#that species might not be deadly on its own. but the shock might have killed me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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I feel that the creatures of the volcanic deserts (AKA obsidian deserts) are a group that is hardly known by the outside world. You get a lot of talk about the beasts that live in jungles, or the monsters that live in the vast labyrinth of the Underworld, but not a lot of people mention these creatures. I would be interested in knowing how many people are even aware they exist! I feel if I asked anyone what a Shockscale or Flab Rat was, they would think I was either talking about a magic thing or an insult. Volcanic deserts are rare biomes, but there are other uncommon ones that people seem pretty knowledgeable of! So why don't people talk about them? Well, one theory is that volcanic deserts frequently get confused with other volcanic deserts, by that I mean dry land plus volcano. So when folk hear about them, they are confused which is which. Or in some cases, they may go visit it to see what the excitement is about and just find an arid piece of land by a lazy smoldering mountain. Not really all that interesting. Or it could be that people don't think deserts have anything in them, as that often happens with regular ones! I have surprised a lot of people whenever I prattle on about all the creatures that live in deserts, as they assume it is a barren wasteland! So perhaps they feel the same for volcanic deserts. These are legitimate theories, but I would like to submit my own! I would say that no one really talks about the flora and fauna of volcanic deserts because those ecosystems are absolutely awful to visit and nobody in their right mind would ever set root in one! Grating sand! Razor stone! Nonstop wind and lightening! It is a nightmare! Every sane explorer would turn back the second they watched a dune explode into a black shower of bladed chunks and crackling energy! They would see the utter misery this landscape brings and think "why not try the next one?" Sadly, not all who explore are levelheaded, and not all who seek knowledge are smart. By the way, have you guessed where I am writing this entry? I got to have something to do while I cower in this obsidian tube and wait for the apocalypse to ease up outside. My gripes aside, it is a darn shame that these creatures get overlooked. This biome, harsh and cruel it may be, has created some incredible species and the world deserves to know their presence! By writing this down and informing others, I also do the service of granting this knowledge so others don't have to suffer like I did! In most cases, I would encourage my readers to go out and see these incredible sights themselves, but here I am fine with them reading it in a book and looking at all the pretty pictures. So, with that, get a nice drink, find someplace cozy and not full of sand to sit, and read on! This entry is on a rather peculiar beast of these horrible lands: the Shockscale Urchin! The Shockscale Urchin (or just Shockscale) is a terrestrial version of those spiny little balls you find in the ocean, preferring the sandy places that have a whole lot of fire and lightening. Like sea urchins, they do look like a moving mound, though they are decked out in scales instead of spines. This image is possible because the underside of the urchin is where their feet are, hidden under all those beautiful scales. Down below is also where its mouth is, so its topside is really a featureless looking pile of scales. This simplicity, however, has its beauty, which can be seen in its magnificent scales! Mixes of purple and black on these sturdy, metallic scales! While many are small, they grow larger and thicker as they move down and away from the body. Anchored in special muscles, these outer scales sweep out from the body and form structures that seem more fitting for birds! Metallic wings and a fanning tail are formed from these scales and controlled by muscles. Despite their appearance, they cannot fly, as they are too heavy and not built for such an action. They don't so much flap but sweep and flow as the Shockscale moves and dances. With such beautiful and hardy scales, one would most certainly want one as a souvenir! Finding such a memento would seem rather thrilling, and easy too! If you are ever in a volcanic desert (first of all, have you listened to nothing I have said?) and wander the dunes, you would find some of these scales left in the sand. In some cases, you may watch a Shockscale crawl along and shed some of these scales as they navigate the chaotic terrain. At first glance, you would think yourself lucky! Here is a pretty trinket, let me just reach down and grab it! If you find yourself in this situation, pray that you have a smarter friend nearby ready to tackle you away from this enticing treasure. Hopefully you aren't wondering why I would say this, because I feel the name of this species should give a whole lot away.

Just like the landscape, which is constantly ravaged by violent storms, the Shockscale harnesses the power of lightening! Special organs within their bodies are capable of producing some series shocks, which means they don't have to rely on absorbing lightening like the Elmis Spire. This means that they cannot run out of this energy, as long as they have the strength to use these organs! By putting them at full charge, the Shockscale is capable of creating a shock that will knock you off your roots and fry your leaves! This effect is powered up because they are coated in these metallic scales, making it so much easier for them to zap you! Thankfully, though, this can only happen if you touch or step on one, right? Good news for them and bad news for us, the answer is: No! The amazing thing about the Shockscale is that they are able to weaponize this electricity in a rather ingenious way! The scales they shed are not lost by accident, they drop them on purpose! That is because these scales are really conductive and practically pull the electricity in. If the Shockscale releases its energy near these fallen scales, the lightening will jump from its body to these lost pieces! That means if you grab a scale while one of these urchins are nearby, there is a chance they will fry you! Like I said, these dropped scales are not by accident, the Shockscale actually uses them! These creatures tend to have territories they stick to, and here they do their hunting. They will sweep their "wings" in a circle and leave a ring of fallen scales. Moving to the center, they will bury themselves in the black sand and wait. When prey blunders through this practically invisible circle, the Shockscale will start zapping! Caught between the source and the energy-hungry scales, the electricity will flow through you while it makes its journey! The power of this shock is enough to drop a full grown human, as it messes with your nervous system and muscles. If you watch prey get caught in this shock trap, you will see them suddenly convulse and drop to the ground. They will twitch and writhe as the energy flows through them, as falling over unfortunately causes one to absorb even more of this shock. In most cases, the prey is killed by this powerful effect, and the Shockscale will emerge to claim its meal. The urchin will crawl atop its prey and use its hidden mouth to devour them. While Shockscales tend to fry smaller creatures, they are quite opportunistic. Anything that wanders into their territory is fair game, and the hungrier they are, the more likely they are to take risks. Even if huge creatures stomp through their circle, they will still shock them despite the fact they know it won't kill them. This is more of a deterrent, as the Shockscale would prefer not to get stepped on. I imagine this sudden way to go is part of the reason this ecosystem is believed to be cursed. How else would you explain someone suddenly convulsing and then dropping dead? Demonic possession? A smiting from the gods? Or perhaps a hungry echinoderm... In most cases, the Shockscale uses its scales to create this deadly perimeter for both offense and defense. Here it can lay in safety as it waits for food to arrive. However, there are some instances where the Shockscale will use its scales in a different pattern. When traveling, the urchin will be without its special circle. In this state, a predator may try to attack them, assuming the creature is without its usual defense. Since its takes time and precision to properly set up its trap, the Shockscale will be caught off guard. In some cases, it might just hunker down and rely on its own electric body for defense. Some have seen, however, times when the Shockscale "flees," which is odd because they don't move that fast. The urchin will try to run for its life, but the predator will have no trouble keeping up. Obviously, the beast will not jump right in and take a bite, as the urchin will just fry them. Most attackers would tend to hang back and wait for a vulnerable moment. Stalking behind the fleeing Shockscale, they will wait for the right moment to strike and then suddenly drop dead. Turns out, the Shockscale wasn't running. When they "retreat," they are actually dropping scales behind them as they move. They know that their abilities work by proximity, and most predators won't get close enough to zap. So by leaving a breadcrumb trail of scales, they are setting up a devious trap. The predator will be lured forward with the idea that they have the advantage, causing them to walk atop this line of scales. By releasing its energy, the lightening will chain itself through these scales and fry the attacker. Pretty clever! With this defense, there isn't much that can really mess with this species! The only predation I have witnessed so far was by a pack of Flab Rats, whose rubbery hides offer protection from most shocks. Even then, they have to be sure the Shockscale is dead before they take a bite! All the insulation in the world doesn't matter if you jam the lightening bolt into your mouth! Same goes for knives, you little monsters. Though they are quite dangerous, there is elegance to found in these incredible creatures! The beautiful wings are for more than just dropping scales, they actually use them for dance! When mating season comes around, the males will begin to wander the dunes. They do not seek a spot to congregate, rather they seem to move in different directions. I have heard that they are influenced by the sun, moon and stars, using them to guide their way, but I have not fully confirmed that. As they wander, they will let their wings out to the full span and spin around. There is some kind of pattern and design to this dance, as they thrash back and forth or twirl, but no one has truly decoded it. What we do know is that this moving ballet leaves behind something quite gorgeous! Their movements and wings create patterns in the obsidian sand, and their trail is formed from this delicate art! If you are walking the dunes during the breeding season, you will see entire swathes of the landscape turned into a magnificent canvas! These artistic trails are for the females, who are also moving about. When a female crawls over these paths, they can feel and detect its pattern. It seems they can learn a lot about the male from the art he leaves behind, and this will decide if he is worthy or not. If the design is lacking, she will move on, but if it is a masterpiece, she will follow it. Since she is not slowed by the need for dance, she will soon catch up with the twirling male and the two will undergo the next step of courtship. The trail he left behind was meant to get her in the door, now this part is how he gets her to stay! Together, the two shall dance and spin around each other, with the male seeking to impress and the female silently judging. The male must perform the right moves and hit the right timing to have a chance with her. If he bungles it, she will leave and search elsewhere. If he succeeds, the two will mate and part ways. She will go off to lay her eggs deep within the dunes, while he will continue his dance and search for other females. The thing that always gets me with this particular way for attracting mates is how delicate the whole process is. They are doing all this communication through sand art, despite the fact this landscape is ravaged by storms at an almost constant rate. A powerful gust of wind will easily erase all traces of this act, so how do they make it work? One solid theory is that Shockscales breed during seasons when the storms are at their slowest (which I think means they come every six minutes rather than five). This gives them longer times to let their art survive and catch attention, before it is blown away and they have to start over. Others say that the Shockscales also leave scented scales or pheromone along their trail, which the female can still follow if the patterns are erased. Whatever the reason, they somehow make it work! Though the Shockscales are not mentioned a lot by everyday folk, just like a lot of fauna from volcanic deserts, there is something about them that has made it to many shores. In many places, you can hear superstitions and creepy tales about a land covered in darkness and ravaged by the wrath of the gods. This place is almost like purgatory, covered in lava and black blades. What makes this place even creepier are the "symbols" and "runes" left by some unknown culture. Those who have entered this inhospitable land have mentioned grand designs etched into the dunes, patterns and symbols that are alien to many eyes and tongues. All of this, and yet not a single soul is seen! Despite this, the patterns are blown away, but then suddenly remade! How can this be?! Is there some kind of civilization hidden within this terrible world, writing these alien words in the sand? Or is it the result of spirits and demons, roaming the world of fire and lightening? Perhaps it is something more confusing and frightening. You see, these patterns can reach such amazing sizes and intricacy, yet you would struggle to fully appreciate it on the ground. A mural carved into the landscape can only be viewed in one way: from above! Are these symbols made for or by angels? Are they the markings of entities high above our heads? What do they stand for? What do they mean? There are many tales and theories about these bizarre patterns, and I have heard them all! Truly bewildering stuff! I have had people talk my ears off about these crazy conspiracies, and all I can think during these lectures is: "Is this what its like?" The real bummer of it all is that whenever I join in and add my theories, everyone gets all sour. They spin an endless yarn about symbols of angels and the writing of the gods, but then I offer the translation of "Heeeeey, ladies! Wanna dance?" and suddenly I'm the nut job. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------------- A creature design brainstormed between my friend @james-silvercat and me! I can't remember how we started on this, but at some point we were talking about my volcanic deserts and shingle urchins! Wound up being a really cool creature and a really cool design!

#sea urchin #urchin #echinoderm #shingle urchin #monster #creature #art #drawing #desert #lightening

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titleknown · 3 years

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Of all the saurian kaiju most fluent in cross-species communication, it had to be the fucking nightmare demon-clown. If trying to establish communications with the bugs is hard, getting this thing to stop... "communicating" is perhaps even more of a difficulty.

In other words, goddammit I hate this fucker...

-Tara Nemo

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Who is this horrible harlequin? Well, their name is Narlyquinn, and more on them past the break!

Of all the saurians to come out of Korangu's jungle in the mass ecological-displacement, the clown-demon dinosaur that is Narlyquinn is the nastiest and most terrifying. And not just because she's a clown, either.

Beyond her physical power and shocking speed and acrobatic grace for a creature her size, her abilities are based in the manipulation of light with fields produced by its shimmering jeweled scales, to the same degree Amestor manipulates sound if not more powerful. The flickers of light can be made solid or liquid or rubber, burning or blinding or maddening as it gracefully dances at the eye of its own kalidescope.

It can, of course, manifest these into attacks, its favorite being prismatic bouncing orbs which it throws, but its preferred use is far nastier.

Because, you see, Narlyquin is one of the few kaiju that actively targets humans, but not quite to kill them. But rather, to produce nightmarish phantasmagoria, as it creates a landscape of terrible monsters on a human scale that follow like a circus in her wake, a deadly shining shadow-play.

The deliberation and terror this creates has lead to some speculation that she has some form of hyper-perception that allows it to tailor itself to the fears of those around it, with some even speculating she senses light and thought through those strange scales.

This is backed up by psionic communication with the creature, which reveals a sadistic, manipulative personality motivated by nothing other than sadistic whimsy, that can run rings around even great psychics like Tara Nemo. There have even been reports of halucinations communicating directly with individual humans during one of their "carnivals," with multiple recordings backing this up.

Of all the other kaiju, she is one of the few who the normally docile and easygoing Jiira loathes beyond all others and will attack on sight. Viroko seems to loathe her too, but more out of jealously of Jiira's "preference' towards the creature than Viroko's own personal hatred.

There is, of course, one nasty detail. They have given all indications in their "conversations" that they, in all their power, are running from something. Something that's terrible. Something that got out. And, as she puts it, "Wait till you get a load of him..."

If you wanna catch up on the previous history of this setting, here’s Year 1 and Year 2 archived on the Wik for the newbiesi!

And, as per usual with Kaijune, this terrible clown is free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

And, if you wanna support me, maybe check out my Patreon, or even just send a Ko-Fi my way! Every penny is appreciated, and I am eternally grateful for those who donate!

Or, if you wanna commission me for a pic like this, my commission info is thisaway!

Fun fact, this was one of the earliest kaiju I designed for Kaijune, I just thought I might as well make her feel special by debuting her later, because there's something about her design I just like a lot! Probably the clown-demon part!

Also, fun facts, the name's not just a pun on Gnarly and Harlequin but also a reference to Nyarlathotep and their shared "TROLOLOLOLOLOL" personality.

Also, I like to imagine her theme as being a metal cover of Concertina Ballerina, take that as you will...

#kaiju #kaijune #creature design #clown #demon #dinosaur #monster #my art

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ibijau · 3 years

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I believe you can bring this trashfire to life. 22 and 21 for Xuanwu/Jingy 😉

1. I treated this way too seriously 2. congrats on winning the ‘crackiest ship prompt I’ve received’ award 3. I picked the “Bandaging them up, scolding them for getting themselves hurt” prompt but tbh it’s barely there

There is pain, worse than anything that it has ever known, and then there is darkness and bone deep cold.

There isn’t death though.

It is too old to die so easily.

When it regains some sort of consciousness, it is weak. Weaker than it has been in many, many years. It hasn’t been so weak since it started cultivating. The energy it carefully accumulated through eating other creatures has been almost depleted to keep it alive, just as it was finally getting strong enough to consider taking a human shape. It will have to wait a little more.

That’s not a problem.

It is patient.

It is also hungry.

Its current form, massive and deadly, is a waste of energy, so one of the first things it does, upon waking up, is to make itself smaller. It can move faster like this, and prey on small creatures until it finds a good place to cultivate. Then, when it has strength again, it will devour humans once more, until it can take their shape and be one step closer to immortality and true power and then… then it will be untouchable.

Like most things, it fears death.

Having come too close to it, it fears it more than ever.

Smaller and nimbler it escapes the cave that had become its prison without issue, and sets out to feed itself. The mountains around its cave become bloodied and fearful, as they should be. And yet, there isn’t much to eat there. Mice, rabbits, a fox here and there. There are boars too, but it dares not attack them yet, not until it knows it is strong enough for it.

After some months, it feels confident enough.

It shouldn’t have.

The boars in these mountains are led by a demon, one stronger and older than him, protecting its herd from all enemies. The demon boar lunges upon it as soon as it approaches one of the sows, and thus starts a duel between them. For ten days and ten nights, it fights the demon boar, refusing to admit defeat. There can be no defeat. Not when the two humans weakened it so much in that cave, not when the demon boar has what they lacked: the power to truly kill it.

Day after day, night after night, the two bite and stomp and growl, disturbing the mountains around them, pursuing each other even into the lands that humans occupy.

This, it turns out, is what saves it.

Because they are disturbed, the humans take arms and join the fight. Figures in white that bear swords attack them. The demon board, proud and ancient, fights right back, outraged that mere mortals dare to stand against its power. While it is occupied with these new opponents, the old one flees to lick its wounds.

It cannot go very far, not in the state it is in. All it can do is make itself smaller still, to save energy, and hide under a fallen tree to bide its time. Sooner or later, the smell of its blood will attract insects, or perhaps some mice if it is lucky. A fox even, who knows. It is sure to attract something, and then it will feast, and then it will heal. This is only a minor setback. It doesn’t change its plans in the least.

All it means is that someday, when it is back to its full strength, it will challenge the demon boar again and devour it.

It will not lose again.

That plan is ruined when it is found by something rather bigger than a fox. Something more dangerous as well.

A few hours after escaping the demon boar, it is found by a human.

Small as it currently is, it can still tell that the human isn't very big for one of its kind. Its energy is wild and uncontrolled too, meaning it must still be young. If it had any strength left, it would devour that child. Even in its diminished state, it considers it. Taking on its true shape would be exhausting, but it might be worth the risk.

Before it can get started on that, the child laughs and lifts it up to look at it.

"You're a funny turtle!" it giggles. "Oh ! Your neck is so long!"

Furious at being handled like this, it tries to bite the human. To its surprise, the child has quick reflexes and grabs it by the base of its neck before its teeth can sink into flesh.

"Oh, you have big teeth. I didn't even know turtles had teeth. Maybe you're a special turtle? But you also look a bit like a snake…"

It is not a turtle, and it is not a snake. It is what it is, and does not need a name, though it knows fearful humans once gave it one.

"You really are funny," the child says. "I'm going to keep you with me until a-niang and a-die come back. They'll know what you are. A-niang knows everything."

It struggles, trying to escape, but the child holds on.

"It's okay, you don't have to be scared," the child says. "You don't have a lot of strength, but it's fine, I'll protect you and we're going to be friends. I'll take you home, and I'll find a secret place to keep you, and it'll be great."

Satisfied with that decision, the child walks away from the place where it hid, taking it with him.

As hours pass, it becomes resigned to its situation, and helplessly listen to the child's chatter.

He is called Lan Jingyi. He is learning cultivation in a great sect. His parents and him were on their way home after visiting his maternal grandparents for the new year, but they stumbled upon some problems. Jingyi's parents told him to hide while they took care of some disturbances, and will return when things are safe again. After a while Jingyi got bored, and started to walk around looking for something to do.

It has been a long, long while since it has spent so much time in the company of a creature without fighting to kill. This child talks too much, but he bears it no ill will, which is an odd feeling. In fact, Jingyi, upon noticing on its body the marks of its fight with the demon boar, takes something greasy from a pouch he carries, and applies it to the wounds.

The grease smells of grass and flowers, but the taste of it is unpleasant.

“Don’t eat that, it’s for healing!” Jingyi scolds it. “Also, you should be more careful. How did you get all hurt like that? You shouldn’t pick fights, you know. A-niang says, don’t fight others if you can’t win.”

It hisses at the child. It would have won that fight, if those humans had not weakened it.

"When we go home, I'll ask Hanguang-jun to look at you," Jingyi announces. "He knows about rabbits, and turtles can't be too different. Then we’ll heal you, and find you a nice place to stay and… and if you’re not in the house, you’re not a pet, so it’s fine. Sizhui says that’s why the rabbits are allowed.”

It tries, again, to bite the child, but is stopped. Its indignation and anger remain. It does not like being compared to rabbits, which are mere prey. It is a hunter, a dangerous killer, a king among beasts. It is a triumphant being that none can harm… or it was, once. It will be so again, once it recovers.

“It’s getting kind of dark, isn’t it?” Jingyi remarks, his voice trembling slightly. “I think… I think we should have dinner, and maybe find a place to stop and continue waiting for a-niang and a-die. I bet you’re hungry too, right?”

It is, of course, famished. It worries for a brief moment that the child will attempt to eat it. It would do that, if it only had the strength, or if this were a weaker child, but Jingyi has shown already he would be no easy prey in spite of his youth. If Jingyi attacks it and tries to eat it…

But this does not happen. Instead, from the little pouch at his side, Jingyi now produces a few round and pale balls. Their fragrant smell hits its nose with enough strength to make it dizzy. There is meat in there, among other things.

Jingyi sits on the forest ground, very mindful of his posture and his clothes, and puts the creature next to him. He takes one of the balls for himself, and puts the other on the ground.

“I hope it’s okay that it’ll get a bit dirty. A-niang says I can’t eat things that have fallen in the dirt, but since you’re a turtle I guess that’s fine.”

It does not mind the dirt. That’s a part of feeding.

It is, however, confused by the offering of food. It knows that gods are gifted sacrifices, but this seems different. Jingyi does not know it is not an ordinary beast, so he cannot be trying to appease it, or to demand favours from it. So why waste food on another being? It has never seen such a thing. Even before it began cultivating, its species was a solitary one, born from eggs that hatched alone, and then never collaborated with its own kind save for the brief necessities of reproduction. Generosity is a foreign concept for it, and so this makes it suspicious.

Compared to hunger, suspicion doesn’t hold much power.

The fight with the demon boar was a fierce one, it is now famished, and the pale ball smells delicious. Keeping an eye on Jingyi, it extends its neck and bites into the ball.

The texture of the ball is soft as snow, the taste richer than anything it has ever eaten. For a moment it stays frozen, shocked that such a sensation is even possible. This is nothing like devouring fresh flesh and bones. This is a delight so great that it wonders, for a moment, if it has ascended to immortality all of a sudden, because nothing in the mortal realm could be this pleasant.

That first bite is quickly swallowed, and it bites again, and again, until it reaches the filling inside that pale ball. Somehow, that manages to be even better. The meat there has been made tender and savoury, there are herbs and plants which compliments one another to perfection.

For the first time in its life, it is eating not merely out of hunger, but out of pleasure.

“I guess you like that,” Jingyi remarks, chewing on his own share. “I made them with a-niang, that’s why they have meat. A-die doesn’t eat meat, because of Lan rules, but a-niang says it’s stupid and meat buns bring more energy when we travel. Also, they’re tasty, right? Hm… but if you eat meat, I can’t show you to Hanguang-Jun. He wouldn’t like it if you tried to bite the rabbits. Maybe I can ask Zewu-Jun to look at you… but he follows the rules more so he’ll probably… ah! I forgot I’m not supposed to talk during meals!”

Jingyi looks down at the creature which is still devouring the bun with such pleasure it would weep, if its body were made for it.

“Hey, you won’t tell anyone that I talked during the meal, right? We’re friends, so you can’t tell anyone. Friends have to stick together.”

He sounds worried enough that the creature stops eating and looks at him. Friends, like generosity, is a foreign concept to it, though one it has witnessed a little more often. Groups of friends have attempted to defeat it in the past, and it has seen weak demons band together to better survive. It remembers, also, those two humans in the cave, working together with practiced ease, coming so close to killing it.

After some consideration, it nods at Jingyi. They can be friends, as thanks for the food.

Jingyi grins, and resumes chatting about many things and many people. Clearly, he enjoys talking, and so this rule of silence must be hard on him.

After a while, they both finish eating. The creature feels warm and content and sleepy, even more than it did so many years ago when it entered that cave, fat on the flesh of those it devoured. Since night has now fallen, Jingyi lays down on the ground, curled up on himself, the creature in his arm. He smells faintly of fear, but he is young and walked a lot, and so he still manages to fall asleep.

It starts nodding off as well, but is quickly awakened by the presence of others nearby.

This forest, at the foot of the mountain, is ancient, and has seen many tragedies. As such, of course there are many beings there that are attracted by the tasty energy of a young boy. As the night gets dark, ghosts and demons gather around Jingyi, sniffing him out, desperate to steal his energy and be fed for a little while. It is an isolated place, and they often go years without sustenance.

If not for the creature in Jingyi’s arms, the boy would be dead.

It is not, at the moment, very impressive to look at, but its aura is still that of a centuries old demon that has eaten more humans than those pitiful ghosts could ever dream of. It is powerful beyond anything they’ve ever seen, except maybe the boar demon that occasionally comes down from the mountain… and since they’ve learned to fear that boar demon, they know they probably need to fear this one as well.

Still, the sleeping boy tempts them. They beg for a taste, for a bite.

“Mine,” it hisses, snapping its weak jaws at those who dare come too close. “Mine!”

There is an alliance now between it and Jingyi. The child gave it food, and asked for friendship in return, which it agreed to. It is now bound to its word, bound to this child, and it will protect him.

“Mine.”

If even one of these ghosts and demons tried to attack, then it would probably be powerless to defend Jingyi. Even after the miracle that was eating that bun, it still hasn’t recovered its strength. The fight with the demon boar was just too much. Still it makes itself feel scary, hissing and snapping, growling threats at them all, until dawn arrives at last and they return into hiding.

It has protected Jingyi.

It has been a friend.

Jingyi wakes soon after the sun rises. He looks a little tired still, but that is no surprise with so many ghosts and demons gathered around him all night. He eats a bun, and once again gives another to the creature.

Agreeing to the friendship was a good choice. Even now that it is no longer starving, the bun still tastes as delicious. More so perhaps. It can eat more slowly this time, and fully appreciate the flavour.

It has only eaten about half of the bun, while listening to more of Jingyi’s chatter, when other voices start being heard, coming from far away. It braces itself, fearing it might be stronger demons, the sort that would dare to attack even in daylight, but next to it, Jingyi jumps to his feet and starts shouting back.

“A-niang! A-niang, I’m here! A-die, a-niang!”

The voices come closer. Jingyi gets more and more excited, jumping in place, but still careful not to trample his friend.

“They’re here, they found me!” he exclaims as he grabs his friend, and brings it toward the pouch at his side. “We’re going home! Just, be quiet, don’t make a fuss. If they see you they’ll make me leave you behind, so you have to be quiet.”

That is all the warning it gets before it is dumped into the pouch. It fears being in such a small space, but quickly realises that the inside of the pouch is bigger than the outside, and relaxes. When its half eaten bun joins it, it decides that this isn’t a bad arrangement, and simply goes back to eating. It protected Jingyi during the night, and now is being protected by him during the day. This seems like a good arrangement. Friendship is not a bad thing to have.

A long while seems to pass after that. It does not mind. Having eaten that second bun made it sleepy, and so it takes the chance to rest.

It awakes to the pouch being opened, and Jingyi’s hand seizing it with great gentleness. It is pleased to see its friend again, and shows it by not trying to bite him. Jingyi smiles at it, and a faint smell of fear disappears.

“Sorry to have left you in there so long, I just couldn’t find a moment,” Jingyi says with relief. “I’m glad you’re fine. And your wounds are better too! That’s great!”

“That’s a weird turtle,” another youthful voice says. “Maybe you really should show it to an adult.”

Next to where Jingyi is sitting in the grass, there is another boy. He is shorter, but seems older, and doesn’t appear too impressed with the creature, as if he can guess its true nature.

“They’ll tell me to put it in the wild,” Jingyi says. “And then maybe it’ll be eaten by… by… what eats turtles, anyway?”

“I think foxes,” the other boy guesses. “They eat everything, right?”

“I can’t let it be eaten by a fox!” Jingyi gasps with horror. “But here, it’ll be safe, and I can check on it, and bring it buns.”

“I don’t think turtles are supposed to eat buns.”

It is starting to dislike the second boy. Thankfully, Jingyi only laughs.

“This one does. That’s because a-niang’s buns are the best,” he explains, before turning his attention back to the creature. “Look, I found you such a nice place to live, okay? Isn’t this a nice little pond? I’m sure you’ll find stuff to eat, and anyway I’ll come visit often to give you buns. Do you like it?”

He puts down his friend near the edge of the water. This is, in fact, a very nice pond. The water is clear, showing fish inside. Nearby, mice can be heard. It will not lack for food. More importantly though, the pond has all the signs of being a good place to cultivate, better even than the one where it started its journey, centuries ago. It will be easy, here, to regain what was lost to the two humans and the demon boar. Agreeing to Jingyi’s friendship continues to be a great decision.

For the first time in its long life, it feels truly grateful. And so, to show it, it bows to Jingyi before entering the water. It hears the two boys gasp, Jingyi claiming this is proof his friend is no ordinary animal, the other boy worrying that maybe there is something wrong with the creature.

It ignores both of them, and swims around to map its new territory.

It is a very good pond, and already, it feels new energy flowing through it just from being in such an auspicious place. In a few months, it will easily be able to take again its old shape if it wishes, and then it could go on a rampage again.

It could.

It might not. If it kills humans, Jingyi might not bring it buns anymore.

Better, then, to cultivate in the slower method, to keep this smaller shape for now. With some luck and effort, in a few years, it will reach again the level it was at before those two humans harmed it, and then…

And then, it will be able to take a human shape at last.

It wonders how Jingyi will react to that.

It cannot wait to find out.

#xuanwu of slaughter #tortoise of slaughter #lan jingyi #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #it is very much pre-shipping #I don't know how old jingyi is but I'd say 8 max #ancient demonic abomination being bought of by a small act of kindness is a trope I love ok?#veraverorum #bad ship prompts #Xuanwu of friendship

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rockislandadultreads · 3 years

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Fantasy, Drama, & World Building: book recs

Ashes of the Sun by Django Wexler

Long ago, a magical war destroyed an empire, and a new one was built in its ashes. But still the old grudges simmer, and two siblings will fight on opposite sides to save their world, in the start of Django Wexler’s new epic fantasy trilogy Gyre hasn't seen his beloved sister since their parents sold her to the mysterious Twilight Order. Now, twelve years after her disappearance, Gyre's sole focus is revenge, and he's willing to risk anything and anyone to claim enough power to destroy the Order. Chasing rumors of a fabled city protecting a powerful artifact, Gyre comes face-to-face with his lost sister. But she isn't who she once was. Trained to be a warrior, Maya wields magic for the Twilight Order's cause. Standing on opposite sides of a looming civil war, the two siblings will learn that not even the ties of blood will keep them from splitting the world in two.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini

Kira Navárez dreamed of life on new worlds. Now she's awakened a nightmare. During a routine survey mission on an uncolonized planet, Kira finds an alien relic. At first she's delighted, but elation turns to terror when the ancient dust around her begins to move. As war erupts among the stars, Kira is launched into a galaxy-spanning odyssey of discovery and transformation. First contact isn't at all what she imagined, and events push her to the very limits of what it means to be human. While Kira faces her own horrors, Earth and its colonies stand upon the brink of annihilation. Now, Kira might be humanity's greatest and final hope . . ."

Sin Eater by Megan Campisi

For the crime of stealing bread, fourteen-year-old May receives a life sentence: she must become a Sin Eater—a shunned woman, brutally marked, whose fate is to hear the final confessions of the dying, eat ritual foods symbolizing their sins as a funeral rite, and thereby shoulder their transgressions to grant their souls access to heaven. Orphaned and friendless, apprenticed to an older Sin Eater who cannot speak to her, May must make her way in a dangerous and cruel world she barely understands. When a deer heart appears on the coffin of a royal governess who did not confess to the dreadful sin it represents, the older Sin Eater refuses to eat it. She is taken to prison, tortured, and killed. To avenge her death, May must find out who placed the deer heart on the coffin and why. The Sin Eater walks among us, unseen, unheard Sins of our flesh become sins of Hers Following Her to the grave, unseen, unheard The Sin Eater Walks Among Us.

Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett

Sancia Grado is a thief, and a damn good one. And her latest target, a heavily guarded warehouse on Tevanne’s docks, is nothing her unique abilities can’t handle. But unbeknownst to her, Sancia’s been sent to steal an artifact of unimaginable power, an object that could revolutionize the magical technology known as scriving. The Merchant Houses who control this magic--the art of using coded commands to imbue everyday objects with sentience--have already used it to transform Tevanne into a vast, remorseless capitalist machine. But if they can unlock the artifact’s secrets, they will rewrite the world itself to suit their aims. Now someone in those Houses wants Sancia dead, and the artifact for themselves. And in the city of Tevanne, there’s nobody with the power to stop them. To have a chance at surviving—and at stopping the deadly transformation that’s under way—Sancia will have to marshal unlikely allies, learn to harness the artifact’s power for herself, and undergo her own transformation, one that will turn her into something she could never have imagined.

The Last Human by Zack Jordan

The last human in the universe is on the run from a godlike intelligence in this rip-roaring debut space opera. Sarya is the civilized galaxy's worst nightmare: a Human. Most days, Sarya doesn't feel like the most terrifying creature in the galaxy. Most days, she's got other things on her mind. Like hiding her identity among the hundreds of alien species roaming the corridors of Watertower Station. Or making sure her adoptive mother doesn't casually eviscerate one of their neighbors. Again. And most days, she can almost accept that she'll never know the truth--that she'll never know why humanity was deemed too dangerous to exist. Or whether she really is--impossibly--the lone survivor of a species destroyed a millennium ago. That is, until an encounter with a bounty hunter and a miles-long kinetic projectile leaves her life and her perspective shattered. Thrown into the universe at the helm of a stolen ship--with the dubious assistance of a rebellious spacesuit, an android death enthusiast on his sixtieth lifetime, and a ball of fluff with an IQ in the thousands--Sarya begins to uncover an impossible truth. What if humanity's death and her own existence are simply two moves in a demented cosmic game, one played out by vast alien intellects? Stranger still, what if these mad gods are offering Sarya a seat at their table--and a second chance for humanity?

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin

After her mother's mysterious death, a young woman is summoned to the floating city of Sky in order to claim a royal inheritance she never knew existed in the first book in this award-winning fantasy trilogy from the NYT bestselling author of The Fifth Season. Yeine Darr is an outcast from the barbarian north. But when her mother dies under mysterious circumstances, she is summoned to the majestic city of Sky. There, to her shock, Yeine is named an heiress to the king. But the throne of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is not easily won, and Yeine is thrust into a vicious power struggle with cousins she never knew she had. As she fights for her life, she draws ever closer to the secrets of her mother's death and her family's bloody history. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Yeine will learn how perilous it can be when love and hate -- and gods and mortals -- are bound inseparably together.

#fantasy #fiction #adventure books #adult fantasy #world building #reading recs #Book Recommendations #tbr #currently reading #library #read this book #booklr #booklist #book recs #recommended reading

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xmalereader · 4 years

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The Mandalorian X Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Summary: Reader finds the Mandalorian and takes him in to fix his wounds. The two suddenly get along.

Warnings: Language, sass, nexu, fluff, animal training, backstory, fears, slight angst.

He remembers waking up in cot with half of armor missing, his body was bandaged you and his wounds were cleaned as well. Once he woke up he rose in panic, not seeing the kid anywhere in sight. He tried his best to sit up without reopening his own wounds, he puts the baskar back on and moved around the small home that he suddenly found himself in, gripping his blaster he makes his way around the place.

He hasn’t spotted anyone yet. He was making his way outside to see if the kid was out least outside, he couldn’t lose the child not like this. One minute his was fighting with all of his strength to get the kid back only to wake up without him by his side. He knows that he’s grown a soft spot for the kid.

Hearing a loud roar he turns to his left to see a large fence with a nexu pacing around the fence, eyeing the small green child that stood on the opposite side with a small smile on its face.

The mandalorians face paled once he noticed how close the nexu was to the child, he’s heard stories of these creatures and how dangerous they are, their species was going extinct. Which made him wonder as to why their is one in the middle of no where.

Dyn began to run towards the child, watching as it reached its small hand out and moving it between the fence, reaching to touch the creature. “Get away from it!” He shouts as he points his blaster at the creature.

The Nexu took notice of the Mandalorian and hissed in anger, jumping onto the medal fence with its claws and roaring at the stranger. Dyn kept his blaster pointed at the nexu and moves to take the kid in his arms. Before he could to anything else he hears shouting on the other side of the fence. “No! Don’t shoot!” The Mandalorian glanced over to see a young man standing close to the nexu. “Please lower your blaster, it scares her!”

“How do I know you won’t let that thing kill us?” Dyn questions, glaring under the helmet.

“Because I raised her! Female nexus tend to get protective when they are around smaller children. She was just watching out for the kid, nothing else, so please lower your blaster.” The other begs as he tried to calm the nexu down by gently caressing its fur. “It’s okay, he’s not gonna hurt you.” He whispered, calming down the large creature as it sends one last hiss towards the Mandalorian and leaving back to its small den.

The other male quickly gets out of the large cage and locks the doors. “She won’t harm anyone so you can relax.” He says again and eyes the Mandalorian. “I see that you’ve gotten better, good thing the medicine is working.” He mumbled.

The child cooed, walking over to the fence his ears drop once he doesn’t spot the nexu.

The Mandalorian watched the child before turning back to the other. “Why the hell do you have a nexu here?”

“Wow, a thank you would’ve been nice from saving your ass. You and the kid were in a tough situation and heavily wounded, lucky that I was around to help but no—questions about the nexu first.” The other rambles out with his hands on his hips, giving the Mandalorian a small glare. “First, lets get inside and check your wounds, then you eat something. Later, I’ll answer your question.” He began to head back to the small house that he had, getting inside as he waits for the Mandalorian.

Dyn picks up the kid and walks back inside, he’s been through hell already and doesn’t seem to have the time to wonder if he should trust this man or not.

“What’s your name?” He asks, watching the other move around the small kitchen he had and was preparing some tea and pouring the two of them some soup. “Y/n, but everyone in the village calls me crazy.” He answers, turning around to set down the tray of food and drinks on the coffee table. “Been awhile since I’ve last seen a Mandalorian.” He blurts out, handing the child a bowl of soup with a smile.

The Mandalorian sits down slowly, wincing in pain as he sat. “You knew a Mandalorian?” He watched the kid eat, already knowing that he was going to eat later. “Yeah, they were nice and taught me how to fight and all. They were actually the ones that helped me raise the nexu.” He takes a sip from his own tea, leaning back in some soft cushions. “I didn’t take off your helmet, in case your wondering.”

Dyn was curious, waking up without his baskar and his wounds all healed up. “I know that it’s an important culture of yours to keep the helmet on. Didn’t want to do something that you’ll like so all I did was tend to your wounds, you’ve been asleep for almost two days. Little guy wouldn’t leave your side until the second day, he followed me around everywhere.” Y/n continued to talk, knowing the Mandalorian would ask questions about this stuff so he might as well and just say what he needs to say.

“Nexu took a liking to the kid, she got protective of him when I tried to put the kid to sleep. But I couldn’t take him away from her since she got all pissed so I let him sleep with her, he didn’t get hurt or anything. Nexu is a gentle creature.”

“It’s deadly—“

“Gentle but deadly.” Y/n corrects the Mando, once he finished his tea.

The room became silent, the only thing heard was the sound of the child slurping his own soup as he looks at the Mandalorian and then to y/n before going back to the mando.

“Why do you have that thing here?” Dyn was curious as to why a nexu was here, he knows that another Mandalorian helped him raise it but he wants to know why it’s here and not on its rightful planet.

“Like I said, I raised her. She grew up around different species and didn’t grow the knowledge to know how to hunt or act like an actual wild nexu.” Y/n sighs out and pushed his cup away. “She helps me...protects me at night in case anyone decides to do anything.” He shrugs. The Mandalorian watched as the other focused its gaze on the outdoors.

The Mandalorian lets a sigh slip from his lips before saying. “Thank you, for helping us out and for taking care of the kid while I was out.” This earns him a chuckle and smile from y/n, “don’t mention it, I was actually this close to trading you for food and supplies but somehow the little guy convinced me not too.” He confesses to the Mandalorian before standing up to clean up his mess and heading back to the kitchen.

——

The Mandalorian has been staying with y/n for the last couple of weeks, he was still recovering and he needs to find his razor crest before he can do anything else, he’s also been focusing his attention on the kid. Keeping a close eye on him since he doesn’t want him to be approaching the nexu without his consent.

Everyday he would watch y/n come in and out of that large cage, either to feed the creature or just clean up the place. Their were times when he would actually sleep inside the den with that creature during the night, making dyn asleep inside the small warm house that he had. He was still curious about the guy, he’s wanted so many times to ask him about the village and to why they call him ‘crazy’ or think of him as ‘crazy’.

One morning the Mandalorian was leaning against a small bench with the kid sitting on his lap. He watched as y/n pushes the gates open to allow the nexu to walk around freely which only frightened the Mandalorian, standing up with his arms wrapped around the child he watched as the nexu carefully steps out of its den. Y/n closes the doors behind it once the creature was fully out, he makes his way towards it and pats the side of its neck earning a purr in return. “Good girl.” He speaks to it and held out a small piece of meat, feeding it to her. “Today is your night, go fetch something interesting and return back by dawn. Understand?” The nexu purrs in understanding before y/n pats it’s side, allowing the large creature to run off into the forest.

“You didn’t send it off to kill someone for you did you?” Y/n laughs at the mandalorians concern. “No, why would I do that?” Dyn opens his mouth to reply but quickly shuts it. Not coming up with a good answer. “A nexu needs time on its own, they need to run free sometimes and I allow her to do that. She doesn’t hurt anybody and usually scavenger hunts for me. Brings me pieces to trade off for credits and with those credits I buy ourselves something to eat.” He explains, making his way towards the Mandalorian and stealing the child away from him as he cooed at the small green bean.

Dyn allows it since he’s gotten used to the other snatching the child away from him. “I’ve been meaning to ask—“ the Mandalorian tilts his head to the side. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been spending nights with the nexu, doesn’t it scare you a bit?” He asks. He noticed how y/n’s gaze shifts to the ground, the child on his hip as he sighs. “I—“ he began to say. “I’m—I’m afraid of the dark...” he finally says as his face heats up in embarrassment and tries to distract himself with the child.

Dyn raised his brows in shock. “Really?” Y/n bites his lip and glared. “Mock me all you want mando, everyone is afraid of something so don’t start judging me.” He blurts out in anger. Watching as the kid waddles around the place, trying to catch seem flies that were swarming around him. The mandalorian stays silent, he wasnt judging Y/n about his fear he was just wondering as too why he had the gut to sleep with a nexu. “I’m not, just got curious about it, not many people have the guts to sleep in a nexu’s den.” Y/n chuckles softly and shakes his head, looking out into that distance as he lets a sigh out. “My parents were killed when I was just a kid, I was on my own and survived on my own too.” He mumbles out. “So, when I bumped into a mandalorian she sort of took me in, taught me your culture and how you guys work things out but I didn’t want that, it was just too hard for me you know?” He tilts his head to look up at that mandalorian in questioning, wondering gif it was difficult for the mando to wreak a helmet that meant a lot to his people. “She found a litter of Nexu’s, the mother was killed by some troopers and half of the little didn’t make it expect for The one that I have now. She brought it too me, thinking that I can raise it on my own and surprise, surpise, I’ve raised a nexu all on my own. Training it to hunt, behave, and too kill.”

Dyn was impressed by Y/n’s past, he was just kid when it all happened and was able to do so much for himself, he sort of saw himself in Y/n. “At least you know how to control the beast.” He grins under his helmet as the other pouts at him, picking up the kid and handing him to the mandalorian. Dyn takes the baby into his arms and noticed a smirk on Y/n’s face, “Lets see If this kid can control the beast that he calls dad.” He teases.

Dyn looks down at the kid who coos happily and giggles, waving his tiny arms around before placing one on the mandos helmet. Dyn smiles at this and sighs, “Will see if he can.” He says, admitting of being the kids dad now.

#the mandalorain #the mandalorian x male reader #dyn jarren x male reader #dyn jarren #star wars x male reader #star wars #nexu #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal

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secret-engima · 4 years

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*tiptoes in* . . . Nox Verse, Wings AU? or a different verse, if you like, but Wings AU plz?

Ohhhhhh.

Ohhhhhhhhh okay I have.

Little to no experience with Wings AUs or what tropes people usually put in them but I do love the concept of Humans With Wings so okay-

Same rules as Nox!Taur verse, Nox came from a canon timeline where wings were not a thing, he and Ardyn got flung into an alternate timeline where wings were a Thing, proceeded to freak out over WINGS ON THEIR BACKS WHAT IN THE WORLD.

Also gonna make Ardyn a Fem!Ardyn in this AU just like Taur verse because that amuses me.

Everyone has bird-like/feathered wings of some kind and what animal they most resemble is often considered a hint to personality but that’s just- stereotyping nonsense really. Anyway, species of wing varies even in families, but tend to run along similar lines. Birds of Prey will often have Birds of Prey kids, but if the parent is an eagle, the kid can just as easily be an owl or a falcon as they might be an eagle etc etc. Wing culture is ... a Thing. Like not touching wings without permission, grooming being a Major Family or Romantic Bonding experience and flying is also totally a Thing.

Ardyn and Nox, understandably, give more than a few people heart attacks over how poorly they care for their wings and Cid takes it into his head to FIX that asap after meeting first Nox and then Ardyn. He is ... more than a little flabbergasted when both are just like “show us how it’s done” because that means- touching their wings. They trust him like that? They ... no. No they probably are idiots and don’t get the significance so he will TEACH them that but also Cid is an Emotion when they still let him touch their wings after his explanation on Wing Things.

Ardyn and Nox are just super grateful to have someone who will explain his stuff because Galahd wing culture is a little different so Axis is not much help and Dave never thought he had to say anything.

The royal line are almost exclusively birds of prey but there are some exceptions. Usually the big ones like eagles and stuff but sometimes hawks or even vultures (Mors was a vulture btw). Regis is a golden eagle. Clarus is also a golden eagle while Gladio is a bald eagle and Iris is an outlier as a red-tailed hawk. Cid is a house sparrow, Cindy is a pretty warbler of some kind. Weskham was a Canadian goose. Ignis is a chickadee because they’re pretty and Prompto is a fluffy burrowing owl.

Cor is the world’s most aggressive and Fite Me™ barn swallow.

Mock his wings and you will be Stabbed™. He is faster and more maneuverable than anyone here barring the incredibly rare hummingbird.

Then you have. Nox. And Ardyn.

Ardyn and Nox are both owls.

This is ... extremely unusual, as no Lucis Caelum in this AU has ever been an Owl. Not in recorded history at least. Eagles, Falcons, Kites, Hawks, even Vultures, but never Owls. Considering the night’s association with daemons, owls are even looked at with some suspicion in certain places, considering owls are also nocturnal creatures.

Ardyn laughs quietly as she tends her tawny, red, white, and black speckled plumage of a barn owl. She finds it funny. Nox’s wings are especially amusing to her.

Nox is a snowy owl. Silky white feathers with black specks in them, the one owl that is known to go about in the day, yet is still associated with the night because of all its night-flying kin. She suspects that their wings are a subtle message, especially after learning that young Prince Noctis of this world is not an owl, but a speedy and pretty merlin (I think they’re called pigeon hawk in North America?).

Stuff goes down ... kinda like canon Nox verse? But during the marilith raid Nox actually doesn’t warp Noctis away, instead getting there early enough to save Noctis’s wings and back and picking a fight with the Marilith, so Regis shows up, freaking out from the attack AND Cid’s phone call moments earlier to see the Marilith getting torn apart by an absolutely FURIOUS stranger. A teenager with massive, bristling wings of a snowy owl and glitter eerie white-orange colors in the firelight only to turn eerie blue-white as they reflect the light of-.

An armiger.

A powerful, complete, deadly armiger that is NOT Regis’s and cannot be Noctis’s because his son is huddled there in the arms of his wide-eyed nanny, watching the teenager stranger tear the daemon apart with magic that feels thick as a tidal wave and all but screams fury-fury-don’t-touch-MINE-DON’T-TOUCH-.

The marilith dies and teen stands there breathing hard, wings mantled and fluffed, armiger spinning around him in deadly circles.

Then Regis reaches out and touches his magic to the stranger’s in awe-shock-disbelief-hope-confusion and-

The teen looks at him with blue-blue eyes and Regis has just enough time to see his own features in a younger face, to see that face crumple with something like fear and hurt and longing denied while the heavy magic tangling with Regis’s SCREAMS a mix of love and fear and loss and hurt and longing-

The teen disappears and snap-crack of a warp.

Anyway Regis investigates because of course he does and he drops in to visit Cid without calling ahead because of Cid’s earlier phone call and finds one fluffy and worried Ardyn Izunia pacing in the kitchen of Cid’s home.

Much shouting happens.

The shouting wakes up Nox, who manages to drag himself out of bed long enough to bowl Regis and Co over with angry magic before passing out on the floor, which leads to an EVEN MORE UPSET Ardyn.

And then everything kinda goes to Nox verse canon with Nox waking up in the Citadel and Ardyn being there and Noctis being adorable as he talks them into staying.

Some other thoughts on a wing-fic AU:

Nyx is a lesser striped swallow.

Btw human wings are not nearly as confined in color/plumage as the birds they take after, with human boys and girls often getting the colorful plumage where the Actual Birds are much more rigid in who gets the pretty feathers or not. No one knows why. The only people who care are the taxonomists.

Lib is a blue heron.

Tredd is a northern cardinal (and proud of it, most Furia’s aren’t northern cardinals but rather other small birds but oh boy does Tredd love having red wings to go with his red hair. Luche is a Sigh). Luche is a woodpecker of some kind. Axis is a falconet.

Pelna is a grouse of some kind.

Titus is a harpy eagle.

Crowe is not a crow, Crowe is a magpie. Anyone who cracks a joke about that will get their nose broken.

Emperor Aldercapt is a cassowary. Because I Said So.

Oracles are like- Owls almost exclusively. No one knows why. It is thought that the first Oracle Aera was actually a swan, but 99% of Oracles are owls (am I totally making a hint that the original Ardyn of this dimension had a kid with Aera who went on to be the founder of the Oracle line after Aera was murdered and the wings were the Astrals tweaking things to be a permanent, silent reminder of Somnus’s sin in killing the first Oracle? Yes. Yes I am). Of course there are OTHER people out there with owl wings, but Oracles are the ones who just- keep having owl wings, no matter who marries into their line.

Luna is the first tawny colored Eastern Barn Owl in the line in a long time as most Oracles are True Owls (so like- Screech Owls, Great Grey Owls, Horned Owls, etc etc).

Ravus is a Great Grey Owl.

Hope that satisfies your ask anon!

#SE asks #anon asks #Nox verse #Nox!Wings verse #wingfic #wing au

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truthbehindthemysteries · 3 years

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♛Deal With The Devil♛

Gallifreyan Time Lady Reader x ?

Summary: Long ago after having slain Torvic for the tormented bullying he caused, Theta is caught between a rock and a hard place. Forced to make an impossible decision of being Death’s champion or choosing someone else to have that on their shoulders, even the Doctor is surprised by the outcome.

Warning: Betrayal, Back-Stabbing, Violence, Blood & Gore l ANGST

A/N: This came to mind and i wanted to write it. I played off a part of the canon where this happened with the academy era! Doctor and Master back then with the prydonian academy names of Theta Sigma and Koschei Oakdown.

Not even doing things he normally, if his life could even be considered normal, enjoyed could wash away the overwhelming sense of guilt that Theta felt. It had all just become too much and he had done something to stop it because he couldn't just take it anymore. Torvic had always been a bully, not just tormenting him and Koschei but you as well. From the words that would spit out his mouth out loud and under his breath to the physical assaults he would cuase towards others not himself, it was not just intolerable but despicable. Tensions always ran high when you were being tormented, especially ones you love and care about. Mess with a person's loved ones and you might be dealing with the Devil themselves. However, he didn't want to darken everything he is, going down the same path Torvic did. While the fellow Gallifreyan clearly needed to learn not only a sense of humility, but respect as well; it didn't give Theta the right to rip someone's life out of their hands once he held it in their grasp. A family had just lost a son, others had lost a sibling - ... a friend. It was ALL his fault.

It had just happened so fast. He, you, Koschei and Ushas had been just sitting around together on the cascading red grass overlooking a mountain - a sacred place that you three all liked to go together when things got hectic. It was a place to just hang out together and have fun when not doing other things, also to destress and just relax. And Torvic had deliberately of their own free will, chose to not only invade such a special place but then to do the worst things topping all he had done so far. Perhaps it was vengeance on the other's part because there had been prior attempts to stop his antics and while he had not been apprehended yet, his buddies did. Next thing he knew, a big rock had hit the side of Torvic's head causing the boy to stumble and fall to the ground, an ugly mark left behind on the bully that led to his death - breaths slowly leaving him. He had ran from that place, wanting to put as much distance from what he had done, as he could. What could never be taken back. He had seen the mixes of shock and horror, unease come from the three of you despite the surge of knowing they were that protected and loved and cared for that someone would kill for them but Theta took someone's life, he k i l l e d someone. Someone who was other's child, was a sibling, had people who would be devasted at their death, the grief alone... That didn't make him any better than Torvic. The bully may have caused hell but how was he any better by snuffing out someone's light? So he ran.. He ran and he ran and he ran. He didn't stop running until the skies went dark and everything had went quiet. Even the slightest intake of breath was almost shattering. He had no idea that for any of you, you were forced home after the body had been discovered, an interrogation started, He had no idea that one of you were covering or going to cover for him, he had no idea that any of you were scouring everything in sight to catch a glimpse, to find him no matter what they might see and what state he might be in due to what he had done. He certainly had no idea of what was about to happen either - but he felt it as soon as it came. An overwhelming sense of dread, horror and unease shooting through his entire body, putting him on edge at the darkness he felt and it was more than just seeing it all around from. Well, from what he could see anyway. After he lost energy after countless hours of running with no idea how long he had been gone for now, he cried and broke down, punching and kicking at the trees to feel even an inch of something. He could still see Torvic's dried blood on his hands from where the heavy rock had bashed into the young Gallifreyan boy's head. The damage was so unmistakable that when it happened, you heard a sickening crack. Clenching and unclenching his fists as he took shaky breath after shaky breath to raim calm and composed, to not seem as edgy on the outside as he was on the inside, he finally spoke., tone of voice curious yet deadly sharp, "I know something is out there. No use making your presence known if you're not going to show yourself completely." Nothing... just pure and complete utter silence. Then every nerve in his being stung and he could feel it - an emptiness. Whipping around, he saw an outline of a figure emerging from the shadows, the figure incased in all black with hints and trails of smoke wisping all-around at every edge. The voice was neither identifiable either, it could have been a Timelord / Timelady themselves but they were tall n all black forming fitting clothes from head to toe, even their face covered and a cloak billowing out from behind them and at their sides. You could smell the d e a t h on them because that's who they were : It was Death in the flesh. An overwhelming sense of fear but not wanting to display it out of fearing weak, Theta slowly remarked, "Who are you?... What do you want?" More silence and then as if debating how to response from the tilt of where their head was, the voice spoke. "Oh... tsk tsk, is that any way to treat a guest? my my, seems like your species is but one of many that show a lack of decorum..", the voice coming from the figure, Theta can see it coming closer and he inwardly breathes to try and face the being at it's equal. "You know who.. or rather, what i am. Come on..", he feels the being at his neck and he involuntarily shivers. Such a place was an intimate area but he felt the complete opposite of intimacy. "Death.. You're Death.", he remarked, stepping forward and then turning around to look at the figure once more, not wanting it out of its sight. Was it here because of... He violently shook his head just as Death nodded, as if the being knew his train of thought. "You know, i must admit... I love me a baddie. The way you took that rock and... " Death said and Theta winced, "Pop went his head like needle to a balloon. Tell me, how did having the power to give or take someone's life feel? Now me, i am Eternal so i can take life but you, you could have given it back." Theta violently shook his head, "I hated it. I hated it from the moment it happened. Torvic could have faced countless other repercussions, he didn't have to die." He turned away then, not caring if anything happened when his back was turned. Perhaps that is what he deserved. He heard a dark chuckle behind him as he gazed at the sky of his home planet of Gallifrey. "You impress me. Ones far older and far stronger than you do such things as that and they find the beauty in it but you... you throw away the potential you could have. Imagine how it would be, away from all that guilt. All you could do with what you did earlier, not limited to one way." "No!.." "Yes-" "I said no!" "Are you challenging me boy?" "Not in the slightest but i'm telling you no!" "You haven't even heard what i was going to say yet." Death cooed, dangerous intent on their voice like they were going to speak for why they'd came after their little row of snarling and pleading and taunting back and forth. "I know so dont waste your breath. YOu want me to kill more people is that it? to cause more misery.?!" Theta yelled as he roughly messed with his hands, the blood of Torvics having dried, he could feel the indentation of the rock from when he held it so tight. He knew he heard that crack because he used all his strength and he knew Torvic is dead and not coming back not just because Death itself was here, taunting and tormenting him aside from taking the boy from his dead boy. "I can make all that pain go away Theta.. all you have to do is ask.", Death challenged, a smirk spreading across their facial features. They had a good feeling about this one from the previous few and far between attempts. This one has real potential. They lock eyes or rather Theta at the figure, not able to make any definite features just that they had a human-like frame, tall and shrouded in black empty darkness. "Ask what..", Theta wasn't playing stupid but he wanted the being to go away. Let him wallow in his own guilt until he could force his way back home and deal with everything to come because he was not a coward who tried to get out of things.. Well, except this.SUrely this was an exception, anything would be better than this. "Feel like making a deal with the Devil? Well not the Devil, perhaps an equivalent but all the same." Theta looked confused but Death continued, "A disciple who follows after their leader right? ... Become mine. Become my disciple, my champion if i find you special enough. Live in my eyes and soon enough, all the guilt will wash away and you will come to live as me. You might even enjoy it.. Theta shakes his head, refusing to even entertain that idea, "You're not going to trick me, i won't do it, I said before and i stand by that now. Just go away!" Death remained still; "I could... but where's the fun in that? Someone has to take the memory of kiling that boy and seeing as the memory is too traumatic for you.." This is where Theta makes his second mistake, caught between a rock and a hard place not wanting anyone else to suffer but trying to get out of this guilt at the same time so he says one of his own best friends name which makes the dark being known as Death start to laugh, an eerie sort of sound that echoes and rings in Theta's ears, a sound he doesnt think he cold ever forget. "You would put your own best friend Koschei, who has enough misery with the sound of the drums in his head and everything else he goes through and throw that on top him." "You know i don't want to." "Oh, i see it on your face, i know you dont want to . but why do then, why choose to put your best friend through that? Because you're more important?" "I know i am not! Torvic may have been hell but this? He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to have his life snuffed out because i just had to be someone more scary then him by bashing his brains in. I know it was wrong, that's why i have the guilt. Is that what you want me to feel? to feel guilt? There is no point trying to get me to feel something i already do and Koschei doesn't deserve to have a memory of something he didn't do, placed in his head. There is enough in there." "One might think you're a coward, not strong enough to deal with the memory so you would have the guilt on someone else who didn't do it just because you dont want to face what you've done and you know what? Between you, Koschei, Ushas and Y/N", it could be blamed on any of them... Wouldn't you like to know who? It will surprise you, not me. I tend to be in the loop of everything because i'm always around. I never leave, im like an itch you cant scratch." Theta's eyes narrowed, "What did you do?", they remarked, a dangerous steely tone to their voice, gritting their teeth as they eyed their figure.Balling their fists in what was a contrast for a previous reason, Death responded in only what could be described a smug why don't you find out yourself but they let the scream that erupted speak for themselves. Instantly, Theta bolted towards the sound, not stopping his running until he reached the source. You. You were writhing on the ground of your home around your family who were close and bits away. Your hair was flailing as you shrieked, tears falling down your cheeks as you pushed hands away, people who were only trying to help. Others were covering their mouths and their ears, some trying to escape the disturbing sight. Almost as if you weren't you anymore, your voice quieted from the words it had spoken, 'No, no get away from me!" , "Stop it, don't touch me." , "I will kill you, i dont want to.. please stay away." , "No please, im sorry please forgive me. I didn't mean to, im sorry. Im sorry!", "Bring him back, he didnt deserve it despite what he did.", to even more heartsbreakingly, "I'm a monster.. please make this stop. Dont make him suffer on my account." and some more phrases. Who was him? Torvic who died, YOu who had ran that it was going to be blamed on. Your parents were trying to hold you back from where you were beating your fists against them, using all your strength to run, to never stop running like he Theta had intented to. "My head, oh my head.." You were being held back by Koschei and Ushas. Them trying to help in the best way they could, wishing they could do anything. Your eyes and theirs, few had flashed to Theta as he entereds and people were going to speak with him. ALl of a sudden, almost as if there were a changei n the air as Theta entered and the dark being that only hid itself from the boy's eyes were around where you were. Too quick to catch unless you looked close enough, your eyes went pure black before you collapsed unconscious in Theta's arms as you both fell to the floor. Koschei and Ushas kneel to the ground, the latter checking your pulse. Koschei remarks, "Where did you go? YOu ran off after..." he and Theta shared a look which caused Koschei to quiet. They were going to speak later when the other adults were not around. Behind them all a silent figure only showing itself to Theta who glared intensely at the being. Time passed of you being put to bed, looking peaceful which was a stark contrast to how you were earlier. Hair tumbling and body contorting, hands at your head, tears down your cheeks and look of agonous pain on your face, now you were lying on your bed still looking gentle, so fragile. "What the hell have you done?", Theta remarked quietly under his breath as he spoke to the being, Death answered, "You couldn't bare the pain of what you did so you requested instead of being my disciple, to put the memory on someone else. I did what you asked." "I didn't ask for this and you know it." "No, you had said Koschei... and telling by that mark on your face, neither he or the look Ushas gave you, told you they were pleased." "Take it back..", he pleaded, glancing up at the figure. "No.." "II said take it back!" "No. "You take it back right now." "Guilt is inescapable ________________", Death responded, speaking Theta's REAL name. "You brought this on yourself the moment you took that boys life. You can either have the guilt of doing it or stick with your choice of putting someone else through that. You made your choice. I won't change it for you just because its on the girl you love. " Right as the figure disappears, Theta throws something big at it's direction but it hits the wall and shatters. He covers his head in his hands, taking yours in his as he glances at your face, "I'm sorry. I am so so sorry." He would fix this, he would make things right and as he turned to see an unhappy Koschei, Ushas AND Romana ; they nodded. They now have work to do.

#this was intense to write #but i wanted to do justice for something like this #at every angle #hope yall like it #doctor who writing #my doctor who fics #my writing #doctor who #the doctor #the master #the rani #gallifrey #dw

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akshatkumar17 · 4 years

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The message by coronavirus

So, the corona virus has unleashed havoc upon the world causing panic that may be worse than the disease itself. My views? I am keeping in mind that maybe all that I am about is because I do not have anyone that has been affected by this virus. Got to write what is in my mind though. Humans have done great amounts of damage to the planet Earth, nature and all the living things. Humans think that somehow being the dominant species, we are allowed to decide the fate of the planet and all the things on it. We tend to forget that this world belongs to them as much as it does to us. Leaving nature aside for a minute, we also fight wars, discriminate and differentiate on guidelines and variations created by us. We demolish nature, shred down forests, lock up animals, even kill them for their skin, tusks etc. Our thing is that we discover and destroy. We pollute everything that there is to pollute be it the water bodies, land, air or our own streets. We take nature in our hands and try to control what wouldn’t. For far too long we have taken nature for granted and destroyed it. Maybe it was time nature struck back. This is a measure for numerous things according to me. The human population is unaccountable, and despite all attempts to educate people about the adverse effects of overpopulation. Why are there diseases? Why would nature create something that would act against itself? The answer is to protect itself, from overpopulation by controlling it. Bringing in check the population of all the living beings that are present on the earth. We are being told to stay at home and not go anywhere outside, Many take that as unbearable and cannot do with the quarantine. Irony laughs. Ever thought about the animals that we keep locked up? They had a life too you know. They had a home too which definitely wasn’t a metal cage. Be thankful at least you get to be home with your family whom you probably might have not spent time with since ages. These animals are separated from their habitats and their communities that they had dwelled with and were naturally supposed to dwell with in the same habitat. You have been given the golden opportunity to spend time with your family that your busy schedules wouldn’t allow probably under normal circumstances. Look at all the water bodies that have become crystal clear, all the roads being quieter than ever, the skies being clearer, what do you think led to this bloom in nature? Absence of human beings. Don’t you still get the damage that you do to nature, to his place that we thrive upon. How many knockings does your conscience need or is it dead already? Dolphins have appeared near the coast of Italy, penguins are roaming in the city, otters are free to move around anywhere and lots of living beings that are finally in the kind of earth that they have always dreamt about. Does it not make you happy at all? Well we mostly are selfish so I wouldn’t consider myself too shocked if you do not agree with me. If we could understand the communication of all the living beings around us maybe we could hear them saying that humans got what they deserved, maybe we could hear them rejoicing these little moments of freedom that they have got in our absence, maybe we could hear the plants talking about how happy they are to finally be able to grow to their full potential without being cut down and being able to do so in a clean environment for once. But do you know what you wouldn’t hear? Them being happy or enjoying our anguish. Nature did not create anything that way, we decided to become like this. We created these thoughts and hate speeches among ourselves that leads to our self-destruction mainly mentally that later turns into a physical one. Can we never learn from these mistakes that we make? Nature has given us so many chances why don’t we give it one to be united and stop destroying the most beautiful gift that god has given to us. If you could also direct your minds to what I’m going to say now and give it a thought. The corona virus is a clear display of the nature’s power, its superiority over us. A reminder that we do not control it and rather nature us what controls us. Nature provides us with all that is essential for living, yet we plunder it, devastate it and think that we get to control it but in the end it reminds us who the true boss is around here doesn’t it?

I would like to quote a dialogue from the movie Godzilla that says, “Nature always has a way to balance itself”

I would lastly like to express my deepest condolences to all the people that have fallen victim to this deadly virus and I wish the greatest of strength to all those of you that are still fighting this disease. Remember humans have many flaws but the most beautiful moments of our existence lies in our Unity. Together we van defeat this virus and return the world to a happy place. stay safe, stay indoors and take care.

#unitedwestand coronavirus staysafe stayhome thoughts writing nature essay composition love takecare

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fangsandforests · 5 years

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Is a tarantula the right pet for you?

‘Tis the season of giving and the season of new (and sometimes spur-of-the-moment) pets. Tarantulas have been steadily gaining popularity as pets in recent years, and unfortunately, there’s still plenty of misinformation out there about how to properly care for them. If you’ve been thinking about adding this eight-legged critter to your family this year, please take some time to understand and evaluate this commitment.

Tarantulas can live for decades (in some cases).

I mention this first and foremost because the species most readily available in pet stores (such as rose hair tarantulas) are usually the most long-lived. If you purchase a tarantula thinking it will only be around a few years, you need to be aware that some species can live for 20 or more years, which means they may still be in your care long after your kids have lost interest. Males have shorter lifespans than females, but they still may live 10-15 years in some cases. Be sure to look into the estimated lifespan of the species you're interested in and be prepared for a lengthy commitment.

Tarantulas eat insects.

Okay, maybe this one is obvious. You may be thinking, “Well, duh, I knew that.” However, what you might not be thinking about is how you’re going to care for these insects until your tarantula consumes them. And you thought you were just getting one new mouth to feed!

Crickets are going to be the most accessible feeder insects, since your local PetSmart or Petco will likely have a continuous supply. But you typically have to buy a minimum of a dozen crickets, and if you have one tarantula eating about one cricket per week, you’re going to have to care for the other eleven until their time comes. Are you prepared to keep noisy, smelly, and messy crickets in your home? Are you squeamish about working with fast-moving insects? Are you prepared for the occasional escaped cricket wandering around your house?

Even if you opt for easier feeders like mealworms or dubia, you still need to care for them properly, which means keeping their enclosures clean and feeding them well, because healthy feeders make healthy tarantulas. A tarantula isn’t going to be a good pet if you don’t like the thought of keeping a supply of insects like these in your house.

And, no, you cannot just find insects in your backyard and give them to your tarantula! Wild insects may have been exposed to deadly pesticides and parasites, and you put your tarantula’s health at risk by doing this.

Tarantulas do not like human interaction.

Don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise. Tarantulas want to be left alone, all day, every day. Even if you choose a species that tends to be calm and relaxed, all tarantulas have their off days when they may decide to flee from you or stand and fight. If you’re looking for a pet you can handle on a regular basis, turn your attention toward a guinea pig or a gecko.

I’ve written quite frequently about why handling tarantulas is a bad idea, so I won’t go into too much detail here. Basically, if you want a happy tarantula, you need to accept that it is a “hands-off” pet. Do not buy a tarantula just to take that shocking Instagram picture of it crawling over your face. It is simply not safe and is stressful for the tarantula no matter how you go about it. If you shrug your shoulders at this advice and handle your tarantula anyway, you will eventually end up with painfully itchy skin, a bite wound, or (most likely) a dead tarantula. Just don’t do it.

"I got a jar of dirt, and guess what’s inside it!”

Going along with my previous point, a happy tarantula is one that feels safe, and tarantulas feel most secure in dark, tight spaces. Some species construct underground burrows and stay in them all day, only occasionally coming out at night. Spend enough time around tarantula keepers, and you’ll eventually hear the words “pet hole”; sometimes having a tarantula feels like you just have a box of dirt and you’re pretending something lives there. You may not see them unless it’s feeding time, and there are some species that won’t even come out for that.

Now, there are tarantulas that tend to be visible most of the time (for example, the A. chalcodes and A. geniculata), but don’t expect them to be very active. If your tarantula is constantly on the move, it’s often an indication that it’s unhappy in its enclosure or experiencing stress. A tarantula might not be a good fit for you if you’re hoping for an active and entertaining pet.

And now for the reasons you should get a tarantula.

When it comes to daily care, you’ll be surprised at how little it takes to make your tarantula happy. Because they prefer to be in cramped spaces, they do not need (or want) much space. I use large Exo Terra breeding boxes for my adult terrestrial species, mediums for my juveniles, and smalls for my dwarf species and older slings. I generally keep tiny slings in small condiment cups or vials. If you provide too much space, you’ll find that your tarantula only uses part of the enclosure. I once kept my A. geniculata in a 10″ by 24″ enclosure, and despite his 7″ size, he only used half the enclosure, rarely, if ever, venturing to the other side. The right enclosure for your tarantula might even be in your house already; some keepers simply drill ventilation holes in storage bins with locking lids, or clean out and ventilate empty food containers (peanut butter jars, pretzel tubs, etc.).

Once you have an appropriate enclosure, you just need a water dish (no sponges, please!) that you keep clean and filled with fresh water, a hide the tarantula can fit in comfortably, enough substrate to burrow in if they so desire (most keepers use coco fiber substrate), and an insect meal about once a week. This care routine varies a little depending on the type of tarantula (terrestrial, fossorial, or arboreal) and species, so it’s always a good idea to do some research on the kind of tarantula you’re interested in.

Some stores may try to convince you to purchase heat lamps or heat mats - don’t! These devices have been known to kill tarantulas and make them dangerously dehydrated. If your room temperature is comfortable (roughly 70-80 degrees), you don’t have to worry about heating. Lighting is also unnecessary. All this means that setting up a tarantula’s home is about as cheap as it gets!

Even though some of my notes above might make tarantulas sound boring, they can make very rewarding pets for the right keeper. Tarantulas are unique and fascinating. Once you witness the molting process or see a box of substrate turn into a work or art overnight, you’ll understand what’s really worthwhile about caring for a tarantula. And your options are overwhelming; there are countless species out there with different colors and characteristics.

As I’ve said before, always do your research before getting any new pet. Ask questions. Talk to experienced keepers. And even after you have a tarantula of your own, keep learning. Like most exotic pets, we’re regularly discovering more about tarantulas through scientific studies and keeper observations, and our care for them should evolve as knowledge progresses.

Stay tuned for next week’s post about another interesting pet you might want to consider gifting this year! (Hint: It’s another invertebrate, but this one is handle-able!)

#buying tarantulas #tarantula #tarantula care #christmas gifts #exotic pets

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years

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Six Baudelaires AU, Part One {AO3} {Read from the Beginning}

Chapter Twelve → in which Sunny makes a Friend

“Sunny!” Lilac screamed, terror gripping her.

“Do something!” Nick shouted at Monty, as he stepped backwards, clutching Solitude and shifting her so that he could shield her from the snake on the ground, that had now wrapped around their infant sister. Solitude, for her part, grabbed her tiny frog friend and clasped it in her hands, barely covering it.

“What are you doing?” Violet asked as Monty just started to laugh.

“You let a deadly snake bite our sister!” Lilac shouted.

“I told you we couldn’t trust him!” Klaus said, stepping back, “I told you we couldn’t trust him!”

However, as they watched, Sunny only shook her head slightly, appearing unbothered by the snake. She stared for a moment, before giggling and leaning forwards, biting the snake on the nose. He reared back, staring in confusion, before wrapping around her more and sticking out its tongue, hissing a little. Sunny giggled, waving her arms, and the snake, looking almost excited, waved his tail, ticking the back of her head. She continued to laugh and wave her arms, looking much more excited than her siblings thought she had any right to be.

Monty finally stopped laughing, and he bent down, picking up the snake and placing it back in its cage. Sunny, giggling, waved towards it as Lilac jumped forwards and picked her up.

“How could you do that?” Lilac asked, checking Sunny over for injuries.

“I am sorry, children,” Monty said, still chuckling slightly, “But you need not worry! The Incredibly Deadly Viper is one of the least dangerous and most friendly creatures in the animal kingdom. Sunny has nothing to worry about.”

The siblings stared at him in suspicion and bewilderment. “But,” Nick said, still holding Solitude away from the snake cage, even as the toddler tried to lean towards it to see the snake slither around. “It’s called the Incredibly Deadly Viper!”

“Yes,” Monty nodded, “It’s a misnomer. Do you know what that means?”

Klaus hesitantly replied, “A very wrong name?”

“Yes!”

“Why would you give your own discovery a very wrong name?” Violet asked.

“Because I intend to play a little joke on the Herpetological Society.” Monty explained. “Payback for years of ridicule- ‘Hello, hello, Montgomery Montgomery, how are you, how are you, Montgomery Montgomery?’ I’m going to introduce the Incredibly Deadly Viper, and then pretend it’s escaped! And then who’ll be laughing? Me!”

Lilac hesitantly glanced at the cage, where the snake had stopped to wriggle its tongue at Sunny, who giggled and waved. “Are there any snakes in this room that are dangerous?” she asked carefully, exchanging a cautious look with Klaus.

“Of course.” Monty said. “You can’t study snakes for forty years without encountering some dangerous ones. Why, I have a whole cabinet of venom samples from every poisonous snake known to humankind, so I can study the way those creatures work. But all of these snakes are in cages with much sturdier locks, and all of them can be handled safely when one has studied them enough.”

“So they can’t hurt us?” Violet asked.

Monty shook his head. “Come with me- Klaus, I saw you inspecting my scientific library earlier?” He led them over to the wall of books.

“Yes.” Klaus said quietly.

“Here is everything you could possibly need to know.” he said. “And hopefully you will be using this knowledge- in ten days, I hope to take you all with me on my next expedition.”

“We’re going somewhere?” Lilac asked.

“Peru.”

“Peru?” Nick asked, shocked. “Why are we going to Peru?”

“To study and discover the reptiles.” Monty replied simply. “It will be us and my assistant, Gustav- oh, no.”

“What?” Violet asked.

“I forgot, Gustav quite unexpectedly left me a letter of resignation.” Monty said. “Quite a shock, he’d been my assistant for many years. I hired a new assistant, who should be arriving in a week, but I am still way behind on preparations for the expedition.” He smiled, and then said, “I need somebody to make sure all the snake traps are working, so we don’t hurt any of our specimens. Somebody has to read up on the jungle terrain of Peru so we can navigate without trouble. And somebody has to slice an enormous length of rope into small, workable pieces.”

The children all perked up, and Lilac said first, “I’d be happy to learn about snake traps.”

“I’d be happy to reverse-engineer some extra ones.” Violet added.

“I’d love to read up on the Peruvian terrain.” Nick said.

“That might be interesting.” Klaus agreed.

“Eojip!” Sunny shrieked, meaning, “I would be thrilled to bite a rope into small pieces!”

Solitude was silent a moment, and then said, “Snake!”

“Wonderful!” Monty said. “I am incredibly excited to have you children with me! Though, it was very upsetting to receive Gustav’s resignation letter. It’s strange, I never thought he’d leave so suddenly, and he was so excited to go to Peru. I was very unlucky to lose him.”

“Well…” Klaus said quietly. “We know what it’s like to be unlucky.”

Monty nodded and, carefully, he reached out his hands, placing them on Violet and Nick’s shoulders, as they were the ones on the outside of the group. “Now, children, I know that a few dangerous reptiles can make you skeptical of the entire species. But, if you give them a chance, and you get to know them well enough to tell the dangerous from the good, I promise you… no harm will come to you in the Reptile Room.”

The siblings looked to Lilac, and when she smiled and nodded, they did the same.

“What do you guys think?” Klaus asked.

They’d crowded into the twins’ room, and Soli was sitting on Nick’s lap, re-pulling Sunny’s hair into a ponytail and babbling nonstop about the Reptile Room. It took forever for anyone to get a word in edgewise. When Klaus finally spoke up once she took a breath, the others looked to him with a shared concern.

“I think he does want to help us.” Violet said. “He seems to like us.”

“It could just mean he’s sneakier than Count Olaf.” Lilac said.

“I don’t know.” Nick said. “From what I know about herpetology, he probably would get paid a ton, enough to not need our fortune.”

“Still, he’s trying to take us out of the country.” Klaus said. “Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”

“It would be in line with his occupation.” Nick said.

“Snake!” Soli said.

“Solitude,” Lilac said, “I believe you’ve said ‘snake’ more times in the last hour than the rest of us have said in our entire lives.”

“Snake! Snake, snake, snake!” Soli cheered.

“Aw, you like the snakes, Soli?” Nick asked, leaning over and wrapping his arms around her, causing her to laugh wildly. “You like the reptiles? Hey, want me to read to you Uncle Monty’s books tomorrow?”

“Yee!” Solitude shouted, looked absolutely delighted. She leaned back, so that her brother could hug her some more, and he quickly pulled her onto his lap and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She let out a high-pitched laugh, throwing up her arms so she could give him a sort of half-hug around the neck.

“Do you think the room’s safe?” Klaus asked.

“Tomorrow I could inspect the cage locks.” Violet volunteered. “Make sure the venom cabinet is kept out of the way.”

“I could even build our own locks.” Lilac said.

“And I could study up on poison antidotes.” Klaus glanced at the ground.

“Ink!” Sunny said, meaning, “And I can play with the Incredibly Deadly Viper!”

Violet laughed slightly. “Oh, yes, that’s helpful, Sun.”

“Snake!” Soli repeated. Her siblings were starting to wonder if she’d forgotten how to say anything else.

“Seriously, though, I think Uncle Monty actually likes us.” Violet said. “Isn’t that nice?”

“I guess.” Klaus said. “I just… I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve got ten days to figure out if we trust him or not.” Lilac said. “Before we leave the country. So, uh… everyone get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can do.”

They hesitantly nodded, and Klaus jumped off the edge of Nick’s bed, moving to his own. Lilac picked up Sunny, saying, “Are you sure that’s a safe bed for Solitude?”

Nick shrugged, placing Solitude onto the table inbetween his and Klaus’s beds, where they’d piled up a nest of blankets and pillows. “She’ll be fine.”

“What if she falls?”

“She won’t.”

“But if she does?”

“Li, she’ll be fine.” Klaus said. “Soli loves it. Don’t you, Sol?”

Solitude grinned before ducking under a blanket and imitating a snake hiss.

“Just put some pillows on the ground, in case you need to cushion her fall.” Lilac said. “And-”

“She’s gonna be okay, Li.” Violet rolled her eyes.

Lilac bit her lip. “And you’ll be okay sleeping alone?”

“Yeah. I got tired of sharing a room with all of you anyway.” Violet shrugged. “You all have fun or whatever. See you in the morning.”

She skipped out, and Lilac shifted her hold on Sunny, still looking a bit concerned. “Okay.” she finally said. “Um… Sunny, say goodnight to your siblings.”

“Nocte!” Sunny yawned.

Lilac glanced towards her brothers and Solitude. “Well… goodnight.”

“Piss off.” Nick waved, his customary goodbye.

“Goodnight.” Klaus said.

“And you know my bedroom’s right down the hall?”

“Li.” Nick said. “Please go.”

Lilac nodded, hesitantly glancing towards their window, as if she wanted to re-check that it was locked. Then she left, carefully shutting the door behind her.

“Do you actually trust him?” Klaus asked, pulling the cylinder from under his pillow and fiddling with it as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Nick said. “I mean, sure, he could be… he’s a bit weird, yeah, but he can’t be as bad as Olaf. It’s not like he’s gonna try to kill us and marry our sister.”

“He could. We don’t know anything about him!”

“Klaus,” Nick looked over at his brother. “That’s not going to happen.”

“What if it does?”

Nick leaned over, holding out his hand in the space between the beds. After a moment, Klaus reached out his hand, too, and they held their hands together a moment.

“If something like that does happen again,” Nick said, “We’ll protect each other, okay?”

Klaus bit his lip and nodded, smiling slightly. “Yeah.”

Nick pulled back, and said, “Goodnight, Sol.”

Solitude yawned and nodded, curling up under a blanket. Nick fell asleep quickly, too, but Klaus stayed up a bit more, playing with the cylinder in his hands and occasionally staring towards the window, where he could’ve sworn he heard something outside, but… it must have been nothing.

“Violet!” Lilac called.

“What?” Violet glanced over her shoulder.

Lilac hesitated, shouldering Sunny, before saying, “You know where to find me if something happens?”

“I’ll be fine, Li.”

“But if something-”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Violet, you know where to find me?”

“Yes, I know where you are. Now piss off, I’m tired.”

Lilac sighed. “Just… listen, I know Monty seems nice, but if he… if he does anything, you tell me, okay?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Violet said. “I trust him.”

“Violet!”

“Fine, yeah. Okay? Can I go to bed now, or do you want to interrogate me?”

Lilac sighed. “Go ahead.”

Violet spun on her heel and walked off, and Lilac sighed, holding Sunny closer.

“Wait, Vi!”

Violet turned. “What?”

Lilac bit her lip. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Li.”

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #the reptile room #mine #my fanfic #six baudelaires official fic

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dndplus · 6 years

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In-Depth: Altering Combat

This is post is titled “In-Depth”, and it is done so because it talks about the aspects of combat and building encounters in D&D that are beyond your basic ‘understanding locales’ and KFC nonsense.

If you want the beginner’s post on Combat, go here:

Getting Started: Combat

That said, in my Getting Started post, I didn’t go into detail on certain aspects of running an encounter. This was intentional, as someone who’s just started should’t be concerning themselves with quite so much. But what about the rest of us? The people building encounters for players at level 3, or 5, or 9, or 14, or... you get the picture.

As per usual, I’m going to break this post down into certain key segments:

Experience, and Why You Shouldn’t Always Listen to the CR

Special Enemy Abilities

Moving The Goalposts: How to Make Parties of Particularly Deadly Player Characters Feel Their Weaknesses

One Big Foe

Depending on your level of experience, one (or all) of these bullets will jump out to you as things that have needed adjustment on your end. Here’s some tips and insight on how to manage all of these factors, starting with some advice to keep experience values from affecting how you structure encounters...

Experience, and Why You Shouldn’t Always Listen to the CR

I’m going to go ahead and start this post by saying that, in my opinion, no custom campaign should ever really bother with experience. This is a guideline (admittedly a useful one), but it can grossly limit a DM’s creativity and flexibility when building an encounter.

So, you can either assign experience values yourself based on the difficulty (because, yes, an encounter can be worth MORE experience than the CR suggests as well), or you can simply inform your players of when they’ve earned a level-up as your campaign’s story dictates. I’ll give some advice on this, but first, let’s talk about the why.

A vampire has a challenge rating of 13, and awards 10,000xp (split evenly among the group). It’s a difficult foe, with regenerative capabilities, Legendary Actions and Resistance, the added complication of Misty Escape, incredible story-centric skills (shapechange, charm, etc), and even the ability to summon minions.

It also only has 144 hit points (on average). In a straight up, no non-sense fight, you’d be downright shocked to see how low a level some parties of 4 can be when challenging a “dreaded” vampire and coming out on top.

So, what gives? Why 10,000xp for something that has such a strong chance of being outright blown up? Well first of all, a vampire has legendary resistance and legendary actions baked in because it’s meant to fight with others. The chaos of a packed battlefield is what makes a vampire the CR 13 menace it claims to be.

But that’s my point: A vampire is not a CR 13 creature when alone, not the way many dragons fit their CR when they are. For instance, an Adult White Dragon (also CR 13) has the same Legendary Resistance, Legendary Actions, much more HP, a higher Armor Class, a deadly breath weapon (12D8, save DC 19, YIKES!), and a far more powerful array of standard attacks. What’s more, dragons of this size have Frightful Presence, which severely ups the creature’s action economy (more about action economy in One Big Enemy later...)

At this point, the Adult White Dragon already seems stronger than a Vampire, but it pulls way, wayyyy ahead when you factor in its nightmarish 80ft Flying Speed. If this isn’t proof that you can’t always trust the CR rating of a creature, I don’t know what is.

So, how do we go about assigning level-ups in a way that keep us from worrying about the sudden deluge of experience an overrated monster offers? Simple! You forgo experience altogether! Some players like the illusion of experience, though. To accommodate this, plan out all of the adventures you wish to have spanning a “level” and then split up the experience rewards based on the difficulty of individual missions.

If your players understand and trust you enough to handle the level-ups without the bells and whistles, it’s up to you to plan their distribution. The best way to do this is to look at the greater adventure at play in your campaign and take stock of your villain. Your players should be strong enough to handle them when the times comes, but not so strong that they walk right over the poor sod. Use those benchmarks to create the ‘beginning’ and ‘end’ points of the level ups you need your players to get.

After that, use important encounters to space those level ups out. Here’s a few examples of events that are well suited to triggering a level up:

Defeating one of the villains most powerful minions. This one is obvious, and a classic. As an added bonus, it cements the feeling in your players that they’re getting closer to final confrontation.

The conclusion of an important meeting, or the coming of a particularly plot-important revelation. This one is a bit more complicated, but again fits well with the feeling of progression. Typically, this is best used when your players have gone through a lot of combat since their last level, but are lacking in some plot-significant baddie to mark the occasion.

Difficult Side Quests. Yeah, sometimes the players get dragged into something completely unrelated, but it’s nice for these to have weight and not feel like a waste of time. If you’re worried about your players going off and doing other stuff to the point that they’ll become too powerful, remember that you can fill the final boss encounter with additional minions to bring the difficulty up to par. Alternatively, you can use the story you’ve created to put a sense of urgency into the players, and also create consequences for their wandering. A necromancer threatening to ascend into a lich is a terribly frightening prospect, and makes the players feel like they’ve lost ground for running off to level up more before the final confrontation.

That’s really all there is to say about experience. It’s not a terribly detailed subject, but it’s one I want Game Masters to understand. CR, like everything else, is just a tool. Treating it as gospel will make balancing encounters that much more difficulty in the long run.

Special Enemy Abilities

I sincerely hope that this is a short subject, because it’s not a particularly complicated one. What’s it really about, though?

Well, sometimes that Specter enemy you’re throwing at your players was created as a result of something unique. The Monster Manual already gives us a ‘special’ version of the Specter in the Poltergeist, but that doesn’t always fit the flavor of your specter’s circumstances.

Let’s start with a few examples of why a creature might have special abilities:

A pact, blessing, or curse from some greater being.

The unique way in which it came to be.

Life in a locale not typical to its species.

Some detail specific to your setting.

There’s a lot more, but these should give you an idea of when to get creative.

In the instance of the specter, we’re going to combine 1 + 2, in which someone died at the hands of a particularly horrid and dark god. At this point, you have to ask yourself: how much stronger, or weaker (because yes, they can be weaker), is my ‘special’ creature?

So, our ultra horrible nightmarish entity has doomed a few pour souls to a particularly vile magically induced death. What comes of it? If the entity is supposed to be particularly powerful, then make the specters more powerful too.

We’ll start by upping the HD from a flat 5D8 to 5D8 + 20, which is a significant increase for any party that has trouble dealing with a Specter’s natural resistances.

It can’t just be more powerful though, can it? No, the rule of cool is important, and we want this new version to do something cool that will tip your players off to how unique it is, as well as match the dark entity that created them.

In this example, I’m using an evil god of my own design known as Goddenfeir. Without going into too much detail and boring you all to death, Goddenfeir is a god obsessed with the concept of complete nonexistence, and finds it unattainable. Wraiths, specters, and the like created by Goddenfeir carry this sense of oblivion deep within their being, and manifest abilities to go along with it. Here’s what I gave the specter:

Breath of Oblivion - Recharge 5-6, 15ft Cone. Targets caught in the breath must make a DC 12 Dexterity Saving Throw, suffering 5D6 Cold Damage on a failed save, or half as much on a successful one.

This is a frightening ability, especially when the prospect of multiple specters comes into play. In my own campaign, this was done to pump up Goddenfeir himself in a simple event that wasn’t meant to threaten the players that much, merely show them that he’s there, and that even something as harmless as a Specter (CR 1 normally) can potentially become very dangerous with his dark influence.

Moving The Goalposts: How to Make Parties of Particularly Deadly Player Characters Feel Their Weaknesses

Adding this category was very much so an afterthought, but it’s an important one: some player parties are just too damn good at killing things.

So how does a Dungeon Master kill-, er... challenge such a party? Simple: you move the goalposts. Not every encounter needs to come down to ‘killing the other guy’. Not every encounter needs to be combat, either. You could throw a puzzle at your players, or a particularly deadly trap (or a combination of the two!).

When you are looking for a way to give your oh-so-powerful band of murder-hobos a fight that will leave them quaking, you want to change the goal of the overall fight. Here’s some basic examples of how to do that, for you to use straight up or to inspire you to create one of your own:

Evacuation! A town is under attack, and its enemies are legion. Have your players brave the town and help the people trapped within escape, fighting through the endless hordes all the while. This can be easily done by enticing them with a great deal of gold for every person they save (and then making them increasingly difficult to get to, of course).

Trapped! Sometimes, the only play is to run away. Again, we have an endless horde situation, but this time your players are working against the clock (and their own limited resources) to secure a means of escape. Speaking of clocks...

Stall/Rush! Some parties are strong because they blow enemies up super fast. Some parties are strong because they’re just so damned resilient. Whichever the variety plaguing you, making a fast party take their time (such as with an enemy who’s invulnerable for a series of turns at the start of a fight) can be devastating. Likewise, forcing a slow party to get the job done fast (say, defeating a powered up Ogre Champion with the key to the lift of the collapsing mine they’re in).

This is a pretty bare-bones set of examples, but I think they demonstrate pretty well that a lot of parties are only really strong when the game is being played how they expect. Dungeons and Dragons isn’t just about killing the bad guy, though. Sometimes the evil player campaign requires taking someone alive, or the good player campaign needs the players to make an ally of an enemy. Whatever the demand, there’s always a way to move the goalposts and show your players they’re not as unstoppable as they think.

One Big Foe

I saved this for last specifically because it’s what reminded me to return to an combat in an In-Depth post. In the Getting Started: Combat post, I talked about KFC and how it shows us that quantity > quality when it comes to making an encounter more difficult.

But what about when when you want to hit your players with a proper, ginormous monster? Some monsters are already built for this, like Dragons and Beholders, as shown by the presence of Legendary Resistance and Legendary Actions. Legendary Actions, in particular, are there to help even out the action economy difference.

Action Economy

You have 5 players. They are each level 3, and you’ve called in a Hill Giant (CR 5) to pick a fight with them. With the ability to deal 36 damage in a couple of attacks, it’s pretty clear that a Hill Giant is a deadly foe. Surely it will-, wait, no, the players killed it in 2 rounds.

How? Your 5 players only had to average 10 damage each to deal 100 damage in two rounds, and the Hill Giant has a low Armor Class and an average HP of 105. The Hill Giant, if lucky, did 72 damage total. In all reality, it did much less, with several points of damage going over as a player fell unconscious, or 18 points vanishing into the abyss as your giant rolled a natural one or just outright missed. What’s more, no one in the party probably even bothered using a potion or other consumable, and next to no healing spells (if any) were used either.

This is where we even things out...

Legendary Actions

Hill Giants do not have legendary actions, and shouldn’t, but when one big enemy is alone, giving them legendary actions can help improve the threat they pose to the party without diluting the experience and adding more small enemies to back it up.

For a Hill Giant, we give it a pool of 2 Legendary Actions, which it takes at the end of a player’s turn, and is refreshed every time the Hill Giant’s turn ends. It’s Legendary Actions would then look something like this:

Move, 1 Action - The Hill Giant moves up to half it speed.

Club, 1 Actions - The Hill Giant swings its greatclub at a target..

Hurl, 2 Actions - The Hill Giant scoops up a rock from its pouch and hurls it at a distant target.

At this point, the Hill Giant is suddenly terrifying. 2-3 turns feels like an eternity when it gets two attacks on its turn, and up to 2 additional attacks through the use of Legendary Actions. We made it more mobile as well, a fact that will truly terrify the squishier members of the group who rely on keeping their distance.

In the end, though, a Hill Giant still only has so many hit points. The fight would have to go terribly, TERRIBLY wrong for 5 player characters to all die to this one Hill Giant.

It’s important to think about what you want your legendary actions to accomplish for a creature. I set the boundary of two attacks, an attack and half of its movement, or a single ranged attack, and then made the total legendary action uses match the pool of actions themselves.

Hopefully, this will improve your encounters when you try to throw a single, menacing beast up against your players, instead of it just turning into an ego boost for your players!

#D&D #D&D 5e #D&D&EE #Dungeons and Dragons #Dungeon Master #Combat #Altering an encounter #difficulty #DM #Gm #DM Tutorial #Dungeon Master Tutorial #Dungeon Master Guide #Tutorial #Experience #CR #Challenge Rating #Special Abilities #Victory Conditions

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ramheavenandhell · 5 years

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More Rick Than You Think – Chapter 4: This is exactly what it looks like

AN: Finally the last chapter of this story. Theoretically, I still could have stretched this out more, but I didn't see the point. Besides, I'm sure you were also looking forward to finally have some actual Rick/Morty action going ^v^ Warnings: Rick/Morty smut, dirty talk

More Rick Than You Think – Chapter 4: This is exactly what it looks like Rick was in a dilemma. Ever since he had started to entertain the thought about fucking Morty, it was refusing to leave his head. Whenever he was beating off (and not to spying on Morty), he began to fantasize about all the things that he could do to his grandson. He even started to have dreams about it. Of course, to the outside world he acted as unaffected as ever, but mentally it was a heavy burden on him. One that he didn't want to let Morty or anyone know about. However, Rick was only human – even if he was a mad genius that was capable of feats that owned him the right to announce himself to be a god, he was still only a human. And as such, he was bound to eventually reach his breaking point. The circumstances how that unfolded still came completely out of the blue for him. Well, maybe it wasn't really that surprising if he actually were to stop and think about it later on. Everything had started out harmless enough. He was just on another regular adventure with his grandson – not even something that would be deemed life threatening or especially dangerous. They weren't going off in Galactic Federation territory nor was it a planet that was necessarily inhabited by more dangerous or deadly creatures than existed on earth. He just needed a few crystals that were part of his portal fluid formula and no smuggling in any behinds was involved this time either. A completely innocent and harmless collecting mission that was actually pretty boring if it wasn't such a necessity. It wasn't even important for Morty to come along since he didn't need him as a shield and the little bit of work of plucking those crystals from the cave wall was also not tedious enough for him, though a good excuse to have the boy do something to feel like he had some sort of importance and didn't just come along for decoration. Rick always made sure that he involved Morty in their adventures in one way or another even if the little turd often did not appreciate it. The boy's constant complaints about one thing or other were proof of his ungratefulness. In truth, Rick just wanted to teach him something new again, wanting Morty to learn a bit more about how his portal gun worked and know what would be needed to power it if he ever were to build one of his own one day. Though one might wonder, how a simple trip like that could have gone off the rails so badly. Of course, it was Morty's fault again. Or, the fault of his damn teenage hormones. Make of it what you will. It all started relatively quickly to boot. Rick had led Morty inside the small cave where the crystals were and then handed him some tools with which he was supposed to mine them. Not even a minute later, Morty had started to cry out because he had cut himself on the sharp edge of a protruding rock. Of course, Rick had told him that he would fix that later and to not be a pussy and suck it up, but his whiney grandson had kept complaining about it to the point that Rick had examined the wound. He had indeed a rather large gash on his palm, but it was nothing life threatening. Still, being the good grandpa that he was, he had brought the boy back to his parked ship, washed the wound out with his precious (and expansive) vodka – something, to which Morty had winced and complained again – and then wrapped his hand with a bandage. Then he told him to stay at the space car and wait till he would be back with the crystals. So much for the idea to make Morty part of the adventure again. At any rate, Rick mined those glowing green rocks on his own, not thinking that anything more could go wrong today. And who could blame him? When he told Morty to stay at the car and wait, he hadn't really been asking for too much when he expected his grandson to actually listen to him and do that exactly. However, when Rick returned to the space cruiser there was no Morty. Angrily he dumped the little bag filled with crystals in the trunk of the vehicle before venturing out to find the boy. Rick knew that he couldn't be in mortal danger right now and even if he was, that one would be on him. There was nothing on this planet that could have potentially kidnapped him or anything. It was a harmless planet that hadn't developed any kind of intelligent life yet. Fortunately, Rick didn't have to search for all that long. He just found his grandson around the corner of a tall stone formation – without any pants on and petting one of the native animals. A definitely cat-like creature, which looked more than just content from the affection that it received from the human boy. And it seemed to be very curious and interested in the teen, too. Figures that Morty couldn't dig up some rocks with a wounded hand, but for jerking off, it was still good enough. Since Rick was already as peeved as he was, he didn't even consider just staying quiet and hidden and playing voyeur again like usual and instead cleared his throat loudly. Morty immediately turned around to him and looked like a deer caught in headlights while the friendly animal scurried away, scared from the new (and intimidating) presence. "Uh… thi-this isn't—" Morty started, trying to hide his naked lower body from view, but Rick immediately interrupted him.

"Morty, are you really sure you wanna say that to me. Let's face it, we both know what this looks like and we also know that this is exactly what it is, so don't be stupid, Morty." His grandson looked with bright blushing cheeks and big, wet eyes at him and moved his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. "Don't try to act like you're so innocent Morty. Obviously you were trying to fuck with that feline-what-ever-its-name is as-as—like you fucked with your dog." Rick went on. The boy's eyes widened in shock and now he looked like he was really going to cry. Rick sighed at the pathetic sight and pulled himself together so he wouldn't be going too hard on the boy about this.

So he knelt down in front of Morty and actually had a gentle look in his eyes as he explained, "I know you're that age right now, Morty. Heck, I was young once, too. And it's okay to experiment and all that, but out here in space you can't just go around and fuck whatever, no matter how tempting it is. Trust me, I've made some bad decisions with that. You really need to know what is safe and what is not or it's gonna fuck up your health or might even kill you. So, you should at least ask me in advance if it's safe or not, got it?"

Morty nodded in understanding, but still looked deeply ashamed. "Ho-how do you know about Snuffles?" he eventually dared to ask. "Oh, I know about all the things that you did. Fucking with your dog. Playing with your sister. Stealing your mom's horse dildos and stuffing them into your ass. You're into some really depraved shit, Morty." Thick tears were gathering in the boy's eyes now and rolled down his soft, round cheeks and Rick mentally congratulated himself. 'Good going, you asshole. Now you did it.' "H-hey, like I said, there's nothing wrong with that, Morty." He tried to calm the brunet again. "Sure, they're a lot of people out there that would say that it's fucked up, but I'm not one of them. You know, grandpa's been around and seen and done some crazy shit and I would lie if I said that I don't have some kinks myself that would be considered questionable."

Morty sniffed a little, but seemed to considerably calm down even if he was still half-naked and embarrassed about the current situation and topic of their conversation. "R-really?"

"Sure, Morty. I've fucked humans, aliens, all sorts of weird species that would be considered animals and some that are basically only half-sentient plants. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg." Rick assured him. "Fooling around with your sister may seem a little out there, but it's not like you got her pregnant and she is a pretty redhead, so grandpa can see the temptation there. We both like our girls the same."

"For real? You would do that, too?" Morty sounded curious now.

"Eh, sure. Maybe. I'd probably even do you if you were up for it, Morty. You know, show you how much better a real cock is, especially if you're getting it from someone who knows what they're doing and not just an animal that fucks based on its primal needs and instincts alone." Rick winked at his grandson.

This gesture – together with that bold statement – made the brunet blush heavily again. And again, he was in that state of opening and closing his mouth without being able to speak.

Maybe, he questioned if Rick was serious? Or, was he trying to pick up on that offer and didn't know how to ask?

Whatever it may have been, Rick decided to give him an easy out and pushed him on the ground, pressing his lips against his grandson's.

The kiss was chaste and short and Rick murmured, "Want me to show you, Morty?"

Probably still spurred on by the horrible hormones that had led Morty to the stupid decision of trying to copulate with the native fauna, the boy nodded his head and that sealed it. This was all the agreement that Rick wanted and needed and nothing would stop him from fucking the last of Morty's morality out of him now.

With a growl, he latched onto the boy's lips again.

His mind was practically spinning with all the things that he could do to Morty now that he had given his consent. It made him so worked up that he needed to calm himself down again.

'Keep it slow, big boy. No need to get hasty and sloppy.' Really, the last thing that he needed was to give Morty a bad first impression of his skills just because he couldn't control himself now.

He licked at the soft warm lips, prodding with more pressure against them to make his intentions clear and didn't have to wait long before they parted. Quickly his tongue darted inside the hot cavern and plundered it of all its treasures, enjoying the mewling sound that his grandson emitted in reaction to it.

Dammit! Morty tasted so good, it was addictive!

He couldn't get enough of his taste, but on the other hand, he wanted more. So much more.

Rick ripped himself free from the teen's mouth and kissed along his cheek until he reached one sensitive ear. He trailed with his tongue over the lobe and teased the cartilage with soft nibbles, all the while trying to slow down his frantic movements.

His grandson wasn't making it any easier with his breathy moans and how he was writhing underneath him, clawing tightly into the sleeves of his lab coat – especially as he tongued at the entrance of the acoustic duct.

"Nghn…oh-oooh R-Rick~!"

Growling again, Rick bit a little harder into the lobule of the auricle before suckling on it. He slid lower, sucking on the skin of his grandson's neck now and leaving marks that would be hard to hide.

At the same time, he shifted his weight to one hand, so he could shove the other underneath Morty's t-shirt.

His palm glided over the flat stomach that quivered under his touch and wandered further up until he reached a nipple. The brunet moaned loudly as he toyed with the small nub while still leaving a necklace of love bites on the formerly pale and unblemished column of skin.

Feeling the boy's hips raising, that already fully hard erection brushing against the painful bulge in his own pants, was making Rick slowly lose his mind more and more.

Stopping what he was doing, he sat up and tore the shirt of the teen's body, taking a moment to stare and savor the look of his grandson. Morty was panting, his face was flushed, tiny tears clung to his lashes, his lips were red and kiss-swollen, an array of red and purple bruises were decorating his neck and collarbone, tiny nipples hard and cock standing at attention. He was a sight to behold.

God, he just wanted to tease the boy more. Tease him so much until he would be a crying and begging mess underneath him, about to go insane. But even more he wanted to be buried in that sweet ass as soon and deep as possible.

Choosing the middle path, Rick bent down to tease one of the nips with his hot mouth, using one of his hands to play with the other and reaching down to pump the teen's hard flesh. Pre was running freely and Morty's hips tried to move in the same rhythm as his grandfather, thrusting greedily into his fist.

"Uh! Oh, Rick…oh, Rick…" Morty's voice became more desperate with each passing second, clearly steering closer towards his orgasm.

Wasn't that just downright delicious? But Rick didn't want the boy to cum. Not yet and not like this.

He snickered at his grandson's disappointed groan when he stopped once more and quickly pulled off his lab coat, sweater and tank top. Still sitting on top of the boy, he towered over him with a lecherous grin.

"You wanna do it dirty with your old, filthy grandpa, Morty?"

"Yea-yes! Hmm! Please, Rick!"

"Yeah, bet you would love that. You're just like your grandpa, Morty. Just a filthy, depraved piece of shit. I've seen what you've done. Seen

all

of it. And I bet you would have gotten off to that—to grandpa watching you if you had known the entire time, too, wouldn't you? Oh yeah, you would. But no, you didn't notice because you were far too busy fantasizing about all that nasty and sick shit that you're getting off to."

Morty should be feeling hurt by Rick's degrading words. Well, he certainly felt humiliated by them, but they also turned him on so much more. He was turned on by the fact that his grandpa was calling him a sick piece of shit. Turned on by knowing that Rick had been watching him when he did all those naughty things. And turned on by knowing what they were going to do now – that they were going to fuck like animals on the dirty ground of this alien planet – and that it was his grandpa that he was going to do it with on top of all of that.

"Please fuck me, Grandpa Rick!" he pleaded.

"You're such a needy slut for your grandpa's cock." Rick chastised, but grinned pleased.

Making a show of unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants – honestly too slowly for both of their tastes – he whipped out his impressive length. The way that Morty was staring at it – a weird mix between shock, embarrassment and hunger – was actually very amusing.

"You can touch it, Morty, you know? It's not gonna bite."

Shyly, the boy reached out and Rick's cock twitched as that small and soft hand closed around him. Having trouble fitting his fingers all the way around the thick shaft, Morty wrapped his other hand around the pulsing flesh, too, before he began to steadily move them up and down.

"Fuck! Your hands are so small, Morty." Rick mumbled as he watched the tiny fingers move over his length almost as if he was in a trance. "Such tiny, girly, soft hands…"

Morty pouted even though it wasn't the first time that Rick made this kind of comment about his hands. However, this time the remark didn't sound as mean as it usually did. Actually, it had an almost praising tone to it, so the brunet didn't complain or stop what he was doing and instead gripped harder and stroked faster.

Rick groaned, being so worked up that it wouldn't take long for him to climax now either. Deciding that he needed to speed things up and also making good use of his grandson's delicate hands, he fumbled around in the pockets of his discarded lab coat without moving from his position.

With a sound of triumph, he held up an unlabeled tube. Morty stared at the item in slight confusion, but had already an idea what it might be.

Confirming his suspicions, Rick unscrewed the cap and squirted the contents generously on his dick and his grandson's fingers, who stopped and grimaced a little, looking at his now lube-covered hands.

"No slacking, Morty. Be a good boy and spread that lube all over your grandpa's dick." The elder ordered and grabbed one of Morty's wrists to guide his hand back to his waiting member.

Obediently, the boy continued where he left off.

Since he still had the open tube in his hand, Rick pushed its tip unceremoniously into Morty's butthole and squeezed the lube inside him. The brunet's eyes widened and he squeak as the cold gel suddenly entered him, not having expected a move like that.

"RICK!" He shouted in protest.

The elder was unfazed. "Oh, come on, Morty. You've taken so many things up your ass that you really don't have to act like a shy and fragile virgin now."

Morty had the decency to blush in shame and was unable to retort anything to that. So, he just averted his eyes.

"…s-still doesn't mean that you have to do it like that…" Came finally out in a much smaller voice.

His grandpa held back the urge to roll with his eyes at the childish behavior and instead shoved two long fingers in Morty's behind, the lubed up hole making a slightly squelching sound as he did.

Thankfully, the boy didn't bitch about that and moaned softly, taking the intrusion in stride.

Another soft growl escaped Rick as his grandson moved eagerly back into his digits and he spread them quickly to widen that snug tunnel.

Fuck! He really needed to be inside that tight heat. Right now!

Trying to hurry the process along as fast as he dared, he entered another finger, stretching the boy out more. To his satisfaction, Morty took it really well again, but after everything that he had secretly witnessed, he probably shouldn't be surprised.

Eagerly he spread out his three fingers as far as they could go to make room for a fourth.

The fit was getting tighter now with half of Rick's hand wedged inside his anus, but still no complaint from the brunet. He only murmured something that the scientist didn't quite get and bore down on the intruding digits with unrelenting eagerness.

Hungrily Rick licked over his dry lips as he eyed the boy's weeping erection.

It was really drooling like crazy and the comment "wetter than a virgin on prom night" was on the tip of his tongue.

After having stretched out his grandson's inside as best as he could, he began to wonder if he could actually fit his entire fist in there. As enticing as that idea sounded, he pushed it to the back of his mind and decided to save it for a later time. Right now, he really didn't have the patience or self-control for such experiments.

Pulling his fingers out of the enticing heat – much to Morty's dismay, who mewled longingly from the absence – Rick reposition the boy's hips so that the head of his dick was resting against the invitingly clenching and unclenching opening.

Though, he hated to ask, but he still needed to make sure that this was okay with his grandson. "Last chance to back out of this now, Morty."

"Just fuck me already, Ric—AAAAaaahh!!"

Not waiting for the teen to finish answering, Rick plunged into the velvety tunnel in a single thrust. He forced his hips to still, to let them both adjust to the sensations, but it wasn't easy.

He was so hard that it was painful! Rick couldn't even remember the last time he had been as hard as this…

Time for adjustment was something that Morty apparently didn't need because just a few seconds later, he began to buck his hips against him.

Rick tightened his hold on the boy, forcing him to still again.

"God, Morty! Calm down." He scolded. "Give me a moment here, you-you horny little bitch."

An unsatisfied groan was his answer since the brunet clearly didn't have the patience to wait any longer. Not that Rick had planned to drag this out for long. He just wanted to make sure that he wouldn't blow his load too soon.

As if to test, Rick rocked his hips after a good minute, coaxing another mewl out of his grandson.

Slowly he withdrew, already missing the heat and tightness around his cock and quickly plunged back inside again. Throwing a roll of his hips into the motion, he repeated the action, slowly building up a rhythm.

Morty meanwhile was moaning as if he had gone mad, babbling about how good it felt. The depravity of it all, almost made Rick laugh. Instead, he only rutted harder into the teen.

"Yeah, you love this, you nasty piece of shit." Rick groaned. "You just love having your grandpa's cock inside your ass, don't you, Morty?"

"Yes! YES! I love it! Your cock feels so good~"

The scientist chuckled breathily.

'So shameless, Morty…' he though fondly. '…Not even trying to deny it.'

His grandson's moans and lewd words fed Rick's ego. They also fueled his libido and he had no idea how much longer he could go on like this. The ambition to make Morty cum first was the only thing that was keeping him from going over the edge right now.

So, he sped up his pace, going harder and deeper and making his grandson practically scream.

His hips were slamming against the boy's asscheeks with enough force to leave bruises. Equally bruising were his fingers that were digging into Morty's pale skin as he pulled him into each of his thrusts.

"AAH! AH! It-it's…aah…it's so good! So…haah…so amazing…nghn…Rick! Pl-aaah-please don-nhn-n't stop! Haah!" The brunet begged.

Stopping was the last thing on Rick's mind. He kept fucking the teen brutally, eventually sparing one hand to jerk the smaller off in the same pace.

Naturally, it didn't take long for the boy to reach his climax.

"Oh god! RICK!"

Morty's back arched sharply and he came with thick, short spurts, soiling his stomach and chest. Some even reached his chin.

While he orgasmed, his insides began to spasm around his grandpa's dick, causing the elder to also finish.

"Uhn~ Fuck, Morty~" Rick groaned as he emptied his seed inside the tunnel that was still milking his cock with one last hard thrust.

It almost felt like it lasted for an eternity when in truth it was not even a full minute before it was over.

Spent and with one last tired groan, Rick pulled out of his younger lover and laid on his back next to the boy. The heavy sounds of their breathing was the only thing that could be heard.

Rick waited for the post-coital regret to set in. Not in himself – he was so fucked up that he would never regret fucking his own grandson even if he should – but as he looked over to the other, he waited for it to show up on Morty's cute, flushed face.

It didn't come. As Morty opened his eyes and slowly came out of his bliss, he didn't avoid eye contact with his grandfather nor did he looked panicked or even worried. No, he actually smiled. Smiled at Rick with such a pure and bright smile as if this had been the best decision of his entire life and it almost made Rick crumble.

It was at this moment that he truly realized that Morty was more

Rick

than he would have ever thought.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#rick and morty #ram #rnm #rick #morty #rickmorty #rorty #rickorty #rick/morty #not sfw #fanfiction #fanfic #hopesfanfictions

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whisker-biscuit · 6 years

Text

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 20

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 20: This Bear is not A Therapist

505 hummed as he sat in a vast field of daisies, half a flower crown held daintily between his paws. A soft breeze rustled his fur and brought whispers of goodness. He paused in the crown’s making to watch two beautiful birds as they flew overhead, shimmering in the sky.

One was all greens and reds and blues, flitting up and down every which way like it was having the time of its life. Its trills were loud, high-pitched, and sounded suspiciously like a cackling toddler. The other was white and lighter blue with a head completely covered in tawny feathers down to its neck. It flew steadily like a vulture; wings spread and stiff save a few calculated flaps to keep it in the air.

The crazy one went into a loop-de-loop and ended it by crashing against its calmer companion from above. The tan-headed one squawked, offended, and was suddenly not so calm anymore. It pulled up in place as if standing in mid-air and screeched at its ‘attacker’, who only cackled louder and went into another loop farther away.

They had such different colors and personalities that one might have thought they were different species, but 505 knew somehow that this wasn’t true. He watched as the two birds squabbled for a minute more before going on their way together, and the bear smiled in contentment.

A gunshot cracked through the valley.

It cracked through the air as well, because 505 gaped in shock as the lively bird went limper than it ever should be and dropped straight from the sky. Its companion cried out, horrified, and tried to dive to reach its friend, but another crack brought a hole into its wing and sent it wobbling in its flight.

But it didn’t fall.

505 was already running to find the bird that had crushed daisies in its plunge to the ground. He dropped next to the listless thing and picked it up in a cradle, feeling its heart beat in frantic fear. Above them both, the tan-headed one cried more, circling as best it could with a tattered wing.

All 505 could do was hold the suffering creature and give reassuring sounds of his own. But then there was the click of a disengaged safety, and the bear looked up into the barrel of a gun. There was a man in hunter’s garb behind that gun – aiming it not at 505 but at the bird in his arms – and his eyes were cruel and dark.

“Drop it,” the man said firmly.

That was impossible, so 505 shook his head and trembled. The man’s face didn’t twitch. He stepped forward once and the gun was nearly pressed against the colorful bird’s breast.

“Give her to me right now.”

He shook his head again, curling his arms around his hurt friend to protect her. Blood was leaking onto his fur. The valley of daisies warped around them into something else, still white but no longer pretty or natural. The gun morphed into an electric shock stick, buzzing just out of harmful reach. The man’s clothing shimmered bright like a coat.

The blood remained.

“Give that psycho bitch to me right now or I’ll shove this up your ass!”

Someone else was crying overhead, crying and pleading and screaming. It echoed like he wasn’t really in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he cried.

“Don’t let her get hurt!” He pleaded.

“HELP HER!” He screamed.

A shadow loomed high over 505 from behind, and a chill went up his spine. He raised his head, looked up at the rotting face of a crow who was twice his size. It stared down at him in return, one beady eye burning like it knew everything he was.

It opened its beak and said –

“Bear.”

505 startled awake with his claws out.

Something laughed from outside his room, across the hallway.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t reach into that nightmare. It sounded delectable.” The Dark One watched as the bear had to take a moment to realize where he was.

“…Reer…?” …A nightmare…?

“So it would seem. You were crying in your sleep. You’re quite the loud dreamer, Bear.”

505 rubbed his eyes and found it was true; his paws glistened with wetness when he looked at them. Tears. Not blood. He sagged in his bed in sheer relief. The pictures were still vivid in his head but that was normal. That was something he could handle. Those birds…

“Well, it appears you’ve come to grips with reality again. Good. I didn’t wake you up to be your therapist this evening. Now we can get to the more important things. Like myself.”

He really didn’t want to talk to the Dark One again. Once was too much. The bear grumbled without realizing it, then froze when his neighbor hissed. It cracked its head sideways with a long sneer.

“Hell’s bells, has everyone suddenly grown a backbone in this miserable place? First Fl– him,” it spat, “and his guards, and now you. It’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Mewoo?” What do you want?

“Watch your tone, insignificant creature. I want to know what your – what that dear old doctor friend was doing in your cell after the…altercation between us. Was he crying in your arms? Trembling half to death? Give me all the details.”

The bear shivered from the sudden rush of evil expectation sent his way. He wasn’t ready to deal with this, not after that horrific dream. So he brought his hands to his chest and refused to meet the Dark One’s gaze.

“Clamming up, are we? Am I too much to handle for you? Understandable. But not what I want.” It pressed its face up to the bars. “I demand you tell me how he responded to my threats. Was he shaken to his core? Afraid to leave your room?”

505 curled in on himself.

“Did he try to pretend like nothing happened? Was he putting on false bravados?”

The Dark One began growling when it didn’t get an answer.

“Did he brush it off like it was nothing? Was he affected at all?! Damn it Bear, tell me now!”

The bear didn’t dare breath. But then there was a horrible grating sound that sent his head shooting upwards to see the Dark One grinding its teeth against the bars of its cell. A forked tongue flicked expertly against the air.

“I can smell your fear! I can smell you, Bear, but you won’t answer me! And I can smell his fear too! But the bastard keeps coming back! Every goddamn day he’s coming by to check in, or say hello, like we’re bloody neighbors sharing afternoon tea! Like nothing’s happened! Like I’m not making him piss his pants every other day! Like he’s not making me –”

The Dark One cut off with a gravelly wet sound deep in its throat. It screamed aloud, and when other inmates down the hall responded with their own cries, it screamed again even louder. 505’s eyes were bugging out of his skull.

“What the fuck am I doing wrong?! I almost killed him in our first meeting! Wormed his full name out of him in our second! Was that not enough? Is he a demon in human skin? Sent to torment me in this, this, this fucking hellhole?!”

505 ducked as the Dark One rammed body-first into its cell door and the lights flickered. He grabbed three stuffed animals and hugged them tight, rocking back and forth to distract himself as best he could from the pitch black hatred oozing into everything.

It felt like rot.

The Dark One was still rambling, but it was quickly dissolving into another language that 505 didn’t know and didn’t want to know. The words were ancient and accented. The bear covered his ears and waited for the darkness to take him away.

Eventually something changed. The hatred began to recede back to its master, and its master was no longer speaking those things that should not be uttered. 505 wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he remained wound up in his little ball. He was very aware that the danger was not gone.

Because the Dark One started laughing.

It started out quietly in a dark little chuckle, and within seconds it became loud and unhinged. Unhinged and deadly. Deadly and…excited.

“I’ve been looking at this all wrong, Bear.” It finally said with tears of mirth in its eyes. “I’ve made him bring his guard down, but in doing so I’ve allowed the same for myself. I haven’t been looking at this objectively.”

“……Orrr?” ……Okay?

“You see, Bear, I know he has a darkness to him. I’ve known that for a long time. And yet I’ve still been treating him like an average, pathetic human. Which he is clearly not. Mmm…I’ve assumed that my actions would cause discomfort in him. Embarrassment, disgust, those lovely things. But in that, session, today. I should not have had such a…reaction like that.”

505 looked at his cellmate, confused. But the Dark One shook its head and continued on.

“That meant that he was enjoying it. Or at the very least wasn’t as shaken as I calculated. No, I triggered something dark there and it in turn awakened my love of darkness, of the Dusk. That was the reason for my slip up. Nothing more and nothing less. He holds no power over me, has no witchcraft or tricks. It was all still his fault of course, and for that I will kill him. Perhaps in our next session, perhaps later. At the very least, I believe I know what I’m dealing with. He won’t have that effect on me ever again.”

It bumped the brim of its hat against the bars as if in contemplation. The look in its eye was bloodthirsty.

“No, that was one miscalculation. And he will pay so, so dearly for it. Oh, it’s been so long since I had this much free time to plan out a ruined life, this one will be something special. But I’m not mad anymore. Isn’t that funny, Bear? I was angry, and then I talked to you, and now I’m not angry anymore! Even figured some things out for myself! It seems this madhouse isn’t so useless after all, yes?”

The Dark One didn’t wait for a response. It turned back to its room with a psychotic tilt to its face, leaving 505 snuggled into his bed with all his instincts on high alert. Those, too, eventually slowed enough to allow the bear to uncoil his tense muscles and breathe out a silent sigh.

He didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night, torn between being anxious about the Dark One coming back (which it never did) or terrified that his dreams would become nightmares (which they always did, but nothing like earlier).

It was hard to tell which option was worse.

505 should just get his therapist license at this point. His business line will be like "Successfully got the worst being on Earth to talk about his feelings". Poor bear, I love him I promise.

I have an announcement as well as a sort of...voting question related to this fic. Originally I had planned around 60ish chapters with a clear goal in mind. However, not only are the days going slower than I had planned (2-3 chapters per "day"), but I've been thinking about some of my plot points and character progression and I've realized that I might not have a realistic amount of time set for these things - namely the slow burn.

So the voting question is this: should I extend the timeline in this fic (which would probably double the fic's full length and take longer to do) or should I leave it as is (all the plot points planned out but the dilemma mentioned above)? If you have any suggestions I'm absolutely open to them, and please be honest. I want you guys to be satisfied, not rushed or feeling like the fic is dragging on too long.

Thank you, everyone.

#villainous #villainous au #asylum au #dr flug #black hat #505 #paperhat

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corey-067 · 6 years

Text

Fictober Day 2 “People like you have no imagination.”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Corey Black, Unnamed Gladiators Warnings: Violence, some blood.

Gladiatorial arenas were not for those with weak constitutions. The faint of heart perished early on, and the sands of the Mandalorian-owned arena were soaked with the blood of at least a dozen species. Corey had agreed to fight here, to earn back credits he'd taken out for the development of a new starship, one intended to aid his clan in their new, mobile surroundings. He could've taken a loan from a reputable source, he had contacts within more than one bank, but the Mandalorian would've been lying if he'd said that he didn't want to do this. The violence of the Arena was something that the Mandalorian understood, the sheer, primal simplicity of it allowing him to focus. He could bleed away all of the stresses and complications that filled his daily life, come alive and find himself unburdened at the other end, provided he survived.

The Arena had been his home for many of his teenage years, earning himself a reputation as a skilled, deadly fighter. The roar of the crowd as he took to the sands drew a smile to his lips; the fact that he wasn't forgotten here was a boon to his confidence. He allowed a moment of pride to wash over him in that chorus of clamoring voices, thrusting his sword high into the air. Today he faced off against three opponents; the trio spread out before him as he sized them up, noting their species, weapons, and armor, as well as the way that they moved. He saluted each of them, hands together, a short bow, and closed his eyes briefly as he took it all in.

His armor was minimal, covering a portion of his tattooed, scarred torso, but he was not concerned, despite the Houk wielding an electrostaff and the small human carrying twin pistols, while he carried only simple, beskar weapons. A Rodian was the final combatant, and he held a long dagger in each hand, each edge glistening as though his opponent had coated his blades with poison. The Mandalorian found himself wondering what the being's cybernetic eye could do, though he supposed he'd find out over the course of the fight.

That's what I get for agreeing to an anything goes fight.

The announcer's voice blared out across the arena, and the crowd fell silent. "Begin!"

They moved like a well-oiled machine, and the Mandalorian knew that he was going to have to use every ounce of skill he possessed to achieve victory. He knew that his ability to use the Force would give him an advantage over any one of his opponents, but he refused to use his gifts as a crutch, opting only to use them when he had no other recourse. The first attack came from the blaster-wielding human, as he'd anticipated. A simple ploy that would draw him into the melee with the other pair, while keeping him at bay from the physically weakest of the fighters.

It was an effective ploy, but one that Black had seen dozens of times before. Momentum kept him ahead of the shots, as rage crossed the Houk's face and he charged the remaining distance, electrostaff spinning the moment that he was in range. Blue eyes glanced to his right, confirming his suspicion of the pattern they were employing. If he continued at his current speed, he'd avoid the obvious threat but end up coming precariously close to the Rodian's blades. At the last moment, he twisted, driving his weight into a sure-footed slide, his back arching as the electrified end of the Houk's weapon passed so close to his chest that he felt the energy tingle across the bared half of his chest. The moment he was clear, Corey tucked his weapon close to his body and rolled one foot over the other, using the rolling motion to bring his blade to bear on the Houk's legs.

The beskar tip barely managed to bite his skin before the electrostaff came whirling in for a counterattack, Black seeing only two directions he could move. He had studied his opponents before the bout, and they were skilled but overly consistent in their tactical decisions, relying instead on numbers and closing avenues to win the day. Black feinted, appearing as though he intended to dive beneath the Houk's solid right arm, and almost instinctively the roaring brute adjusted his angle of attack. At that moment, the Mandalorian leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding the burning plasma that lanced past him. He saw the Houk's next attack coming; it was precisely what he'd have done in the situation. That knowledge gave him no comfort, nor did it make the blow hurt any less. Corey was able to twist himself so that the powerful, electrified blow struck the single armor piece on his chest, battering him backward.

Gasping for air, the Mandalorian slammed into the sand; his beskad cast aside. He was closer to the blaster wielding human, rolling to the side as his senses flared, adrenaline spiking as the pistols poured fire where he'd been only a moment before, turning the sand into glass with its intensity. He was assessing the situation, as he always did, aware of the combatants fanning out around him, mind continually anticipating the angles from which they could attack. It wasn't enough to look for the next attack; he had to be ready to respond to it as quickly as they engaged. His chest was on fire as he used his remarkable strength to lever himself off of the sand, his hands springing up as he landed - somewhat shakily - on his feet, lowering his stance to stabilize himself. His hands came up, and a smirk curved his lips as he used his pain as a point of focus.

He was as impressed as ever with the strength of the Houk - the now-buckled durasteel plate pressed into his ribs every time he breathed. Striking the release, he allowed the leatheris and metal construction to drop before him, a swift kick sending the armor into the face of the charging Houk.

This time the Rodian came in closer, looking once again to attack while he was distracted by the obvious threat, and the Mandalorian felt the Human's blasters training on his back once more. Now time to show them how I made my name.

The intention to fire was still forming in the Human's mind when the Mandalorian twisted, the world around him feeling as though it was moving in slow motion, even without a conscious use for the Force. Master Ji had taught him that every slightest movement was a clue and the Houk was listing off to his right, the pressure of each step exacerbating his injury. Blaster bolts blazed past him with such assurance that they would strike the intended target that there was barely any deviation in the pattern of the shots. The closest singed the skin at the side of his abdomen, but the sheer variety of scars across his flesh stood as a testament to the Mandalorian's tolerance for pain. The Rodian was the clear team player, whereas the Houk and Human seemed consistent in their desire to be the one to kill him. It was a predictable weakness and one that would prove to be fatal for each of them. In that, though, the Human served his purpose perfectly.

A flurry of more than a dozen bolts struck the Houk, sending it staggering backward, shock overtaking its sunken, beady eyes. The Mandalorian was impressed that the brute didn't just fall, having to throw himself into a rolling dive to avoid the vicious swipe that was intended to keep him at bay. Armor covered fists struck at the hulking creature's flesh, centering around the blaster burns. The Houk grabbed for him, dropping the electrostaff, but he was weakening already, and the Mandalorian used his opponent's arm to launch himself upward. Armor-clad legs wrapped around his thick neck, toppling the pair of them backward. They struggled on the floor, his bare back skipping across the sand as the Houk twisted and bucked to try and get him off. The Mandalorian could sense the shock and the imbalance it was causing in his opponents, and he knew that he needed to act quickly keep that.

The Rodian closed in, blades flashing dangerously in the Geonosian sun, causing Black to twist and squeeze with all his might, one sharp jerk finishing the Houk as the Mandalorian rolled clear. The Human still seemed stunned by what he'd done, and Black charged him down, the Rodian hot on his heels. By the time his opponent brought his blasters to bear, the Mandalorian's attack had already begun. Deft hands knocked the blasters aside, and as his opponent attempted to strike him with one of the weapons, Black grabbed his wrist, yanking him hard, face first into the sharp point of his elbow, dropping him to the ground. A knee planted in his back as Corey rolled clear ensured that the human remained there.

The Rodian was remarkably quick, and Black found himself on the defensive, armored hands and forearms knocking aside the blades as they wove their deadly pattern. The Mandalorian watched as a pattern began to form, one that left very few openings for him to counter. By the look of the unknown substance smeared on his gauntlets, it appeared that Black had been right about his opponent poisoning his blades.

Their dance was a vicious one, speed the Rodian's advantage, strength the Mandalorian's. Had he been in full armor, the fight would've been over in moments, as he could merely have plowed through his opponent, but this was a test of his skill, not the quality of craftsmanship owed mainly to his late father. Corey felt the breath of air pushed aside by the Rodian's blade as it came far too close for comfort when he saw his opportunity. One flattened palm slammed into the Rodian's elbow, giving his arc far more momentum than his body was ready to process, a blow that in turn left his ribcage exposed. Relying on speed, Corey's opponent lacked more than the most basic, light armor, and the Mandalorian's blows were powerful, each rapid, closed-fisted strike staggering the alien as Black's momentum added further power to the attack.

The Rodian flailed, as he attempted to find his balance, to return to the attack when an audible crack echoed through the air, and the Mandalorian's opponent began to cough. He swept his blade across Black's path, but he sidestepped the attack with ease. The Mandalorian dropped his weight onto his back foot, a cough from his opponent splattering him with blood. A swift, brutal kick slammed beneath the Rodian's chin, sending him sailing like a ragdoll through the air before slamming into the sand. Whether or not he was conscious was unclear, but he wasn't getting back up. Black offered him a bow of respect, of the three he had been the most significant challenge. "The problem is," he murmured, "While skilled, your attacks lacked imagination, so they were easy to predict."

His arms thrust into the air as the crowd bayed, roaring his name once again.

#Corey Black #fictober18 #Fictober day 2 #violence #gladiator #Mandalorian

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

Link

Excited Delirium: How Cops Invented a Disease

It might not be “real” in the conventional sense, but it’s still a deadly diagnosis in the hands of police.

Arjun Byju filed 13 April 2021 in Criminal Punishment

In March of 2020, Daniel Prude died in police custody in Rochester, New York. When body camera footage was released that fall—showing Prude as he lay unarmed and handcuffed, hooded and pinned to the asphalt, snowflakes melting on his naked skin—protests erupted across the country, and found common cause with an already roiling Black Lives Matter movement.

Prude’s death was, in many ways, depressingly similar to the litany of police killings that had inspired a year of dramatic demonstrations and calls for systematic reform. Documents later revealed how officials took over four months to release arrest footage to the victim’s family and refrained from disciplining police leadership in the face of mounting public pressure. That Prude’s death had so much in common with George Floyd’s, both men subdued and asphyxiated in the street, offered a symbolic reminder of the ubiquity of injustice.

Yet, Daniel Prude’s demise was also distinct because among the causes of death listed at his autopsy was “excited delirium.”

As a medical student who had recently begun clinical clerkships, I was curious about this diagnosis, which I had never read about in my textbooks or heard on the wards. A quick internet search revealed a host of explanations. From the Seattle Police Department, excited delirium was: “A state of extreme mental and physiological excitement, characterized by extreme agitation, hyperthermia, hostility, exceptional strength and endurance without apparent fatigue.” Variously referred to as “agitated delirium,” “Bell’s mania,” “lethal catatonia,” and “acute exhaustive mania,” proponents of the syndrome defined it as a constellation of fear, panic, exaggerated strength, hyperthermia, respiratory arrest and death—chiefly in the context of drug use, physical restraint, and police custody.

Although excited delirium has been invoked to write-off dozens of deaths at the hands of police in the last decade—including, in another morbid parallel to the case of George Floyd, as a possible defense in the trial of Derek Chauvin—it is not recognized as a veritable clinical entity by the American Medical Association, the American Psychiatric Association, the World Health Organization’s International Classification of Diseases (ICD), or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5).

Despite this lack of recognition, “excited delirium” helps police absolve themselves of deaths that occur during arrest. Outlets ranging from Mother Jones to Slate to NPR have reported on how this “questionable diagnosis” provides a medicolegal explanation for what otherwise might be considered murder. In the last few months alone, the controversy has gained broader coverage and has been featured on the television news program (and bulwark of mainstream, bourgeois journalism) 60 Minutes. Nearly simultaneously, the paragon New England Journal of Medicine published a critical (albeit guardedly so) editorial about Prude’s death and excited delirium—written by a Black neurosurgeon who works in Rochester and, remarkably, also happens to be a cousin of Daniel Prude.

While these recent critiques are laudable, I couldn’t help but think they still fell short. Focused on proving why excited delirium is not “real,” they missed a broader point: why are diseases like excited delirium manufactured in the first place, and how are cultural beliefs and stereotypes reflected in the process of categorizing, diagnosing, and treating illness? Put another way, surely something suspicious is going on when a bunch of young Black men die suddenly upon encountering the police—whether it’s a “legitimate” clinical syndrome or not. In fact, if excited delirium is, as advocates maintain, a sterile, biochemical process—which remains doubtful—then the phenomenon is still a tragedy. For here are sick people, receiving not a hospital bed and medication but a hogtie and electroshock. Even if we accept the (very) debatable idea that excited delirium is real, it requires compassion and a dedication to better outcomes. For every sickness—manmade or not—has its own narrative, a parable of suffering and diagnosis, and hopefully, triumph.

How Excited Delirium Became ‘Real’

Most histories of excited delirium begin with Luther Bell, a psychiatrist working at the McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts. During the mid-1800s Bell described what he believed to be a novel presentation of mania and delirium typified by “exceedingly great overactivity; marked sleeplessness…transient hallucinations that border on illusions” which frequently culminated in death of the patient. (The paper’s title, “On a form of disease resembling some advanced stages of mania and fever, but so contradistinguished from any ordinary observed or described combination of symptoms as to render it probable that it may be overlooked and hitherto unrecorded malady,” gives you a good sense of what 19th century science was like.)

It was not until roughly 130 years later, in the 1980s, that a medical examiner in Miami named Charles Wetli revived interest in excited delirium, and launched its modern association with drug use and police interactions. Wetli described a phenomenon of psychosis and hyperactivity, culminating in sudden death, among seven habitual cocaine users, five of whom died while in police custody. His syndromic description took hold and led a handful of researchers, including Deborah Mash, to seek to identify excited delirium’s pathophysiology—the biological and chemical explanation of how it arises. Mash and others posited “chaotic dopamine signalling” and aberrant quantities of proteins in the brain, like heat shock protein 70, as the cause of excited delirium. Although a singular theory has never been promulgated, Mash also proposed that excited delirium’s etiology was tied to changes in kappa opioid receptors as well as an over-expression of alpha-Synuclein, a protein linked to Parkinson’s, in the brain.

On the surface, these findings grant a veneer of scientific rigor and legitimacy to excited delirium. See, these people aren’t just killed by the police, there are distinct differences in their brains! But upon closer inspection, these justifications falter on multiple fronts. First, as Meabh O’Hare, Joseph Budhu, and Altaf Saadi of MGH and Harvard Medical School explain, delirium—which is a legitimate and commonplace diagnosis (just delirium, not the supposed “excited” type)—does not by itself cause rapid death. Delirious patients have a “fluctuating disturbance in attention and cognition, typically provoked by an underlying medical condition such as infection, drug intoxication, a medication’s adverse effects or organ failure” but their condition, crucially, “is not associated with sudden unexpected death.”

Moreover, the two neuropsychiatric conditions which proponents of excited delirium most commonly compare it to—Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome (NMS) and Malignant Hyperthermia—both have identifiable triggers: antipsychotic medications and anesthetic drugs, respectively. By way of analogy, the only possible “trigger” for excited delirium would be confrontation by the police. And, as O’Hare, Budhu, and Saadi note, the proposed biomarkers of excited delirium are not specific to that condition, repudiating claims to a unique category of illness.

Dubious biochemistry aside, since its forensic debut, excited delirium has also proved diagnostically inaccurate. During the 1980s, over 30 women—all of them Black—were found dead in Miami. Most were sex workers and habitual cocaine users and even though evidence pointed to assault, Wetli, who was then working in Miami as a medical examiner, concluded that they all were killed by a variant of excited delirium relating to sex and cocaine use. As reported in the Miami New Times, Wetli told journalists that the women had died in relation to “a terminal event that follows chronic use of crack cocaine affecting the nerve receptors in the brain” and even more puzzlingly, that “the male of the species becomes psychotic [after chronic cocaine use] and the female of the species dies in relation to sex.”

Despite Wetli’s ludicrous implication that all 32 women had died in the heat of intercourse (!?), by 1992 police had identified a serial killer behind the gruesome murders, revealing the more obvious fact—that marginalized people like sex workers, drug users, and women of color are not only consistently disregarded by contemporary society, but are also routinely blamed for their own victimhood.

Remarkably, Wetli clung to his diagnosis and excited delirium continued to gain traction as industry influences bolstered the shaky diagnosis. As Reuters investigative journalists report in a fascinating series, research into excited delirium got a major boost from a dubious source: TASER International (now known innocuously as Axon Enterprise). In the last several decades, the company has spent millions of dollars on research to defend its eponymous electroshock gun in court, deliberately promoting a nexus of research, law enforcement, and medicine that establishes excited delirium—and not the company’s weapon—as a legitimate cause of death.

Reuters found that excited delirium was:

listed as a factor in autopsy reports, court records or other sources in at least 276 deaths that followed Taser use since 2000…in at least 30 of 128 lawsuits against the company, the condition was cited as a factor, either by Taser, its expert witnesses or municipalities whose police used the weapon. In all but one of those cases, Taser’s defense prevailed…with excited delirium often one plank in the winning legal argument.

It may come as no surprise to some, then, that Taser has paid both Wetli and Mash to appear as expert witnesses in various defense cases.

At this point, proponents of excited delirium like to proffer the condition’s recognition by the American College of Emergency Physicians (ACEP) and the National Association of Medical Examiners (NAME); both organizations, on this point, are in opposition to the other major professional groups in their insistence on excited delirium’s existence.

Yet, it’s now known that at least three of the authors of the ACEP white paper on excited delirium were paid Taser consultants, including Mash and an E.R. doctor named Jeffrey Ho—and that according to Reuters, the trio’s links to Taser were not revealed until two years after the paper’s publication. Ho, who is a physician and police officer in Minnesota, served for many years as Taser’s medical director. In this capacity he was paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to research and travel and teach about excited delirium and the relative safety of Taser guns. In June of 2019, facing sharp public backlash, Ho’s hospital finally terminated the contract that allowed him to serve as Taser’s medical director. As one local official bemoaned, “What hospital has a relationship with, you know, a gun manufacturer?”

As it turns out, the same hospital where George Floyd died.

But what about the medical examiners? Don’t they recognize excited delirium as a real clinical entity? In this specialty, too, Taser exerts its influence. According to Reuters, Taser has on its payroll at least one former president of NAME, and actively sues officials who link deaths to their guns, including an examiner in Indiana and another in Ohio. Accordingly, Amnesty International, in its review of over 300 cases of deaths following Taser use and subsequent industry challenges to autopsy findings, concludes that “medical examiners may be subject to pressure by companies or other entities with an interest in protecting a product or reducing their liability in potential lawsuits.”

Nevertheless, several high-profile physicians have spoken out against excited delirium, including Werner Spitz, a forensic pathologist who investigated the deaths of JFK and MLK, as well as Paul Applebaum, former president of the American Psychiatric Association. As Applebaum states, excited delirium is a “a wastebasket phrase…a way of explaining what happened without necessarily bearing responsibility for it.” Homer Venters, former CMO of NYC Jails, gets even closer to the inherent frailty of excited delirium as a diagnosis when he notes that, “The most consistent feature of excited delirium deaths seems to be contact with law enforcement.”

Indeed, other than a Taser shock, physical restraint appears to be the only thread linking all excited delirium fatalities—the sine qua non, to borrow from medical parlance (where Latin likes to elevate all discourse.) As a student, I’m encouraged to remember the essential and indispensable condition for a disease, the sine qua non, without which it would not be. You can’t have the seizures of eclampsia without high blood pressure, nor are you likely to have the fevers of malaria without a mosquito bite. So, what about excited delirium? A meta-analysis from 2020 concludes that “there is no evidence to support ExDS (excited delirium syndrome) as a cause of death in the absence of restraint” (italics mine). Rather than an occult pathophysiologic process, the authors suggest “restraint-related asphyxia must be considered a likely cause of death.”

Why the Police Love Excited Delirium

While understanding excited delirium’s murky genesis is important, it is equally revealing to consider how the syndrome is conceived of by those who lean on it the most: law enforcement. Take for instance this description of a typical case of excited delirium, which comes from a police department in Indiana:

…the subjects will generally exhibit extreme strength and most likely will not respond to law enforcement efforts in the area of pain compliance techniques. Law enforcement will commonly identify these behaviors as an attempt to defeat their efforts for a safe apprehension of the subject. Eventually, a greater number of law enforcement personnel or a successful application of a CEW (Taser) will most likely allow for an apprehension. Routinely, the subject might remain in the prone position or be secured in a transport vehicle for a few minutes while law enforcement continues gathering information for report purposes. In most ExDS incidents, during transport or during the restraint process the individual will suddenly become calm, unconscious, or go into respiratory distress/cardiac arrest.

In medical school, we are taught to recognize a multitude of “illness scripts:” an array of clinical signs and symptoms which, in concert with a patient’s history and risk factors, can lead us to a diagnosis. Some illness scripts are straightforward. A woman who went hiking in Connecticut and now has a bullseye rash? That’s Lyme disease. Others are a bit more opaque, and have a broad differential. A child with dull, aching bone pain? It depends. It could be an infection, avascular necrosis, perhaps cancer—or something completely benign, like “growing pains.” Such cases warrant further history-taking (When did the pain start? Does anything make it better?) as well as blood tests and imaging.

Unfortunately, such measured analysis doesn’t happen with excited delirium, a syndrome without clear diagnostic criteria or biomarkers, and whose sufferers often die in custody. And apart from the question of how accurate diagnostic constellations are—that is, what percentage of people with X symptoms actually have Y disease, and what percentage of people with Y disease don’t have X symptoms—is the question of what cultural messages our scripts impart.

Lexipol, a private company that provides training manuals and consulting services to thousands of police agencies across the country, offers a primer on excited delirium in which it explains that sufferers are likely to assault officers due to a lack of “remorse, normal fear or understanding of surroundings and rational thoughts of safety.” Lexipol adds that “pain compliance techniques are not likely to be effective as ExDS subjects are often impervious to pain.”

Authors of other descriptions of excited delirium seem to lack even more self-awareness in their role as peddlers of the script of intractable violence and danger. The Indiana police department mentioned above includes among the cardinal symptoms of excited delirium: “unfounded fear and panic…hyperactivity and thrashing (especially after being restrained)…unexplained strength/endurance.” Of course, exhibiting fear and panic in the face of violent arrest and struggling while being forcibly restrained seem to be natural responses, rather than evidence of pathology. And in the context of a literal life and death struggle—the adrenergic system ramped up in “flight or fight”—it is not unreasonable to expect individuals to demonstrate more than normal strength or endurance (e.g., people surviving in the wilderness despite amputation injuries or cases of parents lifting cars off their children—although evidence for such “hysterical strength” is admittedly scant).

The belief on the part of law enforcement that individuals afflicted by excited delirium have exaggerated strength and a diminished response to pain is one of the most striking features of the diagnosis, and perhaps predictably, can be traced to Wetli, who once proclaimed, “It’s as if they’re impervious to pain — to pepper spray, to batons, to numchucks [sic]. You spray them with pepper spray and they just sort of look at you.” It remains unclear why Wetli believed individuals with excited delirium would be impervious to nunchuks, an obscure oriental weapon that despite the increasing militarization of the police would appear to be reserved mainly for YouTube compilations and strip-mall martial artists. Oh wait, nevermind. The cops use them now, too.

Outlandish weaponry notwithstanding, it’s easy to appreciate how an illness script that highlights a supposed lack of response to traditional policing tactics paves the way for dangerous, and potentially fatal, escalations in force. Every disease narrative comes with a concomitant therapeutic repertoire. For the guy with the crushing left-sided chest pain radiating to the jaw—chew an aspirin and head to the E.R. For the kid with intermittent wheezing and shortness of breath—try an albuterol inhaler. Such directives have the ability to affirm the severity of illness (rush him to the cath lab, stat!) or dismiss it entirely (a 24-year old who normally drinks eight cups of coffee shows up on New Year’s Day with a splitting headache and a resolution to kick caffeine cold turkey. Rx: go to Starbucks).

The trouble with excited delirium—whether it’s “real” or not—is that its “therapeutic” directive is one of complete force that simultaneously lays culpability at the foot of the afflicted person. The Journal of Emergency Medical Services emphasizes this point in its description of excited delirium, creating a caricature of a violent, raving menace:

…excited delirium patients will, for no known reason, strike out at objects made of glass. They display what some describe as animalistic behavior by grunting, groaning and exhibiting strength that seems superhuman. They aren’t actually stronger; rather, they don’t recognize the implication of any painful stimulus. This includes CEDs, pepper spray and physical compliance holds.

Again, official descriptions of excited delirium prove unabashedly dehumanizing. And while Lexipol contends that those with excited delirium are “remorseless,” it is actually the officers, fed an overwhelming narrative of pain imperceptibility, who are empowered to feel no guilt. Don’t feel bad about shocking and body slamming that guy—he couldn’t even feel it.

Those who defend excited delirium’s clinical veracity—particularly within the medical profession—would be wise to consider the narrative they are peddling. If it is a real clinical syndrome, then why not treat it as such? With treatment comes compassion and a willingness to heal, to see people as patients rather than perpetrators, and the ability to refrain from vindictiveness and proactive strikes.

Here then I may break rank with some who criticize police brutality by contending that it is not the sadism of individual officers that enables episodes of extreme violence—at least, perhaps, not in the case of excited delirium—but the prevailing pseudo-medical rhetoric relating to pain. The sheer universality of the claim that those with excited delirium have a heightened if not infinite tolerance for pain, and the doggedness with which it is preached, from manuals to all manner of online police training videos, exposes, I believe, a subconscious discomfort with the tactics being used, and a need for a buffer on conscience.

Excited Delirium and the Question of Pain

In an episode of the popular Netflix series Black Mirror, a soldier discovers that the zombie-like humanoids that he has been hunting and killing (nicknamed “Roaches”) are actually human beings, their faces and voices transmogrified into grotesque monstrosities and awful howls by a neural implant placed surreptitiously in each soldier. If an analogy to pop culture is allowed, excited delirium—or rather, the medical mythology that surrounds it—serves in our society as the neural implant: a gimmick without which we would be unable to tolerate our own atrocity. As Mark Greif writes in his essay Seeing Through Police, “The restraints in civilization on attacking anyone, especially a citizen who portends no harm or threat, are fairly high. For most forms of violence that breach civilized norms, even if it is one’s art or profession, steps of habituation are needed.” Imbibing the legend of excited delirium, a narrative of irrevocable insanity and subhuman sensation, is for many, a first step in habituation to violence.

History offers examples, too numerous to count, of how (pseudo)science, with its connotations of impartiality and inevitability, permits extreme cruelty, namely by telling us, “That is how they are.” And in the case of excited delirium, “This is how they must be handled.”

At the same time, it doesn’t take a Ph.D. in critical race theory to appreciate the tropes at play in institutional descriptions of excited delirium. Emphasizing “superhuman strength” and the ability to “overcome multiple officers,” the literature around excited delirium hearkens back to the myth of the superpredator. Perpetually conflating drug use and violence feeds into the same moral panic that fueled the War on Drugs. In almost every way, the ritualized description, diagnosis, and management of excited delirium—the unpredictable, wild threat that needs to be forcefully subdued—evinces characteristic anxieties about Black bodies that have shaped American culture, politics, and criminal justice since our country’s inception.

In particular, the question of pain—who can and can not feel it—has a troubled history in medicine, which undoubtedly imbues the modern conception of excited delirium. As Linda Villarosa details in New York Times magazine, white physicians have long believed that Black people are not as capable of feeling pain, a conclusion which for many years supported not only slavery, but the practice of outright medical experimentation on people of color. Villarosa cites, among others, the work of Dr. Benjamin Moseley, a British physician who proudly described his experiments on racial discrepancies in perception of pain in 1787: “What would be the cause of insupportable pain to a white man, a Negro would almost disregard.” He continued, “I have amputated the legs of many Negroes who have held the upper part of the limb themselves.”

Moseley’s writing has disquieting parallels with Wetli’s, as both men describe with frank, almost cheerful prose, how individuals can tolerate what seems surely impossible—post-amputation stoicism or unflinching eyes in the wake of pepper spray. And though doctors might have (mostly) evolved beyond such insensitive pronouncements, the question of how to judge and treat pain remains particularly difficult for those in medicine, leaving plenty of room for implicit (and explicit) bias to run free [1]. As Villarosa and others have pointed out, Black patients’ descriptions of pain, in many medical contexts, are still rated less seriously and treated less meaningfully by providers. Most embarrassingly to me as a student, outdated beliefs in physical differences relating to pain perception—the same myths that were first proposed in the era of Moseley—continue to abound. A recent survey revealed that nearly 40 percent of first and second year medical students endorsed a false statement like “black people’s skin is thicker than white people’s” or “black people’s nerve endings are less sensitive than white people’s.”

Perhaps the most appropriate historical parallel for excited delirium, then, is Drapetomania—a once-proposed “mental illness” that sought to explain why Black slaves ran away from their masters. Initially described by Samuel Cartwright, a physician who practiced in the antebellum South, Drapetomania was suggested to be the mental derangement that led wayward slaves to seek liberation; for prophylaxis, Cartwright unironically suggested whipping [2].

Although Cartwright’s proposed clinical syndrome seems laughable today (someone runs for freedom and they called that Drapetomania?), I wonder whether future generations will look at contemporary defenses of excited delirium in the same light (someone was killed by the cops and they called that “excited delirium”?).

I’m cautious about disregarding a purported clinical entity like excited delirium just because it appears at first glance improbable and its pathophysiology may not be fully elucidated. We don’t know why exactly some people are stricken with inflammatory bowel diseases (IBD), although as anyone suffering from daily bouts of abdominal pain, cramping, or bloody diarrhea can attest—it is very much real.

However, when a disease category is unbelievable, has a murky explanation, and seems to exist to exculpate police officers and a shock gun company, we are warranted to raise our eyebrows. Some who take a critical stance toward the medical diagnostic schema contend that an increasing “medicalization” of life has been pushed to service the bottom line of pharmaceutical corporations (e.g., an explosion in the diagnosis of depression, or sleep problems, or even obesity—which now can all be treated with a pill, rather than say, talk therapy, better sleep hygiene, or more exercise). While there is undoubtedly some truth to this argument, in all of these cases there existed at least an a priori substrate for the pathology—some suffering on the part of people that brings them to their doctor. And even when they are sold pills, these potions have at least the intention of cure. No one comes to their doctor saying, “I’m agitated and unruly and violent, can you please choke me or taser me to death?”

Nosology—the field of medicine dedicated to categorizing disease—is like all other human enterprises in that it is informed by our virtues and vices, prejudices and stereotypes. And while Drapetomania and excited delirium represent the use of diagnosis as a means of oppression, it’s worth mentioning that withholding disease recognition can also adversely affect disenfranchised groups. For example, consider fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome, both of which are poorly understood conditions that predominantly affect women. It took significant effort and much too long for the medical establishment to recognize these disorders, although this is slowly starting to change. Similarly, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was only formally recognized by the medical community in 1980, despite having been described since at least the time of Gilgamesh.

While it’s doubtful that excited delirium is a “real” disease in the conventional sense, it would perhaps prove helpful to conceive of the social milieu from which it arises as one. Last year, many in my profession began to call systemic racism a “deep-rooted disease” and a “public health crisis.” The skeptic eyerolls at virtue signaling. Yet the optimist thinks that maybe this is the way to move forward, to make progress the only way we know how. If calling the structural forces that give rise to excited delirium a disease is what it takes to finally address them, then perhaps that’s a medicalization of everyday life we should be willing to accept.

When approached with benevolence, and not as a tool of oppression, formal recognition of illness can be incredibly salubrious for those suffering: it gives a name to their struggle, it provides a sense of relief in discovering others who share their burden, it opens doors to government and private research, and it begins the quest for an underlying etiology, treatment, and hopefully cure. Those who stand by the “diagnosis” of excited delirium, invoking a facade of science and biology—Tasers (and sometimes nunchuks) at the ready—would be wise to remember another bit of Latin that lies at the core of modern medicine: primum non nocere. First, do no harm.

[1] Leaving aside racial disparities, pain continues to be an inscrutable malady for the medical profession. Some of the most basic questions still remain, like, what exactly is pain anyway? For several decades, at least, it has been known that pain is not just based in anatomic derangements, but can be influenced and

exaggerated by stress, mental anguish, and sociocultural factors.

Importantly, given a general sentiment that pain had been “undertreated” for much of the 20th century, a

crusade

was begun in the beginning of the 21st to recognize and medicate pain—it became “the fifth vital sign.” Some people attribute an ensuing overzealousness in managing pain, particularly with potent narcotics, as a driving force behind what would become the opioid epidemic. Pendulums swing, back and forth.[2] Cartwright also mused on

Dysaesthesia aethiopica

, a supposed state of mental laziness or “rascality” that afflicted Black Americans and opposed the adoption of the germ theory of disease. Needless to say, none of his theories have aged well.

#DefundThePolice #ProsecuteCriminalCops #EndQualifiedImmunity

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