#the scavengers tos

[twistofstory]

Sillies :3 If Irbis and Newt had a chance they'd DEFINITELY be theatre kids, I'm just saying (Newt actually was in a band years prior joining the gang, so he is a certified theatre kid lol)

[lostyesterday]

I made the following graph because I was interested in which words show up most often in the titles of Star Trek episodes and movies:

I included episode titles from all twelve canon TV shows and all thirteen movies. I only counted nouns for the graph to avoid including boring words like “the” or “and”. I also counted plurals of a word as the same word (“stars” counts as “star”) and compound words where the singular word still carried the same meaning (“starship” counts as “star”). A complete list of episode/movie titles for each word listed in the graph is below the cut.

Time:

Amok Time (TOS)

The Time Trap (TAS)

The Naked Time (TNG)

Time Squared (TNG)

A Matter of Time (TNG)

Time’s Arrow (TNG)

Timescape (TNG)

Hard Time (DS9)

Children of Time (DS9)

A Time to Stand (DS9)

Time’s Orphan (DS9)

Time and Again (VOY)

Once Upon a Time (VOY)

Timeless (VOY)

Time Amok (PRO)

The Time Devouring Scavengers (PRO)

Star

Beyond the Furthest Star (TAS)

Starship Mine (TNG)

Starship Down (DS9)

Far Beyond the Stars (DS9)

North Star (ENT)

Battle at the Binary Stars (DIS)

The Brightest Star (Short Treks)

The Girl Who Made the Stars (Short Treks)

The Star Gazer (PIC)

The Stars at Night (Lower Decks)

Starstruck (PRO)

A Moral Star (PRO)

Man

The Man Trap (TOS)

Where No Man Has Gone Before (TOS)

The Schizoid Man (TNG)

The Measure of a Man (TNG)

Manhunt (TNG)

Tin Man (TNG)

Man of the People (TNG)

A Man Alone (DS9)

Our Man Bashir (DS9)

Inside Man (VOY)

Renaissance Man (VOY)

Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad (DIS)

Home

The Voyage Home (movie)

Home Soil (TNG)

Homeward (TNG)

Move Along Home (DS9)

The Homecoming (DS9)

Homefront (DS9)

Homestead (VOY)

Home (ENT)

Far From Home (DIS)

Coming Home (DIS)

Child

Friday’s Child (TOS)

And the Children Shall Lead (TOS)

Plato’s Stepchildren (TOS)

The Child (TNG)

Galaxy’s Child (TNG)

Children of Time (DS9)

Child’s Play (VOY)

Children of the Comet (SNW)

Children of Mars (Short Treks)

Life

Half a Life (TNG)

The Quality of Life (TNG)

Life Support (DS9)

Lifesigns (VOY)

Real Life (VOY)

Life Line (VOY)

Life, Itself (DIS)

Eye

Wink of an Eye (TOS)

The Eye of the Beholder (TAS)

The Mind’s Eye (TNG)

Eye of the Beholder (TNG)

Eye of the Needle (VOY)

Blink of an Eye (VOY)

Kayshon, His Eyes Open (Lower Decks)

Light

The Lights of Zetar (TOS)

The Inner Light (TNG)

The Darkness and the Light (DS9)

By Inferno’s Light (DS9)

In the Pale Moonlight (DS9)

Point of Light (DIS)

Light and Shadows (DIS)

War

A Private Little War (TOS)

The Dogs of War (DS9)

Warlord (VOY)

Warhead (VOY)

The War Within, the War Without (DIS)

Under the Cloak of War (SNW)

Night

Night Terrors (TNG)

Wrongs Darker than Death or Night (DS9)

Night (VOY)

Two Days and Two Nights (ENT)

A Night in Sickbay (ENT)

The Stars at Night (Lower Decks)

Game

The Gamesters of Triskelion (TOS)

The Game (TNG)

Armageddon Game (DS9)

The Killing Game (VOY)

Endgame (VOY)

The Least Dangerous Game (Lower Decks)

Shadow

Shadowplay (DS9)

In Purgatory’s Shadow (DS9)

Shadows and Symbols (DS9)

Shadows of P’Jem (ENT)

Light and Shadows (DIS)

Through the Valley of Shadows (DIS)

Mirror

Mirror Mirror (TOS)

Shattered Mirror (DS9)

In the Mirror, Darkly (ENT)

Mirrors (DIS)

The Mirror Universe (PRO)

Enemy

The Enemy Within (TOS)

The Enemy (TNG)

Face of the Enemy (TNG)

Silent Enemy (ENT)

Behind Enemy Lines (PRO)

Battle

Let that Be Your Last Battlefield (TOS)

The Battle (TNG)

Battle Lines (DS9)

Nor the Battle to the Strong (DS9)

Battle at the Binary Stars (DIS)

Mind

Dagger of the Mind (TOS)

The Mind’s Eye (TNG)

Frame of Mind (TNG)

Mining the Mind’s Mines (Lower Decks)

Mindwalk (PRO)

Blood

Bloodlines (TNG)

Blood Oath (DS9)

Ties of Blood and Water (DS9)

Blood Fever (VOY)

Flesh and Blood (VOY)

World

For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky (TOS)

The Best of Both Worlds (TNG)

Strange New World (ENT)

All the World’s a Stage (PRO)

Strange New Worlds (SNW)

Ship

Ship in a Bottle (TNG)

Starship Mine (TNG)

Starship Down (DS9)

The Ship (DS9)

One Little Ship (DS9)

Day

Day of the Dove (TOS)

Data’s Day (TNG)

Day of Honor (VOY)

Thirty Days (VOY)

Two Days and Two Nights (ENT)

[starlight-write]

Attention Seeker

A/N: First TADC tk fic! lmk if you have any suggestions/prompts cause my brain is about fried atp.

Summany: Ragatha's ignoring Jax for being a prick. It's only after he brings Pomni into their little spat that she decides to do something about it.

Characters: Ler!Ragatha, Switch!Pomni, Switch!Jax

Word Count: 2004

Warnings: This is a tickle fic! Scroll if that's not your thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Raaaags! Ragathaaaaa! Rags, talk to meeeeeee!" The rabbit whined pathetically as he flopped face first to the floor to add to his dramatics.

Ragatha crossed her arms and stared blankly in front of her. She'd be damned if she gave into his theatrics after the stunt he pulled yesterday.

Pomni tip-toed her way over to the doll, careful to gauge her mood before speaking up.

"You're- uh- still not talking to Jax, huh?" The jester tried.

To no one's surprise, Jax pulled some underhanded shit during yesterday's game. Thankfully, that game was more tame than the usual as Caine decided to make all of them play a rather distorted version of 'capture the flag', only the playing field was covered in thick black tar-like substance, which made the game slower and over all less fun but Caine did say he was experimenting with ideas.

Long story short, Ragatha had gotten the other team's flag and was about to win before Jax thought it'd be clever to use poor Gangle as a lasso and trip Ragatha by her ankle. Causing her to fall face first into the gooey substance.

So yeah, Ragatha understandably ignored the purple prick for the rest of the day and supposedly the silent treatment carried onto this morning.

Ragatha scoffed at the question. "I have nothing to say to that jerk. Whatever Caine has planned for us to do today, I'm not saying a word to him." She said making direct eye contact with said jerk. Pomni swore she saw his ears go down a bit.

They both knew that wouldn't last. If there's one thing anyone knew about Jax, is that he can't survive without attention. And Lord, was he the biggest attention seeker Pomni's ever seen. Jax would just dedicate the entire day to pushing Ragatha's buttons until she snapped, earning everyone's attention as well as winning whatever sick game he'd imagined in his head.

Caine appeared not two minutes later and the cast proceeded with their little theme song as usual and afterwards, the ringmaster explained the rules of today's little adventure.

Another safe one, thank God. Pomni thought. Perhaps the man was starting to notice how strung out everyone had become and decided to cut them some slack.

Today's game was a timed scavenger hunt throughout the circus, with two separate teams taking turns in the main room to find the mising items as quick as possible while the other team waited in the hallway for their turn. They were split up into two teams. Ragatha instantly grabbed Pomni's hand and not even a split second later, Jax flung himself at the doll and screamed for Caine to team them up together.

Gangle, Kinger, and Zooble's team went first, which meant the other three were poofed into a random hallway away from the action.

Awkward.

Pomni fidgeted due to the tense atmosphere. Jax of course, took his chance to bug the shit out of the other girl. First trying to make conversation, then teasing her, then poking, shaking, singing, yelling, joking, flopping round again, but nothing seemed to break the doll's focus. Ragatha rolled her eyes at his theatrics before shooting them over to Pomni.

"Sheesh, these games have been real tame and non life-threatening lately right, Pomni? Seems like Caine's finally decided to cut us all a break!" She forced a laugh as she nudged the other girl.

Pomni looked rather taken aback by the sudden conversations but decided to play along nonetheless. "O-oh. Right. I-uh, really enjoy not being in danger for once, yknow?" She laughed nervously.

The rabbit shot up as the two continued their bland conversation, annoyed that he was being ignored completely.

Pomni felt rather proud of herself when Ragatha laughed at one of her jokes, her victory was short-lived however, letting out a yelp as she was suddenly yanked in the air by her underarms.

"HEY!-" She panicked and squirmed, having to force down a rather embarrassing noise that threatened to come out of her throat.

"Whatcha two ladies talkin' about?"Jax had that stupid smug grin on he always wore when he thought he was being smart. Ragatha, obviously, was not amused but threw in the towel anyways as it wasn't fair to Pomni to get her any more involved with their little spat any more than she already was.

"Put her down, Jax." The doll demanded.

Pomni tried to grab at the rabbit's gloved hands as she kicked her feet in the air. "Whaaaaaat? We’re just having a little fun is all! Ain’t that right, Pomni?”

The jester grunted and allowed her limbs to go limp, it was obvious she wasn’t gonna get free by herself and didn’t want to risk entertaining the rabbit any further.

“This is not fun for me. Please put me doWN!!!-“

Pomni’s entire body went rigid as soon as that prick started wriggling his fingers under her arms.

She was able to keep her laughter in for all of maybe half a second before exploding in hysterical laughter. The awful sensation causing her to thrash almost twice as hard now.

“Why laugh if you’re not having any fun, Bug Eyes?” Jax laughed along with her, pleased with the strong reaction.

Ragatha was still stone-faced, however, sighing as she moved to release the other girl.

“Jeez you really can’t go five minutes without bullying someone can you?” The doll grunted as she wrestled with the rabbits long ass arms. Jumping in the air a few times when he decided to hold Pomni straight over his head.

Ragatha was getting increasingly annoyed, Pomni was getting more hysterical by the minute, and of course Jax looked like he was having the time of his life.

But you know what? Two can play at that game.

“Gohohod! You two are hilarious. Say Rags, this almost reminds me of the time Caine had you screaming in the air for saying- OOMF!”

The wind knocked out of Jax’s throat as he was full-on tackled to the floor.

Thankfully, this gave Pomni the chance to escape but was still on top of the rabbit’s hands as she tried to compose herself.

“What the &!$@%# Rags?! I was just messing around, there’s no reason to get all pis-“

“Hold his wrists, Pomni.”

That was all the warning they got before the doll’s hands latched onto Jax’s hips and began tickling him mercilessly.

The high pitch scream that tore from his throat probably would’ve made the jester fall into another fit of laughter if she weren’t so taken aback by it herself.

Thankfully she caught up to speed in time to get a hold of the rabbit’s hands that were desperately trying to free themselves.

“WAIT!!- WAIT WAHAHAHAIT!!!- RAGAHAHAHAHAAA-“

Oh my God he’s &!$@%# losing it. Pomni thought as she observed the poor guys reactions.

It was quite a sight to see fucking Jax of all people go berserk over something as simple as tickling. It was a little unnerving to be honest.

What was even scarier was Ragatha’s face hadn’t changed from the ice cold scowl she’s had on since Jax started all this shit.

She looked kinda angry.

“pleheheheAHAHAHA!!-“ Jax wheezed. “You cahAHAHAHAN’T- You cahahahahan’t just- BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!-“

“Oh so it’s only fair for you to pick on people huh?” Ragatha spat. “Y'know I think everyone here’s had about enough of your &!$@%#, Jax. You wanted attention that bad? Well here you go! Let’s see how you like being bullied for once.”

Her hands migrated down to his upper thighs, the doll now settling her weight on his calves. Giving the rabbit just enough leeway to twist and buck his hips like crazy.

Though he seemed to be breathing a bit easier with the change in spots, didn’t mean he still wasn’t absolutely losing his mind here.

“ahh…ahahaHAHAHAHehe- ohkahahay! Okay! I’m sohohorry! Is that what you guys wanna hear?! I’ll bahahahack ohohoff. Juhuhust- JUST!!-“

“You sure all this is okay? He’s starting to seem a bit lightheaded.” Pomni asked, more than a little concerned at the guy’s state despite what he’d pulled earlier. She knew they didn’t technically need to breathe but that only means this situation must be really messing with him.

Ragatha looked up and stilled her hands before withdrawing them completely.

“Trust me, he’s fine. We’ve put his sorry ass through a lot worse. And he would’ve kept tormenting you until Caine came in to stop him so he deserves everything he gets.” She explained as she got up from her spot on Jax’s legs and made her way over to where Pomni was stationed over their victim’s head.

The brief intermission allowed Jax to gather his bearings and a bit of his audacity too it seemed like.

“Yohohou…*huff*… You two are going to regret this. D-Dohohohon’t think for a second that you won anything. After all there’s plenty of centipedes for me to-AAAAA!!!!”

That ungodly shriek was almost worse than the first one. The jerk didn’t even get to finish his little vow for revenge before Ragatha dropped back down to scribble, squeeze, and prob rapidly over her victim’s belly.

“I know you can’t fathom the feeling, Jax, but I was going to be nice and call it quits there. But you just don’t know when to. Shut. Your. TRAP!!”

Pomni couldn’t help herself from laughing this time. With nothing pinning the poor guy’s legs down, they were flying through the air in every direction while he screamed like a little girl.

Seriously, Pomni doubted even she could reach that kind of pitch.

The whole things was just ridiculous to watch. She was sure her ears were bleeding by now but she couldn’t help the full on belly laughter that forced its way out of her.

Ragatha looked over at her friend as she doubled over in laughter. It was at that point, Ragatha truly realized how ridiculous this entire situation was and that scowl she had permanently plastered on her face finally bloomed into a smile as she too began to laugh.

Another ear-piercing screech and they were both done.

The two of them simultaneously lost their hold on their victim as they fell to the floor, rolling and clutching their stomachs as bouts of laughter poured out of them.

Jax layed there for a while, absolutely mortified at this entire ordeal. He began plotting his revenge almost immediately, if only to keep himself sane while hearing those two &!$@%# laugh at him.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t fond of all the attention he received.

Just as the girl’s laughter was starting to die down, a voice boomed through the hallway.

“Terribly sorry for the wait, friends! It appears that there’s been a rather embarrassing oversight on my part! You see, I told the others that I’ve hidden five items but instead only hid four! The fifth one was in my POCKET!-“

Caine explained as he pulled a rubber duck out of his pocket. Stopping himself abruptly seeing the state his other three guests were in.

Was it that funny? The ringmaster asked himself at hearing the two girl’s laughter finally dying down. That was before he saw Jax, still sprawled out on the floor and decided he didn’t really want to know.

“Does this mean we forfeit?” Jax slurred lazily.

“Nonsense!” Caine announced, deciding to ignore the his guest’s disappointed groans. “This just means we have to start a new game! You all seemed to LOVE playing ‘Capture the Flag’ yesterday! So I thought, why not give it another GO-“

Ragatha threw her shoe at the ringmaster before he even finished his statement. Of course, this prompted another bout of laughter from both Pomni and Jax this time.

Unfortunately, Caine took all of that as enthusiasm and prepared their little field from yesterday.

Pomni wasn’t certain if those two were gonna bring their bad energy back on the field, not to mention Jax was no doubt itching for payback right about now.

One thing was for certain, though. Pomni was staying the &!$@%# out of it this time.

[serpentface]

Khait overview:

Khait are domesticated bovids. Their wild ancestors were a wildebeest-like antelope standing an average of 48-55 inches at the shoulder, while modern khait exist in a variety of sizes and forms. The majority of riding khait average out at 55-65 inches tall, though exist in small but exceptionally hardy 'pony' forms adapted to harsh terrain, and (much less commonly) as very large draft animals. Their horn shape, coloration, and mane shape/length/texture varies tremendously across the domestic population, as a result of both natural development and active selective breeding.

They were first domesticated on the vast western steppes in a slow process of accommodation to caelin scavenger-nomads that would follow their herds to consume their dead. Their use was initially solely for meat and hides (and being passively ridden by their 20-30lb handlers), and gradually came to encompass carrying packs, plowing, pulling carts, and eventually pulling chariots and being actively ridden when their domestic population came into human and elowey possession. Their ability to carry large riders shaped the trajectory of human and elowey history and spread, and they remain the key and most widespread mounts used by the large mammalian peoples.

Their usage is functionally near identical to horses in real life- most of the domestic population are large, strong animals capable of carrying grown humans on their back, pulling carts and hauling packs, etc - but they have significant behavioral differences to anatomically modern horses (and the small, three toed horses in the setting).

When left to their own devices, mares and their young will form loose, overlapping territories. Females form strong social bonds amongst themselves and their herds may retain the same members for life, but they do not form permanent attachments with males. Young males are driven off by their mothers at adolescence, and will coalesce in bachelor herds until they are mature enough to compete for mating rights. Adult bulls establish their own territories and defend these from other males during the breeding season while females pass through at will.

In captivity, the majority of males will be gelded. Geldings are typically unaggressive and adopt female-esque social behavior, developing strong peer bonds with mixed herds of females and other geldings. Intact adolescent males can be kept together until they are fully mature (4-5 years old), while bulls are typically kept apart from all other intact males (though in practice, many individuals may coexist peacefully if not in the presence of receptive females). An optimal captive setup is to keep a herd of up to 30 females and geldings on the same land as a single intact bull. If breeding is to be avoided, captive herds should be separated into mare and gelding bands during the summer months (ideally with both groups able to see, touch, and smell each other), with the bull kept with the geldings. Fully separating a bull from contact with a herd is damaging to the animal’s health- they are highly social prey animals and will suffer from severe stress if deprived.

Khait maintain social bonds primarily via grooming, spending much of their time at rest meticulously licking each other. This strengthens their bonds and relieves stress and physical discomfort. They retain some juvenile behavioral traits well into adulthood as a byproduct of domestication and will readily engage in social play while at ease- chasing, headbutting, kicking, mud rolling, and scraping dirt with their horns.

Herds maintain stable dominance structures. The dominant individual is typically the eldest mare (though in captive herds a gelding may take this position) while young individuals and immigrant members are at the bottom of the social structure. Hierarchy is maintained through ritualized displays rather than overt aggression, though dominant individuals may be physically aggressive towards unfamiliar khait, and introductions of new animals to a herd must be done cautiously. Bachelor herds have only loose social ties with no real hierarchy, and territorial bulls have no distinct place in the dominance hierarchy of associated herds. Mares are known to frequently mount each other (and geldings) as an aspect of dominance behavior, while bulls are occasionally known to mount other males during socialization and play.

Mares have a seasonal breeding cycle determined by daylight hours (going through estrus cycles in the summer and anestrus in the winter), but their receptive period is far longer than that of their wild ancestors (which would have only bred for a month-long period in late summer) as a byproduct of domestication. Dominant mares get first dibs on breeding and may attempt to prevent low ranking mares from mating (though a bull will usually attempt to mate with all receptive members of the herd).

In the presence of receptive mares, bulls put on elaborate performances to advertise their health and willingness to mate. They aggressively scent mark their surroundings with glands on the hooves and below the eye, urinate with an erection to spray their leg and chest hair, toss their manes, scrape the ground with their hooves, dig out tufts of dirt and grass with their horns, and chase females around with a very silly looking, high stepping trot. When two bulls compete, they will perform these behaviors in each other’s direction while periodically stopping to investigate each other by scent. If one does not back down during this challenge display, they may fight. High intensity fights involve both animals dropping to their knees and locking horns, shoving until one falters or flees. These shoving matches may be physically intense, but are ritualized and rarely result in actual injuries. Bulls are occasionally known to get their horns locked together (particularly in the context of domesticated khait having a variety of horn shapes), which can be fatal if not intervened with, and attempting to untangle two very large, panicked animals can be fraught.

Mares investigate a bull’s condition by observation and scent before allowing a close approach, and may mate with the same male multiple times in one estrus cycle. Gestation lasts about 10 months, and foals are born capable of standing and running within hours. Pregnancies almost always produce one foal, with twin births being very rare but not unknown.

Khait are fully domesticated and come from long lines of ancestors accommodated to extensive handling, but their instincts as prey animals make the process of 'breaking' a khait can be complicated. The halter, bit, and saddle is unsettling for unaccommodated animals, and the sensation of being mounted by a rider resembles being pounced on by a predator and may be distressing. The methods used to train a khait for riding vary tremendously across cultures- existing anywhere on a spectrum between wrestling a yearling down, mounting it, and holding on for dear life until the khait calms (perhaps a briefly traumatic approach, but often necessary to the demands of life in a khait-based nomadic context) to extremely gradual accommodation processes lasting years.

Human (and other sophont) keepers benefit from the khait's proclivity towards dominance hierarchies, but cannot fully fill roles in the khait social system. Khait behavior towards handlers differs strongly from behavior towards other khait, as they conceptualize people as non-threatening predators. However, khait can still form strong and trusting bonds with handlers. A comfortable, healthy, well bonded khait will implicitly trust their handler in matters of watching for predators, and will usually tolerate annoyances in handling that they would otherwise react to aggressively. They will attempt to bond with handlers by grooming (ie: licking them), and are known to produce wholly unique contact calls reserved for their associated sophonts and never used towards other khait. A handler responding to in kind (scratching and brushing, speaking and singing to it) will reinforce this bond, which can last the khait's entire life.

Khait are socially intelligent animals, and adept at reading body language and emotional cues (scent, tone of voice, etc) of the sophonts they are accommodated to. This is partly instinctual behavior developed over generations of living with a specific sophont, but largely a learned process- a khait born to human-accommodated parents growing up with elowey handlers will eventually become 'fluent' in their handler's body language (it just may take longer to do so).

[ostermad-blog]

MONSTER GUTS 2e Scavenger Creation

One of the goals of MG2e is to add more "connective tissue" as @ostrichmonkey puts it, giving players more ways to connect with their characters and their Village. There are a bunch of ways that I'm layering that in throughout the game, but it starts right when you make your scavenger.

I'm stealing pick-lists from BOB and some Complication-like stuff from Gubat Banwa, cuz they both rock. Here's a couple examples:

Choose a Look

The bones of your prey; a haphazard assortment of belts and bandoliers; tightly tailored and buttoned-up; physics-defying hair; herb-stained apron and boots reeking of fertilizer; grease-blackened overalls with steel-toed boots; feathers and scales expertly knit together; weather-proof cargo shorts and tank top; fursuit exoskeleton; ghillie mantle; Kevlar vest and kilt; chainmail with nettlecloth tabard; tactical tracksuit

Choose the Origin of your First Weapon

A family heirloom inherited from _____; an old farm-tool shaped to your hand and purposes by _____; scrounged from the ruins of _____’s former home; found in the belly of a beast along with _____’s mentor; a child’s toy given to you by _____, now tweaked and twisted into deadly form; the jawbone of the monster that killed _____’s childhood love; stolen from the tomb of _____’s ancestor; traded to you by _____ for saving their life; tossed to you by _____ when you were in dire peril; a 3D-printed copy of _____’s weapon

Obviously, we're still in draft stage, but I really like how these let players quickly build up the world of MG2e, cut right to the vibes of a character, and bring different characters together. Right now, there are a few more prompts like these for characters and even more prompts to help players create their sentient animal-ish Companion (their Caterpal, Dogepal, Hootepal, or Palline). More on them later.

Want to learn more about MONSTER GUTS 2e? Click the link.

[dhampling]

sylvan gn!reader, 2.8k

THIS IS IT! THE UNICORN FIC! ALSO COINCIDENTALLY A 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION PIECE! THANK YOU!!! based on THIS ask, where a chance series of encounters in youth come together on one night, where everything just clicks for Astarion and his unicorn. this has plagued my brain. this is all i know now. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. wc: 2.8k c/w: descriptions of mutilation. fluff. reader WAS a unicorn. yippee.

A bed of burning coals. Belly on a smooth stone slab. 

Low candlelight as Cazador works, each measured smite into the milky flesh of Astarion’s back feels akin to a dull goring; blood a balm of cooling as it spills. 

A mouldering steak.

With each biting shovel of the gouging blade he knows this is a horribly permanent form of disfigurement. 

The pale face in the very periphery of his waning vision, flickering often to look at some tome of reference before conferring with Dufay in frequent sharp whispers. 

He wipes the skin to clear his canvas after each twist of his tool. A searing rag. He can feel the fluff, the grit, as it settles deep into the exposed sticky blazing valleys between his shoulder blades. He feels the birth of rancid infection. The prickle of each and every prick along his tendons that the debris sets alight. 

He knows little else in this moment. 

He knows his limbs are useless in tight leather binds, but that this isn’t a case of reprimand as a flaying or a visit to the kennels may be. He’s been good this month. He hasn’t pushed his luck, nor toed the line. He hasn’t even seen Godey in a four tenday. 

He knows that the gods can’t hear him down here, wherever here is. He was mercifully sedated at one point, but now all that remained were the paralytic properties of whatever was in the chalice presented oh-so-mightily to him at dinner. That his foetid, mortified carcass won’t allow him to howl, or whine, or scream. 

He thinks that he had a similar tool to this when he was young.

He remembers the cool blunt edge in the kitchens and running the tip of his small thumb along it. Feeling it in his pocket, warmed by the heat of his still-breathing body. Sitting in the forest just the other side of the fence with a small wicker basket of apples beside him. Woven blanket underneath linen tunic, woollen overcoat despite the early Kythorn sun; juices running down his little chin as he looked up at the birds singing through the canopy of trees. 

He then remembers his mother’s beckon call, leaving the cores to rot on the peaty floor; seeing the yellowing flesh dotted with twigs and brown leaves, glistening still.

-

“Are you coming?” He whispers sharply, head peering around the yawning mouth of your tent. 

You stretch and roll your wrists, freeing your eyes of sleep with a soft rub.

“Hm?”

Astarion clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. You look at him in a daze. 

He bristles in the post-gloaming purple dusk, your amber candlelight bringing his face warmth as his eyes scan your face. Behind him you can see a tapestry of stars starting to form in the sky. 

His head shakes a little. Claps once. Incredulous.

Oh.

“Overslept.” You mumble. He sighs.

“Gods.’

Pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

‘You have five minutes before I pull you out of this foetid little pit, whatever state you’re in.”

He turns on his heel.

“Is that a threat?” You shout after him.

His head ducks quickly back in.

“A promise. Just so we’re clear.”

A nap in the thulsun heat. A day of rest. Astarion ‘knock, knock’-ing on your tent flap as you read and slinking in like a cat, perching precariously on the chair you use to throw your unwashed armour onto after battle. Several quips about the smell. You threw a pillow at him. Hard. He repostured and continued on breezily.

He’d ‘gotten wind’ of a gathering happening on the beach twenty minutes from camp. Scavengers finishing up at the Nautiloid wreckage throwing some debauched farewell to the Ravaged Beach before some bastardised mercenary force comes in to begin clean up. All the good stuff now gone, but plenty of wine; and, obviously, an opportunity for ‘a little bit of fun’.

He’d blinked at you coquettishly, leaning on the back of the chair, daring you to ask just how he’d gotten wind of such an event. 

It’s rare you’ve bounced off another with such ease since your change. You’re too intelligent for his seduction techniques - the ones you hear him rehearsing quietly to himself from his tent each evening - to work the simple way he intends. That doesn’t mean the pale elf has had no effect on you, however.

You take comfort in knowing exactly how you’ll find him every time you look, and he’ll always be ever so pleased to hear that you have been looking. 

A wink. A flash of those porcelain white fangs. 

An invite to your bedroll for the most sordid of midnight snacks. 

Chatter between friends, an ever-present whiff of flirtation; the quirk of a moonlit lip and the pleasure of mutual relief in the dead of night. 

You fumble around the darkened tent in underwear searching for your discarded camp clothes as his fire-lit silhouette lingers outside.

-

Astarion thinks about the apples from time to time.

Tough, yet yielding. Biting. Sweet flesh bursting in season, ripe and white. Scraps of red skin stuck between hungry teeth. Seeds in their hard little hollows, stalks with small dry leaves. The way the juice ran so freely down his chin in the light of the sun and dampened the back of his hand as he’d wiped it away.

His full wicker basket empty by afternoon. 

Highsun courtyard feasts. He remembers the animals; his mother joking with beaming eyes and a wine-dipped cheer about his ‘druidic potential’ as she held him close, hand on his head, the other on his chest, he stood against her legs as she wittered. Time spent watching for an opportunity to slip through the gate and sit in silence with the birds.

Cazador trenches into his back deeper this time. What Astarion assumes must be blood spatters into his hair with the force of flying blue jay shit, and he’d know. 

He remembers the first time he saw the unicorns in the forest, how bewildered he felt. Startling white in such vivid contrast to the surrounding browns and greens. 

They weren’t skittish like the deer were, nor could they have been ‘lost property’ like the horses who often roamed by. The kobolds were mean to him on more than one occasion and the boars who passed were simple creatures. 

As a decisive yank is made and the gouging tool changes direction, fully embedded in the flesh it tears, he thinks about the smallest one. 

-

Despite being fraught with innuendo and obvious peacocking, Astarion’s company is a reassuring distraction from your current tadpole predicament. A parody of traditional pursuit wrapped in genuine affection. He knows he doesn’t have to bring the bravado, because you’ll play along regardless. 

And this eventide, alongside the fallen Nautiloid; he glows.

Skin soaked in the deep gloaming ambers and yellows of the campfire. Laugh of treacle, like a dozing highsun; a dawn chant on Lathander’s day - he tips his head back in a cotton lull and the quiet threat of his smile brimming through his sharp incisors devastates you. 

You watch on from the open mouth of a scavenger tent astride a pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded in distant light and pilfered goods. A warm breeze carries the firesmoke and to your side is a newfound silver chalice full to the brim with heady Arabellan Dry. 

He looks every part the favourite of the gods. 

Sways gently in his seat. Imbibes generously. Lifts his arms wide in gesticulation with oft-rotating conversational partners and tells stories in hushed tones with the most salacious quirk threatening his brow.

Occasionally throughout your jaunt, you’ll wonder if he should be holding your mind like this. 

Then his eyes meet yours.

Gods.

It feels like they all watch as he moves to you. Adonis in the flesh; effusive as his fingers circle the rim of his glass and he sinks to crossed legs beside you. Face by face. 

“I am so fucking bored.” He mutters. Smiles widely at a passing new acquaintance before sighing a grumble.

“Which one was ‘bored’ again?” You peer mockingly into the crowds, searching with a hand resting atop your tired brow. 

He elbows you. Hard.

“You sound remarkably sour, pet.”

“I’m not sour. I’ve had a beautiful evening” You sip. A gentle breeze rolls over you. 

Astarion lolls his head back a little.

“Beautiful wasn’t really the plan though, was it?”

You turn to him. Narrow your eyes just the smallest bit.  

Astarion tilts back and looks to the sky. He opens his mouth as if to speak. Closes it just as fast.

“What?”

You picture him falling in love with every single one he’d spoken to on the beach this evening; lifting locks of hair around nimbly twirling fingers and pulling another warm body closer. Tilting his head downwards, eyes remaining forward; struggling for words in covetous gasps. Seduction. 

A small laugh. Gods.

“Beautiful. Fucking a stranger in a beach cove isn’t necessarily what I’d call beautiful, dearest.”

“That was your plan?”

“Wasn’t it yours?”

You stop for a good moment. Astarion clicks his tongue in thought. Blinks with the urgency of dripping treacle.

-

Gods. The memory alone would be enough to bring a smile to his face, and he remembers it so very vividly. 

The apples. A baby unicorn. 

One late Elient afternoon, the first time any of them had approached. His fingers stickied with juice. It didn’t appear to be cautious by any discernible means, refusing the peel he’d hesitantly offered far out on the flat of his palm.

Little thing. Just about his size, he thinks; and he was always small. 

He remembers sniffing with a cold and haphazardly wiping his sticky fingers on the front of his coat. Reaching out so it could smell him.

Chewing open-mouthed, eyes closed, smoothing his face with the back of his hand.

They’d fall about together on feeble legs, his flailing arms and gentle nudges. Days on days spent venturing into the forest where it’d be waiting for him in the same clearing as always.

He remembers easing into the apple flesh with the tool edge and gently wiggling it into the crisp white to ensure a deep enough pit. Skimming imperfect rounds of the skin. Bouncing the resulting red spiral between his thumb and forefinger. 

Cazador reaches for the dagger. A hundred-thousand molten pins.

-

The moon overhead. Unwavering in clarity. It almost feels like you’re on the precipice of a different world. 

“You’re weird, you know.’ Astarion breaks his silence. The revellers continue to drink, to dance and talk clumsily around you.

Your eyes meet his. He wavers on the edge of certainty, but the performative lowering of his lids shows you he isn’t too sure. There’s a front to the nonchalance. 

‘What are you?”

“Hm?”

“Fun. I said there’d be fun. You aren’t partaking.’ He takes a sip and swills it around his mouth whilst collecting his thoughts. The dossier. Racking through pages in his brain.

‘I can’t be completely sure, but I’ve met a lot of humans in my life. Seduced them. Given and taken like a market teller.’

His hands move as he speaks, a considered pattern of gesticulation. 

‘And you simply… you’re above it all. You don’t even smell human. What are you?”

There it is. If you weren’t inebriated you’d be tempted to laugh him off. 

Tonight, however; your bones are thoroughly wine-sodden. 

Your companion has a twinkle in his eye. A beach of prospective lovers and he has collapsed at your side in respite. If he persecutes you as they would then you’ll die with his face the last thing you see. It doesn’t feel like a bad compromise.

“Not human.” You confirm, looking at your fingernails with a pert nod.

He laughs in a slight of vindication. 

“Try me.” 

“Sylvan.”

You can’t be sure if it’s from embarrassment or underlying fear that your head falls into your sweaty hands. Astarion’s snide streak plays at the fray of your mind.

“What? Half wood-elf or something?” 

He sips. 

“Unicorn.” You lift your fingers and flutter them around the sides of your head meekly. 

Splutters. 

“Explains why there are none roaming the actual woods anymore, I suppose.”

He’s taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. You aren’t sure what you’d expected. A minute of silence. The lazy roll of waves along the shore.

“What do I smell like?”

Maybe he’s wary of the driftwood stake near your hand. 

“Apples. People don’t smell like apples. Usually sweat. Or perfume.’ He runs his tongue over his teeth and sniffs. 

‘Not apples. I should’ve -”

Apples. A softness in the way he says it, you note. Favoured fruit in the allotments running the edge of the forests.

‘I’ve not had an apple in so long.”

He finishes with a wistful smile, topping off the wine in hand and refilling it with a swift glug. 

“Do you miss them?” 

“Apples? I-’

The cogs turn slowly - he wets his bottom lip and looks to the sky once more. His brow furrows as you watch him think.  

‘I used to sit in the forest, just around the back of the garden wall. I was about- I’d have been about up to here?’ He lifts his arm to just above where his sitting head rests.

‘I was tiny. All day long. Peeling the skin, gnawing away. Ironic.”

Pauses as if in remembrance of something. Grimaces.

You smile fondly and reach for his arm. You’re willing to entertain the line of dialogue. It distracts from the situation and he seems open to indulging in it.

“Funny.”

He scoffs and taps your hand softly before taking it in his. Cool fingers lock around yours. 

“How so?” 

“Gods, a long time ago now - there was a boy I met who did the same thing. Fascinated by them. Would sit and peel them with a little tool. Strange thing.”

You take a sip as you imitate the focus of the young thing, pretending to work tunnels into the cooling air with your near-empty chalice.

Astarion whips his head to face yours.

“Two hundred years ago?” 

“Why?’

He’s watching you as if you’re holding something very fragile in your faux-gouging fingers.

‘I suppose so? Round about then. Bit longer, maybe two hundred and th-”

“Me. It was me.”

Your eyes meet.

It’s the kind of moment you’ve read about in your downtime, the way the clock stops. Everything feels silent. The sea stops rolling soft on the shore, the voices around you are naught above a whisper; the glass in the hand not clutching yours set firmly on the sand as he shuffles to face you head on.

Apples. 

You watch his eyes soften wholly. Not a single ounce of guard; no sense of hesitation. Two glimmering rubies in the moonlight.

“His eyes weren’t red.” You smile.

It takes a moment for him to react. He’s studying your face reverently, with newfound interest; mapping each of the lines and blemishes with a hand hovering over your cheek. 

And then he laughs. The most beautiful sound in all the realms, melodic. 

“They weren’t.’

He points to the scarred fang marks above his sagging collar.

‘I was also alive at that point.’

Astarion takes a few comfortable minutes to look at you as he strokes over your hand with his thumb. You’ve spent enough of the past few weeks looking over him to know him almost by heart but you’ll indulge with the context of the revelation before you. 

“Look at us now, then.” 

Your voice cracks. You didn’t realise the sheer size of the lump in your throat.

“I -’

He presses his free hand to your cheek as he did when you were both young. Soft. Jowls ablaze at his wine-sticky touch. 

The sincerity in his gaze is brutal. If you weren’t so deeply enamoured you might just vomit.

‘The longest night of my life, I thought of you. The apples. How -’

Astarion takes a moment to survey you. You obviously look nothing like you did back then, aside from the brightest eyes he’s ever seen in all two hundred and thirty nine years of life and the same softness in how they revere him. 

‘How you never came back. I waited.’

It’s then that you crumble. 

‘How happy I knew I’d be when you did return.”

It’s cataclysmic, the way he talks. The last person who was kind to you and he thought you’d left him by choice this whole time. Remembering you in his darkest moments. All you’ve both suffered and here you are, on this rancid beach in the middle of nowhere; your hand safe in his.

“It wasn’t by choice. Never.”

The look on his face suggests he’s toying with the idea of playing the fair maiden, but he sees the way you crack and almost takes to tears himself.

“Well. You’re here now, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for. It helps that I was already fond of you, of course.”

He brushes the hair from your face and plants a deep kiss on your forehead as you bring your arms around his waist, hesitantly.

It’s a start. 

One you’d never have seen coming when waking aboard the crashed nautiloid in front of you; but glorious nonetheless.

[raintailed]

how do oyu draw scvaenegrs theyre soooo shaped i love them....

GYAHAHAHA!!!!!!! TUTORIAL TIME!!!!!!

first things first! basic anatomy!

These guys are somewhat monkey-shaped. They have deep chests, long arms, and short legs. They usually move by knuckle-walking, using their arms to swing their legs forward as if they're using crutches.

Scavs have eartlers (which i think are technically horns lol), funny whiskers/sensory frills, and frills/quills on their backs. I also give them ears because I think it looks cute.

A note about their tails: scav tails vary in length (many are tailless), and their tails are thinner than slugcat tails. I imagine their tails aren't as important for balance as it is for slugcats.

From the side, my scavengers have sorta egg-shaped heads; they don't have a very prominent snout. They do, however, have some gnarly teeth - baboon like, but better suited for carnivory? Idk honestly

Scavs have long, 3-fingered hands and 2-toed feet. Some scavengers have a third toe on their feet, but it's vestigial. Their palms/soles are hairless for better gripping and are usually lighter than the surrounding fur.

Variations!!! Scavs are super diverse and I highly recommend taking many screenshots of them. I didn't draw anything for elite scavengers here.

Horns range from nubs to large branches. Some scavengers have horns on their cheeks as well as on the top of their heads.

Whiskers can range from being absent to looking like beards.

Scavenger eyes range in size, narrowness, and angle. Pupils can be absent, dark-colored, or light-colored.

For colors, scavengers are usually gray or brown with darker points. Light and bright-colored scavs are unusual but they do appear!

Proportions and quills vary, and that can have some hilarious results. I've seen scavengers with stick-thin arms, others with tons of big quills, etc.

Scavenger body language is pretty complex. I recommend checking the wiki and watching them in-game to study how they move and act. Their quills do seem to be an important part of how they communicate, since frightened or startled scavengers vibrate their quills!

Hopefully this stuff is helpful!

[cryptidcorners]

Can we have Mike taking care of his sick girlfriend? Or vice versa, with the girlfriend taking care of him?

Morning Fever - Mike Schmidt x F!Reader

Description: You're struck with a horrible sickness, and Mike refuses to let you overwork yourself like this. In a way to make up for all you've done for him, he indulges you in a day of soft care.

# requested by anon .

Media: FNaF!Movie

Character: Mike Schmidt

Tags: Girlfriend!Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Soft!Mike, Sick!Reader, Care (Receiving), Slice of Life, Domestic, Cute Stuff, Cuddling + (This may or may not be the tall reader from short problems, but height isn't specified ✋)

Warnings: Descriptions Sickness, Unhealthy Work Life Mentions

read my TOS + Mike Schmidt Masterlist

You awoke to a jaded pain in your head, as well as Mike's arms wrapped around your body softly. You figured your sudden aches were due to dehydration, or from your horrific work hours. You rolled onto your side with a tired hum, eyes fixed on his lazy curls and peaceful expression. Your fingertips ghosted to his face tenderly and rubbed featherweighted circles across his bristles with a warm chuckle. His senses were disturbed, and he pressed his lips against yours before opening his eyes.

"Well, good morning." You greeted.

"It's still dark out." Mike replied, voice wreaking in depth from his exhaustion. "You don't go to work in a long time." He asked with a yawn. "Go to sleep."

He rested his head on your shoulder sleepily while he kept hugging you. It'd be a couple more hours before Mike would truly need to get up, as well as you. "I figured I'd just get up early." You sat up, drawing out a desperate grumble from Mike as his grip weakly fell off your body. You chuckled and ran your fingers through his hair, "You know I can't stay in bed forever."

"Yes you can. If your boss has a problem, I'll kick his ass." Mike mumbled with his head buried in his pillow. "Just a few more seconds, please, baby?" He pleaded.

"I got to get ready, Michael." You kissed his head. Before you could stir out of bed, you began coughing violently. In a split second, you could already feel his hands behind your back. He was already rushing to take care of you.

"Are you okay?" He asked and you only replied with a vibrant nod as you cleared your throat. "Yes, I'm—fine. It's just a cough."

Mike frowned and held you close. "No, you sound like you have the flu or something. You want water?"

"No, I can't. I need to go to work." You assured. Mike's palm pressed against your forehead, "You're burning up."

"I just need some air," you protested. "I can't be late."

"I can't let you go out sick like this." Mike continued. He was growing desperate, "Just rest. For me, okay? I can take off today, and I can call your boss."

"Mike," you whispered while growing agitated. As much as you wanted to rest, you were a struggling workaholic. You couldn't just not go. "You need to rest, understand? Do you feel anything else?"

"Just a headache, and my throat is a little raspy." You described. You watched him walk out of the room and into the darkened hallways. Firefly light flickered, illuminating the wooden walls and Mike's moving shadow as he went to scavenge for some type of pill to help you. You coughed, "Mike?"

"Just a second." He called. You could hear the collision of empty bottles and other objects from the cabinets. It wasn't long before he came back with a glass of water and an antibiotic. You knew that type of drug was expensive for him. You straightened up defensively, "I don't think I need it."

"Please, let me take care of you." He extended his hand, "You've done so much for me, this is the least I can do."

You couldn't resist his dreamy eyes and soft personality. In the end, you surrendered and ended up being tended to by him the whole day. Mike had speedily taken Abby to school, called your boss and drowned you in spaced intimacy. Even if you hadn't asked for anything in particular, he read your face and came back in record speed to get whatever he theorized you wanted.

You had forgotten how much you had lacked conversation with him during the work week, especially one as gentle as this. The television buzzing in the background as you both sat on the couch (different sides, of course) just rambling about . . . anything really. Even with his shy character, he still held a spark that could leave you starstruck.

A lot of sneezing and throwing up didn't stop him from leaving your side.

"Are you sure you aren't bored?" You ran a wet paper towel across your face. Mike shrugged, "Of course not." he said softly. "I wouldn't leave you sick like this. I love you,"

"Love you too." You echoed.

A.N: sorry i keep changing the format every post lmfaooo. hope u enjoy ,, went a lil crazy

[electronickingdomfox]

"Black Fire" review

Novel from 1983 by Sonni Cooper, and as far as I know, the only TOS novel from this author. This one was pretty fun, fast-paced, and a real page-turner. It's also notorious for being totally nuts, and having Spock going rogue and doing all sorts of crazy things. The intro was written by Theodore Sturgeon, no less. It's also very, veeeery spirk-heavy (and so far, the only K/S novel I've read that seems to get their relationship right, without going over-the-top).

Spock is the central character, and for the most part, the story follows his solo adventures, though Scotty shares some of these exploits in the early chapters. Amazingly, and despite all the unusual stuff that Spock gets involved with, he manages to stay believable. The other characters are all well-written too, even if they take a background place. And the same goes for the original ones, in particular Desus, the Romulan befriended by Spock.

The story takes place shortly before TMP. One thing that surprised me, is that this novel doesn't seem afraid to modify canon in substantial ways. Most of these books are more timid when playing with the characters, and focus on self-contained adventures that have little impact on the whole. Main characters are rarely put in real danger, or suffer grave injuries. Here, on the other hand, we have the entire primary hull of the Enterprise being destroyed and jettisoned in the very first chapter (a year before The Search for Spock blew the ship to pieces). The TMP uniforms are introduced already by the end of the five-year mission. Spock suffers a disabling injury, portrayed with realism, and not resolved immediately and easily with a magic pill. Also, this book gets pretty dark at times; Spock tries to kill himself not once, but twice... And a popular guest character from the series is also killed for real.

Some spoilers below the cut:

The Enterprise is in a routine mission, training cadets fresh from the Academy, when a massive explosion in the bridge leaves the primary hull destroyed, Kirk in critical condition, Spock with a splinter lodged near his spine, and many cadets dead. The primary hull has to be evacuated and separated, while the rest of the ship limps back to a starbase. In the following investigation, Starfleet declares that everything was a mere accident. But neither Spock nor Scotty are satisfied with this answer, since nothing on the bridge could cause an explosion of such magnitude. Therefore, they travel back to the jettisoned hull to find clues.

Spock is suspicious of some new yeoman, who entered and left the bridge shortly before the explosion. In her abandoned quarters they find two clues: a piece of paper with dots, which seems to be a star chart; and a ton of depilatory cream. However, Starfleet isn't convinced by this flimsy evidence. So Spock starts the first of a long series of reckless actions, and steals a small ship with Scotty, to travel to the star system depicted in the paper. Spock is in severe pain (and having suffered a similar injury in the past myself, I can testify: he IS in pain), but leaves nonetheless before undergoing the necessary surgery (I told you Spock is nuts in this novel). Meanwhile, Kirk's still recovering and has no clue of what's going on.

When Spock and Scotty arrive at the only habitable planet of the star map, they find out that a Romulan and Klingon ships have also been lured to that place by similar maps. Everything was a trap, and all of them are captured by the Tomariians, and brought to their home planet in an ancient rocket. The Tomariians are short, stocky and very hairy aliens, living in an extreme cold environment. Being poor and primitive, they've turned to scavenging, adapting the most disparate technologies to expand across their sector of the galaxy. Spock and the others meet the Tomariian leader, Ilsa. The one who disguised herself as a yeoman to plant the explosive in the Enterprise (hence all that depilatory cream). And she takes a liking to Spock, just as every other woman in this book.

The Tomariians plan to test their captives' strenght by sending them to different battlefields. This way they could determine the weaknesses of Federation members, Klingons and Romulans, in order to expand later through their territories. Spock's injury worsens, to the point that he's left immobile from waist down. But due to her attraction for him, Ilsa spares his life. Meanwhile, Kirk has found clues about Spock and Scotty's whereabouts, so finally, the Enterprise rescues them in the nick of time.

Back in the ship, Spock has to fulfill the promise he made to the Romulan woman captured with him: to warn the Empire of the Tomariian threat, should she not survive. After this, Spock has to face a court-martial for all his offenses: stealing a starship, and above all, establishing secret communications with the Romulan and Klingon empires. Charged with treason, he's sent to prison, where he meets and befriends the Romulan pirate Desus.

I won't spoil anything more (this is about halfway through the novel). Suffice to say that, after this, Spock gets involved in a prison break. He becomes a pirate by the name of "Black Fire", and gains a following of fangirls that write love poems about him (an amusing parody of real-world fandom). And finally defects to the Romulan Empire, creating massive drama with Kirk. Of course, there's a satisfactory explanation for Spock going amok, at the end.

Spirk Meter: 10/10*: Kirk and Spock are separated most of the time and have little physical contact, but the story truly reads as a break-up/reconciliation one. Specially with the introduction of Desus as a rival for Spock's affection. In the first chapter, Kirk is partially healed by a mind meld with Spock, and sighs his name upon waking up. Then Kirk anguishes over Spock's disappearance, and risks the entire ship to go rescue him (well... and Scotty). And there's a lot of commentary about how Kirk is Spock's only close relationship, and how his defection to the Romulans is a particularly painful blow for Kirk. The whole issue of Spock's treason has Kirk on edge and in a foul mood, to the point that other crewmembers are afraid of bringing the subject in his presence. As other books with a lot of spirk content, it's difficult to pinpoint single scenes, since it's a general theme all over the place. Add to this, Spock's absolute indiference towards all the women swooning around him.

Then there's, of course, Spock and Desus' extremely close friendship, said to rival that with Kirk. At one point, Desus reads aloud some of the love poems that Spock has inspired as "Black Fire". And one has to wonder if he isn't adressing the words to Spock himself.

McCoy doesn't appear much in the novel. But still gets some McKirk and Spones. In the beginning, he's devastated by Kirk's serious injuries and his inability to cure him, crying about the prospect of losing "the man he both admired and loved". Then, at the end, McCoy asks Spock to sign his book of love (and erotic) poems dedicated to him (!!!???), as an excited fangirl. "To belong to this man of fire, if only for a moment. - My flaming love." he reads aloud. And Spock even gives him his pirate earring as a gift. The novel closes with these lines: The black jewel gleamed its strange luminescence in McCoy's palm, but it was no match for the gleam in Spock's dark smiling eyes.

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

[catscidr]

natural remedy

cw: written in the third person, childe being slightly obsessive and weird, fluff and comfort to an extent. allusions to previous self-harm but nothing graphic, nonsexual intimacy  includes: gn!reader, childe  wc: 2,7k a/n: i wrote this a couple of months ago when i was sick and delirious and was just craving a strong russian bf (childe) to take care of me(༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ) ssoooo if this reads weird it's because i couldn't rly process my own thoughts when i wrote it out LOL. i fixed it up as best as i could but i dont wanna spend my time rewriting 5 whole pages...... posting this and then going through my inbox and Not answering asks in third person

Equipped with a backpack full of various sized logs, some berries he had managed to scavenge and a dead hare that he held by the scruff of its neck, the young man tossed his blade away, the weapon dissipating in the air as mist. Though the wind nipped at the small bits of skin he left exposed through his winter garbs, it was still enough to leave him shivering- even if he was used to the harsh winters of his homeland. The redhead had the misfortune to get caught in a scuffle with a wandering man and, though he usually reveled in any opportunity to get his hands bloody, this time he couldn’t allow himself to enjoy the bloodshed.  

With his breath creating small clouds of air in front of his face and droplets of blood drying on his coat, Tartaglia had only one thing on his mind; to get back to the cabin as soon as he could. The sun was setting at a rapid pace- he looked up at the beautiful, hazy orange and pink sky and scoffed. He was still about half a mile away from the secluded cabin. He couldn’t spare any more time away from it and, with a determined scowl, picked up the pace of his strides. 

Murmuring under his breath, the young man keeps on trudging through the thick snow as light began to grow sparser. All he could see was snow, dead trees and old, dried blood on top of the crystal white sheet covering the ground. Tartaglia readjusts the backpack on his back, making the straps around his torso tighter and continues his journey with an empty, quiet mind. Usually, he would walk the other way and seek out some more poor souls to fight in the tundra forest and even hunt for some more animals to bring back to his abode like a trophy, but the knowledge that his beloved was alone, ill and hungry wouldn’t let him rest and enjoy the joys of his crazed mind for even a moment. 

He leaves a trail of prickles of blood behind him as he walks sluggishly through the snow. It would soon be covered by even more snow, as the snowstorm went on. Clutching onto the dead hare tightly, Tartaglia holds back the urge to mutilate the animal out of anger. Or was it frustration, or even maybe desperation? Bitterness?  

No, nothing of the sort. All Tartaglia felt was a mix of disheartenment, defeat, and in some way even failure. It had been three days and his beloved’s physical state wasn’t getting any better- what was there left to do? He tried all of his mother’s home remedies that he remembered and yet they would stay bedridden, struggling to even lift their spoon up to their face to drink the warm, soothing broth. He felt powerless, like all there was left to do was to watch them wither away. It felt like the forest was closing in on him, the trees seeming taller and thicker the more he made his way through the storm. He shuddered, a shaky sigh leaving his chapped lips.  

With a trembling hand he lifted his red scarf high enough to cover his nose, and tried to focus on getting home. 

✧✧✧ 

“I’m back!” he shouts as soon as he opens the door of the cabin, doorknob hitting the wall roughly from the harsh winds whipping into the abode. Using his foot, he swiftly closes it and takes off his thick hat, soft snow falling on the wooden floorboards of the entrance. After a few moments of tinkering with the straps of the backpack, it drops to the floor with a thud and Tartaglia takes off his large boots, tossing them aside. He heads into the small kitchen area, placing the- now practically frozen- dead hare on the counter and then heads into the doorway, grabbing the backpack with a huff. 

“Darling?” Tartaglia calls out, glancing at the closed door at the end of the hallway. He pauses, awaiting an answer. A million thoughts were floating in his head- was his beloved alright? Did they try to get out of bed and accidentally hit their head? They were most likely just asleep... but what if they got out and he didn’t notice because their footprints got covered by the snowfall? Were they stuck outside, cold and hungry, slowly dying as life faded from their frail body- 

“Welcome back,” he hears a quiet voice say after a few seconds, right when he was about to shout again and make a beeline for the bedroom. Sighing from relief, the ginger runs a hand through his hair and grabs a handful of logs from the backpack and tosses them near the fireplace to fuel later. 

He opens the bedroom door softly, peeking in at first before opening it fully, revealing the huddled form of his beloved in the blankets of their shared bed. 

“How are you feeling?” the ginger asks softly, crouching to their level to brush away a few strands of hair that had fallen over their forehead. They groan, shifting to uncover their mouth from the large duvet- even just a motion as small and insignificant as moving their head was strenuous. 

“Gross,” they say, voice hoarse. Tartaglia frowns but doesn’t move from his crouched position as he takes off one of his gloves, placing the back of his hand on their forehead. His brows furrow, displeasure clear on his face. 

“You’re still burning up,” the ginger murmurs back. “And you’re sweating now. Have you taken your medication?” he asks. 

He had been gone since early in the morning, having left to gather materials to sustain them for a bit longer while they both recuperated in the cabin. Although he wasn’t gone too long, Tartaglia had developed a habit of being overly protective of his beloved in the past few weeks. If they weren’t going to take care of themselves then he would do it for them- the fact that they got sick only further drove him to being as overbearing as he was now, so he wasn’t in the wrong for it. 

“I’m too tired,” they slur, whining as they bury their face in the plush blanket once more. The fabric touching them made their skin crawl but as the uncomfortable feeling passed, they sighed contentedly. 

Tartaglia clicks his tongue, displeased that they were being so uncooperative. But that wasn’t exactly unexpected- so he stands up and holds onto the corner of the blanket coddling the body in the bed below him and rips it off harshly. A startled whimper leaves their lips, and they immediately curl into themselves to preserve their (unregulated) body heat. 

“You need to shower,” the ginger says with an unreadable gaze, his cerulean eyes scanning his darling’s body like a security camera would an intruder. “You sweat through the bed sheets and your shirt is sticking to your skin. Have you even gotten out of the room since I left?” he asks with a tilt of his head, seemingly not paying attention to the way his darling shivered and squirmed. They respond with a meek shake of their head, face buried in the pillow as they quiver uncomfortably because of how cold the air is in the cabin. The man says nothing in response, instead deciding to toss the duvet to the edge of the bed as he slips his arms beneath his lover’s shivering form, picking them up off the bed. 

“It's good that you’re sweating your sickness away, but you still need to be clean.” he says tenderly, bringing them to the bathroom in a bridal carry. They tuck their face into the crook of Tartaglia’s neck, desperately trying to regulate their body heat- to no avail. The movement of the redhead walking was enough to bring his darling discomfort, making their skin tingle unpleasantly. Dazed and lightheaded, they don’t notice him shutting the door with his foot as he steps through the threshold of the bathroom. 

Tartaglia carefully sets them down on the edge of the sink’s counter, his hands lingering against their skin for a moment. 

“Strip. Your cold is gonna get worse if you stay in those sweaty clothes,” he says, bringing one hand up to stroke their hair. With a huff, they shake their head slowly, eyes cast downwards. Tartaglia frowns, sliding the hand that was in their hair down to their chin to lift their head up. The movement makes them grunt in discomfort, skin prickling unpleasantly. He sighs, heart clenching at the sight of his beloved in such a sorry state. 

“I’ll run a bath for you, it’ll be nice and warm. You’ll feel much better when you get out, so just cooperate for me, yeah?” he says softly, though his brows crease in frustration that only ignited within him because he was just so worried for them. Reluctantly, they give in and nod, earning a kiss on the cheek from Tartaglia. He smiles, soft lips lingering on their skin for a second too long before turning around, crouching to turn on the bath’s tap.  

The sound echoes in the bathroom, loud and overwhelming for the poor sick individual, shaky hands coming up to cover their ears. Tartaglia, still focused on trying to get the bath to be warm enough to be comforting but not too much that it’ll burn his lover, stays oblivious to the distress they were silently enduring.  

When finally satisfied, he swivels around to pay attention to his darling, his calloused hands coming up to take their smaller ones away from their ears. “C’mon,” he murmured. “I’ll help you out of your clothes.” 

Too weak to argue they simply nod, raising their arms as best as they could while Tartaglia grabs the hem of their shirt and lifts it up over their head. The fabric catches onto their arms, inducing in a sharp hiss from the sick individual, and Tartaglia mumbles a soft apology as he frees them from their sweaty top. The redhead notices them shivering ever so slightly; he wraps an arm around their shoulder, gently bringing them down off the counter to slip their shorts off. 

“Step out of them for me,” he says quietly. Taking a wobbly step, they do just that while holding onto Tartaglia for support. He smiles, satisfied, and carefully guides them to the bath. 

“I’m going to take off your underwear now, that alright?” Tartaglia asks for courtesy’s sake, holding their hand tenderly. They squeak out a quiet yeah and, without wanting to keep them out of the comfort of the bath, he rids them of their undergarments and helps them into the warm water as quickly as he can without putting too much strain on their body. 

Now sat in the small porcelain tub, his beloved sighs contentedly, head leaning back to relax the strain on their weak muscles, comforting warmth engulfing their tired body. Tartaglia smiles at the sight; he quietly gets up to grab a wash rag and a bar of soap to help get his darling clean. Sitting on the floor next to the bath, he gazes at his lover’s closed eyes, love pouring out of his being. A few minutes pass of this- of Tartaglia carefully observing the peaceful expression on their face- before he speaks up again. 

“Sit up, I’m going to start washing you now.” he says sternly, voice laced with concern. They shake their head stubbornly, too comfortable to move. “Baby...” he drawls, raising a brow at the attitude. “C’mon. Work with me here? Please?” he asks, lip jutting out in a pout as he watches his dear begrudgingly sit up, wincing at their muscles working overtime to do so. He smiles at that and gets the rag wet, lathering it with soap. “Thank you,” he murmurs softly, massaging their shoulders, suds beginning to form on their arm. 

The redhead brings the rag down, down until he reaches their forearm which, thankfully, was out of the water without him having to ask. He sighs quietly, carefully running the washrag over the textured skin, thumb brushing over it in soothing motions. 

“Feeling better?” he asks, peeling his eyes away from their arm back to their face. His eyes meet theirs, and he notices an almost disconnected expression on his lover’s face. But they nod slowly, exhaustion clear on their face though still lucid and aware enough of their surroundings. His smile falters slightly at their tired face, his hand coming down to hold theirs. Tartaglia rubs his thumb along their skin, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to their temple. 

“That’s good,” he murmurs. “Can you turn around for me? I need to wash your other side,” he asks gently. Without answering verbally, they do as he asks and painstakingly turn their body, water sloshing lightly in the bathtub. The sight almost reminded Tartaglia of a newborn deer wobbling over constantly, except this time his darling was the doe. Grabbing the washcloth again, he scrubs away at their skin to get them clean and comfortable again, cloth washing away the bad bacteria. He carefully scrubs their chest, not letting his hands linger for longer than they need to. 

“All done with your upper body. Could you sit on the edge of the bath, sweetheart?” Tartaglia asks just as patiently as before. 

He scrubs their lower body clean, mindful of where he touched as he finally got their body clean of sweat. 

“All clean, baby. Want to wash your hair too?” he asks gently, his hand lightly pushing any hair that had fallen over his beloved’s forehead. They lean into his touch, brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

“No,” they respond quietly. “Can I just go back to bed?” they ask meekly, voice hoarse. Tartaglia disapproves but doesn’t argue, understanding how draining it must have been to take a bath. He leaves their side to grab a plush towel, helping them up as he wraps it around their tired body. A sigh escapes their lips as their arms hold onto the towel as best as they could to preserve warmth. Tartaglia chuckles at the cute sight, patting their head fondly. 

“You can stand now, that’s good. Let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll help you get dressed, then you can sleep some more.” he says, wrapping an arm around their shoulders to help them walk should the need arise. Thankfully, they both make it to the bedroom in one piece, however Tartaglia’s beloved almost collapses on the bed, strength leaving them from walking and straining their tired muscles. Tartaglia helps them sit down, pulling the towel away as he dries them properly. 

He comes back shortly after, holding a pair of underwear and one of his tee shirts. “Lift up your arms,” he says gently, pulling the shirt over their head, a shudder wracking their body as they feel the texture of the fabric brush against their bare skin. He pays no mind to it, instead helping them put on their underwear as casually and quickly as he could. When that’s done, he tosses the towel to the side and places his hands on their arms, looking down at his lover with a tender gaze. 

Tartaglia doesn’t speak for a while, lost in his thoughts. 

“Sure you don’t want to eat something? You must be hungry,” he says, trying to subtly persuade them to eat. They shake their head, declining, and he has to hold back the urge to sigh. He was just so damn worried- why couldn’t they let him do this for them? But he shakes those thoughts away, focusing on making them comfortable. 

His beloved lays down on the bed with a quiet oof, curling in on themselves to warm themselves up. Tartaglia notices and quickly lays down in front of them, manhandling them just enough to move their position so he can hold them on the side while still able to look at them. They curl themselves against him, nuzzling themselves under his neck for warmth. He chuckles, light and airy, before pulling the sheets up over their body and tangling his legs with theirs, bringing his free hand down to caress their arm. Slowly and carefully, the redhead brings their inner wrist up to his face, kissing it softly. He hums, content, and closes his eyes. 

“Goodnight love,” he says quietly, lowering their arm to a comfortable position between them and leaning forward to kiss their forehead gently as they both drift off. 

[faytelumos]

Holed Up

I think I had planned on writing more of this, but by now, I have no idea what was next.

@mr-orion, @rfallfish, @tildeathiwillwrite, @thelazywitchphotographer

cw: blood mentions, death mention

---

The door banged loudly, bursting the long-sleeping silence in the house. A second crash, just as loud but somehow more violent, sent the front door flying open. Dust swirled as an umbrella rack clattered to the tiled entryway floor, and Sidekick stumbled in, tripping over the lip of the door and the umbrellas and the rack before falling to their hands and knees. Villain was already on alert, their eyes and hands glowing brightly as if they were molten. Sidekick coughed and clamored to their feet, the awful sound of metal on tile bouncing into the otherwise dark and silent house.

"Are you okay?" Villain uttered, their mouth throwing off yet more hot, yellowed light. But they were already cooling, the darkness swallowing the pair up again. The house smelled old, dusty, and faintly of mildew.

"Oh, don't worry about little ol' me," Sidekick grunted, staggering to their feet. They toed the remains of their impromptu escape room to the side of the foyer as Villain stepped around them and deeper inside. They closed the door as Villain lifted a hand, illuminating the main hallway with their renewed glow. "This place has power," Sidekick said, straightening their clothes. "I can feel it in some of the walls."

"We shouldn't use any lights," Villain said distractedly. The house was cluttered, some boxes and stacks of magazines lining the corners of the hallway floors, making the path narrower. Sidekick caught up to Villain and stuck close to them.

Villain cleared the house in a slightly chaotic pattern. There was no-one here, and there hadn't been for at least a year or two. Once they were sure they were alone, Sidekick went about rummaging in the kitchen while Villain scavenged for tolerable blankets. Most of them smelled too strongly of dust to use. But they found a couple deep in a linen closet that was less crowded with spiderwebs.

Villain brought their findings into the living room. Behind the couch, boxes and bins and books were piled up to waist height, blocking the rear part of the room off and making a safe place to turn their back on. Yet more was piled up onto the couch, and for all of the dust on it, it still looked too unstable to move. So Sidekick had taken the cans and the opener they'd recovered and sat cross-legged on the floor. Villain held two of the blankets between their knees and began unfolding the third to lay on the ground. "Smart," Sidekick said, gathering the cans and standing.

Once the two of them were sitting on the relatively clean blanket, their backs to the couch, a can of beef stew simmering between Villain's faintly glowing palms, everything finally seemed to slow down. It had been almost ten hours since they'd started running. And they knew there was going to be a lot more running ahead of them.

They glanced over at Sidekick. The room was painfully dark without Villain's glow, but street light through broken blinds fell across Sidekick's face. It was almost purplish blue, and it swept downward over their brow, their eyes, and their nose. Across their cheek, down to their lips, over their jaw, to their throat. Sidekick ate efficiently, their eyes darting down to the warmed can in their hands as they spooned up its contents, then back up to the window or hallway, out toward the street as they ate and chewed and swallowed. It all made them look half-feral, the light glimmering off of their sharp, focused gaze, the dark raking its fingers over their cheek and chin. It made them look like a hunter.

Then those sharp eyes snapped to Villain, and a shiver went down their back.

"Eat up," Sidekick said, looking back outside. Their eyes were somehow gleaming despite the impossibly long day they'd both had. "You're going to need your strength."

They looked like Hero right now. Not physically — Hero's hair was angelically fair, and their face was thin, their frame lithe — but… energetically. Sidekick had the same look of unstoppable drive on their face that… that Hero had.

Even now, Villain couldn't scrub the sight from their mind's eye. Hero, blood dripping from the corner of their mouth, the shadow looming over them in the filtered sunlight, looking over their shoulder at Villain —

"Run!"

"Vill."

Villain flinched. They blinked against the darkness in the house. Their ears strained against the silence. Sidekick had stopped moving, just staring at Villain with those intense, focused eyes. Vill. Hero had called them that.

"Talk to me," Sidekick uttered through the dark. The light on their face was almost bright, but it wasn't sunlight. "What's going through your head?"

"What do you think?" Villain breathed. They'd meant to sound angry. To sound cold. But now that they'd stopped moving, the horror was all catching up with them.

"I don't know," Sidekick said. Stubborn. "You tell me."

Villain scowled. They glowered, they sneered. But the heat didn't come, and when they opened their mouth to insult Sidekick, they choked on a sudden lump.

Hero, bathed in afternoon sunlight coming in from the high, high windows, red soaking their white costume, their green eyes going dark.

Villain heard themselves breathing hard as they squeezed the can in their hands. The dark only invited the mental images in all the brighter, like a dimmed movie theater.

Hero's body sliding to the floor, collapsing like a ragdoll before the dark, monstrous creature as it lifted its blood-soaked hand.

Villain flinched, the can and fork clattering sharply, when Sidekick put a hand on their shoulder. "Breathe," Sidekick whispered. "Focus on just breathing."

They were shaking, their breaths coming fast and ragged. Sidekick was up on their knees, and they put both hands on Villain's shoulders. Their touch was heavy, but they didn't hold Villain down or trap them.

"Match me, Vill, match me," Sidekick said, and then they started taking deep, loud breaths. Villain nodded, struggling to breathe along. Sidekick was breathing deep, and slower than Villain was, and it was all Villain could do to match them. Sidekick nodded, breathing in through their nose and out through their mouth, and Villain did what they did. In… out… in… out…. They finally caught down to Sidekick, and they looked up into those half-feral eyes in the dark, sharing their breaths. In… out…. "Better," Sidekick whispered. They sounded perfectly calm. Villain looked down at their half-empty can. Sidekick had eaten almost two. But Villain wasn't even going to be able to finish their first.

"How are you so calm?" Villain whispered. The silence in the house was thick. They didn't want to make it angry.

"I'm trained for this," Sidekick said simply. Then they paused. "My job… is to take care of the person in charge."

Villain shuddered. Sidekick took another set of deep, slow, loud breaths. Villain followed along.

"You're allowed to be in charge," Villain whispered. Sidekick huffed.

"I wouldn't know what to do."

Sidekick sat against Villain's side, their body close, warm, and heavy. Villain kept controlling their breathing. They tried not to get lost in their thoughts. But it was dark, and quiet, and Hero's blood had been lurid across their pale skin —

"How has your wine and painting class been going?"

Villain blinked. They turned and looked at Sidekick's face, the sharply drawn light splashing over their features. They were at the bottom of their second can.

"How…" Villain breathed. Sidekick shrugged, their spoon scraping and scratching loudly as they searched for the last of the food.

"It's Hero's business to know your business," they said. "And it's my business to know Hero's business." Villain watched them as they stuck the old spoon in their mouth and sucked it clean. They had moved closer, so the light coming in from the street had shifted now to curve over their large chest and busy hands. Villain looked back down to their own can.

"It, uh…." Villain frowned. Did this mean that Sidekick had studied Villain? In the back of their head, Villain knew Hero had dug into their life. Hero always seemed to know when Villain was having a bad day, or when they were going to be violent, even before the two of them got to the fighting. Before they sat down at the cafe. Before….

"Get out of here!"

Villain swallowed thickly.

"It's been, uh, good." They narrowed their eyes. What was the last thing they did in their night class? "We painted… an arctic lake." They nodded, looking down at the can in their hands through the darkness. "We weren't allowed to use white paint."

"But the canvasses are white, right?" Sidekick asked. Villain nodded. "I like that rule," Sidekick said, setting their can down. "Forces you to think about your goal differently. To adapt." Villain scoffed.

"It's just painting," they whispered, spooning another bite of stew up and then into their mouth.

Sidekick kept them talking for… hours, it seemed. About nothing, mostly. Everything. Asking things about their life that were just barely invasive. How their cat was doing and if their roommate would be okay watching them. If they were planning on selling any of the paintings they made. If the new used car search was going well.

Villain talked, and at some point, they stopped hearing what they were saying. They were caught looking over at Sidekick where they leaned back against the dusty couch, warm and heavy against Villain. Comforting. Inquisitive and gentle and stubborn.

Like Hero.

Villain's spoon scraped against empty tin. Sidekick nodded and reached out, taking the can.

"Room for one more?" Sidekick asked, reaching for another can. Villain shook their head.

"I don't think so." They had no appetite. They were surprised they finished that one at all; they hadn't even realized they were still eating. Sidekick nodded and set the food back down.

"You should try to get some rest," they said. "I'll take first watch." Villain sighed.

"I don't think I can sleep right now," they whispered. Sidekick hummed sympathetically.

"You should at least try," they said. "Rest your body, at least. I'll be here." Villain sighed and moved to lay down across the blanket, pulling the one in their lap up over their body.

They stayed close to Sidekick. Close enough to touch, to feel their heat. They shivered against the dark, stale air of the house. Sidekick moved, and Villain's eyes fluttered closed when they began carding their soft fingers through Villain's hair.

But in the dark, they couldn't avoid it. The flashes from the afternoon. When Villain had run in to get Hero, to escape, to finally take them away. And Hero, the sunlight gleaming on their hair and glittering over their suit, had looked at them in horror.

Because that thing had crawled out of the shadow behind them.

Villain flinched sharply when Sidekick's hand snagged on a tangle.

"Sorry," they whispered. "Are you tender-headed?"

"What was that thing?" Villain gasped. Sidekick stilled, but kept their warm hand on Villain's head.

"That… was Superhero," Sidekick whispered. Villain looked into the dark with wide eyes. "And by now," Sidekick uttered, slowly smoothing their hand over Villain's hair, "they've told everyone that you killed Hero, and that I helped you escape."

[twistofstory]

~Taking a swim on a warm summer evening~

I thought for a long time that Irbis could join Breeze in his soaking swimming sessions, and sometimes they could bring their kiddo with them. Our scaredy-cat Fawn won't go into the deep water on his own, so he prefers to admire the waves from the steady back of one of the adults. Irbis probably teases him about it and offers to teach him how to swim, even sincerely so, yet Fawn won't take the risk I really enjoy drawing such mundane scenes with the Morticians, they are perfect for that, honestly. Bonus points if I do these scenes as clean sketches and don't bother with making  ✨proper illustrations✨out of them

[merakiione]

-all American jackal-

if i am anything, i am a foraging coyote.

always scavenging each ventricle for fondness

picking through the remains of wood-paneled homes for hearth

gnawing each soul until it leaks empathy

bumping heads with wolves but locking horns with stags.

i soar like a crow whose left wing has shattered

thin feathers matted, plucked from delicate hollow bones

i remember each retroreflective socket winking

sunburned knuckles wicking the snow from my windshield

collecting things that shine or sting to drop at six-toed feet.

i am a fungus, and that is all.

a growth of man-eating, despondent yet snowballing

i thread my mycelium and consume all it collects

bringing redwoods to scarred roots, purple and black stumps

pallid castle ruins budding with perennial hedera.

[vhouatroph]

Vampirism is a disease in Karvaea that affects most corporeal creatures. An entity afflicted with vampirism is typically referred to as a vampire.

Vampirism is transmitted through the exchange of bodily fluids. For most creatures, this is often through a bite, or consumption of infected meat.

Creatures that become vampires generally go through a few stages of infection. Early on, the disease will cause a mild iron deficiency, leading to a heavy craving for meats.

This is a vital time for the infection, as it is still curable in this state. If meat consumption is kept to a minimum during this time, the disease will pass. If meat is heavily consumed, the infected will go through further stages of the disease. Vampirism is particularly dangerous to obligate carnivores, who are unable to properly moderate their meat intake.

Once a creature has eaten enough meat to satisfy the disease, iron levels revert to normal, but behavioral changes do not: vampires will have a higher level of aggression and a larger appetite for meat than their peers. In some cases, particularly among social species, cannibalism will also occur.

Creatures will begin to physically change as vampirism progresses. Rapid gum recession is one of the first physical signs of vampirism. Following this, teeth will see a minor increase in size. In synapsids, (including mammals) canine teeth will see a significant increase in size in particular. For creatures with already large canines, this can result in injury. In creatures with a chitin shell, future molts will often see an increase in sharpness and rigidity of the shell.

Other behavioral changes that come with later stages of vampirism include a shift towards a nocturnal activity cycle in creatures that normally prefer diurnal or crepuscular activity cycles. Solitary vampires will become more territorial, and social vampires will become more reclusive among non-vampire peers.

Social vampires will also generally form their own groups separate from a larger group, referred to as a "camp." Camps will go on nightly rampages to mass feed on prey, often leading to the widespread slaughter of livestock. This explosion in vampire activity all at once is usually also when vampirism is finally properly noticed within a region, making outbreaks very difficult to prepare for.

After several weeks to months of feeding, vampires will begin to experience iron overload, and perish en masse. This will often create large corpse fields, where scavengers will often feed to continue the cycle of infection if they are not dealt with.

The origin of vampirism in Karvaea is the Divine Parasite Tholora, an entity that lives within the brimsanguid realm of life. Tholora is an entity that has been written about all throughout history, along with her plagues of vampirism. She wanders the world, spreading vampirism where she goes, and feeds on the corpses once the vampires expire. Tholora does not often stay in one place for too long, often moving as seasons change.

Tholora is approximately 3 meters tall and 2.5 meters long. She is mildly equine in appearance, though has a rather long neck and bizarre 8-toed feet. A majority of her body is covered in black feathers, except her head which has a hard chitin "mask" that keeps her mouth covered when she is not feeding or fighting. She has two eyes which see through triangular holes in her mask, and five horns. Along Tholora's back are a number of cnidarian-like tentacles, which extend to the end of her short tail. Tholora's blood is green, and her flesh is blue.

Tholora spreads vampirism by nonfatally attacking prey at night, generally small synapsids. As the injured animals are hunted by larger predators, vampirism spreads through the food chain until reaching apex predators. As this goes down, Tholora hides in waiting until the mass feedings begin. At this time, Tholora moves out and starts to actively hunt animals that have become infected with vampirism. It is not unheard of that Tholora will appear in the middle of a fetching operation to deal with vampire attacks. In these events, she is generally not hostile towards humans unless provoked.

When provoked, Tholora is often considered to be a cocky combatant at first. She apparently doesn't take most creatures seriously, and relies heavily on kicks, head slams, and just throwing her bulk around to subdue attackers. When something is not easily defeated, Tholora begins to take her attackers a little more seriously.

Tholora is noted to have a magical bias towards fire magic. With that, when she becomes sufficiently annoyed, she will wreathe herself in flames. Tholora will release the cover over her mouth, and begin to spit blood out in all directions. Being a brimsanguid, Tholora has a notable level of sulfur in her blood, and as such this blood is combustible. Tholora will set her blood on fire, hurting and confusing attackers all the while she also continues her physical attacks. Any attempt at slaying Tholora has been met with retreat or death. If she enters the area during a fetch, the area will be abandoned until she leaves. During vampirism outbreaks, fetchers will be instructed to make plans on what to do if they come into contact with Tholora.

Tholora, like all brimsanguids, originated from the Lilieaeta region. There are no known individuals of her species besides her, and investigations have led to believe she is the last remaining individual of it. The only region vampirism has never been found in is the Arisaerel region.

[jennyfromthebes]

2 and 7!

2 - top 20 favorite songs?

This is an insane thing to ask someone. The Mountain Goats have 750+ songs and I love every single one of them and that is not an exaggeration in the slightest. Rather than an actual "my 20 favorite songs" list, here is a list of 20 of my favorite live only/not on streaming songs:

From TG&Y, Carmen Cicero, Proverbs 6:27, From the Lake Trials, Hawaiian Feeling (The Day the Aliens Came), Keeping House, Song For God, Tribe of the Horned Heart, Warm Lonely Planet, Sun Song, Attention All Pickpockets, Rose Quarter Drifting, Heel Turn 1, Wizard Buys A Hat, Roger Patterson Van, Stable Boy Song, Ice Blue, Transjordanian Blues, Going to Alaska, Scavenger Babies.

7 - favorite series/recurring theme?

...I don't really understand what this means. My favorite recurring theme is home/belonging/sanctuary. My favorite series is the Going Tos. My favorite defined throughline story is Jenny. Hopefully that covers this? I'm not totally sure what's being asked with this question, it's phrased a little weirdly lol.

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 3 - Awake and CONFUSED

" You have a point, Raph. I'll go check her for any kind of tracking devices. If she IS being followed, we can't let them find our home."

Leo briskly left the kitchen and walked to the brothers' bedroom where the stranger was sleeping.

On his bed.

'... Maybe next time I'll volunteer the couch..'

The brothers' bedroom was the biggest room of the home. The vast space consisted of four separate built-in nooks. ( two on the ground, and two above, with ladders for access to the high up bunks.) Leo and Raph called for the bottom bunks back when they were little, and Mikey and Don were more than happy to take the top bunks. When they were kids, the room was littered with toys, clothes, and drawings. Now, the toys were replaced with all of Raph and Leo's workout equipment, the clothes.....were still an issue, and the drawings were strewn all over the walls making way for all the comics the four brothers had collected and scavenged over the years. Raph, Leo, and Don's corners were usually kept neat, but Mikey continually got into trouble with Master Splinter for his untidiness.

Leo knelt down next to the still exhausted stranger curled up in the blankets. He slowly tried to examine her scars and bruises just to prepare mentally for the equipment he'll soon need to start her recovery. As his eyes took note of the scars on the female mutant's right upper arm, the brash tone of Raphael echoed back in his mind.

' Right. I need to check her for trackers first.'

Leo pulled out his phone and texted Don to retrieve the scanner. Just as he hit 'send' Don walked into the room, scaring Leo just a little.

" WHOA DUDE- Dang, you're fast!"

Don rolled his eyes and waved the scanner in his hand.

" I was already on my way here, you nigglenut..... You really think Raph's right about her?" Don quietly tip-toed as he got closer, eventually handing Leo the device.

" I don't know, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. " Leo clicked a large green button activating the scanner. He then slowly hovered the device over the stranger's body.

" I'm really hoping she's just like us. You know, a mutant turtle raised by scientists.."

" Leo. Sometimes optimism can help in situations, but with THIS particular one it's downright lying to yourself. Look at her scars and how thin she is. She wasn't loved and cared for, Leo. Not like us. She was tortured and experimented on, from the looks of her body. It's going to take her months to heal from her injuries and even longer for her mental and emotional state. "

Don's words dug into Leo's heart. It was all true. He couldn't have such high hopes for her when he knew, deep down, that years of pain and apathy changes a person. Who knows who she's become through all the heart ache she's faced? It made Leo physically wince looking at how deep the scars tore into the stranger's body. Her arms and legs were covered in bruises and old bandages, and the crook of her elbows hid dark spots of blue, most likely, Leo guessed, from years of bloodwork and IV's.

" Maybe you're right, Don.. But we shouldn't assume yet. We have no idea who she is! Or even how long she was in the lab! It's possible she just got caugh-"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Leo froze. Fear radiated from his eyes. Don's gaze swiped from Leo's to the scanner.

" OH SHELL."

" What's wrong? What showed up on the scanner?? LEO????"

Don impatiently grabbed the scanner from Leo's now trembling hands. He read the description on it's screen.

~ patient has a four centimeter implant in the back of their left calf ~

Don's fingers typed rapidly to program the device to specifically detect for any tracking chips. He waved the scanner over the stranger's leg once more.

BEEP. ~ No tracking chip detected ~

Don took a quick breath in and dragged out his exhale as his shoulders sagged. He then turned to his now quietly hyperventilating brother.

" Leo, it's alright. Our home isn't in danger. No one is going to invade. There isn't a tracking chip in the implant. We're all safe."

Leo let out a forceful sigh, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

" Oh thank God...... That was too close... Almost..uh.. heh. Almost had a panic attack there..."

Don placed his hand on Leo's shoulder to help calm him.

"We're ok. Everything is ok." The reassuring gaze of Don's eyes changed to slight confusion.

" ..But.. my question is.. if the implant isn't for tracking,... then why did she get one in the first place?"

" I'm not sure. But just in case, I'm going to need to remove it. It's possible it could be hurting her."

. . .

Lotus' eyes slowly opened. Everything was blurry and her mind was filled with a fog.

She could hear something...voices?

...PEOPLE?..

When her vision finally cleared and the dumb ringing in her ears faded, she saw two...mutant...turtles.

...

' Am I still dreaming?'

" Uh..um.. hi!" Leo greeted. " I'm Leonardo. And this is my brother, Donatello." Don gingerly raised his hand and waved.

" Greetings."

.... Lotus.. was so.. DANG CONFUSED. There are two other mutant turtles.. TALKING TO HER.

' WHAT IS GOING ON????? WHAT DRUG AM I POISONED WITH THIS TIME????'

Seeing the obvious confusion strewn all over the stranger's face, Leo nodded and tried to explain a bit more. Maybe it would help.

" We're in the sewers under New York City. Me and my three brothers were brought here twelve years ago. We were born in a lab, just like you, I think... But a human saved us before we were turned into weapons. She brought us here to Master Splinter. "

Leo paused to check on the stranger. She not only looked confused now, but also quite overwhelmed.

' Shoot.. I don't think that helped..I may have just exploded her brain..'

Before Leo could try again, Don knelt down next to the stranger.

" Hey. It's alright. You are safe here. Feel the firm stone on the walls. It's thick. Hard. Impenetrable." Don gently knocked on the stone wall.

Lotus' eyes stayed glued directly on the brothers but her hand cautiously grazed the wall next to her. The stone was cold and smooth.

" Feel the soft blanket over you. Smell the apple - scented candle on the side table. Warm. Cozy. Safe."

Again, Lotus followed Don's words rubbing the fluffy blanket and smelling the sweet, crisp aromas of the candle. The tenseness in her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit, and her hard glare softened.

" S....s..sa....safe."

Her voice could barely be heard, almost like this was the first day she had ever spoken outloud.

" Good." Don gave the stranger the softest smile he could muster as he patted the blanket draped over her.

" How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere?"

Lotus' eye brows dropped and she shakily, but still with a large amount of attitude, gestured to her entire body. Leo had to cover his mouth to hold in the laughter trying to peek through. He.. mostly succeeded with a mere snort escaping his nostrils.

" Yeah, uh.. I figured as much. It's ok. We'll fix you up. We're going to start with removing that implant."

Lotus' eyebrows furrowed with question.

" In your left leg." Don pointed.

She moved to get a look at whatever it was the turtle-mutant-brothers were talking about, but winced and hissed as a throbbing ache shot up the leg in question.

" OH SHOOT, ARE YOU OK?" Leo tried to get a look at her leg, but Lotus yanked the covers to her chin. Leo stopped and turned on his 'Medic Mode'. ( As his brothers called it.) " Hey. It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to help. But I need to remove that implant immediately. Don't you want the pain to go away?"

Lotus stared deeply into Leo's eyes, searching for any SLIVER of evil or deceit in his words.... But.. all she found was a gentleness. He spoke with care and honesty. Something she was not extremely familiar with hearing.

Her grip loosened and she nodded in agreement to Leo's request. He nodded back and ran to prepare for the procedure in the Med bay.

Don stayed at her side, only filling the silence with hums of songs. He knew it helped him to calm down when he was panicking or scared, so maybe it would help her too.

Lotus didn't know what to do.. Her energy was completely depleted and she was in a stranger's hideout. She couldn't run. She couldn't hide. She couldn't fight. All she could do- at this very moment- was REST.

She closed her eyes and listened to the purple-brother-turtle's hums, letting her aching arms and legs finally relax, and squeezing the soft blanket up to her nose. The soft tones of Don's humming lulled her to a place not of fear... but of peace.

Wow, that was a long one!! :) I had WAY too much fun drawing the panel for this chapter. :D Enjoy!

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

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