#i used to think ants were a cool little insect and now i have like ant ptsd

[idontremembershippingthis]

It is five days since the war with the ants began. My apartment smells of peppermint oil. My skin is burning. My trash can is full of spent ant traps. And still, I can feel them crawling on me

[hyacinthdoll1315]

3.5 Months of Moth HRT

So, um, hi again! Not much has changed since last time but well, feel like I should be updating this more. a few things have changed. My eyesight is a bit fuzzier now. not enough to need glasses at least! but stuff that's really far away has gotten more, smudged I guess?

I called the doc about it since I was worried about having another eye infection (eww) but apparently, it's not too uncommon to occur by this point, something about the eyes beginning to split? I wasn't able to pay attention to much of it (been so scatterbrained(maybe some more tea will help?) but I did some looking into insect eyes and it seems to be the case? something about less resolution.

my sense of smells really strong now, and I'm starting to find it affecting my emotions. like, you know how ants have this smell they leave when foraging? it, kind of makes me hungry now. not that I've been sticking around ants much! I'm a moth through and through thank you very much! (paperyum)

the biggest thing I think is my skin? I'm not quite sure but it kind of feels, tight? and it's been drying out easier. like, wearing a suit that's too small. not sure what that's about, but at least my setae is still growing!

Well, silver lining I guess.

look, that's, not why I decided to write this though, I just. I feel used, in a way. and I need to write it.

So, about a week ago I went to hang out with my friends again. they've been nice and as cool as always, but, I don't know, there's this kind of, disconnect? like, Only Alice (Tea friend!) has really tried to understand while the others have kind of just acted like nothing changed and teased me a bit as normal. I guess it's just ribbing, but, I don't know, I've never really agreed with it.

but uh, we went to the mall, which was kind of nice, the others wanted to watch a movie and go to the arcade, and it was kind of fun? though a little overstimulating (too loud and the movie was boring) I kept getting weird looks the whole time though, and I just. why? they kept looking at me like, I was strange, which I sort of get, but some seemed creeped out, others disgusted.

I used to be pretty oblivious (I admit, I am kind of naive) but now I just, I couldn't stop seeing it. Even when we went to get food, there was this look in people's eyes like I was, wrong. I even heard someone call me a "freak of nature", though maybe they were talking to someone else? (no, it was about me, definitely).

I tried telling the others I wanted to go somewhere else but they just kept saying it was fine and we could go do something else first. I didn't even get to go to my favorite teashop out of fear of losing the group!

Eventually, we stopped at this ramen place and I remember we were mostly joking around a bit. I was having my salad (meat tastes a bit weird now), I don't remember it all. I think someone said something and I felt hurt, said something like, "I can't help it", I think it was about having to be a vegetarian, and I remember one of my friends just, poked the top of my head and laughed at me, something like "well duh, a moth like you doesn't eat much. don't worry about it, just follow the lights." or, something like that I just.

I felt sick. I quickly got up to the bathroom and I think I heard Alice chastising them but I don't remember. I just, needed space. The whole lamp thing is so annoying! like, everyone acts like moths always move toward light when there's so much more going on there! humans may not know how it all works, but it's definitely not just what people think it is, like some infatuation with it!

After that, I just wanted out. the others acted like nothing happened, but, I don't think I can keep hanging around with them anymore. like, they're my friends, you know? they should be there to help! and they do, or at least Alice does. the others just tend to joke around and be silly.

so yeah, that's what happened. they've tried contacting me with stuff like "Hey Emily, we didn't mean anything by it" "We were just joking, Em", or just "Hey Emily, you coming for our next dnd session?" I think I'm going to stop talking to them, just reduce contact, say I'm busy with other stuff, anything to stay out of, that, again.

I haven't gone out in a bit, just been getting my groceries, got my tea, and been trying to relax. I just hope I can find people who can better understand.

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[twst-hottest-takes]

Hot take: Beastmen and Sea People aren't talked about enough in twst. I feel like Sea People are kind of elaborated on, with some information about how the Sea culture is different from land culture. However Beastmen culture seems to be pretty much the same as human culture, except the women are stronger than the men.

Honestly I was really hoping Cloudcalling on the Savanna would give us more. Like maybe a language barrier, since animals usually communicate non-verbally. I feel like there could be so much done with Beastmen as a species, and they're literally just humans with animal ears and tails stuck onto them! Do they even have fur, or is it just skin??

Now I do understand this is common with half human half animal characters, but the troupe, and design is so bland. The only shows I can think of off the top of my head that have done half human half animal characters right is Dungeon Meshi, and HunterxHunter in its ant arc. Then again in HunterxHunter they were more like 1/3 insect, 1/3 human, and 1/3 animal than 1/2 human and 1/2 animal...either way I liked how much it went into the species, and how their society worked.

Sorry my rant got a little derailed at the end, but I'm sick and tired of seeing anime people have animal ears and tails thrown on them, and everyone oooing and ahhhing over it. And no I don't hate Leona's, Ruggie's, Jack's, Cheka's, Chenya's, Fellow Honest's, or Gidel's designs I just want substance for their species, since animals are so different from humans.

The world building around the beastmen is sparse!

I super agree with this one. There are so many elements to animals and how animal "societies" work that it's interesting to think about how that might cause them to differ from humans. For one thing animal species are so different from each other I wonder if there aren't cultural divides between beastmen of differing species or any ingrained animosities from their beast attributes that effect how certain beastmen interact. For example, I don't believe that a general rule for all beastmen is that the women are stronger. I believe that was established as a fact about the Sunset Savana specifically because hyenas and lions are largely female dominated species (the former being an active matriarchy, and the latter having majority female populations). Jack as a wolf beastman doesn't relate to the idea of being intimidated by women because wolves have a different hierarchy system. These are the types of things that should be discussed more.

In addition to this, anon mentioned general character designs, and I feel that "basic animal person" design complaint in my soul. There HAS to be more to a beastman than just "has animal ears and tail" right? There are elements of other animal traits in there, like the fangs on the Savanaclaw trio. Leona behaves like an obligate carnivore and naps most of the day.

Ruggie Birthday Boy Suit Vignette: Ruggie mentions the bite strength of hyenas.

And of course there's Jack and his sense of smell and general dog-like behaviors including tail wags when he's happy. I frequently ask where the animal ends and the human begins, and if I asked all the questions I wanted to about how the animal elements of beastman effect their anatomy we would be here ALL DAY.

And this is of course excluding all the fun hypotheticals and headcanons, ie. "Tweel Anatomy discussion."

There IS more to be talked about when it comes to beastmen culture, animal traits, and relations with humans and other sentient species. There IS the groundwork laid here! TWST just doesn't take the time to really dive into what makes the beastmen so unique and how the world works around them. They seem to be pretty common, and with the MC being from a world where animal people presumably don't exist one would think there would be plenty of oppprtunities to educate them on these matters. But do we get that? No. TWST doesn't have time for that.

I feel your frustrations, anon. I really do. These boys are so cool in concept and they deserve better!

Thank you for the take!

Also I completely neglected the mermen part of the ask, but I think we established that that bit of worldbuilding isn't quite as frustrating. (Also I will take advantage of any excuse to talk more at length about the Savanaclaw trio.)

[bristolianbackpacker]

Day 23 - The Peruvian Amazon

We are being picked up at 9:00am for our tour. Breakfast is complementary at the hotel but I just need some oats. 

Our cold symptoms have pretty much cleared up but now I have a cough developing. Marco our guide for the next 5 days picks us up and we go via a pharmacy to get some cough syrup and lozenges. 

We head to the HQ to drop some of our stuff off and we start the 90min drive to the lodge. It’s fairly unusual that we can access our lodge by road as most lodges are accessible by boat only. Our lodge would take 5 hours to reach if we were travelling by boat. Once we arrive we just need to take a short boat ride to the other side of the river and we get an intro from Marco, meet the other guests properly - there are two couples from UK and one from US/Canada.  We then get shown to our rooms where we have a little downtime. The room is a bit basic but it’s exactly what I was expecting. 

The site is big and they are building more lodges, the gardens are so well maintained with flowers and fruits growing - plenty of bananas on the trees. 

It takes us quite a while to walk from our lodge back to the lunchroom as there is so much wildlife to see - butterflies, two types of monkeys.

Lunch is served at 1:00pm and it’s really good considering we are in the middle of nowhere. Beetroot, potatoes and carrot salad as entree and vegetable curry for main followed by some watermelon. 

Eating together in the group at set meal times makes it feel a little like boarding school but the group are really nice and we are getting on well so it’s nice to sit together. 

More downtime before we go on a walk later. We need to get adjusted to island time - especially given the limited internet access!

We meet back up at 4:00pm to go on a short 10min walk to a lookout tower. 

The lookout tower is 38m high and is a little scary for me as it gets quite wobbly at the top but it’s easy to get distracted with wildlife spotting. Marco brings his huge telescope so we can zoom in on things - it really puts out Temu binoculars to shame. We see lots of birds - a few types of vultures (3 king vultures were perched in the top of a nearby tree which Marco said was very rare - they were absolutely massive!), a few types of toucans and the olive crested oropendola.

After spotting for a while, it starts getting dark but we stay at the top whilst Marco gives us some information about the area. The lodge is situated on 30 square hectares of private land and it borders Tambopata National Reserve which is 205,000 square hectares. The national reserve is protected land but there is plenty of other land in the Peruvian Amazon that isn’t protected where mining is allowed. He also says that during COVID gold miners started illegally mining in the park because it wasn’t able to be monitored effecting by rangers but this has since been cracked down on. We also find out a bit about native tribes that do not have contact with other humans (plus some that do). 

By the time we get to the bottom it’s really dark and we need our phone torches to get home. 

On the way back to the lodge we see spiders (incl. a deadly spider - I think it was the wandering spider but can’t remember 100% plus a tiny little spider that uses other dead insects to form a big fake spider in its web), a lizard, leaf cutter ants (so cool) and army ants (bad), some frogs plus a cane toad (we know all about this one!)

After the trek we get stuck into dinner - chicken with a creamy mushroom sauce, roasted potatoes and veg. So yummy! Also another older American couple have joined us. 

It’s an early night for us, we have to be ready for our excursion tomorrow at 4:45am! Also the electricity goes off at 10pm and I don’t fancy our chances walking along the uneven/non-handrailed boardwalk in the dark.

[bunnyywritings]

Hii, I think your requests are open but I am not sure, so uhm, if they're not open just delete my ask and pretend it was never there, I'd hate to be disrespectful of you. Would you write about Deku, Shoto and Bakugo (or instead of Baku take Shoji) with an s/o that isn't in the hero course and has a shrinking quirk? Like mount lady but reverse, she can get as small as an ant but usuly when she does shrink she'll be shoulder sitting sized? That could make some adorable things like aaaaaaaa >///

fem!s/o with a shrinking quirk

[a/n: uhmm this concept is so adorable 🥺 thank you for the request anon, you’re so polite 💓 I decided to do all 4 boys so I hope that’s okay, sorry if it seems short...I wrote this in between classes hehe 🙈 enjoy!! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´- ]

midoriya izuku

✤ you bet your diddly doo that this boy has MULTIPLE pages about your quirk

✤ when he first saw you use your quirk it was during the sports festival, you were standing there one second but then it seemed like you just disappeared

✤ he was stunned to see how much strength you actually had even when you were that size

✤ he was convinced that you and shinso were robbed of your spots in the hero course but there wasn’t much he could do about it

✤ I think it would take him a while to finally approach you, but when he does, he’s absolutely ecstatic that you didn’t mind all of his questions

✤ baby boy was quite literally vibrating with excitement

✤ “t-thank you so m-much for answering my questions, (l-l/n)-san.” He was stuttering so much but he couldn’t help it, he was talking to such a beautiful girl

✤ “it’s no problem but call me (y/n), at least that’s what my friends call me.” Now he was bright red as if he wasn’t already

✤ “f-friends?”

✤ but of course “friends” weren’t forever because soon after that, you both had confessed your feelings for each other

✤ from then on, he introduced you to a few of his 1-A class mates

✤ oh boy what a mistake that was

✤ you had gotten along really well with Denki of all people, so one day, the both of you prank bakugo apparently you both have a death wish and of course it backfired

✤ you had burst into the classroom with a panicked kaminari behind you, eyes frantically searching for a certain freckled boy. Your heart beating faster when you could hear explosions getting closer

✤ “Izu! Hide me!”

✤ “huh!? wait how will I-“ he was cut off when you sat on the desk and activated your quirk (you were about 4inches or 10cm tall) and made grabby hands at him

✤ he placed his hand near the edge of the desk so you could jump on

✤ “now put me in your jacket pocket!” Your voice was super cute but he held off his fanboying and did what you said, carefully placing you in his pocket

✤ perfect timing too

✤ “WHERE’S THAT DAMN BRAT?! I KNOW SHE’S IN HERE!!” he caught a glance of kaminari’s blonde hair and growled

✤ “I SEE YOU, DUNCE HEAD!!” And with that, they both were off

✤ you stood up and let your head peak out of the pocket

✤ “(y/n)?! Oh my gosh! That’s so cute!” Mina cooed, making both you and midoriya blush

✤ he carried you around on his shoulder often, he thought it was adorable

✤ he once hid you in the side pocket of his backpack and snuck you into the dorms

✤ it was a success so it was cuddle time!!

✤ if anyone ever bullied you about your quirk, he wad instantly be at your defense and comfort you if you needed it

✤ “Don’t listen to them (y/n), your quirk is amazing and very useful, especially in missions where....” and he went on rambling

✤ but it’s the thought that counts

✤ oh!! I almost forgot!

✤ whenever you were sat on his shoulder and feeling mischievous, stand up and give him kisses on the cheek or neck ;)

✤ this will always effectively fluster him into a blushing and stuttering mess

shoto todoroki

❆ uhm if you weren’t in the hero course, it would take him a little longer to notice you

❆ but you were friends with ochako so he actually often saw you at lunch

❆ one day, you were all sat down and midoriya asked about your quirk and since everyone seemed interested, you gave ‘em a little demonstration

❆ he was kinda paying attention but the soba was so good so he missed the part where you shrunk down a bit but when a gust of wind knocked you over and you landed in front of him, his eyes widened

❆ you were so tiny 🥺

❆ he held out a finger to you and you smiled greatfuly before grabbing onto it and hoisting yourself up, making sure to dust yourself off

❆ he thought your quirk was rather interesting and whenever you shrunk down to size, he would go all doe eyed because he thought you were so precious

❆ you reminded him of the fairies in the bed time stories his mother used to tell him

❆ (i will fight you if you don’t think he used to LOVE hearing about dragons or fairies and fantasy stories when he was a little boy 😤)

❆ once he realized his feelings for you, he just straight up told you

❆ you guys were the cutest couple, the prince and a fairy (ugh oh my god this is freaking cute)

❆ when you first mentioned that you wanted to try and sit on his shoulder while he walked around and stuff, he was a bit apprehensive since he was afraid of dropping you

❆ so you started off easy, you’d sit on his shoulder while he was doing his homework or something and once he was comfortable with that, then you guys got to the moving around thing

❆ he would love it if you sat on his shoulder while he read a book, and he’d read it to you

❆ as much as he loves your quirk, I honestly don’t see him wanting to just rather hold your hand while ya’ll walked around or something but give him those puppy dog eyes and he’d do anything for you

❆ he’d never out right say it but he loves when your on his shoulder and just nuzzle his cheek

❆ he’d call you his little fairy 🥺🦋

❆ “can I please, I’ve had a really long day.” You pouted.

❆ he softly gripped your chin and gently tugged you closer to his lips

❆ “hop on, my little fairy.” He leaned down and gently met you lips, slowly moving them against yours before pulling away and watching as your cheeks and the tips of your ears turned pink

❆ I’m so soft for this boy

bakugo katsuki

✸ pfft i’m sorry, i just had to use this gif

✸ okay so he’d be all like, “Why would I care about some damn extra!!” As he usually is but specially if you weren’t a part of the hero course

✸ but you were friends with kirishima so he learned to deal with you

✸ he originally saw you do the shoulder thing with kiri and he thought he was having a stroke or something

✸ “kirishima, why do you have a damn bug on your shoulder?”

✸ “huh? Oh that’s (y/n)!”

✸ “hey! Who are you calling a bug, you jerk!”

✸ “call me a jerk again and I’ll squash you like a damn insect! Got that you idiot?!”

✸ one time, you fell asleep on denki’s shoulder and he forgot you were there

✸ so when bakugo saw him acting like a ‘reckless idiot’ he swooped in to save you

✸ he gently picked you up by the collar of your shirt and he put you on his own shoulder, making sure to walk around carefully as to not disturb your sleep

✸ you had accidentally disactivated your quirk so you went back to normal size, causing the both of you to fall to the ground with you laying on top of him

✸ he was in shock so he didn’t really move, your noses were touching, his arms had gone around your waist to hold you still

✸ “I’m so sorry, I-“ you had tried to get up be his hold on your waist only tightened

✸ “shut up! I’m trying to think!”

✸ he turned his head a bit and placed an experimental kiss on your lips

✸ well you definitely weren’t complaining anymore

✸ uhh he’d act like he absolutely hates having you on his shoulder

✸ he lives for it

✸ he likes to have you on his shoulder while he cooks so you guys can talk and whatever

✸ if you’re ever being a brat while on his shoulder, he’ll threaten to drop you in the hot oil

✸ he likes to tease you when you’re tiny

✸ as retaliation, you take his things while your tiny, like you’ll steal his eraser or something and he’d tear up his backpack looking for it before he finally spots it on the desk with you sitting on it

✸ he constantly worries about you because denki and sero like to mess with you when you’re in tiny mode

✸ it’s been too many times that he’s found you taped to something while posting about it

✸ i feel bad for the poor soul that decides it’s a good idea to bully you for your quirk

✸ he would quite literally, ‘blow up their asses’

mezo shoji

♡ I think shoji is a little apprehensive about making new friends since he’s a bit insecure but he’s open to the idea

♡ so when he sees that you’re eating lunch alone, he decided to sit with you

♡ you were surprised that he had sat across from you, you froze in place while looking at him

♡ he hadn’t said anything though, he just ate his lunch and you relaxed, continuing to eat yours

♡ this went on for a couple of weeks before you finally broke the ice by offering him some of your onigiri, you watched as he grabbed the onigiri and fed it into the mouth on one of his arms

♡ “your quirk is really cool!” His eyes widened at your sudden confession, he watched as a blush formed on your cheeks and looked away. “sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable...”

♡ he just chuckled and shook his head

♡ from then on the two of you would share your lunch with each other

♡ “come to think of it, I don’t know what your quirk is.”

♡ it was the first time you guys were hanging out outside of school, he had invited you to the dorms and you two were in the common room drinking some tea

♡ “I guess you’re right—hey! what’s that?!” he whipped around to where you were pointing

♡ “What? There’s...there’s nothing-what?” Once he had turned back to you, you were gone. “(Y/n)?”

♡ as he was looking around, you climbed up his sleeve and onto his shoulder, “I’m right here silly~” he looked around once more but couldn’t find you, “yoo-hoo! Shoji-kun!!”

♡ he looked down to his shoulder and oh...you were tiny

♡ he placed his hand near his shoulder and you jumped onto it, holding onto his finger as he held you right in front of his eyes

♡ he definitely wasn’t expecting that, he was so caught off guard that he started to blush (not that you’d be able to tell)

♡ you guys would also train together often and it was during one of those training sessions that he had confessed to you

♡ when you guys start dating, he’d definitely love to have you on his shoulder all the time...he can’t help it, he thinks you’re adorable

♡ “shoji...”

♡ “yes mr. Aizawa?”

♡ “what’s that on your shoulder?” You froze and trying to think of where to hide. “don’t make me do it.” He sighed

♡ “...do what?” Shoji tried playing dumb as he heard your tiny ‘oh crap!’ as you jumped off his shoulder, right when you did was when Aizawa activated his quirk and you reverted to normal size, falling to the ground

♡ there was a few giggles from the class as you got up, looking around

♡ “(y/n)? How’d you get there?” Shoji continued his act

♡ “you know, I was wondering the same thing...”

♡ “miss (l/n), please go back to class.”

♡ “yes sir.”

♡ that wasn’t the last time the two of you tried that

♡ he would also enjoy if you nuzzled and kissed his cheek while on his shoulder

♡ he vowed to protect you if anything were to ever happed

♡ he thinks you’re adorable, mini sized or not

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

The Obey Me Brothers and Undatables vs An Insect/Arachnid Loving MC

I find it amazing how many people find it disturbing that I just love some insects and arachnids (not more than birds but still, insects can be both cute and cool even when they manage to terrify me so I can't help but love them lmao).

It's so cool how insects are actually the most dominant species in the world even before humanity existed and will most likely still be even after humanity ceases to exist, of course some of them actualy spread disease and such but it's not all of them and the mosquitoes that do spread it are females and they are just sucking your blood to feed their babies and the males like flowers over your blood, I actually don't like all spiders but I love tarantulas with all my heart although I can't say the same for wasps, they are evil but they can be so cool I have so many mixed feelings and cockroaches can be so adorable specially the forest/wild ones, have you ever seen them eat fruits??? They are so cute! And don't even get me started on how a d o r a b l e beetles are-

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Lucifer vs Ladybug

Taking strolls in the Castle's garden when you are accompaning Lucifer in his work are very common.

Just taking a fresh breath of the Devildom's air in between breaks with you by his side powers him up like crazy.

Now that being said, he doesn't really appreciate losing your attention to a little, colorful, bug crawling on one of the flowers in said garden.

"Lucifer, look! It's a ladybug! It's so different from the human world!"

That is true, ladybugs in hell were brighter in color and had a toxin in their bodies that- Oh wait

"Don't touch it!" Lucifer grabbed your hand in realization "haven't you learned anything about bright colors in nature? The toxin in their bodies can melt your skin off!"

He really didn't expect your eyes to get even more shiny.

"Ladybugs in Devildom are both bright and dangerous??!! I'm so jealous!"

With that, he became both exasperated and more in love with you.

Does this have a relation to the fact that you love him and his brothers even thought they are demons?

He is definetelly giving you a brooch in the shape of a ladybug later

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Mammon vs Cockroach

If you think this man didn't scream like a plate being scratched with a fork when he saw a cockroach in your bedroom, you are wrong.

I mean, okay, he was on the floor and the thing just decided to crawl up to his head out of nowhere.

He jumped over the table so fast it probably has beaten a world record.

"Aw! It's a baby cockroach!"

It's true, it was very small compared to adult ones, but Mammon didn't care.

"STOP FAWNIN' OVER THOSE CREATURES FOR ONCE AND KILL IT ALREADY!!"

And of course instead of killing it you just raise your eyebrown at him while scooping the thing up with a paper.

And of course you needed to bring it really close to him just to watch him squirm before you decide throw it out of your bedroom's window.

He definetelly will ask you to wash your hands before comforting him even if you didn't even touch the cockroach directly.

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Leviathan vs Dragonfly

You cannot tell me dragonflies in Devildom are actually very few and actually have the size of a small dragon.

It all happened on the day you and Levi got lost in the forest searching for a raven that stole his just purchased phone charm of a game that he was currently addicted to.

Both of you were looking for a way out when you heard an extremelly loud buzzing noise from somewhere in the woods.

Of course both of you followed the sound because first, you just know that must be one big ass insect since it sounded almost like a helicopter and you had to see it, and second, Levi suddenly forgot all about the charm (and being lost) and started rambling about how 'it couldn't be! Is it really-!'

And that is how you guys found his new Henry.

A giant, navy blue, shiny dragonfly, that was currently eating the Raven you and Levi were searching for.

Let's just say Levi got his charm back and both of you got a free ride to the House of Lamentation.

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Satan vs Spiders

Where there are old books, there are spider webs, and where there are spider webs, there's at least a 50% chance there are spiders in there.

So you can say Satan was quite familiar with the eight legged creatures, although he never really paid them much attention.

That is until he found they were of your interest.

You will never see someone start to give spider names, treat them with courtesy and have small talks with them faster than with this man.

Getting a book from the House of Lamentation's library and there's a web in the way along with a resident spider? "Excuse me, I will have to disturb you a little, I hope you don't mind a bit of damage to your home"

He is reading and suddenly sees a spider dangling down from a web string right besides him? He is definetelly letting it land on his hand just so that he can show it to you.

One day he even choses to read a book in his berdoom that a tiny spider was standing on. The sight of the tiny thing crawling around the pages as he reads it and explains some things out loud is so precious to see.

.

Asmodeus vs Scorpions

Of course, what would suit the Lust Demon better than his own patron?

That is until you teach him that there are more than just one type of scorpion, and there is one type that has really big claws and a thinner tail that are usually pretty big in size.

Why would learning that be a bad thing, you ask? Instead of stinging its food, it actually grabs it like a crab.

So yes, the day Asmo held one and didn't use his charms, it pinched him.

Needless to say, it was chaotic.

Leaving the fact he is never approaching those kinds of scorpions ever again, he coos a lot at you while you coo at the small scorpions.

If you tell him the fact that they are his patron just makes you love him more, he will be so happy he will be squealing for the next 5 minutes.

He has definetelly taken a few dozens, of pictures for you while holding one or more scorpions.

His followers in the devilgram were surprised at how even while holding that thing, Asmo still looked amazing.

Scorpions definetelly became sensation in Devildom after that.

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Beelzebub vs Flies

Again, nothing better than his own patron.

If he didn't have to swat them off his food that is.

He has definetelly eaten some accidently.

"Look! I managed to make it crawl up to my finger without scaring it!" you say.

"That is cool. But you should probably wash your hand." He replies.

He's right, wash your hands if you ever grab onto flies.

He finds it really cute that you like insects, and it makes him tingly on the inside when he remembers that his symbolic creature is an insect itself.

Don't hold back on asking him to change into his demon form more often, he is very happy to do it.

He starts paying more attention to insects and flies in general after he finds out how much you love them.

How big their are, their color, where he saw them, what were they doing, if they tasted good.

And then he proceeds to tell you all about it.

He is very cute.

.

Belphegor vs Butterflies

It's not that he attracts butterflies, no. But he actually likes them, finds them cool even.

Did you know some butterflies disguise as another type butterfly because that type is actually not very tasty to eat so the animals stay away from them?

And how many of them have patterns on their wings that look a lot like Owls and again, it makes animals stay away from them?

And the whole symbolism of life, death and rebirth around them? And the fact that the larvae eating everything around them reminds him a lot of Beel?

Belphie definetelly likes butterflies and you cannot tell me otherwise.

So when he finds out you love insects? Oh he is definetelly taking you to the best butterfly watching spot either in the Devildom or the Human World.

It's specially cute when he falls asleep and one lands on his face.

He definetelly had a minor heart attack when he woke up to the sight its wings but he will never admit it.

Also definetelly grabs it and puts it on you instead.

It's counterproductive as you end up looking too cute for him to handle.

.

Solomon vs Beetles

I mean beetle fights.

You thought you liked insects, just wait until you see this man cheering on a beetle like an excited kid.

Also finds it hilarious when one just yeets the other away.

And because now you are there to feed more into his love for beetles, one day he casts a spell on two of them to make them big enough to ride and just showed up outside your window like:

"No time to explain, get in the beetle"

Because of safety measures, no, you guys didn't have a giant beetle fight.

But you did ride them around the Devildom forest at 2am.

You thought it would be an insane ride with lots of adventures

But you guys just ended up star gazing while laying on them.

He forgot to turn them back to their original size and they scared a few of the residents of Devildom.

.

Simeon vs Mantis

Warning: it's a big goreish

When you introduced the praying mantis specifically to Simeon, he was immediatelly in awe.

And then you proceeded to show him how they can have many shapes and forms, be it as leafs, tree branches, and others.

And he was so intrigued!

But then you gave him the more, specific details.

Like how they can feast on their prey while they are still alive.

And how it actually can attack small birds such as humming birds, eating their brain tissue through their eyes.

And how the females practice a cannibalism ritual, feasting on their partners after mating.

That's when his writer self came to light.

What I mean is, he was now both horrified and extremelly inspired.

Simeon can be scary sometimes.

.

Diavolo vs Ants

If you can find ants in every nook and crany around the world, you cannot tell me you can't find them in hell.

If they are able to travel the sea just by being taken along with baggage on accident, they have definetelly come to hell the same way, specially black crazy ants.

So honestly, I wouldn't find it surprising that Diavolo would have at least one big colony of ants he takes care of.

But he didn't have it until you pointed out why ants were awesome to him.

"They don't eat the leafs, they are farmers and what they eat is the other tiny creatures that decompose the leafs" "they can go to extreme lenghts to find their food and they have a real good teamwork, often they don't eat right away but instead bring the food back to the colony to feed the young" "Some ants that live in tropical weather that rains a lot, such as the amazon, can swim! And they do it together in big, ant, nests!"

Needless to say, he was intrigued.

Such tiny creatures are able to eat other insects much bigger than them? And they love sweets?

They actually like their homes clean and throw their trash into the very corner of their enclosure? Their bite can actually hurt a lot even to creatures gigantic copared to their size such as humans??

He had his own personal colony the very next day.

.

Barbatos vs Bees

This man definetelly has his own share of appreciation for bees even before you told him you like insects.

They are very good helpers in the garden, their honey can be used on a extremelly big variety of both food and health products along with their wax, and honestly, they're just so fuzzy and cute.

If you want to get a rare laugh or chuckle out of him, make bee movie references.

He will just stop in his tracks and cover his mouth as he tries not to laugh.

You could almost make him spit his drink if you do it while he is drinking something.

And you can't tell me this man can't make bee related puns with a straight face. It's unbeeliveable

Aight, imma head out

.

(This was basically an insect/arachnid appreciation post and I have no regrets)

[impishglee]

Angels as Eusocial Insects: Caste Determination and Task Allocation

hey guys im back at it again with the applying my studies to xenobiology and my cringe interests <3 and im here to talk abt the angels of supernatural bc i saw this post and it made my brain start zooming. i don’t know shit abt christian or jewish mythology nor will i be digging into it bc thats just not what this is about. im explicitly treating angels basically as a species of alien and only working w what is provided by supernatural itself.

In Supernatural it’s implied that angels are separated into predetermined ranks, largely determined by how powerful they are as a function of their grace, as well as having several specialized angels such as cupids, rit zien and grigori. You know what else experiences a similar phenomena? 

(image source)

ANTS!! As well as other eusocial species like some bees, wasps, all termites and weirdly, naked mole rats. I’m going to be focusing on ants primarily bc that is what i know best. i’m going to be breaking down angels as eusocial insects in two topics:

CASTE: what are the castes and how are they determined, and what are analogous biological examples?

TASK ALLOCATION: on a smaller scale, how do angels divide work among the same caste?

Before we get into it, let’s just get a definition of eusociality out of the way and see if angels check the requirements: Eusociality is the most “advanced” or “complex” form of sociality, defined by:

• Cooperative brood care - we know basically very very little about how angels are “raised” and they more or less seem to be created fully matured, but from the vibes it seems like younger angels are taught and accountable to a variety of older angels. 

• Multiple generations living in the same colony - eyup. 

• Division of labor into reproductive and nonreproductive groups - I would argue yes! In this case I am defining angelic reproduction as the ability to make more angels (excluding nephilim, we are just. ignoring nephilim for the purposes of this meta). In this case God and Archangels are our reproductive castes. 

o Angels reproduce asexually, so we thankfully don’t have to worry abt sex determination. There are no drone/male equivalents.

Stunning. Incredible. Angels are eusocial. MOVING ON!

CASTE:

Caste in eusocial organisms is a morphological category that is roughly split into the queen(reproductive female), workers(nonreproductive females) and drones(male reproductives.) These are not harshly defined in all species and you can get intermediate forms, as well as highly specialized subcastes of workers. If I were to apply these castes to supernatural angels I would sort them like this.

Queen: Chuck lmao

Intermediates: Archangels

Workers: Basically everyone else

• Some specialized sub castes of worker would be the cupids, rit ziens and grigori. Examples of some cool specialized ant castes are twig nesting ant soldiers who have a big flat head they use to plug the entrances to their nests and honeypot ant repletes who basically just eat a bunch of food and hang around and feed other ants through trophallaxis(regurgitate into other ants mouths)

Now castes are morphologically distinct, and these morphological differences are determined by a combination of genetics and environmental factors. In many eusocial insects, reproductive caste determination is a product of how much they are fed in the larval stage, quantity over quality, royal jelly is fake and doesn’t actually affect the development of queens.

In some eusocial species(some wasps, naked mole rats) the reproductive queen is determined by who can beat everyone else up. If the current queen/alpha female dies or is removed from the colony, the strongest females will then enter a period of conflict where they will beat each other up, sometimes even killing competitors. I think this is basically how spn angels work and why the archangels are at eachothers throats as soon as God dips.

In summary: angel caste is determined by “genetics” aka how they were initially made, how much power they obtain, and dominance.

TASK ALLOCATION:

So! If 90% of angels are the same caste, how to they decide who does the smiting and who gives the heavenly lobotomies? 

In social insects there are a couple theories and it varies by species, but in the case of angels I think the two that align the best are morphological and spatio-temporal task allocation. 

Morphological Task Allocation: 

This one is pretty straight forward. In social insects, often bigger, burlier workers will do more dangerous/physically demanding jobs, like defending the nest, foraging and scouting for resources. Smaller ants will be in charge of tasks like tending brood and queen, cleaning the nest, and nest construction.

Bigger, stronger angels will be in charge of more dangerous jobs like smiting demons, fishing the michael sword out of hell, etc and weaker angels will be in charge of maintaining heaven and it’s souls and ambiguous corporate angel duties. Also the lobotomies. 

Spatio-Temporal Task Allocation:

This theory on task allocation is the idea that as an individual gets older they do progressively more dangerous tasks, a good example of this is honeybees! When a bee pupates into a bee, it’s first job is tending brood, then it moves on to nest maintenance/construction, then nest defense, and then the last thing it does before it dies is scouting/foraging. This is the temporal aspect. It’s basically to maximize the efficiency of a lifespan. 

The “spatio” aspect is that ants are essentially doing whatever job needs doing wherever they are, so when they are born they tend the the brood, then other ants pupate and they run out of work, so they move further out in the nest to see what else needs doing like nest maintenance, then more ants start doing that job, so they go further out to forage. 

I think there’s decent enough evidence for this for angels. The temporal aspect is less strong admittedly, though I do think younger angels are probably more relegated to working in heaven instead of going to earth or hell. A strong piece of evidence to me is that Metatron gets saddled with the job of being God’s scribe just because he was there, he was just a random worker in proximity to a job that needed doing, so he did it. 

SUMMARY: Bigger angels do more dangerous jobs, stronger angels also do more dangerous jobs, older angels do more dangerous jobs, and also angels just do whatever job is in front of them.

WOW I THINK I’VE SAID EVERYTHING I HAVE TO SAY ON THIS TOPIC! THIS WAS SO LONG! IF YOU’VE MADE IT THIS FAR, I LOVE YOU <3 I LOVE ANGELS AND ALSO ANTS!

[poisoned-peppermint]

I made dsmp incorrect quotes you wanna see em of course you do here

Bad: *seductively takes off glasses*

Bad: Wow...

Skeppy: *blushes* Haha... what?

Bad: You're really flipping blurry.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is something burning?

Bad, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Skeppy: Bad, the toaster is literally on fire.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Bad: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: So don't panic but one of us is possessed by an owl....

George: ....

Dream: .....

Sapnap: ......

Bad: ..Who?

Skeppy: That's the thing we don't-

*Everyone stares at Bad

~~~~~~~

*Everyone is giving advice to Sapnap*

Skeppy: It's okay to ask for help.

Dream: You're not a burden.

Bad: Murder is okay.

George: Your feelings matter. 

~~~~~~~

Dream: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Sapnap: This knife is actually a magic wand.

George: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Bad: *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Skeppy: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

~~~~~~~

Dream: Did you bring Sapnap?

George, gesturing to Skeppy: No, but I brought the next best thing.

Dream: Skeppy? The next best thing would be Bad.

Skeppy: I would be offended, but Bad is freakishly strong.

~~~~~~~

Sapnap: You're a lying piece of shit!

George: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!

Skeppy: I'm leaving and I'm taking Bad with me!

Dream, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

~~~~~~~

Sapnap: So anyways have y'all seen Bad?

Dream: I think they went in Skeppy's room 'studying'.

George: Doubt that. I heard groans there.

*Meanwhile in Skeppy's room*

Bad & Skeppy, fighting:

~~~~~~~

Bad: Isn’t it weird that we can’t ride any other animal except horses. Like if horses weren’t a thing, humans would be fucked cause we couldn’t ride any other animals. Like riding animals wouldn’t really be a thing. We should probably be more grateful to horses.

George: Elephants.

Bad: Blocked.

Dream: Camels.

Bad: Extra blocked.

Sapnap: Donkeys.

Bad: Ultra blocked.

Skeppy: That dick.

Bad: ...Followed.

~~~~~~~

Bad, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away

 ~~~~~~~

Quackity: I’m this close to falling in love with Sapnap.

Karl: Your fingertips are touching.

Quackity: Exactly.

~~~~~~~

Karl: So how’s the food Quackity made?

Sapnap: It's great! Compliments to them.

Karl: *goes to the kitchen*

Karl: You're adorable.

Quackity: *blushes*

~~~~~~~

Bad: Hey guys I just found a new song I really like-

Quackity: Is it about death?

Bad: No.

Sapnap: Is it about drugs?

Karl: Is it about sex?

Bad: NO- it's about happiness and peace and-

Quackity, Sapnap, and Karl:

~~~~~~~

Karl: Made you all playlists!

Karl: Sapnap, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.

Karl: Quackity, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.

Karl: And Bad has the ABBA Gold album. 

~~~~~~~

Karl: I give up. I am so tired.

Bad: Get the emergency supply!

Quackity: *carries Sapnap and places them in front of Karl*

Sapnap: *smiles*

Karl: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO

~~~~~~~

Karl: What’s the announcement, Quackity?

Quackity: It’s a lecture. Bad’s gonna tell us everything they know about sex.

Sapnap: It should be an enjoyable 60 seconds. 

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Sapnap, you'll be working with Quackity and Karl.

Sapnap: Alright! My fantasy threesome!

Everyone else: *blank stares*

Sapnap: ...Of people on a team.

~~~~~~~

Quackity: We might have gotten into a bar room brawl back in the city.

Karl: Well, that was entirely predictable.

Quackity: One of them punched a gang member.

Karl: Sapnap?

Quackity: Bad, actually.

Karl: Oh, that was going to be my second guess. 

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Alright, which one of us is gonna check outside?

Karl: Not it!

Sapnap: Not it!

Bad: ...Neither one of you are as dumb as you lead on to be.

~~~~~~~

Karl and Sapnap: *making loud, shouty gorilla sounds at each other*

Quackity:

Bad, exasperatedly: We have a guest. 

 ~~~~~~~

Sapnap: I am darkness. I am a power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am-

Karl: A doll.

Quackity: A cinnamon roll.

Bad: A sweetheart.

Sapnap:

Sapnap: ...stop it. 

 ~~~~~~~

Quackity, pointing to the wall: What color is this?

Sapnap: Gray.

Bad: Grey.

Quackity, turning to Karl: Now tell them what color you think it is.

Karl: Dark white.

~~~~~~~

Karl: We need to distract these guys.

Bad: Leave it to me.

Bad: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

Sapnap & Quackity: *immediately begin arguing* 

 ~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad is too tall for me to kiss them on the lips. What should I do?

Ant: Punch them in the stomach. Then, when they double over in pain, kiss them.

Quackity: Tackle them!

Puffy: Dump them.

Velvet: Kick them in the shin!

Bad: No to all of those! Just ask me to lean down!!

~~~~~~~

Velvet: Christmas lights?

Bad: Check.

Ant: THermos of hot cocoa?

Bad: Check.

Quackity: Santa suits?

Bad: Check.

Puffy: Shovel?

Bad: Check.

Skeppy: Alibi and bail money?

Bad: Check- wait, WHAT?!

~~~~~~~

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker*

Bad: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Skeppy: ...I did. I broke it.

Bad: No. No you didn't. Velvet?

Velvet: Don't look at me. Look at Ant.

Ant: What?! I didn't break it.

Velvet: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Ant: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Velvet: Suspicious.

Ant: No, it's not!

Quackity: If it matters, probably not, but Puffy was the last one to use it.

Puffy: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Quackity: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Puffy: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Quackity!

Skeppy: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Bad.

Bad: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

Quackity: Bad... Gumi's been awfully quiet.

Gumi: rEALLY?!

*Everyone starts arguing*

Bad, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.

Bad: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

Bad:

Bad: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here

~~~~~~~

Velvet: How much you wanna bet Bad got a Lap dance from Skeppy?

Ant: If that happend, Quackity can drink free tonight.

Quackity: As much as I love the thought of having free drinks I don't like the idea of Bad receiving a Lap dance from someone other than me.

Velvet: Hey Skeppy, did you give Bad a lap dance?

Skeppy: So what if I did?

Velvet, to Ant: I guess Quackity is drinking free tonight.

Skeppy: Be right back, I'm gonna go cry-

Bad, entering the room: What the muffin??

~~~~~~~

Bad: Skeppy kissed me!

Ant: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Bad: It was unbelievable!

Ant: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Velvet: Okay, we wanna hear everything. Ant, get the wine and unplug the phone. Bad, does this end well or do we need tissues?

Bad: Oh, it ended very well.

Ant: Do not start without me! Do not start without me!

Velvet: Okay, alright, let’s hear about the kiss. Was it a soft brush against your lips or was it like a, you know, “I gotta have you now” kind of thing?

Bad: Well, at first it was really intense, you know? And then, oh God, and then we just sort of sunk into it.

Velvet: Ohh... So, okay, were they holding you? Or were their hands on your back?

Bad: First they started out on my waist and then they slid up and then they were in my hair.

Ant and Velvet: Ohhh.

*meanwhile*

Skeppy eating pizza in their house: And, uh, and then I kissed them.

Quackity: Tongue?

Skeppy: Yeah.

Puffy: Cool.

~~~~~~~

Bad: If you can’t beat them, dress better than them

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Okay okay stop asking me if I'm straight, gay, bi, whatever. I identify as a FREAKING THREAT.

 ~~~~~~

I will be making a part 2 shortly this is just getting to long

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Hope van Dyne’s child

Hope van Dyne x child!reader

Scott Lang x stepkid!reader

warnings: insects (ants), sharp weapons

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Happy holidays darling! Would you write HC for Hope Van Dyne's child? Love the step-parents HC 🥰”

growing up as a lil smarty pants

grandpa hank was pretty proud, although he didn’t see you very much

once every few years

but he did tell you all these crazy stories about his adventures that you honestly thought were just fiction (until you were older)

“and i was as small as an ant, but i was still incredibly strong! remember that, kid. just because you aren’t as big as someone else doesn’t mean you can’t beat them” -hank

“y/n doesn’t need to be hearing those stories, hank” -hope

“why not? they have important life lessons in them!” -hank

“why does mommy call you ‘hank?’” -you

“because mommy hates grandpa, isn’t that right?” -hank

“okay, i think that’s enough of this visit. come on, y/n, time to go” -hope

your mom was very supportive of you, nonetheless

she wanted to be different from her dad

so she showed up to EVERYTHING

birthdays, sick days, tucking you in for bed, parent-teacher conferences, art shows, you name it

“here’s some tea, jellybelly. it’ll make your throat feel better” -hope

“mom, i think i’m dying” -you

“you’ll be fine” -hope, givin’ u a kiss on the forehead

life wasn’t like, extra crazy or anything. sometimes she’d bring you to work and honestly? darren cross didn’t seem like the worst guy. he even brought you whatever you might need if your mom was staying late at work

“hey, van dyne junior! i brought you a puzzle that might keep you busy for a while...and a happy meal from mcdonalds! let me know if you need anything else, me and your mom will just be in the lab for a little while” -darren

“thank you!!!” -you

uh huh, ur mom taught u manners!

anyways you started spending more time with your grandpa cuz they had a plan

thats when you found out that his “turning small” stories were not, in fact, bullshit

“wait grandpa...you actually did shrink as small as an ant?” -you

“why would i lie?” -hank

okay well cue you wanting to shrink down to ant size now it was your new aspiration

you did learn how to command ants tho!!!!!!

but unfortunately (or not so unfortunately) hank brought scott to the party

“hi!” -you, waking scott up

“what?!” -scott, jumping back against the headboard

“hi.” -you, staring at him “im y/n. these are my ants”

bullet ants were just crawlin around the place

“oh, that’s....that’s cool. any chance you could tell me where i am or how i got here” -scott

“wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy” -you, leaving abruptly

“are you bothering our guest?” -hope, watching you proudly nod “good job, jellybelly”

mom taught u how to punch 🥰🥰🥰

and let you use scott as a punching bag

but scott wasn’t like awful or anything he was just insufferable at times

“i think you’d like my daughter cassie. she’s weird and smart just like you” -scott

“did you just call me weird? mom, can i punch him again?” -you

“no no no! i meant weird in a good way! please dont hurt me anymore!” -scott

chasing him around the yard ready to ATTACK

hank had to tell u to cut it out

“dont tell them what to do” -hope

“someone has to” -hank

“excuse me? i parent y/n just fine, better than you ever did for me!” -hope

“do they do this often?” -scott

“every time they see each other but that’s not very much” -you

“hm...hey, do you like ice cream? specifically baskin robbins?” -scott

ur mom said “we do not associate with idiots ❤️” and then proceeded to associate with said idiots

scott did end up saving u from darren tho bc that mf tried to hold u hostage and scott was really not in the mood for that bullshit

“you alright, y/n?” -scott

“murder is okay, right?” -you

after that whole ordeal he and your mom were kinda a thing uh huh

and he introduced you to cassie!!! she was amazingly sweet and you could def see the family resemblance

“is this my new sibling?! i’ve always wanted one!” -cassie

“hey, me too!” -you

you hung out with her on a weekly basis, with or without scott

and mom and grandpa were working on a ✨special project✨

one you insisted on being apart of

“no, y/n, we can’t make you your own suit. you’re too young for this sort of thing” -hope

“pleaaaaase mom? i swear i’ll he responsible with it!” -you

“you’re mother is right, y/n. you’re just not ready yet. maybe someday, but not anytime soon” -hank

scott took you on family bowling trips yes he did

and just corny stepdad shit

but he went to germany and mom and him broke up and FF to two years later when you guys had finally reunited

“scott!! you asshole!!” -you, like this -> :)

“kiddo!! sorry to hear that!!” -scott, same energy

shading him the whole time

“ach mein gott” -you

“are you kidding me, y/n? i make one mistake. ONE” -scott

“you’re one mistake has caused me to live in MINIATURE HOMES” -you

“THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD THING” -scott

“WELL IT’S NOT” -you

“did you at least miss me?” -scott

“sicher habe ich” -you

“god dammit” -scott

surprise!! u kind of had a suit (for emergencies)

as a van dyne/pym, it was almost a necessity to know how to use pym particles

scott acted like a proud dad

“wow, you’re really doing it!!!” -scott

“halt die klappe” -you

“please stop” -scott, tearing up

finding out about ✨grandma✨

she possessed scott and touched ur face and told you that she was so excited to meet you but you didn’t know wtf was going on and you had the urge to smack scott but THANKFULLY you did not

“i have to meet her for real! let me help you guys!” -you

“okay” -hope

“what? really?” -you

“it’s about time we put your genius to good use” -hope

scott offered you a high five for that and u literally accepted it

“don’t get too happy, that was just an in-the-moment thing” -you, watching scott’s eyebrow raise “fine. you can have a hug”

okay okay well everything went okay and then half the world ~vanished~ including ur whole family but like cassie and her family took you in and you spent five years very alone and upset until one day cassie called you downstairs and whoopdedoo???? scott???????

“is my mom with you?” -you

“sorry, sport, she’s not...do you have your suit with you? we need to go on some...hero business” -scott

you missed scott a lot over the past 5 years, this really did cheer you up, even if it was just him

“how’ve you been holding up the past few years” -scott

“the world sucks, man” -you

“i can see that” -scott

he turned on some tunes for the two of you to enjoy otw to the avengers hq and it was probably the best memory you created since everyone disappeared

“wait, reach into the glove box” -scott

“oh, god, i hope there’s no rodents in here...” -you, reaching for a picture “is this..?”

“family photo!! you were little back then, i can’t believe how time flies. i mean, it flew really quick for me, the quantum realm is no joke” -scott

you were busy staring at the picture of your mom, you really missed her

busy ~saving the world~

and going to 2012 with scott

“hey uh just so you know, i might be able to make pym particles” -you

“‘might?’ and if we use faulty pym particles we ‘might’ die. would you like that?” -tony

“hey, back off, stark. they’re just trying to help” -scott

next thing u know ur in present day and THEN u actually got to hold the scepter bc scott let u

“im gonna stab you!!” -you

“no!!!” -scott

the other avengers, literally mourning natasha while you chase him around with a sharp weapon: 😧

okay after the place was destroyed u got to face mr. purple man and yo mama showed back up and saw you on the front lines

“y/n????” -hope

“mom????” -you

“scott!!!!” -scott

“really, scott? a shrek reference? now?” -you “...nice”

the reunion with your mom was short and sweet but you missed her forehead kisses and she gave you one immediately!!!! and she was crying but you were too bc damn

“listen, after this, we’re gonna have such a fun family night. i’m so sorry i couldn’t be there for you all this time” -hope

“mom, it wasn’t your fault...it was that purple bastard, let’s get him!” -you

“they grow up so fast...” -hope

i n s e c t f a m

insect fam killed it out there and then ✨attended tony’s funeral✨ together right after

that’s one solid family 😌💖

anyways time to celebrate a (halfway) return to normalcy

with your *sister* cassie and your mom and your...scott

you were just happy to all be together again, it’s been WAY too long

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @lxncelot //

[olivinesea]

Play it Right

a/n: I’m back! We’re in the single digit countdown to the end of this godforsaken school year aghhhh. So excited I can’t even tell you. Here’s some Hotch being sad but trying to be a good dad. ~3.3k

Hotch & Sean take Jack out for his birthday.

Memories of childhood were hard to come by, often only wisps of faded colors that he couldn’t completely resolve into images. There were light drenched afternoons with disembodied fingers pulling up blades of grass. Other partial scenes where dirt stained knees crawled into dark spaces where the world was cool and damp, following a trail of ants as they slowly dismantled some lifeless form. There was the sickened twist of fascination that accompanied the discovery, watching the way it was transformed from something into nothing with only the help of a few thousand tiny insects. Individually inconsequential in size, collectively a force of nature unstoppable as they reduced the abandoned shell into a small drift of feathers. The pale structure stirred and blown away easily by the air displaced when he reached down to take a single one. He dreamed about the ants coming to him, taking him away piece by piece until there was nothing left but traces of bone dust, dispersed by a midnight breeze. For any other child this would have been a nightmare but to him it was a promise. A promise of order and structure, an indication that time did in fact move forward and wasn’t trapped within stagnated pools hiding in the dim recesses of closets. That it wasn’t a continuous loop of threats and tears, of lies worn so smooth they slipped out of mouths unaware. It won’t happen again. He loves you. I love you.

It was far better to let his memories of childhood be lost. Easy enough to do with no one else who had been present at the time around to reinforce them with retelling. No one else to share with over a drink, bouncing stories back and forth, refreshing the dilapidated structures with a new coat of detail. As he let them dissolve they became defanged, passive enough to believe they were not even about him but possibly a story he’d once read and allowed to mingle with his reality. He had always been told he had a vivid imagination, maybe he could allow that to be true retroactively. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. He was still here and none of them were.

Except Sean.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose impatiently. They’d been waiting for Sean for at least half an hour. His brother, never punctual, was cutting it close once again. They were supposed to be taking Jack to the Mets game. Originally conceived by Sean, the idea was floated as a birthday gift for Jack’s tenth birthday—double digits, a big deal for any kid. Somehow this “gift” had become something Hotch had organized entirely, buying the tickets, getting Jack and himself to New York, filling in the rest of the weekend with kid-friendly activities. He’d made it so easy for Sean, all he had to do was show up and he wasn’t even getting that part right. He glanced at his watch again, resisting the urge to double check the time printed on the tickets. It was a baseball game, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they missed the beginning.

He looked at Jack, sitting on the bench, fiddling with the laces of his glove. The glove was a hand-me-down of sorts. He had found it while helping clean out their parents’ house after their mother passed away. Sean swore it wasn’t his but it couldn’t be Hotch’s either, it was for someone right-handed. Plus, he couldn’t pull up any memories connected to it. He’d never been a team sport kind of kid. Too silent, too reserved to fit in with the loud boys who jostled each other playfully and banded together with unnecessary vitriol for the opposing teams. Hotch never understood team rivalries. Of all the many sources of hatred he’d learned, going to a different school didn’t make the list. It didn’t make any sense to create tension, to whip up emotions that had no basis. He knew enough of hate not to go looking for it where it didn’t need to exist.

Rather than argue with Sean about it, he’d taken the glove home and held on to it until Jack was big enough to use it. He wasn’t exactly sure why but he made up a story for it, weaving a collection of happy moments to accompany the time-softened leather. He told Jack the stories he felt he should have had, the kinds of stories fathers should tell their sons. He hadn’t bothered to do this when Jack was younger, hadn’t worried about his son’s perception of the past. But as Jack got older, as life took more and more away from him before he’d even had a chance to be aware of what he had, Hotch felt the need to give him pieces of a family history. He felt they should be stories that would make him feel normal, if that were at all possible with a life like this. Like he was any other kid with parents who were once kids themselves, chasing the same simple joys. He thought it might be comforting, I’ve known happiness and so can you.

Hotch would do anything to make Jack happy and even though it often made him crazy, this meant including Sean in their lives. His relationship with Sean had always been tense. There were several years after Haley’s death, after his absence in the aftermath, when things were beyond strained. Hotch, once he had surfaced enough to feel things, had burned with a white hot anger, tempting him to sever their tie permanently. It was an anger he didn’t trust himself with, strong enough to break through his control without a second’s notice. So he didn’t call, didn’t make the effort he knew was required to pull his brother back into his orbit. He never spoke of it of course but Jessica noticed. She heard Jack asking about his uncle, saw the muscle in Hotch’s jaw jump as he ground his teeth together to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. When she felt enough time had passed, she started to push him in little ways to reach out, to reconnect.

So he’d ended up here, once again, waiting for Sean, unsure if he’d even manage to remember his nephew’s birthday. Hotch was internally cursing his younger brother and considering leaving on the next train with or without him when the younger man appeared. He looked a little disheveled, hair sticking up in odd places, the shirt under his leather jacket not altogether clean. But he was smiling and calling their names, sweeping first Jack and then Hotch into a hug, almost certainly intending to irritate his brother with the uninvited contact. Hotch could smell the beer on his breath and gave him a sharp look. Sean shrugged it off and turned his attention to Jack.

“Alright kid, are you ready for this?” he ruffled the boy’s sandy blond hair as he asked. Jack grinned up at him, nodding his head a little too vigorously. Sean never failed to charm.

Hotch frowned at them. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re cutting it a little close.”

Sean scoffed and made a face at Jack, mimicking Hotch’s serious features, only to stick his tongue out and make Jack giggle. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” He punched Hotch’s shoulder, earning another glare, but they all started walking toward the platform. Hotch followed just half a step behind, keeping a close eye on Jack in the thickening crowd. He watched Sean weave confidently through people, happily becoming the lead adventurer. Hotch, who had regretted this from the moment he’d agreed, felt his stomach twisting on itself, anticipating what kind of unnecessary chaos Sean would lead them into today.

They made it to the ballpark without too much difficulty. With some shuffling, they arranged themselves in the hard stadium seats, Jack between the two men. This checked two boxes for Hotch—in the middle Jack was both protected and protecting him from being too close to his brother. If Sean had been a little tipsy when he’d shown up he could now be considered fully inebriated. He hadn’t stopped drinking beer since they got there. Hotch, already on edge, was exasperated by this behavior. However, his pointed glares got him nothing but a grin and a lifted glass waved in his direction.

Jack didn’t notice, just happy to see his Uncle Sean who was always so fun and wild. He was the only family of his dad’s that he had ever met so there was something extra special about this man, so different from his dad but somehow his nearest relative. Jack was chattering to him about kid things, filling Sean in on all the art projects and field trips and other critical moments of his life. He proudly showed off the glove, talking about how his dad told him of Sean’s skill as a baseball player and how he said he used to go watch his games and cheer him on.

Sean almost spit out beer he laughed so hard at this information. “You’re kidding. Is that the kind of BS your dad is feeding you?” He looked over at Hotch, who might have been trying to literally kill him with the look he was directing his way. “That damn glove was never mine and you know it Aaron.”

Unrelenting in his disapproval, Hotch shrugged slightly, “Maybe I have some of the details mixed up.”

“Details?” He looked back at Jack, “That glove was your dad’s and for some stupid reason he tried to throw it away one day and your grandpa kicked the shit out of him for it.”

“Sean!”

“What?” Sean was an expert at faking innocence. Jack was wide eyed, looking between the two adults, not understanding what was happening.

“Can I speak with you?” Hotch’s words were clipped, gritting them out between clenched teeth.

“Oooh Agent Hotchner, yessir,” Sean sat up straight, faking a snap to attention but the effect was lost as he swayed slightly. Hotch pressed lips together and grabbed Sean by the jacket shoulder, pulling him to his feet and pushing him out into the aisle.

“What are you thinking? Why would you say something like that?” Hotch tried not to raise his voice but he was barely succeeding.

“You think it’s better for him to believe in some bullshit you made up?” Sean spat back at him.

“Why not? I’m protecting him. He’s lived through enough, he deserves to have some happy stories.”

“So you lie to him,” Sean said, voice flat.

“It’s not lying.”

Sean wasn’t playing anymore, he was angry, every bit as angry as Hotch. His face was flushed from alcohol and emotion. He looked directly at Hotch, making sure his words sank in. “It is lying, just like you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you,” Hotch protested but the words barely made it out of his mouth.

Sean laughed meanly. “You lied to me every fucking day in that house Aaron. I saw everything, heard everything only for you to turn around and tell me it was all fine, that our dad was a good man.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his clenched fists. “I thought I was fucking crazy.”

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“Bullshit. You were being selfish, just like you are now. You think you can just change the facts and no one will know, that it won’t affect anyone else. I have bad news for you: we don’t all just exist in this world you made up in your head. Jack is a real person, I am a real person. Refusing to admit what was happening didn’t make it any less real, it just meant that I was alone with it. Just a little kid alone trying to understand why someone who was supposed to take care of me would hurt my brother and why, why my brother would lie about it. Did you think I was stupid?”

Hotch didn’t know how to respond, stunned by the bitterness of Sean’s words.

“I’m not going to sit around while you lie to someone else about our shitty father. What’s even the point of protecting him anymore?”

Hotch frowned, “I wanted you to have a normal life, a normal relationship with him. He liked you. I thought if I could keep that side of him away, you could have the kind of father I saw other kids have. I thought I could give you that.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard. Always have been.”

“Please, Sean,” he tried to find more words, some way to make Sean understand. He’d only ever wanted to keep him safe.  

“I won’t lie about this Aaron and you shouldn’t either, Jack’s going to learn everything someday, whether you like it or not. Do you want him to be able to come to you? Or do you want him to be afraid, afraid he can’t trust you to tell him the truth?”

Hotch hung his head. “I’m sorry Sean. I didn’t realize—”

Sean cut him off, “I’m done with this.” Clumsily he pulled something out of his pocket. “Here, give this to Jack, tell him I said happy birthday.”

Hotch wanted to ask him to stay but he’d already turned, walking up the stairs, grabbing the railing every once in a while to correct his balance. Hotch looked at the coin in his hand, a Kennedy half-dollar, remembered giving it to Sean on his tenth birthday. It was the same coin his father had given him when he turned 10, just before Sean was born. He remembered the time of his mother’s pregnancy as being particularly bad. His father had been careful with her, solicitous even, trying to ensure that this baby, this wanted baby, would make it safely into the world. But his temper hadn’t gone anywhere, he simply focused it all on Aaron. He'd had to miss a lot of school that fall.

But then, for no reason discernible to him, his father’s mood had shifted a couple months before the baby was due. He started coming home early, bringing gifts for both of them. Some were even wrapped (by the shop clerk no doubt, but wrapped). The glove had been one of these gifts. It hadn’t fit him right but he had said thank you and hoped he could keep this version of his dad around as long as possible. It lasted until Sean was about six months old. The first night his dad came home drunk and angry, yelling at his mom who just stood there holding Sean, too petrified to move away. Seeing that, the frailty and futility in his mother’s stance, he knew that he had to get in between them. He knew then he would do anything he could to protect his baby brother. Sean was the most perfect thing he had ever seen and he intended to keep it that way. He’d done what he could but all he really knew how to do was lie. It was all he’d ever been taught.

The glove became a nightmare that repeatedly came back to haunt him. His dad would go through fits of wanting to be a “normal family.” He would drag them out to the lake for picnics, would insist Aaron play catch with him in the yard. But he was never coordinated enough and it would always end with his dad frustrated and cursing him. When he was thirteen he started to experience overwhelming fits of anger. They came on suddenly, could be set off by anything. His vision would blur and he would feel a desperate need to lash out against the brutally indifferent world around him. During one of these fits, he threw the glove in the garbage, sick of being humiliated by it. Then, the emotion gone as quickly as it appeared, he promptly forgot about it.

Unfortunately, being an angry adolescent did not lead to the smartest decisions. His father found it in the trash and immediately went looking for his ungrateful son. He’d found him with Sean building tiny forts out of sticks in the back yard. Aaron hadn’t even had a chance to remember that he’d thrown the thing away before it was being used to leave marks on his exposed skin. Hotch wondered that Sean could even remember it, he had been so young. He wondered, too, how he could have forgotten, the sting of his failure to protect his brother from that knowledge making itself clearly felt now.

The coin, however, had been a treasured gift, inspiring him to begin a collection that he hid carefully in the back of a drawer. Something he could pull out and remind himself that there had been good moments. That he hadn’t just imagined them. Looking at his coins offered rare moments of peace in the continuous turbulence of the Hotchner household. When he was twenty and Sean only ten, Aaron had felt guilty for not being around as much. The kid had recently lost his father and was living with a quickly deteriorating mother. So he gave Sean the original half-dollar, hoping that his little brother would be able to find the same comfort in it, maybe even develop his own interest in the hobby. Unsurprisingly, coin collecting never caught on with Sean. He was too loud, too rough to spend hours inside, inspecting tiny characters and noticing slight variations in markings. Hotch had assumed Sean had lost the coin years ago, had even felt a little sad thinking about it being lost. Sean was many things but he never failed to surprise Hotch. He shook his head, clearing the lingering thoughts, needing to focus on what he was going to say to Jack. He turned to walk back to their seats.

Jack watched his approach over his shoulder, “Where’s Uncle Sean?”

“He wasn’t feeling well, he said to wish you happy birthday.”

“You made him leave,” Jack’s small face was contorted into an accusing scowl.

Hotch shook his head, ready to commit to this stretching of the truth but he stopped himself. “He was upset,” he started then paused. He really didn’t want to explain this story.

“Why?”

Hotch rubbed the coin with his thumb, “Well, he didn’t like the story I told you about the glove.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t the truth and he thought that it was wrong of me to lie.”

Jack was quiet, thinking about this. Hotch waited patiently for him to process. “What’s the true story?”

He hesitated, “It’s not a very nice story Jack.”

“But it’s the truth?”

Hotch nodded, the muscles around his lungs constricting too tightly to speak. Jack looked too serious for a ten year old. “Then that’s the story I want to hear.”

A mix of emotion spread through him, partly anger at Sean for forcing his hand, but also pride in his son’s strength. He sighed, “And I’ll tell you, but not today ok buddy? Today is about you and about good memories.”

“Ok Dad but you have to promise.”

Hotch smiled, “I promise. Here, Uncle Sean wanted me to give you this, it’s your birthday gift.”

Jack took the offered object and looked closely, trying to figure out what it was. The metal was aged making the words hard to read through the patina. “It’s…old?”

Hotch laughed. “It is very old, you’re right.”

“What is it?”

“Well, do you want to hear the story of where it came from?”

“Only if it’s true,” Jack replied, a little smile revealing that he was teasing his dad. When had he gotten so mature?

“Of course, nothing but from now on,” Hotch held up his hand in mock solemnity. Without warning, Jack leaned over and wrapped his small arms as far as they would go around Hotch, pressing his face into his chest. Hotch hugged him back, thankful that despite everything, every stupid mistake and unforgivable failure, he had managed to get this one thing right.

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 11,809

Chapter Warnings: swearing, manipulation, mind control, blood, violence, su.icidal ideation, panic attacks, and temporary character death

Chapter Summary: Dream’s broken out of prison.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Eleven: take a drink of that promise land

His thoughts fly apart. His heart pounds in tandem with his feet. There is room for one thing in his mind and one thing only, the words curling around themselves, the end running into the beginning, and it’s Sam is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead is dead is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead and Dream is is is—

And under that, Sam’s words echo: As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison. Delivered with such confidence, meant to be a reassurance, a promise. But Sam is dead.

He bursts into the Egg’s chamber at a dead sprint. And then draws up short, eyes darting around the room. There: Puffy, arguing with Bad, Sapnap by her side. Next to Bad: Ant, Punz, Ponk. Standing back from the Egg a bit: Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, Phil, Ranboo, a measure of distance between the former two and the latter three.

But they’re all alright. None of them are bloodstained. There are no cries of pain. No clash of weapons. No eyes gone blank and empty, no items scattered across the floor to indicate a first or second death. They’re all alright, haven’t even come to blows yet, it seems, and for a moment, Wilbur is the only one in the room who knows. He is the messenger, and he must deliver the news, even though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to voice it, doesn’t want to make it real. It’s a crushing weight in his chest, stealing his breath, making his head spin. He holds his communicator tightly in his hand, a death grip. Checking it one last time changes nothing. The words are still there.

No one’s seen him yet.

“—did not sign up for this,” Techno is saying, an aside to Phil that he doesn’t bother to keep at a murmur. “I’m here to fight, not watch a domestic dispute. This is really awkward, Phil. They’re just screamin’ at each other.”

“Feels a bit scuffed,” Phil agrees, voice slightly distant. His eyes are fixed on the Egg, his fingers absently fiddling with his sword hilt.

“Dream’s coming,” Wilbur says.

He doesn’t say it as loudly as he intends. His voice cracks slightly on the second word. But the room goes silent, and all eyes turn to him

(and it’s a terrible imitation of things that once were, of his voice strident and powerful and his words potent and inspiring, and his speeches commanded armies, once, led people to die for him, but this is not that, and he is as much a harbinger as the crow that perches on Philza’s shoulders)

at once.

“What?” Tommy says, his voice a pale shadow.

Mutely, he holds out his communicator, as though they can read the print from this distance. But it provokes all of them into pulling out theirs, and he watches the transformation, watches the realization dawn. Watches Techno raise an eyebrow, watches Phil frown, watches Puffy’s face contort in visceral horror. Watches Tommy mouth the words to himself, disbelieving. Watches him look up, make eye contact, and there is a sheen in his eyes, a desperation for this to be untrue, and he wishes he could give him what he wants. Wishes he could say that this is some kind of prank, a joke in poor taste.

If there is anyone laughing, it isn’t him.

“Well, shit,” Phil says.

“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no, no, no, there’s no way, the prison is supposed to be secure, there’s no way this is real, oh holy shit, holy shit what are we going to do—”

“Does this have to mean he’s out?” Tubbo asks, practically a plea. His ears have folded back, almost plastered against his skull. “There’s no way that he could still be in there? And that he just, got in a lucky shot or something?”

It’s a possibility, technically. A possibility that Sam let his guard down around the prisoner, that Dream somehow managed to overpower him, even after months in solitary confinement, muscles atrophying, managed to get one over the man armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite armor. A possibility, but not a likely one, and he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t true, knows that

(you looked at that mask at that blank smiling mask and you did not need to look in his eyes to know what lurked did there did not need to look to feel his gaze crawling down your back and you bloodied his nose and yet he looked on you like dirt like an insect like a puppet)

Sam would never have been so careless. If Sam is dead, has lost a life to Dream, then Dream is out.

“How could this have happened?” Puffy asks. “Sam would never have let his guard down!” There is more than fear lining her words, but Wilbur can’t pay her much attention now. Because Tommy’s breaths are coming in quick, shallow, edged with a hint of a whine, and he knows very well the beginnings of a panic attack when he sees one.

(and it was never supposed to happen to Tommy to his little brother to his baby brother and he doesn’t know if it was the war but if not the war it was everything that came after and the blame all comes circling back to him in the end)

Phil steps forward, concern written on his face, but Wilbur brushes past him.

“Tommy,” he says, and takes Tommy’s hand in his, keeping his grasp light and loose, so that Tommy can break away if he wants, “breathe with me, alright? In and out.” He breathes, loud and exaggerated, and it is a miracle that he can keep the rhythm steady when he was so scared only a moment ago, when he still is scared, when he expects footsteps to echo down the corridor at any moment, the worst nightmare become reality. But this is for Tommy, and for Tommy, he can put aside his own fears, can forget where they are and what they’re doing and push away the growing static and do what needs to be done. Do what he has promised to do.

Tommy grips his hand so hard he can almost hear his bones creaking. But gradually, he comes back, and his darting eyes focus on his face, clarity shining back through, though the fear does not dissipate.

“He is going to have to go through all of us before he gets to you,” Wilbur says lowly. Another promise. This one, he will be better about keeping to the letter. But Tommy shudders.

“That’s what I’m fucking scared of,” he says, in a voice that tries to be harsh but instead just sounds young.

(child soldiers, child soldiers, lives too short and graves too long)

“I’m not going to let anything happen,” he says, and wishes Tommy would believe him. But he cannot fault him for his lack of faith. Not after anything. Not after he’s grown so accustomed to family letting him down time and time again, not when he’s grown so accustomed to being burnt every time he extends a hand. Wilbur has wielded that fire himself. He can hear it even now, crackling around the edges of his consciousness, held at bay now only because he can see its destructiveness for what it is, can look past the horrible glory to the inglorious horror.

Or. No. That’s the Egg. The crackling is whispers.

He’d almost forgotten. He’s been focused on the other problem, almost forgetting about the first. But the Egg is here, gleaming red, pulsing, blood-drenched. He blinks, and his vision wavers, and there is blood beading on its surface like condensation, like dew, rolling down its sides and pooling beneath it. Spreading outward. Reaching for him.

People are talking. Discussing.

“He’s not going to go through all of us,” Techno is saying. “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not that good. And he’s homeless again. I’m not goin’ down to some homeless man.”

“Do we even know that he’s coming here?” Phil asks. “He wouldn’t have any way of knowing where we are, right?”

Bad is soaked in it, soaked in the blood, and Ant, and Punz, and Ponk are soaked in it, and it is creeping up onto everyone else, staining their trousers, and he can hear the whispers, can hear the promises, can hear it again he can hear it again—

Sing blood, sing fire, it says to him, sing a requiem, sing of sleep, sing of what you want, if only you choose, if only you give in, I can give you all you’ve wanted, I can fulfill your dreams, and you ran once but you have returned to me now and I am in your blood and so is the fire and so is the void and you cannot deny yourself for long, gunpowder child.

(please not again please not again please no he won’t he won’t he won’t)

Tommy yanks on his arm.

“Wilbur,” he hisses.

(it asked you to hurt Tommy it asked you once and it will ask you again stop listening to it stop stop stop)

He blinks again, and the blood is gone, though the room is still bathed in red, from the egg and from the lava. Tommy is pressing something into his hand, a bottle of holy water, and Wilbur takes it with only a second of hesitation. The water goes down cool and fresh, and his mind clears. Not all the way. But enough. The whispers dissipate back into the static, indistinguishable from white noise.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Just keep your head on straight, big man,” Tubbo says, and—oh, it’s Tubbo who gave him the water. Tommy’s still holding his hand, but Tubbo’s pressed close to both of them, and whether he’s looking to protect or to be protected, Wilbur doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“So obviously, this changes things,” Ant is saying, slow and considering.

“Does it?” Puffy asks.

“Of course,” Bad says. “We think that Dream should be in prison just as much as you do. He did bad things. He should be locked up.” He pauses, tilting his head, and Wilbur thinks that this is the most like the old Bad that he’s sounded. “So, how about we have a truce? We work together to take care of this, and maybe you’ll see how much the Egg can help, and then we won’t have to fight at all!”

“Right, because teaming with the people we were about to commit extreme violence against five minutes ago is a great plan,” Techno says. “I don’t see what could go wrong with that at all.”

Wilbur’s glad he said it. He understands the idea, of course, understands the concept of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he cannot work with those he does not trust, and he does not trust Bad or Ant or Punz not to stick a blade in his back as soon as he dares to turn it. Wouldn’t, even if there weren’t a mind control egg involved, even if they didn’t follow the very thing that has attempted to coerce him into betraying the only thing left he holds dear, the only people. Even if he still didn’t feel the thing sticking its tendrils into his mind, trying to find purchase.

He takes another swig of water. Tries to loosen his grip on the neck of the bottle, and fails.

“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Puffy says. Her shoulders slump. “If Dream is coming, we can’t be fighting among ourselves. We have to present a united front. Anything less, and he’ll walk all over us.” Her face is tight, but there is no real fear in it. Just pain. Perhaps regret.

(and you know that face you have seen it before that is the face of a parent who believes they have failed their child their light their beloved gone wrong and snuffed out and unrecognizable and they wonder if they could have stopped it and do not know which answer would be worse)

And as if the words are a summons, there are footsteps.

Footsteps. Unhurried, casual. Echoing down the corridor, loud as drumbeats, loud as a death knell. Footsteps, and the room goes quiet, unnaturally so. The Egg, that constant hum, stops, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. The world balances on the edge of a coin, teetering, ready to fall one way or the other. An anvil hangs overhead, waiting for the lever to be pulled, an anvil if the anvil knew the taste of blood and longed for it. An anvil if the anvil delighted in the death it caused.

(that day is blurry and out of focus, all its darkest implications slipping from Ghostbur’s memories like butter. he remembers showing Friend to Techno. and he remembers a flash of gold, brilliant and consuming and orienting the sky on a new axis. was the idea planted then, he wonders? the possibility that Ghostbur sought out so ardently? trade a ghost for a villain and try not to count too dearly the cost?)

“Shit,” Phil mutters, and just like that, everyone in the room takes on a defensive position, eyes trained on the entrance, half-hidden by vines as it is. Phil and Techno shift closer together, in sync as they always are. The Egg’s cohorts bunch up together. Sapnap strides forward a few paces, standing just a bit in front of everyone else, and no one moves to stop him, not with the scowl his lips are twisted into, not with the ready way he holds his sword.

(he is coming he is coming dark and twisted the poison at the core and you are all out of time)

Wilbur places himself between the entrance and the boys. It probably says something that they don’t try to stop him, that Tommy doesn’t call him out for babying him, that Tubbo doesn’t protest.

The sword falls into his hand. He hates

(himself, what he can do with it, but he has no crossbow so he must carry something and this sword is what he has even if he doesn’t want it but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and self-loathing is thick in the back of his throat)

it, but he can use it, and that’s what matters most. Has always been what matters most, ever since the day he left home, guitar strapped to his back and songs on his lips and eyes still bright and curious, not jaded and dull as he knows they are now. He could use a sword, then, of course; Philza would never have allowed him to leave without the ability to defend himself. But it did not call to him, and it does not call to him now,

(but there is only one thing that calls to him now)

but there is no longer any room to worry about callings. The dog days are over, and he has been a general, and he has been a president, and he has been a traitor, and he has been a villain, and now, he will settle for being a protector. If just this once.

Dream steps into view.

It has always been odd, the power that he holds to command a room. Part of Wilbur knows that it is more their fault than anything; he can command a room because they give him the power to do so, because even after all this time, they still fear him. But Dream steps into view, and he cannot tear his eyes away, even though Dream is only a skinny man in a hoodie and a smiling mask that a five-year-old could have drawn.

It is something in his bearing, perhaps. The way his head is held high even after weeks of imprisonment. The way he strides forward, confident even though he is far outnumbered. The way his actual mouth, just barely visible under the edge of his mask, curls up in a smirk.

(you look at him and he is wrong he is wrong watch the shadows watch what dogs his steps do you see it you must see it)

Or perhaps it is the blood that stains his hands. It glints in the lava light, tacky, not yet dry.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he says. Too calm. Too even.

“Shit off,” Tommy says, and Dream’s gaze snaps to him.

“Oh, come on now,” he says. “Don’t be like that, Tommy. After all the fun we had together? I had to work hard to make this little visit happen, you know. I’d think you’d be a little more thankful.”

“Okayyy—”

“You’ve got no right to—”

“Oi, you can’t just—”

“Don’t you fucking talk to him—”

“Yeah, I have to say, that’s pretty cringe of you—”

The chorus of voices that comes to Tommy’s defense, including his own, is gratifying. And it seems to bolster Tommy’s spirits, too, makes him stand just a bit taller, defiance flashing in his eyes. But then, one rises above the rest, and Sapnap takes a few steps forward, holding his own sword steadily out in front of him.

“This is the only warning you’re going to get, Dream,” he states. “Go back to the prison, now.”

Dream laughs.

(a laugh, not a wheeze, and that tea-kettle whistle is a distant memory, belonging to brighter days when no storms brewed on the horizon and all of them were friends and the war was a game, once, before it was real)

“Are you threatening me, Sapnap?” he asks, voice light. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do?”

“You know I am,” Sapnap replies, still steady. “I’m sure you’ll take down a few of us. But not all of us. Not all at once. We united against you before, and we’re going to do it again. You remember what happened last time, right? And I’m not holding back,  Dream. I’ve told you. I don’t know who you are anymore. So, last chance. Go back to the prison, now, and we won’t have to do it the hard way. And I won’t have to try and take your final life.”

Dream cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering it.

“You say that as if you think I didn’t know you were all here,” he says. “Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Think I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one. If you want me back in the prison, you’re going to have to kill me first.”

A flurry of motion. Sapnap swings, and he is no Technoblade but he no amateur, either, and there is power and speed behind his blow, and Dream just stands there. Unmoving. Puffy shouts. Dream still doesn’t stir, and Wilbur feels like he’s watching in slow motion as the blade approaches Dream’s chest, and it can’t be this easy, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it, not when he’s down to only one life, so what is he—

And then, at the last second: Dream’s hand darts out, lighting fast, grips Sapnap’s wrist, and tugs him forward. Sapnap stumbles, off-balance, crashes against Dream, swing going wide, and before he can recover, Dream isn’t there anymore. It’s like he was never there in the first place; it’s just Sapnap, two steps away from losing his balance completely, though he recovers, looking around wildly.

What—

“The thing is, it was interesting at first,” Dream says, and his voice is coming from somewhere else, is coming from behind them, and Wilbur wheels, pushing himself between Tommy and Tubbo and positioning himself in front of both of them, arms outstretched to shield them, perhaps, or to keep them back.

(there is something so very wrong here and if he cannot see what then he will do this much, and if it his life for theirs, so be it)

Dream’s sitting on the Egg. Criss-cross, hands in his lap, swaying side to side slightly. Even the visible parts of his face are cast in shadow, and his mask gleams in the red light.

“Hey, don’t—Dream. Get down from there,” Bad says. Like a parent admonishing a child.

“The prison, I mean,” Dream says. “I didn’t see it coming. I was pretty mad about it at first, but I mean, I can adapt to things. So I thought I’d see how it turned out.” He sighs. “But I’m done playing games now.”

“What the shit,” Tommy murmurs, behind him, “what the shit is he talking about, how the fuck did he get up there—”

“It’s been fun,” Dream continues. “A lot of you break the rules a lot, but I can do that, too, so it was fine. It’s been a good game. But you know, there comes a time when even the best games come to an end. You decide to go for checkmate. Or you run out of cards.”

A jolt runs down Wilbur’s spine. He knows, knows without any way to know, really, that Dream is looking at him.

(his gaze on you is like stinging hornets is like oil poured over your head and down your throat is like a black hole opening in your chest and the black hole watches and cares nothing for your life it is not in the nature of a black hole to care)

“And I have to say,” Dream says, “you guys are kind of irritating. You and your prisons and your rules and your hypocrisy, all of you. I wanted to unite the server, once, and I guess I did that. It was kind of nice to see, in a way, all of you coming together against me. But it’s all fake, in the end. All of it. You play nice with each other on the surface and turn around and stab each other in the backs. This server’s turned into something awful, and it’s your faults.”

“I am about ninety percent certain that’s not accurate,” Techno says.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tommy bites out. “You’re the issue here, you bastard. Everything was good until you decided to, to fuck us all over. We’d all be fine and dandy if we’d never met you.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to agree and then

(remembers ravines dark and deep and buttons upon buttons upon buttons and Dream gave him the means but he stood in that room and made the decision himself and he cannot assign more blame than exists, cannot say that Dream is the only thing wrong with this server, cannot say that he, too, does not trail devastation in his wake)

shuts it again.

“You can think what you want,” Dream says amiably. “I don’t really care. Like I said, I’m done playing. I just don’t know how you can call me the villain when half the people here have blown up a country.”

“An interesting line from the man with literal blood caking his hands,” Wilbur says. The words come out soft, but they echo like a gunshot. He’s not sure where they came from, but he knows he’s not wrong. He can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking about it. He’s seen plenty of blood in his life, has been covered in more than his fair share of it, but given the circumstances, there’s only one person that blood can belong to.

He wonders how much it hurt. If Sam was scared.

(he had all three lives as far as he knows, so he’ll be fine, but fine is miles from good, and Wilbur remembers the first he lost, remembers the pain and the shock and the betrayal and the terror, not just for himself but for the comrades, for the family he dragged down with him, dragged into a traitor’s trap, and how must the warden have felt, dying with the knowledge that he failed in his charge?)

“Are you sure I’m the only one?” Dream returns, just as softly, and Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to get at, except he’s bowled over by a sudden, irrational fear that there is blood on his hands, that he’s been dripping with it this whole time and didn’t know it, and there is panic and there is static and the Egg is humming and crooning of blood and decay and the desire to be fed, and he can’t stop himself from looking.

His hands are clean. But they don’t feel it. They itch, like a thousand ants, like a dozen layers of mud caked dry and crackling.

“Leave him be, Dream,” Phil says, overlapping with Tommy’s much louder, “Shut the fuck up!”

Wilbur swallows dryly. Downs another sip of holy water. It makes him feel better, though only marginally. There’s not much left in the flask.

“I really think you should get down from the Egg, Dream,” Bad says, slightly more severely than last time. So, a mildly more disappointed parent.

(it occurs to him then: someone should shoot him. he’s unarmored, no weapon in his hand, a sitting duck. someone should shoot him, should take care of the problem right now, while they can, while the opportunity is there, before Dream pulls whatever he’s sure to be planning. so why haven’t they?)

Dream stays silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. “I like it a lot.”

His blood runs cold.

(no)

No.

(but you know the feeling of its claws in your mind slimy and prying and seeking and you know the feeling of Dream’s gaze on your face suffocating and slick and they are similar so very similar they are two of a kind two of a pair so it makes sense but it doesn’t all the same and there is something still that you do not know)

Hello, the Egg croons, hello divine blood corrupted, hello to my brethren, hello to the void that seeps in the cracks, hello to the creature you are now and goodbye to the weakling you were, soft and caring and despicable, and we can do great things together, you and I.

He looks around wildly. No one else seems to hear it. But he’s certain it wasn’t directed at him.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dream says. “I’m going to keep sitting up here. And you guys have two choices. You can give in to the Egg. Join it. That’d be fine. If you don’t, they’re going to kill you, and I’m going to help.” He tilts his head upward, and his own smile becomes visible, wide and toothy. “You like those odds better, Sapnap?  You think I can take out more than a few of you now?”

For a moment, Wilbur allows himself to hope that Bad won’t go along with it. That the desire to see Dream put away will overpower the Egg’s directives, whatever they are. But Bad’s expression goes from doubtful to considering to determined, and the red of the room deepens, becomes more vibrant, pulses with a steady beat, with a hum that sounds like victory and power and a thousand dissonant voices calling for blood.

The Egg has accepted the offer. Has welcomed Dream into the fold. They will find no ally in Badboyhalo. No ally in Antfrost, Ponk, Punz.

(the fold is the wrong word. Dream is still separate. somehow, inextricably, he knows that this is an alliance of equals, that Dream has surrendered nothing and gained everything)

(do you begin to see on some level you already know)

An arrow slices through the air. Dream jerks to the side. Its barbed head slices open the sleeve of his hoodie, but draws no blood. A second later, and it would have.

“Fuck that,” Sapnap says. “And fuck you.”

It’s as if it’s a signal. Phil laughs, no mirth in it, the Angel of Death at the surface. He grips his own sword tighter, and behind him, Tommy and Tubbo are shifting, their breaths coming quicker with the anticipation, with the promise of a fight. Their blood runs hot, and they are still afraid, he knows, but they have allies by their side, and that makes all the difference, and six versus six

(is it six versus six? where is he getting those numbers from? those aren’t the numbers from where he’s standing)

is terrible odds when Dream is on the opposing side, but they have the Blood God and the Angel of Death and they will all of them fight to the end, and he was too quick, maybe, to give in to despair, to fear.

(but his mind is still screaming that something is wrong something is wrong)

The Egg’s lackeys stand at the ready. Any second, now, any second—

Blood, the Egg sings, there must be blood and I shall drink of their veins, and we shall drink together, you and I, and what is in me is also in you, and you are not of me but you are greater than yourself, and they are all yours for the taking, are ours for the unmaking.

Dream laughs. Not in submission, but in agreement.

And like a lightning flash, Wilbur understands.

“You’re the same,” he says, and just like that, the momentum of the room is arrested, all attention back on him once again. He doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he speaks, but the words ring true. He looks at Dream, perched atop the Egg like a demented kind of bird, and understands that something, intrinsically, about them is the same.

Dream grins. Rises to his feet with a jump, balancing easily on the domed surface.

“You’re starting to get it,” Dream says. “I wondered if you would, Wilbur. We come from the same kind of place, all of us. You know what the void is like. You’re not quite like me, but you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head.” His grin widens further. Wilbur blinks, once, a sudden irritation in his eyes, and when he looks again, the smile on his mask is wider, too. More crooked. Has it been that way all along?

Another two arrows. One from Sapnap, one from Puffy, now, slightly off target. He dodges both easily.

“I tried to fight at first,” Dream says. “But it turns out it was right all along. I’m greater now than I ever was before.” He pauses, tilting his head, and when he speaks again, it is thick with condescension. “If it’s any consolation, Tubbo, you tried your best. Not your fault you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Once you let something in, there’s no going back.”

He dares a glance around the room. There’s confusion, irritation, no understanding. He has no idea what Dream’s referencing, knows only that something dreadful is within him, and with that comes the thought that he cannot possibly be human, and that they have never understood the first thing about him this whole time. But Tubbo jolts, goes pale, takes a step back.

“Wait—” he says, “no, what are you—are you saying—but we got rid of it, we got rid of it—”

“Tubbo, what the fuck is he on about now?” Tommy demands, but Tubbo just shakes his head. Rapidly, panicked, and then there is no more time for explanations, because the Egg’s voice rings out in his head once again, a wash of red takes over his vision, and the world tilts, and it is more than just the Egg, it is the Egg and something else, something deeper rooted, something more toxic, something that permeates the air and the water of this server, something sickly and creeping and dark and powerful, something that says you are all mine my puppets my own to dispose of and I will have you.

(you see it now, too late)

By the time he can make sense of things again, he’s on his knees, his hands clutching his hair, and there’s so much noise, so much noise all around him, and he’s lost time, he must have lost time, because everyone’s fighting, finally, the strange tension that held the room in sway broken at last. But his head spins, and he can’t keep track of where everyone is, the combat nothing but blurs of motion between the red hanging vines.

Dream’s still on the Egg. That much he can tell.

(it was a signal a command a directive and you heard it but did not follow you did not follow you will not follow it brought you to your knees but you will not follow)

“—come on Wil, don’t do this again, not again, please,” Tommy is saying, and Tubbo is holding him by the shoulder, keeping him upright, and he didn’t mean to collapse, hates that he’s apparently so susceptible to this, but if there is a silver lining it is in that it has kept his boys by his side, not in that mess, people clashing together with movements that are difficult to track with pounding head and stinging eyes.

He fumbles for the holy water and comes up empty. Nothing left.

“I’m with you,” he manages. “Sorry. Egg was being shouty. Not fun.”

“Oh, well, if it’s not fun,” Tommy says, visibly relieved, and his attention moves from him to track the battle. It must make more sense to him than it does to Wilbur at the moment, because he frowns. “Stupid fucking Eggers aren’t letting anyone get to Dream. Wish we could kill the fuckers. That’d make it easier.”

“Sapnap keeps firing off shots when he can, but he keeps dodging,” Tubbo adds. “It’s only been a minute. We were gonna join in, but we didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s—okay, that’s good.” Now that they’ve said it, he can pick out the combat easier. Bad’s fighting Phil and holding his own, Punz and Ponk are keeping Puffy and Sapnap busy, Antfrost is barely fending off Techno, and Dream’s overseeing it all from on high, making no moves to join in. They sit in an oasis in the midst of it all, no one seeming to pay them much mind. He’ll take the reprieve while he can get it. “Tubbo, what was he talking about?”

“I don’t—” Tubbo’s face twists. “I don’t know how you picked up on it. But months and months ago, Dream was possessed by a demon. A dreamon, we called it. But we got rid of it. Me and Fundy. We exorcised him for sure. And he’s not, he’s not acting like he did when that was going on, it was so obvious back then, like, his voice was all weird and deep and doubly—”

“Okay, okay, we can figure it out later,” he says. “We can—”

Demons. Dreamons. What the fuck?

(Dream might be possessed but that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right, but it would account for the oil slick gaze and the way the darkness gathers, the shivers down his spine whenever he looks at him, but it’s not quite right, but if Dream is a demon and he and the Egg are the same then what does that make the Egg and none of this makes sense at all)

(he misses the days when the worst they had to worry about was Sapnap trying to arrest them for starting a drug van)

As he looks on, Techno shoves Ant in Phil’s direction, and Phil takes on a second opponent easily, the two of them as in sync as they always are. Phil holds all of Ant’s attention, leaving Techno free to pivot toward the Egg, and the man who still stands there. He holds out his sword, points it at him, a threat, an invitation, made easily as breathing, and Wilbur is reminded that Techno has fought Dream before, many times.

“Has prison made you a coward, Dream?” Techno asks, an obvious taunt, and Dream holds himself very still for a moment before laughing, short and sharp. An axe drops into his hand—and when did he find the time to get that?—and he springs forward, rearing back to strike a blow. It’s like

(it is)

watching a clash of gods,

(and how is Dream so strong after so long locked away?)

and the sound of metal on metal rings out as their weapons connect. Techno grins, fierce and wild, and Wilbur doesn’t have to be able to hear them to know what his voices are chanting.

(blood for the blood god)

And then: a realization.

The Egg is unguarded.

Dream is occupied with Techno, now. Bad and Ant are on Phil, Ponk and Punz on Puffy and Sapnap, and the fighting is spread throughout the room, but centered in the middle, where everyone has the most space to move. The Egg is unguarded, and the three of them have been left out, so perhaps they can still do what they set out to do.

His eyes trace the room. If they hug the wall, they can make it to the corner without attracting too much attention, hopefully. They can—

What is Ranboo doing?

He’d forgotten he was here, honestly. He’s been so quiet, so still. He’s hovering by the wall, hands clenching and unclenching, but other than that, he is unmoving, and he doesn’t seem to be tracking the fight. His eyes stare straight ahead, glazed, and this is something they can’t afford. He’s not sure why Ranboo came in the first place, but he’s a sitting duck where he is right now, and all it will take is one of their enemies seeing the state he’s in before he gets used against them.

Alright. They can do this. Alright.

“Open season on the Egg,” he murmurs, meeting Tommy’s eyes, then Tubbo. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone else. Hopefully. “We creep around the side. Grab your friend along the way.” He jerks his head toward Ranboo, and they both understand what he means immediately. He redistributes his weight and stands, and counts it as a win that the wave of dizziness only lasts a moment. He gestures for them to follow him, and starts picking his way through the vines, keeping his movements as soundless as he possibly can. The noises of battle will work in their favor, that way.

Ranboo doesn’t react to their approach. Wilbur has seen states sort of like this before, has seen people caught up in flashbacks, dead to the world around them, so perhaps that’s what this is. But if that is the case, it’s odd that his face is so blank, that there is no expression there at all, that whatever he is seeing, he is barely reacting to it.

“He sleepwalks,” Tubbo whispers. “He told me. He might be sleepwalking.”

“He—” Okay. Okay, this is fine. “Alright, one of you two grab him. We’re not going to leave him here like this.”

Tubbo grabs his hand instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur glances back and forth between the three of them, then turns his back and presses on, inching his way along the outskirts of the room. No one takes notice of them, no one seems to realize what they’re up to, and even the Egg itself doesn’t seem to pay much mind; its hum remains constant, a continuous presence that neither wanes nor waxes.

And then, they’re crouching behind it. Tubbo tugs on Ranboo’s arm, and he sits with them, still absent.

“Alright, big man,” Tommy says. “We just gonna stab it to death? I think we should stab it to death.”

“It’s probably the first thing to try,” he concedes. He peers around its thick shell; the fights so far are inconclusive. Techno’s taken a scratch to his cheek, Dream a slice along his forearm. He doesn’t know how much time they have, and up close, the Egg’s shell is thick, hard. Even a netherite sword is going to need some heavy leverage behind it if it’s going to pierce through, and being this close to the thing makes his head swim, even when it’s not talking directly to him.

“Okay,” he says, and places one heel against a vine behind him, bracing himself. The sword feels unwieldy in his hand, awkward and too heavy, but it’s not as if the Egg will be hitting back. Strength is what he needs here, not finesse.

He brings his arm back, and then—

Weary son, restless son, it croons, its voice scraping against the insides of his skull, you needn’t fight me, wandering son, you only fight yourself and why fight when you can have what you want, that deep sleep, unending peace, the void still calls to you, calls of a world black and unending and eternal, and I can return you there, and you can lay down your steel at last, lay down your iron, lay down your arms at last and only sleep.

He wavers. But—

“Get out of my head,” he grits out, and the other two suddenly look very alarmed. “Shut up, get out, I know your games now, and I’m not falling for them again. Get the fuck out.” But though his voice is angry, it is weak, thin, threaded with pain, and his brothers can hear it, and he knows the Egg can feel it, knows the Egg can burrow inside of him and stick itself into all of the unstable places, all of the hollows in his heart, and tease out temptation.

(but he’s made a promise)

He inhales. Prepares himself again.

If not you then it will be him, it says, and he freezes, that darling boy of yours, golden haired sunshine gone limp and dead and eyes dull and blank and rotting in his skull, if it is not you then it will be him, if I cannot have you then I will have him, we will have him, for he does not hear my voice so he must die, and his blood will nourish my roots and I will grow strong on his life, I will kill him if you let me, and will you let me, blood child, child of death, shall you allow me my due?

“Shut up,” he whispers. “Shut up, stop, I won’t—I won’t let that happen. Shut up.”

“Wil,” Tommy says, “Wil, here, let me, let me do it, okay?” And Tommy’s hand is on his, gently lowering his sword arm, and then he steps forward, his own blade raised defiantly. “Take this, omelet bitch!”

I will kill him, I will do it now!

“Wait, Tommy, wait—”

Tommy drives his sword against the Egg’s shell, and two things happen. The first is that the blade skids off against it, leaving a slight dent, perhaps, but no more than that. And the second is that Tommy goes pale, doubles over, and wraps his free hand around his stomach, wheezing, eyes bugging out of his skull.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, “holy shit, that hurt, what the hell—”

“Tommy?” Tubbo demands. “Tommy, what is it, what did it do?”

“It hurt me,” Tommy says, like he can’t quite believe it. He straightens, some of the color slowly returning to his face. “The bastard hurt me. It was like, like fucking fire in my chest or some shit, what the hell?”

“It said it was going to kill you,” Wilbur whispers. “That’s what it said to me.”

“Oh.” Tommy stares at him. “Well, um, it didn’t. Obviously. Still kicking.”

“But it will,” he says. “That’s why it didn’t bother to try and stop us coming up here. That’s why none of the Eggers care. That’s why Dream felt alright leaving it alone. If we try to hurt it, it can hurt us back. Physically.”

They stay silent for a moment.

“Well, shit,” Tubbo says. “What are we supposed to do now, then?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. The entire plan revolved around them being able to destroy the Egg. They thought that the people under its control would be the worst problem. And then Dream came along, and that was out the window, but he thought—he thought that he could make sure that this was worth something, that this would bear some fruit, even if they’d have to deal with an even bigger problem afterward. But now, it’s all fallen apart, and the room is still full of the sound of fighting, and what are they fighting for, if they’re not going to be able to accomplish anything without—

I shall spare him if you give in, if you let yourself go, I shall give you peace and keep it from him, my ally wants him alive and I can make concessions, I can be generous, so I put it on your shoulders and the choice is yours, child of—

“Shut up,” he screams, hoarse and jagged, and the red in his vision now is anger, pure and undiluted, and the sudden surge of strength does not feel like his own, and the movement he makes does not feel like his own, because it is impulsive and ill-conceived, but he drives his own weapon into the Egg’s bulk, and understands only moments later what Tommy was talking about, because all the breath leaves his lungs at once, and his chest is set aflame, like there is fire

(fire all around him, fire, fire, fire, beautiful and fitting, fitting that it should end this way, in this utter annihilation of one of his greatest creating, a torch taken to his legacy, and he set down the pitch himself)

racing across his skin and in his heart, in his heart, and his heartbeat stutters, and then just as quickly as the sensation began, it ends, and he is left winded, exhausted, unsteady.

“Oh my god—”

“You stupid asshole, why would you—”

“Sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it just, it pissed me off. You hear that?” He turns toward it. “You’re pissing me off, you great breakfast food. You are a terrible buffoon, and I hate you.”

You cannot hold out forever, void child.

He winces, bringing a hand up to his forehead. But he glares.

“We’ll see about that,” he states.

And then it all goes to shit. Even more than it’s gone to shit already. Because Dream is still fighting with Techno, and Wilbur hasn’t been paying attention to them for the past few minutes, but they both still seem to be going strong, and his attention is brought back to them by Dream calling out—

“I think I’ll call in that favor, Technoblade!”

And Tommy says—

“Oh, fuck no.”

And Tubbo swears, soft and vehement, and Wilbur is confused, because since when does Techno owe Dream a favor? How would he allow himself to be indebted to the man in the first place?

(another remembrance: following the flash of gold, following the fighting that he paid no attention to at all, because he had Friend and how exciting it was, to have a blue sheep, a blue sheep who he loved very much, who he could show everyone and perhaps make them happier because who wouldn’t love Friend immediately upon seeing them, but on the edge of the square there is a figure cloaked in green)

“Oh yeah?” Techno asks. He sounds unconcerned, but that’s just Technoblade. He takes a step back, disengaging from their fight, and Dram does the same, twirling his axe in his hand. “I’d be careful with that. You never know when I might inexplicably go deaf.”

“You can’t avoid it when I’m right in front of you,” Dream says.

“You’re underestimatin’ my powers of—”

“Listen to the Egg, Technoblade,” Dream says. “That’s the favor. Just stand there for a minute and listen to it. Let it really get to you. Let it sink in. You like blood, right? The Egg likes blood, too.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “A bit messy for my taste, but whatever works, right? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty if I have to. We’re the same, in that way, you know.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tommy says again, and then he’s starting forward, and Wilbur barely catches him by the shoulder in time. He doesn’t want him near Dream. He doesn’t want either of them near Dream. And Dream has to have something up his sleeve, with the way he’s brought this up so suddenly.

(the air feels electric, feels like something is awaited, feels like something is building, building to a breaking point, and he doesn’t want to know what is about to shatter)

“Wait,” he hisses, and Tommy glares, but he ignores him, taking in the battlefield again. Nothing has changed since last he checked, since before they hunkered down in this corner, by the Egg, and that is what is wrong here. It’s all too neat. Sapnap and Puffy have their fight, nicely contained, and Phil has his, and Techno his, and no one has dealt any serious damage against anyone else, and he knows that their side is constrained by not wanting to seriously injure anyone who is currently being mind controlled, but what is holding back the other side?

It is all too neat in a way that battles never are, because the first rule of combat is to keep your head, the second is not to drop your weapon, and the third is that no plan survives combat with the enemy. And yet, here they are, all opponents evenly matched, no side winning, and where is the chaos, the bloodshed?

If there is no chaos yet, it is because it has yet to be unleashed.

“I mean, I hear it,” Techno says, and has it been a minute? Surely not. Tommy and Tubbo have both gone tense. Ranboo is still crouching, right where Tubbo put him. He doesn’t know if that’s typical behavior of sleepwalkers. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now. Because Dream told Techno to listen to the Egg, and it’s a favor, and Techno always honors favors, no matter what, so he’s doing it, he’s listening to it, and somehow, that’s not what he’s most worried about,

(because there is something holding its breath, a leashed tension, a match held loosely, about to drop, and it’s been growing all this time but he senses it only now, only here, only watching his brother face down a nightmare forty paces away, and he thinks he hears the Egg in his mind and he thinks it sounds smug)

“But I hear a lot of voices,” Techno finishes. “Can’t say I find this one very compelling.”

(it should be a relief, a relief, a relief to know that the Egg will not take its red and shove it into Techno’s mind, that he will not look into his eyes and find a monster in his place, but his heart races and something is building, building, building, and there is no way that Dream staked everything on this play, on bringing Techno to his side, so what is the plan here, what is his plan?)

“I wondered if you might say something like that,” Dream says. He doesn’t sound at all like someone whose plans have just been foiled, who has just wasted a favor from the strongest fighter on the server. “I had to try, you understand.”

“Of course,” Technoblade says.

(there is a dam and the dam)

He feels it, then, and he thinks everyone else does too, and Tommy and Tubbo press against him, hands gripping each other for balance as the two of a kind united now and I lend my power to you and together you will succumb or you will perish and I no longer care for which you have spurned me for the last time locked me away and stripped me of the power that is mine and I reclaim it now and our power united united now my strength to yours revenge is sweetest when it is hot and the blood is fresh.

(bursts)

The vines.

The vines on the ground twitch. The vines hanging down sway. He moves his foot as the vine nearest to him spasms like a dying animal.

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispers.

A shout crawls up his throat. It dies on his lips.

It happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Techno is standing there, and the next, there is a red vine around his neck, and the crack should not echo through the room as it does, but it is all Wilbur can hear. All Wilbur can see. One of Techno’s hands comes up, and then it falls limp. His body goes slack, held up by the vine and the vine only, the vine still encircling his neck, the vine that digs into the skin under his helmet, the vine that—

That can’t—

That can’t be—

Technoblade never—

He doesn’t—

And then, before he has time to understand at all, before his mind can shake off the numbness that’s taken him, the complete and utter lack of comprehension, the ringing in his ears that is, oddly, interspersed with an enderman’s distressed warble, before he can come out of it—the world explodes in a brilliant flare of light, golden and pure, a rush of energy that sings of the universe, that sings of life and renewal and second chances, a soul tethered, kept back, returned, re-tuned, and for a split second, he is floating in the void again as the fabric of reality shifts, as the light dances, as the rules are rewritten, and he can see everything, and he is one with the universe and the universe is with him and there are hundreds of thousands of voices chanting—

“Technoblade never dies!” Techno crows, and the golden light of the totem flickers and dances in his eyes, visible even from here, and Techno is sure to feel that later, when his adrenaline comes crashing down. But for now, the laugh that springs from Wilbur’s lips is giddy and relieved and joyful all at once, and the grief that barely had a chance to gather at all dissipates like smoke in the wind.

“How many of those things do you have?” Tubbo yells, right in his ear, and then Phil laughs too, and he brings his sword hilt down on Bad’s, and Bad’s own weapon skitters across the floor and Phil wheels on Ant in the next motion, and Ponk and Punz are being pushed back, and Techno swirls his sword again and leaps for Dream, and suddenly it’s like the tide is turning, like maybe they can win the day and they’ll have time to work out the rest, except then Tubbo shouts again, a warning this time, but there is no time to move before a vine rips the others from him and he is slammed against the surface of the Egg, hard, and—

He can—

He—

(it’s on him it’s on him get it off get it off off off off off off off)

(it’s trying to consume him trying to take in all that he is and spit out nothing not even the bones and if he lets it there will be nothing left of him if he lets it and he fights he struggles and it’s on him and trying to cover him and blood is dripping over him and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he opens his mouth and the blood pours in and he thrashes but its grip is inescapable and he’s panicking and he can’t he can’t he doesn’t want no rest is worth this)

And then hands are on him, pulling him forward, two pairs, and he opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and he lets himself be tugged away, his lungs inflating, and he expects to see Tommy and Tubbo, but it is Tommy and Ranboo, and Tubbo is hacking away at the vines that attacked him, that slammed him against the thing that tried to—

“Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting in his face. “Wilbur, don’t be an Egghead, don’t, don’t let it fucking eat you, you—”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasps out.

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Ranboo says, perhaps a little hysterically, but there’s no time to calm him down, no time to puzzle over why he’s suddenly awake. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Why’s Dream out?” His voice is about an octave higher than Wilbur remembers it being, but at least he’s functional.

“We don’t know,” he says. “We’re dealing with it. Well. Dealing with it. Sort of. Everything’s gone a bit shit. Did you know you weren’t awake?”

“I mean, it happens,” Ranboo says. “I never know at the time. That’s not, um, that’s not how it works? I’m sorry?”

“No time, boys,” Tommy says. “We have, we have so many problems right now.”

The vines writhe, twist, lash out, and it is not all of them, not nearly all of them, because if it were all of them, they would be shredded like mincemeat, but it is more than enough to be a major issue, because suddenly, everyone has to focus on their foes and foliage all at once, and Techno and Phil seem alright, but Puffy and Sapnap begin to struggle under the onslaught, and they’re not going to win this. These vines attack with purpose, with blood lust, and they are seeking their deaths and they need to go. They need to cut their losses, as much as it stings, before someone who doesn’t have a totem loses a life.

(it burns the general in you to retreat now because there is always some part of you that will think in terms of tactical sacrifices and acceptable losses but there is also a part of you that can see when a battle is beyond its turning point and this battle is far past that and it was not in your favor so it is time to sound the horn time to perform an about-face and try not to be burned too badly in the leaving)

“We need to go!” Puffy calls, as if she’s read his mind. “We need to go right now!” She and Sapnap start to back slowly toward the entrance, covering each other as best they can with Ponk and Punz and fucking plants all after them.

“Wait, what? We can’t just—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head, cutting him off.

“She’s right,” he says. “We stay here, and someone’s going to die. For real. And I’m not going to let that be you or Tubbo.” Tommy’s expression sets into something mulish, but he continues. “We’re not fighting anyone, we just have to make it to the exit. We all cover each other’s backs, and keep an eye out for the viney shit. Nobody’s losing a life to plants today.”

He doesn’t intend to use the old general’s voice, but Tommy and Tubbo both straighten, soldiers called to their posts, and he knows he can trust them in this, at least. They have their orders.

What could possibly go wrong?

(you can still feel him, can feet it, can feel both of them, but you can feel his presence grating up against yours, everything dark and corrupted and poisonous, you can feel it in the vines and in the air like sandpaper against your skin and he is not done yet do not turn away he is not done yet)

He doesn’t even get to take a step. Dream ducks under a blow from Techno and then looks to him, and even from across the room, he can feel his gaze pinning him, piercing him, and

(something is about to happen)

there is a flash of movement, too quick, too sudden,

(but you cannot fight the void, the absence of him, the howling pit that is he and that is it and that is them together)

and Tommy yelps, and then he’s gone, right out from under his hands, being dragged across the room, toward Techno, toward Dream, and times slows down. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, but he’s too slow, too slow, and he is still reaching out, is still stumbling forward, as if that will do anything, as if he will be able to cross forty paces before that vine, thick and red, deposits Tommy at Dream’s feet, and he is useless, powerless, and Tubbo is beside him, shouting, charging forward with more strength than he has in his own weary muscles, more power, but he will not be enough either.

Techno’s eyes widen. He tries to step forward, tries to hack away at the vine that has Tommy in its grip, but Dream leaps forward with another onslaught, so Techno is forced to focus on that and not his little brother, their little brother, now staggering to stay upright, now too close to Dream.

He keeps pushing forward, and his legs strain like he’s moving through molasses. Vines lash out at him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he can feel blood, warm and sticky, trailing down his leg, though there is no pain. Tubbo is beside him still, and Ranboo on his other side, and their swords sing but more and more vines move, now, and there are too many, too many to fight, and the room is filled with a red haze, and they’re closer now, but they’re not going to make it before Dream does something—

Dream launches himself into the air, flips over Techno’s head. He’s going for Tommy.

He’s going for Tommy.

(you promised to protect him you promised you promised and now death stares him in the face and you are now fifteen feet away fifteen feet and closing but fifteen feet too distant fifteen feet too late you cannot watch your brother die but that is the role you are consigned to spectator useless and reaching out for a hand that will never hold yours again)

Then, Techno is there. Techno pushes Tommy to the side, hard enough to fall to the floor. But he has no time to move out of the way himself, no time to bring his blade up to parry, and Dream’s axe sinks deep into his exposed throat, and Dream smiles, and Wilbur knows that this was his plan all along.

All the world goes still.

A crow caws, low and mournful.

He thinks he is screaming, but there is no sound in his ears.

Dream pivots lightly. Yanks the axe out. Blood spurts. Tommy’s mouth falls open, a rictus of horror. Technoblade’s jaw works, and his hands clench, unclench. He says something, and Wilbur can’t hear it.

(he has another totem he’ll be fine he’ll be fine please let him pull out another totem because Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies please he never dies don’t let him die)

His inventory spills across the floor, and dust dissipates on the air.

Sound rushes back. As one, all of the communicators in the room chime. Just like that, Techno is gone.

“How many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?” Dream asks Tommy, axe dripping blood on the ground, and vines crowd him, vines weave around him, absorbing the blood, lapping up the blood, Techno’s blood.

(but Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies)

Time resumes its normal pace.

He reaches Tommy’s side in the next instant. Dream just stands there, observing them, and the smile on his face is the cruelest on he has ever seen on a person, on a human,

(and that includes the times he’s looked in a mirror, seen dark bags and a sallow face and lips twisted into something too dark to be a smile)

but Dream isn’t human, is he? Can’t be. And Wilbur doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know if he’s a demon himself of if he’s possessed or what, but he takes a split second to look Tommy over for injuries, finds none, and then joins Tubbo in starting for Dream, blade in his hand, even though he has no chance, they have no chance, not even together, because Dream had to resort to dirty tactics to defeat

(but Technoblade never dies so why why is he how can this)

Techno, but even he and Tubbo together do not a blood god make.

Dream holds out his axe. Saying, come get me, then.

And his heart is in his throat because his brother, his brother

(his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother has two lives left but his brother is dead)

was right there two seconds ago and now he has not, and a large part of him

(all of him, since childhood, since the first time Techno went out and came back bloodied and grinning and carrying an inventory full of loot)

has always assumed that Technoblade was invincible, that there is nothing in heaven or hell that could stop him, and that was why he let him into Pogtopia in those early days, because the world was shrinking in around him and there was no one he could trust but Technoblade was the strongest there was and he needed the strongest, needed the power of the blade, the power of iron and steel to take back what was his.

(and part of you looked in his eyes met crimson with your brown and knew deep within yourself that your brother was here for you here for you both and maybe you could let your guard down just a little let yourself be protected let yourself trust and you did, if only for a moment, even if it didn’t last, didn’t save you or anyone else in the end)

They cannot defeat Dream. He, especially, cannot defeat Dream. Not through combat. But Ranboo crouches by Tommy, and he steps up beside Tubbo, and raises his sword.

Phil gets there first.

His blade knocks into Dream’s axe so hard that he almost loses his grip, and Phil doesn’t let up, aiming another strike against his head and another against his chest and another against his arm, and it is all that Dream can do to block the blows, and this, this is the Angel of Death, and there is fear on Dream’s face, and then he is gone, standing atop the Egg again, and Phil almost follows after him.

But then, a mass of vines raises up, all around them. Too many to fight off, even together. Wilbur braces himself, and then there is something around them, covering them, shielding them, something massive and black, and Phil grunts, and—

(and how many times has he protected you like this now)

And his wings—

Thorns sink into Phil’s wings, which are out on full display, and Wilbur can’t stop staring, because Phil’s wings are tattered and torn, and his feathers are sticking out every which way, clearly not cared for, but that isn’t even the worst part, because there are holes in them, holes in his wings where Wilbur can see straight through to the opposite wall, and there are featherless patches covered in scarred skin, and there are places where bone lies exposed to the air, sticking out from flesh and plumage, and he can’t fly on these. There’s no way that he can fly on these.

(explosions around him and the heat scorches his back and he smiles and laughs and then Phil is there wrapping his wings around him and Phil cries out in pain as the walls go down as the fire licks at both of them scorches both of them but he didn’t think to care then and oh gods what has he done what has he done)

(and Phil’s wings are bleeding now as the red thorns dig in and it’s happening again happening again before his eyes and how many times will people have to sacrifice themselves for him before he learns?)

(your father’s bones blackened and twisted by heat and do they hurt do they hurt bones are not meant for the open air and surely the scar tissue aches and they are ruined they are ruined his pride and joy ruined and your father will not fly again will not feel the wind at his back and he loved it he loved it and he gave it up for you and yet you are here again still asking for a sacrifice always asking for a sacrifice at least once more)

He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and he needs to stop panicking, because there panic has no place on a field of battle, and that is a lesson he learned long ago, at the knee of his country, his beautiful country, and for a moment, he is on the walls, orange and black, and he is fighting for his nation, fighting for his people, and then he blinks, and Phil has gathered Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t protest, blank shock painting his face.

“We need to go, Wil,” Phil says. “I need you all to guard me while I get Tommy out.” His voice is steel. No room for argument.

He nods, numbly. Moves mechanically. Doesn’t pay heed to the way the vines slash at him, as long as they’re not slashing at Tommy. There is blood on him.

(but it is his own, so that is alright)

He blinks, and Puffy and Sapnap have joined them. Sapnap’s white shirt is stained red. Blood sheets down from a wound on Puffy’s forehead. But they are alive.

(Techno isn’t)

(Technoblade never dies but Technoblade died and what do you do when the immortal figures of your childhood are no longer so?)

Bad and the rest do not stop them. The Egg does not stop them, though he can feel it, still, humming a victory march in his mind.

Dream, from where he stands on its top, does not stop them. He chances one glance back; Dream offers a mock salute.

(they are letting them go, they are letting them go as the cat releases the mouse, sure of its ability to follow the limping blood trail, sure of its chances of having a meal later, when it is more hungry, when it will be all the more satisfying. they are letting them go, and it is no mercy, and they will be driven forward like vermin, but they have no choice but to go, no choice but to run)

And then they’re going up the stairs, up the ladder, and into the sunlight.

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

A Little Harbinger of Spring…

by Bob Androw

As I begin to write this, it’s early March, the sun is shining, the temperature outside is climbing over 50°F and I’m starting to think… “I need to go look for some deer poop!”

As an entomologist, I’ve developed a mental calendar not based on seasons or months… but rather on what species of insects are likely to be out and about on any given day of the year. Once summer arrives, the specificity disappears and it just becomes a question of whether it’s a “good bug day” or not – based entirely on the weather and my chances of prying myself out of the museum (or the house, in these new times) to go somewhere and chase them.

During autumn, the onset of wet weather and cooling temperatures gradually reduces the number of active insects. Like most organisms, I tend to head for shelter from the outside environment, settling indoors to wait out the winter. Of course, winter is time for “bug work” as well – but rather than hunting living specimens, time is dedicated to catching up on the lab work set aside during ‘collecting’ season. This entails pinning and labeling specimens collected earlier in the year, performing identifications, data-basing specimen records, and working on manuscripts.

But then there’s spring – that pivotal period that influences one to keep checking the weather forecast, hoping for warming days. This seemingly never-arriving season focuses one’s attention on how fast the last snow is melting off. It’s a time that has me searching for signs of plant shoots breaking the soil surface and tree buds exhibiting tiny slivers of green to announce the upcoming burst of foliage.

Hardwood forest habitat in late winter at Powdermill Nature Reserve in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania. Image courtesy of the Powdermill Nature Reserve Facebook page.

Once these signs converge to indicate spring is just around the corner – it’s time to test the theory that winter is finally ending by – you got it! – going to look for deer poop!

Now, don’t get me wrong – deer regularly poop all year round – which is good for them – but during the first warm days of spring – or more accurately the warmest days of late winter – a little beetle becomes active and begins its own search for deer dung.

A typical pile of deer dung. The pellet in the lower left corner shows a hole created by a feeding beetle.

The species Dialytellus tragicus (Schmidt, 1916) is a mere 3mm in length and one of only two species in the genus Dialytellus. My favorite location to search for it is the museum’s field research station, Powdermill Nature Reserve, in the Laurel Highlands. Dialytellus tragicus is found in forested areas of the northeastern United States, but is sporadic in distribution and never seems to be overly common. The other species in the genus, Dialytellus dialytoides (Fall, 1907), is more widely distributed in the eastern states, much more common, and is taken frequently in pitfall traps. The genus Dialytellus is a member of the large subfamily Aphodiinae in the large family Scarabaeidae, the scarab beetles.

The Aphodiinae is a diverse group of small to tiny beetles, with over 400 species occurring in the United States and Canada. Nearly all of them are specialists on animal dung for feeding as adults and for provisioning their larvae with food. Many are considered ‘generalists’ which means they will utilize whatever dung they find – from cattle, horses, deer, pigs, dogs, and even humans (Oh, there are some stories to tell there…). Some species dig tunnels in the soil under dung and create brood chambers where they lay eggs on dung brought down from the source on the ground surface, but most lay eggs directly in the dung and the larvae develop within.

A fair number of aphodiine species are ‘specialists’, utilizing dung from only certain species of animals. In the Great Plains region of the U.S., the group reaches its greatest diversity of species for North America, with most species being obligate associates with prairie dogs, living in the burrows and feeding in the dung ‘middens’ that the resident prairie dogs create. In the Pacific Northwest, aphodiines are often associated with the burrows of marmots. In the Southeast, many species are associated only with pocket gophers, while a few have evolved to live only in the nests of squirrels, or packrats, feeding on decaying nest materials. Some of these specialized beetles have even evolved to live in ant nests, feeding on plant detritus in the ants’ garbage heaps.

Dialytellus tragicus (Schmidt, 1916). Specimen data: PENNSYLVANIA: Westmoreland County, Powdermill Nature Reserve, 15 March 2003, in deer dung, R. Androw, coll. Image from BugGuide.net, courtesy of Blaine Mathison, Salt Lake City, Utah.

Dialytellus tragicus is able to pull me out of the house and into the woods in late winter on an annual search first for piles of deer dung, and then if lucky, beetles. The beetles can be found inside the deer dung pellet, which means the search entails splitting dung pellets to find the precious one with a beetle inside. Thankfully, deer dung is dry and hard and has little odor, so the process is less offensive than it sounds. Still, I would guess that laying on one’s side in the leaves, splitting pellets with a forceps as if they were little coconuts with prizes inside, isn’t a common way to celebrate the onset of Spring – no Facebook group for us folks!

Most specimens that I have collected have been found during the middle two weeks of March, always on days where the temperatures have been over 50°F for at least the preceding three days. It takes a few days of warmer weather to get the beetles up and moving. I’ve learned that searching for them later in the year – say mid-April – never produces specimens of D. tragicus, but instead produces numerous specimens of another aphodiine, the extremely abundant generalist, Oscarinus rusicola (Melsheimer, 1845). Circumstantial evidence would suggest that as D. tragicus evolved alongside O. rusicola in eastern forests of North America it shifted its period of activity to earlier in the season to avoid competition for resources with the more abundant O. rusicola.

By the end of February of any normal year, the urge to get out of the house and into the woods starts to become irresistible, but the insects are more patient – waiting for the perfect number of degree-days to become active. Knowing this little beetle is out there early – and is not necessarily easy to find – provides the perfect impetus to shake off the winter dust and go out to look for it. In a year like the one we’ve all suffered through, this little beetle is even more appreciated as an excuse to rouse and get moving again.

Bob Androw is a Collection Manager for Invertebrate Zoology. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[some-dr-writings]

Danganronpa V3 boys and their SHSL Survivalist friend/SO

Instead of sitting around waiting for a request I’ve decided to take it upon myself to take hold of my fate and kick off this blog with an imagine and one-shot. This is the imagine. I hope you enjoy.

Shuichi Saihara:

·       A person who practices outdoor survival skills as a sport or hobby. Shuichi first met such a person through Kaito who had eagerly dragged them into those nightly training sessions as well as Maki. Though their idea of “training” was certainly something to behold. Pushups - nah, they’d suggest rock climbing. Pull-ups - Nope, swimming against a river’s current was much more enticing. Communication and talking, sure, as long as it was done on a camping trip to the woods where no one brought any supplies. Thankfully, such training rarely happened, but when it did it was always the most excruciating exercise Shuichi ever had.

·       Funny thing though. Outside of training the Survivalist always spent time with Shuichi. Asking if he was feeling alright, or if his muscles were sore. If he were hurting, even the smallest, slightest bit, they’d carry him over their shoulder to the nurse’s office despite his flustered protests.

·       They even had taken interest in his work, offering their assistance. For infidelity cases they taught Shuichi how to sneak around and follow people without them knowing as if they were out hunting. They showed Shuichi how to find animal tracks even in the most unlikely of places for his missing pet cases.

·       When it came to cold cases or cases that didn’t involve physical activity Shuichi would sit with the Survivalist by his side, explaining the case and how to connect evidence and statements to reveal the truth. When they struggled Shuichi would go step by step, leading them gently through critical thinking processes ‘till they finally arrived at a logical conclusion, even if it weren’t his own. In fact, seeing how others could view the case helped Shuichi broaden his own skills as a detective.

·       Overall, the Super High School Level Detective and Super High School Level Survivalist balanced out one another nicely, teaching the other skills the former lacked.

Kaito Momota:

·       “Survivalist, huh... Well I bet they never survived the vastness of space before!” With that thought in mind Kaito sought out the Super High School Level Survivalist. Surely, they’d make for a great training partner! After all, Kaito had to go through survivalist training himself to be an astronaut. And surely the Ultimate Survivalist would take interest in surviving the greatness of space! They just had to train with him! And if not, then Kaito would just convince them, he was Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, he’d figure out something!

·       Unsurprisingly, said Survivalist was nowhere to be found. Luckily some students from their class knew where the Survivalist was training. England’s Wychwood Forest. Great! With the help of Rantaro, off Kaito went...

·       What Kaito made up for in raw determination, he lacked in foresight, not having researched anything about the forest so he... he didn’t know the place was also called “The world’s most haunted forest”

·       And that was how the Ultimate Survivalist found the Ultimate Astronaut, screaming at every little noise... even the sound of his own screaming.

·       Not the best first impression, but Kaito was quickly able to brush it off and finally train with the Survivalist, but... just not in a forest.

·       The Survivalist and Kaito got along like two peas in a pod, especially after Kaito saw how the Survivalist looked after his sidekick Shuichi. Every moment spent together was called ‘training’, dedicated to getting stronger in any sense of the word. Even simply laying on some cool grass in the dead of night racing to spot navigational stars first was training. Everything they did together was a friendly competition of sorts, pushing each other to be better.

·       On one such night between rounds of star searching Kaito actually pried his gaze from that beloved mysterious expanse that loomed above him. Instead he glanced to his side, in that moment, realizing the person beside him was one he simply couldn’t see not beside him when he finally blasts off away from this planet.

Ryoma Hoshi:

·       Ryoma didn’t think much of the Super High School Level Survivalist at first. Ryoma never went out of his way to meet others, and with his reputation of being a convicted criminal not many approached him. So, when the Ultimate Survivalist eagerly approached him, he was quite surprised.

·       “You must teach me THAT, whatever THAT was!” Not knowing how to respond, Ryoma simply stared, dumbfounded. “The thing you did when dodging that attack!”

·       Moments prior Ryoma had successfully dodged one of Kokichi’s pranks. “Ah, the Shukuchi Method.” He didn’t even think about it. Though it had been so long since he had used it, it seems that method was still muscle memory... When was the last time he used that method? Back when he played tennis...he knew that, but...

·       Ryoma was abruptly snapped from his thoughts, seeing those lively, sparkling eyes. “Shukuchi Method? That’s what it’s called? Please, you have to teach me!”

·       And thus, began the Survivalist’s escapades in trying to convince Ryoma to teach them. Wherever Ryoma went, Survivalist followed, much like how a duckling would. For the first day of this they’d ask Ryoma to teach, to which he’d decline, to which Survivalist threatened to follow him around till he agreed to do so. And that they did. They were the first person Ryoma met in the morning and the last person he saw at night.

·       When asked why they wanted to learn so badly, the Survivalist listed off application after application they could see using the method to improve their own talent.

·       After the first day though, the Survivalist occasionally asked to be taught, but also just asked Ryoma other questions, such as for his name. Then day after day, they’d just talk. And with each day, less and less would the Survivalist ask about the Shukuchi Method. Till they never mentioned it even once. Even after weeks, and months.

·       “... If I taught you the Shukuchi Method, would you leave me alone?” With a confused expression the Survivalist looked to Ryoma, who was stoic as always, yet... the tone in his voice was off somehow. Did it waver? “No, you’re my friend now! You can’t get rid of me that easily. Sorry Ryoma, but you’re stuck with me for the long run.” A light chuckle escaped the man. Truthfully, Ryoma felt guilt for not having taught Survivalist long ago, for unintentionally stringing them along and for them being with a guy like himself, yet... it was nice always having someone around.

Rantaro Amami:

·       Rantaro had actually met the Survivalist long before either were invited to Hope’s Peak. On his many adventures searching for his sisters they bumped into one another. They ran into each other many times actually. Each time the Survivalist would guide Rantaro through any terrain, searching for whatever small town Rantaro was looking for and Rantaro would buy them a big hearty meal that was heavenly compared to the plain fish and berries they had grown so accustomed too. Then after that meal they’d go their separate ways till they met again several months later on complete accident.

·       When they did find each other at Hope’s Peak, it was quite odd. They weren’t huddled close in snowy mountains, they weren’t trudging through a humid rain forest trying to fend off the many bugs, they weren’t even dragging one another through some desert! They were just at a relatively safe and peaceful school with other people.

·       It was nice being able to chat for hours on end of their old adventures together. Survivalist would tease Rantaro for not having gotten muscular even with how much traveling he did and Rantaro would tease Survivalist for how socially awkward they tended to be, having not spent too much time in human society. This lighthearted teasing managed to subdue the stagnant air about them. Even without the thrill of danger around every corner they still found joy and comfort in the other’s company. It was a relief to them realizing their friendship was able to run much deeper than merely the thrill of exploration they often experienced with the other.

·       But that didn’t mean the thrill of adventure wasn’t missed, so whenever Rantaro left the school to go searching once more, he was sure to tell his best friend and companion, and they stuck by his side for every last excursion, now not daring to leave him ever.

Gonta Gokuhara:

·       The moment Gonta saw the Survivalist, Gonta knew they’d be great friends. They were being kind to bugs! When the giant wild looking man came charging at the Super High School Level Survivalist, they almost crushed the poor cricket they had just helped escape from being trampled in the noisy classroom.

·       From that day onward Gonta happily introduced his new friend to his bug companions and even invited them to his lab. With how kind Gonta was the Survivalist couldn’t refuse his offers, though they did fear the man. If he found out the Survivalist had to resort to eating the relatives of such beloved companions on occasion... The Survivalist never dared to finish the thought and focused instead on not accidently mentioning that the particular species of stink bug Gonta was so happily showing off was delicious, tasting like apples.

·       With each visit to the lab or escapade out bug hunting the Survivalist found an appreciation for the little creatures outside of nutrition. Many were quite pretty actually. And seeing the variety of inventive ways bugs adapted to harsh environments tugged at the Survivor’s heart strings, realizing how they themselves were quite similar to them in that aspect.

·       Though it may sound strange Gonta saw his and the Survivalist’s relationship to be symbiotic, like that of the ant and aphid. The ant, the Survivalist, would protect Gonta, the aphid, who in return for the protection provided food - knowledge of insects.

·       From what did the Survivalist protect Gonta from one might wonder.

·       Homesickness. Even with his beloved insects around, often times, he found himself missing living outside of human society and with his forest family. But the Survivalist reminded Gonta so much of home. Though they weren’t a wolf or lizard person, they had that...for lack of a better word, calm wildness.  Like Gonta for much of their life they lived outside of human society and being able to speak with someone about his home and they truly understood what he was speaking of...knowing Gonta had a connection with a person like that always pulled his lips into a smile.

·       So, whenever the Survivalist left for an adventure with Rantaro, it hurt, but seeing them return with a bug case in hand, some new insect friends they had made on their trip, it filled Gonta with unimaginable joy.

Kokichi Oma:

·       Ah, the entrance ceremony, a staple of High Schools all across Japan. The time where all the new students gather and listen to the principle and others of authority welcome them all with open arms! A rather boring event, but one that could easily be livened up. And what better way than to greet his new classmates than pranking everyone all at once with fireworks and paint! Though enacting such a plan would take time, lots of time. So, for several days before the ceremony he prepared.

·       Unfortunately, on one such day Kokichi was caught by some security near where the ceremony was to take place, a place none of the students were allowed, and so, a chase ensued.

·       As Kokichi dashed down hall after hall he took a sharp turn around the corner, crashing into someone. Perfect. Kokichi flipped on the water works, crying out, saying the mean guards were chasing after him for no reason at all and how he oh so badly needed help! And help the person did, hiding Kokichi and telling the guards they hadn’t seen him. With the guards gone Kokichi stepped out of his hiding place and thanked the person, now he could get back to preparing!

·       The person quickly left but took a moment to glance over their shoulder. A strained smirk emerged on their lips as a stifled laughter manage to seep out. They wished Kokich good luck with ‘catching his prey’.

·       Soon after the day of entrance ceremony came, and it was marvelous! Well, except for one thing, that person who helped Kokichi, the Ultimate Survivalist, managed to avoid the prank! Now this will not stand. And so Kokichi dedicated himself to giving them the greatest scare and laugh of their life in retaliation!

·       ... Or so he thought. No matter what he pulled, they managed to outmaneuver him! Exploding school supplies? Nah, moment they picked it up, they threw it out the window. Fill their classroom with laughing gas? Nope, they always left the room moments before his trap went off. How were they doing this!?It was as if they knew it was going to happen...wait.

·       Well he got his answer one afternoon when he tried to tackle the Survivalist from behind with joy buzzers under his clothes. They dodged his attack much to his chagrin. “Survivalist! Why are you so mean to me!? I just want a hug.” Seeing those crocodile tears come cascading down the Supreme Leader’s cheeks they decided to speak out. “I’ve played the role of both predator and prey many times. I always keep a close eye on my environment, even if it means crawling through the vents at night.” Kokichi blinked, the tears instantly disappearing. “Huh...Not gonna lie, getting that out of you was much easier than I expected. I didn’t even have to prod at you at all.” “No decent predator would not have noticed my skill level at this game by now, so I decided to just save you the trouble of confirming your suspicion. I found all your traps before you got to set them off. And now, this game can really begin! So, catch me Oma! I want to know what truly being caught off guard in one of your surprises is like! I’m sure it must be thrilling!” Oh, this was going to be fun, especially when Kokichi finally wins.

·       Every day thereafter was filled with excitement and suspense. Especially days when nothing happened and all they did was talk. Both in this game of cat and mouse trying to outsmart the other with everything they had! Never knowing what was to come next, they were always on their toes, one searching for opportunities and the other searching for any sign of an attack, both adding lulls into the action making the next attack more thrilling. Even when Kokichi did win, the game continued. After all, even if he won once didn’t mean he could get consistent results. Besides, he saw no reason why he would take away an excuse to spend time with such a fun person.

Korekiyo Shinguji:

·       It all started when Kiyo entered his lab one morning, finding one of his artifacts was missing. Though very concerning, his attention was focused on the small note that was left in it’s place. ‘Go to the track’ it read. There he found another note instructing him to jog around the mile-long track twice. For the time being he decided to play along, curious as to the intentions of the person behind these notes. When he finished a new note had appeared, instructing him to go to the cafeteria where there was a meal being prepared for him. Once he was there another note was with his meal telling him to return to his lab, where his artifact had been returned... Quite an intriguing person to put Korekiyo through all that. What could their aim be, he wondered. Little did he know he’d learn that the very next day.

·       Like the day prior one of his artifacts were missing and a note was in its place. Once again, he was led to a location, told to do an exercise, but something different happened. As he was doing some push-ups, someone approached him. “You’re doing it all wrong.” Kneeling beside him they moved him so everything was in proper place saying there was no point in this if he was just not going to do it properly.“Ah,theUltimateSurvivalist.Soyou’vebeentakingmyartifacts.”He then gestured to the note they held. “...I didn’t know how else to get you to leave your lab, you never leave the place.” “Well, now that you’re here, why are you having me do this?” “You look like a twig! How do you not break in the wind!? You need help! I didn’t think my word would be enough to convince you so, I held one of your precious items hostage.”

·       And that was how Korekiyo began doing light exercises with the Survivalist. Exercising was not Kiyo’s forte but getting the chance to converse with a person who had minimum contact with society intrigued him to no end. And he got them to speak of their travels, and the many remote places they had gone to. With each location spoken of, Kiyo added knowledge of the history of the region. Particularly he spoke of legends of warriors since those intrigued the Survivalist the most. On occasion they even tried recreating some, like the labors of Hercules or legends of Beowulf or the adventures of Fionn mac Cumhaill.

·       Their friendship was very unlikely, even chaotic at times when recreating myths went awry, but it was always fun and fascinating. A friendship neither would trade for the world.

Kiibo:

·       Though it was not often Kiibo had the chance to speak to them, he held great admiration for the Super High School Level Survivalist. He always saw them moving and running around the campus almost nonstop. They were always looking for ways to get better, asking others to teach them like Ryoma with his Shukuchi Method. They seemed to stop for nothing!

·       Even the most unlikely of things they did to improve. Kiibo learned this when one day he was passing by the Ultimate Light Music Club Member’s lab and saw the Survivalist singing with a microphone in hand as the owner of the lab wailed away on her guitar. All too quickly their session had come to an end, and Kiibo was caught staring. The Survivalist swiftly skipped up to him before he had the chance to leave.

·       “You wanna give singing a shot Kiibo?” “Ah, no I couldn’t. My singing is lacking, dangerous as Shuichi puts it. Even if I practiced it wouldn’t get better. I want to improve, but I can’t. The only way I can, would be with help from someone like Miu or Dr. Idabashi. I...I am a robot I can never improve myself on my own but you can! I find that to be an amazing ability, but even more so is how you work so hard for that.” “Really!? I wish I was like you, Kiibo!” That comment caught the robot off guard. “Kiibo once you get an improvement you get to keep it forever! If I took a break for even one day my muscles and body would lose some of the improvement I had gained yesterday or even more. I have to constantly push myself lest my skills and body get rusty from lack of use for even a short time, and getting back to the high proficiency I was at before would be extremely difficult. The human body is ridiculously temperamental while you don’t have to worry about such things. And I even have to focus on specific parts and not just my whole body, like singing to increase lung capacity. And Kiibo the improvements you can gain are limited only by the imagination while the human body was much more restrictive. You can be so much greater than me or anyone else at this school!”

·       That day changed a lot of things for Kiibo. It got him to be able to see his existence from a slightly different perspective, even if only for a moment. And after that day the Survivalist would approach him, asking him if he would spot them during their exercises. During these times they and Kiibo would try to come up with ideas to improve his body. They would come up with ideas to improve their exercise regimen. They’d throw out any idea at one another, no matter how ridiculous or impracticable. In the end all that really mattered was the thought behind it, wishing to help the other even in the simplest of forms. No matter how simple they wanted to help. Even if it was just Kiibo cheering on the Survivalist to push on through one more lap than they did yesterday. Even if it was just the Survivalist sitting by Kiibo’s side as he was getting a maintenance check. No matter how simple, or insignificant if seemed, they ended up supporting the other in any way they could, hoping that in doing so the other could at least get a glimpse at just how great they could be because the former certainly could see it, and they would both agree that the other was absolutely amazing and filled with endless possibilities. They just needed to see it and they were the one who was going to show that to them.

[inspector2ndclass]

The Mechanisms as Random Birds I Found on the Internet

Did anyone want this? No. Do I know anything about birds? Also no. Anyways, here’s a shitpost I spent way too long on.

Jonny d’Ville: Northern Mockingbird

First and foremost, here’s Jonny! An asshole! A bastard! An all around terrible person! He shall be a northern mockingbird. This fucking bird has no redeemable qualities other than that it is pretty and a GREAT singer. This is a very aggressive bird. Very territorial. If it had opposable thumbs, it would probably shoot you in like the foot or something. I don’t think these birds are very smart. Just like a certain “captain” that we know. The state bird of Texas, among all places. Never trust a texas. In true Texas fashion, the 1927 legislation declaring the Northern Mockingbird the state’s official bird stated that the species is “a fighter for the protection of his home, falling, if need be, in its defence, like any true texan.” Now Jonny burned down a Texas - maybe not this Texas but whatever. I read somewhere that a mockingbird could peck someone’s dick off, and honestly? Valid.

Gunpowder Tim: Southern Cassowary

Okay, hear me out. This bird is a little bitch - or rather a b i g bitch. In a good way. Look at this fucking bird. It’s majestic. Doesn’t it look just SO trustworthy. What a trustworthy man. And very pretty. Pretty, pretty bird. Who could squash you like a fucking ant. This is one Violent bird. Tim is one Violent person. The cassowary makes a low roaring sound like a fucking dinosaur. I love dinosaurs. DID I MENTION IT LAYS GREEN EGGS. Now you might say, well Tim is a human and humans don’t lay green eggs. Fuck you. It’s never explicitly stated that our very own Gunpowder Tim doesn’t lay green eggs. Also comes with a built-in helmet. As everyone except Tim and the southern cassowary says, safety first! Strikes me as a very egotistical bird. If the cassowary weren’t a bird, I don’t think it would wear a seatbelt.

Ashes O’Reilly: California Condor

Okay, so. This is a cool fucking bird. Just look at it. M a j e s t i c. Do you know who else is really fucking cool? Ashes. They have so much power. Also condors are beautiful birds. Oh my god. California condors are very graceful fliers. For Ashes, I almost went with the brown falcon - one of “Nature’s arsonists”, but other than arson, it’s a rather boring bird. Just brown. And a falcon. BUT THE CALIFORNIA CONDOR. Now that’s a cool bird. The god of the sky. Actually, in the “research” for this post I found a blog post in 2011 from someone who has genuinely worshipped condors as gods since they were a teenager and honestly? Valid. (disclaimer; I am aware that many native cultures worship animals and nature, however I don’t feel qualified to talk about that. I don’t mean any harm by this post.)

DrumBot Brian: Shoebill Stork

Well. I did have a rather difficult time finding a bird that has a complex set of moral values. Who would’ve thought?? I did almost use a praying mantis, just for a little variety. I’ve never met someone who wouldn’t rip off the head of their lover. BUT ANYWAYS. Here we have Brian the Shoebill Stork. He looks so nice. But he will not hesitate to decapitate your baby crocodile. Also very patient!! Like a dinosaur! This bird has the most complex set of moral values of any bird I could find in about thirty seconds. If Brian didn’t decapitate so many young crocodiles there would be much too many! Too many crocodiles! The horror! I’ve also seen a gif of Boring Brian delicately picking up a duckling and placing it back down. Dunno what happened after, though. Don’t ask. Apparently the shoebill stork makes “machine-gun noises” which I think Jonny would enjoy fucking around with. A place that I forgot to write down reportedly called the bird “Abu-Markhub” meaning “father of the slipper” which,,,, yeah.

Raphaella la Cognizi: Kea

Also known as the “clown of the alps”, the Kea resides in the mountains, as the only alpine parrot. Pretty cool. I want to be a clown. But like, a cool clown - not one that hides in a sewer and eats children… Anyways, I’m getting off topic. The kea is the smartest bird I could find. Raphaella is the science officer of the Aurora so it seemed fitting. Look at this photo. That’s science at work! Kea can use basic tools! And reportedly have the intelligence of a four-year-old child! That’s pretty smart! Also it has wings! Raph has wings! Apparently kea enjoy attacking sheep, dogs, horses, etc. and just generally fuck around with people. Imagine what this bird could do with opposable thumbs…

Marius von Raum: Victoria Crowned Pigeon

My criteria for Bird Marius was essentially a stupid looking bird with a ridiculously long name. I was originally going to go with the King of Saxony Bird of Paradise solely for the name (just look at it! It’s so dumb! Who the fuck is the king of saxony!) however it bored me. So! Here we have Doctor Baron Marius von Raum as the Victoria Crowned Pigeon (also sometimes referred to as the Blue Crowned Pigeon). Genuinely, this was my favourite bird as a child. I fucking love this funky little bastard. Apparently, it’s the largest pigeon species in the world and can grow to be the size of a turkey. A turkey! What the fuck! This bird thinks it’s all that. (I mean, it’s not wrong). It was named after Queen Victoria but like,,,,, Fuck The Monarchy. Also eats a lot of figs. The bird - not the queen. Or maybe the queen I dunno. Marius seems like the kind of person who hates figs but eats them anyways so he doesn’t feel inferior to the Fig Lord. How the fuck is this bird not extinct yet.

Ivy Alexandria: Common Raven

Ivy Alexandria, the Common Raven. Ravens are extremely smart! Like seriously - near where I live, there’s an animal shelter with a raven and you can hold a conversation with it. It’s amazing! They also have great memories and hold grudges - so don’t mess with them. Oh! They can also use hand gestures, which for birds is insanely cool! They are the literal “birdbrain”. Sometimes they collect little trinkets, which I think is really sweet. Now, I don’t believe ravens can read but like,,,,, I dunno. I read an article recently about ravens doing “weird things with ants”. Apparently they like to play with them. Ravens have been known to sit in an anthill and let ants crawl all over their feathers for no apparent reason. Now, while nothing has been canonically stated involving Ivy and ants, you can’t prove Ivy doesn’t go sit and hang out with a bunch of ants.

Nastya Rasputina: Andean Potoo

The Andean Potoo is the most mysterious breed of the seven or so potoo species; almost nothing is known other than their vague appearance and their stomach contents (large insects like beetles and grasshoppers, if you were interested). While we do know quite a bit about Nastya, I thought this bird fit her pretty well. In answer to the question “Are potoos friendly?” a website said: “The short answer is ‘no’. The slightly longer answer is ‘it depends’.” This sounds like Nastya and her lesbian spaceship girlfriend. Potoos are VERY good at camouflage; like Nastya in Aurora’s veins?? I dunno, might be a bit of a stretch. They are shy, secretive birds. Sounds fun. Potoos are also VERY good at catching insects and shit. This point might not be relevant, but whatever. Andean potoos might mate for life; scientists don’t know. Let’s say that they do. If Nastya were this bird, she could be eaten by a weasel. Weasels said fuck Nastya rights. Fuck weasels.

The Toy Soldier: Atlantic Puffin

OH MY GOD. I love the Toy Soldier. The Atlantic Puffin. I don’t have many reasons for this one other that IT’S ADORABLE. This is my favourite bird. Just look at it!!! Hnnnnnnn. Baby puffins are called pufflingssssss. Oh my god. Also look up the bird call of the atlantic puffin; it is the best thing ever. Puffins are very sociable birds and live in like giant flocks or something. They’re very neat birds and also waterproof! Like wood! They shed the outer layer of their beaks once a year! Like wood! They live in burrows! Like wood! They can hold a fuck ton of fish in their beaks! Like wood! They have a really fucking wierd tongue! Like wood!

BONUS: Dr. Carmilla: Lammergier (Bearded Vulture)

Do I know anything about Dr. Carmilla? Nope! I think she’s a vampire but like???? Anyways, just look at this bird. It’s pretty self-explanatory. The Lammergeier is one Badass Bird. It is one of the largest old-world vultures. I don’t know what that means. It can grow up to four feet tall, though! And has a wingspan between seven and nine feet. That’s a big fucking bird! They have no natural predators, much like a certain immortal vampire (maybe???). It eats primarily bone and bone marrow and has a nasty habit of carrying off lambs, calves, and dead children. Remind you of the Good Doctor and her Band? Probably not. I bet Jonny has eaten at least one dead child, though. The lammergeier can also live up to the ripe old age of 45 (old in bird years?). Supposedly a lammergeier killed the greek playwright Aeschelus by mistaking his large bald head for a rock and dropping a turtle on it. Sounds very Carmilla. BUT WAIT I HAVEN’T GOTTEN TO THE BEST PART. This bird dies it’s fur the colour of blood to look more intimidating! Supposedly this is a mark of status, as well. That’s one badass bird!!!

WELL THAT WAS AN ADVENTURE. A useless adventure, sure. Fuck you. I had fun.

[emeraldragonfly]

The Cycle of the Seasons in the Desert

The pagan Sabbats follow the cycle of the seasons, and often, this cycle is easy to visualize. In terms of temperature, of course, we generally have:

Winter/Cold --> Spring/Warm --> Summer/Hot --> Fall/Cool

We go from cold to warm to hot to cool and repeat. In terms of how the plants and animals respond to the seasons, we tend to think of it like this:

Winter/Death/Hibernate --> Spring/Mate/Birth/Growth -->

Summer/Birth/Mature/Growth --> Autumn/Fade/Hoard Food

We say the seasons follow the cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth. 

That’s all pretty straightforward. The problem is . . . those concepts don’t apply equally well to all climates on earth.

Now that I’m in the southwest US desert, some of the pagan holidays seem a bit, well, out of step with what’s going on outside. It’s taken me some time to ponder these differences. I’m going to summarize some major ones now.

The Desert Simply Isn’t Well Suited to Farming

A lot of the cycle of life metaphors used are ones about farming. You ‘sow’ new ideas and projects in the spring, nurture them over the summer, ‘reap’ the fruits of your efforts in the fall, and rest in the winter and plan the new year. Also, the pagan holidays often feature feasts that involve crop foods that are in season for those times of the year. 

Here’s the thing though-- I’m in the middle of Utah. This is not a great place to grow crops. It never has been. Do we grow some crops here? Sure, of course. Mostly hay for cattle, in fact. Also certain grains like corn and barley. But really, most of Utah’s agriculture comes from cattle, who can free-graze on the local, desert-tolerant brush. The fact is, the soil and climate are not suited for most typical crops. And growing them requires expending a lot of extra resources.

There’s a reason why the Native Americans who were here long before white people didn’t farm extensively. They mostly relied on hunting and gathering, with some supplemental farming near rivers (which allowed for irrigating crops). So, the idea of huge harvests of typical crops, full of lush fruits and vegetables, and feasts organized around them, isn’t very meaningful here.

A Yearly ‘Death’ or Winter Hibernation Is Not Universal

Many, many animals do indeed hibernate or otherwise enter some sort of state of decreased acitvity during the winter. They do this to conserve energy when resources are scarce. In plants, this can be seen very dramatically when plants die off entirely and go to seed, or when deciduous trees shed their leaves and remain as dormant, bare-limbed creatures for a time. 

The thing is, while a winter hibernation is very common in a lot of plants and animals . . . there’s also a lot who don’t follow that rule. 

Plenty of animals remain active year-round. They may simply shift the emphasis in their diets during winter. For example, the cute little white-tailed antelope squirrels eat a lot of vegetation in spring and summer while it’s growing, but in fall and winter they focus more on fruits and seeds. Cottontails and jackrabbits eat fresh vegetation in spring and summer but focus on woody plants and dry vegetation in fall and winter. 

Other animals may travel back and forth between spring and winter feeding-grounds within their home range. Mule deer feed at higher elevations during the spring growing season and then switch to lower elevations during winter (where there’s much less snow). 

Other animals might migrate greater distances to warmer, wetter places during winter. Birds are especially known for having a lot of species that migrate, and a lot of our ducks are only seasonal residents here.

Whatever method used, for many animals winter is not a time of rest at all, but of steady activity.

This holds true for plants, as well. Many plants are “evergreen.” In the desert, many of the shrubs, cacti, succulents and trees are evergreen. They do not undergo that dramatic death or dormancy, and instead just steadily go about doing their planty business. Many of the typical “signals” to people that winter is coming-- the leaves are falling, animals are vanishing or going to sleep-- just aren’t here. Many of us are just carrying on as usual.

Summer is a More Complex Season Here

The typical view of summer is that it’s a celebration of the power of the sun, of the vitality and abundance of life, a time of handfasting, and of enjoying early harvests. 

It has a different flavor in the desert, though. While summer is certainly a time of growth and power, it’s also other things, too. Summers here are intense. Absolutely scorching, in fact. Temps climbing into the triple F digits is pretty normal-- expect something in the 90s or 100s. It’s genuinely a life-threatening risk for hyperthermia and dehydration for people who don’t take appropriate precautions. Summer needs to be taken seriously. Outdoor activities are . . . pretty hard to enjoy in these conditions. Especially when the windstorms kick in, blasting scorching hot winds and sharp sands and red dirt into your face. Even when the sun sets it can take a long time for the place to cool down. If you want to go for a comfortable walk outside during summer, you pretty much can only aim for a very short window of opportunity in the very early morning-- but better be quick, because it won’t last long.

This isn’t difficult just for people. Animals face the same challenges. How do they deal with it? By being very selective about when they are active during summer. Almost every single animal in the desert avoids midday entirely, staying hidden the shade of shrubs or in underground dens, where things are cooler. (I think the only animal here that braves the raw sun are the ants-- remarkable little creatures.) Animals will be active either in early morning and evening or are completely nocturnal. Many, many desert creatures come out at night, when the world is at a much more tolerable level.

In fact, the summer heat and dryness can be so intense that some animals will even enter into a special type of summer hibernation. This is called estivation. They bury themselves underground and await cooler temperatures and rainfall.

In any case, the point is that summer is a time of rest and sheltering for desert inhabitants. This is normally only associated with winter, but our summer extremes are often a reason to conserve energy and shelter from the sun as well. 

The funny thing is, summer is not just a time of rest and shelter. It’s also a time of growth and activity. Animal breeding is often in full swing during the summer, as well as plant growth and plant reproduction. Why is that?

Our summer has two faces because while it’s our most extreme time of year in terms of heat and dryness, it’s also the growing and monsoon season. Deserts, as you know, get very little precipitation. That’s what defines a desert. A lot of our water comes from melted snow that gathers in the mountains over the winter, which then runs into rivers. But the rest comes from what little rain we do get. Most of our rain occurs in spring, paving the way for a busy summer: Plants grow in the spring, ensuring there’s food available in summer, and thus, it’s a good time for animals to breed. Additionally, there are the summer rains.

The summer rains or “monsoons” (really just thunderstorms) come suddenly and with little warning. They then will dump incredible amounts of water onto the ground. The soils here are very poor at absorbing the water, so we get what we call “flash floods.” There’s this sudden overabundance of water in a place that’s normally starved for it. Animals and plants RUSH to take advantage while they can. Plants suck up as much as possible (cacti and succulents are designed to be huge sponges for these events), as do animals. Frogs and other amphibians, as well as arthropods like dragonflies, quickly breed in temporary puddles while they have the chance. It’s a great frenzy of activity. They don’t have much time because not long after the flood, things will dry up again.

So, in conclusion, our summer has two extreme sides: lots of rest and sheltering from the raw power of the sun, and a rush of activity, fertility and relative abundance. 

Ok. So I’ve rambled on about all these differences in the desert. But what’s the take-away from all this? How can we incorporate it into our pagan or Wiccan practice? 

I have a few ideas.

Reduce Farming and Feasting Metaphors: Replace With Foraging

We aren’t usually wandering along plentiful apple orchards here, or fields of potatoes, or filling our larders with cheeses, or slaughtering loads of lambs, or any of that. The traditional Celtic foods and feasts don’t really fit in here-- nor does the lifestyle. Does that mean you can’t be a pagan in the desert?

No, I don’t think that’s what it means. I think it just means maybe adjusting things a little. Maybe lean less on these farming metaphors for sowing and reaping, and less on those traditional foods. 

They can be replaced with the kind of story that this desert tells us. This is a different story, a lot less about the hard labor of planting large quantities of crops, all the anticipatory waiting for it to grow, the praying for good rains and sun to nurture the crops. A lot of the story of living in the desert comes from foraging. Foraging in an arid desert is not an easy affair. Survival itself in the desert is often not an easy affair. Life is more scarce in the desert because resources are more scarce here. Things are more spread out and scant. You must forage and eat what you can find, often traveling and working quite a bit to gather up enough food. 

Native Americans found things such as roots (wapato, wild onions, sego lily bulbs), seeds (bulrush, goosefoot, pine nuts, sunflower), grains, and other plant parts (wild rice, ricegrass, pickleweed, thistles, cactus flower buds, cactus fruits). There also were berries (raspberries, chokecherries, strawberries) and insects-- a very healthy source of protein (grasshoppers, crickets, ants). Of course, there was also small game (rabbits, mice, squirrels, waterfowl) and occasionally larger game. 

This may not sound very glamorous to you, or very tasty. But it is very resourceful, and sometimes the focus was more on survival than on being gourmet. 

What I propose is that desert pagans think about foraging metaphors and not just farming ones. The steady work of gathering up lots of little bits here and there-- that’s a useful metaphor too, in my mind. Sometimes projects aren’t just about sowing, nurturing and reaping. Sometimes projects are about the steady daily work of foraging, making progress bit by bit. Making use of what you can find, crafting useful things out of them, and ultimately accomplishing something surprisingly huge at the end. Remember, Native Americans even in this harsh desert built incredible, massive apartment-like structures into the cliffs. The “slow and steady” work of foraging (or of erosion!) is a useful metaphor too.

As to celebratory foods . . . why not draw inspiration from Native Americans or early white settler’s ideas on cuisine? Here’s a link to a great article about some Native American recipes (from, you know, an actual Native American). Of course I am not suggesting you treat these things like you “own” them. These inspirations may not come from your personal direct ancestors. But it’s still valid to respectfully borrow cuisine ideas from others! These are foods that grow naturally here or are more easily farmed here, so it makes sense to celebrate with foods that connect you to the land here.

Consider Alternative Seasonal Cycle Ideas

I have been trying for months now to develop an alternative to the traditional season cycle. The traditional one is something like this:

Winter (Death/Rest) ---> Spring (Birth/Growth) ---> Summer (Birth/Growth) ---> Fall (Mature/Wane)

What if we consider our ideas on how many plants and animals here are “evergreens,” and the fact that summer here is a little bit different? Maybe it would look more like this:

Winter (Rest/Forage) ---> Spring (Birth/Growth) ---> Summer (Birth/Growth/Rest) ---> Fall (Mature/Forage)

This suggestion gives two seasons of rest, during the most extreme times of year; winter and summer. It gives two seasons of growth and fertility, during the “light seasons” of spring and summer. And it gives two seasons of “foraging” during the “dark seasons” of fall and winter.

I’m using the word “foraging” as a moderate word that can fit in-between the life energy extremes of “death/rest” and “growth/reproduce.” For animals, foraging is the calm, steady work of searching for and gathering food. It’s a time when you are not hibernating but you also are not putting out the explosion of energy that comes with new growth and reproduction. For evergreen plants, “foraging” is the steady work of photsynthesis that continues even in dark seasons. You’re not doing much new growth or blooming flowers/etc., but you’re not in total dormancy either.

Ultimately these suggested changes are not huge. But I think they’re tweaks that help us connect more! We can see winter as a time of rest for some, enjoying the old traditional metaphors of winter. But we can also see winter as a time of steady progress for the ‘evergreen’ among us. For summer, we can see it as a time of much growth and vitality, but we can also acknowledge that resting and recovering in between moments of intense energy is a good thing and a part of the desert’s cycle.

[unicyclehippo]

idk if this is the kind of prompt you were looking for but maybe a take on beau never joins the m9 and the first time they meet her is when she's an expositor and how they react to her saving them from something

maybe not what u wanted , but all i could think about

//

The time they were given, left to wait in the antechamber of the castle, was enough to catch their breath but not nearly long enough to recover or start that process, so it is still bruised and bloodied that they follow the Marshal into the throne room.

The chamber is grand. Far beyond anything their patchwork party has ever seen before. It is comparable in size, in grandeur to the Bright Queen’s throne room, except that where her space had been a clear, clean, shattered prism of crystal and a pure but cold light, here is all severe grey stone, heavy and firm, and stained glass. The pretty colours do nothing to mellow the space; if anything, all the windows do is highlight how dizzyingly tall the ceiling of the chamber is as they stretch higher and higher.

Their boots tap against stone. Echo in the vast space around them. The Nein walk across, through, the scored lines of light that burn from those windows across the floor.

Ahead of them rides a great set of stairs that honestly, at this point, just feels like torture. They’re beat to shit. They’re tired. They don’t want to do this. If they’re gonna be killed, the King could at least have the decency to not make them climb a hundred steps first.

The Marshal nods them forward, expression brooking no disagreement.

‘I wish—I had died,’ Fjord groans, quietly. He’s panting as he climbs. ‘Honestly, if I have to—oh god—climb another step, I’m gonna throw myself—ha—down them.’

Jester grips his hand hard. Struggles for a smile, but with each step she’s losing her breath and it has less to do with exertion and far more to do with the fear squeezing her heart as the heads and shoulders and cool faces of the Council start to show above the platform.

A man with shoulder length hair and a long, thin goatee, both streaked with grey sits upon his throne, wooden and backed with an immensely tall and ornately carved back. The man looks to once have been fit and strong but now, in perhaps his early sixties, the muscle he had built has gone soft. There is nothing soft in the way he stares at them, cuts suspicious stares down over each of them in turn—lingering on Fjord, on Jester and Molly, on Nott. He is the King, and Jester thinks she would have known that even without the circlet that rests upon his head.

The names and faces of the remainder of the Council blur, all of them imposing, none of them welcoming. Jester searches their number for something, anythjng to focus on, as Caduceus begins to talk and panics, and as Fjord takes over, smooth and calm. No sign of the panic Jester knows he must be feeling.

It is when the Martinet steps forward that Jester sees her.

Seated behind the Martinet is a young human woman, not much older than Jester if at all, with dark skin and dark hair, which she wears pulled back into a handsome top knot and the sides shaved. Fine robes cover her clothes; they are similar to what the Martinet wears, but far less adorned. Which is not to say that she doesn’t shine at all—there is a small mantle of office draped across her shoulders, plain in comparison but still weighty, and gold glints in several places on her ears. Her face is handsome, though more stern than Jester would expect to see on someone so young, and unmarred save for a scar that cuts deep into her brow, dividing it into uneven parts.

She must feel Jester’s attention on her because suddenly blue eyes are fixed on her in turn and Jester can do nothing but stand still, stuck in place not because of this stupid terrifying audience with the King of the Empire, but by the powerful force of this stranger’s attention. She looks over Jester as though she can see into her, as though Jester were an open book and she a speed reader—and then her eyes skip up to meet Jester’s again, seemingly for no particular reason, and she smiles.

It’s not much. A flicker of a smile. A smudge of a smile. It isn’t kind, it isn’t sweet, but it is somehow very reassuring.

The smile is gone as quickly as it came and then they are answering a lot of very scary questions like How does the Bright Queen know about you? Why would she care about you? (and Jester does not like the tone of that question, like they’re stupid, or small, or worthless, and How did you know about the cult if you are not a part of it?

Jester’s attention drifts back to the girl. She’s taking notes in a quick hand, has been the whole time—but now her hand is still and poised above the page and she is looking at Yasha of all people with keen interest. What can she see? If she is the Martinet’s assistant, does that mean she’s magical? What does she know about Yasha, about all of them, just by looking?

‘I scried on them,’ Jester blurts. Feels the world spin around her. ‘Mister King? This is a very tall platform, um,’

‘You scried on them?’ the Martinet prompts, before the Kings darkening expression boils over into a storm.

‘Yes. We found a thingy—‘

‘A...thingy.’

Jester swallows hard. ‘A device. That was being used to open portals.’ She tries to remember what Allura and Caleb had told them. ‘They were planting them everywhere to open rifts to the Hells—‘

‘Abyss,’ Fjord coughs.

‘Abyss,’ Jester corrects, voice pitching higher as her heart rattled with nerves. ‘It’s like termites!’

‘Termites,’ the Martinet repeats.

Jester wonders if he has ever had to worry about anything like that, anything as ordinary and mundane and troublesome as termites.

‘Yah. They eat wood? They’re little and white and look a bit like ants,’

‘I know what termites are. I am not in need of a lesson on beetles at this time.’

‘Technically, technically, they’re insects,’

‘Maybe ixnay on the ugbay essonlay,’ Fjord hisses.

‘She’s right.’ The voice comes from behind the Martinet. He turns, brows raised, to the girl taking notes. Her voice is nice, Jester notes. Kinda brash and rough, but warm. She sounds like a real person, like the people they’ve spoken to all over the continent. Not like these polished martinets and kings.

‘Pardon?’

‘Termites. They’re insects, not beetles.’

The Martinet sighs. ‘Yes, very good, thank you Beauregard.’ He turns back to Jester. ‘So, to clarify, you found this device that opened portals to the Abyss in the manner of...a termite?’

Jester thinks about it for a moment. ‘No.’

‘There were many devices,’ Nott interjects. Realises—remembers—too late that she is a goblin. But the King and Martinet are watching her now, so she continues. ‘We found—three? Of them. And there were more we heard about but didn’t see.’

‘With each one that opens, they...undermine the integrity of the planes,’ Jester says, trying to repeat what Allura and Caleb had said.

Up there on the platform, Allura nods encouragingly.

The girl—Beauregard—looks with interest toward the Arcanist, and back at the Nein once more. There’s a thoughtful crease between her brows and she seems to be taking notes in earnest now, though no one is speaking.

‘You said you scried on these people. Would you be able to describe them, beyond the ones you slew?’

Jester licks her lips. Glances across to Fjord who shrugs helplessly. Cad looks like he’s still mid panic attack but she knows his thoughts on it—honestly. Caleb meets her eyes cautiously, careful not to stray sideways to the white haired jaundiced man upon the platform. He nods the smallest amount.

‘I can—we can name one of them. An empire agent who is part of the cult.’

‘Then do so,’ the King commands.

Jester nods to him a few times, fast, jewellery jangling it seems far too loud in her ears. She stills. Feels her attention dragged back to the Martinet and, behind him, the note-taker.

‘Vence Nutheylas.’

Things devolve quickly from there—accusations are thrown at the Nein, at Allura, hinted at the Martinet, Ikithon is a fucking creep, the King makes puppets of the Nein to solve the problem of this war for him. And as they are escorted down and out from the castle and into the light rain of the Shimmer Ward, they pass by a shaded corridor and Jester glimpses the tail of a red cloak. The Martinet, walking briskly down It and away, shadowed by his assistant. Jester can barely hear them, the words echoing down the corridor.

His deep voice is troubled. ‘—and Vence,’ he hisses, groans. ‘And I gave him an amulet. What a fool I am!’

The girl doesn’t disagree. ‘I warned you about him.’

‘I can’t dismiss someone so talented just because you say he’s slimy,’ the Martinet chides, exhausted. Clearly, they have had that discussion before. ‘And these...Mighty Nein? What do you make of them?’

The girl glances back over her shoulder before they turn the corner. Eyes lock once more with Jester’s, who now realises she has slowed to a stop, right in the middle of the corridor.

‘I don’t know,’ she says, thoughtful. Gentle. Not in a soft way, but delicate. Like a hand brushing dirt from a relic, interested in what lays beneath. ‘But I’ll be very interested to find out.’

//

Kamaruth Cottage is lovely. Warm and comfortable.

Something about it rubs Jester the wrong way. Maybe the way it aims for rustic but is far too pristine, too comfortable to really be rustic. Like it’s just pretending. A giant mimic, waiting to gobble them up.

She draws that idly in her notebook as they wait for dinner. A cottage, thatched eyebrows, a giant slobbering tongue as the red carpet leading to the front desk. A dozen window eyes staring.

Maybe it’s the way the theyre given seven rooms. Expected to split up. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Molly hasn’t let go of Yasha yet, doesn’t let go of her arm even when Fjord trades five hundred gold for a heavy tome he passes to her. They talk some, eat some. Nott drinks. Cad nearly falls asleep in his salad. Eventually, they make their way up to Caleb’s room to talk. To gauge their footing, and what he wants to do next.

For ten full minutes, Caleb passes over the room, taking time to examine it ceiling to floor for any manner of device or trap or something that should not be there. Behind him paces Caduceus, eyes gleaming with the familiar sheen of detect magic. They both turn up nothing.

Caleb sits and scratches at his arms and worries.

‘So,’ Fjord starts them off. ‘Big day, huh. I guess... Welcome back, Yasha.’ Fjord waves a hand toward her, or them, Molly still stuck to her side. Held tight in a hug.

‘Thank you. And... I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll take that apology,’ an unfamiliar voice says—harsh, and harshly amused—from behind them, from the window. Spinnjng, the Nein find that standing there, leaning back with her elbows braced against the sill, aggravatingly nonchalant, is the girl from the throne room. She looks a different without the robe. Smaller, thinner, and all in black and darker blues and greys, but it is unmistakably her.

In their room. Unheard. Unseen.

In the next second, Fjord has crossed the room, conjuring his blade and grasping the long hilt in both hands, pointed to her throat. Yasha has drawn the Judge. A burning of copper fills the room as Molly draws his blade across the skin of his forearm, scimitar lighting with white flame. Nott pulls her crossbow, the wire click, click, clicking as she wrenches it into the ready position.

Caleb just stares.

And Jester, she raises her hands, not sure exactly what she’s going to do when she’s exhausted like this. But if worst comes to worst, she has a hand axe.

‘Planning on killing the Martinet’s auxiliary, are we? Fun times in the Kamaruth Cottage. Didn’t know it was such a fun scene—’

Fjord presses his sword closer until it touches the skin of her throat. Still she just grins, unphased.

‘I don’t know what you think you overheard, but we have no plans on killing anyone,’

‘Maybe Trent,’ Molly hissés behind them all in Infernal.

‘Who doesn’t want to kill Trent?’ the girl answers in common. Ignoring Molly’s shock, she continues, very slowly, very patiently, very patronisingly, ‘The Martinet’s auxiliary is me. In case you didn’t know.’

‘Important position, is it? You’ll be missed, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Not really. To both. Just...letting you know because, and I’m gonna be honest—you seem well out of your fucking depth here.’

‘I don’t like this one,’ Molly decrees, opening in Common, since it seems she can understand his preferred language of disparagement. ‘Not one bit.’

‘I’m heartbroken,’ the girl sneers.

‘What you are is the one at sword point—and I know wizards. We’ve had time to rest now—we could take you.’ Jester winces at Fjord’s tone. Protective, he has gone harsh, gone with a face of stone to cover his shock, to cover their slip in letting her join them unnoticed.

‘This must be real hard for you but I’m gonna need you to use your head. For think-ing.’ She breaks the word apart like it might be too big for him, unfamiliar. ‘Even if you did beat me,’ she says, words drenched in disbelief, ‘there’s a whole city to get out of after that, all riled up after that attack. Whether I’m well-liked or not,’

‘Not.’

‘Missed or not,’ she amends with a shrug, ‘there’d be some real powerful people after your head if you killed me. So. Be smart about this and put. The sword. Away.’

For maybe the first time in his life, Fjord snarls, baring tooth and tusk.

She grins. ‘Is that a no?’

‘It’s a give me one good reason why we should trust you.’

It’s just a gut feeling but Jester doesn’t think that she will.

She watches as the girl tilts her head back almost lazily, before bringing it forward to crack into Fjord’s nose, his forehead. Fjord gets out a stuttering choke and as he stands there stunned, she ducks the sword and slips behind him, punches up the ladder of his spine. Fjord wheezes, breath punched out of him, and staggers around to face her.

By this point, Nott is screaming bloody murder, Caleb’s hand is wreathed in flame, Yasha has the Judge raised in both hands, Molly has both swords lit up, and the girl, Beauregard, is just standing there with her arm around a stunned Fjord and grinning.

‘As much as I’d honestly be stoked to go toe to toe with all of you—‘specially you, sweetheart,’ she says, throwing a wink and a kiss to Jester. Her eyes slide over to Yasha and her smile, somewhat salacious, turns harsh. ‘And you, Orphanmaker,’

Her eyes go black with blood as Molly barks something in guttural Infernal. Unlike so many that they’ve fought, she doesn’t panic. She settles back into a defensive posture, letting Fjord step away and out of reach; head cocked to listen to them, she waits out the sudden blindness, blinks the film of blood away.

Her eyes find Molly. Looks at the bleeding scars, the glowing blades, his harsh, panting breath. The way he stands in front of Yasha.

‘Now that is very interesting,’

‘Forgive us,’ Caleb says, finally says, his hand still wreathed in flames, blue eyes fixed on their guest, ‘but perhaps you will stop cataloguing us for just a moment, bitte, and tell us who you are. Because I do not think for one moment that you are the Martinet’s auxiliary.’

‘What do you think I am?’

‘A monk,’ Caleb says flatly.

‘I see I’ve found the brains of the operation. Bren, was it?’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott shrieks. She’s been holding her crossbow the entire time and now swings it up to let loose. A bolt pings from her crossbow, and the monk catches it, hisses when the tip scratches her arm. She looks from it to Nott. Waggles the bolt at her with a scowl.

‘Next time, I throw it back,’ she warns. Tucks It into the soft sash of her belt. ‘I’m keeping this.’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott says again.

She glances up from Nott to the man she is protecting—no other way to describe the way she stands in front of him, small body straining to cover as much of him as possible—and she nods.

‘Okay. Caleb, then. Good to know, I’ll make a note of that.’

‘I’m certain that you will,’ Caleb says with a hint of laughter to his tone. Resigned laughter, tired, but laughter none the less. ‘You know our names—you probably know far more than that, if I am to understand what it is the Cobalt Soul does.’

Beauregard nods, shrugs.

They stand in silence for a short while. Until she looks about, brows raised like, And? What?

‘He’s asking what your fucking name is,’ Fjord grits out from his place next to Caduceus.

‘You’re not still mad, are you?’

‘I think you broke my nose.’

‘I definitely did,’

‘Beauregard,’ Jesterer blurts. ‘That’s what the Martinet called you.’

Beauregard looks surprised, then pleased, then annoyed. ‘Yeah, he does. But you lot shouldn’t. It’s just Beau.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Beauregard is a stupid fucking name and if you use it, I’ll punch your face in.’

‘...Got a last name?’

‘Do you?’ Fjord looks away first.

‘Why does the Martinet call you that if you hate it so much?’

Beau smiles. It’s a bit macabre with the stream of dried blood like a tear track down her cheeks. ‘Poor Ludinus. He really hasn’t much luck in the assistant department. His annex is a fucking cultist, and his auxiliary is a spy. Once again—because you seem a bit slow—I am the auxiliary.’

‘You’re a spy.’

‘Hey, not so slow after all. Good job. I’ll find you a sticker or something, a little pin that says well done.’

‘Fuck. Off.’

‘I do not understand,’

‘Pretty simple, Caleb my man, I’m the auxiliary and I’m a spy-‘

‘Ja, that I understand. What I don’t understand is why you are telling us this.’

Beau’s eyes slide across to Yasha again. ‘Let’s just day that I’m not the only one who noticed you’re out of your depth. Some people really dig that kind of thing. Vulnerability. Innocence. Guilt. Whatever they can manipulate.’ Caleb’s cheek twitches. ‘I’d like to say the Archives is above all that shit.’ She doesn’t elaborate. Just says, ‘The High Curstor pulled my from Ludinus watch, re-assigned me to you lot. I’m supposed to help you with this whole relic thing.’

‘And why would we agree to that?’

‘Couple reasons. One, you’re out of your depth,’

‘Yes, we got that one,’ Fjord grumbles

‘Two, I have access to the entirety of the Soul’s archive of research. Three, I’m a monk, I’m badass, I have like a billion abs.’

‘How is that a bargaining chip?’

‘How is it not?’ She hikes her shirt up to show them off.

Jester blinks. Comes around from behind the bed to examine them up close. And maybe to add an extra level of defense between Beau and Yasha.

‘Whoa,’

‘No! No whoa, Jester,’

‘I mean, you have to admit, Fjord, that’s really impressive. You should be very proud,’ Jester tells her, nodding.

‘Thank you, thank you, I am.’

‘There is no doubt in my mind you would be a helpful ally,’ Caleb says. ‘I only have a question as to what you, or your Archive, gets out of this arrangement. Forgive me, but I have not known people here to do things out of the kindness of their heart.’

Beau lets her shirt and her smile drop. ‘You’re not wrong. The Soul gets two things outta this—one, we love to fuck with the Assembly. The more dirt we can get on them, the better we feel—and everything I’ve heard about this relic and Ikithon—‘ There’s no way she misses Caleb’s flinch. ‘—smacks of some real fucked up shit. The Soul is all about weeding that out, putting a stop to corruption and all that.’

‘What a fine job it has done so far,’ Caleb murmurs, barely more than a whisper.

‘You said you get two things. What is the second?’ That, of all people, is Yasha.

Beau meets her multi-coloured eyes squarely. ‘The Cobalt Soul gets you.’