Nov 2, 2025
Curdle kicking in circles on the table while Telorast yells useless advice will never fail to amuse me, love these fucking idiots
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Curdle kicking in circles on the table while Telorast yells useless advice will never fail to amuse me, love these fucking idiots
late night curdle posting 👍 first post on my oc blog hiii
The sergeant nodded. "Apsalar said as much. Now, what kind of ghosts?"
Frowning, Bottle hesitated.
Fiddler hissed a curse. "Bottle."
"Well, I was assuming she knows, only has her reasons for not mentioning it, so I was thinking, it wouldn't be polite—"
"Soldier—"
"I mean, she was a squad-mate of yours, and—"
"A squad-mate who just happened to have been possessed herself, by the Rope, almost all the time that I knew her. So if she's not talking, it's no surprise. Tell me Bottle, what manner of flesh did those souls call home?"
"Are you saying you don't trust her?"
"I don't even trust you."
Frowning, Bottle looked away, watched Deadsmell working on Masan Gilani on the slope, sensed the whisper of Denul sorcery… and something like Hood's own breath. The bastard is a necromancer, damn him! "Bottle."
"Sergeant? Oh, sorry. I was just wondering."
"Wondering what?"
"Well, why Apsalar has two dragons in tow."
"They're not dragons. They're tiny lizards—"
"No, Sergeant, they're dragons."
Slowly, Fiddler's eyes widened.
Bottle'd known he wouldn't like it.
The Bonehunters, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #6)
Enough to curdle a demon’s blood, those eyes.
(Detective Comics #1074)
Today’s Terrible Name Suggestion is...
Curdle Phantomhive
Submitted by @sixieandiknowit
Animal Friends Harvest Hills Curdle
Inktober day three. THE MILK CURDLER. —– inktober prompt list here.
gristle
We are still of use though the gash smells sour,
amethyst rot. We're twitching devices ---
sanded bones and stitches. The worms devour
all that the obsidian knife slices:
meaty scads and sheaves of skin. This butcher's
love of gristle, of grotesqueness, of boils
that one picks at when they wish the blisters
to burst. The mirror knows how darkness spoils
when cast from its surface. We are of use
because we dream. The stone scalpel cannot.
The hand behind it won't. Dreams of clabber.
Dreams of grubs in the lesion. We seduce
all that the suture holds dear: curdle, clot,
congeal. Dreams of May rot. Dreams of canker.