#seals and an otter too!

[wowbright]

Today I went out on the ocean and saw puffins. They're so neat!

Also learned that indeed I am prone to motion sickness.

10/10 wouldn't do it again

[llumimoon]

hihi pardon if this is weird, but I saw this seal on pintrest and was like oh yeah seal person on tumblr!

(Apologies if this isn’t a seal- I think it is?)

OMG YESSS!!! WHAT A SWEET AND CUTE LITTLE LAD 🥺

[wwwkissu]

MIFFYYY..... we are two otters holding hands floating away in the universe T_T oh aaa it's going to be okayy becausewe'll always be able to go homee i'll take u home (gnf's eyebags)

[pissfizz]

Also they didn’t have seals or sea lions at the aquarium it made me very sad :(

[knightofleo]

Finalists of the 2023 Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards

Dispute by Jacek Stankiewicz from Kraków, Poland: 'I caught this scene while watching birds in the Bialowieza Forest. Young greenfinch was still fed by parents. However, from time to time birds looked like having argument. My friends interpret this scene in two ways: A young naughty kid is arguing with a parent. Or one kid is reporting to the parent that its brother did something wrong: "Look he has broken the glass in the window"'

'Excuse me sir but I think you're a little too young to be smoking' by Dakota Vaccaro from Victor, United States: 'While I was working deep in the Virginian woods, a family of grey foxes took up residence under the deck of the abandoned cottage next to my work housing. One day while practicing their hunting skills on bits of moss and branches, one of the kits lunged at a small chunk of wood and started rolling around with his prize. Tired after his hunt the kit lounged on his belly still holding the wood in his mouth which gave the strong resemblance of a cigar. I was very envious of the kit at this moment cause who wouldn't want to just lay around all day relaxing'

The Rainforest Dandy by Delphine Casimir from Brussels, Belgium: 'This picture was taken in the monkey forest in Ubud, Bali. This place is a crazy place where monkeys are king! Sometimes they give a show, sometimes they climb on you to look for fleas or steal the piece of biscuit you are trying to eat'

Otter Ballerinas by Otter Kwek from Singapore: 'An arabesque smooth coated otter'

Picture me! Picture me!! by Dikla Gabriely from Yokneam, Israel: 'A brown bear in Finland who definitely did everything to make me pay attention to him and focus on him and not the other bears'

Boing! by Lara Mathews from Melbourne, Australia: 'Taken at Westerfolds Park, a beautiful and surprisingly wild pocket of land in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, famous for its kangaroo population. The mob was enjoying some morning sunshine when this joey decided to get silly and try his hand at boxing'

Living the Moment by Kawing Chiu from Staten Island, United States: 'Relax, lay back and enjoy the warm sun... This seal is scratching its face and it is seen lying on the side while his head is supported by his flipper. This image makes the seal like the reclining Buddha statue'

[strwberri-milk]

Do you write for Fontaine boys too? Can I ask for kissing headcanons with Lyney and Neuvillette, and reader ignores them (separately) for Rosseland (in Lyney part)/an otter plushie (in Neuvi part)

Love your writing <3 Hope you have a good day!

i uh tried to combine the two of them bc i didnt really want to do two requests in one - it just would become kinda messy w the way i do things and i wanted to avoid that!!

Neuv doesn't think it'd bother him too much. He's a grown man (sorta on the man part) and he should technically be mature enough that he can handle you giving a stuffed otter that mildly resembles him and that it should be fine that you're showering it with attention.

He watches you a little, eyes curiously following as you coo at the plush and waits for you to turn back around to shower him in attention as well. When it seems you aren't going to be giving him any of it he decides to take matters into his own hands.

You're a little surprised when you feel his arms wrapping around your waist. Looking down, you see his face resting on your shoulder looking up at you almost forlornly. You're only able to recognize the slight shift in his expression because you've been around him often enough.

Before you can react you feel him spin you around, sealing your lips with his with a soft kiss. Every time he kisses you you feel like he's savouring your taste on his tongue, slowly moving with you as you melt in his arms. It's like the first time every time, you looking up at him with a bit of awe in your eyes as he chuckles. He'll make sure to keep your attention on him for the next little while.

Lyney knows his cat is adorable - it's one of the main draws he can use for children when he wants to show them a quick little trick. It's not an issue for him and you until one day he's looking for his hat to do a trick with and finds the two of you together.

Somehow, Rosseland has managed to stuff itself and the hat into your lap, happily soaking up the affection that you're giving it. Lyney watches from the side affectionately, waving hello at you and thinking that you'd come to him soon after that. When you don't his normally cheery expression falls a little and he comes to sit with you, trying to get more of your attention.

When you're fully just paying attention to Rosseland and not him he ends up managing to get in between you and the cat, sitting across from you and peppering your face with kisses. It makes you laugh and you're about to stop him when he kisses you harder, fingers digging into your hips as he hungrily takes your breath into his lungs.

You love the way he kisses you, his love for you practically all-consuming as he presses against you in a frenzied manner. Your fingers dig into his hair, his doing the same as he reminds you that you're in love with him, not his cat. His lips trail down to your collar in a practiced manner, you shuddering at the way it feels for him to kiss your shoulder playfully before teasing you for falling victim to his tricks so easily.

[luveline]

Roan sneaking into Eddie and reader’s bed in the morning to snuggle with them ?

so so cute! dad!eddie x (nearly)stepmom!reader

Roan thinks her dad might call this something very cool and interesting, like The Snuggle Invasion, or Project Master Bedroom. She just calls it sneaking, putting one foot as carefully in front of the other as is physically possible while she's in her short body. She creeps down the hallway from her room, having woken to the sound of the creaky bathroom window and the birds outside. 

She isn't afraid of the bathroom window anymore, but she hadn't really considered sleeping again, because she knows exactly what's happening in dad's room. 

It's the same every time Roan's up late or early enough to witness you both asleep. When Roan and Eddie lived in their trailer home, she'd often wake up before him, either sharing the bed with him or having walked from her own, but now she lives in this big house she never has the same luck: you're nearly always awake before she is because you work at the fancy building. But when you're not working, like today, a Saturday or a Sunday (Roan's not really sure), she can catch you and her dad both sleeping. The sleeping isn't the important part, though. 

The important part is that you and Eddie cuddle. Or at the least, hold hands. She saw it in a docu-something once on TV, there are these animals called otters, and when they sleep they hold hands so as not to lose one another. Roan thinks it must be like that. Maybe you're sharing dreams, the spooky kind, and you need to stay together. Or maybe you're just in love. She likes that idea too. 

She has a different, better TV favourite, a movie called Princess Polly. Princess Polly marries a prince, and the prince takes care of her, and he gets taken care of. Polly and the prince dance, and sing, and hug, and it's easy to slot you and Eddie in their places.

You guys dance in silly places, like Uncle Wayne's front yard before burgers, and you sing in the grocery store line when she wants to go home until she doesn't mind so much, and you hug each other all the time. You hug after breakfast, and while you brush your teeth at night. You lean over the back of the couch to hug Eddie's head and shoulders. Eddie sits on the floor by the armchair to hold your legs during movies. Roan would be jealous if she didn't get her fair share. 

But anyways, Roan knows that you guys hug in your sleep, so she doesn't even have to wake you up. She doesn't want to, she knows her dad is tired 'cos he keeps taking the extra hours even when you tell him he doesn't have to. 

"What your mom doesn't get," Eddie says, head tilted down to share a private smile, "is how much I love her, and how much I want her to have the perfect day." 

Because you and Eddie are getting married! Roan almost hits her face in the door as she jumps over the creaky floorboard outside of your bedroom, she's so excited. You're pretty much mom already, but Roan knows that the wedding is the seal of the deal, and you'll be mom maybe forever. 

She eases open the bedroom door and stands up on her tippy toes. The sunlight leaking in from the window has caught Eddie by surprise. He's hiding his eyes on your shoulder, his hand against your collarbone like he's worried you'll shy away. You're flat as a pancake, the only indication that you know he's there your face turned to his, your lips just shy of his brow, and your fingers braceleting Eddie's wrist where it rests on your collar. You aren't holding hands after all, but you're clinging. 

Roan needs to be right there in the centre. She knows how it'll go. If she can get there discreetly, her dad will shift back enough to let her in, and you'll kiss her crown. It'll be toasty and warm. 

She leans down to fix her sock. She doesn't know it, but Eddie's rousing at the small sounds she's making, his dad sense itching that some mischief is taking place. He tries not to move in case he wakes you, his ears alert before his eyes. 

"Okay," Roan whispers, likely much louder than she means to, "just got to…" 

Eddie knows what she's doing. She's his baby. He's spent every day of her life loving her and having to predict what she wants. Usually, he'd lean back and invite her in, only she's making these adorable sounds of exertion, and if he peeks at her from the corner of his eye and from under his lashes, he can see that her tongue is poking out from between her rosy lips in concentration.

He worries you'll wake and reveal his facade when she gets to the bottom of the mattress, her shifting weight disrupting your snores, so he slides his hand very slowly to the side of your neck and works a tender back and forth over your skin. You settle swiftly. 

Roan crawls up the bed. She knows he's the heavier sleeper, and she's smart enough to use it to his advantage. She only climbs on his thigh to get to the gap he's widened. Once she's there, her hair tickling his arm, she kicks the blankets back to cover her legs and then weasels under his arm so she's included in his hugging. 

It makes his day before it's even started. Roan let's out a happy, satisfied sound, and again when he shuffles closer, dropping his face lower on the pillow to nose along her hairline. She giggles under her breath. 

"Mission accomplish-ded," she whispers. Eddie almost doesn't hear it. He is so, so glad that he does. He can't wait to tell you about it in a couple of hours. 

You don't wake, and yet you know she's there. You sigh in your sleep and your hand roams down his arm from where you'd been holding his wrist all the way to his elbow. It falls gently onto Roan's chest. You ease the sheets up just a touch. 

He sneaks a glance at you, wondering if perhaps you're faking like he is. You don't seem awake (though it's possible you're the better actor), and Roan isn't far from it herself. She has the most pleased, loved look on her face, like there's no place else she would rather be. 

Roan snuggles into Eddie's arm, self-satisfied beyond words. Easy-peasy, she thinks. 

[aenokiawrld]

𝒵𝑜𝑜 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒! Ft. Monster trio + Law

a/n: i’m new to posting so no judging pwety pwease. also i wrote this super late at night 🙏

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+!! MINORS DNI

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: mentions of short reader, all of the guys except law-ish sound like they’re on crack, lots of wrestling, cheesy asf, is this what u do at a zoo?!

tags ✮⋆˙

fluff but mostly humorous, literal chaos, a bit ooc(?), tried to make it gender inclusive, found this prompt through pinterest lol

zoro

when you brought up the idea of going to the zoo, warned him beforehand about the “look but don’t touch” rule

you didn’t want him to see the zoo as a training arena

first suggested that yall go to the beach instead but u declined it saying, “it was too cliche”

he would never admit it but he’s silently insecure whenever he sees you get along well with the animals (whenever he smiles at them, they run away)

a small smile creeps up at the corner of his lips as he watches you gawk at the aquatic animals section

you call the seals, “sea puppies.” he just calls them “water dogs”

purposefully makes eye contact with gorillas to rile them up (he tried to ask the zookeeper to let him inside the enclosure so he can fight them to which you slap him in the back of the head for)

gorillas see eye contact as a challenge to fight

there was an event that happened where the penguins would dive and twirl underwater to impress you

zoro threatened them by claiming that he’ll ask sanji to turn them into “penguin kabobs” if they didn’t stop flirting with his gf (they got scared and ran back to their zookeeper)

attempted to smile at the otters but got scared and swam away

got lost one time and accidentally landed in the chimpanzee enclosure. you couldn’t help but laugh as the keeper got mad at him for beating up the chimpanzees bc they “gave him the stink eye”

the crew made fun of him after coming back from the zoo with a bald patch at the back of his head.

a giraffe thought his hair was grass and you had to pull him away just so he wouldn’t be tempted to use his swords on them

got both of you guys got kicked out after he tried impressing you by using three sword style on a polar bear

luffy

like zoro, u also warned him about the “look don’t touch” rule

like a kid on sugar, luffy got excited as he became enamored with the (in his own words), “big buff animals”

kept asking you which of these animals would make a delicious meal

would point at the monkeys and go, “look, it’s me!”

for the love of god, the rubber boy would not stop cracking up at the baboons and calling them “apple butts”

randomly asked you if you would find him more attractive if he was an actual monkey

he genuinely believed you when you joked about rhinos being “dinosaurs”

“NO WAY!! I THOUGHT THEY WERE EXTINCT!”

“i was jok-“

“WAIT TILL I TELL ROBIN ABOUT THIS! SHE'S GONNA BE SO JEALOUS WHEN SHE FINDS OUT THAT I DISCOVERED DINOSAURS BEFORE HER!”

he kept stretching his face and making monkey noises at the monkeys

(they looked at him with disinterest)

he thought it would be a good idea to wrestle a bear. you got mad at him after he knocked it out with his “gum-gum pistol”

he cried at the sight of the otters because he said that it reminded him of alabasta and that alabasta reminds him of vivi

he asked the giraffes if they were related to kaku and then panicked bc he “thought he was racist” for asking that

“[name], does this mean I'm not woke :(“

you got mad at him after he decided it would be a good idea to put his head inside the mouth of a hippo. the zookeeper almost fainted as the hippo bit down on his head but you assured them that his devil fruit powers would prevent him from dying that easily

you honestly contemplated your relationship with your captain/boyfriend but his stupidity is what makes him charming (to you at least)

he kept asking the zookeepers if he can keep the boa constrictor as a pet

along with wanting a snake as a pet, he kept asking the lions if they could join his crew

got emotional at the sight of leopards bc they reminded him of pedro

like zoro, he got both of yall kicked out after he tried smuggling a lion out of the cage and named it “sun destroyer 4000”

you were more surprised at the fact that you guys didn’t get kicked out earlier

sanji

“[name], my dear, how would you feel if i took you out on a date to a place of your choice?”

“well there is one place i’ve been wanting to go to for awhile.”

maybe going to the zoo with sanji was a mistake, the flirty blonde boy would not stop comparing you to every “cute” animal he saw

for long hair: it didn’t help that he purposefully braided your hair and tied them up to look like bear ears which you look even cuter in his eyes (my headcanon is that sanji knows how to braid hair hehe)

he found it cute that you saw a bunch of reindeers and called them “a family of choppers”

if there was a big crowd of people surrounding an exhibit and you couldn’t see, he would use his height to his advantage by lifting you up to get a good view of the animals

after getting down you were wondering why his nose was bleeding until you realized he had a good view under your skirt

if you’re wearing pants, he just nose bled at the sight of your gyat

you joked with him saying that you would find it hot if he wrestled an ostrich. but sanji being sanji, took it literal and actually did it

the zookeeper yelled at him after the ostrich was left unconscious

flirtatiously asked if you would still find him attractive even if he was an animal

“no, sanji, that would be beastiality.”

felt his whole face heat up after you put on matching ear headbands with him

in response, he tried to buy out the whole gift shop

tried to convince you into buying “i’m his, im hers” shirts but you told him it was cringe which hurt his ego

for gn! readers, bro tried to buy those “im cool, im cooler shirts” cause he a lil cheesy

when you became enamored with the snake exhibit he tried to flex saying, “you wouldn’t have to worry about a snake swallowing you bc i would be there to protect you, my dear”

you compared him to a ram bc you saw him as courageous and determined for his crew

“[NAME] SWANNN, YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT OUT OF THE BLUE!” there goes your man…

almost nose bled AGAIN at the thought of you as a red panda while visiting the exhibit (you thought he was tweakin)

got jealous when you said tigers were just as cool as zoro

he compared zoro to a baboon bc he’s always scratching his ass and sniffing his hand after (wait why is this lowk a good headcanon 😝)

you found it adorable as you watched him feed the animals in the petting zoo as if he were their father

he freaked out as the goat stole the cigarette out of his mouth and ate it in front of him.

one of your fave moments of intimacy with sanji would be sharing cotton candy with him as you watched the penguins do tricks in the water

after getting back on the sunny, you decided to surprise him with a ram plushie you bought behind his back

he thanked you by peppering your face in kisses and showering you in praises

“oh my dear, [name]. you don’t need to spoil me like that! it should be the other way around!”

bonus!! trafalgar law

law asked his crew beforehand on “great date spots” to take you out on; to which penguin suggested yall go to the zoo

he never cared for the zoo but as long as you were happy he didn’t mind

got flustered after you mentioned that snow leopards reminded you of him

he bought you a snow leopard plush and you named it “traffy”

you asked him if you should buy souvenirs for the crew

you asked him if you could adopt a polar bear so that bepo would have a friend. he replied with, “no bc he’s already friends with me”

thought it would be funny to teleport you to the lion enclosure until his powers conveniently started tweaking and he couldn’t teleport you back out

you punched him in the head after you came back with scratches from wrestling them

he felt bad for the joke he did on u, so he teleported you to the capybara enclosure as an apology

compared you to a meerkat bc “you’re short but really fast on those legs.” you responded by threatening to give his sword away to zoro

made fun of you after you got startled by him in the insect section. he laughed as you slapped his hand after he pretended it was a tarantula

he likes to install fear into u by explaining different ways each animal can kill you

he would purposefullykiss you in front of the monkeys after they tried flirting with you

the zookeeper had to tell him to stop bc they were afraid that they would break out their enclosure

what pissed him off even more was the fact it reminded him of the rubber boy

after you guys get back to the submarine, the crew crowded you as you gave them their souvenirs. law couldn’t help but smile at your generosity and friendship with everyone

oh yea….he felt himself fall in-love with you again

[thatstonedwriter]

Aquarium Trip!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/n- guess who's going to the MOTHERFUCKING AQUARIUM BITCHES WOOOO

Contents; romantic relationships, undersea animals, swearing

Feat; Stolas, Blitzø, Loona, Fizzarolli

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Being at the Aquarium with them is a dream. The dark hallways, the lights reflecting against the water of the tanks- it creates such a romantic ambiance.

Stolas is a hopeless romantic. Not only does he get to learn about animals, environmentalism, and the ocean- he gets to learn these things with you. The whole time, Stolas is holding your hand, stopping at every display, and reading all of the information for each exhibit. Cue the cute owl noises. Stolas would love to take some time to sit with you in front of an exhibit, sharing kisses, holding hands, and (of course) him telling you about all the new things he's learned! I think he'd love the touch pools, especially for the stingrays. He probably freaks out a bit at first, but his excitability overrules any hesitation. don't even get him started on the gift shop. Stolas freaks out over every book he sees. Gets the two of you matching shirts because he's a sucker for that kinda shit. Stolas loves taking pictures with you, too! With the jellyfish, cute crabs, the seals you see in the bay, the stingrays, everything. And, in my opinion, he would love ocean puns. You're taking facts and making them funny? He's so in love.

As much as it pains me to say it, Blitzø probably isn't a fan at first. To be honest, the only reason he came was because you said there were seahorses. He was pissed when they weren't actual horses. While Blitzø is kinda grumpy for a bit, he can't deny how cool everything looks- and how happy you are. Most of the time, he's not looking at the exhibits, but at you- appreciating your joy and excitement. Blitzø has never been one for learning "fun facts" or anything, but if you ramble on about the ocean, he'll hang on to every word. Of course, he probably won't outwardly show you too much affection, but there are times when Blitzø goes to reach for your hand, or scoots closer to you when you're sitting at an exhibit. If he had to choose a favorite section, it's the deep sea. he does quite enjoy the freaky animals. He isn't super excitable, but can't help a small smile whenever he sees how much you're enjoying everything. At the gift shop, he'll watch to see what you like the most and will sneakily buy it for you.

Not sure if Loona would be thrilled about the aquarium, but if she's going with you, she doesn't have any objections! I think she would be fascinated by the Jellyfish and open ocean exhibits. The color and size of the animals like the hammerhead sharks or sea nettles is just so mesmerizing. Loona wants to take pictures, but isn't used to the low light, so it's a bit frustrating. Hopefully you've got some photos to share with her. It's a requirement that y'all model and pose for pictures. Aesthetics are everything!! And Loona wants a new home screen. She would love being able to take a picture with the sharks or jellyfish with you. Tbh, I think Loona would be freaked out by crustaceans. Dunno why, I just think she doesn't like them. She also doesn't participate in the touch pools because of how many kids there are. In the giftshop, she probably doesn't get much for herself (but she does like some of the sweatshirts and jewelry).

Fizzarolli will not. Stop. Making. Ocean puns. It is constant, but hey, at least he's funny and creative. Fizz would probably love the aquarium, especially the otters and octopuses. Otters because..Adorable, obviously. Personal HC of him liking Octopuses comes from how they can be misunderstood, and how intelligent and versatile they are. There's also some relatability with the arms if you squint. I think the octopus would make him feel more secure with himself, you know? Whenever y'all are sat while watching a feeding or display, Fizz is snuggling as close as possible, arms wrapped around you, head on your shoulder. I would argue that one of the most romantic spots in an aquarium is the dark jellyfish exhibits. Fizz gets a selfie of him kissing you on the cheek or y'all with your arms around each other in front of the moon jellies. And boom- new lockscreen acquired. Dude goes absolutely bonkers in the giftshop. He loves everything. The notebooks, shirts, pins, jewelry, bags- all of it. You'll have to reign him in if you don't wanna deal with crippling debt. He ends up deciding on a cozy jacket and matching plushies for the two of you.

Aquarium dates are the best way to nerd out with your partner(s) 💛

[wishmaster]

Hey Billy, I'm just a gay 20 something twink with bright platinum hair and a bit of a nerdy streak. I was just hanging out with my best friend from highschool who went to a party school for uni and his new buds.... Are different. He's changed a lot, gotten a lot bigger and into sports and kept commenting on how scrawny I was. I think I heard him and his bros muttering a wish of some kind.

I don't know what's going on but I feel like I have a fever and I've been sweating A LOT

Otter on my Mind

Such a cute young thing, too bad you were surrounded by a bunch of horny boys looking for a new boy to fuck.

You feel yourself pass out, when you awake you have on a rather heavy fur like coat. You stand up to find you seem taller, you un zip the coat and now notice your previous smooth twink body was now coated in hair, your body somewhat more muscular than before. Soon you feel something strange on your face as well, a full beard now covered your somewhat more manly face. You hair returned to your normal dark boring color, but it's when you walk you notice how big and peach like your ass had become, when you remove your tight jeans you'd noticed a fuzz covering your new extra sensitive cheeks, your once small cock had increased a bit in size, but more in thickness, your bush so hairy now you couldn't find it at first. you pulled your pants back up and stood in front of a mirror. You gasped as you figured out you were now a super sexy otter. Your dick twitched realizing you had just become your friend and his bros perfect sex boy.

Bro come on my dick ain't going to suck itself. You recognized the voice of your friend, suddenly the vision of his cock flooded your mind, his perfect jock cock and round full balls. His firm ass, his sweaty musk called to you. As much as it used to disgust you all you could do was go to him, realizing once you went to him you'd be in for a full on orgy with him and his frat bros, you had quickly become the fraternity's hairy little whore and no matter how much you wanted to fight it the wishes they made had sealed your fate your ass was frat property now, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[wileys-russo]

"Let's never speak of this again!" with mearps in the zoo?

mary earps

"oh and look they have two kinds of elephants!" you gasped shoving your phone in your girlfriends face who hummed with an amused smile, knowing there wasn't a point in her saying anything anyway since you were so caught up in your excitment.

"you're such a nerd man, they're just animals!" ella turned around with a laugh from the seat in front as you shot her a filthy look, alessia tugging her back down as you huffed.

"ignore her love. what else do we need to see?" mary squeezed your knee to gain your attention back, your head falling to her shoulder as you flipped from the zoo website to your notes app running her through your ideal itinerary.

"you realise we have like the whole day yeah? we don't have to rush, i'm sure loads of people can see it all in a few hours." mary smiled as you stressed how you didn't want to miss out on anything, the goalkeeper kissing your cheek affectionately.

"look, babies!" you perked up as esme dangled over the back of your seat showing you a live feed of the new lion cubs as you gasped and the two of you fell into conversation, the blonde probably the only person as excited as you were for today.

"alright alright jesus you're gonna yank my hand off woman!" mary groaned as the bus parked up and the girls made their way off, your hand firmly gripping onto marys as you dragged her toward the entrance much to the amusement of everyone else.

"yeah we need those hands thanks, safest hands in england!" rachel yelled after the two of you with a grin. "okay baby. where to first?" mary chuckled once the pair of you were inside, a map tucked into her back pocket.

you'd claimed you'd stared at it on your phone long enough to know the zoo like the back of your hand but mary knew you too well and wanted to be as prepared as possible.

the first couple of hours you spent dragging your girlfriend from animal to animal, rattling off fact after fact much to her amusement and the rest of the girls annoyance and it didn't take long until it was just the two of you.

"see? my plan worked." you sang out with a grin as you and mary stood alone watching the otters, the goalkeeper sending you a funny look. "i knew if i waffled on about the animals enough everyone would leave us alone, much more romantic." you beamed, mary letting out a laugh of surprise.

"oh you're evil, i love you so much." the girl tugged you into a kiss, both of you pulling away with a smile as mary interlocked your fingers and the two of you strode off toward the next animal.

marys grin grew as you both waved at a small group of your united teammates, the girls waving back but making no move to join you much to her pleasure. "see? like our own private zoo date." you winked, the taller girl kissing your cheek.

"did i already tell you i love you?"

though your facts may have driven everyone else up the wall mary genuinely enjoyed learning more about each animal and seeing the way your eyes lit up when she'd asked a question.

your childhood dream had always been to work with animals but once you did a back gate keeper for the day tour of london zoo and realised the job was ninety percent cleaning up after them you were grateful to have chosen football instead.

arriving to the aquatic section was when the dynamic flipped, mary now the one to rattle off fact after fact about the different types of penguins and seals, her interests in whales meaning she'd watched an endless amount of oceanic documentaries.

in fact much to your friends endless teasings that was how most of your date nights when you'd choose to stay in would go, the pair of you happily curled up together on the sofa eating a takeaway and watching some sort of animal documentary.

marys david attenborough impression was even getting better by the day.

pausing your travels to eat lunch with the team you both settled back in with the group, your animal facts banned from the table as you rolled your eyes but indulged their wishes. instead you took ella and maya up on a game of finger football, taking turns to kick a small ball of rubbish through goals made with one anothers hands.

taking an easy victory and leaving behind a fuming tooney for alessia and katie to deal with you and mary eagerly left the group behind again, making a beeline for the africa section.

elephants were your favorite animal and mary knew this, watching on with disgustingly lovesick eyes as the two of you spent well over a half an hour watching them.

next up was the tigers and with the zoo closed to the public for the day and most of the girls having started at this section it once again left just you and mary alone together, the taller girl hugging you tightly from behind as your intertwined hands sat against your stomach.

the two of you watched as two of them began to playfight, mary making quick work of commentating in her infamous attenborough impression, heart swelling at the sound of your laugh.

only it took a split second for the two of you to realise they weren't play fighting, yet you were both seemingly unable to drag your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you, wide eyed with both terror and curiosity.

once they'd finished there was a tense silence between the two of you, mary letting go as you spun around to face her. "did we just watch two tigers have sex?" you questioned bluntly as the goalkeeper nodded.

"yep, like a couple of perverts." mary confirmed, another silence falling as you both opened your mouths and spoke again at the same time before hurrying away.

"lets never speak of this again!"

[goobersplat]

I’m trying to document as much of Sqwishland “history” (???) as I can by finding photos of them. I loved these things as a kid and the thought of other people remembering them too makes me happy : )

Sources: 1/2/3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

Image ID under cut its long lol

(Image ID: Eight photos of Sqwishland squishy animal vending machine toys on backing cards.

1) A lion, a penguin, an elephant, a pig, and a cow squishy on a backing card that says “Zoo Mania.”

2) A lobster, a clam, a seal, a crab, and a puffer fish on a backing card that says “sea mania 2”

3) A koala, a panda, a lion, a hippo, and a panda on a backing card that says “jungle mania.

4) A goat, an otter, an alligator, a sheep, and a snake squishy on a backing card that says “squishland swamp.”

5) A toad, a lizard, a turtle, an otter, a chameleon, a snake, a platypus, and a possum on a backing card that says “Squishland giant swamp”

6) A clownfish, an octopus, a dolphin, a sea horse, and an orca on a backing card with text that says “sea mania giant.”

7) A penguin, a snow fox, a polar bear, a moose, and a narwhal on a backing card that says “Squishland polar collection.)

8) Four Sqwishland backing cards. 1. “Forest” with a Fox, a beaver, a rabbit, a raccoon, and a deer. 2. “Jungle: glow in the dark.” with a parrot, a monkey, a panda, a koala, and an elephant. 3. “Jungle: glow in the dark” again with an elephant, a cow, a panda, a horse, a hippo, a monkey, a koala, and a lion. 4. “Farm” with a pig, a bull, a rooster, a cow, and a sheep.

End ID)

[ilycove]

Cove’s hands traveled across your body, an almost motherly expression on his face. "I feel like your fever's gotten worse."

You turn over in his tight hold, your eyes clashing with the ocean. "Maybe it's because you keep cuddling me."

Cove doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to, really. A hand of his stays at your waist while one travels up to your chest. He places it on your heart and feels his heartbeat beat at the same time as yours. It’s gentle, but so prominent.

You place your head over his chest. He notices you’re warm, really warm.  He goes to offer some water, or maybe soup, but you tell him you’re fine. 

At that moment, it’s only you and him who exist. Everybody else in your neighborhood doesn’t matter, it’s only your home that has life in it. His fingers draw circles against your skin, and if your fever wasn’t making it hard enough to keep your eyes open, he was definitely elevating that battle. He notices this, just like every other little thing about you, and you can’t stop him from offering this time. “I really don’t mind making you soup.”

“I do.” You lift your head and try to keep your eyes open to meet his again, and almost immediately drop it.

“Oh.” You watch as his eyes follow to the ground, but the corner of his lips tug into a small smile.

You lazily wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him even closer than your bodies would allow. You match his breathing with his, and suddenly everything sucks a lot less. You stay like that for a moment before deciding you needed his voice again. “Do you think we would’ve found each other in another life?”

He doesn’t miss a beat before replying with; “Of course.”

“...Same. I think that if you were an otter, I’d never let go of you so we never drifted apart,” You paused. You met his eyes again, smiling softly. “If you were a prince in a foreign land, and you were forced to marry someone else, I’d help you run away. I’d send you love letters every night and pray you’d read them.”  You closed your eyes and hum, comfortably. You barely even notice that his eyes lingered on your figure. He takes a deep breath, and you feel his voice.

"...I think that, if you were a star, I'd become an astronaut. And I'd study you for years to come."

You hum, closing your eyes once again and letting yourself sink into his presence. "And what if I exploded? Like a supernova?"

"Then I'd take the little pieces of your stardust and compact you back together."

"And if I slip through your fingers?"

He pressed a kiss in between your eyes. You can feel him smile against your skin. "Then I would know that it's for the better. I'd make sure every scientist and astrologer alike knew your name. And you'd still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he pauses to take a breath, bittersweetly smiling. “I think I’d always miss you in my bones. Grief and growing wouldn’t be enough to forget about you. About us.”

You don’t reply at first. You’re thinking about what to say when his hands come up to your scalp to play with your hair, his fingernails scratch against your scalp and you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. 

Once Cove notices you on the brink of unconsciousness, he laughs and you can feel it vibrate through your bodies. He kisses the crown of your head. He says something, but you didn’t quite hear his voice. You only heard his heartbeat.

“I’ll love you when our hair turns gray. We’ll live in an old cottage, maybe not too far away from here so our kids could still have an experience like ours. Maybe not. I’m not too sure yet,” his fingers curl around some wisps of hair and pull you further into a sleepy trance. “...We could have a cardboard box full of photos throughout our life. I’m sure your moms have some baby pictures of us together. I think our kids would be envious of us.” He seals off his speech with a chuckle.

You don’t know which hand it was, but one of his hands starts holding one of yours. He presses a kiss to your cheekbone and whispers against your ear. “I love you.”

You knew that already. You squeeze his hand three times. You love him too.

[raintailed]

rain rain rain rain how do you draw iterators and slugcats btw like all your gyus are so shaped its so fun to look at theyre just little guys...

i'm gonna start with slugcats! my old guide from 2023 is here.

Note: "slugcat" refers to multiple species (slugcats are in a species complex). It can be hard to differentiate slugcat species, since some are very similar and hybridization between them is common where their ranges overlap. The species that Monk and Survivor are members of is called the "common slugcat."

Slugcats are weird sorta-feline creatures that walk bipedally and have little hands. Their average height is 3'3" or about 1 meter tall.

Their basic body shape is a round head on top of a trapezoidal body. Their legs are digitigrade, they have human-like arms (that are often skinny lol), and their tails are thick and tapering. Slugcats also have retractable arms ig??? I have no idea how that would work

In terms of head shape, it's similar to a cat's, but with a somewhat taller forehead (bigger brain! more room for being Smart!). Slugcats usually have short muzzles, big eyes, and long ears.

Note: slugcat arms usually rest in front of the body (think meerkats) rather than to the sides like a human.

Uhhh I like giving slugcats dewlaps (rabbit dewlaps are a good reference)!

And for fat slugcats, fat is usually stored in the tail (and dewlap) first. So naturally my gourmand has a big tail and a big dewlap :]

And!! I like to think that some slugcats have fur, and some don't. Hairless slugcats are slimy; furred slugcats have oily, waterproof coats. Some shorthaired slugcats have smooth fur like otters and seals do.

TEEFS!!! Except technically, slugcats don't have teeth. Rather, they have sharp, jagged beaks (think cephalopods). Their beaks continually grow and they are self-sharpening. Because their beaks are really sharp, slugcat bites are always serious injuries.

The length of their "fangs" varies by species. Some carnivorous species have long fangs, for example.

And! They have bristly tongues like cats (and kinda like the radula of a gastropod).

For their paws, slugcats have 3-fingered hands and feet. Their claws vary; some individuals have blunt claws, some have sharp claws, others have retractable claws, etc.

The inner toe of a slugcat's foot is opposable, making it easy for them to grab onto poles with their feet. (Compare to scavengers, who mostly use their arms to climb.)

SLUPPIES!!!!!! (don't worry about the fluffy one, they're just eepy)

Slugpups have different proportions than adults! Including having a bigger head, chubbier body, etc. Fluffy slugpups can also be a bit scraggly like longhaired kittens are.

My slugcats are basically egg-laying marsupials. They lay eggs, store them in their pouch, and then the eggs hatch into itty bitty babies. The babies stay in the pouch, feeding on milk until they're big enough to venture outside.

When pups are too big for the pouch, they ride on their parent's head or back. They also begin the process of weaning around this time, since by then they've started growing a sharp beak (i guess before that, their beak is dull and too small to self-sharpen?).

Note: some slugcat species are unisex and others are trioecious (having male, female, and hermaphrodite individuals).

For expressions, ears are important!!

Neutral: ears relaxed. The relaxed position varies by individual; some slugcats have their ears rest slightly tilted back, for example.

Alert/interested: ears perked up.

Angry: ears pinned back. Very angry slugcats have their ears positioned so they're almost in line with the top of the head.

Afraid: ears pinned down (sometimes slightly to the sides, too).

Sad: ears droop to the sides.

Slugcats mostly use their tails for balance, but they're used for some emotes too.

Upwards-curled tail is an excited or enthusiastic hello! Kinda like how some cats raise their tail when they see their human.

When upset, annoyed, or grumpy, slugcats may thump their tail against the ground (kinda like how rabbits stomp).

Some slugcats wag their tails when playing or excited. This isn't a universal thing, though.

Slugcats with fur may puff up their tail when startled or scared. They may also puff their tail when excited or playing, too.

[namu-the-orca]

Those other marine mammals

For the UK bycatch project, I also had to illustrate some other species than the cetaceans I am so familiar with. Animals with legs and fur and nails... foreign concepts for sure. Jokes aside, it's always a challenge to illustrate a species you don't really know. I always wonder whether a seal or otter scientist would also approve of these, or if mistakes would immediately jump out to them (like they do for me with cetacean illustrations).

I don't really like how the harbour seal turned out, it looks too much like a stuffed animal to me. And the grey seal was a challenge because frankly, those males in real life look like weird muppets. So when drawing you're constantly torn between "does it look weird because I'm messing up or because I'm doing well?" haha. In the end I'm happy with it though! And the otter I'm very fond of. Such keen eyed creatures, I hope to see one in the wild some day.