#The plucker of limbs

[lil-oreo-crumbles]

What do you think the relationship between Globgor and Toffee is/was/could be?

Was:

They never met when they were kids. Eclipsa tried so hard to get them to meet, but they never were able to. Something always happened or got in the way that prevented them from meeting

All Toffee and Globgor know of each other is what Eclipsa tells them of each other. She’s the connecting factor. She didn’t share any secrets, but Toffee has heard her gush about Globgor so many times and Globgor has heard Eclipsa ramble about her best friend in the whole world just as much. Because of that they have pretty positive opinions of each other.

Eclipsa just omitted that Toffee was a Septarian because she knows Globgor doesn’t like them💀.

Toffee was so young and in such despair during the later part of Eclipsa’s reign bc of their falling out and it was because of many factors that he never really was made aware of the ins and outs of the political situation between Globgor and Seth (and the Septarians as a whole). The only reason his opinion of Globgor was tainted has nothing to do with what Globgor himself did/feels about the Septarians and has everything to do with Eclipsa association. The topic of anything to do with Eclipsa is a sore subject so even if Seth wanted to tell him about the King of Monsters/The Plucker of Limbs Toffee would avoid it at all costs.

Is:

In its current day Toffee wouldn’t like Globgor because of Eclipsa association and Globgor would be neutral on Toffee. He doesn’t know Toffee is a Septarian and has only ever heard positive things about him but he knows his wife avoids the topic of her former best friend so he knows shit went down.

Could be:

AU spoilers.

[caltropspress]

DEBRIEFING: 6 July 2024 | Brooklyn, NY | Young Ethel’s

The heat index decidedly did not come correct, so it was a relief when Omar’s Chevy Equinox [Interior Assassin’s Car, see: Monch & Po] picked me up on Saturday at seven:forty-five. He had the AC at brick levels, which was a welcome reprieve from the humidity outside, but he was also bumpin’ the Sacco & Vanzetti BEHEMOTH double-album, so that had me feeling a bit heat-strokey whenever the subwoofer thumped. [Omar is The Shah, the producer-half of S&V, someone I’ve known for roughly a quarter-century, but who only makes the rarest of public appearances at events of the hip-hop variety—bless his heart.] Pulled up to 506 5th Avenue—Young Ethel’s—and got to witness the inaugural Sacco & Vanzetti in-person encounter as Sko (the rapper-half of S&V) was at the bar. Young Ethel’s keeps the musickal performance space behind a black curtain, and the sparse stage is backdropped by papered palm fronds and palmettes. Height Keech, by all appearances, lugged and schlepped all necessary audio accoutrements onto the stage—not to mention the duffle-bagged stage lights (nothing needlessly ellipsoidal) that would eventually illuminate the Wave Generators’ headlining set [spectrum | wavelengths | refractions].

But first… Fellow Jerseyan Rose Image! was the opening act and led us on an exploration of uncertainty! NAHreally (who was in the place to be smilin’ and lankily profilin’ as he does) prepped me beforehand about Rose Image! Little did I know Rose Image! was the spirited fellow in pink hat and overalls excusing and squeezing his way between Sko and I at the bar. (Sko was edifying on the history of double albums in hip-hop; there’s been “90, with some asterisks,” according to his calculations.) Rose bedecked his stage table with stuffies beside his laptop, but that was only after he entered the performance space in theatrical fashion, wide-stepping through the crowd, lifting an imaginary helmet from his head as he bounded upon the stage (“Mission Start!”). He proceeded to lead us through his songs—his log entries—and engaged and entertained, showmanship and styles, high-stepping till his hat flew off like the helmet was intended to. There was no half-steppin’ with this young artist. He’s got a lightblue spirit! (And, yes, everything ends in an exclamation point [!!!!] with Rose Image!)

I picked at a Frederick Seidel poem the other morning, and a line in the third stanza read, “Who climbs a ladder through the stars to reach the moon, / And plucks at his laptop and it becomes a lute.” Not lutes nowadays, but loops, yes. Big Flowers debuted a heap of material from their long-anticipated album, Save the Bees, but because the aux port turned unruly, we heard an impromptu rendition with all Height Keech beats backing them instead of the Messiah Musik joints. “That’s what we have community for,” says Michael [Big Flowers]. We were treated to a brief acapella rendition of Debbie Harry’s “Rapture” verse by Nosaj during the tech-diff intermission. Appearing as something of a kerchiefed Willem Dafoe Last Temptation of Christ, anarcho-poppy plucker, scissor freak, Free Palestine leafletter poet, Big Flowers—barefooted and bangled—went otherworldly over a series of beats I can only describe as “Rock Hard” / “Rock the Bells”-era Rick Rubin for a post-ruined amerika where bearded gurus die in miasmic nuclear meltdowns. Flowers was impassioned, the musculature of their neck as defined as their nanomite verses—each word functioning in formlessness. I saw them perform on 9/17/22 at the Kingsland, and this level of ardor is the norm. They said at the start of their set that they weren’t fresh on stage banter, but they shouted-out Geng PTP who’s factored in as mentor and executive producer roles for the forthcoming project. No doubt, everybody will be ready for it.

andrew was next to step up, and heaven ain’t a halfpipe, but hell may well be a grind rail—he was loose-limbed from an earlier skate session (hovering high-pressure system be damned). His set was comprised of tracks from his Height Keech-produced project (dropping in a matter of days), Can I Write A Requiem For You When You’re Dead? Keech—if you’re one to pick up on patterns—was very much the maestro of what was heard on this particular night. andrew stood centerstage, his feet teetering yet toe-steady on the edge, for most of his songs. He shared his honesty-raps full of found material and gallows humor. “I had a dream I got decapitated with a long-bladed knife,” he says early on “soda & chocolate,” but—not to be outdone—hits back with an anecdote about his belt not fitting right: “Maybe it’ll fit later, but either way it fits my throat, / It seems sturdy, and yeah, I like the design, / You gotta look cool—it’s no exception when you die.” Sko rocked with andrew on “purple & gold,” and Height, Darko the Super, and ialive joined the crowded stage for the “based on a drew story” posse cut. Most memorable, by all metrics, was the hook for “PCP,” a track which will include feature-fiends Alaska and Defcee when the album drops. andrew had the room humming along with its initial reprise: “My lower back hurts when I breathe deep, / When I was thirteen, I smoked PCP, / Alcoholic half my life, but now I’m clean…mostly.” I spoke with Sasco and shemar while Wave Generators prepped their performance. Sasco has an album soon coming, and it hosts what seems to be the whole-ass Hit Squad of underground renaissance NY-centric rap heads: Big Flowers, shemar, miles cooke, Nakama., Sunmundi, and even the elusive Hester Valentine, whom I had inquired about.

When Wave Generators—Nosaj and Height Keech—took the stage in their matching mechanic coveralls (raided Steve Albini’s closet, seemingly), the anticipation had built from the groundwork laid by Nature Boy Jim Kelly’s in-between music selections. Nature Boy Jim Kelly (one of Nosaj’s alter egos), bandit bandana’d, let us know how we got here. He was calling all active agents. The way I started to convulse, you’d think he’d released nerve agents. Never mind if you’re familiar with the pair of New Kingdom albums from 19 Naughty III and 19 Naughty VI (Heavy Load and Paradise Don’t Come Cheap, respectively), most heads got familiar through the faith healing of ELUCID who summoned Nosaj’s foulgrowl for the hook on Armand Hammer’s “Leopards” in 2020: “The savage in me I can’t stop, / Y’all made me this way—I’m too far gone to turn back now, / Ain’t a block, nigga, I can’t rock, / Streets raised me this way, / You know the vibe, nigga, I can’t stop.” A chorus of resistance, of refusal, and the ironic use of “savage” not so different from Baldwin saying, I was a savage about whom the least said the better. The re-ignition [word to Bad Brains] of Nosaj begged to say more. So he did, and on the Small Bills project with The Lasso the following year, ELUCID invited Nosaj to lay down another refrain for “Hush Harbor”: “I might be wrong, I might be right, / I’m too far from the shore to turn back, I can’t lie.” Both refrains referred to Nosaj as having come “too far” to “turn back”—he’s always been forward-thinking, a follower of Newton’s First Law of Motion, a momentum mensch. Though the cultural currents often want to push back and wash away—further back than the Gee Street Records catalog; further back than antebellum, than slaves assembling in secret; further back than transatlantic re-routings; way back—back into time! (as The Jimmy Castor Bunch always said)—Nosaj has never been a troglodyte. This all checks out. On After the End, Wave Generators’ debut for steel tipped dove’s Fused Arrow Records, there exists an overriding concern with reestablishing oneself—of re-routing and re-rooting when one feels deracinated, when one feels thrown off-course. Appropriately, where Busta Rhymes might Tear da Roof Off, Wave Generators tear the roots up. Both, though, have eschatological preoccupations—the album title itself (after the end) suggests the end is not even the end, my only friend. There’s more to be said, had, good, bad, armagideon time, [difficult listening 4] armageddon, volume 1 through volume 10 (word to Dino Hawkins).

The lexical meaning of gene- [“to give birth, beget”] and the Greek genea [“generation, race”] let heads know Wave Generators are still going on, strong-going, headstrong. Wherever they set up shop is the stronghold. Similar to artists like Mike Ladd or the Infesticons, Wave Generators welcome us to the afterfuture. They chugged through much of their album, filling the dark stage in a way the previous acts didn’t necessarily seem to, their physical forms formidable. “Where I’m going I can’t call it—I don’t know where it is,” Nosaj says on “I’ve Got My Whole Life Ahead of Me,” sound advice for any 40 or 50-something. “I’m about to bang to the moon, / Alice Coltrane: play it in my motherfuckin’ tomb!” Some real bliss: eternal now shit coming out the speakers. These Wave Generator songs are about illimitable promise, as so many of the titles indicate. “I’m Setting Up in a New City” finds Nosaj shouting post-apocalyptic post-mortem post-rap[ture] rhymes: “Ooh, baby—it’s a wild, wild world, / It’s after the end of this experiment.” Weirdly, perhaps, I began to think about the old call-and-response traditional, “I’m Building Me A Home.” In my mind, there’s a timeless symmetry between it and “I’m Setting Up in a New City”—a shared hope in finding safety and solace within the blast zone. When you hear me moanin’... When you hear me shoutin’... This earthly house is gonna soon decay. “Decay” like Fatboi Sharif and dove, mayhaps, but Nosaj is assuredly shoutin’ and moanin’. Nosaj isn’t alone. He arranges for GG Allin and Cyndi Lauper to share an electrifying embrace seconds later (and on “Reverse the Curse” it’ll be Santana and Coltrane). As with New Kingdom, the ongoing effort—advertentently or not—involves reclaiming rock music for its rightful heirs. On House of Disorder, an earlier offering from Mr. Furlow and dove, Nosaj invoked the Beatles: “John, Paul, Ringo, George-fucking-Harrison, / Niggas on weed, whiteboys on heroin.” He declares his “daddy was a black Mick Jagger” on “Cree Summer,” and seemingly subverts every performance of “Sweet Black Angel” the Rolling Stones have ever done as they sing for Angela Davis in a Dunbar-like dialect and with minstrel mystery. He’s not taking crowd requests, but on “Freebird” from his collaboration with V8 TFD (Acid is Groovy, Kill the Pigz), he sings, “I’m leeeeaving on a Jefferson Airplane, / My mind moving slow, Lord know when I’m back again.” Consequently, John Denver’s single-engine aircraft crashes into Monterey Bay and makes waves.

We are living in the age of—not the aged rapper—but of the venerable MC. Still, that’s no reason not to tap into teenage angsty disregard for parental hand-wringing. Waste not, want not your youthful verve: “My mom say I’m incompetent, / Last night I lost my confidence, / Told her I didn’t give a fuck, now I wish I fucking did.” Nosaj is kinetic—if MC is mover of crowds, then he’s ever-moving them through his own body movements: his arms spastic, his head and jaw shaking. You can hear it in his delivery, in his words. Height Keech, meanwhile, sounds reminiscent of MCA in his timbre—deliberate, clarified, keen-eyed. The formula of fuzzed-out riffs and raw-as-ruckus drums is especially pleasing in this age of meandering, percussion-light loops. Witness headbanging and just-freed-oneself-from-this-damn-straitjacket pop and lock maneuvers. Keech holds his own on the microphone, too. On “True North” (we’re still navigating, y’see), he’s got the Son of Sam and Kurtis Blow in his alley of allusions, and he’s armed with optimism as well: “We can’t let these hard times follow us and barrel down our parlor door.” Turning back. Pushing ahead. Coming and going. Followed and ditched. Running to and fro. Back and forth. Wave Generators utilize chaos to “Reverse the Curse.” With confidence: We’ll run these fascist pigs right out of toooowwwwwnn. Baby, those ain’t fireworks—them there live rounds, baby. What I saw on-stage during the Wave Generators’ performance matched a description I read in John Gardner’s The Resurrection (1966) the following morning, so I’ll leave you with that: “Then there exploded a terrible holocaust of chords and runs, each note precise, overpowering, irremissible—not music but a monstrous retribution of sound, the mindless roar of things in motion, on the meddlesome mind of man.”

Photos and video screenshots by Caltrops Press and NAHreally, respectively.

[lulullia]

Cast of Project Circus! (yes my phone's quality is the worst)

I started a series of bust drawings featuring each of them, will post once they're all done!

In the meantime, some info about them ⬇

All names are placeholders, this is what I call them in my notes and I'm scared of the day I'll have to give them actual names because I'm attached to these chaotic labels

Vampire Leader – the leader of the Division, a serious and taciturn veteran of the Guild. Is secretely afraid of Eye-Plucker who seems particularily interested in his dragon-like eyes, even though she sometimes proves to be a good listener when he needs to vent.

Eye-Plucker – a survivor of the Lyphurian War, she lost both arms and is now using her Lyphurian ability to summon limbs to replace them. Is obsessed with all sorts of eyes. Frequently argues with Teethless Vampire over her splashing blood everywhere. Her biggest dream is collecting Vampire Leader's beautiful eyes.

Presentator – the charismatic front for the circus with a taste for the grandiose. Is in charge of planning shows. Is either the worst enemy of Scientific Guy when he's not interested in building her props, or his best friend when their interests align to create things that are both useful and showy.

Wolf Guy – a hybrid werewolf born in a lab who needs medicine regularily to keep his sanity. Acts first, thinks… pretty much never, which enrages Scientific Guy when he carefully plans their strategy. When he gets out of control, Teethless Vampire is the one who carries and injects him with his meds.

Scientific Guy – the crazy genius of the band, who takes care of all things weapons, gadgets, and injuries. Initially just assigned to this Division by the Guild, but ended up being part of the family. Super calculative, makes sure to consider every possibility before acting.

Teethless Vampire – a young woman whose fangs got extracted by hunters. Started using a big pair of scissors to draw blood, which disgusts Eye-Plucker. Her carefree and unrestrained nature lets her get along well with Wolf Guy, but is also the source of constant bickering with Eye-Plucker, who calls her dirty and un-ladylike; not that Teethless Vampire cares what she thinks anyway.

Dompteur Boy – an innocent boy who somehow befriended a horde of deadly creatures. His animal-taming numbers are very popular in the circus. Is sometimes taken aback and scared by Nom's gory habits, but otherwise acts as a good older brother to her.

Nom – a mentally disabled little girl with shark teeth who has a habit of munching on hands – any hands, including her own. Was saved by the Division from cannibal parents who only fed her hands. They then tried to unlearn this habit, but even with bandages on her hands, she always ends up bloodying her fingers.

[geekgirles]

Me:

[keiarchived]

Endurance Training

scummy!Dabi, Overhaul, Hawks x Reader

warnings: dubcon, double penetration (triple?), shibari bondage, mind break, breath play, a lot of cum and dirty dirty dirty, impact play, name calling, uuhh a gangbang?, mention of vore

words: 1.4k

Note: Head empty, also thank you boo @bluecookies02​ for beta reading for me <3

Have they lied to you? Maybe. This isn’t exactly part of the League’s so-called program for newcomers, you weren’t supposed to be tied up and hung from the ceiling like a rag doll for Dabi and Hawks to do whatever they want, fuck you however they wish. They called it endurance training, ‘who knows — maybe one day you’d end up ‘kidnapped’ by some hero and they would risk it all and fuck the truth out of you, spilling those juicy secrets you have on the League. Always better be safe than sorry right?’ Said the winged hero, if you could call him that.

“C’mon doll, don’t just give chicken little attention. Cock aren’t gonna suck itself.” If only Dabi knows how hard it is to keep track of everything that’s going on with that hazy mind of yours, perhaps he would’ve been more... considerate but that’s simply off the table. Dabi doesn’t care nor does he want to know how it feels like to be in your situation, fucked out like the little slut that you are and yet they’re still missing one person. Hawks’ too busy fucking you open to response to his partner in crime, simply grunting like a dog in heat before telling Dabi to go fuck himself. A low growl echoed around them as a pair of hands guided your head towards a pierced cock, pushing himself past those lips and into that warm spongy mouth of yours without much a warning. “Fuck... that’s it, you can take more than that couldn’t you? Just a little... more!” Dabi shoved himself down the rest of your throat before giving you the time to react, muffled sounds of gagging and choking are like music to his ears. “Don’t you dare to fucking throw up on my cock, you bitch.” As if you had any choice in this matter before a slap was landed across your cheek, it stings — it really did but the pleasure has long outweighed pain a long time ago.

“You really is a pain slut huh.” Keigo said from the other end of your body, still buried balls deep inside you before he suddenly thrust way too deep all of the sudden. Pressing hard against your cervix with his swollen cock, “Guess we don’t need to worry endurance to pain then.” The winged hero muses mockingly, a not so heroic smirk stretched across his lips. With every thrust the self-proclaimed hero gives you, Dabi’s cock sinks further into your throat and it continued for a while longer before Dabi pulled out just before you passed out from the lack of oxygen reaching your lungs.

“Shall we see how long you can hold your breath, doll?” Not very long, as expected Dabi isn’t patient enough to wait for you to answer before shoving his cock back down your throat, squeezing your cheeks until these lips plucker.

Chisaki is well known for his timing, always knows how to make an entrance by being at least half an hour later than the original meeting time. A heavy huff heard as the door swing open, only to reveal the tall dark hair masked man.

“Whatever this is, it better be worth my time.” Chikasa sighed through the door before freezing, brows knitted tightly together, disgust is clearly written over his face as he stares at the way you swallows around Dabi’s cock whilst the red pigeon of a man ruts into you. “What’s the meaning of this?” He asked, clearly baffled and unamused at the sight presented before him. Couldn’t they have save whatever this is for later?

“Oh good, you’re here.” Dabi said between his groans, hand tangled between your hair without a single sign of stopping. “Didn’t think you’d make it so we started early, don’t mind do you?” If anything Chisaki is glad they started with him, how could anyone bear the thought of sharing a fuck toy between them? Not that he intends to find out, just the thought of all those unknown bacteria and gems lingering is enough to make his skin itch. “That does not answer my question.”

However, before Chisaki’s question could be answered by either one of them; small weak muffled whines spilt from your stretched lips. Still stuffed with Dabi’s cock, “Shit, sorry sorry.” He snickered mockingly at you and the mess you’ve become, cheeks covered in a deeper shade of red than before — maybe he shouldn’t have pushed you this far. “C’mon, really? What else does it look like? Just called you in for a gangbang? No way.” Hawks’ wit made itself known, responding to the taller man’s question whilst his partner in crime is all too busy admiring the droll and slick tickling down your chin.

They both did a pretty good job at breaking you within the time given until there is nothing but babbles that leave those pretty swollen lips. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell him, doll? What we’re all doing here, doing to you.” It’s almost unfair how smooth and unaffected Dabi’s voice is as he whispers against the shell of your ear, cradling those red cheeks in his equally warm large hand. “C’mon doll, you know I don’t have the patience.” Dabi warns, digging crescent moons into your skin until those lips pluckers with a pop. You could just barely hear the devilish smirk plastered across his face, mind foggy and hazy from this forbidden pleasure that you didn’t know existed. Sex is supposed to be done with someone you love right? Or maybe you’re just too naive for your own good.

“End-Endurance training...” Those words slurred the second it left your mouth, swallowing thickly and breathlessly on those stray saliva as you glanced towards Chisaki with unfocused nodded eyes. Earning an expression of mere disgust, despite having his own question answered; Chisaki is still baffled as to the reason why he was called here. Did Dabi and Hawks think they could persuade him into joining this madness? What’s better than to have a professional show these armatures how it is done?

Consider yourself lucky that Chisaki is slightly agitated by this two duo, otherwise, you might end up on ao operating table instead whilst he breaks you mentally and physically before building you back up like a doll. What convinced him to say yes is still a mystery but you know better than to question any of their intentions when you’re at their mercy.

“Consider this a favour you owe me, now where do we begin?”

Your body still feels weightless as those fibres bites into your skin, leaving beautiful scarlet marks peeks from under the ropes. Chisaki, Dabi and Hawks have shifted you in more positions than you have ever known, the only consistent thing is how each of your holes is stuffed with their cock. Limbs bonded behind your back as they use you however they see fit, “Fuck me, dove. You’re literally dripping.” Hawk taunts, honey blonde eyes glued to the way your lips stretch beautifully around his cock. Head popping till your nose is tickled by those stray musky pobes, needless to say, he is quite please with how you’re coming along. No need for any further instructions and you know right away what he wants from you, the same goes with Dabi who’s now beneath you and Chisaki towering over you as he refuses to get any more dust on him than he already had.

“Think we’ve fucked open a new pussy.” Dabi snickered, there’s almost zero to none resistance whenever he buckles his hips into that ring ‘tight’ muscle. Creamed and gushing much like your cunt, “I’m surprised you two even managed to find something as lavish as this one.” Chisaki pointed it out, the low expectations he has for Dabi and Hawks are obvious. Hips moving lazily against yours, just barely grazing that sensitive spot you needed to unwind, again. Tipping up your cum and tear-stained face between his gloved fingers with brows narrowed, as much as he would like to find the appeal of the state you’re in; he simply couldn’t especially when those semi-transparent stains belong to someone else. This was merely a one-time thing, maybe next time Chisaki will have you as his own instead. A muttered curse and grunts each spilt over their lips when yet another orgasm race through your body, painting all possible entrance with white.

“Perhaps... perhaps you can be useful after all.” Chisaki muse breathlessly.

[bomberqueen17]

fortunate

It was mild on Saturday, which is great, as we were processing turkeys and needed the water lines not to freeze. Then the temperature dropped sharply that night, well below freezing-- which was perfect, because we had 120 turkeys sitting in ice baths in a room (a further 30 had been packaged and were in the walk-in cooler, but no more would fit in there), and it being cold meant we didn’t have to try to run out in the middle of the night and try to dump more ice over them. And the next day, it stayed chilly-- which was perfect, because what we do is that we package the turkeys and lay them out in the kill room, and that’s the “fridge”, whatever room temperature is. So far every year it has worked to have the turkeys at the ambient outdoor temperature because it’s been in the 20s every year. (Also this is why when people are like “can i pick my turkey up late” we are like NO because still like ten people didn’t show up and even with a walk-in cooler YOU try finding room for TEN goddamned turkeys, you CAN’T.)

And then last night the temperature rose, starting while we were still standing out there freezing our asses off. We left all the baskets of eggs just sitting out, because it was 45-50 all night. No problem! Left the water lines on, left things hooked up, no big deal. Last night after we put everything outdoors away, it started getting windy and then it started pouring rain at like 3 in the morning and we all woke up with it and all shrugged and rolled over, because today’s mostly indoor work.

Anyway it was nice that the weather cooperated, because I’m goddamned exhausted. Yesterday we packaged, weighed, and marked down 146 turkeys, and each turkey was individually identified by its specific (to two decimal places) weight, and then BIL sat and matched up people’s desired size of turkey to the individual turkeys we actually had. It’s a nerve-wracking thing he has to do every year, because it’s in order of signup. The people who put down their turkey deposit in January get exactly what they asked for. The lady who called on Friday about turkeys got whatever was left. [Both of those individuals asked for “up to 15 lbs”, our smallest category. The first one got our only 13-pounder. The last one got a 24.8 lb turkey, with the option to take instead a damaged 19-pounder. (Broke a wing in the plucker.) She chose the damaged one.]

Nobody really flipped out. We have some customers who’ll ask for “15-18 lbs” and freak out when it’s 17 because, IDK, they thought we should read their minds and know they really wanted 15 lbs. (The one guy was like “well the situation has changed!” and I’m like “bro the turkeys haven’t tho?”)

We always enclose a little slip with tips on how to cook a fresh turkey-- a bird that’s never been frozen is a whole lot faster to cook because it’s generally slightly warmer inside than out, while a thawed bird is the opposite. So even experienced cooks are often taken off-guard by how fast the fresh bird is done. Usually, on the back, we put on a little ad about holiday wreaths, but we don’t have greens this year, so instead Farmsister wrote up a little tutorial on how to cut up the bird before cooking-- the recommendation was to cut off the limbs and snap off the spine, and then just cook the breast and ribcage so it’s scenic and beautiful and not so much meat. Then later you can thaw the parts singly or together for special-occasion but small-scale meals.

People were a mix of resigned and furtive; some were like “yeah we’re not having anyone over” and some were like “shhh it’s just a few people really!” and some were like “it’s just our isolation pod! but we’re a biggish isolation pod!” and some were like “our plans are our business”-- but not a single person was like “oh it’s nothing,” they all were like “man things are different this year and it’s scary and we’re doing our best”, which was. I mean. There was a sense of camaraderie about it. This county’s gone down under 1% positive test rate, this week, but not a lot of people are getting tested at the moment, so that could really be a good OR bad sign.

Anyway-- that field of honking weird dinosaurs has been converted to cash-in-hand, for the most part, and that’s a huge weight off everyone’s shoulders, but today we had to catch up on the last four days’ of egg-washing and packing, and later we’re going to have to re-set the whole slaughterhouse but I’m taking a few moments to sit here and catch up on things.

I’m sore as fuck but I haven’t taken anything because I don’t want to overdo it today, because.

Tomorrow is turkey slaughter day again!!!!

115? ish? for a kid whose cousin I used to be friends with in kindergarten, and another 15-20ish for the people we do chickens for all year.

Sigh.

Just gotta get through that, and then Wednesday is THanksgiving prep, and then Thursday I can’t really sleep in but I can probably spend most of the day day-drinking and providing sarcastic commentary as one of the pair of spinster aunts (M-L and I have a routine we can start to do now that the niblings are old enough to Appreciate It, and non-farm BIL is guaranteed to be driven nuts by it so bonus!) and then we can spend all day Friday driving back again.

Yay.

[wordlessbabbling]

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby) - Chapter 4

“I’ll kick my legs in fit of fear, and know not north from south or my arse from my mouth just as I roll about in the deep water.”

Masterlist

The now worryingly intelligent girl sat crosslegged in the grass with the latest edition of ‘Pudd’nhead Wilson’. She stole the book from her mothers bedside and was now reading it in the cold morning sun while her bum got wet from the dewy grass.

Her hair no longer fell in front of her face or itched her shoulders. Now it sat jagged and pinned back by the nanny who desperately tried to fix the choppy mane.

——

Six months had passed since that night at the train station and since then, Florence made an agreement with the Shelby’s and dealt with their corpses.

It was safe to say that everyone was pleased with the arrangement.

Thomas and Florence never really conversed much, aside from when Thomas needed to fling a body into her cold room. Though their chats were cold and kurt, they appeared to be able to at least stand each other for the sake of business.

——

1

“Orright, Mr Shelby, let’s see what you’ve gifted me today.” Florence rubbed her hands together in her regular slouched posture. She had a cigarette in between her lips and by the state of the floor, she’d had seven already that morning.

Thomas entered with two other men who heaved a pale woman on the table.

The woman had reached full rigor mortis so it had been dead for a while. This was going to be a juicy one.

“Tell me about ‘er. ‘Ow’d she die?” Florence poked at the face and peeled open the eyes to get a good look.

The other men shuffled out, seemingly disturbed by the body.

“Her name’s-“

“I don’t care about ‘er name. Gimme ‘er death admission.”

Thomas sighed and lit a cigarette, it was going to be a long day. “I don’t know how she died. She was actually just dropped at our door. No note, no clear signs of threat or who dropped her there.” He rested against the stone wall on the opposite side of the room and tried not to watch as Florence stuck her WHOLE HAND down the lady’s THROAT.

Charming.

Thomas instinctively swallowed and blinked away the nausea.

“Oh now that’s a good fucking story. Are you sure she didn’t just ‘ave wee too many drinks?” Florence crooked her arm and plunged her other one underneath her elbow as her hand tried to find equipment on the table.

“Mind handing me those pluckers?”

Thomas only raised a brow she didn’t see and continued to lean against the wall.

Florence sighed and rolled her eyes, “puh-lease, can you hand me those them there pluckers?”

Thomas, being the stubborn bastard that he was, didn’t move an inch.

“I’ll give you her silver tooth, eh? Is that good?” Florence dipped her head. “Would you like that?”

Thomas straightened up and approached the high table cautiously.

For being such a hardened man, he did not do well with the kind of work this woman did.

He took the ‘pluckers’, which he was fairly sure weren’t called pluckers, and tried to just hold them by the ends, afraid he’ll catch something if he gets caught in the snippy parts.

“Oh just give them here, you ninny.” She shook her open palm and Thomas quickly and silently placed the instrument into her hands but surprisingly didn’t move at all.

He leaned over slightly and tried to watch through the flurry of arms and worrying creaking sounds.

He didn’t actually see anything inside the mouth, but what he did see was that the neck and chin was kind of turning a blueish, greenish colour.

Thomas’ throat made an inhumane noise as he tried to grab onto the table, but in the process, one of his hands actually clutched the dead woman’s feet and he let out a strange ‘yelp’.

Florence didn’t make a comment but she did pause for a second to furrow her brows and truly reconsider where this man stood in the Birmingham hierarchy.

She dove back into the woman’s mouth and dislodged the silver tooth from her gums with a sickening squelch.

“Hand.” She demanded.

Thomas, considering what he was going to get out of this, held his hand out to the waiting woman. She carefully placed the silver tooth with blood on it, into his hand, making him recoil slightly.

Florence then jammed her ‘pluckers” back into the woman’s mouth, but this time it was a gold tooth.

She held it up to the light and nodded when she was satisfied.

She looked over to Thomas who stood there with a highly unamused look on his face. “Well off you pop then. Unless you want to sit here and watch me bleed her, then I don’t know what you want.

He pocketed the tooth without another word and went on his way.

——

2

“Hello there, Beastie!” Florence cheered as the door to her cold room opened. In stepped the usual attendees as they dumped the body on to her table.

Thomas had gotten used to seeing the hunched woman with a cigarette in her mouth, but for some reason or another, she didn’t today. Instead she looked out of it, like she was high or dying, Thomas didn’t know.

She did her usual routine of scanning the figure; checking inside their mouths; cutting their clothes to prepare for the medical procedures.

Thomas never knew why he stayed around for a while, the whole ordeal was sickening and the woman wasn’t exactly fun to be around.

She sighed when she found nothing, instead she took the wrist of the corpse and waved it about. “Cooey!” She played around with the limbs, using them to wave at Thomas who stood unamused in the corner.

She heaved the body into sitting position and made it do a little jig. Thomas always thought the woman to be clinically insane, but this really drove the point home.

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that right?” He lit a cigarette and stared on at the woman who was having a bit too much fun.

She dropped the limbs so they fell heavily on the table again, resting her hands on her hips, “and you’re a killer. We all have our quirks. Isn’t that right beastie?” She turned to face the body again, but this time she actually got to work. This was Thomas’ cue to leave.

——

3

“Hello Beastie!” Florence chimed, cigarette already between her lips, along with the cloud that always loomed across the ceiling.

Thomas shuffled into the room with a body behind him, a regular sight by now.

As the men plonked the body on the table Thomas scurried to the edge of the room to lean in his dibbed spot.

This time though, instead of a cold wall that sent shivers down his neck, there was a chair. It was small and breakable with no real speciality to it. But it was a chair.

It made him pause for a moment. It was a chair. It wasn’t there last time. Why now?

He didn’t say anything though. He just sat down and lit his cigarette.

Florence wondered why the man stuck around for as long as he did. Unless all he was waiting for was the potential gold tooth or earrings, he really had no reason to stay.

She understood the absorbing life of being a leader like Thomas. Florence figured that maybe, despite the vile climate, the mortuary was almost like a getaway for him. The chance to have a smoke and just deflate.

Florence sat against the table legs, also looking tired and deflated.

She held a cigarette between her index and middle finger with her knees up to her chest, the crook of her elbow on her knee.

Thomas watched her for a moment, both of them unmoving.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Thomas piped up quietly.

Florence jerked her head back from her stare at the floor, hitting the table leg with a thud, but it didn’t seem like she minded.

“Heh, sounds about right.”

The silence resumed, Florence didn’t even start to move to examine the body, only sitting on the floor, cigarette in hand.

“Does anyone live here with you?” Thomas inspected.

“What? No, no one but me and me buddies.” She flung her hand up onto the table, and patted the dead mans hand, as if it were a loving partner.

“You seem awfully dedicated to your work?”

Florence was silent for a moment, “‘ow you mean, Shelby?”

“Well you seem to only ever leave this house once a week and even then, it seems like there’s no activity in the house.” He observed.

Florence pushed the cigarette end into the floor and got up, stamping on the fuse. “Is that why I’ve seen your men outside me ‘ouse?”

She strutted out of the room, and Thomas didn’t move from his spot, only staring at the crushed cigarette on the floor.

Before he could reply though, Florence huddled back in with her signature waddle of sorts. She had a bottle of rum and two glasses. She sat back down again, leaning against the table leg with the remains of the cigarette still next to her.

She placed the two glasses on the floor loudly, taking the cork off of the bottle with her teeth and lazily pouring the contents into the two glasses.

She leaned back against the table leg again and sighed when she drank the liquor.

Thomas watched the other glass and assumed that was his. He crouched down to the floor and scooted over to the glass and where Florence sat. Instead of going back to his chair though, he sat his arse onto the cold stone floor with her.

She only crooked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more.

“So what about you’re family? What about them?” Thomas leaned forward.

Florence stared at him blankly, only chugging the rest of her glass then proceeding to bite the cork off of the rum bottle again, then spitting it out an impressive distance.

“I’m gonna need to be a lot more drunk for this conversation.” She took a large swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I would question you why you’re asking me these questions, but you’re probably just gonna give me some bullshit answer anyway.”

Thomas shrugged and didn’t say anything, only watching her switch from cigarette to rum with splendid rhythm.

She topped up his glass one final time before she took one last big gulp and downed the rest of the bottle. She peered through the bottle head as if there was a flaw in the design like there was a hole in the bottom.

She sat for a moment before she coughed out “what was your question again?” She rubbed her eyes.

“What about you’re family, I don’t think they live round here do they?”

Florence belched loudly before answering, “dead. All dead. But ‘‘tis life, no?”

“So no friends or family? Surely you must’ve had someone?” He inquired more and more.

“Questions like that can get you killed where I’m from, love.”

“And where are you from?”

Florence got very close to his face. He could smell the stench of rum and cigarettes on her breath. “I’m from a place where the ocean does not apologise for its depth, nor the mountains make excuses for the space they fill. I went there, I went there to learn from them. You. You with your small mindedness arrogance could not fathom those hills nor those lakes.”

She leaned back again, reaching for another cigarette to get her through the conversation.

“Besides. I’ve got the dead. They don’t speak too loud or ask for presents on their birthdays.” she shrugged.

“Do you usually drink like this?” Thomas gestured with his free hand to the everything in the room.

“Yeah, just you came in early today. I’m not about to let that stop me from my day drinking.” She took a drag from her cigarette, “if I’m not drunk by noon then the day’s wasted.”

“Have I ever talked to you sober then?” Thomas recounted all their meetings in his head.

“Nope. You wouldn’t like me sober, anyway.” She grinned. “When you’re sober, you start to notice just how depressing all this really is.”

“Your job or just life in general?” Thomas chuckled humourlessly.

Florence cleared her throat, “I’m sure you already know the answer to that question, Beastie.”

——

4

Thomas entered the private mortuary, the air was more smoky and thick than usual, which wasn’t worrying, more just confusing.

He stepped into the cold room and made space for the men to put the body on the table.

“Miss. Kent?” Thomas called.

“In here, Beastie.” He heard her voice from behind a door he never really noticed before, it just matched the body cabinets.

He opened the cold door and a gust of hot wind blew in his face.

“Welcome to the cremation zone. Keep your arms and legs to yourself, lest you want me to confuse your limbs for someone else’s.”

Thomas peered at the giant stone furnace that stood proud and tall in the middle of the room with a roaring fire inside its walls.

It had four pillars around the edge, disconnecting the slab to the chimney.

He looked through to the other side of the room through the stone pillars and saw Florence staring intently at the fire.

“Mind the-“ Florence started, but Thomas had already tripped over the arm of a carcass on the floor.

“Why the FUCK do you just leave bodies on the floor? Isn’t there regulations for that shit?” Thomas nearly screeched.

“Yeah, but I seriously can’t be arsed to read them. I did my school years, what’re they gonna do, take away my other non-existent medical license? I don’t think so, Beastie.”

Thomas came round to her side and followed her stare into the fire, finding the way it licked the air to be mesmerising.

“Beastie? Who’s Beastie? Why’d you keep saying that?” Thomas stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“You, you ninny. I thought it was rather fitting, really.” Florence quipped.

Thomas only nodded and shifted his gaze to the body still on the floor, “you gonna put them in or do you just have the room for the view?”

“Oh yes! I forgot!” She scurried around and heaved the legs up the best she could.

The carcass, though dead, was quite a large carcass. “Mind helping me here, Beastie?”

Thomas swallowed his bile and took the figure in his arms to heave up onto the stone slab. Florence then rolled the body into the fire. The body didn’t land in a flattering position as it turned face down in the flames.

“They’re very needy the dead.” Florence mumbled, “and they rarely give back—unless you’re delusional or religious.”

Thomas, for the first time in the company with Florence, actually laughed. It was broad and loud and even made Florence chuckle a bit.

——

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

[acefrogmonarch]

My Turn :) Pt.3

(❁´◡`❁) (❤´艸｀❤)(✿◠‿◠)(✿◕‿◕✿)~(￣▽￣)~*(❤ ω ❤)

Tags @vivilakitty @mystery-5-5 @northernbluetongue @thatrandomfandomsgirl @vixen-uchiha

I hope that’s all of you guys in the tags if not then eh.

Tell me

1 | 2 | 3 (You’re here) | 4 - ao3

Uh heavy warning.

‼❌‼  WARNING ‼❌‼ WARNING ‼❌‼ WARNING  ‼❌‼ WARNING  ‼❌‼ WARNING  ‼❌‼ WARNING   ‼❌‼ WARNING  ‼❌‼ WARNING  ‼❌‼

A COUPLE OF DAYS BEFORE

Diana had just landed her invisible plane on the outskirts of Paris and makes her way to the inner workings of the city.

Bruce had called her to notify her of the situation in Paris. She, herself, had never been present when an Akuma was and always missed the chance to fight one.

Every time she was either off-world or on a mission. Finally, after ranting to Bruce about it, he seemed to inform her that he was taking the initiative within the following week. "Finally some good news after all this time!" Stretching out her limbs, Diana wasted no time in arriving in Paris.

Diana went to her boutique first, she trusted the girl that ran it when Diana left for her 'business trips'. リリーパッド regularly left her school books in the back of the storage. Scribbled post-it notes on her desk as she checked out every few months. A mess within the mess but always order within that chaos.

リリーパッド was, already is, family and often asked if she could help lighten the load of Diana's work or hide from her friends and family at her store.

'From embarrassment.' Is Lily Pad's excuse but Diana still teased her, she wasn't safe anywhere. Diana had sent a message an hour ago when she passed the Atlantic ocean but had yet to receive a text.

It was well past bedtime and Diana couldn't get mad at her little helper's very wise decision to sleep on a weekday. Taking out her keys, Diana opened the door to her boutique to find her helper there. "Marinette!" The girl jumped, started awake and focused her eyes at the door. "Mademoiselle Prince!"

Wiping her mouth, in case she drooled, Marinette checked around the surroundings on her desk. "Mari, it's 22 at night why-" Diana didn't bother to check the time, striding to Marinette's table, beginning to scold her. Marinette bites her lip, hesitant to speak up, but does so anyway.

"Uh, Actually, it's 21:57." Diana looked at Marinette with an unapproved stare and a hand on her hip. "You are not sassing me out リリーパッド." Marinette smiled at the small nickname. She rubbed the back of her head. "I hope you're not mad, I stayed without your permission."

Diana smiled at her helper and went to drop her purse in her office. "Not at all, what's happened since I last left?" Marinette fumbled with her collar and shrugged, looking away.

At the lack of response, Diana looked through the doorway. "Marinette?"

Marinette had taken off her turtleneck and revealed her fading light purple, gruesome green, and yellow hue of a healing bruise crawling on her neck.

From the doorway, Diana froze at the sight of the small women in front of her. "リリーパッド, Who did this to you." Marinette walked over and held her hand, slightly smiling.

"It was the most recent Akumatized victim." Quickly recovering at the memory, Marinette smiled at her. "But don't worry! I won't let that stop me from work!"

Marinette loosely wrapped her scarf around her neck. Marinette wanted to change the subject and noticed the texts from her boss. "Why, are you back so early mademoiselle?" Diana turned to look back at her desk.

"I have something that's caught my attention." Crumbling an old piece of paper, Diana controlled her growing anger. "Marinette, stay away from here."

Marinette in the meantime slipped on a jacket and entered Diana's office. "But Madam. What about work?" Diana shakes her head 'No'. 

"You were already caught up in this. I don't get caught up again." Marinette gave a small smile and walked up to Diana. "It's very hard to do that when your classmates are shit."

Diana smiled back and hugged her. "Maybe, but if you see one. Run away." 

.

.

Marinette had tried, really she did. But she couldn't stop helping people even if she didn't want to.

'Thank god, Royal is alright.' The white noise dimmed around her and she regained consciousness. In a colder place, good. From experience, Marinette could tell this grogginess is from blood loss. Looking down at her stomach she saw the torn clothing and Chat Noir's arm.

'Never again, screw this." Blinking at her surroundings, Marinette grabbed onto the arm that's wrapped around her. "How long was I out?" A little louder than her normal tone. She was right to panic a little, they were in the middle of an Akuma attack! "Not long."

Both Chat Noir and her aren't there to take care of it and Mademoiselle Prince! Struggling to move away from Chat Noir's, Ladybug instead leans into her partner. "I don't know who is Mdm. Prince but she doesn't matter right now, the Akuma has been dealt with, those two strangers helped me deal with it."

Chat Noir placed Ladybug on a chair and went to go get supplies. "You know the drill, don't move." Ladybug waved her arm in his general direction. "Whatever you say. Cat boy."

Ladybug held her stomach, in her hand was her yo-yo. "Lucky charm." Weakly throwing it up the air, Ladybug caught the polka-dotted burner that fell back down.

Marinette laughs at the situation. "Not even right now? Really" Sighing as she waited for Adrien. She needed it anyway and she was already guessing that Adrien did too. "Thank god this doesn't happen often."

Adrien enters the lobby, his hands full of items. A pot, a sewing kit, Alcohol and a couple of water bottles. "I got everything." Marinette nodded and sat up to ease her head.

"In a pot?" Adrien briskly walked back to her. "Y-yeah." Adrien was stopped to stare at her open wound. "Hey." Marinette smiled weakly and held out her hand.

"I'm going to be okay." Adrien grabbed it and fell to his knees again. "How come the Miraculous could cure me but not you." Gripping her hand and quietly letting his tears flow.

"Easy there, I won't be back up to my usual self if I don't hurry." Sniffling, Adrien nodded and took the burner and turned it on. Adrien gives her the cold water bottle and alcohol.

Wordlessly he moves to help Marinette. Adrien boiled another water bottle and took the sewing kit he found and waited for the water to boil. Once it's boiled, Adrien takes the thread and washes it in the hot water, the same with the needle.

Marinette in the meantime detransformed. Tikki went off to guard the place, She couldn't bear to see her companion hurt. Marinette lifted her shirt to lather the areas around the slashes with-- Marinette checked the bottle. "Bourbon?" Adrien didn't reply to her, too busy watching water boil. Marinette shrugged and took a sip.

"Better than last time." Grabbing a few tissues, Marinette covered the gaps and applied pressure. Dousing the outside of her stomach with bourbon she continued. Adrien stood up from the pot delivering the disinfected needle and thread to Mari with a pair of pliers and eyebrow pluckers.

Marinette takes them into her hand, she bends the needle into a hook. Pausing to look up to her partner, he hasn't expressed disconcert since he gathered the supplies. "You don't have to look, you know." Marinette tied the knot on the needle.

Adrien shook his head. "I passed out last time, I have to look." Marinette stared at him. "Don't push yourself 纯儿." Adrien grimaced and breathed out slowly. "G-got it."

Marinette took the plier in one hand and the bottle of bourbon in another. Taking a big gulp of the bourbon and steadying her hand, she slowly worked to tie the first throw together.

After successfully getting the first know she continued on the smaller parts of the claw marks. Catching her breathe, Marinette stops and takes a sip of the water and bourbon. "The pot."

Wordlessly Adrien hands the hot item to her. Adrien gags and covers his mouth with his hand. Marinette pulls the two strips of skin together and presses the hot iron on it.

Melting the skin together and the agonizing burn makes it difficult for her to be awake. Adrien stands up abruptly and runs out, covering his nose and moth with the palm of his hand. The smell of burnt skin and seeing his friend in pain makes him puke.

His lunch comes up as Marinette finishes her first claw mark. "A" Marinette bites back her cries and throws the pot away. "Ah, Merde." Adrien cleans up his puke and makes his way back to the Marinette.

"Looks like I can't wear a two-piece bathing suit anymore." Marinette lightly jokes, Adrien doesn't smile at her attempt to lighten the mood. His somber state brings Marinette worry, a silent beat passes.

"You looked better in a one-piece any way." Marinette snorts but quickly develops into pain. "Ow." Adrien detransforms and looks at Plagg. He floats closer to Marinette's face and nuzzles her cheek.

"Mari-bug, get some rest. I can handle it from here." Marinette giggles at his whiskers, lightly grazing her cheek. "Got it Plagg." Grinning softly at Plagg and Adrien; Adrien held her hand and rubbed the back of it. Marinette closed her eyes, letting the pain and sorrow consume her body.

"Adrien, get the pot and reheat it." Plagg barked orders at Adrien's inability to move. He nods and scurries off to fetch the pot. "Sorry about this baby bug." Repeating the procedure for the claw mark above the first one, Adrien and Plagg worked tirelessly to ensure the rest of the injury closed.

.

.

After finishing and closing the wounds, Adrien went to Marinette's side. "We're are ready to finish the Purification of  the Akuma." Plagg went off to find Tikki at Adrien's words.

When Plagg found her, she was looking onto the city, sitting in the gutter. "Sugarcube." Turning to find her partner, Tikki doesn't cheer up. Plagg spins around her and grabs ahold of her paws.

"She's all patched up!" Plagg strived to match Tikki's endless cheery euphemism. It didn't work and it got out a sad smile from her. "You should leave the optimism to me, sock." 

Plagg nudges her, leads her back to Marinette. Tikki hovers at Marinette sides, Plagg drifts from afar. Leaving enough space for Tikki to take in the sight of her little ladybird. "When knowledge when is used to help others and not yourself, then is it a gift."

Tikki wasn't wise, that belonged to Wayzz for a reason. But by any means is she naive. Tikki dreaded the injuries she couldn't heal and how restricted her powers were without a proper vessel.

"Don't be so tough on yourself love." Plagg grabs a paw from Tikki and floats around her. Almost like dancing, Adrien couldn't help but stare at the little gods dance. "Oh no, you are not calling me those nicknames again." Tikki took back her paw and crossed her arms.

Plagg nudges her again and holds her. "Come one sweets, how long are you going to be mad at me." Tikki flies off and goes to Marinette. "I will stop being mad when you give me a reason too." Adrien catches Plagg with his hands.

"Maybe we should leave the girls to themselves." Plagg stares at Tikki from a distance and sighs. Then flips the switch from crushed to apathy in an instant. "Gender is a fake construct and time isn't relevant."

"Uhh" Leaving Adrien in a dazed and confused state. Plagg floats off for some food. "Okay?" Adrien trails after Plagg into the kitchen.

Tikki glides down to Marinette's sleeping form and proceeds to nest on her hair. "Everything is going to get better, I promise Крошечный жук" Tikki pets her hair slowly.

[maletfs]

Here's an idea, a transformation into a suit of steel plate armor, perhaps with a sword and shield as well.

“Get thee off thy steed, thou woolsack” yelled Master Poins from the stands, his cheeks red and puffed up with bellicosity, “thou coward, thou geese-plucker! Find us in the armoury within this quarter hour or I’ll misuse thy pitiless limbs with the kindness of a rack.”

The entire audience was roaring with laughter. Sir Walter had just joined the exclusive club of most memorably pathetic fights at the fair, and he had done so as a VIP. First, his horse would not obey him, trotting around like this was an equestrian beauty pageant. Then, his gauntlet had gotten stuck on the reins, and when he tried to pull it away, his horse had gone into a frenzy. And just to top it off, he’d dropped his sword five minutes into the melee.

He rode to the armoury tent and dismounted, making sure to be as bothersome to his temperamental horse as possible. He stepped in, expecting to be welcomed with berating words, but no one was in the tent so he proceeded to remove all his heavy armour. The leather strappings keeping his undergarments together were soaked with sweat and mud, and came undone as soon as he removed his plated shell, leaving him stark naked.

In walked Master Poins, always comically untimely. “Sir Walter!”

“Master Poins” whinnied Walter, his hands instinctively shielding his manhood. “Do not be unkind, good Master Poins. ‘Twas these bloody strappings, Master Poins, these penny-nickle strappings, coming undone and undoing me with them. And this half-sword, triple-bent, not worth a swing. And that hell-spawn, good-for-nothing horse - “

“Enough of thy buggery, thou villainous rogue” bellowed Poins, his hand rising, ready for a slap. “Twelve coins a month I spent on thee, in addition to lodging and two meals a day. And for what? A good brawl? Fellows come for a show, and thou hast showed thyself to be bad investment.”

“But Master Poins - “

“Save thy buts, thou buttered boy-knight; and muster no masters, for none can save thee now but Poins; and sith I say thou are a bad investment, Poins says thou are to be corrected.” With a flourish, he withdrew a little sack from his robes, from which he pinched a fingerful of grey dust. “Fare thee well, Sir Walter; howbeit, thou shalt still be useful to me.” And he blew the dust at Walter.

The first thing Sir Walter noticed was how horny he felt. Which, considering he had just gotten a mighty bollocking from a angry human-shaped radish, was pretty unexpected. He felt the tip of his member nudging at the palm of his hand, asking for a little attention. When he looked down at it though, he was greeted with a nice surprise: his modest member was standing at least three inches taller than it did that same morning, and it was still growing! Not only that but his ballsack was hanging lower and fatter than before, the increasing pull of gravity pinching the connective tissue.

Sir Walter didn’t hesitate before riding his member with his hand. But something was definitely off. For starters, his cock was far beyond the foot and a half mark, which was making masturbation a lot harder than it should be. His balls were also excessively overgrown, looking more like a barrel top than a pair of testicles. Weirdest of all though was the enhanced sensations he was getting from touching them. His skin was incredibly sensitive, reacting with kindness to anything he did to his cock or balls.

As the sensations built up, Walter closed his eyes, ready for what felt like the greatest climax of his short existence. He kept pumping his still growing member and tickling his flat sack, faster and faster, summoning the blissful force out and out, closer and closer, until...

With a clonk, his cock and balls fell off.

Robbed of his climax, Walter opened his eyes. He slowly looked down, fearing what he would see, what he would find between his legs. As a matter of fact, it was what he didn’t find between his legs that broke him: his cock and balls were gone, and on the ground rested a sword and a shield.

“I shall take those” said Poins as he stepped forward and took the weapons. Walter almost fell to the floor from the sensation: Poins’ strong grasp on his member’s hilt and his fondling of his sack’s new strappings were like anything he’d felt before. “‘Tis a feat to polish such a sharp-edged member as thine, Sir Walter” he added, devilishly.

He was right. How could he have jerked that blade without cutting his hand open? Walter glanced down at his palms and found them greyed out and shiny, little scales growing from the surface like sunflowers in the summer. He tried to step backwards in terror but his legs didn’t budge, only creaked with the sound of metallic joints.

He started feeling an emptiness inside of him, a hollowness that pushed out from within his core into the limit of his being. Every ounce of beer-fuelled flab was being pressed onto his skin from the inside, making it thicker and heavier. He looked at Master Poins one last time, begging with his eyes, before they turned into a visor, his jaw flattening into the bevor.

“A full set, Sir Walter, is required” he said, as he gave the sword a long polish with his hand. Walter felt his entire frame vibrate with the pleasure of having his “member” touched in such a way, but that only helped accelerate the last moments of his change. With a noisy clamour, his body shattered into the pieces of a full suit of plated armour.

His sense of self got all muddled up. His hands were on his feet, his head lying on his thighs, and his genitalia in the hands of a creepy entrepreneur... Nothing made sense to Walter anymore. He felt Poins taking each of his parts and placing them on shelves and benches, along with other equipment. He wondered if those of suits of armour were also once men like him, too foolish to pretend to be knights.

However, that wasn’t the end of Sir Walter’s story. Despite his poor performance on the horse, Walter had always been liked by his fellows as a kind and affable man, and his disappearance didn’t go unnoticed. Eventually Master Poins’ schemes were discovered as he accidentally turned himself into a suit of horse armour himself.

Through the centuries, each part of Sir Walter’s armour was gathered together, along with the story of his creation. The entire set ended up at a nearby medieval museum, where Sir Walter still waits for someone to free him...

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 6. “That was impressive.”

Fandom: Critical Role

Pairing: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha Nydoorin

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Descriptions of a fight scene

Summary: Yasha's looking to unwind after her TravelerCon performance.

~~

After giving an enchanting harp performance, Yasha just wants to get the eyes off of her. Thankfully, it seems most of the attendees are focusing on group activities. To her surprise, not many people are taking advantage of the combined fighting and dancing rings.

Well, except for Beau and a drunken Kent Plucker. Yasha heads over to the sidelines.

"Beau?" Yasha calls.

The monk falters when she sees Yasha, but still dodges a sloppy tackle. "Yeah?"

"I've had Skingorger for a very long time."

"Uh-huh."

"So, I think I may be a little out of practice with these." Yasha lifts her fists. "This may sound strange, but-"

"Are you asking me to fight you?" Beau smiles as the realization hits.

Yasha nervously scratches the back of her head. "Yeah, I...I guess I am."

Beau pretends to wipe away a tear. "Yasha, nothing would make me happier."

Yasha chuckles as Beau sweeps her opponent aside with her staff and throws the weapon out of the pit. It’s just the two of them now.

“This isn’t usually my style.” Yasha admits, stepping into the ring.

“Give yourself some credit. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Beau grins encouragingly.

Yasha squares her shoulders. At the very least, she knows to keep her stance solid. Beau does the same, lowering slightly into a more guarded form. After a few moments of staring each other down, it becomes clear that Beau isn’t going to move first.

So Yasha charges forward. She goes for a rather obvious leg sweep, hoping to break up the monk’s defenses.

Beau leaps up over Yasha’s extended leg, plants her foot on the barbarian’s stomach, and pushes herself off into a backflip. Yasha hits the ground in time to see Beau stick a three-point landing.

It takes a moment for Yasha’s lungs to accept air again. Overall, it feels more shocking than painful. Yasha dusts herself off.

“Are you done showing off?” Yasha asks.

“Not yet.” Beau shrugs one shoulder.

With the monk coming right at her, Yasha reaches out to grab her. Beau ducks, sliding under Yasha's legs and landing two punches on the backs of the barbarian's thighs. Yasha's knees buckle as pain shoots down her legs.

Yasha spins around. The dust that move kicked up has yet to settle, and Beau is no longer in sight. Fine. There’s no point trying to be faster. Not with an opponent like this.

“That was impressive.” Yasha gingerly touches her right leg. "Let's see if you can do it again."

The rustling of leaves gives Beau's position away before her determined yell did. The monk swings herself from a sturdy branch, feet heading right for Yasha’s chest.

A familiar sense of rage rushes through Yasha; her limbs buzz with fresh strength. Working on instinct, she sidesteps Beau, grabs her ankles, and slams the monk face-first into the ground.

“Owwww.” Beau groans weakly.

“Oh, shit.” Yasha’s anger dissipates and she rolls Beau over. “Are you alright?”

Beau gives her a shaky thumbs up. “I’m good. Great. Probably just gonna stay down here for a sec.”

“At least let me join you.” Without waiting for a response, Yasha lies down next to Beau. Even in the dim lighting, she can see the excitement shimmering in Beau’s eyes.

"That was amazing!" Beau gushed.

"Amazing?” Yasha tilted her head. “We use these moves all the time."

"Yeah, but not on each other. Why don't we do this more often?"

Yasha considers it. “Well, it was pretty fun.”

Beau nudges Yasha’s shoulder with her own. “Then I look forward to our next match.”

[globgor-of-mewnie]

Character Interview

BASICS  !

NAME . Globgor

NICKNAME . Globby, G, King of Monsters, Prince of Darkness, Plucker of Limbs, Crusher of Skulls

AGE . 326

SPECIES . Size-Shifter

PERSONAL  !

MORALITY . lawful / chaotic / neutral / good / evil / true . 

RELIGION .  spiritual / neutral / no faith / questioning

SINS .  greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES .  chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES . English, Mewman, low-mewman, and spanish (for some reason)

SECRETS .Despite being a hero worshiped among all of monster kind, Globgor was secretly a traitor, indulging in a romantic affair with the Mewman Queen without anyone’s knowledge. Many decisions he made as a leader were not to benefit his race, but rather to help his relationship with her. While he did care about his people and wanted to bring them justice, he did confirm to himself (albeit ashamedly) that he would sacrifice all of his followers if it meant keeping his love safe. 

PHYSICAL  !

BUILD .  scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average.

HEIGHT .  6′5

SCARS  /  BIRTHMARKS . Many, but they’re hard to see against his maroon skin

ABILITIES  /  POWERS . Manipulating his size, including individual body parts

RESTRICTIONS . Tends to panic and lose logic when his family is threatened. Can’t read the mood of others very well. Acts as a critic during movies. Can be prideful and arrogant at times. Easily lies to people to hide his secrets. 

FAVORITES !

FOOD . Salad

DRINK . Tea

PIZZA TOPPING . Spinach

COLOUR . Purple

MUSIC GENRE . Classical

BOOK GENRE . Adventure and romance

MOVIE GENRE . Action.

CURSE WORD . Crud

SCENTS . Ink, pine, rose

FUN STUFF  !

BOTTOM OR TOP . Both!!

SINGS IN THE SHOWER .  Yes.

LIKES PUNS . Eh, they’re fine. He still likes dark jokes better though. 

tagged by: @your-ardent-admirer

tagging: I don’t have a lot of mutuals, so please! If you want to do it, just go for it!

[axis3100]

Does anyone remember that time way back when, when I tried to use the episodes ‘the other exchange student’ and ‘blood moon ball’ to try and figure out exactly how many days Star had been on Earth ... then the Halloween special hit and I was thrown for a loop because there was no way such a short amount of time could have passed between Star coming to Earth and Halloween to fit in everything that happened, especially later when I learned that Star hadn’t gone through summer vacation yet ... yeah, I mean I know, the time frame isn’t supposed to be examined like that, and I let it go and laughed, saying I learned my lesson ... oh, how I failed to actually learn my lesson. Time doesn’t flow properly in this show.

Now what do I mean by that? Well, I did some research for my theory about the minimum amount of people Globgor could have eaten, and how long he would be imprisoned by Earth standards. For that, I needed to know when he stopped eating people, which was shortly after meeting and falling in love with Eclipsa. The problem is, Globgor, THE PLUCKER OF $&@#ING LIMBS, met Eclipsa, when they were young. Now I know a lot of you are going “But Axis, that could just mean that he was relatively young, maybe like 16.” And oh dear reader, do I have some bad news for you. You see, according to the book of spells (I don’t actually own so I had to look it up) Globgor and Eclipsa weren’t able to see each other that much after she got the wand ... which happens when Eclipsa was FOURTEEN! Yeah, yeah, also, if I understand the wiki correctly (like I said, I don’t have the book so I’m looking it up) they both wanted to stop the war that was going on after that ... so to recap, Globgor, the “monster” that everyone was afraid of, the plucker of limbs and eater of Mewmans, met Eclipsa and changed his ways ... ALL BEFORE HE WAS FOURTEEN! (As we don’t have his actual age, I’m assuming he’s the same age as Eclipsa, if not around that age). And remember, they knew each other for a while, maybe two or three years, maybe more. And yes, Globy knows he might do something bad and prove the Mewmin right in their fear of him ... so ... how exactly ... I’m just lost, I would think if Globgor was around trying to end the war peacefully for longer than he was eating people so shouldn’t people be more afraid of Seth?

Long story short, the timeline doesn’t make sense for Globgor becoming something everyone fears, and I’m not going to do my theory about how many lives he’s ended. So yeah, I’m going to do my one about Kellco and Starco tomorrow.

On another note, if what I read is true, then Globgor was crystallized as soon as they found him and Eclipsa in monster castle. It was after that that Meteora was taken by Shastacan and sent away ... but ... Shastacan was eaten by Globgor ... so unless he was regurgitated or ... *ahem* passed alive, he would have had to have been eaten, AFTER Globgor was crystallized. Think on that!

[seddm]

What happened to Evil Globgor? Those Mewmans and their accusations of Globgor being the plucker of limbs, that Dance of Death, Globgor’s evil bloody art work. And Globgor burning whatever is in that painting? And his voice isn’t menancing as hulk Meteora

Well he did eat Mewmans once, that part was true, so it’s easy to understand why they’d focus more on his morbid past filled with carnage rather than his “recent” (as in shortly before his crystallization) new life.

[lulullia]

I didn't expect to draw today :o and it's the first time I use a fixed color palette!

This is Eye-Plucker, a member of Project Circus' cast (more info below!)

Eye-Plucker is a young woman who lost both her arms during the Lyphurian War. As such, she uses her Lyphurian special ability to summon limbs as a replacement. They're not made for that though, so they're still a bit too big and monster-like!

She's the unofficial second-in-command in the Division, being in the criminal Guild for longer than anyone else from the group, and is most motherly with the little Nom.

As for her (code)name… Let's just say that she has a rather troubling obsession with eyes. The rest of her backstory will be revealed in Project Circus!

****

I started animating it but it's not done yet so it'll be for next time~

For some reason, it's harder to get good body shapes in pixel art... Maybe next time I should make the sketch in high-res first 🤔

[geekgirles]

"Can we do the shoulder thing?"

[darkchaptcr-a]

@globgor-of-mewnie

◤ ♛ ◢

it still amazed her that every morning, she had the chance to wake up to the incredible warmth of her monster husband, the plucker of limbs, who now was infamous for plucking her heartstrings.

what eclipsa thought was his chest was actually her own pillow, as any mother’s day tradition started with typically letting her sleep in. drool stained her satin pillow case, though her messy bird’s nest of a bedhead certainly added charm to her sleeping habits.

as far as she’d known, globgor had been muttering to their infant daughter about plans for “mummy’s day”, which ultimately had piqued her interests. however, if it wasn’t for last night’s court hearings, she wouldn’t have been so wiped out & probably would have been the one waking globgor up instead. but no, no; eclipsa was much more needing of a few more winks, her slumbering expression burrowing into her pillow as it muffles her drowsy mumblings.

it was when she finally rolled over due to a slight discomfort of laying on her arm that tossed her out of bed.

thumping against the floor, the woman choked to life, eyes wide while breath surged out of her by force. soreness struck throughout her system, dark-veined forearms reaching up to pry her from the floor.

not a good start, but that won’t stop her from enjoying her holiday.