#potent dog escape

[googleplaysore]

A selection of escape games from JRK Games.

[frogchiro]

i love the idea of bull!price breeding cat!reader in broad daylight so the boys see him and grow furious as bull!price cages us under his body,, the boys try nip and lick reader but bull!price simply uses his strong legs to kick the others away,, making sure the rest of the men can't do anything but watch and bark as cat!reader gets cockdrunk on price's much larger cock and warm and hairy body before filling her up with his cum or cumming all over her body and showing her off to the heated (in more ways than one) men, ahh that's the dream

Bull!Price's huge, strong body is absolutely covering yours, mounting you from behind, rubbing his heavy, potent musk on you as you continue to mewl and moan in delight and blinding pleasure :(

You can try and squirm away from the borderline overstimulation and John's huge cock battering your poor, wet cunt but there's no escape; John will just let out a rumbly huff, groan something about a 'naughty bratty kitty' before hauling you back by your fluffy tail back with you wailing out because his sensitive, flared tip hit against your cervix and spat out more of his fertile cum against your most intimate place :((

And it doesn't help one bit that this is all happening out in the open field in broad daylight where any hybrid can see you getting defiled and bred like some heifer. While John delights in getting the message that you're marked by him and you're his pretty kitty, unfortunately there are some cons to this, namely that damn pack of dog hybrids that took to try and breed with you and claim you as theirs >:(

They try to interfere, at first growling and buffing at the coupling pair, Ghost growling and snarling while Kyle and Soap started to whine early on, their cocks hanging and leaking while trying to get your attention but you're way too fucked out to notice or care.

The two younger hybrids would try to sneak close and try to lick or nip at you, Johnny ever the brave pup even trying to sneak under you to suck your tit but the huge bull hybrid is having none of it; no ones getting close to a mating pair so he kicks his powerful leg out, his hooves getting dangerously close to the whining hybrids while his strong arms pull you even harder against his chest, a snarl of his own making its way onto his face.

Those damn dogs can sure try to take you away or think that you're theirs; even better that they're here and watching you. It will make it all the more pleasurable and victorious for John when he shows them how a real breeding bull fucks and claims his girl <33

[hischokehold]

tw: könig being the biggest pervert ever, watersports, anal, non-con.

Perv!König commiting the most atrocious, disgusting acts to you, his precious girl, knowing you'd let him get away with it♡

Perv!König who coerces you into bending over his desk, tight baby cunt sprawled out for him while he films you, telling you that it's normal for little girls like you to let their boyfriends inspect their privates "It's my right as a man, maus. Don't you trust me?"

Perv!König who only lets you wear skirts and dresses for easy access, slipping his thick, heavy cock in one of your tight holes whenever he so pleases.

Perv!König who gets hard over anything and everything that involves you, rubbing his clothed dick against your cunt like a dog in heat because he saw you sucking on a lollipop. And you don't get to complain, liebling. It's your fault for being such a tease! He can't help it! What's a man like him supposed to do when a pretty girl like you is practically begging to get fucked? You should be thanking him.

Perv!König who one day randomly drags you to the bathroom, yanking you down the toilet, and making you hold his flaccid cock as he pisses, angry red tip twitching as his urine dribbled down the bowl.

Perv!König who gently slaps your flushed cheeks with his dick. "Open wide, darling." His calloused thumb brushes over your cheeks, dragging over your plump lips to part them open. "What's wrong, maus? Don't wanna taste daddy's piss?" He chuckles as he squeezes out the remaining urine from his cock and inside your warm, wet mouth.

Perv!König who absolutely adores the utter confusion on your face, torn between disgust and pleasure. "Good girl. Takin' daddy's cock so well."

Perv!König who uses you as his personal little toilet, taking it upon himself to piss in all your holes, randomly yanking your panties to the side to piss in your cunny- don't think that tiny puckered hole is safe from him either. But you're just too tight for him at the moment maus, he's working on it.

Perv!König who comes home after a long, grueling day, body sheathed with sweat and musk. Then impatiently unbuckles his belt with his calloused hand, letting his big, heavy, musky cock fling free from their confines.

Perv!König who forcibly shoves your nose deep in his heavy balls, nostrils pressed against his pubes, keeping you trapped and smothered with his scent.

Perv!König who ruts his balls against your pretty face, "Oh fuck, takin' me so well, angel -fuck, didn't take you for a fuckin' ballslut." Deep, guttural grunts escape from his parted lips, head thrown back in pleasure.

Perv!König who forces his cock into yourunprepared holes, bouncing you on his dick like a fleshlight, ravaging your poor, tiny body.

Perv!König who can't help but utter words of assurance as he fills your fertile womb with his potent cum. "Love you so much, sweetheart. Did so well for me. Daddy's give you a reward for being so good, yeah?"

Perv!König who despite his vile acts is so so so irrevocably in love with you and gives you the best aftercare; preparing a bubble bath for you, washing your body and hair so tenderly, giving your dazed form little kisses to keep you from falling asleep in the tub. "Does it hurt anywhere?" You shake your head. "Nuh uh."- "Good."

Perv!König who spends the rest of the night making it up to you, drying your hair off and even putting you in his your favorite bunny pyjamas. "I love you, Kö." Shit. Your words make his heart skip a beat and he feels his dick harden in his boxers again. But he holds off, too focused on taking care of you.

Perv!König who takes you out shopping to do all your girly shit the entire day, going to your favorite brands; getting you a purse from prada, some dresses from Miu Miu, and of course, Victoria's Secret. A treat for both you and him. You do a little fashion show for him, twirling around all pretty. Which ended up getting you dicked down in the changing room, tits pressed up against the mirror while he covers your mouth with his big, veiny hands.

Perv!König whose face contorted to a pout when you scolded him for fucking you like that in public and nearly getting caught by the staff. It's okay! Even if you got caught he would've paid them to keep their mouths shut!

Perv!König who sighs happily when his darling clings to his arms, tired from the long day. He shifts the shopping bags to his left hand to hold yours, bending down to giving you a kiss on the forehead. "I love you, sweetheart."

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)

[bloodandthestars]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏, 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐇, 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇.

touchstarved. ais.

wc :: 1.4k

tw: mentions of blood

a/n :: i am going off of 7 hours of demo play and the studio's tumblr so YEAH. loving this game and the people who created it sm that i’ve posted to tumblr for the first time.

You were found where you usually were if asked: the Seaspring. At first, it was a place you searched for a cure when your options seemed fleeting. But it was there where you two met. He wanted your eyes on him and you told him to fuck off. Introductions were as lovely as ever.

At that moment, the man told you the truth. The honest, deranged explanation of the blood pool in front of you both. It was more than you ever expected from a stranger, and if you were completely honest, the rectitude put you at ease of his company. When he wasn’t trying to provoke a reaction, that is. When he wasn’t, being alone with him was never a fearful encounter. It happened once again on the very same day, the moonlight ever potent in the dark alleyways of Eridia. The two of you sat atop wooden crates, shoulders brushing together, speaking in and out of comfortable silence. He told you of the one that rests in his head, with a hand stained with fresh blood and worn knuckles. Even then, you felt safe.

There would be comments that would pique your curiosity about what was underneath the nonchalant demeanor he had given you. Asking if your curse was really that bad made you wonder what he thought of the aliment on your existence. You’ve seen faces twist into madness, your life greeting death on its doorstep countless times because of it. You could think of nothing worse, but with the way his eyes shifted away from you, it seemed he had a few ideas. The Seaspring was a solution, a nontraditional one at that with side effects that could eradicate your very sanity. But there were possible dots to be connected, and you did so with him by your side—with the solace of each other’s company, and neither with anything to lose.

This is what drew you closer to Ais, and how you found yourself frequenting the Seaspring, even when there was nothing to go off of.

You sat on the wooden deck on the side of the crimson spring, while he stayed to the rafters across from you. The soulless remained vigilant after greeting you with nudges of their forms, demanding touch from your bandaged hands. It would be like a flipped switch, from adoring your company to watching the wooden doors of the antique building. You never understood when or why they began to do so. A dog-like one enters the room that you’re all the more familiar with.

He catches the way your eyes light up, turning his gaze away reluctantly. “She’s always looking around for you. Whenever you're not here.”

The information causes you to form a small smile. “Well, of course, she does.”

His thick brow arches, taking a drag of cigarette sitting comfortably between his fingers. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

You roll your eyes. Even with your head turned in Princess’s direction, you have a feeling he somehow caught the action. “Because she likes me, and I’m perhaps her favorite.”

Ais huffs with a trail of smoke escaping his lips. You turn your head in his direction at the sound. “What?”

His lids are low when he looks at you. Without a slight in his balance, the man jumps from the rafters. He lands with a hard thud of his thick boots and the tiny clink of metal from his necklaces. His body rises, leaning his back against one of the wooden pillars. Ais’s voice is straight and teasing in its tone. “She lives with me at the end of the day.”

Your eyes squint as you tilt your head. “Everything is just a competition for you… isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it for you, too?”

You slowly smile, and he’s quick to hide his own in another drag of his cigarette. You put your attention on Princess, who eagerly spots your presence and comes to you. Her head pushes into your palm with eagerness. Your smile grows bigger, happily obliging to the creature’s request for touch. It was there that he stares at you. Again. He did it too often than he’d admit— not like he ever would. At least, not in a way that hints to you of something under the surface.

But the words simply slip off his tongue. “I’m trying so hard to hate you, little sparrow.”

A brief laugh escapes you. You don’t notice how his voice goes serious and remains that way. “Why?”

“Because if I do, it’ll make this bearable.”

A certain word from him causes you to freeze. You turn your head from Princess and arch a brow. “This?”

Silence falls over the Seaspring. Your hands slip from the soulless pet and she imminently wanders elsewhere. You take a deep breath, trying again. “What do you mean by that, Ais?”

You wonder if he’s blinked in these past minutes with the way he looks at you. Nothing was said between you both for a while. There was patience that grew within you ever since the two of you met. He was honest sure, but that didn’t mean some answers came with difficulty. Words constantly made piles against shut teeth and a hardened jaw. It was in his nature to let them out, be as plain as the morning sky— say for the exceptions where the voices in his head plead to interject. Yet you are willing to wait for an answer, however long it took. He wanted to hate that about you too.

You waited in the quiet with bated breath, one that releases the tightness in your chest. Your shoulders begin to relax, easing into turning your thoughts into action.

“Well,” You slowly rise from where you sit with a swallow. “Allow me to guess.”

“A feeling.” The words were spoken as if they were that simple. You step further, and he allows you to do so— evident in how his eyes stay locked on you, despite his body being still against the wooden pillar. Crimson eyes bore into your own, never wavering in the way you come closer. You glance at your bandages, checking for their full coverage before layered fingertips brush against his inked forearm. Even then, he still doesn’t move. His gaze goes to the contact, watching as your touch goes up his arm. Even through pristine cloth, you can feel the surface of his veins, the curve of his muscle. It only makes you wonder what his skin could truly feel like— you’ve never wanted a cure so badly than in this very moment.

But for now, you were content. You reach the beginning of his upper arm when the words fall from your mouth. “An insatiable pull, want turning into need.” Your fingers travel up, slowly feeling the hill of his bicep, a paintbrush to the turquoise color that daubs his skin. Your eyes stayed to your movements, higher and higher they go. Past the texture of his straps, down the valley of his shoulder and jacket lapel to the lithe of his collarbone. “Desire…and yearning.”

It’s here where your gaze goes back up to his face, where you find his eyelids softly shut. His expression was unreadable, but you can tell it wasn’t anything of malice. You step closer, now feeling the heat from his body. The pads of your fingers run against the thick of his neck, hand going to the back of his head. Your digits rest into the locks of his hair, guessing its texture. You got an idea as you shifted closer, its whipped ends tickle the height of your cheeks.

Your words felt ever-present at this moment. And as your breath ghosts over his face, you finish your thought with a tilt of your head and a soft mutter. “Am I wrong?”

Both of you were still in your melted presence. Silence falls over the Seaspring once again. You were completely surrounded by him. Your nostrils were hit with an increase in the smoky scent you knew him so well for. Your eyes are stuck to his eyelids, trying to read anything that could convey his answer. They flicker, once, twice, but remain shut for an awfully long time. He took an inhale, and your heart was cautious about what’d be next. But, there was nothing.

You sigh, fingers loosening from their hold. They leave the maze of his hair, as does your body from his. You felt a lot colder all of a sudden, and a low feeling begins to sink into your stomach. You’re taking a step away but that didn’t last too long, not when a grab of your wrist desperately pulls you back.

[demifiendrsa]

Castlevania: Nocturne | Official Teaser Trailer

Castlevania: Nocturne will premiere on Netflix on September 28, 2023.

Poster

Cast

Edward Bluemel (Persuasion, The Commuter, The Halcyon) as Richter, the tough young hero who’s continuing the family tradition of vampire hunting 

Pixie Davies (The Magician’s Elephant, Mary Poppins Returns, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children) as Maria, a natural leader who’s fighting inequality in her country, and also a magic user battling the vampire elite

Thuso Mbedu (The Woman King, The Underground Railroad, Is’Thunzi) as Annette, who used her power and wits to escape vampire-enforced enslavement in the Caribbean, and now wields magic to stop the impending apocalyptic threat

Sydney James Harcourt (I’m Not Gay: A Musical, Hamilton) as Edouard, who left his life as a talented opera singer to aid and accompany Annette

Nastassja Kinski (Inland Empire, Cat People, Paris, Texas) as Tera, a mother and mentor to young vampire hunters and magic users, who has her own share of past trauma to bear

Zahn McClarnon (Reservation Dogs, Dark Winds, Fargo) as Olrox, who killed Richter’s mother years ago and now must decide whether he can stomach teaming up with his sworn enemy in order to stop vampiric world domination

Franka Potente (Titans, Run Lola Run, The Bourne Identity) as Erzsebet Báthory, aka the one foretold. She’s the queen of vampires, and, if all goes as planned, of the entire world. (Her character is very loosely based on the various folkloric stories and contested histories surrounding a real-life noblewoman.)

[tired-biscuit]

Ok but right now, all I can think about is Kiba’s incredibly attuned sense of smell. Like that dude can pick up on anything, right. I just know if you were trying to hide that you were horny or something, he’d ofc know right away. It’s all over your scent. He’s smile so devilishly. And tease the fuck outta you.

Also hope your headache goes away quickly 🤍🤍

it's all under the cut!! i went crazy over this, ahhhh....... <3

18+ mdni / fem!reader

i know i usually don't write canonverse cos i tend to pick modern au over it, but that's always been one of my fave things about him in that setting - that keen sense of smell.

i like to imagine he'd literally be able to sort of read your emotions judging by the way you'd smell. like, through the level of your hormones that would subtly alter your scent (the change is minuscule but he can catch it; he's made to catch it after all) he could tell if you're scared by how bitter your sweat would get, or how happy you are by how sweet it'd turn.

so by that logic, all of that would also include arousal.

and omg fiwnfiwjdueu, that would work so well with enemies to lovers for him. can you imagine him turning sort of dazed when he finally starts scenting want instead of pure hatred?

like, his cute lil' nose sort of lingering right at the crook of your neck when he puts an end to yet another one of your hissy fights with him, but does it differently this time around. just brings you close for a change; inhaling that sugary sweetness that is your building desire for him, the way it turns even more potent with the racing of your pulse????? there's nothing but tension in the room, he can feel it crackle like electricity on his skin; the lightning pulls it taut.

and you, well, you're so into this. that bratty mouth of yours is clamped shut as he breathes you in, for once failing to spit nasty remarks at him - what an experience. especially as the tip of his nose traces the spot that hides your treacherous, erratic heartbeat; sharp fangs hovering just a mere inch above it, but never quite touching the skin.

his voice all of a sudden sounds so strained, throat tight and dry enough to hurt as he says, "can't believe i'm saying this right now... but- fuck... i want you."

and you try to frown at that; to pull a face at his sort of a backhanded statement, but you just aren't able to when he starts to pepper kisses all over your neck. no, words simply fail you. there's nothing witty and clever about the moan that escapes your lips the moment he picks up the pace and sinks his teeth into you.

AND PLS THE WAY HE'D GO ABSOLUTELY HAYWIRE WHEN HE'D PUSH YOU TO LAY ONTO YOUR BACK THEN, AND YOU'D FINALLY PART YOUR LEGS FOR HIM?? AHHHHH

in true kiba fashion, he's all smug about it, of course. "damn. you really want me bad, too, huh, sweetheart?"

looking up at his flushed face; at the way his broad shoulders move with every inhale as he tries to process all of the information you're spilling through your pores, you're embarrassed and simply furious at your own body betraying you so obviously and so easily. so you try to save yourself by being a little bit mean.

calling him names as an attempt to distract him from the obvious, you're saying, "stop smiling like that, you dog... i'm not that turned on by you. and don't call me sweetheart."

but heat sears your face violently as you watch him tug your drenched panties down your legs a moment later, and see his cat-like pupils dilate in a way you've never seen them dilate before. sideways. big enough to eat up most of the white in his eyes.

the sight sends a shiver rolling down your spine as he looks up at you, then. still maintaining eye contact, he bunches up the delicate lace of your underwear that he now holds in his hand, and brings it up to his nose.

your toes curl when you hear him inhale. as you watch his thick eyelashes flutter and his eyelids turn heavy. goddamn, he's so fucked up, so nasty. and fine as hell during it, too.

thrill pulsates in your belly as he bites back a groan that's crawling up his throat and turns it into a mere grunt. you just smell so fucking good, it's hard to remain civil when the scent of that sweet little cunt of yours fills the room so fast; making him start behaving more like a beast than a man.

still, kiba controls himself. he reels it all back in - just like he's been doing it for years whenever he's been bound to wind up in your 'dreadful' company. puts himself on a leash.

but all of that still isn't enough to dismiss the fact that he's got that shit-eating grin plastered on his face now. the one that you hate, hate, hate as he twirls your panties around one finger and says, "aha... not sure if i ever told ya this before, sweetheart," he pauses to sneer at you with the pet name you forbade him from using.

"but scent doesn't lie, y'know."

[milkypompon]

— angel’s blessing | ch. 1

synopsis: after the 100th failed attempt of Zagreus trying to escape from the Underworld, a divine being from beyond the Greek pantheon caught wind of his suicidal mission. God sent y/n, a trusted soldier from his army of angels, to aid him in his freedom.

genre: zagreus x angel!reader, fluff, angst, suggestive themes

wc: 1k+

an: comment below or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

<previous || masterlist || next>

—

Death was a concept created to mark the end of the living. However, angels knew that it was only the beginning of a soul’s life at the right hand of God in Heaven. The excursion to the paradise with a winged being was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Quite literally.

A millennium of escorting children and adults for them to experience the fruits of their labor in the afterlife should’ve run you ragged. But, the task to carry three dogs in your arms was a more difficult feat — it was completed with cramping wings and a huff of fatigue.

You found the puppies snuggled up next to each other during a frigid winter. The cold air nipped at the end of your feathers as you neared their gentle breaths, slowly quieting.

Perhaps angels with weak hearts, such as yourself, shouldn’t have been assigned to an occupation that exposed them to death. The thought of becoming a messenger to the mortals came across your mind.

But even then, you couldn’t change the fate of mankind.

The only solace you ensured them was the warmth of your hand against their soul during the time of collection.

Your thoughts were still at the forefront as the golden gates of Heaven opened up. The rays of the eternal sun still surprised you at the end of each expedition. 

As you hobbled through the entrance with the sleeping pups, the flourishing flowers from around the world swayed in greeting. Even with the lack of rainfall, the blessings of eternity kept them alive.

You crouched down to let the new residents of the afterlife out of your trembling arms. The dogs stretched their limbs before bounding toward the rolling hills of grass. 

A booming chuckle tickled your feathers. “It seems our ever-shifting land has already procured a place for them to enjoy.”

You turned towards God with a small smile. He towered above you, yet he was as gentle as the creatures you escorted. “They would’ve relieved themselves in excitement if they were still alive.”

“You’re rather fond of the dogs. I do hope you get to see them again.” He sighed, “Although, your display of resentment is not from having to say goodbye, is it?”

Your cheeks flushed knowing that he read the lingering thoughts in your mind. “I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful for the role you’ve given me.”

God waved his hand in dismal. “My child, it is not my duty to keep you here. There are many eager for your help whenever you’re prepared to lend a hand.”

You nodded and gripped the hem of your tunic. 

With a sigh of the wind, he presented you with a woven basket filled to the brim with scrolls of parchment — the tasks of angels — each enclosed by twine, silk, or wax.

There was one bound by a dark crystal emanating an amethyst glow. 

God explained, “There is a being from beyond the worlds you’ve traveled in need of great aid.”

You gingerly pried the letter open.

The message you scanned made your chest tighten… In fear? Or perhaps excitement? The Lord’s generosity stretched from those who sinned to creatures on their last breath. But to free a chthonic god from the King of the Dead was between the threshold of luck and a miracle. 

God gripped your shoulder. “Say his name when you’re ready to accept the task.” 

You whispered, “Zagreus.”

—

You thrashed on blue quilts. Potent forces of the netherworld willed you to leave the wretched place. Groans clawed their way out of your throat. As phantom pains lingered downwards, pulsating thumps resounded through every pore. 

The Underworld wasn’t welcoming to holy creatures like you. 

You slowly steadied your breath by noting the spread of scrolls and leather-bound books strewn around. If it weren’t for the bed you tumbled out of, you would’ve thought the room was forgotten storage for ancient texts and artifacts. 

Behind the closed door, a muffled voice growled, “Your threats won’t deter me from getting away from you, Father.” 

The golden handle shook brutally before a familiar fragrance of flame and ashes from the winter season filled the room.

The chthonic god rolled his eyes and muttered an unpleasant word before they landed on you. 

Zagreus flinched but quickly recovered. “Who you might be, good shade?”

You attempted to flare out your wings — the familiar weight was missing. You had a look of confusion, more so meant for God than for him. 

A bright voice hummed in your mind. “You mustn't reveal your true form, my child. For there are ears everywhere within the House of Hades.”

Who is there to trust within the land of the dead? 

Mentally sifting through the gossip, albeit a flaw of yours, it crafted a foundation for the residents of the lair, including the immortal who stood before you.

Humans and angels alike eagerly discussed the Prince’s mission. Even with the Greek pantheon’s boons along with heroes born and bred for battle training him, he eventually reached the one hundredth failed attempt of escaping the Underworld.

However, an angel’s blessing would grace him with renewed vigor.

You clasped your hands behind you. “A pedagogue at your service, my prince. Please call me y/n.”

“I’m grateful for your tutelage, but I’ve already spent many years sharpening my mind.”

“I was not sent by Lord Hades.” 

Zagreus closed the distance between the two of you. The scent of fire shifted, it burned your lungs. “I’m rather occupied with Achilles’ sparring sessions throughout the day.”

“And what of the moments when you’re not training or not dying? What do you do then, my prince?”  You grit your teeth. Knowing the bone-headed prince’s stubbornness was one thing, but experiencing it was another. “Lady Nyx tasked me to educate you on the realms of this hell.”

Zagreus grinned at the bite of your tongue. He suspected a new prophecy along the lines of talk to a snarky being other than your father was forged and completed. 

“It seems we’ll get along just fine, y/n.”

[tireless-wordplay]

Potental Phillpine monsters you could eat

Amomongo Described as ape or monkey like, and people eat bush meat, so their is that, plus angry apes are a standered in monster D&D like systems... Bakunawa Form my Galancings, it seems to be Sea serpent, but I can feel it is soppused to be something a bit more than that...

Busaw I bring them up,cause it grows Root Vegetables, So it might habe anything form Mandrake to Potatos. Plus it might try harvest the bodies of adventures who met an unfortunate fate...

Sigbin I mean it might be a spirit, Demon, or something else, but it could also be a very weird goat. Berberoka Probably rubbery due to hunting tencinic, but hey, lotta of fish. Might need to add a reason why they are so afraid of crabs...

Tigmamanukan I dont think a eating a Omen bird is a good idea, but probably has a lot of Mana and Vit D

Ooh, thanks for sending this over! These are really cool. To address these:

Amomongo sounds like a really aggressive ape. Good lower-middle level monster.

The Bakunawa is more of a singular being, plus it's said to be big enough to swallow the moon. This makes it more of a cosmic entity. Maybe, in Dungeon Meshi terms, it's a demon? Rather than The Pig or The Winged Lion, it's The Eel. (I also ramble about the Bakunawa's role in my OCverse here.)

I'm thinking the gang could eat specifically the vegetables grown by the busaw rather than the busaw itself (hopefully). I imagine there's something unique about the vegetables - a magical quality such as granting invisibility, maybe?

Sigbin could be your standard shapeshifting monster, alternating between a dog, pig, chicken, or fish to escape/pursue enemies.

Berberoka's interesting. It's described as an ogre, but we can just make it a bit less humanoid for the purpose of a Dungeon Meshi-type story.

As you said, the tigmamanukan is an omen bird; maybe its gimmick is that it causes misfortune within the area. Additionally, since in Tagalog mythology it's specifically a ward of the god Bathala, here maybe it's like the "eyes" of the dungeon lord?

[goodbysunball]

You're my buddy, you're my pal

A couple more for the road. A long overdue nod to the great Bruit Direct Disques, and Khanate's massive return to a world that befits their sound. Without further adieu:

Khanate, To Be Cruel (Sacred Bones)

After a double-digit years-long hiatus, Khanate orchestrated a surprise return to follow up Clean Hands Go Foul with To Be Cruel. I can't say I've listened to much Khanate in the interim, but To Be Cruel makes a strong case for revisiting the band's discography. Given the members' forays into other projects, I was expecting the sound to shift dramatically here, but that was incorrect: the band has doubled down on its glacial pace, heaving guitars and Alan Dubin's backed-into-a-corner vocals, at once human and feral. What's changed is only a greater attention to composition, allowing for some breaks in the drudgery to incorporate ideas from free jazz and improvisation. About two-thirds of the way through opener "Like a Poisoned Dog," the song is overwhelmed by feedback, the drums let loose and the bass holds the line; it's a brief, but thrilling moment, a break in the stark black atmosphere. Much of that atmosphere is owing to Stephen O'Malley's guitar and Alan Dubin's vocals, though I was glad to read an interview with James Plotkin where he agrees that some of the lyrics Dubin screams are patently absurd. That being said, the broader ideas behind the lyrics, coupled with their deadly serious delivery, induce chills throughout. Control is ceded to Dubin on the spare "It Wants to Fly," but his strongest performance is saved for the title track at the end. "To Be Cruel" is vintage Khanate, O'Malley and Plotkin squeezing every ounce from their chords, Tim Wyskida hammering the drums to punctuate each painfully slow movement. Rather than find release, the band chooses to return to the same structure at the beginning of the song, now teasing feedback out between strikes, slowly burying Dubin alive. To Be Cruel is the band's best work, as room-flattening, caustic and focused as ever, enough for me to consider making a trip if they tour behind it.

Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)

Ah, Glen Schenau's inimitable Nusidm returns on one of my favorite labels, Bruit Direct Disques. We must enjoy these moments of kismet, no? The Last Temptation of Thrill fleshes out a refined version of Nusidm found on Hatred of Pain: less vocals, less crowded, and reimagining the dirge as something miasmatic and smothering. Largely gone are the clean, tromolo-picked guitars, but the drums carry the weight, something made perfectly clear on "Katy und Abel" and the beginning of the fully dystopian "Run to the Shops." There seems to be a lot more electronic layering in these tracks, songs built up not by clenched muscles but by feedback, pitch-shifted vocals, pedals and maybe even tape loops. This approach makes "Sit and Watch the Sunrise" come across as a threat, and reaches a logical, thrilling endpoint on "Arm Unemployed" and "Melody Moody - The Re-incision." The slow build of noise in the latter cancels out the jazzy bass line reprised from Hatred of Pain's "Vapid" and covers itself in thick mud, vocals escaping through the air vent and desperate for a response. The record builds up in fits and starts, interspersed with instrumental tracks, the best of which are on the B-side: "Tagging My Friends" brings back the frantic clenched-teeth acoustic playing, and "Talking to Animals" is all feedback and woodwind shrieking, taken home by the downtuned bass. The album's elements coalesce on the chaotic "Arm Unemployed," previously released but finding its home as the penultimate track here, which kinda sounds like Glen's take on rap-metal, if they ever made room for a xylophone solo. It must be heard to be believed, but you'll be nodding along for its five-and-a-half minute duration. The Last Temptation of Thrill is Nusidm as confounding as ever, but as potent as ever, too; the artist-label pairing here greater than the sum of its parts. Three hundo copies to go around, and sharply outfitted in Glen's own artwork and font to further confuse the issue. Come join me on his planet.

Terrine, Standing Abs (Bruit Direct Disques)

Terrine's last album Les Problèmes Urbains was described in the press release as "certainly one of the most demanding (comical) in the world." I'm unsure if my familiarity with the work of Claire Gapenne as Terrine is such that I understand her intentions more clearly, or if I've just accepted being wholly outside the joke. Whatever the case, her latest album Standing Abs is checking all the boxes for me. It opens with "She's So Kind De Ouf," full of harsh electronics and rhythms popping up and disappearing, all of the different elements building to a blaring climax. If you know Terrine, you know that these moments are fleeting, and the song is shortly followed up with acoustic piano and what sounds like a beat made by basketballs. The piano has been a strong part of Terrine's sound, but now it is woven into the album's fabric rather than included solely as a jarring shift in instrumentation. The rest of the album is a really interesting push-pull between modern electronic composition, with a nod to EDM, and these shorter pieces featuring spare, empty-room piano. It's hard not to think of ZNR's Barricade 3 when confronted with the dichotomy of electronic and acoustic sounds, presented to emphasize their contrast; but I will also echo Matt K.'s comparison to Lolina in his review of the album. Like Lolina's best work, there is a logic here, albeit coy and evasive, that still captivates. The stretch of songs from "Carrageenan Do Dad Jokes" through "Nuage De Nuls" features some of the same elements, but it's as if the beats and piano merge, split, or disappear altogether throughout. Far from being a purely academic exercise, there's plenty that just knocks here, too: "Les Moucherons à Oranges" sounds like the rhythm is being played on the piano strings, a kick drum coming in to intermittently stabilize the situation. "La Nimpro" unceremoniously kicks you out of the loft at the album's end, and the cycle is complete. It's a blast, shedding any sense of sabotage (hello, "L'anniversaire") and stepping confidently into their Sambas.

[glitteringaglarond]

'But my lord of Rohan, am I to be called a murderer, because valiant men have fallen in battle? If you go to war, needlessly, for I did not desire it, then men will be slain. But if I am a murderer on that account, then all the House of Eorl is stained with murder; for they have fought many wars, and assailed many who defied them. Yet with some they have afterwards made peace, none the worse for being politic. I say, Théoden King: shall we have peace and friendship, you and I? It is ours to command.'

'We will have peace,' said Théoden at last thickly and with an effort. Several of the Riders cried out gladly. Théoden held up his hand. 'Yes, we will have peace,' he said, now in a clear voice, 'we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished – and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us. You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts. You hold out your hand to me, and I perceive only a finger of the claw of Mordor. Cruel and cold! Even if your war on me was just – as it was not, for were you ten times as wise you would have no right to rule me and mine for your own profit as you desired – even so, what will you say of your torches in Westfold and the children that lie dead there? And they hewed Háma's body before the gates of the Hornburg, after he was dead. When you hang from a gibbet at your window for the sport of your own crows, I will have peace with you and Orthanc. So much for the House of Eorl. A lesser son of great sires am I, but I do not need to lick your fingers. Turn elsewhither. But I fear your voice has lost its charm.'

The Riders gazed up at Théoden like men startled out of a dream. Harsh as an old raven's their master's voice sounded in their ears after the music of Saruman. But Saruman for a while was beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. To some suddenly it seemed that they saw a snake coiling itself to strike.

'Gibbets and crows!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs? Too long have they escaped the gibbet themselves. But the noose comes, slow in the drawing, tight and hard in the end. Hang if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of gallopers, as swift to fly as to advance, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a state beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me brag and abuse. So be it. Go back to your huts!

And this moment is what helped solidify how much I love Theoden.

If the description of Saruman’s voice before he even started talking was enough to hold me spellbound, the dialogue itself is even more potent. And Theoden is the first one who managed to break that spell. Both Gimli and Eomer spoke up before Theoden, and yet their words seemed unimportant, and were easily overpowered by Saruman’s voice.

But then Theoden speaks.

Theoden speaks and his voice is a jarring contrast to Saruman’s, but in a way that’s refreshing… as if we were in a room filled with a pungent, overpowering, addictive perfume and Theoden opened a window to allow in a sharp winter breeze. And his words are harsh, but they’re all the more cleansing for that.

And then the spell of Saruman’s voice changes

His voice is still overpowering, but now instead of feeling like a net made of poisoned flowers, it’s a hedge of thorns entrapping us. The spell of his voice might not be broken, but it is revealed - just for a moment - for the cruel trap it really is.

[greatwyrmgold]

The Sentinels of the Multiverse card game has a Steam version, which has a surprising number of Worm mods. (One and a half, but there are only 27 mods in the entire workshop.) Unsurprisingly, both have their own takes on at least half of the Undersiders.

Observations:

I suspect the Mythikal Comics Undersiders are tuned for experienced players who pick a small team designed to work well together, because the power level seems kinda high. The villain characters cards have an awful lot of per-turn card destruction, for instance, and the villain cards who deal damage deal a good amount. This is more notable because A. there are several villain characters in play at any one time (unless you're doing a REALLY good job of knocking them down) and B. after incapacitating each Undersider, the back side of their character card throws in another potent effect.

Like, Tattletale forces each player to destroy an equipment/ongoing card or discard a card, at the end of every turn. Either your setup gets wrecked or you bleed cards, and the only way to avoid this is to leave her up, which means all villains get +1 damage and she keeps shooting you and she destroys a bunch of your ongoing cards each turn anyways.

Did I mention that one villain turn after beating each Undersider, another one comes out? So unless you let all of them fight and coordinate damage carefully and avoid their surprisingly common healing effects, you'll end up having to deal with the entire team, a few at a time, continuing to get stronger as they whittle you down.

Remember how I mentioned that a small team that works well together would have a better chance? The Parahumans of the Multiverse Undersiders don't, really. Tattletale's got a mass healing Ongoing that helps keeps Bitch's dogs up, but that's mitigated by Grue's damage buff. Yamada and Bitch combo better than any two of the Undersiders.

You know who do work together well? PotM Bitch and Mythikal Bitch. Thanks for the damage buff, Other Me, and for having other dogs out there who my power can turn against your teammates.

Coil's Base has a poorly-designed card, Sealed Chamber. The idea is that if you deal too much damage to it, Echidna escapes and rampages, Game Over. But you can skip your turn to heal it. In practice, a lot of villain decks have mass Environment deck destruction, and the way Sealed Chamber is designed means that any effect like that going off ends the game instantly. Guess what the Undersiders character card does whenever you beat one of the Undersiders?

[birlwrites]

What are your thought(s) on the idea that Barty is a sort of antithesis of Sirius. In how he is a opposite to him. Looking at them their differences are almost opposites of each other, Sirius rebelled against a dark family and went to to light one, with Barty he went against his father (a strong preacher of the light) and while didn't get "adopted" he began to uphold the typical ideals of the dark. They were both imprisoned in Azkaban, but while Barty was there for something he did and got a trial, Sirius was innocent yet was imprisoned without a trial. For both of them they eventually escaped and once escaped they had to hide out at the place they grew up and (most likely) despised.

Then there is their relationship with Regulus (which for Barty is based entirely on fanon but what else can you do) for due to a sorting into a house seen as unbefitting of their families, managed to be the reason that for Barty he met Regulus and became close with him and for Sirius he grew apart from each other until eventually being on opposite sides.

There are so many other parallels with other characters (there's even a small one I can make with Regulus and Peter) I could talk about but I am trying to avoid a massive word dump in your inbox and the lack of foundation for characters such as well everyone and not much consistency or development in development that leaves the issue of finding a base difficult in for most reasons (yours and one other are my basic foundation for Barty outside of the crumbs of canon).

yep! barty and sirius as foils are a big part of how i think about both of them - they essentially switch places, and they've both had periods in their lives when they would be DEEPLY offended by someone saying as much

i will add: i like to heighten the 'devotion' aspect of both of their characters - barty is obviously a fanatical supporter of voldemort in canon, and sirius's animagus form is Literally a dog, and i think that's very interesting to explore. also, to build up the parallels, it's regulus for barty instead of voldemort, and james takes on that role for sirius instead of remus (neither of which are UNcommon takes, but in wolfstar fics especially i will see, at the very least, james and remus being on the same level for sirius. which is totally reasonable, just not what i'm interested in because i'm more interested in the dynamic between james and sirius)

they are also both tools for their parents' agendas - crouch sr sending barty to azkaban, and walburga/orion (presumably) restoring sirius to house black so that SOMEONE will inherit

and i also think it's interesting to conceive of voldemort and dumbledore as a) replacement Adults™ for the parents who failed them, and b) as sources of a purpose in life. sirius has the potters (and even mcgonagall), so dumbledore can't get as powerful of a grip on him as voldemort can on barty, but i think both sirius and barty push down this very potent desire for Approval From Authority Figures that can absolutely be manipulated if said Authority Figure is observant and machiavellian enough. and one of the reasons they CAN be manipulated through that is because they both tell themselves they don't need it and they're Rebels - they're not equipped to notice that manipulation for what it is and pull back from it

[lesbianwriter]

Hiiii!!! Love your content! Would you consider continuing Friends to Enemies?!? (ONLY IF YOU WANT TO OFC! EITHER WAY, LOVE YOUR WORK✨)

Part one

Part two

Aw, ty :)

“I’ve heard that you’re behaving.” Hero said plainly, looking into glass at where Villain sat. It was pathetic the way that she still hid inside of herself, but that would fade with time.

“What do you want?” Villain’s voice was hoarse, barely heard past her knees.

“I’m congratulating you for taking the first steps to changing.” Hero replied, her head tilted. She tried to think about why Villain wouldn’t want that, but she can up blank. “Do you not want that?”

“Not from you.” Villain spat. Her voice was venom, her eyes daggers as she finally looked up at the shell of what used to be her best friend. Now, it was only the shape of her friend. It was Hero’s face and Hero’s body, but it wasn’t the same mind, and it wasn’t the same person. She had changed. And Villain hated looking at her with that placid, empty expression and dull eyes.

How could she even think that the Facility was good when she looked like that?

Although, Villain did have an idea about why. The past few weeks had been hell, it had been agony, and Villain was quite possibly the reason that Hero would have to endure such a thing. After her escape, who knows what the Facility did to ensure Hero wouldn’t follow in her footsteps?

“I’m sorry.” It was a quiet whisper, but she meant it.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I’m sorry that I left you. I’m sorry that we didn’t stick together. I’m sorry that we aren’t friends anymore.”

“We can be friends again. If—“

“If I change. I get it, Hero. You want me to be a good, complacent lap dog to the heroes. Fine.” Villain bunched into herself tighter. “Fine by me.”

“It’s not fine.” Hero murmured, her eyebrows pinched together in the center as her eyes scanned the frame huddled on the floor. “It doesn’t count if you’re good only for yourself.”

“What are you going to do? Tattle to mommy and daddy?” She retorted. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave and do everything I’m told. Why does it matter if I’m doing it so that I’m not tortured every goddamn day?”

Each uttered word brought her closer to the edge of a precipice. Talking with such a potent malice for the heroes was like knowingly sticking her hand into a box of knives. Hero wouldn’t be the one to torture her for it, but Hero could still tell. And Villain was taunting her—practically begging her to tell the heads of the Facility.

Hero narrowed her eyes. “You’re pathetic like this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I had a crush on you when we were kids.”

“What?”

“I bet you didn’t know that.” Hero drew her finger along the glass, watching with listless eyes at the motion. She exhaled. “You were unbreakable, and I loved that about you. Whenever you were happy you had a warm gleam in your eyes, and whenever you were defiant there was a rock-hard edge to it. But we were kids. You need to grow up, Villain…sometimes things need to break.”

“That’s twisted.” Villain looked at the floor. “I wish you never broke. I wish you would’ve joined me.”

“Villain.” The tone was a warning.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t mean it. “I was wrong to leave you, but you can’t seriously think that this is for the best. Can you? Look at yourself in the mirror!”

“Stop it. I’ll tell them that you’re faking it.”

“What’s that phrase? Fake it till you make it?”

Hero didn’t smile. “I came to congratulate you on your progress, but it seems you haven’t made any.” She began to turn on her heel, but Villain couldn’t contain it.

“No. Hero, please. Please don’t tell them.” Villain begged. She ambled for where Hero stood. Getting any lower than where she was seemed impossible, but she still found new ways to sink herself deeper into the mud. “Please don’t tell them. I’m trying, isn’t that what matters?”

Pressing her hands against the glass, she felt just how trapped she was. It was useless to fight. She’d be better off becoming like Hero. A soulless, rule-abiding machine.

She leaned forward with her forehead on the glass. “I’m begging you. Please. I can’t take it anymore, Hero. I said things I shouldn’t have. Is that what you want to hear from me? Please don’t.”

Hero touched her hands where Villain’s were and felt a flicker of a frown on her face. “I’m supposed to do the right thing.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

—

—

Later, Hero stood in front of her bathroom mirror, looking at herself.

She didn’t consider herself a vain person; she cared for her appearance, but she didn’t stare at herself too hard in the mirror or put too much thought into it. And she couldn’t see whatever it was on her face that Villain told her to look for.

“Hero?” Superhero called out. He opened the bedroom door and looked at Hero through the open door. “Ah, there you are. How was talking to Villain? Any notes?”

Hero paused.

Seeing Villain so…broken was disappointing. “No. Nothing special.”

“No insubordination?”

“…nothing noteworthy.”

“Good. We’re thinking about letting her out on a mission with you.”

“Oh…okay.”

[bestiarium]

The Bunyip [Aboriginal mythology]

In the swamps of Australia, there lives a strange and dangerous beast, or at least according to the mythology of the local Aboriginals. Well, I mean, that’s probably true considering it’s Australia, but specifically I’m talking about the Bunyip, a mythical beast.

These creatures were very dangerous and wielded potent magical powers, such as cursing humans to transform into animals and freely changing the water level. It somewhat resembles a seal but its appearance is not set in stone, and what it looks like differs depending on who you ask. This is why modern depictions of the creature are mainly the product of their artists’ imaginations and can range from reptilian monsters to giant monstrous dogs. It also has a terrifying howl and devours any human being who dares to enter its domain.

One myth tells of a group of young Aboriginal men who set out one day to hunt. They were merry and happy as it was a warm sunny day, and they were laughing and talking without a fear in the world. They failed to find game, however, but did come upon a body of water with bulrush growing on the shore. This plant was edible and tasty, so the hunters gathered rushes to weave a basket so they could carry the bulrush roots. One of the men said that he had fishing equipment with him, and that they should try to catch some fish before returning home. Otherwise, the elders would surely laugh at them for doing women’s work if they had woven baskets and gathered plants all day.

The hunting party divided the tasks among themselves: some members gathered bait while others prepared the lines and hooks (which were made from kangaroo bone). When they began to fish, however, none of them could catch a thing. It was already dark, and they had to return back home to the village, when one lad suddenly felt something tug on his line: unbeknownst to the others, he had taken a piece of raw meat with him and used it as bait on his hook. To his surprise, the creature he had hooked was much stronger than him and he had to call his companions for help.

Together, they pulled the strange creature on land: it was a Bunyip. It resembled a cross between a seal and a young cow, but it had a long tail with broad fins for swimming. But the creature, despite its strength, was only a juvenile and soon started howling for its mother. The mother of the Bunyip crawled ashore and the men begged the fisher to release his catch. But the lad – he was the same man who complained about gathering plant roots and weaving baskets – insisted that he would take the young creature back to the village.

The men ran away with the Bunyip, but the mother of the creature didn’t give chase. Instead, they saw the water level rising steadily. When they reached the edge of the valley, they saw the entire forest was flooded. At last they reached the village, and all the people were panicking for they had seen the unnatural sudden flood. The young man who had caught the creature hugged his lover and told her “nobody in the village can climb as well as I can. Join me in that high tree, and we will escape from the water!” but before she could answer, both of them had turned into large black birds. When the lad looked around, he saw that the same fate had fallen on the other villagers: everyone had turned into black swans. Such was the curse of the Bunyip.

When the mother Bunyip reached her young, the two returned to their home in the water, and the water level receded again. But the people of the village never turned back into humans. Sometimes people still hear black swans talking to each other in a strange language that is forgotten by humans.

Source: Dunlop, W. and Holmes, T. V., 1899, Australian Folklore Stories, The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 28: p22-34. (image source 1: Kattang on Deviantart) (image source 2: Gerald Markham Lewis, 1935)

[beholdenning]

Lukas couldn't help but feel left out whenever he saw the others communicate with Denning with hand gestures. Despite all the people who travel through the Valley Approach, the culture itself has always been on the conservative side, never quick to accept new ideas or ways of being. Signs were used in patrols, not casual conversation. Anyone who couldn't use their words would easily find themselves left behind and forgotten...

Lukas waves Denning over. He refuses to let the language barrier come between him and someone who's proven themselves to be a steadfast, reliable ally. His grasp on signs is rough, just cobbled together from what he's observed from the others, but he still tries.

"You did very well, Denning. Thank you for all of your help." His hands don't quite capture the message, 'You were good. Very strong. Thank you.' "I hope it's not too much to ask, but... would you be able to teach me about your sign language?" 'Help. Teach me to speak with hands.' "I teach speech classes. How to talk to other people and communicate what you want to say. I think this sort of thing would be valuable for the other students to learn." 'Teach my talking class. They need help and they are happy to be taught.

If anything, Lukas hopes the genuine smile on his face conveys how grateful he is for Denning's help in these battles.

Many of his kin are unthinking, unspeaking; There is no need for either when they all know the same strategies, have the same directives, when they are all bound so by their duty. One falls into step where the other has fallen, marching forth like clockwork, as soldiers that only exist as ideals, as simulated pieces upon a board.

Humanity is a double-edged blade, in that way. It is both the weakness and strength they noticed in the students, the failings and the surprising points where they excelled, struggling against impossible odds. Perhaps it was merely the miracle of their stage. Perhaps...

... He would have to fight by them more often to be sure. But when the man with hair of russet-red waves him over, Denning is sure of one thing; That this man had not escaped their scrutiny for want of competence or skill, but because those who are most skilled, most steady, most integral to the group, oft do not fall into notice until they are struck down. Each time, their scattering formation was due to this man's fall.

Yes, he is steady and true, like a rock, like arrow-flight on a windstill day. The morph trots to him after a brief pause, hands by his sides, not expecting three of their number to know sign; And is surprised when he does, even if it is halting, uncertain not like one taught or one remembering, but one who is improvising. Golden eyes widen the barest of fractions, before Denning's hands come up to rest in idle, ready to give a reply...

The compliments roll of him like water from swan-feathers, though the smile is noted, but the request surprises him; Not only to teach one, but teach many...? The morph, knight, Instructor, as Nanna had dubbed him, had tried to fulfill that role once, and though the girl was, is satisfied, he is not. Teaching when he is meant to learn; It is an experience not unlike telling a cat to sit and roll over, or a dog to leap from height and land unharmed.

Still, it is hardly a contemplation. Would you and Teach are at odds — One a request, the other a command. Still, both ring the same to the morph's mind, and the word need is a potent one, indeed, so they nod in affirmative, moving their hands slowly that he may parse;

'if you wish it, i will.' Then, a pause. 'you know my name. may i know yours?'