#red rock wilderness

[proasailor]

2 Miles into the West Fork Canyon (Canyon Eden Collection) 50 f/9 1/400s ISO 400

[jmpphoto]

Fire and Ice by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Fire and Ice South Virgin Mountains Valley of Fire State Park Nevada

[imwithmars]

Depeche Mode - Rock Werchter Festival in 1985

[arizonapix]

[thorsenmark]

A Breathtaking Setting in Coconino National Forest by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A setting looking to the northeast while taking in views across eroded formations, cliff walls and peaks present along the Fay Canyon Trail in Coconino National Forest.

[youllbehappyandwholesomeagain]

"Each of us belongs to a particular landscape, one that informs who we are, a place that carries our history, our dreams... And in each of these places, home work is required, a participation in public life to make certain all is not destroyed under the banner of progress, expediency, or ignorance. We cannot do it alone. This is the hope of a bedrock democracy, standing our ground in the places we love, together." -Terry Tempest Williams, Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert

[witchywithwhiskey]

Ari + 28. “take it like a good girl and stop whining” + 82. “you think your begging is going to change my mind?"

a fruitful afternoon in the strawberry field

pairing: farmer husband!ari levinson x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, breeding kink, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, no condoms, cockwarming, dry humping, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, dirty talk, praise kink, little bit of bratting, light bdsm, begging, teasing, pet names (wildflower, honey), aftercare, fluff, established relationship

word count: 2,500ish

a/n: ahhh Eva it took me a little while to come up with a fic from these prompts, but i have a feeling you'll enjoy this one 😅 (at least i hope so!!) i'm pretty happy with how this turned out, and i especially love the concept of strawberry farmer ari levinson. i just love him so much and i hope everyone else does too!! ♡♡

The spring sunshine was warm against your skin, the soft breeze caressing your face and the day seemed all the brighter because you were standing next to your husband, Ari Levinson, in an open field of growing strawberries. And he was looking particularly handsome on that spring afternoon. His brown hair glinted gold in the sun, his cheeks rosy with the heat, and when he looked at you, his blue eyes sparkled like the surface of the sea.

While your thoughts were wandering, Ari was bent down, checking on the growth of his strawberries, which were just beginning to turn from green to red as the warmth of spring deepened into the heat of summer. They would be ripe soon, and in just a few weeks, the fields would be swarming with people who came from all over to pick their own strawberries at Ari’s farm.

But on that spring afternoon, it was just you and Ari, the strawberry fields stretching out around you until they ended in the tree line that separated the farm from the wilderness beyond. You were alone, and your husband looked far too enticing kneeling in the dirt he’d sowed himself for you to pass up an opportunity to show him how much you adored him.

Which was how Ari ended up on his back between the rows of strawberries, your knees planted on either side of his hips and your bare pussy rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. Your sundress fluttered around your thighs as your hips rocked, your hands pressed flat against Ari’s stomach, your fingertips digging into the layer of softness that cushioned his muscles beneath.

“That’s it, wildflower, take what you need—rub that achy little cunt all over daddy’s bulge,” Ari rumbled, his big hands gripping your hips. Neither of you paid any mind to how he was rubbing dirt into the cotton of your sundress, making you just as dirty as him. “Does it feel good, honey?”

You mewled your response, tipping your head back so your face was turned toward the sun. It felt better than good. Ari’s bulge was thick and hard between your thighs, and your slit was already so wet and messy, it made the slide against his rough jeans feel deliciously wonderful. You felt like you could ride Ari’s bulge for hours and never get tired of it. 

But then Ari thrust his hips up from beneath you, bouncing you on his lap and your eyes flew open, finding your husband’s gaze as he stared up at you like a goddess made mortal. Your inner walls clenched around nothing and you whimpered, your arms trembling as your elbows gave out and you collapsed against your husband’s chest. Sizzling pleasure raced down your spine and through your nerves, making you shake and shudder.

“Need your cock, daddy,” you whined, your fingers grabbing fistfuls of Ari’s shirt as you clung to him, your hips still writhing as you stole as much pleasure from his bulge as you could manage. Lifting your head, you sought your husband’s gaze again, giving him your most pitiful pleading look. “Need you to fill me up, wanna feel your big cock stretch my little hole, daddy, please.” 

Ari brushed the backs of his fingers over your cheek and he gave you a regretful look. “Condoms are in the house, wildflower,” he said, his words a reminder that you were off your birth control. And if you’d thought about it harder, you’d have remembered it wasn’t a safe time of the month. 

But you weren’t thinking about the risks or what the two of you had previously discussed. You were thinking about Ari’s cock splitting you open and and his seed spilling deep in your cunt. You were thinking about your belly growing round and swollen with Ari’s baby. You were thinking about your husband breeding you. 

You wanted it so badly, it took your breath away—it was all you wanted. But it wasn’t what the two of you had decided. Still, you were so needy, you couldn’t stop yourself from begging your husband for his cock, even if he wouldn’t breed you. 

“I don’t care, daddy,” you whined, pushing yourself up until you were sitting on Ari’s lap again. His bulge was so hard and heavy between your thighs and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking harder on it. “I need you—I need you,” you cried, barely stopping yourself from begging him for a baby. Your voice was high and thin and pleading, and you held Ari’s gaze as you trailed your fingers down his chest, hooking them into the hem of his jeans. “I’ll be good, I swear,” you promised, giving him an innocent look.

Ari huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curving into a grin like he couldn’t help himself when it came to you—and you knew he couldn’t. Ari knew you well enough to know what you really wanted, and you knew your husband well enough that you knew he was close to giving it to you.

“You’re gonna be good for me, huh, honey?” Ari rumbled, his grin spreading wider and his blue eyes sparkling up at you. “So, that means you won’t start begging me to put a baby in your belly when I’m balls deep in your sweet cunt?” Ari asked dryly, raising a playful eyebrow at you. 

Your core clenched at Ari’s words and you instinctively pressed down harder against his bulge, your pussy dripping onto his jeans and soaking the front of his pants. But you ignored your body’s response and nodded, an eager smile on your lips. You knew you were lying, and you knew Ari knew you were lying from the long look he gave you, but you both decided to play along anyway.

“Fine, fine,” Ari huffed, biting back a laugh that shook his chest. His hands gathered the skirt of your sundress and pushed it up until he could see your slick cunt rubbing idly against his bulge. You watched his eyes darken and his mouth curve into a hungry smirk. “Take daddy’s cock out, wildflower.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans for a moment before you managed to get it open. Then you pulled down his fly and reached inside to take his cock in your hands. He was thick and long and perfect and you smiled as you stroked him reverently. But you were too impatient to do more than that, pushing yourself up onto your knees to line yourself up with the tip. 

You were plenty wet, but Ari was so big and thick that it only took the head of his cock pushing into your tight hole for you to start whining. “Daddy, daddy, you’re so big,” you mewled, raising your hips and pressing down again, taking another inch of his hard cock inside you. 

“You begged for this, wildflower,” Ari said through gritted teeth, the muscle in his jaw popping as you sank your hot cunt down on his cock. “Take it like a good girl and stop whining.” 

His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine and a low moan slipped from your lips as you pushed down on his cock, taking him deeper. Your pussy ached at the stretch, but it was a delicious kind of pain and you wanted more of it. Lifting up, you slammed back down on Ari’s cock, taking him another couple of inches. 

“Oh god, daddy, it feels so good,” you cried on a gasp, fucking yourself on Ari’s cock as you took him deeper with each thrust. 

His hands gripped your hips, holding your dress up out of the way so he could watch you impale yourself on his cock. Otherwise, he laid still between your thighs, content to watch you do all the work, which only made you hotter. 

Your hands let go of his shirt and began playing with your tits, groping yourself through your dress. “Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, fucking yourself on his cock, taking him deeper with ever downward thrust. “Your big cock feels so good in my tight little pussy, daddy, just wanna ride your dick all day.”

“Don’t know how long ‘m gonna last, honey, you feel like heaven around me,” Ari murmured, his voice warm and thick as honey on a hot spring day. “So tight and warm and perfect—your perfect pussy wrapped around my dick.” He groaned when you sank down the final inch and your bodies were joined together to the root of his cock. 

You moaned and rocked your hips, feeling his cock shift deep inside you, the tip kissing your cervix and making you clench hard around him. You knew you’d promised to be good, but your need for your husband to breed you was too strong. 

“When you come, come inside me,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop yourself.

Between one moment and the next, Ari’s eyes caught yours and he sat up, one of his hands wrapping around the back of your neck and holding you still on his lap while he half-heartedly glared at you. 

“I thought you were going to be a good girl for me, wildflower,” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous in that way that made you shiver. Despite the growly tenor of his tone, you knew there was no anger in your husband, and you gave him a playful smile.

“We both know I was lying, daddy,” you said sweetly, innocently batting your lashes at your husband. You leaned in until your lips were ghosting over his, teasing him. “Besides, we both know you love it when I beg you to fuck a baby into me,” you whispered, confidence in your sultry tone. “You wanna plant your seed in me and watch my belly swell with the child we made together, don’t you daddy?”

Ari growled and captured your lips in a fierce kiss, showing you exactly how much he wanted what you described. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. 

“We decided to wait until the summer to get pregnant, honey,” he rumbled, reminding you of the conversations you’d had when you weren’t drunk on his cock. But his free hand was urging your hips to rock on him, making it impossible for you to care about what you’d decided before.

You moaned helplessly, feeling Ari’s cock twitch and throb inside you, the tip rubbing against a spot that made you see stars. Pleasure was swirling through your body, your clit grinding against the base of him, and it was too much. You couldn’t have stopped the words from flowing from your mouth even if you’d wanted to.

“Knock me up, daddy, please, I wanna have your baby,” you begged desperately, uncaring of what you and Ari decided before you’d gone into the fields and sank down on his cock. “I can’t wait until the summer, I want you to put a baby in me now—breed me, please, daddy, daddy, please, please, please.”

Ari groaned as his hand tightened around the back of your neck. “You think your begging is going to change my mind?” he growled, pressing hard, suckling kisses to your neck, his beard rasping over your skin and his teeth nipping at your jaw. “You think your sweet pleading is going to make me forget what we decided?”

In one fluid movement, Ari flipped you onto your back, laying you down in the hay that covered the dirt between the rows of strawberries and he settled his hips between your thighs. His cock sank even deeper into your cunt and you moaned mindlessly, tossing your head back against the soft ground. Ari pushed your knees up toward your chest until you were bent in half in a mating press. His eyes, wild with hunger and desire, met yours, and his mouth twisted into a needy snarl.

“Because it did,” he growled and began fucking you hard and fast. 

His big cock bottoming out in your tight pussy made you scream in pleasure, your fingers diving into your husband’s soft hair. You clung to him while he rutted into you like a man possessed—like a man intent on breeding his wife.  

“We’re making a baby today, honey,” Ari promised, ducking down to capture your lips in a messy, brutal kiss. “I’m fucking you full of my seed right here in the strawberry field until you’re ripe and swollen with my child.” He trailed kisses down your cheek until his mouth was right next to your ear. “You’re going to make such a pretty mommy, wildflower.”

Your whole body clenched at Ari’s filthy words, and all you could do was chant, “yes, yes, yes, daddy, daddy, daddy,” as he pounded into you. Your pleasure built quickly, and it wasn’t long before you were mewling and moaning and writhing beneath Ari’s big body, only for him to pin you down more firmly and reach between your bodies to find your clit.

Ari rubbed your tight little button in harsh circles and you were helpless to the pleasure. You came with a shrill cry, your head tilted back, face turned toward the sun and the smell of earth and strawberries filling your senses. Your body clenched tight, your hands fisting in your husband’s hair as your pussy squeezed his cock. 

With a low groan, Ari followed you over the edge, mumbling, “Gonna make you a mommy, honey, can’t wait to see you round with my child—so pretty, so pretty—my pretty little wildflower.” He pressed deep inside you, and you felt his cock throb in your cunt, his seed spilling into your womb while he groaned his pleasure. 

Ari rocked into you, making you moan as he fucked his come deeper inside you, until you were both trembling with the overstimulation. Digging an arm beneath your back, Ari flipped you both over so he was laying on the ground and you were sprawled across his chest. His come leaked out around where his softening length was still lodged inside you, but neither of you could be bothered with trying to clean it up yet.

The spring sunshine was warm on your back and Ari was strong and sturdy beneath you, his heart beating against his ribcage under your cheek. You smiled to yourself and hoped that Ari’s seed would take. You couldn’t wait to have a child with him, even if it was a little earlier than you’d planned. 

Lifting your head, you caught your husband’s eye and were happy to see he looked just as content as you felt. Leaning up, you caught his lips in a kiss that said everything you needed to say—you loved him, you appreciated him, you couldn’t wait to grow your little family with him. And he returned your feelings in kind, kissing you back. 

The two of you stayed out under the spring sun longer than you’d originally intended when you’d tagged along with Ari to check on the progress of the crop. But it turned out to be a fruitful afternoon in the strawberry field—though it wouldn’t be until well after the strawberries had ripened and been picked that you learned just how successful your spring romp had been.

[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[novaursa]

I love your writing! Could you please do one where Targaryen reader (it can be Rhaenyra's sister) is taking Gwayne for the first time to meet her dragon and takes him for a ride. Thanks

The Wild Heart

- Summary: You introduce Gwayne to your dragon, Grey Ghost.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and bonded to the dragon Grey Ghost. I've broken my own rule about 1000 words here, but since you guys like Gwayne so much, I've decided to expand this a bit more. Enjoy.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

You stand on the edge of the ridge, the sea breeze tangling itself in your silver-blonde hair, lifting strands into the crisp, salt-filled air. Below, the waters of Blackwater Bay shimmer like molten silver, catching the light of the setting sun. Behind you, the Red Keep is barely visible, a hulking shadow against the vast sky. But it's not the castle that holds your attention today—it’s the man beside you, Gwayne Hightower, and the dragon that waits in the distance, somewhere between the clouds and the sea, hidden in the wilderness just beyond the Dragonpit.

He stands close, his expression serious, but you can feel the underlying excitement radiating from him. Gwayne has heard the tales, the whispered stories of your dragon, Grey Ghost—wild, elusive, temperamental. Unlike the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, Grey Ghost has never truly been tamed. He lingers along the coast and cliffs, only returning when he chooses. Not a single rider before you had ever claimed him, not until you.

You glance at Gwayne, studying his face as the wind picks up. His strong jaw is set in a determined line, and his eyes, a bright shade of blue, seem darker in the fading light. He’s dressed in his Hightower armor, though you both know he’s not here for battle. The armor is more a shield for his nerves, a thin veil of control in the face of what’s to come.

"Are you ready?" you ask, your voice quiet but firm, just loud enough to be heard over the gusts of wind.

Gwayne turns to you, and for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps doubt, or wonder—passes across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a faint, teasing smile. "As ready as a man can be to meet his future wife's dragon," he replies, the words tinged with amusement, though there’s a touch of nervousness there too.

You smile at that, a small curl of your lips. "Grey Ghost isn’t like the others in the pit. He won’t simply obey because I will it. He’s… unpredictable." You let the words hang in the air for a moment, hoping to prepare him for what’s coming. "But he’ll listen to me. Trust that."

Gwayne nods, though you can sense the weight of his uncertainty. He’s seen dragons before, of course. As a member of House Hightower, he’s familiar with their majesty and their danger. But this is different. This is your dragon, your bond. And Grey Ghost is no mere dragon of the pit. He is wild fire made flesh, with wings of smoke and ash.

You take a step forward, motioning for him to follow as you descend the rocky path that leads to the clearing below. Your boots crunch against the stones, the sea below crashing against the cliffs. Gwayne is right behind you, silent now, his presence a steady warmth at your back. Together, you approach the place where you know Grey Ghost waits.

As you round a bend in the path, the clearing opens up before you, vast and wild, with tall grasses swaying in the breeze. And there, at the far end, resting in the shadow of a massive stone outcrop, lies Grey Ghost.

Even from this distance, the size of him is breathtaking. His scales, a smoky grey that gleam faintly in the dying light, seem to blend with the rocks around him, making him appear almost ethereal, as though he’s part of the landscape itself. His wings are folded close to his body, but you know their full span would darken the sky if he chose to spread them wide.

Gwayne inhales sharply, and you feel his awe as though it were your own.

"Gods," he murmurs, almost under his breath, as he gazes upon the beast.

You step closer, your heart quickening with the familiar pull of your bond. Grey Ghost stirs, his massive head lifting as he senses your approach. His eyes, burning like molten gold, lock onto yours. There’s recognition there, an unspoken understanding, but also a warning—a reminder of his wild nature.

You stop a few feet from him and extend a hand, palm up, in a gesture of peace. "Come forth." You speak in the High Valyrian tongue, your voice steady, commanding.

Grey Ghost watches you for a moment longer, then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he rises to his feet. His wings unfurl slightly, the leather-like membranes rustling in the wind as he stretches his neck toward you. There’s a rumble deep in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet. But he does as you bid, moving forward with a grace that belies his size.

Gwayne stands frozen at your side, his breath caught in his throat, though his hand instinctively moves to the hilt of his sword—a gesture of protection more than aggression. You place a calming hand on his arm, shaking your head gently.

"He won’t harm you," you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure if you’re saying it to reassure him or yourself. "Not if I’m here."

With slow, deliberate movements, you step closer to Grey Ghost, your fingers brushing against the rough texture of his scales. He is warm beneath your touch, like the heat of a roaring fire contained within his massive frame. Grey Ghost’s eyes never leave you, and for a moment, there’s a connection, a silent exchange of trust and respect.

Turning back to Gwayne, you gesture for him to come closer. "It’s alright," you say softly. "He knows me. And now, he must know you."

Gwayne hesitates, his hand still hovering near his sword, but after a brief moment of consideration, he takes a step forward. His gaze never leaves Grey Ghost’s hulking form, his caution palpable. Slowly, almost reverently, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the dragon’s side, just as yours had moments before.

The air between the three of you seems to still, the wind dying down as though the world itself is holding its breath. Grey Ghost rumbles again, a low, deep sound that resonates through the ground, but he doesn’t move. He allows the touch. 

Gwayne exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he keeps his hand on the dragon’s scales. "He’s… magnificent," Gwayne says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never seen anything like him."

You smile softly, feeling a swell of pride for both your dragon and for the man standing beside you. "He is," you agree, your voice filled with warmth. "And now, he knows you. We are bonded, all three of us."

Gwayne turns to you then, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away—the cliffs, the sea, even the dragon. It’s just the two of you, standing on the precipice of something new, something shared.

"I never thought…" he begins, his voice trailing off as he searches for the right words. "I never thought I could be part of something like this. With you, and with him."

You step closer to him, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining. "You are," you say softly, your voice full of certainty. "We’re a family now, Gwayne. You, me, and Grey Ghost. Nothing will come between us."

The wind whips around you as you stand before Grey Ghost, the great dragon looming like a mountain of muscle and smoke. His golden eyes, burning with an otherworldly light, follow your movements as you step back, placing yourself beside Gwayne. The sun has set below the horizon now, leaving the world bathed in twilight, and the only sounds are the crashing of the waves far below the cliffs and the steady, rhythmic breathing of the dragon.

Gwayne stands beside you, his hand still resting on the dragon’s rough scales. His expression, a mixture of awe and anticipation, is hard to miss. He’s faced battle, seen the dangers of war, but this—this is something entirely different. You can sense the excitement beneath his calm demeanor, the way his hand trembles ever so slightly as he brushes his fingers against Grey Ghost's side.

"You’ve never flown before," you say quietly, watching him as his eyes trace the dragon's form.

He turns his gaze to you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "No. Never." His tone is light, but there’s a seriousness beneath it, a readiness that makes your pulse quicken.

Grey Ghost shifts his weight, the massive bulk of his body rumbling like distant thunder as he crouches low, the leathery membranes of his wings unfolding slightly. He is waiting, waiting for your command, and though you feel his wildness, his untamed spirit, you know that in this moment, he will listen to you.

You take Gwayne’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "Do you trust me?" you ask, though you already know his answer.

He doesn’t hesitate. "Always," he replies, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours.

You squeeze his hand gently, then release it as you step toward Grey Ghost. With practiced ease, you place one hand on the dragon's flank, the other gripping the harness that’s fastened around his neck and shoulders. You swing yourself up onto his back, settling into the familiar place between his powerful wings. The leather beneath you is warm, and you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your legs.

You look down at Gwayne, who is still standing at the dragon’s side, his expression now unreadable.

"Come," you say, holding out your hand to him. "You won’t fall. I promise."

For a moment, he hesitates, glancing from you to Grey Ghost’s immense, heaving body. But then, with a nod of determination, he steps forward, gripping the harness as you had shown him. With a bit of effort, he hoists himself up behind you, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he settles into place.

You can feel the tension in his body, the uncertainty of being so high above the ground, but there is also trust—trust in you, trust in the dragon.

You glance back at him, offering a reassuring smile. "Hold on tightly. The first flight is always… exhilarating."

Before he can respond, you lean forward and place your hands against Grey Ghost’s neck. "Fly!" you command in High Valyrian.

With a roar that shakes the ground beneath you, Grey Ghost unfurls his wings, the massive span of them catching the wind in a sudden, powerful gust. The muscles beneath you ripple as the dragon gathers his strength, and then, with a single, mighty leap, you are airborne.

The world falls away beneath you, the cliffs and sea nothing but distant shapes as Grey Ghost ascends, his wings beating with a rhythm that you can feel deep in your chest. The wind tears at your hair and clothes, the rush of air so loud it drowns out all other sound, but you don’t mind. This—this is freedom, the sky opening up before you, endless and vast.

Behind you, Gwayne holds on tightly, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, the thrill of the flight coursing through him as it does through you. The dragon rises higher, soaring above the clouds, and for a moment, you are suspended in the sky, weightless and free.

Grey Ghost lets out a triumphant roar, a sound that echoes across the sky, and you laugh, the exhilaration of the moment filling you with joy. You glance back at Gwayne, his face flushed from the wind, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Are you alright?" you shout over the wind, your voice barely carrying in the rushing air.

He grins, a wide, genuine smile that lights up his entire face. "This is incredible!" he calls back, his voice filled with awe and exhilaration. "I never imagined…"

His words trail off as Grey Ghost dips suddenly, his wings folding slightly as he begins a rapid descent, plummeting toward the sea below. You feel Gwayne’s grip tighten around you, his breath catching in his throat, but you don’t panic. You know Grey Ghost, know his every move, and this—this is part of the ride.

At the last moment, just before you reach the surface of the water, Grey Ghost flares his wings, catching the air and leveling out. The sea stretches out beneath you, the waves glistening in the moonlight, so close you can almost touch them. The dragon skims the surface, his claws barely grazing the water, sending up sprays of mist as you fly.

You laugh again, the sound of it lost to the wind, and Gwayne’s laughter soon joins yours. His tension is gone now, replaced by the sheer thrill of the flight. He leans into the movement, trusting you, trusting the dragon, and for a moment, it feels like the three of you are one—a single being soaring through the sky, untethered and wild.

After what feels like an eternity—and yet, not nearly long enough—Grey Ghost begins to climb again, his powerful wings lifting you up, up, up, until you are soaring high above the sea once more. The land is a distant memory now, the world below nothing but a blur of blue and grey.

You turn your head slightly, glancing back at Gwayne, who is still grinning, his eyes alight with excitement. "This is only the beginning," you say, your voice soft, though you know he can hear you over the wind.

He meets your gaze, his expression suddenly serious, though the joy still lingers in his eyes. "I’ll follow you anywhere," he says, his voice steady, filled with quiet resolve. "Wherever you go—whether it’s the skies or the earth—I’ll be with you."

Your heart swells at his words, and for a moment, you are overwhelmed by the depth of his devotion. You reach back, placing your hand over his where it rests at your waist, your fingers intertwining with his.

"And I’ll always have you by my side," you whisper, though the wind carries your words away.

Grey Ghost lets out a soft rumble, a sound that vibrates through both of you, as though he, too, understands the significance of this moment. Together, the three of you fly on, the stars beginning to twinkle above, as the night stretches out endlessly before you.

[proasailor]

The Kachina column and site of a spiritual energy vortex. Near the trailhead for the Boynton Canyon Trail. Just outside of the Enchantment Resort, Sedona, AZ.

On the other sidem there are pitons or something near the top so people climb this thing.

I like the way the right angled, rectangular blocks seemed to be breaking out from underneath the organic looking rock, about two thirds of the way up. It's as if an ancient Egyptian edifice has been encased in natural rock.

HDR reconstruction using Canon DPP4.17.10 freeware as well as for denoise, sharpening and color adjust - Canon SL3 on tripod, 2s timer release, f/9, ISO 100, 50mm; 1/50, 1/160 and 1/500s exposures.Cheers!

[chlobody]

Canyonlands National Park, Utah [ shot by @ohseephotography ]

[jmpphoto]

Sunrise Stillness by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Sunrise Stillness Valley of Fire State Park Nevada February 2024

[nightlyrequiem]

Little Red Riding Hood

Your grandmother is unwell, and you're sent out into the dark woods to bring her breads and meats. Something lurks within the forest, and it doesn't take too kindly to trespassers.

New part every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- Pretty sure Little Red Riding hood is a child in the original story. Reader is of age here. Also, I rewrote the middle and ending like three times.

Tags/Warnings: Werewolf Valeria, Stalking, Kidnapping, WLW, Violence, Murder

You lightly shiver as you stand before a large stretch of woods. Staring out at the sea of trees. The forest is so thick and dense that after a few feet you can't see anything past the lush foliage. It's easy to get lost. The wind picks up and you have to adjust your stance to stay upright, your vibrant red cloak billows around you. The path is dark and narrow. Bordered by thorny bushes and thick trees. You don't want to venture in, but your grandmother is unwell and you're the eldest out of your four sisters. Woven basket in hand you slowly walk into the trees. 

It's quiet. Trees with thick corded trunks and spiny branches loom over you. Full, leafy bushes border the path as you travel. You dislodge and scatter loose stones and pebbles. Sending them clattering to the side. You breathe calmly and walk at a steady pace to conserve energy. If you're good with your time you should make it to your grandmother's little cottage before dark. You can picture it now. A wood and cobbled structure with wildflowers in the garden. The stone fireplace burning and warming the inside. Your small grandmother looking even smaller in her large bed, made by your father.

Leaves and twigs litter the trodden dirt path, quietly crunching under your well-worn boots. Soft ferns lightly brush against your bare legs like a lover's caress. You breathe in the fresh air. It smells crisp, a promise of the upcoming winter. You walk for a few more minutes before slowly stopping. Growing over the path up ahead are large, threatening looking clusters of thorn bushes. Left uncheck to thrive in the wilderness, their thorns reaching as long as three inches and curving like claws. You bend down and carefully run a finger over one, letting the end drag across the pad of your index finger.

You take a step back, weighing your options. The thicket is too densely packed to wade through and the rest of the path behind it has been reclaimed by nature. Bushes and plants as tall and taller than you stand proudly. Sprouting up from between cracks in the thorn bushes. The unforgiving darkness of night is quickly approaching. Leaving the path during the day is unsafe, your odds are even less unfavorable in the dark. You can't see any other way through, though. You could turn around and begin the defeated trek back home, but you're more than halfway to your destination. You pick at a hangnail as you struggle to make a decision. Against your better judgement, you step foot off the sturdy, packed path. Your feet sinking into the soft, moist soil of the No-Man's Land. You force your way through the undergrowth, swallowed up by the woods.

You're blundering through the dark. Unable to see where you're going or find the path. You bump into large rocks, trees, bushes. Anything that can be in your way is in your way. You continue to blindly search for the path. Fear overriding your rational thought and judgement. Your heart stutters as a twig snaps behind you. You whip around and strain your eyes to try and see what it was, but the moonlight can't break through the tangled ropes of tree branches up above.

You stand still. Heart pounding in your ears as sweat soaks your underarms. You stare into the darkness and imagine something horrifying glaring back. All is silently. Not even the crickets will serenade this night with their orchestra of chirping. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbles through the air. The noise kicks you into action and you turn to flee. Your lungs burn as you run from whatever terribly large creature runs behind you. Miraculously, you manage to avoid running face first into a tree. Your legs are cut up from nettles and spiny leaves, but you don't stop. Eventually after what feels like hours of running you realise you don't hear the loud, abrasive sound of footsteps behind you.

You stumble and lean against a large tree. Small twigs sprouting out from its trunk dig into your arms, but you ignore them in favour of catching your breath. Your legs are liquid and your hands tremble without your consent. You suck in painful breaths to your deprived lungs. You look around, not that it does much good. It's so dark that you can only just barely make out the fuzzy, black outlines of bushes and trees. You're disoriented and afraid, not even sure which direction you're facing. Your grandmother's cottage is to the north, near the river. You try to calm down so you can think.

If you find the river you can find your grandmother's cabin. You quiet your breathing and listen. Up above you can hear the leaves rustling in a breeze you can't feel. A mouse, or perhaps a vole disturbs some leaves nearby. There! In the distance you hear the sound of running water. Small waves lapping up against immovable rocks. You blindly gravitate towards the sound. Moving slowly and carefully as to avoid both detection and falling. 

Through gaps in the thinning trees, like a beacon of hope, you see the river glittering with moonlight. You carefully walk along it, wading through the dry, tall grass, so tall that it's up to your waist. Burrs collect onto your red cloak, but you ignore them. The small prickling is nothing compared to the fear you feel. Up the river, turn at the forked tree. Up the river, turn at the forked tree. Up the river - turn at the forked tree. The forked tree grows out from the river, small but so old that it grew in a time before the river swept through these lands to nourish the life within the forest.

You turn and head straight, Anxious you're not going in the right direction. Your senses are on high alert. You're so paranoid that every little noise is that thing coming back to get you. At one point, you think you hear a second pair of footsteps. There is no stuttered halt whenever you stop abruptly. Your heart soars with relief as you spot the cabin in the clearing. A welcoming orange glow of safety flickers inside. You clumsily trot through the last of the tall grass and bushes. Vines and twigs catch on your calves and ankles in a last attempt to keep you, but you push through and walk into the clearing.

You approach the cabin and knock on the wooden door. The action pushes it open, much to your surprise. You peer inside with a frown.

"Grandmother?" You call out and receive no answer. You step inside the threshold and look around. There's an overpowering metallic scent in the air, setting your nerves alight with suspicion. You relax as you spot your grandmother's figure cozied up in bed. The tip of her night cap sticking out from under the covers.  

"Grandmother." You say, setting the basket down on a nearby table. Your grandmother shifts and then sits up. She looks a little bigger than you remember. "I'm sorry for waking you, I was supposed to be here hours ago, but I had to stray off the path and became lost." You explain apologetically. Leaving out the part where you were chased by something. These woods are her home, and you don't want to make her afraid.

Your grandmother doesn't reply verbally, only a slight jerk of the head to acknowledge you. You peer at your basket full of goods.

"I have breads and meats." You say. "Some of the others have given us some lamb and pig, and Eloise was allowed to take home some of the bread she made at the bakery."

Your grandmother turns her head to look at you and you freeze for a second. Her face looks distorted. You chalk it up to the low light from the fire.

"It smells delightful." She murmurs. Her voice sounds... deeper.

"My, your voice has deepened, grandmother!" You say, trying to lighten the mood.

"All the easier to greet you with my dear." She replies smoothly. Narrowing her dark eyes at you.

"What big eyes you have." You hum. Were her eyes always that big... or sunken in?

"All the better to see you with, my dear." Her voice is slightly muffled. 

You look down at her hands just as she slips them back under the covers. Was that fur and claws you saw? They were certainly bigger than you remember. You shuffle, feeling both uncomfortable and foolish. Your experience in the woods has turned you paranoid.

"Are your hands swollen?" You ask with concern. "They look bigger."

"Bigger hands make it easier to hold you." She replies. "Why don't you come closer?"

Everything inside of you screams not to do that but it would be rude and improper to ignore the orders of an elder - especially your grandmother.

You approach slowly. You try not to make a face at the musty, metallic smell wafting off of her. You study her. She doesn't look any more normal up close. There's a gap between her eyes and the rest of her face and the lower half of her face is stretched out limply. You realise just a second too late that this isn't your grandmother. The nightcap falls off with your grandmother's face and the nightgown tears as the large, muscled, furry body of a wolf lunges at you. Knocking you to the ground. You scream but it means nothing.

The wolf bares her teeth at you.

"Foolish girl." She says. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you not to leave the path?" One of her paws is planted firmly on your sternum with enough pressure to hurt.

"Let me go!" You cry out. 

"It does get lonely though." The wolf hums in thought, ignoring your protesting. "And you are just so kind. Bringing me baked bread and lamb."

"It was for my grandmother." You hiss. "What have you done?"

"I think I'll keep you."

You don't get the chance to reply before she's grabbing your shoulders, her claws digging into your skin through the cloak, and lifting you up halfway only to slam you back down. The back of your head collides with the hard stone floor, knocking you unconscious and leaving you at the mercy of the beast.

You wake with a splitting headache. It takes you a second to register the soft animal furs around you and another to register the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. You sit up and look around. You're in a cabin, but not one familiar to you. The space is small. A wardrobe, a table, and a fireplace and hearth. You glance down. A bed as well, one full of pelts for blankets. You touch the back of your head and wince. Still tender. You feel confused. Was it all a dream? It must have been. Wolves don't talk.

The door slams open, startling you out of your skin. In walks a woman. Her dark hair is cut short, hanging just past her chin. she's well built, arms toned and tanned. Her nose is oddly small and delicate. A few lines from age mar her otherwise clear skin. Her dark brows are arched, and she looks at you without surprise.

"You're finally awake." She murmurs. "Good."

"... Where am I? Who are you?" You ask firmly, wary of this pretty stranger. She wears boots and a simple dark shirt tucked into trousers. A female woodsman, very uncommon, not something you've heard of before. Perhaps a hunter. Maybe she saved you from the wolf? Or maybe you slipped by the river and hit your head, and she rescued you.

"My name is Valeria."

You realise she has an accent. You give her your name as well and repeat your previous question.

"Where am I?"

Valeria considers you. "You're in my home."

Yes, you guessed as much. "Why?" You ask, frowning. With a stranger in her bed, you'd think she'd act with more caution or urgency.

"Hm. I hope you didn't hit your head too hard." She frowns, her voice almost has a mocking quality to it. "I told you last night; I'm keeping you."

Despair wells up inside of you. You desperately want last night to be a dream, but it wasn't. Your grandmother is dead, and you have been stolen.

"But... it was a wolf that said that to me." You say uncertainly. This woman looks very human. Regardless, your words seem to amuse her, and her lips pull into a smile. 

"I am the wolf." She says. "But only for one night a month."

This is absurd, you think. People can't turn into wolves. But then what attacked you last night? It looked like a wolf, it growled like a wolf, it moved like a wolf. 'If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck.'

"I won't tell anyone." You whisper. "Let me return home, and I won't tell anyone about you." 

"No, you certainly won't be telling anyone about me." She agrees. "You won't be leaving either."

You recoil as she starts advancing. Valeria stops at the edge of the bed and looks down at you.

"It's so lonely out here, and you are just too sweet to pass up." She hums. You look towards the window. To the lush, green forest outside.

"I do not want to stay-"

"I don't care what you want." Valeria interrupts. "You'll learn to like it here. If you try to leave, I'll eat you."

You stare back at her helplessly. You're unsure if that's a joke or not, but she ate your grandmother so clearly, she has no qualms on the matter.

Valeria gets on the bed and reaches out for you. You struggle and try to push her away, but she just grabs your arms and pulls you against her. Hugging you far too tightly to her chest. She smells like the very woods she inhabits. Her breath lightly fans over the nape of your neck. You won't be getting away any time soon.

[maybe-im-dark]

The birth of Wolverpool

Deadpool zips through the multiverse with his usual panache, feeling pretty good about his little escapade. After the events of the Deadpool & Wolverine movie, he had this insane idea—why not find some more variants of Wolverine? Maybe spice things up, maybe find some new drinking buddies, and, well, maybe just mess with some timelines for the fun of it.

He lands in a bustling new dimension, boots crunching on fresh snow as he adjusts his red and black suit. The landscape looks vaguely familiar—a sprawling Canadian wilderness, of course. Typical Logan. But something’s… off.

Then he sees it. Standing atop a ridge in the distance is… himself? But wait. No. It’s… Wolverpool?

Deadpool’s eyes widen in shock, then gleam with pure joy. He rushes forward.

"Wolverpool, is that you?!" he shouts, practically vibrating with excitement.

Wolverpool, a brawny mix of Wolverine and Deadpool, stands tall. He’s wearing Deadpool’s trademark red-and-black suit, but with the classic Wolverine mask—those iconic pointed black ears stretching out from the sides of his head. There are claws coming out between his knuckles even. Deadpool stops dead in his tracks, dropping to his knees with hands clamped to his face in awe.

"Oh. My. God. I knew my dreams were insane but this—this is beautiful!" Deadpool exclaims, tears of joy threatening to spill. “This is the Deadpool-Wolverine fusion I didn’t know I needed!"

Wolverpool just stares, growling slightly.

"Okay, tough guy, let’s calm down—oh, look at those claws! So sharp! So stabby!" Deadpool reaches toward the claws, then thinks better of it and pulls back with a flourish. “Never mind, no need to lose a finger today."

But then, something catches his eye—a rift in the timeline. A shimmering distortion that beckons to him, curious and teasing. Unable to resist, Deadpool leaps through it with a quick, "Yolo!"

He emerges moments later, slightly disoriented but quickly shaking it off, when he hears some gruff voices ahead. Sneaking around a thick pine tree, he peeks out and sees—himself. And Wolverine.

But wait… Logan's not his usual self. He’s… heavily pregnant?

Deadpool’s jaw drops as he takes in the scene. Wolverine’s cradling his massive belly, leaning against a rock, his face twisted in pain. His breathing is erratic as beads of sweat drip down his furrowed brow. The version of Deadpool in this timeline is holding his hands, trying to help him through labor, though clearly at a loss for what to do.

"Holy chimichangas…" Our Deadpool gasps, slapping a hand over his mouth. He struggles to contain his laughter and amazement, his eyes sparkling with manic glee. "Logan's… in labour?!"

Deadpool can barely handle it. "Oh, this is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Forget the rest of the multiverse, I am never leaving this timeline!" he whispers to himself before straightening up and muttering, "Okay, keep it together, Wade. Just—be respectful. It’s a magical moment."

The scene escalates as Wolverine suddenly lets out a roar of agony, his claws instinctively popping out as he clutches his sides.

"Aaaaagh!" Wolverine screams. “This kid better be worth it!”

Pregnant Wolverine's belly tightens, his muscles rippling beneath the surface, and then—like something out of an alien movie—his belly bursts open with a sickening, fleshy pop. Blood splatters, and a small, crying infant crawls its way out of him, slick with fluids.

Our Deadpool nearly passes out. "What the cronenberg!" He stumbles back in disbelief, eyes wide in horror and awe. "Okay, that was NOT on my bingo card."

The alternate Deadpool quickly swoops in, catching the newborn with the reflexes of a practiced lunatic. With surprisingly tender care, he cleans off the tiny child and places it onto Wolverine’s chest, who—already healing—leans back against the rock, looking exhausted but relieved. His body rapidly knits itself back together, the gaping wound closing as if nothing ever happened.

"There you go, Wolvie," alternate Deadpool says with a grin, patting Logan’s shoulder. "Congratulations, papa. You’ve done good." He gestures to the baby on Wolverine's chest. "Our little bundle of chaos. Takes after both of us, huh?"

Our Deadpool stares, utterly speechless for once. He shakes his head, trying to process what he’s just witnessed. "Well, that was… surreal," he mutters. "Seriously, I’ve seen some weird crap, but this? Top five, easy."

As the baby coos on Wolverine’s chest, Wolverine grunts, shooting a glare toward both Deadpools. “You two better not be making a big deal outta this, or I swear, I’ll—"

Our Deadpool snaps his fingers. "No need for threats, big guy! I’ve got enough memories to keep me laughing for the next fifty years!"

As he steps back, ready to continue his journey through the multiverse, he whispers to himself, “Well… never thought I’d see the day Wolverine gave birth. Guess there really is a first time for everything.”

One last look at the bizarrely heartwarming scene, and Deadpool shakes his head with a grin. “Well, that was unexpected..”

And with that, he leaps back into the multiverse, ready for whatever absurdity comes next.

But even for him, this one was going to be tough to top.

[arizonapix]

[thorsenmark]

Heading Out to Explore Coconino National Forest by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A setting looking to the northeast while taking in views across eroded formations, cliff walls and peaks present along the Fay Canyon Trail in Coconino National Forest.