#among us husbandry

[yipyap-county]

super hyperfixated rn on amongus of all things. little bean guys :(

[caring-for-crewmates]

if they could, would amongi pay taxes

You look me in the eyes and tell me those things wouldn't commit rampant tax evasion. That's right, you can't.

[vsrobotjulie]

can you imagine how much crossbreeding went into this guy. look at that nose. he has breathing problems. he was a rescue but never adopt from breeders with amononics like this.

[pogger-pets]

Hi there!! I just discovered that there’s a whole community online who adopt clowns/amongus (*´ ∇ `*)!

I should really have known about these wayyy before, considering that I’ve 7 of them in my care (the fellas in the header). But nonetheless! Hoping to have a nice time here!

And Fyi, I’ll be posting random moments with my pets on this page :D

[caring-for-crewmates]

[IMG ID: Two photos of a red amongus. In the first, their back is turned to the viewer as they are running through a storage area filled with boxes and wrapped plastic packages. In the second, they are climbing into a high vent over a clock and an eye wash station. Only their butt poking out of the vent is visible. Both pictures are a bit blurry, implying that the amongus was moving fast. END ID]

This isn't unheard of in areas with stray amongi. Occasionally, they will go into unsecured areas to look for food or amusement. Fortunately, it's easy to lure them out with a treat or a fun new toy. To keep them from sneaking into your workplace, make sure all windows, vents, and other exits are secured, and keep food containers shut tightly.

Amogus infestation at my job 🙄

[caring-for-crewmates]

Would one of those towers that fall over and then pick themselves up be a good toy for an imposter? Then they can endlessly sabotage it, without having to wait for it to be put back together.

It's an excellent toy for an impostor! By the way, they like it if you knock it over while making explosion noises.

[vsrobotjulie]

my friend got me an among us baby his name is babygirl and he squeaks

[caring-for-crewmates]

[IMG ID: A drawing of GLADOS from Portal observing four amongi in a small aquarium tank. The amongi are orange, red, yellow, and blue. They are resting on a layer of sand in the bottom of the tank. END ID]

[whiteraven90]

Your take on griffins is so cool 👀 Do you have worldbuilding notes somewhere? Like what their dynamic is with humans, or what their habitats and habits usually are? I’d love to know more about them!

Hey, thanks for asking! I actually had written a little species description for them, but I shelved it until I draw illustrations for it. However I might as well post it now with less relevant pictures. Who knows when would I get around to drawing those illustrations. First of all... there are no gryphons on Tetra. No mortal ones, just spirits.

Spirits were created by the gods to be sentient blueprints for species. Flora & fauna were created out of chosen spirits (e.g. polar bear, barn owl), and the leftovers were repurposed (e.g. great horned gryphon, common pegasus).

In addition to the whole range of shapes/forms spirits were designed to take as part of nature, they also had their would-be behavioral patterns pre-set into them. So now lets see how the Great Horned Gryphons would have lived!

Great horned gryphons (also simply referred to as 'griffins' from now on) are sexually dimorphic, and live in pairs. They are very resource-conscious - individuals not raised properly may hunt their food sources to extinction, after which they either starve to death or get themselves killed while ravaging the animals of other griffins or humans. Each pair oversees a vast territory filled with wild herd animals. They engage in several behaviors that are basically animal husbandry. They will protect their herds from other predators and even natural disasters. They will herd their animals toward quality food. They can recognize juveniles of many species - humans included -, and will not eat them. They sometimes raise the abandoned offspring of other species, not because they plan to eat them, but because they get a kick out of it. They don't hunt, per se. They hit up one of their herds, select a specimen, and carry it home for lunch. They like to construct their nests atop cliffs and similar high points overlooking their territory.

Their relationship with people is complex (and hypothetical, as is everything else), since people may want to claim the same lands for the same purposes. But typically if they saw a lone human child, just waltzing around on their territory, they'd pick it up and put it down near adult humans. Solitary adult people tend to be safe as well for different reasons. The staple of griffins is large animals, and they like to conserve their energy. Normally they won't get up for 1 lone human nugget.

If an adult pair spots an unrelated juvenile griffin on their turf, they leave it alone, but they don't tolerate mature trespassers or other pairs. They are hostile to all other species of gryphon. Given the opportunity, they will kill and eat them. Great horned gryphons are viviparous and give birth to 1 chick at a time which stays with the parents for several years to learn some manners. Mostly moderation, recognizing important animal species, and caring for their animals. Their lifespan is 40-70 years.

And that's more or less it. At present, great horned gryphons are not plural. There's just one spirit, Griffin, representing the whole species, either until the heat death of the universe or until he bites the dust. Spirits are shapeshifters with a range of native forms as opposed to one original form. They have some rules among them on etiquette, such as when is it ok to take the form of another spirit. Griffin mostly uses his adult male form, and lets Phoenix take his adult female one.

Several of his species' characteristics can be felt in his personality - excels at relaxing, hard to anger or scare, won't hurt kids or pets and is good with them, extraverted, resource-conscious, enjoys having vast lands. His relationship with humans is... complicated. Nowadays he kinda pretends to be a pet at the palace of the emperor of the Karkian Empire, and is banned from or unwelcome in several other countries. Sorcerers summon him sometimes, but the jolly fucker usually charges by the hour for his spirit-y services, and may even screw the summoners over if he doesn't like them.

[kedreeva]

#we spoke of this a LOT at work after that one tech was murdered and hidden in a wall

hi!👋 hello! kedreeva! i’m going to need to ask you to explain this!!!!

So back in 2009, a lab student named Annie Le was murdered at Yale university. Cameras saw her going on into a building, but not out again and it was like, the eve of her wedding (or close to? I don't remember) so clearly she had places to be and people waiting for her so they immediately started looking and the next day (or so? Anyway on the day of her wedding) they found her body in a recess in a wall, down in the areas where the research animals were kept. It turns out, a tech had killed her, but since there were cameras like EVERYWHERE, he just, I guess, left her there. Well, hid the body where it was. I don't remember how they caught him, but they did. It was a horrifying story. It still is.

And it was a huge news story among the folks at my workplace because, at the time, I was working at a different university, as an animal husbandry technician. As you can imagine this was a kind of intense time to be in that situation. They started offering, like, I'm not gonna say counseling but it was "if you need to talk we would prefer you talk to us about something wrong rather than kill anyone about it" and as techs (even if we were not even the same kind of tech, the killer was a lab tech and we were husbandry techs but I think a lot of people assumed it had been a husbandry tech since she was in an animal area), we were kind of getting the side eye from lab people for weeks afterwards. Like they thought we were gonna go "wow that's a fantastic idea, you're next!" or something, idk. And I mean like, people would freeze when you were alone in a hallway, or turn and walk the other way, or duck into the nearest room and watch you walk past, and they were all being super nice/civil to us when they did have to interact. It was very atypical behavior for lab people. Like not all of them, some of them had always been nice and weren't worried, but some of the people who had been unbelievable dicks previously were walking on eggshells. And the people who had friends in other universities reported this was happening at their jobs, too.

And instead of talking to The Man (because all the higher ups were garbage at the time), we just. talked among ourselves. It was a lot of "I may say I feel like strangling lab people sometimes when they do things that drive me up a wall but I don't MEAN it you know that right" and it also led to group discussions of what would be a theoretical *better* solution to hiding a body than what happened, with clear disdain for doing things like hiding bodies in walls, which is a terrible idea and one we would never do (looking at the people who think we might have decided this was a great idea actually).

Which consequently led to a lot of supervisors and/or managers that happened to overhear us bringing us donuts or arranging pizza for lunch in like, some kind of bid to help us feel appreciated, I guess, so that we wouldn't murder anyone, even though none of us were going to do that anyway. But also none of us were in a position to turn down free donuts or pizza or whatever.

And then after a few weeks, maybe a month or so, people just kind of forgot and moved on and things went back to normal like fifty people hadn't spent every lunch hour for weeks talking quietly among themselves about how human bodies would definitely fit into a carcass disposal barrel or that you'd have to crush hip bones and/or skulls before incineration. Hypothetically.

Like I said, it was a VERY weird time to be at my job, and every time I remember it happening feels like a fever dream. I can't even imagine what it was like at Yale.

[froody]

writing fictional Wikipedia articles as outlines for my historical fiction characters and having so much fun. dude look at this:

Daniel Ivey Clairville (3 May 1856 - 5 December 1941) was a prominent figure in the field of animal husbandry, early adopter of germ theory, animal behaviorist, cattle drover, diarist and Quaker theologian. Born in Philadelphia, Clairville apprenticed as a farrier until the death of his father in 1871 caused him to relocate to Texas to seek employment along the Chisholm Trail. Clairville was known for his ability to slow and halt the spread of disease among cattle using sanitation methods he pioneered, reducing cattle loss by up to 60% in herds under his care.

After retiring from the cattle industry in the late 1890s, he attended Cornell University, becoming an adjunct professor at Elgin Polytechnic Institute and publishing several texts on bovine husbandry and behavior.

Clairville was a relatively obscure scientific figure before his private writings about his sexuality, faith and experiences in the waning days of the Wild West were published posthumously.

^ Personal life

Clairville was gay and in a committed relationship with Joseph “Shortie” Alcott (14 November 1860 - 17 July 1906) until the latter’s mysterious death in Texas. Alcott was a train robber, outlaw, gambler, duelist and suspected serial killer. The couple met in the mid-1880s after Alcott was released from Utah Territorial Penitentiary and joined a trail drive lead by Clairville. Their relationship was described as inseparable but contentious by John Matthew Robertson-Clairville, Clairville’s adopted son, who often wrote about the couple’s relationship in his trail diary.

Having worked side by side for over a decade, Alcott initially followed Clairville east when he retired from the cattle industry in the 1890s but became embroiled in legal trouble in Pennsylvania and returned to Texas where he embarked on a crime spree that ended in a fatal two day shootout with a number of Texas rangers.

The details of Clairville’s private life and his connection to notorious criminal Shortie Alcott was largely forgotten until the 1970s when a box of personal letters and diaries was discovered in the attic of his former residence. The diaries of Clairville and Robertson-Clairville along with the correspondence between Clairville and Alcott in the latter’s final months form the basis of the book published by his great granddaughter in 1996.

Analysis of his writings and first hand accounts of his behavior suggest he had autism and OCD.

[caring-for-crewmates]

[IMAGE ID: A photo of six clay models of amongi, held on the arm of a person with pale skin and wearing a blue T-shirt. The amongi are red, orange, green, blue, yellow, and white. In the background, you can see the arm of a brown chair and brown carpeting. There are some objects scattered across the floor, but because of depth of field, it's hard to tell what exactly they are. END ID]

Never too late to enjoy the company of amongus babies.

I know the amongus babies trend is probably dead but my little sister just made a hoard of amongus out of clay and they are adorable. She is making little tasks and an emergency button for them too. She is adding enrichment to their enclosure (the clay box)

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Okay, so I'm gonna contribute to the discourse as someone who did research at both Khao Khaew and the now demolished Dusit Zoo, both part of the Zoological Parks Association Under Royal Patronage (ZPA). And as someone familiar with the workings of AZA zoos as a contrast.

I will concede that on one hand, standards and practices leave a lot to be desired. Unfortunately part of it is connected to the same social norms that have allowed JJ Market to continue the exotic pet trade, animal cafes and roadside zoos to proliferate, and people to own trendy dog breeds that clearly don't belong in Bangkok. And it's what leads to a lot of stereotypic and distressed behaviors passed off as cute (including but not limited to Moo Deng); this is before the toxic element of social media is added to the mix.

There's also economics. Yes, Thailand is technically an industrialized country, but in the same way that Indonesia and Vietnam are (contrast with Singapore, which is proportionately ahead of most Western countries). It's important to see what's between those gleaming skyscrapers. And that is a contributing factor to a lot of resource shortfalls for the zoos themselves; that's not getting into COVID and the ripple effect of closing Dusit Zoo without an alternative in place.

In that regard, the damning thing is that the standards of ZPA zoos are actually leaps and bounds ahead of not just the country but the region (minus Singapore; I would argue that it's actually unproductive to bring its zoo up as a comparison). Like look at Pata and the now defunct Tiger Temple; places that Westerners reveled in as late as the 00s. At least in ZPA case, they have also done essential conservation work; especially for clouded leopards, hornbills, and sun bears.

That doesn't make it any less WTF when I see a lot of clout-chasing vids that

Still part of me can't help but get defensive at the manner of fixation from a primarily western crowd. Both from those who use Western/Industrialized zoos as a way to contrast, as well as the PETA-types.

I do *not* think you yourself are being racist. If anything it's paternalistic to assume that a zoo in Thailand can't be held to higher standards. *However*, I have found a very patronizing mentality among many other western critics that does veer into racism frequently. You are already familiar with the way anti-zoo folks will take something out of context to fit their agenda; now force that through an othering lens.

At the same time, I will concede Thais are glossing over issues and practices when they rush to defend KKZ. Considering the context of how they are approached, I empathize with why they are defensive. But many do downplay and refuse to tackle the aforementioned social norm in how animal husbandry is viewed by wider populace.

TLDR: KKZ and the other ZPA branches have a ton of issues, a lot of those issues are socially systemic, and there should be pressure to reform. At the same time, it shouldn't get canceled, especially considering the important bts work it does and especially the immediate alternatives. And that pressure to reform should be accompanied by resources.

Hey there I really appreciate you sharing your research into the facilities! My intention of the posts has never been to "cancel" the zoo or to dictate their protocols. I don't believe in any sort of western dictation to other countries.

Honestly, I completely understand the defensiveness towards criticism of the handling of Moo Deng - she's an icon, she's brought in millions of dollars into the Thailand economy and the zoo's profits. Tourists are travelling all around the world to see her!

Although it has gotten to the point where their defensiveness is veering into delusion, with people insisting that pygmy hippos love it when you smack them and chase them around so it's fine actually... but I digress...

And I'm sure that the keeper thinks what he's doing is completely fine and not an issue. And if it generates clicks and views, that's good for the zoo, right? So why would they see any point in changing their practises?

I guess my hope is that maybe they might use those millions of dollars to improve conditions for the animals and the staff, provide resources for collaboration with zoos like Singapore Zoo and give keepers more resources to review and improve current pracises.

But they won't do that if their current poor animal husbandry practises are reinforced with clout and feverant defense of the keepers (it's actually kind of amazing how loyal people are to this one keeper!)

So now they have money and potentially more resources from this whole thing - but they're probably not going to use it to change practises that got them that money in the first place.

Anyway, I agree with your points and you've summed it up well!

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 2

Second chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto AU. Written from the POV of Nikto this time. A reminder once again that there's a prologue and "part 1" is only the first full chapter. The original cowboy AU is owned and created by @ghouljams.

A/N: I'm a day late on my estimation for when it would be done, but life decided to get me sick, busy with uni work, and put one of my legs completely out of action. I also realized about 3 husbandry manuals deep into my research that the chapter would be a bit too long if I included that much information. Instead, the info will be sprinkled in among the next few chapters.

Warnings: Sputnik being a silly girl.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

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The weather is downright miserable. While one might assume the worst weather would be torrential rain or unforgiving hail, Nikto is firmly of the belief that there’s nothing worse than a hot, sunny day. It’s hard enough to be constantly covered from head to toe, but to then add on the Texan sun beating down at its full strength? He’s certain he’ll be nothing more than a puddle of sweat by the end of the day.  

At least Sputnik seems to be enjoying the disgusting temperatures. She’s running around the front of the property, completely unfazed by the heat. She welcomes it, in fact, using it as the perfect excuse to paddle into the large dam for a cool swim at the day’s warmest.  

Her paws are caked with mud and grass, so much to her sadness she’s been barred from entering the house, forced to wait until she’s dried off and all the muck has fallen off of her paws. If she’s still dirty by the end of the day then a quick hosing down will be in order, but she’ll likely consider that a fun game too.  

For now, she’s content to lay stretched out on the porch, her side rapidly rising and falling as she pants.  

The weather isn’t the only thing that’s miserable, however. Nikto’s mood has been foul ever since his forced trip into town for new supplies. A certain hyena had decided that she was bored while her owner was away and had decided to chew a rather large hole in the wall of the shed.  

The hole was easily large enough for her to climb through and so, after having already spent most of the day hard at work, Nikto was forced to leave for the only hardware store in town. Some new planks of wood and a hammer not riddled with rust later, and he’s reminded of the invoice he received the vet clinic a few days prior and has also yet to pay for.  

He’s not quite sure what possessed him to go to the clinic in person, but he was disappointed regardless with what greeted him. The receptionist was painfully cheery and seemed determined to dig into his business with her endless questions. He’d left feeling completely drained from only a single conversation with the woman. You hadn’t been there. He can’t fathom why that annoys him so much.  

The hole in the shed was simple enough to fix, even under the intensity of the sweltering heat, but the issue of Sputnik remains.  

Clearly, he can’t leave her unattended for several hours at a time just for work. She’s never had to entertain herself in such an environment and clearly, it’s stressing her out being without her only packmate. She requires both social interaction and physical activity, but above all of that, needs mental stimulation.  

Like a toddler left without a guardian, Sputnik has decided that she can tear apart the house and garden while unattended. Plants have been torn out of the ground, wooden structures gnawed to bits, and most concerningly, large holes dug along the fence line.  

The situation is far from ideal, but Nikto does not abandon his own. He isn’t like those bastards at the CIA who are willing to leave those loyal to them knowing full well they will perish without help. He made that decision a long time ago, and Sputnik’s very name is a tribute to that.  

It was only three years ago, but it felt like eons. It started with a small enemy group hidden deep within the South African wilderness who were utilising spotted hyenas as guard animals. Nikto and his team had cut through the animals both outside and inside the building, even the ones hidden away in the basement below. 

In the end, only a single cub remained; a tiny girl still nestled up against the steadily cooling body of her mother. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two of age, bright eyed as all hyena newborns are, and covered in scraggly fur.  

The other men on the team planned on putting the animal out of her misery, but the sight gave Nikto pause. She was small and defenceless, and abandoned by her cowardly handlers to be killed by their enemy. It was a story he couldn’t help but find familiar. Picking up the infant, she snuggles into his vest, completely trusting of him despite not having known him for more than a few seconds.  

She whines and licks at him as he tucks her into his shirt, safe and warm pressed up against scarred skin. No one says a word, when he leaves the compound with the cub and boards the waiting helicopter for the trip back to base.  

His first thought was to name her Laika, but that name seemed a little too common for his taste, and so he chose Sputnik, the name of Laika’s space capsule and eventual tomb. A tribute to yet another stray who was left behind by those who should have protected her.  

Sputnik would not suffer the same fate; she would never be disregarded like a broken toy thrown into the trash. She’s good, she’s loyal, she trusts Nikto unconditionally. Destroying a bit of property would never be a reason to break that trust.  

Instead, he presses dial on your number and holds his phone to his ear. He’s been thinking it over for several minutes, finger hovering over the button with your contact listed, before forcing himself to press it. For a long while it rings and he’s about to give up when you finally answer with a bright greeting to whoever is on the other side.  

He grunts out your name, listening as you happily chirp his own back at him in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask. He can hear the soft rumbling of a car’s engine in the background and can only assume you’re driving somewhere.  

“I require... assistance,” he says after a long pause, letting the conversation drift into silence. While it isn’t necessarily help he’s asking for, it still rankles deeply that he isn’t solving the issue alone. He despises being indebted to anyone for anything, but for some reason he doesn’t get the feeling you’re out to acquire favours from anyone. You’re a professional merely doing what you’re trained for and nothing more. He can admire that.  

“What can I help you with? Is Sputnik alright?” You sound so genuinely concerned about her, so much so that it sounds like you almost drop your phone.  

He glances down at the hyena laying happily at his feet, panting up at him with a broad grin. “She is fine,” he confirms, catching the relieved sigh you let out, “it is behavioural issues she is dealing with.”  

You make a soft sound, clearly intrigued, “well, I’m on the road at the moment heading toward my next appointment, but I should have time to drop in to your place in a few hours. Will you be around then?”  

“да,” he hums, “we will be here.”  

“Perfect! I’ll be there in a few,” you confirm, and after offering an acknowledging grunt, he ends the call.  

He goes to pocket the phone but pauses, glancing at your number. Mulling it over for a good long while, he selects the number and adds it to his contacts. There’s only two other people there, one of them his current workplace and the other one of his old acquaintances from before even his time in KorTac.  

A rather dramatic huff from Sputnik draws his attention from staring at his phone, and he watches her with hidden amusement as she rolls over onto her stomach. She looks up at him with big, sad eyes and a pathetic whine. When he merely rolls his eyes at her she playfully snaps her teeth in his direction.  

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” he growls back, curling the undamaged part of his lip at her.  

The hyena, fortunately, can tell he’s still joking despite his deadpan tone and leaps to her feet with a delighted cackle. She shakes out her coat, biting at the air. The moment he so much as twitches a finger in her direction she turns and leaps off the top of the deck, forgoing the stairs so she can sprint across the yard.  

Nikto stands from his chair but doesn’t give chase, watching as the crazy animal spins around in circles before darting off toward the dam again. She dives into the water with a splash, sending muddy water in all directions. He cringes slightly at the sight of the hyena now dripping with muck. At least he was already planning on hosing her down. The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, with Nikto taking some time to rest while Sputnik causes minimal trouble.  

When your car finally does pull up, the poor girl has exhausted herself again, laying in a pile of leaves while she happily naps away. The moment her flicking ears pick up the sound of your truck on the gravel she jumps up again, eyes wide as she takes in the familiar sight. She’s already giggling to herself with excitement, looking between Nikto and your vehicle.  

“место!” Nikto calls, ignoring the sad whimper that earns. He approaches when you pull up, patiently waiting as you drop out of the front seat and close the door behind you.  

When you spot him, you offer a wave and grin, “hey, Nikto!” You take a moment to glance over at Sputnik and he can see her near enough vibrating with how excited she is to come over and greet you out of the corner of her eye. “How’ve you been doing?” you stop just before him, looking him right in the eye, completely unfazed by the monster you’re facing down.  

“We are fine,” he says, perhaps a little too firmly given the way you blink at him, “we require some assistance with behavioural issues.” He quickly amends his statement in the hopes of not immediately scaring you off.  

Fortunately, you’re quick to bounce back, a smile returning to your face, “of course, what sorts of problems are you experiencing?”  

“Спутник!” The hyena’s head shoots up upon hearing her name, “ко мне!” She sprints across the grass, very nearly crashing into his legs with her enthusiasm to heed her owner’s command. “She is getting bored when left alone,” he explains, watching as you reach your hand out for the hyena, “eating walls, digging holes, breaking everything she can reach.”  

Sputnik snuffles at your hand, before whining and immediately shifting to lean up against you, demanding pets. You scratch behind her neck and Sputnik’s tongue lolls out of her mouth in delight. “I’m sure we can work something out to help prevent her from damaging anything else or accidentally eating something she shouldn’t be.”  

“She struggles when left alone, especially during work hours,” he adds on, turning and starting to stalk toward the side of the house where the majority of the damage can be seen.  

“Okay, well she sounds like she just needs some enrichment to keep her occupied while you’re away,” you nod to yourself as you follow Nikto around to the side of the house. Several of the small plants that had been happily growing in little spots around the yard have been either pulled from the soil or completely shredded if they couldn’t be moved.  

You look at the scattered remains of the poor shed’s wall, but don’t look entirely surprised by the backyard warzone you’ve stepped into. You frown down at Sputnik, scratching her between the ears, “what a silly girl,” you coo, rubbing at her ears as the hyena grins up at you with half-lidded eyes, “you shouldn’t be eating all this stuff, it’ll make your tummy sore!” 

Somehow, your baby-talk voice just serves to make Sputnik even giddier, and she eagerly licks at the tips of your fingers. Nikto almost rolls his eyes at the little heart eyes the animal is subjecting you to. It’s impressive, really, how she can remember someone is a friend from only a single interaction.  

When you snap back from your babying of the animal, you quickly refocus. “Hyenas have very powerful jaws, and they love to chew things, so if she doesn’t have enough to keep her entertained then she’ll find something to destroy.”  

“She was given an old tyre a few weeks ago, but it only lasted a few days.” To say he was deeply unimpressed with how quickly she’d torn it to pieces would be an understatement. He knew that Sputnik had quite the bite on her, but to chomp through nine millimetres of rubber like it’s cardboard? Impressive, if a little annoying.  

“How big is your freezer?” you abruptly ask him, and Nikto suddenly worries where this line of questioning is going. Does he need to check the trunk of your car? Regardless, he offers you a nod.  

“Perfect!” You clap your hands together, making Sputnik jump excitedly at the sudden sound, “it’s supposed to be quite hot tomorrow, so I can think of at least one idea for her.” You start listing out what the two of you are going to do rapid-fire with the same confidence and efficiency of any commanding officer.  

You’re in your element, your passion for your work clear as day and you have him following your every instruction. You’re like a fount of knowledge when it comes to anything and everything husbandry related, suggesting changes to Sputnik’s diet, new toys to keep her entertained, and ways to prevent her from destroying anything she really shouldn’t be messing with.  

When you finally end up leaving, it’s long past sundown. Sputnik has grown bored of watching the two of you working in the shed and has retired to her massive dog bed for a nap, so the two of you have been working in comfortable silence. He’s glad you don’t feel the need to fill the air with irritating chatter, only offering corrections here and there.  

He escorts you to back to your truck, closing your door behind you once you’re settled comfortably into the driver’s seat. You roll down the window and offer him a grin, but he can see just how tired you are given how your eyes are slightly drooped. “How much do we owe?” he asks, quickly tearing his gaze from your sweet smile.  

Little wrinkles appear across your forehead as your lips turn downward, an innocent, confused look on your face, “owe you?” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead just huffs in mild amusement, “payment, for your work.” 

Your eyes light up in understanding and you laugh, “oh, no, don’t worry about that,” you wave him off, “I’m just happy to help out.” You just smile up at him, as if you can’t see anything wrong with what you just said.  

Nikto is forced to remind himself that you’re a civilian, not another untrustworthy operator. Not everyone does things purely for the pay they’ll be rewarded with, even if the very thought of not giving you something in return makes him uncomfortable. He holds his hand out to you, “phone.”  

You blink at him for a second, but quickly do as you’re told, just like the good girl you are. He goes into your contacts and adds his number and details, hitting save the moment he’s done. He doesn’t bother adding a picture, passing your phone back to you, “call us when you require assistance.” He waits until you offer him a nod before he steps back from the side of the car.  

You have an odd, flustered look on your face for some reason, but you’re quick to snap out of whatever daze you're in and give him a quick wave as you put your truck into reverse. He watches silently as you disappear back down the driveway and into the steadily darkening evening, waiting until you’re out of sight.  

Sputnik is absolutely delighted the following morning when Nikto presents her with her blood and peanut butter ice block.

-

Translations

“да,” - “Yes” 

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” - “I didn't know you were such a drama queen,”  

“место!” - “Stay!” 

“Спутник!” - “Sputnik!” 

“ко мне!” - “Come!”  

[sleepyfan-blog]

Runneth Over

This is the next part in Cedric’s adventures in the Astartes Husbandry AU, and specifically the Introducing New Primaris Black Templars arc. For other adventures click here and here. First. Previous. Next.  

Tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34 @undeaddream @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: Misconceptions, physical violence, poor coping mechanisms

Summary: Cedric and Melinth have a conversation. 

“... I had plans for the day, Chief Apothecary Melinth. Is there a particular reason why you called me into your office today?” Cedric asked, doing his best to project a mask of calm, even as resentment and frustration boiled inside of his hearts, threatening to cause problems if he let them. He would not lose his temper again. 

“I have several questions to ask of you, and they are important. Sit.” Melinth ordered, pointing at one of the chairs.

The younger apothecary obeyed wordlessly, suppressing the desire to grind his teeth in frustration, or cross his arms over his chest and scowl. “And these questions cannot wait until I have completed what I wanted to get done for the day?”

“Correct. As you may already be aware, I have been studying the gene-seed that was implanted in your two dead brothers. In part to see whether or not the Mechanicus somehow altered the structure of the organ itself, among other reasons.” The older Apothecary explained. “While the technology available to mortals and created by them in this time period are… Crude to say the least, we have been able to recreate certain much better technologies within a select number of bases, this being one of them.”

“... Is there a point to this, sir?” Cedric asked, trying to resist the temptation to roll his eyes as the other droned on. “As I told you earlier, the Mecnanicus did tell us Primaris Marines that we all have hybrid gene-seed. In order to try and reduce the likelihood of us developing or having certain gene-seed defects. We were told that our geneseed stock came from loyalist primarchs, as using traitor gene-seed, even stock from before they turned traitor, is heretical.”

“So you have said. DId you know that the Mechanicus are not the only ones who were working on trying to improve the astartes blueprint, and had access to different kinds of gene-seed stocks?” Melinth asks, as he seemed to be attempting to stare holes through Cedric’s body by the force of his eyeballs alone.

“I did not, though that doesn’t surprise me. Is there a particular reason why you are telling me this?” Cedric asked, realizing that he’d slipped a little in not addressing the other properly “... Sir?”

“Both… Malachai and Lestras, was it? Both of their gene-seed is sixty-percent  of the line of Dorn, which is what we were expecting. Do you know what the remaining 40% is? Any guesses or suspicions at all?” Melinth asked, leaning forward a little in his chair.

“Given that about sixty percent of all loyalist chapters are sons of Guilliman in part or full in M42… I’d hazard that the answer to that is probably Primarch Guilliman?” Cedric answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders. 

“That’s not - wait, what?” Melinth asked, startled “How? That makes no sense. There were seven loyalist Primarchs who survived the heresy. That is a fact. So how did Primarch Guilliman’s Gene-seed spread so far?”

“His is the most stable, of all of the Primarchs, including the First. Lords Russ, Khan, and Corax all vanished into the warp, to return when the Imperium’s need was at it’s highest. Lords Vulcan was brutally killed and lost - though the Salamanders and their successor chapters hope to one day find him. Lord…” Cedric hesitates for a moment, trying to remember if he’d ever been told when, exactly Melinth was from. Did he hail from a time before…? If so, this was an unfortunate time to reveal to the Imperial Fist that his Lord Father was Probably Dead. “Lord Dorn has been lost to us for a long time as well. He vanished one day during a bloody battle, with only one of his powerfists - arm included - to be found. The lord of the first is rumored to have once again been seen walking in Imperium Nihilus, accompanied by his sons- both those who were always loyal to the Imperium and those who had forsaken their vows after Lord Johnson vanished, presumed killed by his treacherous second in command.”

There was a flash of… Something across Melinth’s face as the older Apothecary listened to his words. The other stood as Cedric finished speaking and stalked around his desk towards him. “I don’t know how much of anything you, or the other allegedly Loyalist Alternate Marines I can trust, if anything. Did you know that Fabius Bile of the Emperor’s Children has been creating clones and astartes for thousands of years? That mad butcher is amongst the most skilled geneticists alive in any time period that has him in it. The remaining 40% of your dead Brothers’ gene-seed are of traitor legions. Specifically a twenty-twenty split of World Eater and Word Bearer. Both of their genetics indicate that they were cloned, rather than made naturally and taken to become Astartes.”

Cedric was on his feet and part of him wanted to back away as the older Apothecary got in his face. Fury at being called a liar swelled in his chest and he hissed back “I have been truthful as far as I know to every question you and the other firstborn marines have asked me, as much as my vows as an Apothecary allow me to be! Speak plainly, rather than dancing around the point like a throne-damned Alpha Legionnaire!”

“Fine, then. I suspect that none of you were created by Loyalists. What I think is that the group of you were actually created by Fabius Bile in order to infiltrate loyalist chapters. Whether or not you know that and are purposefully working to weaken those chapters or gather intelligence… Or you are sleeper agents, planted in those chapters and unknowing of your true purpose and you genuinely believe the things you say… I cannot tell at this time.”

“And what gave you that idea?” Cedric asked, his voice dropping into a low growl, furiously insulted at the accusation “You’re completely wrong on all counts, but please. Enlighten me as to what your thought processes is, so I can help you know the truth.”

“You and your alleged Primaris Marine brothers are incredibly skittish of older marines. Loyalist, renegade, chaos, it does not matter. All of you are wary of us, despite none of us having ever done anything to hurt you. While I understand wariness towards traitors of varying stripes, if you were created by loyalists, you would not fear us, the way you do.” Melinth states, voice hard and accusatory. “However, if you were created by Bile, deep down you would have an instinctive wariness of all factions, given that Chaos uses Bile’s creations as cannon fodder for the most part. Renegades would either kill you or force you to work for them, and us Loyalists would likely mercy-kill you to put you out of your misery and to keep you from falling into the hands of our enemies.”

Mercy kill. Mercy kill. Mercy kill. That phrase rang over and over in Cedric’s head as the older Apothecary continued to rant and blather on at him. Fury and anxiety warred for dominance in his hearts, and when the other gestured particularly sharply at him, Cedric’s body automatically flinched and took a half-step back, to avoid being struck by the Angry Firstborn Marine. “I’m not one of Bile’s creations. None of us are. We were created by the Mechanicus, as for the reasons why we are wary of all firstborn marines… We have ample reason to be, from our experiences in M42.”

“... That. That kind of reaction right there. The way that your body is still tense but hunched, like you’re expecting me to strike you. Have I ever once shown that I would strike a fellow loyalist out of anger?” Melinth growled, stalking closer to Cedric, or rather he tried to.

Cedric’s body automatically backed up, towards the door to the office as his mind scrambled to find something, anything to say. His dumb-fuck mouth decided to blurt something out before his brain to mouth filter could alter it “Just because none of you in this time have hurt me, doesn’t mean that was true in M42! You wouldn’t be the first firstborn son of Dorn who beat me because you were angry! Not even the first Apothecary to do so.” His mentor had been furious when he’d found Apothecary Alinciet physically training him in such a way, and forbade the bastard from ever coming near him ever again. He still had some of the scars of that physical altercation on his arms, though.

“... Explain to me what you mean by that. Right now.” Melinth ordered Cedric, voice thundering loudly in his ears, echoing off of the walls of his office.

“... No.” Cedric breathed out, barely louder than the rapid beating of his hearts in his ears.

“What do you mean by no?” The older apothecary growled, stalking towards Cedric again “I have you a direct order, Astartes. You will answer my fucking question. Who. Hurt. You?”

“Why should I tell you? It’s not as if firsborn Marines are in danger, which is the only thing you fucking care about!” Cedric hissed back, his eyes going blurry as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He really needed to figure out why he was crying so fucking much. “And don’t spew grox-shit about actually giving a fuck about me or my brothers! You just accused us of being some of Bile’s creations, seconds ago! All of whom you would happily kill to be rid of!”

“Hold on, that’s not what I-” Melinth started to lie.

Cedric did not want to hear empty platitudes or lying grox-shit anymore. Which was why he committed the sin of interrupting a superior officer by hissing “LIAR! I am not the liar of the two of us, it is you! You don’t give two shits if I or my brothers live or die! If you did, you would not have handed our primary care over to a fucking Hydra and a chaos-corrupted death guard! Do not stand there and pretend to be pure of heart and standing in good faith when you long ago washed your hands of those of us among the living. When your only interest in Primaris comes from what you can learn from carving up our dead.” 

Melinth was up in his face, hands moving to grab at him and Cedric’s body reacted on instinct to defend himself as the other was not dressed in the black and white of a Black Templar, nor the robes of an off-duty Older Brother. Which is why Cedric ducked his grab, rolling to one side and kicking the bastard in the back of his weaker knee with lightning speed and devastating force.

Melinth cursed as he started to fall, twisting his body and going into a combat roll, grabbing something from under his desk.

Cedric did not give the older and more experienced Astartes time to recover, launching himself at the bastard, slamming into the other’s chest shoulder first and sending the other bodily into the nearest wall. 

Books and knick-knacks flew off of the bookshelf that Melinth landed heavily next to. He grunted in pain and growled “Stand down marine!” 

“No! You do not get to call me a twisted abomination meant to break my chapter and then try and take it back! You’re just like THEM! Simply more subtle and all the more insidious for it!” Cedric hissed, hauling the smaller marine up by his shirt before lifting and throwing him through the air at the other wall.

There was a satisfyingly visceral crunch as the older marine hit the second wall. He wheezed and scrambled towards the panic-button in his room “What… Like who, do you accuse me of being?” His breathing was shallower, and there was a bit of blood on his lips, where they had split.

A wicked, cruel thought occurred to Cedric. A dark vicious part of him nearly shivered in delight at such a thought, before he balked at his own dark desires. He would not beat this miserable shithead into his deathbed, like certain Firstborn bastards had done to countless of his brothers. He had to be better than that, or he would never be able to look any of them in the eye ever again. And he would prove Petras and the other detractors right. “You’re a primaris Killer. You may not be from M42, but you let Malachai die on that surgical table. I know you did. You’re far too skilled an apothecary and were too well provisioned to have not been able to… To save him. You gave us away to Chaos and renegade Astartes. It is only their curiosity and desire to see us willingly come to their side, along with the treaty that stays their hands from murdering us.”

“Primaris… Killer?” Melinth wheezed as he pushed his way back up the wall with his hands, staggering towards the panic button.

Cedric thought about stopping the other from getting it, but a wave of bitterness and lethargy locked his limbs in place, despite the rage pulsing through his body that nearly robbed him of his senses “Primaris Killers are a shorthand way for us to refer to loyalist firstborn marines who have killed more than one Primaris Marine because they wanted to, or in a fit of murderous rage. Not because the Primaris Marine was showing signs of heresy, not because they needed to be culled for medical reasons either.”

“I did not. Let Malachai die. I tried to save him. He was. Very badly injured. Even if we had a spare Dreadnaught to put him in, that would not have saved him.” Melinth answered, the hand that reached out for the “please help me” button shaking a little. 

“So you claim.” Cedric spat out “I have precious little reason to trust any firstborn marines with myself, much less my brothers. Some of whom I’ve had to watch die twice from the same wounds that they were given by-” His voice cracks, breaks, falters. He cannot, will not, volunteer this information without checking with those who had been killed by The Fucker and getting their permission to do so. He will not expose such a weakness without them agreeing to such beforehand. “-by a Primaris killer. If you think we are Bile’s creations, ask that Night Lord Apothecary if we are or not. He should be able to tell you, if he’s who I think he is.”

With that, Cedric turned on his heel and left Melinth’s office, slamming the door behind him. He stormed down the hallway, intending to head to the bakery that Roland’s bonded ran and worked in. Maybe they’d let him knead some of the dough? It would help him work out the fury boiling in his system without causing more destruction.

Instead he nearly physically ran into a green and gold blur that turned into Captain Ash’val. “Ah, there you are Cedric! I was wondering if-” The Salamander began to ask, starting to reach out to Cedric as he spoke.

The young Apothecary, who would normally be quite content to help the other with whatever he wanted, or allow the very tactile Astartes to hug him when the other wanted, deliberately stepped out of the other’s immediate grabbing range and interrupted him “I don’t have time for idle chatter today. I am helping Ramiel arrange the funerals for Malachai and Lestras, ideally everything should be ready to go by the end of the week. That way the temptation for you firstborns to carve them into little pieces and study them is removed. So that, at least in death, they will have a measure of dignity and respect afforded to them.” 

Ash’val made a small choking sound, as if someone had just slit his throat.

They hadn’t, because Cedric briefly looked him over. He was physically whole and intact, and therefore Not His Problem to deal with right now. The young Apothecary darted around the stone-still Salamander, moving swiftly out of the base and ignoring anyone who wasn’t an actual Brother of his when they called his name. 

Someone was following him, so Cedric dipped into the cross-training that Claude had absolutely insisted that all of them learn on how to be stealthy. He managed to shake the Firstborn who’d been following after him in the densely crowded streets of the mortal city before making his way to his favorite bakery, and to one of the few firstborn marines he genuinely and deeply trusted with both of his hearts. 

[vyvilha]

Tell us about the most crazy folklore creature you know 👀👀👀👀

ukrainian folklore is of course filled with all kinds of wonderful beasts: milk-stealing witches; beautiful girls with their innards outward; dog-headed one-eyed anthropophagous giants; pharaoh's army soldier fishwomen and so many more.

not sure if this is one is as "crazy" but i do find her intriguing. ukrainian spirit personification of the plague — chuma or džuma. chuma is envisioned as a rich lady in a chariot of six white horses; after her is a procession of sighthounds, spirits, owls, visions and witches. she can be recognized for roosters do not sing when she's near and dogs do not bark at her. where she swings her handkerchief — everything falls dead.

it is believed that the plague can live among people a regular life for some time. in one village of podillia region there was a story of a salt merchant pavlo who lived among other merchants for seven years and got himself quite a husbandry. on the seventh year he became sad and grieving, and people saw him yearning and weeping a lot. when asked what is wrong, he revealed that he is actually the plague, and now God had summoned him back to work, and he is grieving to leave his good friends behind. he promised the village to not ever harm them, then gifted away all of his possessions, kissed his friends goodbye and disappeared next morning. such is the story of pavlo the plague