the feeling still hasn’t faded. He can feel her perfect pussy flutter around his softened length, rubs her back and murmurs in her ear as she whimpers into his shoulder. “Name it, sweetheart. Let’s get you taken care of.”

She pulls back with a nod, her eyelids heavy. “Lay down.” He does so quickly, almost comically, throwing his legs up onto the couch as she moves. She smiles with her bottom lip drawn into her mouth, but the pressure starts to build again as she settles over his face. She’s about to verbally make sure this isn’t too much, that she isn’t being too much, when he pulls her down onto his lips.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Her hands slide into his hair to get a grip, her clit hitting his nose every few passes as she rides him. He yanks back only to stick his tongue inside her, pressing her flush to him, his stubble rubbing against her sensitive skin. “Oh, God, Eddie, you looked so goddamn good last night, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Her babbling makes him hum against her center, and he swirls his tongue inside her to throw off her rhythm. Her whole body stutters until she pulls his face away, and he pants through what he says next. “Would’ve–fucked you right on–that stage if you’d–asked me to.”

She whines before guiding him to her clit, his fingernails grazing gently across the backs of her thighs as he sucks the pulsing nub. Her eyes roll back as she climaxes, her thighs gripping his head as she drips into his equally hungry mouth. He kisses and licks her pussy lips until he’s full of her, swallowing down the salty sweetness with abandon. He doesn’t lean back until she lets go, a pussy-drunk smile spreading across his face after just one hit of her.

Chrissy slinks down to his body to curl up on his chest, finally, finally satiated. She looks up at him as she plays with a lock of his hair. “Would you have, really?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies, his voice deep as he caresses her arm. “Gotta give ‘em something to talk about in this town.” She giggles as he kisses the crown of her head, secretly hoping that whatever had possessed her might last the whole day.

[bluiex]

(As a side note to any and all who read this, I'm posting this Pokemon AU for all to use. My ideas and story might be different from how you take the story. And I'd love to see it. Use anything you like friends :D)

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The ConVex

This evil team has only recently popped up, or at least has only been as active. Some say the ConVex have been here since the region started to be pushed into the modern age.

Leaders of the ConVex are Cub and Scar, but most average grunts and citizens don't know this.

The ConVex was started by Cub about a year after he founded the ConCorp in the region.

From there it was give the task to the two generals (Joe Hills and False), and Scar, to find suitable people to join the ConVex.

Their Goals

The ConVex seem to have two goals, whether this is actually the belief of Cub and Scar or just something the Grunts made up is unsure.

Cub's goals is to control the Region, it's gyms, it's pokemon, and everything that goes in and out in terms of research and knowledge. He seeks to train up and have the loyalty of the people who come or live in the region. Mainly to further his own research into how humanity was created.

All and all his goals aren't very sinister, but his methods are questionable, Cub is distrustful of most people. Having grown up on news articles like Team Rocket and the insanity that was Team Magma/Aqua.

The Grunts seem to have this belief though of the Vex, which they claim aren't pokemon, but Spirits of mischief that work through them to help their boss.

Because of this the Grunts call themselves Vexes. And some people mistake them for a cult.

Again it's unsure if the leaders of the ConVex hold this belief or not. Or if it's just something the Grunts made up as a sense of community/to entice new people.

The Generals

There are two Generals Joe Hills and False. And both strike fear into people hearts.

Joe tended to be the calmer and laid back of the two, having a thick countryside accent. He grew up in Sinnoh and moved to this region to start his own farm, for which Cub gave him the start-up money. Joe would consider Cub and Scar two of his best friends.

False has a strange history, being she is also from Sinnoh, and used to be apart of Team Plasma as a grunt. She never did align with their goals through. And after watching Cyrus take his 'new world' for himself and the sheer power of Dialga and Palkia, False was quick to leave Sinnoh. She met Cub after he promised her and escape and clean her criminal record, and she took it.

Their Teams are opposites of each other, and can be a challenge to beat.

You are Challenged by ConVex General Joe Hills.

Blissey (Normal) Milktank (Normal) Tauors -Combat Breed- (Fighting) Steelix (Steel and Ground) Slaking (Normal)

You are Challenged by ConVex General False

Salamance (Dragon and Flying) Lucario (Fighting and Steel) Nidoqueen (Posion and Ground) Electivire (Electric) Tauors -Blaze Breed- (Fighting and Fire)

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Cub himself has 2 teams as does Scar. The team you see him with in public tends to be much cuter.

You are Challenged by ConCorp CEO Cub

Teddiursa (Normal) Frostmoth (Bug and Ice) Clefairy (Fairy) Pumpkaboo (Ghost and Grass)

You Are Challenged by Restaurant Owner Scar Goodtimes

Liepard (Dark) Goodra (Dragon) Jigglypuff (Normal and Fairy) Eevee (Normal)

MMM YES BUILD OFF ONE ANOTHER PLEASE

God Jade idea here is amazing and just KAKSJCICUWHEBFJD I need to sit down (stopplayingvideogames) and write out my thoughts