#thin-spined porcupine

[cypherdecypher]

Animal of the Day!

Thin-spined Porcupine (Chaetomys subspinosus)

(Photo from iNaturalist)

Conservation Status- Vulnerable

Habitat- Brazil

Size (Weight/Length)- 46 cm; 28 cm tail

Diet- Leaves; Flowers; Fruits; Nuts

Cool Facts- The thin-spined porcupine isn’t actually a porcupine, but it is a rodent. These rodents are rarely seen due to their nocturnal and reclusive behavior. Thin-spined porcupines prefer to spend the majority of their lives in the treetops. Despite having a long, naked tail, it is not prehensile. Instead, the thin-spined porcupine uses their tail as a counterbalance while clinging to thin branches. During the night, the rodents make their way into the canopy to seek out ripe nuts and fruit. Long incisors make easy work of their favorite food, the cacao pod. Due to the mass deforestation of the Amazon Rainforest, the thin-spined porcupine is learning how to adapt. Capable of living on forest edges near agricultural plantations, new research is suggesting the thin-spined porcupine might handle change better than we previously believed.

Rating- 13/10 (Chocolate lovers unite.)

#animal of the day #animals #mammals #rodents #friday #june 16 #thin-spined porcupine #porcupine #but not really #biology #science #conservation #the more you know

[birdologist]

Snippet while I'm thinking about harpies.

----

Bajpur Rightfoot sat bathed in the filtered sunlight of the Headges, holding a cloth-wrapped package. They were small for their age, as a tenyear or so had passed since the last of their hatch feathers; heavy layers of armor bulked out their silhouette instead. They looked completely out of place here in the green pleasure gardens.

On their feet were leather-and-steel gauntlets, covering their already sharp claws with serrated metal points. The leather of their coat was pierced by sewn-in claws, spikes, and teeth, all of which would've taken an experienced biologist to fully identify. Rows of particularly large spines were sewn into their tail-sleeve, only the bottom left sleek so they could sit comfortably on their haunches. Cinched around their waist was a belt with pouches and a portable radio looped into it. Their clothing covered almost all of their body in dusty steel and damaged leather; they even hid the bottom half of their face behind a thin, old scarf. What skin was visible was a sunbaked brown.

Most of the people who visited the Headges with any regularity wore maybe a wrap at most, allowing for the social niceties that featherlanguage allowed. Friendly, proper, polite was the game. Right was none of those. They looked like a particularly violent breed of porcupine.

Their contact was taking a while to come to the meeting, but they barely cared. It gave them time to spend alone, without feeling like they were wasting the day.

The Headges were, as one might guess, located in and on Deka's head. They were comprised of beautiful, humid gardens in some areas, and more practical racks of growing food in others. At the moment, Right sat quietly near one of the large garden-greenhouse windows. It was lightly water-crusted from the constant mist, but clear enough to get a good view of the desert far, far, far below. They wondered if they would be able to recognize any of the landmarks down there: their latest exploit had sent them up the valley Deka was now following.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Glee's voice made them turn from the window. "Keenbolt had a concern and- well, you know how he gets."

Tris Gleesong was a towering figure; in more ways than one, in Right's opinion. Most obviously, folk were lucky if they could reach Glee's shoulders. A long, heron-like neck held their head much higher. They wore an airy, frilly sort of thing around their shoulders and flank, covering some of their white-and-blue plumage. Their face was long and angular, with dark brown eyes whose gaze Right didn't mind falling under. It had been a few years since Glee was formally Right's mentor, but the two had remained good friends. They still did business, too.

"S'alright," Right said, getting to their feet with the sound of flexing leather and clinking metal.

"Oh you did find something, did you?" Glee said before Right could think of how to say the same. They reached down to take the package from Right's hands, testing the weight before pulling the cloth back a bit. They looked at it for a moment, before their brows furrowed.

"You found this where, again?"

"Tunnels in the Painted Cliffs, deep."

"Did you find anything else?"

Right looked at them for a moment, before pulling their scarf off their nose. It had registered it was probably more appropriate to have a conversation with their face visible, especially since they felt like they were about to start asking questions of their own.

"The canary started going off, so I didn't get any further in. I could go back with equipment when-"

"No, that's alright," Glee cut them off, which was out of character. Even more out of character was the slow way they continued. "Don't tell anyone else about this yet, could you?"

Right nodded, and felt maybe they shouldn't ask what Glee meant.

"Good," Glee gave them a smile, the soothing one that Right used to know things were okay between them. They wrapped the package back up, and were putting it into their own bags when they spoke again. "Would you like to eat with us tonight? Theo got some interesting things from the market before we left."

"Sure."

#fiddly bits

[shadowlynx-2022]

Just came up with this! @yarart4ever and @darkcrowprincess

*Master Shifu enters the Jade Palace training room and interrupts a young Tai Lung's training, telling him to come see the new statues the servants had put up in the Palace gardens to honor the masters from the past. They then go outside together*

Shifu: Look at these statues here, Tai Lung. This one is the legendary Master Porcupine, who not only had a wealth of knowledge about Kung Fu, but he also could shoot his spines on his back with his handmade bow or utilize them as thin swords---

Tai Lung: *Totally ignoring him*

Shifu: *Notices* Tai Lung!

Tai: Yes, Master!

Shifu: Are you paying attention to what I'm saying???

Tai Lung: *Sees for the first time little Tigress standing stock-still near a bush* Hey, Master, who was that little garden gnome tiger of a Master? How was he good at fighting if he was so small?

Shifu: That is not a master, that is your new little sister, Tigress

Tai Lung: ......WHUT?!

#kung fu panda #tai lung #tigress #incorrect quotes #hilarious kfp #tai lung omg #his reaction is so funny

[aroaessidhe]

The Art of Prophecy character descriptions for fanart.

Full entry (including spoilers) and database link in pinned post!

significant elements are bolded for clarity in database entry :) as is some art commissioned by the author!

----

Taishi

Taishi shifted her own mangled arm hanging useless by her side.

The peasant woman—the one Jian had originally taken for a servant who had forgotten her uniform

The old woman pulled a peach from her pocket and bit into it. Taishi threw her peach pit over her shoulder and wiped her hands on her peasant robes. She held up a hand as if expecting that to quiet the masters.

Taishi’s weathered face close to his, her rough, scarred hand wrapped around his wrists like a claw.

she lashed out with the Swallow Dances, her family heirloom. The plain straight sword with its unusual metallic blue tint had been passed down from father to son for centuries, the story of its origins much warped by a hundred retellings.

Jian

The hero everyone was fawning over was a scrawny teenager wearing only black breeches cut off just below the knee. His skinny chest was defined but flat, his arms were taut but stick-thin, and his skin was pale as ox milk. His black headband made his dark hair stick out like a bird’s nest, but his round boyish face was clean and manicured.

Her first thought was that it was strange for the hero to be so lightly armored compared with his bodyguards, but of course a teacher couldn’t check a student’s form and technique under several layers of armor. The boy flourished his sword above his head, and then moved his hands apart to reveal that it was in fact two identical blades. He twirled the two swords around his body and loosed a reasonable attempt at a war cry, his voice cracking at the tail end.

When Jian emerged moments later, he had transformed into a glittering, shining tank. He admired himself at the mirror before stepping out of the armory. He was a beaming image of a glorious hero of legend, wearing green plate armor with an illustration of a Pixiu, a ferocious cat creature with long sharp fangs and brightly feathered wings. On his person was strapped a veritable trove of incredibly valuable armaments, so that he appeared not unlike a porcupine of shining, glimmering death. On his left hip sat a golden straight sword, next to two glittering daggers. Across his back, a tear-away bandolier held his bone-carved staff, a diamond-etched spear, and an onyx-gem-wrapped bow with matching quiver. On his right hip hung a glass-etched chain whip. Jian had pondered bringing the horse-cutter as well, but the large sword with the extended handle was so heavy he nearly fell over as soon as he pulled it off the wall. He decided against bringing it and left it lying in the middle of the floor. What he was equipped with now should be more than enough against the savage enemy. The gauntlets and greaves of this set of armor were shaped like sharpened furry paws, which Jian quite fancied.

He ran his hand through his now-short-cropped hair, tied his faded white robes tightly around his waist, and slipped on his fighting slippers.

Sali

long before Sali had shaved the sides of her head and declared her intention as a warrior. Long before she had donned the scale armor and learned how to snap death with her tongue.

Her fingers drifted down to her waist where her weapon, a whip known as a tongue, was coiled at rest. She gripped the familiar curved mahogany handle, feeling the static of its vibration as its thousands of tiny diamond-shaped metallic links came alive.

She sent a jolt through the tongue, stiffening its spine until it became a long spear a head taller than she. /  The woman snapped her arm out, and the looped rope in her hand went taut into a long spear.

“The tailor on Flower Street thought the leader of the Kati Underground deserved clothing befitting her position.” Sali rolled her eyes. Just about every word in that sentence was an abomination.

A new figure stepped from the darkness, this one dressed in dark scale armor. A long cloak hugged her body down to her ankles.

Sali pulled her cloak aside to reveal her bone-scale armor, its dull fossilized pieces identifying her as a viperstrike.

The woman wasn’t a normal Kati, however. The sides of her head were shaved, and her hair rose up and was teased back, resembling ram’s horns. Her ears had a dozen or so piercings each and her skin was rough with scars. Her expression was perfectly tranquil, and she sipped her drink even while several of those silly soldiers goaded and taunted her. What drew Qisami’s attention was the woman’s eyes. They were large, sharp, furious, and black as midnight

a striking Kati standing over him, muscular and intense, with a wild mane of black hair on top of her head, the sides shaved. This person did not seem like someone to trifle with, or to shove in the middle of the street.

The only thing Sali could do was use her forearm as a shield. The blade sank into her flesh from one side and came through the other, its tip managing to keep going and wedge into the gap between three pieces of scale armor. / She had to repeat the agonizing process with the fruit paste on both wounds through her arm. She bit down on a leather strap of her armor as she yanked the blade out and cauterized as quickly as possible.

Sali fumbled for a small sack hanging at her belt. She ripped it open with her teeth, and with two fingers clawed out a dark-green spotted paste,

Kati - unusual hairstyles of bewildering colors to their clothing woven from grass and wood

Qisami

The wisps of darkness drifted off the shadowkill’s body to reveal a young woman with pale, powdered skin, a sharp nose, and painted eyebrows.

Her dark-red hair was ear-length except for two long wisps that curled along her youthful cheeks down to her chin, which made it look like she had fangs.

There was something unsettling about the girl’s yellow eyes, a wildness that glimmered in the lantern’s light.

short

a woman with shoulder-length red hair holding two black knives.

The guards and magistrates at the city and district gates had taken one look at her riding cloak and the dress underneath and assumed she belonged. Commoners did not ride in silks.

obviously rich and intricately embroidered red dress clinging tightly to her body dragging mud across the floor. Her eyes locked on the unbuttoned flap near Qisami’s right shoulder that hung lazily forward before drifting down to the slit that ran all the way up to her thigh.

Qisami checked her knives—she was short three—and then used the sharpened fingernail of her pinkie finger to scrawl on her left forearm, cutting just deep enough to draw blood: anyone dead? The redness faded almost as soon as it appeared.

Malinde

finally Sali caught sight of a lithe figure, a good half a head shorter than most, wearing a familiar pair of blue tinker suspenders.

Malinde, soul of their mother Mileene, heart of their father Faalsa, Sali’s cherished little sprout and last of her blood, stood just on the other side of the street. She was taller than when they had last breathed the same air, longer in face and body, and thinner as well. Her face had blossomed full and womanly, but there were fresh lines around her eyes.

Meehae

The apprentice acupuncturist appeared roughly Jian’s age, with delicate features and pale skin

The girl in the white robe was sitting there, dozing, with her head resting on her arms. Her apprentice cap was resting on its side next to her, revealing cascading curls of black hair splayed across the table.

The apprentice acupuncturist was diminutive, with a young face and typical Zhuun features: a fair complexion, a slightly disheveled nest of curly black hair under her apprentice cap, and a small nose and bright wide eyes accentuated by a pair of wired spectacles. A smattering of freckles dotted her cheeks, and her eyebrows furrowed every time she squinted, which was quite often.

The woman on the other side was also dressed in white, wearing what looked like a matching white cook’s apron. Her headdress was just a plain white wrap holding together a plume of black curly hair that exploded outward in all directions from the top of her head.

Xinde

The young man who walked into the room was tall and broad-shouldered and had an air of confidence. His face was long and narrow, with a distinctly square jawline and strong eyes that seemed to demand all the attention in the room. Jian wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or intimidated by someone so good-looking, but all he felt was a strange subconscious urge to be the young man’s friend.

perfect teeth, bright smile

Xinde looked like a young noble: clean-shaven with long black hair, a perfectly symmetrical face, and a square jaw

Zofi

A young woman, lean and tall with straight black hair that rested on her shoulders, was standing at the doorway. She was plainly dressed and had a square face with bangs that covered her forehead. Pretty, but nothing particularly interesting, except for her eyes. They were sharp and intense, and moved about as if she was scanning the room, taking everything in. She was obviously the mapmaker’s daughter, but while Chown wore an air of anxiousness, the young woman looked assertive and carried herself with a hardness that belied her age.

Master Guanshi Kanyu

A tall man near Taishi’s age arrived in the room. He was obviously the master of this school, with a plump, soft face and extremely thick eyebrows. His white hair, pulled back and tied in a neat bun on top of his head, matched his white robe.

Keiro

played the part of a ruffian just as perfectly: bald with a long scar running from the crown of his head down between his eyes, an impressive goatee, and a nose so crooked it whistled every time he breathed

Burandin and Koteuni

, walking hand in hand, found her first. Koteuni’s lips were cut and bleeding, and one of her eyes had swelled shut in a purple knot. Her usually perfect hair, parted directly down the middle and pulled into two short ponytails, was a disheveled mess. Burandin looked even worse. Koteuni’s husband’s bulbous head and queue hairstyle had always made his head appear too large for his rail-thin body, which made the two beautiful knots on the shelf he called a forehead all the more conspicuous

Haaren

still wearing the caravan driver outfit, now blood-splattered. The youngest shadowkill in the group was one Qisami had lured away from a rival cell a year ago because she needed someone who could operate in disguise, and she had thought he was cute. Less so now that his face looked like pulverized meat.

#wesley chu #char desc database #The Art of Prophecy #getting my shit together and working on these again!

[ainawgsd]

The bristle-spined rat (Chaetomys subspinosus) is an arboreal rodent from Brazil. Also known as the bristle-spined porcupine or thin-spined porcupine, it is the only member of the genus Chaetomys and the subfamily Chaetomyinae. It was officially described in 1818, but rarely sighted since, until December 1986, when two specimens - one a pregnant female - were found in the vicinity of Valencia in Bahia.

Bristle-spined rats are named because the spines on the back are more bristle-like in texture than the spines on the rest of the body. They have long, naked tails which are not prehensile. Adult animals weigh around 2.9 lbs.

Their skulls are unusual in several ways. The eye socket is almost completely surrounded by a ring of bone. Incisors are distinctly narrow. Overall, the animal displays a mix of New World porcupine cranial characters, spiny rat cranial characters, and characters that set it apart from all other rodents.

No consensus has been reached as to the taxonomic position of Chaetomys. It is commonly placed with the New World porcupines in the family Erethizontidae or with the spiny rats the family Echimyidae. Both are South American hystricognaths with hairs modified as spines or quills. Chaetomys has more highly developed spines than the spiny rats, but less developed than the porcupines. Characteristics of the premolar suggest that it belongs with the Echimyidae, but characteristics of the incisor enamel suggest that it belongs in the Erethizontidae.

The bristle-spined rat is restricted to remnant forests and forest edges in the Atlantic coastal forests on the east coast of Brazil. Its habitat is dwindling rapidly and the species may be vulnerable to extinction. It is classified as vulnerable by IUCN and endangered by USDI.

#porcupine #? #bristle-spined porcupine #bristle-spined rat #thin-spined porcupine #chaetomys subspinosus #quill pig #new world porcupine

[and-not-to-yieldx]

patience and autographs - itto x reader

summary: A healer in the Shogun's Army, you're well known for your patience. Unfortunately for you, a certain Oni is known for testing people like you.

pairing: arataki itto x gender-neutral reader

genre: fluff. comfort.

warnings: light mentions of injuries, blood. cursing.

a/n: y'all, I had to get some Itto written. I can't wait to see more of this no thoughts man. enjoy!

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

Nothing about Arataki Itto had ever indicated that he would be a well-behaved patient, but you had been hoping maybe you were simply not giving the Oni enough credit where credit was due.

Unfortunately for you, your first impressions have never been wrong.

"Ffff—uck!" The larger man howls as you tease out another of the crudely fashioned hillichurl arrows from his back, his spine arching as he jerks away. The thin arrows that dot his back look more like the quills of a porcupine and seem to bother him as if they were as much - that is, until you start to remove them. You give a cluck of your tongue in disapproval at his squirming, watching as he slams a meaty fist against the dirt ground of the little alcove you two have found yourselves squatting in. Itto is anything but well-behaved as he curses and groans, turning his gaze on you from over his shoulder.

"I thought you Shogun suckers were supposed to be good at your jobs!" He bemoans, giving another hiss as you dab a disinfectant soaked rag against the little mark where the arrow had been. "Burns, burns!" He hisses out, scooting forwards in his cross legged position in front of you. It is not unlike trying to trim a dog's nails, you think, all curled lips away from fangs and wiggling.

"And I thought the Great Arataki Itto would know better than to use his actual body as a shield." You drawl in return. You've risen through the ranks in the infirmaries of the Shogun's army because of your patience and skill. You're not going to let one obstinate oni tarnish your reputation. It is already bad enough that you had your guard down while picking some medicinal herbs for the Shogun's supplies. Even worse that a certain infamous geo-vision wielding oni had taken it upon himself to play hero.

He gives some high pitched whine before slowly, reluctantly pushing himself back closer to you. You actually find yourself scooting back until your back is against the stone wall. The man is a boulder in front of you, and you are effectively trapped between a rock and a hard place it seems. You sigh as he grumbles something you can't quite make out under his breath - somethingsomething greatest, somethingsomething savior - and continue to dab at those little puncture marks of his that have already stopped their bleeding.

"Alright," After a few more minutes, you've got the oni as cleaned up as you can. "You'll need to keep these clean and...!"

Suddenly, he is bent backwards, long white hair pooling in your lap as his fanged grin shines up at you. You are inches away from each other, your eyes widening as the curve of his horns prod the front of your uniform. Whatever you were going to say catches in your throat as it tightens, your heart pounding so loud in your chest you are sure that it is echoing in the cave around you. And when his grin only widens, you are gripped by the thought that archons, he must be able to hear it, too. You hadn't truly gotten a closer look at him, detached in your clinical professionalism you'd always maintained, but now, as his red eyes stare into yours...

"Thanks, Nurse." Your heart does a sickening flip in your chest before stopping altogether as he manages a low growl. His red brow arches as his gaze goes from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes once more, the corners of his eyes beginning to crinkle in amusement. A man who looks like a mountain shouldn't be as nimble as he is as he straightens and turns on his knees, staring you in the face.

"It's good to know," His voice is low as the heat rises between you - how the man isn't the owner of a pyro vision, you aren't quite sure - each word punctuated with an intensity that makes you squirm. Oh, how the tables have turned now, and you suddenly feel the firm stone behind you as you shrink and he continues to lean forwards. Your eyes begin of their own accord to flutter shut and—

"The One and Oni has admirers even in the Shogun's Army!" Wait, what? You open an eye to see Itto with his arms stretched to either side of him, drawn up onto his knees farther away from you as he sharply flexes. Is the man...posing?! His shit-eating grin has practically taken up his whole face as his muscles bulge, the leather straps of his outfit straining against his chest. He turns his head to look at you once more.

And truly, it's that stupid wink of his that finally breaks you.

With a speed that surprises even you, your boot connects with his chest, pushing the demon away from you. It is like kicking a boulder, and you're surprised you even manage to get him to budge as he topples back slightly. Much to your chagrin, he is all grins and belly laughs as you scramble to the side with the intention of putting as much space between you as possible. "I am not an admirer!" Your protest sounds weak and childish, "I...I am going to rest." And really, you're just mad that you fell for that stupid, stupid oni's charm.

His laugh is bellowing as you turn onto your side with a huff, drawing your cloak tighter around you as you use your healer's kit as a pillow. Oni bastard, you think as you scrunch up your face, pointedly ignoring the heat in your cheeks and the way your stomach betrays you with each bit of fluttering and flipping. General Sara was right. Arataki Itto was not worth a passing thought, let alone the focus of member of the Shogun's Army.

When you awake in the morning, the cave feels much bigger and you realize Itto is gone. At first you're pleased that the man seemed to have enough social intelligence to get the hint. But you realize it's not without a parting gift. A scrap of parchment - did he go through your bag?! - he's slipped into your hand, in fact. It's a giant, crude signature of his with a little heart at the end addressed to his biggest fan and personal nurse. For all your patience, you can't help the noise of annoyance that tears from your throat as you quickly ball up that scrap of paper in your hands. This is how he has thanked you? An autograph?!

But just as you're about to throw it, you pause as you take stock of the way the branches at the mouth of the cave have been carefully arranged to hide its contents. It is subtle, but it is certainly different than how you'd fallen asleep. Quietly, you lower your hand, the annoyance fleeing from you in one deep sigh. The autograph is tucked away into your pocket as you slip on your healer's kit, telling yourself you'll dispose of it properly once you're back at the outpost.

-

It has been a week. The parchment is in the side pocket of your kit, deeply creased and well-worn.

#genshin impact #genshin fics #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #arataki itto x reader #itto x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #ceewrites #arataki itto #arataki x you #arataki x reader #genshin #cw: injury #cw: swearing #cw: blood

[professor-walnut]

Texture of Eeveelutions:

Eevee, Flareon - Fluffy. Like petting warm cotton candy. Hand may vanish into floof.

Sylveon, Umbrion, Espeon - Smooth hair. So smooth. The sheen.

Vaporeon - Scales. More frog texture than fish. Soft. Smooth. Yes. Could slip from your grip like a slug.

Leafeon - Short rough hair. Like a freshly shaved head. Slightly spikey, but still soft.

Glaceon - Short soft fur. Like petting a hamster. Smooth but thin fur. Lots of thick chonk beneath for warmth. Feel the wobble.

Jolteon - Spines. Like a porcupine. Ouch... but worth it for cute. They get stuck in the carpet and you step on them tho.

Thank you 4 coming to my Ted talk.

#pokemon #eevee #eeveelutions

[shoyouth]

hmm... how would vincent, isaac and comte react to mc dying way too early? (like, the month wasn’t even up yet and they died in a carriage accident or something)

warning route spoilers, delusion, death, violence, anger, depression, anxiety, victim blaming

Omg you’re really coming for my heart...I love stuff like this! So sorry for the long wait! <3 I also accidentally started writing this for mozart so lmk if you want this written for more—I’d love to! But god yeah—this is a long one I’m so sorry.

vincent ; you’re not gone, Theo, you’re just busy! On a trip! You’ll come back; you’re his friend. Vincent will be delusional. Though at some point in his route you help him open up, mature a bit, it’s no secret that he’s almost been infantilized by cybird. He’s been portrayed as innocent and naive, so when faced with such pain, it’s almost...he almost can’t handle it. He can’t fathom it. And so to combat pain and trauma he denies it. It’s one of the stages of grief, isn’t it? He just won’t...he won’t come out of it.

At first Theo would want the others to not push Vincent, to let him handle it his own way. He wants to shelter his older brother, but when it’s been months and Vincent’s paintings are only you, it’s only you on the canvas, on the walls, and you’re staining his clothes, his hands, his psyche—even Theo breaks. It’s horrifying, and Theo can’t breathe watching Vincent consume himself with you. Yet when Theo harshly yells that’s you’re gone, “they’re dead, Vincent!” Vincent only giggles.

Vincent is in his head, his dreams, bc you’re there! You’re there for him to pet his hair and coo his name; you’re the perfect muse, so sweet and kind and beautiful—you wouldn’t leave him. You’re immortal in his head, so how can you be gone? They just don’t get it. But if you’re not present in real life, then he’ll just stay in his imagination; anywhere you are.

issac ; issac will...he’ll spiral. He’ll be so overcome by anxiety; anger, guilt. He told you, didn’t he? Getting too close would only hurt you, he—you were two porcupines, and getting too close would only bring pain. He wants to blame you for your death—how could you not see the carriage? You’re not from that time, but surely you’re not so naive! But then he remembers your bright smile as you were reaching for him, his name forming on your lips before—and he breaks down again for the nth time that night as it plays over and over in his head till his vision is bleary and there’s a pounding in his head from the ferocity of his sobs.

Issac is socially awkward and a bit tsundere, but I think this is where the anxiety and anti-social tendencies will solidify into actual issues. He will curl in on himself; even walking down the hall he’s hunched over, shaking with fast-paced calculated steps as he prays that no one approaches him. If they do, he will only ignore them or lash out, scalding words on his tongue. “I didn’t accept a second life to make friends.” He’ll snap at Arthur or Dazai; he’ll even avoid Napoleon, shrugging off his hand on his shoulder with a glare to hold back the tears. He barely leaves his room, much less the mansion; the kids wonder why he won’t come to give lessons and Napoleon will just offer a sad smile. The university head will finally have to be turned away from the mansion by Comte, and the only chores or requests Sebastian’ll receive from Issac will be scribbled notes of paper from under his door.

Issac is just overcome by self-loathing, self-pity; he faced so much pain, betrayal, and loneliness in his past life, so how naive did he have to be to believe that he’d be able to be happy? He had a taste of warmth, of love, of adoration, only for it to be ripped away. And now he adamantly wishes he never felt it at all because he desires it so terribly that it keeps him up at night thinking of you.

comte ; we’re all very aware that comte has a...dark past, shall we say, even if we don’t know the full story. How the shadows fall over his eyes, how he almost seems to become so intense in such short moments that you’re struck with fear and reminded so deeply in your bones that he is a full-blooded vampire.

Now if you were to perish so quickly into meeting he...he won’t be himself. Even the others can tell he’s not the same; they can feel the involuntary shudder down their spines as they hastily look away from his own impenetrable gaze, his brisk walk, the unfaltering thin line of his mouth that at any wrong move seemed more than willing to tear another’s throat out. How could he let this happen? To you? The one bright light who entered his mansion, so pure, so sweet, so perishable. And he did nothing to stop it. He’s powerful, he’s limitless, and you’re the opposite—weak, mortal, and yet when he could extend your lifetime, keep you safe, he did nothing of the sort. Ironically, he didn’t have the time. And that sets him off.

He resorts to smoking, self-loathing; he’s angry, and it’s like molten lava under the surface, ready to decimate all in his wake. We can all tell he’s trying so so hard to maintain a gentlemanly act, to be kind and wise and yet his animalistic tendencies are ready to pounce. He’s so hurt that it was you—so young, so bright—and he’s supposed to be the host, meant to be your guardian to return you safely to your time and he failed. It will speak mass volumes to him of his own failures, his own fears, and your death may destroy his whole purpose in the mansion; you become the haunting metaphor. Though he may return to normal, it will take many years and much coaxing and silent support/stern scoldings from Leonardo to pull him out. He’ll be the shell of himself as he tours the mansions centuries later, the ghost of the residents laced into every touch of his hand on the dusty walls.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp Vincent x reader #ikevamp issac x reader #ikevamp comte x reader #ikemen vampire angst #ikevamp angst #ikemen vampire imagine #ikevamp imagine #ikemen vampire scenario #ikevamp scenario #ikevamp writing #ikemen vampire writing #ikemen vampire Vincent #ikemen vampire issac #ikemen vampire comte #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikevamp scenarios #request #anonymous #ikevamp headcanons #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikevamp fic #ikemen vampire fic #ikemen vampire Vincent x reader #ikemen vampire issac x reader #ikemen vampire comte x reader

[typhlonectes]

Porcupine Ray (Urogymnus asperrimus) in the Seychelles.

The porcupine ray is a rare species of stingray in the family Dasyatidae. This bottom-dweller is found throughout the tropical Indo-Pacific, as well as off West Africa. It favors sand, coral rubble, and seagrass habitats in inshore waters to a depth of 30 m (100 ft). A large and heavy-bodied species reaching 1.2–1.5 m (3.9–4.9 ft) in width, the porcupine ray has a nearly circular, plain-colored pectoral fin disc and a thin tail without any fin folds. Uniquely within its family, it lacks a venomous stinging spine. However, an adult ray can still defend itself ably with the many large, sharp thorns found over its disc and tail...

Read more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Porcupine_ray

photograph by Olivier Cochard-Labbé | CC

#ray #elasmobranch #fish #icthyology #ocean #animals #nature #science #marine biology

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Ch 3

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

Can also be read on ao3 (:

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

As always, he had not been himself in the night. He had been an old man, holding a rather nice-smelling bag, walking through the forest towards… something. Something he cared about.

His thoughts were not quite his own, but not the man's either; more a drowsy sort of mish-mash of voices, a bit like falling asleep in the middle of a bustling city. However, none of it really mattered, as he very much felt, smelled, and lived in the forest, above the crunchy leaves and around the warm scent. So hard to place. It was familiar, and yet, the exact detail of it had faded out.

He could hear his own voice, humming. It did not sound like his voice, not really, but it felt like his own, and that was enough for it to be his own. The vibrations travelled through his chest as he burst out in melodic sounds. He was humming a workers’ song, one that someone in his family had sung. Again, the details were blurry, like there was a block in his brain.

The forest was calm, basking in a sunny glow. Autumn leaves decked the ground, and the trees looked familiar. There was a comfort in this place, a home in the scent of mud and moss, and one that he cherished happily.

The trees, though originally quiet to his senses, rustled softly in a pleasant way. The wind must’ve been extra strong, he must’ve just not noticed it through the thick shield of stems.

The trees rustled once more, and felt a beat against the soles of his feet. It was slight, barely noticeable, but it got him to tilt his stiff, aged, neck downwards, if even just for a second.

It was then that it truly happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trees curving, but he didn’t have any time to process as he was slammed down to the ground by a vine sprouting from the ground. A crack wrecked through his body, not unlike the sound a carrot makes when snapping, and he, in what simultaneously was and wasn’t his voice, howled in pain. His leg, already weak to begin with, felt as though it had been ripped in two, and he could clearly see red blood leaking from where the knee was bent at an unnatural angle. Fire coursed through his nerves, burning from his leg to his spine. The pain was so mind-numbing that he didn’t notice the much pointier vine heading right for him until it was too late.

As though it was sentient, a throned vine plunged at him, and punctured right into his stomach. It sliced all the way through him, as though his body was not but soft butter, before pulling out in an equally swift motion and landing him limp on the ground.

There was no pain, even as thorns began to wrap around and puncture every millimeter of skin, only numbness. Numbness from pain that could not be described in the English language. Numbness that no one alive had ever felt. Numbness that acted as a relenting defeat against his continuous fight for any hope of life.

And as he lay there, hands bloodstained, stomach gaping, and so incredibly empty, he feared. Feared for his wife, feared for his unachieved goals, feared for what was coming next. Even this fear, however, held a tragic sort of air to it, as it was dulled down by unrelenting numbness.

The numbness faded, along with all thoughts, as white, hot, pain came crashing down like a hammer. He let out one last pitiful, agony filled screech - for a scream was much too human to cover the sound - muffled by the thorns that had stuck themselves into his lips, before everything went black in what was truly the kindest mercy. ————————————————

Bruin awoke with a gasp, clutching his stomach. His eyes darted around his barren room, pulse racing at an olympic level under his skin. With a weak breath - still clutching his stomach with an iron grip - he closed his eyes, and repeated his mantra; You’re Bruin Becker, you’re not them, you’re safe.

The phrase played over and over again in his mind as his vision slowly morphed from a blur of panic, to the usual, groggy morning one. Taking a more stable breath, he slowly let go of his stomach. He couldn’t resist scanning his hands for blood, though he knew there was none.

Once he was sure his hands were clean, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and watched the world come to life. The white desk and closet popped from the midnight blue walls, the sheets on his bed clear as glass. He glanced at his face in the mirror, and was not surprised at what he saw; deep, dark bags under his slender eyes, porcupine-like hair, and a thin sheet of sweat that lined his forehead.

He collapsed back into his bed with a tired sigh, wanting nothing more than to ignore the clock that was taunting him with the ridiculous hour he had awoken. He would probably do that. Go back to blissful sleep, that is. He doubted he even had gotten an ounce of it because of his stupid… nightmares? Visions? Whatever they were.

He closed his eyes, relaxing back into his bed, mind so far gone and forgetting one quintessentially, very, important thing. A thing he was oh-so-kindly reminded of by what could have only been described as the sound of every single plate in the house shattering at once.

With an almost inhuman speed, Bruin threw the cover from his bed, and darted to the room next door. He adjusted his hair along the way in a frantic motion, pulse having quickened yet again at the commotion. He braked as he reached the kitchen doorway, looking at the source of the sound.

On the grey tiles sat a dazed Grant, covered head to toe in flour, shards of ceramic plates scattered around him like a bomb had just gone off. Grant looked sheepishly at Bruin, blue eyes just as bagged as his own. “Uhh… good morning?”

Bruin couldn’t help the look of absolute disappointment that rolled over his face. “How did you manage to - never mind. I don’t want to know,” he said, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, if you must know,” Grant began, ignoring Bruin’s statement, “I was trying to make pancakes. Keyword there being trying.” He got up and tried dusting off the flour powdered on him like snow, but gave up almost immediately. “It was a shame really. I make lovely pancakes. It’s the only good thing about living with me, according to my dearest exes.”

“I’m surprised they listed any good things about living with you,” Bruin mumbled, before joining Grant to pick up the last pieces of the plates.

Though he would never admit it, Grant had been a blessing in disguise. When he first rented the little cottage in Lunewell, he had accepted that his co-worker would be an annoying, messy, music-box obsessed pest in the house that he would hopefully have to deal with as little as humanly possible.

Yet, almost like a mold, he had to admit that Grant had grown on him. Sure, he still couldn’t stand the messiness, and he swore that every time he turned a corner he saw another damn music-box, but those were things he had learned to forgive over the years.

“What possessed you to make pancakes?” Bruin questioned as they threw the last pieces in the trash.

Grant quieted, biting his lip.“They’re great comfort food,” he said slowly, as if testing out the words.

Bruin tensed, suddenly hyper aware of the rumbling in his stomach. “Oh,” he said quietly, after minutes of silence, “did you have a bad night’s sleep?” The question was pointless, but Bruin felt the need to ask it anyway. If only to take away from the barking that had begun playing in his ears.

“Yeah,” Grant responded, eyeing him, “I was up working on fixing an antique box, planning to go to bed, but I think someone was begging for their life outside, which wasn’t a very nice sound to fall asleep too.”

It was an invitation, one which he pondered for a while, before finally giving his response; “I wouldn't imagine so, no.”

He looked away as Grant's ocean blue eyes filled with pity, something that hurt him as much as any gun wound. “Hey, I… uh,” Grant began, no longer looking at him, “don’t feel obligated to answer this, but, are they getting worse?”

“You should probably go and get changed. I’ll make some breakfast for us. We still have a while before work.”

Grant, bless his heart, didn’t push. Instead, he simply nodded, vanishing the sad look from his eyes. He was halfway out the door, when he turned around with a snap; “that’s what I was forgetting to tell you!” he said, “Zarifa called earlier, she wants us to come in early.”

“Really? That’s unusual.”

“My thoughts exactly. I didn’t ever find out why though, she remained all vague. Sounded a bit panicked, if I’m honest.”

Bruin nodded. “We’ll head out after you and I get changed then. I’m not really in the mood for breakfast anyway.”

“Aye aye, Bruiny,” Grant said with a mock salute, before slipping out the door and presumably into his bedroom. Bruin did the same, taking one last glance around the rustic kitchen before walking towards his own room with a newfound haste. Zarifa had always been more than lenient with the times they showed and left work, especially once she realised both Grant and Bruin had abysmal sleep quality and patterns, so something like this was not only highly unusual, but equally concerning.

He just hoped nothing too terrible had happened. ——————————————

The walk to the Office was a beautiful one, especially this time of year. They were both bundled in hats and scarves that Grant had insisted on, as golden yellows and flaming hues passed and fell around them. For all the flack they could both give Lunewell - a lack of internet service, isolation from almost everything, and navigational systems that were seemingly built by a sadist - neither could deny that living there on mornings like this was truly a magical experience.

Or would be, were it not for the unfortunate scenario.

“Oh I hope she’s alright,” Grant panted out, slightly out of breath from the speedwalking that bordered on jogging. Working in antiques was unfortunately not a field that kept one in great physical condition, and in moments like this it truly showed.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Bruin reassured, “thinking logically, we know nothing serious has happened,” probably, “so it’s most likely something mundane, slightly ominous at best.”

Grant looked unsure at that, but didn’t say anything. Under the glasses, Bruin could practically see the well-oiled cogs turning in his head, eyes glaze as though lost in the mechanical world. It was his typical zoning out look, which was for once highly appreciated, as Bruin himself was in no mood to talk.

They walked up the path, letting the old, wooden store come into view. It seemed no different than yesterday, albeit much darker, except for, alarmingly enough, a room in the upstairs flat. They shared a questioning look, panic visible on both their faces, before speeding up and half-sprinting to the door.

With a lead ball in his stomach, Bruin realised that the door was not only unlocked, but stood slightly ajar. He shoved it further open, with an urgency but still lightly, as not to break any antiques.

Even the golden rays of autumn sun couldn’t hide the ruins of the shop. The furniture was at a slight angle, as though a lash had come whipping at the legs, the fragile glass and ceramics that had been close to shattering finally lay dead and dismembered on the floor, and most concerningly, there was an unidentifiable black liquid smelling vaguely of ozone.

“Zarifa?” Grant began calling, stepping over the mess with all the grace of a drunk octopus, “Zari? Boss? Are you in there?” Bruin followed his shouting companion, straightening the furniture as he went. They made it to the counter, still no sight of her, though that was changed as they heard a thunderclap of a sound emitting from the backroom.

They were in the employees’ lounge within seconds of the sound, greeted by the sight of an unusually casually dressed Zarifa surrounded by long walls of antiques, stacked in an organised manner. “Oh good,” she said, upon seeing them, giving them a warm smile that reached her tired eyes, “you made it.”

Bruin wasn’t so much looking at her, as staring at the large pile of antiques behind her. Some of them he recognised, like the ‘Girl in Field’ painting, or that odd statue of an old man made of clay, 200 years old, but painted in a cornflower blue pigment that could be no more than 100, though there were also surprisingly a lot of pieces he had no recollection of seeing. Zarifa, noticing his staring, looked at him apologetically; “Sorry I had to dismantle your system. I tried to keep the organisation, and I promise I’ll help sort it afterwards.”

“It’s fine. I’ll sort it myself,” he assured, not quite sure he truly trusted anyone to touch what he had sorted. Grant was a disaster on legs, and for as much as Zarifa was good at keeping schedule, she lacked the sheer efficient sorting instinct he had had since childhood. “Why is it all up here? Was there water in the basement again?”

Zarifa shook her head, before pulling a slightly splintered, old, wooden box with a golden, dust-painted leaf-engraving on top from behind one of the piles. Bruin’s eyes widened as he remembered where it had previously been, involuntarily glancing upstairs, and then back down to Zarifa. She hadn’t really… had she? No one had ever been in Valours flat, hell, no one even had the key to it.

She opened the lid cautiously, the box creaking as ancient and rusted hinges pulled back. She pulled out aged, folded paper, and slowly laid it down in Bruins hands. Though he would of course properly examine it later, he could tell it was far older than anything he was comfortable holding with his bare, gloveless hands. “It’s more sturdy than it looks,” comforted Zarifa, upon seeing his panicky stature, “go ahead, open it up.”

With a force comparable to a feather, he opened it in precise, calculated movements. He winced as he saw the handwriting, the fine, thin squiggles dating the paper to 300 years old at least, letting go of the note to the point it was barely still in his hands. He felt Grant peeking over his shoulder, and down onto the note curiously, mumbling the words as he read down the torn page.

It wasn’t a very long read, but it added tenfold to the confusion. “What seal?” Grant eventually asked, looking up at Zarifa, “this is the page blonde-pink-girl wanted, right? Why would anyone want this?”

Zaria sighed, looking at the paper with a darkness in her eyes. She looked contemplative, opening her mouth a few times to begin a sentence, before shaking her head and going back to thought. Finally, after tracing the golden part of the box a few rounds, silence echoing the room, she spoke; “We’ve all had encounters with Them before, right?”

Even with that single word, everyone in the room instantly Knew what she was talking about. It was Them that had drawn the entire group to the shop, Them that had left that hollowness that lived in all their eyes, Them that left all of them flinching at sounds and throwing hurried glances over shoulders, and most importantly, Them that created the bond they all shared.

Zarifa signed; “Take a seat, boys. This might require a bit of an explanation.”

—————- After a long, long conversation, involving the raiding of Valour’s alcohol stash for some well earned drinking, along with expensive chocolates for an alcohol-abstaining Bruin, all had finally been explained. There was a silence in the air, tinged in cheap wine and dread, as they all looked intently at the ornate box. “So,” Grant said, clasping his hands ripping away the silence like a band-aid, “we’re dealing with a big orb, monster thingy, which intentions are unknown, who kidnapped our intruder who was reading text that made vines sprout around her and smoke fill her eyes.”

“Yeah, that sums up what I experienced this morning nicely.”

Grant blinked, Bruin hurrying his mouth which had been firmly hidden deeper in his palm. “Fucking hell, I need another drink,” Grant exclaimed with a groan, reaching his hand out with his designated office mug towards Bruin.

“You guys are all out,” Bruin said with a tired voice, “besides, I don’t think alcohol is the wisest right now. I think we should try to figure out what actually happened.”

“Good idea,” Zarifa said with a nod, “we can begin with the note. Funnily enough, it’s the easiest thing here to deconstruct.” She took the box and gave it one last glance over, before rotating it away from herself and giving Grant and Bruin the opportunity to see it; “Obviously the seal is referring to the monster. I think it’s just a matter of gathering the ingredients, and whatever happened, will be reversed.”

Bruin, more than prepared, had already pulled out his black notebook and found an empty page. He looked once again at the section of the note containing the ingredients:

A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

And out of the nonsense, quickly jotted down the list of ideas that had been proposed by a slightly tipsy Grant, and an unusually frantic Zarifa;

Fragmented Touched sanity (Magic mind? Pieces of brain?) Sight of one that Sees (Some creature’s eyes obviously, maybe cow eye cult? (Most likely, Grant’s paranoia over cow eye cult, and not actually cow eye cult)) Water divine (Holy water?) Webbed light (Interconnected grids of light? Light systems?)

Jotting them down like that, was sadly, not very revealing. Partly because all their minds were still reeling, and what they had brainstormed was mostly a series of disjointed thoughts rather than a narrative, and partly because there was still so much hidden at the bottom of the riddle ocean. Bruin could still hardly find himself believing Zarifa’s situation, and had it not been for the black liquid stains he saw himself, the cryptic note, and the wobbly tone of her words as she recounted the events, he probably would have dismissed her as being driven a bit mad by paranoia.

Even now, fully aware of the fact that it was real, he was incredibly tempted to just storm out the shop, notebook in hand. Though he encountered the unearthly almost every time he was in deep slumber, he had never actually had a fully conscious encounter. And those… nightmares, visions - whatever they could be called - had left him gluing the pieces of his mind with only the instinct of survival. A real encounter would break him.

And yet, he couldn’t run. He had nowhere to go. Thorns Antique wasn’t so much a place he had chosen to stay, as a shelter he had desperately thrown himself into. Physically, yes of course he could travel or move. Marcus had been asking him if they could move in together for months, and would be more than elated to take him in. And he was sure he could put that business degree to good use.

But, though he was physically free as a dove, his mental wings were clipped. What was he supposed to do when he inevitably woke up one night in Marcus’s bed, screaming about the knife that he was convinced was lodged in his brain? How would he explain the countless of cryptic, weird, objects littered between pages upon pages of ripped-out death notices? Markus would see him as insane, and any future job he would have wouldn’t tolerate his hazy, obsessive, jumpy, and sleep-deprived state.

Though he did not personally know what their stories really were, he suspected Zarifa and Grant were stranded on the same boat of forbidden knowledge. Zarifa had no interest in history, having a passion for literature instead, and a people-pleasing nature and work ethic that could get her far, and Grant, though a bit of a clumsy idiot, was also incredibly academically bright, and a true cityguy at heart. They were an odd group, but a strongly connected one.

Or, at least somewhat connected.

“I propose we figure out what to do now,” Bruin muttered, after reading the bullet points a couple of times, “I don’t think there’s a standard protocol for situations such as these.”

Zarifa hummed in agreement, leaning against the table with a pensive look, sipping on some more wine. “I think we should prioritise figuring out what the riddle is actually saying,” she said, “and I think most of the answers lay here. There must be some connections between all this supernatural weirdness, and I’m pretty sure it lies in the antiques.”

Bruin and Grant nodded, both pulling the wildly uncomfortable chairs close to the table in a loud, squeaking drag. “As for the stuff that we can’t find the answer to,” Zarifa continued, once everyone was seated, “we can always ask for that.” She turned to Grant; “You’ve called Valour, right?”

Grant blinked, the words taking a few seconds to register, before grimacing sheepishly. “I’ll go do that afterwards, promise.” Bruin sighed, but Zarifa simply nodded. She’d always been a lot more forgiving of his scatterbrain than Bruin.

“I’ll do the same with Lottie. Assuming she’s, well, alive. She probably won’t answer, but it's worth a shot.”

“Thought Lottie didn’t give us her number?” Grant said, Bruin mirroring his confusion. Zarifa stiffened, smile dropping by a minuscule amount.

“She didn’t, but I know how to get in contact with her,” she stated, in her best assertive tone. Before Bruin could ask what she meant by that, she powered on, bulldozing in a purposeful manner. “What about you, Bruin?”

Bruin racked his mind for a good answer, recalling what needed to be done, and all the archival systems they had buried in the husk of a computer. “Every item has a corresponding ID, and a short descriptor. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at both the system and the antiques . However, we’re all out of gloves, and our magnifying glass has been broken for two months, so I’ll head to the shop first.”

While this was completely true, Bruin did leave out the little detail that it was also beyond time to see Marcus again. Through a mix of nightly hauntings, and antique mishaps, the days had somehow slipped by without them having a proper chat. He didn’t so much mind the lack of interaction, as the guilt that came with it.

“Thank you,” Zarifa said with a smile, “and, if it isn’t too much of a bother, please keep an eye out for any… unusual sights.” He nodded, her shoulders slumping down visibly, even under the thick cream turtleneck. Grant then promptly slipped out of the room to give Valour a ring with his smashed phone, and Zarifa headed out the front door and into the shop to tidy what was left of the mess, leaving him all alone.

He buried his hands into his neatly combed hair, tension deflating like a balloon as he exhaled heavily. His head was being squeezed by a thick rubber band, though whether it was the usual sleep deprivation or stress was anyone’s guess, and his eyes were droopy and heavy, as if magnets were attempting to pull them closed.

Nevertheless, he got up, pulling his winter coat and messenger bag off the chair. He left the scarf and hat where they lay, feeling they were a bit over the top considering it was only October. Slipping the black notebook into the black and purple bag, he headed out the door, and towards the outside world, heading in a general life direction he was not fully comfortable with.

#The Lunewell Saga - Natura #the lunewell saga #natura #writing #wip excerpt #original writing #writing wip

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Real World Inspiration

for additional physical features you can add to dragons! (previous post was an edit of the D&D black dragon. Next post will be some examples of dragon designs I made.)

The classic european dragon design used in a lot of mainstream fantasy is already kind of a mashup of many different animal features. Bat wings, long swan-like neck, lizard scales and tail, feet that look like reptilian lion feet or bird of prey talons, heads that are partway between a horse and a crocodile, horns like a goat or ram. They’re chimeric and that’s fun to work with. But they do often end up being mostly just big scales, a pair of horns, and then a lot of random spikes. And that’s fine, but there are so many weird physical structures that exist on real world animals which could easily be used on dragons. Let’s look at them in a series of specific categories.

(Under a cut cuz it got so very very long sorry)

(Description: a collage titled "spikes", showing real world animals with lots of spiky structures on their bodies. Photos of an iguana and a crocodile are labeled "osteoderms". A photo of an echidna is labeled "modified hair". And a photo of an inflated porcupine fish is labeled "modified scales". End description.)

Since dragons are usually depicted as reptilians, osteoderms and modified scales would be the most common way to add lots of spikes in a realistic manner. Iguanas have a whole crest of tall osteoderms on their spines, and the bumps all along a crocodile's back are also osteoderms.

Osteoderm means "bone skin" and they're basically just calcified skin deposits. Boney, but lightweight, not as sturdy as bones, and not at all connected to the skeleton. Armadillo armor is also a form of osteoderm.

Scales are made of a similar material to fingernails, hair, and feathers, and sometimes they get really spiky without necessarily including osteoderm structures. I used a porcupine fish for that but it turns out science is uncertain what their spines actually are. The thorny devil lizard is a good example though, that thing is nothing but spiky scales (even its big facial horns have no bone underneath)

And of course things like echidna, porcupines, and hedgehogs are covered in spikes that are just really thick sturdy hairs. Evolution is bizarre.

And those are all very effective ways to put lots of spikes on a dragon without adding extra weight from bone spikes that emerge from the skeleton.

(Description: a photo collage titled "dangly bits" showing several animals that have extra flesh hanging from parts of their bodies. Photos of a turkey, rooster, and long wattled umbrella bird are labeled "wattles". A photo of an anole lizard showing its throat display and a photo of a moose are labeled "dewlaps". And a drawing of a catfish is labeled "barbels". End description.)

Wattles are pretty common in many bird species. Extra neck flesh that usually starts by the jaw and may be connected further along the neck but doesnt have to be. The umbrella bird here has a retractable wattle covered in feathers which it can move to make it look like it has a very long pinecone hanging off its neck. I love how weird it is.

A similar structure is the dewlap, which can be found on lizards like anoles and iguanas, but can also be found in birds and even mammals. It's a fleshy protrusion from the neck which can be small and dangly or rather large. Sometimes it's ts flat, but sometimes it's chubby, like on some rabbits.]

And of course we have catfish barbels, which are like thick fleshy whiskers. Lots of asian dragon depictions include barbels because they take inspiration from carp, like the koi fish.

(Description: a collage titled "frills" showing animals which have various flaring body parts. Photos of a frilled lizard, a chameleon, and a photo collection of birds I couldn't identify, are labeled "crests". Photos of a betta fish, a black bass, and a lionfish, are labeled "fins". End description.)

I'm not sure the frilled lizard counts as having a crest but I had to include it somewhere. I did not look hard enough to learn exactly how it raises its frill, but I did find that the frill only has two very thin bones in it, right by the jaw. The rest is just really precise musculature I guess.

Chameleon crests are built on bone structures, like the ceratopsian dinosaurs bony neck frills. And of course, there are countless bird species that have feathery crests of all forms.

I know I said on my posts correcting official dnd dragons that I disliked the neck fins on those, but fins can look like that with sturdy points and scalloped edges. I just dont like the way they're usually drawn on dragons, with a singular lonely neck fin that has thick bones in it. It would be much more fun if it was accompanied by other fin structures to create a more cohesive creature. May as well go all the way if you're going to add any frill, right?

(Description: a collage titled "bizarre extras" showing animals that have really weird and unique physical features. Photos of a bat, a star nosed mole, and a mandril, are labeled "noses". Photos of a sage rouse's mating display and a frog's vocal sac are labeled "ballooning". And a photo of the spider tailed viper is labeled "lures". End description.)

This is the section for the weird miscellaneous stuff I basically never see in dragon art. Which is a shame because the real world is full of the weirdest creatures. Weird noses serve purposes by interacting with scent in complex ways, or in the mandril's case, being a point of display. Noses with weird structures can also create different noises for communication.

Lots of creatures have ballooning display structures. Usually for the purposes of attracting a mate and competing for territory. Sage grouses, prairie chickens, frigate birds, and of course frogs, all have weird throat structures they can inflate for communication, attraction, and intimidation. Dragons could even use it as part of their breath weapons. Why not have an extra sac in the throat to carry a special gas or something?

And lures! Angler fish, snapping turtles with tongues that look like worms, and this absolutely bizarre snake that has evolved modified scales on the tip of its tail to resemble a spider. Many animals use specially adapted body parts to lure prey, which then allows them to hunt without expending too much energy. Being a predator is hard work, and most predators will back away from a fight because they do not want to spend the energy or risk injury when they can find an easier target.

Dragons are huge! They must need so much meat to maintain their energy stores. I think it's sensible for some dragons to live quietly, spending as little energy as possible while they use adapted body parts to lure prey. A dragon in a cave with a modified tail that resembles treasure? A green dragon disguised as a small hill in a field with a long tongue that resembles a delectable plant to lure in cattle? Dragons in dark environments with bioluminescent lures? I know big dramatic dragon battles are fun, but this is just such a good concept I'm sad I don't really see it used.

Anyway theres a lot of real world physical features that I think could be used on dragons more. My method of finding interesting and unique ideas for dragons is usually to just google "weird/cool (insert animal here)".

#image description #accessible art #accessible images #fantasy anatomy #real world inspiration #dragons

[glitchadoodle]

Quirk Works

Trying to connect my science studies to anime because I may or may not be neurodivergent and am without a doubt BHNA simping trash.

Our favorite hard boi has willful control his stratum basale’s production of keratinocytes! Dude can instantaneously create an insane amount of Keratin.

Keratin is a protein found in the epidermis and has a variety of functions. It creates the tough exterior to our skin (hardening) and prevents the entrance of microorganisms (this dude never gets sick or ringworm). I’m even surprised that he got that precious eye scar with that type of skin control. For all intents and purposes he should be able to heal it but probably doesn’t because it looks manly. I’m still trying to work out what about him deactivating his quirk makes his skin go back to normal rather than sloughing off like a reptile. They tend to shed their epidermis all in one go (think snakes). However this dude just re-sucks in that 15-20 layers of dead skin with anime magic. Or maybe he does molt we don’t know about it?!? 

Mind you our meat sack, as is, weighs about 20lbs (sans organs) so that would explain his workout mentality. He needs the extra muscle to be able to maneuver when those extra layers of skin on. It would also explain why he is so hard to knock back. 

  I started wondering what this may do to his somatosensation. His Merkel’s discs and  Meissner’s corpuscles are probably useless during hardening. They’re sensitive to light touch and there is no way light touch is getting through those layers skin layers. However that may put him at a disadvantage to sensing when his shield is pierced with finer tools like thin blades or crazy thick needles (I’m thinking Toga sized) which would also contribute to slow reaction speed. Maybe he could learn to densely pack the Keratin for more streamlined movement that wouldn’t change his mass. 

Sitting between the epidermis and the dermis (which is a layer down) we have arrector pili muscles which control our hair standing on end. It’s more of a vestigial or useless trait in humans. Our hair stands up when we’re uncomfortable or cold but we don’t have enough for it to actually make a difference. However Kiri may be able to use those muscles to his advantage. Maybe he could create fine spines like a porcupine? Otherwise I assume that hardening completely covers/blocks follicles. This guy could probably make a full beard disappear in seconds with the use of hardening.

Please suggest other characters or science for me to indulge in or correct me in the notes!

#If this has already been explained in the manga please leave me alone #kirishima #hardboi #red riot #kirishima eijiro #bnha eijiro kirishima #because science #science #integral research #headcanon

[delimeful]

WIBAR Intermission: Making Adjustments (1)

welcome to the first chapter of the intermission! if you’re new to this AU, you can find the first chapter here and the ao3 story here! 

warnings: tension, blood, fear, nightmares, medical torture, needle mention

-

Virgil’s first impression of their ship was that it looked a lot less futuristic than Star Wars would have had him believe. 

It was less ‘fighter jet’ and more ‘classic UFO’ in style, cylindrical and all curves instead of edges. The panels on it seemed to be made of some obsidian-like metal, glinting in the storm’s light. He didn’t know how it compared with other ships, seeing as he’d spent most of his time in space stuck in a cell on one, and thus didn’t have many references.

Oh his shoulder, Patton shook, spraying water from his ruff of feathers like a dog after a bath. Virgil squinted as a few droplets hit his face, and ignored the odd staring that the thin, willowy alien- Logan?- was doing. If Patton’s friend had something to say to him, he could say it outright, because Virgil wasn’t a mind reader.

... Were there aliens that could read minds? 

Patton tapped his shoulder with a clawed finger, pointing at a slight imprint in the ship. “There’s the door! Luckily, we’ve got one of the bigger models since Roman is on the larger end of the alien size scale! You’ll fit just fine.” 

“Lucky isn't the word I would use.” Virgil’s shoulders rose slightly as he caught the grumble from a few feet behind him, unheard by Patton’s duller ears. If he wasn’t so on edge, he’d be annoyed. If Roman was going to shit-talk him, he could at least do it in something other than Common so Virgil didn’t have to listen to it. 

It was already difficult enough just letting the Crav’on walk behind him; everything in Virgil screamed danger at even the smallest movement from the bulky alien. At a squat five foot, Roman wasn’t able to loom over Virgil, but his spike-like scales were all fully extended, making him look like a mix between an angry cat and a porcupine. His rigid, shell-like ears kept twitching, and frankly, Virgil was expecting to get one of those scales through his spine any minute now. 

Patton shifted eagerly, his feathers fluffing in a way that meant he wanted down, and Virgil swiftly crouched to allow the Ampen an easier trip to the ground. Both of the others twitched at the fast movement, and he barely repressed the urge to flinch in response. Showing his nerves would only make them more anxious. Conceal, don’t feel, ect.

As promised, he only had to duck his head slightly to get through the ship’s main entry door, and the hallways were luckily tall enough that he could pass through in his customary slouch. He couldn’t help but stare like an idiot as Patton led him through the ship’s passages, getting glimpses of other rooms full of the alien versions of furniture and books. Such normal, everyday objects, but for a while he’d never thought he’d get to see them again.

Roman and Logan accompanied them, as though the moment they let Patton out of their sight, he’d vanish. Though he suspected this in large had to do with the Ampen dragging around an entire Human, he could understand it. He’d also do just about anything to keep Patton safe, after all. He couldn’t blame them for it when he himself had a panic attack nearly every time the Ampen had left for a town to get supplies without him.

“Here!” Patton announced, guiding him into what was probably a bathroom. The Ampen leapt up onto the counter, pulling a white cylindrical container from one of the shelves. “We’ve got plenty of bandages for when Roman gets himself into trouble. Can you rinse that scratch off for me?”

Virgil nodded and spent a moment fiddling with the sink while Roman protested loudly, something about defending his honor and trouble finding him. Once he managed to get the water running, he carefully peeled his sleeve away from his cheek, wincing when the fibers pulled at the newly clotted blood. Logan appeared at his side and offered him a dark cloth towel, making him jump in surprise. “Uh, thanks.” 

After a fair amount of delicate washing and applying some basic disinfectant spray, Patton gestured for him to crouch. His eyes flickered to the other two, who were watching him with fascination and disgust, respectively. He… didn’t particularly want to be more exposed than he already was in front of them, Roman especially, but it was Patton asking, and what right did he have to deny Patton anything? He folded down into range of his little clawed hands, trying not to shiver at the cool air on the back of his neck.  

Patton carefully applied gauze and tape all along the injury, making him feel like an underdressed mummy. “There! They’re pretty shallow, so they should heal up in no time with your healing rate!” 

“Thanks, Pat.” He quickly rose back to a standing position, shoulders slouched.  

The Ampen beamed at him, and Virgil felt more than saw the other two aliens stiffen. He let the edge of his mouth curl up in response, but carefully didn’t show any teeth. Never let it be said that he didn’t learn.

“Patton.” Logan reached out with one of his upper arms, settling crystalline fingers onto Patton’s shoulder. The Ampen leaned into the touch with a melodic hum. “Perhaps we could settle in the living quarters. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Virgil glanced between them, remembering that they were Patton’s real friends, and they’d been looking for Patton for ages, and had somehow managed to track them down where a huge smuggling organization had failed. Patton no doubt missed them just as much, his antennae fluffed out the way they were when he was truly happy.

He wasn’t about to ruin their happy reunion by making the others uncomfortable or worse, afraid. He couldn’t do that to Patton, even if his chest ached with the certainty that his welcome would only be temporary. Maybe the less he intruded, the longer they’d let him stay?

He cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing their attention. “I’m tired. Is it okay if I…?” 

Patton frowned in worry and Roman sneered, but Logan was the one to speak, extra arms tucked behind his back politely. “Of course. We have a guest room, though it’s not particularly furnished at the moment.” 

Virgil’s shoulders dropped a little at the idea of having some space to himself to breathe. “Yeah, that works perfect. Thank you.” 

Once they reached the room, Patton was beckoning him down into a crouch again so he could check his head for ‘human illnesses’. Virgil chuckled quietly, still all-too-aware of the foreign eyes on him.

“No fever, Pat. I’m a little… too-much, right now.” He carefully moved Patton’s hand from his forehead and patted it like he was handling precious glass. “I’ll be okay. You said… they’re safe, yeah?” 

Patton nodded exuberantly. “I would trust them with my life, Vee.” He paused, antennae flicking back and forth in uncertainty. “I… can I come check in later?”

Virgil felt himself soften further, well aware of Patton’s nerves at separating. He felt the same way, after all. “Always.” 

Patton nodded again, gently bumping his head against the underside of Virgil’s chin before finally withdrawing. He watched as the three of them began to walk down the hall, Patton waving with a tiny hand and Roman shooting him a glare, and then ducked into the guest room, making sure to leave the sliding door partially open.

It was plain but had all the necessities, which was all Virgil really cared about, considering he’d been sleeping on the dirt ground for the past month. He checked the perimeter of the room carefully, exploring every corner and door. 

Rationally, he knew there shouldn’t be any danger hidden away here, but he was too used to making sure his and Patton’s campsite wouldn’t be found by any stray locals. Habits that kept one alive were hard to break.

Eventually the paranoid itch in the back of his mind was satisfied, and he crawled into the bed, which was more of a hollow egg-shape, stuffed full of mounds of soft bedding. It was easily large enough for him, thankfully, and he settled in to sleep. 

… 

Sleep didn’t come. 

Ridiculously enough, it was because he was too comfortable. The room was cool and quiet and dark, with no weather or local insects to worry about hurting Patton, but it was also wide and exposed to anyone who walked past his door. The bedding was soft and smooth, but clean enough that he felt bad for sprawling his dirty body across it. 

He wondered vaguely if he could maybe shower, and then dismissed the thought. He didn’t even know what the supplies or facilities were like on this ship, and he really didn’t want to be without his clothes until he was sure one of the others weren’t going to attack him.  

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, he gave in and dragged a thin blanket along to one of the odd circular storage cabinets in the room. It had a flat bottom, and it was hard and enclosed from any passerby, and that was enough for him. He had to fold his body slightly to fit in it fully, but he’d slept in worse conditions. Much worse. 

Within moments, his eyelids drooped, and he was out. 

He woke up strapped to a table, which was never a very pleasant way to wake. Above him, aliens in full-body protective suits muttered and babbled clinically in Common that was too complex for him to understand. He couldn’t struggle, stuck in his body looking out as he was stuck with needles and tubes. 

At least this time whatever drug they had used to paralyze him was keeping him from feeling the pain. 

His vision blurred in and out of focus, mind drifting as he watched bits and pieces of himself be cut away. 

Suddenly, all the harvesters seemed to vanish, stepping back out of sight. He wished he could turn his head to see them, make sure they weren’t doing anything without him knowing, but what difference did it make? It wasn’t like he could do anything about it. 

The horror of the situation only began to settle in fully when the Machine appeared at his side. His eyes locked onto its glossy surface immediately, his breaths coming quicker and quicker as gloved hands strapped cold bands around his forehead and wrists. 

They flipped him over, and even though all he could see was the table, he knew the moment they’d attached the barbed metallic strip to his back, right along his spinal cord. His nerves jumped, feeling jolting through them again, minutes too late. 

He had already been dumped in the arena, a room with cold white walls and windows set into the ceiling for harvesters to look down on him and whatever unlucky bastard they threw in with him today. 

His gaze was drawn back down to the door lifting on the other side of the chamber. Speak of the devil. 

Virgil rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache of his body to prepare himself. Almost all of the aliens they paired him with came out of the door ready to maul him, be it from anger, or drugs, or simple terror. He’d gotten enough scars trying to talk them down, enough to know the futility of it. 

When the door rose, however, he knew the face behind it. Patton? 

It was as though the past months had never happened, like they were meeting in that cell for the first time again. Patton shook and trembled, scrambling back against the door as it swung shut after him. Virgil felt something in him ache at the sight. 

He opened his mouth to reassure him, tried to kneel and reduce the difference in height between them, to look as nonthreatening as possible. Patton, I would never hurt you.

His body was silent. It took a step forward without Virgil’s input. And then another. And then he was suddenly there, inches away from the Ampen, hand reaching out for his throat and Patton let out a desperate wail, the one he’d only heard once, just before their escape—

Virgil jerked awake like he’d been electrocuted by a guard taser, choking on his own spit as he struggled to breathe. 

Just a dream. Just a dream. 

He tried to concentrate, reaching out with a feather-light (never careless, never harmful) touch for the reassuring, fluffy weight of his friend against him. All he found was air, and his fear levels shot up into panic attack territory. Where was Patton? Patton wasn’t there, Patton was gone, Patton was-

Patton was home. Patton was safely bundled into bed with his real family, the ones that didn’t have violent, horrifying nightmares. 

The memories of the past however many hours hit him, then, and his hands fell limp back to his sides. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, he knew, because Patton was safe and happy here, and that was what the Ampen deserved. That was what mattered, not his stupid little hurt feelings over the fact that Patton’s friends definitely hated him. He dragged a hand over his face tiredly, mouth sour with the knowledge that he was a bad friend. 

All intent to sleep gone, he attempted to reach for the cabinet door, only to find empty air. He blinked, squinting in the dark, and found it easily enough. He’d apparently kicked out in his nightmare, because his right foot was stuck in the detached cabinet door, driven through the white material like it was cheap plaster. Oops. 

This made it considerably more difficult to maneuver his body out of the cabinet, but he managed without driving the splintered door into his ankle too much. Still stung terribly when he pulled it off though, leaving several fresh new scrapes. Hopefully those wouldn’t get infected. 

The door to his temporary room was still partially open, thankfully, and he quietly nudged it further to slip out into the hallway. The lights had been dimmed partially, probably to simulate night and keep them on a routine sleep schedule. The smugglers hadn’t bothered with light cycles for his cell, leaving one corner of the room darkened at all times for whenever he got exhausted enough to sleep. It was a nice change.

Aimless beyond an urge to ascertain Patton’s safety, he wandered the ship near-silently, glancing at any open doors he passed and attempting to figure out what the purpose of them was from what little he could see in the rooms. There were helpful labels on some of the doors, but he still didn’t know how to read the written form of Common. Patton had offered to teach him, but there wasn’t much time to waste writing in the dirt while they were on the run.

Still slightly out of it from his nightmare, Virgil almost walked right into one of Roman’s sharp-edged scales before realizing he was there. He froze, breath catching in his lungs as he waited for the bulky alien to notice him there at his side. The alien turned his head slowly, the horns atop it forming a distinct crown silhouette. 

Roman’s red eyes were just light enough in color to be picked out from the rest of his face, and Virgil watched in disbelief as they passed over him without a second glance. The alien shuddered slightly, the movement making his scales rattle and shift, and then turned away to tromp back down the hall. 

Night vision, Virgil suddenly recalled, thinking about how often he’d had to guide Patton through terrain in the dark. He’d thought it might have just been an Ampen thing, but it looked like Roman’s species didn’t see into shadows too well either. He let out a slow breath, watching as Roman began his circuit anew. He could only assume that the area he was patrolling was where the others were resting. Of course Roman would be up to guard them from the human.

Guess he wouldn’t be able to check on Patton after all. 

Suddenly more tired than before, he waited until Roman’s back was turned and then bolted back the way he’d come on silent feet. 

Well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent sleepless nights alone before now. A few more on a new ship wouldn’t hurt, since he couldn’t imagine it would be long before he was back to sleeping out on hostile planets.

#sanders sides #g/t #giant/tiny #ts virgil #space au #wibar #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #wibar int: ma #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #*winks at you all* surprise! #writing #my writing

[chelsfic]

The Hot List, in which the NYC Familiar Discord Ranks their Masters - Nandor x Guillermo Fanfic (one-shot, crack!)

Summary: The familiars of New York City use Discord to connect and blow off steam...and also to rank their masters’ hotness. Nandor discovers this impertinence and throws an internet fit.

Tags: Crack with a touch of angst

A/N: I don’t know. 

---

NYC Familiar Chat #thirsty

Celeste-is-Best: nngh, have you guys seen Mr. 50ss’s’s’ss instagram story????

Celeste-is-Best: He’s so pretty! it’s like turn me, already!

Imurdad | colby: I know, right? I can’t believe he’s only 7 on the hot list…

[Gigi the great and sam teh pretty like this]

Gigi the great: Don’t forget to vote on this month’s poll!!

Best Hair!

We’re the ones who make them look pretty--but who’s the prettiest one of all? This month we’re voting on the NYC vampire with the best hair. Cast your vote!

A. Simon the Devious

B. Nandor the Relentless

C. Tilda

D. Evan

E. Houston

F. Nancy the Relentless

---

Guillermo locked his phone with a little smile. If he could he’d vote a hundred times for Nandor’s hair. It was unlikely that his master would win against the likes of Evan, Tilda and Nancy. He’d thrown Simon on there as a joke and was kind of horrified by how many familiars seemed to be into the limp mullet look. To each their own, he guessed.

On that note, it was almost nightfall and Nandor’s hair wasn’t going to brush itself. Guillermo made his way into the crypt, lighting candles and gathering the soft brush, comb, detangler spray and hair oils. Nandor was what he lovingly referred to as “high maintenance.” He was also surprisingly pitiful for a 750-year old warlord. It took Guillermo ages every night to carefully tease out and brush the knots from his hair without hurting him. It should’ve been annoying after so many years, but the chore remained one of the highlights of Guillermo’s day. 

For one thing, he got to touch his master without being scolded or hissed at. So that was nice. For another thing, Nandor’s hair was as soft as his personality was prickly. Guillermo would often drag out the task, running his fingers through the silky strands and lightly touching Nandor’s jaw to get him to tilt his head this way or that. 

He was doing just that, as well as admiring the expanse of cream and bronze skin revealed by the open collar of Nandor’s loose shirt, when the vampire opened his mouth. 

“Guillermooo...Did you happen to get any virgins for tonight?”

Guillermo’s fingers momentarily tightened around a hank of his master’s hair. He imagined giving it a sharp tug. He forced himself to loosen his grip and replied, “No, master, I’m sorry. Virgins are getting pretty thin on the ground lately. I managed to pick up a couple people from a bible study class, though. They should taste pretty innocent, right?”

Nandor made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat before answering, “You’d be surprised.”

---

NYC Familiar Chat #the-struggle

Gigi the great: I know we all jealously guard our sources, but I’ve been in a dry spell for a few weeks and my master is going to lose it and drink me one of these nights. Anyone have any new leads on virgins in the area?

Gigi the great: I’ve tried the usual stuff...LARPers, church socials, chastity clubs (surprisingly unhelpful…). I’m kinda desperate!

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: only because you had my back last month when I ran out of burial sites…

Gigi the great: OMG! Celeste, please!! 🙏 🥺

Celeste-is-Best: there’s a magic the gathering tournament in brighton heights this weekend...😈

Gigi the great: You are like the virgin whisperer, Celeste. Thank you!

Celeste-is-Best: np

Celeste-is-Best: hey! Are you posting the poll results soon? I voted for Tilda--don’t tell Houston!! LOL

#main

Gigi the great: The results are in! The vampire with the best hair in NYC is……..EVAN!

Check out the Google Form for the full results...

docs.google.com...best_hair

Evan (26%)

Tilda (22%)

Nancy the Relentless (17%)

Simon the Devious (16%)

Nandor the Relentless (13%)

Houston (6%)

---

“What are you typing over there on your intelligent phone?”

Guillermo hurriedly tucked his phone away and looked up to find his master mopping blood from his mouth with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. They were in an alleyway a few buildings down from the comic shop. The limp body of Nandor’s victim lay discarded on the dirty ground. Guillermo smiled affectionately at Nandor trying and failing to clean himself. He took the hanky from him and set about doing the job himself. The snow white fabric was quickly drenched in dark red arterial blood. 

“I was just, um...checking on another potential virgin source,” he lied. 

The familiar Discord was strictly secret. If any of their masters ever found it and saw their human servants’ uncensored discussions... The thought sent a panicked tremor down Guillermo’s spine and he thought--for the thousandth time--that he should delete the app and not look back. But the idea of continuing with this emotionally draining, thankless job without his little support system was just as disturbing. Besides, the server had really come through for him tonight.

“Well done, Guillermo!” Nandor praised him and Guillermo’s heart swelled pathetically. A small, shameful part of him imagined Nandor patting him on the head and he didn’t hate it. “That was the most delicious virgin I’ve had in months!”

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo smiled sweetly, his cheeks dimpling. Nandor watched him for a long moment and he could swear he saw his master’s eyes linger on his mouth. He shut that thought down before it could bloom into a hope that was only doomed for disappointment. 

“Well…I’ll see you back at the house.” Nandor vanished before his eyes, taking his bat form and darting out of the alley with a high-pitched squeak and a furious flap of his leathery wings.

Guillermo sighed, looked at the broken body and wondered if he’d be able to fit his car down the narrow alley or if he’d have to drag the corpse to the opening. He fished out his keys and started the short walk back to his parking spot. All the while thinking, with distracted horror, Simon the Devious beat out Nandor for best hair?!? Really?

---

Direct Messages

Gigi the great: Hey, thanks! The Magic tournament was a hit!

Celeste-is-Best: i do live to serve…

Gigi the great: Har har.

#bitch-session

mish-bish: Ugh!!! Pretty sure my asshole master is hypnotizing me again.

call-me-karen: That’s rough, Misha! You wanna talk about it? My master lets me take the car whenever I want. I can come pick you up…

mish-bish: Yeah, like...I definitely have a huge black hole in my memories from last night. Fuck.

mish-bish: Oh, that’s ok Karen. Thanks.

Gigi the great: Hey @mish-bish. Sorry you’re having a hard time. If you feel up to it, check out the #support channel. A lot of other familiars have gone through this and talked about it there. Sometimes it helps to hear how others cope!

---

“Guillermo! Guillermoooo!”

Nandor’s panicked bellow reached him all the way in the basement where he was checking his lye supply. Guillermo huffed it up the stairs and raced into the fancy room where he found his master staring aghast at his laptop.

“Wh-what is it, master?” he asked, bent over and catching his breath.

“Someone named...Rap4Unlyfe has sent me a fake news!” Nandor wailed, gesturing to the laptop as if the device was personally responsible. 

Guillermo suppressed an eyeroll and walked over to sit beside his master. He watched in dismay as Nandor scooched farther down the couch but he tried not to let it sting too much. 

The browser was open to Nandor’s Hotmail account. He leaned forward to read the open message, unsure what to expect. The blood drained from his face as he read.

from: [email protected]

cc:  [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected] ...

subject: rofl bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahah

yooooooooooooooooOO!

Has ne1 else seen there familiars on this site??? I hypnotized mine last nite to give me his phone password and...👀 

Mierda. There were two screenshots attached. One was the survey results page from the “best hair” poll. The other was an excerpt from the chat, specifically Guillermo posting the winner of the poll and the link to the results. 

Guillermo’s face fell into an adorably distressed frown. He darted a glance at Nandor but the vampire just looked confused. It wasn’t clear if he yet suspected that his own familiar might be “Gigi the great.”

“Huh…” Guillermo leaned back and smoothed his expression into one of untroubled amusement. “You’re right, looks like fake news. You should probably just ignore it.”

Nandor punched his fist into his thigh and snapped, “But Guillermo! I cannot let this go unanswered! This...this...ludicrous insult! Imagine...me losing a hair contest. Everyone knows I have the most beautiful hair!”

Guillermo blushed magnificently, “Of course, master! This is just...a prank. Someone playing a mean trick on you. You shouldn’t give them the satisfaction--”

The laptop chimed. Guillermo dove to prevent Nandor from reaching it but the vampire simply slapped him away with a petulant whine, “Give me that! Fucking guy…”

Nandor’s lips curled into a snarl as his eyes scanned over the screen. 

“Oh, no! Now they are making a mockery of me on the ether net!”

from: [email protected] 

cc: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]… 

subject: RE: rofl bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahah

Oh! That is too delicious! Suck it, Houston and Nandor! 

It gets even better. Have you seen this, yet?

vamp_hot_list.doc 

“Guillermo, what is a hot list?” Nandor asked with a worried frown, clicking on the attachment. 

“No, master! Don’t--”

It was too late. He watched as his master’s eyes lit with understanding and then intrigue and finally outrage.

“29?! I am number 29 on your dirty hot vampire list!? What is the meaning of this?” Nandor bristled like an angry porcupine, his eyes shooting metaphorical quills into Guillermo’s soft flesh.

“It’s not my list, master!” he insisted and then, guiltily, “Not only mine…”

“Guillermo!” Nandor gasped, his eyes returning to the screen for a moment before pinning him with outraged accusation. “So, it is you!? You are...Gigi the great? Well, I do not think you are so great, little guy! In fact I think you’re pretty un-great right now! And disrespectful!”

Guillermo sank into the couch cushions, melting under his master’s ire and replying miserably, “It’s not as bad as it looks!”

Nandor turned back to the screen and began reading off names from the top of the list, “Viago! Nancy the Relentless! Evan! I suppose these are all vampires you’ve been dreaming of doing the hanky panky with! Putting them on the top of your list above your own master! That’s two demerits, Guillermo!”

“What!? No! Master, I didn’t make the list! We vote on it! Everyone gets a say. If I made the list of course you’d be at the top--”

Guillermo snapped his mouth shut. His face was on fire and he felt like crying. Nandor must have some inkling of his crush, right? After ten years of service? This couldn’t really be the life-ending mortification that it felt like. He waited, wide-eyed, for his master’s reaction. Nandor stared at him, his huge, dark eyes filled with shock and anger. After a long minute he turned back to the laptop, waving a hand dismissively in Guillermo’s face.

“Go to your room now, Guillermo! I need to think of how to punish this impertinence!”

Guillermo stood, barely holding in humiliated tears. He gestured to the device in Nandor’s lap, “My laptop…”

Nandor held it out of Guillermo’s reach and hissed, “No! Vampire only computer time, Guillermo!”

Guillermo left, trudging out of the room with a sinking feeling in his stomach as the sound of Nandor’s flop-wristed typing followed him out the door.

---

#main

Gigi the great: Is everyone okay?

call-me-karen: not fukcing great!

Imurdad | colby: Seriously! WTF!!?

Gigi the great is typing…

Guillermo lay on his little cot with the crocheted blanket his amá made for him pulled up to his chin. Tears streaked down his cheeks and the phone’s glare reflected in his glasses. He thought back to every off handed complaint, every silly photo turned into a “master-shaming” meme, every confession, every joke. All of them laid bare to the world. The Discord server started out as goofy, harmless fun. The hot list was the perfect embodiment of that. But it became so much more. Being a familiar could be lonely. You were isolated from other humans and surrounded by cold, uncaring monsters all the time. Guillermo loved Nandor. Everyone knew this...there were even memes about it on the server! But sometimes his master’s aloofness got to be too much and he needed to reach out to other humans who understood him! 

He threw his phone down onto the mattress, angrily pawing at his teary eyes and wondering if this was it. Not just the end of NYC Familiar Chat, but the end of Guillermo the Great, his long-dreamed-of vampire alias. There was no way Nandor would keep him as a familiar after this…

---

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: OMG! Guillermo, have you seen this?

Celeste-is-Best: http://familiar-hot-list.colinrobinson.net

Celeste-is-Best: hey, if this is Nandor’s big revenge scheme I think you’re going to be ok

Celeste-is-Best: we miss you! 

---

Guillermo heard his master calling him and cringed. It had been a week since the hot list incident and Nandor had spent every waking moment making little jabs at his familiar and grousing about how he’d been betrayed on the internet. But to Guillermo’s surprisingly intense relief, he hadn’t been fired. After ten years of disappointment and hopeless pining, Guillermo half-expected to welcome the prospect of finally being put out of his misery, so to speak. He was kind of shocked, therefore, to feel happiness and gratitude that his master had decided to keep him around, even if only as a verbal punching bag.

He found Nandor in the library, smugly brandishing the purloined laptop. 

“Come have a look at your punishment, Guillermo,” Nandor patted the couch beside him. “This is what happens when you disrespect vampires on the ether net.”

Guillermo swallowed the lump in his throat and collapsed beside Nandor feeling like a man condemned. Their thighs pressed together but for once Nandor didn’t move away. He shoved the laptop at Guillermo and handed him a yellow sticky note with Colin Robinson’s handwriting on it.

“Colin Robinson has assisted in creating a webpage for your disgrace. We have done our own hot list! A familiar hot list. All of the New York vampires voted. So, now you can see how not nice it feels to have your hotness besmirched for all the world to see.”

Guillermo typed in the URL and blinked as the neon green background scorched his retinas. The page was a hideous callback to the internet of the late 1990s right down to the hit counter at the bottom. There was a border of pixelated dancing Draculas surrounding bright orange text.

NYC Familiar Hotness Ranking

1. Guillermo (Nandor the Relentless) - 19%

Guillermo looked at the screen, then over at Nandor, then back to the screen again.

“Master? Have you looked at the results yet?”

Nandor’s brow knit with confusion, “No, why? What does it say?”

He grabbed the laptop and squinted against the garish colors. Guillermo watched Nandor’s face carefully as he read the results. He looked surprised and almost...pleased at first, before giving in to his patented aggravation.

“Fucking Colin Robinson!”

---

New NYC Familiars Group! #welcome

Imurdad | colby: Hey @everyone! Welcome to the new Discord server. Guillermo has stepped down as a mod but he’ll still be around. We don’t have a perfect solution for the security problems we had with the last server. We’re asking everyone to be vigilant about hypnosis and if you feel like you’re losing time, please be sure to secure your phones/computers away from your masters….

---

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

subject: Something you might want to see…

Hey Nandoorman! How’s it hangin’?  

Listen, I’m sorry that your revenge didn’t go as planned. I noticed you’ve been a little short with Gizmo ever since this whole thing started. As someone who cares about my roomie, I want to advise you to knock it the hell off. Also, I don’t relish the thought of returning to the days before Gizmo came along. Do you even remember what the house used to look like? Pools of blood everywhere. Dead bodies. Melted candles all over the place...

I digress… I managed to snag this screenshot from Count Rapula. I think you may find it interesting.

Your pal,

Colin Robinson 

discord_gizmo.jpg

#confessions

Gigithegreat: Hey guys. This isn’t easy for me to share but I know I’m not the only one who’s dealt with this and if I can help one of you feel less alone then I’ll be glad. As most of you know, I recently “celebrated” my 10th anniversary as Nandor’s familiar. I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that my master was going to make me into a vampire. Well, once again it didn’t happen. He made me this weird portrait out of glitter instead. And the thing is...like, I should leave, right? He’s never going to turn me and that’s the basis for our whole arrangement. I serve him faithfully, he turns me into a vampire. It’s simple, right? So why am I still here? Why am I still burying bodies for him and making human sacrifices? Dressing and feeding him? Treating him like he’s some kind of god and not an ancient cranky baby?  It’s because I’m in love with him. Hopelessly, stupidly, self-destructively in love with my vampire master who thinks of me as nothing more than a really well-trained poodle who can talk. Why? WHY? Because he makes me laugh. Because he’s fiercely protective of his vampire family and (sometimes) that includes me. Because when we’re alone he can be so adorably, painfully vulnerable and it feels like a privilege that I get to witness that side of him. Because he does ridiculously stupid but considerate things like spending hours making me a glitter portrait. When he’s happy with me I feel like I could float and when he’s disappointed I feel like being swallowed up by a sinkhole. And, yeah, he’s also man-of-my-dreams outrageously hot and I cannot believe you cretins have him ranked #29 on the hot list. It’s a crime. 

Gigithegreat: So, yeah. That’s why I stay. I’m no longer hoping for a bite that will never happen. Now it’s a kiss, a hug, a touch, a look. Anything he’s willing to give me I’ll gladly hoard in my little closet-room along with my glitter portrait. Because I’m pathetic. That’s it. That’s the confession.

Imurdad | colby: Brave words, Guillermo. Hang in there, friend.

blood_princess: this is a mood

sam teh pretty: Sending you healing head scritches ❤️

Celeste-is-Best: look, i think i speak for us all when i say we need to see this glitter portrait!!!

[You’re Viewing Older Messages … Jump To Present? ￬]

---

Nandor looked uncharacteristically thoughtful while Guillermo readied him for sleep. The familiar guessed he was still angry that his little revenge plot had backfired. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about his position as the hottest NYC familiar. Even if he was pretty sure it was mostly due to the other vampires messing with Nandor. Guillermo couldn’t really enjoy his victory, though, not with Nandor’s feelings of betrayal still weighing on his heart.

Nandor’s face was a stoic mask as Guillermo helped him undress. He cooperated listlessly, picking up his feet for Guillermo to remove his heavy boots, lifting his arms up over his head as Guillermo took off his brocade tunic. Finally, he placed his giant hand in Guillermo’s soft, small one and stepped up into his coffin. Guillermo stood by the side of the coffin as he always did, watching over Nandor with affection choking his throat. Nandor smoothed his hair down and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sweet dreams, master,” Guillermo whispered, leaning across him to catch the lid of the coffin.

“Wait, Guillermo,” Nandor spoke without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I wish to say something to you.”

Guillermo’s heart sank in his chest. Oh no...his stupid middle schooler revenge didn’t work and now he’s going to send me away… Tears pricked his eyes and he choked, “C-can’t it wait until tomorrow, master?”

“No. I must say this now,” Nandor responded, oblivious to his familiar’s internal drama. “I want to say to you that--and I think I’m being extremely gracious and lenient here--it is fine for you to have your little, pathetic familiar group on the dark internet.”

“O-oh,” Guillermo quickly swiped the tears from his eyes, “thank you, master…”

“But no more mee-mees, Guillermo! Master-shaming...very disrespectful!”

“Of course!” Guillermo laughed, delirious with relief. 

Nandor looked up at him with a final warning glance before softening, “Alright, then. As long as we are clear on that…”

There was a long beat of silence during which Guillermo found himself locked inside his master’s gaze. Nandor’s eyes were like pools of rich, melted chocolate. Guillermo imagined himself as the German kid from Willy Wonka and for a second he was in danger of breaking down into giggles. But then his master spoke in that soft, uncertain tone he only used when they were alone and he was feeling fragile.

“Guillermo...did you really vote for me to be the number one hottest vampire?” Nandor toyed with the buttons on his shirt and looked up at his familiar with a shy, open expression.

Guillermo’s cheeks burned and he wanted to laugh and hide and kiss his master on the mouth all at once.

“Yes, master, I did. You’re…” he cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the lip of the coffin, “so handsome, master. So beautiful...”

He watched his master’s chest expand with pride and his lips twitch into a haughty smirk. 

“That’s true, Guillermo. Good job for noticing,” Nandor praised him in a voice that was a little too loud. It rang with a false sense of self-assurance. After a few seconds he went on in a quieter tone, “Do you know, I--this is very silly, Guillermo, you mustn't tell anyone this--I voted for you, too. As the hottest familiar…”

Guillermo’s stomach did a little swoop and his lips curved into a blinding smile. His dumb, beautiful master thought he was attractive? Guillermo tried to reel himself in; he tried to remind himself that Nandor probably only voted for him to boost his own reputation. But--wait?--hadn’t the list been meant as a revenge against Guillermo? God, what a handsome idiot.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo gushed and now he was certain that Nandor’s eyes strayed too long on his smiling lips and red, dimpled cheeks. 

“Alright then!” Nandor pulled the emergency break on the moment. “Time for my evil slumber. Night night, Guillermo!”

And in a slow motion moment that would feature in Guillermo’s dreams that night, Nandor reached up and put his hand over his. Nandor’s cool, smooth palm rubbed over the back of Guillermo’s warm hand and his fingers squeezed slightly. The breath rushed from Guillermo’s lungs and he could only squeak in reply, shutting his master into his coffin and moving away with a dazed smile on his face.

A muffled sound came from the coffin just as Guillermo reached the door to the crypt.

“...And I don’t think of you as a poodle…”

“What was that, master?” Guillermo called.

“Nothing, Guillermo!”

Guillermo shuffled off to his little room feeling like he was carrying a happy little flame inside his chest. For once he gave himself permission to hope without fearing disappointment.

---

New NYC Familiars Group! #thirsty

Celest-is-Best: SORRY NOT SORRY!!!! Simon can get it…

blood_princess: ummmm thirst after your own master, Celeste. Oops sorry she’s 12.

mish-bish: Lmaooo. Gross Celeste!

Celeste-is-Best: listen.

Celeste-is-Best: ...i got nothin. I want his evil dick.

…

Gigi the great: Please look respectfully at this photo I snuck of my master the other night. Do I really need to explain myself further???

Celeste-is-Best: that’s it. guillermo, ask nandor if he needs another familiar. my body is ready!

Gigi the great: Back off, bitch!!!!

Gigi the great: jk love u

Gigi the great: but srsly back off

#master-shaming

mish-bish: submitted without comment

[Imurdad | colby, Gigi the great, Sam teh Cat, and 6 others like this]

...

Gigi the great: 🙄🙄🙄

Gigi the great: I hate him I love him

#main

black-peterrr: ohohoho, has anyone talked to Guillermo lately…..?

black-peterrr: a little raven told me he and Nandor were seen HOLDING HANDS in the park the other night…

call-me-karen: WHATTTTTTTT

Celeste-is-Best: @Gigi the great, CONFIRM OR DENY!! GIIIIIGIIII!

Gigi the great: ……...I don’t kiss and tell 😉

Imurdad | colby pinned a post

Imurdad | colby: This is momentous.

#memes

Gigi the great: hot take…

Imurdad | colby: bahahaha, okay…

Imurdad | colby: 

Gigi the great: But have you considered…

Imurdad | colby: lol compelling

Call-me-karen: I mean…..👀

Celeste-is-Best: Ha...ha...ha…*sob*

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: Gigi! we miss you! ur never online lately... 

Celeste-is-Best: too busy getting that ottoman empire dick, huhhh??

Gigi the great: OMG Celeste! You’re out of control!

Celeste-is-Best: that wasn’t a denial…

#main

Gigi the great: Hey guys...sorry I haven’t been active lately

Gigi the great: Quick update though....

GIgi the great:

blood_princess: OSDFJweoiflkdfaf omgggggg gggggiiiiiiigiigigig!!!!!!

Jameson: Holy shit, man. Congrats.

Celeste-is-Best: GuillerrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmooooooOooooO!O my baby! you look amazing!

call-me-karen: DO YOU NEED A FAMILIAR!!?!?!?!?

Celeste-is-Best: jesus, karen lol

blood_princess: my master is having an orgy right now. I just locked myself in the bathroom--I’M FREAKING OUT!! What is it like? IS that blood on your collar??? OMG how was ur first feeding?

Imurdad | colby: FAMILIARS ONLY, GUILLERMO!!

Imurdad | colby: I’m kidding. OMG I’m so happy for you! (And burning with jealous rage)

Celeste-is-Best: look how fucking happy Nandor is

Celeste-is-Best: i’ve been shipping you two from the beginning, Gigi!

Celeste-is-Best: …..hope you’re not going to forget who helped you out with those virgins last month…

---

“Guillermo!” Nandor’s voice was half whine, half growl. “It’s very difficult to sleep with that light filling the coffin! What are you doing anyway?”

The screen illuminated Guillermo’s grin as he answered, “Just posted that selfie we took to the familiar chat. They’re freaking out.”

Nandor turned onto his side, nuzzling his face into Guillermo’s neck and tickling him with his beard, “That’s nice. Sleepy time now, Guillermo.” 

“Yes, master,” Guillermo breathed and Nandor purred low in his chest. Some things had changed since becoming a vampire and others had stayed the same. Calling Nandor “master” had taken on a new, thrilling subtext.

Nandor’s arms snaked around Guillermo, tugging the smaller vampire into his chest. He let out a contented sigh and his body went still as he began to fall asleep.

“I guess I should probably leave the group,” Guillermo yawned--force of habit. “Since I’m not a familiar anymore.”

Nandor wrenched himself from sleep with the power of his own petulance, “Hey! What do you mean ‘not a familiar anymore’? Just because a guy gives his boyfriend the gift of eternal life he thinks he can quit being his familiar!? Who’s going to brush my hair?! ‘Not a familiar anymore’...fucking guy…”

#nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandermo #wwdits #wwdits fanfic #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz

[indigo-wendigo]

Sheepdog

           When he arrived, Nikki opened the door just as he reached it and closed it as soon as he crossed the threshold, as if she were trying to keep something out—or keep something in. He watched her lock the door as he took off his duster to hang it up, next going for his Chuck Taylors to mind Sam’s no-shoes-indoors preference.

           He was waiting for more elaboration to the call that asked him to come over. It’s Ghost stuff, Sam had said. As far as explanations went, it wasn’t the vaguest. Perhaps they didn’t know how to refer to whatever the issue was beyond what they indubitably knew.

           “In here,” Nikki led Grae to the master bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. Upon approach, he felt a prickling sensation that confirmed that it was indeed “Ghost stuff”. But that still didn’t prepare him for the sight.

           He looked like a sea urchin. A pin cushion. Or Satan’s acupuncture session. William was lying on his front on the bed in his boxer briefs with long, tapered, black spines protruding from everywhere. Some where tall and thick, some were short and thin. Next to him on the bed was a towel where several that had been removed by Sam were discarded with blood and black on their roots. Grae watched as she actively pulled one from his shoulder, drawing out another three inches as he winced. She wiped away the blood mixed with inky liquid with another towel.

           “He copied an attack,” Nikki said unceremoniously. “It has to be ectoplasm. But it’s never done this before.”

           Grae cursed under his breath, a wrapped hand going up into his silver hair. “When did this happen?”

           “He copied the attack last night,” Sam answered. “But these things grew overnight. We’ve been plucking them out all day,” she said with some kind of amused emphasis on ‘plucking’. William, however, didn’t seem amused in the least, his mouth hidden behind his crossed arms and his eyes shut.

           Christian stepped in from the master bathroom with a half-empty bag of cotton balls. “This is all I could find,” he said as he handed them to his mother.

           “That’ll do, thank you,” Sam took a cotton ball and tore a piece off to press to the newest hole in his back.

           “What—the hell kind of attack did you copy?” Grae looked at William.

           “Something new,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed and flinching a little when Sam picked another black quill to remove.

           “He knows he’s not supposed to copy Ghost attacks,” Nikki folded her arms. “It always makes him… weird somehow.”

           “I didn’t have a choice,” William muttered again. But he didn’t engage further.

           “Wait,” Grae extended all his fingers on his hands. “You copied a Ghost attack?”

           He finally opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

           Grae stepped forward and leaned closer, squinting his argent eyes. “It… really is ectoplasm.” He returned to where he was standing. “This—shouldn’t be possible.”

           “He always ends up with some in his body after copying a Ghost attack,” Sam explained. “Or at least we think so. He gets sick for a little while and then he’s better.” She poked another wad of cotton on a spot.

           “So, what do we do?” Christian looked at Grae.

           The other raised his eyebrows. “You’re asking me?”

           “You’re the Ghost,” said Nikki with a slight edge.

           “I don’t know anything about this,” he gestured to William. “All I know is that ectoplasm is poison to mortals and this—shouldn’t be a thing.”

           “But surely someone knows something about it,” Sam said. “We can’t take him to the hospital; they don’t even know what to do with Ghosts. But his fever hasn’t gone down at all and I’m afraid that pulling these things out is not helping a lot in terms of… getting rid of what’s in his blood.”

           “No mortal has ever had ectoplasm in their blood before,” He shook his head. “That’s like… saying a person is suddenly breathing nitrogen instead of oxygen.” He shrugged. “No one knows what to do with that.”

           “Do you know any doctors that help Ghosts?” suggested Christian. “Maybe someone who knows more about ectoplasm could tell us something.”

           Grae sighed and his shoulders drooped. “… Yeah. I think I know someone like that.”

             They waited while Grae made a call in the living room. He returned to the master bedroom just as William had sat up on the edge of the bed and Sam planted a kiss on his head before leaving to the basement with soiled towels. The Ghost crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You look like a pissed off porcupine.”

           The other nodded lackadaisically as if this were an accurate description.

           He took a breath. “So… my guy says you’re doing the right thing; keep removing the… quills. He thinks it’s your body doing what it can to expel the ectoplasm from your bloodstream. If it doesn’t seem better or the fever gets worse after two more days, he’ll drop by.”

           “Thanks,” William rubbed his face. When his fingers went over his jaw, it made a sandpapery sound.

           The other lifted his chin. “How long have you been copying Ghost attacks?”

           He picked at a small spike on his arm. “Since… late teens, I guess.”

           “… Did you ever…” Grae subconsciously pulled at his red scarf.

           “Oh yeah,” he replied. “First chance I got. As soon as I figured out I could. Did not go well.”

           “What happened? Did you grow these needle things?”

           William shook his head. “I…” He pursed his lips tightly for a moment before trying again. “It made me… vulnerable to other things for a while.” He absently stroked a white scar on his other arm.

           Grae chewed on his cheek. “I guess Nikki’s right then. Sounds like something you don’t need to do anymore.”

           “I never do unless I have to.” He looked up and met his eyes. “She left out that she was there with me.”

           The Ghost’s mouth relaxed.

           “I was… afraid Scarlet might show up.” William looked down at his knuckles and rubbed wrinkles between them. “Can’t afford for her to have both of the twins.”

           Grae’s voice turned steely. “Stop taking Nikki with you.”

           He chuckled and looked at him again. “You don’t think I’ve done everything but lock her in a pantry? Both of them are like crazy glue; I haven’t been able to keep them from being up my ass since they were fourteen.” William tilted his head. “Besides, you should know better than most that attempting to deter Nikki from anything she has set her mind to will just ensure that she makes it happen.”

           He stared hard, trying to remain forceful, a feat he had yet to accomplish with William. But this time he sighed and pinched the space between his eyes. “Yeah. That filly would float upstream.” There was a pause in which Grae watched William pick at another spike and pluck it out. He spoke quietly. “I know you’ll keep them both safe. And Sam, too. Just… don’t let it kill you. Okay?”

           This time when William nodded, it didn’t seem like one of agreement. More like a compliant gesture, to satiate. Like he’d heard it before.

           Grae took a breath and bid him goodbye, exiting to the living room to do the same for Sam and the twins. He mounted his Ducati and turned out of the driveway into the wooded backroad toward his apartment. On the way home, it occurred to him that maybe William didn’t believe that he shouldn’t let it kill him, that doing whatever it took to protect them would be worth the cost.

           And even if Grae had only one life to spare, he couldn’t say he disagreed.

#writblr #original work

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || From the Beginning >>

Chapter 5

“Be safe, y’hear?” Purdy called from below. “Y’kin always come back, and I kin always lead y’all through the neighborhood again! A-And look out fer hawks! And…”

Feathertail tried not to see the sadness and worry in the old cat’s eyes as she followed her companions up the trail that would lead into the mountains. She felt bad leaving Purdy behind – the Clan cats had to be the first friends he’d made in seasons. But our Clans need us, and maybe we’ll see him on our way back to the lake? She hoped so.

Midnight betrayed no such worry. “Fine, they’ll be,” she eased, touching Purdy with one of her big paws. “The stars watch them.”

Feathertail felt some comfort in Midnight’s words. The mountains and what lay within were still a huge mystery – but knowing that they were on StarClan’s path helped.

The land changed dramatically as Stormfur led the way up the slope. The ground beneath their paws went from soft and grassy to dry, weather-beaten, and stony. Dust billowed from every pawstep and Feathertail’s eyes stung. Stones clattered by when Mistyfoot caught her paw on one, the ThunderClan warrior hissing in annoyance.

Shadepaw watched the stones clatter by. “We’re going to have sore pads by sunhigh,” she lamented. “Keep an eye out for any dock or water as we go… if we don’t take care of our pads we won’t make it across the mountains at all.”

Feathertail nodded in agreement. Behind them, Midnight and Purdy were already small dots at the end of the trail. We’re so high up already, she thought, looking forward. The path they were on zig-zagged between boulders and scrubby bushes up the side of one of the peaks. Though the incline wasn’t terribly steep, it was still taller than any cliff the forest had to offer. And there’s higher still to go…

Something about it stirred Feathertail, though – despite the terror of the unknown, there was a sense of growing anticipation. The landscape behind them looked totally different than before, like she was suddenly a bird on the wing, soaring above it all. The trees and the Twolegplace in the distance looked so tiny, and the Thunderpaths were little gray streams so thin that Feathertail felt like she could jump right over them.

What will the world look like from the top, I wonder? No one in RiverClan had ever been so high up, and Feathertail hoped the Clan would be eager to hear of the lands the journeying cats had seen. RiverClan cats were always thirsty for knowledge.

“Brr,” Crowpaw complained, fluffing up his fur. “Feels like leaf-bare up here already!”

Feathertail blinked, thankful for her thick fur. She could barely feel the chill. She placed herself between the cutting cold breeze and the thinner-furred cats. “Maybe leaf-fall comes quicker up here,” she guessed, looking up the trail at trees clinging to a few scattered leaves. “We’ll have to huddle close tonight!”

“I wonder if we’ll have to go all the way up to the top!” Nightpaw mewed, eyes round as he stared up at the peaks. Feathertail blinked up, against the rising sunshine. The peaks of the mountains were bizarrely covered in a layer of powder. Not even my fur would protect me up there! She thought.

“Purdy made it seem like we shouldn’t have to,” Stoneheart assured. “If we keep to this path, he said, we’ll make it through fine.”

Crowpaw frowned, hunching his shoulders against another powerful, chilly breeze. Feathertail frowned and looked over the horizon. Clouds are forming… she thought. RiverClan cats were often keener about the weather than the other Clans, and Feathertail could feel something in her bones.

“We followed the Father here,” Crowpaw meowed, twisting his tail. “We’ll be following the Sun Trail to get home. It should help us if we get lost – I don’t think I’ll have any trouble reading the stars up here, if I don’t freeze to death first!”

Shadepaw flicked an ear, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “What’s the Sun Trail?” she wondered.

Feathertail trained her ears on Crowpaw. The WindClan apprentice, eager to dole out help if it made him seem important, lifted his chin and mewed proudly, “It’s a line of stars that point to the sunrise! That’s where it got its name from.”

Mistyfoot looked back. “Any stories about it?” She was walking side by side with Stormfur, the big RiverClan tom shielding her from the wind. Of course he would, Feathertail sighed inwardly. Her brother was too kind by half even when he wasn’t moony.

Crowpaw frowned in thought, then meowed, “Well… the elders think it has something to do with how the Clans came to be; but no one’s really sure anymore. It’s been so long no one really remembers.”

“Could it be the Great Clans?” Nightpaw wondered, his eyes shining.

Feathertail purred, recalling kithood tales of the Great Clans. They were thought to be the very origins of the Clans today, but no cat was really sure… or cared – tales of LionClan, TigerClan, and LeopardClan captured the minds of every kit, and the grandiose adventures of those larger than life creatures were an inspiration.

“Pssh!” Crowpaw snorted. “Who knows?”

Nightpaw bumped him with his forehead. “If no one really knows, then we can think whatever we want!” he declared.

Stormfur purred, twitching his whiskers. “Come on,” he urged. “Walk and talk. I want to get out of this wind.”

He picked up the pace, trotting up the slope. Feathertail kept up, keeping her body in the wind to keep the other cats from catching a chill. Its strength, the speed… Feathertail felt it pushing her paws from time to time. She looked up at Stormfur and found him looking into the wind, too.

He thinks a storm is on the way.

———————————————————-

By sunhigh the journeying cats had reached the end of the trail. It opened up into a larger clearing, rimmed by steep cliffs and boulders. Trees clawed at the sky here, their roots poking up from the ground, and the bushes were just as scraggly and leafless. Feathertail was shocked at how desolate and cold it all seemed, compared to the land they’d left behind.

“We’ll rest here a moment,” Stormfur decided, leading the group to one of the boulders. Though it was warm in the sunshine, it grew cold as soon as the winds started up again. Feathertail hunkered down, grateful for the moment of peace – the wind couldn’t penetrate the boulder her littermate had chosen, and Shadepaw had been right when she spoke of sore paws. Feathertail bent to lick her own, picking a stubborn pebble out from between her pads.

“I’m starving,” Crowpaw complained. “Have any of you scented prey?”

“In this wind it’s almost impossible,” Mistyfoot pointed out.

Shadepaw was checking Stoneheart’s wound. “We should try to hunt,” she mewed, giving the gray tom’s shoulder a sniff. “We’ll need our strength up here. I can feel the air thinning – who knows how high we’ll need to go?”

Feathertail shivered at the thought, looking up at the peaks again. Would the cats even be able to breathe if they had to go up to those snowy points? They looked as if they could pierce the clouds or touch the stars.

“Hush!” Nightpaw hissed. The small black tom pointed his tail off into the distance. Feathertail narrowed her eyes, spotting a bird hopping about across the open clearing. Feathertail’s stomach rumbled. It’s not huge, but it’s better than nothing…

Nightpaw hunkered down and began prowling forward – but the instant he came away from the shadow of the rock and into the blustering winds, the bird fled. Nightpaw groaned, lashing his tail. “I was three whole fox-lengths away! That’s not fair!”

Feathertail sighed, running her tail along his spine when he returned to sulk. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “This is a very open land, and the wind is powerful.” It was certainly nothing like the fields and forests the Clan cats were used to.

“Maybe Crowpaw might have better luck?” Stoneheart guessed, looking to the WindClan tom. Feathertail followed his gaze, hopeful – WindClan’s territory was the most open of the Clans, with hardly a tree to speak of on the rolling moorland. Crowpaw might be able to work out how to hunt up here.

Crowpaw frowned. “It’s open, yeah, but look at all that stuff on the ground – there’s nowhere to move! Hunting here is going to be hard for all of us.” He sighed. “I miss the moor…”

“We might have to wait until sunset,” Stormfur decided. “All the prey will be going into hiding then and it should be easy to trap them before they get to their dens.”

Feathertail frowned, tilting her head at the landscape. “Our pelts should blend in easily enough,” she supposed. She looked back at the group, her eyes flickering over their pelts. All the cats were some shade of gray or black. “Except for Shadepaw’s ginger patches, maybe. I’m sure if we just take it very slowly and patiently, we may be able to trick the prey.”

Crowpaw flicked an ear irritably. “You might want to be a rock, Feathertail, but I sure don’t want to freeze out there waiting for a mouse.”

Feathertail fluffed her fur, pouting. You don’t need to be a porcupine about it, Crowpaw! She wanted to hiss at the WindClan tom, but with a glance at Shadepaw she knew it wouldn’t work. Crowpaw only responded to stubbornness with more stubbornness. What I wouldn’t give for a pool big enough for fish right now! Wind didn’t matter as much when fishing.

The wind came again, forceful and cold, cutting right into Feathertail’s pelt around the stone. Worry pricked her like a claw, and she locked eyes with Stormfur, who seemed to feel exactly what she had.

“A storm is coming,” Feathertail murmured.

Stormfur’s whiskers twitched. “We’ll need to find shelter.”

Thunder rumbled, making the cats jump. Feathertail poked her head out from behind the rock. Great StarClan above! The clouds she had seen hours ago were now huge wall of darkness right on their tails. Lightning flashed within, and from the streaking of the cloudy shapes Feathertail could tell the storm would be fierce. What horrid luck! Feathertail cursed. It formed so quickly!

“We need to move, now!” she hissed.

Stormfur nodded, leading the cats away as fast as they could manage. Feathertail’s tail bushed as thunder again rumbled just behind, shaking the earth beneath her paws. Would they even make it to shelter? Feathertail could hear rain beginning to splatter against the stones.

The storm caught them the next moment – a torrential downpour of cold rain, deafening thunder and blinding lightning, surrounding them as they scrambled for safety. Stormfur led the way between two large boulders, scrambling up the slope against the wet earth.

Feathertail took up the rear, helping Stoneheart make his way up. The wounded tom slipped twice, nearly plunging them both back into the clearing, but Crowpaw fixed his jaws into the ShadowClan warrior’s neck and Mistyfoot dropped back to help push him onward and upward. Nightpaw and Shadepaw struggled together, their paws splashing mud.

The trail they were following led to a ravine that bordered a small river, it seemed, but with the downpour the whole path was flooded. A massive old tree whose leafless branches strove for sunlight swayed violently in the breeze, its roots clinging to the cliffside.

Nightpaw screeched as a wave of water almost swallowed him whole. Stormfur dropped back, diving down beneath the small tom and coming up with Nightpaw clinging to his shoulders, soaked and shivering.

“We need shelter!” Stoneheart yowled over the storm.

“I can’t see anything ahead!” Mistyfoot shot back, bracing against another wave. Her pelt was plastered to her body, her blue eyes frantic.

Feathertail gasped, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater. Mistyfoot was right – they could barely see a few pawsteps ahead or behind, and they were walled in with the water filling up all around them. The sky was a swirling vortex of clouds, a peal of thunder drowning out their yowls of terror. Feathertail’s chest tightened as her belly fur soaked through and her whole body seemed twice as heavy. We’ll be trapped here if we don’t make it out! The water had to flow out somewhere!

“Keep together!” Stormfur screeched hoarsely. “Keep--”

Lightning flashed, and a loud cracking noise blocked out whatever Stormfur was trying to say. There was an ominous groan from behind. Feathertail turned to look and was confronted with a towering wall of water, choked with the smoldering debris of the tree that had once marked the path they’d taken.

Before she could scream a warning the water fell upon them. Feathertail tried vainly to struggle, to keep sight of her friends, to grasp at the emergency water training every RiverClan warrior was taught – she thrashed, looking for the surface. As soon as her head broke through, she was plunged back down again as the powerful current swirled and spiraled her around and around…

She managed to claw her way up again, water roaring in her ears. Panic fluttered in her chest as the water sank its icy claws into her pelt. She spotted Stormfur’s dark head bobbing a tail-length away. Feathertail pushed forward, trying to reach him. No, she thought, noticing that he wasn’t struggling against the water. Stormfur, no, you can’t be dead! What will I do without you? I don’t want to live in a RiverClan without you!

Feathertail opened her jaws to cry out, but got a mouthful of water instead. The current was pushing, pushing, faster and faster, the rocks of the ravine path flashing by rapidly. Spitting, Feathertail raged against the urging of the water, pouring all of her strength into reaching her brother – only to see him suddenly disappear.

Confusion gave way to awareness all too late – there was nothing Feathertail could do as the land fell away and the water suddenly dropped, taking her and the others with it.

#tb au #tb moonrise