#there are so many moments i would like to see as an anime...

[xoxochb]

Having thoughts about Percy and Sweet girl at an aquarium. I would love to see you write about something like that 👀💖😙

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“it’s a nurse shark.”

you frown. “it’s ugly.”

percy laughs and turns back to the shark through glass. “careful. she heard that.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, tightening your arm’s hold on percy’s arm. “what did she say?”

“she told me to tell you to watch your smart mouth.”

“no she didn’t.”

“yes she did— swear it on my life, sweet girl.”

you shake your head and begin dragging him to the next exhibit withholding a variety of dolphins. percy’s face lights up at one in particular. he gets up close to the glass, the dolphin does the same.

“dylan! how’re you doing? how’re the kids?”

you take a glance around the area, making sure none of the aquarium guests can hear your boyfriend making small talk with the sea creatures. you’re well aware yourself he’s able to speak with them, but when it comes to strangers knowing, that’s a different story.

percy continues to make conversation with the dolphin as you watch intently. “what is he saying?”

“he’s got a newborn! that makes nine kids.”

your brows raise. though from your past knowledge of sea life you shouldn’t be much surprised to know the dolphin has so many offsprings.

“tell him I said congratulations.”

he does so, the dolphin’s tail flaps around the water repeatedly.

“he says thank you!”

you nod. “we should move to the next animal.”

percy frowns. “okay…”

he says his goodbyes to the dolphin after five minutes, then you move to the next: a small tank with tiny seahorses and starfish.

you gasp and point to the tank. “look! seahorses!”

“I see them, sweet girl.”

you grin widely. “I love seahorses!”

“I know.” percy kisses the top of your head.

“tell me what they’re saying.”

he begins to speak with them before turning back to you after a minute. “they remember you from when we visited my dad.”

“but that was… a year ago.”

percy shrugs. “well they remember you.” he pauses for a moment to listen to the seahorse. “ha! she says you have a smart mouth too.”

you glare at the seahorse. “I don’t like seahorses anymore, I want to see the next animal.”

“yes ma’am.”

it turns out the rest of the animals thought the same.

[bisexualmcqueen]

may i offer this thought for the feral racers hc

racecars are like loyal little guard dogs (not little at all. those are metal beasts) with the people they love. they just kinda like. imprint on people and its like an immediate switch to feral mode when they perceive threat and danger to loved one. and they do that thing where they try and make themselves bigger to intimidate enemies.

idk if its something similar like this has posted about or discussed before but uh yeah. the feral racers hc just kinda read to me as racecars being like dogs. wolves. instinctually wild animals. i like how strip and doc being particularly old veterans translates into them being Extra Dangerous or Extra Feral, something like that. though i dont even think racecars get normaller the newer/younger. i think the next gens are just a different flavor of freak (i.e. chewing, zoomies) like they're domesticated sort of in a way

YES YES exactly

ok many thoughts. lets see here

so ive been thinking about this and. the thing is. that part of what makes this headcanon so fun is that theres actually canon precedent, in a way.

Lightning for example. is crazy protective. like instantaneously. zero forethought, action only, putting himself between the Danger and the Friend.

some examples:

in cars TVG, Chick hires the DRH to rob Mack so Lightning will be without supplies for the upcoming race. when Lightning hears that Mack was very upset about it from Sheriff, he gets so pissed off he takes to the streets, tracks the DRH down, and proceeds to spend all night chasing and beating the shit out of them until they drop his stuff. not because he was Robbed, but because they Upset Mack.

i think its funny that Sheriff doesnt say Anything. he just nods in agreement. ...not that i think Sheriff could have stopped him though. Lightning is sort of Insane about Mack. Mack is the greatest. [two quality versions. one oldschool for nostalgia and one more HD]

in the comics (admittedly ive only read in sections), Mater was beefing with Bubba, Lightning also started to get pissed off at Bubba being rude + protective of Mater:

i dont know if Lightning would be good at fighting or get his ass beat terribly. either way, i want to watch.

next up is my favorite example: the thunder hollow crazy 8 race. Lightning LEAPS in to help Cruz several times. it is my fucking Favorite.

HERDS HER BACK OUT ONTO THE TRACK

and then he jumps in front of a speeding attack-bus and takes a metal sawblade to the drivewheel for her. NO thoughts, head empty, protect Cruz. love this man. apparently, type-c school busses can be between 10-20,000 pounds. crunch.

and my last example on this topic: the radiator springs 500 1/2:

these racers show up in town looking for trouble. its supposed to be a silly little western parody, but in terms of this headcanon it comes off as territorial as hell imo. wdym other racecars show up at his house to fight him. hello. and then they insult Stanley, which deeply upsets Lizzie:

cue getting their asses kicked by mcqueen. that is HIS freaky old woman.

[i love this short]

so yeah. my terrible guard-dog-horse-thing-car.

Doc is largely The Same:

14 billion KEEP OUT signs. shooing Lightning away from his friends family because he is A Perceived Danger. another racecar standing in his lawn barking. yeah. you territorial old wet rag.

I agree with what you said its very in line with the vibes of the headcanon yes. true and real. def like dogs/wolves, and i personally try to throw some cat/horse stuff in there too. again, i blame being an x-men/wolverine fan.

a few other tidbits from source material for funsies:

^that ones wallpaper, apparently. for like a Room. in a house. my cars wallpaper merch thats 2018 xrs drag racing diecast merchandise.

Doc was so amped to do racecar stuff again he wakes Lightning up in the middle of the fucking night to run around in circles with him the moment he shows back up in town.

they lost Guido in the fucking sand.

Cars Origins: Struck By Lightning quick aside: "everyone's going to think something is wrong with me" Lightning these are not mentally stable thoughts im so sorry.

second topic: generational/evolutionary differences.

first of all i would like to point out that my basis for strip especially being some sort of craazzy toothy freak is entirely the headcanon of @youhavehitawall that i adopted out of coolness. non has some lore about the weathers that explains it, but basically it boils down to a repeated expression of racecar genes getting more pronounced the more generations it travels down (so long as its an expressed gene).

now for the nextgens (funny calling them that in 2025. theyre all in their 30's lmfao. not saying thats 'old', but they arent rookies anymore, damn does time fly). [disclaimer: dont quote me on this, my knowledge is an approximation] in real life NASCAR, they used very old technologies right up until about 2012. carburetors, leaded gasoline, 4-gear h-box frontend transaxles, reticulating ball steering, etc. most of these things vanished from the dealership road cars between the 60's and the 90's. Meanwhile cars like Lightning and Cal are still running this stuff in the mid-aughts. so when the nextgens came along, they showed up with fuel injection, e85 15% ethanol fuel, 5-speed sequential rear-mounted transaxels, rack-and-pinion steering, bigger aluminum wheels, bigger calipers, and less ground clearance/more areo, there was a very sudden and massive shift in what sort of technology was being run in the piston cup. tech-wise, Lightning +co were very similar to cars like Chick and even Strip. the change in tech could be a good marker for other genetic shifts too. cars change much, muuuch faster generation-to-generation than mammals. its Moore's Law in a way: theyre machines. add that to the incredible 12-week turnaround in which every team booted their driver and replaced them with a 'nextgen', and ive had to spend some time wondering Why? why??? thats brutal! Doc certainly warned us, but goddamn. imagine if that happened mid-season in any real sport! holy shit! (i still want to know more about the fan's reactions to this...) in the context of this headcanon, i Also wonder about what you said, the nextgens being feral in a little bit of a 'different' way. maybe theyve got easier-to-handle temperaments; an added bonus to their overall higher speeds+better track times. uhm. Jackson being the temperament-outlier here, maybe.

to be fair, he did get fired after throwing too many fits.

Cars Origins: Storm Chasing

But yes... racecars!! they are a lottt to handle. the driver AND the incredibly powerful machine mashed into one?? hooo boy. honestly i am a bit fearful of racecars irl. very loud, very fast, smell bad, they breathe fire, etc. why not reconcile that by making the talking ones into Beasts. theyre already crazy, already quadruped, my brain just starts assigning horse/wolf to them. and some of it comes down to me loving logan-wolverine tropes. protective growly little guy with pointy teeth. yeah can i get 5 more of these little fanged bitches.

ok i have to stop yapping now this turned out quite long, but i still have Things to Say about this headcanon/worldbuilding. i didnt even get into the amazing bonds racecars seem to have with their teams/families (the 'imprinting' thing you mentioned!). very fun!!

thanks for the ask!!

[gatheringbones]

Sorry, I realise that was a lot to anonymously drop on someone. It’s not, like, a suicidal despair or anything, it’s just something I’d really appreciate input on, if you have any.

all good!

it was a bit hard to follow, but the impression I came away with is that for you, intimacy and relationships are deeply triggering. You mention feeling empathy for the first time in the context of the first person you had feelings for, and all I could think was wow, what a double-whammy. Empathy is nerve-racking even for people who feel it more intuitively or who have had longer practice with it. What you describes sounds like a run-of-the-mill emotional overload for someone with a lot of weight riding on the idea of whether or not they can show up authentically and empathetically in their relationships.

There has to be some way to lessen the burden you are carrying to be think say do what is right and necessary and correct, especially when all of it is so new and hurts so badly. I think it would be helpful for you to know that it is only ever possible to get to know a pretend version of somebody, not their “true” self. People are kaleidoscopic clouds of fragments; to my mind, they need to be allowed the freedom to escape whatever identity they attach themselves to and morph into something else as many times as they need. I don’t hold my pretend versions of my loved ones against them, I would never seek to limit them with my pretenses of who they are and can be, but it doesn’t mean that this isn’t a game of pretend from top to bottom. You never really know people. All you can hope for is to get miraculously lucky with the impressions they give you from one moment to the next. Your beloved is an elusive animal long thought to be extinct who you will only ever get brief glimpses of through the brush. This is a good thing.

Please give yourself grace, and if you are still brave enough to explore empathy, please try to see yourself as someone who qualifies as deserving of it. If you enter that period of overwhelm where everything to do with intimacy becomes a tool to scourge you with: slowing down and noticing what’s happening and what’s coming up to you is the best thing you can do for yourself. Put kind attention around what you notice and observe. Your commitment to refusing to play the role of judge, cop, or mean parent in these scenarios is essential. You have to find a way to be your own warm interested cooler older sibling who cares about what’s going on with you.

You can “come back” from this, but there isn’t a place to go “back” to. The road into the woods just gets darker and twistier. Stranger and stranger animals will appear in the underbrush. If you’re very careful and very lucky you may be able to feed one from your hand.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 32

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Everything is so pink this morning as I read at sunrise :'3 Tea: peppermint.

Today we take Mr. Charles to the specialist to see what we can do about his liver. Unfortunately the little man is PISSED, because he has to fast/no water for 12 hours (started at midnight). He's been standing where his food normally is just screaming at me. Poor guy has never been so outraged in his life.

Let's get into chapter 32:

(snoot in the bottom right compliments of charles).

Mu Qing and Feng Xin have the hardest job and deserve a raise honestly. To wrangle Xie Lian is a losing battle. Xie Lian: Rules? I don't know her. p63

Not to mention Xie Lian's pr work is cringe as hell. "live for me". p63

Why do I feel like him delaying prayers will cause issues later. p65

oooooo! animal forms too??? We have an ox as a person, I love this so much. p67

Moments like this I get so annoyed at the heavenly politics. Because Xie Lian was not amicable with the other officials, they don't want to help him with the drought. It's fucked. Like okay it's not about you my guys. p69

Okay but also, I struggle to believe that the rain master doesn't have many followers. 1. farmers. 2. i'd be converted immediately in a catastrophic drought. who else would be getting prayers. seems fake. p71

aaaaand cliffhangar! p72

What's next?

Will we see the consequences of Xie Lian's actions? Has he caused more problems by stepping out of his lane?

[lych33dragoncookie]

Okay I’m curious, what would you change in Dark Cacao’s Beast Yeast episodes to make them more interesting/compelling/in-character etc?

okay this is admittedly a bit of a tricky one to tackle B.Y Ch3's main thing is that. Really, there's... not very many interesting character moments or interactions in particular? And that's sort of an issue with most of the DC Kingdom characters, they're sort of plain (not a bad thing) and work best when bouncing off of other characters; see Dark Cacao & Hollyberry, and Crunchy Chip & Wildberry. So, inherently, just sticking a bunch of DC Kingdom characters with each other will result in cutscenes that are just sort of a slog where not much of interest really happens. It's kind of interesting any time the whole Flour Disease thing is actively in play, so maaaybe if they had leaned harder on it they could have done something more interesting to watch? Unsure. Again, tricky situation.

As for Ch4, I do think Dark Cacao's climb up is pretty interesting, but it's... not that well paced? Like, not a lot happens, really. It's a lot of cutscenes, but not very much of interest happens Within those cutscenes. It's at its most entertaining when Peach Blossom is onscreen, because he's a weird old man who can't help but make himself Look evil when he's literally not doing anything wrong, and I like him for that, just kind of makes for a fun guy to have next to Dark Cacao The part I REALLY feel like was wasted was his awakening scene. Frankly, it feels underwhelming. Barely anything changes, and it just sort of feels like he's going back to his default. In his ingame dialogue and the one cutscene he gets for the 4th anniv there's Some convincing and actually fun change, but... not a lot, honestly Personally, I really think they could have benefited from having him show stronger emotion during his awakening. Resolution doesn't JUST have to be a completely serious super-focused determination on seeing things through to the end; that determination can, in fact, be more passionate. I really think that, silly as it may be, they could actually have leaned on the "i know how to laugh now :)" thing that they do with some of his ingame dialogue and animations. Have him laugh in the face of Mystic's absurd propositions, laugh at the fact she could have even thought for a second that showing him a future where his kingdom prospers after his passing through his own son's will would actually make him give up. outright mock her, make it clear that all she's done is give him more of a reason to strike her down, to ensure that his son and his kingdom will both thrive long after he's gone. that he will not, by ANY means, let her destroy that which he loves

aka please. please just let that man love his son. properly. in a way that feels sincere and at least somewhat well executed. that's part of what fucked over his Crispia chapter's ending, how abruptly he went from "KILL" to "LIVE" without so much as a fight scene showing him gradually realizing that he's most certainly fucked up and that he really should have done better and that as much as he loves his son he never showed it and that the only way he can correct that mistake is by starting to show that love Now. just. please. let him show actual sincere human passion and emotion. please. how the hell is it that it took until THIS UPDATE, in a short little event-only side cutscene, for him to show ANY kind of actual convincing warmth. like that's such bullshit

↑ This. More of this and I will be satisfied.

[misciouscave]

Water witch 🌊🪄

[homkamiro]

Sorry if your requests are closed, but I had an idea. Could you please draw Pootis and Medimedes? I think they'd look awesome in your style!

Wanted to wait till the new episode comes out and there it is!!! Ouuu drawing medipootis is actually such a great stress relief their shapes are nice and cute

[ebonytails]

Hey everyone! this is where the zebra is currently with the design.

It has knee braces!! I will most probably be drawing the zebra usually with them on, but it’s no requirement, for example if anyone else wants to draw the zebra :-]. I always like to make sure an animal design has official colors underneath any clothing and accessory anyway. I think this will be final! thank you everyone for your feedback!

As a reminder, aside from why the zebra was requested for this flag, this is also just a zebra with the disability pride flag on it. It’s just a deisgn to fit the flag, with input from other disabled people in our community. It doesn’t mean other animals can’t have designs with these colors, too! I don’t mean this design to be the only mascot for all disabled people. It’s just a silly series i do of pride animals, and at the time, during disability pride month, I wanted to see what everyone wanted me to start off with for this flag!

the goal with my pride animals is to take requests and make people feel happy and seen.. that’s all <:-)

[akimao]

One of my favorite Vashwood scenes and one of my favorite Wolfwood's outfits ♡

[orcelito]

Gotta love that we have nearly all the named konoha kunoichi (minus Tsunade, Kurenai, and a few other even more minor kunoichi)

AND YET. the guys still outnumber them.

Still. 5/12 is still way more than we usually get (since it's normally teams of like 1/4 to 1/8 or so)

Wow the female characters ratio in naruto is absolutely atrocious.

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[jessamine-rose]

*squeezes aine this time*

Read my Yandere! Dottore fics first (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)

Chemistry ๑ Magnum Opus

So @ainescribe decided to surprise me with more Darling fan art, this time of Dottore’s Assistant!! *sobs* I love it so much ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Once again, feedback will be in the tags. Thank you so much for enjoying my writing, Aine <3

[miyasann]

i'm late to the party but i cried 5 times watching the dumpster battle

[skrunksthatwunk]

im exploding into a million pieces i found a reddit thread about butches in video games (specifically looking for them) in hopes that there was some kind of lesser known dream daddy-esque butch dating sim or SOMETHING cute like that and guys the fucking crumbs we have to live on you're actually killing me. im withering away why are there no kissable butches in video games im going to throw up and kill everyone. nobody wants a butch dating sim apparently. im gonna go weep in the fetal position

[weaselle]

had an interaction with a cat at my mother's friend's house (we dropped by to feed her while my mom's friend was out of town) and my mother said "i was surprised how much that cat liked you, she doesn't usually let people pet her but she followed you around and let you pet her a lot"

and in explaining to her my interaction with the cat i put into words a thing i'd never put into words before, having always automatically understood what i was doing. But once i put it into words my mother said she'd never thought of that and it felt like something worth sharing here.

This cat did a typical cat thing where she sniffed my fingers i was holding out, and then acted like she wanted me to pet her, but then when i started to move to pet her, moved her head away slightly to prevent it.

I instinctively understand this interaction, and stopped trying to pet her and moved back to a neutral position and waited to see if she would re-initiate an interaction.

Because this is basically a consent test. This is how a cat can assess "how closely are you paying attention to what i'm telling you" and "how respectful of my boundaries are you".

If i am responsive to her yes/no game, moving to pet her when she indicates i can, stopping immediately when she seems to change her mind, then she knows she can trust me to understand her, and also to respect her choices. That's what i did, so then she knew she could trust me and relax around me and enjoy my company. She was actually a very friendly and social little cat, who clearly wanted to make friends with me.

But if i had insisted on trying to pet her when she seemed to change her mind instead of simply understanding that she didn't want to be pet in that moment, she would have known she couldn't trust me to understand or respect her, and she would have treated me like she has to treat 90% of the people who visit that house, evidently.

I work mostly with dogs these days, but i grew up with cats too, and am generally good with animals. Many shy animals will also do this same "sniff sniff okay touch me nope just kidding" routine, especially if they've had experiences with people that make establishing that kind of communication and trust important to them.

And in fact, a lot of animals will do some version of this kind of consent test in a whole variety of situations. When well socialized dogs do that thing where they are rough housing and then they both stop suddenly for a moment until one of them play bows or makes a little pouncing motion and then they fly back into rough housing mode, that's what they are doing, they are doing a consent check-in, like "whoah this is getting wild, are you still in? are we still playing, is this still a good time for you?"

anyway, that's why this lovely little cat followed me around asking me to pet her the whole time we were visiting that house, because i showed her that i understood her signals and respected her boundaries, which is something i see a lot of both men and women not doing when interacting with cats and dogs.

[memento-morianon]

memento mori book 1, chapter 10(ish) draft

cw: ritual self harm, vague exploration of internal traumatic feelings, and semi graphic animal death.

rough draft masterpost

Morianon clenched his toes around the bar under his seat and held Sitla tighter as the sheep-drawn cart jostled through a mud pit in the road. He sighed and looked longingly up at the blue sky and the clouds floating through it.

“Almost there,” Evarin assured him. He rested his chin on Sitla’s warm head and tried to ignore the way the cart shifted and shook beneath him, churning his stomach. In his annoyance, he glared ahead at the sheep pulling the cart. They were a gnomish breed; short brown fur, curly horns, broad backs. On the mountain slopes, they were naturally agile. But even they couldn’t keep a cart from shaking on an old dirt road worn down by heavy rain.

Further and further from town, the forest grew more wild. Overgrown underbrush creeped into the road and up the roots of ancient trees. Where the town was surrounded by cultivated trails of food and fiber plants, the hunting trails of the wild forest were only maintained by the footsteps of hunters and their prey. In the branches overhead, among the new spring leaves, flocks of takran peeered down at the cart rolling past. They called out curiously, some leaving their perches to swoop over the cart and get a closer look at their visitors.

The cart driver turned off at the entrance of a smaller road, bringing the sheep to a halt in the shadow of a massive oak. Morianon let go of Sitla, letting her drop to the floor of the cart and shake herself off while he carefully pried himself from his seat. Evarin guided him to the steps at the back of the cart and down onto the road. He took deep breaths while she walked back to the cart driver to pay him for his time. (do not ask me what the currency is called or how much of it is owed for a cart ride. I haven’t worked that out yet)

“Thank you (cousin*). I’ll be back in an hour or less to return to town,” she said. He nodded.

“We’ll be waiting.”

*[this will be replaced with a gnomish word later. “Cousin” here is a general social term, like “neighbor”]

Morianon and Evarin headed down the smaller road, Sitla at their heels, until they reached the hunting cabin K’arik had been staying at. It was small, for an orcish structure. Moss and lichens covered the walls and roof, aside from the glass skylight. A lazy drift of smoke rose from the chimney hole up into the forest canopy, where the flocks of takran waited patiently for a chance at fresh meat.

Morianon felt refreshed by the time they reached the cabin. His stomach settled and the fatigue of riding in the cart faded away in the cool forest air. He shook out his feathers, scattering a few. The itch of new growth hadn’t reached its peak yet, but he could feel the pin feathers making their way through his skin.

“Careful, or you won’t have any feathers left to toss around at the New Year’s festival,” Evarin teased, reaching out to run a hand over the shaggy patches on his wing.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that, I haven’t even lost any flight feathers yet,” Morianon replied with a laugh, “there will be plenty left of me to go around.” He walked ahead to the cabin, finding the door open a crack and the scent of incense wafting out. Inside, K’arik was sitting on the floor in the patch of sunlight coming down from the glass in the roof. His eyes were closed in meditation, and he held He-esh’s tusks gently against his chest.

Morianon and Evarin approached him slowly, crouching near the wall to wait. Morianon put a hand on Sitla’s back to make her lay down. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with very few places to sit. In one corner, there was a simple bed with a fur blanket. Boxes and racks of gear for hunting and camping framed the center of the cabin; most of it belonged to K’arik’s family, but other orcs from their clan used the place too, and He-esh had invited the stroi community to consider it theirs as well. Orcish crossbows and bolts, ropes of different sizes, and stroi traps for thornbeasts were stored here all year round, on the condition that every hunter kept the place clean and organized for whoever came in next.

K’arik let out a long breath and opened his eyes, looking at Morianon and Evarin without a hint of surprise on his face. He rested He-esh’s tusks on his lap and greeted them.

“Thank you,” he signed, “it’s good to have you with me.” His brow was tense, but he gave them a happy snout wiggle.

“I’m honored you asked me to be here,” Morianon replied, standing so K’arik could read his hands better. “I always enjoy hunting with you. But why is it part of the rituals for you to become a [priest]?”

“If it’s anything like gnomish tradition,” Evarin interjected, “bringing fresh meat to your elders to gain their approval is a very old custom.”

“That’s correct,” K’arik nodded, “when we were nomads, our elders remained in sheltered communities. It’s only polite to bring them a meal before you ask any favors.” He snorted softly in amusement. “But for the rituals, it serves another purpose. Evarin, you understand, I think. You know how to feel the energy of other living things, as a singer. My role involves sacrificial magic, so I must know the feeling of death as well as life.” His expression became serious and his hands tensed as he signed. Evarin nodded and stepped forward to touch his elbow.

“I do understand,” she replied. K’arik relaxed and smiled softly down at her.

“Would you sing for me as I complete my preparations?”

“That’s why I came.” She turned back to Morianon for a moment. “Mori, you should meditate too. I know you’ve been neglecting your soul exercises.” She gave him a pointed look and he ducked his head. His heart sank and the overlapping thoughts in his mind gnawed into his anxiety. Sitla shoved her nose against his knee.

“I’ll try,” he conceded. Evarin nodded and returned her attention to K’arik. As the two of them briefly discussed the song K’arik would need, Morianon sat down and closed his eyes, settling in his own uncertain mind. He could feel the presence of his other selves, constantly bringing new thoughts and feelings into their shared space, no matter how it might inconvenience him. He shook his feathers and focused on calming breaths, ignoring and shoving everything back as he always did. Furrowing his brow, he tried to feel K’arik and Evarin’s souls through the living energy around them. They were there, faintly, like the warmth of dying embers. But the shadows in the depths of his mind crept forward, their inescapable claws still buried in his soul. Dark flashes of terror entered his mind, threatening to drag him deeper. A warm wet touch on his cheek snapped him back to the surface and he blinked in the soft sunlight. Sitla was pushing herself into his lap, licking his face, keeping him anchored to reality.

He tucked his wings around himself and fluffed his feathers, silently chastising himself for entering the depths so quickly. He sighed and pretended he was still meditating, but he kept one eye open and watched K’arik and Evarin instead. Evarin pulled a log from the wood pile by the hearth and stood on it behind K’arik. He handed her his grandfather’s tusks and she carefully tied them into his hair, tucked around a simple hunter’s topknot. He unsheathed a bone knife and waited for her to lay her hands on his head.

She filled the cabin with her voice. It rivaled the warmth of the fire and the brightness of the dusty sunlight above her. Low guttural grunts and high keening tones mingled with ancient words, primal and ethereal. Though Morianon only understood a few words of her ancestral tongue, and though her hands were not on his head, he could still feel the power radiating from her soul, touching his own, soothing his anxious mind. His eyes grew soft as he watched her sing, admiring the focused furrow of her brow and the way the sunlight touched her brown skin.

So enraptured, he forgot K’arik was performing his own ritual. His eyes darted to the sudden motion of the bone knife, and then squeezed shut as the sharp tip pierced the back of K’arik’s arm. Morianon held Sitla tighter, slowly counted to three, and opened his eyes again. K’arik was uncannily still, his eyelids trembling as he entered a deeper meditative state than Morianon could ever dare to approach. Evarin’s unwavering voice carried on as her friend connected with the well of magic in his own soul. He was only anchored to the external world by the touch of her hands, the pain of the knife, and the smell of incense in the air. Morianon watched nervously, even knowing how well K’arik had trained and practiced and prepared himself to endure such rituals, and that this one was tame compared to what he would have to endure in the coming days.

K’arik shivered and took a deep, gasping breath, as if he was emerging from a pool of cold water. Evarin sang more earnestly, shoulders tense, fingers digging into K’arik’s hair. She seemed to pull him upward; his face lifted and his eyes rolled open. Morianon leaned forward, ready to reach out if K’arik needed another anchor. But his friend came back to reality with a heaving sigh and gently lifted the knife from the wound in his arm. Evarin relaxed and her song shifted, staunching the trickle of blood and pulling K’arik’s skin back together until the injury was little more than a shallow nick. With her song complete, Evarin coughed dryly and slumped onto K’arik’s shoulder like a tired cat. He reached up and gently squeezed her hand.

“Are you alright?” Morianon asked, releasing Sitla from his arms so he could sign. K’arik nodded, blinking uncomfortably.

“Always takes a few minutes to get used to enhanced senses,” he replied, scrunching his snout. Evarin hummed and stretched, hopping off her makeshift stool to crouch beside Morianon.

“Take all the time you need,” she signed, “I should get back to town. Mom needs me today.”

“Won’t you rest first?” Morianon put a wing around her shoulders. She shook her head.

“The cart ride is rest enough.” She leaned in and rubbed her nose on his, ever so slightly expanding the bare spot on the end of his prosthetic where the wood peeked through the skin-tone paint. “Good luck to both of you, my fine hunters,” she continued, “I expect I won’t see you again until tomorrow.”

“Thank you for helping me prepare,” K’arik replied, bowing his head.

“Any time.” Evarin stood and left the cabin, giving them both one last wave goodbye before she closed the door. Morianon got up, flexing his feet and shaking out the tingling numbness that had begun to set in. Sitla paced around him, poking his knees with her snout.

“I’m fine now,” he muttered, “I’m fine.” The dog huffed but sat still. K’arik remained where he was for a few moments longer, breathing in slow rhythmic patterns. He turned his bone knife over, ponderously twirling it between his hands. Its shape was simple; Morianon had studied similar knives before, much older ones. Their form had not changed much over the course of generations. Narrow, slightly curved, short leather-wrapped handle. Most were carved from a scapula or pelvis, some were made from ribs. He didn’t know the precise origin of K’arik’s knife, but he suspected it was a scapula knife, and the orcish symbols carved into the blade were likely a representation of the ancestor the bone had been taken from.

K’arik grunted and got to his feet, taking his knife to the sink in the corner. As he washed the small bit of blood from its tip, Morianon bounced on his heels and looked around the cabin. Most of the hunting gear was orc-sized, of course. K’arik had already set out his things; a large heavy looking crossbow and a quiver of bolts to match, each of them nearly the length of Morianon’s whole arm. He turned to look at other things, like the tangling traps built for thornbeasts, but K’arik was already done at the sink and waved to catch his attention.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’m ready. Are you?” Morianon asked in return. K’arik nodded, though his ears twitched in agitation.

“Do you know the worst thing about enhanced senses? It affects my ears too.” He bared his teeth slightly and huffed. “I usually only hear a few deep sounds, faintly. I feel the vibration of my own voice. But now it’s all a little sharper and I find it disorienting.”

“Why did you enhance your senses if you hate it so much?” Morianon laughed but his brow furrowed sympathetically.

“Because it also enhances my spiritual senses,” K’arik explained, “so I need it to do this hunt correctly, as part of the rituals. Can’t pick and choose which senses get a boost, you know? The magic is too unstable if you try to get too specific.”

“I suppose.” Morianon shrugged. “Will you be alright out there?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Let’s go then. Lead the way.” He gestured to the door, standing aside so K’arik could gear up.

“Could you smother the fire?” K’arik pointed to a bucket of dirt near the hearth. Morianon hurried to it, first using a long iron poker to scatter the dying fire and then scooping dirt from the bucket to dump it over the embers. He glanced at the incense sitting on the stones around the hearth, still faintly smoking, and decided to stick it in the dirt bucket before he returned to K’arik’s side. His friend finished buckling the quiver to his lower back and strapping the crossbow between the belt around his waist and a holster on his thigh. He glanced down at Morianon and grunted, satisfied. They walked out together, Sitla at their heels. Morianon barely waited for an invitational nod before he climbed up to K’arik’s shoulder.

All around them, the forest was alive. Leaves rustling in the spring breeze, takran crowing in the canopy. K’arik strolled along the hunting trail with purpose, having already spent several days observing and tracking his prey in preparation for the hunt. Morianon peered down to watch Sitla meander through the underbrush. She stayed close, keeping her head and tail low.

A takran landed on a branch near K’arik’s eye line, ruffling its wings and making a questioning noise. K’arik paused and Morianon mimicked the takran hunting call; specifically the one they used with orcs. It was a lower croaking sound, repeated three times, followed by a sharper noise like a short squeal. The takran turned its head curiously, then echoed the call. Every other takran nearby followed suit, and soon the forest was filled with the sound of flapping wings as the flock scattered. K’arik raised his hands to communicate with Morianon.

“Got our little scouts on the trail?”

“I’ll let you know if I hear their guiding calls,” Morianon replied. K’arik chuckled and continued walking, heading deeper and deeper into the forest. The trails branched out and crossed each other, some of them wide and well used, others little more than a dent in the underbrush. K’arik crouched occasionally, sniffing the ground and observing footprints or damaged plants. Morianon clung to his shoulder, shifting to retain his balance each time his friend stopped to check for tracks. He kept his eyes and ears open for the takran, but he knew it would be some time before they returned. He had eaten a large meal before traveling to the cabin, but as the slow journey through the forest went on, his stomach reminded him of its presence, grumbling quietly. He tapped K’arik’s neck.

“Snacks?” he signed once he had his friend’s attention. K’arik grunted and pulled a bag off his belt, handing it up. It was filled with packets of spiced jerky, dried fruit, and nuts. Morianon eagerly found the fish jerky and scarfed down a few pieces before he offered a slice of elk jerky to K’arik, who bit it right out of his hand. They ate and walked for a while longer, Morianon feeding K’arik, K’arik holding up his large metal water bottle so Morianon could drink, until the sound of a takran’s call alerted Morianon. He listened to determine where the birds were, then directed K’arik towards them, heading east.

No longer wandering and tracking alone, both of them tensed and K’arik hurried his pace, Sitla following suit. Morianon tied the snack bag to his own belt and took off from K’arik’s shoulder to take the extra weight off him and lead him more efficiently. He jumped from branch to branch, following the sound of the takran’s call and the glimpses of their black feathers through the dense foliage. At last the hunt was underway, and the excitement made his heart race. Behind him, K’arik was keeping low, hiding his large figure to the best of his ability.

He dropped to his knees suddenly and waved for Morianon to stop and stay quiet. Morianon hunkered down where he had landed, folding his wings over himself and peering down to see what K’arik had spotted. No creature was visible in the underbrush, though dozens of takran were arriving and perching in the trees, quieting their calls.

K’arik seemed to be sniffing the air, crawling slowly forward as he searched for his prey. He closed his eyes and sat still, tilting his head. Running his hands gently over the ground, he turned and focused his sights northward. Sitla paced at the base of Morianon’s tree, staring up impatiently.

In spite of the breeze, the air felt still around Morianon’s perch. He watched and waited, and strained to feel what K’arik had felt. All the living energy around him, flowing through every creature’s soul. He reached into it and felt the shadows again, inescapable. He flinched away and shook it off, retreating. No soul besides his own stood out to his senses, all of them too distant.

K’arik remained still for just a moment longer, then looked up and gestured for Morianon to follow him before he moved forward along a narrow trail. Having none of an owl’s stealth, Morianon kept to the branches as much as he could, walking cautiously between the trees. He followed K’arik and kept a careful eye on Sitla as she stalked behind in the orc’s shadow. Positioned as he was, Morianon saw the deer before K’arik did. It calmly nibbled the young leaves off a sapling, large ears swiveling around to listen for danger. Morianon couldn’t tell if it was a doe or a buck, as it was too early in the year for antlers. K’arik crouched in the underbrush, keeping his distance as he slowly lifted his crossbow and set a bolt in place.

The deer heard the click and stared in K’arik’s direction. For a breathless moment, both the orc and the deer were still as statues. The deer sniffed. Flicked its tail. Then returned to its meal. Morianon sighed in relief on K’arik’s behalf. His friend repositioned the crossbow, rose up on his knees when the deer bent down to graze on the ground cover, and pulled the trigger.

Faster than Morianon could blink, the deer startled and leaped away from the sudden flash of movement as the bolt flew. It struck the deer’s side with a heavy thud and sunk deep into its ribs, but the creature still managed to run just out of sight, scattering blood on the underbrush. Sitla barked and ran after it. Every takran waiting in the trees cried out with enthusiastic caws, all of them descending at once like a black river leading the way to the fallen deer. Morianon dropped from his perch and joined K’arik in the chase.

Luckily they didn’t need to go very far. The blood trail and the noisy flock of takran lead them through the trees, maybe only the distance of a stroll across the orc village, from the entrace to the community hall. The deer had collapsed in a tangle of bushes, as if it had tried to jump over them and tripped. It was still clinging to life, struggling weakly. A few takran were already standing on it, poking the blood on its fur. Sitla circled around it and wagged her tail. Morianon stood aside and snapped his fingers to bring Sitla to his feet, making her sit politely.

K’arik knelt by the deer’s neck, unsheathing his bone knife. He laid a hand on the suffering creature’s head and swiftly slit its throat, granting it a more merciful death. Vibrant red spilled and stained the spring green leaves, soaking into the ground below. K’arik shivered and bowed his head as the deer went still beneath his touch. He let out a long sigh, like a final breath, and stood.

“It’s done,” he signed. Morianon nodded. He remained silent, even surrounded by the impatient takran wildly calling for their share of the kill, ignorant and uncaring of the sacred moment. They knew what death was; death was food. Fresh meat in their bellies.

“Do you need my help preparing it for the journey back?” Morianon asked. K’arik nodded.

“It won’t take long, but it will be easier if I can tie it to a tree first.” He lifted the deer— now more clearly a buck— by its back legs, and pulled a coil of rope from his belt, tossing it to Morianon. While K’arik held the deer in place against the nearest tree with study low branches, Morianon climbed up with the rope and wrapped it around the deer’s ankles, tying it to the tree until he was sure it wouldn’t just slip right back down. K’arik handed him the bone knife with a cloth, setting his water bottle on the ground nearby. He carefully removed the crossbow bolt from the carcass, then unsheathed his proper hunting knife; a steel blade with a small hook at the tip; so he could gut the deer before carrying it back to the cabin. The takran were owed their share, after all.

Morianon directed Sitla to stay by the tree and be good, then he took the water bottle and knife a little ways away before he began the cleaning process. He had to lift the bottle with both hands to pour it, and he didn’t want to dip the cloth into the cup-shaped cap after getting blood on it, so he found a gnarled tree root with a deep pit and filled that with water first. The porous texture of bone was minimized from the polish on the blade, but its natural creamy white color still bore the faint stains of past use, turning it a pale brownish red shade around the tip.  He weighed it in his hand a moment, tilting it to feel the balance. Distinctly, he felt the roll of a shoulder, arms lifting high in a tired stretch. His guess had been correct; it was a scapula knife.

 He wiped away the fresh blood and stared at the symbols near the base of the blade. He pondered them, rolling the wet cloth over the sharp tip while his eyes lingered on the etched lines. The symbol for takran stood out first, diamond shaped with curved wings below. Another family [priest] then, like He-esh and K’arik. The other symbol intertwined with it wasn’t as familiar to him. Or perhaps the overlap just made it harder to interpret. He looked closer. A small triangle inside the takran’s diamond, curved lines framing the combined symbol. An eye, perhaps? Turning the knife over to continue cleaning it, he found a second symbol near the base on the other side. It was more intricate, but he had seen the same imagery on other sacred orcish objects before, modern and ancient. It was a symbol for sacrificial magic; the abstract combination of a bone and a knife, surrounded by radiating curved lines and little drop-shaped streaks below. It was too small to really show every detail, far simpler than the matched carvings on the walls of the [orc church??] in the village.

When he had finished cleaning the knife and tucked the damp bloodstained cloth into an empty leather pouch on his own belt, Morianon hauled the water bottle back to K’arik, who was nearly finished emptying the deer’s chest cavity. It was difficult to see the pile of guts under the swarming takran, all flapping and jostling each other as they shoved their bald faces into the gory mess. In spite of the blood, Morianon chuckled at their eager feasting. He waited patiently for K’arik to finish the job, handing over the damp cloth so the steel knife could also be wiped clean.

“All set,” K’arik informed him. Morianon nodded and hopped into the tree to untie the ropes. K’arik set the deer on the ground and bound its legs together, folding them into a less cumbersome position and finishing the job by tying the rope a few times around its middle. He lifted it up, carrying it in his arms with ease. It was much smaller than an elk, and no longer weighed down by the innards the takran were still gleefully tearing into. K’arik shifted his hold on it and held out a slim cut of raw meat to Morianon: a small portion of his gratitude. Morianon took it in one gulp, wincing slightly at the flavor. He rarely ate any meat besides fish, and this slice of the deer’s heart was tough and tasted strongly of blood, but he swallowed anyway and signed a “thank you” in return.

The journey back to the cabin felt quicker than the journey out. K’arik no longer paused to track anything, trusting in his experience and familiarity with the forest trails. Morianon could no longer ride on his shoulder, not wanting to make him carry the extra weight along with the deer. Sitla happily jogged along behind, holding an unidentifiable chunk of meat in her mouth all the way back to the cabin. Whether K’arik had given it to her or she had stolen it from the takran, Morianon wasn’t sure. He knew she didn’t really need it, but he wasn’t about to put up a fuss over it either.

Between the long hike and the clouds that rolled in, the forest quickly grew dark as the sun dropped lower and lower. Morianon left the trees and walked beside K’arik, who had the better night vision between them even without the magical enhancement to his senses. Though the magic may have worn off already; Morianon wasn’t sure how it worked. He followed his friend down the winding trails until the rune lights by the cabin were visible at last. They hurried towards it together, eager for warmth as the evening chill took hold. Morianon opened the door and set to making a fire while K’arik took the deer to the cold storage room behind the cabin, keeping the meat fresh overnight.

Silently, both K’arik and Morianon washed their hands at the sink, pumping well water through the heating rune to soothe their aching fingers and wash the blood and dirt away more effectively. Sitla sat by the hearth, gnawing whatever organ meat she had managed to bring with her. Too tired to make anything more filling, K’arik and Morianon finished off the bag of jerky and other trail snacks, quietly enjoying the tired satisfaction of the day’s efforts. Low burning embers kept the cabin warm as they curled up on the bed together, Morianon tucking himself into K’arik’s side and fluffing his feathers. Neither of them bothered to remove any clothing aside from their belts and any outer layers that had gotten dirty from the hunt. Softly, the sound of rain accompanied their rest, tapping on the roof in a gentle hush until they fell asleep.