#gliding barnacles

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, captive darling, gross Bakugou

fem reader

Thinking about hermit forest-dweller Bakugou who lives alone in his lodge…

You got a little lost off the beaten track and were so relieved when you happened upon his homey red-wood cabin, spotting smoke from the chimney and feeling your stomach gurgle from the promise of warm food when knocking on his door.

You’re so terribly sorry to bother him – but your phone has no cell reception, and the map you brought with you had gone pasty and torn in the rain and you have just no idea where you are or how to get back.

He’s rather handsome for a loner, you think. Rough around the edges – hairy and reeking of beer and barnacles. He grunts out a “come in” after you’ve explained yourself, and you follow with a relieved smile, already thanking him.

But only a short second after you’ve taken a step over the threshold comes a hard cack to the back of your head. And for a cloudy moment, you’re something akin to numb all over – only barely registering the harsh feeling of splintery wooden floors against your cheek where you’d fallen to – slowly succumbing to the darkness that forced your eyes to glide close – but not before you could recognize and curl your brows to the big pair of black mountain boots in front of you.

When you wake up, you’re in a bed. It’s a welcomed softness – a warm pleasantness against your wintered skin after you’d wandered aimlessly around in the cold rain – now getting toasty from the heat of the fireplace. 

But there’s something more – something not right. 

You’re not wearing any clothes. And your hands have been roped behind your back in a strict knot, keeping them locked tightly together. 

And you’re being rocked against the sheets – back and forth, back and forth – and you can barely breathe because of it.

And there’s something on top of you – and something fat and wet stuffing your cunt from the back, fucking your taut hole while your eyes flutter with sleep and the start of a pounding headache.

You try screaming when it dawns on you – try twisting your arms free – try getting up, but your mouth has been filled with what you think is your underwear and only muffled cries manage to escape it.

He gruffs out something like, “Quiet, whore.” Planting a harsh slap against your ass while keeping his rhythm steady, thrusting his thickness inside the wet welcome of your quivering little cunt as it seeps with slick for him, soaking him so sweetly it’s even trickling down your thighs in slim lines.

You cry, feeling the stranger touch and fuck you, his heavy hands gritty from work groping the soft fat of your ass while his booted feet kick yours further apart once you try pulling them closed – punishing you with another mean slap to your plush. 

The ache in your belly tells you he’s been at it for a while. Having fucked your tightness sore with his girthy meat – shoving it so hard it bends in order to fit all of him inside. His heavy-hung balls swing beneath him, clapping with wet slaps against your budding clit – making your cunt squeeze and suckle him despite your efforts to ignore it.

He groans at the feel before thrusting in all the way to the hilt in one harsh jab – spewing his gross warmth right into your womb. 

You’re shell-shocked. Eyes terror-wide, drying as you stare into nothing – waiting for it to make sense – but it doesn’t. A stranger had just spunked inside you and you can feel the warm fatty liquid trickle down your cunt and thighs once he pulls his chubby member out.

“S’been a while since I had my balls emptied like that. Good puss’ milked me dry.” He grumbles with satisfaction, lifting his pants from the pool around his boots and buckling himself back up – giving your puffy cunt a wet slap before he’d quite simply just walked off and gone about the rest of his day – returning to use you later.

From then on, you wear nothing but an old red flannel shirt – it smells of man sweat and other things and is so well-worn all the buttons are gone. The clothes you came in were used as easy firewood. He’d burned it all – every article in your backpack except one – the panties you’d worn – which he instead nailed to the wall like it was another pelt or the head of an animal he’d hunted down.

He keeps you on the floor most of the time. You’re leashed with a fat metal chain meant for a rottweiler – and a leather collar kept snug around your throat with a lock and a tag that reads Pup. He must’ve had a dog at some point, but you’re guessing it died – and you’re its replacement – and whether you want it or not, he’s going to train you into being his proper bitch.

During morning news, you take care of his morning wood – sometimes with your cunt and sometimes with your mouth. He’s still cuddly after waking up, needy for warmth, wanting you skin-to-skin – mostly seating you down on his lap, bouncing you lightly on his cock with his chin resting in the grove between your neck and shoulder. Groaning tiredly while pawing your tits. 

If he doesn’t blow his load before the news is over, he’ll bring you with him in the shower. And in the steamy heat, he’ll wake up to give you a real pounding. Your face mushed against the tiles – chin and cheekbone bruising from the force of it while he holds your arms behind your back and rams up into your cunt faster than the droplets fall to the floor. Quick juts until finally creaming inside you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades while dumping every last drop in deep.

After a long day, he likes when you suck his balls while he drinks his beer and eats his dinner, watching sports. Licking the sweat off the back of his cock, no doubt tasting the dried piss from when he’d taken a leak in the forest. Sometimes he’ll say it. “Suck it clean, slut- be happy I didn’t take a shit, or you’d be tonguin’ my ass with that pretty face too.” Always threatening you with something gross that’ll kick you into the right gear – motivating you to be his little cock-eager whore – down there on your knees with your hands bracing against his thighs, throating his length while he holds a firm hand at the back of your head, fisting your hair so tight strands rip free from their roots while you desperately try and will away your gag reflex in order to please him – eyes squeezed tight with slobber making spit bubbles down your chin.

You’re not allowed dinner before swallowing his load. Dinner – being the leftovers he’ll scrape off his plate into a dog bowl. The first time around, you’d looked up at him like he couldn’t be serious, and he’d only squeezed your face rough and said, “Be happy I don’t piss in it, slut.” And then he’d spat on you, once on your face, then once more in your mouth. It was thick and tasted of brown nicotine and ash and you haven't gotten rid of the taste since.

He’ll throw his feet up on your back while you bow down to eat out of your bowl – using you like a warm footstool until the game is done. If his team wins, he fucks your cunt like usual – but if they lose, it’s your assthat’ll pay the price.

When you’re allowed on the couch, he likes sitting opposites so you can take his muddy boots off and massage his feet. They’re still clammy with sweat from work when you peel his woolen socks off. Chipped dry toenails and scaley callouses, the skin yellow and cracked and rough where you dig your fingers in. 

He’ll take his cock out after a while and gather your smaller, softer feet around it – rubbing himself through them while you keep rubbing his soles. When you’re busy with one, the other rests heavily on your tit, pawing it. Sometimes, he’ll even bark at you to suck on the toes.

But it's only until the news is over. After that, he has you crawl over to rest on his chest, nose stuffed with the musk of sweat, wood oil, and leather while he sinks his fat erection all the way up into your womb – storing it there, where it will stay nestled and warm while you watch a western or hunter’s documentary.

He’s hairy like a bear and it makes you feel extra naked. Feeling it tickle your soft skin while he rests an arm on your back – a hand absentmindedly twiddling with your pretty hair.

When he’s not outside cutting down trees and hunting or inside on the couch with a beer, he’s in the meat locker – skinning animals and sectioning flesh. He often fucks you in there. Bent over the cold metal slab, your face in the stags' blood while he growls at your ear how that’ll be you on one of them hooks if you don’t squeeze his cock harder. 

But he’s not always so mean.

He’s nicer to you when you act cute for him. When you lie belly-up, raising your thighs and keeping them spread wide for him – covering your gash with your hand while you work it into a nice glossy welcome, wet and ready to get fucked like a little breeding cow. Pretty words on your pretty lip while you beg him with pretty pleas, asking him to stuff you like one of those animals he’s mounted on the wall. 

Rich city sluts like you need to be taught you can’t fuck around in his forest without paying your dues. And you’ve learned your lesson – riding him like he’s a mechanical bull from the rodeo like a good tramp should – jumping on his fat shaft with your perky tits bouncing in his face. 

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere katsuki #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou smut #bakugou smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki

[ouroboroscully]

not to be all richard siken about it but: mulder and scully are like two weird little ducks gliding together in a river. they’re like two telephone poles on opposite side of the street communicating parallel. they’re two strange fungi in the woods. they’re a gate and a latch. they’re a tree trunk split into two. they’re barnacles and boat hulls. they’re a sea siren and a light house. they’re a closed door and yellow light streaming from beneath. they’re two ships in the night. they’re each other and not-each other. they’re themselves and not-themselves. they’re the last matches in the box. they might be poisonous. they miss each other. they don’t have the words to say it.

#any strange pair that i see outside i’m like that’s mulder and scully. it just is #msr #txf #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 18

This chapter breaks our record at 3.3k words :O

comment and reblog!

MASTAPOST

Damian awoke from sleep. He felt his body squish underneath the weight of Danny’s. The older boy had insisted the previous night, citing Damian’s body being unable to regulate temperature in the cold water at night. This had Damian begrudgingly agree to this arrangement, although he had made his displeasure very clear.

He tried to push down the comfort it brought him. Tried to focus on other things.

Like the fact that he was riding a whale. An entire whale. He even had a harness tied to his waist to stop him drifting behind, the rope wrapping gently around the mammal’s fins and around its body snugly.

This moment? This moment right here was the highlight of his young life. Unconsciously, his chest rumbled and purred as his heart pounded with affection for the beautiful creature.

The whale called out to its pod. It seemed the boys had landed on the largest of the pod, a female (he had checked) and likely the mother of the younger members. Damian rubbed the whale’s skin in soothing circles, its blubber smooth to the touch. There, there, big girl. You are doing an exemplary job.

Each stroke of the whale’s body, undulating through the sea send small shockwaves down Damian’s lateral line, a testament to the size and power of the world’s largest animals (although not the largest organism. That title belonged to Pando). After a while, the rhythm settled into Damian’s bones, like a second heartbeat.

He would have to paint this moment when he got home.

Damian looked behind him. Danny was still out cold after the extensive swimming they had done. It was worth it, though. If Damian’s estimates were correct, they were only a week or less away from Panama. Danny’s swimming speed was nothing short of incredible. It was almost like he was intangible, gliding through the waves with barely a hint of water resistance. Damian had feared it would take a month or longer to get to Panama, considering a dolphin’s long-distance swim speed was only around ten miles an hour, but Danny’s celestial navigation suggested they’d covered about seven hundred miles by the time they hitched a ride with the whales.

Panama was so close… From there it would be smooth sailing, or swimming.

Until then?

Damian untied the rope harness. How many of his family could claim to swim alongside a pod of whales? Using his small, streamlined body, Damian launched off the leader’s body, and dashed in front of her. Despite himself, he gave her a small wave. The whale cooed. Despite not understanding her call, Damian could feel a wave of affection, like a caress through the water.

Damian glanced back at Danny, still fast asleep and snoring. Good.

Looking back at the whale, he focused on their deep, bellowing tones. Opening his mouth, Damian repeated the call as best he could, although it sounded much, much higher pitched than the original.

Much to his surprise, the pod leader called back. Damian smiled in a rare unfiltered grin. The whale answered him!

That was it. He needed to learn to speak whale at the soonest possible convenience. This was of the utmost importance. As a regular human, his vocal cords could never hope to reproduce the calls of a whale, but as a siren, a unique opportunity was granted to him. And he would take it, as befitting his bloodline.

As he contemplated how he would proceed with this plan, his fins slackened, and he found himself lagging behind as the leader swam past him. Damian watched in awe as her shadow fell over his body. He trailed underneath her white underbelly, catching the currents cast by her massive fins, and counted the colonies of barnacles occupying them.

He swam back to circle around the other members of her pod. The baby whales (there were babies too!) crooned to him, and he responded in turn, not sure of what it meant, but wholeheartedly delighting in taking part of a world he’d once considered closed off to him.

A mischievous baby, one he christened Dorothy, bumped him with her nose. The force sent him rearing back. He took a moment to rebalance himself, before she came back for more, playfully nudging him. Hah! Two could play that game. Damian bopped her on the nose, then dashed away. Dorothy gave chase, but Damian was smaller and nimbler.

He twirled in the water, diving underneath an older whale’s belly as Dorothy nipped at his tail. He went up and over the elder’s back. Damian dashed underneath the larger whale’s dorsal fin. Peeking stealthily over the edge, he spotted Dorothy in a state of apparent confusion as his seeming disappearance into thin air, or water.

Serves her right for challenging a master of stealth.

Damian’s lateral line spiked. He turned around just in time to spot a second baby coming for him. Damian tutted. What an amateur. He would have to show them how to properly chase a target. Using his vertical mobility, he launched upward and out of the way. Dorothy spotted him again, and continued her pursuit. Now with two pursuers, and more joining in, Damian laughed gleefully as he led them in twists and turns, using the larger adults as obstacle courses, much to their chagrin. At least that was what he assumed the annoyed-sounding squeaks were.

As much of a fast learner as Damian was, however, he was still new to his body. Damian’s fins flexed at the wrong angle, and his arms bend too far forward, causing him to overshoot his left turn. The green and golden siren crashed head first into the pod leader, briefly floating belly up as stars flashed in his vision.

Immediately the babies descended upon him. Dorothea nudged his body with her nose, sending him floating into her friend, who passed him to another baby just as quickly. Soon the babies formed a circle as they passed Damian’s limp body between them like a game of volleyball. Their actions unfortunately only exacerbated his dizziness, and after a few rounds, Damian was about to test whether sirens could vomit underwater.

A striking croon filled the water, causing Damian’s fins to spike up. However, it seemed the call wasn’t for him, as the baby whales scattered and returned to their parents. Dorothea chittered and gave him one last bump before returning to her own mother’s side.

Damian slowly regained his faculties. He shook off the last of the nausea. That could have been dangerous. They were wild animals, and could have seriously injured him. His father would have been furious.

And he wanted to do it again.

“Yo, Damian!” Danny’s voice called out.

Damian flipped his tail and returned to their miniature mobile campsite in a blur. Danny was snacking on some fish from their last raid. Damian frowned. Their food stashes were already running low.

“Breakfast?” Danny offered him a bundle of seaweed, or kelp. It had a pale yellow colour and sported round sacks along its stems, like bladderwrack.

Damian poked warily at the plant matter. They did not pack this in their supplies. “What is this?”

“It’s sargassum. Plant stuff that floats on the surface. Come try it!”

Damian squinted. He found his stomach stronger than it was as a human, capable of eating untreated raw fish (as much as he would rather not) without so much as a stomach ache.

Damian look a strip of sargassum, feeling the texture between webbed fingers. It was slightly slimy, but soft. He poked one of the bladders, causing its air bubble to pop and float to the surface. As he thought.

“If you’re not gonna eat that, I will. I just swam 700 freaking miles and I’m staaaarving.” Danny whined, a childish gesture.

Damian threw it down the hatch. It tasted… salty (but what didn’t taste salty in the ocean?). The texture was tolerable enough. It was no Caesar salad, or Pennyworth’s casserole, but it would do.

“Hand it over.” Damian gestured for the rest of the plant, and his companion obliged.

Damian chewed absentmindedly as he watched Danny unfurl the map they had ‘acquired’ from the Atlanteans. “So we’re somewhere here.” Danny pointed to a spot in the middle of the blue sea, just off the coast of California. “If we keep going south, we’ll be in Mexican waters, and then it’s smooth swimming to Panama.”

A lump of air pushed up his throat. Damian burped. The beginnings of a snicker were on Danny’s face. The smaller boy held his head high, choosing the high road this time, and maintaining dignity.

“As you were saying?”

“AHEM.” Danny coughed. “We’ve got a bit of a food problem.”

He held up the satchels that they had been using to store their provisions. It was worse than Damian had thought. The bags were practically empty, with maybe a snack and a half between all of them.

He chewed on another stalk of sargassum. Its bubbles popped in his mouth and exited through his nose.

“You cannot swim long distances without sustenance.” Energy could not come from nowhere, after all. The same rules applied for many metas, especially the infamous Flash family. They had left their last stop with bundles of supplies, quickly consumed in the matter of hours.

“We need to hunt again.” Danny concluded. “And get some more seaweed.”

Tut. Damian’s fins drooped a fraction of an inch. It was a shame to leave the whales behind already, but they were always going to go off on their separate paths. He just wished they could stay a little longer.

Danny shifted his sitting position. “To be honest, I’m still getting cramps in my tail. 700 miles.” He said breathlessly. “I never knew I had it in me.”

“So our goal is to recuperate, and resupply.” More quality time with the whales! A couple air bubbles slid out from underneath his gills, the ticklish sensation sending him shuddering.

“Yeah pretty much. Now if you don’t mind me, I’m gonna take another nap.” His companion curled up into a large circle, using his tailfin and arms as a pillow, and closed his eyes.

Damian gaped open. “But you just woke up!”

“700 miles, Damian. 700 miles. We can hunt when I wake up.” With that, Danny was out like a light. Even Damian nipping at his sail could not convince the teenager to awaken.

Damian turned around. The baby whales had returned, hovering just out of reach, apparently having been watching the conversation aptly. He supposed this arrangement had its benefits. Damian whistled, and launched off again.

Satellites.

Her parents had fucking satellites.

That answered how they were going to track Danny. Jazz stared wide-eyed at the computer screen on the deck of the SAV, showing a digital rendition of the entire globe. Off the coast California, about a thousand miles south of their current location, a dot blinked black and white. Jazz’s blood went cold. They had her brother’s hydro-signature. They could track him wherever he went. There would be no hiding, except by turning back into a human, but how could she tell him? And how could he accomplish that goal in the middle of the sea?

Jazz could only gape slack-jawed while her father ranted endlessly about their new radar system, a genius innovation created by her mother in just a day. Isn’t she amazing, Brucie? I’ve got the most beautiful, brilliant wife in the world. Just look at the wiring in this baby.

Bruce Wayne nodded dumbly, remaining silent for the most part, occasionally scratching his head and asking a question. He was listening very intently. No one else could hope to endure her father’s rants. She’d seen very strong-willed individuals awkwardly make excuses and shuffle away, only to be roped back in at the last second. No. Bruce Wayne wanted to be here, and he wanted to learn everything he could.

She imagined thousands of drones printed with WE logos scouring the ocean for a scared teenage boy. No Jazz, no catastrophising. She took steady deep breaths, and counted things she could feel with each sensation.

She needed to focus on what she had to power to do right here and right now. The positives: her parents had very wisely chosen not to sell their most useful tech to the GiW. Her mother never trusted them, and her father was still upset at the government organisation for not having recognised them earlier in their career.

That meant no agents in white suits going after her brother, assuming he’d managed to lose them (which was likely).

Her parents also believed she was here to hunt Phantom. That was another positive.

Their new tech had been whipped up in a fever dream-like haze over the course of two days or less.

That meant an easy excuse if any of them malfunctioned.

The bad news? Bruce Wayne could possibly sniff her out, and snitch on her to her parents. That would severely limit her ability to slow them down.

She turned back as her dad began showing off their miniature sonars, eagerly boasting of their range and precision. Bruce Wayne nodded, and asked about their hardware. How they overcame issues with affecting marine life, how they could compact it into such a small case.

That was good news. Arguably. She did not very much like the idea of the world’s richest man funding a crusade against an entire species. But infallible he was not, and all she needed was plausible deniability and a distraction to grant her brother hours. Even days, assuming she even could distract the enigmatic billionaire. There was the very public, very visible himbo dummy persona. What lay underneath the skin was another story entirely.

Then there was the question of how she would even know what to do in the first place. If she just took a wrench and started whacking, it would be made extremely clear who was responsible. If she wasn’t careful, she might even sink the boat. And she refused to put her family in danger. Jazz was going to do this right, and make sure everyone got home safe.

That meant she would need help.

“I’m getting a little dizzy, guys. I’ll head to my room if that’s ok.” She told the conversing men. Their goodbyes floated in the space behind her, distant to her ears.

She entered her little cabin in the SAV. Well, it was her and Danny’s, but for now she was alone. Jazz closed the door shut and locked it. The cabin consisted of a comfortable bunkbed and two desks for the both of them, as well as a (heavily reinforced) window looking out into the vast blue sea. Although not as densely decorated as her room at Fentonworks, it still carried personal affects dotting around its shelves and walls. A picture of Danny’s first beach day here. A photo of them fishing in Hawaii there. An old scented candle sat at the desk, a relic from when she’d tried to get the smell of fish off the SAV when she was ten.

Jazz had no time to waste. Her mother had noted off-handedly that they were already going a hundred miles an hour. That was insane. They’d catch up with Danny within the day.

Jazz calmed her nerves, and collected herself. She swept the room for bugs and listening devices, something her father had taught her once to ward off the feds. Something told her the screaming IRS agent running away from her house did that plenty, but that was neither here nor there. Once done, she threw the sheets off the bunk beds. The mattresses came off and found a new place shoved up against the wall. As sound-proofed as she could make her room, Jazz recited opening lines in her head.

She pulled out her phone, and dialed. It was time to bust the hatch open.

“Hello?”

“Hello Mrs Foley!”

“Jazz! It’s great to hear from you. I’m so sorry about Danny, I-”

Jazz cut her off. “Actually, about that. Can I please speak to Tucker? I’d like to have a word with him.”

A pause. “Sweetie. Tucker’s been grounded until further notice.” Mrs Foley’s voice ground out at the last two words. It didn’t seem pretty for Danny’s friends.

“I know, but this is urgent.” Jazz stressed.

“He supported Phantom, Jazz. My baby boy committed computer crime for that monster. I just- I just don’t know what’s going on. No. Tucker needs to serve his punishment. And then after- after- after that I don’t know.”

“I know you’re in shock, Mrs Foley. So am I. But have you considered that he might be in grief, too?”

The line went quiet.

“Danny isn’t just my little brother. He’s Tucker’s best friend in the whole world. Tucker’s an honorary little brother to me. Doesn’t he deserve to know what’s going on with him?”

Mrs Foley took a moment of silent deliberation, and sighed. “You’ve got a way with words, Jazz. Fine. I’ll call him down.”

“Oh, and Mrs Foley? Can we have a bit of privacy as well? I think Tucker will need some space for this conversation.”

A minute later, Tucker showed up as promised. “Oh sweet technology. How I’ve missed you so…”

He sounded tired. Incredibly tired, despite his open relief about being able to touch a phone. Not only that, but it sounded inauthentic. Almost performative. “Tucker, stop caressing the phone. I have news about Danny.”

Tucker’s breath hitched. “Do you know where he is?”

Jazz took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. The moment of truth. “I know what happened to him.”

“Jazz I swear Phantom had nothing to do with it, you gotta-,”

“No Tucker. I’m talking about six months ago.” Jazz looked behind her, listening for any footsteps outside her door. “I saw him in the water three months ago. I saw him changing.”

Her brother’s life was at stake. She chose her words very, very carefully, as vague as possible.

Tucker gasped. “W-what do you mean? D-Danny goes swimming all the time. Wait a minute-”

The line went dead. Panic threatened to tilt Jazz off course. Did she just blow her only chance? No. Think rationally. Tucker was a smart kid. A genius with tech. He probably realised anyone could listen in on his house’s landline. That boy went through PDAs like old clothes; he had to have a few burners spare.

Her phone rang again, and Jazz could have cried in relief.

“What are you gonna do with Danny’s secret?” Tucker hissed, accusation plainly audible.

“My parents have a radar to track him across the world. They have a dozen new weapons to fire on him with. They have an engine that can accelerate the SAV to a max speed of 200 miles an hour. I need you to tell me how to sabotage each and every one of them.”

Tucker choked on the line. “You s-serious?” He said, nakedly vulnerable, like she was about to pull the rug out at the last moment.

“Danny’s my little brother. I’d do anything for him. And I’ve always critiqued my parents’ obsessions as unhealthy. Tucker, I don’t know what half of this stuff does. You’re my only hope. You’re Danny’s only hope.”

Her honorary little brother gulped. When he spoke next, it was like his resolve had been dipped in liquid steel. “I’m right on it.”

She heard thunderous clacking through the line. It looked like Mrs Foley’s punishment was not as airtight as the woman thought it was…

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #merman #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #playing with whales #riding whales #mer!danny #mer danny #mer!damian #mer damian wayne #bruce wayne #jazz fenton #good sibling jazz fenton #jack fenton #fluff #comfort

[i-am-church-the-cat]

After watching 2024 ISU Montreal, Logan as a figure skater has been on my mind for the longest time.

god...aaaa...im rolling on the floor rn, i can't handle it

the years of my life invested in YOI and figure skating aus is unstoppable, i can't hold it back, i must type-ity-type

Logan's father introduced him and Dalton to ice skating through hockey. Even living in Florida, they had been fans of any and every sport. Football was a favorite, of course, as was basketball, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, sailing, surfing, skiing, and golf. High-contact sports were the most compelling to boys of their age, so when they learned that there was a sport where guys slammed into each other with knives on their feet, they had to check it out.

But starting hockey wasn't what made Logan fall in love with the ice. The first time he'd ever skated had been with his mother on a lake by her childhood home back up in Ohio. He'd been so small, stuck to her side like a barnacle, a mama's boy since the beginning.

The smooth glide of his feet across the clear surface was revelatory. The weight of himself was no longer holding him down, gravity was easier to fight on skates instead of shoes. The thin white lines they left behind them were entrancing. Logan never worried about getting lost because he always knew where he'd been.

Hockey was fun but it wasn't what Logan wanted. The ice wasn't made for chipped teeth and blood-soaked spit. Something that was safety and grace, as dangerous as it was beautiful, deserved more respect than that.

There was a kid on the team between his and Dalton's, Lance. He was cool in a weird sort of way and didn't care that Logan never knew when to speak and when to stay silent. They didn't hang out often and they've fallen out of touch since, but it was his fault that Logan became who he was.

Or, more accurately, his sister's.

Chloe wasn't very graceful but she was an artist and she loved the ice. If Logan got to practice early enough, he could watch the tail end of her figure skating practice. Mr. Stroll always rented out the entire rink for Chloe and her private figure skating coach, only the best for his daughter. So a lot of the times it would be just her, dancing on the ice, her coach, shouting critiques over her chosen music, and Logan, sitting lonely and enraptured in the stands.

It took him almost a month of watching Chloe before he got up the nerve to try out some of the things he had seen. The choreography wasn't that hard, though Logan's rhythm wasn't the greatest at nine years old. But the jumps were hard, and the jumps hurt, and he couldn't figure it out.

But something always made him get back up and keep trying. He couldn't stop once he got something stuck in his mind and the leaps and twists of figure skating jumps were stuck like flies in amber.

The first jump he ever landed was a toe loop. Not that he knew what it was called at the time, and he barely finished a whole rotation, but he stayed standing which was better than he had done in the couple weeks he'd been trying any time he could steal some ice time. When Logan had hit the ice, wobbling but not falling, he'd let out a shocked, delighted laugh. Instead of being sated, his fascination with figure skating just wanted more.

"You're a little old to not be landing singles."

Logan whirled around at the unexpected voice. He'd thought he was totally alone, the rink on the edges of closing. But there was Chloe Stroll's figure skating coach, looking at him with calculating eyes. Logan tried to hold himself up taller, to look more secure than he felt.

"I- I've never tried before," Logan had admitted. He'd felt embarrassed and then felt mad for feeling embarrassed. The coach had looked considering.

"Have you ever tried ballet? You might want to start there."

Logan, even at nine, had recoiled at the idea. It had taken all his courage just to practice figure skating in private, in steps and moments he could steal. But ballet was- his dad would never want him to do that. Dalton would laugh at him, the couple friends he had would think he's weird. He couldn't do ballet.

But he couldn't give up the ice, either. Even when his hockey season ended, Logan was at the rink every day, begging his mom to take him after school. He was older than most kids were when they started and he didn't have a coach or any proper training. If he wanted to do the kind of things Logan wanted to do on the ice, he'd have to push himself further, train his body more, practice for hours on end. A few hours every week wasn't enough.

It was nearing the summer time when Logan worked up all the courage in his little body to ask for ballet lessons. He'd done research, used the family computer to look up ballet teachers in the area, ones that specialized in training athletes for other sports. He had his arguments, his bargaining chips, his promises and dreams all held in the palm of his head.

Logan worked up the courage to ask.

And his father had laughed.

So had Dalton. The only one who didn't laugh was his mother, who saw the heartbreak Logan tried so hard to hide with his fake laughter. Of course, he was only joking. That was the only possibly explanation for why he would say such a thing.

Logan's dreams died that night. He resigned himself to copying jumps he saw on YouTube, stolen moments in the ice rink that felt safer than his own home sometimes.

But the next week, when his mom was taking him to the ice rink, Logan realized they'd made a wrong turn. When he mentioned it to his mom, she'd just shushed him. He'd been left in confusion all the way up to the small, squat building. He'd picked out the words on the sign in front of him like a crow picking out gems from the refuse.

Ayliah's Ballet School

Logan's dad was mad when he found out about the lessons a few months later. In response, Logan had brought all the figure skating magazines he'd been hoarding down from his room and showed them to his parents. The pages he'd bookmarked, the sketches he'd made to try and figure out a skater's pose, the torn-out descriptions of an intricate step sequence. He'd looked up at his dad with big, desperate eyes, willing him to understand the inextricable draw figure skating had at him.

By the time he started fifth grade, Logan had a ballet teacher and figure skating coach. By the end of fifth grade, he had landed his first triple jump.

--

At 19, Logan was the most anxious he could ever remember being. He was also more excited than he thought physically possible.

It was his third year in the senior series, and for the first time, he'd been invited to two ISU grand prix. He had an actual chance at the world championships, something he hadn't had since he won the junior series at 16.

Logan's choreography that year was good, really good. He'd put way more work into his presentation after what an opposing skater had said to him at nationals last year.

"Your jumps might have won you one championship, but everyone can jump in the senior series. Stand out, Logan, or get out."

For Logan, who had never cared much what music he had or what step sequences he did as long as it got him enough points, it was a rough wake up call. He was proud of his jumps, the technical perfection he'd spent years and years honing. He could now land the the quad toe loop, quad salchow, and quad Lutz consistently in competition. But his artistry left something to be desired, and it hurt his program scores in the long run.

He'd changed that this year. He'd worked with his choreographer for months to find the right music, the right transitions, the right spins and steps. Logan had even reached out to a figure skater he'd skated with in the junior leagues who always had the best costumes about his stylist.

The first thing he'd noticed about the ice was that it was a canvas, a glistening field just awaiting someone to paint it in soft white stripes. He'd fallen in love with the danger of it, the allure, but he had neglected the emotional appeal. Madame Ayliah would surely be disappointed if he saw him.

But not this year. Not with a short program as bold as the one he had this year, not with a free skate this spellbinding. Logan had even started drafting ideas for a exhibition state, caught in the draw of expressing his emotions on the ice. He was never good at being vulnerable but this year, the ice demanded it of him. He demanded it of himself.

The US could send three men's figure skaters to the World Championships. Three out of thousands. Logan was going to show why he deserved to be one of them.

One day, Logan would lay on the ice, bleeding and broken, and know its cruel love had run out. But today, it welcomed him home.

#gnawing at the bars of my enclosure: anxious athletes who don't believe they're special but fight for what they love anyway #anyway yeah #figure skating #figure skating au #figure skater!logan sargeant #logan sargeant #f1 rpf #my fic #my writing #drabble #ask answered #also thanks for sending this i remembered it in my inbox and finally had something to write about #unedited

[anamelessfool]

Papa IV & Reader (SFW) AO3 Link

Comfort Reading, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Cardiophilia, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Healing Meditation

Basically a description of a visualization I do whenever I feel stressed or suffer from insomnia.

No relation to my big AU. Just Reader hugging Papa IV because they deserve it.

Whole fic below the cut 👇 if you like it please reblog or click through to AO3!

Call Me

You're drawn to here again. Your soul feels heavy, weighed down by the mundane burdens that build over time, barnacles latched and dragging onto the hull of your motivation. It is night, and the stained glass windows of demons and swirling symbols reach outward into the darkness, pulling you in, helping you navigate your way to the safe harbor of his congregation. You arrive just in time.

The warmth does not end with just the light emanating from the candelabras, it is within the energy of the space itself. The soft movements of the congregants, his call and their response , their little sighs and noises of life bolster you as you wade within the crowd. You feel their hearts uniting in ways that in most parts of your life were strictly impossible. 

And then you see him: tall, resplendent. His marble-carved face holds the left eye of a monster, the right eye of a doe. His long gloved fingers dance across the articles on the altar, moving them with reverent grace. His voice holds you like a hand cradling your weary head. You watch his service with awe and you feel fully immersed in the glory of this Dark God.

The assembled flock start to leave, murmuring to each other as they exit. You sit there, too tired to move, to think, to decide. At a certain point you are the last of the crowd within the sacred space, and the silence descends. It's a different silence here than at your home. It feels like the silence of possibility, the silence of true respite. You sigh deeply, sinking more into the velvet cushion on the pew. 

There is a rustle of luxurious fabric, and you look up to see Papa Emeritus IV, still fully adorned in all his glittering splendor. He is gently resetting the altar space, his hands picking up each item with reverence and placing them back to various cabinets or chests. He realizes that you are still there, sitting just a few feet away from him. His white Infernal Eye burns into you, but his human eye drips with kindness directed towards you. It is a fierce look, but the rat-like skull visage he had designed for himself lends an odd innocence to his face. He puts down a chalice he had been holding. “Child,” he speaks in a low rumble. “Whatever is the matter? Come here.” He glides over to the edge of the dias, opening his arms out to you. The jeweled cape he wears glitters in the candles around him.

You get up, feeling aged. It takes effort to put one foot in front of the other, but his kind face and soothing voice coaxes you towards him. You stop just at the bottom of the steps of the dias, looking upward at him.

“Papa, I...” Your tears start to flow, and you don't care anymore if he sees your weariness about life. You feel at home here, secure in this place with an understanding soul listening quietly before you. “I try. I try so hard. I do what I can to make a difference and to be part of the world. But still…still I never feel like I fit in. Like I'm a part of something.”

“You're a part of this,” Papa reminds you, gesturing elegantly around the space.

“People don't understand this,” you mutter. “Sometimes people look at me like I'm insane. Sometimes I feel insane for loving you so much.”

Papa says your name softly, chidingly. “Love makes everyone feel insane. Passion proves you're human. Come forward my child.”

He opens his arms out to you, tilting his mitred head toward you like a dark saint, a noble animal. Your ribcage can barely contain your rattling heart. You step forward into his presence, into his arms, carefully pressing yourself against the silken embroidered solidness of his chest. His arms close around you, sweeping you into a gentle, protective embrace. Your eyes become heavy, lulled by the smell of sweet smoke imbued in his robes. His gloved hands rub gentle circles against your arms, his cape enveloping you like the tender wings of a bat. You sigh deeply. This is the safest place in your world.

“Dearest,” he begins, and a hand wanders to your head to stroke your hair. “You worry so much about others. About their need and their approval. You have nothing to fear. You needn't open your heart to those who don't see your beauty. Not everyone deserves your light.”

You fit perfectly in his arms, and at last the tears dry on your face. Your arms curl around his waist and he does not resist, but rather presses you further into him. Your ear brushes up against his heart, buried beneath layers of jewels and cloth-of-gold, but it is a man's heart, a heart that beats like yours or mine. To reside in the space between those beats, to nestle within the sound…

How did the song go? Wild horses. Wild, wild horses.

“You are home here,” Papa IV says softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “There is nothing to fear here. There is nothing needed of you, asked of you. All that you do, all that you strive for…is not wasted.” 

At last you feel ready to step back from him, to admire him from a distance. He holds your hands still, smiling behind his skull-like visage. You commit his scent to memory. The gems across his body you know will dazzle your dreams for many nights to come. “I'm ready now.”

“Come.” Papa IV offers you his arm and you walk down the aisle, to the entrance of the nave, back towards the noise and grey of the real world. You squeeze his arm and he stops short of the door, looking into you, giving you the full attention of his shark-like eye. "Tesoro… I will always be here. In this seat in your heart, I remain. You can always reach me. Close your eyes and I am there.”

You test his words and softly close your eyes. Despite the darkness, his image endures. His golden light, the rich blue folds of his vestments penetrate your mind's eye. He is truly there. He will always be there.

The air of the real world hits your face like an icy blast, and you step into it, your heart a bit lighter than when you arrived. You can achieve anything. Peace can always rise to meet you, to appear on your own terms. As the door closes behind you his voice reaches out in a final caress that echoes through your soul: “ Call me. Call me. Call me.”

My Fic List

If you like my things please reblog or leave kudos! ❤️

@historian-crown @monkberryghouldelight @iichorot @in-cardi-c-we-thrust @riptide-kid @the-theshiro-123

#ghost fandom #ao3 author #ghost band fic #the band ghost #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #fanfic #papa emeritus iv #papa iv & reader #reader insert #sfw fanfic

[comfort-writing]

Some thoughts I have about Eddie:

- He loves watching you play his guitar. You may just pluck at the strings, asking how to play a chord or two, but he loves watching your fingers glide across the neck of it as you strum nonsense. You’re the only person who he allows to touch his baby. Sometimes he’ll sit behind you, chest pressed against your back, legs straddling your own, and he’ll place his fingers on the frets, show you the strum pattern, and you’ll play a little song together. He’ll hum the lyrics quietly into the crook of your neck, making your skin warm and your head spin.

- His love language is physical touch. At first, you noticed the way he liked to have a hand on you. Holding your own. Resting comfortably on your waist. Playing with the frayed ends of your shorts with his thumb, palm splayed out on your thigh. But as time progressed, and as he got more comfortable, he needed to be as close as physically possible. In public, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you close as you looked at cans in the grocery store. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder while waiting in line at a concert. He’d pull you into his lap, holding you tight on his couch as a movie played on the tv in his trailer. It wasn’t sexual or possessive, but he needed to be touching you at all times. There was a few days early on where you noticed that he’d backed off a bit, and you definitely felt the absence. You wondered if something was wrong, and on day three of him avoiding your touch, you finally asked him about it. His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there as he explained that he was worried that you thought it was annoying, that maybe he was too touchy or clingy. When you hugged him close and kissed him sweetly, explaining that you’d missed his presence, all fear melted away. You called him your little barnacle and he laughed all the anxiety out of his system in that moment.

- Any opportunity that Eddie has to make you laugh, he will take it !! Sometimes he’ll just start telling you the cheesiest knock-knock jokes, and you don’t even really laugh at the jokes, but really laugh at how earnestly he is telling them to you, looking at you expectantly, hoping you’ll crack. When your annoyed-facade finally fades and you giggle, he will keep coming up with more, and even if they don’t make sense, you laugh anyways. His eyes light up and he looks like a little kid on Christmas morning. He loves giving random objects funny voices, making them talk to you, almost how a parent might entertain a toddler. But dammit, it’s really funny when he holds up an onion in the store and says in an unnaturally deep voice for an onion, “Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t make you cry. You should pick me”. He intentionally picks out really terrible, low-budget movies at Family Video just so he can listen to you laugh at, and make fun of, the terrible special effects and acting. Your laugh is his favorite sound on the planet.

-Eddie befriends any animal he comes across. Just looking at him, you wouldn’t really take him as an animal lover, but during one of your first visits to his trailer, you notice a little food bowl just tucked underneath the structure of his home. When you questioned him about it, he told you that he feeds the strays. He tells you that he was essentially a stray as a kid, and sometimes he would’ve loved a good meal. If the two of you ever go for a walk, a dog might approach him and beg for pets, even if on a leash with their owner right there. If they agree to let him pet their dog, he immediately drops to his knees and cards his fingers through the dog’s fur, cooing and telling it what a good dog it is, letting it lick his cheeks mercilessly. If you take a stroll through the woods, little critters might cross your path, and he bends low, sitting patiently and letting it approach him. One day, he managed to somehow pet a literal squirrel, and when it finally scurried off, you called him Snow White. He laughed brightly and claimed that you were just jealous.

- Eddie hates reading, but loves Shakespeare. Not Romeo and Juliet, but stuff like Richard III. He may secretly include its plots into his D&D campaigns. That is all.

- He is either insanely amazing at or incredibly terrible at flirting. There’s really no in-between. One day, he’s putting on the moves, tucking your hair away from your neck and whispering things that drive you mad into your ear. His hands are teasing, brushing your sides gently as he tells you all the things he wants to do to you later, alone. His eyes rake over you and land on your lips, staying there until you just can’t stand it, finally giving in to his suave advances. The next day he says something like “Damn baby girl, you look.. like a girl.. who I like the look of… shit.”

- It took him a long time to finally admit that he loves you. But every day after that, he spews the three words endlessly. When you hand him his coffee in the morning. When you are tying your hair up for the day or brushing your teeth. When the two of you are swaying to the music on the radio in his kitchen. When he’s wiping down the counter after dinner and you’re watching him from your place on the couch. When he kisses your neck while his hands wander. When your laugh becomes infectious. Any and every moment he thinks it, he says it.

- Eddie journals. Every day of his life is written down in endless notebooks. Sometimes they’re short little blurbs, other times, they’re pages and pages describing his grief. It was a way to process his emotions when nobody would listen to him as a kid. His upside down entry when he got home simply says: ‘I’m grateful to be alive.’

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #em #eddie x reader #fanfic #headcanon

[artinwreck]

Día típico.

Gliding Barnacles 2023 🇵🇹

[alias-milamber]

Today I completed a Blades in the Dark campaign

Lessons learned:

Blades in the Dark isn't great for a short story-focused campaign

BitD works well for a single-session or a long campaign with the territory/growth rules it defines, less well for short campaigns

Even when I think I'm making a short campaign, it might last a year.

Full improvisation is fun, but if you don't take notes you'll goozle yourself.

"Your Theorycrafting about the nature of the plot is entirely correct" is a vicious Devil's Bargain

As is "I'm not going to tell you, but it gets you two dice"

Write a vague prophetic dream, and use the details later to make them pay attention when you need to.

You can build an entire year long arc on the stupid pun "the bad guy is called Carson. He wants to turn everyone into crabs"

"He wants the whole world in his claws, the shellfish bastard"

A shop full of monkeys-paw magical artifacts that you improvise on the fly is like catnip to players.

Keep a list of random threads you haven't looped back to. Don't bother to check them off, things can mean two things.

If in doubt, add more cultists.

If in doubt, venetian masks.

If in doubt, add an NPC's mirror-verse twin.

"Everyone gets nightmares about being shelled and covered in Mary-rose sauce."

Three handouts:

A Dream Of Seafood

(after a player has eaten of the sacred flesh, disguised as a prawn vol-au-vent)

The world is cold and wet, and you like it that way. The sandy floor below you, the stars above, as it has always been and will always be. In the distance you hear the song of the leviathans, cutting through the ocean water like bagpipes over a mountain hillside. The words mean nothing to you, their song as alien as yours would be to them.

You do not sing your song, sound isn't what you're made for. You are, you see, you feed, you eat.

You obey.

The sandy floor rises up below you in ribbons - you never even process the net that has caught you. Your life flashes before your eyes, hits this moment, and goes beyond into the future.

You see the world above the ocean briefly, before darkness. The smell of wood and others for a long time, and a long descent into clean water. The water scalds and burns, and the life life leaves you, without your presence going with it.

You haunt the flesh of yourself as your shell is peeled back from you. A bath of pink sauce and a bed of puff pastry. Music, and strange people.

A mouth, and darkness.

And despair.

A Dream Of Shellfishness

(The first character to atune to a sacred artifact)

Within your dream you awake. You are underwater, and this seems oppressive and terrifying until you realise that you're breathing the water without difficulty, and then it just seems oppressive and differently terrifying. You breathe in brine, it fills your lungs and then you breathe out again, and beyond your initial panic, a deeper worry sets in.

You are surrounded by stars, refracted by a perfectly clear sea. Above and below you, constellations unrecognised, twinkling gently in the pitch black night. A moving black patch above you can only be a leviathan, its gigantic form gliding through the pitch black sea like a bird of prey. Behind it, the keel of a hunting ship disrupts the surface with its infernal motorised screw engine spinning to try to keep up, but the monstrous creature swims away with no apparent concern. Around you is a barnacle encrusted cage, glowing runes engraved on a wooden frame that you somehow know cannot be broken, even by you.

That's no mean feat, you discover, as a sense of scale kicks in and your perspective shifts. You realise that you could hold that leviathan in the palm of your hand, should you be able to break the cage that surrounds you. You beat against the bars soundlessly, unheard and imperceptable.

A voice, a sound like the antithesis of music, and you see one of the glowing runes go dark on your prison.

Vengeance will be won.

The Crab God's Shanty

(To the tune of the work song from Les Mis)

We sit, we row. Fourty fathoms low. We sail, wind blow, Forty Fathoms Low.

We load cargo, Forty fathoms low, We lift, we stow, Forty fathoms low

The stars, they glow, Forty fathoms low, The tide will flow, Forty fathoms low.

The deep, plateau, Forty fathoms low We see, he know Forty fathoms low.

The undertow, Forty fathoms low, Will make us go, Forty fathoms low

He speaks, bestow, Forty fathoms low, We feed, he grows, Forty fathoms low.

Our life, forgo, Forty fathoms low, The world will know, Thirty fathoms low.

Give up, let go, Twenty fathoms low, He rise shadow, Now ten fathoms low.

He rises slow, Just five fathoms low, Yo ho, heave ho. Claws at your ship bow.

#blades in the dark #ghostlit detour

[florenceisfalling]

15 and 18 someone taking a weapon away from someone else?? :O any boys please

from this list

hi this ask is so old that you don't even go here anymore. but i'm trying to clean out my ancient asks so :"D gonna do this with my mermaid au bc fuck it <3 i’m sure it was supposed to be whumpy but it is not. tw animal death and a knife tho

“You shouldn’t have that!” + “Just let me help you.”

The sky is clear enough to feel so much higher than usual, the frosted glassy dome of clouds lifted away to let the sunlight properly in for the first time in a while. The frigid water laps at the edge of the boat with little frothy bubbles, breathing and hungry for something to swallow whole. 

Chase zips his coat up higher and wraps his arms around his knees, though the sunlight on the back of his neck lets at least a little warmth trickle down his spine. He checks the depth and fish finder at the front of the boat, and the 30 meter mark makes him shudder even more at the thought of the water taking him. He used to never be so worried, and yet.

As if summoned by the fearful thought, a glimmer of something silvery-blue breaches the water, and the fish finder beeps while a large clump of pixels gather on the screen. Chase yelps and turns fast enough to nearly tip one side of the boat into the sea, and scrabbles for a fishing knife that’s no longer there.

Familiar, torn fins rise from the water like sails on a warship, and Chase raises to his wobbly feet to get a better view of the sea’s surface. Two wide, mismatched eyes stare back at him from below, paired with a sharp row of shiny teeth. 

“Will you fuck off?” Chase shouts, his voice far more startled than commanding, like someone’s replaced the sunlight on his neck by pouring ice water down the back of his shirt. 

Anti finally emerges from the water, the gills against his throat and ribs closing as he begins to breathe through his grinning mouth. He leans against the barnacle-encrusted edge of the motorboat, tail flicking lazily in the water, claws tracing the edge of Chase’s knife. “Hmm... no.”

“You shouldn’t have that, I need it!” Chase pleads, as a little more frustration finally bleeds into his voice. 

“For what, exactly? I’ve been watching you for half an hour and you haven’t even tried to catch anything.”

In the same timing, they both cast a glance at Chase's neglected fishing pole, hook lacking a lure or even a worm for bait. Chase opens his mouth to protest, but instead finds himself just uselessly moving his empty jaw like, quite fittingly, a fish trying to breathe out of water.

“Just let me help you, Chaser. Watch!”

The siren flips the stolen knife in his hand. A splash, and he’s far under the surface of the water again, gliding effortlessly out of sight; Chase briefly considers starting the boat and leaving while he has the chance, but he doesn’t trust Anti not to catch up and tear his throat out for being impolite. Which is a good choice- his opportunity quickly is revealed to be a lot less promising when Anti emerges at the other side of the boat, unceremoniously tossing a dead sea bass on board. The knife is stuck through to the hilt. “Picked this one ‘cause it sorta looks like you.”

Scales and bladetip scrape against the boat as the bloody fish rocks inside. It’s at least a little over the minimum catch size, though not by much. Chase doesn't see the resemblance, but he can imagine its bloody mouth bobbing open and shut in confusion the way his own mouth once again does.

“I could get you more fish, easy,” Anti brags. The glee plastered across his face looks like a child winding up to beat a piñata to a mess of sugary entrails. “Time me!”

Anti lunges up and across the deck, aiming for the knife with hands so pale and cold they seem almost purple in the light. Chase is more prepared this time, and slams his heel down on the fish, the toe of his boot precariously pinning Anti’s wrist in place before he can get creative with the knife. The siren doesn’t yelp or gasp, only throws him an offended glare. “You should be grateful for this, you never help me with my food.”

Chase kicks the fish back toward himself and the knife with it. “That’s because you tried to eat me last time!” he sputters.

Anti rolls his rarely-blinking, ever-watching eyes, then slowly pulls his hand away from Chase’s personal space. “If I’m being honest,” he drawls, “the original intention was actually to eat your wife. But I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re not gonna get anything! Let me fish in peace!” 

Brows furrowed, Chase makes a show of hateful eye contact while he slowly leans down to retrieve the knife from its current target. All his attention remains on making sure the weapon doesn’t get snatched by the monster and promptly stabbed into his gut.

“Fishing might be a little tricky,” Anti warns.

Before Chase can even ask why, knife still clutched to his chest, Anti sinks his claws into the top of the hull, lifts his weight up against it, and shoves the boat as close down to the water as he can. It doesn’t tip, but the dead fish slides back to the rightful catcher - along with Chase’s currently untouched fishing pole. Which, of course, Anti steals as he makes a break for it, leaving Chase too unbalanced to try to grab it back or fight.

#its rusty but it'll do #writersofjack #antisepticeye #chase brody #jse egos #mermaid egos #siren anti #my writing #my fics #fic requests #my ego posts

[bignyunai]

"Living boulders roll and glide through the Plane of Earth, gathering gemstones and metal shards until their surfaces resemble a ship's hull covered in barnacles. Barely more intelligent than many animals, living boulders fill much the same role on the Plane of Earth as the great herd animals found on Material Plane worlds." - Pathfinder Bestiary, pg. 146

So, the living boulder from Pathfinder has no art, but today we're fixing that.

On the surface it seems like it might just be a bumpy rock, but once you start looking at it's stat block...

Perception +6; darkvision, tremorsense 30 feet

Ok, at least one eye if it has darkvision instead of blindsight-

Melee [one-action] jaws, Damage 1d8+6 piercing

-And a mouth. Notably a jaw is involved, but we're stretching that idea a bit for a clean and interesting design.

Under the cut, lengthy design choice ramblings:

For this design we're keeping the following points in consideration

Should not have a clear 'correct' way up if it's a rolling boulder

Eyes need to be reasonable for rolling around

No visible flesh

Mouth for bite attack

Gems and metal shards like barnacles

Method to get un-stuck when rolling

So, in order to give the little guy (I may say little, but this guy is maybe 5ft tall!) a workable body shape, we're going to take some inspiration from Mexican Jumping Beans. Sure, it has earth glide to move about, but taking inspiration from the natural world is a great way to lend interest to a design. We're giving them a few flat-ish sides so that its not impeded while rolling (like bean!), but still has options to wiggle up slopes if needed (like bean!!!). I've also designed it with slight fissures to imply that the outside of the creature is made of plates- just to give it wiggle room if it needs more leverage.

Now, this guy is spending all day rolling around, but it also has an eye that it notably sees with (remember, no blindsight, only darkvision). A lidded eye wouldn't be much help while rolling, so we're forced to consider an eye that would survive the punishment of rolling around the elemental plane of earth. The only reasonable answer I can think of is a tough, crystalline eye so it can stay open while moving. As for how it sees while rolling about is anyone's guess - perhaps it stabilises in its socket? I've also opted for a triangular pupil to help confuse which way is supposed to be up on this creature, in spirit of it being a little rolly boy. The pupil is slitted due to the darkvision note. Think cat eyes.

We also have a mouth to think about. I've made this a trap-door-sort-of mouth, as a hinge risks popping open while rolling. Now, as an elemental I don't really need to think about the biology of this part too hard, but in my head (and perhaps against the spirit of being an elemental) there is a fleshy rope in the centre coming down from the eye which pops the whole thing open in order to scoop rocks into its stomach. And then maybe it rock tumbles it down into something digestible or something.

Like, why else would it have a mouth if not to eat?

Finally, we need to consider the coating on the... carapace? I guess? I've stuck on some rocks, some small gems (the same colour as the eye, just to keep the palette cohesive) and also some shellfish-looking shards of rusty metal. I thought about just adding patches of rust, but leaning into the mention of barnacles and stylising it a bit really makes the metal pop at something interesting, I think. And then I slapped on some algae-ish bits to really sell it. Don't ask me what it actually is though.

And that's about it! All in all this wound up being more interesting than I expected when I just needed to make a token for my Pathfinder game.

#pf2e #pathfinder #dnd #living boulder #elemental #monster #Bignyunai Art #My art

[nervousimposter]

Coffee and Milkshakes

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+ established relationship, Fluff and Love

AN; Just a small drabble(?) of love that the reader feels for Steve. I haven’t written in years so apologies for any mistakes in grammar. 

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

Gentle fingers running up and down your spine is the first thing you register when you wake. Normally, your transition out of sleep contained more stretching and groaning but this particular morning brought you a sense of calm. Like time had paused just for you. A blink and you were aware enough to feel those fingers and an all-encompassing warmth. It reminded you of the feeling of the first sip of hot coffee. Disregarding the caution it always came with. The sear it would leave on your lip at the first touch. The heat spreading from the middle of your chest to the bottom of your stomach. It almost ached. This intense hot, hot, hot that gripped you from behind your breast only to be simmered by the cool glide of the fingers on your back. You could almost imagine the curl of steam it would create. Mornings like this left you in agony. Not because the pain was unbearable but because the pleasure left you burning.

  You pushed through the torment to look up at the source of those chilling fingers. Steve. His eyes were closed, head tilted towards the ceiling. An upwards curl to his lips that just screamed serenity. He is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. It's been years now you've been able to wake up to him. But it would never be enough.

  People often liken someone they love to the sun. A sense of brightness, of heat, that beams into you. But you knew better. Steve wasn't the sun; the burning isn't coming from him. It was you. Lava coursed through you not at the sight of him, but at the knowledge of him. The awareness you always have that he's yours. Love so cosmic, so celestial that the sun manifests behind your ribs. Always seconds away from turning you into ash. It's not to say that Steve isn't warm. He is. Leaving you sweating while attached to you like a barnacle. Always a good place to shove ice cold toes for relief. But that's all physical.

Instead, he was Neptune. While the supernova exploding in your chest creates an entire galaxy inside you, he is just far enough. Taking vigil as the coldest planet to offset your scorching. A dip in the pool on a hot summer day. The first sip of a frosty milkshake. The chill spreading from the roof of your mouth to the back of your throat. The biting cold, cold, cold that would glide up the back of your neck. His fingers like icicles on your spine. Kisses like the fresh flavor of spearmint in your mouth. Cooling. Heat and ice. Hot and cold. He kept you from burning to dust.

  He must have felt you staring at him. His lips going from a small upwards curl to a full smile. So breathtaking. He opened his eyes to look at you and you felt the sun flare in your chest. Heat so strong you could've sworn you breathed fire. Eyes locked together, everything else forgotten. No words were needed this morning. Almost like the feelings between you two were tangible in the air. Faces just inches apart. Puffs of air tasting like coffee and smelling like milkshakes.

#steve harrington x reader #steve fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic

[poem-today]

A poem by Mary Szybist

The Lushness of It 

It’s not that the octopus wouldn’t love you— not that it wouldn’t reach for you  with each of its tapering arms:

you’d be as good as anyone, I think, to an octopus.  But the creatures of the sea, like the sea, don’t think 

about themselves, or you.  Keep on floating there, cradled, unable to burn.  Abandon  yourself to the sway, the ruffled eddies, abandon 

your heavy legs to the floating meadows              of seaweed and feel                          the bloom of phytoplankton, spindrift, sea- spray, barnacles.  In the dark benthic realm, the slippery neckton glide over the abyssal plains: as you float, feel                                      that upwelling of cold, deep water touch the skin stretched over                           your spine.  Feel  fished for and slapped.  No, it’s not that the octopus  wouldn’t love you.  If it touched,

if it tasted you, each of its three  hearts would turn red.

Will theologians of any confession refute me? Not the bluecap salmon.  Not its dotted head.

Mary Szybist

Listen to Mary Szybist read her poem (46:20).

More poems by Mary Szybist are available through her website.

#mary szybist #american poetry #incarnadine #the lushness of it #octopus

[princse-a]

there's a "common merfolk companion" chapter, to which eric writes "max is my human companion" in the margin. the chapter goes on to describe animal companions and the typical personality of their merfolk.

eric has notes by two of them, one of them being the otter, which is described as: "the playful and frisky otter is not for the shy and timid merperson. instead, otters are a good fit for a merperson who has just as much energy and zest for life. they enjoy cuddling and hand-holding and like to be cradled, requiring much attention and doting upon. another disadvantage to the otter, despite how cozy and fluffy, it that they are awfully chatty and a bit reckless, pulling off pranks such as stealing precious shells and cracking them open with rocks at the surface." (eric writes "if i were a merperson, i'd pick the otter. they sound fun!)

the second animal he notes is the whale: "for the merperson craving knowledge, worldly insight, and wisdom beyond their years, a whale to glide beside is a satisfactory choice. the whale is a most revered comrade for its unmatched size, slow and steady cadence, and serene demeanor, including the calming song it croons and the fizzing footprint it leaves on the surface. the whale acts as protector against threats and provides cover with its enormous barnacles encrusted flanks. the merperson can also ride it." to which eric notes (i suppose i spoke too soon. i'd pick the whale)

#I LOVE THAT THEY BOTH APPLY TO HIM <3 #he's a reckless and chatty guy with a zest for life but also a person craving knowledge worldly insight and wisdom!!! #hes got layers

[weekendislands]

... flow motion ... * * * www.weekendislands.com #flow #motion #surf #surfing #kneeboard #crazy #ontheroad #glidingbarnacles2022 #glidingbarnacles22 #gb22 #awesome #searching #waves #cormoransurfboards #fredoom (en Gliding Barnacles) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cim38Hfr1DP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#flow #motion #surf #surfing #kneeboard #crazy #ontheroad #glidingbarnacles2022 #glidingbarnacles22 #gb22 #awesome #searching #waves #cormoransurfboards #fredoom

[asexual-spongebob]

Chapter 13: Kwazii’s rescue Notes:

I wonder if y’all can figure out who Kwazii saved 😏 (you probably can and you probably know where this is going-) I also added the seaberries bc I’ve been watching Strawberry Shortcake (2003) and I saw the episodes with Seaberry Delight and Coco Calypso Hehehhe. also- I kinda forgot to beta read some of this- so some parts have no beta. We faint like Tunip.

Peso and Kwazii were in the kitchen all alone, Shellington was getting some sleep, Dashi was drawing Donna Doxie fanart in their room, Tweak was still asleep, Professor Inkling was rereading his favorite book. 

“So how are we gonna tell everyone about it?” Kwazii asked as he got some hot cocoa “about what?” Peso questioned, cocking its eyebrow

“Ye know, the fish thing?” Kwazii responded “oh yeah! That!” Peso said. 

“But how are we supposed to tell the crew? I mean it feels weird saying “Hi Everyone we’re fish now.” Peso remarked “yeah… I see yer point.” Kwazii acknowledged, Shellington came downstairs, The Vegimals climbing all over him.

“Good morning.” Shellington rasped, rubbing the sleep from his eyes “morning shellie!” Kwazii greeted, Peso ran up the Shellington and hugged him tight, Shellington licked Peso’s cheek in response.

“We’re currently trying figure out how to tell the crew about the fish thing.” Kwazii explained 

Shellington gave a thumbs up. 

Soon, Captain Barnacles, Tweak, Dashi and Inkling were downstairs too. “Hey guys… we’ve got something to tell you.” Peso said, looking at Shellington nervously “it’s okay, you can do this Peso.” Shellington whispered encouragingly. 

“What is it? Are you and Shellington getting married?” Tweak speculated “no… not yet” Peso giggled “So um. Me and Peso went to Mako island and um. We fell in the moon pool.” 

Kwazii began awkwardly “And we became the scaly beasties they call mermaids.” Kwazii proclaimed. 

“Cool! Just make sure to stay away full moons!” Captain Barnacles advised. 

A gasp escaped Tweak’s mouth, Shellington shock his head. 

Dashi hugged Peso and Kwazii, and Inkling did to.

••• 

Shellington and Peso were In Shellington’s lab,

Shellington was helping Peso learn how to control his powers.

Shellington watched as Peso froze a water glass “I think you’re getting the hang of it!” Shellington smiled, patting Peso on the back. 

“I’m gonna go restock some bandages, see you later!” Peso said, nuzzling Shellington’s neck, Shellington started to blush, he nuzzled Peso back. 

Tunip and the vegimals were playing, Codish got close to a glass of water 

“No no Codish! Don’t touch that!” Shellington told, Codish then backed away. 

Once Peso finished restocking the bandages he went back to Shellington’s lab, “hey wanna go for a swim?” Peso said “yeah why not” Shellington agreed, grabbing his notepad and his stuff and putting it in his satchel.

Peso and Shellington went to the Launch Bay and out the Octo-Hatch. 

“Race you to the moon pool!” Shellington challenged playfully, Peso giggled in response, the two them disappeared into a trail of bubbles.

Shellington resurfaced in the Moon Pool “I beat you!” Shellington giggled, Peso let out a giggle 

“Maybe we should go to the shore?” Peso suggested “yeah!” Shellington agreed. 

Peso and Shellington dove back into the water, disappearing into a trail of bubbles, holding each other’s flipper and paw and they glided in the water. 

Shellington and Peso resurfaced “just think “no tail” and it’ll go away” Shellington whispered “got it!” Peso whispered back. 

Shellington and Peso got on the shore, however Peso noticed a strange bush “what’s that?” Peso wondered 

“Oh I know what these are! These are seaberries!” Shellington identified “they grow on beaches and riverbeds! I used to eat them all the time when I was little!” Shellington beamed. 

“Here, want one?” Shellington offered after plucking one off the bush “sure!” Peso said, snatching the berry from Shellington’s paw “we should take some of these back with us!” Shellington declared, gathering some and putting them in his satchel. 

Shellington and Peso swam  back to the Octopod, munching on a few seaberries on the way.

••••

Kwazii lurked in a ship wreck, exploring every nook and cranny. He was exploring in hopes of getting used to his tail, however he noticed something strange in the corner of its eye. 

It seemed like something was sinking, Kwazii went to go investigate someone was drowning!

“Shiver me whiskers!” Kwazii gasped swimming towards the the unknown person “I gotta save them!” Kwazii decided, picking up the unknown person and bringing them to the shore. 

Kwazii placed them on the sandy beach, trying to remember what Peso taught them when it came to cpr “I’ve got it!” Kwazii declared, doing CPR.

However soon, to Kwazii’s relief the unknown monkey started to breath again, coughing up salt water I’ll leave them a shell to remember me by. Kwazii decided, leaving a clam shell they found in the ship wreck beside the person.

Kwazii then proceeded to disappear into the waves, keeping watch below the surface to make sure they were okay, once he knew that they were he swam back to the Octopod. 

Kwazii swam into the Launch Bay with a grin on their face, Captain Barnacles, Tweak, Peso. The Vegimals and Shellington were sitting near bay. “Hey Kwaz, where were you?” Tweak asked “I saved someone today!” Kwazii announced “from what?” Captain Barnacles asked, curiously “from drowning!” Kwazii answered. 

“Great job Kwazii!!” Captain Barnacles praised, “here, you must be thirsty. Want some Seaberry juice?” Peso offered “thanks matey!” Kwazii thanked, snatching the juice glass from Peso’s flipper “this is the good shit right here.” Kwazii remarked.

“Kwazii. There’s children here.” Shellington scolded, pointing to the vegimals “sorry..” Kwazii apologized.

#kitty giggles #octonauts #the waves that lap the shore au #octonauts au

[greywhalebaja]

Whale Watching in Loreto: A Breathtaking Experience

Loreto, a picturesque town nestled along the Sea of Cortez on the Baja California Peninsula in Mexico, is a hidden gem for those seeking unforgettable encounters with marine life. This charming destination has gained popularity as one of the best places in the world for whale watching trip. With its stunning landscapes, crystal-clear waters, and rich biodiversity, Loreto offers a unique and breathtaking experience for nature enthusiasts and adventure seekers.

The Magical Sea of Cortez

The Sea of Cortez, often referred to as the "Aquarium of the World" by Jacques Cousteau, is renowned for its unparalleled marine diversity. Its warm, nutrient-rich waters make it an ideal habitat for a wide variety of marine species, including dolphins, sea lions, and, of course, the majestic whales. Loreto, situated right on the edge of this azure paradise, provides an ideal starting point for unforgettable whale watching in Loreto adventures.

Season of the Giants

From December to April, Loreto's waters come alive with the presence of some of the ocean's most magnificent giants: the gray whales. These gentle behemoths migrate from the frigid Arctic waters to the warm breeding grounds of Baja California, making Loreto a prime destination to witness their awe-inspiring displays.

The Gray Whale Spectacle

Gray whales, known for their friendly and inquisitive nature, offer an intimate and moving experience for whale watchers. These colossal creatures, measuring up to 50 feet in length, can often be seen breaching, tail-slapping, and even coming up close to boats. With expert guides leading the way, visitors can safely observe these majestic mammals in their natural habitat, creating memories that will last a lifetime.

Witnessing Nature's Drama

Every whale-watching excursion in Loreto is an adventure filled with anticipation and excitement. As you set sail into the calm waters of the Sea of Cortez, the experienced guides will regale you with fascinating information about gray whales, their migration patterns, and the unique behaviors they exhibit. You may find yourself holding your breath as you witness a mother and calf gracefully gliding through the water, the calf's eye-catching barnacles contrasting with the mother's smooth skin.

Other Marine Marvels

Gray whales are not the only stars of the show in Loreto. On your journey, you may encounter other marine wonders such as blue whales, humpback whales, orcas, and even schools of dolphins. These encounters provide an incredible opportunity to witness the intricate relationships that exist within Loreto's marine ecosystem.

A Conservation Effort

Whale watching in Loreto isn't just a thrilling adventure; it's also a valuable conservation effort. By promoting sustainable, respectful interactions with these magnificent creatures, Loreto encourages the protection and preservation of their habitats. This responsible approach ensures that future generations will have the opportunity to experience the same magic of the Sea of Cortez.

Conclusion

Whale watching in Loreto is a unique and transformative experience. The breathtaking beauty of the marine environment and the chance to observe these magnificent creatures up close create memories that will stay with you forever. Loreto's commitment to sustainable tourism and wildlife conservation makes it a perfect destination for those who wish to appreciate the grandeur of nature in a responsible and respectful way. Whether you're an avid wildlife enthusiast or simply seeking a moment of connection with the natural world, Loreto's whale watching adventures are sure to leave you in awe of the sea's most captivating inhabitants. https://www.greywhale.com/

#Whale Watching in Loreto #Best Whale Watching in Baja Mexico #Whale Watching Trip #Whale Watching Tours