#cockatrice disease

[razlapin]

royal fam fam 💕

[horse-cdc]

Welcome to the Horse Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Equestria's leading group of infectiologists, pathologists, and curse researchers. Please find enclosed below an excerpt of our extensive case files on various infectious diseases that can be found around the country.

GENERAL ADMISSIONS

Rainbow Factory Infection

Moondust

Sleepwalker Infection

Chaos Infection

Chronic Wasting Disease

Variant Chronic Wasting Disease

Ruinous Vine Epidemic

Chronic Wasting Files

Everfree Infection

Magic Fever

Rainbow Rabies

Equinedemic

Uncanny Valley

my little paranoia

my little toothache

my little apocalypse

my little corruption

stuck-in-ponyville

mlpgr0undzer0

yumkandie

kingzombear

eggmilky

pinkarmadillodesigns

phoenixdoesartstuff

sundaebite

ruusukultakruunu

lagoartzs-blog

firbolgfriend

rubykingua

pina-repsi

shado-cant-sleep

shyface1004

bunnyrebzx

windywhistler

azaani-art

wyyrmwood

cosmic-nopedog

BIOLOGICAL INFECTIONS

Bubblegum Virus

Olden Virus

Dream Fever

Polychanging Virus

Blood Loss

Dreadbite Syndrome

Inanis Folliculi Syndrome

Everfree Fever

Mutated Rabies

Summer Night Mare

my little fortress

dabbingintoart

decrepitdeer

finnstati0n

mxnt-ie

PARASITES

Smile Worms

Pinkie's Senses

Banyan Parasite

Head Loss

My Little Worms

lilgoatgal

BOTANY

Rigor Root Rot

Chaos Virus

Florial Infection

Blue Flu

Rainbow Blossoms

Marrow Bloom Infection

Condren Contagion

Toxic Joke

Wandering Tree Swamp Fever

Divine Swamp Fever

Audle Posk

Variant Swamp Fever

Swamp Fever

mouschiii

ruttama-art

scarlet-wish-draws

lily-iguess

vitiligorakebaby

afishwithmanylegs

MYCOLOGY

Rainbow Cordyceps

eclipsedoodler

hardlylaced

vultureart

flitterjitters

lonelyponee

MAGIC AND CURSES

Mutant Imposter Infection

Nightmare Virus

Infection Of More

Enantiodromia

Ultionem Lunae

Night's Curse

Parabite Virus

Magic Rot

Changeling Virus

Doll Virus

Nopony Curse

Rot

Voidmatter Virus

cubecrow

CUTIE MARK DISORDERS

Mystic Corruption

Cutie Mark Contagion

Cutie Pox

Variant Cutie Pox

Cutie Fade

bootoon

CRYSTALLOLOGY

Geode Disorder

Cockatrice Disease

Crystal Contagion

Crystallovirus

swiggyswoon00

[delightingintragedy]

Mars Correspondences

From Christian Astrology by William Lilly

(It is mostly word for word. I tried to format it to fit into a nice correspondence list, but the information itself is untouched.)

Zodiac: Aries is his Day-house, Scorpio is his Night-house. Exhaulted in Capricorn, Depressed in Cancer, Detriment in Libra and Taurus.

Nature: Masculine, Nocturnal Planet, in nature hot and dry, choleric and fiery, the lesser Infortune, author of Quarrels, Strifes, and Contentions.

Profession: Princes Ruling by Tyranny and Oppression, or Tyrants, Usurpers, new Conquerors. Generals in Armies, Colonels, Captains, or any Soldiers having command in Armies, all manner of Soldiers, Physicians, Apothecaries, Surgeons, Alchemists, Gunners, Butchers, Marshals, Sergeants, Bailiffs, Hangmen, Thieves, Smiths, Bakers, Armourers, Watchmakers, Botchers, Tailors, Cutlers of Swords and Knives, Barbers, Dyers, Cooks, Carpenters, Gamesters, Bear-wards, Tanners, Curriers.

Diseases: The Gall, the left Ear, tertian Fevers, pestilent burning Fevers, Migraines in the Head, Carbuncles, the Plague and all Plague-sores, Burnings, Ringworm, Blisters, Frenzies, mad sudden distempers in the Head, Yellow-jaundice, Bloodyflux, Fistulas, all Wounds and Diseases in men's Genitals, the Stone both in Reins and Bladder, Scars or small Pox in the Face, all hurts by Iron, the Shingles, and such other Diseases as arise by abundance of too much Choler, Anger or Passion.

Colour: Red colour, or Yellow, fiery and shining like Saffron.

Savour: Those which are bitter, sharp and burn the Tongue.

Herbs: The Herbs which we attribute to Mars are such as come near to redness, whose leaves are pointed and sharp, whose taste is caustic and burning, love to grow on dry places, are corrosive, and penetrating the Flesh and Bone with a most subtle heat: They are as follows: The Nettle, all manner of Thistles, Restharrow or Cammock, Devils-milk or Petty spurge, the white and red Brambles, the white called vulgarly by the Herbalists Ramme, Lingwort, Onions, Scammony, Garlic, Mustard-seed, Pepper, Ginger, Leeks, Dittander, Horehound, Hemlock, red Sanders, Tamarinds, all Herbs attracting or drawing choler by Sympathy, Radish, Castoreum, Aresmart, Assarum, Carduus Benedictus, Cantharides.

Trees: All Trees which are prickly, as a Thorn, Chestnut.

Beasts: Panther, Tiger, Mastiff, Vulture, Fox; of living creatures, those that are Warlike, Ravenous and Bold, the Castor, Horse, Mule, Ostrich, the Goat, the Wolf, the Leopard, the wild Ass, the Gnats, Flies, Lapwing, Cockatrice, the Griffin, Bear.

Fishes, etc: The Pike, the Shark, the Barbel, the Fork-fish, all stinking Worms, Scorpions.

Birds, etc: The Hawk, the Vulture, the Kite or Glead, (all ravenous Fowl), the Raven, Cormorant, the Owl, (some say the Eagle), the Crow, the Pye.

Places: Smith's Shops, Furnaces, Slaughterhouses, places where Bricks or Charcoal are burned or have been burned, Chimneys, Forges.

Minerals: Iron, Antimony, Arsenic, Brimstone, Ochre.

Stones: Adamant, Loadstone, Bloodstone, Jasper, the many coloured Amethyst, the Touchstone, red Lead or Vermilion.

Weather: Red Clouds, Thunder, Lightning, Fiery impressions, and pestilent Airs, which usually appear after a long time of dryness and fair Weather, by improper and unwholesome Mists.

Winds: Western Winds

Angel: Samael

Planetary Alliances: His Friends are only Venus; Enemies all the other planets.

Week Day: Tuesday

Correspondence posts for the other planets: [Sun] [Moon] [Mercury] [Venus] [Jupiter] [Saturn]

[hapalopus]

My current list of recurring creatures/peoples from recent Danish folklore:

Basilisk (cockatrice)

Bjærgfolk (mountainfolk)

Brøndmand (well man)

Bukketrold (goat troll)

Bækhest (water horse)

Djævel (devil)

Drage (dragon)

Dragedukke (drawing doll)

Dværg (dwarf)

Ellefolk (alderfolk)

Ellekongerne (alderkings)

Gam (giant bird that lives in the ocean)

Gravso (grave sow)

Grønjæger (the green hunter)

Gårdbo (farm gnome)

Hamløber (skin runner/soul wanderer)

Havfolk (merfolk)

Havtrold (mertroll)

Heks (witch)

Helhest (hel horse)

Helhund (hel hound)

Hyldemor (eldermother)

Kirkenisse (church gnome)

Kirkevare (church grim)

Kludeeg (cloth oak)

Knarkevogn (creaking wagon)

Kæmpe (giant)

Lange mænd (tall men)

Lindorm (lindwurm, sort of)

Lygtemand (will o' wisp, sort of)

Mare (hag/night mare)

Mosekone (swamp crone)

Mælkehare (milk hare)

Natravn (night raven)

Nisse (gnome, sort of)

Nøkke (water man)

Ormekonge (worm king)

Pesttjørn (disease bramble)

Salamander (fire salamander)

Skibsnisse (ship gnome)

Skifting (changeling)

Skovfolk (forest folk)

Slattenpatten (saggy tits)

Småfolk (little folk)

Sømunk (sea monk)

Søorm (sea worm)

Søslange (sea serpent)

Trold (troll)

Valravn (wild raven)

Varedyr (protective animal)

Varulv (werewolf)

Æven (venomous little worm)

Åmand (stream man)

Åndemaner (ghost commander)

(not including one-off creatures like Hæslevædder and Ildhund)

[tzeenneth]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐏𝐈𝐓

The Iron Knight is a legendary champion of Tzeentch, said to be descended from the line of the first Daemon Prince of Tzeentch. As such, what is known about him is shrouded by the inexorable march of time and twisted further by the beings with who he keeps company: liars and schemers, the daemons of the Trickster. However, some tales persist even across deceptions, retellings, and all the different iterations: a mortal man from a storied line, stricken with nurgh wrought leprosy whilst untangling himself from a scheme woven by the Changer himself.

He manages to free himself and decimate both the Nurglite host responsible for his condition and the several enemy factions by luring them into their fetid embrace, but is slain by the Nurglish disease before he can truly enjoy the fruits of his labors. However, before the Plague Lord can lay claim to his soul, Tzeentch snatches it from between Nurgle's rotting fingers. So has the Iron Knight been a sore spot and point of contention between the Changer and Poxmaster, a subject that never fails to lessen the broad smile of Grandfather Nurgle.

The Knight is named such either for his constitution or his daemonic mask, said to hide his leprotic disfigurements. A creature of few words, the Iron Knight is one of the very few daemon princes of Tzeentch who does not have wings. Instead, he traverses the Crystal Lands on the back of a large Cockatrice. His abode, the Citadel of the Iron Knight, is well garrisoned and attended as well as decorated with the petrified forms of Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons foolish enough to mock his lack of wings.

Along with being master of the Citadel, the Iron Knight oversees the Black Pit. The Pit is a inky sub-dimension within the Crystal Lands that holds the prisoners of Tzeentch, though for what fell purpose none can say for sure. The Iron Knight is both charged with guarding this location and ensuring none of it's inhabitants leave and forbidden from actually leaving his citadel, cursed by Tzeentch for some slight no one quite remembers. The Winds of Ulgu blows strongly here and those taken by the Pit of Shades become yet another prisoner in this dark and endless pit. In order to obey Tzeentch's edict and observe his punishment, the Iron Knight makes use of shadowy, semi-corporeal clones to carry out his will.

Banner made with Driblex's Helbrass Reskin

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Music For the Soul

by Alexander MacLaren

The Blessedness of a Right Choice (Isaiah 7:15)

If you choose Christ, you choose all that your nature needs for its rest, for its peace, for its development, for its expansion, for its efflorescence into growing beauty through eternity. If you will take Christ for your Lord, your heart may fold its wings like the dove that came back from the flood, and may rest in His love, which is perfect and pure and wise and unalterable. If you will take Christ for your choice, and become His servant, and let Him save you and rule you, then all the seeking understanding will find in Him, and in the manifold and endless " treasures of wisdom and knowledge " into which His name breaks - like the sunbeam when it strikes upon the mirror, and is shattered into a million dancing brightnesses - all that the intellect can require. If you will take Christ for your Saviour and your King, then that mastering will which so often leads us astray, and those passions which so often plunge us into filth and mire, will own His guidance; and the lion shall lie down with the lamb, and the bear in the menagerie of your heart will eat straw like the ox, and you will be able to lay your hand on the cockatrice den and not be stung, and all the wild beasts will be tamed, and your feebleness as that of "a little child shall lead them."

If you will take Christ for your Saviour and your King, the disease of your natures will be healed, which He can only heal. For, oh! no man looks all the facts in the face, or has made a choice worthy of calling by that name, who has not looked the fact of sin in the face, and settled how he is going to get rid of the three-pronged dart which it flings - guilt, and punishment, and power - if he does not take Christ’s way of getting rid of it. There is none that can touch the central corruption of humanity, none that can bring pardon, none that can enable us to shake the venomous beast that has fastened on our hands into the fire, and feel no harm, except Christ only. You may "cut yourselves with knives and lancets after their manner till the blood gush out," and cry to all the gods besides, and to yourself, who are the Jupiter of them all, from morning to evening, to get rid of the fact of sin, and there will be no voice nor answer, " nor any that regarded."

If you will take Christ as your Saviour, and serve Him, you will find it possible to live more noble, helpful, manly lives for God and the world than by any other means. If you will take Christ for your Saviour, and yourselves be enrolled as His obedient servants, then you will secure for yourselves a future without a cloud, in which ills have no power to harm, and all things are transmuted into good, and death has no bitterness and eternity no terror. Let Baal come and do the like. Till he does, I urge that no claims can for a moment be set by the side of Christ’s.

[happiiest]

[asweetprologue]

what I’m afraid to say

part two of a brand new train fic! we’ve been working on this one for a while, hope you enjoy!

part one | next 

He keeps thinking about it, though. They spend a week in the little town that hired him to kill the cockatrice, half of it crammed into the healer's tiny hut. Jaskier's wound wasn't deep, but humans are so prone to infection and disease. Geralt hovers, until the owner of the hut shoos him away. She's an older woman named Madriga with gray hair pulled back against her head in a neat braid, and she reminds him so much of Nenneke that he goes with fairly little protest. Jaskier is still on bedrest, though he's recovered enough to protest the fact, so he can't follow Geralt out of the little hut like he probably wants to. Geralt lingers outside of the small home for a few minutes, not sure what he should do with himself. He still feels a tight knot of worry in his chest, and he knows it won't dissipate until Jaskier is well again.

He itches to do something, or maybe to say something. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the blood spreading out under Jaskier's fingers, and his teeth clench around the feelings that crawl up his throat. He doesn't think his tongue would be able to shape them all into words even if he tried.

But maybe he can twist some of those feelings into action, and Jaskier will understand them. He's always been good at that, always seems to understand what Geralt means even if he doesn't know himself.

He wanders closer to the center of the town, down the stretch of road that leads to the healer's hut. The day is warm and the late afternoon sun hangs low in a cloudless sky, a soft breeze blowing a burst of yellow flower petals across the dirt path. Geralt is offered a few scattered waves from some of the townsfolk as he approaches, a novel experience in and of itself. He's not sure if it's because they're grateful for his work, or if they just feel bad about Jaskier's injuries. His playing the night before the job had been welcome in the small town, and everyone loved Jaskier. They'd been more than accommodating while the bard healed.

The evening market is just getting set up as he approaches the square, and there's a young girl, maybe just on the cusp of teenhood, sitting with her elbow propped on her table. There are several trays of baked goods set out, and Geralt remembers how Jaskier had complained that morning about the plain porridge that he's been forced to eat alongside thin broth over the last few days. The healer had mentioned something about feeding him something more substantial for dinner, and that's something Geralt can help with. Relieved to find something he can actually do, some way to show Jaskier that he cares, he reaches into his coin pouch.

He makes a few purchases from the girl—a harsh haggler, to his amusement. He can't put the rest of his plan into motion until later, but he has some supplies to stock up on after the hunt anyways. He spends a while talking with the locals until he can barter for what he can. Restocking their road supplies is easy enough, and he even manages to find someone willing to part with a bottle of dwarven spirits. He's low on Cat, now, so he shells out the coin for it and then spends some time in the fields looking for berbercane fruit. It's the right season for them, and it's easy enough to spot the bright red fruits amongst the golden shafts of wheat.

Once the sun is just barely turning the edges of the grains white gold in the evening light, he makes his way to the tavern Jaskier had played at a few nights before. The barkeep recognizes him instantly, of course, and asks him when the young bard will be well enough to play for them again. Geralt shrugs; he doesn't know. Humans heal so slowly.

He's able to purchase a decent haul: a full loaf of rye bread, a clay bowl full of thick pottage, and another with baked parsnips, beats and onions. Along with the honey cakes he'd purchased from the girl, he thinks the spread will please Jaskier after nearly three full days of gruel. After a second thought, he picks up another trencher for their host, and then he bundles the goods in his cloak to carry back to the hut.

By the time he follows the dirt path out to the edge of the town and up to the hut, the shadows are growing long. It's late in the summer season, and the sun sets earlier and earlier nowadays. It's a harsh reminder that soon he will have to return to the mountains and bid Jaskier farewell for the winter. Though at this point the bard might be better off on his own, Geralt thinks darkly. If he's only going to get himself hurt, then maybe Geralt should just… let him go.

He opens the door to the hut perhaps more forcefully than needed, hearing it bump against the chair that sits behind it. The cot Jaskier is set up on is in the main area of the two room hut, and he looks up in surprise when Geralt steps through the door. Madriga is less impressed, only raising an eyebrow.

Geralt stands there for a moment, thrown by the new, exposed bandages on Jaskier's bare chest and Madriga's knowing stare, and then he hefts the bundle of cloth in his arms and says, “I, uh. Brought dinner.”

“Good,” Madriga grunts, getting to her feet. She hobbles over to Geralt—it's a miracle that she doesn't use a cane, he thinks—and takes the packaged food from him. “It's high time for him to get some solids in him.”

“One of the loaves is for you,” Geralt adds, moving automatically to help reposition the pillows behind Jaskier so that he can sit up more easily. The bard's eyes are bright when they find his, and Geralt looks away quickly, overwhelmed. “And there's plenty of stew. If you have need.”

The healer just nods, and shuffles over into the little kitchen area she has set up near the stove, pulling out a set of bowls from a chest in the corner. After a few moments she brings them the food and says, “I'll take mine in my room. Need to rest my feet. Make sure he doesn't spill on those new wrappings.” Geralt nods, holding the two bowls of pottage, and Madriga takes her own bowl and bread and closes the door to her bedroom behind her.

“This was kind of you,” Jaskier says, accepting the bowl that Geralt offers him. A half of the loaf of bread sits in each of their bowls, and Jaskier immediately fishes his out to take a bite of the stew soaked rye. He makes an appreciative sound, his eyes fluttering closed, and Geralt is left staring. Finally he remembers his own bowl and digs in, barely tasting the dish as he sneaks glances at Jaskier. The window across from the bed casts them in a faint orange glow in the dying light, and a highlight across Jaskier's cheekbone casts his face into sharp relief. He's lost weight over the last few days, Geralt realizes. He moves a portion of his stew into Jaskier's bowl.

“You're mother henning,” Jaskier says around a mouthful, laughing a bit even though Geralt knows it makes his side hurt.

“Just want you back on your feet,” Geralt mutters, going back to his own bowl. Once they're both done, he reaches into the bundle of cloth and pulls out another wrapped package, the cheesecloth sticky to the touch. He's probably going to have to wash his cloak, but he can't care at the moment. “Here,” he says, pushing the package into Jaskier's hands.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes, letting the cheesecloth fall open to reveal the honey cakes. “I love these. You remembered?”

Half a dozen responses hover on Geralt's lips. Of course, he wants to say, I remember everything, I'm always paying attention to you, there's nothing else. I care, I care, I care. Instead, he just says, “You rave about them every time we're in a town. Hard to miss.”

Jaskier's eyes crinkle up at the edges. He's so beautiful, even ruffled and covered in three days of sweat and old blood. Geralt aches to reach out, but he keeps his hands to himself until Jaskier offers him one of the honey cakes. He doesn't let their fingers brush in the exchange. “Didn't know you were listening,” Jaskier says, with a wry smile.

Geralt just hums around a mouthful of honey, and he burns with all the things he doesn't say.

[thevalicemultiverse]

Actually that's not true. Anatomical differences between birds of different gender aren't as significant as between mammals, so some diseases or even the proper diet can, in fact, render a rooster capable of laying eggs.

Alice: [tilts her head] I'm going to have to fact-check that, but if that's true, and it is possible under rare circumstances, that's pretty fascinating. Explains where -- is it a basilisk or -- no, wait, that's a serpent's egg incubated by a rooster, a cockatrice is the one where the rooster would lay the egg. . .

[agoodgoddamnshot]

The Pox - Geraskier & Ciri

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted to my AO3 account

Bad luck has a nasty tendency to stack. Out of many lessons learned throughout his already too-long of a life, that’s one that Geralt sees occurring again and again. With Nilfgaard accosting the south of the continent, sending refugees scrambling upwards, that now seems to be the least of people’s worries.

Refugees can be housed and fed. Geralt watches from their booth in the local tavern as another small wave of them laps inside, shepherded in by the tavern owner’s daughter. The group – a family, Geralt guess – looks as weary as the rest of them. The rooms upstairs are all gone. They filled up a couple of days ago. But while he imagines the rest of them will stay, Geralt is pretty keen on moving from the town in the next few days.

But someone brought word into the town that an illness was starting to spread; and if that’s true, then that rumour has spread faster than the illness. And that could cause issues. If townspeople knew that refugees could be ill, could be carrying a disease with them, they might turn them away. And that will just lead to bodies surrounding the gates of towns and cities, attracting all sorts of creatures to come and feed.

“A smith’s wife told me that a warlock working for Nilfgaard conjured it, and then let it loose on some trading village. The damn thing spread like wildfire,” Jaskier says, plucking at the strings of his lute. The inn is pretty quiet, with most people – locals and refugees alike – all content to sit in silence. Whether or not anyone has an issue with the bard in the corner strumming a couple of notes, no one voices them. Then again, Geralt doubts they would say anything, knowing that an armed Witcher sits next to the bard.

“It’s the pox,” Geralt grunts, handing a bread roll over to the man. He’s heard whisperings about the illness, and everything he’s heard so far would suggest it’s the pox: sweats, fever, coughing, rashes and spots on the skin.

Jaskier hums, setting his lute aside. “To you, maybe. It can kill a mortal man.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “And when were you talking to a smith’s wife?”

The bard laughs softly. “Towns like these are ripe with gossip and those who like trading in it.” One of Jaskier’s hands settles on his thigh. Geralt sighs as Jaskier squeezes firmly. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. You don’t have to worry about some woman spiriting me away.”

Ciri keeps her head down, slurping at the overly generous portion of stew that another of the tavern keeper’s daughter had provided them with. Your father dealt with a cockatrice who’d been causing some issues around here a couple of summers ago, the tavern owner said, ushering them over to a booth near the back of the inn. It was secluded enough to keep them out of prying eyes. Since sitting down, their table has been laden with bowls of stew, bread rolls with pots of freshly churned butter, and tankards of ale. The keeper had returned a few moments later, handing Geralt a key to what he was assured to be a spacious room for all of them.

The word still stalked around in Geralt’s head. Father. He doesn’t know what he is to the girl. He’s never been able to find the right sort of word for it.

They eat the rest of their dinner in relative peace. Jaskier mentions other things about the supposed enchanted disease spreading throughout the south; what it seemingly does to people, how it spreads, how long people last once they contract it. Geralt huffs. It’s the pox. He knows it. A dangerous thing, of course. As Jaskier said, it can absolutely kill a mortal man. But it’s been a long time since he’s had to worry about something like the pox.

Jaskier and Ciri, on the other hand.

“Keep an eye out,” he says softly after a time. Even though sheltered away from others in the inn, Geralt tentatively brushes his hand along Jaskier’s. Most towns aren’t fond of this kind of interaction: something they’ve experienced in the years of travelling together. Fleeting insults are always quickly chased away when Geralt turns, seeking out the pitiful excuse for a man that hurls them. They usually scurry away like field mice. But even then, he’s careful.

Jaskier reaches out with his index finger, snagging Geralt’s. His skin is warm, Geralt notices with a slight shiver. Suddenly, weariness from the past couple of days on the road slinks upon him, slumping over his shoulders. Geralt looks over to the other side of the table. He nudges Ciri’s knee with his own. “Both of you.”

The girl looks up, and nods firmly. “I’ll be careful.”

Something is out to get him. Some god or deity or power just doesn’t like him at all. He can understand why; his very existence must be an insult to the natural order of things. No creature made of the earth should live as long as he does. If he were a god, tasked with creating things and putting them in a sequence, and he saw someone tampering with it, he’s pretty sure he’d go out of his way to make that thing’s life a fucking misery too.

All it takes it for Geralt to hear one cough – a clearing of the throat – for his hackles to rise. The market of the town is packed with people. A town that normally houses two to three hundred now is holding what seems to be ten times that amount. It’s nothing, Geralt thinks. It couldn’t have spread that quickly.

But apparently, it has.

A couple of hours later, when the sun has long since fled behind the Blue Mountains, and the moon has taken its place, something wakes Geralt up.

Moonlight streams in through a small gap in the curtains. Streaks of white, watery light crawl along the floorboards and reach for the foot of their bed. Geralt grunts, rubbing a hand over his face. Along his back, curled around him, Jaskier still sleeps soundly. For a moment, he isn’t entirely sure why he’s awake. They’ll be moving out of the town in the morning, and while he can go longer than most without sleeping, his muscles and bones are complaining about not getting rest. He waits for a second, ears tuned to the sounds of the inn. Floorboards creak as the nights grow cold, and someone outside staggers through the hallway, eventually falling into what must be their own room.

The arm that Jaskier has around his middle tightens. “What are you doing?” the words are mumbled into Geralt’s shoulder blade, raspy and sleep-laden.

Geralt hums, content to settle his head back down on to the pillow and let sleep wash back over him. He’s almost gone, when he hears it again.

A cough. Followed by a whimper.

He sits upright, dislodging himself from Jaskier’s hold. The bard grunts, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Geralt-”

Even in the minimal lighting, Geralt can see perfectly fine. He looks over to the other bed. Curled up and cocooned in bed linens and furs is Ciri. He can barely see the top of her head, sticking out of the nest she has made for herself. Geralt is out of bed in seconds, padding over to the other cot. “Ciri,” he says softly.

“’m cold.” The words are shaken out of her. They’re barely audible; Geralt notices her face buried into one of the pelts that had been for the foot of the bed.

Geralt makes a noise in the back of his throat. Behind him, he hears bedclothes shuffling. “What’s going on?” Jaskier grunts, wiping the last of sleep from his eyes.

Geralt perches on the edge of Ciri’s bed. He presses the back of his hand against her forehead. He clicks his tongue. “You’re not cold, Ciri. You’re sweating.”

The shivers wracking through her body say otherwise. Her teeth chatter, despite a sheen of sweat sticking to her forehead and the apples of her cheeks. Geralt seeks out his bag, fishing through it for some herbs he had bought from the town’s apothecary. She had given him the last of what she had, saying that with whispers of an illness spreading, most of her wares had been cleared quickly.

Elderflower, yarrow, calamine, and celandine. The hearth on the other side of the room is still burning, albeit, grey ash sits on top of still lighting embers. It still carries heat. Geralt can feel the warmth of it even at the other side of the room. But it won’t do for tea-making. “Find the innkeeper,” he says tightly, “ask for a kettle of hot water, but make sure no one comes up with you.”

Jaskier doesn’t move for a second. When Geralt looks over his shoulder, ready to ground out the order again, his eyes soften when he sees the bard watching Ciri tremble. But Geralt’s words seemingly catch up with Jaskier, and within seconds, he’s gone.

When Geralt turns back to Ciri, two blue eyes blink blearily up at him. “Am I sick?” Her voice barely holds together. “Do I have what the others have?”

Geralt clicks his tongue. “I’ll have to take a look at your skin,” he sighs. “But if it is, I can help you. You’ll be okay.”

She nods. Another cough fights its way out of her. It sounds watery and tacky, and almost has her folding in two. Geralt winces. He sets his hand on top of the mound of blankets she has around her, silently hoping that whatever it is that’s infected her will leave peacefully.

Jaskier comes back within minutes, a copper kettle in one hand. Geralt turns, holding his hand up. “Have you had it before?”

The bard’s brow furrows. “What?”

“The pox, Jaskier,” Geralt grunts. “Have you had it before?”

“When I was a child,” he answers, brow furrowed. “We all had it in my family.”

“You’ll be fine then.” Geralt directs him over to the hearth. Settling the kettle over the embers, there’s enough heat there to keep the water inside simmering. Geralt adds the leaves, stirring and steeping them until he can scent the aromas in the air. It’ll have to stew for a couple of minutes, but until then, he has to look at Ciri’s skin.

Jaskier follows him throughout the room, gathering a change of clothes for Ciri as well as some bed linens from a nearby wardrobe. When Geralt returns to her bedside, the girl whines. She’s still shaking like a leaf, but he’ll need to bring her fever down. The tea will help, but until then, Geralt sighs. “You can’t have that many blankets around you, Ciri. You’ll overheat.”

“But I’m so cold.”

“That’s your body trying to help.”

“Well, it isn’t doing a very good job.”

Despite his best efforts, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “Pox can’t survive in warm conditions,” he explains, recalling on things a healer told him decades ago. “Your body is just trying to burn it out.”

Jaskier sets the clothes and bedding at the foot of Ciri’s bed. He still wears a concerned look, watching the girl closely. He shares a brief look with Geralt. The kind of look they’ve shared quite a lot recently. Since acquiring Ciri, and finding Jaskier again, they’ve become a quaint little unit. A family, one could dare to name it. Jaskier loves the girl just as much as Geralt does. They would both lay down their lives for her. But it’s fine to say all of that when the threat is physical – monsters or soldiers or bandits, all vying for her life in one way or another. But when it’s something like this, an illness tearing her apart from the inside, they’ve never felt so useless in their lives.

The kettle whistles from the other side of the room. Jaskier turns to tend to it. Geralt finds the edge of one blanket, tugging it away from Ciri. “Come now,” he gentles, “I can’t help you if you’re hiding in there.”

It takes a moment to get the blankets away, but once Ciri’s cocoon unfurls, Geralt tosses the linens and furs to one side of the room, far away from her. If it’s pox, then the sheets are infected. She’s still so small; something that Geralt can’t seem to do anything about. No matter how much food she eats, or how hard she trains in the mornings, she can’t seem to put on any amount of muscle. But she looks even smaller now, trembling and sweating and teeth chattering.

Geralt sits, gesturing to the sleeve of her nightshirt. “Can I?”

Ciri nods, helping Geralt roll her sleeve up towards her shoulder. Even without the candles around the room lighting, Geralt can make out her skin just fine. And he swallows the lump forming in his throat. Tiny, barely-there splotches, speckled all over her skin. Some of them are redder than the others, rising up slightly like oil spots. Geralt sets his jaw. “I need you to listen to me, alright?”

Ciri nods again, looking at him expectantly.

“You are not to scratch these,” he gestures to the spots. “No matter how much you want to.”

Jaskier makes a sound from the other side of the room. “The only scar I have was caused by one of them,” he says simply, stoking the embers of the fire. Ciri tilts her head. Jaskier smiles, pointing to his jaw. “It’s small, but I scratched a pox spot, and it left a mark.”

“It also just makes the rash worse. So don’t scratch,” Geralt says. His tone is one he uses when they’re out in the forest, teaching her the difference between plants, and how to properly hold on to a sword. Ciri looks at her arm, taking in the map of marks left by the illness.

“I won’t,” she says.

“Good. Do you feel able to walk?”

“I think so.”

“Take this,” Geralt places a couple of chamomile leaves into her hand, “and make a paste out of it in the washroom. Spread it all over you.” He picks up the bundle of new clothes from the foot of the bed. “After that, change into these. You’ll feel better.”

In the time it takes Ciri to do what he’s asked, the pungent smell of the tea settles over the room. Jaskier lifts the lid of the pot, inspecting it. His nose wrinkles. “I remember when the nursemaid made this for me,” he groans. “Horrid stuff.”

Geralt shushes him. “She needs to drink it.”

When Ciri steps back into the room, she does look slightly better. The tea will chase away the fever, and hopefully, the paste will cool the spots from getting worse. Geralt beckons her over. They’ve changed the sheets on her bed, and when she slides in, Ciri’s body shakes slightly again. “You’ll warm up in a bit,” Geralt assures her.

The tea helps. Whether it’s the herbs themselves or the warmth of the water seeping through her, Geralt has to pluck the cup out of her hand before Ciri falls back asleep. This time, to his relief, her body lies still, with her chest filling steadily with air. Geralt reaches out, brushing some of her hair back from her forehead. Her hair is still sleeked with sweat, but she’ll have to have an oatmeal bath tomorrow, so she can wash then.

It all looks so calm now.

Geralt sets the cup to the side. He has enough herbs to make another brew in the morning. After that, he’ll have to seek out the farmers living just outside of the town, asking for a bucket of oats. Or whatever they can spare, now that winter and a war seem keen on settling over the continent at the same time. It won’t cure her spots. They’ll go away by themselves. But it’ll help with the itching, once that niggle starts.

Watching her now, from his perch on the edge of his own bed, Geralt finally breathes.  The room lapses into silence. The air settles. Every so often, it’s broken by a slight wheeze from Ciri. Geralt tries not to wince at the noise. But she’s breathing, and sleeping soundly.

It’s torture. Worse than anything he ever experienced in Kaer Morhen. Geralt flinches slightly when arms wind over his shoulders. Recognising the touch, he leans back, sighing when his back presses against the firm wall of Jaskier’s chest. “It’s probably a stupid question to ask,” the bard mumbles, settling his hands over Geralt’s chest and torso, “but are you alright?”

Geralt huffs a dry laugh. “Not at all.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. Hugging the Witcher closer to him, Jaskier hooks his chin over Geralt’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he reasons. “Children get sick all the time. And rather she gets the pox now, than later when it can do her more harm.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. Some distant, logical part of him knows. But it just happens that that particular part of his brain hasn’t been communicating very well with the rest of his mind – especially where Ciri is concerned. He wonders distantly if this is how all guardians feel when their charges are in danger.

“It seems the White Wolf has grown gentle,” Geralt mutters. Whatever fear that had been coursing through his veins is being chased off now. The warmth radiating along his back from Jaskier sees to that.

The bard hums. “A wolf’s single most important duty is to protect its family, isn’t it?” Jaskier murmurs. Gesturing to Ciri, Jaskier continues. “She’ll be up and about, gallivanting off into forests and caves with you again in no time at all.”

Geralt turns his head. His nose brushes along the arch of Jaskier’s cheekbone. Setting his lips against the ridge, he sighs. “Thank you for helping,” he mumbles against skin, turning in Jaskier’s hold.

“I know that in the grand scheme of destiny, she belongs to you,” Jaskier sighs, tilting his head when Geralt’s lips move towards his neck. “But you belong to me. So, by proxy, I guess she’s mine, too.”

Jaskier has to swallow a hum when he feels a puff of a laugh against his neck. “It seems so.”

[razlapin]

hi i have an mlp infection au 🫣

i could go into more detail but dychjccj its 3 an and i’ll post all the edits i made tomorrow throughout the day

[sepublic]

Various Headcanons, Speculation, and Observations

-Wrath was in the Abomination Track when he was younger, but an accident severely damaged his arms. In order to still use them, he infused them with Abomination goop to give them stronger, shape-shifting properties- However, his hands were still too damaged and he could no longer perform Magic as a result. Because of this, he couldn’t be placed in the Emperor’s Coven and was instead relegated as Warden of the Conformatorium, placed in charge of the Magic-less Emperor’s Guard. The incident that damaged his arms could’ve been a disease, or the cause of a social deviant- Or maybe he’s just a jerk.

-If Luz was placed into the Potions Track, it could set up a conflict between her and Boscha, further providing support for this idea!

-Amity originally came across The Good Witch Azura through the library, specifically because the Librarian bought the books from Eda. We know he’s associated with her before and vice-versa, after all. The Librarian probably saw the value of including Human literature, or may have been scammed. Given how Eda tried to burn the Book 1 she got from Luz, she remembers that there’s already one at the library and thus the one she has is now worthless, and/or the Librarian is no longer interested in buying more Azura books from her.

-Crack Theory, do not take seriously: King and Bellows are a dual-personality, having once been a united being before they were split apart. This is why King is associated both with Luz’s pet snakes, which are also the Gildersnake in The Good Witch Azura, and ANOTHER character from the books, the fluffy dog. King also sounds like he’s merely parroting what others have said about/told him...

-What if the thief who stole Lilith’s lunch money during Eda’s childhood was Amity’s mom, AKA Mrs. Blight?

-Bumper Robinson voices Principal Bump.

-Both Boscha and Braxas were present at Luz and Amity’s duel and were close to each other and Willow and Gus. This means they also probably saw Amity ‘cheat’ at the end.

-Is Bellows a cockatrice/basilisk? There’s the flame, bird, and reptile motifs, all wrapped up into one neat, mythical package!

-What if the ‘Two Witches’ in the Eye Codes Poem refers to Eda and Luz, not Eda and Lilith?

-Eda had orange hair and is a troublemaker, while Lilith has blue hair and is a more conventional witch of the law. Hecate is associated with orange and is an antagonist, while Azura is associated with blue and is the protagonist.

[vulturhythm]

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

-

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

-

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

-

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

-

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

-

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

-

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

-

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

-

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

-

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

-

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

-

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

-

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

-

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

-

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

-

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

-

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

-

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

-

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

-

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

-

i can’t let him die.

-

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

-

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

[drcreatureflix]

And Now Your Scheduled Family Content: Let’s Make Some Cursed Shit

I thought I would inspire any homebrewers to make some items that carries a curse in return for grand power. So I came up with some names for items that clearly not cursed... probably... maybe...

Mask of the Blue Oni

The Searing Dagger

Harpoon and Chain of the Sunken

Jaded Harp of Horrors 

Alluring Cloak

Boots of the Gambler

Fool’s Coin

Versin’s Spellbook of Arcane Disease

Breastplate of Judgement

Flute of the Lycan

Helmstriker (Sword)

Belt of the Parasite

Jug of the Nercomaner

Bomb belt of Cloudkill

Cockatrice Whip

Aberrant Boots

The Pulsing Heart Gem

Broken Hammer of the Artificer

Orb of Whispers

Eye of the Dreadnought

Mage Bane (Wand)

Chain of the Headhunter

Versin’s Encrusted nacklace of the Rattus

Labnotes on the Homonculus

Journal of the Executioner

Pidlwick’s Stiching Sickle

Black rose of the Dryads

Crossbow of the Assassin

Burnt Branch of the World Tree

Goggles of Truly Seeing

If you use any of these, let me know, I would love to see what you make.

[myth-lord]

Elemental Groups

FIRE BASED CREATURES (These creatures can control some form of heat, fire, smoke or lava/magma, just having fire-hair like the Empusa doesn’t count here.) 5: Cerberus (Demon) 29: Gloson *Gravso* (Undead) 43: Salamander (Beast) 67: Zmey *Balaur* (Dragon) 68: Aatxe (Undead) 68,5: Khalkotauroi (Construct) 70: Aproxis (Plant) 74: Butatsch (Aberration) 90: Muscaliet (Chimerae) 93: Phoenix *Firebird* (Elemental) 96: Stella (Aberration) 110: Caorthannach *Ajatar* (Demon) 129,5: Delgeth (Demon) 144: Gaasyendietha (Dragon) 166: Cherufe (Elemental) 182: Soucouyant (Elemental) 182,5: Candileja (Elemental) 219: Fulad-Zereh (Demon) 222: Ifrit (Elemental) 247: Enenra (Elemental) 260,5: Kasha (Demon) 271: Wanyudo (Construct)

EARTH BASED CREATURES (These creatures can control earth, rock, crystal, vibrations, sand, lava/magma or mud.) 12: Gorgon *Medusa* (Humanoid) 21: Planctae *Symplegades* (Elemental) 36: Kobold (Fey) 37: Landvaettir *Land Wight* (Elemental) 40: Nidhogg (Dragon) 64,5: Bolotnik (Humanoid) 82: Gargoyle *Grotesque* (Elemental) 82,5: Asag (Demon) 91: Myrmecoleon (Beast) 108: Buggane (Chimerae) 144: Gaasyendietha (Dragon) 155: Rock Bolter (Beast) 165: Carbuncle (Fey) 166: Cherufe (Elemental) 212: Ahl At-Trab (Elemental) 220: Ghul (Undead) 246: Dorotabo (Elemental) 259: Namazu (Beast) 298: Porotai (Fey)

STORM BASED CREATURES (These creatures can control air, lightning, clouds, weather, fog or wind. Creatures that can fly don’t count, they have to control the pure elements.) 14: Harpy (Humanoid) 14,5: Siren (Fey) 54: Ebajalg *Ala* (Elemental) 67: Zmey *Balaur* (Dragon) 106: Brollachan *Fear Liath* (Elemental) 118,5: Ceffyl Dwr (Fey) 145: Haietlik (Dragon) 196: Impundulu *Lightning Bird* (Demon) 214: Asdeev (Dragon) 231: Death Worm *Olgoi-Khorkhoi* (Aberration) 243: Akashita (Demon) 247: Enenra (Elemental) 255: Kamaitachi (Fey) 264: Raiju (Elemental)

WATER BASED CREATURES (These creatures can control water, mud or some other effects on water, creatures that just live in water don’t count here, the creature must have water-based abilities.) 6: Charybdis (Aberration) 58,5: Strigoi (Undead) 62: Rusalka *Topielec* (Undead) 64,5: Bolotnik (Humanoid) 89: Marabbecca (Aberration) 117: Grindylow (Humanoid) 118: Kelpie *Each Uisge* (Fey) 118,5: Ceffyl Dwr (Fey) 119: Knucker (Dragon) 124: Morgawr (Beast) 126: Nuckelavee (Fey) 137: Amhuluk (Dragon) 142: Engulfer *Hinqumemen* (Elemental) 150: Mishibizhiw *River Panther* (Chimerae) 154: Qalupalik (Aberration) 158: Squonk (Aberration) 177: Kori (Beast) 181: Nguruvilu (Chimerae) 246: Dorotabo (Elemental) 256: Kappa (Chimerae) 256,5: Suiko (Chimerae) 269: Umibozu (Undead) 275: Abaia (Fey) 281: Berberoka (Plant) 289: Polong (Elemental)

FROST BASED CREATURES (These creatures can control cold, snow and ice. These are too different from water to include them there.) 34: Hrimpursar *Frost Giant* (Humanoid) 39: Morko *Groke* (Aberration) 43: Salamander (Beast) 78: Colorobetch (Aberration) 93,5: Psonen (Undead) 136: Akhlut *Amarok* (Beast) 138: Amikuk (Aberration) 147: Ijiraq (Fey) 148: Kokogiak *Qupqugiaq* (Beast) 149: Mahaha (Demon) 160: Wendigo *Chenoo* (Elemental) 214: Asdeev (Dragon) 272: Yuki-Onna (Undead)

LIGHT BASED CREATURES (These creatures can use light and colors as their weapon or defense.) 60: Poludnica *Lady Midday* (Fey) 75: Caladrius (Beast) 95: Scytalis (Chimerae) 123: Marool (Demon) 133: Will o Wisp (Elemental) 133,5: Luz Mala (Elemental) 187: Adze (Fey) 200,5: Ropen (Beast) 229,5: Khepri (Beast)

SHADOW CREATURES (These creatures use shadows and darkness as their weapon or defense.) 18: Lampad (Fey) 59: Nocnitsa *Night Hag* (Demon) 65: Zirnitra (Dragon) 84: Gaueko (Elemental) 104: Barghest *Cadejo* (Undead) 133,5: Luz Mala (Elemental) 159: Tailypo (Fey) 205: Mngwa (Undead) 211: Acheri *Drekavac* (Undead) 220: Ghul (Undead) 261: Nue (Chimerae) 269: Umibozu (Undead) 284: Dalaketnon (Fey) 290: Sigbin (Demon)  

POISON BASED CREATURES (These creatures are venomous, poisonous or toxic. Disease-based creatures don’t count here, though some disease-based creatures such as Nuckelavee can also use toxics.) 1: Amphisbaena (Beast) 15: Hydra (Beast) 15,5: Ladon (Dragon) 22: Scorpios (Beast) 22,5: Sandwalker (Beast) 42: Radande (Plant) 67: Zmey *Balaur* (Dragon) 72: Basilisk *Cockatrice* (Chimerae) 75,5: Zhenniao (Beast) 76: Cerastes *Sierpa* (Beast) 95: Scytalis (Chimerae) 96: Stella (Aberration) 98: Velue *Peluda* (Dragon) 102: Awd Goggie (Fey) 110: Caorthannach *Ajatar* (Demon) 120: Lavellan (Beast) 125: Muirdris (Aberration) 126: Nuckelavee (Fey) 132: Water Leaper *Llamhigyn Y Dwr* (Chimerae) 175: Itzpapalotl (Fey) 176: Kayeri (Plant) 186: Xhumpedzkin *Ix-Hunpedzkin* (Beast) 187: Adze (Fey) 189: Catoblepas (Beast) 198: Jba Fofi (Beast) 203: Mbielu-Mbielu (Plant) 208: Umdhlebi (Plant) 216: Caspilly (Beast) 217: Druj Nasu (Demon) 221: Girtablilu *Aqrabuamelu* (Humanoid) 225: Manticore (Chimerae) 230: Vish Kanya (Humanoid) 230,5: Saapin (Humanoid) 231: Death Worm *Olgoi-Khorkhoi* (Aberration) 234: Gu (Elemental) 236,5: Sessho-Seki (Undead) 238: Qinyuan (Chimerae) 253: Jorogumo *Arachne* (Fey) 261: Nue (Chimerae) 263: Omukade (Demon) 266: Sazae-Oni (Demon) 268: Tsuchigumo (Demon) 276: Abere *Xtabay* (Plant) 282: Bonguru (Fey) 288: Nuno *Trenti* (Plant) 296: Nadubi (Demon)

SOUND BASED CREATURES (These creatures use sound  or their voice as a weapon or power, mimicry and magical whispers also counts.) 3: Celedon *Gold Golem* (Construct) 14: Harpy (Humanoid) 14,5: Siren (Fey) 38: Mandragora *Mandrake* (Plant) 48: Ankluz (Construct) 53: Bukavac (Chimerae) 103: Banshee (Undead) 135: Ahkiyyini (Undead) 149: Mahaha (Demon) 161: Ahuizotl (Chimerae) 163: Camazotz (Beast) 164: Camulatz (Beast) 167: Chon-Chon *Flying Head* (Undead) 179: Lechuza *Strix* (Fey) 201: Leucrotta *Crocotta* (Chimerae) 235: Jinmenju (Plant) 291: Tikbalang (Fey)

CHAOS BASED CREATURES (These creatures have raw chaos-based powers, only few creatures can survive the plane of chaos, so their numbers are few. Most Chaos-based creatures follow Hundun, the lord of Chaos.) 11,5: Hekantoncheires (Demon) 18: Lampad (Fey) 51: Bolla (Dragon) 51,5: Kulshedra (Dragon) 86,5: Skrzak (Demon) 127: Phooka *Puck* (Fey) 206: Popobawa (Demon) 232: Dijiang *Hundun* (Aberration) 265: Rokurokubi (Humanoid)

PSYCHIC BASED CREATURES (These creatures are telepathic, telekinetic, can control your mind, invade your mind, control your emotions, enter your dreams, control your nightmares, cause raw fear, create illusions, look through your eyes, cause madness, stun your mind, give you visions, cause extreme migraine, poison your mind or change your mood in an instant.) 2: Argus *Hyakume* (Aberration) 52: Bubak (Construct) 59: Nocnitsa *Night Hag* (Demon) 81: Egregore (Construct) 87: Incubus *Succubus* (Demon) 95: Scytalis (Chimerae) 106: Brollachan *Fear Liath* (Elemental) 109: Burach Bhadi *Wizard Shackle* (Aberration) 121: Leanan Sidhe (Fey) 127: Phooka *Puck* (Fey) 143: Ewah (Aberration) 147: Ijiraq (Fey) 165: Carbuncle (Fey) 185: Xan *Moskitto* (Beast) 186: Xhumpedzkin *Ix-Hunpedzkin* (Beast) 199: Kerit *Nandi Bear* (Aberration) 218: Dybbuk (Undead) 228: Salawa *Sha* (Beast) 230,5: Saapin (Humanoid) 239: Shen (Aberration) 245: Baku (Chimerae) 284: Dalaketnon (Fey) 291: Tikbalang (Fey) 292: Tiyanak *Toyol* (Undead) 292,5: Myling (Undead)

[purplolart]

Uhh how about 🐶 and 🐾 for the ask meme?

🐶 - Opinion on Patton?

I think Patton is a really good representation of the heart, emotional and complicated. He’s shown himself to be witty and more clever than we give him credit for! He’s always a clean laugh, even if there are many times he makes me cringe so so much. However, that doesn’t mean that he’s without his faults. He can get fairly annoying, and still hides a lot from Thomas until coaxed to show it. Heck, until fairly recently it seemed like no one was giving Patton time to make his cases, or even listen to him (tho I think that is something they all struggle with). I do like the direction they’ve taken him in the most recent episodes, changing his “only good” core and making it more complicated than before. (The frog... I just can’t even begin to describe the feelings that made me feel)

I get compared to him quite a lot irl, so I tend to point out the flaws in him more often then not. But I do like his character, it’s a sigh of relief to see our bubbly bud, and I hope to see him more openly ambiguous as it goes on.

🐾 - What pet do you think each of the sides would have?

Ooh, good question!

I think it’s easiest to say that Virgil has a tarantula, but I find that odd if Thomas is afraid of spiders... I think a reptilian friend would also be cute because of their supposed low maintenance, my personal picks for him would be a bearded dragon, a turtle/tortoise, or maybe a little ball python. But why stop at average pets when it’d be just as cute to see him snuggling with a raccoon or possum? Maybe the earned trust of a skunk would boost his confidence as it nuzzles into his neck (plus a skunky companion could prove well at keeping Roman from TOUCHING HIS FUCKING STUFF AND-!)

Logan probably isn’t a pet person, but I think if he had to have a companion, it’d be those at home ant colonies, some pure white rats, or an aquarium full of saltwater fish. He’s convincing himself that it’s purely to study them, but then he’s angrily grumbling at Mitochondria for getting into a fight with Supernova and suddenly realizes he has children. Or perhaps he’d have a well trained Blue Macaw on his shoulder, and hearing some of the facts he’s said spouted back to him just makes his day that at least someone is listening to him.

I think it’s fair to assume Patton would have as many dogs as he could handle, but given our most recent episode, it would be cute to see a couple frogs hopping on his shoulder. Of course he would have cats as well, but probably just the Hypoallergenic ones. And pigs! We can’t forget that he’d have cute little fuzzy pigs! And ferrets, behold his living slinkey babies! And mice and birds and cows and-! You know what, let’s just give him a barn so he can have all of them.

Roman is not one to stop at normal pets (despite the few cats that still manage to ooze out of his drawer space when he’s not paying attention). Assuming they have to be real animals, he’d probably be seen accompanied by a bright red fox by his calves, and an enormous wolf and tiger at his hips. But why stop there? The more esentric the better! So of course Virgil had more than just a heart attack when Princy decided A LITTERAL FIREBREATHING DRAGON RESTING ITS HEAD ON HIS SHOULDER, AND A GOD DAMMNED COCKATRICE ON HIS LAP were the best pets to be with him as he ate his cereal. (He had to stop bringing Lord Guenivere and Lady Aurthur into the livingroom after that day, especially since Aurthur had turned Logan to stone for an hour to two)

Remus is just as - if not more so - an ecsentric pet person like his twin. Of course his choices are a bit more extreme than his brothers. He has a special place in his heart for sea creatures, and uses his powers to have his octopus, cuddle fish, angler, giant sea worm, and A LITERAL GODDAMN SHARK to be roaming around his room without the need for water (they float around now, but Remus was laughing for 20 minutes straight just seeing them flop around at first). The ones he brings out of his room, he calls his strays, and they are literal abominations of science. He has an army of rats that have been tested on and mangled in some way, and he gives them all so much well-deserved love. That doesn’t mean that your pet that glows in the dark or has a human ear on its back isnt creepy, especially during movie night REMUS! WHY ARE YOU OKAY WITH THOSE DISEASE CARRYING BASTARDS CRAWLING UNDER YOUR SLEEVES, REMUS-?!

Lastly Janus, our pretty snake boi. Yes of course he would have snakes, why would he have anything else? He’s not hiding anything, he absolutely adores being pinned as a one type pet kind of guy. Like listen, just cause he’s currently lounging with his ungodly long Burmese python, doesn’t mean that it’s all he’s interested in. In all honesty, he probably loves his chameleon chum just as much as he does his cold blooded brother. He just finds it soothing to see someone else changing their looks up, even if that’s gotten them into a handful of mischief that sends Janus looking for them for hours. He also semi adopts Remus’ color changing pets at times, because watching the cuddle fish and his chameleon having a camouflage-off is more than entertaining.

Oof this got longer than I thought it would.

Sanders Sides Ask Meme