#mangy worm

[leebuckets]

Silly cat wanted to see Leshy's eyes

[rxttenfish]

if nyall saw the monsters i wanna fuck you would puke

[starsofang]

Get Well Soon john price x f!reader word count: 4.3k tw: MDNI, NSFW, jealous price, possessiveness, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, just a bit nasty ngl

Jealousy was a disease, and John was its desired host that it ravaged with an unfurling blaze of smoldering flames that scorched through the bloodstream like injected venom. It simmered at the bones and left him scathed, dissipating into bitter ash that filled the air around him with the pungent scent of his own distaste.

In other words, John really fucking hated seeing you wrapped around Soap like a damn boa constricter ready to sink your fangs into him like a feast.

The whiskey he’d been sipping on with tedious sips was now thrown back into his throat, sliding down to his stomach and leaving him with an acidic aftertaste. The alcohol only coaxed the fire into an uproar, the tips of the flames flicking its red-hot tongue in the flesh of his skin and scalding him with third degree burns from the inside and out.

He tried focusing on the emptiness that stared back at him from the bottom of his glass, fingers coated in the icy condensation where he gripped around it with vice. It prickled his fingertips, the force of his grasp causing his knuckles to go white and veins to flex uncomfortably in the back of his hand.

But the grim sight of melting ice wasn’t nearly as intriguing as the sight of you, the woman who’s been gnawing your way through his skin and bone for the past however-the-fuck-long that John’s been tongue-tied over you, smiling like a cheshire while Soap maneuvered you around on the dance floor of the dimly lit club, dipping his fingertips in the fat of your hips.

Your hips swayed in earnest, Soap and you sharing a laugh as he tried to replicate your pace and ended up stumbling around like a damn fool. The spark of amusement that shimmered in your irises was so bright, John could see it from where he sat at the bar. It blinded him, like a flashbang being hurled his way without a single ounce of warning, causing his ears to ring and his eyes to blink away the dryness that dusted his retinas.

He shouldn’t be mad, really. You weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours.

Soap was simply livening the mood after a grueling mission was deemed a success. John was the one that offered to take you out, allowing you a night free of suffocating peril, yet here he was, moping like a child who’d just gotten his video games taken away.

He wasn’t a jealous man. He’d never taken an interest in a woman long enough for it to tread into that type of territory, and his work occupied him like a slave to commitment – commitment to the job, and never to a pretty woman deserving of much more than him.

Yet, you had somehow begun worming your way into his brain, molding it to the shape of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you chewed your lip when deep in thought, the plush skin reddening under its abuse and clashing with the tone of your skin. Everything about you was hardwired into his brain, filed away and hidden in the depths of his thoughts.

It was selfish of him, he knew.

You were his subordinate – if he could call you that, really. You worked with Laswell, which meant you worked with him. A package deal, one he had no choice but to accept when it came down to it.

He was playing a dangerous game, allowing the churlish spur of envy to grab him by the throat and choke him into submission. It darkened his vision with spots of red rage, lighting with a flicker of flames that illuminated in the reflection of his pupils.

But John was a fond lover of games, given his track record of coaxing enemy intel out of the lips of grotty men through the bite of his threatening words and the sting of his knife into their mangy skin. He knew how to play to get what he wanted, what he needed, but you were a puzzle with thousands of pieces that he just couldn’t figure out how to complete.

He clung to you like a moth to a flame. A dog to its bone. A bullet to a wound.

You were his ecstasy that he could no longer deny, and he was slowly succumbing to the addiction. He got high off of the very being of you, injecting you into his veins with guilty pleasure.

And John didn't know how much longer he could starve himself from his fix.

Unable to watch the way Soap embraced you with a feverish warmth that had your expression melted into content gratification, he stood from the bar stool with a lick of virulent hostility, the legs scraping against the floor like nails to a chalkboard. Gaz spared him a worrying look, and when he went to open his mouth to ask if he was okay, John sent him a dismissive wave of his hand, muttering a gravelly ‘smoke break’ before taking off.

The chill of the night air smothered him with a relieving shiver down his spine, nipping his cheeks that were warmed from a mix of club smog and alcohol firing in his bloodstream. He was far from drunk, far from tipsy, but the burning desire he harbored for you made him feel the buzz of a high that hazed over all thoughts of calm serenities.

Leaning against the old brick of the club, he sifted a hand through the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a cigarette. Cigars were much more his taste, but unenjoyable when having to shove them in the bowels of a cramped pocket.

Lighting it up and taking a thick puff, the burn of smoke did nothing to calm the hideous monster that dared to rear its head against the fabrics of his heart. It was hungry, vengeful, baring its teeth in hopes of sinking them into flesh and bone, tearing its victim apart limb by measly limb.

The music boomed faintly from the closed door of the club, pounding vexing notes through his eardrums and tainting them with a distasteful noise.

John continued his routine of inhale and exhale, dipping into the dance of wispy smoke that surrounded him and basked his aura in musk and pungency. It swallowed him whole, enough so that he didn’t hear the whisk of the club door opening from beside him, and a familiar voice sparking fireworks in his mind.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, and John felt his shoulders tense with wavering remembrance of the way Soap wrapped his tattered arms around you, his lips leaned in close to your ear to speak with you over the loudness of the music, the way he was the reason you were giggling like schoolgirl off her rocker. “I didn’t see you at the bar. You feeling okay, Captain?”

The name left a tangy taste in his mouth. Bittersweet, souring.

“Thought I told you to call me John,” he grumbled with a ghost of a smile, tight and forced. It was more a grimace than a smile, as of course you would notice. Of course.

Keen eye, you had. It was one of the many traits John found himself falling into.

“John,” you corrected with a smile so bright, it practically laid out all of the stars in the sky in a shimmering blanket of wondrous light. “Why are you out here and not inside with the others?”

John had to hold back a lingering scoff that threatened to claw its way out of purgatory and fill the air with bitter irk.

“Got a bit stuffy in there, don’t you think?” he offered in place of spiteful words, but even at his attempt, the words came out clipped if your frown was anything to come by. “Needed a break.”

“You seemed bothered, Cap– John.”

“Mm.”

Your frown deepened and it only burdened him further. He didn’t want to be the reason for your upset, but that green little gremlin that coaxed him into anguished jealousy didn’t give two shits. It settled into his bones with enervating annoyance, paining him with ache.

“Don’t let me stop you from your fun with Soap,” he muttered dryly, uttering the words before he could stop himself.

Your eyebrows raised and you stared at him for a long moment, taking him in. His tense shoulders, tight lips pulled into a thin line, his firm grip on his cigarette that would’ve snapped it in half if he used an ounce more of strength.

“Something’s bothering you, sir,” you noted, and he gave you a taut smile.

“Look at that. Quite the brain on you.”

“No need to be rude about it, John.”

“Not being rude.”

“You are.”

John sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring when he deeply exhaled. His eyes bore into yours like frigid icicles ready to pierce into you. It was chilling to the bone, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine. John noticed.

“It’d be best if you head on inside,” he hummed, his tone quipped with a hint of warning.

“Really?” you asked in disbelief and he snorted.

“Really.”

John knew he was being unfair. His envy was eating at him from the inside, bubbling its way out in molten poison that burned in his mouth.

“Something is clearly bothering you, Captain. Is it a crime to check on you?” Your tone began matching his own sour one, biting into him like a feral dog with its hackles raised.

“What’s a crime is you saddlin’ up with Soap like he’s your bloody suitor,” he hissed, and there it was, the bitter taste of frothing temper seeping out of his lips like red-hot lava. It scalded him, leaving him with third degree burns on his tongue. “Lettin’ him have at you like a fuckin’ dove for the takin’.”

“What?” you breathed, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m tryin’ t’say, what I’ve been wantin’ t’say, is that I don’t like the way he was touchin’ you,” he declared in earnest. He stood straight from where he was leaned against the wall, glowering down at you with a look that could’ve pinned you to the gravel beneath your foot. “I’ve been patient. I’ve kept my distance. But enough’s a fuckin’ ‘nough.”

You didn’t cower under his looming glare, nor did you take a step back like you should’ve. You remained firmly rooted in your spot next to him, eyes flickering between the scowl on his mouth to the fiery eyes that threatened to burst into explosion any second.

“You’re jealous, Captain,” you stated, quite obviously. It tickled the little monster that was nearly bursting out of his skin.

“Rightfully so,” he muttered. “I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was yours to begin with, Captain.”

“John,” he reminded you. “I’d be happy to make you aware of it. Print it in that pretty head of yours so you won’t forget it.”

Warmth blossomed under your skin, spreading from head to toe and curling you into his burning embers. The words struck you like lightning, quick and sudden, leaving you dazed.

You could smell the faint cigarette smoke and whiskey in the fan of his breath as it settled over your face. You took it in, breathing through your nostrils and letting it settle to the core. It was musky and fragrant, stirring your brain into goopy mush.

“How’s that sound, sweetheart?” he mused, nearly sending you into an early grave. Fuck, you’d dig it yourself if it meant hearing those words on repeat.

“I–” You swallowed, mouth suddenly parched.

John stepped closer to you, a dangerous and brooding step. His frame towered over yours, head tilted down to ensure eye contact remained secured. He wouldn’t allow you to look away, wouldn’t allow you the chance to catch your breath. He knew what he was doing, knew what you were feeling.

“Just say the word,” he breathed, tickling your nose with his piquant scent. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you managed, voice less confident than it had been before when you let your frustration get the better of you. Submissive, willing.

John’s lips perked into a pleased smile, eyes brimming with amusement and risk. He was taking the leap off of a daunting cliff, diving headfirst in a pool of unknown and uncertainty. But oh, he was certain of this.

You tasted the poignant flavors that melted from his tongue on to yours when he sealed his offer with a kiss. It was demanding, stern, his mouth molding into yours in the shape of a promise.

He traveled the shape of your jaw, rough hand entangling itself in the feathers of your hair. Tugging, wrapping it in his grasp, luring you into him with a burning desire to mark what was his. It was fire mixing with gasoline, burning scriptures in your skin, burning his name.

John swallowed every gasp and groan, eager and greedy. He captured your bottom lip with teeth, sinking in with a grueling bite, carving his indents into the plush flesh. He barely allowed you to gather air in your lungs, and it left you feeling dizzy, untrusting of your own legs to keep you steady.

“Do me a favor, love,” he grunted in the midst of your kiss, pulling back only to get a glimpse of the glossy look in your eyes. “Go on and tell the boys you aren’t feelin’ well and I’m takin’ you home. Had too much to drink, so I’m gettin’ you to bed, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

Your breath was shaky when you released a sigh, and nodded in tenacity, practically scrambling back into the club like a dog with its tail between its legs.

John stayed true to his promise of taking you home and tucking you into bed – just not in the way the boys were told.

He was like a predator pouncing on its prey the moment you arrived at your humble abode. His hands explored every expanse of your body, shedding you until you were bare with a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom in its wake.

He was famished, like a man starved for weeks on end, and the only thing that would satiate him was ravishing you to the bone.

You thought after agreeing that you were John’s and he was yours, it would feed his burning anger warranted from jealousy. If anything, it was the opposite.

He was firm and demanding, determined to etch every part of him into the plains of your skin. His hands were skilled in the way he practically shoved you into the mattress, lips remaining locked into place on your own.

He was a man on a mission, and you knew John to be one to never fail to complete it.

“M’gonna show you exactly what’s botherin me,” he mumbled into your mouth. His voice was raspy and guttural, laced with an undeniable wisp of arousal. “Been botherin’ me for ages.”

True to his word, his lips, chapped with a sheen of your mixed saliva moistening them, trailed down the column of your neck. They were neither rough or soft kisses, but rather balanced and precise. Teeth nicked the sensitive skin, taking it between tender bites and nursing the hissing stings with the point of his tongue.

Marking his territory, just as promised.

“You never said anything,” you acknowledged through a breathy sigh, lips parted and hazy eyes pointed at the ceiling as he worked wonders on your jawline.

“Didn’t have the gall to, ‘til I saw you cozied up with Mactavish,” he grunted, and as if the thought passing by in remembrance settled into his brain, he bit down a bit harder on the spot where your neck and shoulder met.

John peppered his kisses down from your clavicle, creating a trail to your sternum. It tingled with a feverish burn, spotting your skin with a faint flush. One of his calloused hands slid up your side, prompting a shiver along the way, until it grasped the mounds on your chest in a possessive hold.

His tongue darted out to circle a perked nipple, teasing, mocking. You couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine, and the rumble of his smug chuckle vibrated your whole body. Offering mercy, he enveloped the entirety of your nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth along the sensitive bud and causing you to hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure – perfectly balanced, because John was a calculated man, and he never left a job unsatisfactory.

Your thighs rested limply on each side of his waist, and when he gave a particularly hard suck, they tightened around him, knees knocking into the thick of his ribcage. Instantaneously, his other hand that wasn’t occupied with holding your breast came to grab hold of your knee, carefully peeling it away from where it rested on the warmth of his skin, tugging you apart until you were spread and vulnerable.

That same hand slowly slipped down your knee, sweeping along your inner thigh and worshiping the smooth skin with a swipe of his fingertips. They were rough against your skin in comparison, and the sensation made you jolt.

They continued their downward exploration until you felt the subtle touch of a finger experimentally slide along your slit. You wanted to feel embarrassed by how wet you were from nothing more than kissing and him ravishing your breasts like he was feasting on a meal, but you couldn’t.

Judging from his muffled groan, he didn’t seem to mind it either.

“Fuckin’ soaked and I haven’t even touched you,” he observed, rearing his head back from your chest so he could gleam down at the sight of you spread out for him, glistening in the dim light of the room, forming a sheen over the tips of his fingers.

An embarrassed noise sounded in the back of your throat and you tilted your head to the side to avoid his smoldering gaze. He tutted, grabbing hold of you by the chin to force you to look back at him. His eyes were lit up with the same fire as before, yet this time, it burned brightly, illuminating his thirst for salvation.

“Don’t do that,” he said, tone dripping with the command of the leader he was and had always been. “You’re goin’ to look at me while I take you. Had no problem lookin’ at Soap when you danced with him, so you should have no problem lookin’ at me when I make you come on my tongue.”

You had to close your eyes to compose yourself, sucking in a sharp breath that pierced your lungs and filled your chest with an ache only he could soothe. They sent shocks through your body, lighting up like fireworks.

When John seemed satisfied that you’d listen, that you’d digested every word and command that slipped off his tongue, he let go of your chin, pleased to see you kept your promise of keeping your eyes on him.

He returned his attention to your silky cunt, dipping a finger in the slick that seemed never ending. His mouth was practically watering at the visual, and he was desperate for a taste.

John wasted no time in stooping down to be leveled with your cunt, breath fanning over it and causing you to squirm. He sent you a warning glare before poking out his tongue, gliding it over the sensitive nub before fully engulfing his mouth around it.

The sound you released was near inhuman, strangled and choked in surprise. His mouth was warm and inviting as he began devouring you, humming greedily at the tangy taste that smoothed over his tongue and filled his mouth.

It was intoxicating, addicting, surging through his bloodstream like a high he’d never come down from. Hazy, clouded. It disoriented him, smoothing over his mind with nothing but thoughts of consuming you until you were a puddled mess.

Your hand found its way in his hair, tangling in the mess of strands and tugging. Possessive in the way you pushed him deeper into your core, his nose digging into you as he inhaled the sweetness of your scent. The smell of you attracted him like hummingbirds to nectar, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed into you, and the gust of air mixed with warmth and a slight chill all at the same time had you whining. “Look at you. Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t bother to wait for your answer before diving right back into you. He didn’t want to hear words, he didn’t want to hear smugness. All he wanted was to hear those sweet sounds filter out of you, like a soothing song playing on repeat.

He became more possessive in the way he took you, the subtle tenderness he was showing before melting into filth. Your slick soaked into the coarse hairs of his beard, chin dripping with evidence of your arousal that only became more pungent the more he sucked and prodded.

“John,” you whimpered helplessly, and he rumbled with a satisfied noise, so you repeated his name. It became pleading, desperate, voice turning into a shaky mess that only sent his mouth into overdrive.

The ghost of a fingertip brushed along the rim of your entrance, and when you took a breath, he seized the opportunity to sink it into you, all the way to the knuckle. It curled into you, before pulling out then pumping back in. It became a dance, the way his finger fucked into you with curious ambition, and it had you pooling into a moaning mess, writhing from stimulation.

His eyes fluttered up to meet yours with his mouth still wrapped around your clit, and you nearly gushed just from the look of him alone – beads of sweat already dotting on his hairline, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes dark and sultry with intentions of ruining you. They locked on to yours and never left for a single moment, not even when he stretched you open with a second finger, then a third.

It was all so fucking much. You could barely think with him filling you, curving right into that sweet spot of serenity that had stars bursting in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, and to keep you still, he placed a thick arm over the plains of your stomach, holding you down while keeping the other occupied in the tightness of your cunt.

Too much, so much, all at once. It had your mind in the skies, floating on clouds of euphoria.

John seemed to map out your body language just from one taste of you on his tongue along, because when your stomach began to tighten and flex, legs trembling and quivering, he pulled his mouth away from you, fucking you with his fingers with a quickened pace.

“You goin’ to come, sweetheart? Hm?” he asked, and it felt as if he was teasing you. Mocking you, filled with overwhelmed smugness. “Goin’ to come from my mouth like I told you?”

You nodded vigorously, shameless in your own desperation. The squelch of his fingers dripping into your cunt with every shallow thrust was enough to leave you breathless. They filled you with a frantic need, shooing away the emptiness you once felt and submerging you in a febrile warmth.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, and it had you keening.

You attempted to lift your hips, pushing them in the direction of his mouth. He released a hearty chuckle, eyes crinkling from his bashful smile before he gave in to what you wanted, Mouth returning to your cunt, sinking into you like a feral animal, quenching his thirst and hunger.

You cried out, hand tightening in his hair. It was almost instant that you felt the coil of string ready to snap at any moment, tearing and tearing, bordering you on the edge of breaking apart.

His tongue flattened over your clit before circling his lips and giving it a hard suck, all while curling his fingers once more. That was enough to send you over the edge, your climax hitting you like a collapsing building, smothering you in its aftermath.

Your entire body shook, wetness gushing around his fingers as you clenched on them for dear life. You ground your hips subconsciously, fucking yourself on his fingers and riding out the seamless paradise and basking in the warm light. All thoughts blanked into nothing but your own ecstasy, and you selfishly drowned yourself in waves of rapture.

You were in heaven, you were one with the angels, singing godly praises with a halo over your head and a fluorescent glow that accumulated around you. This was what peace on Earth felt like, this was what it felt like to die and be reborn.

John’s voice was the gospel, embracing you with clarity and purpose, guiding you to the pearly gates to seek pursuit of happiness.

When John pulled away from you and carefully slipped his fingers out of you, he brought them up to your view, flaunting them with pride. His chin was soaked, glistening with sinful beauty, mangling itself in the hairs of his beard.

If you weren’t so high off of pleasure, you might’ve thought that John was God himself, smiling down at you from the clouds and showering you with loving conviction.

“See that, sweetheart?” he asked, referring to the sticky strings that stuck together when he parted his fingers. “That’s from me. And nobody’s goin’ to get a chance to taste you like I have. We clear on that?”

It was a silly thing for him to even state, given he had just taken you to oblivion, but you nodded anyway, going as far to even hum in dazed satisfaction when he brought his slick-covered fingers to your lips and you wiped them clean.

Jealousy was a disease, and you were the only thing that could cure John of the simmering rage that came with it. Now that he’d made it clear who you belonged to, the ugly monster returned to hibernation, and the sickening green that tainted his insides melted into worlds of color that only you could paint.

wrote this for my girly @ebodebo because i've been deprived of john and needed to write something for him asap, so i hope this met your needs (I need this man so badly it's unhealthy) <3

if you see any writing mistakes, mind you it’s 3am and i woke up to write this so no u didn’t

[randomwriteronline]

"Strange colors, this one," the female said. "Earth?"

"Sonics," the other replied proudly. "Very rare. Usually their element kills them before they can turn."

The Toa's head lolled about, quiet, his silvery Hau hung low; he did not respond when his possible buyer grasped his forehead and pulled it up to check his eyes - which he did not open.

"Blind?"

"Ah, no, no, he sees well! But we've had to knock the fighting out of him and now he's a little shy," the Stone Skakdi cackled. "Not that it was difficult. He's perfect cannon fodder, no will to complain, no thoughts of his own. Or he could make a good cabin boy for you or some other slave-like thing... Truly, you've just got to choose."

Xekul grinned sharply, her tone appreciative: "Not bad for his price."

A panicked sound arose from behind her: one of her sailors was rushing towards them, grabbing her arm, trying to pull her grip off of the near catatonic being.

"You won't fool me!" he was snarling, spine snapping like a whip, teeth bared, "Keep your cursed deals off our ship!"

She yanked herself out of his grasp with barely any effort; the smaller Skakdi tripped on his own feet as he was thrown forward, and she snarled: "What's gotten into you now?"

"He's cursed!" the male insisted, "They all are! All De-Toa, all of them!"

His eyes gleamed terribly as he set them on the being limply awaiting whatever demise the Skakdi would decide for him.

"They're harbingers of ruin - they're Mata Nui's own personal sirens, made to drag us all into the bottomless abyss," the spindly male hissed. His fingers curled tighter around his captain's arm, so tight he almost crushed her murky green armor. "He'll doom the ship the moment he gets on it! He'll guide us straight to Karzhani itself!"

"Bit unruly, this sailor of yours," the slave trader cackled nervously.

"Bit more than usual," Xekul agreed with a low growl.

The Ice Skakdi trembled harshly, gnashing his teeth together as he suddenly shrieked: "We need to kill him! It's the only way to save ourselves! We need to kill him now!"

Immediately the other male perked up, spine curving to make him seem larger as he barked: "Hey, hey! No touching the merchandise!"

"Then we'll need to kill you too!" the sailor howled back, cutlass all of a sudden in hand, the terrible strength of desperation lunging his pitiful frame forward to grasp the salesman's throat between his claws and plunge the blade right into his eye over and over and over and over and--

He gave a frightening yowl when his captain's fingers grasped skull, sunk into his sockets, and yanked him back to send him flying. His body hit the ground with a large clattering thunk and shrank into a pained curled position reminiscent of a boiled shrimp's posture.

A powerful shiver wrecked him. He clasped his head within his mangy hands as his superior's feet approached him.

"He's singing," he whined softly, sounding horribly in pain: "He's singing, singing to me, burrowing and writhing inside my brain like a worm... Captain, captain, he's singing, singing!... The siren, he's singing, singing, he'll drag us to our doom singing, singing... Captain, help me, help me, kill him, kill him! Kill him! He's singing, sing--"

Xekul crushed his head with a stomp: his body stiffened, jerked about, and finally stilled.

She kicked it into the waters.

"We'll need another cabin lad," she sneered.

The Stone trader swallowed air, claws still around his throat from the previous attempt at his life: "I think," he wheezed, "I think I could give you a discount."

The female twisted her lip in a mirthless grin: "Much appreciated."

-

They kept the Toa down, in chains, below deck.

First was the quartermaster. He accused the first mate to be whistling something shrill and malevolent in his ear on the second day; he claimed to still hear it on the fourth day; he stabbed the female in the throat on the fifth. They reduced him to molten scrap for his offense, but by the time they were done there was nothing else to do for her, and Xekul ordered both bodies thrown overboard.

Second was a powder monkey. He began claiming the ammunition buzzed loudly in his ear, telling him to blow the hull; he was struck by convulsions whenever he stepped too close to the walls, vibrating at the same tempo as the blasted humming he swore had wormed into his brain; at last he blew up a fuse (accidentally or not, it could not be cleared) and took off a chunk of the ship and several gunners with himself. Xekul ordered his remains be scrapped off and dumped as chum, to catch some of the provisions he'd cost them.

Third was a sailor promoted to boatswain. He started stalking around the deck, turning his head left and right, barking orders more and more nervously and constantly looking around with a strange sort of fear in his eyes; he told of conspiracies of mutiny to his captain, enacting death sentences and banishments and imprisonments on her behalf, until the crew was so meager than they could not waste men by leaving them to the sharks anymore, becoming more paranoid by the day ever since; in the end, foaming through his jaws, screaming about a damned sound driving him insane, he slaughtered his way through most of the remaining sailors. Xekul had to break his neck to stop his infernal howling, and had to join her fearful males in throwing the dead into the ocean, as there were barely enough to handle half the corpses by themselves.

Fourth was one of the lads in the brig. It had to be, though they did not know who. By the time they went down to free them in exchange for work, they had managed to kill one another until the only one alive below deck - by sole virtue of being kept in a different cell - was the catatonic Toa.

Mere days before the third week, he was Xekul's only company.

Her claws were clutched to the helm tight, as though she feared someone might have lurched from the fog to rip it away from her as she steered cautiously.

She'd disposed of her last maddened sailor moments earlier.

He'd been singing too loud, too close to her ear.

The singing hadn't stopped.

It went on at a good distance from her, clear as day; a Bruiser song about a tower that never ends, always in construction, never to be finished, visible from a mio away in every direction, casting a shadow so impossibly long and wide that it made night fall during the day.

Each day we add a brick, and each day we lay the spackle; each day we work to finish, but the roof is never ready.

Each day we fix a wall, and each day the floor is done; each day we work to finish, but the roof is never ready.

It was a repetitive melody, sung in a dreadful monotone.

It was driving her mad.

It was completely silent.

She whipped her head around, to watch her back, tool unsheathed, limb ready to pounce, to kill: nobody. But she would have sworn there had been someone with her, a new voice, repeating the dull lyrics in a dull voice, just right behind her, right next to her.

It was completely silent.

Xekul tightened her grip on the weapon. The song continued from the empty space before her, as flat and nauseating in its spiral structure as it had always been, sinking into her head like a slow screwdriver digging deeper, and deeper, and deeper... She stared into nothingness and awaited another move as her vision swam.

It was completely silent.

Now the voice was tearing itself in two, duplicating, cloning itself through mitosis: all of a sudden there were three, and then a small group, slowly growing louder while never increasing their individual volume. The Skakdi violently jerked away from the helm as one of them suddenly came too close to her arm, so close she could have felt the breath on her armor if it had come from a mouth.

It was completely silent.

They kept multiplying. New voices kept adding up, taking over the area all around her, pushing her back, back, back, into the wall, into the corner, into the ground, pressing against her as if the room was caving in, crushed by an outside force; once she was completely curled up their pitch rose slowly, higher and higher and higher until the words were only shrieks sinking into her like scalding needles, and she screamed to cover them until her throat ripped apart.

It was completely silent.

A hand opened the door with a click.

Xekul did not see the being, at first, because the noise had covered her field of vision with a thick layer of electric grey snow flickering at terrible speeds.

She felt fingers sit carefully over her head as she convulsed in a state of complete hysteria - fingers light and quiet, pressing barely enough to take her out of the auditory torture, to let her begin to make out the vaguest shape in the static surrounding her. From them came something... Something like a liquid extension, of the heavy consistency of syrup: it dug into her skull and thoughts, curling around them far too quickly, leaving them behind when they did not find what they wanted. She hacked and spat in an attempt to stop them, but her body did not cooperate.

Then, something inside her brain gave a loud click: and it was all over.

"Thank you, madam," a voice said, sucking the thousand screaming litanies back into itself.

Her tremors quelled slowly, her eyes reaccustomed themselves to the world that had been encased in painful white noise. Xekul opened her mouth and heaved: the tension that had kept her jaws shut so hard her teeth had almost cracked was finally gone.

Something in her head felt different. Like a piece was missing... No: like a piece had been nudged, pulled out, and then placed back in. Like someone had put a bookmark amongst her memories.

Vaguely she recognized the figure now changing course at the helm. She recognized the black armor, the gun metal... The silver mask.

Her voice snarled out of her without words.

The Toa replied to her surprised, hateful gaze with pale yellow eyes.

He hummed in tone with a Skakdi's sailor song while she remained still temporarily paralyzed, unfurling from who knows where a tube-like tool, never tearing his gaze away from hers.

He set a tempo by hitting his weapon on the floor.

"Captain, my captain, we're off to a good start!" he sang.

Then the staff struck harder against the metal; the sound pierced her head like a bullet, and Xekul blacked out.

[pupsmailbox]

BUG ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　adalia. adam. agatha. amber. andrena. ant. antony. aranea. arthro. aspen. attacus. beckett. bee. beetle. behan. benjy. bogárka. bubonic. bubonicholas. bubonick. bugsy. buzzie. býleistr. carrie. celastrina. cesare. cheli. chelicera. chrysalis. coley. cordulia. craniifer. crawly. creepy. critter. cuddlebug. dahlia. danuria. destiny. diseaselie. dishevella. dishevelle. dusk. dust. ella. ellsee. emery. eve. fern. fester. fifi. firefly. giselle. glimmer. hawk. hexa. hisser. hive. honey. hope. infestatianne. instar. jan. jeb. jed. jeddie. jeddy. jewelette. junebug. kaida. kaira. kieran. ladybird. lepidoptera. lester. lightsse. logan. lorcan. lovebug. luciole. luna. lyssa. mandela. mandibella. mandibelle. mandible. mangie. mangy. mantis. maurr. maxwell. midge. mikio. minii. mold. monarch. mordecai. mordechai. mordekai. mordy. mortimer. morty. moth. mould. naoki. nettle. ogtha. opal. osa. paul. pepper. phobianna. phoenix. ralph. ralphie. ralphy. ratianna. ratianne. ration. ravenesse. ravenette. ravenous. rex. rhene. rhyssa. roach. roark. rolf. ronan. rotgut. rowan. ruddy. rudy. ruth. salvia. scorpio. scurry. scuttle. sicknesse. sicknette. skittish. snugglebug. tawny. terry. thorax. toffee. vanessa. vespasiano. wesley. whiskey. wren. writhe.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ant/ant. antenna/antannae. antenna/antenna. anthill/anthill. aphid/aphid. arachnid/arachnid. arachnid/arachnids. arthropod/arthropod. bee/bee. bee/beetle. beet/beetle. beetle/beetle. bu/bug. bug/bug. bug/bugs. butterfly/butterfly. buzz/buzz. bzz/buzz. centipede/centipede. change/change. cicada/cicada. click/click. cloth/cloth. crawl/crawl. creepy/crawly. cricket/cricket. damp/damp. dig/dig. dirt/dirt. dragonfly/dragonfly. dusk/dusk. dust/dust. ely/elytra. en/entomology. ento/entomology. exo/exoskeleton. exoskele/exoskeleton. fate/fate. fester/fester. firefly/firefly. flea/flea. flow/flower. flutter/flutter. fly/butterfly. fly/fly. forest/forest. fy/fly. glow/glow. grey/grey. grime/grime. grime/grimy. hex/hexapod. hiss/hiss. hive/hive. hornet/hornet. hun/hungry. infect/infect. infest/infestation. inse/insect. inse/insectoid. insect/insect. insect/insectoid. it/it. jewel/jeweled. lady/ladybug. ladybug/ladybug. lamp/lamp. lice/lice. light/light. lin/linger. lost/lost. lur/lurk. mange/mangy. mant/manti. mantis/manti. millipede/millipede. mite/mite. mo/moth. mosquito/mosquito. moth/moth. night/night. pest/pesticide. pho/phobia. ro/roach. ro/roache. roach/roach. rot/gut. scarab/scarab. scurry/scurrie. scurry/scurry. scut/scuttle. sick/sickly. sick/sicknes. spider/spider. star/star. sting/sting. swarm/swarm. termite/termite. tin/tiny. twitch/twitch. venom/venom. ver/vermin. wasp/wasp. web/web. weevil/weevil. win/wing. wing/wing. worm/worm. �� . 🐛 . 🐜 . 🐝 . �� . 🕷 . 🦂 . 🦋 . 🦗 . 🦟 .

[anxiousdreamcore]

May I humbly asks for your interpretation/opinion/view of the Spider & Quaritch as well as the Spider & Sullies relationships/dynamics ?

Sure! I’ve complained about how my opinion of the characters changed throughout the year of being engaged in the fandom so I might as well share! 🤭

Spider: An audacious, frat-boy-ish teen who stinks of dirt, sweat and will eat a live bug to gross you out. Kiri said that he bites and she was 100% honest because this kid will fling his mask off and tear into your throat if you mess with his baby siblings 😤 at the same time, he’s more than capable of being responsible and gentle, especially when it comes to Pandora, its wildlife and cultures, all of which are clearly very important to him. A menace with a heart of gold and an iron fucking will, untameable. Unbreakable. No authority scares him.

Quaritch: A man so damaged he can’t be repaired. He’s seen too many horrors, killed too many people, watched too many comrades die, has been infected with too much poison. It runs in his veins and destroys everything he touches…which is precisely why he is only likeable as a father. He has never been one before and that part of him is completely new, not yet damaged. The only part of him not yet tainted by the rotten creature that is the rest of him. A mangy, old army dog that will burn Pandora to the ground if its chain is broken, but will lie down and wag its tail for his child, and only him.

Oh, and he’s mentally ill too, at least to some extent, canonically. It’s not to say that his mental illness makes him a bad guy. No. It’s the lack of care he puts into coping with it that contributes to the dumpster fire that is Miles Quaritch. My personal headcannon is that he needs mood-stabilisers yet regularly skips them.

Spider & Quaritch dynamic: Two outcasts who bond over being isolated by their respective groups. Also, Lima and Stockholm syndrome duo! Quaritch gets an instant liking to Spider that soon grows into fatherly love, as Spider brings out the best in him; his most pure, childish and kind traits. Does the rest of him, the rotten, the poisoned, hate it? Oh, absolutely. But he can’t, won’t stop the wild-child from worming his way deep into his decaying heart. Spider meanwhile battles his own platonic feelings and holds onto his resentment as much as he can. He wants to love Miles but he doesn’t. He loves him but he wishes him an agonising death. He wants to be hugged by him and sink a blade into his chest. He wants Miles to prove him that not all grown ups are rotten and he can still be loved. He wants Miles to love him.

Spider & Sully siblings dynamic: “A family disappointment and local cool stoner to his siblings, who are more than happy to take after him because they think his utter freedom and lack of care for authority is cool” kinda vibe. Will play fight with his siblings and bite their noses before kissing them better and shoving them away. Calls Tuk a little gremlin affectionately. Brings Lo’ak back down to Pandora when he spirals into his insecurities or gets too bold and self-sacrificial. Is platonic soulmates with Kiri and feels a profound connection to her, as she does to him. Resents Neteyam for abandoning their little group to become a "respectable warrior". Wants him back. Wishes things could be like when they were kids.

Spider & Neytiri dynamic: She she sees him as a pesky, dangerous demon child that…that didn’t do anything but stay loyal, through all the torture and horrors. A lot of guilt is present between them after the final battle, and they will definitely have a horrible, explosive argument about it sooner or later, but for now they are content at silently sharing space, at time quipping and taking light jabs at each other, because that is their cycle. Playfulness, fear, resentment, until it all explodes and they scream at each other, then the cycle repeats, fuelled by guilt. Is there a chance to stop it? Will they ever be okay?

Spider & Jake dynamic: Hero worship turned disappointment. Spider idolised him for his status and incredible feats as a child but as he grew, and Jake consistently kept him at an arms length without establishing clear boundaries, the constant pining to have him as a father became a never-ending, aching pain in Socorro’s chest. Jake gave him an empty hope that they might one day be a family, without ever clarifying that it’ll never be true, confusing the boy until he was proved not once, not twice, but thrice, that he isn’t needed, isn’t missed, or loved by Jake. He’s a stray animal, and that is all he’ll ever be to him. He knows better now than to wish for something that can never be…doesn’t even want to. Quaritch might be a horrific monster, but at least he genuinely loves him. He doesn’t need Jake’s pathetic scraps of affection anymore. He doesn’t need him anymore.

•

[tailoroffates]

Writing tips #5 - Conditions

Hey y'all! I'm back again with yet another segment of Writing tips. Today we're going to cover something a bit more vague, conditions. No, not the terms and/or conditions of some contract. What I'm referring to is the current condition of an item, a place, or even a creature.

Clean

Blank, bright, cleansed, clear, dirtless, flawless, fresh, hygienic, immaculate, impeccable, laundered, pristine, pure, sanitary, shining, shiny, sparkling, spick-and-span, spotless, squeaky, stainless, taintless, tidy, unblemished, unpolluted, unsoiled, unsullied, untainted, untarnished, washed, white.

Dirty

Black, contaminated, cruddy, dingy, draggled, dreggy, dungy, dusty, filthy, greasy, grimy, grubby, grungy, icky, impure, mangy, mildewed, moldy, mucky, muddy, murky, nasty, polluted, raunchy, scummy, scuzzy, slimy, smeared, smudged, soiled, soily, snooty, sordid, splotched, spotted, squalid, stained, sullied, sully, tainted, tarnished, unclean, unsanitary, unsightly, unswept.

Damaged

beat-up, bent, blemished, broken, burnt, burst, busted, collapsed, cracked, crippled, crumbed, demolished, destroyed, dinged, discolored, disintegrated, dismembered, flawed, fractured, fragmented, impaired, injured, mangled, marred, mutilated, peeling, pulverized, ripped, ruptured, separated, severed, shattered, shivered, shot, shredded, slivered, smashed, split, tattered, wrecked.

Faultless

Complete, entire, faultless, firm, fixed, flawless, full, intact, mint, perfect, perfect, plenary, preserved, replete, rooted, safe, secure, set, settled, shipshape, solid, sound, stable, steadfast, steady, unblemished, unbroken, uncut, undefiled, undivided, unharmed, unified, unimpaired, uninjured, unmarked, unmarred, unruffled, unscathed, untouched.

Messy

Bedraggled, botchy, careless, cluttered, dirty, disheveled, disordered, disorderly, disorganized, filthy, foul, frowzy, frumpy, grimy, grubby, ill-kempt, lax, littered, muddled, mussy, nasty, raunchy, ruffled, rumpled, shabby, slack, slapdash, slipshod, sloppy, slovenly, uncombed, unkempt, untidy, wrinkled, wrinkly.

Neat

Chipper, clean-cut, combed, detailed, fastidious, groomed, immaculate, kempt, meticulous, orderly, organized, prim, shipshape, snappy, snug, spick-and-span, spruce, tidy, trig, trim, uncluttered, uncluttered, unwrinkled, well-groomed, well-pressed.

New

Advanced, brand-new, contemporary, current, cutting edge, fresh, latest, modern, new-fashioned, newfound, new-sprung, novel, original, recent, stylish, trendy, ultramodern, unfamiliar, unspoiled, untouched, untrodden, unused, up-to-date, youthful.

Old

Abandoned, aged, ancient, antiquated, antique, archaic, broken-down, cast-off, crusty, dated, decayed, decrepit, deteriorated, dilapidated, discarded, dowdy, faded, hackneyed, historical, moth-eaten, neglected, old-fashioned, outdated, out-of-date, outworn, primitive, primordial, raggedy, rickety, run-down, rusty, scruffy, shabby, shoddy, stale, tattered, threadbare, time-worn, traditional, used, worm-eaten, worn, worn-out, wrinkly.

[bbm80]

did that "get ur mangy ass on"/"t-t-t-t- face" tiktok... i can now draw tojis worm spirit really well :))

if u want to subject urself to it here

i can't animateeeee :(((

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.18

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - A dance is held.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2k

Hiiiiiii. I decided to skip the other questioning scene mostly bc I just didn’t wanna write it. I might do a flashback to it later but 🤷🏻‍♀️. Anyway!! I hope we all have a homie like Martyn who will forgive our crimes no questions asked. Here’s some nice Harp music if u want the vibes. All the songs mentioned are in asoiaf.

Shanda was oddly excited given the circumstances, Benjicot had, as he promised, ripped her to shreds during questioning. It was embarrassing to even think about it. She had never been very good at hiding her emotions, displaying them on her face clear as day. He had known that and used it to a harrowing degree. It was lucky she had Martyn to back her up or it would’ve been even worse. Her brother was another can of worms she still had to deal with. But none of this was why she was spinning around her room, excited.

After the disaster of questioning, Lord Elmo had made an announcement.

“Alright you mangy cunts, before I break your hearts and shatter your dreams, I have a proposal. And no, it is not voluntary. You will show up.”

Grumbles went up at that but he had only shot a look that communicated death on protest into the crowd before continuing.

“We’re going to have a dance tonight. That’s right, a proper ball! Now, when was the last time we were all together like this? This is an opportunity for you all to start fresh and build some new relationships. You will behave or I promise a little dance with a pretty girl will be the least of your worries.”

The room was buzzing with whispers before he even finished and Shanda had missed whatever he said after that. As she had already made her way through the crowd to her brother.

“I believe we’ll have a chance to sneak out before it ends to truly talk. I swear, I’ll tell you everything.”

To his credit, Martyn hadn’t been upset at all. Just nodded before he melted into the crowd, losing her and any prying eyes. It was just as well he did as Alysanne found her right after.

“Come on, let’s find something for you to wear.”

Shanda had decided to forgive Alysanne as she hadn’t testified against her. Not that the testimony wouldn’t really contribute one way or the other in the end. It was the thought that mattered. So she let her lead the way.

“How do you know these halls so well?” She asked after the third winding corridor they had turned down.

“Go to enough of these trials and you get bored. Elmo’s like a grumpy uncle, doesn’t mind me poking around a few places. Given I do my part to sway the idiots at home when sentencing rolls around.”

“Are you ever successful?”

Alysanne laughed, grabbing her arm. “Sometimes. Mostly no, but I do try my best.”

Shanda nodded, that was as she figured. At last they came to a door that looked the same as any other but when Alysanne pulled it open, it appeared to be a clothes storage room.

“How strange. Why do they have this?” She asked, looking in at all the various pieces.

“Hand me downs. Elmo says they’ve got generations of Tully ancestors' clothes in here. Which is why he doesn’t mind that we borrow some. Now let’s look.”

Shanda had not looked long when she came across the dress she wanted. It was made so that two pieces joined together over one another. The sleeves were a part of the undergown and blue, so dark it was nearly black. The overgown of the dress was an intricate gold design with calla lilies stitched on in white. It took her breath away. She hadn’t even bothered to see what Alysanne was getting, just grabbed the dress and left.

That led her to where she was now, happily spinning around her room in the beautiful gown. It would be nice to have a single night where she didn’t have to worry about anything. She could just dance and eat, then sneak away to beg her brother's pardon for lacking the good sense the gods gave her. She thought it was ambitious of Lord Elmo to think they could pull this off without any quarreling. But perhaps everyone could behave for just one night.

A knock sounded at her door. She moved to answer it and was delighted to see Martyn standing outside.

“Seems we’ve finally convinced them I’m not going to abscond with you.”

She snorted, taking his offered arm. “Yeah right. Lord Elmo probably tripled the guards for tonight. Fat chance we’ll be sneaking anywhere.” She said loudly enough the guard at her door could hear. It was the first time she had seen him actually stand outside her door.

She dragged her feet so they would not arrive so soon.

“Martyn, I should’ve warned you. I knew he was going to be insane. I, well, suppose I was ashamed.” Her face was tinged pink with remembrance.

“I don’t care. I never did. That day Royce pushed you in the river, I nearly cut his head off.”

She stopped at that, putting a hand on his chest shocked. “You didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes at her before continuing to walk. “Obviously, he’s still here. But I strongly considered it, crazy thing is he would’ve let me. He just accepted that I would kill him and that he deserved it.”

Shanda frowned, her brother had a haunted look in his eyes telling her.

“It’s not right. All of us are fighting. Our mother would be livid to see it, Shan.”

That tugged a smile on her face. Their mother would be yelling at them all.

“‘Family’s all you’ve got!’” She mimicked and Martyn chuckled.

“Too bad she left us with this family and not some other one.” He sighed.

“Come on, let’s find Royce. See if we can’t get him drunk enough to forgive me.” She exclaimed as they entered the great hall once more.

All of the tables were removed, besides the few that held food and drinks. Beautiful streamers of blue and red covered the corners of the room, embroidered with the Tully sigil. Shanda was awe struck by the bead work on them, they flashed iridescent giving the impression of real life scales.

“Let me talk to him first.”

He was gone by the time she replied off handedly, “Yeah, sure.”

She had gotten up close to the banner, admiring the impressive needle work. The beads were pieces of broken clam shell, sewn into the fabric. It must be tedious work to break the shells and then make holes in them.

“A Tully specialty.”

She jumped at Lord Elmo’s booming voice. She’d been so focused she hadn’t noticed him approaching.

“It’s beautiful. Must be awfully tedious work though.” She smiled up at the lord.

“No more so than presiding over court.”

She blushed at that, feeling a bit ashamed.

“I suppose not.”

He clapped her on the back. “Ah don’t worry about it! It always works out in the end. Though, not so well. Or else you all wouldn’t keep coming back.”

On that rather contradictory note, the lord left. Flowers of spring was playing in the background as she looked around the room. It was evident that the riverlanders had taken Lord Elmo’s words to heart. As she saw many of them talking cordially and a few brave souls had even dared to dance.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” It was Beck Grey who asked.

“Is that? No, it couldn’t possibly be Rebecken Grey. He’s only five two and has a gap tooth.”

Beck smiled at her, every tooth gleaming in the torch light as he led her onto the floor.

“Amazing what seven years will do for a man, is it not?”

They spun around the floor together effortlessly. Beck was a cousin of hers on her mother’s side and it had been a great deal of time since she had seen him.

“I have to agree, it will do wonders. My knees are not half so knobbly now and my aim is much improved.”

“So I hear. Is that how you managed to almost slay Benjicot?” He smiled coyly at her.

“Oh cousin, a dance is not enough for secrets I’m afraid. But if Aunty Harra really wants to know, tell her I’m sure we can work out a deal.”

He shook his head at her ruefully. “Some things never change, eh?”

Before she could answer him they were interrupted.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Shanda would’ve advised her cousin that yes they did mind but he had already stepped aside. He shot him a nasty look as he walked away but he just winked.

“How are you enjoying the dance?” Benjicot asked once they began to move together.

The song had switched to Fallen Leaves which was slower and much sadder.

“Fine before you butted in. Can’t find another pretty girl to bother in all of the riverlands?”

They swayed back and forth, barely turning about.

“Why should I? I’ve made my intentions clear.”

“How about common decen-“

He interrupted her, pulling her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

“Decency is me covering for you while you sneak out to try and rebuild your sibling bond.”

She pulled back aghast. How did he know? Rolling her eyes she blew out a frustrated breath.

“Stop spying on me!”

“Okay sweetheart, but you might want to make your move now. I think the little one is making a break for it.”

Shanda saw what he meant as she met Martyn’s eyes across the floor. He looked exasperated and was quickly going after a hurried Royce.

“Shit.” She muttered before rushing after them.

Benjicot pulled her up short though.

“Wait, half the room will see you follow if you go now. Dance one more with me.”

He was probably right but she really didn’t care at the moment.

“No, I’ll miss them if I wait!”

But he held on to her firmly as the song shifted into the familiar tones of Fall of Maidenpool. She wrinkled her brow as the harp picked up.

“Lord Elmo’s a bit on the nose with this one.” She laughed.

“What do you mean?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You’re joking right?”

When he stared blankly at her she groaned and explained.

“It’s about the fall of Maidenpool, the defeat of a Riverlander by the Andals. Florian the brave, one of the last great kings. It’s a metaphor for all of us. Hatred, spite and violence are our Andals, and we let them in every day. Tearing ourselves apart from the inside and because of it our lands are weak, disorganized. Ready for a collapse, just like Maidenpool.” She sighed, gutted at the thought.

When she looked back at Benjicot, he was staring at her.

“I think you’ll be safe to go now.” He whispered.

She was out of his grasp and out the door in the next instant, the sound of Maidenpool drifting further away as she looked for her brothers. Walking along the halls it didn’t take her long to hear them.

“…sense of it!”

“Just wait! She’s coming to explain.”

Martyn’s expression was one of relief as she rounded the corner and layed eyes on him. Royce was standing upright looking tense, whereas Martyn sat calmly on the floor.

“See,” Martyn beamed. “Here she is.”

“Right well, explain then.”

“Royce, you hot headed fool.” She held up a hand to silence him when he tried to interrupt her. “Listen to me. However much I grieve that mother went away in hopes of procuring me a suitor, I do not hold myself responsible and do you know why?”

He silently raged in front of her.

“Because our mother could not be swayed nor bullied into doing anything less than what she set out to do. There was nothing you, me or even our father could’ve said to pull her back. Secondly, I have not given up hope on finding her killers and if you give me some time I just might.”

“Oh bullshit, Shanda. You can’t sneak your way into finding everything out.”

“No but you can fucking negotiate your way into just about anything. Pull your head out of your ass! The entire riverlands is here, Royce. Waiting in that room for three very interesting Brackens to chat them up. They are dying for us to talk to them, make a move. Do something useful and help me!”

She could see the struggle playing out in her brother's mind across his face. He made a frustrated noise before running his hands through his hair.

“What do I say?”

Shanda smirked at Martyn before the three of them set to scheming.

[cadere-art]

A collection of urban creatures.

Fetwê

, a minuscule diurnal pterosaur, polinizer of large flowers and devourer of overripe fruit.

Painted clouds, a genus of secondarily flightless arboreal pterosaurs, thieves of shiny items and bane of gardens.

Oujabe, domestic, beloved, gardians of homes and sacred places, but also sometimes feral and mangy and persecuted.

Gacari, tiny, lithe, and omnivorous, roam the street at nights in large packs and raid trash, worm boxes and cricket coops for any passably edible protein.

[palespawn]

❝ the lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart. ❞

“   eugh, are we talking figuratively or literally? ” astarion deflects, his gesturing fingers mimic a cut-and-tear-out-your-heart motion, as if wielding a dagger. he blurts out a chuckle in a single breath, “   i will ... be doing neither, i'm afraid. i only just got the sewer stench out of my blouse. i'd hate to ruin all that hard work― well. jenna's hard work, strictly speaking, ” jenna? yenny? or, yenna? the orphan girl who had wormed her way into camp with the mangy feline and a sob story. that one. it was the least she could do, considering her kidnapping meant venturing into the lower city sewers and wading through filth. of which, he had voted against, mind you. but well, majority rules ... much to his chagrin. if @dekarsus wanted to mingle with the city's peasants and fleas thereafter, he was more than welcome to. astarion, on the other hand, wouldn't be caught dead. “   oh, but don't let that dissuade you, of course. just don't come crawling back to me when that bleeding little heart of yours is literally bleeding. ”

[f1-disaster-bi]

Hello there. You do the shifter fics right? So this is short but sweet (or maybe just silly). Fox Lando sleeps anywhere - just like human Lando - and one of his favourite things to do is curl up and snooze in his own helmet. Then human Lando complains that there's mangy old dog hair in his helmet and Pierre gets kinda annoyed at him for calling the sweetest lil pupper-fox in the world a mangy old dog. But it's confusing because he feels that he has to defend Lando against Lando and he wants to cuddle him and woop him upside the head all at the same time.

I do! And I absolutely love this idea! It's so perfect for them 🥺 and Lando absolutely would sleep in the weirdest places

The first time Pierre couldn't find Lando after a race, it was Jon that had led him over to the helmet tucked away in a low down cubby in the garage where Lando was curled up. His little fox form fitting perfectly inside the helmet.

"It's his spare helmet, he claims its like a little burrow", Jon had rolled his eyes affectionately, handing the helmet to Pierre.

Pierre had cradled it against his chest, stroking fingers down Lando's little head until the other had woken up and wormed his way inside of Pierres hoodie.

Now, it no longer surprised him when he found Lando snoozing in a helmet. His camera roll was filled with dozens of pictures of little ears or a little head peaking out of a helmet as Lando napped. Pierre even had a few of Lando napping in his helmets that made his heart do funny things especially after Lando said it smelled good and felt safe.

Yet the one thing that baffled him about it was this: Lando complaining as if he wasn't the one sleeping in the helmets.

"They're always full of furr and smell funny", Lando wrinkled his nose, toe budging his helmet that was resting on the floor of his drivers room, "It's dumb fox furr, it's gross"

Pierre could feel his eye twitching at the words.

"You're not dumb or gross", Pierre argued, wrapping an arm around Lando as the younger leaned into his side.

"It's gross, mangey dog hair", Lando shivered with fake digest.

For a moment Pierre just froze. His brain wanted to defend Lando, but who was he defending him against? It was human Lando vs Fox Lando and that scrambled Pierre’s brain as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say or do.

Did he argue, cuddle Lando close or smack the back of his head and call him stupid for making fun of himself?

And then he noticed it, the little grin Lando had on and the way he was watching Pierre out of the corner of his eye.

The little shit was winding him up.

Pierre just sighed and looked up at the ceiling as Lando giggled in victory.

He truly was dating a little menace.

[jannwrites]

music ask meme : MANGY BONES (2021) EP.

a selection of lyrics from mangy bones' 2021 ep. modified slightly for rp purposes.

there's a scavenger on the wind.

they roam in the land of the dust and bones.

isn't it a gruesome sight to see, when the worms are your company?

late at night when the moon hangs low, you can see a silhouette in the glow.

i know the time is running low, but there's still a place to go.

give 'em back to the earth again.

we left our meager home in search of better sights.

the ocean is a meadow where we lay our bones.

it goes on forever. a tomb of the unknown.

we'll forever roam.

i don't mind the rain clouds.

the storms never seem to bring me down.

the water's on the rise in this town.

there's not another soul around.

it's a shelter from this wicked place.

this is a world that's full of scavengers and hounds.

i don't mind the sunshine, but tidal waves will wash us underground.

underneath the pavement, life is good. our friends are all around.

a coyote waits in the dark.

it's watching me under the stars.

don't lead me straight to the slaughter.

they're watching under the silver light.

they're stalking now for a time that's right.

they're haunting with those pale green eyes.

[strangestcase]

we should have gotten more jekyll and hyde in the 2003 LXG movie because i want it to be clear. hyde is not badass or cool or anything. i mean he is. in my heart. but all things considered it doesnt matter that his upper body is like 99% muscle he is fucking diseased. he's got a mangy balding scalp and rotten teeth and disgusting chipped nails. he doesn't shower he doesn't shave he literally had to threaten a tailor into making him a big fucking top hat cape and cane because he could NOT live without his personal brand but still went around in a torn shirt because he thinks it looks though (it doesn't). he has silly sideburns. there are less parts of his body without freckles than parts with them. he has the Mighty Need to be the wittiest person in the room no matter what. he thinks mozart is too femme for him. he's into impressionism. his go-to insult is "worm" because he's on that alpha villain grindset. he has kinky bisexual sex and he thinks that cancels out everything else.

[marysunburn]

Lethal Eyes

During Azir’s early days of recovery he gets a private tent.

That’s one of the luxuries his retinue is actually the least reticent about: he’s sick and needs privacy, there’s enough tents for everybody, so it’s not like His Imperial Majesty is kicking other people into the cold so he can stay warm (Azir would totally do that), and most of all he seems to have a very specific trigger about being seen.

His private coach, where he moves afterwards, has two main entrances. There’s a door on the shorter side, opposite Azir’s bed and vanity, but the longer side can also be fully opened up on both corners – not unlike a French door – and, with the help of some tents, it turns the cozy, but still tight imperial caravan into a portable hall to hold councils and socialize.

Azir never uses it once until they finally reach Nazumah. In fact he always keeps both doors firmly bolted most of the times, receiving his food through the window and oftentimes never even leaving bed.

-My lord, it’s a beautiful morning-, Taliyah would say. -Come out, have some sun on your face. It’ll do you good.-

-I’d rather not.- Azir would say instead. -I demand not to be seen for the time being.-

If Taliyah could glance through the walls she’s see Azir sitting on a rug in the middle of the tent, scrubbing at his feathers with a dry brush. Sometimes, despite Nasus’ best effort and selfless care in removing all the worms and maggots, Azir still finds some bugs in his body. He’s seen how they’re removed, but he doesn’t have Nasus’ firm grasp and gentle movements.

And why would he, he’s never been taught how to care for anyone… and this includes himself.

So blood seeps on the rugs, feathers fall off, and Azir lays back in bed fully covered because he doesn’t want to see any of it.

A mangy, skinny hawk abomination with stitched eyes. What a splendid ascended he’s become.

Xerath was right, he was so terribly dreadfully right. I should have never…

One night Nasus finds Azir’s mirror shattered and his baby bird curled up among the rubble, head between the knees. Blood seeps through the feathers on the arms, where the splinters have cut.

The curator sighs. “My lord, what is it this time? Show me… hush, hush. I’m here.”

“I just…”

Azir averts his eyes. He knows Nasus hates being stuck with him because of his loyalty and lineage. He has libraries to attend, archives to protect… and he’s stuck tending to the house’s failure, unable to protect even himself.

“Don’t want to be seen.”

[quiverymango]

*cracks knuckles dramatically* Ah man, I can't not take this opportunity to ramble a bit, even if my lore is like all over the place lol. Anyways, this is my son, he has every disease

Lore rambles below cut!

I based his design off imps, as he's subconsciously demonized by the Dreamer to appear more demonic and monstrous since he's the culmination of so many things Sunny hates, and in turn, sees as sins.

Stranger can still shapeshift into shadowy variants of Sunny's other friends, but the monstrous features are only on full display when he's in his primary form, Basil. In any other form he just has smaller differences, such as claws or extra mangy hair, but nothing as dramatic as a tail and horns. His skin is also scaled when he takes on a more corporeal form, these scales are present no matter the form he takes. He also has Something shaped paw pads on both his hands and feet and that is such an important detail to me lmao.

Not depicted in my art, but he also has the ability to breathe plumes of Pyrefly Fire (the blue fire found in Pyrefly Forest). This feature was solely added because I have eternal dragon brainrot lmao. The fire has a wide range of abilities, due to its magical properties, so comes in handy when need-be. However, he isn't a fan of using it because he feels it's an ability that greatly separates himself from his humanity.

Losing his humanity is his greatest personal fear. He's not sure what he is, aside from being the one to guide the Dreamer to the Truth. He's defined by his purpose, but after that purpose is fulfilled, he's left questioning himself. What truly separates him from the flower boy he was carved from? A lot of course, he's his own being after all, but he's gotta discover that himself and that's a whole other can of worms that I won't open because I'm still developing it lol.

He's also very self conscious of his monstrous features because of this fear. He figured out why he has them, but that doesn't make him feel any better, if anything it makes him feel worse.

After the True Ending, Black Space would cease to be. Most residents would cease with it, however, some were spared for reasons unknown and so migrated to Headspace–Stranger was one of these spared beings. Eventually he would weasel his way into the Headspace friend group and they would be the ones to help him realize and embrace his individuality, he'd eventually even come to love his demonic features despite them originating from a place of pure hatred.

I also have this version of him from the Hikikomori route where he has a more virus-like appearance! This concept was inspired by Black Space 2 being accessible through the White Space laptop! I'm still fleshing this out, and I'm not sure if it'll be an AU or something, but for now it's just the motif my version of Stranger takes on in Black Space/Black Space 2 when the Dreamer goes down the Hikikomori route because he's a dramatic little guy lol.

Ok that was a lot, I will shut up now lmao

stranger in your style chain

since people draw stranger with so much variation and only stranger

repost to show me how you yourself draw stranger from hit game omori

you can add descriptions and lore (i'll eat it up)