#greater quaking-grass

[blogbirdfeather]

Greater quaking-grass - Bole-bole-maior (Briza maxima)

Lisboa/Portugal (23/04/2025)

[Nikon D7100; AF 105mm Micro-Nikkor F2,8]

[mothmiso]

Flora (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) by Muddywalters

[chaifootsteps]

Post-Veilguard, in light of the Blight being calmed and the Callings coming to an end.

---

The notice arrives late on a Sunday afternoon. There’s two letters, one bearing each of their names, and they open them standing around the foyer as the cats watch cautiously from the other room, disturbed by the arrival and departure of a strange man in blue and white armor.

Anders gets a paragraph in, swallows hard. “Is...is yours the same as…”

Ain nods.

“The Calling?”

Ain nods, never looking up.

Anders finishes his notice first. Lowers it to his side, exhales a long, slow breath, and says, in the voice of a man who was at peace with the alternative...

“Well, then...at least that’s one less thing I can expect to die of. What do you make of it?” Ain’s eyes, however, remain transfixed upon his letter. They reach the end, only to start back at the beginning, golden-browns darting, twice and then once more. Anders’ smile fades. “...Ain?”

The former Warden-Commander turns without a word and goes to stand out the back garden, where the Antivan thyme grows and the railing overlooks the sea. Anders follows hurriedly, padding barefoot after him, and finds him staring out at the horizon, expression as unreadable as fog on the bay. As he watches the wind shift his partner's dark curls, he remembers everything Ain’s ever told him about his Joining; how he was only 16 years old, never knowing the true cost. How he never spoke of it, never voiced regret, only did everything like he was running out of time.

“Ain, talk to me, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Finally, Ain does. And though his tone is as calm and steady as ever, a voice that's shot down Templars and soothed Amaranthine mobs, Anders thinks he sees a distinct shine upon his eyes.

“I’m thinking that we head into town, and have dinner at that place overlooking the city...the one where we had the fish ribs. I'm thinking we linger as long as we please over coffee, and on the way back we pick up something for the cats at the market, and when we get home, we lock the doors and I kiss every last inch of your body. Does that suit you?”

Anders exhales his second sigh of slow, glorious relief that day. It will most certainly not be the last.

"Measured and fitted, Fearless Leader."

***

When the summons arrives at the Grand Cathedral, the rain has been falling all morning. A light, warm drizzle, the kind that puts buds on fruit trees and wheat in fields, so very needed on a hungry south wounded by war and infected by Blight. It’s a drizzle that says the wet, sucking mud will go in time, and the grass will come again, and that someday, perhaps sooner than they think, they’ll all taste wine and cheese and butter on bread once more.

Leliana, despite knowing everything that comes and goes in the cathedral she’s seated out of, only learns of it when she finds her wife sobbing on the ground.

“Itha? Itha!” she implores, hitting her knees, taking Itha’s tattooed face between her hands. She tries to recall the last time Itha’s grief was greater than the strength it took to rise up off her knees and her mind goes back decades...back to when Tamlen died, to Malkuth, to the night they mourned Alistair together. “Look at me, dearest! What happened?!”

Itha wordlessly passes her the notice. Free arm tight around her partner’s small, quaking shoulders, Leliana takes the vellum, reads it hurriedly. Before the end, her hands are trembling.

“Oh, my darling...”

And suddenly they’re both crying, right there on the marble floor of the most holy and opulent building in the south. By the time the servants realize and come running, they’ve made their way outside, hang appearances and hang the weather. The staff can only stand in the doorway, watching Divine Justinia in her robes and the Hero of Ferelden, two middle aged women laughing and crying and spinning around and around in the rain that's soaked them to their bones.

Knowing -- finally, at long, long last -- that they have the rest of their lives to warm up again.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Saturday 12 August 2023

The annual ornamental grass Briza maxima (greater quaking grass) originates in the Mediterranean and is suitable for a sunny, well-drained border. If the conditions are correct it will self-seed prolifically.

Jill Raggett

[icebrooding]

Fic: Dreamkeeper

On Ao3

When Riannoc dies, it marks the start of the sylvari afterlife. An empty place, but a lush one begging to be turned into something greater. Something all the more beautiful. As it blossoms, he finds companionship in faces he does not know. And, perhaps he was right in not fearing what came for him.

"Hm. It resists the magic—does not rise. No matter. The sword is gone, as is he, and this swamp will claim what remains soon enough."

— — 

Blue eyes open slowly, capturing above him the sight of a canopy of leaves with sunlight trickling through in intricate patches. Strange, he thinks, when he knows he last looked up and saw a grey sky full of clouds and rain and beneath him marshlands and dirty water. There was no birdsong, just the cacophony of horror. None of this peace and quiet.

He sits up, takes in the sight around him—blooms as beautiful as Mother’s, tall trees with intricately twisting branches and the softest grass he has ever felt. It reminds him of the Dream, for however little he can recall of it.

As he stands and finds Caladbolg missing from his side, his head turns this way and that, looking around yet further. It is just him. Him and sounds of wildlife he cannot seem to see.

But he does not feel alarmed. Rather… as if he were once again in the gentle embrace of his mother. Safe. Secure.

He takes a step forward, filled with every bit the same determination he was born with.

— — 

Even as he observes the coming and going of the sun, watches as the green leaves around him turn to orange to purple to orange and back to green all to repeat it over and over, he feels as if the world is at a standstill. He feels no hunger, no exhaustion, no thirst. The Dream—if that is truly where this is—may be free from the shackles of time, but he can measure the loneliness the sunrise and set brings with his heart.

Always had he enjoyed company, be it that of his many elder siblings, or that young human boy he had become fond of.

It is unpleasant to be alone, and for so long.

— —

It startles him one day whilst exploring to find three sylvari curled up at the base of a tree. They huddle together, scared, and jump when he slowly approaches.

He does not recognise them. They do not recognise him. Odd.

He asks them; who are they, how did they get here.

One quakes, looks to the other two, and begins to sob softly. They recount a horrible tale—one that led to their arrival here.

As he listens, his brow turns upward, mouth opening in disbelief. Horror. Such cruelty, happening to these young, innocent beings. To his own.

Closing his eyes, he tries to push the horrors described from his mind. Reflects for a moment on what he should do. How he should help these young ones. He had been the last to open his eyes, to be greeted to the world by his many brothers and sisters. He does not know what it means to be an older brother, but he allows memory—of Trahearne, of Kahedins, of Malomedies, of Dagonet—to guide him as he gently reaches out to the quivering trio.

He will guide them and protect them.

— —

They follow him around the Dream, like he had once seen small birds do with their mother. If he busies himself with some of the thicker plant matter, trying to shape it in a clumsy imitation of Kahedin’s fine craftsmanship, they follow suit in their own awkward attempts. If he tries a new plant to gauge its use as a food item, they spare no moment in copying the action.

It’s very strange, and slightly embarrassing—he remembers doing the same until Malomedies assured him to explore and learn on his own.

‘Riannoc’, he says, giving them a name to call him, but they don’t seem to listen. They are enamoured, intrigued, because he was not there in their lives, they do not know him.

Sylvari have no deities, no higher belief—the Pale Tree is their mother, not a being of worship—but these young ones look up to him as if he were something of the sort. A being to follow, at the very least.

‘Dreamkeeper’, they begin to call him.

— —

Noise fills the Dream as he awakens one day, much louder than his three young ones are capable of. He shakes himself awake and is quick to find the source.

He spies a small clearing amongst the trees and finds the three—and then many, many more. He pauses, tries to take it all in and count the new arrivals, but loses his place very swiftly.

The three notice him, usher him over, and introduce him to the new flock of sylvari with the name they have given him. He blushes, tries to enforce his real name—please, call me Riannoc—but quickly gives up when he looks back over at the new arrivals.

They, too, look frightened and unsure of themselves… but look up to him with a brightness in their eyes.

He thinks it much the same way he looked up to his own brothers and sisters long ago.

— — 

As time goes by, the Dream becomes more and more lively, more bustling. The young ones are quick learners and have begun to truly shape it, turning it into a proper home for them all.

He is proud of each and every one of them.

— —

When a familiar face eventually joins them, it leaves him breathless for a moment.

A sister of his, with wide eyes and purple leaves.

He does little more than watch as she takes delicate steps, disorientation clear with the slight way she wobbles, the way she holds her arms close to herself. She turns her head every which way until her gaze lands on him, and those eyes widen somehow even more.

They approach each other, curious, ascertaining, hardly able to understand who it is before them—but then silently pull the other into a gentle embrace, tears blurring the forest around them.

— —

Wynne becomes as much a guardian as he for the sylvari he cannot recognise, tending to them as gently as their own mother once had.

Still, however, they come to him as well. For guidance, or his companionship.

— —

The Dream flourishes more as the sun rises and sets, and the ‘Grove’ shaped by—as his sister named them—the newly awakened is filled with laughter by day and quiet hums by night.

It had been fun, wonderful, to pass day by day with his elder siblings, all eleven of them… but taking care of all these dozens of saplings, well, it’s hardly boring.

As he watches the young ones run around and make merry under the soft lights of the fireflies and the moon, he raises a cup of nectar to his lips and takes a small sip, smiling all the while.

This isn’t too bad.

— —

It is a long, long time until he sees another face he can recognise, but he is not as lucky this time when their gazes catch each other.

She looks at him for a moment, and without a single word turns away. Walks away from him, from them all, and does not look back.

There is a heaviness in his chest, wondering why and how Faolain could look at him with such disgust in her eyes. Even as a duskbloom, she had been bright, never shying away from a word with him. He does not remember her this way.

His other sister puts a gentle hand on his arm, and with a shake of her leaves whispers sadly to him.

She had always been like this.

— —

There is commotion in their Grove not long after.

It comes from the clearing, where Riannoc has long since learned is where all the newcomers awaken. He is curious, for it is rare for a new arrival to cause a stir like this. Something races in his pulse, a sense of expectation resting in his stomach. But he is unsure why.

The newly awakened gasp, whisper amongst themselves, but he cannot make any of it out clearly.

With as many of them as there are, he hadn’t always been able to greet the newcomers to the Dream, but the young ones hushed talk pique his intrigue further. He approaches where they have crowded, and wordlessly they part to let him through—they believe it is his right, or duty, to tend to newcomers.

When he is past them, stood in the clearing with whoever this new sylvari is—his breath hitches at a familiar sight. Delicate fronds, soft yellow, vivid, deep green… everything as he remembered it, over twenty years past.

The newcomer looks at him. Surprise. Uncertainty. He looks away for a moment, sucks in a deep breath.

Then he looks up again, smiling—even if it carries just the slightest melancholy.

Riannoc smiles back, wide and toothy because never has he been happier—and reaches his hand out to Trahearne, much like how the man had done for him, so many years ago.

[ayanos-pl]

コバンソウじゃらじゃら（5月1日）

[outofangband]

Hey, I hope you’re well! I was wondering if you have any hcs on the environment/ flora and fauna of Himlad? Or if you already posted about it and I just didn’t see it 😅 thank you!

Flora, fauna, environment and geography of Arda

note: I did most of this when I was sick so it’s shorter than some of my others but I will go back and edit it to add more 

Himlad was a realm in Eastern Beleriand, bordered on the West by the river Aros and on the East, its tributary, Celon. It means ‘cool plain’ in Sindarin and was described simply as a cold region, likely due to its proximity to the March and thus to the Iron Mountains, the cold fronts of which extend throughout the surrounding regions. 

We have little information on environment other than the description of cold but some speculation can be done due to the habitat and through looking at similar real habitats, mostly in Northern Europe and temperate parts of Asia as well as parts of North America which Tolkien was inspired by the prairies in (source: The Flora of Middle Earth)

Himlad might also be described as a steppe, that is, an ecoregion of plains and grasslands where the only trees grow near rivers or lakes. Himlad specifically would be a cold steppe and shrub steppe. 

The region is likely semi arid with especially dry summers and a short rainy season of intermittent showers following the end of the winter.

The actual grasslands are likely made up of a variety of species such as crested wheatgrass, junegrasses, wiregrass, feather grasses, and melic grasses.  Shrubs are more common in the hilly parts towards the North; silver berry, violet willow, sage brush and bitter brush, rowan and mountain ashes, smallflower tamarisk,  others that grow in cooler but semi arid conditions.  Other flowers and herbaceous plants grow throughout the plains as well like golden rod and aster, greater wormwood, fringed sage brush,  a variety of daisy species Quaking aspen can be found by the rivers in small groves of two to three trees and solitary in the hills. 

There are few trees so the birds here are mostly game birds and ones that nest on the ground including perhaps a species of burrowing owl. Hazel and black grouse, common quail, red legged partridge, Asian gray partridge, black billed caper and common pheasants are some examples.  There are also other birds of prey who fly and hunt over the plains even if they don’t nest in them. This might include osprey closer to the rivers, common and uplands buzzard, steppe eagle, imperial eagle, hen harriers, and possibly golden eagles. 

Common shrews, steppe lemming, greater and lesser white toed shrews, common rabbits and hares, ground squirrels, social voles, field mice, corsac fox, steppe cat and species like both European and Asian badgers make up the smaller mammals of the region. 

Reindeer, Eld’s deer, pronghorn, wild horses (such as the tahki) , goa, and saiga antelope as well as larger species of antelope not found in the world today roam the grasslands of Himlad and Lothlann, grazing and eating fruits and leaves from the shrubs and herbs. 

I personally enjoy the headcanon that prehistoric (in today’s world) bear species occasionally ventured into the plains of East Beleriand to hunt.

As for the rivers those would likely have to be their own posts if there’s interest? I just don’t want to condense too much all these beautiful regions

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol.2, 4.30.2022 “End as it May”

When the end comes, And it will, As all things come to a caesura A pause before the plunge Into the dark of sleep Before that tunnel vision appears, The bells will ring and sirens cry I come from a plain and simple place The Great Plains, Where ears of corn sprout Seemingly with no end in sight From the end comes on high In the stratosphere Upon cumulonimbus thunderheads Anvil-topped clouds where lightning is forged In the green fires of a twisting sky The sirens will call Trumpeting the ultimate demise In sonorous whispers that sing in my ears Playing me as the instrument of my own demise Some would lash themselves to their mast Endure the storm amid Perseverance The fields are long and winding, Labyrinthine, fields of many turns For when the sirens call is heard

No rapturous shaking, quaking in my boots Nor fire, brimstone, and lava chutes The Catholic mass on Midwest Sundays Rapped into my knuckles well and good The Ruler’s rules The end shall come in gnarled greens Twisted as the windswept grass below The sky will rip and retch apart Like my insides, Or my family Scattering itself across the horizon For when I hear the sirens call Cut me free from all shackles That tether me to my mortal coil It is in these great fields that I shall toil Sitting on my concrete front porch Gazing up in wonder and awe and fear As the electrostatic warm summer air Washes over me Ascending who I was unto a higher place Swaddled in the stained glass, grass stained sky Oh ye, of little faith Place it not on high or low, but keep it close within How better to keep the warmth amidst such turbulence? Shedding its delayed words after each strike Sinking its claws into the soil And into my soul

I was a simple boy Born amidst plains and lakes Greater than myself Beneath a sky so blue, So green So much more twisted and powerful I could only ever sit and watch the show That was placed in front of me It would be rude to do otherwise So as the end comes marching in Heralded by trumpets and strumpets and swords You will find me sitting, and waiting Watching the greatness succumb to the hordes

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!

[gemmaswriting]

Ngl I hate the fireplace scene in aotc. I wish there was more sexual tension and less pleading, you know?

I feel you! There absolutely was sexual tension but if I were ever entrusted to rewrite it, I would turn that up big time. I would probably make it more like this:

After three days locked away in the lake house with only each other with company, a small part of Padme began to wonder if Obi-wan and the others would ever be successful hunting her attempted assassin or if this would be her and Anakin's life from now onwards. Despite the late hour, the Senator headed to the kitchen for a cool glass of water before returning to her bedroom for the night.

As she stepped inside, she found her Jedi protector slumped in one of the dining chairs. He did not look up as Padme entered so she began to turn around to leave Anakin in peace. Tension, heavy and thick filled the air when they were alone together too long recently. She had not felt the shift between them, it had crept in, moment by moment, day by day until Anakin’s very presence intoxicated her to heights greater than she had ever known.

After the little dalliance in the meadow, after he rode a shaak in a boyish attempt in impressing her and he’d fallen and lain there to stir absolute panic within her and they had rolled through the grass like reckless, thoughtless lovers tangled in each other’s arms, her will had weakened. Padme had straddled him, felt the hardness of him beneath her and it had felt like all the galaxy had been whispering at her to kiss him.

“There’s no use turning around,” Anakin said flatly, lifting his head to look at her the Senator stilled in the doorway, her blue robe hanging off one shoulder precariously. “I can sense your presence. You call to me, even if you fight it. It’s… addictive.” His darkening blue eyes dragged over the shadow of her legs through the almost sheerness of her nightgown in the dim lamplight. There was a pull, an irresistible call to draw closer and she did, stepping further into the kitchen. Their eyes locked. A sensual connection Padme wished she possessed the power to severe.

“What are doing in here so late?” She heard herself ask quietly.

Anakin looked at her, fierce hunger storming within his eyes, quickening Padme’s heart. “I don’t sleep well,” he confessed tightly, “but when I do…” something dark came across his face then, something ravenous and craving which roused a sudden, quaking desire which pooled between her legs. “Well, that’s when I find myself dreaming of you.” He swallowed hard, eyes widening as if realising exactly what he had confessed out loud. “Forgive me, Milady,” a soft blush painted his cheeks. “I should not have said that.”

Perhaps it was the spell of the Jedi’s proximity, perhaps it was the breathtaking desire he awoke within her, but Padme took more steps toward him, mere inches between them now. Her mouth parted dryly. Her heart thundered in her breast. With trembling fingers, she gently touched them to his arm through his thick sleeve. “Tell me,” she murmured softly, “what do you dream of?” This game was dangerous and so overwhelmingly tempting that it stole her breath away. Anakin was a Jedi and she was a Senator – it was forbidden. This path they were teetering on would cost each of them everything they had spent their lives working for! Such a risk could never be worth it…? What would her family say? Her friends?

And still, Padme wished to hear everything he might say…

He looked at her, exhaling shakily as her fingers reached the crook of his elbow. “You already know, Padme.”

“I don’t,” she shook her head though a blush of her own bloomed across her cheeks. Padme could scarcely believe the boldness which had taken her this night. Who was she? Not the same woman she had been the day her star skiff was attacked, or the day Anakin first re-entered her life fumbling and stuttering over blushed complements before his Master had chided him, of that the Senator was certain. That woman would have rushed away to the safety of her rooms and ignored what her heart and body longed for so very badly. Tonight, she felt new and wanton and utterly curious for the first time in her life. “What do these dreams of yours give you?”

After a seemingly endless silence, Anakin lifted his turbulent gaze to hers, his eyes searing with unspoken promises and his hand reached across, tanging his fingers through Padme’s. Shockwaves rushed through her skin, riding every nerve within the Senator’s body such intense force that all semblance of coherent thought fled her mind entirely. “Release,” he brought her knuckles to his lips. “They… you give me release.”

[blogbirdfeather]

Greater Quaking-grass - Bole-bole_maior (Briza maxima)

Cruz Quebrada/Portugal (6/05/2025)

[Nikon D7100; AF 105mm Micro-Nikkor F2,8]

[blahkugo]

hi sexy gorl can i see what katsuki + supernatural is like? congrats on 1k, i hope you hit infinity!! - 🦍 anon

thank you my sweet, beautiful gorilla an(nie)on. your identity may always be a mystery, but i feel as though we’re very close friends ♡

                                  -ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「BAKUGOU KATSUKI」

— supernatural! au / mythology! au

— warnings: 18+, smut, all characters are aged up.

⤏ the greek gods are alive and well, thriving even. with daily offerings from millions around the world, their powers surpass limits well beyond human perception.

⤏ of course, humanity either prospers or perishes at the fall of a pin; the pettiest grievance can mean life or death for a mortal being, and so, humanity does all it can to keep them pleased

⤏ with this surge of followers, comes evolution. specifically, of the minor monsters and mythological creatures. beasts gain the ability to shift between forms, using molds of mortals to lure them to their deaths

⤏ enter: katsuki bakugou, the hell hound

⤏ cerberus is no longer simply a four-legged beast. he walks the mortal realm like any other, a— quite hotheaded— aide to hades. a corruptor of souls, if you will

⤏ but mostly, hades just uses him to get under zeus’ skin.

⤏ if there’s anything zeus absolutely loves, it’s beautiful women. maidens— skin smooth as whipped butter, voices sweet as pure honey— tempting him to dip a finger, or rather an entire limb, into the world of adultery

⤏ and so, the hell hound, when not dutifully guarding the gates of the underworld, prowls for these women. devoted worshippers, who fall to their knees to please the insatiable god, suddenly find themselves enticed by the massive riches bakugou promises them under the patron of hades (among other massive things)

“The mortal realm has nothing for me,” Katsuki pounds a fist against the flat ground, howling. No response from his heinous master. “Bastard!” 

At that, the earth trembles and shakes, seething from deep within. It seems Lord Hades does not take kindly to insults; however, he is too riled up to heed the warning. The son of a bitch can burn this vile domain to the ground, for all he cares. 

As a force that only bows to those whose veins surge with the blessing of the gods, one would think Cerberus has better things to do than be stuck in the world of puny humans. He’s a guardian of the gates of hell, a fierce soldier whose talents lie in the bloody ravaging of intruders. Preying on wide-eyed, imbecilic matrons— sorry women who believe that philanderer of a god Zeus is going to save them— is the last thing he should be doing.

And yet, it is exactly what his Lord has commanded of him. ‘You will enjoy your time with the mortals,’ the cretin had simply chuckled at Katsuki’s disputes on the matter. He pounds another fist against the grass, though this time, with less gall.  

“Father Zeus, holder of lightning,” he hears the soft chime of his victim’s voice before he sees you. Making his way through thick underbrush, he follows the sound until he sees you. 

And there you perch, kneeling at the modest altar in devout worship. Though your knees must ache, separated from the hard floor by only a simple robe, you chant the words perfectly; it seems you take special care not to falter in prayer. “I implore you, guide me to be just.” 

Katsuki simply observes, keeping his distance so as to not interrupt you. It is not as though you are the first human woman to cross his path; he has pillaged one too many poor souls who have stumbled into the Underworld, though you are certainly the most enchanting. 

It isn’t your looks that have him mesmerized, not at all. While your beauty— the curve of your supple lips, your plentiful bosom, the slight dip of your lower back— certainly aids the situation, it’s your demeanor that keeps him rooted sturdily in place. Not once does your voice waver, nor do your limbs quake. You keep steadfast in your goal of bestowing proper homage upon your cruel, cruel god. 

How dare the bastard neglect such a worthy offering? How can he stand to keep someone of such stature, tiny yet flooding with vigor, on your knees when you so clearly cherish him with your entire being? 

By the time your prayer is over, dusk has long since come and gone; your fire is now reduced to mere ashes, and Katsuki’s sharp eyes don’t overlook the chills that appear on your exposed skin. 

Even so, the altar is bathed in an ethereal glow, your basket of oblations untouched. As they will remain, until some insufferable thief comes along and snatches them away. For a reason unbeknownst to him, the thought of this occurrence sends electricity down his spine, harsh red clouding his sight, his nails itching to shift into claws. 

“Why do you bow to a god,” his gruff lilt resonates across the field, startling you, “who is too preoccupied committing adultery to accept your bounty?” His aim is not to lull you into a false sense of compliance, as Hades wishes, but to talk some logic into an ignorant sheep. 

Within seconds, he crosses the field until he finds himself only inches away from you. Though he had noticed a syrupy scent from afar, it’s nothing compared to now: ambrosia, nectar of the gods. The smell is practically intoxicating— it must be the offerings. 

“Oh dear Zeus, he knows not what he says,” you ignore his question, choosing instead to beseech your lord for forgiveness. It’s odd, and a bit insulting, that you don’t cower in the presence of Cerberus, his looming form typically sending travelers into shock. Even as he inches closer, you make no move to run or hide. 

“How many times must I tell you he’s not listening,” the deep growl that escapes his throat borders on ravenous. He has to give it to his master, “At least Hades answers.” 

At the mention of Zeus’s brother, you finally turn to face Katsuki, eyes narrowing at the irritable man. He’s chosen well to hide his true form, but his eyes— piercing, blood red— must still seem every bit akin to a beast. 

“Zeus has blessed my family for generations past and will do so for generations to come,” you offer meekly. What happened to the steadfast woman he saw only minutes ago? 

“Of course,” he smirks, baring sharp canines, “and I’m sure that is why you don the robes of a humble servant.” When he spots your lips turning downwards, just for a single second, Katsuki knows he’s won. 

But as intimidating as he attempts to be, the sweet scents of honey and nectar threaten to reveal his wanton need. With every step forward, he feels the aura envelop him, attack every one of his senses and send his head spinning. “I could show you,” he’s unable to stop the words from exiting, “you could have all you desire under Hades.” 

“And what do you know of my desires?” Your poise is back tenfold, paired with a quirk of your brow and what he thinks is a dangerous gleam in your eyes. He never thought he’d use that word to describe a mortal woman, of all beings, but here he is. 

“My knowledge surpasses yours,” he brings a pointed nail, a claw, to rest under your chin, tilting your head up so that you may see him in all his glory. 

His finger grazes your bottom lip, and he snickers when you part it to allow him greater access. “Wealth beyond your wildest dreams,” the digit dips into your mouth, presses against your tongue. “Good health,” he brings his other hand to cradle your jaw, bending so that his face meets yours. Inhaling deeply, he now realizes that the pleasant odor was not the offering, but you. 

“Is that all?” you mumble, words muffled. His entire body shudders at the lapping of your wet muscle around his finger, all blood rushing to his nether regions. 

“No.”  The slender digits cupping your face scratch softly against your cheekbone. Beautiful. “Best of all, Hades will offer you— I will give you,” he’s crouching now, pulling his finger from between your lips to give his mouth access, “pleasure.”

                          ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Saturday 12 June 2021

These dramatic Iris x hollandica 'Picasso' (Dutch iris) flowers were appearing in a border among Briza maxima (greater quaking grass). This bulbous perennial has standards of a rich purple and falls that are a remarkable burnt orange and purple.

Jill Raggett

[remmushound]

Curse of the clan part 17! @scentedcandlecryptid

Leonardo was terrified! He had never ridden a horse before— how could he have? And this horse wasn’t exactly small! With each steady trot the horse took, Leonardo could feel the saddle shift from the right to the left in time with the horses hoofsteps. Leonardo wove his fingers into the horse's mane, pressing his body low in the saddle as each step made him feel like he was going to fall.

“Can we switch?” Leonardo gave a weak laugh, his eyes still squeezed shut as he tried to disassociate from the terrifying experience.

“Trust me, mine isn’t much better!” Usagi laughed; he and Nuriyuki were on a seat-like saddle strapped to Genisuki’s shoulders.

“Ah, shuddap!” Genosuki snorted and shook his head, making the rabbit and the badger shake and tumble in the saddle. Every one of Genisuki’s steps were over twice Usagi’s, and the extra size of both him and the horse made their progress across the land greater than ever.

The rest of the journey, they didn't encounter any more trouble. Whether they had managed to get out past where the offending ninja dared to pursue, or if they took one look at the rhinoceros and thought it a lost cause, Leonardo didn't know. But he certainly didn't miss the attacks! Through night and day, Genisuki carried on like a runaway train. They stopped only for enough time to eat and let Leonardo’s horse rest; after about a day of chafing, Leonardo grew used to the constant wobble of the stallion and was even able to bring up the pace to a steady trot, and eventually to a run. He nicknamed the creature El Diablo, a joke more than anything serious; the horse was the sweetest creature ever!

The group eventually found themselves in grass so high that the horse was hesitant to pass. It was of little trouble to the rhino yokai, who pushed through the grass and flattened down a path for Leonardo and El Diablo to follow.

“We can’t be more than a day away from my master’s home.” Usagi stated, holding his nose to the breeze to smell the familiar, earthy scent.

They had left the majority of snowfall behind for muddy plains that tried to suck them down. With each step, Genisuki sank deep into the mud. The horse was having similar troubles and, after a few panicked hoofsteps, he refused to go any further. Usagi looked back when he realized Leonardo and his steed weren’t going to make any progress, and then looked to the darkening sky.

“We should rest for now.” Usagi said, “The mud is going to freeze overnight and it will make our journey go a lot smoother.”

“Are you sure we can risk the delay?” Leonardo asked, “I can walk.” The thought of leaving the horse behind made his heart ache, but if that’s what he had to do, then he was sure the horse could make a living on its own. It was a horse!

“We’re close. Very close.” Usagi said, “The lands have changed since I saw them last. We’re close to the Dogra school; we have to remain focused—AH!”

Usagi’s speech was interrupted by his sharp yelp as Genisuki flopped down hard. The muddy earth quaked around him. Genisuki didn't seemed to care as he stretched out his stiff and overworked body, his muzzle parting in a long yawn. As he stretched his arms and shoulders, he knocked Usagi and Nuriyuki from their saddle and into the mud with a splat.

“Ooo! Mud bunny!” Genisuki laughed as he looked down at the samurai, his fur coated heavy and dark with mud that spared no part of his body. Nuriyuki laughed as he sank deeper into the mud and started to splash around, tossing mud at Genisuki and Usagi both. Genisuki dropped the saddle from his shoulders and flipped over, rolling around to let the mud coat his thick skin.

Leonardo jumped down from his steed and was immediately ankle-keep in sticky, uncomfortably warm mud. He scooped up a handful of it, wincing at the feeling as it got under his nails. But still, he turned it into a projectile and launched it at Usagi. The samurai saw the mud coming his way and he naturally swung his katana to intercept. It didn't do much but get mud all over the blade. Usagi winced, his ears pulling back, but then he scooped up his own handful and tossed it at Leonardo while the mutant laughed; the ball of wet earth went right in his mouth.

Leonardo gagged and spat trying to rid himself of the disgusting taste that had already overwhelmed his senses and gone down his throat. In retaliation for the cheap shot, Leonardo started an all-out mud war against the rabbit, samurai versus ninja. The longer the fight went on, the more Leonardo could feel the stress and anxiety melting away from him like a popsicle on a hot day. With each lug of his arm, the sore and worn muscles felt young and strong. When the mud hit him, splattering over the heat of his body, he felt like a child again, in the sewer throwing slime balls at his brothers and getting ganged up on by all three of them. He had laughed it off like he always did and plotted his revenge, which came in the form of many-a hidden beach ball and stuffed rabbits. It was good to be a kid— he still was a kid! It was easy to forget that with what he had gone through.

One of Leonardo’s stray mud balls hit Genisuki in the face. Usagi gasped as he witnessed the event, but Leonardo only laughed. The mutant’s eyes went wide, however, when Genisuki gave a low rumble in his throat and stood up. Leonardo gave a low yelp and ran to hide behind Usagi, shoving the rabbit forward to pass on the blame. Usagi threw his hands up and looked back at Leonardo; he said nothing, but his eyes vowed vengeance. Genisuki picked up a large glob of mud in hands that was as big as Leonardo’s plastron, holding it above his head with a show-offish growl.

“Daddy.” Leonardo gulped.

The mud collided first with Usagi, but the rabbit stood no chance against the force of the blow. He flew backward and slammed into Leonardo, both shinobi going down in a pile of hot mud. Genisuki pointed and laughed at them as they emerged from the attack like some creature from the blue lagoon. Usagi gave a low, disgusted whine as he tried to shake the mud out of his caked-on fur. When he could see again, his eyes settled on Nuriyuki; the badger was just as muddy as the rest of them, even without participating in the games. His nose was stuck to the air, flaring with each slow breath he took of the crosswind. Usagi gave Leonardo a fond pet on the head before he walked over to join Nuriyuki, bringing his nose to intercept the wind.

Genisuki came up behind the two of them, his nose dragging in a deep, thoughtful taste of the wind. Leonardo couldn’t smell anything! Genisuki’s expression looked almost haunted. He glanced down at Usagi, whose eyes seemed lost in something Leonardo couldn’t begin to understand.

“Don’t…” Was all Genisuki said, his voice soft. Usagi seemed to hesitate, as if he were contemplating heeding Genisuki’s warnings, before he bolted off into the grass like a speeding bullet.

“USAGI!” Nuriyuki ran after, disappearing into the field.

“What’s happening?” Leonardo didn't understand what was happening, but still he bolted after the rabbit and badger. He didn't get far before a very powerful and rough hand scooped him up in a cradle; Genisuki was charging through on a warpath, destroying anything that dared stand in his way.

They passed through the tall grass like a freight train before they stopped just as suddenly as they had started. Leonardo jolted, his mind still running seconds after his body had stopped. It took his eyes a moment to focus on the anomaly in front of them. Usagi was stopped and stiff as a board, while Nuriyuki still held his nose to the air trying to make sense of the scent coming from the creature.

Leonardo could finally smell it too, now. At first he thought the scent was Usagi, but the more he breathed it in, the more subtle differences he was met with. Usagi smelled of mud and berries and a variety of creatures he had encountered in the previous days; a nice smell, like dew in the morning! This scent was new, smelling sharply of preserves, but familiar in other ways; rabbit, all rabbit! Different rabbits all mixed into the same scent. That didn't make any sense though! The figure didn't look like a rabbit!

It looked like a lion!

[ayanos-pl]

コバンソウ

[pokemon-card-of-the-day]

Pokemon Card of the Day #2150: Empoleon (BREAKthrough)

Empoleon was a weird sort of Pokemon. It was a Stage 2 that worked best with Pokemon that would never have use for Rare Candy, meaning that it needed a lot of deck space to fit into any deck it could help in. That was a major problem when trying to use it, and Empoleon would need to provide something incredible for it to be worthwhile. That support basically provided a Muscle Band boosts to every Basic Pokemon you had in play, which meant all of those Pokemon-EX and any Basic Pokemon-GX (along with a couple of normal things, such as Xerneas and Yveltal). That extra damage could be a huge deal, especially since it didn’t take up a spot for a Pokemon Tool. There had been Pokemon needing a big investment for a big reward before, and the results of those had ranged from pointless to extremely common. It was anyone’s guess where Empoleon would end up upon release.

Empoleon’s 140 HP was pretty typical for a Stage 2, and it wasn’t the easiest target to take out. Decks with very strong attackers could still do so, and the Grass Weakness meant that you could add Vespiquen, Golisopod-GX, and Decidueye-GX to that list. Sure, Grass didn’t make much sense for an Empoleon Weakness, but the card game didn’t always care about logic in these. If Empoleon was stuck up front, it needed 2 Energy to retreat. Since it never wanted to be Active at all, it was a good candidate for Float Stone.

Dignified Fighter was interesting in that it was an Ability that helped other Pokemon but couldn’t help Empoleon itself. Each of your Basic Pokemon’s attacks did 20 more damage to the opponent’s Active Pokemon. This was applied before Weakness and Resistance, meaning you’d have a greater impact if you could hit a Weakness. This was just a nice boost overall, whether it was used to make a weaker attack like Seismitoad-EX’s Quaking Punch or Yveltal’s Oblivion Wing do a bit more damage or to boost some of those attacks that just fell short of Pokemon-EX or GX KO range hit their targets. Sure, it was a pain to try to get out a Stage 2 for this, but it could make a pretty big impact in the right spot.

Hydro Splash wasn’t worth using. 70 damage for a Water and a Colorless Energy probably wasn’t better than whatever Basic attacker you paired with Empoleon.

Empoleon could make a difference in some games by giving just enough extra power to push through some threats. It was also going to take the place of a lot of either consistency or disruption cards, as it required having a Stage 2 line in the sort of deck that would never use one, meaning you needed the Rare Candy to be added as well. It was that problem that left Empoleon out of most decks, as you’d typically have better results in the long run going the more traditional route. Despite that, Empoleon was useful if you did get it into play and it was still very usable. It provided a little twist to the typical decks relying a lot on Basic Pokemon, which could make for a more interesting game.

[cosmopoliturtle]

The Forest Mother

A series I did inspired by “Elden Ring”, Fromsoft’s enigmatic next title, believed to carry on the Soulsborne legacy. The entire family tree from Demon’s Soul to Sekiro are easily among my favourite titles in the entire medium, and have inspired my own work intensely. 

The bear and the woman are part of a 2-phase boss concept I submitted to VaatiVidya’s art contest to design a fake boss for Elden Ring. The first piece is the enemies I imagined would reside in the area the boss inhabits, but are not part of entry itself. 

I was inspired by bear worship throughout European culture, descending back to Palaeolithic times. The crux of my design is focused primarily on the pagan worship of bears in ancient Finland. 

The Journey:

You, a lone rider, braves the haunting wastes of a world left broken after a great war. Your only source of companionship is a horse you’ve ridden with for what feels like an eternity, though despite countless hardships, has remained a stalwart friend. The land you roam together has been claimed by beasts who hunt upon old battlegrounds, and husks of lost souls left to sleep in beds of soot and ash in forgotten ruins. Howling, frigid winds echo between creaking trees, and combined with the beat of hooves, provides a dull but eerie rhythm to the empty roads you travel. What almost looks like a dream phasing into reality is a far-off forest bathed in rays from the Sun, where the clouds allow for dappled light instead of an intense shroud above. As you approach, the trees slowly become more vibrant and lush, the flora sparkling with an emerald sheen as dew drops and a constant, light rain provide them with an ethereal lustre.

The deeper you venture, you begin to find surprising signs of life. Tents of animal hide, wooden totems, and clean cut stone altars create a makeshift village within the dells of the forest. Aside from the occasional fresh deer kill laying upon tables and animal skulls hanging from trees, there are few signs of anything insidious happening. The people who live here sing, pray, and dance together, or hold processions led by a wise-woman, who guides them around the forest. They are all dressed from head to toe in simple, white garments with a few accents of bright colour. They look nothing like the depraved wild men or the harrowed warriors you have battled with before, and they are somewhat ghostly and meek in appearance, most of them stopping what they are doing to shrink away or cower at the sight of you. Some lunge out unceremoniously with knives or spears, trying to get you to turn back, but they are easily felled, their cloth garments not meant for battle. The greatest threats here are the crowds led by the wise-women, who are emboldened by her presence and arcane words. Among the feeble worshippers are occasionally hulking guards, covered in bandages and adorned with animal hides, who wield tools like cleavers, saws, and hammers as weapons. The further you travel, the more resistant the forest folk become to your presence, and despite death after death at the hands of the frenzied mob, you persist forward, as you have before.

Finally, at the heart of the forest, there is a wide glade which has been blessed by a gentle breeze. Compared to the tight alleyways made by the forest folk’s tents and the natural overgrowth, this woodland prairie feels like a welcome place for your horse to stretch their legs and enjoy the soft wind, but it is also feels like a vulnerable place, where one may be caught in the open. As the centre of this field is reached, the ground quakes and the trees rattle as a gigantic, haggard bear emerges from the darkness of the deep woods. The ridge along her back still gleams in the sunlight, but her mane gives way to spots of mange and old scars, transitioning into what looks like hardened, scale-like calluses. She eyes you up and down sternly before she braces her legs and roars. Her bellowing cry is so loud it feels as if your chest is about to explode and the world around you will be shattered into dust. The rain stops, a ring of mist forms around the trees of the valley to halt any idea of escape, and the sun shines down upon your duel with the Forest Mother.

The Battle:

Despite her worn look and heavy frame, the Forest Mother makes it apparently clear how fast she can chase you down, charging and lunging at you with unnatural speed. Her movements will completely control how you fight if you choose to combat her on foot, but you can match her better on horseback, turning the battle into a deadly jousting match. She attacks using her entire body: swiping from either side with her claws, pouncing towards you with her full weight, rearing up to slam her column-like limbs down on you, or simply using her entire front half to ram you into submission. Some of her strikes dig into the ground, and fling dirt, grass, and rain water into the air, these attacks having more of a wind up but easily being fatal if they land against you. Any attacks behind her often result in a quick turnaround sweep of her claws, but she can also let the full weight of her massive body simply fall upon you as she disrespectfully crashes her backside atop your head.

You strike her again and again, whittling her down bit by bit. Eventually, she will slow down to stand on her back legs, only going on all fours to either crash her limbs downwards or to quickly leap and readjust her positioning. Her attacks become somewhat more predictable as she slashes at you, but are still incredibly powerful. This short phase seems like a desperate reprieve from the whirlwind you had to face moments ago, but the Forest Mother is using this time to test you, as you shockingly have managed to last as long as you have. As the battle reaches its midpoint, the Forest Mother’s proud stance begins to hunch, and she starts writhing and shifting in odd, unsettling ways. Her convulsions cease when the blade of an axe splits open her throat from the inside and tears down her gut. From the slit a giant, woman-like figure forces her way out of the bear’s hide, but keeps it sitting upon her like a cloak. She readies her axe and lets loose a passionate but monstrous battle cry, causing the breeze to pick up tremendously and the trees around you to burst into autumn colours. The fight with the Forest Mother resumes with red and gold leaves flourishing each gust of wind.

With her new form, the fight has become an entirely new affair. In a silent frenzy she charges forward, easily keeping up with you on horseback if you choose to remain mounted. Her axe sweeps across the ground and is brought down in a mighty overhead strike. Her strength is so overwhelming that some of her strikes bite into the earth, and the heaving motion of dislodging the axe deals heavy damage and creates a blinding geyser of dirt. After frenzied lashes and heavy strikes, the force of her axe moving through the air creates slicing winds that stampede towards you, able cut into you from a distance. Despite her massive frame and equally large weapon crashing against you, she will also inject quick hits with hand strikes and kicks to try and catch you off guard and throw you off balance. If she wishes to try and fell you in a single hit, she will dig her axe into the ground and charge towards you, ending with a massive upwards sweep, or in a rare moment of stillness, she will let the winds whir around her and plant her axe into the ground, resulting in a phenomenal tornado of razor winds and burning, scarlet leaves. Fighting the Forest Mother on foot or horseback is viable, and it takes an incredibly keen eye to find the right moment to parry any of her colossal attacks. Despite her connection to the forest, she is resilient to fire magics, but ice or raw arcana can pierce through her hide now and again. The Forest Mother is enduring and belligerent, with few counter measures to truly turn the tides. It is a true battle, one that requires a mastery of both ferocity and patience.  

Once her frenzy is finally quelled, she falls to her knees, clinging to her axe to keep her from collapsing entirely. Despite her best efforts to stand up again, she crumbles and withers into ash. Falling into a heap, the wind dies, and the forest quickly begins shedding all of its foliage and colour. You have absorbed her essence, and gotten what brought you here in the first place.

The Aftermath:

Below the Forest Mother’s remains, a frost has spread through the ground and into the now barren trees. This place has become as desolate as the rest of the world. What forest folk remain in their village are now either huddled against the cold earth or are praying at their altars, sobbing and shaking violently, too overwhelmed to bother noticing you. The patrolling assemblages lay cut down by the larger forest folk, who now feed on their remains. They are the only ones left to challenge you, discarding their tools and fighting with bare hands in a rage. If not eating their former neighbours, they can be found on the fringes of the woods, skirmishing with wild boars and packs of dire wolves that have encroached into the forest. The empty edges of this place that once bewildered you with its idyllic glow and the gentle pitter-patter of rain on full-blooming trees has been replaced with barren twigs and stagnant air filled with the howls of hungry animals and the cries of demented brutes, joining the dismal state of everything it sought to hide from. You have found what you were looking for, and with the power of the Forest Mother seeped into your soul, you ride onwards. You are much stronger for coming here, though whether it was an essential step on your quest eludes you. There is a greater toiling in this world that you must become a part of, and whatever must be sacrificed to reach those ends will be. You persist forward, as you have before.