#if the sheath is metal they might eat that too

[inamindfarfaraway]

My Pokémon Part One

Pherocket and Flarespray, Fire/Steel-type Pokémon based on spotted skunks and fireworks. Both stages of this evolution line are classified as the Pyrotechnic Pokémon. They’re near relatives of the Stunky line and in the Field Egg Group.

These crepuscular Pokémon live in harsh, rocky areas with temperate to moderately cold climates like mountain ranges, cliffs and some grasslands. They eat metal and metal compounds, their diet particularly heavy on alkaline earth metals, akali metals, and other pyrotechnic colourants (metal salts that burn with colourful flames), although we aren’t yet sure how they can tell the metals and salts apart. Going without enough of these for too long will make them sick, since their internal fire sac runs low on fuel. Traditionally they find their food in the form of natural reserves, often underground, but in recent years the ones close to humans are increasingly bold and clever in stealing our metal compounds. Working smarter, not harder and all. Eaten metal not in the form of flammable or combustible compounds reinforces their steely claws.

They have an organ called a launcher inside their hollow tails, a tough, flexible muscular tube that can push flaming projectiles out at unbelievable speed. The elements and compounds they consume are compressed into pellets by a branch of their digestive system, ignited and shot out as fireworks. Yes, fireworks. The human invention of them was directly modelled on this line! It is unknown how the Pokémon know how to produce the beautiful colours, but they appreciate and enjoy firework displays, suggesting they see the same colours humans do. The pellets technically can’t be considered excrement because they aren’t waste; they could still be digested normally if they weren’t used in this way. Due to the sacrifice of fuel and risk of attracting other Pokémon (especially Bug-types), the line prefer not to fire rockets and reserve it for self-defence and battles. Much more common launcher uses are expelling smoke, showers of sparks or split-second blinding flashes to intimidate threats. Before they even do that, they’ll wave their tails high, stamp their feet and stand up on their front paws. However, the launcher’s uses aren’t only aggressive. Smoke and flares are a means of long-range communication. Each individual’s smoke is laced with its unique chemical signature, so they can recognize, keep track of and send detailed messages to one another through their pheromones. Such signals are the main reason the mostly solitary Pokémon sometimes come together. They may be helping a fellow member of their species in distress or joining them in feasting on an abundance of food. They have an amazing sense of smell.

The first stage of the line, Pherocket (‘pheromone’ and ‘rocket’) is a small spotted skunk. It has a longer, more weasel-like build than the stereotypical skunk akin to the western spotted skunk, the better to dig tunnels with. Its coat is the indigo of the sky at dusk with broken stripes and spots of bright red and yellow, and its eyes are an intense green. The vibrant colours are a warning sign. Its fur is thick. Its protruding front claws are silver and strong as steel. Its long tail has a flared shape with the fur clumping in outward spikes around its circular end and is solid red to draw attention to it; looking down it, you can see the opening of the launcher. It is especially warm to the touch.

At level 33, it evolves into the second stage, Flarespray (‘flare’, ‘spray’ and a pun on ‘hairspray’). It’s still lean, but bigger and stronger with powerful legs and longer, sharper front claws for digging, breaking down rock and tearing metal. Its coat is now midnight blue and has a different pattern of smaller stripes and spots clearly imitating the steaks and sparks of light when a firework explodes. Its thick artillery cannon of a tail remains red, but has a helical green stripe along it matching its eyes. It needs more food and preys upon Steel-types that provide, and Rock-types full of carbon like Carbink and Rolycoly. It has even been known to mortally wound Copperajah with the power and precision of its projectiles. With superior stamina and metabolism to its pre-evolution, it can produce a greater number of more destructive and advanced pyrotechnics more efficiently. It is nicknamed the ‘painter of the the sky’.

Pherocket’s base stats:

60 HP

75 Attack

49 Defence

80 Special Attack

50 Special Defence

65 Speed

Flarespray’s base stats:

80 HP

100 Attack

70 Defence

110 Special Attack

72 Special Defence

85 Speed

Their possible Abilities are Intimidate, Sniper and Tough Claws.

Their signature move is Burning Hail. The Pokémon stands on its front legs and shoots an extra large firework directly above the opponent. This consists of a cluster of pellets, that rain down in a circle with glittery trails when it explodes. They too then detonate surrounding the opponent.

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Regional Forms

[autisticrosewilson]

Community Gardens

Eldritch horror Jason Todd ft. Worried brother Dick, the All-Blades (or a take on them), and magically corrupted Joker. @perseus-jackass

Jason is terrifying, is Dick's first thought. Well, that's not true, there hadn't so much been thoughts as icey hot fear zinging under his skin when he watched his little brother rush into the fray of monsters. When Dick watched the thing that Joker had become smile at him with too many mouths and reach for him with claws cobbled from rusty metal.

His scream had been drowned out by the many others, but no one had time to run after him when...when Jason changed. When the little globes of light had started pressing against his skin, trapped beneath it, before the flesh had begun dissolving in pools of glowing copper that spread like a thousand open wounds until little of Jason resembled something human and Dick swore he could stick his whole arm through the puddle that had become Jason's face. The ichor drips, lands in thick globs on the sand, leaves behind sparkling glass in his wake.

And then the wings had bloomed, protruded from the gashes and holes in his brothers body, sharp and metal and many jointed, reflecting the wrathful heat and light of the red sun overhead. It hurt his eyes but Dick couldn't stop watching the thing that his brother was becoming. Couldn't stop as reality split apart, some veil between what is and what can't be fractures and smoke pours through the cracks, thick and black and streaming through sharp archs and cascading swirls until they formed blades, each held together with Jason's divine magma, or maybe the other way around. It's the only similarity between the blades, big or small, oranate or plain, kitchen knives or children's toys, all made lethal and vibrating with barely leashed power only held at bay by Jason.

Jason, whose high above the ground, framed by shifting circular rows of angry blades. The nightmare monster laughs, a harsh grating thing that takes the voices of every person he's forced to laugh, layered over a canned laugh track that cuts itself off and rewinds just to play, cut itself off, and rewind again. It stands on its many limbs, things made from stolen flesh and bone and scrap metal that squelch and grind with every relentless jerking movement.

Jason's answering scream is a choir of agony, of inflicted pain and inescapable brutality, hundreds of thousands of victims cry in tandem, anguish given a voice that shakes the earth and rips open the sky and Dick's ears might pop or bleed but he can still hear the pain in every voice.

The blades descend like wolves, hungry and vicious, denied of justice too long. The monster screams, a nails-on-a-chalkboard-pipes-creaking keen piercing the heavy air, the blades seeming to eat away at the rotten flesh and junk that holds the thing together, until the creature is nothing but a writhing little body, pale and bloody and still choking on shrieking laughs, but the blades do not stop, from every direction they pierce him, dig in between bones with awful, slick, crunching sounds until the Joker is nothing but dust lost in the desert sands at the hands of divine retribution.

The blades squirm and scream, tormented souls avenged but not sated, blood of one not nearly enough to quell all of them. Jason does not let them seek anyone else out, he calls them back in a tongue Dick can't even begin to figure out and they all turn on him like a swarm of buzzing locusts. They sink back into his flesh, sheathing themselves in the wounds that had killed them, the brass wings retracting with them, until the skin pulls itself together, nothing but a flush to his skin to show that anything had ever been amiss, and then he's falling, a shooting star heading straight for the ground and Dick wills his weary body to cooperate with him as he runs to break the fall.

Jason lands in his arms and they both tumble into the hot sand but somehow Jason burns hotter, even through the protective fabric of their suits. He's still, too still, but he's glowing with life and Dick can feel the vibration of a scream building in his throat when he puts his ear to Jason's chest.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This one reminded me of Subnautica.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Injury, Violence.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬} • {𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐢’𝐬}

Collecting minerals across the deep-ocean floor was a rather pleasing experience, especially right next to the lava lakes and volcanoes. It was cool to see when they would pop and create this “pillow lava.” All round and bulbous, its sphere crust erupting to other Little Rock’s called “igneous rocks.”

Of course, you have to be careful on doing this sort of job. Be wary where you go, how deep you go, what and where you decide to collect your mineral or samples. Creatures and Mother Nature might not like you if they so much desire to rip you to pieces or shoot pillows of lava at you. It can be a very dangerous job in a second. So it’s best to leave it up to the professionals who have more experience for these types of jobs.

This also accounts for the equipment needed to use for this type of job. You can’t have some weak and classic diving suit to swim to the approximate depth of your area filled with underwater lakes of lava. That suit has to be modified for a human to be able to take on the heat of the lava in order to get the goodies like: Gold, silver, copper, manganese, cobalt and zinc.

Though, you gotta be careful of how much the human weight and pressure can take. You don’t want to sink to the ocean floor and be pressurized by the water for going too far down for a human being. So you got to be careful with your selective gear, but your absolute must haves are a storage pouch, underwater flashlight(s), lining, and a knife. All these are important for your survival into the depths of the ocean, and if you think you can take a harpoon? Go for it, the ocean can be quiet and scary when it wants to be.

Pushing of some rock with my hand. I avoided some hydrothermal vents as I took my diver knife from my waist and stabbed it into piece of rock wall a couple times, digging out some mineral with in it. The disrupted sand on the rock obstructing my vision for a second before I spot that shine of the material and grab the mineral with my other hand.

Zinc, I recognize from the splintery metal it has and the sheeny grayish color it’s known for. A good chemical element for to help you immune system fight of bacteria and viruses inside of your body. Though, I would not recommend to blankly just touch, inhale or eat raw zinc before giving it over to the scientists. It can could cause some side effects too like: Stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting. For higher levels: Anemia, damaged pancreas and decreased levels of high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol.

Opening my pouch, I place the small mineral into the storage pouch on the other side of my waist, from the knife holster and sheathed my knife back into its holster. Swimming carefully near the edge of the cliff where a lava lake resides just a few inches below. The boiling heat of it warning me if I was too close to it or not while I looked for some more minerals to collect. My feet and hands pushing off rocks when I didn’t find anything in the surrounding area.

I hum unhappily into my mask when I couldn’t find anything more than just zinc and occasional copper. Bubbles obstructing my vision when I stop and float in place, looking around me carefully for one last scan for minerals. The feeling of unaccomplishment pressing onto my shoulders as I didn’t want to leave the area without another mineral stocked into my pouch. I wanted them for a reason.

The weight on my shoulders pull off instantly when I spot a sliver of gold shining against the red and yellow of the lava lakes light. My legs already working to swim closer to the lava lake; more than one should. The heat threatening to burn off my heat resistant suit if I got anymore close to the lake, having its limitations.

Rounding the material, I made sure there wasn’t any more that I was going to miss. My hand reaching and unsheathing my knife back from my holster as I get ready to dig at it. Head tilting back and forth on how I would like to dig at it to make sure I didn’t damage the gold too much before resting a hand above it for support and giving the surrounding rock around it a good stab.

It took about 7 times before the noble metal popped off its spot. Breifly floating in the water as I made a reach for it. My fingers almost closing around the metal before I found myself scarcely close to the lava lake. A muffled cry ripping from my throat.

Rapid bubbles surrounded my vision as my hand clutches at my shoulder. A line of red threading through my fingers and through the water from the harpoon stuck into my shoulder. My back slowly burning up for being too close to the lava lake; like when you get too close to the campfire for comfort.

My eyes go wide when another harpoon tinks itself near my ankle, cutting my suit there as I scramble back as far as I could to the best of my abilities without getting scorched by the lava. The harpoon in my shoulder not helping when I find myself pinned under the hands of another human. Their knife threatening to crack my goggles as the tip of the knife scratches them, creating a line in them.

All I could hear from them are rough mumbles and gestures to my pouch. Their hands occasionally gripping at the harpoon in my shoulder for more power as I cry out at the pain of it being moved. Their eyes giving a certain glee when they did.

What was another person doing down here? Was this person a pirate? How long were they following me? Where did they even come from? How did they know of this area? It’s wasn’t common to have some search the floor of the sea for some scraps of minerals.

The person shoves my body back into the sea floor harshly and backing off; taking my storage pouch with them as I become lightheaded at the force of their push. That feeling of dread, sadness and questioning settling on my shoulders.

Why would one person what to steal from another and wound them in the process? If they could have asked I would have lended over some materials for them. I wasn’t a greedy person! That— that just doesn’t make any sense! Why steal when you have a perfectly good gear to come down into the depths of the water and steal from me?

I groan and exhale slowly in order not to cry at the loss of my materials and with the harpoon in my shoulder. My hand gripping at the handle and pulling the harpoon out with a painful jerk. More of my blood flowing through the boiling waters of the ocean depths.

I jump when a nuzzle to the back of my shoulder takes my attention when I look back behind me to the creature of the lava lakes. His black reptilian-like body rising out of the lava as it bubbles off his scales. His deep, yet glowing reddish-orange eyes, serpent-like irises with a solid black line going horizontally through his eyes looking me over. A deep rumble coming out of him, vibrating the water.

Relived it was just the sea creature, I reached up to the creature. His head coming down to nuzzle into my open arms. His form chuffing bubbles as he slowly moves to the wound on my shoulder. A low growl rumbling through the water before his long black tongue rolls out of his mouth and laps at the wound, sealing it up with his saliva as I nuzzle up against his shoulder, his appearance welcoming as the saddening thought of being stolen from still ranked through my mind. I was going to make a trinket for this loving creature, and now I have to start from ground zero.

The creature gently coos at me when he wants my attention, giving me a little kiss on the neck while he’s at it. His talon-like hands rubbing against my back soothingly. Prompting me to let go of him as he gestures and gently pushes me to go back to his nest. His form curling around me, blocking me for any disagreement of not going to his nest.

Pushing off the sea floor a little. I reached for the creature again before I went and nuzzled him right underneath his chin. Purposely exhaling bubbles as he gives these chuff-like sounds at my antics. Gently pawing at me to get me swimming back to his nest, and giving me a forehead kiss before I make my way back to his nest. His eyes carefully watching me go swim to the location of his nest before he turns a pushes off the ground with quiet power in his talons and tail with a new hunt in mind.

A vengeful one too.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ooh, you’re taking drabble requests? :D Could I get something with Legend and Warriors maybe? Angst or fluff or whatever (though you know I love hurt/comfort XD) Love your writing!

-Sky Floor

Thanks so much for the request!! 💖 I went with hurt/comfort ;)

Sorry it took me so long to write this! Hopefully it proves to be worth the wait

Warning: an animal is trapped and injured in this fic. It’s not graphic but keep yourselves safe!

Fic beneath the cut

————————

Legend has been gone for two days.

Hard as he tries, Warriors can’t stop the worry from seeping in, spreading past his careful defenses. The vet can handle himself, that much is for certain. But to disappear the way he did, so soon after they had been separated from the others and during an intense monster fight, it’s more than a little concerning.

When a day of searching ends with no sign of the veteran, it becomes even harder to keep his spirits up. The guilt certainly doesn’t help either. It drags at his heels, eating at him as he trudges onward.

How could he possibly have lost track of him? He’s usually so attentive to his surroundings. But Legend had been there one moment and gone the next, and he has no one to blame except himself.

The veteran has to still be alive, though. Warriors won’t entertain the alternative.

And then, on the morning of the third day, while searching a new part of the woods, he hears it.

The sound emanates from behind a nearby bush, an incessant banging and thrashing that echoes throughout the clearing. Warriors comes to an abrupt stop, frowning in its direction.

He’s no stranger to the many noises of the creatures that scamper throughout the forest. They frequently keep him company when it’s his turn to scout out the area, sometimes even playing about his feet as he walks. The rustling of their romps through the underbrush, the excited squeaking and chittering as they burst forth from it—these are familiar to his ears.

But this is different.

There is no playfulness here, no light-hearted mischief. These movements are panicked and violent, a terrible, unmistakable rhythm of flesh colliding with metal.

Something—or perhaps even someone—must be trapped.

Drawing his sword, Warriors steps forward. It’s a precaution that will likely be unnecessary. Still, one can never be too careful, especially considering the current situation. For all he knows a monster could be lying in wait, ready to pounce.

But when he pushes aside the delicate leaves, it isn’t a monster he sees. Though, Warriors is inclined to think a monster might make a bit more sense.

Caged in a small trap before him is a very angry, very pink rabbit.

The creature is in the middle of driving its shoulder into its enclosure, pure murder spelled out in its gaze. But then it catches sight of Warriors and stops short. Its body goes rigid.

It stares at Warriors and Warriors stares back. He blinks, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Out of all the things he expected to find this is definitely not one of them. A caged animal is normal enough. No doubt a nearby villager set this trap in hopes of garnering a meal or protecting their crops. The appearance of said animal, however, that’s decidedly not normal.

He may be a city boy, but he has enough experience to know rabbits aren’t usually pink-furred and blue-eyed. Nor is their gaze usually this sharp, this…human.

Warriors tilts his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. If he’s being honest, this is all a bit disconcerting. Still, he can see the damage from here, the unnatural bend of its left leg, the blood trickling down from its forehead. And it makes his heart clench.

He can’t very well just leave it here…can he?

With a sigh, he sheaths his sword. At this point, it would likely be better to just let the inevitable happen. With these wounds, the rabbit is unlikely to survive in the wild. But the very thought of leaving it to its fate sends a fresh streak of guilt shooting through him.

Besides, some small part of him has begun to wonder if maybe, just maybe this strange event has something to do with Legend’s disappearance. So, he bends down and reaches for the cage door.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmurs, with a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”

He hasn’t even managed to unlock it, however, when the rabbit levels him with a blistering scowl, opens its tiny mouth, and speaks.

“Congratulations, you found me. Now, drop the act.”

Warriors freezes, eyes going wide. He must have finally lost it because he’s almost certain that animal just talked.

…and sounded an awful lot like Legend too. And while finding their missing veteran in this manner wouldn’t be the strangest thing that's ever happened to him, it definitely makes the top ten.

He leans forward as though a better look will clear up things.

“Vet?! Is it really you?”

The rabbit’s—no Legend’s—expression doesn’t change. He can see it though, the utter terror peeking out from behind the anger. And is it just him or are there slight tremors running through his tiny body?

“Don’t you dare feign stupidity.” The vet jabs a paw in his direction. “I know who you are and you’ve got no right taking his form.”

Taking his…Oh.

The pieces are beginning to come together in his mind. The picture they paint isn’t a pretty one.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with,” Legend continues, voice brittle and bitter. “But don’t you do it looking like Warriors.”

Warriors reaches for the door again. It’s not a complex trap—though it’s certainly an effective one—and he manages to get it open quickly.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he assures, motioning for his friend to exit. “And I’m not the Shadow.”

Legend gives him a look of pure hatred and doesn’t budge. Warriors waits there, holding up the door for a few moments more, then sighs. He offers the vet his hand.

“Here. I must at least smell different than he does.”

Tentatively, Legend drags himself forward, tiny nose twitching. When the blow he is undoubtedly expecting doesn’t come, he gives Warriors a couple of good sniffs. And finally, his body relaxes.

“See?” Warriors grins. Relief washes over him in dizzying waves. “I told you it was me.”

Legend shudders, looking ready to either collapse or begin crying. Warriors can’t be certain which.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he snaps, but there is no venom in his shaky tone. He bats away Warriors’ hand and drags himself from the cage. “And that’s just my luck. Now, I’m never gonna live this down.”

Warriors looks back down at the trap, inwardly cringing. If the vet thinks he’s going to tease him about this, he’s sorely mistaken.

“I’ve been looking for you for days. Is this where you’ve been the whole time?”

Legend slumps, not meeting his eyes.

“Not the whole time.”

There’s a story behind that statement. One that is likely long, and unpleasant, and, unfortunately, necessary for him to hear. But before Warriors can press, a familiar screech shatters the relative silence.

He has never known animals to pale, yet in that moment Warriors is certain Legend does.

“Monsters,” he breathes. “The Shadow must’ve sent them after me.” He turns to Warriors, eyes wide, and terrified, and almost pleading. “I can’t fight in this form! I’m helpless!”

There’s an edge of barely concealed hysteria to his tone now. Warriors steps forward and scoops the rabbit off the ground. Legend lets out an indignant squeak, which he ignores.

“You won’t have to fight,” he says, quickly scanning the area. There’s a small cave nearby, and he heads toward it. “We’ll conceal ourselves here, let them pass by. If they still spot us, I’ll take them on.”

Legend has gone rigid in his grasp, but at that he slumps, looking defeated. And when Warriors tucks himself away in the darkness of the cave, his friend still held to his chest, the veteran doesn’t protest.

They sit in silence, as the monsters thunder past. Warriors half expects one of them to catch sight of the cave and take interest. But not one of them dares to break from the stampede, save to peek behind bushes and trees. And it isn’t long before their squeals and shrieks fade into the distance.

Warriors blows out the breath he had been holding.

“Looks like we got lucky, vet,” he says, a relieved grin pulling at his lips.

They’re safe, at least, for the moment. There are other things to worry about now…such as the tiny rabbit currently shivering in his lap.

He looks down at him, just barely resisting the urge to run a hand through his fur. “You okay?”

Legend shudders, ears drooping, eyes averted.

“I’m fine.”

He’s most definitely not, but Warriors lets it slide for now.

“Can you drink potion in that form?” He asks, already rifling about in his pouch for one. The veteran’s wounds look rather painful.

But Legend shakes his head. “It won’t work the same. I’ve gotta change back so it can actually heal me.”

“And how do we change you back?”

“With a moon pearl…or the Master Sword. Neither of which we have access to at the moment.”

Warriors sighs. “I’m sorry, vet.”

“It’s not your fault this form is useless.”

Legend’s body gives another little shiver. Though he glances at the entrance to the cave, he doesn’t move.

“It is my fault for losing track of you, though.”

Now, Legend looks at him, eyebrow raised in an unimpressed expression.

“What’re you, my babysitter? I can take care of myself, you know. I’m the veteran of hero business.”

Warriors lets out a dry chuckle. “Touché.”

He brings the veteran a bit closer, finally giving in to the urge to pet his silky fur. Though Legend hardly looks thrilled with it, he doesn’t pull away. He even begins to relax a bit after a few moments have passed, leaning into Warriors’ touch unconsciously. And when Warriors smooths a hand over one of his ears, he lets out a tiny sigh.

“This form isn’t all bad, you know,” the captain says, and Legend gives him a knowing grin.

“Why, because I’m soft and fluffy?”

A grin of his own lifts Warriors’ lips. “Maybe.”

The veteran hums. He shifts, settling in a bit more cozily on Warriors’ lap. Already, he is beginning to drift, exhaustion dragging at him. Warriors isn’t surprised. Though he doesn’t know the specifics of his unfortunate ordeal, he is certain it was anything but pleasant.

And if Legend feels safe with him, even while in this vulnerable (and frankly, adorable) form, he is glad of it.

“We’ll find the others,” he assures him, quietly. “Sky will be more than happy to help you out. You’ll be back in your Hylian form before you know it.”

And then we can get these injuries healed, he thinks as his fingers bump against a cut.

Legend gives another hum of acknowledgment.

“Hey, pretty boy?” He murmurs after a pause. “Thanks.”

Warriors smiles.

The sooner they reunite with the others, the better. For now, though, it won’t hurt to spend a few more moments here, watching the moon rise behind the hills and feeling his friend’s soft fur beneath his fingertips.

[thisisnotacampaign]

well this certainly got away from me. I meant to write something happy and then *gestures at whatever this is*.

-

Enoch curses and throws her dagger to the ground, the metal thumping quietly into the dirt. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Gods, I almost feel sorry for the bastard,” Larkspur sighs.

“He could have been lying,” Sparrow says, “he’s Lolth. And a sorcerer.”

“No,” Wren says tightly, “he spoke true. There was no deception in his voice.”

Lyra drops her hand and sighs. “I can feel it in the magic too. Whatever the curse on these things is it’s tied to him, and I don’t think breaking the curse would go well for any of us.”

“So we’re fucked.” Enoch blows out a breath, “Great. Wonderful.”

“We’re not-“ Lyra starts, taking a step toward Enoch, then stops and clicks her tongue, “- okay, it is pretty bad, but it’s- it’s just a roadblock-“

Enoch laughs, the edge of it tinted with hysteria, too loud and too hard to be real humor. “A roadblock? Lyra listen to yourself! This isn’t some minor detour, this isn’t something we can just move passed, this is the end of the road, alright? This is a huge fucking cliff at the end of the road!” Enoch paces, her tail lashing, her fingers sparking.

“We-“

“No!” Enoch makes a slashing motion with her hand, “Listen, for once in your fucking life-“ Lyra rocks back on her heel, her eyes wide, “-there is nothing left after this. There is nowhere else to go. There are no more healers we can try, no more mages we can ask, nothing natural or arcane or cursed or divine that can help us. The best we can hope for is to die before this sack of shit-“ Enoch kicks the unconscious sorcerer hard enough to smear blood across the rocky soil, “- gets himself killed and the rest of us lose our heads to the fuck shitting illithids.”

“Enoch, that’s enough!” Wren puts themself between Enoch and Lyra, like they think Enoch might actually try to hurt Lyra, and that’s—

“Go take a walk.” Wren says, and it’s clear in their tone it’s not a suggestion.

Anger and humiliation battle within her chest, right next to the frantic beat of her heart. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

“We’ll need to set up camp,” Sparrow says into the uncomfortable silence that follows, “if you want to scout—“

“Right,” Enoch says, and swipes her dagger back off the ground, rubbing the dirt off on her pant leg so she can put it back in its sheath. “Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Enoch tips her chin up and very deliberately does not make eye contact as she storms away.

-

Enoch felt there was this ball, a knot, at the core of herself, that was coated with anger. She could dress it up, wrapping it in cheer and empty platitudes, make it more genial, more palatable, so it didn’t seep out and poison everyone around her, but it was always there, sitting, sick and hungry, waiting for the moment her guard slipped so it could take lash out like a feral dog. That loss of control feels like a rush of freedom. It bolsters her, makes her feel confident, makes her feel righteous. And then, like the receding of the tide, the anger fades and leaves in its place both embarrassment and sorrow.

A hollowness begins, radiating out from that core, and sliding up arms and down legs until she feels cold and unstable. By the time she’s finished setting up camp and hunted dinner she feels numb from the inside out. There is nothing she feels, save for the dull ache, like the press of a bruise, she gets when she looks at Lyra.

She skins the rabbits she’d trapped and takes care not to tear the pelts. If her hands shake, well, it’s not like the rabbits are going to tell.

The mood around the campfire that night is tense. Even Larkspur declines to play their lute or sing. Enoch feels like she’s bleeding her upset into the very air. She can’t even make herself eat her half of roast rabbit, and instead hands the plate to Sparrow.

“I’ll take first watch.” She says softly, and pretends like she isn’t running away as she walks away from the fire.

The campsite she’d found them is a small clearing surrounded by clusters of dark pine trees and large rocks. She climbs up one of the rocks and sits. From here she can see the camp itself, as well as several feet into the forest on each side.

Enoch watches as the group finishes dinner and sets out their bed rolls for the night. Wren and Lyra lay theirs next to each other, Sparrow across the fire from them, and Larkspur at their feet. She watches Lyra check on their unexpected drow guest, still manacled and bound, still unconscious, and check the protective runes she’d placed around him earlier. They must meet her satisfaction because she turns away and heads back to the fire.

Hours pass.

Enoch watches the flickering shadow of the fire as it cools and dims throughout the night. She should have waken Sparrow or Wren for second watch already, but she doesn’t bother, she doesn’t even want to think about sleeping tonight. The forest drones around her. Insects buzzing, mice and frogs darting through leaves, the occasional snap of a twig under a fox’s paw. Sounds that have become just as familiar to her by now as the sounds of the city she calls home.

She misses Civitae. She misses the people, mostly. The laughter in the university courtyard, the children playing in Fountain Square, the warm smell of baked breads and savory pies. She misses the sound of cobblestone under foot, and the gentle murmur of distant crowds.

Even as she misses her home, she knows she would miss this too. The sound of Larkspur’s voice drifting over the campfire, the hum of insects in the air, the feeling of a casual arm draped over her shoulder, or a hand pressed into hers. She would miss Lyra’s laughter and Sparrow’s prayers and, gods, she’d even miss Wren’s awful snoring.

I love them, she thinks, and then, oh.

Because… of course. Of course she loves them. These people are the best friends she’s ever had, closer than even a sibling could be. It’s why this is all so terrifying. The thought of losing any of them makes her heart turn to raw flame. The fact that, if the sorcerer were to die, tonight or a decade or a century from now, they were all doomed to die with him. Or, not even be given the dignity of death, but forced to become the breeding ground for something awful.

I love them, she thinks again, pretending the beading up of tears at the edge of her vision is just from the bitter wind, I just wanted us to be okay.

Enoch realizes she can feel eyes on her. She wipes her hand over her eyes quickly, her other hand settling on her dagger. A silhouette is making its way over to her rock coming from the direction of the campfire. It takes very few seconds for Enoch to realize that it’s Lyra. She lets go of her dagger and slumps back a little in relief.

Lyra stops in front of her, staring up at Enoch from the ground. A pang of guilt swipes through Enoch at the look on her face. She looks exhausted.

“Can I come up?” Lyra asks.

Enoch blinks down at her. “Can you-“ Enoch shakes herself, “Yeah, obviously, you can- you can do whatever you like.”

Lyra watches her for a moment, like she’s waiting for Enoch to change her mind, before she climbs up to sit at the top of the rock next to her. She’s dressed in her thin camp clothes. Linen shirt and breeches. Not even a pair of socks. She shivers a little when the breeze hits.

“I’m sorry.”

Enoch almost breaks her neck with how fast she turns her head. “What?”

“Earlier…” Lyra catches her bottom lip between her teeth, “I tried to make light of our… situation. I don’t like feeling hopeless, and I just wanted… I don’t know.” Her hands, clasped in her lap, begin to fidget, “but you were terrified, and I just brushed it off-“

“You didn’t.” Enoch says, reaching out instinctively to grasp Lyra’s hands in both of her own, thanking each and every god she knows that Lyra doesn’t wrench away but instead leans into the touch. “I swear you didn’t. Lyra, I’m sorry. I was scared, and so angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Lyra says, tugging her hands out from Enoch’s, but only so she can hold her face in her hands instead. Her thumb brushes over Enoch’s cheek, and it takes a few seconds for her to realize that she’s crying. “I forgive you.”

Enoch’s breath hitches, and she wraps her hand around one of Lyra’s wrists, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat under her thumb. “I don’t deserve it.” She says.

Lyra frowns, a sweet little furrow of the brow and downturn of her plush mouth. She leans up and kisses Enoch, first on the mouth and then higher up, on her cheekbone. She leans back. “Don’t say that.” She admonishes, “don’t you ever say that. You’re my best friend Enoch, of course you deserve it.”

Enoch closes her eyes. Lyra’s hands are so, so warm. “I’ll earn it.” She promises.

Lyra huffs a breath. “It’s freely given,” she insists, “but alright.” She lets go of Enoch’s face, but takes ahold of her hands. “You’re freezing,” she says and Enoch opens her eyes to see Lyra bring her hands up to breathe warm air on them, “you need to come back to camp, get some sleep.”

“Someone has to keep watch.”

“We’ll wake Wren,” Lyra seems unconcerned at the notion, “you can take their bedroll. It’ll be pre-warmed.”

Enoch makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sigh. “Alright, I can be convinced.”

“Of course you can.” Lyra says, squeezing her hands, and she smiles like the sun finally coming out from an endless dark cloud, “I’m very convincing.”

Enoch lets Lyra guide her back down from the rock and back into camp. Lyra wakes Wren with a gentle hand and even softer kiss and asks if they’ll take over for Enoch.

To her surprise Wren does so without complaint- redressing into their armor- and even pats Enoch on the shoulder when they pass by to take up their post.

Lyra gives Enoch her privacy to let her change into something more comfortable to sleep in, and then guides her down into the comfy nest that she and Wren have made. The blankets are still body warm which makes Enoch sigh and close her eyes. She’s only a little surprised when Lyra lies down and immediately pulls her into her arms, tucking her head under Enoch’s chin.

“Is this alright?” Lyra asks, “I’m cold.”

“Yes,” Enoch says, and wraps her arms around Lyra in turn, “yeah, this is fine.”

“Good.” Lyra says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Enoch closes her eyes. She realizes, when she is just on the edge between wake and sleep, that the sharp ache at the center of her, for once, feels gentle and quiet. Then she is asleep, and thinks about it no more.

[starlightfyre]

What is a Draco? You've likely seen a little about them from my sister's post here! We share the same AU, so our stuff ties together!

So let me explain! They are a Kirby species of dragon from Tessa's comic series "Dreams of the Stars" and my series, "Starlight Dreamers"!

(Red Draco on the far left belongs to JumpyL123 on DeviantArt!)

These galactic draconic creatures are known by many names, some of which include "Dream Dragons", "Dracos", "Dragons of the Stars", "Star Dragons", "Dreams of Loyalty" or "Dragons of Loyalty". Who knows, they may have many other titles in other galaxies and universes! Wherever you may find them, they're quite special!

They have many purposes, but tend to be few and far between to the public eye. They are loving, caring, and protective. Many have devoted their eternal lives to protecting the stars from Nightmare's darkness, fighting Demon Beasts and other evils. Others, devoted to guarding and guiding the people of these worlds– be they seen or not. They're very big, but typically gentle to those that stand for good. Many Dracos follow a code based on that of the Knights of the Stars, making them wonderful friends and allies to Knights and Warriors.

They have many skills and abilities, as well! Be they masters of common or Super Abilities, or have Abilities never seen before; they grow stronger as the centuries go by. These galactic dragons are immortal by age, but are not unsusceptible to illness and death. But damn, are they hardy!

Once they die, their bodies fall to glittering stardust, leaving eternal flowers where they fall.

Some say Alphas with a strong core and a will to live can reform from the stardust before they pass, giving them second chances... Not many know if its true.

While they share the physical build and similar capabilities with other breeds of dragons, one of the things that make them so special is the ability to traverse space carried aloft by the stardust that makes up their physical forms, and the incredible loyalty that fills their core. They are ethereal creatures on the inside, made of very special magic. So while they might seem mortal, they're far from it. Simply? They're of a similar make as Demon Beasts, but full of light, dreams, and stardust. To identify a Draco the easiest, all of them have a star mark on their body that is essentially their version of a Warpstar. This star is their mark of loyalty and light, the place of their power.

On a lucky night, you might catch a Draco shooting through the stars, warping from one world to another! Either flying or running on a beautiful wake of dust and magic.

They are carnivores, but love eating most anything (don't worry, they don't eat people!). Gemstones and crystals are considered a wonderful snack! Their jaws are strong enough to break through rock, and their claws can shred metal. So be careful challenging one! They aren't typically hostile creatures, but they pack a punch if they must fight!

Most Dracos of the winged variety have feathered wings like that of a bird! And their bodies are usually covered in soft fur. Of course, it is possible to find a few decorated in scales and sporting a handsome pair of leather wings with feathers here or there. Oh, and their paws are usually very soft, because they like to keep their claws sheathed unless otherwise necessary! They come in three common body types.

Bashers (a Western Dragon body)

(Bowen on left, Branwen on right)

Lungs

(Meredith on left, Roark on right!)

And Wyverns.

(Gena on left, Patty on right!)

They are highly intelligent, capable of speech and using technology and tools. So make no mistake, they are not pets. Much like dragons of old, they can shift their form to appear as another race entirely if they must hide or go into small spaces. This is why they are often hard to identify in public, as some prefer to go unseen. Most Dracos of old are too prideful to hide their true forms, though.

Lastly, Dracos that have reached a primal age of mastery and power can undergo special transformations known as "Alpha Forms" or “Charged Ascension”. Usually hundreds of years old- even thousands, these powerful Alphas have become one with their abilities, so it alters their form when displayed, and the source of their power– their star marks, will glow luminously.

(Keva, owned by neonwolfz39!)

Say a fire Draco becomes an Alpha through years of survival and training, their fire will engulf their bodies like that of a phoenix. Or a plasma Alpha, whose form can become cloudy like a storm, discharging powerful voltages of electricity from their bodies and through storms they stir in the skies! Their horns/antlers can change, too!

Dracos can be found spread throughout galaxies and universes, but tend to be rare… There are also those corrupted by strong forces of darkness called Dracomares. These creatures have fallen from their place as bright, guiding stars; their light now tainted to walk among Demon Beasts… Dracos and Dracomares, though the same species, are not to be confused for each other.

But that's not to say they can't be nice as well. It just depends on your luck and how they were raised. Some can be downright evil!

Thanks for reading! That's it for my talk on these Dragons of the Stars!

"The stars shine brightly for those that walk the path of honor. For you, they cast like a beacon through the darkest of night. And so will I." ~ Branwen Stormbringer.

You can read more on them in this document!

[wisteria-aa]

I wrote something about my OCs. I’m not really good I only started recently so if any of you has advice you’re welcome. And I’m not a native English speaker so tell me if some grammar is wrong

Tw: graphic description of violence

Sunset Hours

It was almost dusk and as the sun's rays lit up the orange sky the Twin Moons rose on the opposite horizon; in the meanwhile Savika and Florian were leaving the little rural village.

The girl turned to check that no one was following them but the path behind them was empty; yet she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

“Savika, is everything okay?”

“Yeah… I just feel like we’re being followed,” she said as she looked around. She was exhausted. She hadn't been sleeping or eating enough since she ran away and perpetual nausea stopped her from doing both no matter how hard she tried.

Florian observed the surroundings carefully but did not perceive any danger “Maybe it's just those from the village who are curious to know what two foreigners like us are doing here. Not to mention that it's clear that I'm an elf. But I didn't notice any wanted flyers around the village. The danger might come from outsiders."

“Yes… you're right…” the other replied, although not very convinced. Since she was a kid she had learned to never let her guard down and, even though her life had been relatively serene lately, she couldn't relax.

They walked along the Asiteral Trail, staying at the edge almost inside the forest, since it was usually quite busy, because it was the only connection that most places had to the capital, and Savika didn’t want to attract too much attention.

To give reason to her paranoia there was a small group of people who were going in the same direction as them, carrying the horses by hand. They were shady characters, with weapons concealed under their clothes that Savika's trained eye noticed immediately, and were eyeing them suspiciously. Savika pulled her hood over her eyes to slip past them without being recognized. Unfortunately their gazes were focused on them, on Florian to be precise.

He attracted a lot of attention, not only because he was an elf but also because he seemed to brighten the places he was in with both his appearance and his personality.

His long blond hair shined golden in the last rays of the sun, contrasting the dark roots that peeked out of his scalp. He was smiling at her, a kind and reassuring smile, but she looked away, tormented by feelings that she couldn't even understand. However, she didn't have time to think about it because she noticed that the group they had just passed had shrunk from 10 to 6 thugs.

Savika suddenly stopped and with her arm blocked Florian and pushed him into the forest.

“Savika what-?“ she couldn't finish her sentence because she the girl covered his mouth with her hand, startling him. She didn’t notice but his cheeks blushed slightly at the contact.

“They're following us” Savika whispered, nodding her head towards a shadier, more hidden area of ​​the forest. Looking closely she could see two figures advancing towards them.

“There are two more behind and in front of us. Plus those left on the main road. Be prepared”

“Do you think they recognized you?” Florian asked worriedly, looking around.

“Maybe.” Savika pulled two knives from the sheaths at her hips and handed one to the elf.

From inside the forest there were sounds of breaking branches and a hissing whistle cut through the air. Savika felt a searing pain across her chest: a verretta (crossbow arrow) had pierced her body and came halfway out of her chest. Her vision filled with black dots and a trickle of blood began to come out of her wound, the hemorrhage stopped only by the same weapon that had caused it. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of her own blood and her fangs pricked her lips. Stop it. This is not the time she thought trying to distract herself.

“SAVIKA!” Florian shouted, turning to her with a terrified expression as she pushed him to the ground, just before a bolt passed over their heads, embedding itself in a tree.

The gang surrounded them while they were both on the ground and her leader placed a foot on Savika's back to keep her on the ground.

“What a surprise! The poster said 'Dangerous, approach with caution' but it took me one arrow to knock you out.” he mocked her and the other bounty hunters laughed with him "Thanks to you I will secure not only my freedom but also a life like a king!"

“You bastard-“ Savika growled through clenched teeth, collapsing under the weight placed on her. Her hair went over her face, narrowing her field of vision, and her own blood filled her lungs, rising to her trachea and filling her mouth. Another person was holding Florian still, who was shaking like a leaf and with wide eyes.

As her vision blurred and her breathing hitched, Savika felt her blood boil in her veins: she wouldn't die like that, she hadn't survived anything and everything to be killed by a bunch of chicken thieves. She tapped into that primal rage within her, the one that had been hers since she was born, the one that the High Priestess would have called Divine Madness, and she screamed.

The sky turned scarlet tinting the environment with that color and alike did her eyes, including the sclera. Savika turned the ring on her finger. Once. Her fangs elongated, piercing her lip, the new blood mixing with the blood from her lungs. Twice. Her nails grew longer as her skin grew even darker, turning pitch black up to her elbows. Three. Click. The sword's hilt fit perfectly in her hand, and its tip pierced cleanly through the man above. Blood and guts splashed around and covered Savika from head to toe. The girl fought and her movements were perfect, mowing down the men with her sword as if they were ears of corn.

The last one left was the one who was holding Florian down, who tried to say something, to plead for their life, but didn't have time. The sword split his skull in half, stopping a few centimeters from Florian's neck.

“Savika! What is going on?" Florian placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her out of her daze. “What have you done…?”Her eyes slowly returned to normal as did her arms, the black giving way to the brown of her skin.

“Ah… you… sorry…” Savika tried to clean his cheek, smeared with bloody remains, but she only left a bigger, bloodier imprint. And she passed out as the elf tried to catch her mid air.

[ehlnofay]

It’s dark, and the streets are emptying.

Caelestis stands, dithering, the new-acquired sheath of papers held tight in zir hands.

Ze isn’t sure where to go now. Are the notes urgent? Do they need to be delivered to Caius immediately, or is there time for zem to rest and eat and check on the nasty gash in zir calf? (Those spiders had wicked pincers. As interesting as they are conceptually – inorganic creatures that became and have remained animate – Caelestis has decided that ze does not like them at all. Their little metal claws took a chunk out of zir leg, and the wound has been open and weeping for days. And it’s just… unnerving, perhaps, is the word; they aren’t dead and they aren’t alive and Caelestis doesn’t really know any other categories in which to place them. They’re a league of their own, and it’s incredible, but it’s strange. Caelestis will just stick to the relatively tried and true boundaries of life and death. For now, at least.)

If there’s time, ze would like to visit Ajira. (Ask her for some ointment, maybe, or a potion.) And the man – Hasphat – had mentioned Sharn, so maybe Caelestis should talk to Sharn.

Maybe not. Ze still doesn’t really know what ze’s doing. Maybe ze’s not supposed to talk to Sharn.

Zir chest tightens suddenly, breath stuttering and stumbling over zir ribs, pressing zir back so hard against the wall that it feels like the shape of the bricks is imprinting on zir skin. Ze’s getting that feeling – the gaspy, small feeling that comes over zem every now and again, although it comes less and less as time goes on.

Ze doesn’t know what ze’s doing. Ze might be learning how to incapacitate a person in a fight or how to best conserve magic when in a dungeon so deep ze’s forgotten what the sun feels like, but that doesn’t make zem any less useless and confused and afraid, afraid, afraid all the time. No matter how clever and strong ze is getting (and ze will gladly own that ze’s gotten very clever and very strong) ze’s still just an aristocrat’s child. Caelestis knows how to puppet taxidermied cats and make rotting pet birds sing. Spending a week in the cavernous depths of a rusty Dwemer city and getting caught up in the Blades is too, too much. Ze’s in way over zir head. It doesn’t help that ze can’t talk to anyone about any of it. Ze’s undercover. It makes zem feel like zir entire life is pretend, a sham, and zir life already felt ill-fitting, like a too-long cloak. Ze barely knows anyone here, and because ze can’t tell anybody anything, ze feels like a liar to the few friends ze’s made.

Ze wishes ze could talk to zir mother.

The hand holding the sheath of notes is clenched into a fist, so that all the papers are crumpled. Caelestis forces zirself to relax zir fingers, to smooth the papers, to tuck them into the pocket of zir canvas bag.

Then ze takes a breath. Ze focuses zir eyes on the dark, empty street.

Lanterns, hanging atop poles and sitting in windows, still burn, so there is some light. The signs are still sewn into the tapestries (and Caelestis can even almost read some of them by now). Ze’s begun learning the streets of Balmora in a way that makes zem realise how little ze ever knew the Imperial City. Maybe in another few months, a year, two, this could be home. Maybe.

Ze will go to see Caius. Ze will deliver the notes and receive another assignment, if there is any to be had. Ze will learn to navigate this new life just like these new roads. It’s not the end of the world. And ze will ask about giving zir mother a return address.

Caelestis sets off, a (only slightly forced) spring in zir step despite the limp. Caius’ house is a rather long walk, but ze’s well accustomed to long walks now.

It will all be okay, ze keeps telling zirself, and surely it will be; it’s all like something out of a novel, and those always turn out well.

It will be okay, ze insist internally as ze walks, and then a hand clamps down on zir shoulder.

Caelestis flinches, breath catching in zir throat, a strangled cry only half uttered; ze’s never liked being touched without warning. Zir head whips around as ze tries to pull zir shoulder back, but ze can’t break the person’s grip.

The man holding onto zem is a stranger. A Dunmer man, holding a torch in his free hand, dressed in dull linen too thin for the cold night. His grey hair is loose, hanging tangled in his face, and when Caelestis makes zirself look at his eyes, they are glazed and vacant. A sick feeling settles in zir stomach like a stone, and ze tries again to pull away. Then he speaks, and for a moment at least, ze stops trying.

“I am a sleeper,” he begins in a tone as flat and glassy as stagnant water, “one among thousands. I bring you a message.”

Caelestis does not like this at all.

Ze should be disconcerted or frightened at hearing such strange and disturbing things from someone ze doesn’t know at nighttime when there’s no-one else around – and ze is, but the cadence of the words give zem pause. His pattern of speech feels out of time, emphasis on all the wrong syllables. (Ze thinks. Ze learned a lot of zir Dunmeris from reading, so ze could be wrong, but ze was scrupulous about making sure ze read the pronunciation right, so probably not.) Intriguing. Ze will write about it in zir notes later, but as of now the fact remains that ze is being grabbed by a stranger in a dark and empty street, and this takes priority.

“What is the message?” Caelestis asks, when the stranger does not continue. He doesn’t loosen his grip.

The hand holding the torch begins to dip. “Dagoth Ur calls you, Caelestis –” Caelestis flinches, “– and you cannot deny your Lord. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.”

Dagoth, the Sixth house. (Caelestis is hyperaware of zir bag and the sheath of highly confidential papers stuffed into its pocket.) How does the stranger know zir name? Caelestis grabs the man’s wrist and tries to pull his hand off zir shoulder. The fingers dig in deeper.

“I don’t understand,” ze says, with only a little bit of panic at the edges of zir voice. (The rest of the panic is well hidden.) “Please let go of me.”

The man’s eyes are empty. He won’t look away.

“Please let go,” Caelestis repeats, panic mounting. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know who that is.”

"He is the Lord and Father of the Mountain. He sleeps, but when he wakes, we shall rise from our dreams, shall sweep our land clean of the n'wah. Why have you denied him? As Lord Dagoth has said, 'All shall greet him as flesh, or as dust.'" By the end of this speech, the torch has sunk so far that there’s a real risk of it setting fire to Caelestis’ hair. Ze ducks out of its way.

Still tugging away, still not comprehending any of any of this, Caelestis looks back at the man’s face. “I don’t understand. Let go of me.”

He shows no sign of comprehension, either. His face is so still that he may not have heard it. His eyes haven’t lost that look. I am a sleeper. Is he asleep?

With a final, desperate yank, Caelestis pulls away from him. Ze steps away quickly, out of grabbing range – ze’s more than ready to run if need be – but he makes no move to clutch at zem again. Caelestis stands, shaking, arms wrapped around zirself; ze thinks of the notes in the pocket of zir bag. Sixth House.

“You said you’re of the Sixth House,” ze ventures. The man’s hollow gaze snaps to zir eyes.

“The Sixth House, the Sleeping House, House Dagoth, the House of Lord Dagoth. The true house, the one house to welcome all true Dunmer, and drive the n'wah from our land,” he says, and though his voice remains a drone and his eyes stay dull and glassy, his face creases in a scowl. His next words, still toneless, carry the hum of warning. “Take heed, outlander. The day of reckoning is at hand. Take what you can, and leave our place, for when Lord Dagoth comes, this will be no place for you.”

I am Dunmer, though, Caelestis thinks of saying, then thinks better of it. (When has that line of argument ever gone well? When has Caelestis ever honestly, truly believed it?)

Instead, ze takes a step back, and then another. The man watches zem, eerie and alone, until ze blends in with the shadows of the alley.

Then ze turns, and runs, and does not look back.

[ameronis]

What will you do? [Random Adventure #10 - Part 2]

It’s well after 11 pm when you finally trudge back into Slaryn house, and you hardly imagined you’d be so happy to see the place. Back in your room, you dump your stuff down on the chair, wash up in the bathroom, rinsing away the traces of dried blood on your hands, then soon collapse into the bed; clean and relatively soft.

The next morning, you wake more than an hour later than your usual early time, with sunlight peeking past the edges of the curtains, and the clock on the table reading 8:36 am. With no pressing need to get up, and no immediate plans, you remain lying in bed for a while, letting your body rest a bit longer as you continue to enjoy the warmth trapped in the blankets.

You think back to the events of the night before, and wonder what became of the thief. Did he wake? Did he find someone to take care of his injuries? You suddenly remember the items you took from him and decide to take a closer look.

You throw open the curtains and illuminate the room, looking down at the street below. People are already going about their business, moving back and forth on foot, or occasionally by small carriage.

You retrieve the confiscated stolen items from your bag, spreading them out on the bed. Wallets, money bag, amulet, loose money, dagger. You leave the two knives hidden and wrapped up in a bundle of your old clothes on the chair.

Neither the money bag nor wallets contain any identifying information save one, which has a small white card with The name “L Byrd” handwritten in a box on one side, and a series of cryptic numbers and letters on the other, as well as a date from several months ago. Not much to go by. You make a note of how much money is inside each of the wallets and the moneybag, and add to that the total of the loose money; you end up counting just over 250 cogs.

[AI image produced by Stable Diffusion]

The 8-inch dagger is light and thin, with a brilliant silver blade etched with rune-like engravings down the centre. It has a decorative guard, a grip inlaid with 4 small, clear gemstones, 2 on either side and a disk-shaped pommel with another rune shape engraved on it. You slide the dagger back into its sheath; gold-brown leather with silver metal trimmings.

You stare at the loot, wondering what you should do with it. Maybe you should try turning it in to the local law enforcement. Perhaps they could track down the owners, or those that were robbed might report the items missing.

Somewhere outside, you hear the muffled sound of a clock chiming. 9 am. You decide to think about it a bit later, but for now, you want breakfast. The hotel does provide breakfast for the guests, so you’d better get down there before it gets too late.

You get dressed, opting to wear your loose, comfortable outfit this morning. You remember the night before again, and check yesterday’s clothes; fortunately, there is no sign of a hole in the back of your top, and see no signs of blood, though the dark material may be hiding a dark secret.

You saunter downstairs and head into the small canteen, where a cook idly potters about with plates and trays of food, and two other guests sit eating their breakfast. You spy a small buffet-style table and go over to see what’s on offer. Even before you’ve reached it, the scent of fried meat reaches you, but by the time you get there, you’re already starting to have flashbacks. Delicious smell, horrendous food… You stare at the meat strips, wondering if they too are lying in wait, ready to strike you with disappointment or pure horror.  

“Is this going to be your final meal, or..?”

You snap out of it and turn to see Ameronis standing beside you. It takes a moment for you to fully recognise her though; after all, you only saw her face for a short time. She’s not wearing her mask or travelling robes at all, but instead is also wearing a casual dull-coloured outfit; in this, you can see that she does have a somewhat stocky build and medium-long brown hair that flows around her face. She laughs at whatever your expression was before you came to.

“Did the bread just tell you it killed your whole family? What’s going on?”

You groan and tell her not to ask; you’d much rather forget the stupid antics from last night. This only makes Ameronis even more intrigued.

“Oh? Well, now I have to hear it! What exactly did you get up to?”

You relent and agree to tell her an abridged version that omits certain parts, but later; you don’t want to talk about your actions in a quiet room with strangers within earshot. Ameronis glances around and suggests that you both grab some breakfast and take it back to one of your rooms; you can eat and talk in peace there.

Ah, fine. You turn back to the food on offer, while Ameronis grabs a tray and plate and begins to help herself. Considering your near-starving state yesterday, you decide to get a decent helping of the ‘safe’ foods; some fruit, a couple of slices of toast and a fried egg. You also take a small bowl of porridge oats, which you pray is just regular porridge rather than some cursed Dernan version, and, for the sake of science, a single strip of the fried meat. Finally, you pour yourself a hot cup of tea. You wait for Ameronis and glance at the cook as you stand with your tray, ready to walk out of the canteen. You wonder if she’ll yell at you for leaving the eating area, but when you follow Ameronis out of the room, the cook doesn’t bat an eyelid; either she didn’t notice, or she doesn’t care.

Upstairs, the two of you sit at the small table in your room and start to eat. Wanting to get it out of the way first, you nibble on the meat and immediately regret it; whether it’s the oil that it was fried in or some light coating of seasoning, the taste is appalling. You drop the meat on the tray in disdain (having considered flinging it across the room instead), and wash the taste away with some tea. When Ameronis asks if it was that bad, the floodgates open and you rant about your experiences with the cuisine so far; Ameronis had asked that you tell her about any good places that you found, but you instead vent about the exact opposite.

Ameronis listens to your complaints, amused but sympathetic, and, after apparently developing a death wish, asks if she can sample your rejected meat strip. You warn her not to if she values happiness in life, but allow her to try. She cuts off a little piece and eats it, remaining composed as she does.

“It’s very…um…unique…” she says, diplomatically. She does not ask for another piece.

You give the porridge the stink eye as you prepare to take a small spoonful, but are more delighted than you ought to be when you discover that it is, in fact, just regular porridge, and pretty good at that. You laugh to yourself at the absurdity of the situation in general. A quick taste test of the bread and the egg clear them as acceptable too, so at least there’s that.

As you eat your food, Ameronis enquires about the rest of your evening and your exploration, pointing out that having spent the whole night in her room, she’s eager to go about and explore herself today and happy to hear your report and views so far. You go back to the beginning and recount your trip along the high street, the places you saw and leaflets you gathered, and ending with your inadvertent misadventure in the maze of alleys. Ameronis takes note of the places you mentioned, considering whether she might check them out herself later, but shows mild concern when you talk about wandering around alone in the alleys in the dark.

“Wow. You’re lucky you made it back in one piece. I heard that the crime rate is pretty average here but it’s been increasing lately and there’s a few hotspots that are causing some trouble as well. No idea where those are though, but, y’know…”

You casually mention that you might have wandered through such a spot, and when asked, you give her a condensed version of your encounter with the thief; how he snuck up on you and you subsequently beat him up and confiscated a stolen necklace and wallet from him. Now you’re wondering whether you should turn the items in to the police or if that’s a lost cause.

Ameronis is initially surprised when you mention being attacked, but having fought with you twice already, unsurprised that you managed to beat him so easily, remarking that he’s lucky he’s not dead.

He might be…

As for the police, she seems unsure.

“It’d certainly be a noble thing to do. You may not be able to tell who the owners of those items are, but the police force should have detectives; they’d have to figure it out. If they do find the owners, maybe they might give you a reward? Perhaps they might step up their patrols in that area. But be careful though; sometimes you go to the authorities, trying to do the right thing, and they, looking for an easy victory, find a way to turn you into the culprit. Depends on how crooked they are. Perhaps the thief goes to the police and says that he was attacked and robbed of his money and necklace. Then later, you show up claiming that you “found” said items and boom; you’re the one in jail, while the items are handed back to the thief with no further questions asked. Then they get to parade you around and congratulate themselves on catching “the bad guy”…”

She shrugs.

“Call me cynical for sure, but I’ve seen too many stupid scenarios like that play out, so I tend to consider the worse. It’s your call though. Do what you think is best.”

You eat in silence as you consider her words and your own thoughts, but haven’t quite made up your mind when she asks you if she can see the leaflets you got. You reach into your bag and hand them to her. She reads each one in turn, then asks if you have any plans for today. You look out of the window as you sip the last of your tea, and tell her that you have no concrete plans, but you will check your map again and look for any interesting spots to explore, though you plan to give the alleyways a wide berth this time.

“A wise choice.”

With breakfast finished, Ameronis stacks the plates and trays and offers to take them back downstairs, bidding you good luck on your upcoming exploration. After she leaves, you sit at the table and pour over your map again, trying to burn into your mind the layout of the immediate area and some local landmarks to keep you oriented. You also try to figure out where you got lost yesterday but have to give up when you discover several sections of paths and buildings, which look like tight, messy weaves on the map, are too tightly knit to include any of the street names. Also, this map only shows a certain radius of the town centre; several of the weave areas are cut off by the edge of the map, suggesting that most of them are quite large. It turns out, your fear of getting lost deeper in wasn’t unfounded…

You struggle to decide whether to leave the map or bring it, but decide to bring it; normally, you prefer not to be seen looking at a map in public, so as to not out yourself as a tourist and make yourself any kind of target, but the alternative is worse.

Clearing your day bag of any unnecessary items (and replenishing your bandages from the dwindling larger supply in your main travel bag), you prepare it for today’s adventure. Before you leave, you hide away the stolen loot and knives under a loose floorboard. Then straightening yourself out in the mirror, you head out to experience Derna in the daytime.

---------------------

PART 2 COMING SOON

To vote on what happens in the latest chapter, visit RanGen's DunGen

[drawing-dinos82]

Snowbirds Chapter 1

Summary

Ember is a fighter, not that they particularly enjoy it. The heat of a fight is nice, but all the praise is too much for them. Only problem? Now they’ve made the mistake of facing off against the beast that terrorizes their village, the Nightwolf. But when a literal goddess rescues them, everything changes. Who is this beautiful deity and why would they care about such mortal affairs? 

Short version: Ember is a fighter, they face off against a beast that might be bit too dangerous for them, and get rescued by a goddess.

Story time!

Ember had been waiting for days out on the cold, unforgiving tundra. The weather had been harsh with frequent snowstorms but despite how long they had been waiting, The Nightwolf had yet to emerge from the fog.

Ember sighs. It is cold and they have been out here for literal ages. Why can't this monster just show up so they can murder it already? Or slay it, would be the official term, but that sounds so stuck up and haughty. They much prefer to call it murder, since that's what it is. Some people call it butchery, but that isn't right. No one wants to eat the creature. Ember doubts it would taste good. 

They sit down on the icy ground next to the pathetic fire they built. It sputters and flickers weakly, but it's held on this long, and Ember isn't going to let it have the mercy of going out now. They pull another small stick out of their pack and are concerned to see that the fuel for the fire they brought has greatly diminished, and they will most likely run out soon. 

Maybe they can return to their village and collect more? No. They vowed that they wouldn't return until the monster is dead or they are. Looking back they realize this was probably a foolish thing to do and the latter is looking more and more likely. 

Ember glances up as something howls in the distance. They hope it's the Nightwolf, but with their luck, it's probably just the wind. Sighing, they go back to rummaging around inside their pack, seeing what food they have left. Some dried meat, a few animal skins full of water that miraculously hasn't frozen, three bread rolls, and a handful of dried apples. Just great. They eat a bread roll.

A sudden gust of wind blows snow across the icy expanse of the tundra and they shield their face from the airborne snow. Some get past their arms and nips at their face in small, freezing bites. When the snow clears, they look up, straight into moon pale eyes, boring into them.

The creature is huge, thrice the size of a full-grown mare. Its pelt is dirty gray and flecked with sparkling particles of ice and snow. Each of its paws bears a claw as long as Ember's arm and wicked sharp. It growls and they can see blood-stained teeth, big as a sword blade and just as dangerous. 

"Hello," Ember whispers meekly. " I don't want to be of any trouble. You know what I think I might leave now.¨ They slowly stand up, shouldering their pack. ¨Bye.¨

The Nightwolf doesn't seem to like this. It growls and sprints toward them. They barely have time to throw their pack to the side before the monster is on top of them, its foul breath hot on their body, but that doesn't warm them in the slightest. 

Ember pulls their sword from its sheath, a glimmering five feet of metal, sharp enough to cut the toughest of monster pelts, and stabs the creature in the paw, hoping to cause some kind of damage.

Unfortunately, they fail. All it does is aggravate The Nightwolf. It lifts its paw into the air and shakes it vigorously. Ember clutches the hilt until their knuckles turn white and try to hold on as they're swung meters above the ground but their fingers slowly slip away. 

They fly off at the peak of a swing. Of course, it's the highest point. Ember soars through the air flailing wildly. They land on their shoulder and hear a pop, followed by a bright burst of pain. They lay stunned for a moment, stuck in a haze of pain. They're not stupid. They come from a long line of Warriors turned Medics and know that when something makes a weird noise in your body and then it hurts, there is probably something wrong. 

They only snap back to reality when they hear the deep growl of the Nightwolf above them. Opening their eyes, they can see that it is standing over them, its mouth dripping with saliva, ready to devour Ember. 

The warrior rolls to the side just as jaws larger than a polar bear snap down where she had just been seconds before. Their shoulder throbs horribly and they're pretty sure it's dislocated. Which wouldn't be a problem if they were in the village, full of people who wouldn't think twice to help another living thing. But out here? At least a mile from their village and all alone? There wasn't a chance in Helheim that they could get it back into its socket. Only one functional arm? Amazing.

Ember staggers to their feet, scanning the ground for their sword. Something glimmers a few meters away, their sword if they're lucky, just some ice if they're unlucky, but they have to take that chance.

Stumbling across the ice, they slowly make their way toward the shiny thing. It's a polished silver color, attached to a dirty bronze curved T shape. Their sword. They snatch it from the snowy ground and spin to face the Nightwolf, who has followed them and is looking pretty angry at this point if its bared teeth and flattened ears are any sign.

Ember can feel their hand shaking as they raise the sword.

The Nightwolf stares down at them as if to say This is your best? Really? And I was hoping for a challenge. It almost seems to sigh before raising its paw to smack them halfway to the ocean. 

As the paw comes swing down they duck and roll, despite how much their shoulder screams in agony. They pop back up, trying to balance their sword and swipe the snow off their face at the same time, which is annoyingly difficult since one of their arms is next to useless. 

They turn to face the increasingly more agitated beast but nearly fall back to the ground as their side explodes in sharp, stabbing pain. Glancing down they can see that their tunic now sports a long rip across their side, which is dripping blood, staining the snow below them dark crimson. The beast did manage to land a hit. 

"Wow, my good sir. Y-You are a formidable opponent." The blood trickling down their side is quickly turning cold and they shiver from a mix of that and the missing chunk of clothing, which leaves their skin exposed to the freezing temperatures and bone-chilling winds. 

The wolf doesn't seem to like compliments, judging from what it does next. 

It suddenly pounces and Ember is forced to throw themself into a snowbank. The snow grinds against their wound and they hiss in pain.

The Nightwolf doesn't pause as it closes down on empty air. It immediately leaps up again and lands mere feet away from Ember's hiding places, causing them to flee the hiding spot. This continues for several minutes, a twisted game of cat and mouse, with Ember constantly having to run away from the wolf, as it tries to pin her down. But Ember is getting tired and there is more time lost each time the wolf crunches into the snow behind them.

Their foot catches on something buried in the snow, maybe a rock or animal borrow, whatever it is doesn't matter. They stumble, trying to regain their balance but they fail and fall face-first into the snow. instincts take over and they roll onto their back, just before a massive paw comes crashing down on them. 

The sickening sound of bones crunching and breaking echoes in their ears and they cry out as their chest explodes in pain. Their vision goes white and they fight back the sour bile that rises in their throat. 

They try to curl up into a ball, trying to shield their vital organs but they can hardly breathe. The wolf removes its paw and bends down, sniffing the unmoving form of Ember. They close their eyes tight, trying to stop their tears. It can't end like this but they know it's going to. They're going to fail their quest and lose their life, which they probably deserve. 

A flash suddenly lights up the sky, diverting The Nightwolf's attention from Ember. Its head snaps up and it bounds over to investigate the source of the light. 

Ember groans as they slowly sit up, their ribs protesting violently. They look up just in time to see a spark of light and feel the intense heat on their face as the wolf is vaporized, revealing the source of the commotion standing behind them.

The figure is tall, taller than anyone Ember has ever seen, and glowing with a faint light. Their hair is the pale yellow of buttercups and floats around her like water. She is wearing a lavender, flowy, ankle-length dress that is incredibly impractical for this climate, but despite how much skin is exposed, they don't seem to be shivering in the slightest. 

Glancing up from where the wolf had just been, the mysterious figure notices Ember and hurries over. 

"Oh wow, that thing was giant. Are you alright?" Their voice is soft and calming, like the sunkissed flowers that grow on the selling hills that surround Ember's village.

"Eh, more or less. That overgrown puppy can't keep me-" Ember breaks off coughing, which sends more sharp spikes of agony through their body. When they manage to get their breath back, they realize that small drops of blood now decorate the snow next to them. "Ah snake sheddings," they curse.

"Oh no, that's not good," The stranger murmurs, dropping to her knees. "You're hurt more than you want to admit aren't you?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. Just need a bit of rest and I'll be fit as a fiddle. That's a weird saying when you think about it right? Like how can a fiddle be fit? Come to think of it, what even is a fiddle?"

"I think it's a stringed instrument, similar to a violin," the stranger says absentmindedly. "I need to take you back to my castle so I can fix your injuries properly. I need to put you under a sleep spell first alright? Is that ok with you little mortal?"

"Mm ok. Wait! What do you mean by castle? And spell, also why are you calling me a mortal?" Ember tries to ask, but the pretty stranger is already placing a delicate, gentle hand on their forehead and they feel their eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

"Have peaceful dreams little warrior." is the last thing they hear before their eyes close and everything goes black

[uwupissarozzieuwu]

Fizz medical hcs

Again please don’t post this if you see it because it’s a very personal piece. I just wanted to show you because you seemed pretty interested in the headcanon and I really enjoy reading about your hcs so I thought I’d share mine in greater detail. One thing about this though is it’s not really angsty, I wanted something happier about Fizz being able to feel happy about his body. Ofc there’s other possibilities for angst, I hope you at least find it interesting to read tho. Fizzarolli turned this way and that in front of the mirror, marvelling at his reflection, at the way the jester tunic fell against his body. Ozzie had been right, you really couldn’t tell what was underneath. He hitched up the skirt to re-examine the garment around his waist. You couldn’t tell what that was for either. Shiny-black and patterned with Ozzie’s factory logo, it hugged his body in all the right ways under the fluorescent hospital lighting. It felt good too, supportive, like it was encouraging him into a posture that was easier on his damaged core muscles. For the third time in the last ten minutes, he unfastened it to take a further look underneath, and slid the trousers of his outfit down his legs. Picking up his tunic again, he stared at his stomach, marked up to give him an idea of what it might look like post-surgery. Post-surgeries. Despite his suggestions, they weren’t going to do the full thing in one go. But it didn’t matter. He’d waited so long for something like this already. He could wait a little longer. He felt giddy with relief just looking at the pen lines and stickers decorating his lower abdomen. Sure, with the clothes out of the way and the support belt off there was no hiding what they were, but he didn’t care. To him, they were going to be a freedom he hadn’t had since the accident. Freedom to work the kind of hours he used to, to eat and drink what he enjoyed, to have sex when he wanted it, to not be constantly on the lookout for the nearest bathroom… things that felt like vague memories would be his present again. He ran a finger around the black bag temporarily sealed to his skin. The doctors said they normally made the opening on the other side of the stomach, but that area had a large amount of scar tissue already. It was easier to re-route what was left of his colon through the abdominal muscles here, they had said, explaining how they would insert synthetic mesh around the wound to prevent hernias developing. That was what the belt was for too, to protect his muscles during especially strenuous activity. Ozzie had winked at him when the doctor had said that, and he’d laughed, feeling genuinely carefree despite the conversation happening over him. Tucked away under the belt, nobody would ever know that he had a colostomy. Well, Ozzie and his doctors knew, but that was pretty much it. Not even Mammon was going to be allowed to see Fizz’s full medical report once Ozzie’s team were done. That was more about the limbs, probably, because they were the same as the closely-guarded technology used in the personal companion robots, but Fizz was honestly starting to feel like Ozzie respected his privacy. Like he was genuinely enjoying fixing up an imp, problem-solving so he could have a better quality of life. He had no qualms about being Ozzie’s little passion project if it was going to bring a resolution to some of the shameful, lingering problems he’d endured for the last few years. It just felt too good to be true. But even now Fizz couldn’t stop beaming with genuine hope. The incision site on his lower abdomen was going to be a little bit more noticeable, but nonetheless welcome. Fizz traced the plastic tubing that ran down from it, attached against his body and finishing in a sheath which clipped perfectly around the upper part of his metallic right thigh. The technology used for collecting the waste was similar to the extra-durable plastic that Ozzie’s jumbo-brand condoms were made out of. It was empty now, of course, and the catheter was just sellotaped in place rather than inserted directly into his bladder, but Fizz could already tell this was going to be an improvement. Almost anything would be an improvement on the pads, but this already looked much more convenient. He was going to put all his clothes back on and do another once-over with them, but there was a knock at the door. Fizz craned his neck up at the window and could see Ozzie’s big blue form looming outside. He rolled his eyes and snickered to himself. “I’m not decent, but you can come in anyway, big guy,” he crowed, turning around with his tunic still hitched up. Ozzie had literally been in the room while the doctors talked through everything and mapped out the surgeries, but Fizz felt like showing off anyway. Ozzie stepped through the doorway somewhat tentatively, but brightened when he saw Fizz smiling up at him. If Fizz didn’t know any better, he’d think he was nervous. But that made no sense. Even if Fizz wasn’t happy with the proposals, there was no way he’d trash the King of Lust’s ideas right to his faces. “Apologies baby, you were just taking a while so I thought I’d come to check on you,” purred Ozzie. He stepped behind Fizz and Fizz let himself be manhandled so he was facing the mirror again, sticking out even more against Ozzie’s navy body. “How are you feeling about it all now? No second thoughts?” “Are you kidding? Ozzie this is even better than what I was imagining,” Fizz said, dropping the fabric in his hands to clutch Ozzie’s arm. “I’m so glad,” replied Ozzie, “I’m sorry we didn’t have anything less invasive to offer you, but…” Fizz’s hand reaching up to stroke Ozzie’s chin had the desired effect of making him trail off. Fizz didn’t want to hear anything negative about Big Ozzie’s handiwork. It made sense for the King of Lust to understand bodies as intimately as Ozzie did, but Fizz had already got above and beyond the care he expected to receive. Nobody had ever paid him the kind of attention that Ozzie had, taking time to understand all of his problems, and then give him the opportunities to address them. He didn’t care that Ozzie couldn’t somehow magically give him his continence back. This felt almost more valuable. “Oz, it’s gonna be perfect. And what’s a couple more surgeries to a guy like me?” Ozzie kept smiling down at him. “True, I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t feel confident that you could make a good recovery. You’re so… resilient.” Fizz purred at the suggestions lurking under Ozzie’s words, but then a horrible thought struck him. Shit! He’d been so caught up with himself that he hadn’t even thanked Ozzie properly today. Fuck, the anxiety that had been worn into him over not fully appreciating a superior’s ‘gratitude’ made his insides clench. He opened his mouth to stammer out a reply but Ozzie cleared his throat and cast a glance down. Puzzled, Fizz followed his gaze and realised that small trickles of liquid, easily visible against the metal of his bare legs, were dripping onto the floor. Another thing that had slipped his mind recently. He grunted in frustration, and extended an arm to grab his bag and dart to the nearest bathroom. When he looked back at Ozzie, the King of Lust was politely looking away. The sight almost made him giggle, before he remembered what he wanted to say again. “Um… Ozzie… thanks,” he said. It felt pretty anticlimactic but Ozzie beamed anyway. “Come back out once you’re ready. I’ll wait for you in the consultation room. We’ll set a date for the first procedure,” Ozzie told him. “Yeah, I want the catheter first,” Fizz quipped, and slammed the bathroom door behind himself. It was pretty much perfect the way it looked, after all. And the idea he’d had about somehow hooking up an extra tube to a squirty flower for comedic purposes could wait. He’d pushed his luck enough today.

[bnha-dumpster]

Alright I’m back mate and boy do I have something. So imagine all of them (boys of the bakusquad) wanting Y/n, and they’ve talked about this together to try and come up with a way to get closer to him. So they decide that in order to get closer to him, one of them (you can decide) has to get into a relationship with Y/n’s sister. (Sister could be an OC, a character, or just a sister insert) This way, all of them can get into his their house without it being suspicious. Y/n’s sister doesn’t really think much about it, but the four of them always tease and borderline flirt with Y/n while they’re there. Don’t think they didn’t notice you blushing. So one day when his sister and parents aren’t home, they all decide to visit, knowing that Y/n is home from college that weekend, and all alone. Deciding that this will be the day that they bring him to bed, each have their turn with him, and milk him till he just can’t come anymore. (Dub-con? Y/n clearly wants it- who wouldn’t lol?)

Just realized that if you dislike some female character in the show, you could just use them as the sister lol. Also sorry my request is kinda long for this, but thanks if you decide to do it! I appreciate it.

oh i love this request so much! may have had a bit too much fun with this and got carried away

pairing: bakusquad (- mina) x male reader content tags: group sex, milking, double penetration, face fucking, male squirting, creampie, sex toys, praise, light degradation, electro stim play word count: 2.5k

The day Sero started dating your younger sister was a weird one. You’d never felt too protective over her considering she’s only a year younger and a hero, but seeing her hold hands with your classmate lit something inside you. It’s why whenever Sero wanted to come over, you’d beg for the rest of the Bakusquad to join him. You thought it was a way to protect your sister. You thought you were doing a good job. Yeah, you thought a lot of things.

Then they started teasing you- even Sero. The four of them love to tease you and act flirtatious with you. Even with Maiko in the room, they all find a way to tease you and not gain any suspicion from her. Their hands wander places where they shouldn't and you can't do anything but give them a stern look as you swat their hands away, blush apparent on your face. You don't know what they're doing but it gives extremely mixed messages.

But you think you finally understand when they show up unannounced, all four grinning as they push their way into your house.

“How long are we gonna let Bakugou eat his face?” 

As soon as the four of them got you in your room, Bakugou pounced on you. He’s holding you by your hips, grinding himself against you. His mouth is smashed against yours, teeth clashing as he devours your mouth with his tongue. You don’t have much of a choice but to go along with it. It’s not like you hate this. Rather, you’re enjoying this way too much. 

“We can get everything set up while they’re eating each other’s faces.” Sero shrugs as he pulls out the contents of the bag. Lube, towels, toys, said toys being Kaminari’s suggestion. “Why’d you bring a cock ring? I thought the goal was to milk him?” 

“It’s for us! Gotta last longer for him, right?” 

“For once you make a good point.” Kirishima pulls Bakugou away from you by his hair, earning a growl. “Stop hogging him, bro.”

“Fine.” 

Kirishima helps you towards the bed, sitting you down on the edge of it. He tugs your sweatpants down, slowly taking your clothes off. You definitely need a breather and the redhead is more than happy to give you one. He does all of the work for you, lifting your legs and body with his strength so all you have to do is sit there. You watch him with half-lidded eyes as you catch your breath. Besides your heavy breathing, you can hear the other three taking their own clothes off. The rustling of their clothes falling to the floor is as quiet as it’ll be from now on.

Your cock springs out of your boxers, almost completely hard from Bakugou’s actions. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly you’re turned on. They just think it’s cute.

“Denki, didn’t you say you wanted to taste him?” 

The blond in question nods eagerly and nearly trips over himself to replace Kirishima’s spot between your legs. He’s already excited, cock hard and slapping against his stomach. Does the thought of giving you head really turn him on that much? 

Apparently it does. He lets out a small moan when he grabs your cock and pumps it a few times. You can see his eyes dilate and his mouth is open slightly as he admires it. And when he finally takes it in his mouth, it feels like he’s practiced for this. 

“Fuck, Denki-” His mouth is warm and inviting, his tongue doing its best to wrap around the shaft as he bobs his head. You weave your hands into his hair and help him take you deeper. You’re not huge, but you do know it might take a bit to take all of you. 

Then he moans. The vibrations go straight to your core and your shove his face flush against your hips. He gags around your cock but doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, he looks up at you with eyes that scream for you to keep going. You’re not the type of person to refuse someone, so you give him exactly what he wants. 

You take hold of his head and move it up and down, using his mouth as a toy. Kaminari moans each time your cock hits the back of his throat. The two of you are caught up in the moment to the point where you don’t notice Sero coming up behind you. The hero begins to kiss along your neck, hands going to grope at your chest. Finger pinch your nipples harshly and you let out a surprised moan. 

“Hanta, what are you doing?” 

“Your chest looked a little lonely.” He hums and continues to play with your nipples, pinching and flicking them as he kisses your neck. You’re not sure what Kirishima and Bakugou are doing but you can’t focus on it, not when you’re reaching your end. Your hips stutter and you press Kaminari’s face against you as much as you can. The blond’s eyes roll back into his head as you cum, shooting ropes down his throat. You can feel him swallow it all and the sensation makes you groan. 

Kaminari removes himself from your cock with a pop, face red. Tears and drool cover his face and it’s oddly endearing. 

“Alright, Kirishima?” Sero grabs you by your hips and pulls you with him further onto the bed. He rests against the headboard and continues to tease your nipples. Kirishima crawls in front of you, a bottle of lube in hand. You know what he’s going to do but it doesn’t make you any less anxious.

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” The redhead rubs comforting circles into your inner thigh, smiling at you. You watch him pour some lube onto his fingers and circle your hole gently. He watches your face as he begins to push one finger in. There’s a moment of surprise when it goes in without much protest, you looking to the side to avoid his stare. You’re thankful that he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he just pushes another finger inside you.

It takes a few tries before he manages to find that soft spot inside you. You let out a whimper and your hips move away. Bakugou is more than happy to sit on your stomach, keeping you in place. 

The blond takes this chance to devour your mouth once more. This time you moan and kiss back with as much need as he does. His erection grinds against your stomach as you kiss. You reach down to pump his cock a few times, enjoying the feeling of how hot and heavy it is in your hand. Bakugou swats your hand away and glares at you, pulling back.

Kirishima is eager to fuck you. He pulls his fingers out after barely prepping you and slathers his own cock with lube. You’re sure he doesn’t mean to, but he sheathes himself inside you a little too quickly. A small yelp leaves you and three sets of eyes land on the redhead. The three heroes stare at him for a moment before turning their eyes back to you. 

“Sorry he’s being so rough...” Sero leaves open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders as he soothes you, “We’ve just wanted to fuck you for so long.” 

Bakugou moves off of you, sitting beside you as Kirishima begins to move slowly. Kaminari has settled on the other side of you, one hand cupping your balls and the other teasing the head of your limp cock. 

A small shock goes through you. It’s from Kaminari’s hand, the blond stimulating you back to hardness with his hands. The shocks are sent through both your cock and balls. You squirm and whimper, the head of your cock twitching pathetically with each shock. Even if it’s not hard, it still weeps precum all over your abdomen. 

Then the redhead’s pace gets rough. His balls slap against your ass with each thrust, making sure your hips meet before he pulls out. Your overwhelmed by the stretch of your walls and how Kirishima seems to be rubbing against all the right spots inside you. There’s even a small bump that appears whenever he’s fully inside you. It pokes out of your stomach and the other three marvel at how hot it is. 

Kaminari’s shocks finally bring your cock back to life. It stands at attention, tip swollen and red. He lets go of it and watches it slap against your stomach, precum smearing over the skin. 

“Relax for us, Y/N.” 

You don’t know what Kaminari means until you see something in Bakugou’s hand. It’s metal and long but you don’t exactly know what it is. At least, until the blond begins to circle it around the head of your dick. There’s no warning for your when he prods the slit of your cock with it, slowly inching the rod inside you. It’s a strange feeling but it doesn’t hurt. For a moment you think it’s not so bad, but then Bakugou presses a button.

“Wha-” The rod is vibrating. Your back arches off the bed and tenses, a confused moan escaping you. Sero leans down to capture your lips, kissing you gently compared to Bakugou. Both blond heroes are tending to your nipples, each one has a nipple in their mouth. Bakugou’s hand is wrapping around the base of your cock, pumping it gently. Kaminari is once again fondling your sack, giving it small squeezes and shocks to stimulate you. 

And you cum, you cum hard. Strangled moans are muffled by Sero’s lips. Your cock twitches and cum leaks out past the rod, dribbling down your shaft slowly. It’s a strangle climax. It doesn’t come out like it usually does and everywhere is being touched. You don’t get to come down from your high either- it just keeps going. They don’t stop what they’re doing, the only thing changing being the way Kirishima’s thrusts grow erratic. 

He releases inside you and you can vaguely feel warmth filling you. It feels empty when he pulls out, your hole clenching around nothing. Kirishima takes a moment to spread your ass to watch his cum leak out a little. 

“Who’s next?” 

Sero releases your lips and removes himself from behind you, letting Kirishima take his place. He situates between your legs and ruts his cock against your ass. He can feel your hole clenching each time he brushes the head of his cock against it. Your body is so needy and he can’t possibly refuse you. 

He’s longer than the redhead, that’s for sure. Not as thick, but definitely longer. Sero reaches deeper and touches places you didn’t think could be touched. His pace is slow, watching the way your hole so eagerly swallows his cock. You’re clenching and trembling so much from the overstimulation, the vibrating rod still abusing your limp cock. 

“Good boy, good boy, Y/N.” Kirishima praises you as tears fall from your eyes. It blurs between pain and pleasure and you don’t know how to process it. You cling to his words, holding into his arms as he shushes you. “We’re so proud of you. You’re so good for us, so good. We’ll take such good care of you.” 

You’re mouth is left unattended. Moans and sobs fill the room, a line of drool coming out of your mouth. You can’t form any words either. They’re enamored by it, staring at how you’ve come undone just after two times. A thin layer of sweat covers your body and it makes you look shiny, you practically glow.

“Fuck, so tight- you’re so tight, Y/N.” Sero’s words barely register. Something is building in your core as Kaminari begins to send larger shocks through your sack. They make your cock twitch more than it already is. The constant vibrations inside your urethra are making your cock vibrate and twitch even when it’s soft. 

“Kaminari.” The hero fucking you catches the blond’s attention. He puts a finger in your ass and tugs it open a little more. “Think you can fit?” 

The absence of Kaminari’s lips and hands don’t register right away, especially when Bakugou begins to pinch your abandoned nipple. Your haze is lifted somewhat when you feel your ass stretching just a bit more. The blond is slowly pushing his cock inside, joining Sero in your tight hole. The stretch alone forces another orgasm through you without even getting hard, more cum leaking past the rod. 

As Kaminari sheathes himself completely, the other hero stills. They don’t move for a bit, they let you get used to having both of them inside you. 

“What a good boy. You’re taking them so well, taking them just like we know you could.” Kirishima’s words soothe you. “They’re going to make you feel even better.” 

Then they start moving. The two of them alternate thrusts, moving slowly and carefully. Your belly bulges from the stretch and Kirishima reaches down to rub the bulge, groaning at the feeling. His cock twitches with arousal behind you. But he’s had his turn and you need comfort. 

Your prostate is being pressed against constantly. It’s a never-ending stimulation of your most sensitive spots. You hold onto Kirishima as tightly as you can as a rush of warmth goes through you. The feeling isn’t the same as an orgasm and you lift your head up for a brief second to see clear fluid gush out of your cock past the rod. 

“Oh my god, he just squirted.” Kaminari stares down at you in wonder as he fucks you, grabbing your cock and pumping it. Your stomach is covered in whatever you let out. Bakugou moves himself down to lick at it, curious to its taste. It’s not pleasant, but not unpleasant either. 

And the blond is hard, impatient for his turn. As much as he wants to fuck you properly, he needs release. He turns your head to face him, his cock gently slapping against your face. Your mouth is already open and he begins to slide it inside. The moans and sobs you make vibrate around his cock, making him feel amazing. It’s difficult to keep himself from fucking your face like you did with Kaminari but he knows that a slow pace is better. 

The head of his cock presses against the back of your throat and you gag before he pushes deeper. Your face meets his pelvis for a few seconds before he pulls out. Bakugou is looking down at you as your eyes flutter closed, mouth stretched to fit his cock inside of it. You look so cute, so eager to please him. Your head must be a mess right now. 

“Damn, I’m cumming already. This is amazing.” 

The blond fucking your ass stills inside you, cum filling you. Sero is still going, his pace slow and deep. He’s nowhere near done and has more stamina than the other three. Taking it slow and thoroughly enjoying the warmth of your ass is how he wants to go. 

More cum leaks out of your cock and finally, the rod is pulled out. Cum practically pours out once the rod is fully out. It pools on your stomach and mixes with the fluids from your squirting. 

Your head is a mess, a haze of pleasure. You don’t know what’s going on besides how good you feel from all of them. You don’t care anymore. They can do whatever they want with you. 

[lonely-lost-soul]

Fight For Me

(C!Technoblade x gn!possessive!Reader)

Request 11: could I maybe request some c!techno x gn!possessive!reader fluff that follows someone trying to threaten techno while completely brushing off the reader only for the reader to step in and feral threaten them back (perhaps some fighting ensues with reader coming out on top) and then techno is awestruck by his partner which is then where the fluff comes in

Requested By: @bowlofsoup

I hope you like it!

“Sweetheart can you do me a favor and pass me the blaze powder,” Technoblade asked from his hunched-over position at his brewing station. He was wearing more casual clothes, his glasses loose on his nose, hair pulled back into a messy bun. You sat next to him on one of the chests, legs swinging up and down, you were wearing one of Techno’s oversized shirts.

“Sure thing,” You hummed tossing open the chest and handing him a bottle of said powder, he reached forward to take the bottle from your hands and you kissed his lips before he could take the bottle. Technoblade purred happily, his eyes going half-lidded at the surprise kiss, you chuckled against his lips as he flushed pink.

“Cringe.”

“Nerd,” You shot back with a smile he rolled his eyes focusing back on his potions, “Why’re you making these again?” Your gaze shifted towards the window. It was snowing again, it was always snowing. You hated that you were getting sick of the constant cold you wondered what the weather was like back at L’manburg or L’manhole was a better term for the once-prosperous nation. Technoblade looked back up at you, his hand reached out to interlock with your own, which caught your attention snapping you out of your daydreaming and you smiled back at him.

“Someone wants to buy them off me, figure sees what they’d offer me for it, not like I’m worried about getting jumped or anything,” Technoblade smirked coyly at you, almost like he was awaiting your praise. You didn’t fall for it though, simply letting out a little hum in approval, he frowned and cleared his throat.

“Oh sorry. Oh baby you’re so brave and strong, no one can take you down.” You pressed your hands together swooning sarcastically, Technoblade frowned and put you into a headlock. You laughed loudly instead of fighting against him you snuggled in his hold, “You’d never hurt me.”

“Try me.”

“Is that a challenge?” You mused with a flutter of your eyelashes, Technoblade flushed a little and grumbled under his breath. He could feel the smugness radiating off your entire being, if you were anyone else he would’ve sent you through a wall.

“Just shut up and grab a bag for the potions. They’re almost done.”

“Yes sir.” You saluted hopping off the chest to grab your bag from the coat rack, it was a soft brown bag covered in patches. Holding the bag open you allowed Technoblade to place the potions inside of them, “we ready to go?”

“You grabbed your coat and had breakfast right?” He raised an eyebrow, it seemed to be your turn to flush and Technoblade frowned, “Right?” Technoblade’s eyes narrowed in your direction and he watched you tap your fingers together sheepishly. “You’re a disaster, you’d be dead without me. Eat,” Technoblade dragged you into the kitchen and pulled out a roll for you to munch on, “Jam?”

“Yes please.” You gave a firm nod as he grabbed the knife and spread it on the bread before handing it to you.

“Remember to eat, can’t have my Starlight starving themselves,” The way you turned red made the hybrid smirk coyly at you. “You mean too much to me to go out in such a lame way, there has to be at least a little bit of bloodshed. Maybe some dismemberment if you’re lucky.”

“Damn and to think I was flattered for half a minute.” Techno chuckled at your comment, a deep rumble in his chest, you couldn’t help but smile yourself. You bit off a piece of bread, teeth tearing through the food easily “Ready to go now?”

“Finish eating then we can go. There’s no rush.”

“Isn’t someone waiting for us?”

“Let them wait,” Technoblade shrugged, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you close. You melted into his warm body closing your eyes, just taking a moment to bask in your love for the Blood God, how did you get so lucky?

Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the same thing about you.

Eventually, you pulled away from him, much to his displeasure, and reluctantly said you both should head out. He huffed in protest and you pecked his lips, assuring him that the long journey would be worth it in the end. You both slide on your winter gear and headed towards Carl in the stables, you scratched the horse’s nose and he whinnied at the attention from his second favorite person. Technoblade tossed him an apple to which he munched on happily before applying his saddlebags to the sides of the horse, he hopped onto him and held a hand out to you. You took the hand with a wild smile swinging your leg over the side of Carl and wrapping your arms around Technoblade’s waist securely. He looked at you over his shoulder and pecked your forehead lightly, you cooed at him in response, and just like that the both of you were off. As you traversed the Tundra, your adoring boyfriend decided it would be a great time to quiz you on your fighting skills. He always did this, especially when he was nervous about something, you concluded a part of him was nervous the deal would go south and you’d end up hurt. You squeezed him a little and answered all his questions in hopes you’d ease his worries, it seemed to work as he relaxed against your chest. You would’ve played with his hair if it wasn’t tied up in a bun, so instead, you settled for giving him gentle kisses on the back of his neck.

He was a wreck by the time you got to the meeting spot, all red-faced and embarrassed. You did feel a little guilty but it was also very entertaining to watch him slide off the horse all frustrated with your antics. “You’re lucky we have somewhere to be,” he vaguely threatened and you hummed,

“What happened to ‘they can wait?’” His red eyes narrowed into slits and Carl stomped his foot, “oh you’re such a party pooper.” You complained as the horse nudged you forward towards the meeting spot. Technoblade huffed now turning his glare on Carl for interrupting your moment. He adjusted the sword at his hip and marched forward expecting you to follow, you did, but it’s the principle that irked you. Walking a little way down the wooded path you came across a man in a beanie leaning against a tree, he had small yellow wings and a scar going from his right eye down to the top of his lip. Your head snapped to Techno and you hissed, “You didn’t tell me it was Quackity! The mother fucker planned your execution!”

“Hush.” He waved you off, “money is money. If he can offer us something good we shouldn’t complain.”

“But-”

“Finally!” The man groaned stretching his arms above his head, his small wings fluttered as he pushed off the tree, “Took you long enough. Who’s your little friend?” He raised an eyebrow at your stature and you glared hotly at him, already wanting to tear his throat out.

“My partner.” Technoblade answered monotonously, “Is that important?”

“Romantically or like your bodyguard.” He snickered at the mental image of the Blood God hiring a bodyguard for himself.

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, Technoblade’s hand squeezed your shoulder trying to calm you down.

“I suppose not.” Quackity clapped his hands together, his two golden rings bouncing off one another making a soft clicking sound, “let’s get down to business than Mr. Blade. I want the potions you have, what exactly do you want in return?”

“What can you give me?” Technoblade raised an eyebrow, his hand never leaving the bag of potions at his side, Quackity tapped his chin in thought.

“Anything you desire. I came into a… a lot of money recently, a lot of people owe me a few favors. So I can truly give you anything,” Quackity smirked as you noticed Technoblade’s eye twitch, he didn’t like the sound of someone having so much power, and to be honest you didn’t either.

“Huh. well alright then.” He grunted drumming his fingers against the bag, “these favors people owe you, what exactly did you do for them?”

“Are you asking me to spill all my secrets? Techno you dog.” He purred out teasingly, “they made some bets with me and they lost simply as that.”

“What did they lose?” You asked and Quackity rolled his eyes,

“You’re a talker aren’t you?”

“Back off.” Technoblade snarled earning another eyebrow raise from the man, but you did briefly see fear flicker across his eyes. “You talk to them like that again deals off and I take another one of your teeth, understand me.”

“Understood, big guy. No hard feelings.” He held up his hands in defense his tiny wings ruffling a little bit showing off his nervousness, “Although your attitude just proves my point. You’re a brute and you’ll always be a brute.” Technoblade didn’t respond to the harassing but had a feeling you might as the pressure on your shoulder increased. Your jaw was set hard, as Quackity continued, “you truly are more monster than human.”

Oh, he did not just say that to Techno.

In one swift movement, you pulled Technoblade’s sword from its sheath at his side and drew it in front of you, pure anger flooding through your veins. Techno tried to grab the sword before you did something stupid but you were already charging at Quackity. He looked a little frightened as an ax appeared at his side, “Take it back.” You spit as metal clashed against metal, your eyes blazing with unadulterated rage, “Take it back right now. He’s so much more than that.” You swung the sword back which caused Quackity to stumble backward throwing off his rhythm,

“Bite me bitch.” Quackity snapped back attempting to regain his footing as he blocked another blow from you,

“Don’t tempt me birdie.” You sassed right back, which threw him off his game again not expecting you to come back with a retort and a nickname. You kicked him solidly in the chest and he fell flat on his ass the sword swung and the tip dug into his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped nervously,

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” He sputtered out as you narrowed his eyes, “look I’m sorry okay, okay! My mouth gets the best of me sometimes, I’ll admit that! I’m a humble guy!” You rolled your sharp (e/c) eyes at that statement, “Look, deal still on this time I’ll throw in two gold rings yeah?” He swallowed thickly “Also all the diamond I have on me and in my enderchest.”

Turning to glance at Techno for the first time he cleared his throat looking absolutely flushed. He shifted uncomfortably and marched over to the both of you a hand resting on your lower back. Technoblade glared down at the duck hybrid,

“We don’t want your rings. I want all the money you’ve won from your deals and a god apple.”

“I don’t have-”

“Then think of it as an I.O.U. birdy.” You pursed your lips feeling Technoblade squeeze your back, “Deal?” The tip of the sword dug a little deeper into his throat,

“FUCK! Yes, yes deal!” He squawked and you removed the sword, Technoblade immediately took it from your hands shooting you a look that screamed,

‘We are talking about this later.’

Technoblade tossed the contents of the bag at Quackity and he snatched up all the potions he could shoving them into his chest. Immediately handing you the diamonds he had on him, as Quackity scurried away Technoblade didn’t remove his hand from your back. Once his yellow wings disappeared into the treeline Technoblade spun you around and pressed a kiss to your lips. It immediately stole your breath away, as you stumbled back a few steps.

“That.” He kissed your jaw, “was the hottest,” he kissed your neck next, “thing we’ve seen in a while.” Technoblade purred pressing another passionate kiss to your lips, your hands desperately tried to pull out his hair from his bun to give it a hard yank. A louder purr rumbled from his chest as he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours,

“So the voices liked my badassery too?”

“Oh yeah,” his eyes fluttered a little his breathing hitching, “god they want me to just bite the shit out of you. Mark you all over. You can’t tease them like, they’re sensitive.” You cooed softly tracing his jawline with nimble fingers,

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to them once we get home.” His eyes shot up to meet your own lidded ones, with a loud whistle he called Carl over, he scooped you up in his arms causing you to laugh loudly.

You could safely say that was the fastest you and Techno had ever gotten home.

[neon-junkie]

It Takes Two To Tango

Summary: Stuck in a failing marriage where both you and your husband are having affairs, you enjoy another night with the man that you literally bumped into at the Saloon.

Pairing: Javier Escuella x f!Reader

Word Count: 2227

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Cheating/Affairs, Degrading, Humiliation, Praise, Squirting, Cum eating, Creampies, Face slapping, Knife kink, Choking, Smut without a plot.          

Notes: I had RDR1 Javier in mind for this seeing as he's low honour, and the dialogue/actions in this are very low honour Javier based, buuuuut you're welcome to picture any Javier you want <3

To put things politely, you hate your husband. When you two first met, he was sweet, kind, wonderful, everything you'd expect in a partner; the first few years of your marriage were flawless, but something within him changed, and he began spiralling off the rails, crashing into the man that he is today.

A divorce is hard to come by, especially in this time. However, you two seem to have somewhat of an unspoken agreement that you're no longer together. Well, you still share a house, still sleep in the same bed, still ask how each other's day went; but you know exactly where he goes to every night, leaving you all alone in your comfortable home, and sometimes, the nights can get so cold without anybody to hold.

The new man that keeps you warm every night bumped into you at a bar, quite literally, and apologized profusely, then offered to buy you a replacement drink. You happily accepted, taking an instant fancy to his mysterious yet welcoming aura, and spent the rest of the night blatantly flirting. You eventually asked him to help clean the liquor he'd spilt off you, and he did so by licking a stripe from your collar bone, along your neck, settling just below your ear. "It always tastes so much better when you know you shouldn't be doing it, eh?" he huskily whispered, and you agreed by grabbing his hand and pulling him across town, straight into your bed.

Javier knew who you were when he bumped into you, he knew you were a married woman, and he mentioned that he'd seen your husband spending his time with other women, so it's only fair you do the same, right? At first, you felt guilty, until that one night where your husband came home with obvious hickeys on his neck, and you got your own back by asking Javier to mark you ten times worse.

And yet again, Javier's now climbing up the same path to your balcony, swinging his leg over the railing, and finding his way into your bed once he watches your husband leave. You're practically starving every single day, desperate for a way out of this marriage, but even more desperate to spend time with your lover. It's crystal clear how much he enjoys playing this sinful game with you, and often reassures you during pillow talk that he's seen your husband do far worse. It's only a matter of time before the tower falls.

"Javier," you mutter, wrists tied to the bed posts, legs spread, and said man lapping away between them.

"Mhmm?" he hums, his mouth far too occupied as he continues wrapping his lips around your cunt.

"T-too much, come on," you beg.

"Not yet," he quickly blurts out, and returns to lapping at your clit, sliding two fingers into you and curling them perfectly. Thank the lord that you live on the outskirts of town with no attached neighbours; you can be as loud as you want, moaning to your hearts content as Javier mutters sweet praise against your lips. "Good girl," he mutters against your cunt, his fingers continuing to work you open.

"C-come on," you beg yet again, only this time you hear Javier chuckle against you.

"Alright," he sighs. Javier removes his fingers, and licks his lips as his head raises, meeting yours. "Always so impatient, aren't you?" he laughs, but he's also the one lining his cock up to your entrance, cutting your reply short as he slides in. "I don't blame you for being impatient, you know," Javier begins to mutter, jumping straight in to a quick pace. "You must be so deprived, all thanks to that shitty husband of yours. But I'm here now, I'm here to make sure you tire yourself out every night. If your husbands not going to use this pussy, then I might as well use it," Javier shrugs.

It's never slow and steady with Javier, always quick and heated, in a rush just in case your husband does come early, even on the nights where he doesn't come home at all. Your head is rolling back against the pillow, eyes falling shut, but Javier draws your attention back to him with a slap across your cheek. "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he orders, making your eyes go wide. "That's better."

Javier moves his hand to your throat, squeezing lightly between your jawline, enough to be pleasurable, but not enough to make your mind go hazy. "Open up," he orders, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue sticking out. "That's a good girl," Javier praises, before dipping his head down and spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow."

He's grinning as you swallow his spit, licking your lips afterward; your cheeks then begin turning red as Javier returns to choking you, a dark glisten in his eyes as he continues to pound you, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. "I fuck you good, don't I?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," you manage to sigh, nodding your head at the same time.

"Then why do you keep closing your eyes, hm? I want you to look at me whilst I'm fucking you," Javier barks, and lands another slap across your cheek. Instead of wrapping his hand around your neck, he places his fingertips on either side of your cheeks, squishing them slightly together and ordering you to order your mouth once more. You watch as he spits into your mouth again, but much slower this time, letting his spit drool off his tongue, slowly into your mouth, before dipping his head down and sealing the deal with a hungry kiss.

"Good girl," he praises again, his lips still pressed against yours. Javier's thrusts come to a halt, his cock sheathed deep inside you, and he props himself upright with a somewhat serious look on his face. "Are you going to let me do it tonight?" he questions, and you know exactly what he's on about.

"Yeah," you nod. You go to reach out, but you're quickly reminded about your wrists being tied to the bed posts, as if you've somehow forgotten.

"I guess you could say this is a punishment, huh?" Javier asks as he shifts his weight over to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick up his gun belt, his cock still inside you. "I mean, naughty girls like you deserve to be roughed up," he continues, unsheathing his knife and twiddling it between his fingers. "Of course, I'm not going to hurt you, but I suggest you be a good girl and stay still," he smirks.

Javier's knife disappears from your sight, only for the cool metal to be pressed against your throat. The blade is barely touching your skin, hovering over you. However, it's close enough to send a chill down your spine, one that you attempt to contain in fear of the blade making contact with your throat. Javier picks up his pace again, starting with slow thrusts, ensuring the knife is at an angle where it's not going to hurt you. For a man who you met at the Saloon, you trust him, not just with keeping your affair a secret, but with hot and heavy situations like this.

"I'd say hold still, but I've already made sure you'll hold still," he laughs, gesturing with his blade to your bound wrists.

Within time, the roll to Javier's hips becomes quicker, his eyes flicking from yours to the knife at your throat. You know by now not to close your eyes, no matter how many times he hits those perfect spots inside you, your body urging to let your eyes fall shut as your head rolls back.

Javier moves the blade across your skin, trailing up your neck and jawline, and presses the flat part to your cheek. He urges you to tilt your head, and keeps the blade there as his lips meet your neck, marking you loud proud, clear enough for your husband to notice, not that he hasn't before.

"How many do you think I can leave before he says something?" Javier comments, chuckling between kisses.

"Javier, not whilst we're fucking," you sigh. The last person you want to think about right now is your husband, and Javier replies with a laugh, moving his head back up, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright, alright," he replies. "Say, could you hold this for me? I need both my hands free if I'm going to fill you up."

Before you can verbally accept, Javier's already pressing his knife against your mouth; he's kind enough to slip the handle into your mouth, rather than the blade. Instead, the blade tickles your cheek, pointing to your side, whilst your lips are wrapped around the handle.

"That's very kind of you," Javier laughs. He wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them up to his waist, and puts all his focus into chasing his orgasm, using you like some kind of cheap street whore, not that you mind.

This time, Javier is the one to close his eyes, his breaths becoming quick and short as he slams down into you. You're a whimpering mess, most of your moans muffled by his knife, but he soaks up every noise you make like sweet music to his ears.

"Shit-" Javier grunts, his cock coming to a halt inside you as he fills you up; you can feel his cock twitching, complimented by the heavy moans Javier's letting out. There's a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead, which he accidentally presses to your shoulder as he rests against it, catching his breath as he comes down from his high. "Your turn," Javier softly mutters.

He slips out of you, and shuffles to rest beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. Javier's other hand goes straight to work, not wanting to leave you empty for too long; he slips two fingers inside you, accidentally pushing out some of his load, the white mess oozing out of your cunt. Javier's fingers curl, and he begins moving his wrist, hitting that spot inside you at a vibrating speed.

You let out a cry, muffled by the handle still locked between your lips. Javier smirks at your reaction, but he doesn't let up, keeping his pace fast, eager to see how quickly he can make you cum. As always, your body begins to shake, uncontrollably squirming in Javier's grasp. He's letting out sweet words of praise, "good girl," and "that's it, soak the bed for me."

"Javier, I-"

"What?" he questions, his fingers not losing their pace.

"We'll make a mess!"

"Not we, you. You'll make a mess," Javier chuckles. "And what's wrong with a little mess, huh? just make your husband sleep on the damp side."

For some unknown reason, Javier's comment catches you off guard; maybe it's the way he whispered it directly into your ear, or the thought of letting your husband suffer whilst you sleep peacefully, but either way, your orgasm hits like a train.

"That's it," Javier cheers, watching in awe as you squirt. He doesn't let up, his fingers still hitting that spot inside you, his palm brushing against your clit with every flick of his wrist.

Javier's milking you, and it's rapidly becoming too much, only you're still bound to the bed, unable to push him off, and the knife handle in your mouth is keeping you from calling out your protests. He's smart, Javier knows exactly what he's doing, or what he's done.

But eventually, you run dry, your body still shaking from an intense and drawn out orgasm. "That's my good girl," Javier praises, placing a kiss to your temple as he pulls his fingers from you. Javier sits up on his knees, using his dry hand to remove the knife and places it on your bedside table. "Here. Open. Clean me up," Javier orders.

Javier presents his fingers, and like the well trained slut that you are, you open your mouth, allowing him to slip his fingers inside. The taste is exactly what you'd expect, a mixture of squirt and cum, but you let your eyes shut as you clean his fingers, licking them dry, enjoying the soft moans and sighs he lets out as he watches in lustful amazement.

You're just about finished when you hear the front door slam. Javier and you share a look of pure horror, his fingers still between your lips, both of your eyes wide and visibly nervous. Javier quickly pulls his fingers from your mouth, rushing to grab his knife and cut you free from your binds, with caution.

As soon as you're free, there's a mad rush, both of you hurrying to pull your clothes on, followed by dumping all of your bedding into the laundry basket. There's almost no time for a kiss goodbye, but you manage to fit one in, sharing the taste of your regular encounter before Javier scurries out onto your balcony and hops the railing, disappearing into the night.

Thankfully, your husband doesn't trail upstairs straight away, giving you enough time to organize your laundry properly and put some fresh bedding on. And by the time he does, you're already sound asleep, worn out from yet another illicit encounter.

Isn't it about time you start looking into your divorce?

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Blacksmith Chpt. 2

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon.

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters! So this one’s short but stay tuned for part 3! 

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When you adjust yourself, you fall off the chair you fell asleep on. Falling off the chair makes you fully awake however, a headache surges through your head as you gain your bearings.

“You’re awake,” Cassandra says, from the other side of the room

“Lady Cassandra,” You groan in pain, trying to gain your eyesight again, “When did you get here?”

“For awhile now,” She says, “You looked real peaceful sleeping, so I decided to not wake you.” 

“Oh, well- thank you,” You say standing up, “I was in the middle of the sheath for this sword but I guess I passed out on it. This is what I’ve been burning the midnight oil on.”

You sigh as the metal lining for the top and bottom of the sheath barely holding onto the base form you have made. 

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” You talk to yourself, “We just have to clamp them down more...”

You find some clamps and clamped down the design and leave it. However, while you were waiting for the sheath to finish up, you turn to another table and there was the sword you had finally finished. 

“Ahhh,” You sigh in relief

When you picked it up you began to do some practice swings. However, when you stopped swinging it, you noticed how the blade began glowing. It began creating some kind of engraving you clearly had not made. 

“What-What’s going on?” Cassandra asks you

“Do you think I know?!” You ask back

The room began glowing slightly brighter than earlier. When you looked at the blade itself, you somehow began reading the engraving.

“Whomever shall wield this blade, shall be worthy of all,” You read aloud

As sudden as it came, the brightness went back into the blade and your surroundings go back to the way it was before. 

“’Whomever wields this blade shall be worthy.’?” Cassandra repeats your words, “What is that supposed to mean? And how were you able to read the engraving? It looked to be in some ancient language.” 

“Do you think I have the answer to that?” You ask her, “’Whomever wields this blade’... Lady Cassandra, try to lift the blade.”

“Why would I-”

“Just do it,” You say, not being able to put up with her arguing as well as wanting to end the arguing with her

She finally decides to not question you any further and grabs the handle of the sword. However, when she was able to move it however, she wasn’t even able to lift it off of the ground. She quickly puts the sword down and straightens herself out. 

“Won’t Uncle Karl be here tonight for it?” Cassandra asks

“Yes...” You say, “But, if he finds out about that whole ‘you are worthy, you get to wield this longsword’ and the moment he will realize he ‘isn’t worthy’, he will have my head...”

“I won’t let that happen,” A familiar voice says

Both you and Cassandra turn your heads to see Daniela walking towards you. However she does not look very happy.

“This is my cue to make my leave, I will see you around y/l/n,” Cassandra says as she leaves

“Before you even go off on her and I, she was in here by the time I woke up,” You explain, “I do need your help my lady.”

Daniela’s scary demeanor drops once you explained the issue.

“I was going to pester mother today,” Daniela says, “But for you my dear, I will.”

You smile in relief. You begin guiding her through sword making. Although you only had so many hours before Heisenberg would come for his long sword. However, you didn’t realize how much time went by because You look at the door and notice Alcina in the doorway.

“My lady,” you gasp, dropping the newly crafted blade

“my daughter, I have been calling for you in the last hour,” Alcina states to her daughter, completely ignoring you

“Sorry mother,” Daniela says sorrowfully

“It’s not her fault my lady,” You interrupt, “I asked for her help.” 

“And with what did you need help with?” Alcina asks, clearly frustrated

“Something happened with the blade that I had made earlier,” You started, “You may not believe me, but Cassandra had also witnessed it happen. The blade was engraved with ‘whomever wields this blade shall be worthy’... I’m worried that blade is only meant for me... And I have never seen combat.... But, I’ve asked Lady Daniela for her help to make the exact same blade before Heisenberg gets here. I believe I can take care of everything else at this point. You really have to give your daughter credit my lady. She’s a real help. Maybe yo should have her come down here more often.”

Daniela blushes at your compliment however, Alcina only gives an “hmm.” Before taking her daughter out of the armory. You and Daniela make eye contact and she blows you a kiss. You catch it and gently place it over your scar that Daniela had made the day before. You turn back to your sword and begin the leather work on it, making sure it’s pristine however done as quickly as possible.

As you finish the sheath, you hear the door open. You quickly place the blade into its sheath and turn to greet whomever had come through the door. 

“Sir Heisenberg,” You greet him, “My Ladies.

“My gosh you look tired y/n,” He sighs, “Perhaps I had made you do too much...”

“You’re such a fool Heisenberg,” Alcina ridicules her younger brother, “If you had given y/n more time she-”

“Not at all sir and my lady,” you lie, “You’ve given me things to do and I’d much rather be doing my blacksmithing work.”

You hold the blade up to him as he takes it. You watch him draw the blade and do some practice swings with it.

“Perfectly weighted,” He mumbles, “Exquisite designing... Now we have to test its durability.”

Shit..

Whenever you’d make a new blade, you’d always test the blade’s durability first however you didn’t get the chance to yet because they all came in at the same time. 

Heisenberg walks up to one of the armored stands and raises the blade. You hoped that no one else could see  the sweat running down your temples as Heisenberg walks up to a set of armor and slashes it. The blade is bent.

I’m dead....

“What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Heisenberg walks up to you, “You are one of the best blacksmith’s in the region! How could you let this happen?! I shall feed you to my lycans!!” 

No words were formed out of your mouth, however, being a protective mother of her castle, Alcina takes Heisenberg by the wrist as Daniela stands in front of you, all protective like.

“You do not make the rules in this castle Heisenberg!” Alcina snarls, “I say what’s to say with her.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” Heisenberg growls

He takes you by the collar and begins to practically drag you out of the castle.

“y/n!” Daniela yell, “Don’t take her away from us Uncle Heisenberg!!”

“You can find another plaything to eat,” He continues dragging you

Daniela yanks on your ankle in an attempt to get a grasp on you, Heisenberg yanks harder, making Daniela fall forward.

“Heisenberg you let go of y/n this instant!” Alcina scream as soon as she sees her daughter fall 

“Then why don’t you try and make me?!” He taunts his older sister

As Heisenberg enters the main entrance to drag you out of the castle, all five of you begin hearing an explosion.

“Intruders?!” Alcina calls out, “I’ll have their head! Daniela, make sure they don’t lay a finger on y/n.”

“I’ll make sure she won’t be touched mother,” Daniela says, slightly angered

She yanks you form Heisenberg’s grasp and carries you over her shoulder.

“Daniela I can help,” You say, “I just need to get back to the armory and-”

“You are not to help us!” Daniela yells

“Why not?!” You ask

Daniela puts you back onto your feet as she looks at you.

“Daniela answer me.” You say, more firmly this time, “Why wont you let me help?!”

“You’re human and you need to be protected!” Daniela states

“I may be a human, but I’m also a blacksmith!” You yell this time, “I can for sure as hell handle myself out there!”

“You’re still not going to help!” Daniela yells back

“Why the absolute hell do you want to lock me away knowing you might die?! Do you want to leave me here?! Why is it so important to you that you keep me safe?!” You ask all of these questions

In a quick motion, Daniela cups your face in her hands, lips crashing onto yours.

Chapter 3

[whump-whump-baby]

So your Fictional Universe has Horses in it

Alternatively: People Ride Horses in Your Fic, and you’re Not Sure What to Do About It

horse rider/owner and baby writer here, throwing you an infodump that will maybe help with the whole ‘There’s a Horse in the Background here but I Don’t Know What to Do With it’ thing I sometimes see in writing!

Inside this infodump: Horse riding, horse care, horse tack (equipment), falling off a horse (and what usually gets injured), horse lingo, and behaviour.

1. Tame that beast (aka, riding the horse)

a couple things here: Getting on the horse, getting off, steering, etc

Honestly, I’m only including this part because I find that a lot of people skip past the whole ‘getting on the horse’ bit and I find it hilarious. It’s not a weird thing but it can be weird to describe. I get it!

Getting On

Experienced riders will always mount from the left side of the horse. It's a weird tradition that doesn’t really make sense anymore, but it’s still followed because most don’t really see a reason to change it. It supposedly dates back to medieval times and has something to do with where a sword would traditionally be hung on a person’s hip- mounting (Putting your foot in the stirrup, grabbing up high on the saddle, pulling yourself up and over while using your foot in the stirrup to help yourself) from the left means you wouldn’t accidentally poke your horse with your sheath. Not sure if this story has any validity to it, but we all still follow the left rule unless we’re specifically getting a horse used to mounting from the other side for whatever reason.

Getting off

I have a bone to pick with this. Nobody gets off their horse by swinging a leg in front of themselves, over the horse’s neck in front of them, and hopping down facing away from their horse. It’s not the safest bet to attempt because 1. It actually requires a lot of hip strength to swing your leg like that without kicking your poor horse in the neck, and 2. It doesn’t give you a legitimate way to hold onto your horse after dismounting, which is inherently unsafe. Even if you are in possession of The World’s Best Behaved Horse Ever, you always want to be holding onto the reins. Riders usually dismount by leaning forward, swinging a leg behind them and over the horse’s butt, pivoting sideways on their stomach, and sliding down off the horse- keeping a hand on the rein and one on the saddle to slow their descent. That way you always have a hand on your wild beast, who may decide at any given time that the nearby grass is more important than standing still for your dismount. Plus, swinging a leg like that is basically impossible in saddles that feature a saddle horn, like a western saddle.

It’s a little hard to see in this photo, but Geralt’s saddle definitely has some kind of high pommel to it- so he’d most likely dismount the normal way. It’s just easier!

If you tried to dismount like that in this western saddle you would definitely bruise something.

In this saddle (a Dressage saddle) you could probably pull it off.. but why?? All that struggle just to slide down on your butt and land funny, sprawled away from your horse. It’s just not worth it.

Steering and Etc.

Believe it or not, most steering movement actually comes from the rider’s weight in the saddle than their grip on the reins. If we’re looking at this from the realm of something like The Witcher (which is probably going to be my go-to media example because it’s still pretty recent) a relaxed turn is going to look like Geralt isn’t doing too much with his upper body, because he’d be weighting his seat bones in the saddle. Despite his saddle looking a little bulky, Roach could definitely feel it and respond accordingly- horses are pretty sensitive little friends and can feel most of what you’re doing up there, including looking down. (Protip, if you’re learning to ride horses, don’t look down- it’ll unbalance your upper body and make you pitch forward, unbalancing your horse and making yourself more likely to fall off)

A good way to have a character look experienced with riding is to describe someone relaxed but upright, shoulders back, hands closed but relaxed on the reins. They don’t have to be bolt upright, but at ease. A good way to describe a character with little to no riding experience would be to describe them as tense, probably hunching forward a little; hands too high or low and reins too long. See the lovely photos below:

A Dressage rider: she’s looking pretty evenly balanced, is sitting tall but not bolt upright, hands are low, elbows relaxed. Wonderful!

A Beginner: Absolutely no hate to beginners! We all have to start somewhere, But there’s definitely a difference in body language between this rider and our dressage rider. (Side note: PLEASE always wear a helmet on a horse, especially if you’re a beginner, good grief)

2. Horse Care

I don’t think too much needs to be said here, but there’s a couple things that are worth noting.

Grooming

Most horses love a good brushing. They’ll even lean into it if you find an itchy spot!

 If your character has a ton of experience, grooming their horse makes a lovely backdrop for conversations. Riders usually brush their horses before and after riding, to remove dirt and mud and sweat. Manes and tails are brushed if you want to be detail oriented, and feet should always be picked out (A good chance for Character B to oogle Character A’s butt, if thats the kind of story you’re writing) to remove dirt and stones. 

When Not Riding

Your furry partner-in-crime should be untacked and eating grass somewhere. Untacked means all gear removed and put away for the day- in stories like The Witcher, tied to a tree branch or a rest area in a halter is fine. As a horse person it wouldn’t make sense to leave their tack on all night- you’d leave it nearby, but not on them. If your characters are just pausing for a break or something, it’s totally ok- but done for the day? Nah. Let your pony be naked.

Injuries

Horses, like most prey animals, will hide injuries and illness until they physically can’t anymore. Small cuts and scrapes, dependent on where they are, will probably not give a physical response unless you manipulate them somehow (cleaning, applying antibiotics, etc). A horse may show discomfort by a number of signs, but if it really hurts your horse will probably shy away from your touch or may lash out at your hands to keep you from touching it. Signs of discomfort can be pinning their ears back against their head (aka Ow Ow OW, DON’T TOUCH IT, I’m UPSET) to straight up trying to run from you if they think you’re going to attempt to touch it (a more severe reaction for a more severe wound, like a deep cut/laceration/puncture etc). If a horse is in very dire straits you might get no reaction at all- your horse might be hanging its head low, not really responding to your voice or touch, appearing bleary eyed or dull eyed or sleepy. Generally that kind of severe behavior change is considered Very Very Bad and definitely grounds to call a vet for, especially if there’s no sign of physical injury.

3. Horse Tack (Equipment!)

Here’s a quick rundown of horse tack.

All these pieces make up the bridle, reins included.

*Side note- Bits are not cruel, and riders choosing to use them with their horses are not abusive. Bits are a tool riders use to communicate with their horses and there are hundreds of metal finishes, textures, shapes and sizes to fit a horse with a bit that makes them happy and keeps them comfortable. There are some horses who refuse to take bits, and their owners usually turn to a bitless bridle to keep them comfortable- however this is not “kinder” just because of the lack of bit. These bridles are just designed to exert gentle pressure to tell the horse to slow or stop instead of the gentle pressure on the bit. Different horses prefer different things, and none of these things are harmful to the horse if used properly and with care.

This is a diagram of a close contact or Hunter saddle, but the terminology generally applies to all different kinds of saddles. Girths are considered their own piece of tack and not as a part of the saddle. 

Riders who are riding consistently usually at least wipe their tack down with a wet cloth after finishing with it for the day. Because tack is almost always leather, well cared for leather lasts a lot longer if cared for. This is also a great thing to have a character talk over in a fic- have them clean tack while having a hard conversation, or maybe show how quick and not-great of a job they do on their tack if they’re angry or trying to get away from another character closeby. Lots of opportunities! (If you really want to get detailed, cleaning usually looks like: a damp cloth to wipe dirt off and then rubbing a leather conditioner into the tack, which may smell lovely or a little weird depending on the brand)

4. Falling off

I see you, whump writers. (and I love you.)

So You Want your Character to Fall Off:

Falling off is rarely graceful. It can be caused by anything from an unexpected trip to your horse spooking at something, to a jump taken at the wrong spot/speed/angle... opportunities are endless. I have fallen off my horse at the walk because he startled at a dog and I slipped to the side, and I have fallen off over jumps, because my horse actively tried to get me off, or because I just wasn’t paying attention and Oops, how’d I get in the dirt? Generally if you’re looking for a reason for your character to fall off, they are endless. If the one at fault is the horse common reasons are the rider becoming unseated and slipping back/forward/sideways by the horse startling (at legitimately anything sometimes, depending on the horse.. let your imagination go wild!) changing speed or direction suddenly. All of these things will affect how your character comes off and how they’ll hit dirt with what body part. IE- pitching forward will probably land you on the top of your shoulders, if you’re lucky- if not, you’ll land on your head. Most people will land on the tops of their shoulders as the instinct to protect their head kicks in, but sometimes gravity is a bitch. It happens.

This is where experience comes in, too- Experienced riders will usually react quicker and will try to save themselves, either grabbing onto their horse’s mane or neck or even just keeping a death grip on the reins as adrenaline kicks in- all of which keeps your upper body higher than your lower and can lead to landing on your bum/side/feet instead of your head. Beginner or inexperienced riders might not react that quickly and end up landing roughly. This is not to say that more experienced riders will always come out less injured than beginners, but that experienced riders sense of self preservation will kick in faster frankly just because they’ve fallen off more. This is also why you see more beginners breaking arms in riding accidents- as you learn to ride you are taught (if you were taught like I was) to NEVER throw your arms out to catch yourself during a fall- it’s more likely that you will land on top of your straight arm and give yourself a wicked compound break. Your instinct changes from trying to save yourself to trying everything you can to staying in your saddle. Self preservation is a wonderful thing!

If Your Character is Sick/Already Injured:

The motion of the horse, even in walk, is going to make them feel worse- especially any injury to the lower stomach area. That’s where the body absorbs most of the motion from the horse’s gaits, especially in the hips/lower abdomen. So if Character A has a stab wound in his stomach and Character B has gotten them into the saddle to bring them to help.... Character A is gonna be in some pretty decent pain until they can dismount. For head injuries the same motion might make them dizzy or nauseous. But, good news! If your character slumps forward completely while keeping their arms on either side of the horse’s neck, they will probably manage to stay in the saddle for a decent amount of time. Their lower body and leg (hopefully still in the stirrups) will keep them in the saddle unless jostled out of it. (This, of course, only making sense if the saddle in question doesn’t have a horn, because otherwise your character won’t be able to slump forward far at all. )If they manage to slip off the horse in this position, they’re going to land head/chest/upper body first, especially if only semi-conscious due to previous injuries. 

If dealing with any other injuries, getting on the horse might be nicer than walking but will definitely not keep anything still- any motion the horse makes will make the rider’s body move and jostle the injury, no matter where the injury is.

5. Wrapping it up: Horse Lingo and Behaviour

Horse terms are easy to find and but a google search away, but here’s some of the main terms:

Gaits: A horse’s movement. Walk, trot, canter and gallop with gallop being the fastest.

Aids: what riders use to communicate with the horse. This includes your hand (on the reins) your leg (squeezing to ask for gaits) and your voice.

(Riders talk to their horses! all the time. Even if just to say good boy/girl. Commonly we say things like hoooh, whoa, easy, no, etc. Sometimes just talking to your nervous horse helps calm them down)

Green horse: Inexperienced horse, usually new to being ridden, usually young.

Mare: Female Horse.

Stallion: Male horse, not neutered. Stallions can have a reputation for being hotheaded and sometimes hard to handle, but not all are like that.

Gelding: Male horse, neutered. Most people who have male horses will refer to them as geldings on paperwork.

Pony: a small horse. Not a baby horse. Just smaller.

Colt: Baby male.

Filly: Baby female.

You can probably use google for anything else without concern that you’re using a term that's unnatural.

Behaviour

My rule of thumb for writing behaviour is this: If it seems like a disney dog in a movie would do it........ it’s safe to say a horse wouldn’t. Writing a horse like a disney dog is too unnatural and will definitely make any horse people reading your story give an eye roll.

An example:

Your character has just dismounted their horse after a long ride.

A horse would: maybe sniff your pockets for treats (especially if you had some before you got on) stand next to you as you talked to someone, try to rub their head on you (scratches!! especially if they’re sweaty) maybe perk up at something in the distance if distracted enough

A horse would not: Shake their head at you, whinny at you, prance around and “smile” at you... roll their eyes at something you said... point like Lassie at something in the distance... etc. 

Horses definitely have personalities! They can be affectionate and snuggly, nervous or brave, flighty or stoic... but they don’t emote the same way a cartoon character would. The best example i’ve seen of horse interaction in media would probably be the horses in Disney’s Brave. If you pay attention to the way horses interact with each other and react to events in the movie, it’s pretty spot on!

Follow your gut. You can still have a horse with a personality, but if it feels too cartoony, it probably is!

This is a great infographic that explains body language as well.

I hope this helps anyone who wants to include more horse interaction in their writing!