#Terror skink

[devilsrecreation]

More Njano x Hodari AU shenanigans

Makuu: Welcome back crocodiles—*notices Njano* What the hell?!

Njano: Heyo!

Makuu: What is that, gecko?

Hodari: He’s my lover, Njano!

Makuu: Skinks are supposed to be the enemy, Hodari!

Hodari: I met him a while ago, it was love at first sight!

Makuu: Have you been fraternizing with the enemy, Hodari?

Hodari: I’ve been doing a lot more than fraternizing with him

Njano: 😉

Makuu: Take him away for interrogation!

Hodari: But Makuu, I love him!

Makuu: SAY WHAT NOW?!?!

Makuu: You were late for training this morning, gecko

Hodari: Sorry, Makuu! I could not miss the birth of Njano and I’s love child

Makuu: Njano’s the enemy, boy! You can’t make a biologically impossible love child with the enemy, boy!

Hodari: But Makuu, we named him after you!

Makuu: YOU….named him Makuu? After me?

Hodari: No, we named him Crocodile Leader!

Makuu: WHAT?

Hodari: You’re the godfather!

Makuu: WHAT THE HELL?!

Makuu: You were late for training again, gecko—what the hell is that?!

Hodari: It’s your godson, Makuu!

Makuu: Get that abomination love child away from me, boy!

Hodari: But Makuu, Njano and I want you to meet him!

Hodari: You made a love child with the enemy, gecko!

Hodari: Look at him, Makuu! He wants to be just like you!

Kiongozi Wa Mamba (Crocodile Leader): *does the cutest reverse tail whip ever*

Makuu: ….Oh my stars, that is the most adorable thing I have ever seen

Hodari: He wants to be just like you when he grows up, Makuu!

Makuu: AAAGH. DAMMIT, THAT’S CUTE!

Njano: Hey guys!

Makuu: Get the hell outta here, Njano!

Makuu: *loud snoring*

Hodari: WAKE UP, MAKUU!

Makuu: *wakes up* AH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OUT OF YOUR SPOT, GECKO?!

Hodari: Njano and I are going on a date!

Njano: Sup?

Makuu: It’s 3AM and raining, you maggot! What kind of date is that?!

Hodari: It’s gonna be super romantic, Makuu! We’re gonna kiss under a leaf in the moonlight!

Makuu: *gags at the thought of mushy stuff* What the hell does that have to do with me?!

Hodari: We need you to babysit your godson!

Mamba (nicknaming him Mamba for short to make it easier): :)

Makuu: What the hell?!

Hodari: Bye, Makuu! *leaves with Njano*

Makuu: WAIT— *looks at Mamba*

Mamba: :)

Makuu: *awkwardly* So uh…you like fighting, boy?

Mamba: *nods*

Makuu: *fanboys* THAT’S MY BOY!

Hodari: *wakes up* Good morning, Njano! The fruit of my eye! The sun to my sunset! The nest to my egg!

Njano: *yawns* Morning, babe~

Hodari: And good morning my little-*pauses* Njano…Njano, the baby!

Njano: Wh-what’s wrong?

Hodari: The baby is gone, Njano!

Njano: ……..*screams*

MEANWHILE

Makuu: Alright boy, if you want to be a crocodile, there’s a couple things you gotta know!

Mamba: ?

Makuu: Now I brought some flashcards *takes out the flashcards* Alright, first one. This one says “sparring”. Is sparring good, boy?

Mamba: *nods*

Makuu: *fanboys* That’s right, boy! We love sparring! Sparring is good! Now what about this one? This one says “enemy”. Is the enemy good?

Mamba: *nods*

Makuu: No, boy! The enemy is bad! We fight the enemy, alright?

Mamba: *shakes his head*

Makuu: Ah, I can’t stay mad at you, boy. You’re too darn cute. Okay n-

*cue Njano screaming in terror*

Makuu: N j a n o

Nyororo (the green female skink): Now which of us will be the object of your attraction~?

Njano: Hm, wow…this is gonna be so hard…

Hodari: Skinks! I’m back from training!

Njano: H E L L O S A I L O R~

Hodari: Did you know you remind me of all 26 letters of the alphabet?

Njano: What? Like J F K W S Q X-

Hodari: No, like, U R A Q T.

Njano: Awwww!

Hodari: *Laughs* Babe, you had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing—

Njano: We’re married.

Njano: A gecko that wants to be a crocodile! Now that’s hot—funny! It’s funny!

Shupavu: Funny…or geniu—wait what’d you say?

#i’m so sorry #most of the quotes come from funkyfrogbait #check out their tiktok it’s hilarious!/pos #what is this what fanfic am i creating #this au is so funny #crackship #the lion guard

[cthulhusstepmom]

It's a pretty unanimous conclusion that Ghost can't find out about the reptiles, for his own sake, at least until Hugo and Wee Man have found forever homes. Soap isn't stupid, he knows that he won't be able to keep it up forever, he's just asking for a little more time is all. Naturally this leads to some shenanigans.

One day in early summer, Soap's sitting at a rickety picnic table near where he and Ghost go to smoke. It's isolated from the rest of the base and it's pretty solidly established as Ghost's territory so he doesn't have to worry about people. On the table is Peach, the beardie with mbd named in honor of his boy at home, enjoying some natural uvb and dandelion greens. He's arranged a meeting with the people he's found for her next weekend and he's spoiling her nonstop until then. All of a sudden there's a tickling in his hindbrain, the sort of feeling you get when a big cat is just out of sight. It can only mean one thing. Ghost. Panicking only a little bit, Soap frantically does the only thing he can, he shoves Peach up his shirt. What follows is probably the most awkward conversation he's ever had with his Lt. which is a shame because the fair weather has put Ghost in a truly legendary good mood. Soap is a highly trained operative, he's stared his torturers in the face and laughed at them but the pain of razor sharp little bearded dragon claws scrabbling at his chest and catching on totally regulation nipple piercings is enough to make his eyes water.

A few days after Peach goes to her new home he ends up filling the vacancy in the rescue hotel, it never stays empty for very long. This time the poor critter is a baby blue tongue skink rescued from an abandoned apartment building in a warzone. The private that brings him the lizard looks about as nervous as can fucking be, he can't really blame the poor lass what with Ghost looming in the corner like the specter of death itself, deadly silent and exuding enough malice to curdle their breakfast on the table and turn the fish belly up in their tank. Thankfully the box is discreet with a few nondescript airholes cut in the side. The private thanks him stutteringly and flees the rec room like her heels are on fire. Ghost doesn't say anything, simply raises an expectant eyebrow while Gaz and Price studiously drop peas into the fish tank. Soap just shrugs "care package" he says with a cheesy wink. Ghost scoffs and it's seems like it's put to rest, though his Lt. sticks to him like glue for the rest of the day.

The closest he'd come to discovery was late one night. He'd screamed himself awake about a half hour before and, unable to get back to sleep, is just cuddling on his bed with Wee Man. A quiet, almost hesitant knock on his door brings his attention away from the snake. It's so quiet that he almost writes it off as his tired brain playing tricks on him. But then whoever it is knocks again, a little more firmly this time. Quickly, Soap disentangles himself from Wee Man, leaving him to explore the bed, anything he could get into is locked and he's too big to get into any crevices anyway. Cracking the door open he doesn't know what he expects but it sure as hell isn't Ghost, dressed down in loose pajama bottoms and an old ratty hoodie with a soft black balaclava hugging his face. He suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that he's just in boxers.

"Ghost?"

His Lt squints a bit at his name, almost as if he wasn't sure he'd get this far.

"Couldn't sleep, heard you were up..." probably the most tactful way to acknowledge his screams of terror "...can I come in?"

Cold panic flushes through Soap, only made worse by the scaly nose he can feel start to nudge his leg. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Wee Man, social butterfly that he is, is trying to force his head in between the crack in the door and Soap's leg.

"Och I dunno, it's a right fuckin mess in here right now." He hedges trying to gently maneuver a living rope of pure muscle longer than he is tall with just his bare foot. The crestfallen, vulnerable expression on Ghost's covered face makes something in him cry out. His Lt. starts to say something but Johnny doesn't let him finish. "But if ye'll lemme put some pants on I can make ye some of the chamomile tea ye like? We could go to yer room if ya'd like, might be able to see the floor too." He winks, seeing the exact moment Ghost notices his state of undress, the tops of his cheeks going the slightest bit rosy. And maybe it's that time of night where nothing quite feels real but he could swear he sees his Ghost smile a relieved smile.

"I'd like that."

#look at these beautiful dumbasses #communication is important kids don't hide whole ass creatures from your will they won't they millitary spouse #to be fair to Soap these are probably the worst critters for Ghost to meet trauma wise #a semi venemous and a large constrictor not great #from what I've seen of the comics his dads snake looks like either a boa or a retic but theres also semi cannon info about venom scars? #im not 100% sure if thats dumbasses who dont know snakes or if thats his time with the cartel? #not that i trusted the military propagandists to do adequate research but it's still disappointing #vulnerable Ghost my beloved #cod mw2 #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reptile person soap #simon ghost riley #fish person gaz

[harpagornis]

Multituberculate Earth: A world without lizards

The basic thesis of this project is to illustrate that groups we take for granted are only with us out of happenstance. Multituberculates instead of placentals and marsupials is a good display of this, but I went one step further. In this timeline, the last lizards died in the PETM, though snakes lived on.

Lizards were actually strongly impacted by the KT event. Many groups, like the famous marine mosasaurs and the weird chewing polyglyphanodonts, simply couldn’t make it anymore than non-avian dinosaurs did, ad those groups that did survive were highly affected. Indeed, in our timeline it took ten million years for lizard diversity to approach anything close to the condition prior to the asteroid impact.

They were also insanely lucky at that. Because at least two other groups of tetrapods encroached into lizard-like niches:

The sphenodonts, the other main group within Lepidosauria, started the Mesozoic great but declined across the Cretaceous, likely victims to the biotic turnovers induced by the spread of flowering plants. However, the Late Cretaceous of South America still held a large diversity of species both within Opisthodontia and the tuatara-line, with one even making it to the Paleocene. There’s also a possible sphenodont from the Paleocene of Morocco, showing that non-tuatara sphenodonts were fairly widespread until relatively recently. Indeed, a recent study shows that they at no point competed directly with squamates, occupying an unique place in the lepidosaur morphospace, so other factors must be at play for their diversity fluctuations.

The allocaudates are a group of amphibians with uncertain affinities (they’re not closely related to frogs and salamanders for one) which in our timeline lived until surpirisingly recently, in the Italian Pleistocene. They are covered with scales and at least some forms had chameleon-like tongues, so they were clearly more functionally similar to lizards than to moren amphibians like salamanders.

In our timeline, we just missed allocaudates before they went extinct (unless they’re hiding in some baraccopoli) and sphenodonts are currently represented only by a single species in New Zealand, the tuatara. They clearly missed a window of opportunity, especially since both groups were more diverse in the Paleocene.

In this timeline, this window is not wasted and both allocaudates and sphenodonts capitalize on small sized ectothermic niches, the latter doing so for the first time. Allocaudates aggressively spread across the north hemisphere while sphenodontians do so across the southern continents, with Afro-Arabia being a “middle ground” since both lineages were present there and then. Lizards cannot bounce back with so many other dry-skinned cold blooded gremlins walking about, and soon they are not an awful enough shape to die out in the PETM; whatever few forms remains will not pass the Grand Coupure.

The Eocene was thus a golden age for both sphenodontians and allocaudates; in the warm rainforest world, they quickly became cosmopolitan either due to land bridges or simply by rafting like most reptiles and amphibians do, though there was still clear faunal provincialism between the hemispheres. Broadly speaking sphenodontians came to occupy niches more associated with “robust” lizards like skinks and acrodonts while allocaudates came into a variety of niches akin to lacertids, geckoes, varanids and chameleons, though both groups have played at ome of the other’s roles particularly on isolated landmasses where the other group’s diversity was lower. Eocene forms could grow to enormous sizes, some sphenodontians occupying large herbivorous niches while some Komodo dragon sized allocaudates inspired terror in the forest floors.

The Grand Coupure brought about several losses, particularly of the Eocene giants, but both groups remain diverse across the planet. For now, the Oligocene retains mostly just small sized survivors, but as it progresses conditions become more suitable for new breeds of dragons…

In spite of all this, one lineage of squamates remains. Snakes were the only squamates to diversify early on the Cenozoic in response to mammalian and bird prey, and as such they remain here, gladly doing what they do best.

#multituberculate earth #squamata #lizard #lizards #reptile #reptiles #spec evo #speculative biology #speculative zoology #speculative evolution

[mutantlord]

Razor Tailed Skink

At only 50 cm long, with 30cm of that being it’s dreaded, razor sharp bone tail, these tiny terrors can open up a person’s leg and cause a real bleeder. Worse, once these lizards make a hit, they will cough loudly and attract more of their kind to the impending feast.

Art from page 77 of Excavator Monthly Compendium. https://www.mutantepoch.com

#skink lizard razor reptile bleeder gamebook rpgbook tme rpg ttrpg mutantepoch apocalyptic postapocalyptic mutants epoch wasteland tabletoprp

[roll-a-troll]

Name: Sai Sicjus Elwurd Ancestor: The Resource Strife Specibus: forkkind Blood Color and Sign: Rust; Arrun Handle: agentGazar Lusus: woodchuckparent Pronouns: she/her ar/ari Age: 30 sweeps Interests: jukskei and shoes Sexuality: aromantic Class: Heir Land: Land of Magma and Terror, a lucky place, with gifted Blue-tongued Skink consorts. It is a place full of bottomless cliffs and fetid swamps. Krios can't wait to meet the player. Quirk: use clever puns, not that you'd admit it and use 4's for A and speak with perfect diction via roll-a-troll https://ift.tt/lx7hk6V, do as you please

#IFTTT #fantroll #homestuck

[nothofagus-archive]

“Lazarus species” (started 2021, casually finished in 2022)

Hi again! Still alive. 

Random dissappearance was due to needing to replace the entire (wood-tiled) roof of my house... I’m absolutely broken, had to ask family and even a friend for money, but the deal is done at least. And just in time as it’s started raining and it’s gonna remain that way for at least a week (thankfully!!! the drought has been severe in here lately, and the forest fires all over the country have been brutal). I will have to budget very hard in the upcoming months, and feeling exhausted, but also relieved the roof is done with. 

So yeah! This blog exists mostly to archieve old art, but have some new art this time!

Lazarus species.... aka, species that were once thought extinct, but were later found to still subsist. Names in the tags, and probably to be edited later and added to the body of the post as well.

These are just casual doodles, that I sometimes do as warmup. They’re not the best and I can see alot of things I could fix... but doodles be doodles! 

I will be sharing some more old art later :> 

#Lazarus species #Takahe #Cuban solenodon #Chacoan peccary #coelacanth #New Guinean Big-eared bat #Nightparrot #Pombero ant #Lord Howe Island Stick Insect #Laotian rock rat #Terror skink #Biodiversity #doodles

[ainawgsd]

Terror Skink

The terror skink (Phoboscincus bocourti) is a species of skink found only on the Isle of Pines, a small islet off the coast of New Caledonia. First described in 1876, it was considered extinct until being rediscovered in 1993, and in December 2003, a specimen was found by some specialists from the French Muséum national d'histoire naturelle.  Further individuals have been discovered in 2009 and 2013.  

The teeth of P. bocourti are long, curved and sharp, suggesting predatory habits unusual for a large skink; most skinks are omnivorous. Its diet might include larger invertebrates, other lizards, young birds, and eggs. It is about 20 inches long. It is presumed to be diurnal and mainly terrestrial, but may be partially arboreal.With such a small area of occupation, this skink is subject to threats such as habitat loss through a typhoon or wildfire, and the possibility of predatory animals being introduced to the island.

#terror skink #lazarus species #critically endangered #rare lizard #extremely rare lizard #source: google

[bilbobagginsbrainrotblog]

My Headcannons for Pets I Think The Fellowship Would Have

(these are based on nothing but Vibes and what i think would be fun. feel free to add your own)

Frodo- A common skink. My headcannon is that Sam almost ran over it in the garden, brought it in to show Frodo and they've been inseperable ever since. Frodo named it "Smaug" to mess with Bilbo, who pretends he hates it but is actually indifferent. Frodo likes to set Smaug on top of his head just to be distracting, especially when getting a lecture from his uncle or Lobelia.

Sam - Basset Hound. I feel like Sam thinks he's too busy to have pets, but is also a huge dog person. So when this mangy malnourished old hound dog shows up one day and starts following him around he's annoyed but like he can't not feed it? And build it a dog house, get it a collar, de-flea it, give it belly rubs....

Merry- i don't think this is particular to him but I just think the Brandybucks are the type of slightly unhinged people to have a huge half-feral fuzzy hellspawn of a cat hanging around their manor at all times. No one knows who it belonged to or where it came from (some say it was there before Brandy Hall) but the only people it will tolerate are Merry and his dad. Anyone else who tries to pet it will get their eyes clawed out, but Merry can pick it up and cuddle it like a teddy bear. The cat is unnamed and known only as "It".

Pippin - Pippin is considered too irresponsible to have a pet yet but after a lot of whining Paladin allows him to get a goldfish. Her name is Mary (not to be confused with Merry) and he pampers her as much as one can pamper a goldfish.

Gandalf- He'd have an owl. He just would. Harry Potter people Do Not chime in. The owl sits on his shoulder and makes the exact same faces as him. It also tries to eat his beard. Definately a gift from Radagast and it's name is some unpronounceable word in an ancient language.

Aragorn- Everyone knows Aragorn is a horse girl and nothing can touch his bond with Brego. But I also feel like at some point during his travels he's befriended four or five wild raccoons. They show up occasionally, with no prompting, and he feeds them and maybe heals them and they go on their way. This happens once during the "Three Hunters" portion of Two Towers but at that point Legolas and Gimli are so immune to Aragorn's weirdness they don't bat an eye.

Legolas - You can't convince me he hasn't befriended, raised and trained a 5 foot giant Mirkwood spider. It doesn't like the sun so of course he doesn't bring it on the quest, but for months the fellowship hears him make reference to how much he misses "FeeFee" or some other stupid name that sounds like a french poodle before someone finally asks about it and immediately regrets it.

Gimli - He would definately have a young mountain goat. I headcannon that bats and goats are as common pets to dwarves as dogs and cats are to humans. His goat is long haired and grayish white with curled horns, and likes to curl up next to him and recieve head scritches while he reads/relaxes.

Boromir - I definately feel like Boromir would be into falconry and has been since a young age. His falcon would be huge and intimidating and have a name like "Maximus" but it's also dumb as dirt and constantly getting lost. Denethor has offered to get him another bird a hundred times but Boromir is WAY too attatched to his to even consider it.

BONUS

Eowyn- She has a terrifying wolfhound named "Slayer" who is actually a huge sweetheart that loves everyone. Its the dynamic of scary dog/cute girl except the girl is actually the one to look out for.

Faramir- Cat person. I feel this in my bones. Faramir has at LEAST four cats and adores them all. The cats are all named after various Valar.

Bilbo - declaritively Not A Pet Person but one time he waged a week long battle against a mouse that was making nests out of his papers, and when he finally caught it he couldn't bare to put it out in the snow. It rides around in his vest pocket now and terrorizes Elrond, and has it's own "mini Bag End" made of matchbooks and other odds and ends. The mouse still remains unnamed because "once you name it you're attached".

#idk why this came to my today #me and my sis came up with these ages ago #id love to hear anyone else's ideas 😌 #especially for people like gollum and elrond and saruman etc #the hobbit #lotr #bilbo baggins brainrot hours #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #frodo #sam #merry brandybuck #pippin took #gandalf #aragorn #legolas #gimli #boromir #eowyn #faramir #bilbo baggins

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

--------------------

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

#wlw #sapphic #found family #urban fantasy #writeblr #magical realism #fantasy stories #short story #writing #lesbian romance #patreon late release #femslash #f/f #8k #my work #long post #long post cw

[twistedcatmeow]

Energy follows focus. If I focus on being against something, I am still focusing on that thing and, therefore, feeding it energy. 

Terrorism is a great example of this. Terrorism seeks a response, that is its purpose. By reacting to terrorism, I give it power. If I continue to live my life without fear, on the other hand, I maintain my own power. 

So, I ask you, what are you FOR? What are you in favor of, with a passion that causes you to do something about it? What would you march for, fight for, rally for, sing for, raise money for? 

I am for empowerment. I am for equality. I am for peace, for love, and for the environment. I am for freedom of expression, freedom of self, freedom of love, freedom of partnership, freedom of religion and spiritual belief, and freedom of pocketbook. I am for health and healing, wherever it is needed. I am for community, for making my community feel supported and nurtured, and for open communication without judgment within my community. I am for abundance, with the realization that there is enough for everyone. 

What are you for? 

#quote #StandForSomething #empowerment #equality #peace #love #environment #ecology #values #freedom #health #community #communication #kindness #abundance #PersonalGrowth #PracticalSpirituality #DailyMessage #365DaysToEnlightenment #Ayamanatara #Skink #green

[falloutglow]

42 for the gals :o (what do girls like? Armfuls of skinks?? Yeah I think thats it)

aye thank

42. What is their favorite wasteland creature?

hmmmm

NoOne is a fan of Night Stalkers. She finds them cute and befriended one during her travels. At first she found them to be absolute pests (cause they go invisible and are venomous) but soon as she saw one she went "okay you lil shits are cute."

Nova would LOVE to get a Night Stalker if she ever learned about them or see one. But alas u_u that is not the case... In the meantime though her partners keep turning her down at the thought of getting a Deathclaw. She found an egg one time and went "...I can incubate this. Keep the baby warm..." the terror she and that deathclaw would cause... Oh! Nova also loves molerats, brahmin, and would absolutely love Geckos. (the last one she hasnt seen one yet. but she would adore it)

Whisper likes cats and those black birds that keep hanging around. What can I say? She's goth.

Echo obvious loves dogs, but I'd also say she loves radstags too. She could watch them from afar for hours...

[Fallout OCs]

#asking glow #lemon dovey #thanks bud!!!! #NoOne is a ghoul #Poppy 'Nova' #Alice 'Whisper' Ashencroft #Samara 'Echo' Gray

[mesaifr]

Doing the wishlist thing again, because that’s what cool kids do (okay @marmite-forreal​ but that’s practically the same! Yeah!) 

Everyone else should also spread their lists so I have something to do tomorrow <3

Eggs Pants of all sorts Teardrop rings - Any rings Sashes of all sorts Silks (gold, red, white, rainbooow ) Seraph apparel,  Rose Thorn apparel, Sylvan stuff, Moonlight Lace stuff Swords of all sorts Art Rp letters <3 Frogs of all sorts Animal apparel Old festival stuff, 2013-14 festival apparel mostly Accents  Gems & Treasure  Talonclasp Pendants  Autumnal Wreath  5 pink mums (+20)

Scene: Remembrance Genes And Familiars under the cut 

Ripple, Runes and Glimmer, Safari, Python, Toxin, Savannah, SD scroll, Spiralscroll, Coatl, WILDCLAW

Aix - Veined

Arne - WC, Pinstripe, Capsule

Vita -  SD, Peregrine or Noxtide, Glimmer 

Lycurgus -  Pc or Wc,  Opal, Savanna

Proserpine - Savannah, Peregrine, Runes or Opal

Vejovis - Bee, Opal or Glimmer 

Gratiana - Spiral, 

Demeter -  Ripple, Current

Miltiades -  Skink, 

Nephele - Noxtide

Vesta - Bogsnek, Skink, Glimmer 

Wraith

Routh

Thyra -  Tapir, 

Morpheus - Constellation or Trail, Capsule 

And familiars... 

All-Seeing Eye

Basalt Eruption

Bihorn Chacma

Bone Fiend

Boolean

Cinderkelp Loach - swipp

Cog Frog

Copperplate Longmech- Golem Workshop

Crackers

Fear Frog

Ferberus

Frogspawn Flyer

Frost Delver- Golem Workshop

Gearspring Pocketmouse- Golem Workshop

Ghostly Rat Lord

Glamortail Hopper - swipp

Glasswing Flutter*

Golden Featherfin*

Golden Idol  

Light Sprite

Longwing Epiptite  - swipp

Malevolent Spirit

Manticore - dig- Arcane/Shadow/Water

Mindless Flight

Molten Wartoad

Overcharged Silverbeast rain jungle 

Quartz Cockatrice  - baldwin

Rainbowbeast

Red-Footed Akirbeak

Robotic Tender- Golem Workshop

Rogue Excavator- Golem Workshop

Sanguine Multimist

Silver Featherfin*

Skycat

Sparksylph

Speedy

Spotted Pukasloth*

Stone Borer- Golem Workshop

Swarmsprite Deerling

Swiftstride Soldier

Tattertail Bilworper

Terror Toad

Tribeam Hunter- Golem Workshop

Thunderstomp

Tribeam Lurker- Golem Workshop

Vermillion Epiptite

Void Wyvern

Which Waychunk

Wind-Up Pocketmouse- Golem Workshop

#wish rising #fr wishlist

[silverscribbler]

My Obey Me! Original Characters!

Greetings! This is the introductory post for my OCs. They will have more detailed sheets eventually and I will link to those on here as well as on my Obey Me! Masterlist. I hope you enjoy my OCs and welcome any feedback you’d like to give! 

I have three demons, one angel, and four vampire OCs as well as a Cat OC:

Demons:

Desmond - The Majolish Sales Associate; has always played hard to get with Asmodeus. The two are rather close and have not been intimate with each other, but Asmodeus usually asks for him if he needs to be fitted for something while Desmond is working. Even if Desmond is at the register or doing back stock, he gets pulled away to help Asmodeus. He’s got a tail like the Solomon Islands Skink.

Axel aka Axolotl - The Librarian; has amphibious traits and speaks with both Satan and Leviathan the most often. He got his nickname Axolotl from Levi even though he's a speckled black salamander. He loves manga more than anime, reads scifi and fantasy, and enjoys black teas.

Lucius aka Red - The Casino Dealer; is always dealing for Mammon when he wins and no one can catch Red cheating for Mammon or catch Mammon cheating when he's playing at Red's table. No one knows, but Mammon swears Red is his Lucky Dealer. Lucifer and Red get shit for having similar names and get along amicably. Red usually takes the check Lucifer writes for the casino after Mammon's debt takes a toll on them. He has wings below his shoulders, but his horns are similar to a Scimitar-Horned Oryx, just smaller.

Angel:

Boston - Angel of Choice; Boston is his nickname and he refuses to use his God given name. Everyone expects him to fall, but he's actually the Angel of Choice. He works closely with humans and serves under the Archangel Metatron, the Heavenly Scribe. He only has two wings below his shoulders and they have silver/gold feathers mixed in. Think Snowy Owl.

Vampires:

Lord D’Angelo - Master Vampire and Head of House; An Italian business man, but used to be a doctor. He knows how to Frankenstein's monster people, but he doesn't do that because he's actually super chill. He just wears Italian suits and works late as CEO to a Biomedical Engineering company. His manor is on one of the natural gates between the Human World and the Devildom so he's used to demons passing through, but makes it challenging for them. He's Mammon proofed his home so a lesser demon getting through the manor and leaving to the Human World without his say so is NEVER going to happen. Other than that he's friends with Diavolo and Lucifer, but incredibly close with Barbatos. He's Gay Daddy to the Extreme and is the oldest at 2,057 years old.

Nikolas - D’Angelo’s First Sired and “Oldest Son”;  a young 19 year old who was taken to the hospital for drug overdose. D'Angelo actually took pity on him, but spoke with the boy for weeks before they came to the decision for Nikolas to become a vampire. He's only 100 years old, including his human years, but he's really responsible and mature especially if you just see him as a 19 year old. He's into rock music, but secretly loves JPop and KPop groups. He's Aromantic, but has had sexual relationships with men and women so he says "Bisexual, just don't do relationships" and makes it work. 

Dante aka Danny - D’Angelo’s Second Sired and “Second Son”; was picked up by Nikolas at the club after being drugged by a creep. Nikolas kept him safe and as hidden from D'Angelo as he could before Dante woke up screaming. D'Angelo was actually proud Nikolas kept the symptoms from worsening and kept the boy safe, but was pissed he hadn't been told because drugs can do serious damage even if identified. In the end Dante is incredibly grateful and wants to repay both of them. He stays on as human servant to "work off his debt" but after his 21st birthday asked D'Angelo to turn him because they were a family now. Is currently 65 years old, including his human years.

Julius aka Jules - Rogue Vampire Turned Servant; broke into the manor while trying to hunt a demon that owed him. He swears, he's hot-headed, loves cats, and was distracted by Pixi while chasing the demon. Pixi ended up getting hurt while Nikolas chased the demon into the direction of Jules and Pixi. This resulted in a very pissed Jules beating the everlasting fuck out of the demon and then cooing and crying over Pixi who merely had a broke leg. Nikolas was floored, but brought the Rogue to D'Angelo who determined he now has to serve the household for "bringing a demon into our home and leading to Pixi breaking her leg" which would have pissed Jules off if he wasn't worried about Pixi. He's a veterinarian, 25 years old when he turned, but doesn't "act his age" as Nikolas often grouses at him. He is currently 167 years old in total.

Pets:

Pixi - Devildom Shadow Cat and “Queen of Shadows”; she’s black and silver in coloration, but has deep sea green eyes. She’s a shadowmancer and commands a small army of the Devildom’s shadow creatures which includes arachnids/beetles/wasps. She’s a tiny terror and looks like a 12 week old Human World kitten. D’Angelo uses her as a courier between the Human World and Devildom because she can shadow travel. She’s sent important correspondences to the House of Lamentation and Diavolo’s Castle/Academy during important wars and territorial expansions. This means he’s had Pixi for at least 1,500 years. It’s believed that her jewel encrusted collar, a work of art crafted by Asmodeus and enchanted by Satan, increased her already naturally long lifespan, but no one knows by how much. She’s immune to fall damage, cannot be physically damaged by vampires and humans or their weapons, and cannot be harmed by fire. This cat is Queen and knows it.

Masterlist

#shall we date obey me #obey me original characters #obey me demons #obey me angel #obey me vampires #ask me about my ocs #Devildom Cats #yes i spent more time on the vampires #im weak for vampires #i'll probably make more vampire ocs #watch me make a neko oc now though

[lionsongfr]

I had a nightmare last night, of walking dry plains and avoidable death.

I had a nightmare last night, of ocean chains and losing my breath.

I fear what the next night shall give, what ancient terror shall I live?

To dream, to dream again, descending into sweet mayhem. 

Find these dragons for sale here: link

Lionsong #49028

#Flight rising #Flight rising sales #dragons for sale #FRTAH

[pulseofthestars]

Hello there!

In the jungles of Lustria many creatures dwell from the soaring Terradons to the armored Bastiladons to the large apex predatory Carnosaurs. But more than those the jungles are the domain of the Lizardmen, the children of the enigmatic Old Ones who shaped the world thousands of years ago. Composed of the magically powerful Slann, the small but cunning Skinks, strong and military minded Saurus, and the towering and muscular Kroxigors. Among them there were many known figures, the oldest of the surviving Slann, Lord Mazdamundi, the ancient Last Defender of Xhotl, Kroq-Gar and his mighty Carnosaur Grymloq, to the red-crested, twin tailed Skink and Prophet of the Serpent God Sotek, Tehenhauin, but few were as long lived and as mysterious as the massive Kroxigor currently walking through the jungles. His hulking scaled body was littered with wounds of countless wars and adorned with golden trinkets, he was one of the last of the First Spawning of Kroxigors, Nakai the Wanderer, who had this title after his temple city of Tlanxla fell to Daemons during the Great Catastrophe. 

Hearing the sound of battle Nakai’s eyes narrowed a bit as he gripped his spiked club, charging towards the noises. As he arrived he saw his fellow Lizardmen working to fight an army of Skaven, the devious rat-men forcing his kin to start giving ground. Growling he reared back before unleashing a powerful roar that echoed across the field, a silence falling over the battlefield as both forces faced him, the Lizardmen in awe and renewed determination and the Skaven in terror, indeed several of the filthy creatures seemed to drop dead from fright. Nakai then charged forward, unleashing another roar which was joined by every other Lizardman in the area as they pushed back against the Skaven with renewed vigor. As Nakai reached the closest group he raised his club, swinging it with enough force to splatter multiple Skavenslaves in one go. As he did he then muscled through more Skavens, sending them flying with his body filled to the brim with muscle. 

Soon he was joined by more Kroxigors, a wall of scaled flesh pushing deeper into the Skaven lines. Soon Nakai spotted his target, a Skaven Warlord commanding from the rear as was usual of the cowardly race. Knocking past the Stormvermin trying to protect their leader Nakai loomed over the warlord who struck with his crude blade. Nakai barely felt the blade impact against his hide as he opened his maw wide and with a SNAP! his jaws clamped down, the armor did little to hold back the bite and sunk into fur and flesh as he stood up, the Skaven still in his mouth. Slamming the warlord back down he moved to start performing a death roll, spinning rapidly on the ground, the sickening sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone emerging. By the time he tossed his head to the side and opened his jaw the warlord’s corpse was barely recognizable. Seeing their leader dead the remaining Skaven began to break and flee. Nakai felt no urge to pursue, the jungles would ensure there were no survivors. Instead he planted his foot down to crush the Skaven’s body even more, letting out a triumphant roar of victory that shook the very trees, the Spirit of the Jungle once more came to the Lizardmen in their time of greatest need.

#guest muse: Nakai the Wanderer #tw: Blood #tw: Gore #ryogai

[the-feral-king]

My new boy Skink uvu His favorite color is Magenta and he likes to waste his money on incense so he can turn Tato into weird colors/patterns/animals. His favorite food is anything with seeds in it that he can spit out at people from roof tops. A right terror.

#tiefling #arcane trickster #dungeons and dragons #skink #sketchbook