Root & Marrow of Inked & Feral Farm
A Cozy Tale About Writer’s Block, Questionable Smut Inspiration, and Marital Shenanigans
Inked and Feral Farm was a modest homestead nestled in a forest long forgotten in the Missouri bootheel. A place between worlds where time slowed down and fireflies come out year round. It was the perfect balance between the natural world and the realm of the supernatural.
It had been a little over a year since Root and Twill, of the forest fae, uprooted their families and made their way to the Inked and Feral Farm. What started out as a quaint country homestead, was now a fantasy inspired writing oasis. Where daylight rained down upon the land in sunny rays of lazy light, and the moon light danced through the tree leaves at night.
But even in an oasis, writing had a mind of its own. Writer’s block was no stranger to Root and one early winter night she found herself bound once again in its embrace. No matter how her husband, Marrow, tried, he couldn’t lift his wife’s mood.
“What if you wrote from the perspective of an insect? We can take a stroll around the duck pond around twilight for inspiration,” Morrow belted out, his thick sandy brown beard layered in crochet braids.
Root chewed on her husband’s idea for a moment as she took in her five-foot-two dwarf. His hair, ever so thick and luscious was now streaked with a salted fade from his age. His big blue eyes wrinkled at the edges but still spry and kind.
She didn’t miss his tell. That small twinkle of mischief that flashed behind his eyes before his lips quivered ever so slightly. After fifteen years of marriage it was as if that one minute expression told Root all she needed to hear.
“You just want to watch the ducks take out the fire flies, don’t you,” Root questioned as she crossed her thin and boney arms across her black velvet covered chest.
The flame from the hearth lit up Marrow’s widening grin. The glint of impending shenanigan thick in his charming smile.
“Come’on we can make it romantic. Bug smut’s a thing right?” Marrow tried.
Even though Marrow’s attempt to feed his wife some inspiration was failing, his methods for lighting the room was on point. He ran his fingers along his bearded braids as he waited for his wife to answer. It wasn’t a subject she had done any research on.
Sure there was monster smut and alien korn, but she had never been on the insect corner of the social media spirals. That would have been something Root would remember considering she had monster smut post scarred onto her brain forever against her desire.
“I’m pretty sure that's not even a thing. Besides what would I write? Woe is me, everything is so much bigger than I am?” Root let out in an exasperated defense.
She felt ridiculous saying that to him, even though the only ones around for miles that could hear them were Twil and Nox. She knew they’d probably understand when provided the right context. However, Marrow only made her feel more unhinged as he let out a deep belly chuckle at her spiral.
“You have a lot of experience in that department do you not? Standing next to me and Nox must remind you of a forest,” Marrow let out between hyperventilating.
Root was not finding his reaction nearly as amusing. Fairies were supposed to be small and she was average height for her species. She was sensitive about the height difference between herself and others but her husband found it hilarious given for once he wasn’t the smallest person in the room.
“More like a pit of sink holes,” Root let out, comparing her husband and her best friends to assholes without calling her husband an ass hole.
Of course that only made Marrow laugh harder. To him he had met his objective. He had successfully livened up the mood between he and Root in the depths of her writer’s block crankiness.
From outside of the cobblestone cabin jokes and pokes could be heard all night long sometimes followed by a mean word growled or a few curse words spat out by Root in response. Marrow’s laughter was heard well into sunrise.
“He ran his antennae down my exoskeleton slowly.” Marrow’s amused voice sounded out before the sound of glass shattering echoed out into the fog covered hills.
“He spanked my Thorax with his vibrant colored wings,” Marrow’s wail ebbed as if being chased around the house.
“I’m not writing insect porn,” Root calls back as the rooster crows.
“Stop calling yourself Big Winged Daddy!” Root shouts as Twill emerges from her hut to figure out what the hell was going on.
Yes, life on the farm was a whole different adventure. One with complex troubles and unexpected humor. Root and Twill will soon find there is inspiration in everything, even the most ridiculous of topics as Marrow so helpfully pointed out.
