#sibling has gone to sleep time to post filth

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Phantom didn’t know just how big his spit kink was until he saw Swiss spit into his hand and pretend to jack off his mic stand during a show. They only faltered slightly, changing chords a beat too late, but from the shit-eating grin Swiss gave them, he’d definitely noticed.

They cornered Swiss before the encore, wandering up to him innocently and whispering their filthy desires into his ear. How wet they were, how much they wanted him to spit in their mouth, their pussy, on their tits, anywhere. Then he walked off to tune his guitar before the last few songs of the night, leaving Swiss with a half-chub to deal with before he had to go onstage again.

Needless to say, Phantom particularly enjoyed that night at the hotel.

[choccy-zefirka]

Guess who put together a family tree instead of sleeping!

House Acheron is a noble Tiefling family from Elturel, notorious for their obsession with preserving and enhancing their infernal and draconic traits.

Ischian is its domineering patriarch, ever pursuing his idea of perfection and punishing everyone who falls short of it. During the Descent, he was ecstatic to visit the Hells, the source of his birthright, and jumped on the opportunity to personally parlay with devils so they could elevate him from the base filth of the Blood War. His last known whereabouts were at the House of Hope, where he fancies himself the guest of honor... But is he truly?

Mysteria, a powerful sorceress, entered an arranged marriage with Ischian for wealth and social clout. However, she separated from him after bearing him two children, as she found his illusions of grandeur quite tiresome (plus, she is the more accomplished mage of the two, which would infuriate Ischian to no end). Her whereabouts post-Descent are unknown.

Girias is the older sibling who grew up twisting himself into knots to earn his father's fickle approval. Yet everything has its limits, and he reached his when his son was born with scarcely any infernal features, and Ischian attempted to murder him. Girias fled with the boy to Baldur's Gate, where he has been living the quiet life of a humble bookstore owner for years, safe from the Descent but not so safe from the rise of the Absolute's cult.

Larydda, like Mysteria, had her union with Girias arranged by their respective families. Initially exasperated by her new husband's meek, approval-seeking nature, she eventually struck up a tentative friendship with him, and died covering his escape with their son by engaging Ischian in a magic duel.

Phaeton is a good-natured, enthusiastic young lad who can easily pass for a half-elf. Before the events of Baldur's Gate III, he had just recently joined the Flaming Fist and was very passionate about his new job, idolizing Grand Duke Ravengard... Until things started going horribly wrong.

Arai is Girias' rebellious little sister, who, unlike him, does not have even the vaguest memories of their mother. Before Girias, the perfect dutiful son, left the family, she remained largely unnoticed in his shadow; but with him gone, the responsibility of appeasing their father fell fully on her, and she despised that. She lashed out by over-indulging in intoxicants and sex, until a wild orgy involving a few of her fellow Tieflings and a big hunk of an Orc (whose name she never bothered to learn) left her pregnant. The child was born looking much like her mother, and at first Ischian rejoiced: his family finally had a "normal" heir... But then the little girl's tusks started coming in, and it became quite clear that she'd been fathered not by one of Arai's Tiefling lovers, but by an Orc. Of course, her grandfather's attitude to her changed dramatically upon this discovery. The child turned from spoiled princess to abomination, and her mother — either absent or drunk most of the time — did little to protect her. Eventually, the young half-Orc could not stand the abuse any longer, and ran away from home, leaving the family in disarray. Ischian and Arai, both equally enraged by Arai's various failures in life, were constantly at each other's throats for years, until the Descent claimed the city. When the Elturel returned to Toril and the Tieflings were pushed out of it, Arai, barely in control over her remaining sanity after all the trauma and years of substance abuse, thought, "Might as well" and tried to throw in her lot with the other refugees. Few among them liked her, however, and she left the group, somehow making it to Waukeen's Rest, where she was snatched up by the Absolute cultists and, for the first time, got offered some semblance of a purpose at Moonrise Towers.

Cinder, as mentioned before, was rejected and mistreated by Ischian for not being the perfect Tiefling grandchild he wanted. After leaving him and her miserable past life behind, she traveled here and there as a street urchin, and eventually wound up in Baldur's Gate, where she joined the Guild, never knowing that she had an uncle and cousin within reach, who would have gladly welcomed her under his roof. Instead, she matured into a gruff, guarded outcast, convinced that her only lot in life was bash whatever skulls she was pointed at, and ashamed of her love of books, something she inherited from that little noble girl in frills and ribbons, the girl that was never real. She was snatched onto a Nautiloid in the middle of one of her shady jobs, and the rest is history.

[mothpawbs]

Mountain Clans: StarClan & Dark Forest

Decided I would make a post describing how StarClan and the Dark Forest work in my fanclans! Some of the stuff in this post is inspired by various AUs, such as Smoltoxin's Snowtuft AU and @official-darkforest second death AU. There are also some others, but I can't think of them.

StarClan

StarClan is pretty similar to the StarClan in the books. Considered real but most Clan cats, they are believed to reside on the mist-shrouded mountaintop. They appear in several different ways, depending on where they are and how old they are.

Normal StarClan cats in the StarClan hunting grounds appear as they did in life, but slightly paler, with white stars frosting their fur. They often have a bit of glow around them, usually white, but sometimes pale purple or blue. Clusters of stars are more apparent around the area that caused the cat's death (such as a fatal wound), and as a spirit becomes older they slowly fade away until they become nothing but stars. Their eyes are glowy, with normal colored irises and white pupils.

StarClan cats (and spirits of the cats who have not yet "climbed the mountain," as the Clan cats say) who are walking among the clans appear misty and faded, with smaller, more faint clusters of stars that look like dew. Eyes are solid white.

Cats giving prophecies, walking in dreams, or giving lives to leaders are brighter in color, glow a lot, and have glowing, solid white eyes.

When a StarClan cat fades, they enter a world of silence and white. Their memories slowly fade away in a wave of calm, and the cat is reincarnated with no memory or connection to their past life.

Not all StarClan cats can give prophecies. Only medicine cats, great leaders, and exceptional warriors who had strong connections to StarClan and made a lasting impact on the Clans can give prophecies. Anyone, however, can give a life to a leader or visit dreams, though it takes a lot of energy and makes a cat fade faster.

StarClan cats are also responsible for naming warriors. Unlike in canon Warriors, leaders do not usually name a new warrior themselves. Instead, the leader, the medicine cat, an apprentice, and their mentor make the trek to the Starcave on the mountain. The tunnel leading to the Starpool is long and twisted, and is often used to test the resilience and intuition of medicine cat apprentices and new leaders. When the cats approach the Starpool, all of the cats share tongues with StarClan. StarClan tells the leader and medicine cat the new warrior's name, and the cat becoming a warrior is given any advice they need from StarClan cats. The mentor is there as an honor. When the cats awaken, the leader bestows the name StarClan chose to the new warrior. At sunrise, as they leave, the leader stands on the cliff and shouts the new name three times over the territories.

(Art by me)

The Dark Forest

The Dark Forest is horrible. The ground is slimy, and covered in a layer of cold, wet snow. The tall, spindly trees stretch up as far as you can see, and the sky is a vague, sickly red-purple. The only light comes from a vaguely glowing silvery mist that shrouds the ground and muffles sound. There is no prey, no warmth, and no comfort, and many walk their paths alone. It is harder to get into the Dark Forest than it is in the books, and only truly evil cats with no regret for the things they've done stay there.

Cats in the Dark Forest are a sickly, shadowy version of their former selves. Their fur is darker than in life, and dingy with filth. Their irises and mouths are black, with pupils a bright, burning version of their eye color in life. They are starved and miserable.

There is no prey to eat, and they are tormented with constant, vague hunger and thirst. They can sleep, but they get no rest. There is no warmth to be found anywhere. It is an afterlife of infinite wandering and despair.

Whatever caused their death (a fatal wound, or their innards if they died from natural causes) turns black and oozy, and slowly grows larger as the cat fades. When they are almost fully gone, they dissipate into the mist that fills the forest.

Dark Forest cats cannot usually contact cats from the outside. There are only two ways this can happen. One, they come across the StarClan border, where there is usually someone waiting to talk to them. Two, they find a cat who is alive wandering in the forest in their dreams. This happens when a living cat is experiencing a time in their life when their mind is turning against the Clans and StarClan. Once a cat is found in the Dark Forest, the cat who found them has a link into their thoughts and dreams. The third way is if a very powerful cat finds a way to appear in the living world. This is very rare.

When a cat who is going to go to the Dark Forest dies, they appear in a hazy white place. They see someone in their life who died that meant a lot to them, like a sibling, parent, mate, or kit. This happens in many ways, but if the cat regrets what they've done, they will revert back to a young cat, either a kit or apprentice or (rarely) a young warrior and go to StarClan. If they don't regret their actions, they find themselves in the Dark Forest. This makes it much harder to get in, and very deserving to the ones who are there.

I can't think of anything else to put and I don't feel like doing any illustrations, so this is all I have. Thanks for reading, if you have questions then asks are open! Check out the allegiances for my Clans and some character information by searching 'mountain clans' on my blog. I'm trying to figure out whether or not to make a separate blog for this stuff, so tell me if you're interested!

[rockhoochie]

No Apologies

(*Edit, previously titled “He Brings Me Sugar”)

Pairing: Dean/OFC

Warnings: Adult Content, Smut, Slow Burn, Somewhat Dubious Consent, Angst, Prescription Drug Abuse, Drinking, Knife play (very brief), Minor OC (sibling) Death, Language, Oral Sex (M/F receiving).

Summary: After losing her sister Anna to a demon, the Winchesters have taken Lexi under their wing. She studies and trains with them, tense friction quickly growing between her and Dean. When Sam and Castiel leave to take care of the demon that killed Anna without her, the levee of tension amidst Lexi and Dean breaks, flowing into something neither of them expected.

A/N: This is an edit of a fic I’ve posted previously. I meant to write a brief smutty one-shot and ended up developing the OFC a bit. Since the word count is 10K+, I decided to chapter it out. There may still be some errors, so please forgive me as I haven’t had this beta’d yet. Thank you for reading and as always, if you’d like to be tagged just send an ask!

 Chapter One

I needed to get the hell out of this car.

This last hunt had been hell. It was supposed to be just a simple salt and burn, but the spirit had been exceptionally strong and incredibly pissed off. Sam had gone off to the cemetery where the corpse was buried, leaving Dean and I to fight the thing. After it blew out our salt circle, the spirit had grabbed me by my ankles, whipping me across the room before Dean was able to get a good blast at it with the salt gun. After Sam had torched the bones and the spectre finally went up in flames, Dean practically had to carry me out as one of my ankles seared in pain.

I knew the boys were itching to catch a break too. After hours on the road and several nights in one of the skeeviest motel rooms we had ever been in, it was good to be getting back to the bunker, the closest thing any of us could call a home.

Dean and I had been bickering on and off for several hours, and constantly during the last hour of the drive. He had been driving like a maniac for miles, refusing to play anything but Motorhead on the radio, ate the last of the snacks, and was just acting like a brooding oaf in general. I was making sure to tell him how I felt about it every twenty minutes or so, and Dean made sure to tell me exactly how much he valued my opinions. Sam had done a fairly decent job of drowning us out with his earbuds, but once his phone battery died, the only soundtrack he got to listen to was mine and Dean’s cacophonic symphony of bitching. By the time Sam had finally lost his patience and screamed at us to shut the hell up, we were just turning down the road that led to the bunker.

Sam, Dean and I immediately made beelines to our rooms when we finally got back, just as the sun was starting to rise.

Once in my room, I tossed my gear bag unceremoniously down on the worn wooden floor. I couldn’t stand the thought of going through it now - unpacking, cleaning weapons, and doing laundry. I sat on the edge of my bed, sighing in relief to have my ass on something other than the leather bench seat of the Impala. Catching a reflection of myself in the mirror above my desk, I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. My long dark hair was greasy, tangled and tousled halfway out of the messy bun I had tried to contain it with. The circles under my eyes seemed to tint themselves darker with each passing second. Scraping at some dried blood that had crusted on my forehead, I noticed a smudge of something black and sticky - I didn’t even want to think about what that was from - decorating my jawline. My eyes clamped shut as I let out a labored breath full of frustration and sheer exhaustion. There was no way I was getting in my bed without a shower. Grunting, I pushed myself up back onto my feet. I grabbed my shower caddy, some pajamas, and a towel from my dresser drawer and headed down the winding halls to the shower room.

The sound of running water met me at the door. I opened it a bit, just wide enough to poke my head in, my ears immediately assaulted with a desecrated version of Cherry Pie.

Dean. Dammit.

“Hey,” I shouted, “you guys both in here?”

“Just me, darlin’!”

“Ugh…I’m disgusting! Are you gonna be much longer?”

“Depends on how long you keep bugging me about it!”

What a little shit he could be.

“Fine. I’ll wait outside, but move your ass!”

Despite the close quarters the three of us would usually have to share on the road, I always wanted my privacy for showering. I shut the door, leaned against the wall, and slid down to sit on the floor. My eyes were fighting me as I willed them to stay open, my ankle was still a bit painful, and every aching muscle in my body was begging to be submerged in hot water. I started tapping my foot to keep myself awake while I waited for Dean to come out.

Waiting…and waiting…and waiting…

Growing increasingly vexed, I got back up and flung the door open.

“Dean! Come on, what are you doing in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart!”

I was ready to scream. Fuck this.

I barged in. I could see Dean’s bare upper half over the ledge of the third shower stall, covered in bubbles.

“What the hell Lexi?!” he bellowed.

“Look,” I snapped, “I’m exhausted. I’m tired of waiting for you to finish up. I’m filthy. And I’m going to take a shower whether you’re in here or not, and whether you like it or not.”

I got in the first stall, leaving two stalls between us. Once I was sure he couldn’t see anything too far below my neck, I began stripping out of my grimy hunting clothes.

“Well, I was here first,” he grumbled.

“Whatever. It’s not like you’ve never seen a naked woman’s body before. Deal with it.”

I turned to look at him. He was resting his forearms over the ledge of his stall, that same look in eyes that he gave every cute waitress in a roadside diner. I half expected him to belt out one of his cheesy pickup lines.

“Never seen yours,” he said suggestively, grinning like an idiot.

I laughed out loud. “Ha! Winchester, you wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

He mumbled something as I turned on the shower, stuck my head under the water and let it flow all over me. Dean had told me the first night I came to the bunker that the water pressure in the showers was marvelous – at least he was right about that. I lost myself in the warmth, the dirt and blood and god-knows-what-else skimming off my skin, flexing and extending every muscle I could to stretch them out.

Dean had astonishingly found it in himself to finish cleaning up quickly. I stole a few quick glances at him as he rinsed away the soap, turned off his shower and stepped out of the stall with a towel wrapped around his waist. As he walked towards me, I glanced at his broad shoulders that connected to his fairly sculpted biceps, his firm chest muscles that accentuated the strength in his upper body, his tight abs that edged the slight v-line of his waist…

“See something you like?” he asked me, jolting me back to attention. He had one eyebrow cocked and a much-too-satisfied-with-himself smirk on his lips.

Shit. I wasn’t sneaking glances, I was staring.

I opened my mouth to make some kind of witty retort, but he had left the room before I’d had the chance, slamming the door behind him. I breathed out hard, irritated with myself for staring at him, irritated that he caught me staring at him, and irritated that I had kind of enjoyed staring at him. Who was I kidding, Dean was gorgeous – even though he could really drive me crazy sometimes. It was as though he knew exactly how to get under my skin. I slipped back into the enveloping warmth of the water, soaking, shaving, and scrubbing away the filth that covered my skin and the thoughts that bemused my brain.

***

On the way back to my room, a silhouette of a bottle sitting on the steel island in the kitchen caught my attention.

“Hello, beautiful” I said out loud, cradling the scotch in my hands.

I unscrewed the cap, raised it to my lips and took a huge mouthful. It burned down my throat, but I delighted in the tingle of that warmth only alcohol could produce as it spread through me like a soothing fire. I shuddered as the after-taste hit me – give me whiskey any day, I hated scotch – but it was a better flavor than the last few days and the gut-tingling thoughts I’d had as I stared at Dean in the shower. The bunker was dead quiet, thank god. I took one more pull on the bottle before screwing the cap back on, feeling more relaxed and slightly flushed while I walked down the winding hallway back to my room.

My ankle was throbbing now. Reaching into my gear bag, I pulled out a plastic prescription bottle. Sam had managed to find some painkillers somewhere – he had given them to me the night we killed the spirit. I took one out, hesitating before I swallowed it – maybe taking it with two huge shots of scotch wasn’t a great idea? Deciding I didn’t care, and reasonably sure nothing too horrible would come from it, I swallowed it down.

Tossing the top blanket back from the bed, I threw myself down onto the mattress like it was an old lover’s body. Wrapping my arms around the pillow while wriggling and nestling like a cat against the sheets, I prayed for sleep to come quickly and mercifully. I was so tired that I didn’t even bother to try to get the image of Dean’s bare chest and cocky smirk out of my head as I finally drifted off.

[animalsoffarmsanctuary]

One Man’s Trash Is in Fact a Beautiful Treasure: Cattle Left for Dead Find Sanctuary

A supporter of Farm Sanctuary recently reached out to us regarding 10 cattle who were the victims of cruelty and neglect in Chester County, PA. Nine calves had died in a barn, and the remaining 10 cattle in the building were being removed. 

And this horrific scene was not on a large industrial farm, but instead at a “hobby farm” where they used the Ayrshire cattle for show, and had other cattle and horses as well. The farm owner and his family had taken the cows to fairs, where they were paraded in front of judges, and received prizes. As is often the case, no one knew how dire the situation was behind the scenes.

Another victim was this young gelding who was found skeletal, with leg and tendon issues and severely overgrown hooves. He was so tiny that they assumed he was a few months old, but the vet confirmed that he was in fact over a year. He remains with his rescuers from LAPS.

Thankfully, the Large Animal Protection Society (LAPS), an all-volunteer organization in Pennsylvania with investigative authority, learned of the cattle through the police, along with another Pennsylvania group, Helping Hands for Animals. They had responded to a complaint from a good Samaritan about a dead horse seen in a pasture. Thankfully, the horse turned out to be sleeping — but the complaint launched an investigation into the cruel and neglectful practices taking place in the idyllic Pennsylvania countryside.

And when investigators got there, what they found was not valued, prize-winning cattle, but instead 19 bovines in a barn with mud and feces so deep that nine calves appeared to have literally drowned in the muck. 

Photos like these came in and like so many places we have gone before, these animals were forced to live in conditions unfit for any being. 

Once we saw the photos, we couldn’t believe the conditions these animals had come from and knew that we could really help take these animals — once treated as trash — and allow them to be the true treasures that they are.  

The corpses of the dead babies buried so deep that it was hard to see what was feces and what was actually the body of another calf. 

We will start with the babies, each just a few weeks old. Only three of 12 calves survived. One surviving bull calf — a little Holstein whom the farmer had purchased from auction just a few weeks before — was found snuggling up to a deceased calf for comfort. Likely a dairy baby, he had already been separated from his mother and shipped to auction, only to be forced into another cruel environment.

Our sweet boy leans against the body of a deceased calf surrounded by other calves who perished in the muck.  

The first layers of muck removed, this tiny little Holstein calf is out of the darkness.  

Two other calves who also had supposedly been recent purchases looked more like Ayrshire crosses (after their showers). They also look like siblings, one male and one female, and they huddled closely together after their rescue — they are an inseparable pair. All three calves were so covered in feces they looked like they had been dipped in it. 

It is impossible to believe that these are two mostly white calves under all that filth. These two remain at the Nemo Farm Animal Hospital at Cornell University, and once they are vetted, they will mooooove to their new home at Skylands Animal Sanctuary & Rescue. 

Brother and sister showered and feeling much better, and clearly feeling loved and seen for the first time by the amazing folks at LAPS.  

The other cattle in the barn were older and able to withstand the conditions they were forced to live in. The other survivors included a year-old bull, two adult female cows, and four 1-year-old females. We are awaiting results of testing to see if anyone is pregnant and, if so, how far along — although we know that one of the older females is definitely months into her pregnancy. 

All showered and recovering, the family clings to each other. So hard to believe that just days before, they were living in the barn pictured in the photos toward the top of this post.  

Although the farmer claimed that he wasn’t sure how the cattle had been closed inside the barn, and that they couldn’t have been in there for more than three days, it was evident that they had been confined much, much longer than that. There was 2-3 feet of wet muck and feces all through the barn, even deeper in some areas.  

I call this girl the Announcer, since she is our big talker. It’s so hard to imagine how she was feeling when this photo was taken — just out of the barn and starting to be cleaned up. 

Gates were stuck in place because the manure was so deep. The smell was unimaginable. Fortunately, the farmer agreed to surrender the 10 cattle, though, shockingly, he was permitted to keep many more animals who were found outside of the barn. Charges have been filed against him, including failure to provide veterinary care and failure to provide sanitary conditions to his animals.

First week at Farm Sanctuary and a lot of brushing to get the last of the dirty off them. These girls are starting to settle in. Notice that the Announcer is announcing her excitement. 

And last week, it was time for these cattle to leave the protective setting of LAPS, and move on to the next stages of their journey. Mike Stura from Skylands and Kevin Weil, Jim Dumbleton, and Amy Gaetz from Farm Sanctuary’s Watkins Glen team picked up the 10 survivors. 

Moving like a wave, this still-too-skinny group of girls has a long way to go to get over their past, but we are so happy that they are starting their new chapter with us. 

Skylands will be keeping the two twin calves and the feisty year-old bull, but also helped transport two of the yearlings. (Our two very large trailers were full, since we had also brought gates to help load the cattle from the field where they were grazing.) The Holstein calf will also be coming back to Watkins Glen this week. He was also dropped off at Cornell, since he still is quite lethargic and quiet for a calf. 

The four young girls, each around a year old, are slowly — and I mean slowly — learning to trust people again.  

Because of the generosity and compassion of members of Farm Sanctuary’s Farm Animal Adoption Network (FAAN), homes for the four yearling girls and the Holstein calf have been secured. Before traveling to their new homes, however, they have a few more medical needs to attend to.  

I don’t think a face could be cuter. One of the yearlings and quite the darling. I cannot wait to name these girls. (We like to really get to know them before that happens.)

The little Holstein is still dealing with a very tough case of pneumonia, which is concerning, and he is a bit bloated, but hopefully all of these issues will resolve quickly. We also have a lot of GI issues to look into, but again we are hopeful that everyone will make a full recovery. We will continue to update our amazing members, who make all of our rescue efforts possible!

Loving the wide open spaces of our Watkins Glen sanctuary.  

So now here in Watkins Glen, we have six beautiful girls who are trying very hard to adjust to their new surroundings. We are learning each of their personalities and where they fit into this amazing little herd. And although they will never be show cattle, they have something much more valuable than ribbons and trophies: They have love, respect, security, and care. They are individuals.

Our new friends running on pasture.

Anytime an animal (even a human animal) is seen as a commodity that can bring financial gain to another, they are seen as being worth just what that gain is. They are not seen as beings — as someones — but as things. And no matter their financial value, a thing is still a thing, and can easily be discarded. 

The bravest is always the one to make sure the photographer is on the up and up. Paparazzi beware.  

Being seen as someone means that you are priceless to those who love you, and these beautiful cattle are now each someone — not something. And we are all feeling very blessed that they are safe and sound, and we have the honor to get to know them for the precious gifts that they are. 

Family — loved — cherished — priceless. They are all someone!