#beard scritches

[arcanefox207]

Ok I can't with him anymore.

Had to make a gif of this moment. New/Old video shared thanks to Chef Clarisse Jolicoeur 🙏

Love to my sluts <3 @magpiepillsjunior @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @exquisiteserotonin @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo

[heckyescayla]

Oh captain, my captain

[lumiilys]

One thing I can’t get over is how cute Ed looks. How is he so fucking cuddly looking??? He gives me cuteness aggression!!!!

[frnkiebby]

S is for Sweaty

pretty little drowned rat~🎃

[elvenbeard]

Not Yet

Just a random little scene that might wanna still write out in full in the future. Angst, what angst? I would never...

100% blame @humberg for the wonderful upcoming poses fueling me with angsty thoughts and scenarios 💜

[badnewswhatsleft]

the highlight on his tawny lashes........

[hedonicghost]

You'd think Michael would be smart enough not to make more Aftons...

as an afton you either have to be a good manipulator or easily manipulated. michael has both; he takes after his dad, afterall!

[cicadaland]

So how was everyone's day

[alwaysbethewest]

Hi guys I’m back, what did I miss? How are you?!

[superat626]

I want to pat some scales on a reptile.

[iii-days-grace]

i am thinking about Dilf Corey this fine Wednesday evening

[sharkieboi]

love this little lady.

I had to hold her to file/clip her nails (they were very sharp and kept getting caught in my shirts) and she protested the entire time and kept mock biting me and attacking the nail file and clippers.

and as soon as I let her go and told her she’s a good girl she crawled up and cuddled right in like

"🥺 do you know what Evil Francis did to me 🥺 please pet me i'm so sad 🥺 I need to be as close to you as possible"

[hedgehog-moss]

I meant to go admire a frozen waterfall yesterday, but I'm scared of driving on slippery roads so I ended up abandoning my car and my dreams and just wandering about by foot, following random roads.

(These first two photos are a little bit blurry because I took them while walking, but it does give them a certain je ne sais quoi... They look like childhood memories)

The soles of my boots had zero grip and were therefore great for sliding, so I ended up taking two sticks and using them like cross-country skiing poles to propel myself forward on the iciest portions of the road. It was fun! Pandolf thought I was insane. He was being extremely prudent on the icy patches, testing each step:

At the beginning of our walk he was prancing as usual but then at one point his front paws slipped forward without warning, turning him into a very long slinky dog. It was pretty funny. I laughed. I admit. He wasn't hurt but definitely a bit vexed.

We did leave the icy road on numerous occasions, to slip under fences and cross promising pastures (promising = lots of footprints; potential friends.) We met several creatures! Like this adorable shetland pony—I tried to take a photo from afar, with Pandolf nearby for scale, to show how scandalously tiny he was, but that turned out to be impossible because he was too friendly. Every time I took a step back he took two steps forward. Clearly he thought he was even better-looking from up close.

We also ran into the darling goat I mentioned yesterday, and I was told by several people on here that she looked more like a ewe.

Sorry for the mistake! But also I tried to look further into this and became more and more confused, as every source that mentioned a foolproof way to tell goats from sheep was disproven by another source—I found one that said sheep had a split upper lip while goats didn't (and my mystery friend didn't), but then another website contradicted it. I ended up with 32 tabs open with photos of goats and sheep of all kinds, some of which looked downright bizarre (what's with the Jar Jar Binks ears), and I began losing my grasp on the concept of animal species altogether. I understood how Darwin must have felt when he tried to figure out the differences between species of barnacles and asked people to send him various specimens and ended up with giant teetering piles of wet smelly boxes full of barnacles in his study that threatened to collapse and bury him alive. Then I closed my 32 tabs.

Honestly ever since learning that some sheep have horns and some goats don't, I've been lost. Not to mention, our mystery girl had a sheep-like tail but a goat-like beard. Are there sheep out there with beards and if yes, how do we make sense of the world? We should be able to point at a mammal with a goatee and say "goat" without doubting ourselves. That's my manifesto.

Whatever she was, the goat-ewe was very sweet, and she baa-ed a lot—at first I thought she was making conversation and I politely baa-ed back, before realising she was calling her horse bodyguards, just in case. Two horses soon showed up from behind a tree, very "What seems to be the problem ma'am?"

I offered nose scritches to the friendliest of the two and she went to report to the goat like "We've neutralised the threat."

Let me insert another (blurry) photo of a travelling Pandolf to symbolise the passing of time before moving on to our last encounter:

... I also had trouble taking photos of this one at first, because she kept coming closer to inspect my scarf—I thought she wanted to explore my pockets for potential treats like Pirlouit often does but no, she was very interested in the smell (texture?) of my scarf specifically.

The sky had cleared as we went down from 1300 to 1100m, as if we'd slipped under the clouds, so I tried to take a photo of this nice late-afternoon sky, and the horse finally stopped focusing on my scarf and instead started insistently positioning herself between me and my beautiful landscape.

Look at this lovely golden light in the snow over there which I was almost able to capture!

Meanwhile her pasture mate was eating a whole broom plant, slowly and thoughtfully, which makes me jealous because my llamas are supposed to eat brooms and they mostly don't, they think they're too good for brooms. They eat the very young ones but not adult brooms, so I have to do the work of three llamas and cut them myself. I wish I could send the Pampses as interns in this pasture, to learn the art of brush-clearing from this wise old horse.

I tried to take one last landscape photo and gave up when the aspiring model came to pose again.

Where was Pandolf, you might ask? Pandolf doesn't trust horses, especially large farm horses, and was quietly and insistently trying to convince me to leave. When Model Horse tried to greet him (it looks like she's chasing him but no, she was just stretching her neck to sniff him) he beat a hasty retreat toward the icy road, his former enemy. Some guard dog.

It may sound like Pandolf didn't have a very fun time on this walk, slipping on ice and running from horses, but don't worry, he found plenty of suitable empty pastures to practise his favourite hobby! Though I think at this point he has moved beyond a hobbyist and is ready to play in professional leagues. He does this thing now where he jumps up a bit to gain momentum; I don't remember him doing this last winter. He's an entirely self-taught dog (in the art of snow diving) and I'm proud of him.

[frnkiebby]

look at this sweetie pie~🎃

[redwinterroses]

It's not like it's hard to get Tango taking about Decked Out, but buy him a couple of potions in the museum speakeasy and he gets downright confessional.

Grian leans across the stat poker table, his wings rustling eagerly. "Truth or dare, Tango," he says. "Is Decked Out... alive?"

“Aren’t I supposed to pick truth or dare before you ask the question?” Tango tosses back another potion and gives the group a half-smirk.

“We all know you’re going to pick truth because you’re too particled to get up.” Etho’s face is obscured, but they can hear the laugh in his voice and see his fox ears twitch with amusement. “So spill.”

Tango shrugs. "Well," he says, "It's not exactly not NOT alive, if you know what I mean."

Grian glances at Doc on his right and Etho on his left. They shrug at him.

"Yeah, no," he says, looking back at Tango. "I don't think we know what that means."

"Is it like that Grumbot robot that Mumbo and Grian built?" Doc asks, scratching thoughtfully at his chin, his blunt black claws scritching loudly against the stubble of his beard. Grian tries to catch a peek at his stat tokens and gives a sheepish grin when Doc notices and quickly angles them away.

"Hey, now," Doc starts to say, but Tango interrupts.

"Nah, no -- I mean, Grumbot was pretty... Simple. No offense."

"None taken." Grian pulls a token from his stack. "Number of villagers traded with," he offers. "And I'll up the ante to three diamond blocks, gentlemen."

Tango lays down his own token, and taps a finger on it in an aimless rhythm. “The dungeon is… aware,” he says. “Not alive, I guess, but it knows things. It recognizes people.”

“I’ve noticed,” Etho says dryly. “That place hates me.”

They all laugh, but Tango shakes his head. “Does it hate you?” he asks and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or does it want to impress you?”

“Oh, I’m impressed enough.” Etho drops his stat token on the table with a soft click. “So it can stop glitching and trying to kill me now.”

“Aww, you’re just playing hard to get.”

Doc lays his tokens down on the table and stands. “I will sit out this round, I think,” he says. “I have done almost nothing with villagers this season. Will anyone have more to drink?”

“I’m not playing hard to get!” Etho protested, ears lying flat. “If anything, I’m playing easy to get – I just walk right in there!”

“You heard it first here, folks,” Tango says. “Etho’s easy.”

He ducks, but not in time to dodge the rolled-up napkin Etho chucks at his face. It lands in his hair and goes up in a miniature whump of flame.

Grian snickers, waving away smoke.

“So if the dungeon’s not alive, but it’s not quite not alive,” he says. “How does one maybe go about… making friends with it?”

“That,” Doc says, thunking a fresh bottle of Cub’s custom-mixed potion onto the table. “Is cheating, you pesky bird. No flirting with the possibly-not-not-alive dungeon.”

“You’re telling me you’re above flirting for a few extra keys and crowns, Doc?” Tango asks with teasing skepticism.

Doc sniffs, flipping the cork from his bottle with his thumb. “I don’t need flirting,” he says dismissively. “I have skills. Game strategies, man.”

“He’s already planning how to get the dungeon’s attention.” Etho flips his token over, exposing the total. “Aren’t’cha, Doc.”

Doc tips back his drink and shrugged. “Eh… that is for me to know, and you to worry about.” He winks.

“Tango, what’s your total there?” Grian fiddles with his token.

“Well, I know it’s higher than old three-digit Minecraft master over here.” Tango holds up his token and pinches it between his fingers. “Under three hundred, Etho? What’ve you been doing all season?”

“Not hiding out in a hole for thirteen months,” Etho grumbles good-naturedly, pushing his diamonds into the center of the table.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I have been doing and look at that stat.” Tango displays the count. “Seven k, baby – read ‘em and weep.”

Grian makes an exaggerated sad face that immediately morphs into a triumphant grin. “Rookie numbers, fellas,” he crows. “Try over twelve thousand.”

Tango groans and rolls his diamonds toward Grian with a grimace. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely not telling you how to flimflam my dungeon, you shyster.”

“Tango, I’m hurt.” Grian, entirely unbothered and very un-hurt looking, scoops the pile of diamonds into his pouch. “My stats are all ethically earned.”

“And that’s how your dungeon runs will be too.” Tango stashes his tokens and stands. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Mostly.”

“Back to your cave, Tango?” Etho doesn’t stand, but his bushy white tail wags a little in barely-contained excitement. “So, Decked Out will be open again… soon?”

“You bet your foxy good looks,” Tango says. “Or… maybe don’t. Not with those stats.”

This time he does duck the thrown napkin.

He exits through the museum, the laughter of his friends fading behind him as he steps out into the cool afternoon air. For a moment, he stretches, shaking out his elytra and clearing his head a bit of the potion particles.

Is Decked Out alive?

Tango grins, sharp teeth glinting. Of course the dungeon’s alive, who’s he kidding? And she’s hungry, too, he can feel it even from here. His friends should just be grateful he’s only ever built friendly monsters that want to devour them.

“On my way,” he mutters to himself. Or the dungeon. “And Etho’ll be coming over soon too.”

He feels the dungeon’s excitement.

“Oh…you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tango launches himself in the air and spirals over the shopping district, angling toward Decked Out and laughing so loudly the sound bounces off the buildings below.

His dungeon totally has a crush on Etho.

[evermoreal]

captain price wants a baby 👼🏻🎀

author’s note. it’s ovulation szn. u guys are gonna have to physically restrain me from writing a pt 2 where they make the baby.

cw. none? pregnancy? fem reader.!

the moment you’d tried to sit, price had pulled you across his lap, laughing heartily when you squirmed as his beard tickled your neck. it was a quiet night, which had quickly become price’s favourites: his sweet girl’s warmth pressed into his chest while he fed you chocolates and washed it down with wine.

he’d be lying if he said he was completely listening to whatever story you were telling. it was difficult, with your eyes were glazed over and your lips were wet and your hand was pressed against his chest, gently scritching the bit of chest hair that poked out the collar of his shirt.

and, he wasn’t entirely paying attention to his own words when he said, “what’d’ya think about having kids?”

brows lifting, your mouth made a tiny ‘o’ shape. it closed and opened a few times, as if the words just wouldn’t leave your throat.

“kids?” you questioned, finally, a small furrow between your brows.

and although he hadn’t entirely meant to ask, he didn’t overly regret it, either. it wasn’t the first time he’d considered the idea. it was hard not to when your friends came by with their little ones; when a baby was in your arms, your face was always so soft. they would giggle when you made silly faces at them, and john couldn’t help but wonder. sometimes, when he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your frame, he’d brush a big hand over your belly and ponder what it’d be like — swollen under his touch with his child, your child.

quietly, price hummed, stroking a bruised knuckle over your cheek.

“i . . . “ you began, and your mouth was twisting the way it always did when you were trying not to smile. “i thought . . . i always thought you didn’t want kids.”

“i didn’t,” he answered, truthfully. “not until you. with you, it’s . . . different.”

he was close enough to hear your sharp inhale, and beneath his hand on your neck, he could feel your pulse quicken.

your voice was little more than a breath when you questioned, “different how?”

price tsked, eyes straying from yours as he thought over his answer. then, he said, “i didn’t really think abou’ it till my thirties, when the guys i knew started having ‘em. an’ then i’d see ‘em with their kids — they were different men. softer, i guess. an’ i didn’t think i had that in me.” his gaze, warm beneath the lamplight, met yours again. when he spoke, there was a lilt of amusement to his voice, “then i met you.”

quietly, you giggled, and pressed a kiss to his nose. “are you sayin’ i’ve changed you, captain?”

chuckling softly, john nodded, and said, “i think i am.”

you couldn’t quite suppress your smile when you said, “i would love to have your babies, john price.”

a wide grin broke out across his face; pretty blue eyes became crescent moons, and smile lines stretched out from the corners. at once, john stood, and promptly carried you, bridal style, toward the bedroom.

“oh my god, john!” you yelped, giggling as he gently tossed you on the bed. “i didn’t mean right now!”

planting a kiss to your belly, john john retorted, “no time like the present, sweetheart.”