#tribal fabric

[sayhowdycountrycritters]

While getting a foot rub from husband, @sayhelloanimalfriends , I noticed how the barn outside coordinated well with the fabric on our chairs.

[cannibalguy]

Stalin’s workers’ paradise: CANNIBAL ISLAND

One of the most horrendous abuses of the Stalinist era was the mass deportation of 6,700 prisoners to what became known as “Cannibal Island”. This was a small island called Nazino in the Ob River in western Siberia (now the Tomsk Oblast). The island was 3 kilometres (1.9 miles) long and 600 meters (660 yards) wide and had no possibility of feeding the thousands of new residents. The only thing…

[mdinudi]

Tribal Pattern

Coffee, tea, or art? Have it all with this eye-opening ceramic mug.

[mjqueenfashion]

Explore the Unique Handcrafted Accessories from African Fashion Stores

Whether you decide on beautiful beadwork, Ankara prints, wooden accents, cowrie shells, Masai adornments, or Kente material, each piece mirrors the creative brightness and soul of Africa.

[miguelpellitero]

Kenny Hawkes & The Ananda Project - Intro / Kenny Hawkes - Dance for me (feat. Kimra and Marcel) / Caesaria Evora - Sangue De Beirona (François K Dub) / Rulers Of The Deep - Dirty Grooves / Ananda Project - Cascades Of Colour (Wally Lopez Weekend Dubby Remix) / Cuba Computers - Haunting Me (Iberican Dubby and vocal Remixes) / Monkey Island - Feels Strange (Chus & Ceballos Mix) / Ananda Project - Falling For You (G-Pal's New York Vocal Mix) / Miguel Pellitero - Take My Time (feat. Yolanda Benitez) / Sir Oliver - Twisted Sounds / Loudeast - Sonido Profundo (G-Pal's Sweet Arm Mix) / Holden & Thompson - Nothing

Released in April 2003 for DTPM's 10th anniversary. Barcode (Scanned): 743219744128. Matrix / Runout: DISCTRONICS EVSCD 37 ONE 03M. Mastering SID Code (printed in reverse): IFPI L503. Mould SID Code: IFPI 8736. Label Code: LC 07502. Rights Society: BIEM/GEMA. Pressed By – Disctronics Group, United Kingdom

[hoe4hotchner]

Ink | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, I mentioned haley once WC: 0.9k Summary: Hotch has tattoos

@lavenderspence my beloved, here's the tattooed hotch fic 🤭

           You stirred from your slumber, groggy and warm, wrapped up in the sheets as the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains. The familiar rustle of fabric and the quiet creak of the floorboards made you aware that Aaron had gotten out of bed and was getting ready for work. Through heavy eyelids, you saw him standing by the dresser, his broad back to you as he slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Your gaze lingered on the arm that had yet to disappear into his sleeve, taking in the sight of the black outlines covering it from wrist to shoulder.

           The ink swirled in intricate, detailed designs, tribal patterns that blended into abstract shapes and pictures, and hidden among them were symbols that meant something so profoundly personal to him. It was a side of him that still felt like a secret between the two of you, something he kept tucked away beneath the sharp, professional exterior of his suits.

           A soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. No one at the BAU, except perhaps Rossi, had any idea of this hidden layer to Aaron Hotchner - the loving, soft man who hid beautiful art that told the story of him under his perfectly tailored attire.

           You shifted under the sheets, drawing his attention as you yawned and stretched. “Morning,” you murmured, your voice was thick with sleep but laced with affection.

           Aaron turned, his lips curving into a gentle smile as his eyes met yours. He was already nearly dressed, his pants on, tie draped around his neck, but the buttons of his shirt remained undone. He moved with the same grace and composure you’d come to love - always so calm and collected, yet with you, there was an undercurrent of warmth.

           “Good morning,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

           You shook your head, sitting up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. “No. Just woke up to a nice view,” you teased, your eyes dipping to the few parts of ink on his arm still exposed.

           He chuckled softly, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed. “The view, huh?” His tone was playful, his eyebrow slightly raised.

           Your fingers reached for his arm, gently brushing over the designs. You traced the lines of one of the patterns, something abstract and fluid, before shifting to the more personal details - the initials of Jack woven into the design, a small symbol from his days as a prosecutor, and something you knew was tied to Haley, but never dared to ask about, it was a reminder of his past.

           "I still can't believe you hide all this every day," you murmured, your fingers following the art up to his forearm.

           His smile softened, a glimmer of something fond in his eyes. "Not exactly professional to show up with tattoos on full display at a federal agency," he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

           "Yeah, because Morgan doesn't do that every day," you teased, rolling your eyes, and then smiled more softly. "But I love that this part of you is mine to see," you whispered, your hand now resting on the inside of his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat there.

           He watched you for a moment, there was something tender and unguarded in his expression, and then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of you. "You like the tattoos?" he asked softly, his lips close to yours.

           You nodded, your breath catching slightly as his proximity made your heart race. “I love them. It’s such a contrast to the Aaron Hotchner everyone knows at the BAU.”

           His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I like that you get to see all of me,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher, as if confessing something vulnerable.

           You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his hair back. "And I can't wait to see more when you come home," you murmured, your voice teasing but sincere.

           Aaron smirked, leaning in to brush his lips lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that left you wanting more. “I’ll show you as much as you want,” he whispered against your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath warm on your skin.

           “Promise?” you asked softly, your fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, still unbuttoned, leaving a trail of warmth where they touched.

           He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing for a brief second as he took in the moment. “Promise," he said, his voice soft but full of intent.

           Reluctantly, Aaron pulled away, straightening up as he finished buttoning his shirt, hiding the tattoos once more. You watched as the last bit of ink vanished beneath the crisp, white fabric, a small part of you already missing the sight.

           He reached for his tie, looping it around his neck with ease as you propped yourself up further on the bed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and affection. He caught your gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly at your look of longing.

           "Don’t worry," he said as he tucked the end of his tie into place, "Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

           You grinned, biting your lip. "You better."

           With a soft laugh, Aaron grabbed his jacket, leaning down for one last kiss before he headed to work. It was slow and lingering, a promise in itself that he’d be back later tonight.

           As the door closed behind him, you flopped back into the pillows, already counting down the hours until he returned. Because tonight, the suit would come off, and his ink would be on full display, and all of him would be yours once more.

[kevlo75]

How do you decorate your #balcony for #christmas 🎄 ? #reflections #sacred #worlds #temples #folk #tribal #traditions #villages #religious #fabric #spiritual #nantes #naoned (à Nantes, France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmRygHOLQTo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rubberizer92]

🔥 **Kacper: The Unstoppable Force in Black Latex** 🔥

Kacper walks through the night like a force of nature—unapologetic, powerful, and in complete command. His muscular frame, covered in striking tribal tattoos, is perfectly complemented by his tight, gleaming black latex pants. Each step echoes confidence, and his presence demands attention.

The inked artwork on his body seems to come alive under the streetlights, intertwining with the latex that clings to every contour of his hardened physique. This is a man who knows how to dominate both the streets and the style game. 🖤💪

Latex isn’t just fabric for Kacper—it’s armor. The sheen highlights his chiseled muscles, making every movement a symphony of power. You can’t help but stare as he prowls through the alley, a king in his own domain, radiating raw strength and charisma.

**Will you dare cross his path? Or will you kneel in admiration of his might?** 🖤💀

Drop your thoughts: **Is Kacper the ultimate latex warrior?** 👑

---

Dreaming of your own AI-generated fantasy? Click the link in the profile description and turn your ideas into stunning images or videos. Your imagination is your only limit!

[acknowledge-reigns]

Dangerous Woman | Roman Reigns x Black!fem OC (SMUT) 18+!!!

Kinktober Day 12: Brat Taming

"Don't need permission

Made my decision to test my limits..." 🎶

Description: Roman puts his brat in her place.

Warnings: Brat taming, punishment, spanking, oral (male receiving), facial.

Face Claim: Jaylen Barron

MDNI!! 18+ BELOW THE CUT

My masterlist can be found here and my kinktober schedule can be found here.

As always my fics are about Roman Reigns, NOT Joe Anoa'i

tag list - @queeny23 @jeyusos-girl @notfancyrebelpaper @xbriexx @skyesthebomb @mzv11 @paigereeder @glitterywitchstarlight @v4mp-reads @hunnidmilly

Roman walked into the bloodline locker room and the minute he saw Lilah in her wrestling gear, which was even more revealing than usual, he was seething. He narrowed his eyes, a mix of annoyance and desire on his face. "I told you not to wear that," he said, his voice firm.

Lilah smirked at Roman's reaction, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on him. "Oh, come on," she said, her voice playful. "I know you like it. And besides, I don't care what you say. I'll wear whatever I want."

"ohh shit" Jimmy couldn't help but chuckle from the other side of the room, everyone found it funny whenever Lilah said the shit no one else dared to say, but Jimmy was extra messy.

There may have even been a time or two he instigated. He may or may not have been the one to give Lilah the idea to put glitter in Roman's shampoo bottle not too long ago. Naomi rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. Her usual reaction to him doing too much.

Roman's eyes snapped to Jimmy, and he shot him a warning glare. "Shut it, Jimmy," he said, his tone icy. "This doesn't concern you."

Jimmy held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Hey, I'm just an innocent bystander here, Uce." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Everyone out. I need to have a conversation with Lilah." Roman demanded.

The other members of the bloodline quickly left the locker room. As they filed out, Roman turned his attention back to Lilah, his eyes darkening. "We need to talk," he said, his voice low and serious.

Roman's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to Lilah, closing the distance between them. "You think it's funny, don't you?" he said, his voice a low growl. "Think it's funny to defy me, to push my buttons. But let me tell you something, babygirl. Your tribal chief doesn't take kindly too disobedience."

Lilah looked up at Roman, her eyes sparkling with defiance as he took a seat in the black leather chair across from her. "Oh, I know you don't," she said, the sass evident in her tone. She was really REALLY on her bratty shit today. "But it's just so fun to rile you up. You get this look on your face, all stern and dominant. It's cute."

Roman's patience snapped, and he quickly grabbed Lilah, pulling her over his lap. "You think it's cute, do you?" he growled, his hand coming down hard on her ass, the skimpy fabric of her gear offering zero protection. "Let's see how cute you think it is when I'm done with you, little brat."

Lilah gasped as Roman spanked her, his hand landing hard on her sensitive skin. She tried to wriggle away, but he held her firmly in place. "You're mine," he said, his voice rough with possessiveness. "And I'll punish you however I see fit. You need to learn to behave, babygirl."

Lilah's body tensed as Roman continued to spank her, his hand landing in rapid succession. She could feel the heat building up in her cheeks as he lectured her. "You're going to listen to me," he said, his voice firm. "You're going to do what I say, when I say it. And you're not going to test me again. You gon' watch that smartass mouth too."

Lilah's resistance began to wane as the pain from the spanking mixed with the arousal that was building inside her. She couldn't deny the effect that Roman had on her, even when he was punishing her. "Yes, my tribal chief." she whispered, her voice soft and submissive.

Roman's hand paused, and he looked down at Lilah, his expression softening slightly. "Good girl," he said, his voice a little gentler now. "You're learning your lesson. But we're not done yet."

He lifted her off his lap and turned her around to face him, his eyes roaming over her body. "You're going to show me how sorry you are."

Lilah dropped to her knees in front of Roman, her eyes never leaving his. She could see the desire in his eyes, and it only fueled her own arousal. She reached for his belt, her hands trembling slightly as she unbuckled it.

Lilah's heart raced as she pulled Roman's pants down, revealing his hardened member. She looked up at him, her eyes full of submission, before taking him into her mouth. She began to suck him, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Roman groaned, his grip on Lilah's hair tightening as she sucked him off. "Good girl," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Just like that. You know how to please me, don't you?"

Lilah continued to suck him, her head bobbing up and down as she took him deeper into her mouth. She could feel the power dynamic between them shift, with Roman in control and Lilah submitting completely to him, her bratty facade melting away.

Roman's breathing grew heavier as Lilah worked her magic on him. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with lust. "That's it," he growled. "Take it all. You're mine, and I'm going to use you however I want."

Lilah moaned around Roman's cock, the sound sending vibrations through his body. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and submissive, and he could see the surrender in them.

Roman could feel his orgasm building, and he knew that he was close. He looked down at Lilah, his eyes filled with desire. "I'm going to cum all over that pretty face of yours," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening. "And you're going to take it like a good girl."

Lilah braced herself, her eyes locked on Roman's as he reached his peak. With a loud groan, he came, his seed splattering across her face and hair. She took it all, her tongue darting out to lick up any that had landed on her lips.

Roman panted, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He looked down at Lilah, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Good girl," he said again, his voice softer now. "You look so beautiful like this, covered in my cum."

[mdinudi]

Tribal Pattern - Aztec, Wood

Coffee, tea, or art? Have it all with this eye-opening ceramic mug.

[kinicheous]

dazed | kinich

kinich comes to your rescue, but your oh so poor heart doesn't know how to deal with it.

genres/notes: fluff, angst if you squint, reader is down bad, reader is also injured/poisoned (let me know if something is missing!)

you feel embarrassed. flustered. warm, but in a good way. or maybe not, you can’t tell for sure. you want time to stop, but you also want it to fast-forward you out of the current. you can sense the parts of your body that hurt — which make the reason you’re in this situation in the first place — but your mind is too hazed to care about that really yet. 

kinich’s presence almost throws you off. it makes you let your guard down, but you also feel hyper aware of everything around you. you want to keep a healthy distance that will give the beating against your ribcage a break, but you also want to be closer. closer and closer, impossibly closer, as if you’re not being held against his chest at this very moment.

you’re conscious of every inch of his arm around you, all the way out to the fingertips that dig into your hips to further secure his grip. he’s careful about it, yet knowing just fine what he’s doing, seeing as his vines travel you through the dense jungles of natlan with ease.

the chill air should feel nice against your face like this, brushing it like gentle whips, but it does nothing to cool it down. it’s still burning terribly, and your guess is that kinich can feel it too as you subconsciously nuzzle into the crook of his neck. turns out you’re right because he soon sighs,

“don’t tell me the poison’s giving you a fever.”

you definitely don’t have a fever.

you don’t try to respond back with more than a shake of your head. much to your relief, he doesn’t question it any further. just a quiet “good”, and you realize that even one word alone has a special ring to it as long as it’s spoken in his voice — the more you comprehend that fact, the more pathetic you feel. 

kinich opens his mouth, ready to speak. he doesn’t have a particular interest in scolding someone who’s injured and poisoned to the border of comatose, but this is slightly different; on his way back from a commission, he’d just happened to stumble across your miserable state; it was surprising to see someone greatly familiar with combat crouching back against a tree, heavily breathing while in desperate attempts of hiding from tribal warriors. were you on a commission of your own? or fighting an informal battle? a misunderstanding? he wasn’t sure, but watching them about to gang up on a single, damaged person — who he, on top of that, knew very well — didn’t sit right with him. before you knew it, you were no longer on dangerous ground. or any ground at all.

kinich truly is ready to speak, but nothing comes out when he suddenly feels you fisting his shirt, tightly collecting the fabric between your fingers. so, he closes his mouth, letting out a deep breath through his nose. “stop being scared. i’m not going to drop you.”

you definitely aren’t scared.

you couldn’t be, ever. you trust him, possibly a bit more than you’d like to admit, and you don’t like this type of feeling — this type of affection, one you initially thought would be softer, sweeter and kinder, only to turn out to be much more violent. it feels rather like being internally assassinated, or like having your flesh dramatically ripped apart.

you simply never expected that falling in love with someone meant exposing the most fragile pieces of yourself. 

you can’t handle that any further, so you make a meek attempt to push yourself away from him. claiming that “you don’t have to carry me all the way back,” that “i can walk on my own”, yet it doesn’t surprise you the slightest when he holds you even closer with a scoff he doesn’t even try to cover.

“if i dropped you off by your door right now, i don’t think you’d even make it to your room,” kinich sighs and for a second, in the middle of your growing exhaust, you have to wonder if you’re actually feeling his lips graze the top of your head, “so just rest until we’re there.”

[asiantransformations]

The Reliable Father Bod

In the softly lit dressing room of the Target store, you stare into the mirror, watching as the body you’ve just stepped into reflects back at you. The change happened so suddenly, as if you’d been sucked into his form, and now you feel every inch of him—broad, muscular, and powerfully built. This body isn’t just strong; it radiates the energy of a man in his prime. A father, no doubt, but not one who has let himself go. Instead, this man has the perfect “dad bod”—a solid core, broad chest, defined arms, and just enough thickness to feel grounded.

Your gaze is drawn to the intricate full sleeve tattoo that wraps around his left arm. It’s a stunning work of art, a blend of swirling tribal patterns, fierce animals, and meaningful symbols that tell a story of strength and resilience. Each detail seems alive, moving with the muscle as he flexes. The ink is dark, contrasting against his Asian skin, giving him an air of ruggedness and rebellion, yet also an undeniable depth—each mark a testament to experiences and battles fought. You feel an instant connection to it, as if the tattoo is not just decoration but a part of the legacy you now inhabit.

As you stretch, the cotton of his shirt pulls tight against his chest, hugging his body in a way that draws attention to his size and masculinity. But you know you can enhance this form. With a swift decision, you head out of the dressing room and make your way to the men’s clothing section.

You quickly spot a sleek black shirt, the fabric soft yet form-fitting, perfectly accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular build. You can already envision how it will look against the full sleeve tattoo—how the dark color will make the ink pop, giving him an even more striking appearance. You grab it without hesitation, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of transforming his look.

After purchasing the shirt, you slip back into the dressing room, feeling a spark of anticipation. The change is exhilarating. As you peel off his old shirt, you revel in the feeling of this strong body, the firm muscles flexing with every motion. You pull the black shirt over his head, feeling the fabric stretch and mold around his torso, clinging perfectly to his physique. The full arm sleeve in all its glory is showcased, allowing it to revel out like a badge of honor. The way the shirt hugs his arms and chest makes you feel empowered, almost invincible.

As you admire your reflection, the sleek black shirt contrasts beautifully with his ink, adding an edge to the rugged charm of this dad bod. The fitted look draws attention to his virility, enhancing the aura of confidence that radiates from within. You can’t help but smile as you flex your arms, appreciating how this new style aligns with your own aesthetic—masculine, strong, and undeniably appealing.

You glance once more at the reflection in the mirror, appreciating the solid, commanding figure. There’s an undeniable sense of control, of purpose that comes with this body—a body that knows its strength, knows its power. The tattoo spirals down his arm, symbolizing a journey, perhaps of fatherhood, courage, or love, and it feels like a call to action. As you leave the dressing room, his stride becomes your own, the confidence in this transformation fueling your every step. The knowledge that you now inhabit this form sends a thrill through you. Strong. Masculine. And undeniably horny.

As you walk out of the dressing room, the sensation of power in every stride feels intoxicating. The bulk of his muscular dad bod fills every step with purpose and dominance. You can feel the hungry eyes of others briefly glancing your way, captivated by the raw masculinity radiating from this body. A smirk creeps onto your face as you realize the full extent of your influence now.

Sliding into a corner booth at a nearby café, you pull out his phone. The screen flickers on, showing a mundane collection of apps—social media, messages, work emails. But it’s time for something different. You scroll through the app store, and with the effortless tap of a finger, you download Grindr. The thrill of this moment pulses through you, knowing that this body—a symbol of raw, unfiltered strength and masculine energy—is about to step into a new domain.

As the app finishes installing, you open it, feeling the familiar rush of excitement. You set up his profile with deliberate care, showcasing his thick arms, broad chest, and dashing, rugged features. You can feel the weight of his virility as you compose a bio that conveys dominance and confidence without saying too much—just enough to attract the perfect guys who crave the powerful presence he exudes.

Messages begin rolling in almost instantly. Guys of all types—athletic, younger, lean, muscular—can’t help but be drawn to this man who embodies the ideal mix of rugged good looks and seasoned strength. The attention makes your pulse quicken, the command of this body only heightening the thrill. The power dynamic is clear: they want you, and you control the outcome. You feel the surge of dominance, not just over your own body but over the desires of others, and it feels like pure electricity running through your veins.

As you swipe through profiles, you know exactly what you want. Strong, handsome guys who would appreciate not only the size and prowess of this body but its commanding presence. A primal satisfaction blooms within you—the idea of shaping their experience, guiding their desire, all while knowing you have the physicality to back it up.

You settle on a few who catch your eye, sending messages that are direct and assertive, confident they’ll respond eagerly. As they do, the night stretches ahead of you, filled with endless possibilities. You stand up, feeling the comfortable weight of his dad sneakers on your feet and the strength in his muscles. This body, this life, now fully yours to command—virile, potent, and ready to take whatever you desire.

With a final glance at your reflection in the café’s window, you can’t help but smile. You are in complete control, fully aware of the magnetic pull you now have. The night belongs to you, and so does the thrill of the hunt. You message your wife that you will be out with the boys. Family can wait and grindr is just the beginning.

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes, seer!Mirko, blood

Summary: the Earl sought counsel from the seer, seeking guidance after Shoto's proposition to send him and Touya on a mission to the north. Concerned about the rumors surrounding the mission, you resolved to extract information directly from Shoto

Word count: circa 6.5k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT III - SEEKING ANSWERS

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the rugged hills as earl Endeavor rode toward the dwelling of the renowned seer, Mirko. His thoughts were consumed by the intriguing proposition his youngest son, Shoto, had presented regarding a land rich in goods. The idea of sending his eldest son, Touya, to oversee this promising territory crossed the earl's mind, a strategic move that could secure his settlement's prosperity.

Upon reaching Mirko's abode, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew thick with an otherworldly aura, and the eerie silence made the settlement's seer even more intimidating. Mirko was a young woman with a fearsome reputation, her presence alone sending shivers down the spines of those who sought her guidance. Mirko was not beautiful in the conventional sense; her appearance held an unsettling allure. Long, wild locks framed her face, and her eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to hold secrets of both past and future. Tribal markings adorned her skin, marking her as a conduit to the spiritual realm.

Earl Endeavor, a man hardened by battles and strategic decisions, felt a twinge of uncertainty as he approached the seer.

Mirko's dwelling, draped in dark fabrics and adorned with symbols, exuded an aura of mysticism. She welcomed him with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "My lord," she spoke, her voice a haunting melody, "what brings you to seek the guidance of the unseen?"

Endeavor hesitated momentarily before speaking. "I come seeking counsel, Mirko. My youngest son has spoken of a land rich in goods. I contemplate sending my eldest, Dabi, to oversee it. What do you foresee in the tapestry of fate?"

Mirko, seated in the midst of her mystical domain, gestured for Endeavor to sit.

Endeavor unfolded his plan, explaining the potential prosperity and influence this land could bring. "I intend to send Dabi to ensure our dominance over this territory. What do your visions reveal?"

The air thickened with an unspoken power, and her haunting hums echoed through the room. The earl observed, a sense of unease settling over him as he witnessed the seer's transformation.

Her eyes closed, Mirko began to sway rhythmically, her body guided by an unseen force. The haunting melody of her hums intensified, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within the sacred space.

Endeavor found himself being on the precipice of something beyond his understanding.

Her voice carried a spectral melody, and the room seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. Mirko's eyes, still closed, painted visions of impending doom with her words.

"In darkness veiled, the land awaits, Echoes of sorrow, at destiny's gates. A wolf, fierce, prowls in the night, A dance with death, a sinister delight."

The seer's hands moved gracefully through the air, as if conducting an unseen symphony of fate. Her words painted vivid images of a land consumed by shadows and the imminent clash between two primal forces.

"An eagle, majestic and bold, Descends from heights, its destiny foretold. A battle fierce, 'neath the moonlit gleam, In shadows cast, where spirits teem."

The eagle and wolf, symbols of opposing forces, danced in the tapestry of Mirko's vision. The room echoed with the weight of her words, each rhyme a forewarning etched in the annals of fate.

"Blood on feathers, and darkness entwined, A struggle unfolds, destinies aligned. In the land cursed, where choices are made, The echo of battle, in shadows will fade."

"What does it mean?!" The earl growled loudly. "Tell me, now!"

As Mirko's body moved, a voice emerged from her lips, yet it seemed detached, as if another entity spoke through her. The words, laden with an eerie resonance, foretold a grim fate awaiting those who ventured into the land Shoto had spoken of. "The path you tread is bathed in blood, earl Endeavor. Death dances upon the horizon, and shadows darker than the night itself await those who dare to grasp the threads of destiny."

Endeavor felt a chill coursing through him. Mirko's words seemed like a macabre prophecy, a dire warning wrapped in a melody that resonated with the spirits of the unseen.

"Blood will stain the soil, and death will be the echo that reverberates through the ages. The spirits speak of a land cursed by the choices of the living," Mirko continued, her voice carrying the weight of the ethereal.

Endeavor, despite his stoic exterior, couldn't shake the disquiet settling in his chest. Mirko, in her trance, spoke as if guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The grim portrait she painted clashed with the earl's visions of conquest and prosperity.

As Mirko's humming reached a haunting crescendo, she opened her eyes, the once vacant gaze now piercing through the fabric of fate. The trance lifted, leaving the seer standing before Endeavor, a conduit between the living and the unseen.

"The spirits have spoken, my lord. The path ahead is shrouded in darkness, and the choices you make will echo through the very essence of time," Mirko uttered, her words lingering in the air like an unspoken decree from the spirits themselves.

Endeavor leaned forward, his expression stern. "Speak plainly, Mirko."

Mirko's voice carried a weight beyond the present. "The flames may consume not only the intended but all who stand too close. Choices shape destinies," the woman replied mysteriously.

Endeavor emerged from Mirko's dimly lit hut, the weight of her prophecy hanging in the air like a shroud of uncertainty. The pale light of the moon bathed the settlement nearby in an eerie glow as the earl took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Silence enveloped him, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Endeavor closed his eyes, reflecting on the words Mirko had spoken. Despite the foreboding visions, a resolute determination burned within him. He knew the risks, but the allure of wealth and power beckoned him forward.

Turning to Mirko, he offered a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your insights, Mirko. May the spirits guide us through the shadows." As a token of appreciation, Endeavor gently took Mirko's palm in his hands and pressed a grateful kiss upon it.

The seer's eyes, still veiled in the mystery of her visions, met his with a knowing gaze.

Mounting his horse, Endeavor set forth, determined to confront the future that awaited him. The night held its breath as Endeavor rode back to the settlement, a lone figure against the canvas of the darkened landscape. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the ember of ambition burned brightly within him, lighting the path toward the destiny he sought.

Dabi sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his presence almost like a shadow against the flickering candlelight. The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against his sword filled the air, a comforting repetition that matched the beat of his troubled thoughts.

The raucous atmosphere of the tavern buzzed around him, but the glances thrown his way were not ones of admiration or desire. The courtesans, usually attentive to potential patrons, seemed to cast him disgusted looks. Even though he was the heir to the earldom, the one who would sit on the throne after his father's eventual passing, they all were disgusted by him. His status brought him no favors in this realm of longing and fleeting connections.

Dabi's eyes occasionally flickered across the room, catching those disdainful glares. He couldn't deny the sharp pang in his chest — a mix of frustration and a longing for a connection he had been denied for so long. He had grown accustomed to rejection, so much so that he had stopped actively seeking companionship. Still, the yearning for the warmth and softness of a woman's touch lingered, a desire he had learned to bury deep within.

As he took a swig of ale, the bitter taste seemed to mirror the bitterness that had settled in his heart. Dabi continued to polish his sword, the repetitive motion a way to distract himself from the disapproving looks that haunted him. In the midst of the crowded tavern, he remained a solitary figure, surrounded by people but untouched by the warmth of human connection.

The loud thud echoed through the quiet walls of the Great Hall, jolting you awake from your shallow slumber. Concern etched across your face as you rushed out of the room you shared with Hilda, following the source of the commotion. The dimly lit corridor led you to Dabi's chamber, where you found him struggling to regain his balance, a victim of the ale's intoxicating effects.

"Easy there," you said, your voice soft but laced with genuine concern. "Need a hand?"

Dabi looked up at you, his turquoise eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before recognition set in. He grunted in agreement, accepting your offered help. Together, you steadied him, and he leaned against the wall for support. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow on both of you, creating an unexpected intimacy in that late-night encounter.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his usual aloofness momentarily giving way to a hint of vulnerability. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in the air as you helped him back into his chamber.

You assisted Touya onto his bed. The warmth of the hearth seemed to soften the edges of the usually stern and enigmatic man. However, as you turned to leave, his hand shot out, gently grasping your wrist. When you met his eyes, you were met with a vulnerability that seemed to pierce through his usual façade.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You hesitated. The rules that governed your roles in this Viking settlement were clear, and getting too close to someone of higher standing could invite trouble. Yet, the sadness in his eyes and the unspoken plea tugged at your empathy.

"I��� I shouldn't," you started, but he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered, his tone a mixture of loneliness and longing.

In that moment, you found it difficult to resist. Against your better judgment, you stayed, settling on a bed beside him. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Touya's eyes never left yours.

The room was shrouded in shadows, and the warmth of the fire seemed to cocoon you and Touya in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

With a hesitant yet genuine smile, Touya broke the silence. "Tell me about your homeland," he requested, his eyes showing a glimmer of curiosity.

His request hung in the air like a delicate thread, and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh before responding. "You want to hear about the place you tore me away from? Like a flower ripped out of the life-giving soil?" Your words held a weight, a mix of resentment and sorrow.

Touya met your gaze, his expression carrying the burden of understanding the pain he had caused. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

In the flickering glow of the fire, you began to weave a tale of your homeland. Your words painted a vivid picture of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, their walls weathered by the salty breeze that swept in from the sea. The narrow cobblestone streets echoed with the laughter of children playing and the rhythmic sounds of craftsmen honing their skills. "Near the shore, where the cliffs stood tall and proud, we built a small chapel—a haven of solace and prayer. Its stone walls echoed with hymns, and the air was filled with the scent of incense," you recounted, your voice carrying the nostalgia of a place left behind.

As you spoke, Touya's piercing eyes remained fixed on you, absorbing every detail of this distant world he never truly understood. The contrast between the harsh Viking settlements and the idyllic Christian village seemed stark.

"The coastline, painted in hues of blue and gray, witnessed the ebb and flow of tides. Fishing boats set sail at dawn, their sails billowing in the morning breeze, while the cliffs provided a vantage point for the villagers to gaze upon the vast horizon," you continued.

Touya's features softened as he envisioned the serene landscape you described, a world far removed from the tumultuous life he had known. Touya's eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he absorbed the essence of your words. "You must have been missing the place ever since," he pointed out, the words carrying a gentle understanding of the yearning that comes with reminiscing about a home left behind.

You nodded quietly, the flames of a fireplace reflecting in your eyes. "Indeed. The memories are like whispers of a distant melody, a reminder of a life that once was. I can almost feel the salt-laden wind against my face, hear the distant hymns in the chapel. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I close my eyes and pretend I'm back there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home."

Touya's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression, as the echoes of your quiet sobbing reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and there he found you, tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His heart constricted with an unexpected ache. A flicker of empathy illuminated his usually guarded gaze.

"But it is all gone. All gone. You and your people took everything from me. And now I'm here, locked in a cage of a shadow of something once called life. Apparently, this was God's plan for me," your voice carried a weight of bitterness and sorrow.

His gaze softened as he watched you, the firelight casting shadows on your tear-streaked face. "Gods have their own way of weaving destinies, entangling lives in threads that stretch across time and space. Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a reason our paths crossed in this tumultuous journey."

You gave Touya a searching look, the flickering firelight dancing in your eyes, and asked, "What do you mean? Why would the God bring me here, to this… place of captivity?"

Touya looked at you with a glint of intensity in his eyes. "Our gods are different, you know. Freya, Odin, they're not like your Christian God. They're not confined to a single doctrine. They're free, just like the wind that sweeps through these icy lands. And I believe, with all my heart, that the Allfather sent me to your village for a reason, and that reason was you."

You couldn't help but snort at his words. "You're drunk, Touya. Those gods of yours aren't guiding anything. I'm here because of the whims of men, not gods."

Touya locked eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You're beautiful."

His breath sent shivers down your spine, and before you could fully comprehend his words, his lips boldly found yours. Shock coursed through you at the unexpected kiss, your first taste of such intimacy. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered on his tongue, but amidst the surprise, you felt a strange warmth. You hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond, but the gravity of the moment pulled you in.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself brushing your lips against his, a hesitant exploration of uncharted territory. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bearing witness to a connection that transcended the roles you were assigned in this harsh world.

The following day, Endeavor summoned Dabi to his side, his face stern and determined. The air in the room felt heavy with an unspoken gravity as Dabi approached his father. "Touya," Endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence, "I have a mission for you."

Dabi's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and apprehension. "What kind of mission?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Endeavor.

Endeavor's eyes bore into his son's, revealing a mix of authority and expectation. "You, Shoto, and a selected group of warriors, including Hawks, will be sent to the northern part of Sweden. There's a land there with potential, rich in resources. It's time to expand our influence, and you're crucial to this endeavor."

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead. The mention of Shoto and Hawks in the same mission stirred a sense of unease, but he kept his emotions in check. "Understood," he replied, his tone resolute.

Endeavor continued to lay out the details of the mission, his plans unfolding as a complex web of politics, power, and strategy.

Little did Dabi know that this journey would lead to unforeseen challenges, testing not only his strength as a warrior but also the bonds that held his family together.

Hilda approached you with a furrowed brow, a concerned expression etched across her features. The flickering light of the torches in the chamber cast shadows that danced upon the walls as she spoke. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," she said in a hushed tone.

You looked up, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "What is it, Hilda?" you asked, your eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I think I just need a listening ear. Touya is going on another mission. But what worries me more is that Shoto, his younger brother, is being sent alongside him."

You furrowed your brows, recognizing the tension between the two brothers. "Isn't that a cause for concern? They don't exactly get along, do they?"

Hilda nodded solemnly. "No, they don't. The earl's decision to send them together is raising suspicions. It's a risky move, and I fear it might not bode well for the stability of the mission."

Concern etched across your face as you contemplated the potential consequences of such a decision. The dynamics between the two brothers were already strained, and sending them on a mission together seemed like a recipe for conflict. Hilda's worry mirrored your own, and the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on both your minds.

You finished brushing your hair, the strands flowing smoothly through the comb. The flickering candlelight in your chamber created a soft ambiance, but your thoughts were far from the present moment. Hilda's words echoed in your mind, and the worry for Touya settled like a heavy stone in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Hilda, who was quietly arranging some furs in a corner of the room. "Hilda," you began hesitantly, "is there really nothing we can do for Touya? I can't shake off this feeling of unease."

Hilda paused, her gaze meeting yours. The lines on her face spoke of years of experience and wisdom. "Y/N, sometimes the currents of fate are beyond our control. All we can do is navigate the waters as best we can. Right now, the best course is to stay vigilant and hope for the best."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. The unpredictable nature of the situation left you feeling powerless, and it frustrated you. "But what if something happens to him? What if Shoto…"

Hilda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We can't predict the future, dear. All we can do is be prepared for whatever comes our way. Keep an eye on the situation, and if there's an opportunity to help, we'll take it. For now, focus on your tasks and be vigilant."

You sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in her advice.

Hilda observed you with a shrewd gaze, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. As you finished your nightly routine and settled onto the furs, she couldn't help but voice the question that lingered in her mind. "Y/N," the woman began, her voice gentle yet probing, "forgive me if I overstep, but your interactions with Touya have been minimal. Why this sudden concern for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your words carefully. The truth was, your initial reservations about Dabi were not baseless, but something about Touya's vulnerability had stirred a different emotion within you. You looked at Hilda, deciding to share a part of your thoughts. "I may not like him, but I can't shake off the feeling that there's more to Touya than what meets the eye. The way he spoke about his past, about losing everything, it resonated with me. It's not pity, Hilda, but a sense of understanding, maybe empathy. And now, knowing he's going on this dangerous mission alongside Shoto, it's hard to ignore the worry."

Hilda's smirk widened as she spoke, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Oh, my dear, I can see your cheeks flushing when you speak about him so fondly. You're having a crush, am I right?"

Hilda's smirk didn't go unnoticed, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Her teasing words struck a nerve, and a flicker of irritation danced in your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hilda. It's just concern for a fellow human being," you retorted, your tone defensive.

Hilda chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Concern, my dear, often wears a different face. There's no shame in admitting you care for him. After all, this world is full of unexpected twists, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, attempting to maintain composure. Deep down, you knew there was a kernel of truth in Hilda's words. The concern for Touya had indeed taken a different form, and your heart acknowledged a connection that transcended mere worry. Yet, admitting it to yourself felt like navigating uncharted waters.

Ignoring Hilda's knowing gaze, you turned away, feigning disinterest. But within, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, and you couldn't deny the impact Touya had made on your guarded heart.

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning in your simple bed, a peculiar yet potentially useful idea began to form in your mind. The notion of extracting information from Shoto about his plans took root, and you found yourself contemplating the details of how to execute this risky but potentially advantageous scheme.

The flickering light of the dim chamber barely illuminated your face as you hatched a plan to subtly and strategically approach Shoto. The urgency of the situation and the looming mission compelled you to consider taking matters into your own hands, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of deceit. With a determined resolve, you prepared yourself mentally for the intricate dance of conversation that lay ahead.

In your best dress, adorned with the finest that could be salvaged among the thralls, you made your way to the tavern after learning from Natsuo that Shoto was seen going out with a warrior named Hawks. As you stepped out, the cool breeze of the late afternoon caressed your face, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

Arriving at the tavern, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking mugs seeping through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, revealing the warm, dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the low hum of conversations. You scanned the room, finally spotting Shoto and Hawks in a corner, engaged in a conversation.

Shoto's two-colored hair caught the wavering light as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To power and the thrill of the hunt," he declared with a smirk, taking a long swig.

Hawks leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

The duo seemed engrossed in conversation, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the tavern. Female thralls, drawn by their presence, attempted to engage in conversation, but the exchanges were marked by a darkness that hinted at their underlying intentions. Shoto and Hawks were having fun in the company of two thralls with exotic features that hinted at a southern origin. The air was charged with an unmistakable tension as the men engaged in flirtatious banter.

One of the thralls, feigning coyness, asked, "What brings you to our humble company tonight?"

Shoto, with a sly grin, leaned in to the thrall seated by his side, and said, "Oh, just the usual – seeking a bit of warmth in this frigid place. Perhaps you ladies could provide some, hmmm?" He mused, running his hand up and down the girl's shoulder.

The other thrall, playing along, responded, "Warmth, you say? Well, you might need to work hard to earn that from us."

Shoto frowned a little, yet his voice stayed low and smooth, "You seem to be unaware of my position, woman. I am the heir to earl Endeavor, and I demand that you address me with the respect befitting my status," he forcefully grabbed the other woman by her shoulder, causing her to tumble off her chair and land on the floor next to him. "So, I suggest you watch your manners, for I am the best you can find in this establishment. Consider your words carefully before opening that foolish mouth of yours next time."

Hawks nodded in agreement, "Indeed, the gentleman here is right. Shoto, don't scare the lady."

The conversations continued in this bold and wry manner, each word dripping with innuendo as the men skillfully navigated the delicate dance of desire. The atmosphere in the tavern buzzed with anticipation as the thralls played their part in the seductive exchange, the one that previously ended on the floor now sat quietly, letting Hawks wrap his strong arms around her shoulders as his hand was playing with her breasts from time to time.

Summoning your courage, you approached them, the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. As you drew nearer, you caught Shoto's eye, and a subtle smirk crept onto his face. Hawks, on the other hand, eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The atmosphere shifted as you prepared to enter a world of alliances and secrets, uncertain of what the outcome might be.

"Well, well, what brings you to this den of sin all alone? Where's your precious Touya? Couldn't keep up with his demands?" the youngest Endeavorson taunted, his tone laced with amusement.

You brushed off his wry remark. "I think it's time for us to bury the hatchet. Our relationship didn't start on the best note, and I believe we can find a way to coexist peacefully."

He looked at you, seemingly surprised by your suggestion. Shoto considered your words, and after a moment, he offered you a seat with them.

Throughout the interaction, Hawks observed the scene. You gave him a brief smile, trying to maintain a cool demeanor in the company of the two men.

Shoto turned to you with an air of faux politeness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I believe we can have a civilized conversation, don't you?" His eyes darted towards the thrall who had been seated beside him, and with a dismissive gesture, he uttered, "You, leave us."

The thrall shot you a cold glance before complying with Shoto's request and vacating the space.

Now alone, Shoto leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "There, much better. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

You took a deep breath before speaking, "I must admit, despite the fear you instill within me, there's a certain charisma about you. It's hard not to notice."

Shoto's grin widened, appreciating the acknowledgment. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. And by the way, I quite like your accent. It adds a certain charm." His compliment was laced with a hint of mischief as he reached his hand out to briefly rub your shoulder.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Shoto's hand landed on your shoulder. Suppressing a wince, you decided to play along with his casual demeanor. When he asked about the real reason for your visit, you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little better, my lord."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, considering your words. "Interesting choice of words. Here, have some mead." He poured some into a wooden mug and handed it to you, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You accepted, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

Hawks, with a twinkle in his golden eyes, couldn't help but comment, "Quite a beauty you have here, Shoto. Earl Endeavor's thralls are indeed a treasure."

Shoto, taking a sip of his mead, glanced at you and replied wryly, "All Christian women have this softness within them. I just happen to enjoy breaking it." His words were delivered with a certain darkness that sent a chill down your spine.

Trying to maintain composure, you played along, responding with a forced smile, as you looked at Shoto's companion, "Well, thank you for the compliment, sir."

As Shoto continued to drink, you couldn't shake off the unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As more mugs of mead were emptied by the men and the atmosphere in the tavern grew warmer, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been gnawing at your thoughts. Leaning in, you addressed Shoto, "Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you and Touya are going on a mission. Is it true?"

Shoto's eyes, a mix of icy determination and something unreadable, met yours. He took a moment, swirling the remnants of his mead in his mug before responding, "Yes, a mission to the north. Father believes it's a land rich in resources, and he wants us to secure it for the settlement."

Hawks, who had been listening attentively, chimed in, "Aye, a mission of great importance. The north can be treacherous, though. Many dangers await those who venture into the unknown."

You nodded, though a lingering concern for Touya flickered in your eyes. "What kind of dangers are you talking about? Is it just the harsh conditions of the north, or is there something else we should be aware of?"

Shoto's stoic expression betrayed little, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of the mission and what it might mean for both brothers.

Hawks took a sip from his mead, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wariness. "The north is a wild place, full of untamed landscapes and creatures. Wolves, bears, and more roam freely. Not to mention, the weather can be brutal, especially this time of year."

Shoto's gaze never wavered as he observed your reaction to Hawks' nonchalant explanation.

You sensed there might be more to the story, but both men remained guarded in their responses.

Shoto's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, his hand landing on your knee with an unexpected boldness. He began to rub your knee casually, his gaze steady as he threw a question your way. "Let's change the topic, my dear. The ruggedness of our upcoming mission might be a bit too much for a delicate female mind like yours to comprehend," he remarked, his fingers tracing small circles on your knee, playing with the hems of your dress. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, his tone low and almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, has my older brother had his way with you yet?"

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance at his audacity, but you tried to maintain composure. "That's none of your business, Shoto," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And the mission—"

"Oh, don't play coy," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm genuinely curious. After all, I'd hate for you to miss out on experiencing the full range of pleasures in our little settlement."

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself navigating the conversation with a mix of caution and defiance, unsure of where Shoto was leading with his intrusive inquiries.

You met Shoto's audacious question with a bold response. "No, my lord, I haven't been with anyone, ever," you asserted, trying to maintain a sense of control in the conversation.

Hawks chimed in with a cryptic comment, "Well, isn't that a rare treasure in these parts. A thrall with untouched cunny, how intriguing."

You shot a wary glance at Hawks, uncertain about the implications of his words.

Shoto, however, seemed more amused than surprised, his smirk widening as if he had expected such a revelation. "You're missing out on experiences, thrall. I could show you what it's like. I doubt my older brother knows how to please a woman. Look at him, covered in scars, a truly disgusting sight. No normal woman would willingly lie with such a damaged man."

You felt Shoto's hand sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, making your breath catch in your throat. His audacious suggestion hung in the air, and the atmosphere became charged with tension.

You pulled away, a mix of surprise and discomfort evident on your face. "Maybe… Nut I didn't have enough mead yet, my lord," you asserted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Shoto, undeterred, leaned in with a sly grin. "Afraid of a little adventure? I promise you, it'll be an experience you won't forget," he whispered, his mismatched eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

As Shoto poured another mug of mead for you, you discreetly took small sips, ensuring that the majority of the liquid found its way into Hawks' cup while the two men were engrossed in conversation. The effects of the mead were beginning to show on Shoto, but you remained clear-headed.

The conversation in the tavern continued, filled with laughter and raucous chatter. You observed Shoto's growing inebriation and wondered if this was the opportune moment to extract information about the mission.

As Shoto, in a visibly inebriated state, decided to make his way back to the Great Hall, Hawks was more than willing to accompany him. However, seizing the opportunity to gather more information, you stepped forward and offered to walk Shoto back on his behalf. Hawks, busy with the two other thralls he managed to lure, readily agreed.

With Shoto leaning on you for support, you began the journey back to the Great Hall. The night air was crisp, and the sound of distant revelry echoed through the settlement. As you walked, you subtly steered the conversation toward the mission, aiming to extract any valuable details Shoto might unwittingly reveal in his inebriated state. As Shoto stumbled beside you, you ventured to ask, "Shoto, why do you harbor such resentment toward Touya? It seems like there's a lot of tension between you two."

Shoto's response was punctuated by occasional hiccups, and he spoke with a slurred cadence, "Touya… he's always been the favorite. Father sees him as the rightful heir, even after he attempted on killing him… When he was a baby… I'm just… the spare. I've had to fight for every scrap of approval, every shred of acknowledgment. It's fucking infuriating."

His words were tinged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more beneath the surface of their strained relationship.

Shoto's alcohol-laden breath hung in the night air as he delved deeper into the caverns of his animosity. His words spilled out, laced with venom and a fervent desire for retribution. "You see, Y/N… Touya has always been the golden child… Father dotes on him, oblivious to the struggles I faced. I fought tooth and nail, but in his eyes, I'm still the disappointment." His voice resonated with a toxic blend of envy and resentment. "I wish he'd disappear, fade away… It would be so much easier without him overshadowing me at every turn… Fucking Touya. Father might finally see my worth."

As he spoke, you couldn't help but sense the profound wounds that fueled Shoto's disdain for his older brother, wondering if there was any way to mend the frayed bonds between them.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the huge, wooden door to the Great Hall. In the dimly lit hallway, you guided Shoto with careful steps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. As you reached his chamber, the weight of your question hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "My lord… Do you plan to harm your older brother during this mission?"

He paused, his drunken demeanor momentarily overshadowed by a serious glint in his eyes. "Hurt him? No. But if fate has other plans for him, who am I to intervene?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if Shoto's words held any truth or if they were merely intoxicated ramblings. As you opened the door and let go of his waist, you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath the surface of his seemingly casual response. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, adding an enigmatic air to the entire exchange.

The sudden force of Shoto's grip on your waist surprised you, and before you could react, his lips collided with yours in a messy, drunken kiss. The taste of mead lingered on his breath, making the encounter less pleasant than you might have imagined. You winced, feeling a mix of discomfort and confusion as the moment unfolded.

Shoto's hand slipped beneath your dress and moved up your leg, resting between your thighs. As he pulled away, his eyes were glazed, and he chuckled under his breath, resting his back against the wooden wall. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," he slurred, releasing his hold on you and stumbling into his chamber. "I'll make sure you're mine, not his." The door closed behind him, leaving you standing in the hallway, processing the unexpected exchange with your palm pressed against your mouth.

As you turned around, your heart sank, its rhythm momentarily disrupted - there, in the corridor, stood Touya. His expression held a mixture of surprise and shock as he observed you, and an unspoken tension hung in the air.

Touya's harsh words hung in the air, stinging like a bitter truth. "I can't believe you're like that, Y/N, letting my brother touch you this way. I thought you were different, not like every other thrall, but I guess I was wrong."

A lump formed in your throat as you desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand, but before you could utter a single word, Touya turned on his heel and left, the resounding crash of the door slamming shut echoing through the dimly lit corridor.

Now, you found yourself standing alone, the weight of his accusations settling in. The corridor seemed colder, lonelier in the aftermath of his anger. You replayed the scene in your mind, the hurt etched on Touya's face, the disappointment in his voice. It was a bitter cocktail of emotions that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The truth was, you never intended to betray or hurt Touya. You considered chasing after him, explaining that it wasn't as it seemed, that your intentions were never to betray him. But the finality of that slamming door weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A lone tear traced the contours of your cheek, a delicate testament to the waning emotions within. It was as if you had relinquished something profoundly vital, a precious fragment of your life slipping away, leaving behind a poignant void.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot

[dinoburger]

9 masks based on the mercenaries + alternate team designs

some notes on inspiration under the cut

Soldier

Chinese war mask

camouflage (paint, netting and "scrim")

Scout

based on Hermes (Greek bronze and marble statues)

Pyro

wood Indonesian boar mask

Heavy

porcelain mask

matryoshka

Engineer

scrap metal and leather

cowboy themed

Demoman

Celtic masks

Scottish thistle

Medic

wood/fabric German festival masks

Spy

art nouveau inspired (treated papier mache)

Sniper

wood masks inspired by Aboriginal and Māori art respectively

metal eye holes inspired by Ned Kelly

fern and flowering gum

I want to note that while tribal masks were an inspiration, I didn't want to directly copy or draw anything resembling Māori face tattoos on Sniper's face, so I just left it roughly hatched with his sideburns more referencing a generic New Zealand fern. I understand that tribal masks and tattoos are very important and more so just want to respectfully acknowledge the culture than misuse it.

[oddclan-askblog]

More slig stuff plus lore below the cut (there is a lot.)

Slig growth differences: 

free sligs can see well and do not need goggles. They maintain their lower set of mandibles which are used to feed food into their moths as well as taste. Teen sligs steel guns, ammo, and goggles from older sligs when they're not looking. While most of this goes to new escapees sometimes cool stuff "slips through". Teens don't really need any of it, they're seldom allowed to fight or raid. It all just looks really cool so of course they snag it. 

Adult tribal sligs new or original, are expected to leave the old gear behind in favor of copper jewelry and tattoos. Some keep their old gear but most move on. 

Slave sligs are blinded and their lower set of mandibles are removed while they're young. This makes tough food harder to eat and disincentives them from fleeing the factories in adult life. Additionally their tails are bound and cut short making movement without pants very painful. 

Occasionally baby Sligs are smuggled to freedom but very very rarely. Rescuing a squawking sadistic slug is quite difficult compared to a mud egg. 

New blood: 

Slaves who try to become free can not enter the community at will. They are required to bring their weapons and gear (unloaded), whatever they can snatch food wise, and must mark themselves to show their commitment. A mark consists of a very obvious "X" across the head or chest, anything hidden is likely to be missed and the latter will be shot on site. The X must be scarred over by the time they arrive unarmed. 

When this policy was first implemented there was a lot of success and their numbers grew by the day. Once the cartels caught on the deserters thinned out significantly. Recourses have dwindled. Some suggested the policy be changed so marks could be carved across other parts of the body, so as to be more hidden. Treun will not allow it he wants the mark to be obvious.  

Village life: 

There is only one above ground settlement left in Oddworld, the rest are numerous connected by a maze of caves. Escapees are allowed to congregate at the aboveground settlement but no further. Any interaction from the other clans require natives from above or below meeting in the middle. A free queen is rumored to exist but this has never been verified. The sanctuaries constant need for new support and supplies suggests otherwise. 

Sligs live minimalist lifestyles, their tents are woven fabric with leaf littered over the top to blend in with the ground. Each member hunts and gathers together for the clan. Trade with mudokon allow for the acquisition of new art and the occasional tattoo. Muds are not allowed into specially marked sections of the slig tunnels. 

Underground is more complicated, most of the smaller settlements are only three to ten homes strong. The inhabitants feed on cave mosses when desperate but otherwise eat off of dead animals swept into the caverns. Their homes are short dead end tunnels dug into a horizontal "s" shape. A flood room is built into the lower curve so excess water stays in the front half of the home. At the high point of the second curve a long vertical tunnel is dug up toward the bedrooms and other chambers. 

Almost everything is made of some form of clay with fabric and food being stored indoors. Rotten food and waste are disposed of ahead of the village by several kilometers so it flows down current come the storm. Sligs responsible for this travel on specific days of the week. In the interim, trash is carefully sorted and clutter is discouraged. 

The Catacombs: 

Under the swamps lie the ruined Slig cities and shrines. Tunnels and hidden enclaves dug deep into the earth over thousands of years weave a beautiful and dangerous tapestry out of the rock. They can be navigated and shrines can still be accessed but doing so requires careful effort. The biggest danger below is not getting stuck, crushed, or lost, its drowning. Rain is hazardous and inconsistent from above, mountain melt, swamp mog, and anything small enough to drag under, will flood even the largest chasms. 

Bells and bridges connect the highest non flooding point of the caverns. They are specially designed with grooves on their exterior so they will ring as the rain pours. If one can not make it to a bridge above, death is assured. 

The deepest settlements have specially dug water drain offs and bastions so other caverns remain safe. Many ancient cities and statues are closed off by collapsed tunnels or completely submerged underwater. All point to a powerful past where queens warred for power and free sligs thrived in abundance. 

Some areas are inaccessible due to toxic gas which can spread to other caverns if opened. Sligs have a variety of ways for assessing the danger of rooms ahead. Birds are the old-school method, less preferred given the scarcity of food. Repurposed gear can be used especially gas detectors if stolen.

The most common method is tying a trained rat to a string and allowing it to skitter through a small opening. The opening will be closed momentarily with food occasionally added in. The short string keeps the animal close by, its breathing and squeaking being an indicator if the environment is unsafe. If the rat stops squeaking all together the chamber has no oxygen. If the chirps are frantic and it begins scratching at the lid the room is toxic. If all is normal the room is safe. When the results are in the string will be pulled like a leash and the pet returned. This keeps the sligs and their fuzzy buddies alive without wasting resources or much time. 

As Ratz serve a vital role their is much cave art and carvings in their honor. Indeed it seems even ancient sligs understood these creatures genius. Rats and Mize are bred and sold across slig territory for looks, colors, size, and sometimes food. Other Odd races would find this disgusting but Sligs could give less of a damn about their opinions.

Beliefs: 

Sligs are not religious or particularly spiritual at present, they are mostly focused on day to day survival. Some settlements are zealous in their practices and preach their own version of a coming end time. A world borne anew from a great ancient flood where only the most steadfast are saved! Treun blows these isolated settlements off, his people are experiencing enough pain as is. Wouldn't help to preach of imminent death even if most would ignore the rapture too. 

[eretzyisrael]

By Nachum Kaplan

Hamas correctly identified that antisemitism was only dormant in the West, and that they just needed to wake the sleeping monster. They knew this because there were clear tells, such as the international media’s fixation on Israel, the over-reporting of the country, and that the Pavlovian way the conflict becomes newsworthy only when Israel responds to an attack.Hamas stuck to what has worked throughout history. The blood libel trope was modernized into accusations of genocide and deliberate starvation, while the trope of Jews being responsible for their persecution was updated with the notion that Israel had turned Gaza into an open-air prison.They leveraged their numerical advantage.With more than a billion Muslims globally, Hamas knew it had a huge virtual army it could activate on social media to reach a global audience.Hamas flooded social media with lies to exploit the Repetition Bias, a heuristic (mental shortcut) in which repeated information feels more true than new or unrepeated information. Social media repeated these lies exponentially, aided by extensive use of AI-generated “photographs.”The Palestinians also exploited another numerical advantage, the number of Muslim states, which is 48. This has given them weight in forums such as the United Nations and its various committees and bodies, creating a suited army of bureaucrats with credible titles to tell lies to the international press.Almost comically, Iran has just assumed the presidency of the UN Conference on Disarmament. That is the same Islamic Republic that funds, arms, and trains Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis in Yemen — and ships arms to Russia to use in its invasion of Ukraine.They controlled the information flow.Hamas and the Palestinian Authority have used traditional authoritarian tactics to control the information flow from areas they govern. Reporters cannot report freely or unfavorably from Palestinian-controlled territories if they want to retain access. Threats of violence keep the few unsympathetic local reporters in check.Exploiting the inability of most media to report from Gaza directly, Hamas has used local Gazan “journalists” to feed lies, distorting images, and fabricated data to the credulous international media. Time and again, the foreign press has swallowed them, including claimed civilian death toll numbers that are demonstrably untrue (and presume every person killed was a civilian).Hamas has only needed the media to report its numbers, knowing that if repeated enough, they be treated as true and that no one will pay attention to the fine print stating they are unverified. Hamas at one point even had the media complaining that Israel was simultaneously not allowing reporters access to Gaza and targeting journalists there.They mastered the 24-hour news cycle.The internet has blurred the traditional lines between print and television news, turning all news media into digital services beholden to the 24-hour news cycle.Hamas has understood that as long as it keeps manufacturing outrages, the news cycle will move on quickly, and they will never be held to account. The Qatar-funded Al Jazeera, which has the veneer of a real news organization, has played a key role in this.They have exploited a ‘post-truth’ world.Hamas recognized that the post-Modernist rot has resonated in much of the West, including across its media and universities. The belief that people cannot only have their own opinions, but their own facts, sounds laughable, but it has become worryingly normal.Political tribes express opinions mainly as identity signals, and tribal loyalty is more important to these people than truth, or even reality. Hamas has understood that this liberates it from any need to have a fact-based narrative.They use simple slogans.“