idk if you knew this (im guessing yes, but if you didnt, then you learned something i guess!!) but turtles usually stretch their neck when they get ready to hunt, bask or just regular stretching. what im guessing is donnie is in defense mode, so the Hunting option rather than the more laid back basking or stretching options seems more likely
which means donnie WILL be ready to bite if mr. janesh does anything antagonizing
I did! Softshells have really long necks (and really strong bites!) so that they can defend themselves! They are so flat and round, they have these really long flexible necks so they can bite at anyone who might step on them or threaten them.
It’s kinda freaky, like a snake coming out of a pancake
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Top 5 horizons
I would have to go digging through my family's Dropbox account to find actual images but I am going to verbally list them for you to the best of my ability. I love you.
looking over Denali, Hunter, and Foraker (the figureheads of the Alaska range, but most people only recognize/are familiar with Denali) from the south, the view where ridges cut across in layers before building up into the mountains themselves, and the sky fades from different shades of blue into white and pink in the evenings and then black with little sparks of white in full-dark.
the opposite direction! Pioneer Peak and Twin Peaks are a bit of a border between Wasilla and Anchorage, and their horizon is GORGEOUS. I could navigate by them, actually.
any city at night when you're flying in a plane, but especially coming into Anchorage in the early morning, just as dawn light starts to brighten the sky and the horizons change between the plane and the ground and it feels like the sky itself is welcoming you
driving the Alcan from the contiguous US to Alaska, there's a point where you start to see the craggy, snow-capped peaks of Northern mountains. they're different than most mountains in the Lower 48, though certain areas of the Rockies come close. seeing those mountains on the horizon induces what my family refers to as a "perma-grin" in me — i can't stop smiling, bc that's where I'm supposed to be
driving through Nebraska. not like, for any particular reason, just that I've driven through there a lot with no point but to get somewhere else (sorry Nebraskans, I'm sure your state is awesome! I've just never dedicated any time to exploring bc I always have somewhere to be). it's so flat, and the sky is so wide.
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Princes Ace and Luffy but they both hate everything about it, except Ace cleans up extremely well when he wants to
🙏🏽 arranged marriage between the Gol kingdom and the Newgate kingdom and the intial impressions were,,, dodgy considering Ace was dressed as a servant boy, covered in mud (roughhousing with Luffy, also dressed as a servants boy), dragging a giant river fish between himself and Luffy with his faithful hunting wolfdog Striker trotting behind with a full coat of mud masking her tricolour fur
Queen Rouge gives them both a look because waiting for her sons to come back whilst entertaining their to be allies herself was not polite at all, her husband Roger was out on a hunting trip looking to bring home big game to fill their celebration banquet with
the two princes track dirt and water and blood all across the palace to the hearing chambers where their esteemed guests await and Ace straight up declines the moment he sees the man waiting for him, he doesn’t wanna get married, especially not to the big old guy with the croissant moustache!!!
King Newgate realising Ace thought it was he who he would be betrothed to almost shatters the walls with his earthshaking laughter because absolutely NOT, asks the squire beside him where Marco has run off to
And the Squire (Haruta) informs their liege that Marco had become quite attached to the tapestry work around the halls and would be joining shortly… maybe…
Prince Marco’s tardiness already eases Ace’s opinions of him, if their guest was later than him then his mom won’t be too mad at him… if the look on her usually sweet face is anything to go by maybe he will survive the scolding later
then Marco arrives, windswept, handsome, equally dressed down in plain riding gear and before Ace can call Striker to heel, his muddy hound has launched herself at the newcomer, whippish tail wagging a mile a minute and Rouge watches in appalled horror as Marco is promptly taken down by large dirty canine
What a disaster, hikes up her skirts and storms across the hall to hiss at Luffy to stop laughing please, she needs to know how he escaped from the watchful eye of Dadan immediately! But she supposes her first son had a hand in his escape
Ace rescuing Marco from his overexcited dog, grabbing her by the collar and dragging her off bodily from the poor man beneath her and he just… freezes because Marco beams up at him from the tiled floor, his face may be shiny with dog spittle and his hair may have been licked into wet curls but he doesn’t seem too upset by the surprise attack
“I’m so sorry—!” Ace stammers out, more for his mother’s ears than his own willingness to apologise. Striker whines and squirms against her master’s hold when Marco props himself up onto his elbows, clearly reading his movement as more cues to play.
“Don’t be, she’s lovely.” Marco reaches out to scritch the pup behind her brown mud caked ear.
“Oh. Um. Thanks?” Ace glances over his shoulder to see his mother jut her chin at him threateningly, Luffy hides around her skirts, slouching from the weight of the fish in his arms.
“What’s her breed? I’ve never seen proportions like this.”
“She’s a wolfdog.” Ace mumbles, his chest constricting in guilt and confusion, unsure of why this would matter. Why Marco hadn’t yelled at him yet, why he wasn’t upset
“Fascinating, a wolfdog,” Marco murmurs scrubbing his knuckles beneath the wolfdog’s chin, drawing a low rumbly croon from her throat and thus his attention to the nametag dangling from her collar, “—Hello Striker, I’m Marco, would you mind introducing me to your owner?”
Licking her jaws, Striker shoves her nose into Marco’s palm in response, her ticklish whiskery muzzle drawing a soft laugh in response.
“Ace.” Sensing some kind of cue Ace answers instead, flustered at how kind Marco seemed to be.
“Ace?” Marco queries politely and Ace wants to look away, but out of spite and too much curiosity maintains their weird little staring contest, noting that Marco’s eyes were a very deep blue in colour.
“That’s me.” Ace affirms, mentally slaps himself for making this so awkward, so he tugs on Striker’s collar and whistle clicks for her to stand down. Thankfully after her boisterous greeting, the wolfdog seems far more willing to obey, “—sorry again about her, I dunno why she wanted to jump you like that,”
“Don’t worry about it, she just came home from hunting right?” Marco glances around them at Luffy who has buised himself with securing his grip inside the fish’s gills
“Yeah but that’s still no excuse.” Ace argues back, half heartedly because Marco was correct, the lasting adrenaline had Striker eager to pounce on the next new moving thing.
“Water under the bridge, Ace. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Marco smiles warmly at the younger Prince.
and there was no handshake, no bows, no courtly mannerisms or proprietary to be had when Ace first met and fell in love with his future husband (much to Rouge’s dismay but later was relieved to find out that King Newgate didn’t mind the chaotic introductions one bit)
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🌙 nanowrimo 2022 — day 15 update 🌙
word count ; 13,920 / 25,000
progress ; my outline is a stomped on pile of ash by now (hehe) but this week i got SO MUCH worldbuilding completed - there’s a Rebel Captain character that hasn’t been introduced yet, and i’ve been having a lot of fun designing his little troop, although one character’s personality continues to elude me... otherwise, the story is still focused on Adelade’s encounter with Pebble! they are very unlike in terms of personality but not so different in background, so their shared perspective has been interesting to write. i’m excited to toss them out into the wild! soon, soon.....
the butcher’s lament 🌙 chapter two glimpse —
“You still haven’t had any soup.”
Clamping her jaw, Adelade sniffed the concoction first. Potatoes and carrots and something green floated in a beet-dark broth. Brow furrowed, dismissing the memory of squash as fatigue, she brought the bowl to her lips. It was scalding hot and spicy enough to sting her eyes.
“It’s been a long time since anyone visited,” Pebble said, fixation not subtle. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“You made a weird face.”
“No.” Adelade took another sip to persuade her, this time feeling her sinuses clear. “They call it the Sinking Steppes because the terrain is craggy and unpredictable, and the woods all grow on slopes.” She caught Pebble’s eye. “And they say the earth swallows people here.”
“Who says?”
“Just... people. There are stories. Many have died out here.”
“Well, I’ve heard people die everywhere.”
“And what of the people after me?”
Pebble shrugged, nonchalant, and took another helping. “I told them to be careful on the rocks. One of them wasn’t and broke his knee, they yelled something rather rude about you, and then they went home. It was pretty uneventful.”
“There weren’t…” Adelade faltered, wringing the blood and anger from her memories, “…there weren’t any rocks.”
“Of course, there were rocks. We’re on the bones of a mountain.”
Adelade recalled two origin tales of the Sinking Steppes: one told through reverent song, honoring the wisdom of an ancient mountain long eroded to a hard-skinned hill; and one haunted with sky-fire violence, a chapter in the grander story of a man who slaughtered gods. There were no more worshippers here. Only scorched walls and empty rooms, lingering memories of stools and cauldrons and shattered windows, and a just-barely teenager, all alone.
Adelade stroked her thumb over the clay dish. “How long have you lived here, Pebble?”
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