#from now on i decided that ill be nicknaming them the cryptid

[hdra77]

Is Your slugcat Friendly to other slugcats?

Well...

they are known as a cryptid by other slugcats. a strange beast that is neither a lizard or a slugcat. an abnormality with an upper body of a prey and the lower body of a predator. they have extremely low reputation towards all creatures and that obviously includes slugcats! so no, they are not really friendly to other slugcats. they pretty much eat anything that falls into their trap. they are very cunning but can sometimes appear to be docile when they're not hungry also ft. random slugcat i came up on the spot lol

[datawyrms]

Responsibility

For Phic Fight 2021, The Lord of Chaos’s prompt c:

Spectra fed off of misery; nocturne fed off of dreams.  The elusive town cryptid that only shows up when people need saving gains a following and Danny finds that he gets a boost from the people who have faith in him, he starts to become aware of them, especially when they needed him.

The rest of the town seeing him as benevolent was a positive thing. The uncomfortable stabs that his ‘parents were right’ about ghosts lessened as fewer and fewer treated him as a monster just as troublesome as Technus. He didn’t need to tense when the news was on, to hear his attempts to help called a ‘savage attack’, or that stupid nickname. He’d slept a bit easier, knowing that people did understand he only meant to help lately. Sure, Mom and Dad might still insist he was an evil ghost, but it was so much easier to ignore that when he didn’t feel he was only one step away from proving them right to everyone else. Clumsy and reckless he could take. Just as long as he wasn’t some ‘evil soul sucking abomination.’

Having Jazz a bit more in the loop had actually started to pay off. She wasn’t as good at catching a ghost as Sam or Tucker, sure, but she wasn’t hindering him anymore either. Honestly, if all three of them worked together, his powers weren’t really needed unless something huge found its way to town. Which his friends had insisted he take advantage of at least once a week, to let them handle the usual patrols and alerts while he tried to catch up on work and sleep. Mostly sleep, to be honest. Focusing on work was almost impossible when his ghost sense went off, even if he knew they didn’t need help. He wanted to go, he had to go; but they were very good at yelling at him for not ‘trusting them’ to handle things. He really did need the break. That’s why he was feeling a little less haggard, a bit more alert. At least, that’s what made the most sense.

Then the ‘lurching’ started. He couldn’t think of a better name then that. It wasn’t like his ghost sense, that sort of just crawled out of him and didn’t give him much to go on beyond ‘there’s definitely a ghost around’. That could go off and leave him rolling his eyes at the box ghost, or fighting for his life against Plasmius with the exact same feeling. The lurching was...different. Like his ghost sense forgot where his windpipe was and decided to escape in a random direction. Inssenantly. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying, worse than the pang that would pass when he ignored whatever got his ghost sense acting up. It just kept pulling in a direction, but refusing to get out from under his skin. Sometimes it would keep going for an entire class, which just made whatever the lurch’s chosen direction noticeably cold. He was pretty sure he was immune to frostbite nowadays, but that didn’t make explaining things easier if someone spotted his hand looking almost blue from lack of blood flow.

Maybe his core was on the fritz again. Who knew what sort of weird things could happen to a human who spent half his time dead?

Tucker suggested that he was just getting ghost puberty to go with the ‘joys’ of human puberty. Which sure, was funny and they could shove each other around and forget about it for a time. It didn’t feel like the right answer. None of his other powers acted up, honestly he was feeling better after fights then he usually did lately. Less drained, anyway. It wasn’t stopping either.

It just got worse. More intense. More frequent. Instead of vanishing the area the lurch decided to pull in seemed to grow the longer he tried to dismiss it. Noticeably. To the point even Dash asked if he should avoid punching him because ‘that shit looks contagious’. (He privately hoped it was. Dash totally deserved weird pulling that made you frost over.)

He had to ignore it, he couldn’t just drop everything every single time the lurch decided to show up. He’d look completely off his rocker, running in some random direction because ‘my shoulder feels cold to the north-west’. If it was close enough to be a real danger, his ghost sense would just go off!

So Saturday was going to be a ‘lurch hunt’. No more ignoring it, no school or mandatory activities that should keep him from following the strange cold that felt desperate to go after something. Yet even deciding that made his insides squirm. He had to follow it, he should be- but that was dumb. He missed enough class as it was.

So why was it so hard to focus on anything else when it started going? Like nothing else mattered? It wasn’t like he was drifting off or sleepy either.

Jazz said he was ‘fixated’ on something.

But how do you fixate on some weird feeling under your skin? He didn’t even know what it was! Just that Sam and Tucker kept needing to flick things at him to get him to pay attention to reality. One of his best rested weeks in ages, and he was worse off then he’d been focus wise in years. Stupid ghost powers. Saturday took far too long to come. Even when one of the lurches stopped pulling he couldn’t relax. Instead of relief he just felt. Hollow. He’d woken up in a panic, half expecting to be chained down in one of Vlad’s sick laboratories, but he wasn’t cut open. He wasn’t even injured. Safe, in bed- and feeling like the cold ran off with his ribcage.

Something was wrong with him. That had to be it. Once they found the cause, he’d solve it and it would stop. It had to.

Following it shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it did. Taking his ghost form and flying after some...feeling that wanted to drag him somewhere was more like when Freakshow’s Staff dominated his mind than anything positive. A compulsion he couldn’t help giving in to.

At least his ghost sense went off once he’d followed it long enough, finding one of Vlad’s mutant ghost animals chasing someone through the streets.

Normal. A bit of one sided banter to get it’s attention, a few punches and ectoblasts and it was shoved away in the thermos. No more pulling, and one less ghost terrorizing town. That didn’t make sense. Unless it really was just his ghost sense increasing in range while becoming infinitely more irritating?

That’s what it felt like, at first. He’d follow, ghost sense, find the problem. Except there was something odd. Every ghost he found like this wasn’t just wandering about, or making a mess. They were all actively chasing, stalking or attempting to scare someone. Okay, so it homed in on more ‘violent’ ghosts then? That seemed possible.

Until one of the lurches kept pulling, but there was no ghost sense. The one that kept pulling him towards a man with his back against the wall, fumbling with a wallet. The man who wasn’t being threatened by Skulker, or a vulture, or any of this typical fare. Just another human with a gun, and the will to use it.

This so wasn’t his thing. He fought ghosts, they were half his fault to begin with. So why was his ghost sense leading him to this? Well. It hadn’t. Lurching confirmed for not ghost sense?

Jazz would totally chew him out for tackling someone with a gun. He just had to forget to go intangible at a bad time, and he’d be all ghost. Or worse, go intangible and someone else got a body full of lead. He couldn’t just...ignore it now that he’d seen it though. The chill that hummed below his skin wouldn’t let him.

So the guy was a bit startled about getting pulled through a wall and dropped off the other side. Probably lost some change. He’d expected a bit of fear, at least. Like come on, some ghost just grabs you while a gun’s in your face? That’s still scary.

Yet he didn’t seem bothered. Just thankful. Called him a ‘hero’. For being in the right place at the right time. By just happening to be there because...because he knew? Something in him knew. That was wrong, he shouldn’t just know when people were in danger like that. He vanished without a word, not wanting to stick around and hear more. It was coincidence. Hopefully the guy wasn’t too offended that he just bolted, but he couldn’t stay there. He didn’t like how the complement felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. That the cold in his chest thrummed with a pleasure that made the rest of him feel ill. He wasn’t a hero, he was just some kid. A kid who still wanted to have a life that wasn’t all this, eventually.

He can’t ignore at dinner that he picks at his meal, not from exhaustion but because he’s not hungry. He’s still energized, he’s still full- and no amount of gagging over the sink makes his stomach empty. ‘Ghosts helping humans only do so for their own ends’. He’d ignored and denied that, he hadn’t been getting anything out of being the local ghost punching bag- so why was he now? Did he steal something? Feed on that person he saved?

He hated that his face didn’t even have the sense to look pale at the idea. He looked healthy. Probably better than he usually did. Even the circles under his eyes weren’t as noticeable. Were Mom and Dad right? Was he just...more of a ghost now?

Sam and Tucker don’t buy his ‘couldn’t figure it out’ explanation. Mostly because he refuses to try it again with them along to help figure it out. Even as he grows cold and more lurching keeps gnawing at his attention. He’s human too, he doesn’t need...whatever this is.

Sam kindly tells him he’s being a gigantic idiot.

He’s too distracted by the chill to notice. Tucker explains that after he’s blinking confused at the corn chips bouncing off his forehead. They laugh it off. He’s pretty sure they’re just being nice. They know something’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to tell them yet. They wait. For now.

He ignores the feeling. He tries to ignore the guilt, that he knows someone out there is in danger. That someone out there needs his help. That all he needs to do is walk out of class and he can go do some actual good. He can’t go chasing after everyone in town. Things happen! He’s just one person! The sooner the lurching in him figures that out, the better. It still ruins his focus, makes him grit his teeth and fidget in place. He wants to go, he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t even know what he wants. For it to stop. That would work. The tugging stops halfway into his next class, the frost in his blood lifts. It leaves him empty. Starving.

Everything tastes bland. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even his favourites barely seem worth the effort of snagging off a table. He’ll eat, he can’t have Mom and Dad looking at him like Sam and Tucker are now, but it just feels heavy in his stomach. A brick he’s decided to try digesting for fun. He’s hungry, ravenously so, but doesn’t want anything.

He knows exactly what he wants and hates himself for it. Stupid ghost half. He doesn’t need that, he doesn’t want to be some...leech. Seeking out trouble just to benefit from it. It’s wrong, he hates it, and if he could grab his core and slam it on the table for a few hours he would. Just until it remembered that they helped when they could. When it was close by, when it was a ghost problem. Not every bit of danger in town!

Misplaced aggression goes to the nearby ghosts. Which it often had,  really. It’s normal. He’s just making sure people don’t get hurt, ignoring the humming of MINE coiled in his ectoplasm. The other ghosts feel it. They hear it when he hunts them down and wants to keep swinging even when they put claws or hands up in surrender. He doesn’t trust himself to banter with them right now. He doesn’t want to hear the words his ghost side wants to say. He shoves them back into the Ghost Zone, and the smarter ones stay away. A stronger ghost is already feeding here. There’s nothing for them to take.

He’s running on autopilot. Days are meaningless. He can’t focus in class, his notes are nonexistent and his patience is beyond frayed. He can’t sleep, the cold is too much, the emptiness hurts and fewer ghosts show up. He can’t even blow off steam by kicking the Box Ghost through a wall. He won’t follow it, and he’s fairly sure it’s going to kill him. That or his parents will. Even they have to notice how he barely eats and won’t focus on anything short of a horn section in his face.

Sam and Tucker sit him down. Force the issue. They know he’s a mess. They don’t have answers. How could they? His choices are to starve this ghost instinct out, or to just give into it and completely ruin his human life. He’ll be fine. It’ll stop eventually if he keeps ignoring it. Then he’ll be able to focus again. It’s all he can cling to.

He’s stubbornly ignoring the prickling awareness of other thoughts. Ones not from his brain. Ones that get louder when the lurch grips him, that practically overwhelm his own as fear and panic grows. Maybe he’s just gone a little off the deep end. He doesn’t hear voices. He refuses.

Jazz has her concerns. That he can’t ignore it. She knows more about Mom and Dad’s research, more about classifications of ghosts. She tries to be gentle, nudging him to be aware that stronger ghosts were more...like a concept then an individual.

He doesn’t want to be some sort of ghost concept of problem solving. She’s worried he won’t have that choice. Some part of him already knows she’s right.

He seeks out Valerie. For help. She’s confused, baffled and suspicious. After all this time he spent convincing her he’s not evil, he’s begging her to call him that. To convince other people he is. To make them fear him and his help. He doesn’t want to be a hero like she is. He just wants to be himself, doesn’t want to hear the people begging for help when he’s trying to sleep.

She doesn’t understand, but understands one thing. He’ll feed on those who rely on them. She has to stop that, doesn’t she?

They fight, and often. He does poorly, lets her save people while his misfires cause damage and chaos. It makes him want to scream each time. Some of the thoughts and voices dim. Not enough. Too many are understanding, too many can see the regret and pain that wrack him with each failure. He’s always hungry. He wants to try again, but everything in him rebels against it. The ghost hunter avoids him. It’s ‘not a fair fight’. He’s ‘not himself’. His green eyes are more dead then they ever have been. He can’t maintain his legs.

As a human, all he wants to do is sleep.

Mom and Dad notice. He collapses and his eyes flare green when they try to help him. Just automatically sensing them as danger, against him, not someone that calls for him. They think he’s possessed, and he wishes they were right.

He half considers not telling them the truth. Let them think of a way to let his ghost half quiet down, to stop hungering for validation he doesn’t want.

Jazz tells them before they can do much of anything. Pinches his ear for being stupid- that getting experimented on won’t help him.

Their hugs make him feel bad. This should be a good moment, a time where he feels safe and accepted. But his mind is not his own, not with the others whispering in his skull. Their warmth and love feels like a drop in the empty barrel of his hunger.

They want him to be healthy. They want him to be happy. He can’t be happy if he needs to abandon his life to be healthy. He tries to explain it, the emptiness, the voices (Jazz cuffs him again for hiding this, which seems fair.) and they promise to try and figure out why, maybe find a way to limit it or separate himself from whatever connection his ghost half seems to have made with the town. Until then- they encourage him. To go ‘help’ people. To feed the clawing cold taking over his existence. He’s not sure if they really mean it. It doesn’t stop him from listening.

It’s hard to feel guilty when it feels so good. To have the fear quiet and be replaced with thanks. Someone’s out of danger and happy, and he feels less hollow for a time. Mom and Dad switch him to home school. They say it’s a better fit, to be able to stop and start based on when he’s not being dragged away by his own instinctive need to protect people.

It feels like giving up. Admitting he’s too much of a freak to live like everyone else. Dad tries to compare it to his special classes when he was young. Different to fit his learning style, not failing. The pulls and voices aren’t nearly as distracting when he’s full. Food actually tastes like more than sand again. Sam and Tucker don’t need to try as hard to smile now that he isn’t looking like death warmed over. He doesn’t like not getting to see them as often. He can’t deny he feels better this way, and can actually pay attention now. Even if most of the time he just wants to nap when the hunger stops. Go ‘back into hiding’ as the town thinks he does.

It’s getting better. Slowly. Not in a way he wanted it to. Better nonetheless.

[seiginotora]

Characters / The Trinity Concept - Pagan

Pagan, also known as The Cat Shaped Like A Girl, or The Louisiana Cat-Girl, is a cryptid born in 1882 in De Baca County, New Mexico. The progeny of the cryptid known as the Wampus Cat and a human male, the kitten girl was found and raised by a gunslinger named Casey McCormic, who was tasked to finding the strange creature by a mysterious figure who called himself Indrid Cold. Befriending her and naming her after his lost daughter Katherine, he was only able to care for her for eleven days, until his troubled past came back to claim his life. Before he died however, Casey urged Katherine to keep fighting for what was right in her heart, and not to let anyone find her. Taking his final request to heart, Katherine found a way out of De Baca County, and found herself in the Louisiana Bayou, where she spent the majority of her lengthy childhood.

It was only in the early 90's, when she was physically in her late teens, when her curiosity of the outside world began to tug at her. For decades she had avoided being caught by hunters who sought to find the Louisiana Cat-Girl, alive or dead. But it was a photographer who had managed to capture Katherine's curiosity. After he had given her the nickname of Pagan, named after his dead pet cat. He had left the swamps to publish his findings. But the newly christened Pagan decided to follow him into the city. From there, Pagan had gotten into a mixture of adventures and misadventures alike, becoming a wanderer who helped people who needed it, making close friends along the way as well as many enemies, both human and otherwise. Eventually, she would be met by the legendary Jeanne d'Arc herself, who offered her a place in the extradimensional peacekeeping organization known as the Secret. Always curious, Pagan accepted the offer, and found herself a new home in the Waystation's district of New Iroquois, becoming something of a celebrity as she would found a orphanage in one of the smaller towns.

Pagan represents the Aspect of Love, as a part of Trinity Terra alongside Jeanne and Kuroi Widow.

Tropes as portrayed in media:

Adorkable: Having lived most of her childhood out in the wilderness, Pagan isn't very sociable around other people, often quiet and a little shy. She's even a little childlike at times, and often overexplains bits and pieces of her life in often embarrassing ways. Even living out in the open in the Waystation hasn't nullified any of these qualities, as she's unprepared for the very notion; she's USED to her previous life hiding from people.

Burger King Register Operator: W-would you like a combo with that?

Pagan: Combo? What's that? I usually get yourr fish from the dumpsters late at night so I don't know what "combos" arre.

Animal-Themed Superbeing: Cat. More specifically, a mountain lion.

All-Loving Hero: Every action Pagan takes is built from love itself, whether it's protecting innocent lives, fighting monsters, or even ready to lay down her life to save others.

Berzerk Button: May whatever God you believe in help you if Pagan finds out you've harmed... or worse... KILLED, any children.

Beware The Nice Ones: Pagan is sweet and kind to anyone she calls friend. Just don't get on her bad side.

Cat Girl: Pretty obvious, this one.

Catchphrase: "I am currious."

Cats Hate Water: Inverted; having lived in the Louisiana Bayou, since a lot of it is water to begin with, Pagan is more than used to swimming in it.

Color-Coded Characters: Pagan often wears red, as it reminds her of the story of Red Riding Hood... the original story, where the titular character dies at the hands of the Big Bad Wolf. It reminds her that humans needs to be protected from such monsters and that she'll be the one to protect them.

Cute Little Fangs: Pagan has them, and when she's being adorable, they're quite the feature.

Cute Monster Girl: Yep. Definitely that.

Deceased Parents Are The Best: While technically not her real father, Casey McCormic was the best father figure Pagan could ever have in the eleven days they were together, teaching her the fundamentals of right and wrong that she adheres to to this day.

Does Not Like Shoes: About 95% of the time Pagan is always barefoot; having stated that shoes are uncomfortable against her toe claws. She could always wear sandals, of course, and she does when she has an image inducer on to appear more human. But once the inducer is off, so do the sandals.

Femme Fatalons: Pagan was born with sharp claws on her fingers and toes, and more often than not uses them as her primary weapons; she has twin daggers too, but she only uses those if her claws can't get the job done.

Forgotten Birthday: Inverted, as it's PAGAN who often forgets her own birthday, and it's her friends who remind her of it, often by throwing her a party. Which shows just how cherished a friend Pagan truly is.

Friend To All Children: Pagan adores children, and will protect them with all the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cubs. She even has an orphanage set up in the town of Doublehead in New Iroquois called Pagan's Pride, where she takes care of children whose lives are upended by ill fate.

Half-Human Hybrid: She is said to be the near-perfect hybrid of human and feline, her very DNA held together by ancient magicks.

Healing Factor: Pagan heals faster than a regular human, having survived being impaled by her own blades, and even being riddled with bullets. Some injuries heal slower or faster than others, depending on the severity, and she's unable to regenerate missing limbs, organs, or brain cells.

Hopeless With Tech: Type 2; Pagan knows how a cellphone works at least. But that's about it. And sometimes she can't tell some devices apart.

Pagan: This is so confusing. Oseiko, I've been trrying to text Jeanne all day but therre's no rresponse!

Oseiko: ... uhm... Pagan, that's a calculator.

Ironic Allergy: Pagan is allergic to catnip. While it can still get her high, she also can't stop sneezing when she's around it. Mostly played for laughs.

Literal-Minded: Tied in to her adorkable personality, Pagan sometimes doesn't quite understand figurative speech just yet.

Moonhowl: Okay, girl. Fess up now. Three kids. All girls. Just admit it. Your biological clock is ticking.

Pagan: I don't own a clock.

Ms. Fanservice: Between Jeanne and Kuroi Widow, Pagan's choice of attire is a bit more form-fitting and lacking of armor. But considering she's tougher and quicker than a regular human it can be argued she doesn't really need armor all that much.

My Instincts Are Showing: Pagan will often walk on her hands and knees and sit on all fours, brush her head against someone's leg, blink her eyes slowly around someone she trusts, etc. All the telltale body language that cats usually exhibit.

Noble Savage: Living most of your life in the Louisiana Bayou tends to do that, though she still protected people from being attacked by any of the wildlife there.

Non-Malicious Monster: Pagan would argue that she's not even a monster, just an animal. Even so, humans who don't know her wouldn't see her that way, and may be afraid or even attack her, even though she has vowed to protect them from monsters that WOULD kill them.

Parental Abandonment: The Wampus Cat, Pagan's mother, abandoned her when she was only a kitten; her human father never even knew she existed.

Proportional Aging: Pagan ages approximately every six and a half years; having been born in 1882, as of 2020, she would be 138 years old, though physically she looks like she's in her early 20's.

Shameless Fanservice Girl: Pagan dislikes clothing and would love to just go around naked all the time since she WAS naked throughout her childhood in the Louisiana Swamps. But for the sake of her friends and passers by she wears clothes out of simple courtesy.

Super Reflexes: Pagan has incredible reflexes, able to dodge most attacks rather effortlessly, and also shows incredible flexibility, especially when slipping out of restraints that would've easily held a normal human.

Super Senses: Pagan's senses are about ten times as keen as an average human's, and about five times that of an average cat's. She is able to see in the dark due to feline-like night vision, and she's also to smell pheromones allowing her to read emotions of others on a basic level, and can easily tell when someone is lying to her from sensing said pheromones and hearing their heartbeat.

Super Strength: Pagan can lift up to nearly 950 pounds. Considering how much muscle definition she has she looks like she could easily rip someone apart to begin with, if she wanted to, that is.

Super Toughness: Pagan's physiology makes her much tougher than an average human. Her body is able to withstand great impact forces and blunt trauma that would severely injure or kill someone else, though she is far from invulnerable.

Trrrilling Rrrs: Pagan trills when she speaks, much like how a cat would purr.