#stories from the nest

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 21 - Bull (Metal)

            The tree limb creaked and swayed under Monkey’s careful movements. Far below, the forest floor loomed, littered with fallen leaves and inky feathers. He watched the shadowy forms of crows swoop between trees and disappear into the hidden sky. Cautious caws echoed through the canopy; an interloper sensed in their domain.

            Monkey peered from his hiding spot, keen eyes scanning the gigantic nest just under him until…there! A glint of metal caught the dim light, flashing in the gloom. He swung down, leaping from one branch to another until he was close enough to see clearly.

            The nest was huge, taking up the entire top part of a towering pine. It was much too big for any of the ordinary birds Monkey had seen flying about; whatever creature called it home had to be equally enormous.

            And was thankfully absent for the time being.

            Slow and careful, he eased his way onto the woven branches, all senses on high alert. Sticks, feathers, and an assortment of hoarded treasures decorated the lair, but Monkey had already spotted his prize. He crept along the edge of the nest, keeping low and quiet as the flapping of wings continued around him. Finally, he was close enough to crouch down and brush away the debris.

            Nestled into the twiggy wall was a silver amulet, bright and shining even in the dark. An elegant sigil was emblazed on the metal and a woven chain trailed after it when Monkey shimmied it free. He smiled and nodded to himself, a triumphant glee warming his chest as he tucked the medallion into his robes.

            An explosion of noise startled him. Raspy cries echoed through the trees and a whirlwind kicked up in the flock’s sudden exodus. Monkey ducked down, watching the mass of crows take to the sky, leaving an ominous stillness in their wake.

            A thunderous whoosh was his only warning before something gigantic landed, shaking the nest under him. It had returned, a demonic titan of a crow, easily twice as tall as Monkey and three times as wide with its flapping wings. The red, beady eyes glared down at him, sending a shudder down his spine, bristling his fur and thrashing his tail. An outraged screech pierced his ears as the bird charged, razor talons reaching for him.

            In the split second he had, Monkey hurled himself over the edge of the nest and tumbled down. Reaching out blindly, his fingers snagged a branch, yanking his fall painfully short. He managed to scramble onto the tree limb, double checking the amulet was still safely tucked away. The relief was short lived as the crow dove after him, its hoarse voice grating and wrathful.

            Monkey dodged just under the swiping claws, swinging and leaping from tree to tree as the demon bird shredded its way through the forest, determined to steal its stolen treasure back.

…

            “Were you successful?” the Zen Master asked as Monkey stumbled in. Leaves, feathers, and broken twigs clung to his rumpled fur. He managed a nod, holding out the amulet with a shaky, weary hand. The various scrapes and bruises left him achy and exhausted; it took every stubborn fiber of his being to stay standing.

            “And my crow was unharmed?” Monkey frowned but nodded again. It had taken ages but he had slipped away from the bird, hiding himself in a hollowed tree trunk until the creature gave up its destructive search.

            “Good, you’ve exhibited restraint and self-control in the face of an enemy. For that, I uphold my end of our agreement.”

            Flicking his horsetail whisk over the amulet, the metal began to glow and grow warm in Monkey’s hand. Slowly, the light faded, leaving only an energized hum within its form.

            “There, I have activated the spell. It should serve your companion without issue. But be warned,” The Zen Master said, gesturing with his whisk. “This is only a temporary solution. The energy will fade and the amulet will become nothing more than a trinket. Use the time I have given you to seek out the Armored Scholar. His knowledge of both written and spoken word is vast. If there is a permanent spell to aid your companion, he will be the one to know.”

            Monkey nodded in understand and gave a thankful bow before turning to leave. He tucked the amulet back into his robes and hobbled away, eager for a quiet place to rest and recuperate away from feathered fiends.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------(Another replacement prompt, bringing back the amulet for metal. No Jen in this one but the amulet has to be for somebody. I thought about doing an entire chase scene but that will have to wait for the full story. Thanks to everyone for reading, all your kind comments mean the world to me!)

[sophieswundergarten]

I was thinking about how people always say that "execution is everything" with telling a story.

And it's true

If you come at your story sly and malicious, hacking at with a butcher's knife until it's a bloody mess that you then lay proudly at the feet of your audience as the spoils of a kill, it isn't likely to be any good

The bits are mixed around, the bones shattered and fragmented. There is certainly blood everywhere, staining your clothes and dripping from your hands as you try and cajole people into stopping by and taking a look

It doesn't quite work

But, if you look at your story, and understand the grace and fluidity of its life, then you may execute it elegantly

Because it is still a death. It is still a sacrifice, to have your story out of your hands and no longer living and growing and changing according to your whims

Because, when the tree is felled and the pulp is bleached and the ink has dried and the binding set, you can't control it anymore. The story is now in the hands of your audience, and it's up to them what happens to it

A properly executed story is laid to rest in the peace of the wild, left to allow the ecosystem to explore and reclaim it as their own with moss and lichen and mushrooms and carrion eaters and leaf-litter dwellers

That is the only way a story is properly executed; dead by your hands, yes, but constantly feeding the life of others and fueling their own stories

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

My Anthology vinyl FINALLY arrived and even though I'm still very pissed I overpaid for it by a huge amount on her website, I'm not even all that mad that it's an additional copy to the original release because the artwork is so different! I didn't realize that. I love the coffee table book format of the original variants, and the Anthology is like a nice very expensive bonus.

[bmpmp3]

im largely an outsider so take my opinions with a grain of salt but one thing thats been disappointing me in the few omegaverse stories ive read, despite how much the genre intrigues me in theory, is the like.. biological monogamy? with the biting stuff? i dunno i dont care for soulmate and soulmate adjacent stuff in general and tbh im not super invested in the horny aspect (although i do respect and appreciate it. guards impregnate that man etc etc) as much as i am in the speculative fiction biology+exploration of human sociopolitical landscapes through an anthropomorphized lens so this is a me problem but i do just know too much about too many animals so the claiming bite stuff being anything more than just bedroom play completely breaks my suspension of disbelief. all this to say i do keep telling my irl loved ones that i need to make the white throated sparrow based omegaverse i see in my minds eye. i see it so clearly. i see it so clearly.

[rococospade]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elden Ring (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tarnished (Elden Ring) & Original Character(s) Characters: [Nysa the Omen] - Original Character, Original Characters, Tarnished (Elden Ring), [Letho] - Original Character Additional Tags: OC centric, world building, Slice of Life Series: Part 1 of What was he supposed to do, <i>not</i> take the free baby? Summary:

Letho needed a wardrobe to match his change of vocation. Laurence recommended him a tailor in the midtown, which saved a bit of hassle. Letho just needed to follow the directions and... let the guy pick whatever was appropriate for his station. Right, that seemed sensible. Couldn't be too much of a hassle. He'd had to have his Confessor's kit tailored, and surely that much couldn't be different between Caelid and Leyndell.

He thought that, and then he got to the tailor's shop. [Mare's nest side story. Slice of life, not particularly plotty. Letho tries to exist in the face of adversity (judgmental craftsmen, Laurence.)]

[reallygroovyninja]

Empty Nest

The front door creaked gently as Clarke pushed it open, stepping into the familiar quiet of their home. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, dappled light across the entryway. She let out a long breath, setting down her keys on the small table by the door.  

Her fingers sifted through the stack of mail she had picked up — bills, a couple of promotional flyers, and a postcard from their son’s college. She held the postcard a moment longer, tracing her finger over the bright, cheerful image on the front before placing it aside.  

"Lexa?" Clarke called out, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. There was no response, just the soft hum of the house. She frowned slightly, moving further into the living room.  

The cushions on the couch were neatly arranged, just as she had left them that morning. Clarke's gaze swept across the room, the familiar decor somehow accentuating the silence. "Lexa, are you home?" she called again, a hint of concern threading through her tone.  

With a growing sense of unease, Clarke began to walk through the house. The kitchen was pristine, the countertops clear except for a vase of fresh flowers that Lexa must have put out. Clarke paused, admiring them for a brief moment, before continuing her search.  

She moved down the hallway, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. The door to their home office was ajar, and Clarke peered inside. The computer was off, the chair pushed in. No Lexa.  

Finally, she reached the door to their bedroom. It was closed, which was unusual for this time of day. "Lexa?" Clarke’s voice was softer now, tinged with a mix of worry and confusion. She reached out, her hand hesitating briefly before turning the knob and pushing the door open.  

The door swung open quietly, revealing their bedroom bathed in the soft afternoon light. Clarke's eyes immediately found Lexa, sitting on the edge of their bed. Her posture was slumped, a stark contrast to her usual upright, composed demeanor. Her eyes were downcast, fixated on her hands folded in her lap.  

Clarke's heart clenched at the sight. The air in the room felt heavy, laden with an unspoken sadness. She stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. "Lexa?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and caution.  

Lexa didn't look up. The silence stretched between them, filled with a thousand unasked questions. Clarke moved closer, taking tentative steps until she was just a few feet away from the bed. "Hey," she said softly, trying to catch Lexa's eye. "What's wrong?"  

There was a palpable tension in Lexa's shoulders, a visible effort in the way she kept her gaze averted. Clarke could almost feel the weight of Lexa's thoughts, the burden of whatever was pressing down on her.  

Clarke sat down on the bed, close enough to be there for Lexa, but giving her space. She resisted the urge to reach out, to bridge the gap with a touch. Instead, she waited, her own heart pounding in her chest.  

Finally, Lexa lifted her head, her eyes meeting Clarke's. There was a depth of emotion in her gaze, a mixture of weariness and something else Clarke couldn't quite identify. But Lexa remained silent, the words she needed to say trapped behind a barrier Clarke couldn't see.  

The room was quiet, save for the distant sounds of life outside their window. Clarke watched Lexa, a growing sense of helplessness settling over her. She wanted to help, to understand, but the distance between them felt like a chasm too wide to cross with just words.  

"Lexa, whatever it is, we can... we can talk about it," Clarke said, her voice a gentle plea. But Lexa just continued to sit there, her eyes now fixed somewhere beyond Clarke, lost in thoughts she wasn't ready to share.  

After a few moments, heavy with silence, Lexa's voice finally broke through, quiet yet laden with a weight that immediately captured Clarke's full attention.  

"I don't know," Lexa began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know if I'm still in love with you." Her words hung in the air, stark and raw. She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I love you, Clarke, I do. But... I'm just not sure it's the same as it used to be."  

Clarke felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her. She struggled to process Lexa's words, each one echoing painfully in her mind. Her heart raced, a mix of fear, confusion, and a deep, aching sadness.  

"But... how?" Clarke managed to say, her voice trembling. "What changed, Lexa?"  

Lexa looked up, her eyes meeting Clarke's. There was a vulnerability there that Clarke had rarely seen. "I don't know when it happened, or how," Lexa said, her voice steadier but still tinged with uncertainty. "It's not something I decided. It's like... slowly realizing that the way I feel about you has shifted. It's more like a deep care, a respect, but the... the passion, the in-love part, it's not like before."  

Clarke felt a lump forming in her throat, her mind racing with memories, questions, doubts. She wanted to reach out, to find a way to fix this, to turn back time to when things were simpler, happier.  

"But we've been through so much together, Lexa. We've built a life, a family," Clarke said, her voice laced with desperation.  

"I know, and that's what makes this so hard," Lexa replied, her expression pained. "I've been trying to understand it myself, to figure out if it's just a phase, or if... if this is really how I feel."  

The room was filled with a heavy stillness, the kind that comes after a storm, when the world is still reeling from the impact. Clarke felt numb, unable to fully grasp the reality that the person she loved, the person she had spent two decades with, was questioning their love.  

"Is there... is there someone else?" Clarke asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.  

"No, no, it's not about someone else. It's about us, about me," Lexa assured quickly, her eyes earnest. "I'm just trying to be honest with you, and with myself. I don't want to keep pretending that everything is okay when it's not."  

Clarke nodded, a silent tear rolling down her cheek. She knew this was just the beginning of a long, difficult conversation, maybe even a series of conversations. But in that moment, all she could feel was the heartbreaking realization that the love of her life was slipping away, and she didn't know how to hold on.  

Clarke sat there, motionless, the words echoing in her mind like a relentless tide. She stared at Lexa, searching her face for something, anything, that might suggest this was just a momentary doubt, a fleeting fear. But Lexa's expression, open and pained, told a different story.  

"This can't be happening," Clarke murmured, her voice a mix of disbelief and despair. Deep down, she had sensed the growing chasm between them, the subtle changes in Lexa's demeanor, the quiet evenings that had become too common. Yet, acknowledging these silent warnings felt like giving in to a reality she wasn't ready to accept.  

"Clarke," Lexa reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the space between them, unsure. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could make this easier."  

But Clarke couldn't focus on Lexa's words of consolation. Her mind was reeling, grappling with the realization that the foundation of their life together was not as solid as she had believed. "How long have you felt this way?" she asked, her voice breaking.  

"I don't know," Lexa admitted, her voice heavy with regret. "It's been growing for a while. I tried to push it away, thinking it was just a phase. I didn't want to hurt you, or our family."  

Clarke felt a deep, hollow ache in her chest, as if the ground beneath her had given way. She had imagined many challenges they might face, but the thought of losing Lexa's love had never crossed her mind. "So, what does this mean for us?" she asked, the fear of the answer making her voice quiver.  

Lexa sighed, a sound filled with sorrow. "I don't know, Clarke. I'm so confused. I don't want to lose you or the life we've built, but I can't keep pretending everything is the same."  

Tears welled up in Clarke's eyes, blurring her vision. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to face any challenge head-on. But this, the potential unraveling of their two-decade-long love, felt like an insurmountable obstacle.  

"I can't believe this is happening," Clarke whispered, her voice barely audible. The life they had carefully crafted together, the dreams they had shared, now felt like distant memories, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.  

As Lexa reached out, finally bridging the gap to gently touch Clarke's hand, Clarke pulled away, not out of anger, but from a need to protect herself from the pain that the touch now represented. She needed time to process, to understand how the love that had been her anchor was now the source of her deepest heartache.  

In the silence that followed, filled with unspoken fears and uncertainties, the realization settled in: their journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, and the future they had envisioned together was no longer a certainty.  

Clarke felt a suffocating tightness in the room, the walls seeming to close in around her with each passing second. The air was thick with the weight of Lexa's confession, and Clarke found herself struggling to breathe, to think clearly. She needed space, air, anything but the oppressive atmosphere of the room that had once been a sanctuary for them both.  

"I need to think," Clarke said abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements rigid and mechanical. "I need to process this... I can't stay here right now."  

[bestworstcase]

APOLLO

[edandstede]

“stizzy” and “edizzy” this “steddyhands polycule” that i’m being violently sick on my shoes actually

[thatswhatsushesaid]

i think most of my wwx opinions are unpopular outside of my little patch in this fandom, but i genuinely do believe that post-canon wwx and jc are just better off being out of each other’s lives as much as possible, crossing paths only out of necessity for jin ling.

sometimes when the wounds cut deeply enough, even if none of those wounds were inflicted intentionally or maliciously, it doesn’t matter how much you loved your family member, how much you sacrificed for them, or how much they sacrificed for you. your presence in each other’s lives just aggravates those injuries and prevents them from healing, and maybe the kindest thing you can do for each other is to just leave each other alone.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

No context. Vaguing about stupid ass takes

"Characters who are integral to each other's stories or one literally exists because of the other and could not exist the same way without them" ≠ "Character who plays a role/does an action that is impactful/important to another character which can be done by any character or other characters and still work"

[97tears]

yes… birds nest…. it’s peak..

[backpackingspace]

an incomplete list of things I thought were pretty obvious bc I'm feeling petty

The jedi being about processing your emotions and grief and being able to work through the feelings in a healthy way

Odysseus being a rape victim

[introspectivememories]

my timbern hot take is that i thank god everyday that we got riley rossmo's art for those first few issues instead of serg acuña's because i know some of you bitches would've been extremely weird about timbern if we had gotten acuña's manga-esque style from the beginning

[dootznbootz]

opinions on helen of sparta being compared to prey animals? blink blink

*blink blinks back* Then immediately sits like this because of the question.

It's a good question that I'm happy to answer! It just makes me mad.... I sincerely hate the wording of "prey" being used to describe her.

SHE IS A VICTIM! THAT DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS "PREY"!

I can...see how people in ancient times may have used that word and still meant it in how she is a victim... but modern-day English-speaking people calling her that??? (considering how in different languages the word "prey" could have different meanings.) I'll just say that as someone who has been "prey" herself at one point, I REALLY hate that word as a descriptor. Just say victim or survivor. 👍

Honestly to call ANY victim "prey" is so fucked up. "Prey" to me, feels like "it's meant to happen." "Prey" are part of the food chain and so that's what happens. And to compare that to abduction and SA? Almost as if "that's our place"? It also kind of implies something being "eaten" or killed... Helen SURVIVES. She's traumatized and definitely needs healing and support but it's not like she can't find joy or peace ever again. Prey just feels so fucking gross.

Also, if someone calls victims "prey", I hope they know that Moose, Elk, Boars, Bovine, ZEBRAS, etc. are technically "prey". And these are VERY aggressive animals while still being "prey" for some other animals. And also that doesn't mean that "Oh, they're powerful! Clearly they should've been able to stop it." That's victim blaming :P

She is a clever, determined, caring woman who was ripped from her home for YEARS because Paris was a dipshit who decided he needed the prettiest woman in the world despite already having a wife. He didn't care about the fact that Helen didn't want to be there and was already married. He is so selfish that he will not let her go back even when THOUSANDS have died in the war! EVEN HIS BROTHER HECTOR AND PRIAM DO NOT BLAME HER! Granted, we do not know if Aphrodite would have let him undo their deal of "I want the prettiest woman" if he DID end up feeling bad for Helen and he wished to let her go home (I doubt it based on his personality though).

"Oh, if she is so independent/strong, then why didn't she just kill Paris and leave?"

AGAIN! Victim blaming!!! First thing, people who ask that have media literacy that is piss on the poor. You also have no idea about the political implications that would have happened if she DID kill Paris. She literally cries about staying there and argues with Aphrodite about seeing Paris, only to get strongarmed by Aphrodite as, guess what? A GODDESS WILL ALWAYS OVERPOWER A DEMIGOD. (This isn't Percy Jackson where he "killed" Ares as a 12 year old (Percy, you were my childhood, but that's bullshit.))

Even confined in Troy, she ARGUED with APHRODITE about going to see Paris! She is not some meek woman who just does as she's told with no pushback! She argued with a GODDESSS! Very few survive doing that!!!

She's not "Prey to fate", she's a "VICTIM of Fate".

[inspjavert]

the thing that a lot of people do not get is that javert is a certified YAPPER

that man does not shut the fuck up

[cillpiines]

Hi it's MY TURN TO SEND RANCHER ASKS MUAHAHA

What are your Jimmy having wing thoughts?? 👀 especially in relation to Tango??

twirling my hair omggggg hiiiiiii I love ranchers and asks

I will not pull out the diagrams......(<- physically holding back)

See the fundamental biological difference between Jimmy and Grian is that Grian is a bird, and Jim is cursed. With a capital C even. So hollow bones, cloacas, and....we'll call it flirty wing times are a no go. The way I see it, Jimmy doesn't share these features with Grian because he wasn't born a bird! These are key developments that have to occur in the egg, a body can't just readjust its internal organs, curse or no. So Jimmy's a canary, reflecting his curse and constant inevitable doom, but he doesn't have his bird traits. I hear you cry, "but the wings! The wings develop in the egg! Are you insane?" And I am. But wings are an addition instead of an alteration! It makes sense to me ok dhfhvh

Maybe even as early as 3rd Life, the wings started sprouting, and man would it be painful. That's growth of new bones and extension of muscles protruding from the back. Certainly not pleasant. @newhermitblogontheblock actually has an idea as well where the wings have to break through the skin to get out and continue to grow and I gotta say that's some savory content. Lots of flavor and makes sense with my approach that the bones and muscles have to grow from somewhere. He can get feathers in other places easy but the wings are the biggest thing. As well as mentality shifts! Because the most fun thing with bird characters is making them act like a bird. I don't really have biological explanation for this one but it's fun and that's all I need. Jimmy can regurgitate food to flirt and that's the greatest thing ever

The wonderful thing about canary wings is that they not only match his hair color, but Tango loves and is distracted by shiny gold (Zedaph S9E19). Obviously gold is a big thing in the Nether as well but I really wanted to add a citation. Either way Tango thinks the feathers are gorgeous and it scratches an itch in his brain!! He already loves his rancher so much and he's outfitted in the prettiest gold hues? That Tango gets to run his fingers through ever so gently? It's amazing. Tango's proficiency with redstone would transfer well to preening I think, both skills requiring delicate and specific movement from the hands. (Jimmy's prettier than anything Tango's ever dealt with, he doesn't want to mess this up)

I have so many thoughts but this already got so long aaaaaaa thank you for sending the ask!! :D