#five-striped palm squirrel

[typhlonectes]

Five-striped Palm Squirrel (Funambulus pennantii), Keoladeo National Park, Bharatpur, India

photograph by Charles J. Sharp | Wikipedia CC

[banglanotebook]

৭ ভাদ্র ১৪২৭ | 22 august 2020

BANGLA WORDS কাঠবিড়ালি [kaṭhbiṛali] | squirrel

কাঠবেড়ালি [kaṭhbeṛali] is also correct and is used more often in West Bengal.

The squirrel pictured is the Five-Striped Palm Squirrel (পাঁচ ডোরা কাঠবিড়ালি) / Northern Palm Squirrel. It can be found in India, Nepal, and Bangladesh. Its close sibling, the Three-Striped Palm Squirrel / Indian Palm Squirrel lives in similar areas and looks almost exactly like the Northern Palm Squirrel with the exception of the number of stripes. Northern Palm Squirrels are very common and are found in both rural and urban environments, and are especially numerous in cities like Delhi and Kolkata.

HOW DID THE SQUIRREL GET HIS STRIPES? Squirrels are considered sacred in many Hindu communities and some families even choose to feed them. There is a Hindu story of a squirrel that had once helped Lord Rama build a bridge so that he could fight Ravana. Lord Rama’s army of monkeys were naturally gifted with strength and cleverness and brought large sticks and stones. They noticed a little squirrel carrying sand and pebbles to the bridge and were puzzled at how such a minuscule creature could think himself useful. They made fun of him, scolding him for getting in their way to make such small offerings to the bridge they were building. Upon hearing this, Rama held the squirrel and told the monkeys that strength does not matter; even the tiniest, weakest creatures are still valuable, for the squirrel’s pebbles filled the cracks of the bridge and held it together so that it could be stronger. Rama caressed the squirrel out of appreciation for his love and devotion to his Lord. The strokes of Lord Rama’s fingertips remain on the backs of striped squirrels as a reminder that even the tiniest creatures and the smallest gestures are valuable in the eyes of God.

Photo credit

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Worth (PT 2) - Nik

CW: choking, captivity, angst, intimate whumper, noncon touch, collar mention, magic whump, it as a pronoun

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Thankfully, the Sorcerer left him alone afterwards. The man even unclipped the leash, to Nik’s delight. He was grateful, but he was equally frustrated. If the man intended on taking it off so quickly, why even bother? The Sorcerer glided around the room, moving from one group to the next with ease. Perhaps he just realized how cumbersome it would be to drag the boy around with him.

The entire room had seen him when they entered anyway. The Sorcerer had made sure of that.

Nik stood by the wall, the opposite side of the room from the other exotic pets. He bristled at the implication, refusing to give it any merit. He was not a pet. He was not trained; he didn’t follow the man around and lean into his hand. And he never would.

He didn’t want to look the animals in the eye. An Alicorn was saddled and hitched to a post in one corner, a phoenix in another. Nik smirked as he surveyed the golden cage.

Mine’s bigger.

He groaned silently at himself, unbelieving at how far he had fallen.

Gods, what would Kia say about me now? Would she understand? Would be angry that I don’t fight back? That I don’t make it as difficult on the vampire as possible?

Nik looked around cautiously. No eyes were on him. He could very nearly pass for a human, simply a human with a golden collar. There were no guards, no restraints that kept him down.

What’s keeping me here? The doors, the balcony is open. I, I could run; couldn’t I?

He tried to take a step forward, but found that his body wouldn’t move. The vow he had made echoed back in his mind.

“I will come peacefully and I will stay.”

He sighed and let his eyes fall closed. The Sorcerer’s addition had slipped his mind. That was why the man felt safe enough to leave him alone; to take off the lead. Nik wasn’t going anywhere.

“There you are little creature.”

Nik wanted to keep his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see the dark hair or the velvet dress ever again.

He should have realized that these humans didn’t care what he wanted anymore.

“I was surprised your keeper doesn’t have you by his side at all times. Has he trained you that well? He must know how valuable you are.”

Ramona tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, and he shuddered, still refusing to open his eyes. He would take the man, the vampire, anytime to keep away from her. She looked at him as though she was starved. Even now, he could feel the intensity of her gaze over his skin.

“You are, by far, the most interested creature here,” he stated, hand still in his hair. Her fingers traced the braids, felt along the leaves and scratched at his scalp. It was torture. Pure torture to stand there and take the invasive touch, but madness would be a thousand times worse. “The rest of these beasts are so primal. So simple. Even the ones that have magic have a limit to their usefulness. But you? The possibilities are endless.”

It was like her words had crawled inside his chest and rot him from the inside out. His chest was tight and his stomach sour. Nik kept his eyes firmly shut, refusing to cry in front of her. She’d surely love to thumb away his tears and keep her hands on his skin.

“Come, let's look at them.”

She grabbed his hand, and Nik pulled away, frightened.

“I,I,” he stuttered, trying to find an excuse. “I shouldn’t move from where I was left.” His face was hot under the words, but he would take that over being with her.

Ramona smiled at him and draped her arm around his shoulders. “Argamon!” She called sweetly.

A few feet away, the man looked up at the sound of her voice.

“Can I take your little pet on a walk?”

Nik cringed at the term. It hurt to hear, especially how casually it fell from her lips. The conversational tone made it easier to believe, but Nik tried to remain steadfast. Tried to keep it form worming into his brain to stay.

The man waved them off without a word, turning back to the conversation.

Ramona locked her arm around his and started to pull him around the room. She would lean over occasionally, commenting on people’s attire or social ties. Nik didn’t care. He didn’t want to look at the animals on display, but it was either that or the people.

Most were magical, although some were simply exotic. A tiger, collared and chained to keep it docile. Peacocks and deer whose antlers were adorned with jewelry and flowers. Even in such decadence and display, Nik’s eyes caught on a cage in the corner.

His breath hitched.

To anyone else, they were simply little white creatures. Squirrels that chattered and climbed the sides of the cage. There were nearly a dozen in the cage that was used for decoration on one of the tables. Probably the most ordinary of the party.

Not to Nik. Not to those who knew where they were from.

They were from Nik’s homeland; his original home. The Sorcerer had forced them from that place years ago, and Nik hadn’t seen the little creatures since. The sight of them made him swallow thickly, a deep ache in his heart to go home. He wanted to be there, young and playing in the treetops. Unaware of the twists that life would throw at him.

One of the little squirrels wasn’t playing or fighting. It was simply sitting, watching the humans pass by with nearly intelligent eyes. Nik cocked his head, disbelieving.

There were sprites that took the form of the little white squirrels. Nik and Kia used to play with them, leave out food or build little huts to keep them dry and warm. In return, sometimes the sprites would leave them gifts or lead them to fresh fruits or berries.

This one seemed to look back at him, gold flashing over its dark eyes for a moment.

Nik nearly gasped, closing his mouth before anyone could see. They had caught a sprite. They had caught one and brought it here. They clearly didn’t know what it was; how precious it was. They had just shoved it into a cage with a dozen common ones, left to adorn some rich noble’s drink table.

What would happen to them after the party? They looked interesting, exotic, but the least so in this room. Would they just be released? Sold as pets? Nik refused to acknowledge any other alternative.

“Are you thirsty?” Nik, a bit lost in the moment, turned to look at Ramona blankly. She grinned at him, hand resting on the back of his neck over the golden collar.

“Here,” she said, leading him to the table. She grabbed one of the cups to hand to him, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. She followed his gaze and looked curiously at the cage.

He was looking at them intently, nearly making eye contact with one of the little rodents that was sitting still. Ramona watched, taking a drink from the cup herself. So very interesting, this one. Of all the creatures, magical and not, you’re enamored with the white rats?

“You can have one, if you wish,” she mentions offhandedly. The boy wheels to face her, more eager than she’s seen it all night.

“I, I, I can? They’re yours?”

Ramona smiles at his tone, so hopeful and trying to appease her. “No, but the host won’t mind. These little rats are nothing but table decoration. Five for a coin.”

Nik nods, even though part of him wants to correct her. Not all of them are worth so little.

He turns to the cage and slowly lifts one of the wire gates. The other squirrels darted away, chattering at him for invading their space, while the one stayed perfectly still. It watched him wearily, unsure of what to make of the hand that moved slowly towards it.

It didn’t recognize him.

Nik took a deep breath and tried to push that realization away. He was too weak, the reins that controlled his magic too tight for the sprite to see who he really was. Before, when he was free, they could sense the shared magic that wove through all of them. He never had to coax or entice them.

Luckily, the Sorcerer hadn’t re-adjusted the cuffs. They still had the leeway that was allowed for transforming the clothes. It was a pitiful amount, but it was more than he had had in months.

Nik summoned the smallest amount of magic that he could, rolling it until it was no bigger than a small seed. He hid it between his fingers and offered the hand to the sprite.

The little creature perked and sniffed his hand, quickly locating this hidden magic. It’s tiny paw padded on his finger as it surveyed, and Nik thought he might cry. It stiffed and nuzzled around his hand, nipping at his palm briefly.

After a moment, it climbed onto his hand dug between his fingers until it got to the magic. It pressed its paws into it and let it seep into its fur.

The dark eyes shone gold, as did stripes of fur on its sides. Nik blinked, and the patterns were gone, hidden back under the sprite’s disguise.

It recognized him, too.

Nik pulled his hand out carefully, and the sprite let him. It scampered up his arm and burrowed under the collar of his robe, a tiny heartbeat against his shoulder.

“Well! It likes you!” Ramona cooed, drawing a fingertip closer to it. The sprite poked its head out to inspect her finger, but wrinkled its snout and hid again into Nik. Ramona simply laughed.

Nik turned his head away and tried to wipe away the tears as discreetly as he could. It was so familiar, so wonderful to have something that reminded him of home. But it also made his chest tight, like someone was tightening a band around his heart. It hurt. It hurt so see what the humans had done to things like him. They refused to see they’re worth, refused to treat them the with respect that they deserved.

“Well.”

Nik jolted, hand protectively coming up to cover the sprite on his shoulder. The Sorcerer was advancing quickly, his composure slipping and exposing the anger in his face. Nik flinched violently when the man grabbed his wrist and dragged him away from Ramona, from the table and the party.

He was pulled into the hallway, away from prying eyes or fleeting glances. The Sorcerer grabbed Nik by the neck and pinned him to the wall, cutting off his air.

“What did I tell you about tonight, hm? About disobeying me? Did I give you permission to access magic? Did I?!”

Nik wheezed, scrambling to take in any air at all. His heart was beating like a drum in his head, pounding in his chest. The hard edge of the collar dug into his skin, sure to leave a deep bruise.

The man rammed him back into the wall again, bashing the back Nik’s head.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

As if on cue, the little sprite popped out and scampered to the Sorcerer’s hand. It bit him, and the surprise seemed to shock the man into letting Nik go.

He gasped, sliding to the ground. Coughing through his battered throat was torture, but unavoidable. His lungs spasmed, trying to remember the normal pattern of breathing. The man looked down at him, attention now on the little sprite that chattered angrily at him from the boy’s shoulder.

“What is this?” he demanded. Nik tried to clear his throat.

“It- it’s a s-prite,” he croaked. “They’re, they’re magic; like me. R-ramona said, I, said I could have one.”

“Come now, Argamon. Let your pet have a pet.”

Nik hadn’t seen her follow them, but he hadn’t been focused on much else. He looked up at the Sorcerer, eyes watering and throat aching.

“I’m, I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again, but please. Please let me keep it. Please.”

The man didn’t answer him, instead reaching a hand out to the little squirrel. It sniffed at him and cocked its head. It pressed forward and nuzzled into his hand, then flinched back. Nik saw that it was confused, but was unsure as of why.

“Fine,” he conceded, Ramona’s eyes heavy on him. “You may keep it. But rest assured, there will be a punishment for this.”

Nik nodded even as he felt cold terror flush his system. He didn’t want to go back in the dark. He didn’t want go more than anything else he had felt his entire life. The knowledge of what was waiting for him was all he could think about, pulling images unwillingly into his mind. He was scared. Scared of the cell, scared of the workshop, scared of going mad.

The sprite nuzzled against his neck and Nik let his head fall back against the wall.

He was scared but this was worth it.

~

@welcome-to-the-whumpfest @ohmywhump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks

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[killrqueen7]

Be My Best Nightmare - Dracula/Gender Neutral! Reader

Rated G - Just some good ol’ cuddles and a bit of Stockholm Syndrome

You awake with a start, sitting up in your bed with a hand over your heaving chest. The dream that had awoken you was nothing short of terrifying, and you’re shaking at the memory of it.

          Flames danced along the castle walls, reaching up with furious heat to consume the only home you had ever known. You knelt, wailing in the grass as the angry townspeople around you shouted horrible names – “Devil!” “Monster!” – and threw flaming molotovs into the windows. You could hear the screaming of your beloved husband as he battled with staying inside his burning home or stepping out into the sunlight where he would surely be turned to dust. Suddenly, his cloak was consumed by the greedy flames and he went up like kindling, howling in agony and despair. You tried to run to him, crying “No! No, put him out! He hasn’t done it! He’s innocent!” but you were held back by your waist. You were forced to watch as the only man who had ever touched you with kindness was taken from the world.

          As you stare at the covered window, beams of orange and rising sunlight peeking from the curtains as they flutter in the breeze, you are consumed with the need to see him. To make sure he is still here; not alive, not breathing, but still here, with you. Your socked feet gently touch the carpeted stone of the floor and you push your hair from your face as you look around your room. You do not know the time but guess that it must be around five or six in the morning. Dracula is surely sleeping by now; deep within the heart of the castle. Avoiding the lines of sunlight striped across your bedroom floor, you tiptoe along the edge of the room to the door that separates you from the rest of Castle Dracula.

_

          Dracula left you ignorant of where he lay during the daylight hours; content to keep you as his bride but at arm’s length. For a long while, you spent most of your time in The Box, cramped and bathed in darkness. Your only company were the cats that he sometimes fed you through the hollow glass sphere, and the brides stuffed within the other boxes – though they never spoke and only moaned in pain and hunger. One of his brides, his least favorite of the three, was fed only flies. Poor dear. You had been nothing more than an experiment, but as time wore on, you began to long for his visits, even if they were only to feed you and the others.

He hummed as he did so, a different tune every time. He was such a cultured man, that Dracula, and he hummed sweet melodies in a deep voice of honeyed molasses. When you closed your eyes, you could almost hear the waves of the cello and the bright tittering of the flute. You had always loved music; attending orchestras and operas in your home country before you were lured into his arms and further, into his home deep within the Carpathian Mountains.

Most of all, you remembered his hands. Large, with long fingers, and callused from battles fought before your time. His sleeves were always pushed up to his elbows whenever he fed you and you had to fight the desire to reach out and drag your fingertips along the prominent vein that ran the length of his forearm. Once, when you attempted to touch his hand, he’d jerked it back so quickly that it shook the box you were in. He said nothing, but simply locked the small door and walked away, leaving you to your meal and the lonely darkness for another three days.

The next time he’d come, humming like nothing had happened, you pressed your ear against the box, fingernails bloody from scratching the day’s tally into the wood under your cheek. You recognized the tune and softly, began to hum along with him.

“In The Hall of the Mountain King.” You said when he’d stopped humming. “Now that is appropriate.” Smiling at your own joke, you pulled your knees to your chest and waited. You heard slow footsteps approaching and they stopped nearest the corner opposite you.

“You know music.” He stated, the first bit of conversation proposed to you in nearly half a year. He wasn’t asking. He knew.

“A bit,” You answered anyway, growing hopeful. “I was learning to play the mandolin before…coming here.” You did not want to disappoint him or scare him away. “I dabbled in the piano.”

You could nearly hear Dracula contemplating your statements, but soon it grew so eerily quiet and you were afraid that he’d left.

“I could play for you!” You told him, desperate to be out of the box. “And if I am not good enough, I can get better.”

More silence.

Then, the sound of the door unlatching. A sound you hadn’t heard in 174 days.

You’ve been Dracula’s personal musician for the better part of a year, growing more comfortable with the keys as the days went on. Dracula, of course, owns only the best instruments, and brings to you experts in the fields of string and keys so that you might drink from them and learn pieces played for his ear alone.

You love playing for him, but a larger part of you wishes to dance with him instead.

_

Tiptoeing through the shadows of the castle and holding a lamp in your right hand, you reach a set of stairs leading down into what seems to be a cellar. Just down those stairs and through a dark passage, where you were forbidden from going, lay the man you longed for. Dracula had opened his home to you, allowing you free reign of the rest of the castle, but the corridors beyond these stairs were off limits. It was not unfair, you know that. Dracula is, above all things, fair. He is the picture of politeness; a true gentleman in all ways – kind, strong, gentle and generous. You are so fond of him that it hurts and have even began referring to him as your husband. Should a bride not have a groom?

Before you can change your mind, you take your first step down into the darkness. Your left hand caresses the stone wall beside you and your eyes struggle to adjust to the shadows beyond your light. Shadows which you had discovered one early morning, before the sun had come up, when curiously following Dracula to this storage room beneath his castle. He’d floated down the corridors and then simply disappeared like he was made of nothing and you hadn’t mentioned it that night at dinner. The only discussion he’d made of it was to implore you to avoid going down those stairs again; pointing out that the rest of the castle and its grounds were yours to roam. You did not ask why but nodded in agreement and continued playing for him a familiar tune.

Once again, you enter the storage room and brush your hands along the top of one of the wooden boxes. You are sure the contents could tell a great many stories; secrets of Dracula’s past. There must be hundreds of these crates in the room, stacked taller than you stand. Each of the crates are nailed tightly shut and briefly, you consider spending some time in here, prying them open and diving into a bit of a history lesson. What sort of treasures lay within these boxes, forgotten in the dark and the mildew? What sort of memories would Dracula have squirreled away down here?

The squeak of a rather large rat scurrying across your foot breaks you from your enchantment. The contents of these boxes are none of your business. You do not wish to be any more rude than you are already being by entering a place where you have been forbidden. You do not want to anger your master and end up in that box again. The thought alone sends a cold rush down your spine and you proceed, past the towers of wooden crates, and further into yet another dark and narrow corridor.

The very next room you come upon is a dead end and is largely taken up by a large stone crypt, upon which is chiseled the surname ‘DRACULA’. Separating the A from the C is fissure that extends from one end to the other, wider in separation in some places than others. Slowly, you creep around to the other end of the room and peer down at the crest split in half by the fracture in the stone, however, something else catches your eye and you raise your lamp to see clearly.

Smooth skin upon a relaxed, sleeping face. The sharp slope of a nose, dark brows, and long, black lashes that brush just the very tops of his cheeks. At the corner of his lips is just the faintest smear of blood. The rest of his face is marked with lines of his age in life, made even more beautiful in the innocence of sleep. Dracula, your master, lies in this box – his burial casket; a place meant for eternal sleep. It smells of earth and is intoxicating in its contents.

Slowly, his eyes open and it startles you. Gasping, you step back as Dracula reaches up and pushes the stone slabs aside like they weigh nothing. “M-master!” You cry out, holding your hands up in surrender. His teeth are borne and his eyes red; disturbed from his deathly sleep by a disobedient bride. Slowly, he rises from his grave and you, shaking like a leaf, begin to beg his forgiveness. “I am sorry, master. I am sorry to have disturbed you from your slumber. Please, I am not here to harm you.”

He approaches you, soft growls bubbling from the back of his throat. “Then what for?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” You answer and even to your ears it sounds childish. “Nightmares. Horrible dreams…I- needed to see that you were still…” You stop to take a breath, meeting his eyes for only a moment before averting them to the ground once more.

In the light of the lamp, you notice that his eyes have begun to lose the red in his iris. His shoulders relax and despite your worry, he hasn’t attacked. Instead of taking you for his next meal, he simply sighs and leans against the slab of stone covering his dreary bed. You watch the vampire pinch the bridge of his aquiline nose and then slide his palm further down his face to pinch at the corners of his lips and clean them of any remaining blood. “You know, there is a reason why I asked you not to come down here. It’s dangerous.” He sounds exhausted; defeated.

You don’t speak, afraid of angering him. You simply nod. He looks over at you, brows pinched in the middle as he regards you for the longest few seconds of your life. “I don’t think I was being unreasonable.”

“No,” You finally say, lowering your head once more.

“No,” He repeats and licks his lips, studying you for a long moment, “Come on then.”

You lift your head in surprise, meeting those dark eyes which, for a moment, seem amused at your disbelief. “M-master?”

“I said, come on. Climb in.” Dracula gestures into the tomb and tilts his head in a manner that you would say is almost adorable. “I am very tired, and I can see that you are as well. Or is this not what you were seeking me for?”

“I-“ You start. Surely, he cannot be serious. He wants you to sleep with him, in there? Slowly, you take a step closer and glance inside. There isn’t a pillow or even a blanket. Just stone and earth. You hesitate.

“You’re welcome to go back to your own bed if this isn’t up to your standards.” The count offers, fingers curling around the slab on either side of his thighs.

“No,” You say a little too quickly. Return to your bed and pass up a chance to sleep next to the man you’ve been pining over for months? The choice was obvious. “No, I- this is fine. Perfect.”

The count’s dark brows raise and then lower in amusement. “Perfect, is it? I’d say that’s being generous but given the things that you’ve been okay with these past months, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were genuine.”

“No, it’s great. Thank you, master.” You meet his eyes, asking that he believe you.

Dracula grimaces, and for a moment, you’re worried that you’ve displeased him. “Just Dracula from now on, alright? Leave the ‘master’ business to my lawyer.” He offers his large hand and you take it, doing your best to climb into the tomb with him. Once you’re standing inside, he reaches past you, his face just centimeters from your own, eyes locked on yours as he extinguishes the lamp. You thank whichever god is listening that it is too dark for him to see the rush of red in your cheeks. You are absolutely gone on this man; he has to know it.

You watch as he lies down in the shadow of the tomb and peers up at you. Before he can say a word, you sit beside him, as best as you can given the space that you have. You glance at him again and bite your bottom lip when you feel his hand on your back. “You’re overthinking it.” He tells you. “Lie down, now. You can use me as a pillow. Any part of me you wish.”

You take a deep breath and then gradually lower yourself into a prone position. Carefully, the count curls his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer so that your cheek rests on his left pectoral. He is surprisingly warm, and you begin to relax when he uses his other arm to pull the slabs closed above you. Bathed now in darkness, you bury yourself further into his side and smile when you feel his soft breath rustling your hair. Despite the cold earth beneath your bodies and the inherent danger in falling asleep next to a vampire, this is a dream. He is solid in your arms; real and broad and not ashes on the ground.

You feel the gentle press of his palm against your cheek and then soft lips against your forehead that sends a wave of warmth and content through your body.

“Sweet dreams, my darling bride. Let the beautiful children of the night carry away those dark dreams and replace them with only peace.”

You close your eyes and allow his voice to carry you away.

_

Tagging @thebeautyofdisorder @mephd​ @hoefordarkness @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @dracula-s-bride ​  @claesbangblogblr @claesbang @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @bangclaesbang @bangtheking @punk-courtesan @festering-queen ​

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[honestsycrets]

Icy Cold

❛ summary | Can I get a sexy evening in and reading each other deserts with Bjorn for 5cw please 😂 thank you. @bonniebird

❛  warnings | improper use of ice cream nsfw

❛ pairing | Bjorn x Reader [ modern ]

❛ type | One shot

❛ sy notes | Did not go as I expected it to go Bonnie!

Your family owned an ice cream shop.

One of those little ones on the corner of the pier, swirling together all sorts of wicked flavours, toppings, and designs. Cheesecake ice cream with chunks of strawberry and cheesecake, a rich strawberry sauce and dusted in a graham cracker. That was your personal favourite. But your boyfriend’s?

“Vanilla.”

You hold onto Bjorn’s arm, setting your head on the side of his firm shoulder as he spoke to his brother. Hvitserk blinked, once and then twice, grabbing Bjorn’s typical dark chocolate cone-- with peanuts, and nothing else. You were already lapping away at your ice cream cone as tall as the length of Bjorn’s palm.

“Why are you always so boring?” Hvitserk teased, flicking his wrist in order to swirl the ice cream up in one smooth motion. He comes back to the counter. Hvitserk hands over the small size in a pretty cone.

“Not a huge fan of ice cream,” Bjorn says like the grouchy older man you deem him to be. At twenty-five, there was at least a good ten years of difference between you and him-- but no one could seem to get you away from Bjorn.  

“How can someone not like ice cream?” Hvitserk sets his elbow on the sticker-covered pink counter. Bjorn perks his eyebrow up at his small brother, holding out a ten dollar bill. Hvitserk plucks it from his fingers and rings it up, giving him a few coins in change.

“It’s just not natural.” He shakes his head and heads out to restock freshly made cones in the back. The sun was setting on the beach and by now, most people had cleared out. You, on the other hand, had nowhere you rather be with a fresh cone of ice cream but the beach. Any reason to keep Bjorn half-dressed was a good reason for you. Being on his arm made you feel a little more secure about yourself in that bikini, a sheer wrap covering your hips.

Midway down the beach, the lifeguard’s shack flies a red flag. No lifeguard, swim at your own risk! Your toes shift in the salty air, digging up small chunks of the firm beach. Bjorn plops directly in front of it and you join him, sitting on one of his firm thigh’s as if you were some princess.

“You’re making a mess.” He notices your sloppy licks. Dribbles of cream drip down over his chest, rolling down toward his abs. “All over me.”

“Oh, it's not that bad.” You giggle, deliberately twisting the ice cream around, letting pink icy drips drip all over his trunks.

“Now you’re doing it on purpose.” He hums, leaning in.

“Maybe.” You lean in to kiss him playfully, coating his tongue in a taste of the strawberry sauce. “But you’re not going to do anything about it.”

Bjorn leans back on his elbows, letting you slide between his legs with your ice cream. You paw his half-hardened cock in your palm, grinding him to hardness. He glances over his shoulder and finds there is still a few people upon the beach watching the last rays of the sun escape the horizon. The cool day has run away those on the beach.

“Don’t you want to go home?” Bjorn asks. He flinches when you lean your cone down, slathering his cock in strawberry and cheesecake. “Fuck that’s cold!”

“After dessert!” You say loud enough that he tenses, thinking another couple upon the beach might have heard you. You knock his legs apart, his black trunks kicking up itchy sand. Bjorn reclines back on his forearms, bringing his dull vanilla ice cream cone to his mouth as you take his sticky and cold cock into your warm mouth. The coolness of the ice cream and the warmness of your tongue makes his cock bob, twitching delightfully in your mouth.

You run your tongue up his cock toward his tip, flattening your tongue as you take him in and soothe him of the cold. Just as he thought that he might be pleased with your warmth, you lift up to mash remainder of the ice cream on his shaft and balls just after yanking his trunks down the rest of the way. Bjorn caresses his tongue along the side of his ice cream, bringing the other on top of your head.

Sand shuffles-- someone is trotting away.

“Keep going, princess.” He sets the cone down on the sand below him. “Finish me off.”

Every long rake of your tongue against his skin makes him all the more cognizant of the coolness, and the warmth that you delight him with. Your mouth is warm, bringing his balls into your mouth for warm and pleasant suckles, jerking the cream around his cock. His half lidded eyes catch you running one long stripe up to his tip, fondling his balls that feel tight. You shift down over his cock, taking him in your mouth with one long and slow slide of your lips. Your lips pop off and his cock pops from your lips with an obscene smack, newly wet and glistening. The ice cream settles fondly on your tongue.

“Okay Daddie, I could use some ‘sauce’ with all that ice cream.” You giggle and then dip back down. The pad of your thumb massages between his legs, against smooth and pale skin. You swallow him deeply again, teasing with every sweep up to his tip.  His breath becomes heavy and weighed down by the impact of your warm mouth taking him so deeply. His body feels as if its thrumming with excitement when you swallow him down again. His hips jutter forward under the grinding and fondling of your fingers and he cums, long and hard down your throat.

You shift off of him just as his body relaxes, feeling weightless and distant from his ice cream blowjob on the beach under a peachy sunset. He feels almost as boneless as Ivar is, reclining back. He’s distantly aware of your tongue cleaning him up, lifting his muscular hips up to replace his trousers up on his sticky crotch.

“Now can we go home?” Bjorn whispers, patted by grainy sand. You hop back up and yank him to stand on legs as jiggly as jello. He runs his hand through the beachy blonde hair on the top of his head when you respond.

“After we get another ice cream! I’m next!”

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[uas-fics]

Title: The Goth And The Vampire

Rating: T

Summary: For the sake of the stray animals of South Park, Raven will put his utter hatred of the Vamp Kids aside to help one of them out.

Ships: Stutters

Content Warnings: mild gore, animal death

Other: inspired by this art peice by @bybasily

~~~~

Raven couldn’t stand humanity. Humans were cowards, hiding behind false faces as they danced around in a predetermined play.

Animals, though, animals were pure. They ran not on societies stage, following stereotypical scripts that they didn't want in the first place.

Animals were different.

When wolves ran together as one, it was joyous and a show of strength. When birds or frogs sang over the woodland, it was a glorious melody.

When animals were one, it was instinct. It was nature.

Not like the ungoth human masses.

Raven held animals in the highest regards. So when he heard the terrified cries of some poor creature on his way home from the graveyard, he froze.

A heavy blanket of clouds clung over the sky that night. Only the sickly yellow of the street lamps gave any light to the empty town.

The mountain chill settled down into his bones as Raven strained his ears.

Usually, he would assume the cries were of a prey animal, desperately trying to escape its fate, and he would leave nature alone to her cruel design.

But these cries, they weren't from a prey animal.

They were from a cat.

They were from a predator.

Raven's brow furrowed as he slowly followed the ever-growing cries towards an alley between Tom's Rhinoplasty and an abandoned office building.

He pressed himself up against the clinic front. His breath fogged up the glass and obscured the prices for nose jobs hanging up in the window.

He shuffled closer and heard a voice.

“Please stop struggling! It'll be over soon, I promise!” Someone whimpered softly. The voice sounded just as scared as the cat.

So this was a human's doing! Of course, some pathetic human would do this! Probably some kid on a dare, trying to crawl their way up the social ladder.

Raven narrowed his eyes and scooted to the edge of the building. His shoe brushed against something wet and sticky.

When he looked down. The bloody remains of a squirrel stared up at him. Its eyes were so wide in terror that only the smallest pinprick of black iris looked back. Its fur had been torn out in places and blood oozed from its nostrils and covered its broken teeth.

The most gruesome disfigurement of the broken corpse, however, wasn't the twisted limbs or missing fur, but the squirrel's stomach. The belly fur was slick, wet, and pointed upwards. All of it ringed by deep punctures.

The squirrel must have been in agony when it perished.

“Shh, shhhh, now. Please, I don't gotta choice.”

Raven jerked his head up as the voice once again pleaded with the cat. He reached to his back pocket.

South Park had a lot of weirdos. It would be better to go into this armed. Firkle had given him and the rest of the Goths a knife last Christmas. Raven only kept it because of how Goth it made him feel.

This would be the first time Raven would have to use it in defense.

Steeling his nerves, Stan peeked around the corner into the alleyway.

The cat struggled against the hooded figure that loomed over it. The figure held down the striped tabby by its head with one hand and, with another, pressed the tabby's middle against the concert.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” The figure mumbled.

The figure looked about teenager sized. Were they planning on shaving the poor cat? Cut off its whiskers? Duct tape its tail to its back?

The soft flesh of his palms pressed against the crudely carved bird in the handle of the his knife. He could do this. For the cat. For nature herself.

The clouds above parted. A beam of silvery moonlight basked the scene in its cold embrace.

The light glinted off the saliva and blood on the monster's fangs. Red-tinged drool ran down its chin, dripping onto the tabby's grey coat.

All Raven's mind could comprehend at that moment were those fangs. Nothing that big and sharp could belong to a human, but there was nothing else it could be. Dogs and bears and other large predators didn't have hands, nor did they speak.

Trapped in place by the horrific awe of the monster, Raven watched as it lowered itself down. Then, with its jaws opened wide, the monster clamped down on the cat's neck.

As a disgusting slurping sound filled the night, a movement behind a box in the alley tore Raven’s eyes from the grotesque scene.

A kitten peeked its head out, eyes wide as dinner plates, then another, and one more. Three little tabby babies. One of them mewled, taking a tentative step closer to the scene, only to scamper back when the cat let out a yowl.

Raven’s heart caught in his throat. The monster wasn’t just eating a cat; it was eating a mother.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to flee. He should just up and go. This was not his fight is what his flight or fight response told him. But when the mother cat’s yowls and screams went silent, Raven knew he was going to make it his.

Gripping the knife in white knuckles, he crept forward towards the monster. Steps away from it, he raised the knife up. He took two, quick steps and swung the blade down in into the flesh of its shoulder.

The monster let out a screech that sounded a little too human. Raven shook it off, before kicking the monster in the spine. It tumbled forward onto the cat's corpse.

With his adrenaline giving him a boost of speed, Raven moved to scoop up the three kittens and shove them in the box they hid behind.

“I’m sorry; I can’t save her!” He whispered to them. One last glance over his shoulder at the monster as it groped its back in an attempt to reach the blade, then Raven turned and ran away as fast as his feet could carry him.

~~~~

“Woooow, so, like, you saw a monster vore a cat,” Pete’s mouth gaped, “and you fought it? That’s pretty Goth, dude.” He stroked one of the kitten’s fur.

After a vet checkup, Raven had moved the kittens from his room to the garage. Luckily, the kittens were friendly and not too skittish, and his mom promised she’d make sure they were taken to good homes when they got a little older.

“Yeah, it is, but,” Raven shook his head, rubbing another kitten’s stomach as it batted at his fingers, “no one believes what I saw wasn't a dog!”

Three days had passed since that night. The next morning he’d dragged his parents to the scene. He expected to find pools of thick blood and the corpses of the squirrel and mother cat, but when they arrived, almost no evidence remained of the night prior. There was blood, but not enough to match the gore he'd seen in the moonlight. The squirrel and cat corpses were nowhere to be seen.

Raven’s father fixed him with his usual look of disappointment as his mother stroked his head reassuringly.

“It was probably just a big dog that killed the mama cat, sweetie,” His mother had told him softly. “We’ll keep the kittens for now and call animal control to keep an eye out for the dog before it hurts anyone else, ok?”

“I bet it’s a beast that only those with eyes unclouded can see.” Henrietta nodded. “To everyone else, it would look like a dog, but not to someone as Goth as us.”

Michael wiggled a string above the final tabby kitten. “Even if it was a dog, that was, like, super brave of you. You risked rabies, man.”

Raven grunted, scooping his kitten up to set it on his stomach. He wanted to say that he knew it wasn’t a dog but held his tongue. What was the point? It’s not like he would see the monster again, anyway. He was grounded until Kingdom come for sneaking out to the graveyard.

Michael tossed the string to Firkle. They watched as the kitten scrambled over itself to try and catch its prey, only to skid out the open garage door into the wet snow.

The day was a surprisingly warm one for the mountain town, so Raven’s mother told him to leave the garage door open to let the sunlight in.

It was almost too bright for someone as accustom to night as the Goths, but Raven needed to work his way back on his mom’s good list, so they suffered with the glaring light.

Raven let out a sigh. He knew he should consider himself lucky. Whatever that thing was, it could have killed him. The only thing he had lost that night was his hat. It fell off his head in his mad dash for home.

And, of course, the knife he plunged into the monster's back.

"I guess,” Raven muttered, then, louder, he asked, “Hey, Firkle, where’d you get that knife you gave me for Christmas, by the way? I feel really ungoth without it anymore.”

“You look unGoth,” Firkle chided with a shake of his head.

Raven rolled his eyes. With his favorite hat gone, he had to wear his old red and blue one that barely fit. That, coupled with the fact he’d been too tired to put on the foundation that kept his naturally rosy complexion pale as death, of course, he didn’t look particularly Goth!

Pete shoved Firkle’s shoulder. Seeing its opportunity, the kitten jumped and grabbed hold of Firkle’s hand and the string, playfully chomping down on his knuckles.

“Lay off,” Pete scolded the youngest member of their friend group. Firkle just rolled his eyes then began to pry the kitten off him.

“I’ll send you the link later,” Firkle promised. He opened his mouth to say something else when Henrietta covered his lips.

“Hey, that kid's been standing looking at us for a while now.” She raised her sharp, black painted nail to point across the street. Raven, Pete, and Firkle turned over their shoulders. Michael stood on his knees to look over everyone else.

On the other side of the road, a kid stood, swaying his weight left and right. Raven narrowed his eyes. The kid looked familiar. He was probably in the same grade as him.

Seeing five sets of eyes on him, the kid jumped. He waved a little then looked up and down the street before jogging across.

“He’s wearing all black,” Pete commented. “Think he’s Goth?”

Henrietta scrunched up her nose. “No, wait, I know that kid. He was a friend of my brother. He’s a fucking dork.”

She finished saying that just as the kid entered the garage. Now that he was closer, Raven could tell, yes, he did know him.

His real name was Leopold, but no one ever called him that. Instead, everyone called him ‘'Butters’, though Raven couldn't remember why.

He was the Stotch’s son, and he and Raven used to hang out nearly six years ago, back in third grade, when the both of them were desperately trying to be just “unique” enough to be memorable but not so much as to incur the wrath of their peers’ taunts.

That of itself was not enough to damn him in Raven’s eyes. It made him a conformist poser, sure, but so was pretty much everyone else.

No, what made bile raise up in Raven's throat at the very sight of Butters was the fact he was a Vamp Kid.

He had escaped them once when Mike first formed his douchey little “coven,” but then he just had to go back to them, for some reason.

Raven swallowed down his disdain as Butters waved cheerfully at them.

As he stood, Butters blocked out the sun, leaving a halo around him. Some of the sun’s rays glinted off his pale blond roots. Was that a fashion choice on Butters' part or was Butters just too lazy to redye it?

Not that it mattered, since, like all the other Vamp Kids, Butters reminded Raven of someone the Hot Topic vomited up on, right down to the peeling temporary tattoo saying 'bite me' on the top side of his hand and fake, plastic fangs.

Raven cringed, sitting up. The kitten rolled into his lap. It peaked up, looking around before its eyes landed on Butters. Suddenly, it hissed. The fur along the kitten’s spine rose.

Its siblings turned from what they were doing. The one Pete was playing with turned on its heels and dashed into the old dog bed to hide. The other spat at Butters before following suit, scurrying behind one of the stacks of boxes.

Raven’s kitten looked at its siblings, then back at Butters. Seeming to decide the new 'threat' was too great to take on alone, the kitten then clambered out of Raven’s lap to go hide as well.

“Oh, look,” Michael scoffed, “even the cats know to fear your brand of douchey mediocrity.”

The Goths chuckled amongst themselves, but the smile on Butters’ face never wavered. The only indication Raven saw that he was at all offended was a flash of hurt in his good eye. His other eye had a dead, cloudy film over the iris and pupil and a scar carving through it.

It was about the only feature Raven could at all call ‘Goth’ about him.

“Yeah, cats are pretty scared of the creature of the night,” Butters joked.

Rolling his eyes, Raven snapped, “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Butters looked to the side, his cheeks pink, “I have something of yours, Stan.”

“Raven,” He corrected coldly. No one called him ‘Stan’ anymore. That conformist loser died the day a pretty girl broke his heart and crushed the pieces with her mary janes.

“Oops! Sorry, Raven. I have something of yours.”

“What could you have of mine?”

“Your hat.”

Raven reached up, his fingers brushing the faded red and blue wool.

“My hat?” He repeated.

“Yeah, the knit grey one with the black trim and puffball? It had your name sewed on the inside,” Butters informed him. “Did your mom do that for you? If so, that’s really sweet of her! My mom doesn’t label my clothes anymore.”

He laughed as Raven’s cheeks burned. His tone didn't sound particularly mocking. Instead, it sounded like a statement of fact, but Raven couldn't imagine anyone saying that without a taunt behind it. This Vamp Kid was just trying to goad him.

Raven fixed Butters with a glare.

Raven did loved his mother, but he would never outright admit that. If you were Goth, then you didn’t get along with your family. That’s just how it went. Henrietta got into fight after fight with her parents. Michael always complained about his step-family being a bother, while Firkle and Pete would bemoan their own parents and siblings.

“Fuck off,” Raven growled. “If you have my hat, then give it back.”

“Well, I don’t have it on me,” Butters admitted. “It’s at my house.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Michael asked.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was his first,” Butters knocked his knuckles together in front of him. “It’s a really nice hat. I’d hate to give it to the wrong person.”

“Well, then, go get it,” Raven ordered. “I’m grounded and can’t leave the house.”

Butters’ expression shifted from a positive, if embarrassed, one to something dark. His eyes narrowed and lips turned downward. A shiver ran along Raven’s spine.

“Oh, that's something else my mom doesn't do anymore.” Butters’ voice was emotionless. “I’ll bring it later. See you, Raven.” With that, he turned and walked away.

Once he disappeared from view, the Goths let out a collective breath.

“What the fuck is that kid?” Pete muttered, standing up. As he wandered towards the back to fetch the kittens, Michael shrugged.

“A freak, probably. He was friends with Henrietta’s brother, after all,” He said, rolling to his feet to help Pete.

Henrietta snorted. “God, yes, I think those two had a sleepover once years ago, and they stayed up all night playing ‘Hello Kitty Island Adventure’. So annoying.”

Firkle and Henrietta started making condescending remarks about the Hello Kitty fan base. Pete and Michael searched the boxes and containers in the back of the garage for the kittens. And Raven looked down at his hands.

He was shaking, and he didn’t know why.

~~~~

The night was his domain. Everyone else in the house had gone to bed a hours ago.

In the silence, Raven could finally start to prepare for the black void of sleep.

As the time ticked closer to midnight, Raven crept to the bathroom from his room, where he had barred himself away for the last few hours.

Originally, he did abandoned his family after dinner because that seemed to be how it was done amongst the Goths: Eat dinner with your family, if you had to, then venture away to your own self-imposed isolation.

Nowadays, he did it to avoid any snide remarks and forlorn sighs his dad might toss at him. There were only so many eye rolls and ‘how long will this phase last’ s one person can take, after all.

Raven scrubbed his face. He had just finished his left side when he winced. He hadn’t worn any make-up today. Disgruntled, he tossed the washcloth into the clothes basket by the sink before quickly brushing his teeth.

He'd felt off every since Butters showed up to chat that afternoon. Something about how Butters’ peppy voice lost all emotion left a heavy lump sitting in Raven's stomach.

Not that he would ever admit that to any of his friends. Butters was just a stupid Vamp Kid after all. His friends would tell him Butters wasn't someone Raven should waste his thoughts on. They were right, of course.

On the walk back to his room, he purposely stuck close to the wall away from his parent's room. If he didn’t get close, he didn’t risk hearing them talking behind his back again.

A knocking came from downstairs as the moment his hand touched his doorknob. Raven raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps backward to look down the steps.

It was nearly midnight. Who in their right mind would come knocking at midnight? Unless it was an emergency. Maybe someone died. Maybe someone was missing. Maybe the school had burnt down with every preppy dickwad inside.

Raven glanced at his parents' room, then shrugged.

“I’ll get it,” He said to the empty hall. Padding his way down the stairs, Raven then walked to the door. He opened it mid-knock.

Butters raised his gaze in surprise. “Oh! Heya, Raven,” He greeted warmly.

Raven didn’t hold back his wince of disgust. He’d expected Butters to return his hat at school the next day or during the evening, not in the middle of the night. Butters probably wanted to give him back his hat this late so he could avoid the other Goth's mockery towards him, Raven thought.

What a coward.

“You have my hat?” He asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Butters bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah, here, everything you lost.” With his grin plastered a little too firmly on his face, he held out Raven’s hat, folded in half.

Raven reached out and took it back. Something felt off about its weight.

There was something inside of it.

With an eyebrow raised, he unfolded the hat and reached inside.

His fingers brushed against cool plastic and a familiar carving.

His heart froze in his chest. Shaking, Raven removed the knife from the hat. He had to turn it over, praying he hadn’t felt what he thought he’d felt, only to have a choppy carving of a bird, its wings raised out, staring back at him.

“I’d forgotten how strong you are, Raven.” Butters chuckled. “Took me fifteen minutes to get that out — I bleached it, so don't worry.” He nodded at his action before continuing. “Then I had to clean everything up in the alley with a hose from the office and got all soaked. It was really chilly out, too. If I could still catch them, I would have caught a cold when I walked all the way to the woods to bury that cat." He shook his head. "It was just an awful night.”

Forcing his body to move, Raven raised his gaze to Butters’ face.

One of his eyes glowed a pale red while the other, the one with the scar through it, disappeared in the shadows of his face. The monster pulled his lips back, exposing sharp fangs.

Raven reeled back, dropping his hat, but keeping the closed knife in his hand. He reached out to slam the door when a hand grasped his wrist. He found his fingers pried off the door and then his body pushed inside. The monster shut the door behind them with a kick of his foot.

Without any other options, Raven opened his mouth to scream, only to have the monster’s other hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shh, please be quiet,” The monster ordered.

Tears pricked Raven’s eyes. This was it. This was how he died. He wasn’t sure which made him feel worse: dying at the fangs of a monster or dying at the hands of a Vamp Kid.

The latter, he decided, squeezing his eyes shut.

“If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick. I’ve suffered enough in this bull shit life,” He mumbled against the monster’s palm.

The monster took his hand away, pale eyebrows knit together. “I just wanna talk to you. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He looked around Raven up the stairs. “Are your parents awake?”

Raven shook his head. He would play along with the monster’s whims until he could escape. He still had the knife; it wouldn’t be impossible to stab the monster again if he caught him off guard.

“Can we talk in your room then?” The monster asked, slowly lowering his hand from Raven's mouth, but not releasing his wrist.

“I guess,” Raven stole a step backward, “C-com’on.” Raven tried to pull his wrist free, but the monster's grip was too strong.

The monster slid his hand down until their fingers were lace, with the knife cradled between them, then squeezed his hand uncomfortably hard. Raven almost groaned.

Holding hands with a Vamp Kid might kill him of pure embarrassment. Now he really had to stab this monster. It would be the only way to redeem himself.

As they started up the steps, the monster came right up behind him and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t try nothin’. You don’t want your parents or sister dragged into this, right?”

Raven faltered in his step. So, the monster knew his plan.

Great.

Maybe he could convince the monster he wasn’t a threat to him. If Raven promised never to tell, the monster would have to leave him alone, right?

Finally, they made it to Raven ’s room. He shut the door and locked it before the monster released his hand. The monster then looked around his room a moment before pulling his desk chair out and taking a seat. With his hands in his lap, he nodded for Raven to sit as well.

As Raven slipped onto his bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to Butters. Did this monster kill him and take his form? Was the monster an alien that crawled into his brain through his ears?

A pang hit his stomach. Their friendship may have ended years ago, but he had still enjoyed Butters’ company back then. Butters was a sweet person, if a little too naivé. Seeing this monster take him away made Raven regret anytime he’d been mean to him.

“Well, I guess you probably have some questions, huh?” The monster laughed nervously, pulling at his studded leather wristband.

Raven nodded. “What happened to the real Butters?” He glared.

“What? I am the real Butters!” The monster frowned.

“Bullshit. The real Butters isn’t a monster who eats cats.” Raven gripped his hands into fists.

“He is now,” The monster whispered, looking at his feet. “Listen, Raven, about the cat, you gotta understand something really important.” He took a breath. “I’m a vampire — “ when Raven opened his mouth to counter, he quickly added, “ —  and not a fake one like Mike and the rest of them.”

The monster reached up and tapped his fangs. “These aren’t fake.” He gave one a tug. “See? Real as the nose on your face.” He offered his teeth out for Raven to touch, but Raven declined with a shake of his head.

Under normal circumstances, Raven would have called BS on that as well, but then he remembered the cat and how Butters eyes flashed.

“H-how?” He cursed himself for letting his fear show.

The monster laced his fingers together. “I...don’t really know, exactly. Some sixth graders chased me down the sewers two years ago. I stayed down there until I got the courage to head up. I bumped into this really nice lady as I was heading home, and she said she’d take me there in her car. Turns out she wasn't a nice lady, but a not very nice vampire lady and, then, um,” he squeezed his hands together, “I don’t want to talk about what happened next. It wasn’t...I don’t...I...”

His body began to shake. He refused to look up from his feet. His breathing came out in quick and shallow bursts. Something like a sob escaped his throat.

Raven chewed his lip then tentatively reached across the gap between them and set a hand on his knee. The monster’s head snapped up with a faraway look in his eyes. He blinked hard a few times as he forced himself back into the present.

“Sor...sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s ok,” Raven reassured, gentler than he intended to. So maybe this monster was Butters, but he was still a monster, nonetheless.

Raven took a breath. “So, you’re a vampire now. That’s why you...you know, like, ate the cat?”

Butters nodded. “Yeah. I used to have a human source of blood, but he and I had a falling out after we got into a fight about this pretty girl.” He sighed. “He said I couldn’t even sit with him at lunch anymore, so I had to go join the Vamp Kids, since I thought one of them might be like me.”

“Let me guess, they’re all a bunch of fakers?” Raven cocked an eyebrow. He already knew the answer.

“None of them are real. None of them were any help to me.” Butters nodded. He twiddled his fingers a moment then continued, “Since I lost my friend and blood source, I had to go to animals’ blood to live.”

“Can’t you just break into a blood bank or something? Why hurt the animals?” Raven asked.

“It’s not like in the movies, Raven.” Butters crossed and uncrossed his ankles. “I don’t have super strength or speed. I’m just a little faster and stronger than everyone else.”

“That’s it?” Raven couldn’t help but ask. “You drink blood and all you get from it is you can walk faster the normal people?”

Butters scooted back until his spine pressed straight against the chair back. “I can do other things too, like, I’m really good at persuading people to do what I want. And healing really fast, too. I can do that glowy thing with my eyes, and make my teeth longer or shorter, and, uh, what else, I think I’m technically immortal now? Maybe? I don't get sick normally, at least, but, well, you see? I can do a whole lot as a vampire, but only when I drink blood — people blood.”

“Then why don’t you? There are plenty of people who walk the streets at night you could drink from.” Raven took his knife and set it on the bedside table.

All the fear he had for Butters was beginning to wane. How much of that was Butters’ natural innocent and unthreatening aura, and how much was his distaste for Vamp Kids clouding his thinking, he wasn’t sure.

“Golly, I can’t! It’s one thing if the town thinks a real-life monster is going around killing strays, it’s another if they think a pervert is attacking people!” Butters shook his head. “Besides, I don’t think I’m strong enough to hold an adult down, and biting a kid without permission would make me feel bad.”

Raven hummed in thought. “So, if you had a person to eat from, you’d stop hurting the animals, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right. That’s why I was so sad when my friend cut me off from drinking his blood.” He deflated a bit, tapping his knuckles together. “I went as long as I could without drinking blood, and I tried only drinking blood from dead meat, but that stuff doesn’t do it. I got so sick from it, I couldn't take it anymore and had to go get blood from something alive.

“I didn't mean to kill any of the animals, but I was so used to drinking from something big, like a human, that it just kind of happened. I couldn't judge how much was too much and...I didn't want to do it. Honest.”

The sorrowful look on Butters' face and sincere guilt in his voice told Raven everything he needed to know.

He took a breath, then stood from the bed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside before sitting on his knees with his back towards Butters.

“If it’ll save the animals, you can drink mine, I guess,” Raven stated. “Just don’t kill me or turn me into a vampire either, got it?”

Butters stared at him with his mouth agape. He reached out, fingers about to touch Raven’s skin only to flinched back.

“Are you sure about this? Really, really sure?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to lean closer to Raven’s but didn’t touch him. He could feel his breath across his shoulder as he inhaled his scent.

“It’s whatever. It’s just blood. I can make more.” Raven picked at his nails, pretending to be uninterested. In truth, he was pretty scared about the prospect. He hoped his racing heart wouldn't get Butters over-excited.

He saw Butters kill that poor cat. The last thing he wanted was to end up like her.

For the animals, for the animals, Raven chanted to himself.

A wide, toothy grin spread across Butters face, showing off his fangs once again. In one quick motion, he pulled Raven into a hug.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re a lifesaver — a real swell pal!”

“This doesn’t make us friends, and you can’t tell a soul about this ever,” Raven snapped.

Butters crossed his finger over his heart in an x shape. Raven rolled his eyes.

“Just take what you need for the night then go home. We can talk more about this, uh, ‘arrangement’ tomorrow.”

“Well, Okie-dokie then!”

Butters coiled his arms around Raven, holding him just a bit too tightly as if he feared Raven would run away before he had his fill and opened his jaws wide.

Raven looked away.

If he saw those long fangs dig into his flesh, he would chicken out. Instead, he let his body relax as a sharp pinching feeling resonated from his shoulder.

He squirmed in Butters’ grasp. This hurt. It wasn’t agonizing, but there was no way Raven could find it pleasant. What’s worse, he felt every lash of Butters’ tongue across his skin. So being a feeding bag for a vampire would leave him aching and covered in spit.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

There was no way he could back out of it now, though. For the animals’ sake, he had to do this.

Maybe he would get used to it

~~~~~

Part 2.

[anshuman1802]

The Indian palm squirrel or three-striped palm squirrel (Funambulus palmarum) is a species of rodent in the family Sciuridae found naturally in India (south of the Vindhyas) and Sri Lanka. In the late 19th century, the palm squirrel was introduced to Madagascar, Réunion, Mayotte, Comoro Islands, Mauritius, Seychelles and Australia, where it has since become a minor pest. The closely related five-striped palm squirrel, F. pennantii, is found in northern India, and its range partly overlaps with this species. #wildlife #wild #wildlifephotography #naturelover #nature #naturephotography #tiger #instagood #instadaily #travelling #travelphotography #travelgram #instantbugle #yourshotphotographer #deer #wildanimals #animals #animallovers #adventure #forest #ecology #forest #forestphotography #forestlife #follow4followback #followforfollowback #followｍe #like4likes #likeforlikes #like4likesback #squriel https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc4H0UuvD2q/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[crowshapedvoid]

[Image ID: all of the images are digital drawing of characters from rvb as acnh villagers against a white backdrop.

The first image has 5 characters in it. The top left character is a yellow chicken villager with a gold “property of Grifball” shirt. The base of the wings and tail are brown but the tips are still yellow. His left eye is white and doesn’t have a pupil. His other eye is is brown. He appears to be smiling (it’s hard to tell with the chickens)

In the middle top of the image is a grey cat wearing a black tank top. He has a yellow stripe from the back to the front of his head. His eyes are grey. He looks very tired.

The top right character is an orange tiger wearing a teal/aquamarine (the color of Carolina’s armor) shirt. She has green eyes. Her tail has dark orange stripes. There is a dark orange pattern on her head that resembles hair. She’s crossing her arms and looks a bit irritated.

The bottom left character is a sand colored cub wearing a purple shirt with a green S on it. Her muzzle and belly are a lighter shade of tan. Her eyes are grey. She’s frowning and has her hands on her hips.

The bottom right character is a sand colored bear. His appearance is the same as his sister except he’s bigger. His shirt is a slightly darker shade of purple with a green N on it. He looks content.

The second image also has five characters in it. The top left character is a black wolf with light blue eyes wearing a black shirt. One of her hand is curled into a fist and she’s pressing against her other hand, which is an open palm, in front of her chest. She’s ready to beat someone up.

The top middle character is a black and white goat in a light blue shirt. Most of his body is black but his face and the front of his legs are white. His horns are grey. He’s squinting angrily and has two puffs of angry steam around his head. He’s holding a grey megaphone with a red handle.

The top right character is a blue dog wearing a slightly darker blue shirt. He has a darker blue spot around his left eye. His ears, the tip of his tail, and the bottom half of his right leg are also darker blue. He has freckles on the right side of his face. His eyes are black and his nose is orange. He’s holding a grey watering can and his tail is wagging. He looks happy.

The bottom left character is a dark brown rabbit wearing a teal/aquamarine (the color of Tucker’s armor) shirt. His shirt is slightly darker than Carolina’s. His face and belly are slightly (very slightly) lighter brown than the rest of his body. He has bushy eyebrows and black eyes. The inside of his ears are a much lighter brown than his face. His nose is the same light brown as his ears. He’s smiling and gesturing outward with his right hand.

The bottom right character is a light brown squirrel in a yellow shirt. The area around her mouth and parts of her tail are lighter brown. Her eyes are brown. Her mouth is open and she looks surprised. She’s looking at Tucker (the character to her right). She has one buck tooth.

The third and final image has four characters in it. The character furthest to the left is a red bull wearing a bright red shirt. His horns and eyes are brown. The tips of his limbs and tail are brown. His mouth is open and he’s smiling.

The character in left of the middle is a brown hampster wearing an orange shirt. He has the same coloring as Kai (the squirrel in the yellow shirt from image two). His mouth and belly are lighter than the rest of his body. He also has one buck tooth. He has a neutral expression.

The character on the right of the middle is a green frog wearing a maroon shirt. He has freckles. He’s frowning and looks uncomfortable in the situation.

The character furthest to the left is an off white ostrich wearing a pink shirt. His face and stomach are white. He looks pleased.

End Image ID]

i gave up on sleep to draw some rvb villagers

[dunmerofskyrim]

62

Through its shoddy roof, the ruin let in the whole morning all at once. White and harsh and clean, light broke in through the seams and stripes where the dome fit together. In its glare, in breaths of steam and clouds of dust, Simra griped up and onto his feet.

Every joint was stiff. He looked ceilingwards, squinting. Invasions of sunlight through the holes, irregular as rags in shape. He craned back till something caught painful then clicked, somewhere just under the blades of his shoulders. Turned through the waist with his feet planted, one way and the other, and the sides of his body unknotted a little. He rolled his neck and worked his jaw as he moved.

The night-cold had gotten into him as he slept. Nothing sharp and gnawing now, but the lingering numbness of a long-suffered chill. And maybe that was worse in the long of things.

He cupped his hands and spoke a flame again into his palm. Rest had restored him some, but if he'd slept deep it was only for exhaustion. Discomfort, cold, and hunger now too — they should have limited him, made his magicka grow back slow. Instead he felt full of it. Tired, painful, raw-tempered, but with plenty inside him to burn. Was it this place, he wondered, or some linger leftover from the fumes he'd inhaled? A hangover come helpful for once.

He walked a circuit round the chamber. Thought, as the flame cupped to his chest drove the cold out once again. He could clean himself with a cantrip. Might drive off some of the weariness the night had hung on him. But there was no knowing how much Winter and how much nothing surrounded him here. No knowing how long he'd need to keep a flame burning from nothing but magicka. It was easy enough to stay warm, he reckoned, if only just warm enough. But it would be hard to save strength for much else.

Loping back to where he'd slept, Simra checked his bags. Five twists of guljana for chewing and some fumes left in the compact. He could turn to those if he felt his magic flagging. Hunger was a harder problem to solve. He searched again, this time for rations. He thought and thought better of eating a spoonful of preshta-jan. The salty red spice-paste and a few dried black mushrooms were the closest things he had to food. Best not wake his belly, he reckoned. Not for so little. He knew how hunger worked, in lulls and pangs and sickening cave-ins. Best to let his appetite forget itself as long as it would.

Bags strapped on npw, Simra left the dome. A fine snow fell, and melted to nothing as it touched the ground, the walls, the arches and upsweeps of the ruin. Whispering on the air, a restless breeze was all that remained of last night’s blizzard. A weak blue sky overhead, and chased with faults of fine white cloud.

“Get lucky and you might be able to see worth two shits,” Simra muttered. “How bout that.”

He peered along the way between the ruin’s columns and wings. Vantage. That was what he needed. Perspective. He searched the architecture for something to scale. He’d climbed to get up here. See for leagues if only he could climb a little more.

“How about that . . .”

It was a long slow arch at first. A flying buttress that inclined into a brief length of wall, high and almost sheer, rising above the ruin like a tidal wave, a cliff-face. A sky-reaching wedge, opaque of purpose, it broke blunt and flat at its upmost point like something had snapped it away.

“Yeah. You’ll do.”

Simra shucked off his bags again at the root of the buttress. Thought again, and unbrooched his goatskin mantle, his sister’s jacket. Laid the mantle down like a groundsheet, the jacket safe from the ground on top of it, and then weighted them both with his gathersack on top. For all the day was cold, he knew he’d be hot and getting hotter soon as he started to climb. And if he fell? Skin heals by itself, but good leather takes fixing.

He stared at his palms, one scabbed over and chased with silver scars, the other holding the little pot-bellied flame. He let the fire go out and began to climb. A running start, a scuffing run up the stonework, and Simra clawed his way over the initial rise of the buttress. It was steepest there, and easier after.

He’d climbed its like in Windhelm. One ran a gutter from the roofs of the upper city and down into Crucible. One of the easier ways to go uptown without braving Northslope and its guards, if you didn’t mind heights, and Simra had long ago learnt to pretend not to mind — pretend hard enough to fool even himself sometimes.

But this buttress coiled as it charged wallwards, twisting over and over itself like an auger. It made for more handholds, more purchase or his boots as he scuttled up it, but to find them he had to look. Eyes on the stone, places to grip and places to tread, and eyes straying past to the ground. Easy to not mind heights when you fool yourself about them. But looking down as he scaled higher, Simra felt his breath go short, his stomach fall. He carried on, but didn’t feel wise in doing it.

The wall soared up in front now. That was the first stage, done with, dealt with. He fidgetted, clung, shuffled, till his legs hung astride the buttress. Leaning down, hugging it to his chest with his arms tight around it, he rested a moment, eyes fixed on a spur of ruin a short ways ahead, to keep his balance.

The sun was on his back. Warm, like he knew he’d be. It was almost pleasant, save for the prickle of sweat beneath his two shirts. Enough basking. You’ve started, so finish. Simra grumbled in the back of his mouth and looked then leaned up.

The rest of the climb was twice his height, he reckoned, if not a little more. Not far now. He judged with his eyes, then let his body do the reasoning. A kind of controlled sidelong leap and he scrabbled with one foot, groped with his right hand. His fingers caught. He strained and tightened through his middle and wrenched a foot, a padded knee, onto the sloping back of the wedge.

Safe or something like it, Simra clung to the stone. Snatching back his breath and balance, he paused a moment. His heart hammered in his chest. Not just fear anymore but a childish excitement, woken and welling up from the past. It felt good. Good to be good at something. Good to feel younger than he was, not older. Ghosts only knew he felt that seldom enough.

Just the incline remained, up the spine of this last rise. Squirreling hand over hand, with bent knees and hunched back, Simra came onto the narrow plateau where the wedge had its summit. Long and patient breaths now. He had time for them. He filled his chest and belly, and felt his scare-tight muscles come slack. He crouched there, steadied through his hands, and looked out across the view he’d won.

Ahead, behind, and leftward, the distance was brief. A short swathe of blinding white, then a black and sun-glittering ocean. The ruin rose up from a slow-climbing dark pyramid of hill, stony and snowless, crowning it in all its monstrous pointless monument, and overlooking the narrow spit of land its height commanded.

But to the right – west and southish, if Simra judged by the sun – the island bulked and broadened. Snow and snow, and a pattern of disruption that might’ve been a stretch of snowbanked trees. A curve in the island’s coast, sea biting a dark bay out of the land. But beyond that, he saw smoke. The source was blurred and uncertain at ground level, and hidden with settled snow. But the smoke itself was a surety. The wide white haze that rose from more than one hearth. A hamlet, a village, an outpost. Something. Somewhere to start.

Climbing down had none of the joy of going up, but still all the threat of falling. Simpler, but harder too, and half-blind as you crane to look down. And looking down is an issue all its own. See the fall, as your gut sees the fall, and sinks and twists in knots. Easier though, Simra told himself. Easier as you go.

[shyrebelchild]

Ranthambore National Park

The National park is just 7.8 kilometers from Astroport Ranthambore. When you arrive at the park you can take a safari and see around the Park. The Park is celebrated for the faunas like the Tigers, Leopards, Striped Hyenas, Sambar deer, Chital, Nilgai, Common or Hanuman langurs, Common Palm Civets or Toddy Cat, Common Yellow Bats, Macaques, Jackals, Jungle cats, Caracals, Sloth bears, Blackbucks, Rufous-tailed Hare, Indian Wild Boar, Chinkara, Desert Cats, Five striped Palm Squirrels, Long-eared Hedgehogs, Ratels, Small Indian Mongoose, Small Indian Civets, Indian False Vampires, Indian Flying Foxes, Indian Foxes, Indian Gerbilles, Indian Mole Rats, Indian Porcupines, and Common mongoose. Different types of reptiles are likewise found in this park.

Ranthambore is quite possibly the most pursued spots to see tigers. Seeing them in their characteristic territory is inside and out an unexpected involvement with comparison to seeing them confined. They don't look scared, yet they look savage. They look great. There are additionally an assortment of birds you will discover there like, Brahminy Starling, Oriental White Ibis, Wooly-Necked-Stork, River Tern, Indian Scops - owl, Large Gray Babbler, Purple Heron, Hoopoe, Greater Coucal, Indian Pond-heron, Rufous Treepie, Black Drongo, Ruddy Shelduck, Bar-headed goose, Peacock, Brown stone, Red-wattled Lapwing, Purple Sunbird, Gray Francolin, and Baya Weaver.

[msbjbd]

|| Squirrelatouille ||

EXIF : flic.kr/p/2hffh5n/

Photo Story: Wondering what is that beautiful eyed squirrel eating? Its paddy! The farmers keep the threshed paddy in the rooftop for a couple of hours to sun-dry. This squirrel just stole a piece. Well, one of the many pieces!

Panchadora squirrels (Bengali: পাঁচডোরা কাঠবিড়ালি) also known as Northern Palm Squirrel or five-striped palm squirrel (Scientific name: Funambulus pennantii) is a mammal of the squirrel family.

The photo was taken at Lakshmipur village in the Kushtia district of beautiful southern Bangladesh.

Panchadora squirrels are seen almost always throughout the year in that area. During the harvest season especially during the paddy season, villagers become almost overwhelmed by the persecution of the squirrels.

2019 © MSBJbd.com

[rakshithsphotography]

Indian Palm Squirrel The Indian palm squirrel or three-striped palm squirrel (Funambulus palmarum) is a species of rodent in the family Sciuridae found naturally in India (south of the Vindhyas) and Sri Lanka. In the late 19th century, the palm squirrel was introduced to Madagascar, Réunion, Mayotte, Comoro Islands, Mauritius, Seychelles and Australia, where it has since become a minor pest. The closely related five-striped palm squirrel, F. pennantii, is found in northern India, and its range partly overlaps with this species. The palm squirrel is about the size of a large chipmunk, with a bushy tail slightly shorter than its body. The back is a grizzled, grey-brown colour with three conspicuous white stripes which run from head to tail. The two outer stripes run from the forelegs to the hind legs only. It has a creamy-white belly and a tail covered with interspersed, long, black and white hair. The ears are small and triangular. Juvenile squirrels have significantly lighter coloration, which gets progressively darker as they age. Albinism is rare, but exists in this species. NIKON D500 F6.3 1/160 s 600.00mm ISO 200 White balance Manual No flash (at Banglore Mysore Highway) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBxGov1pOTK/?igshid=meqejsvkpa6z

[vedleevacations]

Five Striped Palm Squirrel #squirrel #squirrelsofinstagram #squirrels #squirrellove #squirrellife #squirrelfanworld #naturel #naturebeauty #naturegram #natureshots #naturephotographer #wildlife_supreme #wildlifepics #travelbackpack #travelbug #travelpic #travelrealindia #trip https://www.instagram.com/p/B8y4EXughDp/?igshid=ialxy7z526bi

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 7: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A 120 piece puzzle in a large oak box, inlaid with jet. The pieces are made from different pieces of rock crystal and quartz, that form an abstract pattern when assembled.

A 7 sided die made from magnetic wood

A badge from a forbidden order of fallen paladins.

A bag of very large hazelnuts.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth claws.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth teeth.

A bit of malleable, red metal that generates constant, soft static noise

A blood-stained set of manacles.

A blue blade shard that hums. If a creature holds the piece for long enough they will start hearing voices that urge him to kill and claim souls for it.

A blue sash cut from perfectly hydrophobic cloth.

---Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A 120 piece puzzle in a large oak box, inlaid with jet. The pieces are made from different pieces of rock crystal and quartz, that form an abstract pattern when assembled.

A 7 sided die made from magnetic wood

A badge from a forbidden order of fallen paladins.

A bag of very large hazelnuts.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth claws.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth teeth.

A bit of malleable, red metal that generates constant, soft static noise

A blood-stained set of manacles.

A blue blade shard that hums. If a creature holds the piece for long enough they will start hearing voices that urge him to kill and claim souls for it.

A blue sash cut from perfectly hydrophobic cloth.

A bobbin of thick string with which it is impossible to tie knots

A bone clip inlaid with gold that resembles the teeth of some long dead rat.

A bone ear peg fashioned from the tooth of a desert tiger.

A bottle of clear liquid whose flavor changes to match whatever you most desire

A box of twenty oddly shaped stones in different shades of red that can be used like chalk but never run out

A box of wooden toothpicks that each have a different and sometimes strange flavor

A brass bracelet stolen from a very minor deity, whose holy symbol is etched on the inside of the band.

A bronze insignia of rank from some long-forgotten military force.

A bundle of ripped and torn links from a chain mail vest. They seem to glow with a royal brilliance, but do not emit any actual light.

A cameo pin which displays a woman’s skeletal visage in relief.

A candle that never goes out in high wind and must be deliberately snuffed out.

A cat skull whose shape was warped by fel magic

A ceramic coin minted by a long dead merchant house

A ceramic jar of ointment made from animal fat and various herbs that protects from sunburn or frostbite when smeared on the skin.

A ceramic tile that etches itself with strange markings whenever someone speaks to it

A ceremonial wooden short sword that is bestowed upon gladiators of the nearby kingdom, who won their freedom through combat.

A chunk of a strange green glass. Occasionally dark patterns seem to swirl below its surface.

A cleaned skull of a dire chipmunk

A cleaned skull of a dire squirrel

A clear gemstone that seems to reflect back an oddly distorted view of whoever looks into it.

A clear glass cup that changes the colour of any liquid poured into it. The colour shift randomly but the user can start and stop the shifting at will. The liquid will revert to it’s natural colour five seconds after leaving the glass.

A cloth mask that gives anyone who wears it itchy hives for one hour

A coin of purple metal, etched in strange runes

A coin stamped with the profile of a man that changes each month

A crystal that glows and pulses in time with the heartbeat of anyone holding it

A curious looking pair of goggles with the words “Property of Ice! DON’T TOUCH!” scrawled into the side.

A curved blade fashioned from a jaw-bone designed for cutting fat from meat.

A dagger’s hilt. The pommel is carved in the form of a lion.

A dog skull whose shape was warped by unholy magic

A doll-sized sword of masterwork quality. It is useful as a razorblade.

A dozen small stones in a narrow, tin box that burst with vibrant colours when tossed into a fire

A drum made from animal hide that creates a hollow, echoing sound when struck.

A dwarven iron bracelet inscribed in runic dwarvish “Our bond is that of metal”

A eight-inch length of invisible steel cord

A face mask made from the tanned skin of an orc.

A faded writ of trade from the city-state of Kurn

A feathered arrow embedded in a perpetually frozen potato.

A fire drake scale that is always warm to the touch

A good luck charm bracelet made from the teeth of a giant lizard.

A good luck charm made from the skulls and bones of three small corvids tied together by leather cord. Each has a symbol painted on them - the symbols are life, death, and fortune.

A handful of small metal tiles that taste good but are inedible

A large dried, hollowed gourd filled with dried herbs and vegetables. If an amount of boiling water is poured into the gourd, stirred gently and left to sit for a few minutes, the result is a tasty and nutritious vegetable soup.

A large, tattered flag with silver, green, and black stripes.

A leather eyepatch with a cat’s eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a goat’s eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a stylized eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a wolf’s eye painted on it.

A leather pouch containing a board etched on one side and a dozen coloured pebbles used for a popular local game.

A leather pouch containing a handful of dried beetles. When crushed and added to saliva they make a bright blue pigment.

A leather satchel containing twenty-seven marbles.

A long arrow, with the tip hollow as if it once contained a message.

A map carved onto the back of a piece of hide that seems to show to location of a hidden oasis, however there is what looks like a cloud of smoke and a skull etched beside it.

A mirror made from polished stone. Occasionally when it is used a demonic burning face can be seen staring back out of it.

A mithral key about six inches long.

A model bronze weapon rack with six detachable polearms. Each is three inches long and decorated with a red horse-hair tassel.

A much-loved child’s doll embroidered with gold thread. It’s been through a lot.

A one-foot length of silver cord with both ends neatly cut

A one-inch square of folded black paper that can be unfolded until it becomes a three-foot square of paper

A one-inch tall pewter elf soldier, armed with a shield and longsword; the base reads “4 of 7”.

A pair of bone dice with a different card based gambling game on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different colour on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different constellation on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different type of alcoholic drink on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different type of sexual position on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the arcane rune of a different school or type of magic on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the holy symbol of a different God on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the symbol of a different melee weapon on each side.

A pair of drum sticks made of oak

A pair of stone dice with the coat of arms of a different noble family on each side.

A palm sized crystal with a face that bears uncanny likeness of whichever creature is currently holding it, etched in its center

A pencil-on-paper schematic of a crossbow-like contraption of tubes, triggers and optics.

A perfectly round black obsidian orb two inches in diameter.

A perpetually wet whetstone.

A piece of crystal that lightly vibrates

A piece of stone on which someone has expertly engraved a portrait of a young man.

A pipe made from the leg bone of an animal. When played it creates a series of high-pitched shrieks.

A portrait of a figure sitting astride one of the Great Desert Worms. The portrait changes over time so the figure resembles whoever possesses it.

A pouch containing dried brown grass that when, smoked it gives off a pungent spicy aroma.

A queen piece from a chess set with a hidden compartment. Inside is a human finger bone.

A scrap of hide engraved with the first half of a child’s nursery rhyme.

A scroll that chronicles the adventures of Zhataru, an infamous thief of legend who vanished mysteriously.

A set of chimes made from hollowed bones. When hung up on a leather cord they make a low whistling sound when the wind hits them right.

A set of colourful glass beads on a silken cord, designed to be worn as hair ornamentation.

A set of leather saddlebags with two concealed pockets inside them.

A set of stone divining tiles used by shaman for foretelling the future.

A set of wood and leather sandals that appear sized for a halfling, gnome or small child.

A signal horn that was made from the twisted shell of a burrowing creature.

A sloth’s tooth on which is etched the image of a halfling village

A small bone statuette taken from the nearby shrine of a minor God of a Random Evil Domain

A small bottle filled with dark sand from the Black Desert

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Markiplier Ego Imagines (pt 2)...

Imagine Dark calling an early morning (we’re talking crack o’ dawn) meeting in the Board Room. He secretly had Google install an alarm system all throughout Ego Inc., so with the flip of a switch, the entire building erupts into chaos. There’s alarms blaring and lights flashing, and all hell breaks loose.

Imagine Bim Trimmer somehow managing to get into his suit, hair slicked back in a singular wave of perfection. He’s just so eager, you’ve got to give him credit, and it’s not his fault that the coffeemaker exploded… again.

Imagine Google rolling his eyes because who let Bim near the coffeemaker again? He gets up to repair it for the eightieth time since Tuesday, but Dark just waves him off, snaps his stupid fingers, and there’s suddenly a plethora of caffeinated beverages and breakfast foods displayed on the table.

Imagine the King of the Squirrels, in protest that his Royal Beauty Sleep has been interrupted, just lying in the floor like a speedbump. Dark informs him that he was not even called in for this meeting, but the King keeps lying there anyway trying to inconspicuously lick the peanut butter off his own face.

Imagine the Host sneaking in, rubbing at his bandages and muttering slurred narrations. He doesn’t sleep often, but when he does, he doesn’t like to be awoken by anything, even the Dark Overlord of All Things Micromanagement Himself. He trips over King of the Squirrels who is on the floor for some reason and finally settles into his chair to Dark’s right, and whoops? Did he accidentally knock that cup of steaming hot coffee over into Dark’s lap? Aw, that’s just too bad.

Imagine Dr. Iplier trying to offer his services. After all, that coffee may have left severe burns, but Dark just rises very slowly, very ominously to his feet, placing his hands palms-down on the table and daring him to take one more step. The Doctor sits back down. He eats a buttered croissant.

Imagine Wilford Warfstache stumbling in fifteen minutes late in his pink bunny slippers and striped pajamas with Google following close behind because who else would Dark send to get a homicidal maniac out of bed at five in the morning other than the droid who literally can’t say no? Will, hugging a decapitated teddy bear to his chest, sits very grumpily in his seat across the table from Dark. They lock eyes, and there are a few moments when everyone in the room is certain that heads are about to roll when Warfstache grabs a donut and shoves the whole thing in his mouth at once, officially ending the killer on killer staring contest.

[rajputanacabsjaipur]

Reasons Why Ranthambore Tour Package Is So Famous!

If you ever have noticed the fanfare about Ranthambore tour package, you must have wondered why it is so special.

Or, you have admired beautiful images to Ranthambore and wished that you could go there too!

But, are you wondering what is so special about Ranthambore?

Let’s look, what is so special about Ranthambore tour package.

But, do you know what is the best way to travel?

You should prefer to book a cab from Jaipur to Ranthambore and enjoy the tranquil road trip.

Now, let's reveal what is so special about Ranthambore tour:

1. A Treasure for Nature Lover:

Adorned with flora and fauna, Ranthambore tour is a revitalizing trip.

On one side is the Vindhya mountain range that blends perfectly with the Aravali mountain range.

And on the other, is the confluence of River Chambal and Banas.

The enticing place offers views that make Ranthambore tour just so perfect. You can book a cab for Ranthambore tour and have a time with your friends or family.

This place is loved by many and is usually crowded during summer vacations--a time most of us wait.

 2. House to Rare Species:

It is not a secret that Ranthambore National Park homes some of the rare species of the world that are not to be seen anywhere else in India.

That is one reason why people love Ranthambore tour so much. Here you get to see the species in their natural habitat. To name some exotic animals, we have:

● Five-striped Palm Squirrels

● Rattles

● Mongoose

● Bear

● Indian flying fox

● Jackals

● Blackbuck

Do you want to admire these species in their natural habitat? Then you should definitely go for Ranthambore tour and book a cab right away.

3. Exciting Ranthambore Jeep Safari:

Get ready for your heart to skips a beat. Jeep safari is an enthralling experience and a must-do for you.

Take a back seat as the jeep takes turns round the thick forest and you get to admire the gorgeous animals and species. There are more than 300 species that you get to admire.

Do we really need to give you more reasons to take the Ranthambore tour?

4. Pay Homage to Bengal Tigers:

Ranthambore is known to be the biggest Tiger empire.

You would know why Ranthambore tour is so popular, as soon as you step into the tiger world.

Also, this was earlier a private hunting ground for the kings. While Bengali tigers are famous, you get to admire other varieties.

From toothless tigress posing for you to couple tigers playfully gaining your attention to ferocious tigers, you will surely have stories to take back home.

So this is the reason people love Ranthambore tour and you should for once, visit this place. It is said that:

Earth has its music for those who will listen.

You need to be in Ranthambore to actually experience the exhilarating wildlife and natural beauty.

Also, contact us if you are planning for a Ranthambore tour. Our cabs in Jaipur are made to make your trip comfortable and safe.

Happy traveling!