I want this tattoo so badly.
1/14/2018
1/31/2017
The King's Wood
My mother always told me that the forest was evil, and that my father was the perfect paragon of the forest. I didn’t know much back then, no six year old that I know of does, and I believed her. She was, after all, my mother. But I was curious, and one day, the pull of the woods became too much for me to resist.
I was thirteen then, a headstrong peasant lad. My mother, after warning me for about the fiftieth time not to enter the King’s Wood, sent me into our meager orchard to fetch the cows.
“The moon’ll be showin’ the whole of her face tonight.” she had said to me, her straight auburn hair threatening to get caught in her knitting as she made a blanket to cover her during the winter months, “Be sure to no stray too far from the orchard, and especially stay away from the King’s Wood. There are wolves there”
So I set off for the orchard, a sturdy staff clutched tightly in my fist. I soon came upon cow spoor, and I followed the tracks to the stream at the edge of the orchard. There, I hesitated. The King’s Wood lurked on the opposite bank. I could clearly see the tracks leading into the forest.
I was faced with a difficult decision. Should I head into the gloomy wood after our wayward cattle? Or should I go home and explain to my mother that the cows were last to us, and that we would have to fend for ourselves, without any milk or meat to sell at the market? Could I face her then? Could I break her heart now as my father had done so long ago by leaving her with me?
I made up my mind right then and there that I could not act like my father, the monstrous beast of my mother’s nightmares, he who made her cry out in fear whenever she heard the wolves howling beyond the orchard. No, I would not, could not, break her heart. So, wading into the gentle stream, I set off for the forest beyond.
When I reached the shore, the sun had begun to descend beneath the distant hills, and the look of the evening was upon the forest. Still, since I had come all this way, it would be a shame to return home. And I still had a few hours before night fell fully. So on I went, using the staff as a ward against the bogs that are said to be the bane of the explorer, to find our precious cows.
The tracks lead me on and on, further into the forest, deeper into the place that my mother had so fearfully warned me about. I began to feel bold and courageous in spite of my fear. Was this what my mother was so afraid of? Sure, It was a bit gloomy, but the birds sang, and butterflies flew here just as they did in our orchard. I began to think that perhaps my mother had been rash in condemning this place.
But I did not hear the silent tread of a man’s feet behind me, nor was I ready for the deep voice of a man calling out to me.
“Now Lad, what would one such as yourself be doin’ roamin’ about in the King’s Wood?” it asked, and I whirled to race its owner, my staff at the ready.
“Who are you?” I shot right back at him, “And why should my purpose be known to you?”
The man laughed, the sound strangely comforting to my ears, “I am called Ulfric by those who serve me.” he said, “But there are those who call me Eric Wilder. I saw you walkin’ in the forest, and I wondered if the cows I saw could be the source of your burden.”
At this I smiled at him and heaved a sigh of relief. “I’d be much obliged to you if you would show me to these cows.” I said, “My mother would be so pleased. I’m not even supposed to be in the King’s Wood.”
Eric peered at me closely, “Really now,” he asked, “and I suppose your mother’ll be the woman they call Rose Weaver. That’ll make you Jared Weaver then.”
I nodded, and he chuckled and looked me over. His amber eyes seemed to take the measure of my soul before they left my face, and I felt uneasy in his presence.
“Tell your mother I’ll be payin’ her a visit tonight.” he said, and he gave a sharp whistle to the evening air. I heard an answering moo in the distance, and the cows I had been so diligently seeking appeared behind a tree. I turned to thank Eric, but he was gone. So, shrugging my shoulders, I began to lead the herd back home.
My mother was waiting for me when I left the orchard. Her hands were on her hips, and I feared to look at the fierce expression on her face.
“And where have you been, Jared?” she asked me, her eyes boring through my skull, “Can you no imagine the worry you’ve caused me? I’ve been out of my mind with searchin’ for you.”
I took her by the hand and brought her into the house. There was no fire in the hearth, so I started one from the dormant coals. When my mother had calmed down a little, I told her about going into the King’s Wood, and of Eric and his message to her. I left out nothing. I had no reason to. The look on her face made me wish I had kept some details to myself.
“This Eric Wilder,” she said, her voice no louder than a gnat’s sob, “what did he look like?”
“His muscles were like the branches of oak trees, and his calves were strong and wrought with iron. His hair was like mine, though not as curly.” I answered, wondering why my mother would react so strongly to a stranger I had not known before yesterday.
“Jared, that was your father.” she said shortly as she pulled our only table across the door.
My jaw dropped. My father? That kind stranger who had helped me find our cows was my evil, blackhearted father? And he was coming here?
“But that’s wonderful, Mother,” I began as she extinguished the fire and left us only with candlelight, “he can come here, and we’ll finally be a family again.”
“No.” she whispered in the halflight, “I cannot forgive a beast like your father.”
I looked at her face then, saw her anguish, her sorrow. I once again made a decision.
“Okay then,” I said, balancing my staff in my hand, “I’ll protect you from him. Whatever happens.”
It was then that the howling began. My mother stiffened, uttering a little cry as it drew closer to our little cottage. I followed the howling with my ears until it sounded like the wolves were at our very door! I ran to help brace the table, but I had only taken two steps toward it when it was flung out of the way by an unseen force, the door gone.
A wolf stepped through the entrance. It was beautiful. Its silver fur shone in the moonlight, and you could tell that those were muscles rippling under it. Before I could rush it with my staff as I had planned, its outlines sort of wavered, and Eric stood where it once stood.
“Come Rose,” he said to my mother, “it’s time to go home. Our son is ready. You have fought this battle too long.”
My mother stared at him in grim defiance, her face set in hard, determined lines, “And would you have Jared be one of your ilk? A monster? Like you?”
My father sighed, “That’s not fair, Rose.” he complained, longing showing in his eyes, “I’ve never hurt any of the other townsfolk. Neither have you. Our pack and I are loyal to His Majesty; you know that.”
My mother echoed his sigh and suddenly sagged, “I should have known that I could not escape the call of my beast... or yours.” and with that, she accepted her defeat and laid her head on my father’s shoulder.
Eric touched her tenderly, stroking her face with his hand. He stopped suddenly, concentrating hard on her frame. With a sigh, my mother’s features became more bestial, more canine. Fur sprouted, and her dress was ripped to shreds by her new muscles. In a few minutes, she was a solid black wolf, her head bowed in submission to her alpha.
I trembled as Eric turned his yellow eyed gaze on me. He stretched out his hand, and a wave of power rose within me. I cried out as I felt my face stretching, bones popping into new arrangements. Yet I felt no pain. My knees switched direction, and I fell to the floor, no longer to stand upright. Hair grew on my body, and my clothes fell, forgotten and unneeded. My tail went between my legs in submission, and I touched noses with my mother. When Eric shifted a little later, we touched noses with him. Then our Ulfric threw his head back and howled to the night. A chorus of howls and yips answered him from outside the cottage. He looked at us, and as one, we loped out of the human dwelling and into the night, heading for the King’s Wood. I ran by my father’s side, as was right. Never again would I be willingly separated from him. As long as he lived, we would be together.
I was thirteen then, a headstrong peasant lad. My mother, after warning me for about the fiftieth time not to enter the King’s Wood, sent me into our meager orchard to fetch the cows.
“The moon’ll be showin’ the whole of her face tonight.” she had said to me, her straight auburn hair threatening to get caught in her knitting as she made a blanket to cover her during the winter months, “Be sure to no stray too far from the orchard, and especially stay away from the King’s Wood. There are wolves there”
So I set off for the orchard, a sturdy staff clutched tightly in my fist. I soon came upon cow spoor, and I followed the tracks to the stream at the edge of the orchard. There, I hesitated. The King’s Wood lurked on the opposite bank. I could clearly see the tracks leading into the forest.
I was faced with a difficult decision. Should I head into the gloomy wood after our wayward cattle? Or should I go home and explain to my mother that the cows were last to us, and that we would have to fend for ourselves, without any milk or meat to sell at the market? Could I face her then? Could I break her heart now as my father had done so long ago by leaving her with me?
I made up my mind right then and there that I could not act like my father, the monstrous beast of my mother’s nightmares, he who made her cry out in fear whenever she heard the wolves howling beyond the orchard. No, I would not, could not, break her heart. So, wading into the gentle stream, I set off for the forest beyond.
When I reached the shore, the sun had begun to descend beneath the distant hills, and the look of the evening was upon the forest. Still, since I had come all this way, it would be a shame to return home. And I still had a few hours before night fell fully. So on I went, using the staff as a ward against the bogs that are said to be the bane of the explorer, to find our precious cows.
The tracks lead me on and on, further into the forest, deeper into the place that my mother had so fearfully warned me about. I began to feel bold and courageous in spite of my fear. Was this what my mother was so afraid of? Sure, It was a bit gloomy, but the birds sang, and butterflies flew here just as they did in our orchard. I began to think that perhaps my mother had been rash in condemning this place.
But I did not hear the silent tread of a man’s feet behind me, nor was I ready for the deep voice of a man calling out to me.
“Now Lad, what would one such as yourself be doin’ roamin’ about in the King’s Wood?” it asked, and I whirled to race its owner, my staff at the ready.
“Who are you?” I shot right back at him, “And why should my purpose be known to you?”
The man laughed, the sound strangely comforting to my ears, “I am called Ulfric by those who serve me.” he said, “But there are those who call me Eric Wilder. I saw you walkin’ in the forest, and I wondered if the cows I saw could be the source of your burden.”
At this I smiled at him and heaved a sigh of relief. “I’d be much obliged to you if you would show me to these cows.” I said, “My mother would be so pleased. I’m not even supposed to be in the King’s Wood.”
Eric peered at me closely, “Really now,” he asked, “and I suppose your mother’ll be the woman they call Rose Weaver. That’ll make you Jared Weaver then.”
I nodded, and he chuckled and looked me over. His amber eyes seemed to take the measure of my soul before they left my face, and I felt uneasy in his presence.
“Tell your mother I’ll be payin’ her a visit tonight.” he said, and he gave a sharp whistle to the evening air. I heard an answering moo in the distance, and the cows I had been so diligently seeking appeared behind a tree. I turned to thank Eric, but he was gone. So, shrugging my shoulders, I began to lead the herd back home.
My mother was waiting for me when I left the orchard. Her hands were on her hips, and I feared to look at the fierce expression on her face.
“And where have you been, Jared?” she asked me, her eyes boring through my skull, “Can you no imagine the worry you’ve caused me? I’ve been out of my mind with searchin’ for you.”
I took her by the hand and brought her into the house. There was no fire in the hearth, so I started one from the dormant coals. When my mother had calmed down a little, I told her about going into the King’s Wood, and of Eric and his message to her. I left out nothing. I had no reason to. The look on her face made me wish I had kept some details to myself.
“This Eric Wilder,” she said, her voice no louder than a gnat’s sob, “what did he look like?”
“His muscles were like the branches of oak trees, and his calves were strong and wrought with iron. His hair was like mine, though not as curly.” I answered, wondering why my mother would react so strongly to a stranger I had not known before yesterday.
“Jared, that was your father.” she said shortly as she pulled our only table across the door.
My jaw dropped. My father? That kind stranger who had helped me find our cows was my evil, blackhearted father? And he was coming here?
“But that’s wonderful, Mother,” I began as she extinguished the fire and left us only with candlelight, “he can come here, and we’ll finally be a family again.”
“No.” she whispered in the halflight, “I cannot forgive a beast like your father.”
I looked at her face then, saw her anguish, her sorrow. I once again made a decision.
“Okay then,” I said, balancing my staff in my hand, “I’ll protect you from him. Whatever happens.”
It was then that the howling began. My mother stiffened, uttering a little cry as it drew closer to our little cottage. I followed the howling with my ears until it sounded like the wolves were at our very door! I ran to help brace the table, but I had only taken two steps toward it when it was flung out of the way by an unseen force, the door gone.
A wolf stepped through the entrance. It was beautiful. Its silver fur shone in the moonlight, and you could tell that those were muscles rippling under it. Before I could rush it with my staff as I had planned, its outlines sort of wavered, and Eric stood where it once stood.
“Come Rose,” he said to my mother, “it’s time to go home. Our son is ready. You have fought this battle too long.”
My mother stared at him in grim defiance, her face set in hard, determined lines, “And would you have Jared be one of your ilk? A monster? Like you?”
My father sighed, “That’s not fair, Rose.” he complained, longing showing in his eyes, “I’ve never hurt any of the other townsfolk. Neither have you. Our pack and I are loyal to His Majesty; you know that.”
My mother echoed his sigh and suddenly sagged, “I should have known that I could not escape the call of my beast... or yours.” and with that, she accepted her defeat and laid her head on my father’s shoulder.
Eric touched her tenderly, stroking her face with his hand. He stopped suddenly, concentrating hard on her frame. With a sigh, my mother’s features became more bestial, more canine. Fur sprouted, and her dress was ripped to shreds by her new muscles. In a few minutes, she was a solid black wolf, her head bowed in submission to her alpha.
I trembled as Eric turned his yellow eyed gaze on me. He stretched out his hand, and a wave of power rose within me. I cried out as I felt my face stretching, bones popping into new arrangements. Yet I felt no pain. My knees switched direction, and I fell to the floor, no longer to stand upright. Hair grew on my body, and my clothes fell, forgotten and unneeded. My tail went between my legs in submission, and I touched noses with my mother. When Eric shifted a little later, we touched noses with him. Then our Ulfric threw his head back and howled to the night. A chorus of howls and yips answered him from outside the cottage. He looked at us, and as one, we loped out of the human dwelling and into the night, heading for the King’s Wood. I ran by my father’s side, as was right. Never again would I be willingly separated from him. As long as he lived, we would be together.
11/30/2016
2/27/2014
Jeanette
I guessed she was still angry at me for having exposed her to her dam's dirty little secret, as it were. The truth had never been the friend of most nobles; they covered it as best they could in their quest for statutes and court favor. It was usually worse in the case of royals. Queen Amitolane's conversation with her daughter must have been an interesting one. "My opinion of you has not changed." she said, that same haughty expression on her face, "If anything, my conviction is validated by my mother's admission. Your kind took advantage of her, forced themselves upon her."
I raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what she told you? Let me assure you that nothing was forced upon her... I didn't have time to educate her about the ways of the Sidhe. Maybe later but for now, we had things to do.
She looked disappointed. Maybe she'd hoped for a demonstration to prove something or other to herself. Too bad.
"Look," I began, as we walked into the dimly-lit pizza parlor, my wooden platforms clicking algorithmically against the floor, tonight is about the mission. I've no time to be your therapist. If you're looking for some kind of justification for your dam's behavior, then you'll have to wait."
I smiled as we came to the hostess' platform, appraising her with a glance or two. Not bad, this one, She was a bit on the skinny side, but far from the wraith look that was popular in this day and age.
"Hi, dudes and welcome to the Munch. Bar or restaurant seating?"
"Restaurant." I answered quickly. I hated the cigarette smoke that came with a bar's atmosphere, and a place with a name like The Munch She was bound to have lax smoking views.
She nodded, and a girl showed us to our seats. It was a bit on the outskirts, but I appreciated this, for it afforded a good view of the rest of the place, including a glimpse of the smoking section.
"Drink orders?"
I raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what she told you? Let me assure you that nothing was forced upon her... I didn't have time to educate her about the ways of the Sidhe. Maybe later but for now, we had things to do.
She looked disappointed. Maybe she'd hoped for a demonstration to prove something or other to herself. Too bad.
"Look," I began, as we walked into the dimly-lit pizza parlor, my wooden platforms clicking algorithmically against the floor, tonight is about the mission. I've no time to be your therapist. If you're looking for some kind of justification for your dam's behavior, then you'll have to wait."
I smiled as we came to the hostess' platform, appraising her with a glance or two. Not bad, this one, She was a bit on the skinny side, but far from the wraith look that was popular in this day and age.
"Hi, dudes and welcome to the Munch. Bar or restaurant seating?"
"Restaurant." I answered quickly. I hated the cigarette smoke that came with a bar's atmosphere, and a place with a name like The Munch She was bound to have lax smoking views.
She nodded, and a girl showed us to our seats. It was a bit on the outskirts, but I appreciated this, for it afforded a good view of the rest of the place, including a glimpse of the smoking section.
"Drink orders?"
Getting over a cold
I'm not sure whether or not I should post this. I've been getting conflicting orders from my mum on whether or not I should wear earrings, I was trying to explain to her that I couldn't exactly guess her thoughts. I'm sure that I'm not the only one whose concentration is interrupted from time to time. My mum used to hide all her books in the most gross place in her body until she actually got what she wanted from me, and when she used to miss me, she'd try to get me to explain what I did at school or something, and it sounded like she was trying to manipulate me. I still to this day don't understand why she can do what she wants without being punished for it. I think her obituary would be: "Eat poison or something." She used to suggest that I drink coffee or something, but the fun thing is that you can most certainly get coffee out of a machine, so I think that perhaps she should stop thinking about whether or not people will judge her and just write. Editing can always be done later. It's like saying, well, why did you do this, or why did you do that? Gossip is the worst thing ever.
2/18/2014
So, I've decided that giving myself an insulin shot is much better than glucophage
Good thing that giving oneself medicines are better than glucophage. I think that if my parents, for example, are worried about what I might or might not write on my blog, then they should remember that I also have my ways of editing what goes on to the computer and what does not. The only reason I go along for this reason is the journey and not anything my ancestors might or might not have in store for me. I'm not sure why my family wants to uprate certain issues or not. The only thing about eyestrain is that I've personally learned that I am able to multitask just by being around people. I remember growing up in the church and wanting to submit an essay for my own purposes, I honestly do not care if something that they held to old standards was upsetting. I've been able to gauge my own writing based on who was watching or not. Big brother might or might not be watching, But as I always say, if you can type out of your head, you make your own rules. If I choose to start my own blog or not, it's because I had an objection. If my parents know all about it, then they should take a lesson from one of my aunts (name withdrawn because I haven't asked her), actually read the book, and then see what happens. Just because I enjoy foreign cuisine doesn't mean that I want to be as vocal as say, Rosa parks. I know what abstaining means and I know what taking a break means (Hockenbury and Hockenbury). Last time I had to preregister was because I had to substitute for someone who wished their name to be withdrawn. In California, I was able to read a variety of books and get rewarded based on how much I wanted to eat. Now that new services are available, I feel that my parents are feeding off me because, for example, I wanted to be able to play my own wedding service without someone's very rude child messing it up. I am not going to name any names because it would be pretty horrible. It's like doing the rockaway in front of a crowd. Compared to which class did you actually want me to follow the 3 r's?
1/31/2014
Keeping Warm and trying to stay Hydrated
So, this diet is getting rather boring, but I think as long as I don't try to go all vegan (hummus and sweet breads to supplement), XD, I'll be okay. I could really go for some mellow mushroom pretzels. I can't believe I wrote a story all about those things. I might have to look that up sometime when I'm relaxed.
4/26/2011
Interesting
I totally remember the rocking chair. Thank you, Ms. Jameson. I'm starting to remember other things, weird things: the cart that's used to wheel away brain damaged people or something. The little ladder thing? The purple shirt totally brought back memories, but I'm not sure if they're real or not. Interesting. Wonder who is shooting darts at the animals in the park. If they're trying to do the poison blow dart thing, then they're going about it entirely the wrong way. You're supposed to extract the venom from the mucus glands on the side of their head, unless it's the amazon poison dart frogs, in which case, it honestly won't matter, now will it?
4/01/2011
Xylara
Xylara purred as she enjoyed the attentions of K'var, her faithful jackal slave from the African country of Egypt had come into power and found the desire to increase her new household. African stock was prized for their devotion to their masters, willing to lay down their lives for their owners if needed. Such loyalty was a valuable asset to those who ran a household, and Xylara disliked having to feel paranoid.
That the various African species were rather attractive in her eyes was quite a bonus. To complete his handsome figure, his sheath would withdraw to reveal a rather long shaft, which was as dark as the rest of him. This would swell nicely into a modest knot at its base some time before his orgasm. At the moment, however K'vars paws gripped the undersides of her thighs, his thumbs hooked around the delicate flesh as he pleasured her orally, his wonderfully long tongue plunging between the puffy lips of her sex, drawing loud gasps of pleasure from his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate swipes of his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate flicks of his tongue and well timed exhalation of warm breath against her sensitive tissues. He soon had her murring and squirming against the hold he had on her lower body. It was some time, then before the aroused dragoness realized that she and her slave were being watched.
At first, her reaction was slight: a sharp intake of breath and slight widening of her eyes all that would betray that she realized this fact. She tapped Kvar on the head, and he grunted, his long, pointed ears swiveling to catch any outside sound, pausing as he oriented on a rather gentle moan, very different from those of his mistress. It was female and mature, though not experienced. A low thrum could be discerned from the source, "May I have my Mistress' permission to relieve myself? he asked, and Xylara inclined her head in acquiescence, mentally praising her servant for his foresight. It wasn't long before he returned, a rather petite jaguar female head tightly by her arms. She was very attractive to Xylara's eyes, and her fur was an interesting blend of rich jaguar hues, ranging from light orange within the spotted rosettes to an almost red on her flanks and tail. Her underside was a creamy white that showed off her toned thighs and firm breasts rather nicely, and the dragoness licked her lips at the smell coming from her slit. She smiled a bit.
"Ah, it would seem that our little Peeping Tom is one of my future harem slaves, set for training as concubines. I don't believe I've had time enough to peruse this season's candidates. I'll have to remedy that...
K'var, release her and let her walk toward me."
The Little jaguar moved gracefully, a slight hesitation finding its way into her step. She hadn't known that this dragoness was the one who now owned her. She'd thought to learn about the way her body was reacting, as she grew older, her sex moistening at the very scent of a male. Her own scent would grow stronger, and she'd caught more than one male flaring his nostrils near her, though she didn't know why. Why would they care? Her curious mind ached to be satisfied. Xylara smiled invitingly at her slave, patting the ground to indicate that she should sit down, noting the jaguar's chest as she did so. It was better than most half-grown cubs her age but still quite far from the dragoness's own ample set. Her gaze slid over her flat belly and slim hips, purring as she looked finally at the slight bulge of the feline's pubic bone, her thighs keeping the more interesting details of her sex from view. It was evident from her behavior and smell that she was still a virgin.Deshi-Ra, ma'am."
"Deshi-Ra? That's a foreign name structure, is it not?" Yes." Her face grew hot, and she felt herself flush under her fur. "My sire was a leopard, and my dam was a jaguar concubine, a low ranking one.
Xylara nodded at that. Low ranking concubines were usually forced into breeding at the whim of their lord or lady, being made to mate with the favored male of the month or week, depending upon the attention span of the owner. Offspring resulting from these pairings were usually sold as slaves or pets, depending upon their appearance. Very rarely, they were kept in order to replenish the household.
"Were you given her to nurse or to be a brood slave."
A Brood slave, one who had been kept ready by order of my master."
That the various African species were rather attractive in her eyes was quite a bonus. To complete his handsome figure, his sheath would withdraw to reveal a rather long shaft, which was as dark as the rest of him. This would swell nicely into a modest knot at its base some time before his orgasm. At the moment, however K'vars paws gripped the undersides of her thighs, his thumbs hooked around the delicate flesh as he pleasured her orally, his wonderfully long tongue plunging between the puffy lips of her sex, drawing loud gasps of pleasure from his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate swipes of his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate flicks of his tongue and well timed exhalation of warm breath against her sensitive tissues. He soon had her murring and squirming against the hold he had on her lower body. It was some time, then before the aroused dragoness realized that she and her slave were being watched.
At first, her reaction was slight: a sharp intake of breath and slight widening of her eyes all that would betray that she realized this fact. She tapped Kvar on the head, and he grunted, his long, pointed ears swiveling to catch any outside sound, pausing as he oriented on a rather gentle moan, very different from those of his mistress. It was female and mature, though not experienced. A low thrum could be discerned from the source, "May I have my Mistress' permission to relieve myself? he asked, and Xylara inclined her head in acquiescence, mentally praising her servant for his foresight. It wasn't long before he returned, a rather petite jaguar female head tightly by her arms. She was very attractive to Xylara's eyes, and her fur was an interesting blend of rich jaguar hues, ranging from light orange within the spotted rosettes to an almost red on her flanks and tail. Her underside was a creamy white that showed off her toned thighs and firm breasts rather nicely, and the dragoness licked her lips at the smell coming from her slit. She smiled a bit.
"Ah, it would seem that our little Peeping Tom is one of my future harem slaves, set for training as concubines. I don't believe I've had time enough to peruse this season's candidates. I'll have to remedy that...
K'var, release her and let her walk toward me."
The Little jaguar moved gracefully, a slight hesitation finding its way into her step. She hadn't known that this dragoness was the one who now owned her. She'd thought to learn about the way her body was reacting, as she grew older, her sex moistening at the very scent of a male. Her own scent would grow stronger, and she'd caught more than one male flaring his nostrils near her, though she didn't know why. Why would they care? Her curious mind ached to be satisfied. Xylara smiled invitingly at her slave, patting the ground to indicate that she should sit down, noting the jaguar's chest as she did so. It was better than most half-grown cubs her age but still quite far from the dragoness's own ample set. Her gaze slid over her flat belly and slim hips, purring as she looked finally at the slight bulge of the feline's pubic bone, her thighs keeping the more interesting details of her sex from view. It was evident from her behavior and smell that she was still a virgin.Deshi-Ra, ma'am."
"Deshi-Ra? That's a foreign name structure, is it not?" Yes." Her face grew hot, and she felt herself flush under her fur. "My sire was a leopard, and my dam was a jaguar concubine, a low ranking one.
Xylara nodded at that. Low ranking concubines were usually forced into breeding at the whim of their lord or lady, being made to mate with the favored male of the month or week, depending upon the attention span of the owner. Offspring resulting from these pairings were usually sold as slaves or pets, depending upon their appearance. Very rarely, they were kept in order to replenish the household.
"Were you given her to nurse or to be a brood slave."
A Brood slave, one who had been kept ready by order of my master."
3/17/2011
Kye Story
Unicorn male (equivalent of a human male) venturing into an elder male's territory on a dare from his bachelor herd. The dare is simple: return w/ proof of a successful female conquest by first light.
Humans tell stories of how to trap a unicorn. Usually the tales center around fair virgins and laying one's head in the innocent girl's lap. I'm not sure if the mortals are being told the entire story, for the truth about ensnaring a unicorn is far more simple. - Kye's Journal.
The breeze that night was inexplicably cruel: a contrast to the mild summer's darkness typical of a native kadesh. This particular wind was neither cool nor was it particularly pleasant. Yet we could not bring ourselves to quit the area of its origin, though we knew our hooves tread upon dangerous soil, lands bordering the merciless desert and the unexplored hills beyond. None of us had a clue of what lay in these secretive meadows, but what we were currently scenting had our muzzles in the air, four sets of nostrils flaring as we sucked in the barest sign of what every yourng stallion dreamed.
The forest nymph was lovely to behold, her eyes like the soft bark on new birch trees, her skin supple and pliant with youth. I drew a deep lungful of her scent, of the rich perfume of grass and trees and streams where she made her home, and I am embarrassed to say that I quite forgot my caution. She, in turn smiled and opened her arms to me, that I might feel inclined to come in for a closer look.
Humans tell stories of how to trap a unicorn. Usually the tales center around fair virgins and laying one's head in the innocent girl's lap. I'm not sure if the mortals are being told the entire story, for the truth about ensnaring a unicorn is far more simple. - Kye's Journal.
The breeze that night was inexplicably cruel: a contrast to the mild summer's darkness typical of a native kadesh. This particular wind was neither cool nor was it particularly pleasant. Yet we could not bring ourselves to quit the area of its origin, though we knew our hooves tread upon dangerous soil, lands bordering the merciless desert and the unexplored hills beyond. None of us had a clue of what lay in these secretive meadows, but what we were currently scenting had our muzzles in the air, four sets of nostrils flaring as we sucked in the barest sign of what every yourng stallion dreamed.
The forest nymph was lovely to behold, her eyes like the soft bark on new birch trees, her skin supple and pliant with youth. I drew a deep lungful of her scent, of the rich perfume of grass and trees and streams where she made her home, and I am embarrassed to say that I quite forgot my caution. She, in turn smiled and opened her arms to me, that I might feel inclined to come in for a closer look.
2/05/2011
Do I need wings?
Recurring dreams:
I'm flying, I'm not afraid. Somehow it's fitting that a pink dragon should be fearlessly hurtling through the sky like some random Kingdom Hearts steed out to save the prince or princess of the day/ light. Yes I occasionally stray from dark to light. It is not like I think everyone is irredeemably doomed to be devoured by the others of my ilk. I just think it's rather hilarious that the thought of me being an actual participant in the interest of the greater good makes me feel like I was missing something in all my dreams about flying. Maybe they were actually meant to be about swimming. I feel better in the water. Which makes me want to redo some deviations. More on that later.
What balances me? I've been in hiding so long that I've almost forgotten the others of my kind. They stir in my dreams from time to time, the golds, the blues, and yes, the other reds and greens. It's not like I resent them. More like I've been trying to be something that I'm not for so long. Scan due later of another loch 'monster.. still love water. Still into anime,etc. Why not? Went for a run tonight. Got to howl. Still a fun exercise. Anna and Christine... I really miss you guys. Hope to see you soon...
I'm flying, I'm not afraid. Somehow it's fitting that a pink dragon should be fearlessly hurtling through the sky like some random Kingdom Hearts steed out to save the prince or princess of the day/ light. Yes I occasionally stray from dark to light. It is not like I think everyone is irredeemably doomed to be devoured by the others of my ilk. I just think it's rather hilarious that the thought of me being an actual participant in the interest of the greater good makes me feel like I was missing something in all my dreams about flying. Maybe they were actually meant to be about swimming. I feel better in the water. Which makes me want to redo some deviations. More on that later.
What balances me? I've been in hiding so long that I've almost forgotten the others of my kind. They stir in my dreams from time to time, the golds, the blues, and yes, the other reds and greens. It's not like I resent them. More like I've been trying to be something that I'm not for so long. Scan due later of another loch 'monster.. still love water. Still into anime,etc. Why not? Went for a run tonight. Got to howl. Still a fun exercise. Anna and Christine... I really miss you guys. Hope to see you soon...
10/20/2010
10/01/2010
Important distinctions
Write first. Edit later.
Do not get so lost in the format that your content falls by the wayside.
Do not get so lost in the format that your content falls by the wayside.
9/29/2010
Time for an update...
... But just as I start on that update, my Mac crashes, taking with it several months of hard work and weeks of the work on this current drawing. So okay. I've got a temporary replacement right now, so I'm making do with the materials I have available, just as my father would have liked me to do (yay dad!). In particular, I'm updating my dragon avatar. I was 13 when I drew this pic by hand, and now I can take a more active hand in how I would like her to turn out. So yes, I do have something for you guys to look at, and I'm sorry for the temporary hold up in new art >_<() .
9/09/2010
Self-assigned homework: Write on
Well herein lies the dilemma. If I have a choice between a beloved girl and a lost boy, do I choose the one whose blood sings with a likeness to mine, or do I side with she who has chosen someone who is not at all me? 'Tis a question not quite worth the thought I have given it, no?
9/03/2010
Character Basics: Citlali
Citlali's frustrations are caused mostly by her desires to love and protect. She's a healer and nurturer at heart, but she rebels against being forced to go along with conventional notions of what a 'proper' anything should do. As the youngest child, she was always encouraged to forge ahead and test boundaries, rather like her sister. At the same time, however, she has seen her sister fall in the eyes of her family, and while Mezt's life seems infinitely exciting, Cit has found that she wants more than simply hard and fast times. She seeks freedom of speech, love, and choice, among other things. So when the two are rocked by devastating change, it's up to her to piece together what happened on that fateful night and clear both her and her sister in the eyes of the Exodar.
8/26/2010
Guess What I Found?
An old (one year +) fanfic staring my paladin (Citlali) and an rp partner of mine, who, for the sake of preserving his dignity, we will call Kal. He'd handed Cit's heart to her after corrupting her because of the reappearance of an old flame. Actually, wait a minute *looks* this particular flame had followed him from another realm (apparently he was a secret harem builder) and he was looking to leave Cit (she'd decided to swear off her other loves for him). Long story. Anyway, I've found it, and I've decided it's salvageable. Look for it on AdultFanfiction soon.
8/24/2010
Header Concept Art
The header area looks so empty! I'll be drawing something to go behind the title, though I'm torn between drawing a semi-erotic pic of Citlali (WoW draenei paladin and unofficial harem mistress) or maybe one of the furry avatar I'm considering. The first would be very appropriate considering my current fanfic craze. Ah well, we shall see!
8/16/2010
HftL's Erotica Policy
Been listening to input, and those of you who know my writing style *waves at those from adultfanfiction and Facebook* know that I am nothing if not frank about my love of erotica. Most (if not all) of my writing is going to be erotic in nature, and my art will follow suit. I'm assuming that you're not all teens who have tittered at the adult warning on this blog and clicked ahead anway. In my youth (high school), I wrote Harry Potter slash and hetero fanfiction during class (specially Trigonometry), and this only prepped me for writing WoW yuri in my adult years. I have accepted the fact that my mind lives in the gutter: that is its home; and that is where it is taking up permanent residence. I'm not saying that everything I write is going to be full of Goldshire antics or Slytherin boys snogging in classrooms, but I'm not going to be a prude about anything either. There are right and wrong ways to write mature fanfiction in my opinion, and I've read and written subpar fics of my own. Thinking about adding a feature here, something along the lines of "Fanfiction Fridays". I'll post a bit of old fanfiction and point out exactly how I messed up.
8/03/2010
Question for my Readers
Pondering a totally new segment, something regular on Tuesday. Monday, I'm still not really sure about, something along the lines of Monday Maintenance/Memories. There's a poll to the right for a better idea of what you guys would like to see in terms of my works. Author Reveals are unique posts where I either share a fact about me (questions you guys either ask in the comments or email/pm me directly/ask on Facebook/Twitter) or explain some of my writing/drawing process to you (as the readership grows, I'll start ustreaming art, but for now I'd like to cater directly to my growing pool of voyeurs :D . So vote away and keep those emails coming.
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