#*waters brain lichen*

[cannibalhellhound]

Yes there's more Selkie stuff~ 🦭

Y'know how babies get curious about body parts when they first see them, and adults just let them play around? Well, this is basically big seal teeth and selkie pups being curious.

And a happy slidad because I'd die for that man

Also curious Mav hand (excuse him, his teeth aren't that big and Ice's are terrifying) and a very Done™ Ice (his hair has been tempered with don't look at it)

[themoonstonechronicler]

.

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Tardigrada

(Source - 1, 2, 3, 4)

The phylum Tardigrada comprises eight-legged, segmented, microscopic animals commonly known as Water Bears or Moss Piglets.

Tardigrades have been found in many different ecosystems, from mountaintops to the deep sea to the Antarctic. They are known for their extreme resilience, being able to survive extreme temperatures and pressures, air deprivation, radiation, dehydration, starvation, and even exposure to outer space. However, they prefer to just live in mosses, lichens, and sediments, munching away on plant cells, algae, bacteria, or small invertebrates (including smaller tardigrade species; that’s not cannibalism btw, plenty of chordates eat other chordate species!) They are not considered extremophiles though, as they are not adapted to exploit extreme environments, only to endure them. They do this by going dormant in harsh environments, for up to 30 years, only to rehydrate and continue living when conditions are safer!

Tardigrades are usually about 0.5 mm long when fully grown, with the largest species reaching up to 1.5 mm. They are short and plump, with barrel-shaped bodies and eight legs, each ending in claws or suction disks. Their backwards-facing hind legs allow them to move in reverse when needed. Like arthropods, they have a cuticle exoskeleton which needs to be molted as the animal grows. They feed using a pair of stylets within their tubular mouth, which they use to pierce their food and suck out the contents. These stylets are lost when the tardigrade molts, so they must secrete a new pair each molt. Some species only defecate when they molt, leaving behind both feces and a shed exoskeleton. They have a large brain for their size, and sense the world via sensory bristles, and some species also have pigment-cup eyes. There are both males and females, with females being larger and more common. Males will gather around a female to court her. Most species have external fertilization, with eggs being laid within a shed cuticle by the female and then fertilized by the male. They can live from several months up to two years, depending on species.

There are two main groups of tardigrades, the Eutardigrades which are the more chubby, suction-cup-fingered ones and the Heterotardigrades, which are the armoured, clawed ones. The oldest known modern tardigrades have been found in Cretaceous amber, but their phylum likely emerged in the Cambrian.

Propaganda under the cut:

I mean… they’re freakin tardigrades. They’re cute. They look like mini Catbusses. This is probably the only microscopic animal for which this many plush toys exist.

“Tardigrada” means “slow steppers”

One species, Echiniscoides wyethi, lives on barnacles.

Tardigrades are relatively common and easy to see with a microscope, making them good subjects for budding microbiologists to study. They can also be kept as pets on a piece of moss, regularly checked via microscope.

They don’t actually like all the extreme environment stuff. Stop putting them in space. Let them chill.

[lunchboxpoems]

LIFE ON EARTH

The odds are we should never have been born.

Not one of us. Not one in 400 trillion to be

exact. Only one among the 250 million

released in a flood of semen that glides

like a glassine limousine filled with tadpoles

of possible people, one of whom may

or may not be you, a being made of water

and blood, a creature with eyeballs and limbs

that end in fists, a you with all your particular

perfumes, the chords of your sinewy legs

singing as they form, your organs humming

and buzzing with new life, moonbeams

lighting up your brain’s gray coils,

the exquisite hills of your face, the human

toy your mother longs for, your father

yearns to hold, the unmistakable you

who will take your first breath, your first

step, bang a copper pot with a wooden spoon,

trace the lichen growing on a boulder you climb

to see the wild expanse of a field, the one

whose heart will yield to the yellow forsythia

named after William Forsyth—not the American

actor with piercing blue eyes, but the Scottish

botanist who discovered the buttery bells

on a highland hillside blooming

to beat the band, zigzagging down

an unknown Scottish slope. And those

are only a few of the things 

you will one day know, slowly chipping away

at your ignorance and doubt, you

who were born from ashes and will return

to ash. When you think you might be

through with this body and soul, look down

at an anthill or up at the stars, remember

your gambler chances, the bounty 

of good luck you were born for.

DORIANNE LAUX

[forlorn-crows]

Waddles in

- consider Mount having to help Zeph preen their feathers and they're just the grumpiest old hen about it

- basically he is Always making ifrit hold his mugs because he hates his tea getting cold but he's slow at drinking it; Ifrit professional mug warmer ghoul

- Dew really excitedly shaking Mountain awake one morning to drag him off to the pond because omg it's so important Mount you gotta see, and the ducks that frequent the pond have a little squad of ducklings floating with them and Mountain has to tell Dew you're not allowed to hold them, even though he too would like to hold a fuzzy baby

- Aether having to drag Mountain back inside at the end of his heats when he goes all beasty, has to scrub the dirt off him and brush the mattes from his hair, and Mount is still kinda pubby brained so he's just happy to be here!! Also shakes like a sopping dog after his bath and soaks everyone in the vicinity

Okay lov u bye

- Void

@divine-misfortune

zephyr becomes peak grumpy old hen when their pinfeathers grow the wrong way, or their little fluffy feathers at their neck overgrow. they'll grumble and itch, try to cover them with one of their many turtlenecks. and mountain hones in on them like a literal bloodhound. what do you need? can i help? let me get those for you. we allll know zephyr loves the devotion of their pet, of course they do. sometimes they just dont want to deal with it at all. but mountain will do it anyway, for them.

ifrit is much like mountain in the sense that he loves to be helpful. if he can warm mountain's tea while he adjusts his kit or cooks breakfast or works in the greenhouse, he'll do it happily, so long as he gets to share mountain's time. everyone else, of course, abuses ifrits warm hands for just about everything else one could use warm hands for, but there's something ifrit loves about just holding a mug and being able to keep it warm for them

stopppp oh my godddd :(( little fuzzy ducklings every spring at the lake, and that first year dew is so excited bc he's never seen ducklings before. mountains excited too, for the same reason, but he does have to hold dew back from going and squishing one a little too hard. so they just sit on the slightly cool, wet ground and watch them swim and waddle around

aether has to do it bc zephyr would, but they arent strong enough to drag mountain inside (for his own good). he's covered in dirt and grass and mud and bark is chipping off of him from returning to his half-glamoured state, lichen falling off in patches down the hallways. aether has to plop him in the shared baths, one of the small hot tub-esque ones. and he smells good but also kind of like something he killed in a frenzy and also residual pheromones (the others have fallen prey to those many times, who could resist how good he smells?). and his brain is so simple, reserving energy as he comes back down from it all, his tail is splashing water everywhere bc aether is scratching behind his ears so good and he's making the happiest rumbly sounds and trying to rub his dirty cheek against his packmate as thanks. i can never get enough of puppy mountain he is my baby and can also be very sexy beastie mmm

xx

[guiltyandashamed]

poems that fit the 7 brothers

NOT written by me, just chosen (Poems aren't focused on their sin, more their personalities)

Lucifer - "Invictus” by William Ernest Henley**

Out of the night that covers me

Black as the Pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

Mammon - "Love After Love” by Derek Walcott

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

Leviathan- “We Wear the Mask” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

Satan - "The Tyger” by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

Asmodeus - “i like my body when it is with your” by E. E. Cummings

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling-

firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

Beelzebub – “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Belphegor – “Sleeping in the Forest” by Mary Oliver

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing

around me, the insects, and the birds

who do their work in the darkness. All night

I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling

with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

[eregyrn-falls-art]

Some recent encounters with nature!

A Laurel Sphinx moth! I had never seen this kind of moth in person before, and didn't know they were local. This one was sitting on the door of my office building, in a spot where he was likely to be squished. So I got him on my hand, and after the iNaturalist app Seek helped me identify him, I googled awkwardly to find out what they eat (if anything). They do eat, nectar apparently. So I put him on a bush that had some flowers on it.

A gray tree frog, who was hanging out in a bucket we were going to use for water. So we put him on a tree.

Having just gotten this Seek app (by iNaturalist), I tried to identify moss and lichen on a favorite tree I pass while commuting. The app wasn't sure about the moss, although I have previously identified it (with 90% certainty I guess?) as Starry Bristle Moss.

Crystal brain fungus! It's usually found on rotting wood. My guess here is that it is on this tree because of the gash in the bark, and that the bark around the gash is rotting?

A lichen with really cool little cups visible! The app declined to identify it specifically; I'll have to try again today.

Rough Speckled Shield Lichen, according to the app. Shield lichen definitely; unsure if the exact species identification is accurate.

Candleflame Lichen. This is one I'd been wondering about before and couldn't identify. I feel better about the app's identification here. It's a global species.

[lattesqueeze]

KISS PROOOOMPTS

For any pairing, may I have either "i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me" or “lifting your lover up”?

KISS PROMPT FOR YOU MY LOVE

Thank you so much for asking 🥰 i love you!!

Here's a little Landoscar snack for you!!

Somewhere in the distance, a blend of old classics and current electro-pop mingled into one echoing pulse, married together with the laughter and chatter of people eating, drinking, and enjoying their evening. The evening was warm. The sky was completely dark, but the lights of the Italian town cast a warm and inviting glow over the cobbled streets. Despite the late hour, divine smells of cooking blended in a burst of sweetened tomatoes and sugary cinnamon. 

Two young men, one tall and pale, one a little shorter, with an unruly mop of brown curls, made their way slowly along the street. Like most of the other people in the town, they were enjoying the relative chill of the evening. The day had been almost unbearably hot, and the heat still radiated from the stone walls around them. A light mist of rain surrounded them, but it brought nothing but cool relief. 

As the two came to the centre of the stone bridge, coated in lichen and years of built up dirt, a distinctive pop snapped their attention to somewhere over the water. A shower of golden sparks descended over the river. Another pop, and a multicoloured supernova materialised in the sky, only for a second. 

The slightly taller of the two, Oscar, stopped and turned his whole body to face the direction of the fireworks. 

“It’s like one of my sisters’ rom-coms.” Oscar said with a hushed chuckle. 

Lando snorted. 

“Yeah? With the rain and all?” 

“Yeah, the fireworks, the music. You know.” Oscar looked dreamily out over the water, watching the sparkling explosions. 

“Well, if this is a rom-com, I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” Lando said with a casual shrug. 

If Oscar had been looking more closely, or paying more attention to anything other than Lando’s mouth, he would have noticed the way Lando fidgeted with his sleeve cuffs to disguise the shaking of his hands. He would have noticed the barely-noticeable flush of Lando’s cheeks, and the way he refused to meet Oscar’s eyes. Perhaps he might even have noticed the way Lando looked down at his feet, shy, and wet his lips to a shine with the tip of his tongue. 

As it was, Oscar really wasn’t paying much attention at all to what Lando was doing. He was rather preoccupied with the white noise and static that had washed over his brain. 

Lando cleared his throat softly and looked up at Oscar with a half-squint. Oscar seemed to register this, and his brain reconnected to the rest of his body. He took just one step towards Lando, tentative. 

At that very moment, three things happened in unison. 

First, the light drizzle morphed with a vengeance into a heavy, summer shower. Squeals of pedestrians caught in the downpour echoed around the street, but neither Lando nor Oscar noticed. It was mere seconds before they were the only people left out in the rain, with everyone else having scurried to shelter. 

Second, the firework display seemed to enter its finale, with a cacophony of bangs and booms, and a never-ending flurry of sparks in every colour of the rainbow. Accompanied by music, the chatter of the busy street, and the sound of the rain, the fireworks display was vibrant and chaotic and Lando and Oscar were missing it completely. 

Lando and Oscar were entirely wrapped up in each other. Lando had backed himself against the waist-high wall of the bridge, and Oscar pinned him there, arms encircling his waist. Oscar, in an unprecedented burst of confidence, had wiggled his knee in between Lando’s thighs, and had his hands firmly planted on Lando’s hips. He had gazed at Lando for just a moment, watched as his pupils dilated to swallow up much of the lightness of his iris, before leaning in to gently take Lando’s lips between his own. 

Lando sighed into the kiss, and licked insistently at Oscar’s lower lip. Oscar’s lips parted, and Lando took to biting on his swollen lower lip, never quite letting him breathe fully. Just as Oscar seemed to have coached Lando into a bit of a rhythm, Lando pulled away and leaned back.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” He said with a cheeky, impish grin.

“You could’ve said.” Oscar rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, could’ve.” Lando shrugged. “This was more fun though.”

Lando hopped backwards, so he was sitting on the wall, giving him just a little bit more height. He draped his arms around Oscar’s neck, pulling him close again. His fingers ventured further afield, winding themselves tightly into the longer hair at the base of Oscar’s neck, eliciting a sigh of pleasure. He gave an experimental tug, forcing Oscar’s head back a little, exposing his neck. 

Lando took the opportunity to kiss along Oscar’s jaw and down his neck, nibbling gently to leave little pink blooms where a mark would show itself later. Oscar dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of Lando’s hips with a groan, doing his damnedest to pull Lando ever closer. Lando released his grip on Oscar’s hair, instead letting his hands wander along Oscar’s neck and jaw. 

The fireworks ended with one final flourish, and the rain seemed to have worn itself out. Lando and Oscar pulled apart and stared at each other, giggling. Oscar’s hair was plastered flat against his forehead, and Lando’s curls threatened to be weighed down into some semblance of a bowl cut. 

With a final wet kiss on Oscar’s unsuspecting mouth, Lando jumped back down off the wall, and steered Oscar away with an arm around his waist. Their hotel rooms - and the promise of dry clothes - awaited.

[cannibalhellhound]

✨It's finished✨🦭

I love how disturbing leopard seals are to people.

In my opinion, they're amazing and I love them.

Now, for my Selkie au stuff >:D

Ice is a leopard seal because 1. I love them 2. He loves biting people and makes it other people's problem 3. His Iceman glare will freeze your soul (both in seal and human shape) and make you feel like you're nearing death.

[ashes-writing-corner]

Happy new year guys! I'm back with my first bit of writing of 2024 and it's an update to Ghosts that We Knew! I hope you all enjoy!

Taglist: @stargatenovus

Tw: talk of suicide, organ donation, mention of hospital visits.

Ghosts that We Knew

Part 11- The File and the Call

The heart in your chest was pounding up a storm when you got to the bakery and cafe again. You didn’t want to go to the apartment, not for this. Ellie was still in school, and Ghost had no reason to suspect something was up. You hadn’t told him anything about your virtual meeting with Soap, despite wanting to. For now though, you needed to figure this out on your own. But the question plagued you: If Ghost was your donor, why in the world didn’t he tell you? 

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he didn’t know. It was plausible, as being dead could seriously screw with one’s memory you imagined. But then again he remembered that he died two years ago not that long ago. He had tried to take your mind off of it actually. 

It had worked. 

You hadn’t thought of it in a little over a month now. So perhaps he did know.

There was only one way to find out, you knew as you unlocked the door to your business and went inside, only to lock the door behind you. You made yourself a nice cup of tea, the way YOU liked to make it. Ghost wasn’t there to stop you from heating the water in the microwave for it. While you waited, you took a file out of your computer bag, short but with important information. You didn’t have access to your donor’s entire medical history, as that was technically illegal, but with no next of kin, access to the files was significantly easier. Apparently he had signed release forms for his info. However it was only to be given to his donors. He had tried to look out for them in a sense. 

Your memory of that night was still rather fuzzy, even with time passing and all the therapy you had gone through. It was believed your brain blocked it for your own mental protection. It made sense. Your mind was trying to protect itself. A part of you wondered if maybe you were ready to know this. You already felt like your heart wasn’t your own. In reading this, it would only affirm those feelings and ingrain them further into your mind. You knew that knowledge was like a lichen growing on a rock, and what was known couldn’t be unknown…

The microwave sounded, pulling you from your thoughts with a startle. You took a deep breath and left the file to finish making your tea. You needed to be calm for this. You needed to be able to take in this information, and do it as calmly as you could. When you finished making your tea, you finally sat down to look at the information. You took a deep breath as you opened the file. 

And there was the name: Simon Riley. 

Right off the bat you felt the color drain from your face. The file held his basic information, mostly from his last physical, as well as his last psychiatric analysis. He was apparently a very good liar, as he was deemed mostly sound, though the suicide attempt that caused his discharge was noted. He had everyone fooled that he was fine. But the mind had a tendency of catching up with everything else. Maybe that was what happened. He just couldn’t take it all anymore. You went back to reading, very much like what you were reading was an interesting novel. You found that he was in the military, the SAS specifically. That surprised you quite a bit. 

“Holy shit…he was special forces. No fucking way” You kept reading, though some information was still classified and therefore redacted and blacked out. 

Understandable. You were sure the government or perhaps his superiors had their reasons for keeping a good chunk of his information away from the public, even to his donors. But the revelation that he was in fact special forces had you reeling. If you didn’t feel unworthy of the organ beating in your chest before, you sure as hell didn’t feel worthy of it now. You then read the report about his death. 

No surprise, suicide. 

According to the report, Simon had attempted to hang himself in his apartment, specifically in the hallway closet- 

“Holy shit…that explains why he has an affinity for that closet…Fuck…” 

-But the attempt was botched, and all he had succeeded in doing was suffocating himself into a coma. He was found by a neighbor and brought to the royal infirmary in an attempt to save his life. When it was confirmed he was an organ donor, the hospital had to keep him alive as long as possible, as was UK policy, until someone needed his organs. He was there for a year before his first match came. 

You. 

You were the first to get an organ from him, and the most vital one at that. 

Slowly things were coming back. In short flashes, you remembered being rushed to the hospital, how your mom and sister were there with Ellie. There was a lot of rush, and a lot of panic. That was to be expected of course. Among the chaos, the yelling, the noise, and the panic, you swore you could hear someone telling you not to worry. 

“You’ll make it love…don’t listen to them…”

You thought it was a doctor or something, or maybe it was in your head. Maybe that was what death sounded like? But then you thought…what if he was haunting you from the get go? What if that was him you heard? You phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. Looking down, you saw it was Soap. 

You sighed, quick to answer. “Hey…what's up?” 

“I just told the guys about yer situation. We’re all willin’ ta meet if ya wanna talk”. 

“Actually I really could use someone to talk to right now” You admitted, feeling a bit nervous about this whole thing. 

“Whats wrong? What happened?”

“Mister MacTavish-” 

“Please, call me Johnny, or Soap. Either one’s good with me”. 

“Sorry. Johnny…I um…I just got my donor’s file and you called it. Ghost is my donor”. 

“Damn, good call I guess. Listen, Y/N, don’t think for one second he’d be pissed about this. He knew this was what was gonna happen. We just didn’t expect all this, to ever meet one o’ the matches. If anything, he’d be-”. 

“Then why didn’t he tell me? I think he knows…I just haven’t been able to think about it” you didn’t mean to cut him off but this was so damn meta, “I already felt like this thing wasn’t mine, and never truly would be. This just reaffirms it”. 

“Maybe he doesn’t know. We’d have ta talk to ‘im ta find out. When you wanna meet? Travel’s a bit crazy right now with holidays and whatnot”. 

“Whenever you guys have time. I can give you the address to my cafe and bakery, as I think it’d be better to meet here first. If we wanna talk away from him, this is probably the best place to do it”. 

“He doesn’t follow you?” 

“He can’t, so he says. He doesn’t have the energy to. It takes a lot out of him to manifest, and even more so travel I’d imagine. Johnny…I just feel like I’m going crazy. I had this familiar feeling about him when he first appeared to my daughter and that feeling hasn’t diminished. And now that I know why, it feels too obvious. I have his heart, I’m living in his apartment” you paused, gathering your thoughts a bit, “What if I’m meant to do the same thing he did?”. 

“Don’t you dare say that! I won’t hear it!”. 

“I…I’m not saying that I’m going to, but I’m worried about it. I just don’t want history to repeat itself”. 

“It won’t. I won’t let that happen. Not me. Not Price. Not Gaz. None of us. Whatever ya need, we’re here for ya. I promise. I failed Simon the first time, I’ll be damned before I fail you”. 

His conviction was a surprise for you. You had just met him a few days prior and he was already talking to you like a loyal friend. Like you had always known each other. You understood for him this was about redemption, but you honestly appreciated it all the same. At least it seemed he wanted to help, and that was more than enough of a comfort for you. 

“We can meet sometime after new years. Or hell we can do it sooner if we wanna do the meeting like this”. 

“It’ll be far more personal if we met for real. Plus I wanna make sure you and the kiddo are okay. Ghost has a soft spot for kids, always did, but I know hauntin’ can be a serious deal for kids, even if the spirits don’t harm ‘em”. 

“Were you haunted?” You asked out of genuine curiosity. 

“I have a very complex relationship with the spiritual world. I wanna say I was haunted years ago, but if ye’re tryin’ ta ask if I believe in ghosts, yes. Simply put. Hang tight, we’ll see you after new years. Don’t tell him about this. And hey, Y/N?”. 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t be angry at him. If you wanna be angry at anyone, it should be us. It should be me. I helped drive him to that point. Unintentional as it was, it still happened that way. And trust me, ye’re gonna have a lot more to be angry at me about when we meet up”. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ll tell ya once me and the guys get there. I’ll need an address so we’ll all know where ta go”. 

“I’ll text it to you”. 

“Thanks. Be safe, try to stay sane, and don’t lose it on him. If you wanna confront him, do it gently. He deserves that. He saved yer life ya know”. 

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll try. Thank you, Johnny. Be safe and have a great new year”. 

“Same ta you”. 

Johnny hung up, leaving you with your emotions and thoughts, of which there were plenty of. The problem was how to process them. You’d have to talk to Ghost about this, there wasn’t any other way around. You didn’t want to do it angry, but you couldn’t help but feel the least bit betrayed. 

If you enjoyed please consider leaving a like, comment, tag, or reblog ^.^ I'll see you guys in the next one :D

-Ash

[worldbuilding-tomfoolery]

Tumblespores

A hyperlichenized symbiotic association

First I have to define some terms

Hyperlichenization: A hypo-fictional assocation between a fungus, a photosymbiont, and an animal. This describes a lot of "species" I've worldbuilt. In a lot of these symbioses, the fungus is considered the "brain" and "identity center" of the hyper-organism, though it also makes use of the neuro-capabilities of its co-symbionts. The fungus and photosymbiont play their usual parts: fungus provides protection and nutrient access, and the photosynth synths sugars from photo.

And where does the new guy come in? Usually, the animal serves as a mobile host that benefits the hyperorg by being able to seek out more favorable locations or resources. For arthropod-hosted hyperlichens, the animal is little more than a half-living mech to puppet around.

In tumblespores, however, the situation is a little different. The hyperorg has found other ways to get around: rolling and ballooning. They let wind steer them like real-world tumbleweeds; strong enough breezes can even carry them into the air, where they shed tiny seedships (one day I should do a whole post on the complex interlinking of the different gametes that ensure reproduction of the whole trio) into their nuptial flights.

This strategy works so well, tumbles no longer need legs to get around. And so the animalia of the association have become changed. Animals have some additional biochemical benefits: They are very convenient O2 waste disposals / CO2 generators, and they produce unique, useful compounds. Some can even provide cleaning and anti-parasitic services. So, instead of ejecting the red-celled leghavers, tumblespores have reduced their movement capabilities and endosymbiosed them into the fluffy hyphal center of the hyperorg. Upon dissection of a tumblespore, you can see the creature curled up amid the fluff, like a shriveled embryo. Food is readily provided in the form of co-symbiont food-fruit structures (plus the occasional bug trapped in the hyphae), so the creature doesn't need sophisticated movement to get to them. As such, its limbs have shriveled into vestigial nubs; it is little more than an eyeless worm. This animal could never survive outside of its belichened cradle, but it provides invaluable benefits that have enabled the hyperspecies to survive.

A few species of tumblespores even live as full-time aeroplankton. They are un-dense enough, the Oluan atmosphere thick enough, that they can live their whole lives without ever touching ground. These ones exhibit even more extreme adaptations: Their seeds are smaller and more numerous, and mature hyperorgs have increased air space between the hyphae. They have minimized their water storage, and the animal co-symbionts have taken on a mummified character. Fat and muscle are minimized, and their skin has shrunk over bird-light bones. They appear spindly, almost insectoid. Their head and body core remain (the hyperorg still has use for the brain, as evidenced by thousands of tiny hyphae reaching into its head and back). Were it not for that, it would hardly be recognizable as animal at all.

It's rare, but sightings have been reported of tumblespores rising high into the atmosphere and even escaping it. The orb system is remarkably self-sustaining, and other life has been confirmed to exist in space (albeit life of different biochemical composition). Scientists hypothesize, if they can withstand the lack of atmosphere, some species of tumblespores may, too, be able to thrive out in the cosmos.

Real-world inspirations: aeroplankton, tumbleweeds, fig wasps, anglerfish, spiders ballooning on the wind. And vanilla lichens, of course :)

[ask-crow-aus]

What is the weakness of your non-human ocs?

a lot of stupid things. Dr Crow? Just keep his brain out of reach of literally any of his other cells

Neo - light

Lichen - his head

Hivemind - Her family

Pyro - He’s old as fuck

Irony - water

Valen - fear

Eros - his hubris and kids

Salem - their ignorance

Naga - their arrogance

Coral - Well, I can’t reveal all my secrets, can I? ;p

Night - Her temper

Reed - his devotion

Li - his magic

Corvid - his protectiveness

Xevris - Their attachment

[yaelibex]

one last time

Acolyte/Initiate or basically just Ivory Wraith (Acolyte) /GN!Reader (Initiate)

Warnings: Major Character Death

Note: contains possibly outdated info about the Ivory Wraith !!! i wrote this last year...or last last year T__T and just remembered to upload this again (before i forget once more (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠) ) (i haven't played dol in a long time too) (so this is heavily outdated)

The initiate laid onto the ground, breathing shallow, remaining onto the marble grounds of the temple’s lowest floor; a ritual held. Numbness alongside ache, as countless deeds were done all for the ritual, being unable to count them all. Stretching the capabilities of the human body. They blinked, then opened their eyes, then closed once more undecided to simply drift to a never ending peace or to remain in this strange sense of melancholy a bit longer.

Of the life they’ve had before, of the memories shared with…their brows scrunched, in newfound wonder, “What happened to the acolyte?”

The acolyte’s tearful gaze and screams reflecting onto their pale form, of being the one to be taken away instead of them repeating all across their brain. “I couldn’t even say goodbye,” the initiate mumbled, coughing as they struggled to properly speak. A tinge of purple all seen across the temple’s lower grounds, the purple lichen seen. Demonstrating the strange relationship of algae and fungi, as it grazes upon their collapsed body. The temple now slowly filled with water as it continued to seep in.

A wry smile formed, this was the end. This was the end. As the water continued to rise, their body remaining unmoving, they closed their eyes as tears began to flow, hoping to chase the peace faster, to not experience the loss of breath one may feel when drowned into water.

As the water filled more and more—they opened their eyes one last time, widened. The figure in front all-familiar; in wonder, in glee, in a strange sense of sickness. Something’s wrong, the initiate knew something was wrong. Something was off, the acolyte’s pale figure looked on, with a sense of tranquilness seen. A soft vacant smile was seen, as they held the initiate close. And closer. Leaning into their ears, they whispered, a sense of wrongness flooding into the initiate’s senses.

This wasn’t their acolyte.

“One last time,” the acolyte speaks, in a tone unlike before, as they lean into the initiate’s face with their lips meeting. Unable to react, nor properly feel anything, yet the kiss making them feel a strange sense of longing from the other. Or what they presume to be, it was something they’ve never known before. A strange sense of hunger. Of something, that can’t be placed into words.

A kiss, something that they’ve never done before. Yet enough to make a strange calm take over.

The acolyte speaks once more as the initiate’s eyes begin to droop. Feeling the weight of the water, the abuse, and the limits take its toll on their body, feeling the acolyte’s tender hold.

“Until next time.”

With words sounding close to a promise,

The initiate soon drifts off into peace.

[rhosmeinir]

Fictober 2023 #15

Prompt #15 - "Fine, explain it to me."

Fanfiction: Good Omens

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, self harm

Pairing: Ineffable Husbands/Aziracrow

Other Notes: In which Crowley has had enough. 1202 words. Written with gratitude to this tweet for inspiration!

A storm was gathering over Dartmoor. Anyone with any sense was indoors, and the moor-dwellers were generally among that type; they knew too well the dangers of being caught out in bad weather, when even the most wizened among them could become lost and wrong-footed in haze or fog and end up in a bog featherbed, never to wake again. Even the ponies had sought shelter, sensing something unnatural about this particular storm.

Only Crowley stalked the blasted heath, the wind that whipped the heather raking its vicious fingers through his hair. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, clothing tattered and torn by both weather and disregard. He’d retreated to the moor some time ago from London —he no longer knew how long, what was the point of time, anyway?— when the city and its people and its untidy Whickber street bookshop had become unbearable. Crowley had thought it might be a good place to hide, to think, to gather himself, to figure out how to go on. He had been correct about all but the last. 

Dartmoor’s isolation had given Crowley plenty of space and quiet to examine his thoughts, his feelings, his life. The moor was beautiful, he thought even now, as the wind lashed the first stinging drops against his face: it kept not secrets, told no lies, and offered its bounty without pretention. Heather, gorse, scrub trees, and even the ancient oaks of Wistman’s Wood simply were: they required no acknowledgement, and did not care if outsiders could not see their beauty. Lichen and moor grass endured in defiance of and in partnership with the weather, and the adders that curled up in the refuge of tors knew only peace and safe haven.

It was beautiful, but to him, Crowley had finally concluded, there was no point. No point to his thoughts, his feelings, his life. Could you even call it a life, at this point? There was nothing left to do, no orders to carry out. No wars left to fight: he was an exile from everywhere he might’ve ever considered fighting for. There was no one left to care about, or to care about him, if anyone ever had. Nothing left to create, nothing to destroy, but the one thing over which he had control.

Crowley halted next to the destination of his intent. Sunk into the ground was a ring of rough-cut stones, surrounding what looked at first like a pool of water. But it was more than that: an ancient well, its origins vanished in prehistory. More recently, it had been adopted by one of the moor’s early churches, and to this day, the local priest stopped by regularly to bless it. A deep, endless, pit of Holy Water. As Crowley stared down at the water, its surface rippling in the drizzle, he thought how fitting it was that it appeared so innocuous. A suitably banal end.

He looked up at the sky, and sighed. With a faint rustle, Crowley freed his wings, allowing their black-feathered mass to spread out behind him. It was always a relief, and he figured he might as well enjoy a last few unrestricted breaths. Long fingers reached up to curl around the thin silver scarf, and pulled it from his throat. Crowley dropped it to the ground beside the well. He didn’t expect that anyone would ever come looking for him, much less track him here, but if they did it would at least answer their questions. The demon folded his wings tightly against his back, and without hesitation, stepped into the well.

Crowley plunged into the water, exhaling forcibly as it closed over his head. To his astonishment, he was not instantly obliterated. Had time stopped? Was this a delayed reaction, due to making the choice himself? In the few split seconds it took for these questions to race through his brain, he realized both that he was not dying, and why. He may have been a demon who had jumped into a pit of Holy Water, but he had been forgiven.

The despair that had brought Crowley to this place turned to rage, and he kicked upwards with all his might. One tremendous gasp later, he clawed his way out of the well, dirt and moss forcing themselves beneath his nails as he grappled with the earth to regain his feet. In all his contemplation on the moor, he had avoided asking questions, throwing them out into the Universe, making his turmoil known. But as he lunged to his feet the demon could hold himself back no longer, and threw back his head and arms with a deranged laugh.

“Fine!” Crowley howled to the Heavens, “Fine, explain it to me, Angel! How am I supposed to live?”

But before he could await an answer, Crowley began to realize that the Holy Water was having another effect, if possible even more unexpected than the first. His wings, black and ragged since the Fall, were transforming. From the roots at his back they flushed first grey, then white along the skin beneath them, then up each quill, shaft, and barb, until each vane began to blush white. Crowley let out a wordless, strangled scream, whipping his wings about as though he might shake the color from them. 

A nearby tor beckoned, and Crowley dashed to it. He beat his wings against its stones, mindless of the sickening cracks and pain that accompanied them, until by dint of shattered bones he could draw every bit of his wings to the front of his body. His fingers ripped through the snowy plumage, viciously plucking the feathers until his fingers were raw and bleeding. Until his fingers’ blood mixed with that of his wings, until the ground was thick with soiled plumes, until not a single feather was left on the ruined limbs that had once granted him flight. Until he was sobbing in rage and despair and pain the manic fear of being alive, trembling on the ground in the rain that had how become a soaking deluge.

Somewhere in Heaven, Aziraphale was weeping. When the Supreme Archangel wept, it was a Holy Rain, and it came down on Crowley like the Flood. It soaked him to the skin, and began to mend his hurts. The bones beneath the battered flesh of his wings slowly knitted together, causing his back to arch with both pain and the realization of what was happening.

“No!” Crowley screeched, one hand clawing at the sky as his body contorted with the healing. Then feathers began to sprout, carpeting his renewed wings with plumage thick and lush, white and shining, and in the rain they reflected a many-hued, nebulaic sheen. “AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley screamed. The weight of the wings against his weakened body nearly toppled him over backwards, and with a violent contortion, Crowley flung himself forward. Overbalancing, he landed on his forearms, skidding on the saturated ground.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated to the Earth, in a cracked voice his time, shoulders shaking as the new wings sheltered him from the angel’s tears. The demon’s tears were Holy now too, but did not burn as they rolled down his face.

[arts-butthound]

Alright, since @omniblades-and-stars was brave enough to post a piece of her original fiction the other day, during her WIPs game-I figure I can post an original WIP of my own that I'm fairly happy with. I am scared, but no guts no glory no progress:

A carcass heavy on his back, his spear cumbersome at his side, the hunting pack on his hip bulging with supplies. The creature’s blood slowly trickled down his neck and into his leathers, trails of red that painted him with the fingers of life.

The world was empty around Nuatek, with nothing but the quiet of his footfalls and the carnivorous worms above. Gravel and dirt under his boots, lichen clung to the ground in patches, water dripped onto the rocks close by. It had been a long hunt and the khatak had put up a respectable fight-the raked scratches in his skin still seeped with blood. Its saber-like canines grazed across his shoulders. The meat was sweet and filling, the teeth were of value to any ivory craftsman, the bones would make good broth, and its jeweled reptilian skin would fetch a high price from any fool with half a brain. The animal would be able to feed them for weeks at the very least. Best to cure most of it for the time of hibernating. But tomorrow, he and his sister would feast. But Nuatek had gone further from home than he would have liked, miles further than fretful screams could reach him, miles further than he could spot any fire light. If this had not been such a valuable prize, he would not have risked it.

The expanse flowed from narrow to vast. The worms lit every crag now, in a cavern wide enough to be unable to see the opposing wall, but they would not be above forever. As the expanse turned back into narrow tunnels, the worms would fade. Darkness would swallow him and Nuatek would have to crawl.

He could count hours before he reached home.  The blood was beginning to make him sticky and uncomfortable. Whether it was his own, he could not tell anymore-the blood of beast and man mingling- it was beginning to congeal. The water then. It sounded close enough and by the smell, it was a large enough body to at least rinse off with. Taking care to leave no drag marks, Nuatek changed his course towards the dripping sound.

The pool nested along a wall in the great cavern, a good ten feet long and hardly up to his thighs if he stood in the middle of it, if his gauge of depth was anything to go by. He shrugged the heavy body from his shoulders. Pulled his leathers and shirt off. With the relief of the weight, his shoulders groaned as he rolled and squeezed them. First he splashed water onto his face and over his head, pulled it over his arms and rinsed the sweat out of his hair. Cool. Soothing. The water stung his scratches as he rubbed more into them. Something nagged at him though. A sound he knew but which had rarely served him well. Breathing, frail and almost choked-but it set his nerves off nonetheless. What could not easily be seen was to be feared.

Nuatek’s fingers slowly gripped the shaft of his spear and he held it firm in the coarse skin of his palm. The breathing was close by and his eyes cut through the dim light like scythes. The shape appeared as some boulder that had come dislodged from above. But it moved, slowly. Shallow. He drew close, wading through the water with spear tip aimed, and was met with a strange perfume wafting from the body. His eyes narrowed and Nuatek became ramrod still. Not only a woman, but one so foreign looking that she could only be from one place. Her skin was the same color as the roots in the ceiling and hair darker than he’d ever thought possible. He’d heard the old stories, but never thought he’d see them come to more than that.

[cemetary-shifts]

GOOBER CAT FREN, I AM CRISISING CRISIS RN

*INHALES*

OKAY IMA OPEN UP TO SHIT TO YOU I TRUST YOU AND YOUR BLOG OKEY POOK THE WILLIAM AFTON OF MY LIFE HAS ALWAYS BEEN FUCKING COUNTRYHUMANS THIRD REICH.

EVER SINCE LIKE 6TH GRADE HE ALWAYS COMES BACK NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I DEFEAT HIM HE ALWAYS COMES BACK T-POSING BEHIND ME OMNINOUSLY TO KICK ME IN THE FUCKING THROAT I HATE HIM SO MUCH I WANT TO PUT HIM IN A JAR OF WATER AND FURIOUSLY SHAKE HIM TILL HE HAS BRAIN DANMAGE I WANT TO USE HIM AS A FUCKING STRESS BALL YET CUPID HAS ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT BITCH AND I WERE LIKE ONE OF THOSE STUPID ENEMIES TO LOVERS TYPE SHIPS FOR SOME GOD AWFUL REASON EVEN THO I LEGIT DO NOT WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS BITCH I HATE HIM

LICHEN LOOKS VERY SIMULAR TO THAT BITCH YET NOT VERY PERSONALITY SIMULAR TO THAT BITCH? I DONT EVEN KNOW???? WHAT IS LICHEN HIDING IS LICHEN EVEN REAL??

LICHEN WHAT THE FUCK

"THE WILLIAM AFTON OF MY LIFE HAS ALWAYS BEEN FUCKING COUNTRYHUMANS THIRD REICH." this sentence has never been spoken before. maybe, just MAYBE, this is a long shot, but Lichen could be an evil clone of the other guy. im JUST saying.... /silly