#nautilus writes

[nautilus1954]

…

Well this took longer than expected.

So I’ll tell you tonight now, I’m NOT proud with this one, in-fact I think it’s worse than story 8, but I gotta get this thing out since this can’t be fixed without starting from scratch again, which I don’t have time for. I may do a rewrite later, but until then, this is what we have.

Anyway, in this story, Linda drinks some tea, a man wears some glasses, and Vincent stands on a wall.

ALSO, we get the return of a character we haven’t seen since the PILOT series!

I think the next 2 stories will come out a lot sooner since I thought them out better, but I’ve got school and work to contend with, so I’ve gotta see if I’m able to have time to do these on a normal schedule.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy

Illustrations by @bbsundae … follow them… NOW🫵

[nautilus1954]

A MUTAL'S STORY: NAUTILUS'S REMINDER

I awoke on the floor of some kind of hallway. I had know idea as to how I got here or when. What I did know was that the hall was long, dim, colorless, the things I had grown to live with over the years. I silenced that thought before I thought any further on the matter.

Where was I?

Was this some kind of dream?

I began walking aimlessly through the corridor, feeling the floor under my feet. Actually feeling the floor! You can't feel anything in dreams, can you?

I continued forward, knowing that this hall couldn't go on forever. It was a strange hall. It seemed Victorian-like, with the windows looking like they were from a church Nave. It reminded me of the hallways at Hogwarts from the Harry Potter movies.

Such nonsense those films were. I mean, an entire castle on earth? With rail lines leading to it? Not to mention all the magic and stuff like that. It was ridiculous… but then again, that's coming from a person who writes about demons, and before that used to write about divinity in God's and-

No… no no no. Don't think that. Don't go down that street again…

Another thing that began to get my attention was the colors… there wasn't any. Well, that's not true, not by my standards at least. They were pale colors, with the brightest colors being the lamps on the walls, and even they were dim compared to a toned down yellow.

It didn't make any sense to me. Not the color, or the hall itself. These things were very common in my tired life. What I didn't understand was why I was here? I wasn't complaining, just curious was all.

I continued further before I heard a sound behind me. A small 'klink' was the best possible way to describe it.

I turned around to find what it was before I nearly jumped in surprise! There was a mirror right behind me! It was like it just manifested there! Or was it following me this entire time? I didn't question the animit object, I just stared at it, which caused me to stair at my reflection.

I was nearly just as dull as the room, the only bright colors on me were just my blue eyes, pitching themselves on top of my bags, and even they seemed to need a desperate bit of life in them. The only other colors worth mentioning were… my scars. They were white like always, and didn't have that strange illuminating effect, at least not now.

Me thinking of the scars only brought back more memories that I preferred NOT to think about. To combat this, I just scoffed at the strange mirror, straightening out my attire and pulling back my straps to snap back onto my body again.

Though my days of thinking highly of myself were long gone, I still played with the notion that I would be a handsome lookin fella if it weren't for these scars… but… the day I received them was the day… that I finally saw who I really was…

I scoffed again, angry at the thought as I turned around to storm away from the mirror, but as I turned around to expect a long hallway, the hall was transformed into a corner hall right behind my back!

I looked back for the mirror, but it had vanished.

With nowhere else to go, and being completely alone, I thought I may as well continue. I rounded the corner, looking back behind me to see if the mirror would jumpstart me again before I faced forward, and looked at… me??

I wasn't sure if my skin could go any paler, but if it could, it certainly did when I laid eyes on the child!

The child was me! I was sure of it! He was just younger! It must have been! That dirty blonde buzzcut hair, that would become longer and darker with age! That tan skin! From the sun he would be out in! And… that clean, scarless face… the face of innocence…

I'm not sure he saw me when I saw him. He was still sitting on the floor, happy as can be… happy as can be. Which is more than what I could say for myself.

I felt something at that moment. A pang in my chest. The painful kind too. I was almost jealous at how the child seemed to not have a care in the world… I wanted to change that.

I wanted to taunt him. I wanted to be smug about all the hardships that he was gonna face in his life. All the struggles. To scare his little mind out of his skin.

I took in a breath and opened my mouth to do such when… he pulled a dandelion from out of nowhere.

I looked at him carefully while he inspected the plant. I remembered those things. How fascinating they were as you blew on them, and seeing the seedling fluder away to some far off land. Thinking how fun it would be to hitch a ride on the umbrella shaped seed as it went with the wind.

It was this thought… this thought alone that seemed to get me. The one thought I couldn't quite seem to get rid of…

The thoughts of child innocence. Being a child.

The thought… was doing something to me. It was making me vulnerable. I hated that. But just as the hate started to boil, it melted into sadness. The type of sadness that I fear. The one that shows.

I just breathed softly as 'child me' watched the seeds fly away. That's when he noticed me.

"Hello." He squeaked in the child-like voice, which was a complete contrast to my now deeper tone. He stood up and brushed himself off, showing a little timidness in his smile.

I was a very introverted child, that I remember vividly, but he seemed to be comfortable around me, that being told by the smile on his face.

I knew he couldn't know who I was, judging by the expression on his face, but still looked kind, bright, and… full of life…

I never noticed the eyes until now. They were bright. They were a bright blue, like they were almost glowing!

I felt an even more painful pang in my chest when looking into those eyes… and then… I realized…

That was the purpose of the mirror. It was showing me… me. And this child was the reminder of who I used to be! Small, innocent, not tired child. He couldn't hurt anyone in the world. He couldn't hurt me… only I could do that.

I… no one else… was the one who destroyed this child.

I myself, for the decisions that were mine alone, sucked all the color out of him! Who gave him these thoughts of self harm! Who pushed him out of the sun and into darkness!

It was me! ALL ME!!!

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes as the thoughts screamed their anger at me. Thinking that I didn't have the right to cry. I alone caused this. It was all my decision. But that didn't stop the regret I felt when I kept on staring into those eyes. Knowing that the bright happiness of his world would be ripped away from him and crushed in a matter of time. Finding out that time isn't eminence. That it all goes by so quickly when you're handed your responsibilities. You worry yourself to bits about it, you don't get the sleep that you need, and before you know it, you're a burnt out light bulb just like everyone else!

It wasn't until he felt small tears running down my cheeks when 'child me' asked me something I may never be able to hide away in the back of my mind.

"Are you okay?"

It felt like a bomb exploded in my head after he asked that. I held my arms tight as I looked down from him, just before I fell to my knees. I cried like I hadn't before in a long time. Remembering how I used to accuse people for causing the troubles I had to face. Judged people's work because I felt I could do better. Thinking that I was fantastic every way possible.

I used to think I was the hero… but I wasn't.

The hero was the child.

Who was I?

I was the monster!!!

I felt my scars begin to burn as I thought about where it all went wrong, but there was just so much. I felt like just ending it here. Why not? I've ruined enough lives with my comments! I have more than enough people who hate me! Just End It NOW-

…

I felt arms wrap around me, and a soft child-like voice say, "It's alright… it's okay."

I knew that if I were in a better state, I would contradict this. Saying something like "it's not okay", but it didn't matter now. In fact, I liked it… it helped.

I just hugged him back. I hugged him back tightly. Whispering how sorry I was for doing all the horrid things to him as I just cried on his tiny shoulder, staining his plain t-shirt with tears. He rubbed my back to the best of his ability, but that was all I could remember before I passed out from my breakdown.

___________

I woke up. On the floor again. In the same hall.

My eyes still stung from the tears, and my scars burned from my emotional meltdown. I just layed there before I checked my surroundings to look if the chil- if I was still here. I wasn't. I was gone. That child was now long gone. Forever lost inside me.

I shivered at who I had become. The things I had done. I was a person who was corrupt in every sense of the word, before I was finally put in my place. I remember how I was still trying to get back on top again. To earn the people who I admired trust again, but they just reared their heads at me. Which wasn't something I deserved… I deserved something FAR WORSE than that. And once I knew they weren't going to do it for me… I would do it myself.

Self harm and mutilation.

It seemed logical in my twisted up head of mine at the time. But when it was over, all that remained was a dormant body. Not knowing what to do next. Not knowing how to continue.

Should I have continued?

I looked over at where the child me was before my eyes landed on a book. A green book. It had golden wording and pictures on the cover as if it were a grimoire.

I grabbed it, and opened it up…

I saw them… it had been so long since I had seen them.

My first writings… my first proper writings.

It was painful to see them again, being that I made them during the reign of my high appointed self,. But now? I actually laughed at how bad they were!

All the spelling and wording was questionable! My punctuation was lacking in one spot, and too frequent in the next! I chuckled at that, but it felt better than most. Perhaps it was because the laugh was at that monster who used to be me. Now dormant in the body of this kinder, gentler, softer, and more grateful monster.

I skimmed through all five chapters of that story about the ocean god that kicked off my writing, cringing at every single chapter, including the short story right after it. I jested with the idea of what would happen if I rewrote it in this more knowledgeable version of myself.

Perhaps one day, when I was ready to partially revisit that world that I was shut out of. I read through the short story, it being the latest out of the six stories showed me how I had improved in my craft.

And then… nothing.

The next page was blank. I wonder what that meant, for the next page showed my work. My story. My Friend The Demon.

What did this empty space mean?...

I looked from the book in realization. The book couldn't tell anyone what that empty space meant. Only I could read that space. It told all the stories.

It told of how I was laying there in darkness, knowing that I had no one left, when a hand came mercifully out to me, offering to help me out of this dark void of insanity.

67

I began thinking of all my other mutuals that had restored what little life was in me. 67, then NK, Genos, Rainbow, Tintlens, Aero, Briar, and now Sp1ffy.

I realized how foolish I was when I was wishing it all to end. I can't go, not after all they did to pick me back up. And my OCs. Who would watch over them if I were to go away?

I had been so caught up in the bad, that I never stopped to look at the good. That's what this place was for. It was to help me Remember.

Though it was painful, I had to know where I came from. If I were to forget, then what progress did I make in all my years? I would gain nothing.

I closed the book, and shoved it under my arm. If this was a dream, I would be waking up soon. I just thought about that child.

I thought about my childhood. How it didn't seem valuable at the time, but would give anything to have just one day of it now. I shook my head with a frown. I couldn't go back, but that's probably what made it so valuable.

I stood up, not really feeling any different as when I first found myself here. I have always been grateful for my mutuals. I'm grateful for all my followers.

But… if I learned anything from this experience… I learned to never ruin myself again. I wanted to stay as I was, I know that improvement wasn't an option at this point. But I didn't want to become darker. Less colorful. To have the last bit of life leave my dull eyes forever… I wanted to keep it, for what time I have left.

I would leave here to treasure every waking moment I have with the people I had gained over this time, and for the ones that will hopefully come in my future life.

~The End~

_________________

Tagging the ones I hold the closet to me:

@btchboisundae67 @darkslayernk @genossingrimm @bluetintlens @sweetestbriar03 @rainbowangel110 @sp1ffytegan @aerokriegs

New picrew chain idea: yourself vs what you looked like as a kid

Free for anyone to join in

Link

[feeshies]

too early to make assumptions, but the fact that disney is rewriting captain nemo's backstory in their upcoming series so he steals his submarine from the english instead of building it himself feels gross to me

[nautilusdrake]

The Devil - Strahd von Zarovich

----

He had grown used to the false interest of everyone else around him. No one actually wanted to get to know 'Strahd'. All they ever cared about was money or power; currying favor in an effort to secure a title or a piece of land.

But Sergei… Sergei wanted nothing—Just his happiness and a little bit of his time.

It was very confusing.

And… it scared him.

[sergeantwoods]

inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. in--

the thump of the helo hitting the ground lifted ghost from his thoughts, and he sighed. exhale.

roach and gaz slowly broke apart from their huddling, probably talking about some dumb shit. ghost huffed, turning away from the two.

see, soap was dead. he has been for a while. a while is 8 months. but that's still a while in his books. because he could never let johnny's death go. never.

roach was soaps replacement. but he could never amount to johnny. so as much as he tried, he wouldn't get half of ghost's respect. roach wasn't bad, don't get him wrong. the kid was good at his job, smart, funny. but if he thought he could replace soap, then he was sorely mistaken. nobody can replace soap.

ghost doesn't understand how gaz and price moved on so quickly. their mourning only lasted about, what, a month? two? even so, it was too fast. like they dumped the idea of the bright-eyed sergeant away too quickly. it cut at simon's heart.

a pat on his shoulder had him roused from his thoughts, and he met eyes with price. price nodded at him, and he dipped his head back. swallowing shallowly, he stood up, following behind the captain.

once they reached the snowy ground, price waved nik off, and nik grinned and winked before launching in the air again and leaving. now, it was just the four of them, plus the two rookies that had been assigned this mission.

"alright," price started, coughing. his eyes narrowed, and he gestured at the facility that was barely visible from their view. "we're just going in to grab intel. they have guards, yes, but they are easy to bypass. it's easy. don't make it harder than it has to be." at the collective 'yes sirs!' he recieved, he nodded.

"sergeant valkyrie, lieutenant mirage, go on overwatch. me and the others are going into building A. keep watch for us. don't mess up; this is important." when the sergeant and the lieutenant nodded, he turned to the direction of the building.

"alright. when we get there, i'll tell overwatch where to set up, then we'll go and get that intel. shouldn't take too long." clapping his hands, he continued. "let's get going."

they trudged at least a few miles towards the compound, dropping of overwatch on the way. when they reached the cliff that dropped down to reveal the building, price split them into smaller groups.

it took them a few minutes to get down, grunts of effort being heard through comms. the awkward shuffling from the rookie's side of the comms were picked up, agitating ghost's ears. he was tempted to turn it off, but he decided against it. it would stop later, anyway. they'd get busy and focus.

gritting his teeth, he took out his assault rifle. price gave them a few more directions, before they took off for their missions.

it starts off slow. yeah, it started off slow. but now, here they were, huddled under some block of cement, to hide from the rain of bullets coming their way. price curses under his breath from ghost's side, reloading his gun hurriedly before peeking out from the side of the block and shooting.

ghost looked out from the side as well, shooting enemies one by one with deadly accuracy.

"overwatch, how many more are there?" price hisses, reloading his gun again.

"they just keep coming, sir," valkyrie says, growling under his breath as he snipes some soldier in the swarm of konni's coming after them.

"fuuuck, there wasn't supposed to be this many!"

ghost couldn't help the snort that left him. price side eyes him, then roughly grabs his shoulder.

"we're moving, lieutenant, come on."

nodding, he covered the captain as the sprinted into the building next to them. once they entered, it became eerily silent, save for their shoes squeaking against the sterile marbled floor. it looked like a part of an airport, almost, minus all the obviously military things lying around.

even when price lowered his gun, ghost kept his up. they couldn't afford to be caught off guard.

"simon. there isn't anyone in here."

flicking his eyes to price, he slowly lowers the gun. if price told him to lower the gun only for them to get --

he lets out a surprised sound as something -- no, someone -- tackles him to the ground. his head hits the ground first, and the all-too-familiar feeling of the barrel of a gun being pressed to the back of neck is present before he hears price letting out a shout and barreling towards the figure on top of him to the ground.

ghost groans, head spinning. he hears the sounds of price and the russian tussling besides him, but he can't seem to care over the pain in his head.

it takes a few seconds to finally come too, but when he does, he realizes that price is being attacked. and suddenly his senses are in overdrive, and he sweeps the attacker of their feet and onto the ground. their gun goes flying, and they land on their back with a pained grunt. he goes to stand over them. and now he gets to see their face.

his heart drops.

a familiar face. it isn't supposed to be familiar -- the eyes. it's fucking green, not blue. and the muzzle. and the fluffed out, ruffled mohawk. it isn't johnny. but it is? johnny wouldn't betray them. and he wouldn't do... whatever this is. wouldn't agree to it.

soap snarls from his position on the floor, eyes narrowed and staring apoplectically up at ghost. his breaths were coming out in short, angry puffs, the sound strange from the muzzle.

"johnny?"

nothing in his face changes. no pause, no hesitation, no sadness, no recognition. ghost face screws up under the mask in concern. what the hell happened to him?

price shakily gets up beside him, staring down at soap. his face was white as a sheet, and he whispers out a hoarse, "soap?"

soap grips ghosts ankles, writhing on the floor, trying to flip him over. he doesn't move, stuck gawking at soap.

"what did they do to you?" he murmurs out; half to himself and half to soap.

the only response he gets is a strangled "fuck you," from the man himself, still trying to flip ghost over.

price crouches on the ground, a pained expression on his face. he looks back up at ghost, eyes tired.

"what the hell should we do with him?"

"don't think he knows who we are. i said his name, no sign of recognition. doesn't look like he's willing to communicate, either. and you're the captain. you decide."

price sighs, rubbing his forehead as he thinks.

"well, either we just leave him here, cuff him to a bar." he pauses, seeing ghosts brow furrow.

"bu-- "

"and i know that's not an option anyone would like," he cuts ghost off, then continues with an exhale. "or we could sedate him and bring him back with us, and ask questions when we get back. or we could cuff him and bring him back. which one is safer?"

"unless you want to have a sparring match on the helo, i don't recommend cuffs. sedate seems safer, the only good option. i think gaz would try and murder us if we left soap here, too. you got a tranquilizer?"

price nodded. "yeah. can you hold him?"

"of course."

already crouching, price moved closer to soap, taking out a kit with the needle in it. the now green-eyed man's eyes widened, and he jerked away from price. ghost crouches down too, holding soap down. using one hand, he gently combs his fingers through his mohawk.

soaps eyes snap to ghosts; confusion lacing the sickly green. but he's staring up ghost, confusion turning into... fascination? interest? and he's certainly not paying attention when price winces and gets closer. he sticks the needle in the side of his neck when he gets close enough, and ghost grip on soap immediately tightens.

johnny immediately lurches away, crying out in surprise, and thrashing around. it only takes a few moments for the movements to become sluggish, and before they know it, soap is completely asleep.

it's quiet in the building. except for the loud breathing from soaps muzzle.

prices hand reaches to his comms. he clicks it on, voice low and gravelly as he speaks into it.

"well. gaz, guess who we found?"

HEEEEEEEELP THAT WAS SO LAZY IM SOBBING 😭

i swear i can write better thn that -- that was like. only 50% energy. i rushed this in an hour. yes, an hour. that's not really rushing, but i got very distracted a couple times.

well, heres my serving of brainwashed soap for the night. don't expect anything from me for like. another month or two .😭i mean, the medieval fic is gonna kick off sometime, so expect that

i very quickly proofread this, so if there was typos jus,,. ignore that please 🙏

here u go, @spottlessspectre

[lethesbeastie]

Day 6 of bweirdOCtober feat. Wraith! Thought it'd be a fun prompt to drop some lore writing I have for them, so enjoy! :3

The Wraith of the Merchant's Seas

The first thing I remember was the way the light glimmered from beneath the waves. 

I don't know how long I'd been there— floating aimlessly through the open sea. I do know that when I woke up then, for the very first time, I was hungry. 

I was small then— no larger than the captain's compass, able to fit in the palm of one hand.

I don't recall what I ate. Probably plankton or some other microscopic prey, whatever was drifting along with me in the open sea. I do know that I did not try to surface for a very long time.

It was a storm that brought me up eventually. I had no sense of how frightening they were above the water; beneath the waves, it's not much different from the sea at night. Just with worse currents and brighter lights. But well, that time there was a ship nearby. 

The storm killed it. 

Sent its crew and cargo sinking down, down, down into the depths below. Sent it down to me.

I like light. Not. Not a lot of it— hurts my eyes a bit— but I think it's rather pretty. Especially when it catches on something shiny. And that ship, I guess it must've been something rather important, because it sent so many glittering things into the water. 

Took forever for me to collect them all— I've still got a few. Brought em’ to the captain after I decided to stay, though I didn't really understand money at the time. Sold most of it off to buy myself stuff at the markets the first time the crew took me to land. Kept these pearls though. They're pretty. And soft.

The sparkling things made me curious about where they'd come from. I didn't really understand ships— I thought they were like whales, some sort of great beast that lived its life above the waves. (I wasn't entirely wrong about that either, though Captain says the Wanderer is a rather unusual case.) 

Eventually I decided I wanted to learn more about them, these beasts of wood and metal. I understood the whims of sharks and eels and birds. It was only these ships that remained such a stubborn mystery.

I began to follow them on their routes across the sea. First from beneath the waves, then as I got bigger and a bit more bold, from the shadows of their great wooden hulls. 

I learned that ships carried many things. Some held shiny treasures like those I'd found that first night. Others had paper or fabrics, though those didn't tend to do well in the sea. All of them held people

I don't really know what I thought before I saw other people for the first time. For some reason I'd assumed I was alone. I knew fish could think and feel, but most of the little ones didn't seem to plan, and even the bigger ones weren't too keen on anything that didn't get them food. 

The people on the boats were different. They weren't simple like fish. They made noises and touched one another, wore strange colors and moved in stranger ways. 

I thought they were beautiful. 

They did not feel the same.

The first time I got spotted by a sailor, I think they thought I was a baby kraken— some sort of little sea beast, still too small to do harm. They threw things into the water at me, pointed and made strange sounds. I didn't like it, so I dove away. 

The next sailors that saw me threw spears. 

After that, I decided that no matter how curious I was, I'd never let the sailors see me. It was too dangerous, too frightening to face them and the metal claws they might toss into the depths. 

Still, as I waited for my wounds to heal, I could not ignore the way my curiosity continued to burn. 

I wanted to understand them, these strangers and their wooden beasts and their metal claws. I wanted to know why they feared me so much as to try and take my life. 

I started leaving the water. Climbing up anchor chains and slithering between the rails in the dark.

It was strange, moving out of the water. Sound traveled differently, struck me like a knife between the eyes if I wasn't ready for it. And the lights were so brilliant, so bright. 

I can't say that I really liked it. But I became accustomed to the change. 

Got good at sneaking about and hiding, at following and learning people's routines, how and where they moved, where they looked. 

I learned more about the sorts of things the people kept on the ships. Paper and fabric, though useless beneath the waves, were luxurious when kept dry. The metal claws they used against me before came in many more shapes and sizes, and were used to compensate for their lack of proper teeth or claws. Cooked food was my favorite early discovery, a bowl of half eaten fish soup left cold on the edge of a deck becoming my first forray into the wonderful world of culinary arts. 

There were things the ships helped me learn about myself too. 

The first time I stowed away on a ship, I came across a mirror. 

It was dark in the hold, surrounded by boxes, and I'd been using my bioluminescence to try and sneak a peak when I saw something brilliantly glimmering. I drew closer, then closer, until I hit my head on the glass with a wet smack.

Once I got a handle on my startled squeak of pain, I turned to face my assailant and saw… me. 

Took me a while to understand that that was what I was looking at.  

I didn't look like any of the sailors I'd seen. I didn't look like any of the fish either. I looked... strange. Half formed. Like half eaten bait. I sat there for a long while, examining myself, learning the curves of my face, trying to piece together why I was the way I was. 

After I saw my own face, I came back down to the mirror every night for many weeks, comparing myself in the dim light to people I'd seen. 

That's where I learned how to change.

I've always known how to do it— it's instinct more often than not, an unconscious reaction to the thought that I should hide. Most of the time I'd just mimic rocks or animals, trying to blend in. But there, beneath the deck, I thought of people's faces. And I tried to make their features all my own. It was never quite perfect— I couldn't seem to shake my need for gills and fins— but it made it easier to creep about. Easier to pretend I was something I was not. 

It was dark the night I crept onto the Wanderer's Jaws. 

The night's eye— or the moon rather, as I later learned— was in one of those thinner stages. Like a shark had taken a bite and the flesh had come away clean. Nights like that were always best for creeping onto new ships. Made it harder for the night watch to notice me. I climbed up using the anchor chain, which was hanging low near the water, and slithered across the deck until I found a place to hide.

I remember being confused at the time why there weren't any people on watch. Most boats with any size to em take a lot of hands to man, and while the Wanderer wasn't a particularly grande size, it was still a decently large ship. I don't know what I chalked it up to. Experienced crew or something like that. But eventually I dismissed the emptiness and set to sneaking into the hold. 

I was looking for something interesting in the cargo. I've made a habit over the years of collecting things from the ships I snuck onto. My own sort of treasures. I'd seen a sailor recently using a sparkling gold compass, and decided I wanted one of my own. I hadn't seen one when I decided to board the ship— I just thought that if there were people, it'd be a good place to start.

I didn't end up finding one. I know now that at the time, they'd just left one of their usual markets, which meant most of their cargo was either gold from being paid or other items they planned to sell at their home port. Plus, they weren't the trinket collecting sort. Least, not till I came along. So there wasn't much chance of me stumbling across anything small and sturdy enough for me to keep. 

The food on board was good though. Better than any I'd had before. One of the crew members— a tall, slender thing— had some pets on board.

I'd never seen a goat or a chicken before, since I'd never gone out onto land, but at the time I remember thinking it was rather odd. The goat's milk and chicken's eggs helped supplement the usual sailor’s diet of hardtack and gruel, and they'd gotten several exotic foods in Port, so when I came aboard the cook had taken to crafting up a feast each night. It was wonderful, and I remember wishing very badly that I could somehow eat more than the scraps I'd snatched from the waste buckets when no one was looking. 

I hid on board the ship for two weeks before I was caught. At some point in that first week I'd decided I liked the ship enough to stay till they hit portside, and took to memorizing the crew's shifts and routines so I could avoid them. 

I didn't think much of how few there were aboard till they started to get suspicious of a few stolen things. I thought the trinkets I took were small— shiny bits of metal and glass, things that no one would miss. 

Turns out though that a navigator losing their tools is actually a rather significant cause for alarm. 

I ended up returning them, put em’ back close to where they'd been found. But the damage was done. The crew knew there was someone else on board, and while I was sneaky, I was still lacking in experience with the wider world. It had never occurred to me that I could be tricked and trapped just as easily as the fish I'd learned to catch. 

They ended up setting a trap for me. Left a plate of food unattended in a quiet part of the hull, and ended up finding me tangled in the ship's living rigging, holding a broken shard of the plate as a makeshift knife.

The crew seemed to freeze at the sight. I don't think they really knew what to make of me. Captain told me later that it's not completely unheard of to find orphaned children on the sea. Usually they're found closer to port though, or sulking about on deck after dark. And those children never look like me. 

I'd never really thought about the different kinds of people before then. To me, if it spoke and moved and thought, it was as much of a person as me. I learned later that there were categories though. That people who looked certain ways came from different groups than others. And that some people didn't belong to any group at all. 

Hybrid. That's what I was. That's why I didn't look like anyone else I'd ever know. I was something that shouldn't exist, that didn't, couldn't, wouldn't belong anywhere, or with anyone at all. 

I remember being very, very scared when they caught me. I don't know why, since aside from those sailors in the past with the rocks and harpoons, I'd never really been found before. I didn't have any reason to believe that they'd hurt me. But for some reason, something in my head thought they would. 

It didn't really help that the first thing Captain did upon discovering me there was to chortle out a deep, booming laugh. He was the only one to do so— the rest of the crew were still trying to make sense of my odd assortment of limbs. 

Captain was the first person to try and speak to me. I don't know why, perhaps the other's were too unnerved, too unsure of what I was. By then I'd learned enough language to catch the gist of things, though I wasn't good at talking myself, but it was still hard for me to understand. 

In the end I decided to trust him because of his tone I think. He's a big man, broad shouldered and strong, and while I know now he's got gentle hands, back then they were simply large. He looked like a predatory thing, like the type of fish that had tried to make a meal of me back before I learned to leave the water. 

But his voice. It was hard to be afraid of that voice. 

It was raspy, yet full, and it reminded me of the distant bellows of whalesong. I'd heard him speak before, heard him bellow at the crew and the sea, heard him laugh and roar and howl. 

But here, with me, he was so very quiet. His voice was soft, and warm, and calm. 

I don't know why, but I felt like I could trust him. And when he held out his hand, so large compared to mine, I decided to take it. 

It's been years since then, that first frightening night. The crew taught me common, how to read and write and speak. Told me the tales the sailors told of the wraith of the merchant's seas— tales about me. They gave me my meals, and my bed, and my name. 

I've learned a lot since then, about the world and about myself. 

It is more dangerous for me than I'd realized, to travel as a hybrid on the sea. We have to be careful no matter where we go to port. 

There are powerful people that hate us, who speak with silver tongues and set the masses on our kind like a frenzy of sharks. It's safer to hide what we are when we aren't among friends.  

I'm especially good at hiding. 

Half changeling, Captain says. He'd never met one himself, but he'd heard of them before I'd come aboard. He went out looking for a few after the crew decided to keep me, wanted to find someone to teach me how to shift. He didn't end up finding one, but he did bring back a few books. I'm good at changing now, good at making myself look like something I'm not. It's sort of like a game of shells and cups.  Under one of these figures is a secret. Most people don't find the right one. 

I miss my crew. They've done so much for me since they found me. Raised me up on the shifting sea. They love me too, I know it. 

That's why I have to bring them home. 

[alexhatessupermarketcola]

I forgot that James Sprintz's family, at least in the show, deals in weapons. Could be an interesting point of contact if Alex ever found himself on the run and in need of supplies, seems a very Scorpia!Alex related situation but I'm sure there could be other reasons too... Also I love James' (and Laura's) characters in the show and it would be cool for Alex to use them as a support network

[wormwoodartemisia]

Seriously?

I had just read this ...

https://www.tumblr.com/rememberwren/766319205199085568/can-i-interest-you-in-a-little-challenge-to-keep?source=share

[(I was devastated, my heart is shattered once more... 😢 It's this time of the year... Thank you for sharing! 🖤 I love this short little thing so much that I already know it by heart...😭)]

...when I zoomed into the list, the curious fool that I am.

I noticed Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery first.

What's wrong that I had to think of this one piece of art ⬇️ immediately? 😭 No comfort in sight...

Curiousity doesn't only kill the cat...

[81 words]

Mind Control: Aftermath (& no Recovery...)

Who's Johnny?

He doesn’t do things half-heartedly - and it’s now he remembers that he’s never done so in his entire life.

All the memories are back at once, unlocked, an unfiltered flood - right now, not one moment earlier...

He stares at the man kneeling before him, once faceless foe - brown eyes looking up into the blue - stares at the perfect stab wound, at all the blood on his blade.

All of a sudden Ghost is back in his life - back to be gone...

[sinvulkt]

Version française ci-dessous.

Nemo snatched the rifle from the dazed shipwrecked sailor and fired. One shot. Two shot. The bullets ricocheted off the monster's skin, without harming it in the slightest. The giant eel shook its head as if to rid itself of an unpleasant tingling sensation, then rushed at the sailor Nemo had just disarmed. The man didn't have time to utter a single cry before he disappeared down the creature's throat.

Nemo took a step back, his heart beating wildly. Blaster and Humility were approaching the beach now, without having noticed that he had stopped to distract the monster. Soon they would have reached the ship and Nemo would be free to run after them, or the eel would be dead under his fire. He refastened his rifle.

A vicious, hate-filled eye stared back at him, daring him to fire. Nemo obliged.

The shot went off, hitting the creature on the soft skin near the eyelid. The monster writhed in pain. The trees shuddered under the power of the blows, shaking them like an earthquake. The ground seemed to give way under Nemo's every step, causing him to stumble as he tried to move away from the deafening sound. A continuous buzz filled his ears.

Before he had time to regain his balance, the giant eel had opened its mouth wide in fury and pounced on him. Nemo's heel caught in the roots of a tree and his rifle went tumbling through the air. A warm breath brushed his face in a foul reminder that the monster was getting closer. Seconds passed both slowly and quickly as Nemo struggled in vain to dislodge his foot. He finally gave in: he wouldn’t be able to dodge in time.

Using his last recourse, he raised the pistol he had kept at his waist and fired again. And again. And again. To no effect. The maw remained wide open, like an unstoppable yawning abyss, no matter how many blows pierced it. He reloaded. Already the monster stood less than one meter away, the trap of its jaws masking the sunlight. Then, just as Nemo fired the last bullet straight into the esophagus rushing towards him, a convulsion shook the creature’s body. 

Sharp jaws with teeth as long as its forearm closed around him, plunging him into total darkness. Nemo blinked, expecting the jaws to clamp down at any moment, crushing him under their fangs or suffocating him in stomach acid. But, against all odds, the silence stretched on, not even broken by a wheeze. The fetid air around him stayed stagnant.

The monster was dead.

Nemo tried to lift one of the teeth. The jaw was heavy and, sunk deep into the ground, it didn't budge. Nemo readied himself. His feet spread, his pelvis lowered, his muscles tensed and, with a superhuman effort, he pushed. A ray of light rewarded his efforts before the mouth heavily fell back, once again trapping him. Nemo choked on the dust and the putrid atmosphere of the mouth. Memories of his cell in Kalpani chattered in his mind. For every second he spent in this cadaverous trap, he seemed to become a little more claustrophobic. Driven by the energy of despair, he resumed his efforts to lift the tooth. This time, the jaw parted, leaving a deep trail in the sand. It was barely enough for Nemo to crawl out, which he did.

He was just starting to free himself when he noticed that the flesh of the snout had stuck to his fingers. He shook his hands, but to no avail. The whole snout seemed to be stuck there. Nemo pulled with all his might, uselessly. A touch of anxiety tightened his features. He put his foot against the jaw for support and, letting out a curse, pulled so hard that he dislocated his shoulder. The monster's skin stretched like an old rubber band, deforming the eel's triangular head, but it remained stubbornly attached. As soon as he stopped, panting and exhausted, his arm sank deeper with a disgusting noise into the creature's skin, up to the elbow.

His hand was burning. Nemo gritted his teeth against the wave of pain that shot up his wrist. It felt as if the limb had been dipped in acid. Given the supernatural nature of the creature pinning him down, who knows if that wasn't the case. Nemo stared at the swarming mass of flesh on his arm. In a few minutes, it would have reached his shoulder.

His heart hardened. He reached into his belt and pulled out his dagger, then stuffed the bottom of his shirt into his mouth. The blade, perfectly sharpened, cut into the flesh with ease. It didn't take long for it to hit a nerve, causing him to let out a muffled scream. Nemo gritted his teeth so hard that if it hadn't been for the sweaty shirt he'd slipped between his jaws, he'd already have cut his tongue.

A sudden spike of pain in his foot stopped him in his agonizing tracks. He looked down. The foot he had placed on one of the creature's teeth for support was no longer resting, but embedded. A twitch in his ankle confirmed what he had feared. Sweat ran down his forehead. His foot was as stuck as his arm, as if the ivory had melted around his shoe and the latter was slowly sinking into it. Already, a burn similar to the one devouring her wrist was igniting her leg.

He could no longer feel his fingers or toes.

The dagger slid limply from his free hand. Nemo stared blissfully at his limbs being devoured, as if staring death in the face. Then, seized by a feverish burst of rightful anger, he bent down to retrieve his blade and attacked his shoulder again. Nemo did not fear death. Most of the people he had loved were waiting for him there, in the afterlife, and dying would simply be joining them. But Nemo’s lack of fear for the grim reaper did not mean he would go down without a fight; not as long as the Company still existed and his family remained unavenged.

Sadly, it was too late, far too late. Nemo had barely made a dent in the bone when the swarming mass covered his dagger, then his other hand. That strange flesh was taking over his crotch, his pelvis, his torso. The pinkish foam climbed up his neck, then his face, cutting off his breath. Nemo laid motionless, paralysed in this organic prison that seemed to be digesting him alive.

The substance rose against his eyes, depriving him one by one of taste, smell, sight, hearing and touch. Everything became a tingling, acrid burn, so widespread that he couldn't tell whether the sensation was real, or the echo of a memory taking over his imagination. Nemo was completely unable to distinguish where his own body ended and the swarming mass around him began. Not that he had to worry about it for long. Emptiness soon embraced him.

-------

Nemo woke up, his vision a blur.

His mind was in slow motion. He was standing on this faint border between wakefulness and sleep, where we still remember the supernatural of our dreams and don't yet question the absurdity of reality. He vaguely felt that he had died, devoured by the corpse of a gigantic reptile, but the idea seemed so preposterous that it was hard for him to believe it was a memory, and not the effect of some hallucinogenic plant from the island.

He tried to flutter his eyelids to clear his vision, but no muscles responded. His body, heavy and numb, responded only by twitching. Nemo felt as if his arms and legs were trapped in a huge sack, hindering any attempt to move. He finally managed to turn his head. A shiny white shape closely resembling a tiny human skeleton reflected in his pupils when he did, catching his eye.

A tingling sensation drew his attention. Nemo sniffed the salty air, deeply regretting the way the sun’s strong rays hit his sensitive eyes. He was overcome by the strange certainty that the tingling sensation corresponded to the members of his crew, and that they had reached the edge of the sea.

His body moved between the damp trees, instinct guiding him in his contortions. He didn't question the strangely reduced size of the vegetation, nor the faint sensation of the earth cracking and sliding under his skin, nor the new tingling sensation that guided him. Nemo's sleep-fogged attention was focused on the idea of finding his cabin on the Nautilus, and finally leaving this accursed island.

He reached the beach and stopped, lost. The tingling had stopped. After a moment's searching, he managed to make out a blur moving across the water: a boat. Nemo opened his mouth to call to them, but only a weird purr came out. A few moments later, shrill, distorted voices burst from the boat, painfully hitting his eardrums. Seeing that the blur was not getting any closer, but was instead moving further and further away, Nemo leapt into the waves.

The water slid deliciously along his body. It welcomed him like an old friend, flowing effortlessly down his neck, his torso, his tail. It filled his gills, expelling the air that had been painfully trapped there, and Nemo had the sensation of breathing for the first time.

Confusion mingled with fear. Nemo didn't have a tail, he had legs. He didn't have gills, he had lungs. And he had never, ever swum so fast.

A shock a hundred times stronger than the tingling sensation that had guided him earlier swept through his brain. It was as if a lantern in the shape of the Nautilus had appeared before his eyes, calling to him like a torch attracting an insect. Nemo rushed to the area resembling the deck, hoping to find the hatch. He found a frightened scream instead. The shipwrecked woman who had helped them earlier was looking at him with an expression of terror.

Confusion filled him again.

It's me, Nemo!

A growl was the only sound to escape his throat. The woman ducked and disappeared inside the ship. Shortly afterwards, the familiar sound of the Nautilus engines filled her ears. 

A desperate pang twisted his heart. They were going to leave without him. 

The Nautilus is mine!

His body reacted of its own accord. Before he knew it, Nemo had wrapped himself tightly around the Nautilus, his long, sinuous body looping several times around the vessel. It occurred to him that if the Nautilus was so small and he was so big, he would never be able to get through the hatch. And yet he could easily see himself stretching out his arms, turning the wheel that sealed the door, then slipping inside the ladder that would lead him to his ship.

His head stuck to the bay window at the front of the submarine. Several spots of colour stared back at him, unmoving. 

I'm your captain!

One of them suddenly surged forth, rushing towards the area containing the controllers. The bay shield began to move with a frightful screeching sound that sent shivers through Nemo’s eardrums. He jerked away from the horrible sound, thus allowing the shield to close. Nemo stared at the metal for a moment, dumbfounded by the impudence of his crew, his tail still wrapped possessively around the rest of the ship. 

That’s when he noticed the reflection in the polished surface. The creature staring back at him had no hair, no beard, no ears. It had no arms or legs, just a long, sinuous neck covered in scales that was lost in the ocean. It was the triangular head of a faceless monster, similar to the one he had slaughtered earlier.  

Years earlier, during his long months of imprisonment in Kalpani, he had laid his name to rest beside the immaterial tomb of his wife and daughter, and chosen a new one. A name that would separate him from the agony of the past. A name that promised to dedicate his life to his vow of vengeance.

Nemo...

The Latin name he had been so proud of now seemed ironic. After all, who would take the time to consider the human nature of a sea monster? Now, in the eyes of the world, he really was 'Nemo'.

Nobody .

[end0parasitic]

giggles kicks feet. if the offer to ask you to talk about endoparasitic is still open do you want to talk about Luce

BOY DO I EVER.

the thing abt luce is that she is almost completely cynte’s foil, and yet she still outdoes him in befriending the parasites, and that’s the whole point! she has been ignored for so long that she seeks their company, she craves connection, and she’s empathetic to the point that she’s willing to hear them out and help them.

she and cynte are both blinded by their pursuit for power, and both to the same extreme. the only difference is luce was chosen, and he was not. she thinks that she has bested him, that despite his treatment of her that she was the superior one, when in reality she was doomed the moment she reached out to the parasites. this ties into the theme of religion and devotion, being chosen as a sacrifice and being honored. gods in this world function as a lense through which the characters see the world, and luce sees it through the lense of goodness. she literally worships optimism, but this has failed her because of her extreme loneliness. and so, she decides to see good in the parasites.

luce also really resents cynte, go figure. she takes pride in her empathy and feeling and morality, yet she releases the parasites. they are both so blind, and the parasites were puppeteering everything the entire time, except for cynte. luce is lonely in a cold world surrounded by uncaring people, and so when “pyeridae”, her goddess of light and love, chooses her, she thinks that she is exceptional in having those traits to more of a degree than others. because cynte has not embraced these same traits in himself, he cannot ascend to the level that she has. but, truly, the parasites just want to spread. luce is a gateway, a vessel, a puppet, a host, a hero.

but, she has been tricked. plain and simple. the parasite starts whispering to her, eventually taking her mouth and taking over her body, splitting apart her skin to reveal engorged bones. her spine grows too long for her back. her will is completely warped when the parasite wastes the people on the arkship without her say. do you think she saw karis on the arkship?

she’s dealing with a similar kind of insanity to the cultists, where their minds are very distorted due to the parasites. the difference with luce is that her state is very advanced. the will of the parasite and the will of luce are melded together, if you were to separate the two there would not be enough of either left to even one of them to continue living. she is completely infected.

“cynte?” “i wish… i wish you would’ve killed me when you had the chance.” this quote makes me very sad. she realizes she was a puppet, that this state is very painful for her, that she’s done horrible things. cynte obliges with her request, if a little late.

i like her :3 doomed by literally everything. thank you for the ask!

[ash--00]

Chapter 1: Freshwater and Giant Spider

He hate this island - no, hate is too soft of a word. He loath this island.  

Every nook and cranny seems to harbor a new threat. How many times has he told Blaster not to touch anything? How many times has he heard the boy complain after injuring himself handling the treacherous vegetation? Honestly, Nemo has stopped counting.

His bare feet are clogged with mud, and  itchy leaves cling to them, loosening their grip only for a few moments of peace. As for the nettles, they seem to have taken a particular liking to him, their incessant stings burning his ankles for hours. They're not about to leave this cursed spot, let alone find drinking water. A lake, a pond, something! How can an island be so arid?

Humility walks beside them, watching over the child with almost maternal vigilance, which deeply annoys both men. She goes on and on about her passion for discovering new species and her desire to be, once again, superior to the others. But neither Nemo nor Blaster find the energy to ask her to keep quiet. It's not them, but fate that finally silences her, as she suddenly rolls down a hill that's a little too steep. But what comes next is not the expected sound of falling on hard ground, no, it's the sound of splashing water, mingling with the song of cicadas and the murmur of wind-blown branches. 

Water. And too far from the sea to be salty - it has to be fresh water.

The next moment, Blaster, having glanced back to where Humility had fallen, almost exclaims with joy. Without hesitation, he launches himself after her, skillfully avoiding both ground and plants to plunge straight into the lake. The depth of the water is revealed when it takes him several seconds to surface. “Nemo! Fresh water! We can take it back to the Nautilus!” The interested party nods. Of course, he's delighted by this discovery, but he has to remain realistic: they'll still have to find the time and strength to carry enough water to last a month, maybe two, at most.

The lake is isolated, far from the beach, but Nemo knows that with careful organization, he can mobilize his crew to form an effective human chain. By optimizing everyone's efforts, he's almost convinced they can get enough fresh water to the submarine and ration the Nautilus in less than a day.

He continues walking, plotting the most direct route to the lake on foot. Once there, he's sure that with twelve men, the human chain to transport the water will be both competent and fast, provided everyone pitches in. By placing the company's traitor between Kai and Jiacomo, he hopes their presence will be enough to dissuade him from any sabotage attempts. With any luck, this strategy will secure the water supply without incident and-

“What are you pondering about?” Humility interrupts him in his musings, and Nemo shakes his head to refocus.

“To efficiently organize the rationing of the Nautilus. With twelve men, we should be able to supply ourselves with water in a day.”

“Provided we don't start now, right?” 

Nemo is well aware of reality, and he doesn't need to be reminded. The sun is already beginning to set, and by the time they return to the beach, it may be dark. He sits down against a fallen tree to clean his feet, trying not to scratch the hives covering his ankles from the nettles.

[...]

Find out more on Ao3!

And here for a French translation!

[nautilus1954]

Welp, it’s That Time Of YEAR AGAIN

THE SECOND ADDITION TO MFTD W/V AU!!!

Anyways, this isn’t my best work cuz I had to get this done TODAY and had to make a whole bunch of new characters on a whim without actually taking time to give them fully fleshed out personalities. That and with work, it’s really been taking most of my free time to actually write GOOD stuff.

But it’s here now, so I hope you enjoy X]

[captainswaglord500]

Totlohô

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Mollusca

Class: Cephalopoda

Subclass: Nautiloidea

Superorder: Alysidaceratoidea

Order: Paratetrapoda

Superfamily: Cotylopodoidea

Family: Cotylopodidae

Subfamily: Anomaloteuthiinae

Genus: Anomaloteuthis

Species: A. magnificus (”magnificent unusual squid”)

Ancestral species: possibly Plectronoceras cambria

Temporal range: Early Jurassic (Toarcian) to Early Cretaceous (Hauterivian) (180 - 130 mya)

Information:

While humans have long seen themselves as the first and only sapient species to inhabit their planet, in all truth, there existed another in Xenogaea several hundreds of millions of years ago, one whose legacy can still be felt throughout the region untold eons later in their bizarre ruins and artifacts: the Totlohô-tu-Tẋusko/Tẋusko-tu-Totlohô (IPA: /to̞t͡ɬo̞hɔ tu t͡ʃusko̞/ OR /t͡ʃusko̞ tu to̞t͡ɬo̞hɔ/, meaning "ancestor of (the) architect"), better known as simply the Totlohô (/to̞t͡ɬo̞hɔ/, simply meaning "architect").

As soft tissues of this species have only rarely been preserved, and hard tissues consist only of armor plating and beaks, their size and general appearance alone must be inferred purely based on known proportions from living relatives, other members of the aberrant nautiloid clade Alysidaceratoidea, known more colloquially as the shrikehounds. The most reliable size estimate places them at around 12 feet long, 6-7 feet tall, and weighing close to 600 lbs. The appearance of these creatures, based on ancient stone murals, would seem to suggest that they were centaur-like in build, sporting six main limbs along with a menagerie of smaller tentacles around the face, which housed a long, narrow beak with a noticeable underbite. The exact coloration of this species isn’t known, though as murals exist which depict them, it can be inferred that they might have had a similar coloration pattern to living nautili, with a creamy-colored body and eyes with an earthy red shell and head piece.

Living shrikehound species are not particularly vocal, with only the paratetrapods having an analogue to proper vocal cords. This species was presumably vocal in some capacity, though the exact vocalizations cannot be deduced. It has been suggested that like their living relatives, they might have been able to produce clicks, grunts, warbles, rumbles, belches, screeches, and shrieks. It has been suggested, however, that they may have convergently evolved chromatophores like some of their living relatives and may have had a primarily visual language instead, one which has not, as of yet, been decoded.

Much of these organism's general biology is not known conclusively. Most evidence points to a carnivorous diet, consisting mainly of small dinosaurs/paravians, but also other terrestrial nautiloids, small mammals, and a bizarre group of terrestrial acanthodians known as coelospondyls. Though the exact place where they first evolved has yet to be conclusively found, fossilized beaks first appear in the Matansitra Formation in the southwest of the Isle of Perils, though later formations across the entire archipelago show that almost every habitable landmass sported a population of these creatures at one point. Dubious material from areas outside the archipelago, including what is now China and Australia, suggests they may have eventually left the archipelago at some point as well. At their peak during the Kimmeridgian age of the Late Jurassic epoch roughly 150 millions years ago, their population size was likely upwards of 40 million. Very little (if anything) can be inferred about their reproductive biology, though murals would seem to suggest that courtship and copulation was a very long, drawn-out process, treated almost as an art form unto itself. From their closest relatives, it can be inferred that the males, using a modified tentacle, deposited sperm into a small groove on the female’s underside, where it could be absorbed and used to fertilize the eggs. Their clutch size is believed to have been anomalously small compared to other species in their clade, possibly no more than 10 eggs at a time. The young appear to have matured at a similar rate to human young, if not slightly faster. Sexual dimorphism does not appear to be a prominent trait within their species.

Not much can be inferred about the behavior of this species from what remnants have been found, though it can be inferred that they were likely highly social creatures with complex social structures. They appear to have engaged in agrarianism and the farming of other animals in their later stages of societal development, as evidenced by a high correlation in dump beak remains found near dump sites for animal bones and shell, and even built cities. Murals would seem to suggest Totlohô society was ruled by a class of elders, the oldest respective members of their society, while the youngest members formed the work force. Song and dance appear to have been ways to bond with one another, and spirituality played a large part in their society’s function. Warfare appears to have been an isolated phenomenon in their society and frequently on a much smaller scale than as seen in humanity, though there exists some evidence of widespread warfare in the later years of existence. Even in their later stages, when they evidently had significantly advanced technology (or, as the more conspiracy-minded would suggest, magic of some kind), the Totlohô still preferred to build their homes out of stone.

During the later stages of their existence, the Totlohô appear to have dabbled in what appears to be highly-advanced technology or potentially even magic of some kind, as evidenced by massive, seemingly Totlhômade, carved, levitating stones covered in glyphs. In a place known as the Square Chasm (picture below, artwork by Dipfruit), a reportedly supernatural space some weary jungle travelers have stumbled upon near a triple-forked river, one of these stones appears to have formed a perfectly square-shaped pocket dimension around itself, where gravity itself appears to bend to the stone’s whim.

Fossilized beaks and hard shells are really the only physical parts of these creatures to have been preserved, and they are the only indication of their existence outside of aforementioned ruins and murals. Their written languages have yet to be decoded, and there are believed to have been several thousand at a given time. What exactly led to their extinction has yet to be conclusively revealed, though murals seem to suggest that, from their perspective, supernatural forces may have been at play, with recurrent imagery of what appears to be demonic figures showing up across several murals. Another recurrent image in these murals is a white bird-like creature with horns, which some have suggested may be related to the mythical white bird seen in Xenogaean mythology, which was said to herald the apocalypse. While some have suggested that these murals may have been painted by one of the last Totlohô, who had simply gone insane from isolation and began painting their hallucinations, others suggest that there might be a grain of truth in these murals, perhaps a war of apocalyptic scale which engulfed the entire species, the demagogues fueling it being portrayed as demonic figures. What this doesn’t explain, however, are the high number of artifacts which appear to be made from an unknown metallic substance, one which is highly durable and in near-pristine condition hundreds of millions of years later. This substance, referred to colloquially as “anomalous tungsten”, is paradoxically lightweight yet durable with a high melting point, seemingly higher than almost any other known metal or metalloid. As this metal has not been found anywhere on Earth or even in any known compounds on Earth or another planet, this begs the question of how and where the Totlohô obtained this substance, leading to a wide menagerie of conspiracy theories, with everything from extraterrestrials to divine beings being suggested as the source from which they obtained this material. Whatever the case, those who have studied the artifacts have claimed to have had vivid dreams where they spoke to the Totlohô shortly after contact. Perhaps this is just a form of confabulation or merely even group hysteria, but nonetheless, it would appear that even long after the Totlohô have left this world, their legacy still manages to touch the human spirit. Finally, they appear to have domesticated a species of coelospondyl, Platycephale aridus, the so-called “flat-faced coelospondyl” (1st picture below, artwork by me), and another species of shrikehound, which is currently unnamed (2nd picture below, artwork by me). These appear to have been utilized as livestock animals.

[nautilusgays]

I'm desperately trying to reinspire myself to draw does anyone have any silly and/or cute Halloweeny/Autumny tkluts/Nemonnax ideas?

[bluecatwriter]

…out of nowhere, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea fluff and angst!

I was trying to clear out some of my old drafts, and found this Nemo/Aronnax fic, which I polished up and posted. (Rated G.)

[cornfields-td-nonsense]

I hc that Patrick absolutely hates the show Spongebob Squarepants bc his kids kept making patrick star jokes at him.

Esther and Zeke are only allowed 10 minutes of TV a day, and they ensure that every day those 10 minutes are filled with the wacky adventures of a sea sponge and a dumbass starfish named after their dad