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liminalwings · 4 months

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Greenery of the Draconic Persuasion

When you think of dragons and plants associated with them, what’s the first thing you think of? Most likely Dragon’s Blood, but what other plants out there are also associated with dragons? This is more of an overview rather than a suggestion of “use these plants”, because some of them really just… aren’t all pleasant to work with, but still have a fascinating history.

Dragon’s Blood

Still good to go over the big one we all know. Dracaena is a genus of trees that is noted for having certain members, such as Dracaena draco and Dracaena cinnabari, that bleed a red resin when cut; this resin is referred to as ‘Dragon’s Blood’. The name of this genus comes from the Greek ‘drakaina’, which is the name for a female dragon. It has also been tied to the myth of Heracles, particularly the 11th task and the dragon Ladon, by some interpretations Ladon is the dragon guarding the tree or is the tree; by others, the Dracaena springs from Ladon’s blood when slain.

Do note, however, that the majority of Dragon’s Blood resin on the market these days comes from a different genus of tree entirely, Calamus dracunculus (formerly Daemonorops draco and Calamus draco), while other genera of trees also exude a red resin that may also be referred to as Dragon’s Blood, all technically having different properties. The tree that was believed to be originally used and written about, Dracaena cinnabari of Socotra, is rated ‘vulnerable’ on its conservation status, while Dracaena draco is listed as ‘endangered’. Calamus draco meanwhile does not seem to be threatened.

This collective of red resins do have a long history of use in medicine, art, and ritual in various cultures. The most frequent magical uses of the resin are as an incense for protection or cleansing, and dissolved in alcohol as a magical ink. With how many different trees act as a source of ‘dragon’s blood’, it is good to keep in mind that different species may vary in terms of magical/energetic traits, and that the attraction to Dragon’s Blood as a magical component could be considered these days to be more based on symbolism and human-given attributes.

Tarragon

Artemisia dracunculus, or “Little Dragon of Artemis”, often referred to as just “dragon” in Swedish and Dutch and, in the past, German; a name that was given for the appearance of its coiled roots, or likening the shape of the leaves to dragon tongues. It is in the same genus as Mugwort, Wormwood, and Sagebrush, and French Tarragon is most frequently used for culinary purposes with a somewhat licorice-like flavor. It was believed, per Pliny the Elder, that Tarragon would ward away dragons and venomous serpents (unproven of course) and could cure snakebite (also unproven). There aren’t many historic magical uses otherwise, though some modern witchcraft practices have given it associations with protection, banishment, and healing. Scientifically, it has been proven effective at repelling insects and as a mosquito larvicidal, effectively combating the spread of malaria through less environmentally-hazardous means.

Snapdragon

Antirrhinum majus, also referred to as ‘toadflax’, ‘dog flower’, ‘dragon flower’. It is so named because of the flower’s appearance, which is likened to a dragon’s snout that opens and closes when squeezed laterally. They come in a wonderful range of colors and, like other dragon-associated plants, are considered to be protective: in Medieval Europe, they were believed to protect from witches and ill magic, and were planted near castle gates or hung above cribs to ward off evil spirits. They were also used as a charm against falsehood, and in flower language symbolized ‘truth-telling’. The skull-like seed pods have commonly been worn to protect from curses and other bewitchments.

Dragon Arum

Dracunculus vulgaris, also referred to as dragon lily, vampire lily, devil’s tongue, and, in its native Greece, drakondia. Like its larger cousin, the Titan arum, it is not a flower most people would be including in a nice bouquet, with respect to its fragrance being like that of rotting meat to attract flies as pollinators. Like Tarragon, not only does it share the same Latin “little dragon” name, it was also believed to ward away serpents(also also unproven), though some sources also claim that it generates serpents (flies attract other critters that snakes eat, so yeah I could see that as a conclusion). It is also one of many in the Arum family that can produce heat (thermogenesis), reaching about 65°F/18°C, which is used to lure flies to the flower for pollination. These unique physical properties can lend themselves to equally interesting potential magical associations.

Dragon Root/Green Dragon

Arisaema dracontium is a plant native to North America. All parts of the plant are highly toxic to humans when eaten raw due to the presence of Calcium oxalate. I am including it here only to show the range of dragon-associated plants and do not necessarily advocate its use. Though historically, it has in fact been used as medicine, especially as an abortifacient and to stimulate menstrual flow.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of plants with dragon-inspired names, as can be seen here. But for those wanting to include draconic plants in their practice but can’t afford or can’t find a place to obtain dragon’s blood, or otherwise want to avoid using it, there are comparatively more easily-obtained alternatives at your local stores, such as Tarragon, Dragonfruit, and Snapdragons, or perhaps another native species local to you. Just make sure to do your research and know if cautions must be taken, what the physical attributes are, and if a plant is endangered or not.

Resources

https://blogs.reading.ac.uk/tropical-biodiversity/2013/03/dracaenaceae-dragons-blood-and-the-language-of-the-birds/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon%27s_blood

https://herbsocietyblog.wordpress.com/2023/07/03/herb-of-the-month-french-tarragon-the-little-dragon-herb/

https://dsps.lib.uiowa.edu/roots/french-tarragon/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8076785/

https://www.gardenguides.com/126335-history-snapdragons.html

https://www.flower.style/stylewatch/discover-the-curious-origins-of-snapdragons-not-to-worry-they-dont-actually-bite

https://www.petalrepublic.com/snapdragon-flower-meaning/

https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/44638/pg44638-images.html#page-153

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dracunculus_vulgaris

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arisaema_dracontium

https://ebrary.net/28107/environment/snapdragon

https://plants.ces.ncsu.edu/plants/arisaema-dracontium/

https://www.yellowwood.net/post/skunk-jacks-dragons-the-curious-arum-family

#dragon magic #dragon witch #dragon work #dragon path #herbal magic #sal writes things #sdlkfj this took even longer than I wanted because I don't know how to format on Tumblr #also writing it took forever because I kept running out of steam and finding interesting links #last writing of 2023

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entomolog-t · 16 days

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The Shadow We Cast - 4

Two guys and too many beers leads to more shenanigans.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5 (Coming Soon)

Word count: 2998

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking), animal death (fishing/hunting)

It was beyond crazy to me that the most normal I’d ever felt was drinking beers with a weird little man who stood no more than, what, 6 inches tall at most? How many years had it been since the last time I had this much fun? The last time I felt like I could talk and laugh this freely? It just felt so… normal? The thought seemed ridiculous- I mean, the situation was anything but… and yet here I was, thoroughly buzzed and listening intently as if we were old friends.

Sal paraded around the table, reenacting some grand adventure I could only wrap my head around with the help of however many tallboys I’d downed over the past few hours. Tales of hunting monstrous beasts and climbing unfathomable heights. He wove wild stories of a world so foreign yet so familiar… quite literally a world in my backyard.

As I nursed another drink, Sal set the scene, recounting a day-long trek he'd made out to the lake. Mist rose off the water as loons called to one another, their haunting voices echoing off the calm water. He watched intently as they slipped under the water, barely even a ripple disturbing the surface of the lake.

As if he was painting a picture in my mind, I sat enthralled, feeling as if I could feel the crispness of the water washing away the heat of the sun as he spent the day swimming in the shallows. The way he spoke… It didn't feel like I was imagining his retelling from my perspective- but his own. His perspective felt like something … almost fantastical.

"I tried to lure some of the minnows, but I couldn't get close enough to spear them without them darting off.” As if still wielding a spear he eyed the non existent minnows, patiently following some unseen motion as he remained poised to strike. “The bigger minnows seemed slower, but they wouldn't come near shallow enough. I ended up using some of the dried grub rations I'd brought with me as bait, and boy did it work like a charm. I swam I bit farther out with the bait and-"

Spear raised, I could practically see the imaginary impact- watching as the massive fish- or minnow, thrashed against the sharpened twig. I was enthralled- the way his muscles moved with the motion was almost… intimidating, bringing forth thoughts of him human sized, spearing a monster of a fish while swimming in some dangerous Amazonian river.

“The damn thing was a bitch to swim with,” he groaned, annoyance clear on his face, “For one- it was heavy. But worse,” Sal huffs, “It was still moving.” Despite the exasperation on his face in recounting the ordeal, the man’s face couldn’t help but return to grinning.

“So then I’m swimming back, right? Honestly more like flailing with the stupid minnow in tow, but I’m keeping above water for the most part… but I keep hearing this clicking… almost squeaking noise? Weirder yet- it's coming from below me.” He pauses, lowering his voice and I’m quite literally reeled in by his story, leaning forward on the edge of my seat.

“Then- whoosh!”

Sal grabs at the air. My heart jumps in my chest as the man’s hand lashes out just inches from my face.

“This monstrous bastard of a creature - absolutely huge,” He pauses, shooting me a cheesy grin, “Second only to you, big man.” I snort and Sal picks right up where he left off, “It was all murky brown with thick these thick… whiskers? And it just sucks me into its mouth with this horrific gulp. Next thing I know I’m being dragged underwater, half in its mouth, pounding on its head just hoping it’ll let me go if I hit it hard enough.”

My breath hitches, a shudder running through me as I make the connection- A catfish.

“With nothing to lose, I stab it. The spear goes right through its eye and-” Sal pauses, making sure he has my full attention.

“And?”

“Nothing!” Sal laughs as if it was hilarious and not down right horrifying, “That stupid thing didn’t even flinch! I don’t know if it didn’t go deep enough or if I just missed any vital enough part, but it did absolutely nothing!”

He leans forward, no longer laughing as his face takes on a grim expression.

“At this point I start to get worried.”

“Start?!” I scoff. Sal dismisses my interruption with a wave of his hand.

"My lungs are burning, and the thing’s clamped down hard on my stomach. I'm stuck holding that stupid spear for life as it keeps doing this.. this…” He shudders, face twisting in disgust, “-weird gulping thing,” Sal shakes his head as if banishing the memory, “So I ripped that spear out and using everything I had I-” His fist came down, “- drove that spear right back into its head.”

Sal pantomimed a gruesome show- stabbing again and again in the world's most horrific display of charades as he brutalised the memory of the catfish.

“Finally,” He says, voice filled with a mix of relief and exasperation as if he’d just relived the whole ordeal, “it dies.”

I, stupidly, sigh in relief, as if somehow I couldn't have predicted the outcome with him quite literally standing in front of me.

“My lungs are on fire as I swim to the surface- and man, air never tasted so sweet.” Looking down at Sal, he's beaming, laughing like a kid as he recounts his victory over the massive fish. “And then it hits me- tasted!”

I furrow my brow, not quite following. Sal continues, frustration returning.

“No spear- and no fucking minnow! As if, after all that, air was gonna be the only thing I’d be tasting!”

After a brief pause I couldn't help but laugh. His smile grew even wider as he raved on, swinging his hands as he continued on about his harrowing ordeal.

“I refused to swim back empty handed after that shitshow- So I spent the whole afternoon dragging that giant bastard back to shore!”

Fuck. I stare at him, eyes wide. I can’t shake the disbelief as I try to think of what would be the equivalent feat- Dragging an orca back to shore? …Something bigger? I’ve never been an avid fisherman (nor did I have any plans to start) and really had no concept of how big the catfish in the lake got aside from the notion that they were definitely bigger than Sal.

“I get that monster to land- spend about 30 minutes on a fire that just won't start, until I'm finally able to start cooking that beast!”

He paces along the length of the table, his steps not nearly as sure footed as they had been a few hours prior. Even with his tiny frame I can easily make out the sheer rage simmering behind his eyes.

“And y'know what?” His voice, now starting to slur, is teeming with all the theatrics of a man at his absolute limit. I swallow, desperate to hold back a laugh I know is coming.

“What?”

“That fucking thing tasted awful!” Each word was spat with such ferocity it was as if he was trying to spit out the memory of the creature's taste.

There was no helping it.

With my inhibitions long since drowned, I laugh. I laugh louder than I have in years. I laugh until my sides ache- until tears prick at the edge of my eyes.

And he laughs with me.

“Pond scum! Tha' shtupid thing tasted exactly how pond scum smells!”

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over as he continues to rant and rave, but the sound of my laughing completely drowns out whatever critical opinions he was espousing on catfish edibility.

Wiping at my eyes, my brain takes a few tipsy seconds to focus back on the little man. Still shirtless, Sal had sat back, reclining with his back against one of the many empties as he lifted up what was arguably the equivalent to a very generous pitcher to his mouth with little effort- the relative ease of the action catching me by surprise as I imagined myself fumbling at doing the same.

He… he was built.

Quite literally a brick shithouse, if said shithouse belonged to Barbie.

Broad seemed like a fitting word. Broad chested, broad shoulders, broad smile- Hell, even his legs had a width to them. Sal looked as if he had stepped directly out of an instagram fitness post, with his … excessive biceps flexing under the weight of the shot glass, the act a paradoxical effortless display of effort. Even at his diminutive size, I could tell this man was anything but small. He-

He coughs.

My eyes dart away from his body in an instant, snapping back to his face… accompanied with heat rising in my own. As my eyes meet his, I’m again struck with the absolute absurdity of the situation.

I'm here… getting drunk… with a tiny man… He’s right there- arms reach in front of me…

And yet he still doesn't seem real.

My hand twitches at my side.

Touch him.

As my hand slides towards him, his gaze quickly flicks from my face to my hand and back to my face again. Confusion flashing across his features for a brief moment before his lopsided grin reappears. My finger tips barely graze him as he sidesteps my hand, shoving my fingers away.

Huh. There's a surprising amount of weight behind his push.

“Hands t'yourself, Big Guy.” Sal laughs, “You gotta take me to dinner first.”

It takes a moment for my brain to follow his words, and I snort.

“Is that not what I did?”

Sal blinks.

His own brain seeming to lag as realization dawns on him. After a moment's delay, he laughs.

Sal takes an unsteady step forward, the sway in his weight more noticeable than before. He’s still smiling, but a look of concern crosses his features as he stares at the ground in front of him.

“I feel weird.”

“You’re drunk.”

He looks back up towards me and I point to the drink. After a moment', Sal nods, seemingly cluing in. Maybe? I really couldn’t tell. For all I know, that nod might have been him nodding off with how stunted the gesture had looked.

“It…” He starts his sentence and seems to forget it half way through, taking a long blink in between words “... makes you dizzy?”

I lean forward to rest my head on the table, starting to feel all too alike.

“Mmm- yeah, when you’ve had a bit much.”

With that, I slid the shot glass away from him- An act which was apparently the most egregious party foul ever to have been committed. Shouts of protest erupt beneath me, as he trails after the glass.

With a laugh, I try to shoo him away, but man, the little guy can move. Despite the sway to his stride, Sal ducks my hand with ease.

“Dude,” I laugh, opting to pick up the glass, “You.. uh, you’ve had 'nough- you're gonna get sick.”

My words feel thick, almost sticky, in my mouth, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably be taking my own advice.

“'m fine.”

I snort. The man didn't even know what beer was all of two hours ago, and here he was thinking he knew his limits.

“'s if you’d know,” I chuckle. “You're stumblin' 'round.”

Sal narrows his eyes.

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” My words slur together, thick with condescension and alcohol as a smile down at him. I shove a finger to his chest, I give a little push. Sal shoots glare as he staggers back.

“See?” I chuckle, “You're totally shtumbling!”

Eyes wide, he stares up at me, brain seeming to short-circuit for a moment before a goofy grin plasters itself across his face. I feel my own face mirror his expression as we break out into drunken laughter.

The laughter hit me hard.

I laughed at Sal's near cartoonish drunkenness.

I laughed at how he stumbled with a push from a finger.

I laughed at the strangeness- the reality shattering strangeness- of his very existence.

This... this is really strange...

As our collective laughter died down I took in a deep inhale. I needed to know more. I couldn’t keep up the half assed charade of normalcy.

“Sal-”

In the brief moment I’d let my guard down, the tiny man quite literally pounces. I yank my hand away a fraction of a second before he lands, Sal stumbling as his weight falls forward. Before his face makes contact with the table, Sal seemingly just… goes with it? Just flowing with the momentum as if stumbling forward had been completely intended. With surprisingly little effort, his would-be fall morphs into a drunkenly graceful forward roll, carrying him to a stand- albeit, an unsteady one.

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, and before I’m able to react to whatever odd show of athleticism I’d just witnessed, he’s already at it again, eyes locked onto the shot glass like a cat locked onto a mouse. I move to shoo him away with my free hand, yet I’m met with nothing but empty space as Sal scrambles underneath the gesture.

Again, he tries for the glass.

Launching himself at my hand, I feel his hands graze my own before I lift the glass out of reach. Sal lands with a stumble, a lopsided grin sitting smugly on his face as he looks from the glass to me.

Sal lowers his stance, looking something between a sprinter at the blocks and a mountain lion set to pounce.

Seeing the gears in his head turning (albeit, slowly), I clue in. Before he gets the chance to scale me for the beverage, I make a grab for him.

And yet, despite my efforts, somehow Sal winds up on top of my hand. It was like trying to grab at water- with him just flowing out of my grasp. Abandoning the shot glass, I grab at him with my free hand- watching dumbstruck as he drunkenly pivots, turning to jump at my in coming hand.

I freeze- Trying and failing to keep my hand steady as Sal hangs off my fingers.

With my lack of reaction, Sal takes the opportunity to climb my fingers like some sort of rope ladder.

To my horror, he climbs all of them, heaving himself to a shaky stand on the side of my index finger- Hands on his hips and grin on his face.

I meet his gaze and he laughs, his expression smug as he wags his finger at me.

“Too shlow.”

Arms out in a stumbling balance act, Sal begins walking across the edge of my hand looking oddly similar to a failed roadside sobriety test. Pausing, he frowns, pouting in frustration before bending over. For a moment, I think he’s about to throw up. Instead, he plants his hands firmly on my forearm.

My stomach drops.

With no effort whatsoever, Sal switches to walking on his hands- somehow just as drunkenly. Swaying side to side, every “step” seemed to overcompensate for the last, looking as if he was perpetually on the verge of tipping over.

And then he did.

In a split second, I’m sober.

My hand darts out, closing awkwardly around his form with all the grace and fine motor skills of a man marginally less drunk. Unmoving and unblinking, Sal stares up at me, a strange sound escaping him… almost as if a hum got caught in his throat. I could have almost been convinced he was nothing but an action figure with the way Sal went rigid- if not for his heart beating wildly beneath my fingertips.

My own heart drummed in my ears, and for a moment, just a single moment, it didn’t bother me that he was sticky.

He swallows. The tiny, but very human action feels uncanny at his size. The rise and fall of his chest, the strangely sizable weight of him in my hands… all of it is just so… strange. He feels solid - tense beneath my grip. Fuck- even at his size he felt strong. My eyes trace over the myriad of scars that marred his skin, gaze lingering over the clear bite mark that covered his shoulder and chest…

I hadn't even noticed my thumb tracing over it until I felt him try and push the digit away.

“Mark-”

“Oh- sorry.” I adjust my grip into something I assume is more comfortable, opting to hold him in a way that left him semi-seated in my palms rather than awkwardly dangling from a first.

It's a weird sight, seeing a grown man sitting in your hands. Every small movement I make has him sway, his head drunkenly lolling back as he slurs a few indistinguishable words with a chuckle. Up close like this he looks just about as drunk as he sounds- red in the face and eyes struggling to stay open.

Adjusting my grip, I cringe.

He was more than just a little sticky.

His pants clung to my skin, peeling off as I moved like a Band-Aid being removed. The mental image sends a shudder down my spine.

I consider taking the opportunity to wipe off the concerningly sticky little man while I have the chance, though a more rational voice in the back of my mind argues that a good host doesn’t assault their “neighbor” with wet wipes.

Below, Sal grumbles something unintelligible, clearly displeased with me as he swats at my fingers. Though despite his attempts, my fingers lingered.

Ugh- He left a stain on my hand!

I glare at the dark smear of sauce he’d wiped off onto his pants, silently reconsidering the option of dousing the man in dish soap, let alone wet wipes, etiquette be damned.

Instead, I opted for another drink.

#WE'RE BACK BABY #Things are about to get interesting #Sal is and will always be a menace #Mark is fighting demons to not toss Sal in the sink #The Shadow we Cast #TSWC #SalOC #MarkOC #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t fluff #g/t writing #entowrites #size tumblr #size difference #gt #gian/tiny #macro/mirco

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salty-an-disco · 4 months

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I’m feelings, so gonna just talk about how important the Voice of the Cold is to me as a low-empathy person who most definitely also has alexythimia (struggle to identify emotions on yourself and on others).

(this’ll probably get very rambly and a bit personal, so be warned)

Like– do you have any idea how it is to grow up like this? People will look at your face, expecting it’ll tell them something, and then getting unnerved/uncomfortable when they come out with nothing. Being constantly told how weird you look. Asked if you’re mad or sad when you literally not even in this world anymore. Constantly being told how your words (blunt in their honesty) hurt others.

Standing in a funeral, everyone around you is crying or just looking vaguely sad, and you feel left out, or even guilty, because all you feel is annoyance and discomfort and you want nothing more than to leave.

Constantly seeing in movies– killers are unfeeling and uncaring. Monsters are like that because they don’t have empathy. The flat-faced, monotone character being presented as a weirdo till their shown “the power of love”.

And you see yourself in those characters, and you get those characters, but they’re the bad guys, they’re the ones in need of changing. Are you the bad guy? Do you need changing?

So you try. You hyperfixate on psychology and the functioning of emotions. You try to understand those around you. You try to be someone fun, someone they’ll see as ‘good’, you try to sound more emotional than you actually are. So that you can separate yourself from the image of that unfeeling bad guy.

(It doesn’t matter if it hurts your face. It doesn’t matter if the words aren’t natural. It doesn’t matter if when alone in your bed, you’ll cry yourself to sleep from the exhaustion of it all).

You get tired of it. And the few drops of care about being seen as a bad person leaks out as the mask cracks. You don’t care anymore, you just want everyone to leave you the fuck alone.

You’re alone. You try to understand yourself. You try to be kinder to yourself. You try to build a persona that’s more comfortable and true to what you really are.

An unfeeling monster Someone with a fizzled connection to their own body’s emotions.

An uncaring asshole Someone who needs to go through several logical analysis if they want to understand someone else’s emotions.

And you’re fine with that. You learn to be fine with that. You learn which form of expressions doesn’t hurt you, and which ones you just shouldn’t force yourself through. You learn your honesty can lift others up and not just put them down. You learn how to be there for friends, and when to pull away when it becomes too much. A part of you will always feel alone, but you learn to be ok with that too.

And when you see this part of yourself portrayed so masterfully, with all its strengths and weaknesses in full display, and with a understanding you never saw before, you feel like crying and jumping from joy (and you do, because those forms of expression don’t hurt as much anymore).

#somehow. this completely derailed from being about Cold to this prose-y thing lol #Prose is the easiest way for me to express myself so–#slay the princess #voice of the cold #Sal Writes #Sal Rambles #(since it’s both)

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satan-plundered-our-oceans · 29 days

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ masterlist ꒱ ˎˊ˗

-ˏˋ⋆ ᴡ ᴇ ʟ ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ᴇ ⋆ˊˎ-

an updated master list of fics I have written (so far including this blog and my previous blog @writing-with-rania) :) please send me a message or an ask to see if I forgot any of your favourite fandoms

! REQUESTS ARE OPEN !

this will also include;

ˋ⋆ MY RULES ⋆ˊ

⭒ who is going to stop me? ⭒

first off, hi! I've done this before-

I used to go by the name rania, just for anonymity and stuff, but this time around you can just call me tahls! im a teen writer (17), I live in Australia, I have 2 cats and 1 dog, im autistic and I've been writing since I was around 5 or 6

I mainly started writing on Tumblr because I wanted to share the fandoms I love and improve my writing at the same time.

ˋ⋆ THE CONTENT I WILL WRITE ⋆ˊ

I am fine with writing most of the following things (I say "most" due to context, age gap concerns, specific requests, personal preference etc.)

fluff (of course)

angst (it'll hurt my feelings and yours)

NSFW (within reason)

platonic fics (friendships, parent/child, siblings etc)

headcanons

one shots

multipart fics

ˋ⋆ THE CONTENT I WILL NOT WRITE ⋆ˊ

heavy gore

r@pe, CNC, child abuse, SA etc.

excessive dark content

p*edo stuff

incest

I might dabble in yandere themes or try out more dark content later on, but im not willing to dive into it very soon or in such big doses, I would like to keep my boundaries until further notice <3

ˋ⋆ MY MASTERLIST ⋆ˊ

twisted wonderland

bnha

black butler

Genshin impact

resident evil

pokemon

the last of us

assassins creed

demon slayer

honkai star rail

cod: modern warfare

Hogwarts legacy

sally face

harry potter

red dead redemption

adventure time / Fiona and Cake

stranger things

life is strange

cyberpunk 2077

avatar the last airbender

avatar (James Cameron)

danganronpa

arcane

if there are any others you're curious about just send me a message and ill have a look at any other fandoms I should visit!

you are welcome to keep anon enabled or to request any anon tags as well! this is a safe space and I look forward to writing with you.

; some links to consider ;

how to help Palestine!

the Israeli themes of tlou

links to check out about the jk Rowling situation

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troublewithvampires · 9 months

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Salvatore's head is ringing and his cheek still stings, despite the wounds from Dio's claws having healed already. He has no lasting injuries, so he shouldn't still be in pain. He's fine.

Even not saying the words out loud, they sound and taste hollow. But he swallows them regardless.

It's been a long time since he felt this pathetic, this helpless, to do anything to protect himself.

Salvatore's hand shakes ever so slightly as he holds his cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. He keeps his eyes up, looking up at the stars with tense shoulders.

At least there aren't too many clouds tonight.

(in reference to: [x]) / @rejectshumanity

#❝ take it from old sally two shoes‚ kid ❞ 「 in character 」#❝ here comes the debt collector ❞ 「 jojo verse 」#❝ come on snake‚ let's rattle ❞ 「 dio | rejectshumanity 」#❝ keep your voice down‚ dummy ; they're listening‚ remember ? ❞ 「 dash commentary 」#abuse cw #ask to tag #//idk if this counts as dash commentary. i'm not cool enough for that #//but i'll put it in the tag regardless #//dani ily dearly but that reply KILLED MEEE 💔💔💔#//immediately wanted to write this quick thing abt that #//no pressure to respond to this of course! just got me in the salvatore feelings :(#//the content warning is also more in reference to the reply itself #//someone hug sal or i'm gonna have to get involved 😤😤

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not-poignant · 1 year

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🎢 for the fic mmeme!

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Oh, easily a toss up between From the Darkness We Rise + Into Shadows We Fall, or the subsequent Game Theory. Before that, I'd never published anything on AO3 (like I had, but they were very old crappy fics that I'd first published on Livejournal).

From the Darkness We Rise was the first time I wrote a popular story. So popular someone asked me to make a Tumblr (which is literally why I'm here), and so popular that some of you folks are still here because of it. How could that not be wild? I never could have imagined any of how it played out. None of it. Not the fanart. Not the cosplays. Not the community. Not the people I met. (Not the awful drama). Not the love. It 100% made me love writing serials.

And then after that Fae Tales, particularly Game Theory and The Court of Five Thrones literally gave me a job. Like... as a disabled person who is on a disability pension after the government was like 'yeah actually you're fucked lmao' I never thought I'd be able to afford like...a life. And I couldn't (and still can't) work a 9-5. Professional art wasn't going anywhere (so I quit, that's why I started writing fanfiction, to cope, lmao). And then it seemed like in a very short amount of time, I was writing original stuff on AO3 and some people were reading it and then some people asked if they could start paying money for it so I started a Patreon (if you're noticing a pattern of 'the readers asked for it so I decided to give it a try' that's how I ended up making a Ko-Fi, Patreon AND this Tumblr, lmao).

And that's changed the course of my life. I've been overseas now, thanks to a combination of both my parents, and you folks, and I don't think I ever would have been able to go overseas otherwise. That's so special to me. So yeah, they're... they're definitely up there.

After that, it was Falling Falling Stars. :) (Never in my life have I gotten 90+ comments on a chapter in a 24 hour period until Falling Falling Stars, it taught me a LOT about serial writing, and I LOVE that I still have so much to learn).

From the fandom meme!

#asks and answers #memey goodness #pia on writing #pia on fanfiction #i'm actually sitting here reflecting #and i needed to think about this today #i needed this reminder #i mean i haven't been overseas in 4 years but like #just to be able to *go*#like i'm a 41 year old who has in many ways lived a limited life #and will live and increasingly limited life #to have had some of the special things i've had because of SAL and Fae Tales and subsequent stories #and the people generous enough to recognise that labour and want to offer something #i'm... very lucky

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asheanon · 9 months

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Kuja and Sal MerAU.

— For @mahkohime

From: Ask Box Writing Prompt Game

📖 It's Story Time... (And some music to accompany!)

The tour would not end there, no. Wherever "there" was.

As the two denizens of the deep descended down the corridor, they were soon accompanied by familiar faces (the term "faces" being used rather loosely, in this instance.)

Pitch black, furnished with large, luminescent pearl-like orbs partly obscured by the brims of their pointed hats, the cephalopod-shaped masses reappeared. They slunk around them, minding the various fins and features of the two in the process. Akin to nautiluses, they swam with their sharp chapeaus leading the way, point first. It was hard to say whether they truly threatened to impale or gently poke whoever and whatever may impede them, however... after all, what were those dapper duds of theirs even made of? She certainly didn't know. Curious things; though she had come to retain some information on them by now, Sal still found herself puzzling over aspects of their existence.

In time, the Mer and these tenebrous "creatures of servitude" (as they were often "affectionately" referred to here) came to a halt before a large entryway. They swarmed around the doors, dexterous tentacles finding purchase wherever they may, slowly pushing them open.

A panoply of antique treasures soon appeared before them. Rays of sunlight, warped by the motions of the sea, filtered through the windows, casting an animated array of warm light upon the scene. Most all that lie within glistened with splendor. It was an art gallery, rich in culture. And, unsurprisingly, it was just as sumptuous as the rest of the aquatic estate.

Basking in the limelight of his possessions amidst their big debut, Kuja swerved around, facing her. Crossing paths with the sun's rays, the shimmer of his silver scales cascaded down the length of his tail as it followed him.

“Splendid, is it not?” He certainly put the "extra" in "extravagant."

Sal nodded in response, little more. There was an initial silence as she drifted slowly into the room, studying its contents with care.

Thankfully, he was no stranger to her thoughtful bouts of silence by now. There were times previous where it came off strangely unsettling, despite her often warm and gentle demeanor. Even in its familiarity, however, he still had his moments of uncertainty.

He stole a glance, studying her as her eyes continued to traverse the treasures within. After taking her time to observe many a detail, at last, she spoke.

"There are so many years of so many different lives here. Countless intricacies of creative minds and dreams made manifest. Unique, yet unified by the nature of artistic pursuit."

A small sigh debuted as an intermission between lines. Her feelings felt to be ineffable in this instance, but an attempt to translate them was made nonetheless.

"It's beautiful. And a lot to take in, when you really think about it."

There it was. Magnificent. With the spectacle thoroughly lauded, the grin the noble Mer bore swelled with pride, dazzling and oddly ingenuous for a man of his class. Perhaps it had something to do with who was doing the lauding today.

It was then that Sal noticed it. Amidst all the sparkle, shine and tales yet divined, there was one particular artifact that caught her eye. Carefully and without sparing another word, she navigated past the still-gloating merman, swimming down to a portion of the room.

Sure enough, she had spied a mirror. Her eyes met with their own reflection before lingering elsewhere. Intricate designs danced down the frame that contained it, telling stories she would never know. Though, there was one she may be able to glean from it...

The pad of her thumb met with her ring, lightly rubbing at it. It was the ring that could most always be found upon the index finger of her right hand. The Wayfarer's Ring. She entertained the thought of trying to use it here... not now, but at a later date, perhaps...

"Ah, yes... a personal favorite. Procured from the depths."

Her musings were interrupted by her fellow Mer as he appeared behind her. Of course this was a personal favorite.

Briefly, Sal humored herself with the addition of said thought into the thought pool as she continued to study the mirror. Inadvertently, her eyes met with the reflection of his in the process. The moment was fleeting... as it often proved to be with her.

"I too can't help but to stare sometimes..."

Suddenly, she felt something softly graze her hips. Hands, cradling her; arms gently wrapping themselves around her waistline.

A wave of uncertainty washed over her, head falling as she peered into an empty space somewhere upon the floor. However, her eyes soon returned to the mirror, meeting with the reflected gaze of her elegant... "friend." Or whatever he was now, really. His eyes were set upon her parallel image.

They idled before the mirror, motionless, spare the gentle sway of staying afloat. Cerulean irises locked with bright celadon. For better and for worse, it was a moment that felt to be frozen in time.

Softly, he hummed to himself. She could see his eyes wandering, landing somewhere just off the mark for eye contact.

"Surely, to be forced to hide such beauty is a sin."

It was as if her heart sank - or she was stricken by some other manner of poetic interpretation of a troublesome reaction. Either way, claimed by unease, she knew exactly what he was referring to. This time, a sigh of a more weary nature escaped her. It was not the first of its kind in relation to the soon-to-be subject.

"This close to the surface, it's necessary."

"Not here, though." One of his hands was drawn up. Lightly, it brushed her back before finding its way to the topic of discussion: those long, delicate tentacles of hers, normally sprouting from the base of her head.

Today, they hid beneath white and gold ornamentation, wrapped in a dark azure silk. The fabric bore silver embroidery and flecks of white; designs that appeared as abstract mimicry of the deepest depths of the sea and sky. Her hair had been braided and interwoven within the wrapping rather artfully.

Though all was bound and tucked away beneath such adornments, its glow could not be contained. Those who looked upon it knew the truth, there was no denying it. She was an Abyssal. An Α Abyssal who refused to cut it all away and medically suppress the regrowth. She could bind it, but could never part with her heritage, as some of her kind had chosen to.

She was not the only Abyssal entity present, however...

"You needn't hide who you are from me, my dear." Though elegant and persuasive as ever, what was coming to be commonplace commentary continued to fill the air - or water, rather. Here's to another day of this song and dance of theirs... A finger traced the beginnings of the intricate wrapping of her headdress; its claw dipping into a space between the ivory and lapis blue silk, tugging lightly.

"Don't." The mermaid's tone was less restrained. Firm.

Reflexively, Kuja laughed to himself. It was more of a titter, really... but no matter! "Shall I cast it again, then?"

Just like her, many mysteries of the Abyss intertwined with his DNA. Though, he was an Abyssal of a different make. A Ψ Abyssal. Much like others of his ilk, he possessed the faculty for what most of the world(s) populations had come to interpret as "magic." And such sorcery had its fair share of workarounds when it came to... hazards, such as herself. Or at least in theory.

With an eloquent wave of the hand, a shimmer of light manifested, scintillae forming all around the prodigal Mer before coating his body. Another barrier spell.

"Better?" Fetching as he made his conviction out to be, even so, he was met by silence. Silence and an utterly unmoved expression on Sal's part.

"There is room for error." She then answered. "I've seen it."

"Not of my aptitude."

"Not yet."

One counter met by another. Classic. He let out another light chuckle before humming to himself again.

Ah, if only she knew he simply wished to help! This was for more than his benefit. It truly was! To offer her the scarce safe haven to justly and freely be. Existing in this near-perpetual hiding of one's self for the sake of social standard and the safety of others grew tiresome, surely. In ways, he would know.

Motivated by the reminder, he now found himself particularly intent upon this pursuit today. His eyes narrowed, dignified, yet baleful in their determination. "I survived you once already..."

Once more, he then dared to close the distance between them, their questionable proximity resumed. Looming over her shoulder and her clothed tendrils, he peered into the mirror, regarding her likeness and empyrean beauty as she stared his own down with a... vehemency.

There was a chance they never would have met had he not stepped in. Perhaps she would have been consumed by the Ω that now swarmed and multiplied in the Abyss. Despite her concerns, his point was not lost on her.

Reminded once more of the matter, her gaze fell, the furrow of her brow growing more apparent. It was like a disease, spreading and taking hold of their world, now. What had disrupted that balance? Could it be fixed? Would they have to evacuate this entire planet one day, if not? What could she do right now?

"I speak not only of your kind, but you."

Doing her best to dismiss that particular branch of inner turmoil, she was brought back to the more immediate one. Her eyes returned to his reflection.

"I rescued you. Handled you. Cared for you."

Yet again, she contemplated him and his insistence as he spoke. The remains of the intensity of which she mulled over previous thoughts seemed to leave a stain, however...

It was in that moment that Kuja was reminded just how sharp, yet hypnotic her gaze was. There was starlight cradled within her eyes. He could swear by it. Little did she know, the silence which fell between them was due in part to those radiant irises stealing his words away.

"... Couldn't you trust me to do so again?" For but a moment, anyway. His voice fell to a softer note as he managed to recover. The smile which painted his lips was just as beguiling as it ever was. And the nebulous shades of anxiety she bestowed upon him at times such as these would be his secret to keep yet another day.

Whatever little studies and "science projects" he had stashed away certainly spoke of his experience, but it was not enough for her. She would always have her reservations. There was always a chance to be taken with these things. Which, it was a chance he was clearly willing to take time and time again, of course, but her...?

Talk stagnated yet again. Time inched forward at a slow...

"... If you experience any burning or numbness, no matter how little, stop."

Finally, What sounded uncannily like the beginnings of a warning label left her mouth. They still bore a rigid inflection, but...

"Regardless of your confidence. Regardless of how well informed you may be. Just stop and back away. I'll rebind it."

... She was ultimately granting him permission to proceed.

"Okay?"

Delightfully surprised she would actually indulge him for once, of course, he was more than willing to oblige!

"As you wish, mon étoile." The request was met by a rather deft reply.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. This venture would be undergone merely to see what could be ventured, Sal supposed. Who knew what there truly was to gain from letting a wealthy fanatic inspect you more closely... maybe it would be more than just a spectacle of vulnerability or an oddly erogenous experience. Maybe she'd learn something? You never know.

Drawing in a deep breath in attempts to help settle some of the disquietude, she observed him as he began to carefully unfurl her ribbon-bound locks...

For those curious about the hair stuff MerSal has going on, I actually scribbled out a bit of a concept to help me write it...

It's scribbly. Design could definitely be improved upon later, but for now, I figured that'd do well enough! 🎨 For those who may be wondering "can she manipulate those tentacle-y hair bits, even when they're all wrapped up?" Yes. She absolutely can. The metal bit at the end wasn't intended to be a weapon, but I do think it'd be pretty badass if it was sharp enough to be one, now! 🗡️

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ifangirlalot · 3 months

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PLZ WRITE AGAIN SOON POOKIE

I AM BACK! (with like 40+ requests in my inbox....)

#💭 ۫⠀ZEE ZEN.⠀୨୧⠀· ˚#im starting to realize it's a lot easier for me to write hcs that full on imagines.....#finn wolfhard #miles fairchild #boris pavlikovsky #richie tozier #mike wheeler #ziggy katz #trevor spengler #sal fisher #stanger things #it #sally face

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salstray · 4 months

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i think im gonna try and make my new years resolution to be less scared of sharing my writing in more then one place

#considering posting something for the whole.... wip wednesday thing #but i am still so scared #and it would be oc stuff cuase that's what i write the most of #but its all self inserts too and i know a lot of people hate that shit and i just #i wish i could be better #sal speaks

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fluidnet · 5 months

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Me: *creates oc*

My brain: hyperfixate on this blorbo please :)

Me: sure! What do you want to create?

My brain: no >:( only research :)

Me: but brain, we can’t research. We created the blorbo. There is no information, we have to make it

My brain: no >:( if cannot research THIS blorbo, then research a DIFFERENT blorbo!

Me: *makes another oc*

My brain: there :) research!

Me: we can’t, we have to make the information

My brain:

#writing #oc #original character #I currently have two #Kasey #dnd #ravnica #Sal #a story character from nothing in particular #I would very much like to do research #but alas #I have to settle for researching the things they’re BASED on #which is not NEARLY as fun #or intensive #i need enrichment #enrichment in my enclosure

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killemwithkawaii · 2 years

Note

How do you think the clasps on sals prosthetic work?

From what I can tell, the straps of Sals prosthetic are secured with a simplified rendition of a center release or clip buckle, but without any apparent way to adjust the length of the straps (which I would assume he would have to do from time to time), I think that they work mostly through a combination of cartoon magic and suspension of disbelief lol

#k.e.w.k. answers #sally face headcanons #sal fisher #I mean you could say its a medical device so the straps have been measured to fit him perfectly #but you have to account for like #idk bodily fluctuations? Needing a haircut? Headaches? 'Im about to headbang to id better make sure this thing is tight af'??#i will admit tho buckles are hard to draw so i dont blame steve for keeping it simple lol #I learned so much about buckles in the last half hour wow #oh the things we end up researching for writing purposes 😂

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liminalwings · 4 months

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Working with Dragons: On 'Draconic Codes of Honor'

In my early days of searching the internet for dragon magic resources, a lot of the same information got yoinked and passed around from website to website. This was the days of Geocities and Angelfire, when literally anyone could build a website and almost nobody liked to cite where they got their information. So you would have pages copied verbatim from D.J. Conway’s (singular) book on dragon magic (now there’s three), with personal UPG or other cool and mystical-sounding embellishments sprinkled here and there.

One of these often passed-around tidbits would be a “Draconic Code of Honor”, a 15 or 20 bullet-point list of ethics to follow that some sources brazenly added that “all true dragon magicians follow”. This at least did not stem from Conway’s writings, but originated online at about the same time as Dancing With Dragons’ original publishing in 1994; specifically, from J’Karrah Ebondragon’s “Clan of the Dragon” website. Formerly “Kerowyn J’Karrah SilverDrake”, J’Karrah has been a long-time active member in both Pagan and Dragonkin internet circles, as well as being a dragon artist. Her website, “Clan of the Dragon” (CotD for short) can be searched as far as 2001 on the Wayback Machine, with much of her content being stated to date back as far as 1994. Her dragon magic information is probably the second most-reposted after Conway’s work, including being directly plagiarized in some smaller self-published books in more recent years.

Her ‘draconic code of honor’ she even says was based on older traditional sources and codes that were being used in pagan spaces at the time, and according to information gathered by another longtime dragon magic practitioner and Dragonkin, Tysharina, the code was mostly created for use of J’Karrah’s small group of fellow practitioners for their particular ‘Draconic Tradition’; it was never intended to cover all draconic paths, especially with there being so few publicly at the time of its creation. It has been passed around and revised by numerous people and groups, with one version claiming that “dragons will not work with a practitioner that ignores [the code]”. Given that this code was created for one specific group and was never intended as a universal rule for working with dragons (and in fact the original version does not have this ‘dragons won’t work with you’ caveat), this can be misleading and off-putting for those looking to work with dragons with no prior experience or knowledge, and is in fact not shared by all draconic paths.

Some folks from around that same timeframe might also have been inspired by the DragonHeart movie from 1996, as the character Draco emphasized Bowen to follow ‘the Old Code’, which, in this case, refers to the Code of Chivalry. This may likely have led to a connection for some between dragons and some sort of code of honor, which has since infiltrated most information you see on dragon magic and working with dragons.

Since these two large influences on modern dragon magic, it has become almost standard for dragon magic resources to include some sort of code to be followed. Some of these are vastly different from the CotD’s code, original to their authors, and have been created to best suit their specific tradition.

In short, while you might find agreement and feel moved to follow such a code (which is perfectly fine, I’m not trying to dissuade anyone), do note that following such a code is not a necessity for working with dragons, is not universal to all dragons, and was created for specific traditions; dragon magic in general does not require moral guidelines in order to begin working with it. Anecdotally, the dragons I work with have never demanded or even discussed an ethical code with me, but I also give them the same basic respect I would give other people, which tends to be all you really need.

https://web.archive.org/web/20091024212649/http://geocities.com/jkarrah/Honor.html - J’Karrah’s Clan of the Dragon 'Code of Honor' page via Wayback Machine

https://aminoapps.com/c/worldofmagic278/page/blog/the-clan-of-the-dragons-code-of-honor/odp5_Drsduq1NE3eX0x464DRNNb1odEjmW - Tysharina’s article on the CotD’s Code including information gathered from her personal correspondences with J’Karrah, and references to other draconic groups’ codes. (I would love to simply reblog her writing if she had posted it on tumblr, but alas, Tysha tends to go poof every few years, thus why I write this instead with due credit and linkage)

#dragon magic #dragon witch #dragon path #dragon work #dragonkin #sal writes things

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entomolog-t · 7 months

Text

The Shadow We Cast

Chapter 3 is here!! Happy I could sneak in another chapter while updating Bite Me weekly! Fun fact: All plants and animals Sal refers to are real things, he just doesn't know what they're called. Bonus points to anyone who figures them out!

Sal and Mark being two normal guys, having normal conversation during a normal meal. Everything is fine and nothing is weird (as long as Mark keeps drinking).

Word Count: 2761

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

CW: Adult language, minor injury (blood, wound), substances (beer)

----

I took another drink.

A good, long drink.

I knew I was just prolonging the inevitable, but hey, alcohol has a way of clouding judgement, and for once impairment was exactly what I needed. How many beers would it take before hawk meat sounded like a good idea? However many that number was, I clearly still had a long way to go.

I was buzzed for sure- I felt the flush in my cheeks and a slight tingle in my lips. Yet the wild new reality in front of me kept my mind oddly clear and feeling painfully sober. With a sigh, I began to remove the meat from the barbecue. Despite Sal being situated out of sight on the patio set behind me, I could practically feel him perk up with interest. The thought of the tiny man sent my mind whirling once again. I could barely wrap my head around the absurdity of the past 24 hours, let alone what I was supposed to do from here… Coming face to face with a man no bigger than my hand who apparently lives somewhere on my property, has a pet spider, and is capable of killing a hawk? The mental summary of events was wild enough to have me glancing over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure Sal was really still there… and yet, amidst all the madness, there was a strange sense of normalcy. We were just two dudes having a barbecue and sipping beers as if we were just friendly neighbours- as long as I pretended it was chicken.

"Done?" Sal's voice was filled with an almost childlike excitement as I killed the propane. Enough stalling, I thought, just get it over with. I eyed the meat with disdain as I began to stack it on a plate.

"All set." I confirmed, desperately trying to hide the dread in my voice.

Despite my overall anticipatory disgust, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I turned to see Sal’s tiny figure with his back pressed up against a beer can. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of leaning against the cool metal in this overbearing heat.

As I sat down, Sal sprung up, all too eager to get his hands on his prized catch. His excitement seemed to quell my inhibitions far more than the alcohol had managed. Before any better judgement could manifest, I took a bite.

And it was… frankly, not bad.

The meat had a unique flavour, strong and slightly gamey, a bizzare combination of chicken and beef. Paired with the sweetness and distinct spice of the sauce it was actually pretty-

A slurry of the most cringe inducing noises rose up from just beneath me -the sound like a grotesque amalgamation of a wild dog and a toddler chewing on something wet. How someone so small could make such a repulsive commotion while eating was beyond me. I dreaded looking down, but like driving past a car crash, there was a morbid curiosity that tugged at my gaze like a magnet.

Shirtless and sauce-covered, Sal had dragged an outrageously large chunk of meat onto his lap and was tearing into as if he was killing the poor creature a second time- ripping out handfuls of meat and devouring them, scarfing it down as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

I paused, a question nagging at the edges of my brain.

Did he eat regularly?

It's not like he could casually stroll to a grocery store when he was hungry. A wave of guilt hit me- pressuring me to keep my judgments on his borderline feral table etiquette to myself.

As if he could sense my gaze fixed on him, Sal looked up towards me, a ridiculously wide grin plastered across his face. Without even bothering to swallow, he shoots, me a compliment,

“This is good.”

I tear off a chunk of a paper towel and push it towards him.

“Thanks man, I’m glad you like it.” I say, feeling as though his enthusiasm is starting to rub off, “Thanks for bringing the hawk.” Sal tilts his head, and I gesture towards the food. He smiles and nods, trying to commit the foreign word to memory.

As he went back to his meal, I couldn’t help but stare. The guy was unbelievably small. His size in and of itself was mind-boggling, but what was even more absurd was someone his stature being able to take down a hawk- I mean, sure he was built to shit, but what good would some muscle do against what had essentially been some kind of dragon to him?

How the Hell had he managed to kill a hawk?

Trying my best not to be too obvious, I leaned forward, eyeing him more closely. He had a very distinct look to him. His dirty blond hair was a strange middle ground between a mohawk and a mullet, the sides cut short to reveal pointed ears that looked like they belonged in some fantasy game and not on a real being. He had a strong jaw, contrasted by a friendly smile. But what stood out most were the scars.

Every inch of his being, while admittedly was not a lot, bore a tapestry of scars in various shapes and sizes. Gashes ran across his chest, and what appeared to be some sort of bite mark hung around his shoulder. His limbs were a patchwork of scrapes and cuts, almost giving him the appearance of stripped skin if it wasn’t for their haphazard arrangement.

Under closer scrutiny a number of the jagged scrapes were far too fresh to be considered scars at all, though clearly in time they'd join in the tapestry. I nearly scoffed at the sight, Minor scrapes and bruises from battling it out with a bird of prey? What was this guy? Some sort of gnome warrior? Some tax funded super weapon? A super powered action figure brought to life by a child’s wish- I might have had too much to drink.

“How did you manage to, you know,”I gestured vaguely at the meat, “kill it?”

Mouth absolutely stuffed to its fullest, he looked up at me and grinned, a smug pride lighting up his face. Thankfully, he swallowed before speaking.

“Jumped at it.” He said it matter of factly, and resumed eating as if it should have been considered an adequate answer. When he looked up and was met with whatever baffled face I must have been pulling he chuckled. Wiping his hands off on the piece of napkin, he stood. In one motion, he produced a blade so quickly it was almost as if he conjured it from thin air, having drawn from some concealed barely perceptible pocket on his pants.

“Hoks,” The word sounds foreign in his mouth, “aim for where you're at, sometimes they aim where you’ll go. Real precise. Can’t go backwards though. You close that distance at the right time and they just can’t account for it. Just gotta get past those claws'' As he spoke he tossed around the blade with a concerning amount of nonchalance. Even more concerning, the way he spoke was as if he expected me to go out hunting hawk with this newfound information. Jump at it? I mean, sure, the logic was there, however the execution was beyond wild. It felt like telling someone the way to avoid getting hit by a train was to just jump out of the way. Sure, it wasn’t wrong, but the whole concept really embodied the notion of “easier said than done.”

“And then what?” I ask, feeling like he was glossing over quite a few steps with his method of just jump at it, “You just …?” I gestured for him to continue, and if the grin that plastered his face was any indicator he was more than willing to go on.

“It’s quite the revolutionary concept...” He continues, twirling his blade casually, as if fiddling with a pencil, “Pretty complex stuff.” His voice lowers, and I find myself being pulled in- both figuratively enthralled and literally drawing myself nearer to hear him speak. He locks eyes with me, his face taking on a more hardened look.

He tosses his blade up- catching it by its hilt and pointing directly at me.

“You stab it.”

There's a moment of silence before he erupts into laughter.

Hearty guffaws fill the air as he doubles over, clearly pleased with his own joke and the dumbfounded expression that was left smeared on my face.

I roll my eyes, and try to cover my mouth in an attempt to hide the reluctant smirk that creeps across my lips, but the gesture does nothing to stop the chuckle that wells up behind my hand. I shake my head,

“And you're okay..? Like, it um- didn’t get you anywhere or something?”

With a smirk, Sal shrugs,

“For the most part.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate he pulls down the band of his pants just enough to show a bloodied cloth hastily taped to the side of his hip extending towards his glute. Peeling back the improvised bandage, Sal reveals a nasty gash which looked like it would be a few inches long had he been of human size.

“A little slice from the beak,” He explained, “Lucky it just grazed me.”

I can feel my brow furrow as I lean in closer. It wasn’t a horrifying injury, but by no means would a gash like that be considered mild, or as he said “just grazed.” I winced.

“Oh, fuck- dude that looks, um, not great. Do you need anything..?”

He snorted.

“What? You plan on doing the stitches yourself, big man?” he laughs, waving me away as he goes to reapply the bandage.

He pauses.

“On second thought- You wanna grab me some… um…” He stops, looking a bit confused, “Grocery weed..?”

Whatever I had been expecting him to ask, nothing had prepared me for “grocery weed.”

What the fuck is grocery weed?

“You… you want weed?”

No. Nope. Recant all previous thoughts of sanity- A tiny man and/or potential gnome warrior killing a hawk and then trying to bum a doobie was just not real. Nope. I had really lost it.

The questionably real little man points to the yard,

“Big leaves, round edges? Has those little sprouting bits good for making bread?”

I stared at him dumbly.

“Bread?” I repeated. Sal pursed his lips. He strolled over to my hand and patted the back of it, looking up at me expectantly.

“I’ll show you.” I turned my hand palm up and he clambered in, directing me down the porch and towards the driveway. All the while my mind fumbled with the very real sensation of his shifting weight in my palm.

“There!” He hopped up, leaning over the edge of my hand andI curled my fingers inwards reflexively. He gestured towards a weed jutting up from the gravel. I titled my head, a bit surprised. I knew the plant, in the sense that I had definitely seen it around, though I highly doubted it was called grocery weed. It vaguely resembles a cluster of spinach leaves, with a few almost cattail-like stalks extending upwards from the centre. I thought it was a little strange that despite having seen this weed fairly often, I had no clue what it was actually called.

Trying to be mindful of my not so safety conscious passenger, I knelt down slowly, careful not to jostle him. He directs me, telling me he just needs a few leaves and he’ll be fine. I feel my brow knit in confusion but I acquiesce nonetheless before bringing him and the “not-weed-weed” back to the porch.

Sal hops off onto the table, leaves in hand and I reach for another drink. Taking a sip, I watch as he fiddles with the bandages, re-exposing the gash. To my surprise, he takes a bite of the leaf. I tilt my head.

“So what are you do-” He spits a chewed green mass into his palm, “-ing…”

My question trails off. I watch in horror as he takes the mush and slaps it overtop of the open wound.

“DUDE!” I turn my head away to hide a gag.

What the fuck did I just witness?

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix between confusion and judgement as he reapplies the bandage overtop of the borderline spit up.

“What?”

I scoff, for a moment blanking on what I should say. Sanitary concerns? Oral bacteria? Sepsis? A slew of health concerns fill my mind, but just two words make it passed my lips,

“That's nasty.”

He waves me off. Dismissing my disgust with a wave of his hand.

“That,” he says, nodding to the bandage, “works like a charm.”

While I highly doubted that a chewed up weed smeared onto an open wound was more effective than an antiseptic, I couldn’t deny he very clearly had far more experience in dealing with open wounds than myself- the patchwork decorating his skin acted as a pretty solid letter of reference for his abilities.

“Are you actually going to need stitches?” I ask, wondering if he’d at least let me offer him some disinfectant.

Sal shrugged.

“Maybe? Depends how well the grocery weed works. Worst case it’s not like stitches are that hard.”

What was he? Some sort of field medic? “Not that hard” to administer self suturing?? Not to mention what did he even use at his size??

“...how?” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the strangeness of it all, but the question just seemed to fall out before I’d even realised I’d spoken.

Though the question had been vague at best, Sal seemed to understand my confusion.

“Oh, I used Betty’s silk. It’s pretty thin, but the stuff is wicked strong.” He continues talking but my mind seems to freeze. Betty? Who’s Betty… and why did she have silk- Oh.

I shudder at the memory of the spider just… crawling all over him. Spider silk?? He uses SPIDER SILK?? How do you even get- I put a stop to that line of thought as quickly as it had started.

Nope. No. Don’t think about it. Just drink.

As I try to drown my own thoughts by taking another drink I hear Sal continuing on, saying something about sharpening a wasp’s “egg stinger” to use as a needle and very quickly decide it’s high time for a change in topics.

With all the charismatic finesse of a 5 year old, I point to a particularly gruesome looking scar that ran straight up his back.

“Oh man, that looks brutal. How’d that happen?”

He stops mid sentence, looking over his shoulder as he tries to follow where I was pointing. His brows furrow, before he shrugs.

“Not too sure. I’ve had that one since I was real young. I think… I fell off something and got caught by a thorn? Maybe?” He chews his lip, reconsidering. “Or it might have been a long mouse?” Did he mean some kind of weasel? I pale at the thought of an even smaller version of him facing off against one of those viscous little things. He waves his hand, dismissing the topic, “In any case, it's too long ago for me to remember.”

I tilt my head. Surely he couldn’t have been that young not to remember getting attacked by a, relatively speaking, monstrous creature. I mean, he didn’t look like he could be much older than his mid twenties at most- I mean… maybe tiny gnome warrior field medics might age differently? What if he’s like… 50? 100?? As soon as the thought is in my head the words seem to just slip out, the alcohol doing its magic in lubricating the conversation.

“So like… how old are you?”

He shrugs as he makes his way back toward the food.

“Dunno.”

“You don’t know how old you are?” I say, baffled at the revelation. He sits down and resumes eating.

“I mean, the days all blend together. Time passes whether I count it or not. What’s the point in counting if I’m not counting towards something?”

I’m not sure if it's the alcohol or if he had some sage gnomic wisdom to bestow but his words seem to strike a chord within me. I nod, but say nothing. Instead I finish the rest of my beer, mulling over his words.

What was I counting for?

#Sal is still a gremlin in case anyone had any doubts #Mark is *suffering*#Sal is amazing at advice #Just do the thing correctly and you'll do the thing correctly #Marky Mark might be a little to liberal with the alcohol #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t fluff #g/t writing #giant tiny #Tiny man #Macro/micro #TSWC #The Shadow we Cast #MarkOC #SalOC #Entowrites #sfw g/t

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