#uncanny in the grove

[uncannyinthegrove]

doing some work on the chapter art that's available over on my ko-fi, but I really want to share this one openly!!!

[rtnortherly]

New Uncanny in the Grove art up on my ko-fi for supporters 👉👈

[mariocki]

Army of Darkness (1992)

"Are all men from the future loudmouthed braggarts?"

"Nope. Just me, baby. Just me."

[rtnortherlyarchives]

[katiemccabeswife]

Awkward Conversations Outfits

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader || Alexia overhears a conversation and assumes the worst, leading to a confusing and awkward conversation.

she wrote something! i apologise for the lack of fics but i don't want to give you guys some half-assed writing that i'm not proud of, and i haven't written anything anywhere near my own standards lately (not that i've been able to finish anything) so i hope you enjoy this and that i can get back into the grove of writing and give yous some more fics x

"And then once I think I've figured it out, I second guess myself and think it's too ugly and that I'm going to be judged and then when I look around, there's just clothes everywhere and all I wanna do is out on my frumpiest sweats and cry into my pillow! I don't understand how you guys do it!" Alexia was stunned to hear you rant so freely about a subject she had never heard you utter a word about.

She walked through the door halting your conversation, "Hola, chicas!" She announced herself and watched you slump back into your chair while Ingrid and Frido shared a glance.

"Hola, Ale," You grumbled out, disheartened.

Ingrid struck up a new conversation between the four of you as the rest of the team began to trickle into the changing room. Alexia remained silent though, trying to come up with a reason as to why you wouldn't come to her about this sort of thing, why it had to be Ingrid and Frido you chose to confide in. While it would definitely be an awkward conversation, Alexia would be more than happy to have that sort of talk with you. After taking you in at a young age, you had both bonded so well your relationship resembled that of mother and daughter.

You noticed Alexia seemed to be a little distanced and quiet so you made a move to check in on her when the team started to head out to the pitch, "Hola, Ale," You greeted, wrapping your arms around her and pressing your cheek to hers.

Her arms came to hold yours but she moved her cheek away from yours to lay a quick peck to it, "Hola, bebé, everything ok?" She rested her cheek on yours once again, relishing in the closeness and comfort it provided.

Your brows furrowed slightly, "Of course, I actually came to check on you," You giggled.

Alexia sighed as she saw this as you deflecting. She pulled away from you wholey before holding your face between her palms, "Well thank you for thinking of me, I'm fine, thank you," She pecked her lips against your forehead, filling your soul with warmth, "You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything. No judgement, sí?" She was looking deep into your eyes for any sign of sadness or lies.

All she could find was confusion, "Sí, you sure you're feeling alright?" You jokingly placed the back of your hand on her forehead.

Alexia responded by shoving your head in the opposite way, "Enough now," The lightness in her tone assured you that she was only joking.

Training went on, as usual, you were paired with Keira for drills meaning that you never got the chance to speak directly to Alexia until you were heading out to her car. You spent the drive home with a furrow in your brow uncanny to the one that rested on Alexia’s face as the older woman remained quiet and seemed lost in thought.

Once you arrived home Alexia haphazardly threw the keys onto the kitchen counter before turning to you who stood awkwardly between her and your bedroom, “You can go shower, Cari, dinner should be ready in an hour,” The small, tight smile she wore forced you to reciprocate but filled your mind with anxiety and guilt that came from an unknown source.

After showering, unpacking and repacking your training bag you shuffled out to the living room stiffly to find Alexia resting on the couch, watching some trashy reality tv. Her head raised from its slumped position, “Hola, Princesa,” She tapped the seat next to her, signalling you to join her which you did instantly.

She wrapped her arms around you and ran her hands through your freshly washed hair, “Are you sure you are feeling alright?” She spoke softly but her tone was heavy with concern.

You shrugged your shoulders, admitting defeat, “I feel like you’re upset with me,” You mumbled into her chest, limbs tense and eyes trained on the tv.

You lowered your head as Alexia manoeuvred the two of you so you were facing one another, “Why would you think that?” She lifted your chin with her fingers.

“You just seem…off, and I can’t help but think that I had something to do with it because you seemed fine in training laughing with ‘Tana and stuff.” You unknowingly jutted out your bottom lip, reminding Alexia of your youth.

She shuffled apprehensively in her seat, “It’s just that I accidentally heard your conversation with Ingrid and Frido and felt a little upset you didn’t come to me about it,” She was shy to admit she had basically eavesdropped on your very private conversation.

“Oh,” Alexia was too busy looking everywhere but your eyes to notice the relief in your tone.

“So,” She shrugged now feeling awkward and uncomfortable, “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“I guess just how you manage to feel sure of yourself and confident with whatever you’re wearing?” Alexia’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and her mind began to run 100 miles per minute.

She turned pink at the question, her reaction throwing you off significantly, “Wearing!? I didn’t think you- I thought-” She was stumbling over her words and by now you were in a state of total confusion. She managed to get herself together and forced out a string of advice, “Well, everyone looks different but everyone is beautiful and there is no one way to look and if you are truly scared your partner is going to judge you, you shouldn’t be with them, let alone trust them with your body,” She had you in the first half but your brain completely melted by the second.

You cut her off instantly, “Ale, what are you talking about? That whole conversation was about how I never know what to wear before games and going out to dinners, stuff like that. I was frustrated with how you, Ingrid, Frido and the whole team to be fair, always look so cool and confident. What are you thinking it was about?”

“¡Oh, gracias a Dios!” She looked to the ceiling as she fell against the back of the couch, “I thought it was a whole other conversation about something way more uncomfortable,” She laughed to herself.

“Oh, Ale! Gross!” You whacked her while joining in on her laughter.

She took a deep breath before continuing, “You just have to own what you’re wearing, you are gorgeous and will look good in anything! Trust me,” She emphasised when she saw you roll your eyes, “How about after dinner, we go look in your closet and pick out some outfits so this weekend you have options for before the game? Sí?” 

You nodded with a smile on your face, “Gracias, Ale,” You moved over to her and she wrapped you in her arms, laying a kiss on your temple. You stilled for a moment before taking a deep breath, “I think dinner is burning,” You said calmly.

Alexia hummed before taking in what you said, “¿Qué?” She yelled and pulled away, running to the kitchen as you doubled over with laughter.

[the-californicationist]

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago… 

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle. 

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring. 

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin. 

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt. 

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep. 

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements. 

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned. 

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman. 

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands. 

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you. 

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger. 

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky. 

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently, 

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further, 

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head, 

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers. 

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through. 

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle. 

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic. 

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop. 

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles, 

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside. 

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown. 

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths. 

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld. 

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you. 

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen. 

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you. 

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations. 

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth. 

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there. 

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season. 

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold. 

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs. 

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin, 

“How about this, hm?” 

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it. 

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it. 

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it. 

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it. 

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm. 

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him. 

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body. 

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain. 

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion. 

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list. 

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines. 

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout. 

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain. 

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout. 

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction. 

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick. 

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep. 

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it. 

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

[tare-otome]

That One Time in 2011 When Hekarro & Kotallo Were Foretold and My Mind Was Blown...🤯😱

Young Kotallo practicing for the Kulrut on the wings of the Ten?

"Hot mess to the rescue!"

Kotallo training the new Marshals?

"Shouldeeeeer fronds! Preseeeeeent fronds! ... Attaaaaaaaaaack!"

Kotallo & Hekarro having a tiff 😆

But Hekarro, Kotallo and Todd work it out 💖😜

And all's well in Memorial Grove, Kotallo is Hekarro's right-hand Marshal🥰

😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉💖😉

And ✨BONUS✨ if you've made it this far:

"I'm tellin' you, people never change, the guy is a menace!" 😉💖

This episode is actually pretty funny, heartwarming and adorable. And the sheer amount of uncanny foreshadowings is crazy.

Special shoutout to @fantasy-girl974 , @grexigone , @r4d14t3lov3, @sigvos , @iammythmaker for making this possible 💖

[mara-tevith-solo]

Sing a Little Song For Me

Part 1 of at least a few drabble-esque fics? They aren’t really in any particular order as their from a larger fic I’ve been writing that I’m afraid my brain won’t let me finish, so I’m sharing as much of it as feels completed. Photo also not mine, obviously.

Warnings: Talk of death, Canon levels of Violence, Canon levels of hunting, Quaritch is his own warning let’s be fair, beginnings of a relationship, enemies to lovers, they’re kinda idiots 

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x named Na’vi/Avatar reader/OC depending on how you want to see her. I never truly describe her. 

Rated 18+ so if you don’t meet that, kindly gtfo, I don’t write kid appropriate material. 

Words: 2.1k+ 

I'd forgotten how freeing flying on a Toruk was. The wind whipping through my hair as we sliced through the air. It felt like freedom, true freedom. I whooped loudly, clicking my tongue a few times afterwards as we passed over the ship, waiting as the Recoms and their Ikran joined us in the air. Zdinarsk was the first to join, followed closely by Quaritch and then Wainfleet, Mansk, Ja, and Prager. Spider cheered happily from his place in front of me, pumping his fist in the air like a victorious warrior coming home. Our next classroom island was in the middle of seven spire islands that made it inaccessible by the ship, and the water was too shallow between the spires for the boats, so by air was the only way to get in.

Our island getaway was bigger than the last, but was not a very desirable location for a village because it could only support a small fruit grove and not anything near enough for a group larger than ours. Even our group was going to push it if we stayed longer than a couple days. As soon as we landed I unpacked the tent poles from Thor and began to set up our shelter, a storm brewing on the horizon that didn't look entirely inviting. Quaritch and Wainfleet immediately stepped in to help, the two easily the tallest of the group, easily getting the canvas over the center pole as the rest of us worked on securing the edges to the bases of trees so that the canvas wouldn't have a chance to fly away if it got windy. Once the main part of the shelter was done, we all unpacked the interior bits like the sleeping mats and the cooking implements before letting the Toruk and the Ikran leave for the spires to weather out the storm. "Well this puts a dampener on the evening." Wainfleet yelled over a crack of thunder.

I picked up my spear from where I'd left it in the sand, breathing in the charged air with a soft smile "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone!"

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Prager yelled after me as thunder cracked across the sky again "You'll drown!"

"I'm from Hawaii! This is just another Tuesday!" I laughed back as I entered the water, instantly calling for an Ilu the moment my head was under. It clicked and danced around me in greeting, smiling in that uncanny but adorable way that they did before it offered a kuru. We hunted until the sun set and the storm passed, only an hour in reality, a string of fish slung over my shoulder as I brushed wet hair out of my face "Sorry that took so long, the fish went deep." I apologized with a bashful smile as I replanted the spear in the sand near the tent "They're already cleaned, and ready to cook."

"Hell ya." Wainfleet cheered while taking the string from me, taking it back to the cook fire in the middle of the tent.

"What was that you rode? Looked like a dinosaur." Zdinarsk asked, motioning vaguely towards the water from her seat in the doorway.

"That," I smiled as I began wringing out my hair in sections, twisting each one tightly before letting it go and moving on "is an Ilu. They are amazingly friendly creatures. A lot like dolphins, but much, much less homicidal." I stopped to think on her comment for a moment, smiling absently when I realized she was right "Huh, I guess they really do look like plesiosaurs. Good eye."

She smiled with pride as Prager clapped her on the back before going to help Wainfleet with the fish as a curse sounded from inside the shelter. "Where'd you get a fur pelt? I thought there wasn't a creature alive on this moon that bore fur." Ja asked suddenly, leaning against the center pole on the opposite side of the fire.

I twisted all of my hair together as I looked to him, ignoring my reflection in his glasses as I worked "It was a gift, just before the battle of the Tree of Souls. There's only one animal I know of that has fur, and they're very highly prized by the Plains Clans." I began making my way inside when my hair was sufficiently wrung out, though it was still a little wet. I didn't want to talk about those days, knowing that they were a sore subject for most involved.

"Got an admirer back home?" Wainfleet teased lightheartedly, like he was ignoring the elephant in the room and encouraging all of us to do that same. I didn't miss Quaritch scowling out the door as soon as the question left Wainfleet's mouth.

I laughed, taking the bait and happily running with it "Nah, no one waiting on little ole me." Quaritch's attention snapped back towards me, though he quickly looked away as soon as our eyes met "It was a courting gift from a Chief of a Plains Clan. He wanted the chance to get to know me after the battle." I shrugged with a smile, sitting on the pelt that made up my bedroll.

"So he was trying to buy your affections?" Zdinarsk asked, shifting in her seat to face the interior of the tent.

"No," I shook my head "A courting gift is meant to show interest and respect. At no point during courting are the two parties obligated to the other. Either one of them can break the courtship at any time, for any reason, with no ill will." I stretched in my seat, not paying any of the others any mind "After dinner we'll do a night exercise, just a little light exploration of our safe haven, nothing big."

"Isn't it dangerous to swim at night?" Prager asked, looking around everyone nervously.

I smiled softly, trying to reassure him, all of them. "On Earth, yes. Here, the planet does not sleep. Daylight hides the true beauty." The moon was higher in the sky after the fish were done cooking and everyone had eaten their fill, Spider going to sleep instead of exploring with us "Come." I encouraged, shifting to Na'vi with a warm smile, up to my knees in the water already. They all followed with much less hesitation, trusting me completely. As soon as we were all submerged, their eyes were wide at the wonder of the bioluminescent world around them, turning this way and that to take in as much as they possibly could.

I motioned for them to fan out and explore, they were all adults, they all knew how to mind their air. I made my way to the barrier reef, wanting to explore it more thoroughly. Right as I reached it, a hand closed around the tip of my tail, tugging at it gently, just letting me know that someone was there. I turned over, smiling widely at Quaritch as he continued following me, his own expression relaxed as we swam. At the barrier reef I motioned for him to follow me up to the surface for air, the man staying a respectful distance away as we both breathed in the crisp air before diving back down. I was inspecting the bottom of the reef, having seen a gap that we could have potentially fit through on Ilu, measuring it with my height until Quaritch was tapping me on the arm and pointing towards an opening in the reef. Curiosity no doubt got the better of us both in that moment, neither of us really thinking about it before going inside. It was large enough for Quaritch to swim comfortably, and stayed that way the entire way through until it suddenly moved upwards and opened into a small cavern. We were in sync as we breeched the surface of the water, breathing in the damp, murky air of the cavern. The walls and ceiling were covered by twinkling grubs and fungus, all emitting blue or green light into the darkness "Beautiful." He murmured softly, eyes soaking up every single detail that he could see.

I turned to him, my face pulling itself into a smile that I couldn't gauge as I watched him "It really is." I hummed softly, afraid to break the moment. He turned to me, a word dying on his tongue as soon as our eyes met, his pupils dilating further as he licked his lips. It was suddenly like he had his own gravity, some force pulling me closer to him until I could feel his heart beating against my flesh, feel the heat he radiated envelop me like a comforting blanket. Feel his skin against mine. I moved slowly as I placed my hands against his chest, afraid that we would both wake up, that he'd rebuff me with thunderous anger. He didn't, one of his hands closing around the small of my back delicately like he was afraid I'd bolt, the other continuing to tread water. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he began leaning in, his eyes half lidded as he watched me, watched as I leaned up towards him as well, just as slowly. The moment our lips touched it was like a bolt of lightning was lighting up my nervous system, everything felt so alive and tingled so good and I wanted so much more of him. I groaned against his mouth as my hands drifted up from his chest and to his shoulders, one of them cupping the back of his neck. His own grip increased, his hand splayed wide on the small of my back, pulling me into him as tightly as he could without causing pain. My heart was beating so fast I was almost sure it would explode as he deepened the kiss, giving up fully treading water to tangle his fingers in my hair to pull me in further. I reciprocated, wanting everything that he was willing to give me as I became slightly dizzy from the blood rushing around. I thought I was going to faint when his tongue brushed my lip oh so lightly, begging entrance that I wasn't going to deny him. He tasted like fish and salt and something entirely just him, and it did the last bit of competent thought I had in my head in.

He pulled away after a moment, just gazing down at me like I was something he'd never seen before, watching me blink away the kiss drunk haze that was trying to swallow me whole. "We should get back, before the others think we've drowned or something." He frowned in regret as he spoke, his tone hesitant and unwilling as he watched my expression shift.

I knew he was right, I knew it to my core. The others would think something bad had happened, and would do something stupid to try to find us. But that stupid part of my brain, that tiny bit of hopeless romantic moron, decided that his words were a rejection. That, despite kissing me like that, he didn't actually want me. That I was still his enemy. And always would be in some way. "Ya," I nodded, trying so hard to not look upset, fighting irrationality with rational thought, but my emotions were having little of it. I held my tail out to him before he could ask why I was blinking so much "So we don't get separated." I explained, beginning the swim back as soon as his hand closed around it.

We were the last to arrive at camp, and the others were sure to take the piss out of us "Find somewhere nice and cozy?" Wainfleet teased with a knowing wink, the Recoms obviously knowing something that I didn't have a whole idea of.

Quaritch just half-heartedly growled at him, waving him off to go dry off in the tent "We found a cavern off the barrier reef, its filled with glowing grubs and fungi. It's absolutely stunning!" I smiled warmly, beginning the whole process of wringing out my hair again. The thought of cutting it short entered and exited my mind quickly, knowing I'd never have the heart to have shoulder length hair ever again.

"Was there a nice sandbar in it?" Zdinarsk asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows, furthering the teasing of the others.

I raised a brow at her but decided not to entertain their antics, rolling my eyes when I realized what was going on "Nope. Not a scrap of dry land in there. I'd wager it floods, judging by the smell." I wasn't going to give them shit, and I was going to enjoy it.

"You're killin' me." Wainfleet pouted, catching on pretty quick.

"I live to please." I grinned as I twisted "We should catch some rack, we've got a long ass day when morning comes." I blinked at my words, wondering when the reversion had begun, but I didn't comment on it, and hoped they didn't either.

[rtnortherly]

Some WIP shots of art from Uncanny in the Grove Chapter Two and Three, including one of the kofi pieces

Meanwhile I’m thinking about adding longer art time lapses to my kofi for supporters. I post the occasional one on my Instagram, but I might dial it back and do other formats on there such as my Tale From The Gas Station, or my Sunny reels.

[daemon-in-my-head]

I lied its not durgetash time yet cuz actually yall have no idea how much I adore Mintharas Act 1 scene. Like, yeah sure the sex is hot whatever but the aftermath? Them just sitting there embracing each other? Her asking a question and demanding to hear the answer from PCs lips rather than just using the tadpole to check, her wanting to trust rather than know?

Also her feeling safe and scared at the same time just to actually get so scared down the line she wants to murder to fix it? But then she still stops? Despite the absolute being silent?

Bonus if ur playing durge cuz that whole scene is her giving durge the prayer treatment? This time it's Minthy defying her God for Durge? HELLAUR?????

I'm so unwell about this woman and this uncanny and utterly raw tenderness as early as act 1 like... Brother. That shit legit makes me cry what the fuck. Why are you like that drow mommy I just wanted to simp I didn't need you to hit me in the feels like this cmon

Also, idk how accurate this is for others since I only play male durges, but, the fact that that woman tops u to hell nd back but afterwards she leans on pc? Just fully dropping her guard, showing her back and allowing any not totally in control durge to snap her neck? The big scary drow woman who's so afraid of betrayal because she's been betrayed so often leaving a massive opening for someone? In every scene before she was towering over PC, she was always taller, mightier, the one in control, but now she's shrunk, she makes herself smaller, fragile???? PLEASE I can only take so much. I'd willingly betray the Grove every time just for that scene istfg. Fuck the sexy elf time I just want the cuddles.

I'm not even being evil for sex (which would be kinda excusable and understandable), noooo, I gotta be embarrassing about a simple hug, that isnt even a hug, just someone leaning on my grelim. How pathetic do u have to be to murder for cuddles

[wt-nv-quotes]

And Sunday there will be a lost little girl wandering in Grove Park. She will wear a bedraggled white dress, and her face will never quite be visible, no matter the angle or light. She will ask you to come into the woods with her, to find her mother. You hadn’t remembered there being woods in Grove Park, but there they are, hundreds of trees shrouded in fog, full of shadows and uncanny sounds. You will take her hand and her hand will feel like a brittle autumn leaf. And she will lead you deep into those woods, so deep, as the fog envelops you completely.

[mthollowell-writes]

Festival of Shadows: A WIP Introduction

Genre: Thriller, Horror, Supernatural Mystery

POV: Multiple, Third Person, Past Tense

Themes & Tropes: Family Trauma, Cults, Dark History, Conspiracy, "Time Travel," Reckoning with Past Sins, Dealing with Loss, Loss of Control, Loss of Self, Betrayal, Police Chases, Monster Hunting, Hauntings

Synopsis

The Founder’s Festival is upon us.

The hallowed dead will rise and the living will be held in thrall in the light of the Halo moon.

If you wish to stay as you are, keep to your homes and bolt your doors.

Hollow Grove is just like every other community.

The mortals there hold humble Midwestern values and they work hard to make a decent living for themselves and their families. But like every community, it has its fair share of quirks and interesting characters. In their case, they’ve been living alongside the uncanny since the days of the town’s first settlers.

But the 2017 Festival year is upon them. Rather than resolutions and hopes for the future the new year brings, the town of Hollow Grove declares a state of emergency and puts the entire county into lockdown. Acolytes of the divisive Edelhaus Coalition Church celebrate the holiday as a sign of God’s favor evidenced by the Founder’s holy gifts. The rest of the mortal population, fearful of the thrall, huddle in their homes for the seven day frenzy.

But this holiday also marks the anniversary of a great tragedy. In the aftermath of the 2012 Festival season, a fire burned hot in the Grimwell woods at the edge of town. Beneath the ashes was a grisly scene: the bodies of the infamous Hallow Path cult, burned and “strangely mutilated.” The investigation into their deaths left more questions than answers: What were the goals of the ritual they tried to perform? What, if anything, did they summon? And, whatever happened to Molle Rose whose blood was at the scene but whose body has never been recovered?

Mariela Hudson is the newest correspondent of The Hollow Times reporting team, the main source of the county’s local news. When the police department reopens its investigation into the Grimwell tragedy, she seizes on the chance to uncover the secrets of the Edelhaus Church and its connection to Hallow Path. This, in spite of the warnings from her chief editor, September Knight, who has his own grievances with how the case is being handled.

But Mariela isn’t deterred. The Edelhaus Coaltion has always been obsessed with resurrecting its own monsters, no matter the lives they destroy in their efforts. If there's a way to prevent another tragedy, she'll do whatever she can to do so.

But in the shadow of the halo moon, a monster sleeps.

Please ask if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Official tag will still be #festivalwip. Will be posting updates along other Hollow Grove stories.

[ohsayit]

Zevlor and Nora. Mostly about Nora

I HC'd the name Nora for his horse back in his Rider days. I saw someone mentioned him being a horse man in the server, and then my brain just jumped to gibber. (face palm) A way to keep the old sweetheart from my head is yet to be found. So here I am again, gibbering away.

I must be possessed when I was typing this. This is much longer than I thought -,-

There is something cute and lovely in a short name like Nora. I am particularly fond of names ended in an "a" sound. It's oh so suitable for sighing, cooing, and war cry lol.

The same chat I saw was something about horse breeding in Faerun. I am not sure if everyone enlisted to the Riders will automatically get a horse. Horses are expensive little shits.

Tin foil hat: I know fuck all about horses. The only thing I know is if they proper snapped their ankles, they would be put down.

I imagine horses could be quite picky (aka being a little bitch) with who gets on their backs. So in general, once Riders are "assigned" a horse (given the horse is fine with the person, otherwise, reassign, Riders can't be short of horses lol), they are supposed to take care of their companion personally.

Riders are to build a strong bond and relationship with their horses. So Zevlor definitely took his time taking care of Nora.

However, Nora was definitely not his only horse.

I HC'd him being in his 60s when we met him in the Grove. Riders could get admitted as young as 14 (IIRC). It's quite a long time

Google says horses can live for 20-30 years

race horses irl most retire before 5(?). I think I've heard somewhere on the telly before that their prime racing age is between 3-4

companion horses are supposed to go into combat with the Riders. There are chances for the horse to get hit in combat and leads to retirement

But Nora was his girl. He had her name tattooed under his ribs, a tender spot. It's close to the torso, a place that people would put a lot of protection on.

Nora would be given to him at a rather young age, so she started training at a young age and build up her relationship with her rider. I can see Zevlor investing time and affection on her. He would buy her treats and pretty gears out of his own pocket, put on a stern face and scold her when she was being naughty, give her pats and praises when she did well in training, take her for rides to stretch her legs, let Nora nudge him in his neck and chest and be all cute.

Oh yea, Nora was a princess when she's not at work.

She would definitely make it everyone's problem if she smelled other horses on Zevlor. This would happen after Nora stopped working and Zevlor was assigned a new companion horse. She would super flip and bite him lol If the new companion horse happen to be in Nora's bite range? (You know, horses live in horse houses) Sorry newbie, Nora got scolding, cooing and brushes before you.

After all the time they spent together, Zevlor could guess what goes in that big head. He would shower before seeing Nora if he rode on his companion horse earlier that day. He split his day offs between Nora and the new companion horse. Nora got the prettier trinkets.

Nora died before the Descent because she's a babe to me now for some reason. So in all her life, she shared Zevlor's best days and got the most treats.

I think Zevlor put all the pretty trinkets he bought her in her grave. All he had with him was her name under his ribs and the loving memory of her. She's his favourite girl of all times. Why? Maybe because of her uncanny ability to flip between being a princess and the most loyal and fierce companion horse? They just clicked. Zevlor was her favourite for all her times as well. She was the happiest when he took care of her and going for a ride together.

They must have this goodbye ritual between themselves. When Zevlor was about to go, Nora would grab a bit of his clothes and try to keep him. Batting her lashes and all cuteness. Zevlor would turn around to stroke her nose and say something sweet to her. Princess would then be happy to let him go. I am sure the other Riders would tease him about it but he was a bit cocky "Oh, does you companion not care when you go?"

All in all, Zevlor was a horse person (like all Riders), but he wss even more so of a Nora person. lol Yes he cared about all his companion horses but Nora was something else. He shared quiet moments with her. Some people talk to their stuff toy, Zevlor talk to Nora. I don't think he would put it to words. He would quietly give her care and stroke her gently on a day he felt terrible. Possibly gave her a little smooch when he felt he was good again.

Gods know why theses things come to me lollll This whole thing somehow is about Nora lollllll

[butterfrogmantis]

"Yer a real little wrangler, aintcha?"

Smurfy Grove does, of course, have an advantage to the naming system - you can be named from birth since there's plenty of plants to go about and if you don't like your particular plant you can always change it like Hemlock did with her given name being Sunflower. The village? Well you just kind of have to wait until you find your purpose, this can take longer than others for some. Smurfs get around this because of their uncanny ability to use the word Smurf to refer to anything or anyone - like a mother animal calling their young, the different inflections on the word 'Smurf' will generally suffice for the first few decades whilst a child discovers themself, or are named temporarily 'xyz junior'

Spinner's son was a brash little Smurfling who's first word had inexplicably been 'yee-haw' but he hadn't quite discovered his calling yet. Spinner's encouragements towards the noble art of spinning fell on deaf ears as he'd much rather sneak away with his second cousin to make mudpies and throw rocks at stuff by the stream. There was his 'unka' too who he was constantly begging to help with the sheep shearing. Wooly relents one year and goes during the day so he can keep a better eye on him (plus they know the shepherd family fairly well by now)

The smurfling manages to get himself up onto a young sheep all by himself, who's not really happy about the tiny thing pulling her ear and gives him the run around the mountain. Surprisingly, he manages to stay on pretty well, if a little pale by the time Wooly manages to herd a different sheep over to grab him. Not bad kid, not bad. Here, you wear the wool hat as a sign of respect, then the fated line. The smurfling takes to the name immediately, proudly proclaiming his new identity to Spinner the second he gets home.

"Wrangler Smurf? Really?" it's a much more … dramatic name than Spinner was envisioning. Still, maybe it's just a phase.

Also I know I’ve drawn toddler Wrangler in the cowboy outfit but realistically … that’s for identification purposes I think he’d only go and find his dad’s cousin for a wardrobe change AFTER taking to his new name he probably looked generic w/ maybe only the necklace and vest before

Wooly (c) The Smurfs

Wrangler is mine

[smol-stardust]

FARMER NENE AU: Characters/Ideas

Nene: daikon extraordinaire, about to turn the abandoned farm into a successful Daikon farm. (Amongst other things). Identified by her trademark coveralls with a daikon patch sewn on and her wide brimmed hat. But there's more to this farm than meets the eye…

Hanako: Haunts the abandoned shed, initially mischievous but warms up to Nene as she tends to the farm. Guides and protects her on the farm but is very mysterious. No. 1 fan of the daikon business

Tsukasa: Discovered by Nene near an old well on the farm, reveals that he died falling into the well under unsavoury circumstance. Is a mysterious little menace.

Kou: bubbly neighbor who has an uncanny ability to communicate with the animals on the farm Always ready to help, ends up forming deep bonds with the spirits. Family has connections with shrines so he has higher affinity in communication with spirits

Mistuba: harvest sprite who resides in the crops. Mitsuba enjoys causing small pranks but eventually becomes fond of Nene, helping with the farm chores in his own mischievous way

Aoi: skilled botanist in the nearby village: visits Nene's farm to share gardening tips and knowledge. Develops a close friendship with Nene

Akane: Aoi’s friend who tends to an ancient tree grove, seems to have connections with it? Has interesting but helpful advice occasionally about harvests and seems to have a way with growing seeds well.

Teru: Runs some of the shrine business. Ensures the right weather conditions for optimal crop growth, but sometimes gets annoyed at sprits and unpredictable storms happen (just another element of strangeness for Nene to overcome)

[cringecannon]

Continuation of dark urge x reader fic? Maybe when they have the tadpole, not knowing why they’re so….. drawn to this person.

Their sudden disappearance is the best thing that ever happened to you. You escape Baldur’s Gate the same night, wanting nothing to do with the replacement. Your goal is to get as far as possible as soon as possible, and nothing will stand in your way.

Any of their loyal recruits who dare try to stop you are efficiently disposed of. They’d groomed you into an experienced killer, putting down your supposed “brethren” is no challenge. You use the last of your coin to buy your way into a caravan headed for the coast. The journey through the shadowlands is mostly uneventful and you’re grateful for it. You shove down your memories of that wretched place, memories with them. The caravan is attacked in the mountain pass. It may be cowardly, but you run. You didn’t come this far to be taken out by bandits.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but you stumble upon a quaint grove. The tieflings inside let you in with little fanfare, and you’re grateful. You can finally rest. You do odd jobs here and there, rebuilding a fund. You’re watching the children learn to fight when you hear a voice that makes your blood run cold. You don’t believe it. They’re dead. How could they-

You turn as subtly as you can, and merely ten steps away you see them. They look… gaunt. Different. When their eyes meet yours however, it’s undeniable. They’re here. And you’re in danger. You attempt to slink out of sight, out of their attention but they follow you the whole way. Excuse me, have we met before…?

That gives you pause. It’s a trick, it must be. You choose not to answer, eyeing them warily. They apologize, smiling softly. It’s uncanny. Your skin crawls. They didn’t mean to interrupt you, you just… seem so familiar. You take a step back, they follow. Something’s wrong. Every cell in your body is screaming that something’s terribly, terribly wrong. They just keep smiling. Is something the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

You run. You hear them call after you, but you ignore it. You’re packing your things and leaving.

You don’t know when exactly the screaming started. You’re even less sure when it stopped. You’re hiding under your bed, shaking hands covering your mouth. There’s a soft knock at your door. Their muffled voice echoes in your head. Let’s be civil about this, huh? They just have a few questions, what’s the harm in that? Open the door. They promise they won’t bite… unless you ask nicely.