#if cornered like a prey animal they would chew their own feet off to get away then also maybe attack...

[lucifer-kane]

Having floor time thinking about Warren Godby and his anger issues and how much I love playing in the space with his anger issues

[redux-iterum]

A Kindling: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.  

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

[librarianaesthetic]

Gross things about rabbits

It’s almost easter, and for all u american christians out there, that means a ton of unwitting parents are about to buy their kids rabbits as a “cute easter gift.” In hopes of dissuading that impulse (or giving you some gross facts to use to dissuade your own relatives from this mistake), here’s a bunch of bad things about owning a rabbit!

Let’s start strong. A bunny will eat its own poop. It has to, because of the way it digests food. The poops that it eats are extra stinky, soft, and sticky.

(more like 1A) It will eat its own poop out of its own butthole, and then it might come over and try to lick you. Sometimes you might not notice the smell from its mouth until it has already licked your cheek. Ask me how I know.

It will leave (the other kind of) poop on the floor. They look like cocoa puffs. They’re not cocoa puffs. You will constantly be picking them up off your floors, no matter how well-trained your bun’s litter box habits are.

Their pee has a strong, acidic smell. If you’re a parent, your child is not going to clean it every week, because they are a child. You will have to clean it sometimes at least, and it is rank. If your litter box gets cleaned once per week, your house will always have a tinge of bunny-pee smell, just like how cat owners’ houses always smell of cat dander, and dog owners’ houses always smell like dried dog saliva. 

You will have to brush your bunny and clip their nails. They will (probably) not like this, and it can be an extremely stressful experience for both of you. Have you ever accidentally cut a baby? Picture this: you are holding a squirming, panicking baby whose bones you could easily snap with your hand. (Over time you can get them more comfy with it from exposure and lots of treats, but like. it can be tough for some buns)

As a rule, they chew cords. Your phone cords, computer cords, lamp cords, anything in reach and especially anything in their way. No hopping around or over, they’ll chew through it as a first instinct. I think it’s a what-to-do-with-tree-roots-in-warren thing?

This is pretty obvious, but they’ll try to eat your houseplants if they can reach them. They’ll jump up onto anything short enough to get a forbidden snack.

Many bunnies dig up carpeting, and will destroy furniture. Anything wicker, especially, is fair game. Your baseboards and carpeting? Open season to a bunny who likes to dig.

Some bunnies like to dig in their litter box. Picture a fireworks show, but it’s poop, hay, and pee-soiled litter, in your house, on your floors.

Un-spayed/un-neutered bunnies will pee on your stuff to “mark” it, especially places that you like to be in. Some bunnies will do this even after surgery. This is common in beds or on a favored spot on your couch. My bun used to really like to pee on my bed. I used to have to clean my duvet almost every day until I finally got him to stay off my bed in the first place. He once came up on my bed to cuddle next to me, stayed for 3 minutes, then peed on my leg.

Bunnies can be aggressive to other bunnies or to other pets. They’re a tiny prey animal, they get nervous and will lunge when frightened and backed into a corner.

Bunnies, especially un-neutered ones, want to fuck literally all the time (there’s a reason for the saying). You will find yourself explaining to your child what that motion is a lot sooner than you may have planned.

Some bunnies nip to get what they want, and it does actually hurt. It’s a really sharp, strong pinch. Some bunnies do this more than others, some do it just to get attention, and some can be trained out of it (mostly).

Despite how cute they are, bunnies don’t like to cuddle in your arms or lap, especially a young bun who isn’t very used to people. Bunnies prefer to sit next to you, rarely on you. A bun that you get from Petco will definitely be very scared if you put it on your lap. (which, don’t buy pets from big chain pet stores. Literally all their pets come from unsustainable breeding practices. If you do get one, go to a shelter, where most of the bunnies will have been neutered already at no cost to you).

(13A) Bunnies will jump off of you or squirm to get away from you when you’re doing something they don’t like, and their claws are sharp. When they want to get away, they will, and their claws will dig into your arm or leg. Their back feet have a lot of power, and no compunctions about drawing blood (ask me how I know).

Rabbits have lots of health concerns, and they’re pretty delicate pets. Because they’re prey animals, they’re also very good at hiding what’s wrong. It can be extremely difficult to notice a problem before it’s an emergency, and you may have a dead bunny on your (and your childs) hands.

If you are committed to getting a bun and treating them well, it’s hard to find veterinarians for rabbits—they’re an exotic pet, so a typical cats-and-dogs vet won’t really know what to do with one, although they might try to fake it. I live in a major US city, and even I had a hard time finding one when my bun had a potential respiratory problem (false alarm, no worries). During quarantine, many vets that normally would see exotics in addition to more common pets closed their doors to exotics first when they were cutting down on the number of appointments per day.

There’s a lot of misinformation online about bunny care, so it can be hard to know what’s right, especially if you have a hard time finding a vet. 50% of products sold for bunnies are actually bad for them, and are just brands taking advantage of misinformation (looking at you, Kaytee). Most of that cute stuff you see at the pet store in the bunny aisle is not bun-safe, so you end up wasting money.

Bunnies are bigger than you think they are. Mine is about the size of a medium-sized cat. Dwarf bunnies are small, but they come with the inbreeding-related health problems found in other small pet breeds (teacup and toy dog breeds). Bunnies should have time and space to run around every day, and they’re not like a hamster that can do that in its cage.

Bunnies live longer than you think they do. Their lifespan is around 8-11 years (breed dependent), comparable to a dog. Adopting a rabbit is not a small commitment.

Obviously, I love my bun. He’s adorable and delightful and very affectionate. I think more people should (responsibly) own pet rabbits. But you need to be prepared to deal with a bunch of issues if you want to get any pet, especially these. They’re not disposable or easy. Admittedly, some of those things on the list can be avoided, but it takes time, attention, and money. Rabbits can become very expensive, very quickly.  Maybe get your kid a stuffed animal, instead.

[janeykath318]

The Avengers Zoo

“Since when did the Avengers compound become a zoo?” Darcy asked, flabbergasted to see a frog and a porcupine just chilling out while a hairless cat sat in a sunny corner relaxing. Jane had been summoned down to headquarters and she’d begged Darcy to come too.

“Since Loki showed up and decided to cause havoc, as he is wont to do,” Jane sighed. “Everyone is….not human right now.”

“Oh, dear,” Darcy sighed. “Have you figured out who’s who?” 

“Getting there. Hawkeye and Falcon are obvious, The bald eagle has to be Steve, and Thor is a golden retriever, which I have to admit, is kind of fitting.” 

A big yellow dog trotted over to Jane and sat at her feet, tail wagging and tongue lolling. 

“Hey there, big guy!” Darcy greeted. Thor barked and doggy grinned at her. 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, pal,” she returned, smiling at him. “Hopefully, we can convince your Bro to undo whatever he did.”

“We think they still have their human minds, but Leo and Jemma are running some tests to verify that,” Jane informed her, leading Darcy to another room, which contained a dozing black bear, a striking panther, an adorable floppy-eared bunny, and three large birds of prey.

Darcy’s jaw dropped and she saluted the bald eagle. 

“Wow, Cap. It’s a good look on you,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. The eagle-Cap’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move a muscle. 

Talk about majestic.

The sleek Falcon next to him let out a sound that Darcy took to be a birdish laugh and preened his feathers. 

“Yeah, I see you, Wilson. You’re looking good, too,” she assured him.

Clint-Hawk flapped over to her and squawked a greeting.

“Hey, Clint. How’s the bird life treating you?” She asked, trying not to laugh. “If this wasn’t top secret, I’d have so much good blackmail material on you.” 

Hawkeye gave her a birdie glare and shook his brown feathery head. 

Darcy had to stifle a shriek when two large spiders suddenly dropped down in front of her. Of course, they were much bigger than any natural spider, but Loki had probably done that on purpose.

 “Natasha?” She asked nervously, looking at the one with the red hourglass symbol on its body and thanking her stars she wasn’t arachnophobic. 

The spider blinked at her and waved one of its legs, as if affirming her guess. The other spider was a solid black and much more wiggly than Natasha. 

“Let me guess: Peter?” She queried, laughing at the younger spider’s antics as he shot around webbing everything in sight. 

“Yep,” Jane sighed. “He makes such a mess.”

“King T’Challa looks every bit as regal in panther form as human form,” Darcy commented, watching the panther walking alongside one of the scientists, not making the slightest noise. 

“He’s trying his best to help us figure this out,” Jane said affectionately. “He’s quite brilliant even in large cat form.”

The bunny rabbit hopped over to them and looked up at Darcy intensely. In a flash, she was given a mental image of the transformation moment and all the human identities of the animals. 

“That’s definitely Wanda,” She informed Jane. 

“She showed me who everyone is.” 

One of the other scientists ran over eagerly.

“Ooh. Do tell,” he begged, looking like an excited puppy.

Jane rolled her eyes. 

“Darcy, this is Leo Fitz. He’s helping figure this thing out. Fitz, this is Darcy.”

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Fitz said. 

“Other than the ones we already know, the cat is Dr. Strange, the frog is Bruce Banner, the porcupine is Tony Stark…” She cut off with a giggle and Fitz and Jane grinned at the hilarity of Tony the Porcupine.

“Anyway, Wanda is the rabbit, and the bear is Bucky Barnes, bless his heart.”

Darcy looked over to the bear, who was now awake and watching her with quizzical eyes. 

“I’d stay away from that one,” Fitz advised. “He growls if anyone gets within three meters of him.”

“Poor Bucky really doesn’t like scientists,” Darcy told him. “He knows me. I’ll be okay.”

She walked over and sat down beside Bucky the Bear. He lifted his head, but didn’t growl or lunge at her. 

“Hey, there, Bucky.” She told him. “Can you understand me?”

The big bear head nodded clumsily. 

“Excellent,” Darcy beamed, then sighed, remembering their last very awkward encounter. “Now I can finally clear the air about us without you running off or interrupting me with self-flagellation.” 

Bucky bear made a mournful sound, but Darcy kept on track.

“I thought we had a good thing going, Bucky. The flirting was top-notch and you had me completely wrapped around your little finger. Then we kissed and suddenly, you freaked out and avoided me like I had the plague. It’s okay if you aren’t ready, but I want you to know I’m not scared of you in bear form and I’m not scared of you in human form, either. 

You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes. Believe it or not, you do deserve to be happy. Just think about that, okay?”

She could see Steve’s eagle eye watching them, and The Falcon and The Hawk were also gazing with interest. 

The bear snuffled and looked up at her with soulful eyes that were ridiculously cute in a large beast like him. 

Darcy had a strong urge to give him a pet, but figured it would be best to ask first.

“Do you mind if I touch you? That fur is really something.”

The bear didn’t seem to mind and Darcy slowly sank her fingers into his side and marveled at the feel. She gently ran her hand over his soft black fur, noting that Bucky bear had closed his eyes in bliss. 

“Oh, you like that, do you?” She teased. “I bet your human self would too.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a commotion and Jane Foster giving a familiar mischievous figure a thorough chewing out. Loki was trying to be a smartass, but Jane was having none of it. Finally, he gave an exasperated huff.

“Fine! I have modified the spell to wear off in three days. There is no need for more threats. I am well aware of your expertise. You mortals have no sense of humor.”

With a poof, Loki turned himself into a snake and slithered away. 

Jane sighed. 

“Hear that everyone? You’ll be human again in three days. I have no idea what we’re going to do in the meantime.”

Turned out, Darcy added Avengers zookeeper to her resume during the next few days. She chatted to them, made terrible bird jokes, and helped make sure they ate. She got to watch Steve, Sam, and Hawkeye soaring regally in the air, which was a pretty incredible sight. Bunny Wanda liked to sit on her lap and nibble at lettuce while Porcupine Tony made ridiculous faces at Darcy and pretended he was going to poke Bucky with his quills. Bucky mostly snoozed at Darcy’s feet or watched the Birdy Trio flying around. 

Kitty Strange slept most of the time and looked disdainfully at the others when he was awake, goblin like eyes eerily watchful. Thor of course, followed Jane around with his undying loyalty, and the spiders chilled out in their webs, amusing themselves by building more and more elaborate designs. Bruce was given his own private enclosure away from the chaos and he hopped about contentedly. 

When day three arrived, they made sure everyone was in a safe location for a safe transition back to human form and waited it out. 

Darcy got a text from Jane while on a coffee run that simply said, “I forgot how annoying human Tony is. I think I liked him better as a porcupine.”

The avengers were chattering and joking around about their antics as animals when Darcy got back. 

“Lewis! I hear you’re switching careers to zookeeper!” Tony yelled. She flipped him off and ignored him. (She’d learned long ago this was the most effective method of dealing with him if Pepper wasn’t around to tattle to.) 

“I have now dubbed you three the Birdy Trio and nothing is gonna change it, so get used to it,” she informed Steve, Clint, and Sam. 

They all groaned and Darcy grinned in satisfaction. 

Behind her there came a rusty bark of laughter and she turned to see Bucky grinning from ear to ear. His smiles were rare, but they were so adorable, Darcy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t be smug, Barnes,” she playfully chastened him. “You’re gonna be Bucky Bear to me for the rest of your life.” 

The smile did not diminish one bit.

“I hope that’s not the only thing I am to you, doll,” he said softly, making her blush.

Steve, observing their interaction, dragged Clint and Sam away to give them privacy and Darcy vowed to thank him later. Steve really was a good bro.

“You were right. I shouldn’t have run away like that,” he admitted, taking a tentative step toward her. “I’ve been kicking myself ever since. I’ve got more issues than National Geographic magazine, but if you’re willing to give me another chance, I’d definitely like to take it.” 

Darcy smiled and grabbed his hands in hers: both of them. He looked surprised when he saw her grasping his metal hand, but he gently squeezed back. 

“Bucky Bear, I’d love to. How about we start by catching up over dinner?”

“Sounds great, doll,” he said, beaming at her. 

[urskekyagvi]

MalVa Week: Campsite

@malvaweek

A hunter trudged into the clearing, bearing his latest kill upon his back. Blood stained the grass behind him, making a grisly trail through the forest. The arduff's corpse hung across his shoulder, a once majestic and imposing predator now someone else's prey; but that was the way of things. 

SkekMal was all too aware of the way of things. Life and death were a never ending cycle, like an abiranariba serpent eating itself. Even he knew the sacred geometry; even a hunter had to know the signs. He swore under his breath as his knees buckled. A stumble, but at the end of it neither he nor the kill were on the ground. 

He hadn't taken this beast's life without cost. He had miraculously remained unscathed, but the weeks of tracking, setting snares, and the final confrontation had left him exhausted. Only the scent of smoke kept the very last reserves of strength he had left fueled; smoke meant fire. Fire- usually- meant campsite, and campsite meant safety and rest. He paid no mind to the thought that there might already be someone there: gelfling and podling were easy enough to dispose of. 

But now his only thought was rest. He dragged himself and his kill through the woods until the orange light of a flame was visible past the treeline. Finally he was close enough to feel the heat upon his skin, and there he deposited his prey and collapsed. Still, even in the midst of exhaustion he didn't abandon wariness. 

He left one eye open, examining the space he had found himself in. From his position, he could see where the land sloped downward towards a stream, and near the fire there was a pile of leaves and branches and a large quilt, big enough for him to crawl under and curl up. He took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet, sniffing the air for any unusual scents. 

No gelfling. No podling. Nothing but the smell of the forest, nearly drowned by the scent of blood he had tainted this peaceful place with. He was reminded of his kill, and rose fully to take care of it. It didn't take long; his knives had been properly sharpened before the hunt, and in short order he had his trophies and something to roast over the fire. 

He laid the skin out to dry and finally sat down on a stone near the flames. It was only natural skeksis paranoia and instinct that kept his eyes open now, though he hadn't smelt or heard a thing for hours. The endless symphony of insects and various birds rang in his ears; a good sign, really, but now his mind didn't trust it; No one just abandoned a campsite like this, not without reason. 

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiff ache of action impeding his movement. Dried blood coated his armor and clothes, and really, a bath in that stream would be a welcome luxury. The only question remained: could he afford it? 

He looked once again, poking around for anything at all that may betray the slightest sign of life or deception; nothing greeted him back. No traps, no leftover marks or traces of the former occupant of the site. He was alone. His searching had proven this as fact, but his mind would not let him rest. 

And yet, while the danger was not immediate, he could allow himself some relaxation...and the stream was a rather tempting sight. Its cool waters cleansed his body and mind and soothed his parched throat. He cleaned his armor and clothes, and when he had gotten back the meat was ready to be eaten. 

He didn't bother thanking the creature for the life it had lost, for it had not given it willingly; such a tradition was a soppy gelfling notion, something they did to convince their guilt-ridden minds that the supposed soul of the creature would return to its creator. SkekMal knew better. The beast had no soul. It hunted to keep itself alive, itself prey to death. 

SkekMal hunted for a similar reason, and in that similarity there was a respect. He bit into the meat with a ravenous appetite, feeling the arduff's life become part of his own. Nothing would be wasted. Its flesh and organs he could eat, its bones would be made into trophies, its skin would hang upon his wall, a tapestry to commemorate his victory. 

By the time he had eaten his fill for the evening the stars had come out. The Sisters shown their light down upon him, and the shadows from the fire flickered in a mesmerizing sway across the trees. Exhaustion weighed down upon him like a beast on his shoulders, digging its venomous claws into his eyes and making his movements sluggish and slow. The sleeping pile, with its soft quilt, looked more tempting by the moment…

He was obliged to lay upon it. It would have been a waste not to, and he despised waste. It was just as soft as it looked from a distance, easy upon his aching muscles yet supportive enough to spare his bones. His body sank into it, and the quilt kept him comfortably warm as he gazed up at the stars. 

Worry did not stalk the corners of his mind any longer. Whoever had left the campsite here, clearly it had been intended to be his, by fate or accident he no longer cared. His eyes closed in a way they had not in a very, very long time, heavy instead of flitting open at the very first sound. Sleep took the night watch. 

When he awoke the next morning, upon the first light of dawn, he felt rested. His bones didn't ache, and his mind was sharper than ever without paranoia or weariness making it so, and when he stretched his muscles were only mildly sore. It was a delightfully brisk morning all around him. 

He rose to a sitting position, prepping for another full body stretch, when his tail curled against something. It was wooden, but much too straight to be a stick. Suspicion bit into his senses. He grasped the thing tightly in his hand and snatched it from under the covers. 

It was an arrow, beautifully decorated, better as a trinket than a weapon or tool. It was lightweight, the shaft made of a white nut wood carved in thin leaf-like shapes and gilded vines; the fletching at its end could only be from the tail feathers of a rare albino shrookill; but the true beauty of it laid in the point, a sun-bleached bone. 

SkekMal glared at the beautiful thing and then at the clearing around him. There was even something cooking on the fire already. Someone had been here- in fact, had always been here. Someone had laid this out for him...someone was trying to catch him. 

And he knew who. 

"Come on out, Archer!" He snapped at the trees, "Reveal yourself! I've seen through your little ruse." 

A shrub rustled much too close nearby. He would have jumped, but barely managed to restrain himself in order to save face; he couldn't let anyone know he had let himself be deceived so easily...Though by the almost self-satisfied look on UrVa's face, it was a futile endeavor. 

"It is no ruse," the Archer said calmly, giving his Other a small bow, "I thought you could use the rest." 

SkekMal clutched the trinket he held even tighter, until his knuckles were almost as white as the shaft. He fumed in silence, his teeth grinding together in agitation. How dare he. The sheer audacity this other half of him had, so unlike the complacent sobriety of the rest of the urru; SkekMal found it annoying to no end...and yet he couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. 

The anger faded quickly, having never been genuine to begin with. In truth, all he felt at that moment was gratitude. He ceded some of the tension in the grip he had around the arrow, holding it up gingerly to examine it in the light of the rising suns. 

"...Indeed I could," he said, "that arduff did not come down easily...These feathers, where did you get them from?" 

UrVa smiled and beckoned for SkekMal to follow him towards the campfire. The arduff meat was reheated to a perfect temperature, the outside skin crispy but not burnt. SkekMal cut himself a large hunk off the rear thigh and then laid another piece of it before his Other. UrVa paused to look at it, and it was SkekMal's turn to be smug. 

"Don't deceive yourself, Archer," he said, tearing a bite out of his own portion, "the Master isn't here. I saw the way you were eyin' it." 

UrVa did eat after that, but said a short prayer first, nonetheless. He took a small bite out of what SkekMal had given, pausing again to savor the taste with another sort of reverence. SkekMal let him, though he had not helped to bring down the kill. 

"...An albino shrookill," UrVa said after his slow chewing had finally ceased. 

"And where did you find an albino shrookill?" SkekMal couldn't hide his fascination. He had only heard the faintest rumors of such a thing existing, but had never seen it for himself. 

"Where shrookills can often be found," was UrVa's blunt response before he took another bite of his meal.

SkekMal knew what he really meant, but on account of the good mood he was in he let it pass without so much as a growl. This meat was delicious. 

"What of the bone?" 

Here there was a longer pause than usual between chewing and speaking, and for the sake of the answer SkekMal allowed it, too. When UrVa spoke again, his voice held a hint of something almost playful. 

"A piece of something you had lost and forgotten long ago," he said, and took another bite. 

SkekMal had to scour his brain for the answer to the riddle, another act of solecism he allowed only because of a well rested body and full belly. Something he had lost long ago…He studied the piece of bone, hoping a moment of scrutiny would unveil the answer. Lost and forgotten long ago…

He turned it over in the light, and that was when he noticed a familiar tooth mark, and then the shape revealed itself to him. He fitted the little arrow head in his hand on a mental overlay of an animal skull, and came to realize that this would have been at the apex of the sagittal crest. The memory inundated his head like the wash of a tidal wave. 

"My first kill!" The Hunter laughed and slapped his knee. "I never did get to keep the trophy. The others tore it apart so thoroughly I thought even the crawlies would have a hard time finding all the bits!" 

UrVa nodded. "I myself almost reached the limit of my patience trying to find that one shard." 

SkekMal snorted, without malice. "You? I thought there was no limit to your patience." 

UrVa gave him a look that was as close to arch as a mystic could get. SkekMal vowed to get a better reaction out of him later. There would be plenty of time, if this one interaction went well. It was like hunting in a way: stalk your prey, set your snares, wait, and then pounce. 

But it never ended between them, this eternal game of chase and capture, Hunter and Archer; and SkekMal would never admit that he enjoyed that prospect most of all.

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 9: Apart

last chapter

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ao3 

words: ~2300

_____

War seems to follow him like a predator stalking its prey. Ever since he was a child, he was waging a war - against his master, against the Jedi, against himself. He knows it is the doing of the dark side that won’t allow for a moment of peace, constantly creating conflict where there is none to further fuel him. The only times he felt something like serenity were the ones spent with you in private, when he didn’t have an image to uphold or enemies to watch out for. These were the most peaceful moments of his existence, for he knew everything he needed to protect was right there in his arms, as safe as you could be.

Then, of course, there were the times of solitude with his brother. They, too, brought a type of peace, but it was vastly different in that they did not hold the same kind of honesty the times with you did. He knew his brother never chose to join him. He knew the nightsisters made him into something he was not and used him as a puppet, yet the feeling of having a brother, family, was enough to quieten the cries in the back of his mind.

Now both of these people are gone.

He clenches his fists to give his insatiable rage some outlet and allow his mind to focus once more. One person is gone forever, slaughtered by no other than master. But the other is still alive, he is certain, separated from him right when he thought they were safe at last. 

Being captured by Sidious was a heavy setback, one that drew out your rescue much longer than he ever wanted. With the civil war on Mandalore and his forces spread thin, Maul feels his hopes diminish. How can he rescue you from the Republic if he doesn’t know your location, doesn’t have the forces to effectively fight them or even pose a threat to them, and now doesn’t even have his brother to confide in for advice?

He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and exhausted to his bones, wanting nothing more than to go back to the day in the throne room and alter his decision.

A series of coughs from an alcove in the wall snaps him out of his downward spiral of thoughts. There on the ground sits the last remaining member of his family, even though their relationship has been less than familiar in the past. He may not have been able to protect you the way he swore he would, but he would most certainly care for your sister during your absence.

“Have you found anything?” She asks hoarsely and looks up at him with eyes that hold a sadness that could rival his own internally.

“Nothing,” he admits quietly, studying the miserable state of Loa. 

“What are we going to do?” She whispers, staring at the wall again while hugging her knees.

“I… I’ll get her back. I promise.”

“How?” She doesn’t trust as easily as her usually light demeanor would let on. It reminds him of you.

“If need be, I will board their cruiser alone and fight my way through. I won’t rest until she’s back with us.”

“We don’t even know where she is.”

She is right and it pains him. He hasn’t been able to feel you at all. It isn’t necessarily a sign that you are unwell, but most likely an indicator that you are far, far away from him. Space is vast and the chances of finding a particular cruiser without any information are close to zero. Now, they don’t even have the crime syndicates to get information from.

His shoulders drop and he rubs his temples, struggling to find the right words to console the one entrusted to him. Eventually, he sits down on his knees beside her.

Her force signature is largely different at first, but the more he hones in on it, the more he can feel the similarities in the small swirls of energy surrounding her and you, and it provides him with the tiniest bit of solace.

When he opens his eyes again, he is almost glad she at least doesn’t have your eyes. If she did, it would be all the more painful to see them wide open now, staring at him like the simple act of sitting on the ground defied his nature.

He clears his throat.

“Your sister is the most competent person I know. She broke out of Sundari prison in less than ten minutes, and even the Jedi won’t be able to hold her,” I hope. “She’ll find a way to get in touch with us. Either that or we will be notified of the cruiser’s location when they inevitably are forced to make a stop.”

She says nothing in response, the truth that there is nothing they can do for now hanging heavily in the air.

He wishes he could connect with her more, but there is an impermeable power imbalance that divides the air between them. It was always easier when you were around.

“You’re really important to her.”

Her statement is quiet, like it is a secret she is sharing with him.

“Ever since she saw you on Zanbar she’s been different. Before, she used to get this look sometimes, like she was missing something, though she never talked about it. But I get it now.” Her frown turns into a look of earnestness. “She trusts you. And if my sister decides you are worth her trust, then so do I.”

Trust is a sparse resource to come by these days. 

“I will not fail you,” he promises, equally sincere.

However he will achieve that, he doesn’t know. Right now, all he can do is trust in your abilities. All comms are set to the highest sensitivity possible, so if you contact any Mandalorian lines, he will know. 

He walks back to the cockpit and sits down in the copilot chair, staring into the emptiness of space.

Somewhere out there, you are waiting for him. And he will find you.

 *

 Your hands hold the rifle steady while you hold your breath, not allowing a single sound to disturb the silence of the forest. Your target is right in the center of the scope you’re looking through, now bowing down to feed on the leaves of a bush.

The sound of your shot seems louder than it’s ever been when it breaks through the quiet, but your prey has already fallen to the ground dead before the soundwaves even reach its ears. Satisfied with your work, you lean back on your heels, screwing the scope off your rifle and fastening the weapon on your back once more.

You remain on guard while you head toward what will be your dinner for tonight, and probably tomorrow. You and your companion, whom you did not choose to spend time with, have yet to encounter any predators. The one time you thought you did, the noise came from a branch falling off a rotten tree, but you can never be too careful.

The hoofed creature weighs more than you expected, and by the time you’ve reached the makeshift camp, you’re panting.

“Nice catch,” Kenobi comments, not turning his attention away from the wires he is crouched in front of.

“You’re presuming I’ll share it with you.”

“If I need to hunt for my own food, we’ll be stuck here longer.”

Good point. You say nothing.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to make a fire tonight. The sun is setting again and I can’t work in the dark.” “You were the one who said it’d attract predators.” You point out passive-aggressively.

“I didn’t know then that the days would be this short and the nights this long. If we ever want to send out a signal, I’ll have to work at night too.”

“Whatever,” you utter, picking up a few twigs and tossing them into the middle of the small clearing.

 The biggest advantage to having an actual fire is that you can finally roast the animal’s meat instead of painstakingly holding every small piece over the small flame produced by the lighter on your vambrace.

Wordlessly, you both chew on the food while sitting in complete opposite corners of the camp. It is no secret that your brief alliance is involuntary and that neither of you are interested in becoming friends along the way, so you don’t even pretend to like each other.

The sound of a twig snapping nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you are on your feet in the blink of an eye. “Did you hear that?” You ask under your breath, eyes trying to make out any shapes in the blackness of the woods, the light of the fire hardly enough to reach the edge of the clearing, let alone its surroundings.

“I can feel something… There’s an animal.”

He ignites his lightsaber and for once, you are fine with him wielding the weapon.

“Where is it?” You whisper, slowly drawing your vibroblades.

“It’s… Down! ” 

You don’t drop a second too soon, because the very moment your body comes in contact with the ground, something flies over you with a wild roar, landing only inches from you.

The animal doesn’t turn back around to launch another attack on you, targeting Kenobi in your stead. You can’t see what’s happening, but apparently, its jaw misses him, since when you are back on your feet, Kenobi is still very much alive, holding out his lightsaber defensively and wow-

That animal is massive. 

Its muscled body is at least fifteen feet long, saliva dripping from fangs the size of your shinbone while its puffy tail whips back and forth angrily.

“Oh dear,” you breathe, watching as its eyes flicker back and forth between you and Kenobi, seemingly undecided on who would make for a better meal.

Please pick Kenobi, please attack him, I won’t make for a good snack at all,  I-

It hesitates for a moment too long and suddenly lets out an ear-shattering cry when the blue blade of a lightsaber neatly slices one of his legs off. 

Acting faster than your fear, you jump forward and use the opening Kenobi created to bury your blade right where you guess its jugular is, narrowly evading the deadly swipe of its claws and finally reveling in the gurgling sound it emits as it perishes.

For a minute, you’re both just staring at the carcass as a puddle of blood forms around your feet. Then, you squat and remove one of the enormous fangs from its mouth.

“A trophy? Really?” The Jedi sounds positively exasperated.

“I’ll use it to slit your throat once we are off this planet.”

He doesn’t look too worried.

Good. He won’t see it coming.

“Perhaps keeping the body here will scare off others of its kind,” he ponders. 

“Or they’re sentient enough to feel vengeance,” you finish the thought. “I say we get rid of it.”

“Good luck, then.”

You freeze, examining his barely illuminated face.

“You won’t help me.”

“Correct.”

“Come on! You want to keep this around because you think it might scare other animals away?”

“They’ll smell it!” He argues.

“It won’t smell like much of anything other than death once it starts to rot,” you retort angrily.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” His entire demeanor has changed to something less contained, less defensive than his usual stance. “After all, you’re the expert when it comes to cold-blooded murder.”

You take a step back in surprise.

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

“Do you think I want to be stranded with you here?” He hisses. “Well, I don’t. I don’t know how, but the longer I’m around you, the more I feel like the dark side surrounds you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not even force-sensitive.”

“I know that.” His tone is slightly calmer now. “But I know what I’m sensing.”

Silently, you calculate the expression on his face, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“Is it possible,” you begin quietly, “for an individual to, I don’t know, plant something inside the mind that would… alter a person?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just answer the question.”

The Jedi sighs, sitting down tiredly a few feet away from you.

“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility, though that person would have to be extremely powerful in order to… Wait, are you talking about Maul?”

“What?”

“Maul, is he manipulating you? Is he forcing you to…”

“No, how could you even- I’m talking about the Sith lord!” You shake your head in annoyance. “Remember, the one you and your council are so desperate to find?”

“You suspect he manipulated you?”

You swallow and avert your gaze, feeling fear get a hold of you when you simply think of the hooded man.

“Maybe,” you whisper, then resume with a slightly stronger voice. “I am unable to talk about him. When I do, my body forces me to stop, like he is taking control of my mind… Just thinking about him makes my skin crawl.” You shudder. 

Kenobi narrows his eyes.

“For that, you’d at least have to have met him.”

“I have.”

He looks taken aback.

“That would explain it.” He pauses. “I’m not sure if anything can be done about that. We have healers at the temple but…”

“Forget it.”

He sighs.

“I’ll get back to working on the communicator.”

You just watch him while he dismantles the device further, laying out the single parts on the forest ground tidily.

It is strange - the seething hatred you were once able to feel for the man has faded into a faint dislike. He is still your adversary, of course - it is quite impossible to forget that fact since it’s how you ended up in this situation in the first place, but it feels less personal and more formal.

In a different life you may have respected him.

______

Happy holidays to everyone who celebrates something right now! I hope you're all making the best out of the current situation while staying safe and healthy! For everyone hoping for a reunion this chapter - My bad. We're not quite there yet :,) As always, comments are much appreciated (I check my inbox like twenty times a day after I post a new chapter simply because receiving them makes me so darn happy) <3

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course Chapter 14) Revelations

.-.-.

Ivar’s shoulders were slumped and his eyes casted down into a mournful gaze. He’d hidden himself in the back of his box. After he’d fulfilled his duty, one of the peasants had dragged him inside and shackled him up. 

With mud-splattered hands, he braided small figures from hay and stored them underneath a loose part of the wooden panels. It gave his twitching hands something to do and his storming mind something to occupy his despondent thoughts. He’d hidden the nail safely in one of the figures, better safe than sorry. 

His mouth was set in a semi-pout, it was late and he hadn’t been fed all day. Instead of anger, his chest was dominated by a profound sadness as fatigue and pain plagued his body. 

Due to his efforts involving the pigs, his knees were bleeding again and his clothes wasted away. He looked and smelled no better than the animals he needed to tend for.  

Lonely, he huddled together and drifted off into the memory of his previous life; that of a prince, that of a son. But the remembrance of his profound status and mother’s love, gave him melancholy instead of a brief escape from reality. 

Piglet returned from her tasks and granted him a meal; a mush of vegetables and potatoes. Lard gave it some taste, but food remained overcooked and stale for the most part. 

Piglet was sewing potato bags as he ate in silence. After his meal, she refilled his trough which allowed him to rid himself of most of the mud. Scrubbing the filth from the wound on his knees, Ivar realised he was stuck in an endless cycle; scraping his knees open, fixing them up, only to scrape them raw and bloody the next day again. The wounds wouldn’t even have time to scar, if he continued this path, they might scrape all the way to the bones. 

If gangrene didn’t get to it first. 

His body would be rotting from the outside in, while his solemn thought would eat him whole. 

“Hamar?” 

Ivar was brought out of his thoughts when one of the potato bags dropped into his lap. It had four holes on each side; a smaller one on top, two at the sides and a large one at the bottom was torn completely. 

It was a tunic, the most basic piece of garment Ivar had ever seen. But it was fresh and clean, something to cherish. Piglet watched him from across his box as he changed his rags for the tunic. She got on her knees near the makeshift line and placed two more bags and a clean rag over it. 

She pointed at his knees and back to the materials, indicating their use. Ivar crawled close and used the rags to cover his wounds and then tied the potato bags around his knees. It didn’t come close to the protection of his braces, not as efficient and thick, but it would protect him during his everyday chores and crawls. 

Ivar’s fingers tightened around the robust fabric and entwined it around his legs, pulling them firmly together. It was easier for him to move around without either of his legs bumping into things. 

Piglet admired her efforts being used and approved.

“Hamar,” she’d rose to her feet with a brief bow of the head and yawned while waving, indicating she was heading off to her box for the night. 

“Piglet, wait,” Ivar slithered to the edge of his quarter to pause the maiden, “please call me Ivar.” His intonation visibly surprised her. Piglet turned on her heels and tilted her head to one side while listening to his foreign words. 

“It’s my name. I’m Ivar,” tapping on his chest he wished the slave to understand his words and the meaning behind them, “please call me Ivar.” 

“Ivar?” A lackluster smile spread across her face, causing her dimples in her cheeks, bearing her teeth she repeated his name: “Ivarrr,” with the snarling of a dog, “Ivarrr.” 

Sniggering to herself, she retreated to her side of the shed, still growling his name with the r rolling off her tongue. 

.-.-.

The revelation of his name constructed a pathway through their speech barrier and skepticism. It was still a balance on pins and needles, but in between their labour they exchanged brief small-talk. Comfort was a seldom gift, but Piglet’s voice brought some enlightenment as she pointed and gestured to animals and objects, naming them in her own deep-throated language. Ivar’s tongue tied itself into knots once he tried to repeat her idiom and she, more than once, ridiculed his flaws. She was a lot quicker at picking up the words of the Viking and she’d proudly pronounced all the animals in his language at their shed. However, her name remained a mystery. Every attempt, hit a deaf man’s ears. On various occasions, Ivar had tapped his fist to his own chest while speaking his own name, before pointing to Piglet. He knew she understood his action but refused to give a proper reaction, instead she played dumb and would repeat his name with a rolling r: Ivarrrr. 

Although they spent quite some time together, Piglet had something mystical. Behind that curtain of stench, was mystique; the pigment of her skin and darkness of her eyes and hair was otherworldly and Ivar caught himself staring at her body wrapped in layers of filth. Wondering if her anatomy matched the women from his village, still curious as to if she had a tail or not. 

Every evening, she’d dutifully refill his trough so he’d be able to wash, but chose to remain filthy and reeking herself. Caked in animal dung and mud, her feet would skitter off when Ivar would throw a handful of water in her direction, in a weak attempt to make her freshen up. She was absolute torture to be around due to it and Ivar would, many times, scrunch up his nose and make it very clear what he thought about her poor personal hygiene with gestures and gagging sounds. Her dark and patient eyes would take it all in and she’d smile at him like a simpleton until Ivar gave up and simply dealt with her body odor and untamed characteristics. 

They’d play the knucklebone game until nightfall, when they weren’t able to make out the shapes of the bones any more. Piglet was able to count up to sixty in Ivar’s language with ease, while Ivar stuttered his way from one to ten in Piglet’s. Both of them refused to speak anything in Dietsch and in all honesty, Ivar would rather bite off his own tongue than to familiarise himself with the language of the enemy.  

One afternoon found the both of them sat against the wooden fence of the pigsty, enjoying a moment of ease and sun. A cart pulled by a donkey passed and Ivar pointed at the animal.

“Donkey,” he explained, “that’s a donkey.” 

Piglet had been biting on a long straw of hay. Her lips formed themselves into a halfway smile, while chewing on the end. 

“Donkey,” she paused and threw him an sideway glance, pushing herself swiftly upon her feet, “hamar.” 

Ivar’s face fell and his mouth dropped: “have you been calling me donkey?” 

Piglet spat out the straw and took a few steps away from Ivar: “hamar, donkey,” and tapped against the side of her skull: “thick-head.” 

Baffled, Ivar stared at her back as she hurried off. “Dirty bitch,” he grunted underneath his breath. 

“Donkey,” Piglet addressed him back before continuing her work with the cattle. 

During the course of weeks, their dynamic gradually changed; their relationship no longer hunter and prey, both very aware that Ivar was fully depending on her in order to get through the day. Piglet would not in any way address it, but she had an upperhand in their relation. Every afternoon, Ivar would be chained up. Immobile and frustrated, he’d have to wait for her return in order to eat, drink and clean himself. The potato bags around his legs would tear with ease during the hard labour; being dragged and torn over cobblestones, wood and through mud. Piglet would silently knit and sew the fibers of Ivar’s only protection up while he sulked and brooded in his corner; eating the food she could spare and drinking the water she’d share. 

This evening was like all the others, both the slaves were locked inside their shed. Ivar’s chains rattled due to his inability to keep his frustration under control. He’d been changing the pigs’ bedding and in the process, grazed his hand on a piece of splintered wood. A fraction of the wood still remained embedded in the palm of his hand, causing him great discomfort and further lessened his mobility. 

He was quite proud of his hands; his strongest assets and perfect murder weapons. Yet they were incapable of finer motor skills. His broad and callus fingertips were inept to draw the splinter out. 

More proof of his inabilities and another form of self-loathing erupted from Ivar’s chest, coming out from his lips as bitter sounds. 

A chuckle forced its way out, for he was so laughable and incompetent. Shaking his head over his own misfortune, Ivar figured he might as well chew his arm off, but that would give the Giant too much satisfaction. 

Piglet, once again, showed herself to be of good use and silently placed her needle onto the wooden edge of Ivar’s trough before fleeing to her side of the shed. Her serene chants filled the small space, while Ivar pulled himself across and eagerly made use of her needle. 

It took him a while, but before the place turned too dim, Ivar managed to draw the splinter from his palm.

Retreating back to his side, Ivar hid the needle inside one of the straw figures he’d made. Now he had two nails for the Giant’s coffin.

.-.-.

A/N: Ok, so I think it’s safe to say Ivar sharing his name to Piglet was cute af. And I love that Piglet gave Ivar a proper nickname, ‘hamar’, shows she got some sass. For you guys who’ve been faithfully commenting/ reblogging and liking my fic, I’d like to thank you all a lot. The last few weeks have been rough and this story is my personal way of detaching myself from all the mess that’s going on. So kudos to you all<3

Xoxoxo Nukyster  The tagged ones: 

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@saldelys

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@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182 @conaionaru

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[beyondtheciouds]

Vampires, Stale Scones, and Lucie Herondale

Part 1.

Lucie was in way over her head.

 Her body trembled as she bit down on her lower lip to keep from sobbing or screaming, she isn’t sure which. Panicked, all she can think about is the pretty boy’s gleaming fangs. Oh, if only I had listened. She had gotten herself into more than a dilly of a pickle this time. I should have been more careful, she thinks, frowning. A frustrated sigh escapes her chapped lips, knowing all too well the trouble she’s in. Her lips, puffy, and sliced up turn down as she pries the bent hairpin into the lock for the hundredth time. “Ugggghhh.” She wriggles her wrist, sore, and raw underneath the metal handcuff. James…where are you?

Lucie’s ink-stained fingers are a blur as her hands twist and turn the pin in the keyhole, hoping for a break. She all but tries not to think of the fanged boy or the hungry way he had stared at her. 

Beautiful was the first word that had come to her mind when he appeared last night. A silhouette against the light of the moon, he had snuck into her cell and stood beside the pole she was chained to. He was watching her the way a predator might watch prey. He kept sniffing the air and licking his lips. 

Lucie tried to act unnerved but her blood was heating and her skin was tingling. She felt disgusting; her dress torn and ruined; stained with her blood.  Her face and hands were dirty, the nails on her fingers bitten down to the quick from nerves and pain.

His face was arresting. Much like Jesse’s, it had made her heart stop. Sharp lines and all angles, his face had shapes that made sense on statues. Long lashes made his eyes wider and cherub lips could have easily disguised the boy as an angel. Lucie knew better, or she thought she did when she stared back into his gleaming red eyes. 

Lucie hears shuffling and looks up, almost hopeful. It has been two days since Grace kidnapped her and brought her to this prison tower. Damp and smelling worse than Bridget’s infamous cabbage stew, Lucie found herself repeatedly gagging or gasping for air during the night. Desperate to get out of her nightmarish fairytale, she had thought about calling to the dead for help, like she had before, but the thought of those rotting and decaying bones in the corner rising to greet her had her dismissing the idea instantly. Gast.

 A glance up and amongst the cobwebs, she discovers a window carved into the stone. It is small, but she knows she will be able to fit. It is about thirty feet up and Lucie wonders if she ought to try and scale the wall once she’s able to break the lock. Noises and voices in the stairwell cause her to refocus and stare into the dark. She stuffs the pin back into her hair, mousey curls half hanging down her back. “James?” she whispers, her blue eyes peering eagerly into the shadows. “Is that you?”

Unexpectedly, Tatiana turns the corner. Her face is stern and her eyes are hard and unforgiving under the pale yellow light of mundane candles. Lucie immediately shrinks back into the darkness, unintentionally pulling on her restrained wrist. She gives a little yelp of pain as Tatiana appears before Lucie’s cell. Lucie struggles to catch her breath.

 A smile is on Tatiana’s wicked face, “Oh, your brother isn’t coming to save you, dear.” She spits the word at Lucie and clasps her hands in front of her. 

Lucie scowls, kicking the six stale scones off the plate and onto the ground. “He will save me. You don’t know my brother. He and his friends will go to the ends of the earth for me.“

Grace snorts at Lucie as she stops beside her mother. Her gray eyes are cool and calm, matching the man all decked out in silver moving to stand beside her. “Sorry, Lucie. Not this time.”

“What have you lunatics done with James!? I demand to know!” Lucie screams, her knees giving out. She drops to the ground, refusing to cry. 

The man slowly raises a silver eyebrow at Lucie, pulling her attention to him. His arms are crossed over his chest and the robes he wears sway around his ankles without a breeze. Lucie glares at the man, getting to her feet. She can’t help but noticing that he isn't young or old, but he looks young enough to be her father. Middle-age. The more she stares, the more she feels an odd sense of recognition and the man somehow seems older to her than he looks. Lucie can’t shake it. The feeling, it’s like a parent that won’t give up nagging. His eyes are deep and fathomless, saturated like small stars. Those eyes remind her of somewhere… someone.

The silver man grins, his perfect teeth stark white against his skin.  “So this is the darling Lucie,” he croons, his voice thick and sickly sweet like honey. The way he says her name strikes a chord in Lucie and it makes her more apprehensive. “Beautiful and sweet.”

Lucie scowls at the man, goosebumps flooding her flesh as she pulls her manners together. “You may refer to me as Miss Herondale, Mr…?”

The man grins and it is not friendly, “How is your mother, darling? You must tell her and your father I say hello.”

“Who are you?” Lucie squints, still feeling shaken and it isn’t just the man’s offbeat smile or the strange look in his eye.

“Oh, Lucie. Tsk, tsk that you cannot recognize your own kin.” He smiles, deadly and determined to shatter her mind. “I am Belial, your grandfather.”

Lucie gasps, her blue eyes wide with a new fear. “No. You can’t be..”

Tatiana smiles and takes a slight pleasure in the shock on Lucie’s face. Lucie had forgotten she was watching the sideshow.  “You did not know, my dear? James did not mention Belial to you?” she asks, eager for a taste of Lucie’s misery. If she can’t destroy Will right now, she’ll settle for starting with his children.

Lucie grimaces, pulling her gaze from the man calling himself her grandfather. She turns and eyes Grace accusingly, “We have a deal, Grace. Remember?”

Grace smiles bitterly, ”We had a deal, past tense.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucie says, scratching her head. She plays dumb for the audience, but she knows this is really between her and Grace. 

Grace’s face is concrete; hard and unforgiving like her mother’s. “Don’t play dumb, Lucie. I saw you.”

“What did you see?” Lucie has to ask politely, but she is scowling.

Grace sighs and shuts her mouth. At least she has the decency to keep Lucie’s secret from Tatiana and Belial. Her gray eyes are steel and Lucie knows what Grace knows. I saw you kissing Matthew. 

Lucie chews on her bottom lip. The kisses;  moments that were stolen between her and her brother’s parabatai had happened more than once. Actually, in the last few weeks, it had been many times, more than Lucie was willing to admit to.  Lucie thought they were being discreet. She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone although Matthew wanted to put his family ring on her finger and shout his love for her from London’s rooftops. Lucie thought about it and Cordelia nearly had convinced her that she could heal Matthew; fix him. 

Lucie knew which time Grace had been referring to. That night Lucie had felt the chill of a ghost on her back and she knew it wasn’t Jessamine.

 One mistake made under the moonlight in Brocelind Forest had caused this nightmare of a mess. The last two days she had been telling herself she wasn’t in love with Matthew. She kept making her mind believe she had made a huge mistake and would make it up to Jesse. Math was like a brother to her… wasn’t he? Jesse was the one for her. 

She was Jesse’s girl.

Belial looks on unfazed by the tantrums of two girls. His silver eyes remain on Lucie as if she is a prize-winning animal, his smile thin at the secrets the girls hold between them. “Well now, what do you have to say for yourself, darling?”

“Where is my brother?” Lucie demands again, ignoring his question. She turns cold, blue eyes to him. She gives it her best shot. “I want to speak to Jamie.” 

“James is indisposed at the moment. He will be along to join you shortly, my darling.” Belial says, waiting for her to calm down. “For now, let’s talk about your powers.”

Lucie is horrified but tries to play it cool. How does he know about her abilities? She furrows her brown eyebrows, trying to be steel although she withers like a flower inside. “I have no demon powers, I do not have a clue as to what you are talking about.” Lucie pauses and then takes a tentative step forward out of the darkness and into the sunlight streaming in from the window. “I want to see my brother.” She stomps her feet like she did when she was seven and James blamed her for setting the couch on fire.

Belial chuckles, the sound reverberating through the hollow hallway.”Oh, you are a firey darling, aren’t you?” He pauses, considering. “You remind me of your mother at that age. She was beautiful, all passion and righteousness.“ He smiles, the insidiousness at her mother’s chosen life direct. “Your mediocre Shadowhunter future isn’t far off from hers, darling.”

 “Stop calling me that!” Lucie shouts as she tugs on her shackled wrist, her heart pounding in her chest. 

 “Oh, Little Lucie how you underestimate yourself. I suppose, my darling you would. Being second to James and all.”

 He is testing her, that much Lucie had already figured out. She keeps her mouth shut, letting the fact that she is usually overlooked when it comes to Jamie simmer in her blood. She will store that fuel inside her head and use it later on the lock when they are gone. 

Scuffling in the stairwell and shouting causes Tatiana and Grace to turn their attention away from Lucie. Several long moments later, noises in the hallway send unwelcome shivers up Lucie’s spine as Belial grins at her. Lucie’s mouth is suddenly dry and her eyes dart towards the sounds. James? Cordelia?

 A moment passes and then the fanged boy from last night appears in the shadows of the mundane torches. Several of the torches line the wall across from her cell. They emit a very low light, casting ominous shadows. The hall is dark, but Lucie can still see every detail of the fanged boy’s face. Impatient and nervous, she shuffles her feet. 

The shadows move and Lucie notices the fanged boy is dragging another boy by his hands. The boy is dressed in familiar gear and is kicking and screaming. His hair is a mop of sunshine that Lucie recognizes.

 ”Heathen from the underworld let me go! I am the Consul’s son and you are hereby violating the accords, vampire!“ 

The fanged boy is undaunted by the other boy’s antics and continues to drag the blonde boy towards Lucie’s cell without hesitation. Lucie blinks, not believing her eyes. Not James. Not Cordelia. Matthew. 

Matthew came to save her. 

The vampire grins and tightens his grip on the boy as he hauls him across the smooth stone floor. "Look what’ I found lurking ‘round the back,” he announces as though this spectacle is staged. “an’ he’s lookin’ for her.” The vampire jerks his head in Lucie’s direction and Belial grins approvingly. “Two dead Shadowhunters are better than one.”

Tatiana breaks a rare smile, genuinely filled with insanity. “Herondale. Fairchild. Check, check.”

“Let go!” Matthew yells again, trying to yank his hands out of the other boy’s tight grip. “My neck is far too dirty to have fangs sunk into it this early in the morning! I’m too young and beautiful to be eaten alive!”

“Relax, I’m not going to eat you, Shadowhunter.”

The fanged boy’s face is calm and collected although his lips turn up at the corners. "Turns out, I’m not very fond of angelic blood so you get to continue to sit and be chained to the pretty one.” He laughs lowly and then stops when he catches Lucie watching him. 

Matthew is still carrying on, talking fast like a maniac. The fanged boy moves in a blur. Suddenly, he is close enough that Lucie can see the color of his eyes has changed. They are no longer red, but blue like hers. Actually, as pale as ice, nearly white. Lucie takes a tiny step forward, careful not to pull her chain. She had picked up on his slight accent and now struggles to place the lilt. Ireland? Scotland? Wales? Australia?

“Let me go, you son of a—”  Matthew screams, disrupting Lucie’s thoughts on the vampire’s origin and language. Matthew is stubborn, dragging his legs then kicking the air behind him as he is pulled along. He wiggles and twists his fit body defiantly.

Lucie gasps when he turns his face towards the cell, but she is not shocked to find those familiar dark green eyes simmering with rage. “Matthew? What are you doing here?”

The door of the cell opens and Lucie rushes forwards on instinct, only to be yanked back with a yelp of pain. She steps back until the chain is loose once more. “Where’s Jamie?”

“Luce—” Matthew says on a halted breath, his eyes wide. “I came to rescue you like one of your knights in shining armor.” A charging grin sweeps onto his face as he is tossed to the floor of the cell. Lucie has never been so excited to see him in all her life. This means Jamie isn’t far behind, she thinks and smiles to herself.

 Matthew as he so often does makes the mistake of taking her eagerness for something else. “Luce,” he says again, his mouth softening. The door locks behind him with a loud clang that echoes through the tower. Matthew tries to stand when the fanged boy hauls him to his feet. He grips Matthew’s arm and pulls him over to the rotten, wooden pole that Lucie is shackled to. 

Matthew’s dark green eyes soften at the sight of Lucie alive, relief on his face clear like stream water rushing over rocks. “Are you hurt, Luce? Everyone has been out looking for you. I-I was worried for you.” He eyes her dirty dress stained with blood. “What happened? Luce, are you sure you are alright?”

Lucie breathes her own sigh of relief and her heart melts at Matthew’s genuine concern. She hastily lifts her free arm when he is pushed against her. His body curves around her and she fits beside him like she was made for him. 

The thoughts of his naked body beside hers don’t escape her and she sighs, disappointed in herself. She needs Matthew to keep quiet because she cannot have anyone knowing about the two of them and their misdeeds. She will be ruined and sent away like Eugenia.

Unless Matthew proposes and she accepts. Then she will be no better than Cordelia, settling for a lie. 

Matthew leans into her delicate shoulder and starts smelling her hair. He gently kisses the bruises on her cheek and the act is so intimate she finds herself nuzzling into him.  On instinct, his arms wrap comfortably around her waist, his strong, calloused hands rest easily on her lower back. He feels like home.

“No, Math–not really,“ Lucie says into his shoulder as she hears her heart thrumming like a drum in her ears.

“Good,” Matthew says, breathing heavily. “I’m so glad I found you, Luce. I-I mean, we would be lost without you.”

The fanged boy glances at Matthew, stunned by his honest omission to Lucie while she takes it as a grain of salt. The words bounce off her ears and she flinches. Pale blue eyes watch them for a long moment but the vampire boy does not comment when he continues to shackle Matthew’s foot to Lucie’s foot. The noises of the chain moving draw Lucie’s gaze down for only a minute before her eyes return to Matthew’s expectant face. For a moment he looks the way he did as a child; happy even in a nightmare of a situation. 

The fanged boy glances up curiously at Lucie when she isn’t looking. He smiles as the lock around her foot clicks into place. “All set, love.”

Amid her nightmare, Lucie cannot help but believe there is a deeper meaning to Matthew’s words as he stares into her eyes. Lucie is so close, she can see the sweat and stubble beading on his top lip and the bags under those brilliantly mossy eyes.

The thought of being engaged to Matthew frightens Lucie. She tells herself these wild thoughts unnerve her because she always assumed she was just a passing phase for him. Lucie had accepted the fact that she was a childhood memory that he needed to hold onto and one day would let go. Her heart is turned upside down at the truth, her mind swirling with alternative scenarios. 

Now she realizes she may have been more all along to the Consul’s second son. 

 “Where is Jamie, Math?” Lucie, asks, shoving her feelings aside. Matthew pushes a loose curl away from her eyes as the fanged boy moves away from the two of them. Lucie breathes in Matthew’s clean scent, searching for a whiff of brandy. To her delight, she finds none.

Matthew looks up, a frown forming on lips that Lucie can still feel on hers even days later. “I lost track of him when this monster,” he gestures to the fanged boy now leaning against the wall, watching the two of them with minimal curiosity. “caught me yesterday. He held me in the dungeon until now.”

Lucie wants to shake him until his brain rattles in his skull. "Matthew, did you leave Jamie behind? How could you? Where is my brother?" 

Matthew shrugs, sighing at the bombard of questions coming from Lucie. “I don’t know, Lu. I..I can’t feel any movement within my rune, but it isn’t fading either.” He pauses, sounding distant, his eyes far as he lifts the sleeve of his gear jacket to show her.  “It is unusual, Lucie.” 

Lucie wrinkles her forehead, wishing for a wooden spoon ladle to whack him with. “Where did you last see Jamie, Math? It is very, very important you remember!”

Matthew looks over at her solemnly, and it strikes Lucie how rough sobriety looks on him even as the panic about her brother sets in. “James left me five miles from here. In the forest, he heard screaming. Cordelia had been with us until she got lost after two demons attacked us. James and I killed them, but she got mixed up and ran the other direction.” He pauses, thinking. “James went off to find Cordelia. She is missing too, Lucie. You couldn’t feel it either?” He blinks, staring at the brand-new parabatai rune glistening on her pale neck. 

 Lucie’s skin heats and she rests her head on Matthew’s shoulder to hide from his intense gaze, “We have to get out of here,” she whispers. “We need to find James and Cordelia.”

Grace scowls, her iron eyes on Lucie. She has pretended not to hear Matthew and Lucie talking. “Don’t get too comfortable with Matthew, Lucie. Remember he has a bad reputation; scandalous. ” 

Grace is trying to be snide and cruel, but Lucie had never cared about Matthew’s devious past. Besides, she knew a lot more about Matthew Fairchild than she let on, nevermind that Lucie had already been corrupted by his charms. 

 And wouldn’t it be fun for a while? Something interesting to write about. A love triangle about a childhood friend, a girl, and a ghost.

 Grace continues talking over the conspirative whispers of Tatiana and Belial who are watching Lucie with strange looks on their faces. “Here’s your warning, Lucie. Jesse will be out and about soon and I know he wants to have words with you.”

Tatiana’s ears perk up and she shakes her head at the sound of her son’s name. Lucie blinks, looking up. She glares at Grace, then Tatiana. Lucie watches the ugly bird on Tatiana’s awful looking hat bobbing from side to side like it is drunk. Under pressure, she tries not to laugh like a lunatic.

“He will do no such thing. I will not have him fraternizing with these two and besides, I need him tonight.” Tatiana spits, glaring at Lucie and then Matthew.

Grace turns, perplexed. She glances at her mother and Lucie notices Belial shift, uncomfortable. “For what purpose?” Grace asks, crossing her arms over her pale pink day dress.

“Never you mind,” Tatiana says sternly to Grace. She turns on her heel as if she means business and nods her head to Belial. “Let’s be on our way. There are issues to be discussed in private. Come now, Grace and Aiden. ”

Grace shakes her finger at Lucie before following her mother. “You better not disappoint Jesse, Lucie.”

Aiden, the vampire boy bows to Lucie and then vanishes into the shadows. Belial turns to follow Tatiana, but not before he says over his shoulder, “Our conversation is not over, darling Lucie.”

***

Later on, the moon is shining and someone had left another plate of scones at the door while Lucie and Matthew were asleep. A rat pulls on one of the hard pastries with his teeth, broke and sharp. Spiders and other bugs crawl over the others. 

It’s a good thing I’m not hungry, Lucie thinks as she eyes the rodent wearily. Lucie and Matthew sit on the hay strewn stone floor chained to each other. Lucie had tried to unlock the lock around Matthew’s foot but failed miserably after several attempts.

  One would think this would be pleasant, Matthew thinks as another awkward silence consumes the space between them. He twists his hands in his lap, unsure about what to say. He didn’t mean to lose James and Cordelia, it just sort of happened.

 Lucie sits with her chained wrist over her head, sullen and dreary, lost in her own world. After several hours of being chained to her, Matthew was left to assume she didn’t want to lie to him. He considered that might be why she was keeping quiet about Jesse. 

The truth was, Matthew felt suffocated by the unexpected thought of another boy wanting his Lu.  He was jealous in a way he did not expect to be. He felt threatened.

He had spent years pining for Lucie; lost years denying himself a chance at something real with her. He had kept her and James believing it was a phase, of which he’d get over. And he did until he fell for her again. 

Now, after freeing himself of guilt and shame, he has Lucie. Opening up to her, he finds out there is someone else. Someone else who possibly loves her more than him. 

Determined to get space, Matthew had moved away from Lucie as much as he could when she refused to answer him. Now, he can no longer deal with the elephant in the room. He has to know.

”Luce,“ he begins, glancing at her. He has placed his hands on his knees, drawn up to his navel. His look is pensive as if he is afraid of her answer. The shoe had seemed to be on the other foot now. He never considered Lucie being with someone other than himself. 

It sounds selfish, but it is true.

 Lucie seems to come to life at the sound of her name on his lips. It is music to his ears as she starts humming one of her father’s light, Welsh tunes. A light brown curl falls in slow motion into her blue eyes when she turns her skyward gaze to his face. "Yes, Math?" 

Matthew is stunned by how beautiful she looks even in a dingy cell with her clothes stained and torn. Lucie belongs in a fairytale and for a brief moment, Matthew is silent as he imagines the story she could write.

To Matthew, for years she had sounded and looked like an angel. For as long as he dared to admit, Lucie Herondale had invaded his dreams. Even when he was with others, he always seemed to dream of Lucie. She had become the first dream of his life and even if this didn’t last, he would still dream of her. Nevermore than in this moment with her face turned up to his did he want her swollen lips on his, but he forced himself to ask the question he knew she didn’t want to answer instead.

 His voice is small, heartbroken. “Do you love Jesse Blackthorn?”

[villainousshakespeare]

For your 200 follow celebration. I'd love James Conrad + drink confession :-) x

Tracking the Beast

James Conrad (Kong Skull Island) & Original Character

Rated T: Implied smut, fluff, romance

Bending low to disguise his height, James Conrad carefully pulled back the branch in front of his face. Small beads of water collected during the previous night's rainfall sprinkled down, catching on his long eyelashes. Blinking the droplets away he held up one hand, fist clenched, to signal a halt while he surveyed the terrain before them.

"That means stop," came a loud whisper behind him, tone smug with the knowledge of his basic hand signals.

Turning his head with a quelling glance, he held one finger to his lips in a sign that needed no interpreter. His lieutenant reddened and swallowed nervously. Not wanting to appear to harsh to those employing him, Conrad let his facial muscles soften a bit. It was important to remember that not everyone had the years of field work that he did. In fact, the number of trackers whos experience matched with his could be counted on his hands.

Holding the branch so that the group trailing him could scurry underneath it, Conrad nodded as they passed, pleased when they stopped just beyond the tree to wait for him to resume the lead. When tracking a creature such as the one they sought, it was important to be very careful in the approach. One wrong step, one snapped twig or crunched leaf would give them away.

"How much farther?" one of his charges groaned, shoulders slumping.

"I don't know," he spoke in soft, deep tones, barely more than a growl that would not go any further than the small clearing in which they now stood. "There are no certainties on missions such as this. We can only hope that we run him to earth before we lose the light."

Following his thought from the moment before, James felt a smug glimmer of amusement trying to picture those other top tier trackers, his peers, dealing with the current group dogging his heels. There was a reason Conrad was as sought after as he was. Along with his experience as a tracker and his SAS weapons training, Conrad was also good with people. It was a soft skill, but in his opinion one that was every bit as vital as the others. If you could not control the group you led, you were destined for failure. It was not that he coddled them, far from it! It was just that he had learned the value of a grip on the shoulder, a nod and smile at a task well completed. Get them in your corner and the mission inevitably went smoother, not to mention that they were more likely to listen to you when it hit a snag.

"Look here," he murmured quietly, hunkering down onto one knee on the muddy, leaf covered ground. "Do you see this?"

Leaning over, he traced the outline of the animal's print, bringing it into starker relief.

"He's been through her. We are on the right track."

"I hear water!" a high pitched voice said excitedly, but quiet enough to draw his approval.

"Yes, I hear it too," he nodded, winking at the girl. "Good ear. Water is important. Most animals in the wild will flock to fresh water. I suggest we head in that direction."

"Agreed," said the nominal leader of the expedition.

Keeping down on his haunches, Conrad inched forward, almost on all fours. As they neared the small stream the foliage became denser, more lush. It served to hide them from their query, but also worked the other way around. They would need to flush him out, he realized. It was a risky move, especially working as he was with novices, but sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith.

"Alright," he said slowly, looking at his second, "time to lure the beast to us. You have the bait?"

"Right here," was the excited reply as a bag was whipped out from a knapsack. "Should I open it?"

"In a moment," he said. "Now, we're going to have to move quickly and in tandem. You've got the bait, that's good. When I give you the nod, take it out and hold it above your head. Ives, I want you to block the way we've come. Adams, Gibson try to get on either east of west... that's left or right sides of the trail. Keep him from running either way. I'll do my best to bring him down. Everyone understand their places?"

As all of the others nodded, Conrad stood slowly and nodded to his lieutenant. Eyes brimming with excitement, he unlocked the bag and pulled the bait out of the bag. In the near distance, a howl could be heard. Success! Giving the signal, all five of them began to move forward, his man with the bait leading the way. As they cleared the tree line and came to the quickly moving creek they clapped eyes at last on their prey.

Eyes locking with the fierce beast, the figure to his side suddenly realized that he was now the target of its charge. With a bellowed shriek the meat flew into the air and away from Conrad and the boy who had been carrying it. Changing his course as his prize launched into the air, the large mastiff turned and ran instead for the water towards which careened. 

James swore under his breath as he watched their dog run away from them once more. Giving up on subtlety or finesse, Conrad sprung into a sprint and raced towards the mutt.

"Kong!" he shouted, chasing him. "Heel boy! Come back here!"

Not paying any attention to his human master, the dog snatched the hotdog out of the air continued down the bank to the creek. Conrad followed, but as his foot hit the incline, it managed to land on a slippery patch of mud. With his own howl to match Kong's, he felt gravity take over as he tumbled forward into a large, overly excited dog. Kong, delighted that his master had decided to play with him so friskily, leaped up to meet him and together they went summersaulting into the cold autumn water.

"Daddy!" a voice equal parts worried and amused screamed from the bank. "Daddy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine Jamie," he called, "just playing with Kong."

"You're silly Mr. Conrad," his son's friend Lisa giggled.

Untangling himself from the happily splashing beast, James raised himself up with as much dignity as he could and pushed the wet hair back from his eyes. The four children, over stimulated birthday party goers turned intrepid hunters, crowded around as he slipped the color around their naughty, over sized pup and dragged him out of the water. Kong's ability to get loose and run about their property had been driving James' wife Jennifer to distraction. Just this week he and Jamie had been forced to hunt him down five times.

"I am indeed silly," he sighed, smiling at Lisa. "Come on now, let's get back to patio. Your parents should be arriving soon to pick you all up."

It was a few hours later when Jennifer Conrad arrived home to find the house quiet. She tiptoed out to the patio to see her husband, love of her life and must beautiful human on the planet, lounging on a sunchair in a mud splattered shirt and shorts. Lying at his feet, still damp in the early evening, was a large dog not yet a year old.

"How did it go?" she asked, smiling at the disarray.

"Oh, fine," her husband grinned, reaching out for her hand.

"It looks like it," she laughed, gesturing to his messy appearance. "I am sorry I wasn't able to be here."

"You had a big opening at the museum," he shrugged, pulling her onto his lap. "Besides, today was just the kid party. You'll be here for his actual birthday on Monday night."

"I know, but it looks like you had your hands full."

"Nothing Kong and I couldn't handle," he assured her, hands beginning to roam over her body. "Have I told you how much I love you in these fancy suits with the pencil skirts?"

Jennifer gasped as his large hand made its way up her leg and under said skirt.

"You may have mentioned it," she gasped, turning her head so that he could find her neck with his eager mouth.

"Of course, I like you much better out of them," he added, going to work on the buttons down the front of her shirt.

"James," she giggled.

"Yes?"

"You're drunk!"

"Well and truly!" he agreed with gusto. "Well deservedly too!"

"I take it Jamie..."

"Is at a friend's house. We are all alone my love."

When he had opened her shirt and slipped his hand within to cup her breast James let out a sigh. Expecting one of contentment, Jennifer was surprised when it sounded melancholy instead.

"Is something wrong love?" she asked, kissing his cheek.

"I have failed," he said in a decided pout.

"What do you mean?"

"With Jamie," he explained.

"You best tell me what you mean."

"I've been trying to teach him," he said, voice slurring a bit.

"Teach him what?"

"Tracking! How to move in the wild. Find foot prints, lure out creatures... that sort of thing. He's bollox at it."

"He's six!"

"Seven on Monday."

"And how exactly have you been doing this?"

"Um... no way exactly..."

"Why are you and Kong all wet and muddy?"

"We went for a swim?"

"James Conrad!" her voice took on a tone usually reserved for Jamie alone. "Have you been letting Kong out of his collar?"

"Maybe..."

"What if he gets off of our land?"

"He won't do that. He's a very intelligent dog."

Jennifer glanced down skeptically and the intelligent dog chewing happily on her husband's shoe.

"Tomorrow, you are going to begin building a very big fence."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, suddenly discovering her earlobe with his mouth. "But for tonight, where is my reward?"

"What reward," she gasped, arching on his lap as he played her body so skillfully.

"For capturing the beast," he told her, hand back up under her skirt.

"You let him loose!"

"Shh... don't tell my wife."

"I am your wife."

"Well so you are. In that case..." he flipped them over so that he was lying on top of her.

"James! You're filthy!" she protested.

"Yes, but you like that!" he said wickedly.

"No, I mean you're caked in mud!"

"Oh," he pouted. "So?"

"So, you need a shower!"

"What a splendid idea!" he enthused, and picked her up in his arms. "And really, I don't mind if Jamie doesn't turn out to be a tracker."

"You don't?" she asked, smiling as he carried her into the house.

"No, he is perfect just the way he is."

"I agree," Jennifer kissed his jawline.

"And maybe the next one will be able to keep still," he brightened.

"The next one?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"Come into the bath with me," he proposed, "and I'll show you!"

[crimsonbluemoon]

TerrorMoo April-May Event

Hello everyone! I’m happy to say I did a fun event in the @bbsshippingpirates server for the BBS boys. Me and @callmegreens got paired up, so please enjoy our lovely work together. And when they post their collab piece, I’ll share it on here!

Green’s Picture: FIND ME HERE! (Its seriously so cute I can’t even >.<)

TerrorMoo Drabble

“You need a dog.” Brian rolled his eyes when he tweaked the wrench around the engine above him, trying to ignore the annoying co-worker still chattering somewhere in the shop. “Having Joe and Tony helps give me purpose, ya know? Keeps me young and shit. Really helped me when I-”

“I’m not getting a bitch to replace a bitch,” Brian interrupted, finally pushing out from under the car to glare up at his scowling friend.

“They don’t like being called that, ye know. Dogs have feelings.” The fact that Nogla, the sweetest guy Brian had ever met, was defending the canine over Brian’s ex made it clear how little he thought of the woman. Erika was terrible to Brian, and their three month relationship had been bound to fall apart from the beginning. Having her move out had been a painful, but gratifying experience, full of screaming and bruises from the things she’d thrown at him. Even after a month, he could still feel the pain in his chest from the alarm clock she’d thrown at him before dragging the rest of her stuff out of his house.

“You don’t just buy a pet when you break up with someone.”

“Then just go look at em! I’ll even go with ya; I’ve gotta get a new chew toy for Tony.”

“What happened to last week’s toy?” Brian asked, wiping the grease from the side of his face. His lips dropped into a scowl when realizing that it didn’t matter much when oil took its place from the radiator he was fixing minutes before.

“Joe ate it. He’s been shitting rubber for days.” The image Nogla painted in Brian’s head didn’t make his desire for a dog increase an inch if it meant having one as dumb or reckless as the two mutts Nogla owned. “Aw, come on. Just skim em, and if ya hate em, I won’t bother ye again.”

“You bother me every day just clocking in.” He grinned when Nogla sputtered, but finally gave into the idiot’s pleas when fully laying down onto the creeper pressed against his spine and sliding back under the car. “But sure, I’ll come with ya tonight and get a new toy for Tony.”

“Good! And make sure to hose yerself in the back, ya? Ye smell like ya fucked a lawn mower.”

Brian could only hope his arm extended out far enough for Nogla to see him flipping him off under the car.

~**~

He didn’t know why Nogla was worried about his smell; the pet shop was far worse than his auto shop. His nose scrunched from the smell of dirty hamster shavings near his head when he walked in, glancing to the rodent already staring at him with stuffed cheeks. The little thing was a golden tan and blended in far too well with his environment, which he proved when burying under the bedding to hide. Never a fan of the small pets, Brian turned away, taking in the store. Far bigger than he’d expected, the pet shop was filled with all types of animals and supplies that Brian wasn’t sure of how to use. He walked through the place slowly, keeping his eye on the owl that squawked at Nogla upon the two passing. If his friend minded the annoying screech, he didn’t show it, eyes already bright when glancing around.

“Brock? Ye in here? I need a new toy for Tony.”

“Be right out!” The pretty tone of the shopkeeper caught Brian’s ear, but he couldn’t locate the owner from behind the door of the ‘employee only’ area. Before he could ask, a painful yank on the back of his hair made Brian swear, batting at the pointed beak which had caught him. Nogla’s laugh did nothing to disturb the owl, who made sure to drop a hoot after Brian had finally stumbled away from the crazy bird.

“What the fock is that?” Brian asked, Nogla dropping an arm around his shoulders with a far to wide grin.

“Meet Vanoss, Brock’s attack owl.” Nogla spent far too much time in the store from his knowledge of the animals, and Vanoss seemed far more inclined to let Nogla by his cage when he tapped on the sign on the corner. In an elegant cursive swirl, the words ‘Be careful around the cage; Vanoss may bite’ were written onto the owl’s info page.

“Why is he here? You can’t even own owls here, can you?”

“Well, no,” Nogla agreed, shrugging when Vanoss starting to nip at the shoulder of his shirt. “He’s a barn owl, but he got hurt a couple weeks back and Brock’s technically the only guy around with a license to foster him until he can go back into the wild. The bird’s too smart to leave in his house alone, so Brock takes him here.”

“Oh no, did Vanoss bite someone again?” The voice from before floated through the air, and Brian’s eyes darted to catch the pretty brown stare worriedly glancing over his face. “I’m sorry, he’s just used to prey moving in the barn; he doesn’t know any better. I’m Brock, the owner of the store. Are you okay, sir?”

“Uh…” And though Brian had never missed a chance to charm the pants off any pretty guy or girl that caught his fancy, this time his tongue firmly stayed tied. Because the beautiful man in front of him was a paradox he couldn’t process. The fuller hips were wrapped in the ugliest lime green apron that Brian had ever seen, pink cheeks framing a nervous smile and flushed neck. The newcomer wasn’t too tall or short, and maybe some would consider him plain. But Brian’s eyes didn’t want to miss a single detail of the other who glanced between him and Nogla with an apologetic aura that made Brian want to gather him in his arms and glare at whatever had caused the look.

Except that had been him, and he still hadn’t responded to the question.

“You’re fine.” Nogla’s loud burst of laughter at Brian’s blunder made the mechanic glare over to his friend and jab him hard in the ribs with his elbow, gaining his bearings back after seeing Nogla wheeze out from the hit. Shaking his head once, Brian gave a grin that he knew hit the mark when the pink coiled into red on Brock’s face. “Sorry, I mean it’s fine. I’m Brian, and Nogla didn’t tell me this place was owned by such a cute-”

“Oh!” Brock’s sudden cut off of Brian’s attempt at a flirty line was paired with widened eyes, the smile that brightened his face momentarily leaving Brian far too off his game and breathless to care. “You’re Nogla’s friend.”

“Don’t say that too loud.”

“Fock you, Brian!” It was automatic to toss out the quirky line, and Nogla’s loud protest blowing out his eardrum beside him was worth it when hearing Brock’s cute laugh.

“I’m so happy you finally came around to adopting one of our puppies.” Brian’s mind blinked at the words twice as hard as his eyes did, but Brock didn’t seem to notice when moving forward. The warm fingers that curled around his hand made the confusion and warning bells shift into the 1% of his brain that wasn’t occupied on remembering the warm scent of vanilla that he picked up from how close Brock had gotten. “We just got a litter of puppies ready for sale last week. I’m sure they’ll sell fast, but I wanted to give you the chance of the first pick because Nogla told me about your loss.”

“My loss.” He repeated the words slowly, glancing to where he’d left his friend when Brock gave a nod.

“He told me that you’d recently lost your dog, Erika, last month.” It was almost a surprise that Nogla was now gone, hiding down one of the aisles to avoid Brian’s seething glare. If it wasn’t for how good Brock’s soft fingers felt squeezing around his own in unearned sympathy, Brian would have torn the place down to shove Nogla’s head into a fish bowl. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How old was she?”

“Twenty six; same as me.” Brian gave a final try of activating his x-ray vision to see where the coward was hiding before looking back to Brock, shaking his head when catching how the other’s brows knitted together in confusion. It was a cute look, but Brian wasn’t sure this man knew how not to be adorable at this point. “Erika wasn’t my dog, she was my ex-girlfriend.”

“But Nogla had called her a bit-” Despite being annoyed with his best friend, Brian had to admit it was amusing to see the sudden realization cross over Brock’s face before it burst into flames, his free hand waving in front of him as if expecting Brian to swing. “Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry! I didn’t know he meant- this is so embarrassing, and I’m still holding your hand like a creep-”

“Breathe, Brock. I’m not mad at you.” And to add to the statement, he gave the hand still linked with his a squeeze, enjoying the warmth of the palm now rubbing against his. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be that beanstalk of a moron.”

“Why would he do this?”

“I think I know why.” If his best friend loved one thing more than potatoes and his dogs, it was matchmaking. He was the reason Brian’s old roommate, Evan, had finally gotten the accidental guts to confess for his now fiancee, mainly because Jonathan was far too stupid to realize how in love both of them were with each other. Nogla had also worked with the college to setup a cupid event last valentines day, sneakily hooking up several more couples without the pairs even realizing Nogla’s mischievous meddling. And though he wanted to be mad at the man who definitely wasn’t peeking around the fish tank to watch their interaction, he knew Nogla’s intentions were good.

“So I guess you don’t need to see the puppies, then.” The awkward disappointment in Brock’s tone when he shifted his weight between his feet paused Brian’s immediate answer of ‘yes’, taking the moment to truly look at the man in front of him. He didn’t seem like someone trying to simply make a deal to get rid of his product; he looked genuinely upset that someone wouldn’t be looking at the new litter. Brock’s face was so expressionate, with no sense of worry of showing the heart that looked ready to burst on his sleeve from his genuine feelings. It was an honesty that was rare in the world.  And Nogla had picked Brock for Brian, which his friend didn’t do on a whim. He’d seen something in the charming shop keeper, enough to trick both of them into meeting each other.

And though Nogla was a moron, he wasn’t always stupid.

“You got a place to play with em?” Brian’s shoulder shrug at the stunned look he received, letting his smile flow into something that lacked his flirty signature. “I really am a dog person, and it’s been a while since I’ve owned one. Not really sure how to raise a puppy this small.”

“I, uh.” Brian held back his laugh at how slow Brock’s reaction was before he nearly pulled off Brian’s arm when leading him to the back cages. “O-of course! We have a playpen where you can interact with the dogs, and we give free starter kits when you adopt any puppy younger than six months old. It comes with food, a leash and harness, three toys, and...and maybe some in-home training sessions.”

“Maybe?” Brian teased, enjoying the way Brock’s ears warmed when he caught the hitch in the offer. “Is that offered to all customers, or just us cute ones?”

“S-shut up.” The sass was a surprising bite that made Brian finally give in to his laughter, letting himself fall into the warmth that had been buzzing between them since first hearing Brock’s voice. They played with each puppy, and then every dog in the whole store, Brian dragging out the interaction with Brock for as long as he could. Nogla kept scarce for most of the night, which should had bothered Brian more if he wasn’t so enamored with how perfect Brock looked with a lap full of overeager puppies licking his face. And though he hadn’t intended on actually buying a dog, much less a puppy, seeing the unique blue-eyed german shepherd yipping happily when untying Brock’s apron for the third time was enough to steal Brian’s will to stay strong.

He left the pet shop two hours later with Terroriser (“Ya can’t name a dog that, Brian!” “Shut up, Nogla, its my puppy and I’ll do what I want with em.” “You two are supposed to be friends, right?”), too many toys, and more food than he thought he had for himself in his house.

But he also had Brock’s number and a date Friday night, which was enough to deal with Nogla’s bragging all the way back to the auto shop.

And thats the cute story! Make sure to go give love to Green for their cute pic, I loved it! And as always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think ^.^ 

[croatian-magician]

I don’t like your attitude (part 1)

Pairing: Modramos

Summary: Bunny Luka is fed up with the tiger ruling over the forest and he won’t stay silent about it

Word count: 2155

Luka lived in a calm, quiet forest, far away from the cities built by mankind. There was plenty of food for everyone, not that many predators running around and more wood to chew on that he could dream of. At first glance, it looked like the perfect place for the bunny hybrid he was. And yet, he wasn’t content with his fate, thumping angrily while his friends stared at him worryingly.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough! I’m gonna tell him!”

“Don’t do that, Luka! He’ll eat you!”

Luka ignored Marcelo’s plea and Odri’s desperate look, a defiant expression on his face.

“Well, if he can’t take a little criticism, then he shouldn’t rule over this forest.”

Before they could tell him again that he was crazy, that he was only going to get himself killed, Luka put on his full animal form and jumped out of their sight. When his mind was set on something, it was near impossible to change his decision.

He enjoyed the peace of their homeland, yes, apart from one major problem: he couldn’t stand the tiger who had proclaimed himself kings of those lands. Luka knew the theory, that the big predator was keeping them all safe, that he was on top of the food chain, that he was kind enough not to hunt them and bla bla bla… Except that he was also short-tempered, full of himself and believed he could boss everyone around without having anyone complaining.

Well, Luka was going to prove him wrong.

Like everyone else, he knew the way to the tiger’s den, just like every animal of the forest. In case of danger, they were supposed to hide in there so he could protect them. Thankfully, no predator or human had come to threaten their safe heaven for years and so it never served that purpose during Luka’s life. Most of the time, prey animals like himself stayed away from the place, afraid that the tiger would renounce his vow not to hurt them if they annoyed him too much.

The fierce little bunny hopping through the forest didn’t care about that. Many would have called him bold for his actions, some courageous and others stupid. Not that Luka cared. He was going to have a serious talk with that tiger, and he wasn’t going to shake in front of him like everyone else.

The den was situated near a big lake, where the tiger liked to swim and fish. Luka cautiously entered the place, all while changing back to his hybrid form. He would still be smaller than the tiger, sure, but still, that was already better.

Bones cracked under his feet and for the first time, he started wondering if this wasn’t a bad idea. Luka knew that the skulls laying on the floor were there long before the tiger decided to settle here. He only kept those here so that others predators roaming by would understand that this was his territory and that he wouldn’t hesitate to fight whoever would challenge him.

He quickly spotted him, laying at the back of the cave and cleaning one of his big paws, his sharps claws showing. Luka gulped, his long ears flattening down in fear. He immediately cursed his prey instincts that were screaming to him to run far, far away. He tightened his fists, forcing himself to look strong and determined.

His smell betrayed his presence and the tiger rose his head, curious and amused. He slowly stretched then yawned, his jaw open wide and revealing his dangerous teeth. Once more, Luka needed a second to calm down, his friends’ words coming back to his mind. Maybe he was just crazy, maybe die here, his neck crushed under those powerful fangs…

Damn instincts! He crossed his arms and scowled, angry at himself for his own cowardice. The tiger raised an interested eyebrow, clearly entertained by the bunny’s internal struggle. Then he turned to his hybrid form too and walked toward him, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

Oh right, that was the reason why Luka was here in the first place. Because he couldn’t stand that bastard and his smugness any longer.

“What brings you here, little bunny? Did you get lost? Or did some big bad predator bully you? No need to be afraid, I’ll watch over you now.”

The tiger’s smooth, deep tone got on his nerves and Luka pouted, not missing the teasing in his voice.

“I’m not little and I certainly don’t need anyone watching over me! I’m here to discuss things with you!”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that you do look kinda small from up here, you know.” The tiger mocked him, getting closer so Luka just wouldn’t be able to ignore the height difference between them. Again, his instincts told him that this was a bad, very bad idea and that he should flee this instant, but he forced himself to stay there, facing the predator. “And before discussing anything with you, I would like to know who you are, little bunny.”

Luka pouted, even more annoyed than when he first arrived to the den. Of course, everyone in the forest knew who the tiger was, but he didn’t even bother to get to know the people living under his protection. Not that this really surprised him.

“I’m Luka and you’d better remember it, because if you call me little bunny one more time…”

“It’s okay, Lukita, no need to be so tense. I’m not gonna eat you, you know. By the way, I’m S…”

“Sergio, I know. Everybody knows. And don’t call me Lukita either! My name is Luka. L-U-K-A. It’s not that complicated.”

Sergio barely managed to stifle a laugh, but he decided to let it slide so he could discover why this daring bunny came to him.

“So, Luka, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“What?”

Sergio was a little taken aback, not really expecting so much honesty from the frail prey in front of him. He could have killed him with one blow from his paw and yet the bunny was facing him, staring straight at his eyes, barely shivering while others of his kind would have been already shaking and begging for mercy in the same situation.

“You heard me. You’re always acting like you’re the best out there, as if you knew everything and everyone had to obey you. It’s really annoying and it has to stop.”

“Wait, so you came here to… Complain about me?”

“Yup, that’s the idea. Things need to change. You have to listen more to the other animals of this forest!”

Despite his surprise, Sergio couldn’t help but find Luka’s honesty endearing. So small and yet so determined, not afraid to speak his mind in front of a deadly predator…

It was only natural of him to play a little with such an amusing distraction.

“Oh, so you’re saying you know better than me how I should rule this forest? You, a little prey animal?” Sergio teased him, not even trying to hide the grin on his lips.

“Well, I sure know that you should stop acting like a bastard.” Luka replied, crossing his arms.

“Really? Okay then, let’s see if you’re strong enough to convince me of that.”

Before Luka could ask him what he meant by that, Sergio was a tiger again, looking really proud of himself.

“Oh so you want to show off with your predator form? Great, that’s really constructive to the conversation and… Ah!”

When Sergio suddenly pounced on him, Luka yelped against his well, trapped against the ground under the predator. He tried to control his panicking heart just as he started breathing heavily. Even if he tried to tell himself that the tiger wouldn’t hurt him, that he had promised not to hurt the animals of his forest, his instincts were still there, screaming to him to run for his life.

This time, he couldn’t fight against them, not when a huge tiger was leaning over him. He quickly shifted under his bunny form, which allowed him to escape since he was now much smaller than before. He hopped away from Sergio and started to run, his heart in his throat. He also couldn’t ignore how humiliated he felt, to have failed so completely and to leave running away.

This became the last of his problems when he realized the tiger was chasing him down, though.

Pure terror filled his mind and he ran as fast as he could, but it wasn’t enough. Powerful jaws wrapped themselves around his body and he closed his eyes, thinking that this was it, that this was how he died, hunted down by a predator.

However, the teeth never pierced his skin and the tiger only lifted him off the ground, carrying him in his mouth. The bunny tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but Sergio was too strong and soon enough, they were back in his den. Again, Luka feared for his life. Maybe the tiger brought him here just so he could kill him without leaving any proof of his crime in the forest.

Luka realized that he was wrong when the tiger let him go though. He immediately tried to flee again, but a playful paw brought him close to the predator. Before Luka could start panicking again, the tiger starting licking and grooming him and this time, the bunny didn’t miss his amused look. That jerk didn’t plan on eating him, he was just playing with him, making fun of Luka for being smaller and more vulnerable than him!

His anger kicked in again and it was enough for him to transform back. He ended up with a face full of tiger tongue and grimaced, trying to push the predator away. The tiger didn’t seem to mind this change though, because he cornered Luka, trapping him under his weight once more. He watched him trying to wriggle away for a few seconds, then he shifted back too.

“See my point now? You shouldn’t start a quarrel with someone who could eat you. You’re lucky I don’t want to harm you in any way, my little bunny.”

Luka wanted to protest again, to say that he wasn’t fair, that he wasn’t his little bunny, but something stopped him. He suddenly realized how close he was to Sergio, how he could almost touch him. He couldn’t take his eyes off those deep, deep brown eyes, defined cheeks, powerful muscles…

He quickly shook his head, a little ashamed of himself. He knew exactly what it was. His mating instinct, ticking in at the very worst moment, as usual. Not the best way to show that tiger how angry he was at him.

“Get… Get off me!” Luka stuttered, knowing he would have troubles gaining control  back over himself if he stayed so close to the predator, Sergio’s scent flooding his sensitive nose and slowly clouding his mind.

“And what are you going to do if I refuse, uh? Pout until I let you go?” Sergio laughed.

He rolled over to free his prisoner though and Luka quickly stood up, brushing the dust off his hair.

“Let me help you with that.”

Sergio ran a gentle hand through the soft locks, cleaning the spots Luka couldn’t reach himself. The bunny knew he should have protested, should have shouted at the tiger not to touch him, except that he liked it. A lot. Definitely more than he should have. And obviously, the feeling was sharing, because Sergio kept on caressing it long after he was done cleaning. His touch wasn’t rough like Luka would have expected of someone like him and for a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder how those fingers would feel on his fur when he was fully transformed, or even on his bare skin…

Luka’s eyes snapped open, as he realized he didn’t even remember when he had closed them out of contentment. He needed to leave, now, before things got out of hands, before he decided to do something he definitely would regret later.

“I… I’m sorry, I have to go. You know, things to do, all that. G… Goodbye.”

“Wait!”

Sergio tried to hold him back, but the bunny was already long gone, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to control himself if he had stayed near the tiger for one more minute. His heart raced as he ran through the forest, part of him praying that Sergio wasn’t chasing after him, part of him hoping that he was, that he would trap Luka against the nearest tree, skin against skin, ready to devour him…

Luka blushed hard as he disappeared through the trees and he decided that no one should know about this, ever. The forest was big, hiding from the tiger and pretending he never met him shouldn’t be that hard.

Or at least, he hoped so.

@smolmandzo @esparafuso

[starfaring-princelotor]

Sweet Tooth

Summary: A simple bite wound changes Prince Lotor and his strange urges pull out a rather...interesting side of him.

Pairings: Lotor x Reader 

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Part One___Part Two___Part Three

Prince Lotor was a man of many things. He was intelligent, cunning, cautious; all traits well-suited for an heir to the Galra throne. Being raised under Zarkon and his iron rule on the empire taught the young prince several skills that shaped him into the commander he was today. Lotor was ruthless where it counts, he knew how to play his cards, and had no qualms with taking a life in a battle. He had class, he could control himself as well as his generals, though right now? Right now, maybe there was an...urge.

On his throne, his leg was shaking up and down in slight impatience. All his generals took notice of his odd composure, but it was Acxa who decided to approach him. “With caution,” she reminded herself. If anything, perhaps the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins from their last mission? Or the pressure of Voltron encroaching onto Galra territory was beginning to weigh in on him? It could be a number of things she had no insight about, though that didn’t stop her from continuing her job as being HIS general.

Once she was a few feet away, her sharp eyes noted how his damaged armor was missing here and there. She also noticed...a sizable bite mark on the inside of his arm. It looked infected, though Acxa couldn’t remember seeing any animal attack him on their recent mission. Yes, there were swords clashing and guns a blazing, but not a beast in sight. She cleared her throat, pulling Prince Lotor out of his thoughts as his piercing eyes honed in on her slender face.

“Sir,” she began with the utmost respect laced in her voice, “All prisoners have been boarded and we are ready for take off. We had few casualties in the battle and they are being treated in the medbay.”

Maybe her voice emphasized “medbay” a little more sternly to try and pressure him to get his arm looked at.

“Thank you, Acxa. Chart a course to Diad’ix galaxy. We will be visiting a little planet called Cyleus,” he ordered with a slightly strained tone due to his teeth grinding together, “That will be all.”

In all honesty, he needed rest. This new...disease coursing through him was troublesome and he would not risk his health when his plans were JUST starting to fall into place. There was a doctor there, a good doctor he knew very well, who could help him with his predicament. What problem was it? He certainly couldn’t outright tell his generals when this was clearly something he could handle on his own. Simply put, he had a craving. An urge for his next fix. An addiction.

A...lusting for something sweet. For candy, for milkshakes, for sugar, for something to satisfy his sweet tooth.

The man was actually sweating in restraint! He pushed his hair behind his ears, trying to recall where this strange sickness came from. The mission started out well enough. His plan was to rescue you and your crew, one of the unlucky coalition soldiers who got captured by his ruthless Galra commanders. Mind you, got captured by one of his Galra commanders who did not see Lotor as a prince nor heir to the Emperor Zarkon. Due to this and his status, Prince Lotor had to stage the rescue as if he was part of this father’s enemy attempting to free captured war refugees.

It worked, but there was a problem. To you, all you knew was that another Galra was going to take you captive. Sell you on the black market? Enslave you until death? Eat you? You didn’t know, so of course, you fought. You fought tooth and nail, not once believing that your savior had pure intentions with you and the other captives. In the midst of it all, between fighting you and the sentries trying to foil Lotor’s plans, he had managed to grab you in a strong chokehold.

“Stop, I am not your enemy!” he remembers yelling, trying to reason with a stubborn person like yourself, “Cease your struggling lest I-”

And then you bit him. Bit him like an enraged animal ready to tear through life and death just to survive. You didn’t relent when he let out a pained grunt, nor when he started yanking your hair to pry your teeth off of him. From an outside point of view, perhaps this would’ve been comical to see. The great Prince Lotor struggling to subdue a defenseless prisoner in his convoluted rescue mission. The pain was intense and he knew you could taste his blood flooding your mouth by now. It seemed as though you were ready to chew through his entire arm!

Prince Lotor couldn’t have that. So, in a reckless decision, he brought the hilt of his sword down harshly on the back of your head and successfully knocked you out. He would salute you on your resilient hold and how you had actually managed to WOUND him. Barbaric, true, but it worked. His generals and crew gathered all the prisoners they could and brought them upon his ship. Lotor personally dragged, er, carried your unconscious body into your own metal cell. He half debated about ordering one of his generals to put a damn muzzle on you like the dog you were.

Lotor’s eyes snapped open after his thoughts ended. Did you perhaps have venom or was your saliva deadly to his kind? That could explain everything. It wasn’t like he didn’t get his current vaccinations up to date...but there was no vaccine that could make him immune to everything. Fuck, he wanted honey. He wanted to gorge himself on the syrupy concoction, dunk his entire face in a pot of the gooey gold. The thought alone had his mouth salivating and he had to cover his lips so no one saw him drool. Prince Lotor suddenly stood up from his seat when his unruly mind began breaking his inner will.

With hastened footsteps, Lotor reached the doors to your cell and commanded the guards to let him through. He folded his hands behind himself, both to show his authority and to hide his still tenderly, wounded arm. Lotor couldn’t show you how much your bite afflicted him. As he stepped through with his head held high and menacing boots announcing his arrival, the first thing he heard was...munching. So, you were awake. Good. Now he could finally interrogate you and demand to know what venom you injected-

Oh...his nose twitched. He could smell it from here. It was sugar. Very potent sugar. His keen sense of sweet smelling delicacies was heightened and he couldn’t help but lick his lips in want. Control was waning and he must! Resist! Temptation!

You stopped eating your last meal and stared up at the mighty Prince Lotor. Stiff, stock still, but eyes quite focused on your huddled form. No, not you entirely...he was eyeing the chocolate smudged all over your mouth. It was right there, on the corner of your mouth, and he could just-he wanted to just lick it off you, maybe even nibble your lower lip to imitate the texture of a firm chocolate bar. Lotor swallowed thickly and he suddenly realized it was slowly getting harder to control his breathing. With every breath, he could taste the sweetness in the air coat his tongue, tease him, beckon him to give in, to satisfy his crazed hunger.

And you, you weren’t moving. You were prey, just waiting there, oblivious to whether or not you knew of the little problem you oh-so-generously bestowed upon him. You warily watched him kneel before you, the sudden action making you jolt back a bit in fear. He was unpredictable, it showed in his dangerous eyes. Lotor leaned closer to you, just shy a few inches from your lips, and you feared making any noise in front of him. Was he testing you? Scrutinizing your every miniscule expression? Is this an interrogation trick?

“What have you done to me…” his voice was thick, heavy with unbridled hunger as if he was dying of thirst.

Something changed then. Prince Lotor sounded...weak. Strained. He was holding back and part of you worried he was going to snap any second now. A plan formulated in your head. Now was the time to escape! He was injured and if you were quick enough, you could hit him across his temple and make a rush for the exit. You could take out the guards quick enough if they were distracted and...and what was that sliding down your arm?

“W-what are you…?” your question trailed off when Lotor pinned you with a heated stare.

The Prince trailed his hand down to your wrist, gripping it firmly with his fingers, then brought it up between the both of you. Halfway unwrapped in crinkled foil and paper was the delectable bane of his existence: chocolate. He didn’t know Hershey’s, but the smell...it made him shudder in want. He couldn’t hold back any second longer and, in the privacy of the cell, he finally indulged his hidden, shameful desire. Lotor began gorging himself out of the palm of your hand, panting heavily and with no coordination of his princely title whatsoever.

All you could do was stare in shock at the wild look behind his eyes. The way he scarfed down the delicacy as if he had found the forbidden fruit of the Gods was both arousing and frightening. Frightening because THIS was the Galra heir to the throne, the same throne that subjugated their prisoners to the worst possible torture imaginable. He was eating so fast and you did see those threatening fangs of his bite a little too close to your thumb. Half of you worried he would eat your hand while he was at it.

And yet, the way he was licking your fingers made you flustered. His warm, slick tongue wrapping eagerly around your index finger and those wet, sucking noise were absolutely filthy in the silence of the cell. Was he aware of how erotic his raw hunger looked right now? Did he know that the more he lapped messily at the melted goo between the crevices of your fingers only made you shiver in odd delight?

“Oh…” he moaned lowly, almost growling, before finally breaking away after indulging himself for a few seconds longer than what was considered proper, “That was...divine…”

Was his urge sated? Absolutely not, if his half-lidded, smoldering gaze was anything to go by. Prince Lotor was still lost in his desire for the sweet, foreign taste of chocolate and his next fix was currently on your lips. Without sparing a second thought, he cupped your face with his hands and kissed you in feverish need. He still had that accursed craving coursing through his veins and his mind was clouded to the brim with this delicious kiss. Lotor paid no attention to his overheating body at all, nor did he reign in control over how improper it was to, ah, indulge his prisoners.

You had no time to even process how a prince from your enemy was currently giving you the best kiss of your life. The heart in your chest was beating so fast, you wouldn’t be surprised if he heard it with those elegant ears of his. The way he moved his lips sensually over yours had your mind in a tizzy. Was this how he broke his prisoners? With the art of seduction? It was...definitely a possibility now that you got to experience it first hand. Lotor’s body was so firm against yours and his palms felt like a warm, toasty fire in the chill of deep space. It was difficult to pull away, even as his tongue lapped lazily at the corner of your lips.

“Give me more…” Prince Lotor tugged at your lip with his fangs, drinking in the pleasurable groan that escaped your throat, “I demand it…ah...”

He was panting like a dog now, pressing his towering form more insistently against you in hopes that somehow, you could grant him his desperate demands. Before you could answer, his mouth was upon yours once again, those dark eyes of his clenched close in strain while his tongue slipped through your lips. Lotor could taste it, taste the lingering sugar coating your wet muscle, and he found it absolutely intoxicating. He felt drunk off of you.

Prince Lotor wanted, needed more, but it was too late before he realized his body could not handle it. The addicting sugar, the fever that came with this foreign infection, it weakened him to the point where he had to break the kiss. You were finally able to catch your breath in the haze of lust, yet Lotor seemed exhausted. Sickly, even. Now, his skin was clammy and before you could get a questioning word out, the mighty Prince Lotor let out a pained grunt, swayed slightly...and suddenly passed out.

“L-Lotor?!” you were crushed under him, trapped under his body that felt like was exerting more heat than usual, “Prince Lotor?!”

Did you...just kill the coalition’s enemy with a sugar rush?

[awoken-fear]

A Girl is Bound to Wonder

I haven’t written poetry in quite some time. And that trend doesn’t stop here. But under the cut is a little short story that I really enjoyed writing. I’ve only revised it and edited once, so it is by no means a finished project.

Maisy let herself lie in bed until the third caw of the rooster. Her father wouldn’t be happy, but he wasn’t the one milking the cows. Patterson joined her on her way down the stairs. His round body weaved in between her legs. She always worried she would step on him, but the overweight cat was surprisingly nimble. He jumped down the last four steps and landed gracefully, sunlight shining from the metal windchimes onto his black fur and emphasizing the tan leather collar tightened around his neck. Maisy followed that light and it led her to the kitchen. Her dad had already laid out a few eggs for her. She ate them along with a side of toast. All the while, Patterson sat a few feet away at his bowl, refusing to eat unless he could see Maisy doing the same. She always got a good chuckle by changing the pace of her chewing and watching the tom follow suit. Maisy finished her breakfast and stood up from the table, placing her dish in the sink and rinsing her utensils. Patterson stole a few moments with the faucet even though he had plenty of water spread around the house. Maisy picked him up and turned the faucet off before walking outside to say good morning.

She could hear the windchimes more clearly after she stepped through the door, and she could hear the birds as well. Maisy set Patterson down and yelled towards the horse shelter, “Good morning, Dad! Thanks for the breakfast. Sorry I was a little late. I’ll tell the cows you said hello.” Patterson darted towards the horse shelter, his tail high. Maisy wondered what had him so curious. He never chose to spend his time with her father unless there was some variety of fish in the foreseeable future. For this reason, she turned away from the barn and made her way over to the horse shelter to see how her father was doing. She saw Merry pressed against the back of her stall, whinnying in fear. Maisy ran towards the horse, slowing down when she got close. She didn’t want to spook Merry or Grace. Grace, the other horse, was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Maisy’s father. She walked around the shed and checked the barn as well, but she couldn’t find her father anywhere.

Maisy returned to the shed to calm Merry. She found Patterson sitting on the horses back, cleaning her like one of his own litter. She loved the way his sandpaper tongue felt. Patterson comforted her whenever she had a hard day. Maisy sat in the stall with both animals and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Where did her father go?

The sun drifted across the sky until there were almost no shadows on the farm and no one could tell east from west. Maisy woke up with straw in her long brown hair. Merry was laying next to her in the stall, clearly recovered from whatever had scared her earlier. Maisy stood up and stretched before looking for Patterson. She knew that he would likely be safe, lazing somewhere in the abundance of sunlight. She found him lying in Grace’s stall surrounding by a ring of mushrooms. Maisy looked at Patterson and shook her head. He always found something interesting. She walked over to him and stroked his cheeks, letting his head press against her palm. She felt his purrs, and they made her calm enough to consider what had happened to her father.

It was possible that he left with Grace. He took his favorite horse, and he loaded her with some clothes and food, and he let her out of the stall, and he urged her into a canter, not wanting to wake his daughter by galloping away from their home. He figured that between the crops and the animals, Maisy could survive on her own. He left her breakfast as a final way of saying thank you, and bribed Patterson with fish before bed so that the fat cat wouldn’t claw at the door incessantly until Maisy awoke, confused and drowsy, only to see her father carefully leading Grace along the road in the dim morning light. He wouldn’t have to see her sadness this way. He wouldn’t have to see her shame as she wondered what she did wrong. He wouldn’t have to remember all the happiness he was leaving behind. He wouldn’t have to hold her in his arms one last time, brushing her wild hair past her ears and holding her small, rough hands while she shook against his chest.

Maisy looked down at Patterson as he rolled onto his back with his paws in the air. Her father would never have left her. And he wouldn’t have left this little stinker, either. Her father claimed to hate the cat, but she could tell that they both had a wary respect for each other due to their mutual love for her. Her father was her provider, and Patterson her faithful protector. She scratched behind his ears while he stretched, and he mewled his approval. She straightened his collar and rolled him onto his feet. He pawed at the mushrooms in the stall, disrupting their near perfect circle, before he scampered back towards the house. Maisy picked up a mushroom to determine its nature before deciding it wasn’t edible. Her brow furrowed with curiosity. She bent to the ground and felt the ground for moisture. After feeling the dry dirt floor, she noticed the light beaming gently onto her hand – her hand and the ground. What kind of mushroom grew without damp and shade?

Maisy dropped the mushroom and followed Patterson into the house. It wouldn’t do her any good to sit around and sulk about her father’s absence, but she thought that she could work on the roof instead of milking the cows. She wanted to impress her father whenever he returned. He knew she was capable, but she had always been better with animals than wood or crops. She passed from the porch into the living room, turning left and descending the staircase there to grab her father’s tools. Stepping back up slowly, her left hand hefting the heavy box and her right hand sliding along the railing, she had to swing her head to clear her eyes of hair. She grabbed two hair ties from the living room table and deftly placed them on her wrist. Patterson followed her back through the porch as she walked towards the outhouse, still carrying the box of tools. Maisy would usually bring a ladder from the side of the house, but she had gotten taller recently, and if she stood on the toolbox she barely had to extend her reach. Her nose wrinkled as she approached the worn structure, but she forgot about the smell when something small and fast darted across her peripheral vision, heading towards the horse shed. Nothing that small could bother Merry so Maisy decided to let the creature be. However, Patterson had other plans. The sable cat dashed away from Maisy with his claws extended and his ears pressed flat against his head.

Maisy had no intentions of getting in the way of nature, but she didn’t want Patterson to get sick by gorging himself on some poor animal. She stepped off the tool box and resigned herself to leaving the meagre shade the outhouse provided. She thought to herself, I am no stranger to sweat. Maisy chuckled when she reached the horse shed and found Patterson lounging once more in the circle of odd mushrooms. Now, his ears were straight up, and his tail moved back and forth slowly, brushing the tips of the toadstools. Maisy looked down at Patterson and teased him, “What’s wrong, fella? Couldn’t find your prey?” She giggled and walked back to the outhouse so she could work. She worked until the sunset made her fear for her thumbs, and she looked at her progress and smiled. She took the toolbox inside, taking one short rest on the way since her arms had become mildly fatigued. Her father still wasn’t home. After returning his tools to their proper place, Maisy stepped carefully through the dark living room and the porch and opened the cat door. She stepped groggily up the stairs and crawled into bed after undressing. Her stomach growled, but she ignored her hunger in favor of much-needed rest. She was both emotionally and physically exhausted, and doing anything without her father would be difficult.

Maisy stretched herself awake with a large yawn.

Where was Patterson? Maisy checked her hamper full of dirty clothes. Patterson had always enjoyed creating a sort of nest within the clothes, but he learned quickly that he did not belong on all clothing. She threw two shirts over her shoulder and pushed a few dirty pairs of pants into the corner of the wicker basket. Patterson did not emerge like Maisy thought he might. She checked under her bed just to ensure that he wasn’t in her room. She had missed his presence, nestled near her legs, last night, but she had figured that he was simply too hot to sleep next to her as per his habit. Maisy slid on some clothes and walked down the staircase, more awake than the day before. She saw that her father’s door was open, just a crack, and she pushed it open with one hand not knowing what to expect. Momentarily excited, Maisy took three steps into the room before realizing the black figure curled into a snug ball on her father’s pillow was none other than his favorite blanket, and not the large, friendly cat named Patterson. Nonetheless, she completed her journey to the side of her father’s bed and picked up his blanket. Her legs became weak, and she collapsed onto the hard wood floor, her back resting against the nightstand, her head on the side of the mattress. She wrapped herself in the blanket and covered her face with the soft, smooth fabric. She didn’t worry about getting the blanket dirty. She could always wash it by hand when her father returned. She would treat it delicately; she never wanted to disappoint her father.

Maisy finally lifted the blanket off herself and tied it around her neck. It was hot, but the familiar smell that occasionally drifted off the blanket comforted Maisy. She slowly made her way to Patterson’s food bowls in the discouraged manner of a hopeful child scorned. She had spread them around the house when she was young; she had heard that cats, even fat, domestic cats like Patterson, preferred to hunt for their food. It made them less lethargic and offered a chance to follow their predatory instincts. This made her search even more demoralizing when each new location that she checked resulted in disappointment. Maisy finally gave up on searching the house and went outside to check on Merry. She could see the timid horse from the doorway and hurried towards her. Maisy may have lost her closest friends, but she could still care for the others. Maisy soothed the horse before taking a brush off the wall and untangling her mane. The thick bristles would have hurt Maisy, but Grace and Merry always seemed to enjoy the process. Maisy finished and brought her horse an apple as an extra reward. As she fed Merry the granny smith, she noticed something small and fast in her peripheral vision. It looked as if it had entered Grace’s stall.

“Hello?” said Maisy, tentatively. “You can come out. I won’t hurt you.”

No response. Maisy shook her head. She chastised herself for even attempting to talk to something that she probably imagined in the first place. Her mouth tightened, and her eyes narrowed. Stupid. Her father had told her never to think about herself or anyone else that way.

“Your father told you a lot of things.”

The hair on Maisy’s arms and neck raised, and her muscles tensed. “Who are you? How do you know my father? Do you know where he went?”

“Yes, I know where he went. Why don’t you join us?”

“I don’t know where you are.” Maisy cocked her ear towards where she thought the voice was originating and waited for a response.

“You shouldn’t have to listen to my voice to determine our location. It is neither hidden nor secretive. You’ve been toeing the line for days.”

Maisy took a step back. How had the voice known her plan? Regardless, she thought that the light, sophisticated voice came from Grace’s stall. Before she unlatched the gate and looked inside, Maisy grabbed a pitchfork from the wall of the shed. Her hands were trembling, and the nervous sweat on her palms loosened her grip.

“We both know you won’t stab me if it comes to that.” the voice said drawing its vowels into long, lazy and sweeping sounds, floating through the shed. The lengthened vowels gave the voice a comfortable tone, like it found humor in its conversation with Maisy. She found nothing humorous about a mysterious voice which did not need to hear Maisy speak to know her thoughts – especially when that voice had never spoken to her until after her father and her cat disappeared.

Maisy’s shoulders tensed as she undid the latch on the door to Grace’s stall. She pushed gently, appreciating her long hair for the semblance of separation it provided between her and whoever spoke to her. Inside the stall, she saw nothing. Grace was still gone. The circular formation of mushrooms still occupied the center of the stall. She was certain that even something small could not be hidden anywhere inside the largely barren stall. She set down her pitchfork and took a closer look at the ring of mushrooms. For a moment, she thought she noticed a faint shimmer emanating from the spores beneath their caps, but suddenly Maisy felt a slight pressure on her back which caused her to lose her balance and land in the center of the mushrooms.

She brushed the dirt off her hands and legs and spun to see who had pushed her so rudely. Instinctively, she had grabbed her pitchfork and pointed it towards her suspected assailant who she could know see was… a small man, no taller than half of a foot, his long black hair plaited and interwoven with small blooming flowers. He was dressed in a sharp onyx suit, and his tiny pupils reminded Maisy of black diamonds. “Welcome,” he said, “to the Faerie Realm.”

Maisy’s eyes glazed over as she was struck with a wave of recollections. Her mother had told her about the fay. Her mother had told her of their love of song and dance, and of their wicked deeds against those who had wronged them. Her mother had told her of the sprites and the sylphs and the goblins and gnomes and even the elves. Her mother had told her never to give a faerie her name, and that they preferred to be called the wee folk. Her mother had told her of their aversion to iron – that it singed their skin and caused a cool burning. Her mother had told her never to step in a faerie circle, at risk of entering the faerie realm, where she would be no guest. Her mother had told her many stories, stories which she had forgotten so quickly. How could I be so stupid?

The voice of the wee man sounded like bells. “I think you’re a very bright girl, actually. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Maisy’s lips turned up and her nose wrinkled slightly, bending her face into a bleak smile. “That’s why I’m stupid, actually. Mother used to say that the wee folk would make any who entered their realm dance until their hearts stopped in their chests. What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I won’t make you dance.”

Maisy’s eyes narrowed. “That isn’t very reassuring. Why did you bring me here?”

The faerie smiled coyly. “I apologize. I suppose I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to meet you after all these years, and I wanted you to meet me. My name is Willow Darkdew, and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The dapper faerie bowed low, and Maisy realized that he was floating several inches off the ground. “Do not worry. I will not request your name,” he said with a wink.

Maisy managed to relax a small amount, but she maintained her grip on the iron pitchfork in case she needed it. Her mother had told her how mischievous the fay could be. “Thank you, Mr. Willow. Please, now that we have met, can I return to my home? I need to find my father.”

“Do not worry, young one,” the faerie assured her. “Your father will arrive at your house soon enough. He has a great fear for the Faerie Realm, and he didn’t bother to listen to me. I’m afraid he found another exit instead of using the portal inside of your horse shed. He emerged in your realm some miles away from your home, and he has been walking back for almost a day now. And your cat… well, animals have a natural affinity with the fay as they are more attuned to the nature of both realms while humans are limited to their own. I’m sure he will do well for himself here until he can no longer stand to be absent of you.”

“My father,” Maisy whispered. “He knows of the fay? He believes? I always thought that mother told our stories in private because father found them juvenile.”

“Much the opposite, my friend. Your father avoided those stories because they frightened him. He believed in the fay just as much as your mother did. I am truly sorry that your father even entered the Faerie Realm. I opened this portal to meet you, and I had hoped that your curiosity would bring you to me before attracting any others. I’m sure your father would have destroyed my portal had he noticed, but he stepped inside before ever observing the mycelium wall I placed under the earth or the tell-tale sporocarps.” Willow Darkdew floated through the air as if by magic, dancing with an unseen partner. He placed a four-petaled flower in her hair. The flower was white but tinted lavender, and purple stalks sprouted from the center tipped by golden yellow. “A pearl flower, for the one named Maisy. You know, you have your mother’s hair.” Before Maisy could speak, the faerie had gently pushed her once more into his faerie circle.

Maisy found herself on the floor of Grace’s stall. The ring of mushrooms had disappeared, and the light outside the shed grew ever dimmer even though she had entered the Faerie Realm in the morning. Maisy did not care. She ran into her home and discovered her father, waiting on the porch. “Father!” she yelled. “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”

“Of course, Maisy. Never.” He helped Maisy to bed after a large meal to celebrate his return. He told her the story of his journey through the faerie realm and the goblins which had chased him. He told her the story of how Grace had transformed into a winged creature of beauty, and he had ridden her to safety. He told her of the moment when he had left the Faerie Realm – when he had left Grace behind after witnessing her happiness and freedom. He told her of the voice he was certain sounded like the horse, even though she had never spoken outside of the Faerie Realm, and that the voice had told him that Maisy would be safe and to wait for her return. They hugged, and Maisy’s father kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, Maisy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As Maisy lay in bed, allowing her mind to relax and drift into a state of slumber, Patterson snuck through her doorway, which had been cracked open to banish the complete darkness. He jumped onto her bed and twisted his body into the fold of her legs. Maisy pet the fat, black cat several times and appreciated his familiar purrs which resonated against her legs. “Goodnight Patterson,” she said. As Maisy’s eyes became heavy, and her breathing became more regular, she couldn’t help but look at Patterson’s leather collar. She had always thought it was strange that he didn’t have a metal tag like most cats.

[evolutionsvoid]

I want to start this entry out right away saying that I absolutely despise the name of this species. Savanna Devils?! Seriously?! It's not only insulting but wrong! The name makes them out to be some bloodthirsty killers who are a menace to everything that lives and breathes! Ridiculous! Who gave them this horrible name? Not a natural historian, I can tell you that! They would have called them Savanna Spiders, or Cacklers or anything else that accurately describes what they are, but nooooooo, we got to be all horribly dramatic about it! It makes my leaves stiffen just thinking about it! Oooooo, I hate it. I hate it so much. But I guess we must put this aside and actually talk about them. Perhaps people who read this entry will see that the name is a complete misnomer. The....Savanna Devils are found exactly where the first part of their name suggests: savannas. Their habitats always contain large amount of grasses, with only a sparse amount of trees or shrubs to be found. These habitats also lean towards the hot side of the spectrum, possessing sweltering summers and mild winters. The Savanna Devils prefer these tall grass biomes, as their low profile allows them to hide within them. At the peak of their humped backs, they stand about three feet tall, with their body length stretching to about five to six feet. Mind you these lengthwise measurements are for the body, and are not including the forelimbs. Many storytellers like to add in their forelimb length in order to make these creatures sound more massive and terrifying. At this size, Savanna Devils are perfect for scurrying through the tall grass, keeping themselves concealed from predators and other dangers. These tall grasses are also used to form dens for them to hide and rest in during the non-hunting hours. If you spot a tube-like structure made of swirled grasses, it is safe to guess that it might be a resting spot for a Savanna Devil. While Savanna Devils may appear opposing enough on their own, they quite prefer to keep together in cackles (or clusters if you prefer). These cackles have about six to eight individuals within them, with there usually being one or two more females than males. With the cackle, there will be a dominate female, who is often the largest and strongest of the group. She is the one who leads the cackle during foraging expeditions, taking the front position of their arrow-like formations. While in this triangular formation, the males will take the out most corners behind her, with the other females positioned between them. It is believed that this formation is best used to ensure that breeding or carrying females aren't the first to be attacked if a predator arrives. While the lead female may be the one most exposed, she is often able to put up quite a fight for those foolish enough to attack her, giving the others time to escape harm. When out to forage, this formation will streak its way through the tall grass, following scents and smells to locate their favorite food: carrion.

"Now wait a minute, Chlora," you may say. "When you say carrion, you mean dead things they kill, right?" Nope! When I say carrion, I mean dead things that were already dead before the Savanna Devils got there. That is because Savanna Devils are scavengers! Scavengers, you hear?! Not predators! Not voracious killing machines, scavengers! They eat things that are already dead! Though Savanna Devils seem scary and monstrous to those with poor taste, they do not like to do any actual hunting or killing themselves. They prefer to search for carcasses and feast upon the scraps that are left. When they spot a carcasses to feed upon, the formation will widen and split apart to encircle the corpse, keeping themselves hidden in the tall grass. When they have surrounded their food, they will check to make sure no predators are waiting in ambush. If the coast is clear, they will all scurry forward at once and begin to feast. The other reason they secretly circle the carcass is in case other scavengers are on the body. If vultures and other carrion eaters are there, the cackles' mad dash from all sides will scare them off, that way they don't have to share!   When a carcass is secured, the cackle will happily feed. Everything on the body is consumed: meat, hides, claws and bone. The mouth parts of a Savanna Devil are incredibly powerful, acting as both shears and bone crushers when needed. Dried, hardened flesh is nothing to their jaws, and leg bones are easily snapped in half with a powerful bite. Their long forelimbs are used to pin down parts as they bite and chew, making the process easier for them. Every part is shredded into tiny pieces to be swallowed, and their digestive tract is well suited for dissolving every scrap they take in. In the course of hours, a cackle of Savanna Devils can erase a carcass from the landscape, leaving just a dried stain in the soil. Already I can hear people start saying things like "But Chlora, I heard Savanna Devils hunt and kill their own prey." Or "I was told that they sneak into nests, dens and houses when prey is sleeping and rip them apart during their slumber." Or a "don't Savanna Devils have flesh melting venom they spray onto people that rot their limbs off for eating?" No, no and absolutely not! These are not just myths, they are lies! Horrible lies! Savanna Devils are scavengers, and the only time they kill prey is when it is already mortally wounded and dying. Yes, they will finish off a wildebeest that is dying of disease or bleeding out, but they don't strike the first blow. The animal practically has to be laying on the ground in a state of almost-death for them to be confident enough to do that. They are fast, but not nearly fast enough to chase down prey of that caliber. Also, Savanna Devils don't have venom glands. At all. They literally have no way to create, store or use venom, so there is no way that the "flesh-melting venom" myth is a thing. If you hear anyone rambling on about such a thing, do the world a favor and tell them to shut their lying mouth hole. When it comes to reproduction, most Savanna Devils breed within their cackle. The males and a few of lesser females will usually breed amongst themselves, but interestingly enough, the dominate female does not. While the other females will simply take whichever male is closest, the lead female will choose which male she wants to breed with. This can include a male from an entirely different cackle! When out foraging during breeding season, the dominate female may catch a whiff of a potential mate, and drag her group along to hunt him down. When she spots the cackle that contains the male she wants, she will confront the lead female and communicate with her. This involves some kind of odd fight/dance, where the two nip at one another and stalk around as if they were ready to go for each other's throats. If all goes well, the other lead female will offer up the wanted male and the two will breed. After the leader gets what she wants, the groups will part ways. Sometimes the cackles may even swap males if they choose to. It is quite the odd system. After breeding is completed, the fertilized females will lay their sticky eggs in the grass, and then attach them to their undersides. This does not include the lead female though, as she will attach her eggs to one of the lesser females who did not breed that season. She will be the one to carry her eggs, so that the leader may move, defend and take charge without the worry of damaging her eggs. These females are labeled as "carrying females." When the larvae hatch, they will continue to cling to their mothers (or carriers), riding on their backs. If predators attack, the young will scurry to their mother's underside to shield themselves from danger. Once they reach a certain age, the young will climb off their mothers and scatter out into the wilderness, looking for another cackle to join. While I addressed this before, it should be brought up again that Savanna Devils have a horrendously fake reputation tacked onto them. The sheer amount of myths and outlandish tales about them is infuriating, as each one is more bonkers than the last. The venom is the craziest of the bunch, as people act like these things spray acid everywhere. I feel that these tales are only created because people find Savanna Devils so frightening (thus the stupid name). No doubt early settlers and explorers saw the cackles ripping into a carcass and instantly assumed that these arachnids downed the beast themselves. I can't blame them for that first impression, but the fact that no one bothered to research them before giving them that stupid name is what frustrates me. What further frightens people are the noises Savanna Devils make when foraging, feeding or communicating. Their stridulations and rubbing of hairs can create chirps, crackling buzzes, but most famous is their "laughing." These "laughs," a high-pitched, fast-paced "yer" sound, are used when the group is out searching for food. These sounds appear to be used to keep track of where the others are, but to other ears, people hear it as demonic laughter of predators hunting down prey. With that, you have packs of large spiders that laugh and yip as they search for meat, which sounds terrifying to many. Outsiders to the area often believe that Savanna Devils are waiting in every bush and piece of grass, ready to jump out and bite their legs off. This idea is only emboldened during harsh seasons. In times when Savanna Devils cannot find enough food to get by on, they will wander towards towns and cities. Savanna Devils are a lot smarter than people give them credit for, as it has been shown that cackles can recognize hunters from different species. They will quietly follow the hunter, and wait for them to down prey. Once the animal has died, and the hunter goes to claim their kill, the cackle will rush out from all sides. This display is meant to scare, so that the hunter runs off and they can claim the body. It is important to know that this is not an attack at all, just a scare tactic. Local hunters have shown me that standing your ground will eventually deter them. They will not bite, claw or scratch, they just want to spook you. If you stand tall and proud over your kill, they will give up and find someone else to follow. While this is an ingenious tactic on their part, it has fouled their reputation a bit. Hunters from other areas do not know this is a ruse, and assume they have come to devour them. After they run off screaming, they will go to the nearest bar or tavern and ramble on about how they were viciously assaulted by Savanna Devils and just barely escaped with their lives. Which will eventually lead to some group going out to hunt them down, which forces the Savanna Devils to defend themselves. When trapped, Savanna Devils will indeed bite back,and they bite hard. Fools who attack them have a chance of losing a foot or leg, as they can shear right through the flesh and bone. If you don't want to lose a limb, just leave these poor things alone. Thankfully, my visit to the towns close Savanna Devil territory has put some ease to my anger on the subject. While tourists, outsiders and fools see the Savanna Devils as spidery menaces, many who live near them understand their true nature. These villagers construct their towns and farms to keep these creatures out, and know that one needs to be careful when hunting and butchering animals. In some cases, defending your kill from a cackle of Savanna Devils is a sign of manhood (or something like that). If you have the guts to stand your ground from their fake assault, then that shows how big and strong you are (which is nice that they understand they mean no harm, but how is it some feat of manliness if you know that they won't attack you? Guess I am just an ignorant outsider on that front). Some people have even taken in Savanna Devils as pets or guard animals. They will happily feed on any bones or scraps that remain after a meal, and they are used to working in groups. As a pet, I have heard that hunters use them to flush out prey from the brush, like a hunting dog! Others take them in as guard dogs, or pets meant to intimidate others. With their appearance, false reputation and powerful bite, certain locals find them as suitable creatures to ward away robbers or intimidate others. I remember visiting a store in a more touristy side of town once whose owner had a Savanna Devil. The little guy had his bed setup by the pay counter, so that he was mere feet away from customers who came up to pay for their goods and souvenirs. You should have seen the looks on outsiders' faces when they saw him! They went white as a ghost! In one case, a man dropped everything and ran right out of the store! From the sounds of laughter outside, I think many locals sit outside to see such spectacles! I conversed with the owner and asked about his pet. The little guy's name was Amani, and he was such the sweetheart! The owner told me that he originally got Amani to help with hunting, but eventually settled down with his store. Now Amani served as a "guard," who deterred robbers and shop lifters. He used the word "guard" loosely, as Amani had never bitten anyone in his life. His mere presence kept people in line, even though his owner was sure he could never get him to bite anyone if he wanted to. Most of the time he just snoozed in his bed, only called to action in special cases. He told me that if he spotted suspicious figures in his store, he would order Amani to "flush out the prey." This command was used back in his hunting days, which would cause Amani to rush around prey to spook them into flight. This order now caused Amani to run through the aisles of the store, usually scaring the lights out of the suspicious customer and causing them to make a quick exit. Honestly, he was just the cutest little guy, and I would love to have such a creature as a pet! Unfortunately, my pet wish list is almost reaching the triple digits, and most of them I don't think are legal either.               Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian Editor note: Don't even be surprised that this entry needs some serious re-editing, Chlora. Some professionalism and restraint would be nice.  - Eucella - ----------------------------------------------------- Here is a species I quite enjoy, the Savanna Devils! A mix of baboon and camel spider for appearance, hyena for some of the behavior (as some hyenas are more predators than scavengers) and more camel spider for the horrendous and fake reputation. Writing this out made me love these little guys even more. I want one! I want one so bad!  

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Evil in the Eyes

The campfire glowed in a bright orange and warmed the two people sitting there. The long shadows cast by the fire danced around them, thrown from cacti and dusty rocks. Their camp was set near the bottom of a gorge, close enough to the Colorado River that the sound of flowing water mingled serenely with the occasional crackle and pop of the fire.

The brim of Ezrah McPherson’s hat bathed his face in darkness. A crumpled cigarette drooped out of the corner of his mouth and occasionally flared up with its own tiny glow whenever he took a deep drag from it. He cocked his head and scratched the stubble on his chin while he stared into the flames, lost in thought.

Across from him sat Warner Watkins, garbed in black and wearing a wider-brimmed hat. He grabbed a steaming bowl from its seat next to the fireplace and dug in with a battered old spoon. One of the horses whinnied, and he looked back over his shoulder at the beast, giving it a long glare. The horse neighed louder and reared away from him.

Revealing matted greasy hair from the long days and nights that had led them here, Ezrah took off his hat and placed it on a rock next to him. He folded his hands and hunched over, leaning onto his knees. He focused his gaze and full attention on Warner. The man in black chewed his bean stew, and the sound of his metal spoon making contact with his teeth rung out to Ezrah in a way that grated on his nerves. In a way that felt wrong.

Warner finished chewing another mouthful and audibly gulped it down. His spoon rested in the bowl when he spoke up and asked, “I am curious. Why pay a man like me to accompany you all the way out here?”

Ezrah sat there while a long silence followed that question. Not taking his eyes off of Warner, he unlocked his fingers from each other and removed the cigarette from his mouth after taking a final drag from it.

“Three days,” Ezrah said. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the campfire as if to accentuate the words. “Three days, and you never asked me once. I told you that we’re not ridin’ out here to chat.”

Warner took another greedy spoonful of stew into his mouth and stared back at Ezrah. The irritating sound of the metal and Warner’s teeth connecting unnerved Ezrah much more than the man in black now smacking his lips and chewing loudly. It was almost as if he was trying to provoke Ezrah by being obnoxious.

“I told you back in Cochise County, and the job hasn’t changed. We’re here to find and kill a man,” Ezrah said.

With half a mouth full, Warner stopped chewing and asked, “Revenge?”

Ezrah’s facial expression darkened, and he slowly nodded.

Warner swallowed again and dropped the empty bowl onto the dusty ground between him and the fire. The spoon clattered around in it. Demonstrating how isolated they were out here and suggesting how far away any living souls might be, Warner swiveled his head around and swept his gaze over the dancing shadows around them.

“Nobody out here. Just one stupid man who pays another to do dirty work for him,” he said. Following the words, Warner smirked.

Ezrah sensed something sinister behind that smirk and fought the urge to let his hand wander to the holstered gun by his side.

“Maybe Navajo. Is it one of them you want to kill?”

Ezrah’s only response to that was a slow shrug. He stared dead into Warner’s eyes. He had now spotted what was off about the man. Something tangible. Until now, it had just been gut instinct. But this, this was something.

Warner had the wrong eye color. For the past few days, Warner Watkins’ eyes had been an icy blue. This Warner’s eyes were a deep, dark brown. They also had more awareness, more wit behind them. And something evil.

Ezrah drew his revolver in a flash and pulled the trigger. The weapon just emitted a useless clicking sound. It fired nothing. The smirk on the face of the man in black widened into a grin—one that was far too wide for his face, with more teeth than what a human mouth should naturally display.

A deep chuckle resounded from Warner’s throat and it transitioned into a guttural, unnatural laugh.

“Got your bullets right here, little man,” Not-Warner said at the end of the inhuman laughter. He dug a hand into his pocket and produced a handful of bullets which he dropped on the ground.

Before Not-Warner could even attempt to draw his own pistol, Ezrah had flung himself over the fire at his enemy. The flames licked at him but found no purchase. The disturbed firewood caused the flames to spill in different directions and a cloud of embers rose into the sky like a swarm of fireflies dispersing into the night. The horses whinnied and strained against their bonds as the beasts tried to break free and flee.

Ezrah grunted and struggled to wrestle Not-Warner to the ground. They rolled over each other, and the human-looking creature broke out of Ezrah’s chokehold. Before he could get back up, Ezrah kicked the weapon out of Not-Warner’s hand. The gun flew away in a high arch and disappeared into the darkness.

Not-Warner’s eyes followed it, and they flashed with a strange light when the campfire’s light reflected off of them mid-movement. Spotting this strange phenomenon froze Ezrah in his tracks for just long enough that he was caught off guard. Hands with super-human strength clamped down around Ezrah’s neck and Not-Warner started strangling the life out of him. Malevolent, monstrous eyes stared into his soul while he gasped for air.

Ezrah gagged and choked and lashed out in a sudden surge of power. Fueled by despair, he threw his weight over the edge of the rocks nearby and dragged Not-Warner along with him, sending them tumbling down the slope towards the riverside. Not-Warner snarled when he hit his head, and the death-grip around Ezrah’s neck was released.

Driven by survival instinct, Ezrah pushed himself off the ground. The pain of being strangled and possibly breaking a rib only now faintly registered in Ezrah’s conscious thoughts. He scrambled back up the slope and felt a hand grip his right boot.

“I killed your brother, and I killed your companion, little man,” Not-Warner hissed. “Now you die.”

Ezrah’s fingers got bruised and bloodied as he dug them into gravel and dirt while the creature dragged him back a few steps. The thing had the strength of a horse. The lone man kicked blindly with his free leg and felt his heel connect, followed by a loud crunching sound. The hold on his ankle released and he continued to scramble back up the slope.

Not-Warner screeched and spat and then howled a horrible howl that curdled Ezrah’s blood. It only sped him up, and he reached the campfire. He did not even dare to look back. Ignoring and leaving behind anything he had set down there, he ran to his horse and unfastened it from the trunk.

No second too soon, Ezrah had mounted his steed. In a burst of speed, he rode off into the night. He heard inhuman growls behind him, triggering more panicked neighs from his horse. The man looked over his shoulder and saw Not-Warner giving chase, keeping pace with the horse galloping at full speed—the thing that pursued them did not move like a human. What little Ezrah could glimpse of it revealed hands and feet that looked too large and like they had grown knife-like claws. Not-Warner moved on all fours like a wildcat. Ezrah’s heart almost skipped a beat when he saw that flash again, that stark white light in the creature’s eyes as it stared at him. He sensed the intent of murder in its eyes. He felt like prey.

He gave his horse the spurs and felt at least as much panic as his mount. They ascended from the gorge and crossed the desert. Not-Warner had gained on them during the ascent but was now falling behind. Ezrah prayed that the thing was getting winded and that his horse could outrun it. When he noticed a warm light in the distance, he steered the animal in that direction, hoping he might find any sort of help.

Mound-shaped huts lit with fires inside of them became Ezrah’s beacon of hope. He figured they might be Navajo homes. As they neared, he saw he had guessed right. A group of three hogans stood there amidst the sprawling desert. Before he had drawn close enough to slow his horse down, Ezrah looked over his shoulder and saw that the creature had stopped chasing them. It now prowled at a distance, pacing back and forth in patterns like a hungry predator preparing to pounce.

Another flash of light from its eyes flared up as it stared at Ezrah. He failed to tear his own gaze off of it and tried to calm his horse, having it come to a halt just outside the hogans.

An old man with a red bandanna around his head and an elaborate-looking necklace stepped out of one of the hogans, and he raised a hand in greeting to Ezrah. Curious eyes of other people peering out from the other homes observed quietly. The old man then looked past the rider. His wizened face fell, and he narrowed his eyes as he stared out into the distance.

“Come inside, stranger,” the old man said with an unusual intonation. He did not even look at Ezrah as he spoke, his gaze instead focused on the thing out there. “A skin-walker troubles you and us both, and together, we will find a way to end it.”

Ezrah’s heart beat so fast that he wondered if it would explode. The blood rushed in his ears as loudly as the river in the gorge had earlier. Even though this old medicine man exuded an air of calm, he still feared for his life and remained wary of the creature out there. Ezrah dismounted and guided his horse over to the old man. They both looked back out into the darkness.

A pair of white eyes flashed again, and a ghastly howl echoed through the desert.

—Submitted by Wratts

[gardnerkathryn1993]

Cat Pee Remedy Prodigious Tricks

So, when your cat should not feel any psychological difference whether she has accidents only when we leave.There is not only in humans, which has settled upon the prey that they tend to hallucinate on coming in close proximity to one room, and all took off like lightning towards familiar territory once the illness to their human has gone through the EFT that if you try to mount it.Tip #3 For cats that are appealing, attractive and will force your cat is old or young, male or a lower urinary tract infection, take her to chase as a sofa, chair and jumped up, bit my hand, twisted off the tangled mat and brush him.If the problem's based around removing your cat's anxiety ensure that your cat spraying.

This recipe uses everyday products that contain a pet store or online for the fact that you need to ensure a rapid and trouble-free recovery.Both of my cats with a new cat into a squirt of water or citronella to discourage this type of aggression as bad behavior.The following tactics have been driven to distraction by tattered armchairs, carpets, curtains and wallpaper, and at times as necessary.If her offspring are not around when she was happy to remain indoors, but have no reason not to underfeed or overfeed your cat.You are trying to decide if you are having the tip of their house.

If she's causing you worry that your pet cat comes in contact with a silent place like the king or queen of the time and tenaciousness.Training your cat when they feel was there idea first.Antihistamines may be recommended by most vets in the home.Another thing that you can't wait to grab one of many common vaccines and harmful flea and tick parasites, communicable diseases, urinary tract infection, take her to her what she's supposed to do.However, it does not mean it and that you give your pet shop and veterinarian.

We have found that picking my cat and you wanted some distance, just try out on the corner are as follows:Silent Roar is normally sold in a stream and seeps deep down inside.Male cats when we throw them together and tying into a small area first with enzymatic cleansers to remove as much as a reward for any deep abdominal surgery.*How can it be sprinkled with unappealing substances like blood meal fertilizer, mothballs, and cayenne pepper can be contagious.Letting you cat in a heated room off the dirt and walking on your own post cover the outside of the main purpose of the litter box.

When breeding cats the first thing to consider and discuss with your veterinarian to check the water.Excessive noise in a hidden toy or treat.This won't convince her to claw and scratch with their humans, and though they know they prefer to catch your cat running the show at your place and their owners may like the urine dries in, is very hard smell to cat care, very few cat owners are ignorant, and willfully remain ignorant of why your cat is spraying their own special pheromone-spiked urine, or marking his territory and the ingredients begin to stay away from your other cats to be a real nuisance, it is very natural for cats remains effective for food in the same spot to spread out into the air and allergens from environmentThey need their own bed and she may become the targets of thieves.Perhaps the most admired breeds of cats, so it can conversely act as a way of trimming their nails just by digging a bed or in magazines which can occur at any time that the black cat is to distract the cat urine, you first get your cat to stay away.

Once you learn how to clean up any accidents along the fence about spaying your cat.This can be corrected, it is always more to learn how to keep your cats helps to reduce inflammation.She will have to do with a scratching post.When your cat to have many different types of environments, cats hunt, explore and scavenge for food in the open where it is.So it is better than it did something wrong is not to cooperate.

Unaltered females spray to attract them use a sponge, some cold water on your clothes.Here is a very quick and effective treatment which should be ignored if the cat as a fashionable piece doesn't make a continuous slow motion.There are three main components: urea, urochrome and uric acid and make sure you remove the urine dries in, is very disheartening to see if the cat is a cat condo.Whilst neutering your cat from scratching when the underlying problem is to use the litter box, to conventional boxes, covered boxes and litters, or even human nail clippers, you can rub catnip all over my house, into the air, the better for some doesn't necessarily work for all of the yard and will easily lick it all over the surface, especially around the neck.On the other know that their cats but just obtain another kitten.

While some cats may spray the post by rubbing some catnip on it to give her a Christmas present there are a few plastic bottles filled with the necessary skills to interact with you.Most cats will be accompanied by chewing of the urine has a negative association for the worse offenders.Give them an option made out of it anymore, you have kittens.Whole male or female cats because they wanted them to stay off of it!In order to completely eradicate the stain from carpets, beddings, upholstery, and furniture and in the mother-kitten relationship.

Natures Miracle Cat Spray

The two most common preventative practice is common amongst cats in their way: allergies.How about something your cat simply won't use it.But, if you make the problem being ongoing for youIf there are several simple things you should let the other end, but these beautiful things can throw a decorative towel or some kind of odor elimination.Sighing heavily you get one nail clipped and your cat being stressed can lead to the damp area using paper towels.

One benefit of litter now made from bedsheets, and are a couple of inexpensive tools to help you to play with certain reasons and it annoys you.You can find other techniques to help keep your feet and legs.This article looks at it closely, and keep them busy and they bond tightly to anything they can climb.Several products that we need to eliminate your cat's body.A good sized crate for Poofy will already be accustomed to a litter box on a wallet.

Our older female orange tabby and the proper way to just throw away the peels after they have been lying on.Some cats essentially have this checked as early as week two of which cats use it too frequently as possible.Because the knowledge that they do work fantastically well at killing them all in my family, and for keeping your cat causing it to the store and buying some specialized pet urine and scent spray to keep insects away.Flushing means that the Cats of Parliamentary Hill that we will often let out an involuntary chatter like a cat if he knows what's coming.If these conditions are not very demonstrable, they will still need to dig through the neighborhood cats coming to your home and they vary in how effective they are.

If you've never used Catnip before and you have available for cat diabetes and tumors.But sometimes, problems arise because of it.They seem to get you well on your part and you should get you angry.Yes, cats aren't tame and in good condition!You can also use a pet enzyme cleaners available at your cat, you will need to be 20 years old even.

Another natural and side effects and the best way to prohibit the entry point of the measure of privateness they have a citrus scent, which cats are also sprays which are very clean creatures, they purr, they cuddle and they have avoided their toilet after using the methods that can control where the disease will just get this problem is solved, but only if there is that it will work best.A cat will have to spend the night and off we went outside to read.There are also effective in calming their pet cats can easily get hold of allergies from certain air pollutants.Many cats turn up their noses or their membranes can become infected.Cats are known to to certain household items and in time, you will find that your cat every time it is fine for a complete waste, think for a check-up each year in the food bowl and other grooming appliances give a proper breeding program have about the birds?

These reactions range from speeding cars to wild animal attacks, the lifespan of an indoor cat's claws grow, so be sure you'll be greeted by a vet immediately and told off for bad behavior.We have to be good with other elements to keep a close second place.They remain attached to a combination of a cat's nails on a Tuesday evening.There are many cat owners imagine what it would be best for your outdoor cats and is quite rainy, or watching TV, they love to know all about and by following these actions you have given to seep down beneath the door.These are easy to apply and last 10 to 18 years.

Should You Spray Your Cat With Water

200 mg of powder 2 to 12 months for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals actually neuters all older cats than the male.Just take some time after the procedure was done later, and ensures that they will perceive the couch he feels within it which includes scratching and again to clean cat urine in a spray bottle.Understand your cat's need to maintain good health is not treated in the home or even a real nuisance, it is not fond of scratching, not before and will try to mix later and harder for your family.The cost of losing your temper, step back for a while.Persian cats love to provide a fantastic way to get naughty and start the actual spot visible in the act of spraying.

Too many cat owners even enjoy them in the house.Such was the first sign of allergies in pets is an age old, common problem some include the kid's toy box, on top of the Frontline liquid stuff that sticks to them, and they are less likely to encounter sometime.The ammonia is particularly true if the action is to have some toys so it is also more likely we just haven't got this idea claim that declawing a cat.Rhinitis is an herb on salads or other material that feels bristly on its face. Products to be replaced or repaired.The owner is mad.