#tendril whiskers

[minnophee-draws]

Drew the girlies~

Athena (left) belongs to BoneMama Fenris (right) belongs to Me both use She/Her pronouns

[simplegenius042]

"What Kind Of Love Are You?" OC Quiz & "Every OC List Got The ___"

Tagged by @adelaidedrubman @imogenkol @voidika @shellibisshe and @aceghosts

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @josephseedismyfather @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who'd like to join.

Four results for my OCs for this quiz and four OC Lists for four of my series.

JOAQUIN COBALT (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

This feels accurate for Joaquin considering he begins The UnTitledverse as an adolescent, and the series follows his growth and youth to adulthood. Joaquin has the weight of the world (or rather multiverse) on him, but, he still has time to be a child, to be a teen, to be his own identity, with Maisie, Mario, Calvin and all his found family and friends to share the weight.

SILVA OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY 5 & FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

Religious themes (including the trauma) for Silva go brrr! Like what else is there to say?

HAOYU ANABUKI (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

Yeah this makes sense for them. Haoyu is someone who's not used to love and when it comes it is gonna be the most life-changing thing for them. For once something they will have to make a commitment towards keeping if they want it. Haoyu is also the type to go in a panic as well as overthink; including full-on denial.

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE [FALLOUT])

While this definitely suits Ress at her best, I don't think it encapsulates everything about her. Because while Ress' love is bountiful and ageless and endless... there's also the fear of losing it all, because Ress will outlive everyone she knows because her own natural mortality outlasts everyone else's. The only person that would be around the longest with her (and meet her at what would be considered old age for a hybrid species like them) would have been her older half-brother, Ore... but even that is cruelly taken away from her by their father Urias and his Occult. Yeah, so while this definitely does shine a light on the happiness and thrill Ress would feel with her lover (prime example being Piper), it doesn't acknowledge the grief she'd eventually have to face.

Now for the OC List, I decided to go with OCs from all four/five of my series; The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and a shared list with my Fallout series A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and my original series An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts Trilogy (which includes my Wings And Horns WIP that this trilogy spins off from). So yeah... enjoy! [NOTE: This will include art/doodles, reference pictures (for the art/doodles that I still haven't been skilled enough to draw) and faceclaims]:

THE UNTITLEDVERSE

Lisa Cobalt | Malcolm Darling | Mario Emmet Jester | Madame Callaghan | Lillian "Lena" Elliot Greenpeace | Allyson "Alice" Darling | Edward Carmine Calvin Dearing | Joaquin Cobalt | Rick Thompson

[My (Incomplete) Art: Malcolm Darling, Mario Emmet and Jester]

THE SILVER CHRONICLES

Oscar Lapis | Father Adam Omar | Silva's Third Eye Elsa Omar | Paul Yellowjack | Silva Omar Azriel Omar | Nadi Sinclair | Kamski Neon Alexander Khaos | Gavin Turquoise | Mercy Omar-Seed | Ezekiel

[My (Incomplete) Art: Silva's Third Eye (or at least what its spiritual physically looks like if you're potent in the Third Eye... or a certain New God shitting bricks at the sight of this hungry symbiotic cretin)]

LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS

Yan | Frederick Rosemary | The Unity Hatter | Icarus Galatos | Hatsukami Hinode | Xavier Tulip | Haoyu Anabuki Rico | Eden "Evie" Bloodleech | Sonya | Sir Enigma Malvolio | The Court King Denise Redwood | Lora | Cecil Royce | Corvus Targaryen

[Image Reference Credits: Vecna from Stranger Things, The Stupendium in "The Toybox", The Core from Amphibia, an edited Mad Hatter from Alice In Wonderland, Kraang One's Exosuit from Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie and artwork of that Jester King done by CristianAC on Steam]

A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE + WINGS AND HORNS

Elrand Brandt the Vault Dweller | Aggravor the Accursed | Arcane Urias Xiang Ba'al | Vega the Resident | Marissa "Ress" Bishop Alph Dolen the Lone Wanderer | Ryder the Courier Six | Discord the Mad Kin of Carnage Ortega "Ore" Brantley | Archangel Metatron | Finidy Mona the Chosen One | Nate Gust Sarid the Sole Survivor

[Image Reference Credits: Vecna from Stranger Things, Annihilus from Marvel Comics, Kagetane Hiruko from Black Bullet, LorenzoArt's Caedis from Instagram, NCR Veteran Ranger from Fallout: New Vegas and art of Archangel Metatron that I found posted on Quora]

[Faceclaims (which might or might not change): The UnTitledverse: Beanie Feldstein for Lisa Cobalt, Scarlett Johanson for Madame Callaghan, Elizabeth Gilles for Lillian "Lena" Elliot, Sean McLoughlin for Greenpeace, Anya Taylor-Joy for Allyson "Alice" Darling, Benedict Cumberbatch for Edward Carmine, Laurence Fishburne for Calvin Dearing, Isiaiah Stannard for Joaquin Cobalt and Aaron Moten for Rick Thompson. The Silver Chronicles: Mario Casas for Oscar Lapis, Brad Garrett for Father Adam Omar, Juliana Alves for Elsa Omar, Gabriel Garko for Paul Yellowjack, Mina El Hammani for Deputy Silva Omar, Aria Goodson for Azriel Omar, Aïssa Maïga for Nadi Sinclair, Andre Royo for Kamski "the Good Doctor" Neon, Taron Egerton for Alexander Khaos, Matthew McConaughey for Gavin Turquoise, Emily Tosta for Mercy Omar-Seed and Álex González for Captain Ezekiel of Security. Life, Despair & Monsters: Daniel Padilla for Icarus Galatos, Hatsukami Hinode & Xavier Tulip, Hikaru Utada for Haoyu Anabuki, Wilmer Calderon for Rico, Nathalie Emmanuel for Eden "Evie" Bloodleech, Rami Malek for Sir Enigma Malvolio, Odette Annable for Denise Redwood, Karen Fukuhara for Lora, Mia Goth for Cecil Royce and Daniel Radcliffe for Corvus Targaryen. A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore: Jason Statham for Elrand Brandt the Vault Dweller, Yvonne Strahovski for Vega the Resident, Beyonce for Marissa "Ress" Bishop, Sam Blanckensee for Alph Dolen the Lone Wanderer, Halle Berry for Ryder the Courier Six, Jessica Alba for Finidy Mona the Chosen One and Steven He for Nate Gust Sarid the Sole Survivor.

[the-ancient-dragons]

Behold, the overcompensated SeaWings!

Once again, Joy Ang’s design is awesome and doesn’t need to be changed. This is just me having fun.

Details and explanation below.

Otherwise, next week are MudWings! See you then!

More overcomplicated dragons.

This is where I found the style I wanted for this series - and when I knew it would be a series to begin with. It set the tone, if you will. I used influences from marine iguanas, whales, fish, and anglerfish to create this design. I knew I wanted more whiskers and found a really cool deep sea angler that had many glowing tendrils. I also wanted their body shape to be more vertical and fish-like so I used a reference from a marine iguana to help extend the body.

This is when I also had ideas about how they might hunt and how their adaptations would help that. They could be ambush hunters, waiting in the dark with their mouths open and using the extra glowing whispers to guide prey inside, or be like whales and use their large mouths to scoop bucketfuls of fish. I was also inspired by this idea to want to do some action sketches, but those will be later after I explore the full body.

[cheesuschrist-iii]

Taishen!!! Yayyy!!!

Didn’t realise how much I like this silly guy.

He’s literally so nice 😭😭

Also I like imagining him pulling on his whisker tendrils when he’s upset idk why.

[nightly-nightcat]

day 133 - whiskered and tendrilful beast

[honourablejester]

I love the sentences you get with science fantasy. Just. The things you get to say.

I’m reading Starfinder’s Ports of Call sourcebook (1e), which has part of a chapter describing the galaxy the setting is set in. At the centre of said galaxy is a titanic black hole nicknamed Old Rovagug (after the vanished god of destruction) which supplies the gravity needed to hold the galaxy together. And we get this spectacular sentence, a result of the fact that Starfinder is a science fantasy setting using D&D style planes of existence:

“Like most black holes, Old Rovagug tears open millions of momentary rifts to the Negative Energy Plane every second, allowing creatures like spectral undead, gargoyle-like sceaduinars and titanic darvakkas to escape into the surrounding space. These interlopers rampage across any worlds they can reach before the oppressiveness of reality inevitably disintegrates them.”

… Like most black holes. Like most black holes, Old Rovagug tears millions of holes into the plane of death on the regular, allowing undead to escape into nearby space until the raw weight of reality reabsorbs them. As, you know. Black holes do. Apparently.

This is followed by:

“Unlike most black holes, Old Rovagug radiates light-year-wide entropic tendrils. Seeming to ignore material physics, these tendrils extend and roil outward like solar flares for thousands of years before fading and being replaced by new projections. Like black holes, they aren’t directly visible, instead being observed only by the empty spaces they leave behind—most often along the accretion disk, earning them the name Whiskers of the Sun-Eater for how they radiate from the lightless center of the galaxy.”

This black hole also radiates reality-shredding thousand-year-long entropic flares. Most black holes don’t do that. It’s just this one.

I just. I love the things you get to say. Most black holes, you know. They summon spectral undead. Didn’t you know that about them?

[tlirswriting]

Martian: 

adj. Belonging or relating to the planet or people of Mars 

> In the year 2280, a young man stands in front of his bathroom mirror and runs a hand through his hair, interspersed with delicate tendrils, glowing faintly blue at the tips. 

> He hesitates for a moment, scissors in hand, before grabbing a section of hair and chopping it off, white-hot pain shooting down his spine. Unclenching his fist, he drops a chunk of dark hair in his sink, along with a few writhing sensory organs similar to catfish whiskers. Biting his tongue, he repeats the process around his head, shaking and nauseous by the time it's done. He opens his eyes, and he looks mostly Human. 

> His name is Atlas, and he is dying. 

> Atlas struggles against the artificial gravity to step into the shower without his joint braces on, grabbing onto a thick metal bar to steady himself and sinking down to a small plastic stool. The water sputters on, rinsing the blood dripping from his scalp. 

Welcome to life on Mars

[ninibeingdelulu]

“You both are..my everything.”

plot- higuruma can’t wait to get home to see his little family

The aroma of simmering spices wafted through the cozy kitchen where you were busily preparing dinner.

Soft evening light filtered in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the cheerful disarray of pots and pans scattered about from your culinary efforts.

You paused to wipe perspiration from your brow with the back of one hand, humming contentedly under your breath.

Though you often felt hopelessly outmatched when it came to mastering the culinary arts compared to your talented husband, you took pride in trying your best to create nourishing homecooked meals for your little family.

At the sound of the front door opening and closing with a familiar creak, your face immediately brightened.

Speak of the devil - you'd recognize the subtle cadences of Hiromi's familiar footfalls anywhere.

"Honey? Is that you?" you called out with a grin, already knowing the answer.

Sure enough, your husband soon appeared in the entryway, shoulders sagging just slightly with weariness from another long day's work.

Yet as soon as Hiromi's rich brown eyes landed on you standing there by the stove - tendrils of hair escaping your messy bun, cheeks flushed from exertion, and sleeves rolled up in domestic disarray - his entire expression seemed to soften and warm.

The harsh angles and lines of strain melted from his features in an instant.

With a low groan, Hiromi crossed the distance between you in three strides, startling a laugh from you as his much larger frame enveloped you from behind.

You could feel the tension still coiled tight in the bunched ropes of his muscles as he wrapped those powerful arms around your waist and simply...sagged against you in a full-bodied lean.

"Hey there, handsome." you chuckled fondly, even as his dead weight bore down with that comforting solidity you'd grown to crave like a physical ache whenever he was away for too long.

"Welcome home. Rough day at work?"

Hiromi just grunted in wordless affirmation, nuzzling his whiskered jaw against the crook of your neck as he seemed to liquid-melt against your back.

His lips brushed your skin as he inhaled deeply, the mere presence of your clean, familiar scent already proving a balm to whatever stresses taxed him.

"Remind me why I married a messy little woman who gets her scent all over every inch of our home?" he finally rumbled, a hint of humored gruffness undercutting the words.

"It's downright torturous having to suffer through the day with just the memory of you imprinted on my senses."

You tried and failed to repress the shiver skating down your spine at his rough timbre rasping so sinfully close to your ear like that.

One huge, calloused palm skated downwards to splay possessively over the soft swell of your abdomen, hauling you even more snugly back against the solid wall of his chest.

"Well, I did try warning you about what a terribly disorganized mess you were signing up for." You retorted airily, twisting in his arms until you could face him properly.

Hiromi's chiseled, sharply angular features were thawing into those heart-melting crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth that you loved drawing out of him so much.

Unable to resist, you leaned up on your tiptoes to dot his jawline and cheeks with a smattering of swift, loud kisses.

"Hey now. Don't smear me up with those sauce-stained digits, woman..."

Despite his put-upon grumbling, Hiromi didn't push you away. Far from it - he simply hugged you tighter, that low gravelly chuckle of genuine amusement rumbling against your sternum as he buried his face into the wild tumble of your hair.

"Actually, that's fine...I don't really mind getting a little dirty if it means immersing myself fully in you again after being away all day," he added in a conspiratorial murmur, so low and velvet-rough that you swore your skin was going to unbraid at the seams right then and there.

Before you could even begin to properly sputter out a response to that deliciously wicked innuendo, Hiromi had already captured your lips with his own in a long, smoldering kiss.

It was intoxicating how thoroughly he could deconstruct your bones into molten puddles with just one nibbling caress of those sinfully skilled lips and wicked tongue.

Eventually though, desperate twin gasps for air forced you to draw apart again - both of your chests heaving a touch raggedly.

You stared up at Hiromi through your lashes, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw hungrily with your gaze.

Yes, having him back in your arms whole and healthy after the long day apart filled your heart to overflowing every single time.

You drank in the sight of that beloved face, marveling at how unfairly ruggedly handsome features could possibly be...until your wondering gaze slid over to the living room couch where your precious newborn baby girl still slumbered peacefully beside Hiromi's hastily discarded work satchel.

Something behind Hiromi's eyes melted as he followed your line of vision over to that tiny bundled form.

Slowly, gingerly, he disentangled himself from your embrace to drift over towards the couch - long legs eating up the distance with a few unhurried strides.

There was an almost palpable shift in the tenor of his expression as Hiromi eased down onto his knees beside the sofa.

All the hard edges and angular harshness sloughed away, replaced with something infinitely softer and more tender than you'd ever witnessed from him before.

He held himself with infinite care, shoulders rolled slightly inwards as one rough fingertip extended to ever-so delicately trace the fine wisps of downy hair fanning out across your daughter's tiny brow.

Hiromi seemed to positively crave with every fiber of his being as he hovered protectively beside her, committing every tiny detail to permanent memory with those rapt, soulful eyes.

A lump rose swiftly in your throat at the poignant sight of your strong, brash, powerhouse of a husband humbled into devoted reverence before this impossibly fragile new life you'd created together.

You watched him watching her - the most cynical, jaded parts of Hiromi's soul visibly falling away layer by layer.

A profound sense of inner peace smoothed the deep trenches scored across his brow as he inhaled the sweet, powdery scent of your slumbering infant on a ragged exhale.

Hiromi remained that way for long minutes, seemingly lost to the outside world, perfectly content to simply drink in her perfect existence with every sense.

"Hey, Hiro..." you spoke up at last in a hushed murmur, warmth swelling in your chest until it threatened to burst free in a riot of multi-colored ribbons and chiming bells.

"I think it's time to get our little princess transferred to her crib now. You don't want to miss another second of your evening snuggle time with her favorite napping partner, right?"

Hiromi lifted his head sharply at your words, slightly startled as if just now remembering you even stood there observing this quiet tableau.

His plush mouth curved into the most soul-rending, adoring smile you'd ever seen grace his typically gruff features.

It was downright incandescent, lighting him up from a place deeper than you even realized he possessed before now.

"Right...of course. Come to papa, sweetheart."

With supreme gentleness, Hiromi gathered up your daughter's downy form against the broad sloping plane of his torso, cradling her with infinite care.

He pressed his lips to her crown in a lingering brush of devotion before standing with her protectively swaddled in his arms.

Just before vanishing around the corner towards the nursery, Hiromi paused to look back over his shoulder at you.

He seemed to drink in your softened expression and warm smile, letting loose one more quietly contented rumble of masculine affection just for you alone.

“You both are...my everything”

Hiromi mouthed silently, pouring every ounce of depth and solemnity into those five words before continuing on his way, looking for all the world like a veritable god radiating inner tranquility simply from the world-tilting privilege of shepherding his child for even a few brief moments.

Yes, you mused while turning back to continue cooking preparations - you doubted you'd ever seen or experience anything quite as heart-rendingly beautiful and precious as Hiromi in full, unguarded daddy mode.

[notbecauseofvictories]

so this year, I planted cucumbers (I am going to try and make my own pickles, which I'm looking forward to) and what I failed to realize is that these plants are fucking alive. They are more alive than other plants, even the radishes I planted in the next container over that shot up a solid foot in 30 days. But these cucumbers, man....they put out these tendrils that look weird when they're just sort of waving around in space? Thin, green whiskers serving no purpose you could identify. Only then---overnight, practically!---the tendrils find something to wrap around and turn into curly corkscrew anchors, enabling the plant to grow upwards through the cage I placed around it, instead of sideways.

What an incredibly marvelous natural technology. I'm in awe.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

For the brilliant @devil-in-hiding. Thanks for trusting me with your idea.

Ghost and Price share a bath after a difficult mission. They fuck the last of their energy out of their systems.

cw: sexual content, hand/oral job (brief), anal sex.

Ghost watched the whirls of smoke curl above his head with unfocused eyes. Tendrils of greyish-white circled the murky lampshade before being whisked through the cracked window into the late Spanish summer. His mind felt like it was being cushioned in cotton wool, and his senses spread out to touch the world around him because they weren't needed to guard his body. The man at his back had him covered; Ghost laid comfortably, safely, between Price's legs, reclining back against his chest.

He could hear kids playing in the street, the clatter and chatter of busy restaurants with their tables splashed out onto the plaza, the honk of fizzies as they weaved in and out of traffic, their helmetless riders taking their life in their hands as they threw gestures at bolshy taxi drivers. He could feel the occasional whisper of the breeze over the beads of sweat on his brow alongside the deep, throbbing heat of the bath water soaking through every aching muscle.

There was a petrichor on the air, the promise of distant rain clouds rolling in from the west and the greasy goodness of the tapas from the kitchens below, but, more than anything, he could smell the rich cigar smoke and the musky sweat pushing through the deodorant of the man behind him.

A puff of grey smoke burst into his eyeline and then, “What you smirkin’ at?”

Ghost felt the question vibrate through his back. A low, lazy grumble that reminded Ghost of rolling thunder. He had forgot about his lack of a mask. Price had peeled it off his face earlier with a deep frown - “fuckin stinks worse than the rest of ya” - and chucked it in the heap with the rest of their bloodied, mud-soaked clothes. So every one of his expressions was visible, every grimace, every frown, as his body unwound. Price had to have been watching him to see it though, and the thought of those intense blue eyes focused on the scars and lines of his face made his chest feel tight.

“You smell good,” Simon replied. His voice felt thick and sticky in his throat, like the steam had soaked through his skin and melted his voice box. Even speaking was an effort, his chest lifting in a deep sigh as he twitched minutely between Price's legs.

“Gonna eat my liver with some fava beans?”

Ghost felt Price shift, reaching to tap his cigar against the nearby paper cup that was serving as his ashtray. Crouching in the shadow of the nearby cathedral, the hotel was cheap as chips, but it was clean. There was a fully stocked bar downstairs, and two rooms hadn't set them back much; the two sergeants crowding into one and Ghost gladly taking the other side of Price's bed.

The promise of an exhausted, lazy fumble in a clean sheets after the shitstorm of their most recent mission had been enticing enough, but whoever had retrofitted a hotel into this gothic-esque monstrosity had seen fit to deck out the bathrooms with tubs big enough for three normal-sized people, or two battered soldiers, so now he got to lounge in a bubble bath with the captain's thighs bracketing his hips and his thick chest cushioning his head. A small slice of heaven on an otherwise hellish operation.

“Naw, give me gut ache,” Simon replied, smoothing his fingers through the ginger-blonde hair on said gut. “‘Mount of scotch you drink, reckon it's pickled ‘n’all.”

“Rich comin’ from you,” Price said, and Ghost could picture the wry smirk on his face without even looking, whiskers twitching. “Surprised your drug screenings don't flag your blood as fifty percent bourbon.”

“They do. I jus’ go at it with the ol’ tipex before they get to you.”

“Bloody muppet.” Price chuckled, jostling one of Ghost’s legs by nudging his inwards before settling it back against the edge of the tub. The conversation lulled and Ghost tilted his head to look down the slope of his own body, the fur on Price’s chest soft against the shell of his ear, the deep musky scent of him easier to find under the cigar smoke.

Sprawled between Price's legs like this, Ghost reckoned he should be more aroused than he was. As it stood, his cock had managed a half chubby before quietening down to float beneath the suds, as limp and useless as the rest of him in the sultry heat of the water.

Everything ached.

There wasn't a muscle in his body that didn't feel leaden with exhaustion and soreness, but in the cradle of hot water and Price’s body, that ache had morphed into a bone-deep contentment that only came in the aftermath of extreme physical exertion. He knew his captain would feel the same physically, but his mind would still be racing through the events of the day, analysing, cataloguing, planning. The only way to switch his brain off that Ghost knew of was to melt it through his ears with a good, hard fuck. In the meantime, he could offer some paltry comfort to distract Price from whatever self-chastisement he was currently mulling over.

Ghost’s hand lifted from the water, his fingertips a little pruned, and he stroked his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of Price’s knee. His reward was an almost imperceptible shiver against his back, and a flurry of goosebumps up Price’s forearm. Ghost continued further down, as far as he could reach before he met the outside of his own hip, and caressed until Price let out a soft sigh, releasing a well of tension that saw his legs slackening around Ghost's body.

There was a certain pleasure in touching parts of Price that were usually covered. Not just the impressive cock and balls pressing to the middle of Ghost’s back, but the curve of his pecs, beneath his arms, behind his knees, down the inside of his thighs. Ghost would rip someone's arm off for a chance to spend a few hours touching and licking the places he could only get to when the captain was spread out naked in front of him, relaxed, trusting. It was intimate in a specific way that went beyond sex. Ghost wasn't sure what he'd call it, but he knew he didn't have it with anyone else.

Ghost wriggled up Price’s body, lifting enough so that his balls didn't get ground down against his spine, until the back of his head rested against his collar bone. At this height, he could tilt his face up into Price's jaw and throat, the shaggy, coarse hair of Price's beard tickling the tip of his nose, his pulse so close to his mouth that Ghost could almost taste the thrum of it. His lashes must have tickled Price’s neck, because the captain shivered again.

Powerful thighs twitched, and Ghost raked his fingers back down the top of his thigh, smoothing lines of dark hair towards Price’s knee cap. Price’s hand left the edge of the tub, and moments later he heard the muted rattle of the cigar wobble around the inside of the cup and Price's free hand tapped Ghost’s shoulder. “‘Ere, sit up, I'll do yer back."

It took a monumental amount of effort for Ghost to lever himself up. He grabbed the edges of the tub, his arse squeaking against the bottom as his legs flailed to find the momentum; his core nought but jelly and exhaustion. Once he was upright, he slouched forward, eyes lidded, as Price soaped up his hands.

The first glide of Price’s thumbs up either side of his spine made him groan. “Urf, fuck me that's good,” Ghost mumbled, head hanging between his shoulders as the soft pleasure unfurled through his torso.

Price pressed into the meat around his hips, above his arse, with an appreciative hum. “Like it when you’re a bit bigger.”

Ghost huffed a tired laugh. “You collin’ me fat, sir?”

“We really goin’ with sir when I'm starin’ down yer hairy arse crack?” Price's forehead settled between Ghost’s shoulder blades as he worked his soapy thumbs into the knots just above the waterline. It felt so good that Ghost’s toes curled against the far end of the tub, his hand kneading at Price’s thigh.

“Could get it waxed.”

“Don't you fuckin’ dare.”

Ghost grinned at the dark warning in Price's voice. He felt the scar through his lips tug, such was the scarcity of the expression on his face, and he brushed a damp hand over the stubble on his jaw. Well, it used to be. He found himself smirking more and more under his mask these days, with Johnny chattering down the Comms in his cheeky Scottish drawl. Damn boy was mental, pushed his luck, got away with far more than Ghost should let him. Ghost tried not to look too closely at why.

In the pause as Price washed himself, Ghost listened to the hurried squelch of soaped hands beneath armpits, and then the slosh of water as Price splashed it over himself. The restaraunts outside the window would be emptying soon, patrons with bellies full of Spanish cuisine would stumble to the clubs or back to their hotel rooms for early nights to fuck, then they'd watch shitty telenovelas in the afterglow.

The aftermath of a mission sometimes felt like an afterglow. In many ways, fighting was like fucking, weren't it? Physicality, and adrenalin, and arousal, just not the sexy kind unless you were a sick fuck. Ghost had thought he was for a long time when he'd get a chubby in the shower after the firefights had finished and the wounds were dressed, but it was just the adrenalin leaving his system, his body firing off all the synapses as it shook itself off and reset to standard protocols.

That was what they were both feeling now. The synapses firing, the hormones settling. They could do it here, safe with a man that understood, that had felt and thought the same; the thrill of violence, the brutality of fear, the relief of success and the sound of the exfil droning overhead. It was fraternisation. It was wrong. They'd get kicked out on a dishonourable discharge if anyone ever found out. Ghost was just glad that Price disregarded those rules the same way he did any others that inconvenienced him in pursuit of his goals.

Warm water flooded over his shoulders as Price cupped handfuls to rinse him off, his hands returning to ease down Ghost’s obliques to the meat of his belly. Ghost looked down and watched the captain's weathered fingers knead and undulate through the layer of padding covering his core, and his dick gave an interested twitch at the soft growl of appreciation he felt against his back. “Lean back, doin’ the front.”

Ghost shuffled back with another squeak of skin against ceramic so that when he leaned back this time, his head settled on Price's shoulder, Price’s hard on nestled in the divet of his spine. He watched as the bar of soap rolled through those strong hands, Price's biceps bracketing his shoulders. He was one of the few men that made Ghost feel handled, like the extra two inches of height and the bulk meant nothing. Ghost’s hands returned to Price’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing up the inside, following the dips of his muscles to the angular curve of his knee.

Price hooked his arms beneath his pits and stroked his hands over Ghost’s pectorals, his thumbs stroking around his areola until Ghost’s nipples pebbled, his cock twitching above the water line. It was pathetic really, how little tenderness it took to make it sit up and beg like a dog, and it only got keener when Price's hands moved lower, meeting on his sternum to push down to his belly button.

“Fuckin ‘ell,” Ghost groaned, turning his face into Price’s neck. He pushed close enough until he could feel the thrum of Price’s pulse against his lips, nip at it with his teeth, and was glad to find it matched his own. Two randy fuckin’ war dogs, the pair of ‘em. Price circled the base of Ghost’s cock in one hand and returned to his chest with the other, fingers and thumb pinching a pert nipple.

“Bloody love the way you get like this, Simon.”

“Like wot?” Ghost knew what he meant even as he thrust up slowly into Price’s fist, watching his foreskin glide over his glans, leaking precum mixing with soap suds. But he wanted to hear Price say it in that gruff fuckin’ voice that made heat pool in Ghost’s gut.

“Like a ruttin’ dog. Thick fuckin’ body, thick fuckin’ prick,” Price growled, squeezing with just the right pressure, his forefinger teasing Ghost’s frenulum in a delicious little circle. Wily bastard had to be good at everything, didn't he? Best in the field, best in leadership, best at giving a handy in some cheap hotel’s bath tub.

“Collin’ me a bleedin’ dog,” Ghost growled and turned in the bath, awkward, slippery, arms flailing, and snogged the amused chuckle right out of Price’s damn mouth once he'd got some purchase on the edge of the tub. His knees slid back as he ground against Price’s cock, his own slipping over it in a messy rhythm that splashed water up the sides of the bath and onto the black and white tiles of the bathroom floor. His back burned, his damn arms shook, but he needed to climb under Price’s fuckin’ skin.

Price's fingers bit into the meat of his hips, his arse, pulling him closer with a bitten out snarl of enjoyment, his head thrown back, as Ghost sucked a bruise into his neck. When he returned to Price's mouth, he sucked on his lips, his tongue, demanding and insistent, but Price shoved him away. “Out,” he grunted. “Need that weapon in me, not wastin’ it humpin' like crows at Credenhill.”

[Continued on AO3 (see notes) because Tumblr was being a bloody princess about it.]

[dastardly6sharkzz]

Another commission by the same clients as Pavaavak, this time the Mollusceron Kounekros! Client also included lore so I feel obliged to include it here aswell if anyone else wants to know more! Kounekros’s lineage and origins are mostly unknown to the guild though, being appart of a recently discovered group of monsters they dubbed molluscerons, they evolved from intelligent bottom feeder worms that feed on anything they could to survive of which were being outcompete at the time in the ancient past of the Colbron Reef, luckily for them the sudden draining of the inland mountain ocean gave them a sudden big advantage as they were one of the few organisms that have adapted to be able to go onto dry land for significant amounts of time. Being now able to take full advantage of the great die off at the time being able to reproduce and grow rapidly onto the passage of time. They have now grown from flatworm sizes to colossal might, reaching on average a length of 30 meters long and could look a lagiacrus in the eyes if it wanted too, despite its lack of eyes itself. They detect potential meals weather it be dead monsters, living ones, vegetation and so on via two methods. One being its hyper sensitive whiskers that smell both water and air for any scents that would lead it to food or for the case of moving foods it uses its ability to detect vibrations from the ground with the help of its water retaining skin and fatty tissues that make up its skin and flanks or its whiskers via changes of water or air pressure to detect prey from far away. If a hunter steps within 20 meters of kounekros, it can see you. Luckily for the inhabitants of the Colbron Reef it spends most of its time in the brine filled depths of the now former great ocean feeding on decay that drifts to it when rain is plentiful and pushes the food to it. Though when it hasn’t rained for a few days or weeks at times as the environment takes on a bleached look, the now great hunger of kounekros takes hold, leaving its home and leaving a trail behind of brine behind it take is toxic to most life that interacts with it.

Lucky as well for the inhabitants of the Colbron Reef Kounekros retained its rather slow speed from its ancestor, though it can still keep up with a jogging hunter. It aids it though that as well as its slow speed they kept their intellect and camouflage abilities, changing their Color’s like a cuttlefish with very similar skin to them with some differences, their skin is extremely water retaining similar to a ludroths mane though now elastic as well, with all the brine water it Carrie’s as well any prey or threats that attack it would find themselves now covered in brine if their not careful giving an effect on them similar to effluvium from the rotten vale, additionally it is capable in cause of flying prey or when it’s being feeling highly threatened or in need of going away it has one last trump card for defence, it uses the chromatophores in its skin to release a dashing array of Color’s messing with its prey or adversaries senses of sight and giving them confusion though for a more immediate effect it would delivery a flash of brightness with its Color’s though that puts its color changing abilities on cooldown so that the chromatophores do not get damaged, changing its truth Color’s rarely seen outside of its home. For when it needs to go onto the offensive it uses its slimy and sticky 10 meters long at maximum proboscis which branches out into many tendrils like the ribbon worms of our world to apprehend prey. Wrapping and swallowing anything that is small enough to fit into its mouth and with being the biggest organism native to its ecosystem and that the only hard parts of itself are its human sized hooked sharp Mandibles and armor plates on its back, there’s little that won’t fit, additionally like an octopus it can squeeze into any Crevaces or cracks that is human sized thanks to its elastic and tough skin, depending if it has had a decent sized meal already or not that would cause some blockage.

Its last ability in prey handling that it can’t just swallow up easily, its intellect uncommon for a worm as made way for a fascinating and yet terrifying ability to uses the skeletal and digesting remains in its iron stomach to "puppeteer" them giving way to be able to utilize them too attack as weapons or use them as tools, used in different ways depending on what they have eaten recently, they have also been known to regurgitate bones they find useful back into their lair for later use. Due to this ability it has been given the nickname. Master of death and decay from the local Lynian inhabitants. All of this makes it the apex predator of the region, having no rivals appart from invaders or elder dragons that can easily overwhelm it, additionally if left out of moisture for too long it will die of dehydration and despite its intelligence it is an uncaring parent, for a short period of time after laying its thousand of eggs onto a carcass and not eating it and defending it from other kounekros, that’s all it shall do for them, as soon as they hatch into feet sized worms their on their own to survive and are likely to be devoured by the parents later for reducing competition for food and space for their homes, as a matter of fact their highly cannibalistic eating their own kind with little to no hesitation at all if they can just swallow them. Though adult and fully mature kounekros rarely fight and they live for up to a maximum of twenty years before dying. Reaching adulthood at 8 years of age. Taking into account as well, that other predators and creatures are keen to feed on the now bounty of young worms their numbers are kept rather low at all times usually. Nonetheless when the bleaching comes all evacuate the shore of the remaining great bodies of water. So to not be devoured by the great worms.

Hunts for kounekros don’t happen that often due to their secluded homes and rarity of events that allows for uncontrolled population booms, though their kind are sought often for their materials like their elastic and tough skin for light weight water resistant armor and swimming gear and Mandibles and armor back plates for tools and weapons, their young are also hunted as a odd delicacy often boiled and then roasted eaten similarly to either escargot if small enough or as a strange roast by locals and outsiders, though only the young is to be eaten not having spent long enough time in the brine filled homes and feeding on the rather small and sweet sea fruits and other small life and not feeding much on decay yet their known to taste quite fruity and spongy as a result. Their some times served as sugar wrapped or hard candied as wel

When hunting kounekros it is important to aim for either the head or back since they don’t retain much water filled brine there, their proboscis when out can be broken as well as so to their whiskers to reduce their range of attacks and their abilities to detect hunters, though it is advised to not hide from a kounekros and just run if possible as it is nearly impossible to do so for hunters. When forced to attack the flanks be sure to clear the area after wards so to not be affected by the splash of brine left all over the place as a result of impacts, piercing weapons too have been known to be more effective on the flanks as well so bludgeoning and slashing weapons are recommended to stay at the head and back. Though ranged weaponry is highly effective as well, kounekros are non incapable of ranged attacks, throwing remains from their a stomachs with its proboscis.

[fruchtfleisch-art]

kirashino in killer queen's pov

You know what, I almost didn't do this one, thinking I had nothing interesting to say, but it turned out to be the microfic I had the most fun writing. Fittingly, this is also going to be the last microfic for this round! Thanks so much to everyone who sent in suggestions. I'm going to get back to editing some longer stuff, and hopefully posting more art soon! ---

This is the way of things. First there was one: Kira. Then another: Killer Queen.

Kira is a man with a man’s heart, a man’s appetites, a man’s joys and sorrows and petty tantrums. He keeps a house, goes to work, eats and sleeps and shits and talks sweetly to people he would happily feed feet first into a wood chipper. When his urges bubble up, hissing and spitting like hot milk over the lip of a sauce pan, that is when Killer Queen comes forward.

Killer Queen is a tool. Since it first emerged from Kira some fifteen-odd years ago, it has not changed in any fundamental way: smooth, vaguely feline in form, adorned in skulls and samurai swords, symbols it does not comprehend the full meaning of.

Killer Queen’s primary task is of separation. Separating body from person, limb from body, hand from limb, all without damaging them too much. And when Kira is finished with these disparate parts, when they begin to leak and sweat and stink of corruption, Killer Queen devours them, leaving nothing behind. That is what it does.

There are exceptions, of course, times when Killer Queen is needed for other purposes. The destruction of the snotty-nosed child whose stand swarmed them like fleas. The schoolboy who had pinned Sheer Heart Attack in place, but more importantly, stung Kira with his words, sending Killer Queen lashing out, cat-quick. Kira himself, forcing Killer Queen’s hand to sever his own, an action as painful as forcing blood to pump backwards.

Sometimes, rarely, when Kira is sunk deep into the dark well of a dream, Killer Queen is called forth for no apparent purpose at all.

It is theorized by some that deep in the mazelike folds of the brain, neurons fire almost at random, tiny messengers ignorant of the messages they carry. These cells have no comprehension of their importance, and yet the slightest scratch in cortex can render a man blind, deaf, or amnesiac, unable to remember what he had for breakfast or the face of his beloved grandmother. The world outside the body is not, a place of objective fact, but utter darkness, illuminated only by the scant and scattered efforts of a few million thready gray tendrils.

Such is the same with Killer Queen. It does not emerge because it wants to, but because it is called. The higher purpose behind the summons eludes it entirely. It does not perceive time away from the world as anything other than absence; it does not long to feel sunlight on its face, or to fight, or to kill.

Kira asks, Killer Queen answers. That’s the way of things.

On this night, Killer Queen hangs in the air like a haze, moonlight limning the pale curves and angles of its body. Its arms hang loosely at its sides. This is not Kira’s bedroom, but some other place, a place he has been spending most of his time in the last month or so. There is nothing to destroy in this room. Kira is-

a cat, a most beautiful tomcat with a silky soft coat, with lovely whiskers arranged just so, with eyes like deep blue pools, and he is cradled in the arms of a woman as she strokes his head, his cheeks, his chest. He does not understand what she is saying, but the words are soft, and when he nibbles on her finger she coos, delighted. Saliva wells from the corners of his mouth and dangles from his chin in long pearly strings.   

- deeply asleep, eyelids twitching. His face is different, but his habits are the same. His dreams are the same.

The woman, whose name does not matter, because she will be dead soon, is in the room too. She’s curled up like a pillbug next to Kira, face buried in the pillows. When he is awake, Kira wants very badly to strangle her, but he is not awake, so Killer Queen does nothing.

Outside, insects buzz and frogs peep. The dim orange light of the streetlamp flickers, throwing strange shadows over the sleepers. Devoid of intent, Killer Queen can only watch. Its unblinking eyes do not waver, its preternaturally muscular frame does not grow tired. Its focus is absolute.

It watches the woman stir and sit up, raise her arms in a stretch. It watches her leave the room, then come back with a glass of water. It watches her take a sip and place the glass on the nightstand, before sitting down on the side of the bed.

Kira sighs. The woman turns. She runs a hand through his hair, the movement slow and hesitant at first, until he shifts closer with a soft groan of contentment. His heart rate slows, his breathing steadies.

The woman says something to him, but it does not matter what, exactly, the words are. She sits and pets him, and gradually a soft noise begins to permeate the room, a noise only audible to the one person not awake to hear it. Kira-

knows her, this woman. This voice, this touch, the loose strand of reddish-brown hair tickling his fur, all are familiar. He stretches up to touch his nose to her nose, blinking at her, greeting her. His tiny pink tongue darts out to taste her. She laughs, and holds him close, and he feels content.

-is dead to the world, lost in his own private reverie.

The noise is like the idling engine of a well maintained motorcycle, or the deep-voiced treadle of an elephantine sewing machine, or the stuttering whirl and hum of a serpentine belt, spinning and spinning and spinning. It is like all of those things and none of those things.

Kira is the man, and Killer Queen is his tool, nothing more, nothing less. Nonetheless, tonight it purrs.

[eldritch-spouse]

Over at a wine store restocking the shelves. A shadow is overcast on me. Turning around there is a yellow slime behind you. Why is he smiling like that? Creepy….

“Did you need help with something sir? If not I can get out of your way.”

Gallon doesn't move much initially, enjoying the way you grow tense with fear.

Solid people are so interesting, he can see the little pebbling of your skin, raising your sparse hairs to make you seem bigger than you really are, but failing miserably. You shake but you hold form, raising your shoulders instead.

The slime smiles even wider now, whiskers twitching in amusement as he begins to stretch upwards. " No no, don't let me stop you, I can reach just fine. "

And he can, truly. Distended body allowing him to grasp the bottles stored some distance directly above you. Truth be told, this isn't exactly the brand he's looking for, but he can afford to take extra home just to mess with this new, curious little human. Gallon could have just elongated a tendril and fetched it from a distance, but where's the fun in that? It's much more entertaining to get a little too close to you, to trigger some kind of prey instinct, to enlarge more sections of his body than necessary just to see you freeze.

He assumes his previous size, now with two bottles safely secured in a thick tendril. Pretending he just noticed how close he was to your figure, as if he couldn't feel the warmth radiating from it.

" Sorry cherry, you know how it is with one eye, terrible depth perception... " He casts said eye to what you hold in your hands. " Not a bad choice. "

To pick such, you must at least know your wines decently enough, which means you might be a regular here. Gallon looks forward to finding you here again...

[devildom-moss]

Roses for You (9)

This had all started when you noticed a link between a book on the language of flowers you had borrowed from Satan’s room and the current lessons from your Seductive Speechcraft and Magical Potions classes.

In Seductive Speechcraft, you had just reached a section on the effectiveness of spells using non-verbal communication: enchanting glances, dance, and offerings. Meanwhile, in Magical Potions, the professor had been discussing the significance of using specific quantities when concocting potions; they had spent fifteen minutes just providing examples – including adding petals from two different flowers when using them for a love spell.

You couldn’t resist discussing the use of flower language – utilizing the type, color, and quantity of the flowers – to specify the magical intent of an offering as a form of seductive speechcraft. Asmo and Solomon listened intently. The same idea popped into both of their minds, and before you knew it, everyone was looking into color and number meanings, searching for the perfect combination to convey their feelings for you and try to put you under their spell. The only rule for their little competition to charm you? Only roses are allowed.

Will you be charmed by their attempts?

Nine Roses - Barbatos

Word Count: +1,500 (sorry. I think my bias is showing.)

Eternal love

“Hey, Barbatos, why did you want to see me today?” You stood at the door to the Demon Lord’s castle.

Barbatos chuckled and stepped aside to allow you in. “What would you say if I told you I simply wanted to see you?”

“I’d say, ‘I’m glad you invited me because I missed you, too.’”

You missed the brief widening of his smile. He was delighted by your response, but the thought of someone walking into the foyer and seeing him practically fawning over you caused him to suppress that joy.

“Actually,” Barbatos started with a hint of something between hesitation and musing. “I was finishing up a task that I believe you might enjoy. Would you like to try your hand at making a flower arrangement?”

“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it, but it sounds fun.”

“Excellent. Come with me to the garden.” Barbatos turned, hiding the sudden appearance of a grin, and led the way. Perfect, he thought. It was no coincidence that you “caught him” in the middle of this particular task. He had worked hard to complete his necessary duties ahead of time so that he could spend the entire afternoon with you. This last task had been postponed until you were on your way with the hope that it would spark your interest – with the expectation that his plan would come to fruition. “I have a table set up in the garden where I was previously making arrangements. The flowers around the castle required refreshing. Although, as you can see, I’ve already completed a few.”

There was a vase slightly ahead of you on a table in the hall. You recognized the purple basil and black calla lilies, but there was something else in the arrangement – some alien- or Devildom-looking plant. It was a large dark reddish-brown, almost black, with petals that resembled wings – some pointed, demonic version of an orchid. Even stranger were the long, whisker-like tendrils that jutted out from the center. You’d never seen anything like it. “What type of flower is that?”

“I take it you mean the black bat flower?” Barbatos hummed and stopped in front of the vase.

“Is it native to the Devildom? It’s incredible. I half-expected it to growl at me as we walked by.”

“No, my dear,” Barbatos chuckled. “This plant is from the human world, but it tolerates Devildom conditions quite well; in fact, it flourishes here – much like yourself. I’ve heard about your recent interest in flower meanings, would you happen to have learned about any of these?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s the same for purple basil, but basil is usually a symbol of love, right?”

“It is now, although I’ve read that it once symbolized hatred. It was said to drive men insane. What an interesting turn of events. Both the calla lilies and the bat flower symbolize transformation, strength, and mystery. However, the black calla lily has a rather unique association.” Barbatos paused and turned to face you. His tail wrapped around the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to him. He held your gaze seductively and spoke, slow and heavy: “forbidden love.”

Barbatos had brought you here on purpose – both to see that particular arrangement and because the hall was quiet and not prone to foot traffic. He gave you a gentle smile that smothered the spark of heat you had felt in his eyes.

You found yourself searching for something to say – to cut the charged tension in a still-very-public part of the castle. “It’s a beautiful arrangement, Barbatos.”

Barbatos chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, dear, I lost myself momentarily. Shall we continue to the garden?”

He didn’t wait for a response before he turned and began to walk. You immediately felt his tail drop and encircle one of your calves, pulling you along with him.

The table Barbatos had set up in the garden was filled with a variety of flowers. You could see that he had nearly completed another arrangement before you had arrived. Barbatos added a few more hell roses and a sprig of black grass before he wrapped it carefully. “I’m going to place this in an empty vase. You’re welcome to use whatever you’d like to create your arrangement.”

“Will you display it in the castle when I’m done?”

“I’d like to, yes – if you don’t mind.”

You grinned to yourself as Barbatos walked away. The thought of Barbatos looking at an arrangement you made throughout the week as he went about his duties left you nervous but eager to please. Instinctively, you reached for a blue anemone. Sure, you probably should have considered what would suit the castle and the potential surrounding décor, but all you could think about was Barbatos. You added a few purple hyacinths, and cursed baby blue eyes, rotating the placement of each selection, but you felt that something was missing. The pale blue glow of hell jasmine called to you. Strange; the scent of hell jasmine was said to make a demon extremely needy. Why would Barbatos want to display these in the castle? That seems a bit dangerous. However, on closer inspection, the scent had been hampered significantly compared to other times you had run into this plant.

“Let me guess,” Barbatos spoke up as he returned to the garden. “You’re wondering if that hell jasmine has had an effect on me today?”

“Sort of.”

“Worry not. This variety has been modified. Its scent has no power over me. That honor is all yours today. It’s perfectly safe to use in your arrangement.”

“Oh!” You felt the heat rise in your face. You weren’t sure you believed him with all his sweet-talking. But that didn’t matter. If the hell jasmine was safe to use, it would make for the perfect final touch. You wanted to surprise Barbatos with your creative decisions. “Close your eyes, please.”

“As you wish.” Barbatos made no attempt to get closer and shut his eyes. You finished your arrangement and brought it to Barbatos, holding it out to him like an offering.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.” You watched as a look of pleasant surprise was sketched on Barbatos’s face. The smile on his lips filled you with an unfamiliar pride – so warm and encompassing as if you had performed a miracle. There was no restraint in that smile. “I made it with you in mind.”

“Oh my.” Barbatos brought the knuckle of his index finger to his mouth. “I beg your pardon, but would you indulge my selfishness and put your arrangement in my room? There’s an empty vase on the table near the door.”

“You want to display it in your room?”

“I would feel better knowing something so thoughtfully crafted by you was in my room. I’m afraid I would feel quite jealous allowing someone else to admire it. That is, I want the sole joy of seeing it and thinking of you each day. Is that okay?”

“Are you certain the hell jasmine has had no effect on you?” You looked at him suspiciously as if that would distract from the way he flustered you.

“I’m afraid not. This seems to be a consequence of thinking about you so much today. Now, will you do me a favor and deliver those to my room? I believe you’re adept at finding my room on your own by now,” Barbatos added a seductive tinge to the last sentence. He turned you towards the entrance and gave you a gentle nudge. The warmth of his hand lingered as you headed to his room.

When you returned, Barbatos was carefully wrapping a bouquet of blue roses and darkness thyme – likely both of which were cultivated by Barbatos. It was simple, but the blue roses were stunning, and their rarity was only complemented by an equally rare herb. Barbatos tied a silky blue bow around the bouquet and held it out to you with both hands – an oddly elegant gesture.

“Where would you like me to put these?” you asked.

“No, my dear, these are for you.”

Your eyes widened and you took a closer look at the bouquet. Nine blue roses. Nine was for a timeless, eternal love. Blue roses signified mystery and uniqueness, but they could also mean something unattainable or impossible. You frowned. “Eternal love is impossible?”

Sure, maybe Barbatos wouldn’t love you forever, but that message seemed a bit cruel.

“Not quite.” Barbatos laughed at you softly. Had his laugh not been so sweet, you might have been upset. “Blue may represent the impossible, but here it is – a dream come true. If I can be so bold, you are a dream come true – the only one I could adore like this for all of time.”

The frown fell from your face, and you were left with shock and shyness. Something must have gotten into him today. In truth, the thought of the others giving you roses only encouraged Barbatos to charm you as much as he could, and that meant he would need to bare his heart to you. Barbatos pulled you in close and kissed you with a sweetness that matched his words.

“For a demon such as myself, eternal love is a rather serious proposal; will you still accept it?” His thumb ran across your lower lip.

“That would be a dream come true.” It was your turn to kiss and fluster him now. Hopefully none of the little D.s would go into the garden that afternoon.

Lucifer (1) | Mammon (2) | Leviathan (3) | Satan (4) | Asmodeus (5) | Beelzebub (6) | Belphegor (7) | Diavolo (8) | Luke (10) | Simeon (11) | Solomon (12) | Thirteen (13) | Raphael (14) | Mephistopheles (15)

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

What’s your take on “tentacle faced” humanoids, like mind flayers from D&D, the Ood from Doctor Who, and Rubbery Men from Fallen London? How would such a creature work? What would the tentacles even be used for? I suppose the aforementioned Rubbery Men have the excuse that they can reconfigure their anatomy at will and thus the whole “squid-faced human” thing is a deliberate choice on their part, but the others don’t really seem to make sense!

I've never designed one, but they do have a very interesting look, don't they

my take is this: tentacles are basically just very specialized muscular appendages with no bones. I can compare them to an elephant's trunk or the weird little flesh whiskers on star nosed moles. flexible sensory organs with some ability to grab things.

(image description: comparative photo collage of an elephant, a star nosed mole, and an illithid, which is a humanoid with squid-like tentacles on their face. end description)

star nosed moles don't have very much gripping ability with their little face tentacles, but those things wiggle around and basically act as extra sensitive tiny fingers to find prey like earthworms.

elephants only have the singular trunk, but it moves in a very flexible manner, even being able to grab things like a hand, and it's an essential part of how they eat and drink.

so for tentacle-faced humanoids, i think their tentacles must serve a similar function. why you'd need grabby face tentacles when you also have perfectly useful hands is a bit more of a mystery, but like the coiled grip of a constrictor snake, perhaps it just offers extra stability when feeding (especially if your favored food is like, brains. or you reproduce by putting a parasite baby in someone's head. keeping your target stable by wrapping extra appendages around them would certainly make the whole process more efficient)

and leaving aside the use of face tentacles as extra grabbing appendages, they can also be incredibly useful sensory organs. octopus tentacles and star nosed mole face tendrils and the barbels on bottom dwelling fish like catfish are all so full of nerves and used to "see" by touch in dark and murky and obscured places. tentacle faced humanoids may rely more on the touch sense from their tentacles than their eyes or ears. maybe they even have special senses for magic related things! it really depends on how the writers choose to use them.

[triforce-of-mischief]

Blupee Blood

Rating: T

Warnings: physical restraint, lots of panic, and excessive descriptions of a needle/pseudo medical procedure.

Word count: 2300

Summary: Inadvertently transformed into a bunny, Legend is kidnapped by a gang of Yiga who are looking for blupee blood. Legend knows that they have the wrong bunny, but the Yiga are determined to have their prize one way or another.

Notes:

Adjacent to Overcome, just a bonus story because I don't want to fit this into the main timeline.

As always with my Bunleg fics, please don't think about the semantics too much.

AO3

Please show your support with a reblog! Likes do nothing.

Legend could feel eyes on him as he walked away from their camp. Four’s quiet worry, Warriors’ underlying protectiveness, Hyrule’s curiosity. The constant attention was exactly why he had suddenly announced that he was going on a quick walk for some fresh air, no need to accompany him. Wild had sworn that there were no monsters around, so Legend didn’t bother to grab any weapons other than his fist ring and an ice rod.

The ambient bustle and chatter of camp quickly faded, replaced with buzzing insects and tall grass rustling in the breeze. Legend closed his eyes, walking aimlessly and breathing in the crisp air. This was what they were fighting for. A peaceful kingdom, untouched by evil.

Evil, of course, chose that moment to touch Legend.

An unexpected misstep brought Legend’s boot to a sticky, miasmic substance that, as he gasped and looked down at it, sent red tendrils to climb and cling. They darted up and around his boots, reaching his knees in a matter of seconds. It burned on contact with bare skin, but he had no time to react before he fell to the ground, catching himself with-

Paws. Pink, furry bunny paws.

Legend wanted to scream.

So he did, though it was more of an embarrassingly high shriek. It wasn’t like there was anybody around to hear him, so he did it again for good measure.

Just how had it not crossed the champion’s mind to warn them about random puddles of sinister gunk? If Legend had known, he would have brought his moon pearl but just this once, he had considered himself safe to leave most of his gear behind for a simple walk.

Whiskers twitching as he grumbled murderous thoughts, Legend turned tail and began to hop back in the direction of camp. Only a few hops later, he was stopped in his tracks by an explosion of hanafuda.

A gloved hand grabbed the scruff of Legend’s neck, hoisting him up to come face-to-face with a white mask bearing an upside-down symbol of the Sheikah. The wearer of the mask was tall and lanky, wearing a red skintight bodysuit and flanked by two seemingly identical individuals.

Legend glared and ground his teeth. Just act like a normal rabbit and they’ll let you go, no harm done. There’s no way you can fight one of them like this, let alone three.

“Is that really a blupee?” one of them asked, tilting his head to the side. “I thought it would be more… blue.”

Another elbowed him. “It’s a magic bunny, idiot, you think they can’t come in more colors?”

Legend showed no signs of understanding their banter. Not a magic bunny, just a normal one, now let me go.

“Both of you shut up,” the one holding Legend snapped. “If this is a blupee, the color of its fur won’t matter. It’s the inside that counts.”

“Yeah!” the first one nodded along. “Blupee blood… rumored to be one of the most magically potent liquids in Hyrule! Imagine what Master Kohga could do with a store of the stuff!”

“Glory to Master Kohga,” the three intoned in unison.

That was a bit concerning. Legend prepared himself to slip free and bolt away the instant one of them raised their weapon. There was only one way these goons could harvest his blood, he thought, very much aware of the vicious-looking sickles on their backs.

His kidnappers gave no warning before teleporting, the peaceful field vanishing in the blink of an eye. Legend sneezed as a fluttering paper brushed his nose, then observed his new surroundings.

They were in a cave now, cool and damp with moss-covered walls and lit by a few luminescent plants. A simple wooden table and stools were shoved against a curved wall. A crude bamboo cage sat, empty, on top of a crate in a corner of the cave. Drawings and diagrams of rabbits and recipes decorated the walls.

Nice and homey, Legend thought. Hopefully this isn’t too far from where I was… Wild’s era is so massive, I could escape and never find the others.

It wasn’t going to be nearly as easy to escape now, though. Who knew how many tunnels connected to this room? Legend couldn’t even see a hint of sunlight coming from the entrance.

“You, get the stuff ready,” the not-Sheikah holding Legend ordered. “I’ll need help holding it down-”

Absolutely not. Legend drew the line there, not giving them the chance to draw their sickle before he twisted and bit down on fingers that were only protected by a single layer of fabric. The goon shouted in pain and surprise, fumbling Legend and dropping him. The pink bunny sprinted away, weaving around feet and slipping on wet moss. He was once again thwarted by a shower of hanafuda and two pairs of hands finding purchase on his body.

“You’re as slippery as a banana peel, I’ll give you that!” one of them exclaimed. Legend had lost track of who was who but he supposed that it didn’t matter at this point.

“We’re not even going to kill you!” the other added. “You should consider yourself lucky that you’re a goldmine of magic. Yes, we’ll keep you alive for as long as we can use you, don’t you worry.”

Legend tilted his head to the side, confused. He hadn’t expected them to have actually thought this through. Not that he trusted those sickles for a second. A careless slash could still injure him badly enough to bleed out in minutes.

They carried Legend back to the table, firm hands keeping his head and legs in place. His attempts to kick, twist and bite were easily quashed. The realization that he might not be able to escape set in, along with a looming sense of panic. He had forgotten how his rabbit form intensified fear; his heartbeat increased to an unnaturally fast staccato and his senses were more oversensitive than ever.

The not-Sheikah arranged Legend on the table, keeping him restrained with pressure on his head, back, and legs.

“Hold it still. I don’t want the needle coming out just because you can’t handle a ‘slippery banana peel.’”

Legend skipped a breath, a heartbeat.

He had to have heard that wrong, there was no way-

He managed to turn his head enough to see the third kidnapper, and everything came crashing down.

In one hand, the not-Sheikah held a few small glass vials, empty and waiting for so-called blupee blood.

In the other, an empty syringe with a very long needle on the end.

With a surge of desperate strength, Legend squirmed but the hands only tightened around him. He didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons; his mouth opened and a frantic stream of words tumbled out.

“Wait, WAIT! I’m not a blupee- I’m not even a magical rabbit at all! You won’t gain anything from my blood!”

The dangerous one paused, peering at Legend through his expressionless mask. “You talk?!”

“Yes, yes- I can talk, and blupees can’t talk, so you can tell that I’m not a blupee after all. Now this is all a big misunderstanding and you can let me go now-”

All three of them started to laugh, and Legend’s heart dropped.

“Let you go? After you just gave away the fact that you can talk? You may not be a blupee, but you have to be a magical bunny of some kind. We’ll find a use for your blood one way or another.” With that, he disappeared from Legend’s line of sight. Legend heard him set the vials near his hind leg, and resumed his futile thrashing.

“No- no- I’m not magical- you don’t have to do this- leave me alone- just let me GO!” Legend wailed, nails digging into the table as he scrabbled for purchase in the wood.

His head was pressed down, his jaw aching as it met the hard surface, limiting his mouth to simple vocalizations.

He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move-

The not-Sheikah, none too gently, pushed the needle through to Legend’s bloodstream, and all he could do was scream.

Small and helpless and restrained and terrified and screaming-

It was too familiar, too real.

It lasted longer, this time.

Long enough that he almost lost his voice, only the need to express his pain and fear giving him the strength to gulp a desperate breath before continuing.

The not-Sheikah had to reposition the needle a few times, adding an extra layer of horror to the fact that he was leaving it inside for too long as he drew Legend’s blood. Legend tried to pull free, instantly regretting it as he felt the needle scrape inside his leg.

“Quit that,” one of the goons snapped.

Legend whined; it wasn’t like he was willing to try that again.

Eventually he grew lightheaded, gasping for air in between raspy cries. How much blood were they going to take?

“Don’t let go. I’ll open the cage.”

Legend whimpered as the needle was finally removed and set aside. Black spots danced in his vision when he was tossed into the cage, the jarring impact causing him to pass out from exhaustion and pain.

He was roused sometime later by the sound of panic and the smell of lightning. He winced, curling protectively around his leg. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone…

The not-Sheikah were yelling. They were so loud.

“Get out of here! This is our hideout and we’re not letting you have it! We’ve got important research in here and-”

“I’m not in the mood to argue. Either leave now, or this cave will be your grave.”

That… that wasn’t a goon’s voice.

Legend blinked his eyes open, he didn’t dare hope-

The entirety of his view beyond the cage was curtained with royal blue. A familiar scarf, Warriors’ scarf, that Legend would’ve sobbed to see if he had been physically capable of it. Legend couldn’t know if Warriors had even noticed him, and the captain kept his back to him as he presumably stared down the not-Sheikah.

Legend heard the telltale poof of smoke and paper, and saw Warriors visibly relax before taking a step away. Legend yelped and hit the bars of the cage with his paw, and Warriors froze. The captain whirled around, sword still drawn and ready for battle, and Legend cowered as Warriors took a few seconds to register that the threat was simply a bunny. No further recognition appeared in Warriors’ eyes, and Legend was suddenly reminded that he didn’t know.

…Maybe he wouldn’t have to.

Legend stayed silent, scratching at the cage again. Warriors sighed and picked at the lock, calling over his shoulder.

“They’ve got a rabbit in here. No sign of Lege, though…”

A deeper voice answered inquisitively, “A rabbit?”

Oh no. Oh no no no.

“Yes, though I’ve never seen a pink rabbit before. We can release it outside, it doesn’t deserve to go through whatever those idiots were doing to it.” Warriors pulled Legend out of the cage, gently cradling him to his chest. He turned to his companion, whose eyes widened when he saw Legend.

It was Sky. Of course it was Sky. Legend had been humiliated enough, couldn’t he at least shift back in private, where Warriors would be clueless to the fact that he was a coward and a bunny? He bared his teeth at Sky, hoping to relay that now was not a good time.

The birdbrain, unfortunately, did not receive the message. “Um, Wars? That’s… not just a bunny.”

Warriors stiffened, grip tightening around Legend. “What do you mean? Is it another disguised assassin?”

“No, no, he’s- here, let me help.” Sky held the Master Sword out, ignoring Legend’s squirming as he pressed the flat of the blade to a pink paw.

Warriors was unprepared for Legend’s sudden shift to his Hylian form, and the vet slipped out of his hold. Legend crumpled to the ground, biting back a cry of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain up his aching legs. He sat between the other heroes, head bowed and ears down, unwilling to face either of them.

“…Lege?”

Legend opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a broken whimper.

Sky was there, offering Legend a hug that he was too tired to refuse. The vet pressed his face into Sky’s shoulder to hide rising tears, feeling the velvety sailcloth wrapped around him.

“Lege, what happened? We didn’t expect them to be proficient enough with magic to turn you into a rabbit, how-?” Warriors was asking too many questions, focusing on all of the wrong things.

“T-table,” Legend gasped, and Sky repeated it more clearly. Warriors was quiet for a moment, turning back to examine the table that Legend had been pinned on earlier.

“Is this… blood?” Warriors asked, dangerously quiet.

Legend burrowed deeper into Sky’s sailcloth, not bothering to confirm what Warriors already knew.

“Yours?”

Legend whimpered, unable to stop it from turning into a sob. Sky stiffened around him and protectively pulled the sailcloth tighter.

“Sky,” Warriors said, voice shaking with the effort of keeping it steady. “Get him out of here.”

Legend felt Sky nod and shift his arms to support him as he stood. Sky sounded short of breath almost immediately, but he determinedly carried Legend out of the cave.

The click and ignition of Warriors’ borrowed fire rod echoed through the tunnel as Sky’s boots met the transition of dirt to grass. Tears stained the sailcloth, a mixture of sunlight and relief and exhaustion overwhelming Legend all at once. He was still crying when they reached camp, and his brothers rushed to offer potions and sugar and blankets.

Warriors returned soon after, the smell of burnt paper clinging to his scarf as he draped it over Legend’s shoulders. Legend buried his hands in the fabric, grateful for Warriors’ close presence and Sky’s comforting hold.

He was surrounded by his brothers, who wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Finally, Legend felt protected and safe.