#Four-lined tree frog

[stickyfrogs]

Hanging Out With Friends at the Frog Pond at Kubah National Park, Borneo!

Four-lined tree frogs (Polypedates leucomystax), Harlequin Tree Frog (Rhacophorus pardalis) and Giant River Frog (Limnonectes leporinus)!

[drafthearse]

Four-lined Tree Frog (Polypedates leucomystax)

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[the-nosy-neighbor]

I hope you are ready for some full-on weird content. I have been looking around and analyzing the Commercials video, which i have mentioned a little here and there. My go to at this point is to look for hidden or otherwise obscured stuff in the video. I found something. I hope you guys can see it, and it isn't just me (how thematically relevant).

This is the moment when the line "Eddie Dear was happy" starts repeating and his eyes snap open. If you really look, you can see Eddie's arm with his watch. I have been unable to get more detail out of the area to the left of that, but the left side is from a still used in one of the record ads.

You can see the tree on the left and the igloo looking shape.

In the very middle, you can see a black line, and I want to say it is Frank's collar, but honestly I have nothing to go on there.

When i was messing around with these, i thought I saw a hand curled, palm up on the ground in the front. However, I closed that one and haven't been able to duplicate it.

I have looked and looked for a drawing of Eddie as he is here: short sleeves in a white shirt. Arm at his side, wearing his watch. I thought initially it might be one of the husbands in white drawings, but he isn't wearing his watch in that one. I also went to look at "you'll be ok" drawing but it was very different and no watch. There might be something relevant on Clown's ko-fi.

Another thing I noticed is the chair shape on the left. It looks like the top of a dining chair from the 80's. And we have seen this chair at least one other time:

The chair at Wally's and in the flash to the giant toy place are different chairs (if this is a chair, i could be convinced it is a rocking horse). Oh, possibly one more:

This shape has been making me crazy since the update. You can see that same shape on the left, which resembles a chair or a throne. The main clump has shapes that look like antlers, but I think they are hands. Could this be a missing puppet? We just see the puppeteer's hands? The shape is so complex and I have had no luck manipulating it to make it more visible or understandable.

Eddie is a live hand puppet. Could those be his hands?

So, i had been thinking that Eddie realizes that the group is on to him, whether that is his relationship with Frank or him sneaking stuff out (I was thinking the latter). In this video there is a lot of layered sound and layered video, slow fades and very low lighting. The more I look at it, the more I think that I am overreacting to layered things and reusing props. I'd be interested to hear what people think.

Why a chair? What does Eddie remember that makes him freak out? I think Eddie remembers the times he has died or been killed. Or that there are multiple versions of him, with the focus on the pea on the plate perhaps making him think about multiples? FINER THAN A FROG'S HAIR SPLIT FOUR WAYS! Are there 4 Eddies? That is what he says right before the realization.

[roukabi]

Back when the Nature Ancient was teased I was really hoping for lemur dragons. These creatures don't look like lemurs, nor do they look like dragons, but I like them. I call them Traipsers.

Design notes/trivia/what-have-yous under the cut:

The lore behind these dragons (though 'dragon' is really stretching it) is that they're compassionate, social creatures who live in troops upwards of 50 individuals. Led by three or four of the wisest troop members, Traipsers are known to lead lost travelers through the Viridian Labyrinth, or even house them temporarily within their canopy cities. In the rarest cases, a troop will gladly adopt rescued dragons and Beastclan into their ranks.

Though their gentle temperaments were widely respected by other rainforest denizens, the introduction of the fiercely combative Wildclaws drove Traipsers into hiding, up the tallest tree boughs of the Behemoth where their less dexterous cousins could not reach. For years and years they stayed out of sight, until strange shifts in the magical ley lines started to disrupt draconic way of life - including for Wildclaws. The Traipsers, despite their history, could not sit by and watch their neighbors suffer, so once again they emerged, ready to lend a helping hand.

Traipsers resemble a cross between tree frogs and lemurs. The long nail on the dragon's index finger is used in scratching, foraging and climbing. A large throat sac can inflate to make riveting ribbiting sounds. But Traipsers' most notable trait is their large head fans, which show off a wide array of colors for courtship and expressive purposes. Despite the dark bases of these fans looking like horns, they are actually mostly muscle, and house the ear canal underneath, similar to an elephant. The fans are attached at the back of the neck, and can move up, down, and side-to-side. The tails are too thin to be prehensile, but they can signal to other members of a troop like a flag.

Many of a Traipser's traits are used less for combat and more for communication, as they have not had natural enemies for most of their existence. In addition, Traipser culture values airtight troop relationships, agreeableness, and personal style. Rude, argumentative, or just plain headstrong Traipsers risk banishment from a troop. Loneliness is the worst kind of torture for a Traipser; without anyone to lend support, a loner tends to withdraw and shut down to the point of neglecting their own needs. It's usually after rescue by another troop that the loner 'learns their lesson' and becomes more agreeable. The generosity of a functioning Traipser society starkly contrasts the suffering of its more hotheaded individuals.

On the subject of style, it's not uncommon for Traipsers to decorate their fans with fruit dyes, leaves, stones, and whatever else catches their eyes. Paintings of family or friendship history are a very fashionable choice. Lairs function similarly, only more permanent and with large hanging nests for troops to cuddle in. The care of hatchlings is a group effort, where the parents will gather their closest friends and family to take turns watching over the young and teaching them about the world. Exposure to a friend group's diverse range of worldviews at a young age helps in forming strong Traipser minds.

Traipsers are not used to fighting, and will typically flee to their troop if confronted. If a troop should face danger, a handful of members will attack the opponent with rapid-fire, dizzying kicks and tail smacks, while the rest guard the weak. Lone Traipsers do not have the luxury of teamwork, and will resort to biting and scratching with their long canines and nails. A particularly desperate Traipser will grapple their opponent and attempt to dislocate or break bones, including the jaw.

Some image assets:

And there you have it! Fanmade dragons. This was a lot to do, I'm not sure if I'll add any more genes/assets. Nothing's set in stone, though! I like making fake things look real.

Traipsers are free-to-use with credit, and you can give them whatever genes or colors you want.

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝: 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  inspired from the pun book from the last of us, here are some dialogue prompts of various puns. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ for a fungi to grow you must give it as mushroom as possible. ❜

❛ it doesn't matter how much you push the envelope. it'll still be stationary. ❜

❛ what did the mermaid wear to her math class? an algae bra. ❜

❛ people are making apocalypse jokes like there's no tomorrow. ❜

❛ why did the scarecrow get an award? he was outstanding in his field. ❜

❛ what did the triangle say to the circle? you're so pointless. ❜

❛ a book just fell on my head, i only have my shelf to blame. ❜

❛ i tried to catch some fog earlier. i mist. ❜

❛ i stayed up all night wondering where the sun went. then it dawned on me. ❜

❛ diarrhea is hereditary... it runs in your genes. ❜

❛ what did the green grape say to the purple grape? breathe, you idiot! ❜

❛ i'm reading a book on anti-gravity, and it's impossible to put down. ❜

❛ what is a pirate's favorite letter? tis' the c. ❜

❛ i wasn’t originally going to get a brain transplant, but then i changed my mind. ❜

❛ what washes up on tiny beaches? microwaves. ❜

❛ why are frogs so happy? they eat whatever bugs them. ❜

❛ i don't trust trees. they're shady. ❜

❛ i was going to tell you a pizza joke, but it's too cheesy. ❜

❛ i want to be cremated as it is my last hope for a smoking hot body. ❜

❛ there’s a new type of broom out. it’s sweeping the nation. ❜

❛ did you hear about the man who lost his left side? he’s all right now. ❜

❛ what do you call a bee that can't make up its mind? a maybe. ❜

❛ i tried to make a belt out of watches. it was a waist of time. ❜

❛ i got fired from the calendar factory, just for taking a day off. ❜

❛ did you hear about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda? he was lucky it was a soft drink. ❜

❛ tequila may not fix your life but its worth a shot. ❜

❛ why are there fences around cemeteries? because people are dying to get in! ❜

❛ thanks for explaining the word 'many' to me, it means alot. ❜

❛ i once ate a watch. it was time consuming. ❜

❛ why are teddy bears never hungry? they are always stuffed! ❜

❛ i don’t trust stairs because they’re always up to something. ❜

❛ never trust an atom, they make up everything! ❜

❛ i couldn't figure out how to put my seatbelt on, but then it clicked. ❜

❛ how do construction workers party? they raise the roof. ❜

❛ what do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? a thesaurus. ❜

❛ when a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds. ❜

❛ i made a pun about the wind but it blows. ❜

❛ it's hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs because they always take things literally. ❜

❛ what did the ocean say to the beach? nothing, it just waved. ❜

❛ i have a joke about chemistry, but i don't think it will get a reaction. ❜

❛ i'm on a seafood diet. i see food and i eat it. ❜

❛ why did the restaurant on the moon get bad reviews? it has no atmosphere.❜

❛ how do you organize a space party? you planet. ❜

❛ i once heard a joke about amnesia... but i forget how it goes. ❜

❛ the frustrated cannibal threw up his hands. ❜

❛ it takes guts to be an organ donor. ❜

❛ why is the mushroom always invited to parties? he's a fungi. ❜

❛ a guy walks into a bar... he was disqualified from the limbo contest. ❜

❛ jokes with punch lines can be painfully funny. ❜

❛ so what if i don’t know what apocalypse means? it’s not the end of the world! ❜

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Remus Lupin x fem!reader [2.1K] A lazy, summer Sunday after the full moon. Fluff, softness and shared tangerines.

Sundays were slow at Hogwarts, especially during summer. The Scottish heat made everyone sluggish, lazy and languid, mornings spent in cool showers and afternoons in the shade outside. 

It’s where Remus found you after breakfast, half cast in shadows under an old oak tree on the edge of the lake. Your bag was spilled out across the grass, books with dog eared pages and empty potion bottles, a broken quill and a half eaten chocolate frog that was doing its best to escape with just two legs. 

He sat down without a greeting, close enough that his shoulder bumped yours, his denim covered thigh up against your bare one. Your dress wasn’t doing much in terms of keeping you cool, but the breeze picked at it every now and then, sunflower yellow cotton against the green grass. 

Remus handed you half the tangerine he’d peeled and you accepted it with a hum, glancing out of the side of your eyes to inspect him. It had been a full moon last night and he had a new line across his neck to show for it. The scratch was already healed over, silver in the sunlight, no doubt from Lily’s wand, possibly even Remus’ own, if he’d managed enough sleep. 

You asked him as such, your gaze on the lavender coloured smudges below his lash line. “Sleep well?” 

It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, but the summer sun rose around four and you hoped the boy had managed a few hours of sleep, as restless as they may have been. You’d witnessed him before, just once, slumped between James and Sirius as they led him back through the portrait, half hidden as the cloak started slipping to the floor. There had been some blood, a lot of naked skin, dirt covered bare feet and half lidded eyes, barely focusing on you. Remus was asleep before James had managed to lead him to bed.  

The boy hummed, creased shirt sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, smelling like citrus and the leftover smoke from the cigarette he probably stole from Sirius’ bedside. 

“Yeah,” he told you, his voice quiet enough that you could hear the owls above, making their way to the Great Hall. You knew he was saying it only for your benefit, a soft agreement that was supposed to make you feel less worried. “Managed a couple of hours, even with James’ snoring.”

You huffed out a laugh, leaning closer, every bit of your side touching his, like if you stayed near enough, you could convince yourself he was indeed safe, that he’d made it through another full moon without the need for a hospital wing visit afterwards. 

“They’re still asleep?” You asked, not needing to specify who you were talking about. There were only two other people who should’ve been lounging around you, talking shit and causing some sort of trouble. “They’re okay?”

Remus nodded, placing the last segment of fruit on your thigh, balancing it in the stripe of sun that came through the tree canopy. “Yeah. They’re safe. Tired, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, little head of yours.”

That was understandable. You’d only seen your friends from afar, from your dormitory window, watching in quiet fear as three shapes made their way to the forbidden forest, two familiar, the third you’d only seen in textbooks, in horror movie posters. James had engaged in too many discussions with you to count, whispered and heated, hidden from Remus until Sirius broke it up and the two boys had to watch you blink back tears as they both told you ‘no’ again, like they always did. 

It was always forgotten about when they visited the girls dorm when they shouldn’t have, shuffling through Gryffindor tower under James’ cloak, knocking on your door with a few chocolate frogs and Sirius’ last bottle of Pumpkin Juice. They said ‘sorry’ and you nodded, knowing. It was too dangerous to help, you were all too aware of that. So the boys aided at night, ran across the hillsides and through the forests, keeping Remus away from anything human and out of sight. And when morning came, they lingered in their dormitory, let Remus come to you, let you look after him in a way that only you could. 

Something in the lake splashed, far away enough that you didn’t catch a glimpse of it, maybe a tentacle from the giant squid, maybe something no one knew about. But Remus took the opportunity to push your book bag away with a foot, long legs stretched out on the grass so he could manoeuvre himself into his favourite position. His head on your lap, sandy brown hair still mussed from bed and the sun slanting over his face in peach-gold coloured stripes, the last piece of forgotten tangerine stolen back between his fingers. 

He held it up to you from where he lay, brown eyes turning honey coloured in the light. You tried to hide your smile with a twist of your lips, an eye roll that wasn’t as casual as you had hoped. Remus grinned, waiting patiently until you leaned forward just a touch, stealing the fruit from between his fingertips with your lips, hoping your teeth didn’t graze him. 

That wouldn’t have been proper. Not at all. 

But neither was the way the boy stole your hand, his curling around your wrist to guide it to his head, humming something sinful when you let your fingers delve into his hair to scratch at his scalp. Remus’ eyes fluttered, lashes casting shadows across his high cheekbones, the sun erasing the reddened shadows under his eyes. He looked less tired then, laid out all pretty in your lap like that, eyes closed, breathing even, a small smile on his lips. 

Peaceful. Like he hadn’t had his body wrecked and cracked the night before, like each of his bones hadn’t splintered and pieced themselves back together before the sun had come up. 

You let him lay like that for as long as he wanted, skin warming under the sun, hand soothing over his hair, across his forehead and along the slope of his cheek until his lips parted in sleepy surprise and Remus turned his head into your tummy, nose nudging there as he slept. 

He woke when James and Sirius found you both later, when the sky was still blue and cloudless, whistling and shouting something awful as they greeted you both with stolen sandwiches and pocketfuls of sherbet lemons. You frowned at the two boys, both as messy and sleep rumpled as the other, James wearing Remus’ stolen t-shirt, Sirius still in all black despite the heat, a split lip holding onto an unlit cigarette as he approached. Then Remus moved, something that saddened you both, but he stayed close, sharing pumpkin juice as you both listened and laughed at how Sirius managed to land himself detention and lost points only mere minutes after leaving the common room. 

And when the boys inevitably stripped off to go for a swim, you made them both sit in front of you first, wand out to heal their own scrapes and scratches, small injuries that made Remus’ lips turn down. James hooted and hollered as he ran down the small hill, ignoring how you yelled about his glasses, ‘cause Sirius was chasing him and soon they were both barrelling onto the cold water. 

Remus stayed, still close, a small and tired smile on his face as he watched you huff at your friends, fond affection creeping over him as you reached for your book. You leant back against the old oak tree, the book in the grass beside you because you saved your lap for him. It took him a second or two before he lay back down, cheek pressed to your bare thigh, eyes looking up at you. 

“Read to me?” He asked softly. “Please?”

And who were you to deny him? You kept a hand on the pages, another in his hair, only glancing away to make sure your friends weren’t drowning. You read until your voice dropped to a murmur, until all the sherbet lemons were gone, the sour sugar a leftover fizz on your tongue. Remus had his eyes closed, awake enough to hum when you whispered his name, tangerine scented fingers drawing shapes over your ankles. You wondered if he could feel your goosebumps, you wondered if he knew what it meant. 

You wondered if he’d let you do this tomorrow and the next day, and maybe the next after that. When there was no full moon to worry about and you could let your best friend lay in your lap just ‘cause he could. ‘Cause he wanted to, maybe. 

When the sky turned lilac, a candy floss pink at the horizon with the setting sun, James and Sirius were dressed again and Remus had slept on you for an hour or two. You could all smell dinner coming from the kitchens, the dull bustling noises from the hall as students gathered. Remus stood as the other boys argued, something nonsensical, a debate Remus was ignoring. He helped you to your feet even though he ached, smiling bashfully with pink cheeks as he stared at you for a beat too long. 

There was a crease along his jaw from the hem of your dress, a sign he’d napped all too well. It was a nicer sight to see than the new scars and before you could stop yourself, you ran a finger over the silver line on his throat, the one that went from the nape of his neck and round and down, disappearing into his collar. Remus stilled as you did, hardly breathing as he let you touch him, lips parted in surprise but his gaze fond all the same. 

“Does it still hurt?”

The boy shook his head, standing too close, toes touching. “Nah, m’fine. It’s fine.” His voice was a pretty rasp, hoarse from sleep, quiet as if not to startle you. “Lily fixed me up this morning.”

You’d been right. But it didn’t stop the awful stab of jealousy, a sharp pain between your ribs and bloomed and grew like weeds. You told yourself you were being silly, that you had no reason to feel such a thing. Especially since James had taken to spending his free periods in the library, trailing after the red headed girl, gazing at her like you looked at Remus. 

You cleared your throat and nodded, smiling a little tight as you dropped your hand. Maybe Remus was a little more awake than you’d once thought, ‘cause he bent at the knees a little, just enough to catch your nervous gaze with his and smile at you. He was still sleep soft, all blushing cheeks and tired eyes. 

“Days like these?” He prompted, voice low enough that the other boys didn’t overhear as they made their way to the castle. “With you?”

You could hear your heartbeat, could feel it in your ears, could feel the rattle of your bones. You wondered if Remus could too. 

“They help me a lot, y’know. When it’s finally done and I get back?” He nodded towards the castle, chin lifting to the tower where your beds sat. “When the guys get me home and I can lie down, I always think about you before I fall asleep. What you’ll read to me the next day, what pretty dress you’ll be wearing.”

Your breath hitched and your shoulder bumped into Remus’ arm as you walked, a wide eye stare set on James’ broad back as you trailed behind them. You could feel Remus watching you, could feel the way he smiled. And when you were brave enough to look back, face feeling too warm, you wrinkled your nose and asked:

“Yeah? Really?”

Remus nodded, chin ducking to his chest like he suddenly wasn’t as brave with your eyes on him. “All your dresses are pretty,” he added. “But s’not the point. All of you help me. James, Pads, Lily.”

His hand brushed yours, pinky finger touching your own for a beat too long to be accidental and the boy kept his gaze on the grass as he walked. He cleared his throat, brows stitching together as he tried to find the right words. 

“They all help me. But you help me the most.” A pause, long and filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on. Tangerines, old books, new scars, cheeks pressed to legs and honey brown eyes in the sun. “When it’s all over? When it’s done?  You make me feel like me again.”

[hoy35]

Theories surrounding how the mushrooms in Anura are not the creation of Heket

In my comic series Fairy ring, I mentioned that the Menticide Mushrooms are not the creation of Heket, and the main storyline is associated to this setting. Although you could look at it as a feature in an alternative universe, I do believe that this may be how things unravel in the official game... (It may be disproven. After all, it's just a non-canon theory.)

Prof 1: The Serpent's Tablet

The Serpent is a key character that only appeared in the DLC in the form of "offering the truth to the Lamb". They are mentioned to be the greatest fanatics in the BGM and the comment of the Five Bishops, they worship and defend the Great Ones, which refers to the Gods who created the world in COTL, and tries to unearth their past.

In their fifth tablet, the Serpent documented that they discovered a place with a Godly skull, with small mushrooms that have spots like eyes around it.

(Shamura made their debut in the seventh tablet.)

This could be referring to Sozo's place in the realm of Anura, where there is a giant skull.

In the background, there are birch trees with red eyes.

This shape seems like the "all seeing eye", but there is one alteration: the line representing the eye crosses the lower eyelid by a great length. My friend adds that "this makes the eye resemble the shape of a mushroom".

(P.S. There are also different symbols of eyes in Kallamar and Leshy's realms, I also have theories surrounding them, but let's not get into it in this article.)

Although this shape is scattered across Anura, it seems that Heket may be trying to suppress it. Unlike Leshy, who directly mentioned that the chaotic flowers in his realm are not his creations, Heket did not mention whether she appears earlier or later than Menticide Mushrooms. But... since it already appeared by the time the Serpent is still alive, Heket probably should not be credited for the creation of these mushrooms.

Prof 2: backgrounds during the crusade

I don't know if the background assets would appear randomly and there are actually more backgrounds for one type of map, but let's assume that there are only one type of background for each type of room background.

In this case, there are actually changes in Anura for regular background and purged version. Last time I checked, Anchordeep seems to be the same in both forms. Darkwood may have changed a little. Please allow me to make further testing before reaching a final conclusion.

So, the first thing we see is the candles lit on small, white tree trunks. This may be Heket's attempt to suppress birch trees, which would be infested with mushrooms in the background.

If the trunks grow further, it would show signs of the same red eye-shapes. Furthermore, there are no complete birch trees in the game foreground. They are all chopped or suppressed.

Someone has to put the candles there. I don't think regular followers would dare to touch their beloved leaders' creations. Therefore, it may be the order of Heket towards diciples and followers to do so.

There is also a mushroom in the background with frog eggs atop. Other mushrooms do not have the same shape of red lines on it. The shape looks like an eye sewed together...

Next, let's look at one room that has changed in regular and purged versions ——the giant frog skull room.

First, let me ask you, have you seen giant spider, squid, or worm skulls in her siblings' realms? The answer is no, right? (There are giant skulls of other species, though)

Even if there are skulls or corpses of the same species of the Bishops, they are usually in simpler form.

But these giant frog skulls have exactly four eyes, something not even Heket's followers or disciples have.

It's as if the game is hinting at her demise, and Heket may be using these followers to predict how much time she had left due to the infection.

In addition, in the background, the purged version had visibly more birch trees and visibly more mushrooms grown out of these trees.(You may zoom-in to see the pictures above)

Due to her absence, no one is still suppressing the Great One. Therefore, the trees and mushrooms begin to grow wild.

The initial room for the crusade and the sacrificial room also changed. There are dense birch tree forest in the background in purged version of Anura. I forgot to take pictures, though. *cries

Prof 3: Heket's "tatoos"

The red eyes happened to grow around her wound, where it's assumed to be the weakest. Therefore, it would be more like an infection than fashion choice.

In addition, making tatoos around her wounds would be linked to painism. It's probably too painful.

The eye patterns also disappear when she is in purged form. Maybe the God no longer feels the need to infest and pester her because she is no longer in charge?

In purged form, the mushroom surrounding her statue also dies.

Also, her follower form seems to have healed from the infection. Or it may just be the creators being lazy and not adding details.

Prof 4: Heket never mentioned associations to Menticide Mushrooms in her conversations. The game let SOZO tell the lamb about it instead.

In addition, Heket got mad when the lamb handed her mushrooms after the indoctrination. Although we usually interpret it as her getting angry because lamb is being pitiful to her, it might also be that she hates these mushrooms? Maybe that still makes sense?

The game seems keen on making little word-plays. Like how Forneus mentioned "how can you say no to a God". Before the DLC, we just assumed that she ment Narinder. But eventually Shamura confessed that they were the one who took away the kittens. So the "God" was actually referring to them.

This may be the same for Heket's case?

I believe that prior to Narinder's betrayal, Heket was doing a good job suppressing the God under the instruction of Shamura. But … due to her injusry, she slowly faded and by the time Lamb appears, Anura is in such a worse state. Also, despite Kallamar and Leshy are also suppressing Gods in their realm, the madness in Anura does not mean that Heket is weak or anything. This God is the most active one, and has begun to be active long before Shamura was even born. It might be the hardest chore for the siblings, and healthy Heket was handling it just fine. So... bad kitty!!! Bad!!

Also, if this theory were to be true, then Narinder would be doing her a favor by killing her prior to her death from the fungus infection. Good job, kitty!

Ok that concludes my theory. If you have anything to prove or disprove it, feel free to tell me!!!

[babylon-crashing]

the psycho'vac

I.        In a glass case                in the dark                         in an alcove                                in the dark                in a church in Rome,        in Sienna, in Florence,                                bits of saints mummified like the monkey's paw or                        Daniel Dravot's withered head                                                sat in the dark                        waiting for the faithful                                                to pass by, tourists to gawk at, for children of archeologists                to be terrified by.        Outside the Uffitzi                        one could buy postcards                                        fragments of Bosch's                                                        Last Judgement (1504)                                        reaction against sexuality                        that was creeping        back into the faith – every where lusty, fleshy figures                        were being torn apart, swallowed whole by frog-eggs,        tossed into pits of fire and snakes,                                        onto pitchforks and trees of thorn                while the saved, the fleshless,                                desiccated, loosely built creatures                        closed their eyes and lay upon the ground to pray.

II.

It starts while you sit in an outdoor cafe near the great clock in the ex-Lenin Square, forever at 11:45, while swallows who nest in the ruined eaves dart low, dark sickle-flashes, sweeping, skimming. Your notebook is open, pen cast down. You sip at the tiny cup of bitter coffee-sludge (when you are at a friend's house the old tatik takes the finished cup from your hands and reads the ground-stains, having you press your thumb into the hot residue, always with the curious shapes rimming the inside lip.) There is a smell thunder in the air. It starts when you walk down one of the city's mud streets, the rain coming down for four days nonstop. You stand in a crumbled doorway, a truck rumbles past full of cabbage heading for the market, spraying mud and gravel into the air. The wave-like clouds come down off the nearby mountains, things urgent and low to the ground, overwhelming the ruined factories and caved-in apartments, the one-room emergency boxes families of eight or twelve had been living in for the last seven years. It starts as you walk down the street. Under your boots, laying in unmarked graves, thousands of bodies, crushed and buried, their calls bubbling to the surface. Waiting for someone to hear.

III.

After the first baby in the orphanage you work at dies, then the second and finally a third, you go on a walk. It has been lightly snowing. Behind the city lays the broken rail yard. Even though there is no penicillin at the rail yard and none of the doctors who refuse to come to the orphanage to heal "things" as they call your babies will be there, you walk without a hat in the late afternoon gusts. You climb up through an abandoned cab engine, the iron sticking slightly to your gloves, its wooden passenger carriages trapped under a fallen wall. The train - its olive green and chrome and red 1940s Soviet art deco - slightly covered in wet-powder. At your feet, in the lee of the cab engine, dozens of empty hypodermic needles. Beyond the cab, the twisted rail lines; toppled buildings and other ruins; open pits of crude oil sunk in the ground; a whole roundhouse with the roof caved-in. It looks like a temple. Something holy, but you who never believed in the sacred or the holy, who saw ghosts as simply cultural abstractions. When you reach the roundhouse you find nothing inside but rubble and years and years of snow.

IV.

Humor. An US Embassy worker, an American working for a Foreign Aide organization and a Peace Corps Volunteer run into each on the street. Soon an Armenian friend walks by.

"This morning for breakfast," the Armenian said, "I had Frosted Flakes with milk."

"You had Frosted Flakes?" cried the Embassy worker, "How did you get Frosted Flakes in Armenia?"

"Oh, I bought them at the black market store near my house."

"You had milk?" cried the Foreign Aide worker, "How did you get milk?"

"Oh, I mixed the powdered milk with water."

"You had water?" cried the Peace Corps Volunteer, "How did you get water?"

V.

All winter long you were in isolation

watching it grow. You had given up

on the poetry brought in the 40-pound

box from home. You had not spoken

English in over three months, ever since the first

frost coated your pillow – there was no heat

in your hut, the rains turned to ice.

You wore your jacket and thermals and gloves

to bed and gave up on poetry. Reading

a poet writing about wasted sex no less

in San Francisco was a hateful thing.

Reading a poet, in Berkeley, where they

have everything, speculate on her fat

soul was a hateful, too. Under your floor

boards the dead called out your name, until

vodka, Russian water, kept the their

voices at bay. Intolerable, how clear they

came in. All of them complained,

griped, belly-ached in a language

untranslatable until your perception:

It was a cross between Armenian

and Russian that the old women spoke

down in the market.

VI.

It is sad to see these old people one, two, three generations apart from their children. These haughty, thin old people unable to speak of these things anymore, needing always to speak around them, as if at the dinner table to speak with clarity would make the magic happen all over again. To listen to them submerge their magic, to protect their children. There was a woman, nearly a hundred, who lived in a nearby village. As a baby she had escaped the Young Turks' Genocide in 1915, had witnessed the USSR rise and fall and had lost eighteen children and grandchildren in the earthquake. You visit her, she speaks in the ancient language, the old Armenian words, "God has forsaken the Armenians" – and spends her time looking for her god among the graveyards where 50,000 of her people died in 4 minutes in 1988. You will be leaving soon, returning on a 32-hour flight. Numbers. Something is inside you. Parasite. You will be leaving soon, and she has no more use for the living. Her words drop away, become muddled, confused, a lexicon of secrets, you pass by gravestone after gravestone on the way to the surface, thousands of them, until there is no more room for air.

VII.

Of course, you

take it with you.

It grows hideous

inside you, even

after the Peace Corps'

doctors arrived and demanded

that you are Medically

Evacuated -- the ol' Psycho

Vac -- three days before your

twenty seventh birthday, you

take it with you. You have

grown thin now, fleshless,

desiccated. They do not

even let you say good-bye

to your babies, such is the state

they find you in. On the flight

back to DC you sit next to

a woman, Dutch ex-missionary,

who explains that sometimes,

the young men God has sent

to do his bidding go crazy.

They, who fear for the safety

of their souls above all else,

do not know how to take

care of themselves so far from home.

She knows this, she assures you,

she has seen it happen. As

the stewardess pushes the cart

for the evening's meal by your seat

the thing that rests inside you

gurgles once in agreement

and then is still.

][][

Notes.

This is it, my grand attempt back in 2002 to put words to my nightmare.

The poem starts out in Italy because that is where I learned, for the first time, about the religious fever dream that is Hell, when I accidentally saw the LSD-madness of Hieronymus Bosch's art and it blew my little brain at the implications of such a concept. It didn't seem like much of a stretch to link the mummified bodies of Bosch's righteous in that painting with the babies dying under my care.

The, "the one-room emergency boxes," are called "domiks" and are basically railroad boxcars used to house the vast homeless population suddenly needing protection from the cold. Gyumri was never really rebuilt and 30 years later there are families still living in their rusted-out boxes.

[kfedup]

Some truths on a Tuesday

My amaryllis are finally about to pop off. They remind me of Maj and I miss him with my whole heart.

Therapy’s gonna be something on Thursday. I need a double session.

Working at the little table on the front porch for the second day in a row in March is surreal.

Heard on the We Can Do Hard Things pod about people who say “I am who I am” and refuse to work on themselves…something along the lines of “you’d never say that in response to a request for you to take more training in your job, so why can’t you rise to the occasion in your partner relationship?” Why the fuck indeed.

He’s not single, so that’s good to finally know for sure after six months of assuming/wondering. Peace, friend.

I think I found a solution for my sugar addiction. I bought a little bag of date and coconut rolls at the co-op and one bite makes me gag from how sweet they are and I don’t crave any more sweet at all.

Part of the Ayurveda treatment is to give myself a full-body massage before the shower or bath and not wash the oil off, just let the hot water steam the oil into my skin. It’s a sesame oil with a bunch of herbs in it and I am addicted and my towels are getting destroyed.

I just heard a sneeze and I think it came from under the porch where I’m pretty sure a groundhog lives. Hi little buddy. Stay the fuck out of my vegetable garden, will ya?

Gonna put my big girl pants on and ask my next doors to please stop burning wood that was only cut from the tree four weeks ago. That fire smoked for 5 hours and filled my house even with the windows closed. The hideous cough that had finally abated for two blessed days is back with a vengeance.

I had to put my bed linens from the line in the dryer with a bunch of essential oils on the wool balls to get rid of the smoke stank before I put them back on my bed.

Y’all it’s so crazy beautiful today but so crazy wrong. I heard the vernal pools full of tree frog song and the hawks are mating. Saw an Eastern Bluebird and people jogging in tiny shorts and tanks on March 5th very far from the equator.

[theorphicangel]

𝐌𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter one

summary: You had a dream...one simple dream. And it wasn't asking for much. 'Much' being the act of escaping from the one place that you've known for the past eighteen years of your life and possibly committing the worst act of betrayal on your own poor, sweet and loving mother?

But him? All he's ever dreamt of is having an island with nobody but his own bullshit to deal with and a shitload of money.

That was a simple dream.

So how the hell did he end up in a deal with a stranger who has nothing but a shit ton of hair and a creepy frog?

tags: strangers to lovers, tangled!au, thug!levi Ackerman, lost princess, sfw

Crossposted to ao3

prologue | chapter two

You think you’re going to lose your mind.

No, you don’t just ‘think’. You know you’re going to lose your mind.

These four walls offer you absolutely nothing. Staring blankly at you, they remain mute. Refusing to speak to you or offer any kind of salvage.

There’s absolutely no where to paint. In every corner you look, an idea has already been created and transformed into color. Never did you think that there would be a limit put on your creativity.

The best thing you can do is retouch where you can, whilst searching for a single space or gap in which you can fill, no matter how small. Your eyes dart all over the coated walls searching, looking, wanting for a break. Something. Anything at all.

Slumping your shoulders, you silently surrender and let the colorful walls of your tower win. This time at least, you’re too stubborn to give up yet.

Glancing around the room you instead search for another activity to do, desperate to cure your restless mind.

Yet you’ve come to meet disappointment for a second time today with most of the tasks on your list already completed. You can practically see your reflection on the kitchen floor as well as the laundry already being done, on the counter are the cookies you’ve baked to pass the time, there’s the pile of books on the ground opened to their last page.

You’ve finished them so many times you think you could recite it all line for line.

The set of chess lay unfinished on the table next to the new dress that you were sewing for yourself. Hell, even your new pet avoids giving you company.

You don’t even want to think about brushing your hair…again.

Squinting your eyes towards the antique clock in the corner of the tower, it informs you that it was only 8am. And mother wouldn’t be back for a while.

A weary sigh leaves your throat, waltzing through the room. You only perk up at seeing your journal lay open on a chair, your thoughts unfinished as boredom grew the better of you.

Immediately, you head towards the only entrance to get inside the tower and take a seat on the mini balcony. You rest your back against one side, spreading out your legs.

Taking in the landscape ahead of you, all of your racing thoughts and ideas slowly come to a rest.

You’d like to think mother nature is your best friend. She never fails to surprise you with her forest of trees that greet you everyday or her sky that’s filled with beautiful species of birds, ones that you never knew existed.

Despite waking up to the same scenario everyday, she always offers something new to you. You watch intently for the first sign of seasons change whether it’s spotting the first brown leaf or predicting which flowers will bloom, you’re never bored.

It’s certainly a distraction that you are always on the brink of freedom. The horizons that seem to spread for miles await you, waiting patiently to be explored.

Those are the only details that change in your life. The rest remains the same.

Flicking through the pages of your journal, there’s an influx of words. Some days emotions rush over you, your thoughts struggling to keep up as you fill up every line. But some days, you’re empty with not much to say.

You flick to a brand new page, pen in your hand at the ready to write down your thoughts. A soft breeze brushes past you and it has a warm touch. Mother nature emphasizes the arrival of summer, providing you with solace as you struggle to find your words.

It’s your birthday tomorrow. You’re not really sure how to feel about it.

You feel sad about it but you’re not sure why. Normally, you would feel excitement, particularly regarding the floating lights. And normally it’s with that thought that your stomach churns with impatience.

But instead there’s a feeling of sorrow, no– it’s not that. You scribble over your last sentence in your journal, searching for another accurate word to identify your emotions.

It’s almost a sense of…dissatisfaction with…everything.

It’s going to be your 18th. A day you had been looking forward to for years, ever since you were little. After living a life so restricted and sheltered from the world, the heavy gift of freedom was upon you and it was…scary.

Now, you would be able to do whatever you wanted when you wanted. Now, you could finally explore the world whenever you wanted and when you wanted.

You could experience all the new sights, sounds and tastes of the world. A part of you was indefinitely scared but another part of you couldn’t wait to take it greedily with your own two hands.

Well, with Mother’s permission.

For years you have dreamt of exploring past these walls, experiencing the true world. Not just through Mother’s words but through your own eyes. Most of all, what you really wanted was the freedom to experience the floating lights.

Those lights which shine brightly in the dark night sky each and every time on your birthday without fail.

An unknown gift from the world to you. You have no idea what the true purpose of the lights are but somehow, it feels like they mean something to you.

You can vividly picture your younger self, tiptoeing out of bed, hastily passing your mother’s bedroom. Even then you knew how to avoid certain creaks on the stairs.

Able to reach the balcony when you were on your tiptoes, you could finally experience the lights of the world. There seemed to be millions and millions, filling the usually dark night sky. Illuminating your face and your eyes, to this day you’ve never seen anything brighter.

They carry a sense of beauty that you envy. Perhaps it’s the way that they all stick together and float together, or perhaps the freedom they have to rise higher and higher into the oblivion until the simple human eye cannot see them anymore.

In a way, that’s how you wish to be. That was your true dream. To leave this tower with the freedom to go and see the lights for yourself.

No permission needed from anyone.

Which is why for your 18th you’ve taken the decision to go and fulfill your dream. Sure, from the view of the tower it is pretty magnificent but it’s hard to obtain a full grasp of the experience.

To be able to fulfill this you would inevitably need the consent from your mother first. After she’s the only person you know to have ever set foot into the real world. You had figured that you would need a guide and who else would be perfect enough than someone whom you trust and who had known you for the entirety of your life?

The question though… is how would you go about asking her?

The outside world has always been a sensitive topic for her, never hesitating in sharing her horrible and terrifying experiences with you. However this would nonetheless make her the perfect guide to show you the world for the very first time.

But surely for your 18th she’d finally let you see the world for yourself?

Placing your pen down, you shut your journal and disappeared back inside the tower to again look at your antique clock.

It’s only half eight.

She’d definitely be back by eleven.

Which gives you plenty of time to prepare your own speech to persuade her.

—

“Let down your hair!”

A moment of stillness was felt as Mother Gothel’s voice echoed throughout the forest, her gravelly voice seeming to bounce off the tough barks of the trees that stood as silent spectators around her.

For a split second, a wound of fear grew in the pit of her stomach. A fear that you had left.

But not a moment later she quickly reprimanded herself and pushed away the impulsive thoughts. It wasn’t like you’d ever survive for that long anyway. Not without her.

A smirk soon latched itself onto her lips, quickly fading as soon as she saw the rope of your hair being thrown down. Taking a handful, she latched on professionally, securing her feet in a hook of your hair and slowly she was being lifted up, higher and higher.

She glimpsed over at the view, a light blue sky with a few clouds rolling in. Misplaced across the sky. Her eyes wandered over the view without a second thought and quite frankly bored of the scenery, yet she knew she had no right to complain as it was necessary to conceal herself away.

Once she had settled down inside a long exhale of air escaped from her lungs and in a high pitched tone she exclaimed aloud to you.

“My, my, my dear, how on earth are you able to do this day in and day out without fail? Why must it be exhaustive, no?”

An innocent smile reached your lips after a series of drawn out pants. “It’s nothing Mother.”

The palm of her hand reached the top of your head, patting your hair playfully. “Then I don’t know why it takes so long.”

Her cloak is immediately disposed of, hung up on the hook before she marches right past you. After a few hours of deliberation, you’ve decided that it’s best to address the topic straight away, as soon as she returns home so that you don’t lose your confidence to ask later on.

But before you can introduce the topic of the conversation, she’s instead standing by the antique oval mirror. You follow her apprehensively as her hands stretch and poke at her skin, inspecting every inch of her face. Joining her side, you’re intimidated, deeply unsure of how to grab her attention.

“So…Mother.” you begin, hands clasped around your back as your fingers fiddle with each other in an array of nerves. “I wanted to ask–

“Do you know what I see?” She cuts off unexpectedly, wrapping an arm around you. “I see a strong, young, brave, confident and of course beautiful woman.” Her grip around you is tight and for a moment you get a burst of confidence that fills your body.

“Oh, you’re here too!”

And in that same moment it is quickly lost.

Not missing the way your face fell, she pokes at your side with her finger.

“Darling I’m just teasing, will you stop taking things so seriously?” She returns to the mirror, inspecting herself all over again.

Fiddling with your hair, you impose a fake laugh to cure the mood. “As I was saying mother I was wondering if–” Suddenly waving her hand around, you pause in the midst of your sentence.

“Mother’s feeling a little run-down sweetheart, won’t you sing for me first?”

“Yes Mother.”

You’re quick to grab a chair and a hairbrush, rushing back to her and pulling her along to sit. Giving her the hairbrush, you’re haste to grab a stool and sit yourself upon it. Quickly closing your eyes you sing– no mumble through the song as fast as you could.”

“Power gleam and glow let your power shine…”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Ignoring her, you continue throughout the song before coming to an abrupt end. “...what once was mine.”

Your mother’s voice was stern as she said your name, confused as to why you rushed the process.

You turn around on your stool to face her, finally getting her attention.

“As I was saying Mother, tomorrow is my birthday.”

“Already?” she responded, “Why of course it isn’t, you had one last year. I remember it precisely.”

You chuckle nervously, hands now twiddling with a lock of your hair as you mumble.

“They happen every year mother, you know, and I was wondering, well it was more of a spontaneous idea-”

Your name is once again said with a sharp tone.

“You know how I feel about the mumbling, bla-bla-bla, spit it out for me darling.”

You nod, chuckling half heartedly despite her not even looking right at you. With a sigh you decide it’s best to just say it straight out. “It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’m turning eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” she raised a brow.

You nod timidly. “By now I think I’m mature enough now to see the world for myself.”

“The world?”

“I just mean in the sense that I was already thinking about the gifts that I would like to see.”

“Which is?”

You had already begun to climb onto the mantlepiece in front of her. There were purple curtains which covered the painted walls. Adrenaline ran through the course of your body but if you weren’t able to contain your excitement it could all go terribly wrong.

“Mother, you know how badly I’ve dreamt every year for one thing. And one thing only. I’ve been spending my life in this tower, watching and waiting for it. The one thing I want the most…”

Drawing back the purple curtains, you reveal the full picture of the lights, shining brightly against the night’s sky.

“The floating lights.” you say, your own eyes drawn to your painting, almost in awe that you managed to draw it completely from your own memory. “I want to see them, in person.”

There was a long pause as your mother observed your own drawing. You watched anxiously, your hands balled up in fists as she squinted at your painting. Without much more than a sigh, she turned away and disappointment immediately filled your bones.

“You want to go outside?” Mother strolled over to the entrance of the tower and slammed the wooden window shutters with a loud slam.

“Look at you, as fragile as a flower.” Her hands trailed over you as you joined her on the floor. Her touch was soft and gentle as well as her tone of voice towards you. “You know why we stay up in this tower.

“I know but–” you interjected.

“That’s right!” She moves along stroking a handful of your hair. “To keep you safe and sound dear.”

“I guess I always knew this day was coming, knew that someday you’d want to go and flee the nest. Soon but not yet–”

“But-”

You were stopped again with a finger placed over your mouth, “Shhh trust me pet, Mother knows best.”

“It’s a scary world out there my dear, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. You haven’t seen it for yourself but there’s ruffians and thugs, there’s poison ivy to watch out for and quicksand!” She noted, counting off everything on her fingers.

“There’s cannibals and snakes and terrible diseases, I mean, remember the plague?”

You swallow thickly, hanging onto her every word.

“There's large bugs and men, men with pointy teeth, who want nothing more than to use you and trick an innocent flower like you my dear.”

You look down at the floor, no more words to say in defense. You were completely clueless. Anything that she did say had to be true. After all she was the only person that you knew who had seen the world for itself.

She swiftly took a seat in her chair, “But hey what do I know? I’m just your poor mother, I only changed and nursed and bathed you. So you can go ahead and leave me, I deserve it. I deserve to waste here and die alone!”

“Mother I didn’t –”

She looks over at you, eyes observing you up and down, not letting you finish.

“Where do I begin with you? You probably won’t even survive for long enough out there without me. You’re sloppy and underdressed, immature and not to mention clumsy. Without me you won’t have much to live for, god they’ll eat you up alive! Gullible, naive, ditzy and hmm…a bit vague, what more can I say?”

Looking down at your feet, any source of confidence in you had now been washed away entirely. She was right. You’re a fool if you’d think you’d last out there. You can barely copy with a spider in your room, how would you ever imagine dealing with all of…that?

Sensing your deflation your mother heads over to you, her arms outstretched. She pauses a little bit away from you, so you can step towards her. Embracing you, her eyes meet yours intensely filled with nothing but love.

“I just love you very much dear, all I ever want to protect you. Do you hear that? I love you very much.”

“I love you more.”

“And I love you most.” she finishes.

Enveloping you into a hug, there’s only a slight break before she says your name again and meets your eyes again however this time, there’s an emotion in her eyes which you can’t quite grasp. All you do feel is unease from her stare.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever ask to leave this tower again.”

Her tone was sharp like a knife with the tip laced with venom, piercing through your gut. Her past words about you had already pierced through your heart and this was just the finisher.

You guess you won’t be achieving that dream anytime soon. Despite feeling deflated, you understood. The world was a dangerous place. And after all, Mother just wanted to protect you from the cruel dangers of the world.

Here, with her, was in fact the safest place to be.

reblogs + comments much appreciated! :)

[stickyfrogs]

More Magnificent Friends from the Frog Pond at Kubah National Park, Borneo!

Four-lined tree frog (Polypedates leucomystax), Giant River Frog (Limnonectes leporinus), Dark-eared Tree Frog (Polypedates macrotis), and File-eared Tree Frog (Polypedates otilophus)!

[delurkr]

Anne and James and sibling OCs in 1948

1948 being the year Anne and James married. Penelope is Anne's sister, and everybody else is James's family.

Cropped sections are further down. There's some connections from @108garys 's Super Massive Family Tree that play into everything (here's their portrait of older Penelope), and I'll leave it to them if they want to refresh everybody on the details. (Edit: 108garys gave lore in the notes). Some of the OCs have more lore than others, but I'm not getting into it here or doing deep dives about personalities and all that, so I just stuck together very non-deep little likes/dislikes/favorite activities lists for everyone. But first some notes on the art:

I went for a balance between dressy and casual, so most of these wouldn't be everyday outfits but none of them are formal either.

Nobody has naturally curly hair. Shirley has a perm, and Anne and Penelope use only curlers. (Unlike the other two, Penelope doesn't curl it every day).

If Anne's dress looks piecemeal that's because it is. Around 1948 was when women's fashion was transitioning from shorter wartime styles (minimum fabric) to longer hemlines, but ofc most women didn't just toss out all their old clothes, so the new things they bought were in the new style, while they also continued wearing what they had and sometimes altered their shorter things in various ways. The white border on Anne's dress is a recent addition, and so is the embroidered pocket because big pockets were also fashionable and it was intended to make the border look more like it belongs.

Shirley uses a brace, a built up shoe, and sometimes a cane due to effects from having polio when she was very young.

Bob has been in the U.S. Army for four or so years and he's currently a corporal. If part of his uniform is inaccurate then oh well because there were some details I just wasn't finding clear answers on (do point it out if you know something that's wrong tho). Also that's his hat he's holding in case it's hard to tell.

Ok now for the other stuff:

Anne, age 17 -

Likes: Dancing; recycling; Frank Sinatra music (don't spread it around); telephone party lines; the scratchy sound of crossing things off her to-do list.

Dislikes: Noisy children; poetry; men's cologne; bleached blonde hair; house pets; wrinkled clothes; rain on her hairdo; complainers; people with bad posture; anonymous love letters; being late; people who are late; unraked leaves; these peasants (most of the boys at school); being told she's too opinionated.

Favorite activities: Growing plants, mostly flowers; taking the mick out of James ❤

Penelope, age 8 -

Likes: Bicycling; puppies; reading, mostly fairytales; sticky sweets; movie stars.

Dislikes: Mud; talking to strangers; not having had her first kiss yet; never getting the lowdown after Anne's dates.

Favorite activity: Eavesdropping on the phone party line with Anne.

Shirley, age 24 -

Likes: Card games; chickens; picnics; reading; red on just about anything.

Dislikes: Snow; frogs; Bob; the sound of her own voice.

Favorite activity: Canoe rides to read on the open water. Her preferred victims to accompany her are James (she'll use her oldest-sibling authority for as long as she can) and whoever she happens to be dating (is that a weird date? idk but she calls it a no-go with a guy if he can't handle the quiet time).

Bob (Robert), age 22 -

Likes: Arm candy; being outside; cheating at card games; beer; animals, especially wildlife; pulling practical jokes on April 2.

Dislikes: Peas; serious conversations.

Favorite activities: Hunting; chasing women. (These things are not connected).

James, age 19 -

Likes: Holidays; history; picking dumb arguments; playing hockey when the pond freezes over; reading; PDA with Anne ❤

Dislikes: Waiting; hand-me-down clothes; being called Jimbo; having glasses.

Favorite activity: Finding money on the ground.

Clarence, age 11 -

Likes: Pocket knives; pirates; model train sets and dollhouses type stuff.

Dislikes: Surprises; hugs; getting up early; "old" people; getting his picture taken (that one's partly a joke, because I accidentally drew him looking a little moody for no reason).

Favorite activity: Fixing appliances and things around the house (under supervision because "fixing" is a bit of an overstatement. He can take things apart but has yet to learn how to properly put them back together).

Kathy (Katherine), age 7 -

Likes: Parties; collecting things; Brothers Grimm-style fairytales; terrible creature horror B movies.

Dislikes: Bugs, especially bees; nightmares from the terrible creature horror B movies.

Favorite activity: Poking dead animals. Trips to the butcher and dead mice found in the attic are her lifeline for now until she starts doing dissections in school. She definitely doesn't store said mice under her bed in jars she stole from the kitchen.

~~

Cool so now that everyone is sufficiently grossed out I'll leave it here for now 😊 Stay tuned I guess because sooner or later I'm going to follow this up with the three youngest when they're older, around 1959 because that was a happening point in time for them. And lastly, 108garys is free to hate anything I wrote because we share the OCs but I consulted them on very little of this lol.

[bonesxbows]

The Lonely Wolf That Stalks (Connor x Reader)

My Masterlist

was written for a school writing class, beauty & the beast mashed together with princess and the frog, except its you and Connor, and there are no princesses or princes

(WARNINGS) - one and a half slightly detailed animal attacks - minor blood

not very canonical, this was something I had to write for school but figured I'd still publish it here. Connor's name is never mentioned, neither is your own, but trust me it was written with him very much in mind.

if you do like this, please leave reblogs and perhaps a comment! they're very much appreciated!

-

Throughout the colonies the war pushed on, the patriots growing restless and the redcoats growing impatient with every passing day, but out of the reaches of the war were the things that no battle or bloodshed could change. The stories that the people told their children, and who they, in turn, told to their children. Such stories were aplenty out in the tribes that dotted the land that the patriots or the British had yet to claim, but some trickled into the colonies through way of travelers and traders. And even though the war grew tenser with each passing day, one such story never seemed to change. The story of the lone black wolf.

Within Boston lived one person, around the age of twenty, who had heard of the story of the black wolf. They were a unique one, though, for when most heard the story they knew that it was just a tale, but they believed it to be of the truth. A black wolf did stalk the woods between the border of New York and Massachusetts, they claimed, with fur as black as coal and eyes that glowed like pieces of amber, just like the wolf in the story.

Most knew better than to believe in stories that came from the native tribes, most wanted the tribes to be dealt with anyways, but they were different. They would run around Boston, while doing whatever needed to be done that day, telling anyone who would listen about the black wolf that they knew was out there, until one day, a man, a stranger, had said something to them.

“If you so believe this wolf is out there, then why don't you go try and find him then? Go break his curse and quit bothering the town with this nonsense.” the man had said. They had every right to be angry with him, wanted to yell at him, tell him that it wasn't nonsense. But instead, they did exactly what he had suggested. If no one else would believe the story as they did, if no one else would brave the wildlife to find this wolf and free him from the curse that had turned him into such a creature, then they would. Within a few days, they were on horseback, heading out into the wilderness to find this lone black wolf. 

They hadn’t been on their horse for more than a day since they left, but already the forest seemed confusing. Nothing but a sea of dark green and brown flooded their surroundings. They could hear river water lapping over rocks nearby, but where that river led they had no idea. They were lost. Their best bet, they thought, was to head for the river. They had no clue where the river led, but surely it eventually had to empty back into a town. Perhaps they could find the wolf before they made it that far. The river was a cold blessing in the summer heat and they jumped off of their horse to stoop down into the water. They splashed some of the refreshing liquid onto their face when they heard a twig break in the forest across the stream of water. They looked up just in time to be met with a bear emerging from the tree line. It was a huge black bear, easily four times the size of them, and the sight made them freeze. They did not move, they were even unknowingly holding their breath in, but the bear still caught sight of them. Its beady black eyes locked with their’s and it growled as it stood up on its hind legs, doubling its size.

But then, there was a howl. A long, deep, threatening howl. Across the water, upon an outcropping of rock, stood a wolf. A wolf with dark black fur and eyes that shined like jewels in the overhead sun. The bear fell back down onto all four paws as the wolf stared at him. They felt like the staring contest between the two animals dragged on for hours until the bear finally decided to head back into the woods it had come from before. They watched as it trodded back through the trees, disappearing from view. But when they looked back at the rocks to find the wolf again, it was gone. They had seen it! It was real! But now it was nowhere to be found.

They didn't know what to do. The wolf had been right there in front of them, and now it had disappeared. Their heart was racing. So they threw caution to the wind and took off after it, not caring about the bear, or how cold the water was against their feet, or even about their horse who neighed and stomped as they left it behind on the other side of the water. They ran, making a beeline for the base of the rocky cliff where they had last seen the wolf, and taking off into the woods.

“Wait!” they called out as they ran, hoping the wolf would hear them. They heard a growl from within the mess of trees and skidded to a halt, trying to catch their breath as they looked around. Two eyes glowed from beyond the shadows of the trees, but they could feel that something was wrong. As the wolf stepped closer to them, they could see that its eyes were black, not gold, and its fur was grey, not dark black. Their yelling had grabbed the attention of the wrong wolf.

They tried to slow their ragged breathing, tried not to let the wolf see how scared they were, but it was circling closer, and the snarl it wore made the hairs on the back of their neck stick up. It barked and growled, and they were sure it was going to jump them soon. They took a step back, and the wolf lunged at them, claws out, teeth gnarled. They pulled their arms up to cover their face, fully expecting to feel the sting of teeth sinking into their skin at any moment.

But the pain never came. Instead, there was another growl, and then a whimper, and then there was no noise at all. They lowered their arms to see what had happened, and near their feet lay the grey wolf, eyes glistening over and neck bloodied. In front of them stood a shadow of a creature; the black wolf. The blood that stained his teeth and snout explained what had happened.

They dropped to their knees, letting the adrenaline wear off. The black wolf inched closer, stepping around the corpse of the other wolf. Both of them kept their eyes locked with one another until they were just a few inches apart. They outstretched their hand, letting the wolf sniff it before they reached up to pet the top of his head. He let them do so, melting into their touch.

The two of them stayed there on the forest floor until night had fallen. Now that they had found him, they were not going to lose him again. But as the night crept onwards the air became chilly, and the light coat they had on did nothing to stave off the cold. So when they began to shiver the black wolf inched closer and laid down. He allowed them to lay down next to him and bury their face in his fur, never once snapping or growling at them. It wasn’t much warmth, but it was enough to fight back the chill, and they quietly thanked the wolf, softly kissing his head while petting his fur, as they drifted off into sleep.

They awoke to sunlight splashing on their face, the sound of birds and forest creatures could be heard. What was most surprising though, was the nearby sound of someone breathing. They remembered the black wolf they had fallen asleep next to, but this breathing sounded human, and not at all like an animal. When they opened their eyes they were not met with black fur, but instead, dark copper skin. In place of where the black wolf had been the night before lay a native man, with long black hair pulled into a bun. His clothes looked strangely colonial, however. They held back their shock and instead wiggled out of the grasp of the man and sat up on the grass. The man opened his eyes when they moved, and they immediately noticed how they gleamed like gold. He sat up and the two of them stared at each other, a dusting of pink covering their faces.

“So the curse was broken with a kiss then?” they said, breaking the staring contest and the deafening silence.

“Yes...a true love’s kiss.” the man replied. His voice was calming.

“I see...” they mumbled, pleasantly surprised with the news.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked.

“Honestly? I didn’t. But I believed in the story when no one else would, so I just knew I had to find you. No matter what it took.” they explained.

He nodded. “Thank you. For not giving up,” he said, and then picked himself up off the ground, extending his hand to them. They took it and he whisked them up off the grass. The two of them locked hands and walked off into the forest, together.

[aftout]

Tell us about the crazy don't starve takes then

TAKE ONE: Wagstaff actually has MANY creatures from the constant hidden away in his lab. MULTIPLE. A lot of them are dead, but the carcasses are still valuable resources. That spider who ate webber got the easy way out, if anything.

TAKE TWO: Wortox is color blind. He’s got Tritanopia, to be more specific: cannot tell the difference between purple & red, pink & yellow, and blue & green. The only reason he knows the exact color of his fur is because of his mama.

TAKE THREE: Genny ends up adopting Wickerbottom’s old cat after finding it roaming about the library’s rubble.

TAKE FOUR: The pigs are actually well-versed in necromancy, hence the reckless rushing into battle and the touchstones.

TAKE FIVE: The pig king is Wilba’s dad. He and Queen Malfalfa got a divorce waaayy back and he ran off to start his own kingdom with his own people; most of which were also affected by the werepig curse.

TAKE SIX: Excessive use of shadow magic makes Maxwell physically sick as well as lowering his sanity. Coming back to his senses after summoning multiple shadow duelists or helpers can— and often does— cause him to vomit.

TAKE SEVEN: On the topic of Maxwell using shadow magic: it’s far from pretty. Nightmare fuel seeps out from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

TAKE EIGHT: Wormwood’s speech patterns are a result in him not being fluent in English. As Alter’s kin, his mother tongue happens to be the language spoken by the ancient civilization.

TAKE NINE: One of Them happens to be everything all at once, a physical form that constantly shifts and morphs so quickly that it can barely be considered physical at all. For one second it’s nothing more than a frog, the next it’s a shadow weaver, and then for just a moment it’ll be the worst version of yourself.

TAKE TEN: The Charlie that actually sits upon the throne is barely intact. Shadows hold her rotting bones together and pure horror seeps out from her slack jaw. The more power she displays as queen, the more her human body wilts.

TAKE ELEVEN: Since Maxwell never had control over every layer of the constant, whatever the Krampii are up to has been unbeknownst to him for ages. All he knows is that their bags have wormhole properties and that unnerves him a bit.

TAKE TWELVE: Willow is Wickerbottom’s granddaughter. Becoming a mother herself at nineteen, Wicker’s relationship with her own daughter was somewhat strained, and they lost contact the second said daughter was old enough to run off on her own. Neither Willow nor Wickerbottom are aware of their shared blood until way later down the line.

TAKE THIRTEEN: If Wanda crosses her eyes, her double vision gives her a fuzzy glance into a mirroring timeline. Doing this gives her awful migraines, though.

TAKE FOURTEEN: Wheeler and Wolfgang end up becoming super good friends! Not only are they training buddies, but Wheeler also helps Wolfgang with his bravery.

TAKE FIFTEEN: Wilba and Wurt overcome their prejudices by bonding over how inaccurately Mermio and Pigliet portrayed their respective peoples. They end up rewriting the book together.

TAKE SIXTEEN: Jack, Wendy&Abigail’s mom, and Genny end up becoming close friends. They work together trying to expose Voxola as corrupt.

TAKE SEVENTEEN: Woodlegs has been in the Constant for so long that he’s forgotten he was ever on Earth to begin with.

TAKE EIGHTEEN: Wilbur actually knows a fair amount about the Constant’s history, including tidbits about the ancient civilization as well as the mythology of Them. Unfortunately, no one can understand what he’s saying, so it’s not like he can share any of it.

TAKE NINETEEN: Walter has a younger brother named Theodore. He still sends the pine-tree pioneers letters asking if they’ve managed to find Walter.

TAKE TWENTY: Lucy is Woodie’s wife who died by getting crushed by a tree. She haunts his axe specifically since it was a gift she gave him on one of their anniversaries.

TAKE TWENTY-ONE: Speaking of, Woodie isn’t even sure where his curse originates from. It’s an age-old family tale. All he knows is that the Constant’s magic levels have made it significantly worse.

TAKE TWENTY-TWO: Wes was actually there for the whole portal building thing Maxwell and Wilson did pre-dst. Wilson freed him from that invisible box, it’s not like he had anywhere better to run off to. He didn’t necessarily help build any of it, though, he was just there for moral support.

TAKE TWENTY-THREE: The way Wendy calls upon Abigail isn’t quite as dainty as portrayed in game. She carries a little purse around with her that has all of the requirements for this to be successful; which includes a ritual knife and Abigail’s ashes. Using her own blood and the remnants of her sister, Wendy can summon Abigail out from the flower she possesses.

TAKE TWENTY-FOUR: Wanda’s ageless watch explodes when she dies. Lol. And instead of leaving behind a skeleton, she leaves behind this weird static called life essence. It’s required that you preserve it if you want to be able to resurrect her.

TAKE TWENTY-FIVE: Maxwell’s parents wanted him to be a lawyer. Jack was the only one who supported the idea of him being a magician. Tough!

TAKE TWENTY-SIX: Wormwood is half tree guard. That’s why he’s so ffffucking tall. The gem Alter sent down to the Constant’s surface took control over a dead tree guard and then suddenly the city of Hamlet had a new royal gardener. Life is so silly!

TAKE TWENTY-SEVEN: Wigfrid’s real name is Anita and is actually a child prodigy. She absorbs herself in her role for a sense of purpose because acting is all she’s ever known.

TAKE TWENTY-EIGHT: Wilson is Wagstaff’s nephew 👎

TAKE TWENTY-NINE: Klaus absolutely despises mortal beings because they took his eyes. Bwaaamp 🎺

[namusthetic]

The Four Seasons

Color guide for the characters' comments:

Winter; Spring; Summer; Autumn;

_______

Winter

Jittery because had way too much sugar

Started buying presents and wrapping them in September

Has a special mug for every occasion

Likes to relax by the fire while reading or scrolling through their phone

Gives Christmas-themed socks to everyone

Sits in weird positions

Loud and affectionate with people they feel close with (even too affectionate... )

Cold and unforgiving when pissed

Has a reading list and is gonna finish it before the year ends (hopefully)

Struggles with anger management

Smiles at strangers on the street

Starts stuttering and their lisp comes out when too nervous or excited (I heard Autumn saying it was cute - oh really? - S-spring!!!!!!)

Loves surprises

Prideful, gets offended easily, but also forgives and forgets easily (it took us a whole afternoon to get them to open the door just because the three of us hung out without them - still don't know why we bothered. - HEY!!! )

Calls instead of texting

Ready to throw hands if any of their friends gets bullied or insulted

Aesthetics:

Hot chocolate and a crackling fireplace, Christmas songs and mulled wine, snow and cold wind, warm scarves and knitted gloves, snow angles and snowball fights, smirks and fistbumps, warm sweaters and tight hugs, doodles on frosty window panes, dad jokes and uncoordinated dance moves

Playlist:

Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra

Everybody Talks by Neon Trees

Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

Tongue Tied by Grouplove

(I Can Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones

This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory

Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery

Eleanor Rigby by Cody Fry

Somebody To Love by Queen

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas by Michael Bublé

Snowman by Sia

Winter Wonderland by Michael Bublé

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen

_______

Spring

Has various nervous tics because of anxiety

Always sitting on the floor

Often with their head in the clouds (AM NOT! - darling, I've literally seen you walk into door frames more times than I can count - ... )

Almost never raises their voice

Starts reading a book, then forgets about it and starts another one

Gets lost in daydreaming and dissociates from reality

Defends strongly what they believe in

"If I were a frog you'd be welcome on my lily pad"

Starts projects but never finishes them

Sensitive, cries easily when animals and environment is involved

In touch with their emotions and nature (and also with summer apparently - if you don't shut up, I swear. - Autumn, help me!! - oh, hell nah)

Spends long afternoons having pic-nics in the park, reading, sleeping and sunbathing

Walks in the woods looking for fae traps and playing hide and seek with foxes

Aesthetics:

Flower crowns, pic-nics and apricot jam, sunshine filtering through the leaves, birds chirping and bubbly laughter, bumblebees and bees flying from flower to flower, soft singing, flower crowns and daisy chains, curious eyes and pastel colors, small frogs and lilly pads, strawberry toasts and herbal teas, sweet smiles and paint-stained hands

Playlist:

Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Cool Kids by Echosmith

Ophelia by The Lumineers

Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's

Swing Lynn by Harmless

My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco

girls by girl in red

Coffee by beabadoobee

Juliet by Cavetown

rises the moon by Liana Flores

Where'd All the Time Go? By Dr. Dog

cardigan by Taylor Swift

No Plan by Hozier

_______

Summer

Sleeps with the windows open

Goes to the beach at sunrise to walk along the shore

Parties until late at night and comes home in the early morning

Afraid of never being good enough

Plans their day to the second, has a set goal in life

Chatty, makes friends easily but sometimes tries too hard

Just plain gorgeous (agreed!! - *blushes*)

Constantly doing something so they doesn't have any time to wallow in their thoughts

Sees the best in people (even Autumn? - Would you knock it off!?!!)

Doesn't need anyone's approval but cares about their found family's opinion

Has always something urgent to do

Done with everyone's whining (e- even me? - no, not you - pffft, simp. - *proceeds to throw a shoe at Winter* - You asked for it.)

Always tries to be strong by repressing their emotions (yeah, you shouldn't do that - sigh, I'll try not to)

Aesthetics:

Sunshine and linen sheets, freckles and dimples, gold and sand, warm laughter and cold cocktails, strawberry lemonade, pizza and a can of soda, tan lines and stretch marks, afternoon naps on the porch and late night rides, roller skating with their headphones on the promenade, thrift-shopping, a light breeze in the summer heat

Playlist:

Juicy by Doja Cat

Chicken Noodle Soup by J-Hope (ft. Becky G)

Cool for the Summer by Demi Lovato

WANNABE by ITZY

Need to Know by Doja Cat

I'm Legit by Nicki Minaj ft. Ciara

About Damn Time by Lizzo

Levitating (ft. DaBaby) by Dua Lipa

Egoistic by Mamamoo

Next Level by aespa

Truth Hurts by Lizzo

Gashina by SUNMI

Dirty Harry by Gorillaz

_______

Autumn

Lovely and deep, like the woods they like to wander

Started planning their Halloween costume since summer

Chooses their afternoon tea depending on their mood

Likes to sit by the window and read when starts raining

Often misunderstood

Looks dark and broody but is just a cinnamon roll (a cute, little, squishy cinnamon roll!!! - sometimes I struggle to repress the urge to push you off a cliff - nah, you know you love me - who's gonna tell them? - Not me.)

Starts reading several books at the same time and switches between them

Spends long afternoons reading in coffee shops

Struggles with depression and anxiety

Cannot function without coffee in the morning

Gets startled easily if they are focused on something else

Judges everyone silently, that's just what they do (Except Spring, she can do whatever she wants. - is it the cuteness? - It is.)

Waits for the call to end and then texts "What do you want?!?"

Aesthetics:

Eye-rolls, tired eyes, old books and fallen leaves as bookmarks, sentences underlined with shaky lines, large cardigans and knitted sweaters, dark coffee with splashes of milk, Earl Grey tea and butter biscuits, soft sighs and sweater paws, leather messenger bags and worn-out notebooks, the pitter-patter of rain on the sidewalk, fog and drizzle, the distant rumble of an incoming storm

Playlist:

The Less I Know the Better by Tame Impala

Tired by beabadoobee

Devil Town by Cavetown

Coffee by Jack Stauber's Micropop

Blondie by Current Joys

Alien Blues by Vundabar

Little Dark Age by MGMT

Hey Kids by Molina ft. Late Verlane

Take a Slice by Glass Animals

Vide Noir by Lord Huron

Mary On a Cross by Ghost

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Zombie by The Cranberries

----------------------🍏

Helloo!!! ✨

Sorry it's been a while since I've posted anything (again, sob) but I'm back!

I chose seasons this time, and I've also added comments from each one, I thought it would be a cute thing to add, I had fun doing it.

For the character's comments I used different colors to recognize them, I hope it's not too chaotic.

Hope you enjoy, and please take care of yourselves,

lots of love 💜