Buttermilk 1050 by sprig

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Artist sprig [gallery]
Time spent 1 hour, 23 minutes
Drawing sessions 3
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Buttermilk 1050

Postby sprig » Sun Dec 01, 2024 9:28 am

    (C) Mouth
    (C) Eye
    (UC) Hair
    (UC) Horns
    (R) Fluff Collar

    Tell me about a dream she has had. Did she have it once, and it stuck with her? Maybe it is recurrent, and comes and goes with time? Perhaps a nightmare...

    Word limit: Min 200 - Max 500
    Extras: 1 art piece OR 200 words (cannot be used to extend dream story)
    Deadline: April 16th

    Feel free to make your form pretty! Just make sure you include all necessary components.

    Code: Select all
    [b]Username:[/b]
    [b]Name:[/b]
    [b]Gender:[/b] DFAB
    [b]Prompt:[/b]
    [b]Extra:[/b]
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby vanilla bean. » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:18 pm

mark :3c

Username: vanilla bean.
Name: malachite
Gender: DFAB
Prompt:
Extra:
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lesbian - she / her - adopt storage
pms are always open...
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby ptarmigan » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:21 pm

( ๐—€๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–พ ) ๐—†๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ๐—
narrated from the perspective of a young calf

x
โ€œ i am the feather, of the egret,
i am every shell washed up
upon the shore,
i amxa firefly." xxx
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ” โœฆ . ใ€€โบ โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
username xx | xx ptarmiganxxxxxxxxxxx
name xxxxxx | xx gentle wind of the marsh
gender xxx.x | xx dfabxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
prompt xxx | xx see belowxxxxx.xxxxx
extra xx.x | xx wipxxxxx.xxxxxxxxx
word count xx | xx [main] 498xxxxx.xx.xxxx
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ” โœฆ . ใ€€โบ โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”

xx
xxx
.xxxx
x
x
x
x
x

๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ”
marsh was somewhere far away, but the echo in the stone ruins reminded her of her home, of the moss that breathed with every gust of wind, and of the bald cypruss that stood so tall it was hard for a calf of her stature to see the top. it reminded her of the blueberry bushes that could only be harvested one time a year and of the summer heat that seemed to last years and often did. as the blueberry scent of her muddy home grew fainter the further she traveled, she felt more unsure. she took a longing glance backwards. blueberries. home. the vague smell of home wafted across her snout, urging her to hurry back to her mother. maybe i went too far, she thought, panicked. but i know it's around here somewhere... faintly, somewhere in the distance, she thought she could hear dogs barking. her head snapped up like a deer seeing headlights and she squinted. they're far away, she decided. the search became more disorganized, panic setting in. i always do this. she huffed and puffed and nearly could have blown a house down with her attitude. but instead, the wind of her exhale revealed just what she had been searching for. the sun was setting, the dogs were barking louder, and her heart was thumping inside of her chest like fast and rhythmically. she hooked the item onto her unusually long horns and followed the smell of blueberries all the way home. her hooves clattered together as she stumbled down the hills and across the muddy meadow where her mother lay calling out for her. only, she realized abruptly, it wasn't her mother at all. her ivory hooves stained dark brown as she dug deep into the ground to brace herself and stop her forward momentum. "who are you?" it came out no more than a mere terrified squeak. the stranger tilted her head and nodded at the young calf, leaving young, anxious marsh vibrating with nerves. the striking, long ivory horns of the stranger looked eerily similar to her own. and that spot on her nose. the uncanny similarities made the fluff around her neck stand up. the picture began to get clearer: she was looking at an older version of herself. carefully and quietly, she asked, "are you me?"

Image
she woke up with a gasp. but there she was, in the marsh smelling of blueberries, curled up in the crevice of her mom's flank, belly full of milk and suddenly her troubles faded away. there was only a tiny prick of anxiety ringing in her ears. what was that item she had gotten, and why was it so important that she had wandered past the safety of her mother's side? she couldn't ever imagine going past the wall of cyprus. but every night from this night forward, marsh dreamed of leaving the meadow and collecting that trinket... where she would end up back in the clearing, meeting her older self.


๏ฝ…๏ฝ˜๏ฝ”๏ฝ’๏ฝ
none yet
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Image

picture credit on image
credit to fontmeme for fonts
Last edited by ptarmigan on Thu Apr 17, 2025 10:52 am, edited 13 times in total.
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby โ™”Voltaireโ™” » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:24 pm

Image


Username:
Name: Fietena
Gender: DFAB
Prompt:


It always begins the same.

She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know she'd be dreaming lucidly again, already feeling the chilly wet of morning dew on her skin, and already smelling the scent of the ryegrass around her. Fietena doesn't even move to open her eyes, already knowing it would be a futile endeavor. In repeats of this exact dream, she had always been met with a deep void of black upon opening them, and if the dream decides to progress the way it always had prior, she knows the light will come soon enough.

The feeling of things crawling over her feet begins, the most disturbing part of the dream. It's the type of faint tickling that leaves you screaming to wipe whatever it is off of your bare flesh, but she cannot; the movement of her fingers and her arms is merely a phantom trace that leaves her feeling as if the appendages have been removed completely from her body. She can't even curl her toes- she can feel her feet, but it feels like she has more than just two, that extend through the soil and entwine with the microrizzae beneath its depths. The discomfort and panic increase incrementally; it's always at this point that Fietena attempts to wake herself up to no avail, but then the warmth hits her face and she finally opens her eyes.

Her body moves of its own accord, facing the amber warmth of the sun. Yellow borders the corners of her vision, but she can see the backs of the plants that imitate her image, all facing the glowing ball of light climbing higher and higher into the baby blue of the sky. It's a feeling of peace yet panic all at once, the feeling of losing all autonomy in favor of full dependence. Her face moves in the direction of the sun as it rises in the east and reaches its zenith, the glow of its rays illuminating her cheeks like a halo and enveloping her in warmth.

When Fietena finds herself stressed from a long day, she always ends up having the same dream of being a sunflower, feasting on the sun's rays and being left to feel the insects at her roots when it sets. One would think that dreaming of being a flower would be fun and somewhat enlightening, but nothing feels more ethereal than being able to flex all her fingers and toes the moment she awakens from such a nightmare.






Extra:
Fietena lives in the Kingdom of Lyndil, in the mythical forest known as the Feywild Timberlands- a mystical forest teeming with creatures unknown, from mammals to insects. Known most for the mystical plants that grow there, Elysian Moonshade, Aetherbloom Ferns, and Whispering Willowvine, to name a few. The forest floor is always cloaked in thinly veiled mist, which can stray travelers off the beaten path if they do not pay close attention. The forest seems to generate music, the Elysian Moonshade flowers emitting soundwaves strong enough for the ear to hear. The plants and animals here are said to harbor mystical properties that can aid in the curing of ailments, as well as evoke psychological phenomena.

Fietena is known as the Lady of the Marsh and calls the bogs her home. She is said to be the keystone keeper of the Fewyild Timberlands, the levels of the marsh directly correlating with the overall health of the forest. She is slow in her movements and speech, but do not mistake such quirks to be laziness; Fietrena's strength and resilience are unmatched; the girl wrestling with the alligators and large boas whom she considers to be her children.

Last edited by โ™”Voltaireโ™” on Tue Apr 15, 2025 1:23 pm, edited 5 times in total.
xxx
โ•‘
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•
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โ™—
โ™˜
โ™–
sig cred
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ•โ•โ•โ•
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โ”€ - Mason Jennings
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โ•‘
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โ”‚
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby .forever. » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:35 pm

ImageImage Image


username
.forever.

name
viviane

gender
dfab


ImageImage Image


itโ€™s just a dreamโ€ฆ

The faint sound of waves crashing against the beach.

Seagulls cawing in the distance.

Her eyes flung open and she sat up fast, clutching her chest. The harsh scent of sea-salt choking her as she struggled to catch her breath. The thick misty air clung to her already thick fur, making every movement feel stiff and sluggish. The sky above was dull and thick, dense clouds cutting out the sun and offering little to no light causing everything around her to be shrouded in an endless grey hue. She blinked, her senses settling, her heart slowing as the adrenaline started to fade. This place stirred something familiar. Not this exact beach, perhaps, but the feelingโ€”the overwhelming sense that she had lived through this already. Viviane sighed, attempting to stand on shaky legs and failing miserably. Her legs gave out, and she crashed into the damp sand just as the waves crept up the beach. The water was warm as it pooled around her feet threatening to drag her down at any moment. She grunted, forcing herself up and away, letting the water trail down her legs as she trudged out of the tides. The sea wind whispered around her, soft voices in the air dancing their way towards her, calling her. An innate feeling stirred in her, telling her to follow it, that she just had to know where it came from. The melodious song cradled her, urging her along. The ocean was waiting for something, for her. She began to follow, taking a few steps back into the tide, the water rising around her soaking her fur and pulling her into its warm embrace. Every instinct told her that this wasnโ€™t safe, wasnโ€™t normal, that this wasnโ€™t real. She had to get out of the water, she had to get back to the sand, she had to wake up.

Wait.

Wake up?

Viviane gasped as the water raised around her shoulders, the hissing grey bubbles drowning out any cry for help. The sound filled her ears like static, suffocating, endless. She tried to fight, tried to swim. This wasnโ€™t right, she wasnโ€™t supposed be here. She struggled against the pull of the ocean, the once gentle cradling now held tight to her, dragging her down. The world around her faded, getting darker as she was dragged deeperโ€ฆdeeperโ€ฆ.deeperโ€ฆ

Viviane sat upright with a start, her hooves now clawing at her throat as she struggled to catch her breath. The air was no longer full, no longer moist. Grey skies replaced by dimly lit white walls, the soft sand replaced by crumpled bedsheets. Her hooves were still trembling, slick with saltโ€”no, sweat. But the oceanโ€™s call still echoed in her skull, louder than any morning bell. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dreamโ€ฆ

โ€ฆright?


ImageImage Image
word count: 475
Last edited by .forever. on Thu Apr 17, 2025 12:41 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby Smokyskies » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:37 pm

Username: Smokyskies
Name: Fern
Gender: DFAB
Prompt: Mark!
Extra:
โ–ˆ
๏ผฎ
๏ผฅ
๏ผถ
๏ผฅ
๏ผฒ
โ–ˆ
โ–ˆ
โ–ˆ
โ–ˆ
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โœ˜โœ˜ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐‘œ๐“… โœ˜โœ˜
โ”Œโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”
โ”‚
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โ”‚
Welcome
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Loves Art
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โ”‚

โ””โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”˜
๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ‹๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡
โžน ๏ผต๏ผฐ โžน

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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby SkyWishes21 » Thu Apr 03, 2025 2:52 pm

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แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ


SkyWishes21 โ€ Her Majesty, Queen Bryo of Moss โ€ DFAB โ€ she/they


แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ


500 words wrote:No one ever paid the forest at the edge of the pasture any mind. Why should they? It was just trees, trees and scary things like bears and wolves that would gobble you up.

It sang to Bryo. She couldn't explain it, but at night while she slept the whisper of wind through the trees became a melody that rang with invitation and welcome, a triumphant homecoming interlaced with something faintly sinister. Not that she noticed, as in a haze that lay somewhere between sleepwalking and dreamland she found herself walking up to the border between the ranch and the woods, staring out into the distance.

Oh, she never ventured in. Not at first, anyways. But the song kept calling her until one night she took a step. Then another the next. Then another, and another, and another until one night Bryo finally found herself wandering in, uncaring of the safety of the ranch behind her.

The trees were wrong. Too hazy, too saturated, some nearly midnight black, most of them dead-feeling. A leaf fluttered in front of her eyes like a dejected old rooster, crackled and coming towards the ground too hard. Below her hooves, twigs snapped and startled away any creature that heard it.

By all rights, she should've been afraid. Perhaps if she'd been lucid, she would have been. But the song called Bryo onwards, wrapping around her like a shield. So long as she had it, nothing would hurt her.

Unreal trees twisted out of the way - were they bowing? Was that a path she was being guided along? Should she care when all was still and calm, her mind tranquil as a pool? Perhaps another time her curiosity would have gotten the better of her, would have made her poke into every nook and cranny, but not now.

Hazy, twisted trees gave way to a stone clearing, grey and stony with starlight sparkles embedded in the rock. In the very center, illuminated by a ray of moonlight, was a moss-covered crown hanging at the right height. Was this where the song was coming from?

Like a puppet, Bryo stepped forth and threaded her horns through it. It fit as though it were made for her head. When it was settled, she raised it and looked over her kingdom.

"All hail the moss queen!" the forest sang, now richer and more joyous than ever.

Bryo couldn't help but dance. With every hoofstep, moss grew from her hooves, spreading up her body and out into the woods beyond. Trees and bushes grew green, critters grew curious, and all was at peace.

When she was finally exhausted, she nestled herself amongst the soft blanket of moss and closed her eyes. The woods were her kingdom and she would be safe.

The last thing she saw as she fell asleep was a shadowy bull trotting in, horns aimed directly at her throat.

"Long live the queen..."

Bryo awoke with a gasp in her stall, no worse for wear.


แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜ แ ƒ โš˜แ ‚ โš˜ หš โš˜ แ ‚ โš˜ แ ƒ


Image
Last edited by SkyWishes21 on Tue Apr 15, 2025 4:25 pm, edited 7 times in total.
planet || whatever pronouns || hi im back ig. what's up

overlook station - stars || nacre kingdom - tota || bonfireclan - cotn
dragon sky ranch - buttermilks ||
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby Exitium » Fri Apr 04, 2025 12:33 am

Username: Exitium
Name: Sorrow
Gender: DFAB
Prompt:
Despite their name being sorrow, they do not often have nightmares. Pleasant dreams filled with magic are often present in their sleeping hours. The most memorable dream would be one where she met her mumther, something that is impossible in the waking world, considering she had passed on early in Sorrow's life. Misery seemed to follow Sorrow, which is why they had received this name in the first place.

As for nightmares, the most..."memorable" one would be where Sorrow looks to the sky, sirens sounding all around. It is red everywhere Sorrow can see, the clouds gone and the moon dripping black up high. Robotic giants step across the land, destruction left in their wake. All buttermilks flee as far as they can, yet Sorrow remains stuck in place, eyes wide in disbelief. They had heard of the creations of Man, yet this seemed far too fantastical to be happening.

Sorrow would wake up just us as the robotic giants stepped down above them, gasping for air and mooing in distress, tail flicking against the soft grass. Their friends would rush to their side to comfort them, for this nightmare wasn't frequent, but it had happened more than once in their time as friends in this pasture. They would recall the events as they shook, trying to calm down and think of pleasant things, but it would always remain in the back of their mind.

So yes, while Sorrow normally dreams in peace, sometimes this nightmare persists, like a prophetic vision. It couldn't possibly come true though, right?
Extra: Based on recurring nightmares I've had myself lol.
Last edited by Exitium on Tue Apr 15, 2025 5:56 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby Catolotl » Fri Apr 04, 2025 4:50 am

Username: Catolotl
Name: Nephrite
Gender: DFAB
Prompt: mark!!
Extra: mark!!
WarrenClan โ‹†๏ฝกยฐโ˜†ยฐ๏ฝกโ‹† Seraphine Wood Stables
โ€ฆ
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Re: Buttermilk 1050

Postby Black.Wings » Sun Apr 06, 2025 3:52 am

Username: Black.Wings
Name: Malachite
Gender: DFAB
Prompt: โ€œIโ€™ve got a sneaking suspicion, you arenโ€™t supposed to be here.โ€
Extra:

Mark!
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โ™ช Im an object in motion, i've lost all emotion, my two legs are broken but look at me dance. โ™ช
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