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#ALSO ALSO are there any animals outside of insects?

usbkinitopet · 22 hours

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have you ever heard of olms? they’re very interesting creatures and even look a bit like axolotl’s!

they can live a lot longer than axolotl’s and surprisingly aren’t related to them. they are blind and are endangered. It has the longest lifespan of any amphibian, often living to over 70 in zoos, and with a predicted maximum age of over 100. Their reproductive cycle can change depending on their environment, they will lay eggs if it’s warmer and give birth to live young if it’s colder. Olms live in well-oxygenated underground waters with a typical, very stable temperature of 8–11 °C (46–52 °F), infrequently as warm as 14 °C (57 °F). There have also been observations in northeastern Italy where they swim to the surface in springs outside the caves, even in daylight, where they occasionally feed on earthworms. The black olm may occur in surface waters that are somewhat warmer. The olm swims by eel-like twisting of its body, assisted only slightly by its poorly developed legs. It is a predatory animal, feeding on small crustaceans (for example, Troglocaris shrimp, Niphargus, Asellus, and Synurella amphipods, and Oniscus asellus), snails (for example, Belgrandiella), and occasionally insects and insect larvae (for example, Trichoptera, Ephemeroptera, Plecoptera, and Diptera). It does not chew its food, instead swallowing it whole. The olm is resistant to long-term starvation, an adaptation to its underground habitat. It can consume large amounts of food at once, and store nutrients as large deposits of lipids and glycogen in the liver. When food is scarce, it reduces its activity and metabolic rate, and can also reabsorb its own tissues in severe cases. Controlled experiments have shown that an olm can survive up to 10 years without food.

"That is so fascinating!!, I love learning about new sea creatures!!.. and new things!!.. Olms sound so fun to hang around with!.. do you think their favorite games would be sea chess!?.."

"Are you sure, they aren't just a long axolotl?.. they look like one to me!.."

"They're not related to me, Sam!.. but I'm sure it'd be silly if I had a cousin that was a Olm!!.." "I don't get it still.." "This is why I like teaching you about things!!!, you silly sea anemone!!"

(This was a fun ask to answer!, poor Sam.. he doesn't process info as well as Kinito!!.. :D) - Mod Soni

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 10 months

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wondering about Frank and insects but specifically about how it looks like the WH insects are highly stylized, so does Frank even know anything about real butteflies/insects?

& if he saw a real one, would he recognize it? are all of the species names he applies to the WH bugs real, or are they all made up like "Vibrant Eyespot" or "Fluttering Heartwing"?

and then there's the question - does the neighborhood have some of the more 'undesirable' bugs like moths, worms, roaches, spiders? does it have bugs outside of the generic groups of beetles and butterflies? like are there mantids? leafbugs? dragonflies? weevils? or are those too specific/complex/not-cute for the Playfellow Workshop to have included?

and then there's the question of what are the bugs? props? puppets? are they alive or do the neighbors just perceive them as such? Do they even exist outside of art, storybooks, and animated segments? I highly doubt they're alive like the neighbors are, since in the gif of Frank's head spinning, the framed butterflies' wings are moving. which is kind of horrifying if you think about it for more than a second.

just... the critters Frank loves so so so much being a complete fabrication... every piece of knowledge he prides himself on / delights in knowing being utterly Untrue... oof

#by not-cute i mean that most bugs dont sell well as marketable plushies #cute butterflies? round adorable beetles? those fit right in with a vibrant puppet-y world #so it'd make sense if those are the only two bug groups that exist #along with like. caterpillars of course. i can also see bees being a probable candidate for Existing In The World #AGHHHHH THIS HAS BEEN EATING AT ME FOR DAYS NOW #been questioning how the neighbors' consciousness and awareness manifests as well #might make a different post on that since this one has a Topic and id like to Stay On It for once #well. its related. but that deserves its own Pondering #welcome home speculation #i dont know what else to tag this as!#absolutely unprompted #ALSO ALSO are there any animals outside of insects?#does the neighborhood have birdsong but no birds? if one listens real hard to it will they notice it looping?#do they have squirrels? critters in general? is that why wally doesnt know what a rat is? he'd have no reason to.#in his world they simply don't exist.#anyway but i wonder how frank would react to seeing a real butterfly (& insects in general)#the WH ones are gigantic in comparison and overly-colorful and friendly & cutesy #wouldnt it be painful if he was scared of them. if they look too alien. would it be the spongebob butterfly episode all over again #many many thoughts tonight....#but also....#what if he tried to frame a real one. expecting it to be Fine and Alive when he pins it bc they always have been #theyve always been perfectly happy fluttering in their frames #but a real one would fucking die. so. yikes #traumatic core memory unlocked! frank frankly has discovered Death

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briarcrawford · 1 year

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Are Animals Becoming Extinct in Fantasy Novels?

Recently, I read this post titled “Animals have been taken off in novels since 1835. Is fiction undergoing its own extinction event?” which talks about a study that found that since 1835, the use of wild animals in fiction has dropped drastically.

Many are blaming this “slow extinction” on modern societies disconnect to nature. After all, not everyone spends their days outside, so they might not notice mice, birds, or even the insects at their feet. If they do not think about animals in their daily life, why would they think about them while writing?

That is the theory, at least.

It is worthwhile pointing out what several other writers and readers are; there are plenty of animals in children’s fiction. That is true, but what about young adult to adult fantasy? Since that is what I personally write, that is what I wanted to talk about.

Just going off what books I think of first, it seems like often in fantasy novels, the only prey animals (like deer, squirrels, or rabbits) that we see are after nearly always during or after they are hunted. Then there is the complete lack of mosquitos, leaches, biting ants, and other annoying creatures.

Sometimes, there is a mention of the sound of birds singing, but rarely ever are there any details of the birds or what they are doing. Where are the ducks and swans on the lakes? Where are the birds building nests?

Now you may be going “What is the point? Why should I care?” and I get that, but by eliminating these creatures, your novels could be losing a sense of realism.

For example, in Stephen Kings The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon — which I argue is a light fantasy story, not a horror story — has a girl is lost in the woods and stalked by a creature. Interestingly, even most survival books fail to mention animals apart from for food, but Stephen King did not do that. He had deer, water bugs skittering across ponds, and even wasps that attack the main character. This added a sense of reality to the novel. It was not just a forest with some trees and plants, it was a forest filled with life, and that can be dangerous for anyone, let alone a young girl.

So, go ahead, raise the mood with your characters. If they are miserable, make them more so by having the mosquitos bite at them day and night or have them step in a anthill. If they are happy, they could watch a mother bird feeding its young or a swan rubbing necks with its partner.

Adding more hints of nature could not only amplify the mood, but it could also make your forests seem more real.

#writing advice #how to write #write #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #fantasywriter #writing fantasy #writingfantasy #fantasy writer #WritingForests #Worldbuilding #WorldbuildingNature

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windkonig · 1 month

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society has ingrained in all of us that bugs are bad and evil and scary and they Bite You for no reason and Sting You For Fun and I would like to challenge every single person that reads this to try to step back and challenge those thoughts. CHALLENGE that knee-jerk reaction to kill every bug you see. REALIZE that killing it doesn't have to be the answer. it's fine to not want bugs in your home. but I see so many people whose FIRST choice is to kill it, even though it'd be easy to just cup it and toss it outside. why?

one of the greatest things that got me over my extremely intense arachnophobia was knowledge. learning more about the thing I was afraid of made me realize, "oh, they're just little guys trying to get by too" and I stopped killing every spider I saw.

and it's like. no, that wasp didn't sting you for fun. it stung you because it felt scared or defensive. no, the spider in your shower isn't trying to kill you. spiders need water to live too.

you don't deem a scared dog/cat evil for biting you, do you? then why are we demonizing insects and spiders for feeling scared? they are so, so small and we are so large. they don't know anything about us, they're just trying to live life. they didn't know they built their web in a bad spot. they didn't know they built their nest next to your door. please, show some kindness to these tiny creatures. I understand you can't let infestations happen or wasps build in your walls, but whenever possible, try to put bugs in a cup and take them outside. yes, even wasps. even black widows. if you want tips for safely capturing bugs, I'm always around to ask.

also, to those who say things like, "x bug eats other pest bug, so they're okay" why? why does something have to benefit you to deserve to live? shouldn't all creatures have a chance at life, even if they're ugly, even if they don't benefit you, even if they do something you don't like? what gives you the right to decide to take the life of any animal just because ahhh it looked scary? please. all I ask is you try to be kinder. it's okay to be scared, it's not okay to pointlessly kill things.

#michaelpost #bugs #insects #arthropods #something I've noticed is wasps get an EXTREME amount of hate and I'm honestly getting progressively more sick of it #and it always stems from just. untrue ideas people have about how wasps behave #and they'll throw in comments like oh they dont even pollinate like our Lovely Bees! yes they do.#and even if they didnt have any Use to you #why does that mean they dont deserve life?

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dr3c0mix · 10 months

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Hi! I love your stuff, you’re a really good writer! Take your time if you ever get to this, don’t burn yourself out.

The scenario is a delusional yandere childhood friend/monster. Like the reader found it in the woods as a kid and they grew up playing until the reader had to move away. Now years later, the reader is back..and the monster thinks it has a mate again.

Imaginary More-Than-Friends

Yandere! Imaginary Childhood Bestfriend x GN Reader

an: I believe the few people will recognize this guy from my old posts, i figured i let him out of my little toy box of characters huehuehue. i have to say though that i'm very much attached to this one and i will not be accepting nsfw requests of this character in the future! sorry if its not really what you asked for though ._." i was a bit excited when i saw your request

CW: Coulrophobia, delusional yan, this one is a bit more intense than normal, kidnapping kind of, possessive themes

🦋 You have vague memories of your old house. Memories of playing around in your old room and the faint sounds of cicadas and rustling leaves from outside your bedrooms window felt like a blur.

🦋 The clearest memory of your childhood there was playing around in the woods by your backyard. You had a small clubhouse somewhere in the thicket of trees and other flora. It was a small red tent full of flower ornaments that you've weaved and little trinkets you found while exploring.

🦋 You also remember there being someone else in the woods with you every time you played, although you don't remember any neighbors with kids when you were younger. Even then you have foggy memories of talking to someone very close to you.

🦋 You feel the truck you're riding in turn a corner and you look up to see your old family house slowly appearing from behind autumn-colored trees.

🦋 As soon as the moving truck came to a stop, you opened the door after thanking the driver and got your bags, taking a good look at the large house in front of you.

🦋 The paint was chipping and most of the metal decor was rusting, but you can fix them up as soon as you move in. Your family had to move out pretty quickly for some unknown reason so you figured many of the things that were left were still there.

🦋 Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you could have sworn you heard scurrying from inside the house, must have been an animal that got in from a window or something.

🦋 Somehow, the house didn't seem very dusty, even though it's been sitting unoccupied for years. The floor looks swept to an extent with piles of leaves looking to have been swept lazily to the sides of the rooms.

🦋 You wandered through the house, your memories coming back to you about the times you spent with your parents, all the while, you can hear faint scratching and thumping as you walk.

🦋 The tall figure skittered around house, watching you wander around from the corners with an unblinking stare. He couldn't believe it. You were here, you're back! And you're so much bigger than you were all those years ago...you look so beautiful now! A toothy grin widens on his face as his claws scratched the doorframe he was gripping, leaving deep scratches.

🦋 As you enter your old room, you see that the dusty bed still looks made, like it's been waiting for someone to sleep in it for years. Old toys with ribbons of your favorite color tied to their necks or wrists sat in their places by a fogged windowsill as paper cranes and insects on string and glow in the dark stars still hung on your ceiling.

🦋 Just as you were about to leave to get your things moved in, you hear your old closet creak open. You freeze and turn to it, it looked like there wasn't anything inside. You wait a bit before fucking off, not wanting to deal with any ghouls or the like at the moment...

🦋 The figure then breathes a sigh of relief as soon as you're out of earshot. It pushes itself out of the closet and onto the floor. Soon you will see each other, he promises. He just has to find the right time...

🦋 You'd find items missing and reappearing in strange places sometimes, it could've been just you forgetting where you placed them, but there's no way you could have misplaced your shoes in the sink or your sweater outside your window...

🦋 You'd also notice food that was left out being eaten, not by ants or rodents though, the bite marks were too large.

🦋 You weren't some dumb character in a horror movie, you could see the tell-tale signs of a haunting, but you didn't want to let go of the house, not after all the years of trying to buy it back and all the money you put into renovating it.

🦋 Your mind was put at ease somewhat when you found a group of raccoons rummaging through your trashcans next to a window with a broken window, they could've just been messing with your stuff and eating your food while you weren't looking. You took note that you had to fix the locks soon.

🦋 After a few tiring days of getting everything cleaned up and moving in your stuff, you look at your hard work and smile. Your furniture gave the home your own personal touch while still keeping the nostalgic charm of your childhood home. You sigh in satisfaction and decide to go out and get some fresh air.

🦋 You exit through your backyard door and, from what you can see, the woods hasn't changed a bit since you left. It made you smile knowing you personal little playground hasn't wasted away. You then remember your old hideout. A wave of memories come back to you as you rush to where you remember the little red fort was.

🦋 To your surprise, the tent was still up, in fact, you could see no sign of aging on it. No damage from rain or wind or anything, it's like it was frozen in time. You walk up to it, crouching down and lifting the red embroidered curtains of the entrance and revel in the little items that withstood the years it has been left here.

🦋 Although, you notice there being more things than you remember. Did you really collect all these thing when you were younger? There were bottles of soda can tabs and acorns, figurines of animals carved out of wood, were those animal bones??

🦋 You back away from the tent, very much weirded out by the new additions to your old hang out spot when suddenly, your body bumps into something. It felt thin like a tree but soft like a plush toy with burlap for the cover. Your eyes go wide as you hear a voice from above you. "(Y/N)?"

🦋 The familiar jingle of bells sparked something in you as you look up to meet the creature's porcelain face.

🦋 You stare at the figure like it would disappear if you look away from it as you step back to look at it better.

🦋 It was a clown, a tall one at that. Its white pupils stayed on you as you can see razor sharp teeth within its mouth. His limbs looked almost jointless like how a plush toy would look. It's clothes were brown and dirty from years of neglect.

🦋 What you were seeing wasn't human, it couldn't be human. It was too freakishly tall to be one. You didn't know what to do, running could provoke it to chase you and attacking could anger it.

🦋 Suddenly, it steps closer to you and bends down, you could feel its breath on your face, it unusually smelled like candycorn.

🦋 Then it chuckles, giving you a grin before suddenly picks you up and wraps its long arms around you, spinning around happily like a child holding their new toy.

🦋 "(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Oh I'm so happy to see you again! You've grown so much! Where did you go? What did you see? Did you...make any new friends?"

🦋 It pulls away from you and stops spinning only to see a terrified expression on your face. His smile drops and cocks his head to the side. "(Y/N)? Are you okay?" The bells on its jester hat jingle softly.

🦋 As your shock melts away, you figure he didn't have any intention of harming you and you try and catch your breath. Your eyes then catch a glimpse of ribbons tied around his wrists. It was your favorite color.

🦋 Your slowly look back up to the clown and you finally remember your old friend that you used to play with.

🦋 You had a favorite toy amongst your collection of stuffed animals and dolls. It was a strawberry pink clown with stretchy arms, you used to carry it around with you all the time. From the moment you wake up to going back to sleep, you had it with you. You named it..

🦋 "Hallow?"

🦋 The clown perks up at the name and its smile widens even more. "So you remember! Hahah! I was beginning to think you forgot all about me!" "Y-you're real?! I mean you were- but- h-how is this possible?!"

🦋 Hallow puts you down and gives you a confused look, pointing a finger to his cheek. "Real? Of course I'm real! I'm your best friend!" He giggles, spinning around joyfully.

🦋 "And I...left you here.." "Oh I don't mind! I'm sure you had a reason! Besides, you're here now and we can play again! And we can be together!" He takes your hands into his and squeezes them, his grip a bit shaky. Well, at least it won't be so lonely out here anymore...

🦋 From there, Hallow kept you company, he would help you out in fixing up the exterior of the house and tell you all about what's happened since you left.

🦋 "I saw a reeeaaallly big bear once! He looked all tubby and fluffy and stuff! I tried petting it but it bit my arm off! So rude right? At least I knew how to sew my arm back! Thanks for teaching me how by the way!"

🦋 He's a bit clingy, but he does give you space if you ask him. and by give you space i mean he just stares at you from the corner of the room instead of hovering over you the whole time.

🦋 He wasn't a fan of other people though, if ever a friend of yours visits or a delivery person drops by, he'd disappear in a flash, when they finally leave, he's unusually quiet until to ask if he was alright. When you turn away from him, his forced smile drops down to a sneer, thinking about the strange person that was trying to take you away from him...

🦋 Then one day, a friend of yours called and told you they were in the area and wanted to meet up with you. Hallow watched as you happily talked to your phone from the gap between your door, scratching the wood in jealousy. Who was making you so happy (Y/N)? Only he's supposed to make you laugh like that...

🦋 When your friend came, he disappeared once again. He watched you greet your 'friend' with a hug, being awfully touchy with them, holding their hand as you guide them to your couch.

🦋 He hated it, he hated them. He hated you happy you looked as you two laughed together. He wished it was him who was making you laugh, not this stranger. Infact, what made you think they were to be trusted? Wasn't it other people that made you leave him in the first place? Your dreaded parents were the reason you were taken from him, what makes you think your "friend" won't do the same. Before you know it, you could be taken back to the city, stressed and overwhelmed and away from him, your best friend, your only friend, your soulmate!

🦋 His spiraling thoughts were quickly interrupted by your friend getting up from their seat. "Alright, it's getting late..where's that mall again?" "Oh, you just turn right from the second street over." "Ok! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon!" noon?

🦋 The door closes, and you hear the jingling of bells behind you. "Do you have to hide every time there's someone else he-" Your joking comment is cut off when you turn and he's looming dreadfully over you.

🦋 "What mall?" "H-huh?" He's glaring daggers into your eyes, taking a step closer to you as you back up, unease growing inside of you.

🦋 "What's at noon?" "H-hallow we're just going out-" "How long?" "H-how long?? I don't kno-" "Hours? Days? Years?" You're backed up against the wall, the giant clown's arms at either side of you, trapping you under him as black drool drips down his snarling mouth.

🦋 "How long are you gonna leave me this time huh? How many days am I gonna wait for you to come back to me?!" "Hallow stop you're scaring me!" "I'm supposed to be my best friend! Not them!" He snaps at you, making you flinch in fear. His glare softens then turns into a horrified expression. Pulling his hands back closer to him shakily as you shivered in front of him, your arms hiding your face. He lets out a quiver before stepping away from you. You lower your arms and he was gone, you can hear banging and thumping from upstairs.

🦋 The next day, you were getting ready for your outing with your friend. Hallow didn't show up that day. You weren't used to the silence that was left.

🦋 You haven't seen Hallow in a few days, but you always let out food for him. He was hurt, you can tell, but it was clear he needed space at the moment, you just hoped he didn't do anything rash as you went to bed a week after your fight with the clown.

🦋 You woke up the next day, expecting Hallow not to come out again. You get up from your bed and head downstairs. Calling out Hallow's name, no answer.

🦋 You sigh and figure you should get some much-needed fresh air. The tension that has built up in the house was almost suffocating to you. You went to your backdoor to spend some time outside.

🦋 But when you tried to open the door, it wouldn't turn. You tried unlocking it, but the lock wouldn't budge. You pulled and shook it but to avail. You groan and try to open a window instead, but the latch was shut tight. You tried the other windows but none of them opened. You started to freak out when you hear a jingle of bells behind you.

🦋 "H-Hallow? Why are the all the windows shut? The door's locked too!" You look to him, but he looked off. His normal wide-eyed smile was replaced with a half-lidded grin. He swayed side to side, clasping his hands together as he giggled. "Hello, you~"

🦋 "H-hey...what's going on?" You ask him, sweat rolling down the side of your head nervously.

🦋 "Well, I thought about what you said and I realized! You're not at fault here! You just want someone to be with! And I guess me being your friend wasn't good enough for you so you turned to someone else! I know you didn't mean to hurt me lovely, but I can change for you! I can be much more than a best friend! We can be like those knights and princesses in your storybooks, remember?"

🦋 He starts walking up to you, you hold onto the countertop behind you as he rambles on in a lovesick haze. "H-Hallow?"

🦋 "You won't need anyone else (Y/N)! You'll just need me from now on! We'll be together forever! Oh and don't worry about food and stuff, I can get you those!"

🦋 He chuckles, before pulling you into an uncomfortably tight hug, you flinch as you feel him kiss your neck and cheek, his sharp teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

🦋 "You'll never have go away ever again, my f-...my love~"

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donutz · 3 months

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Dogday x reader fluff alphabet[2/8]

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

Affection(How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

— VERY. One hug per day keeps the sadness away, he says.

— A hug, a kiss, hand holding, pats, scratches, laying on each other, slight brushes against each other, anything that has to do with touch he will love ^_^

— Loves showing any kind of affection, as long as you like it, he’ll do it

— His long language is definitely physical touch

— Plus he’s a dog! Dog’s love touch, most of the time!

Best friend(How would they be as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

— THE BEST FRIEND.

— He would cheer you up on your worst days!

— But if he can’t, he would try to communicate with you verbally or not

— “You don’t wanna talk?”

— You nod

— “That’s okay. Do you mean like speak out or..?”

— You nod

— “Oh ok! Uh, would it be okay if you talked on paper or do you just wanna be left alone?”

— And then it would go from there

— It would start with him talking to you first!

— He’d try to interact with you in many ways

— Wanna help with the kids? You wanna carry these boxes? Put away the toys? Anything to include you in it!

Cuddles(Do they cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

— Cuddle master

— Almost always cuddling, or some type of touch

— Especially if you're sad

— When you both are sleeping, you guys are always right next to each other

— If there are times that you don't want to, that's fine!

— But if it goes on for long he'll get a little sad :(

— And then he becomes touch starved

Domestic(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

— Dogday doesn't mind settling down, but he really likes playing around

— Like going ‘outside’

— He's wanted to see the outside for a long time.

— I'd think he'd be really good at cooking!

— Baking, not so much

— He's so quick with cleaning, I swear he can mop the floor of a mansion in 5 minutes

— He also loves cleaning!!

Ending(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

— Uhhhh

— Uhhhhhhh😅😅

— 100% wouldn't do it himself

— It has to be for a really good reason

— His ears would be down, tail sunk to the floor, and have the saddest look on his face

— “... Angel, I need space.”

— And then he speeds away

Fiance(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

— Idk about commitment..

— I have no idea what Dogday's age is

— But if he's minor, like I said for the Catnap fluff alphabet, in the kiddy way, he wouldn't mind what time you'd want to get ‘married

— It's up to you!

Gentle(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

— He's very gentle!

— Very extroverted, but gentle

— When it comes to giving hugs, he squeezes but never too hard!

— He is also very gentle when it comes to emotions

— You're sad? He'll listen or be with you, you're angry? He'd listen too! If you want, you just wanna be mad at him? That's fine! He'll only take action if you start hurting him or people(or toys)

Hugs(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

— Y'all already KNOW!!!

— Hugs, at least one per day

— They are sooo comforting, especially since he has his vanilla scent

— Whenever you hug him first, he gets SOOO HAPPY.

— Tail wagging, widest smile, he's loving every second of it

I love you(How fast do they say the L-word?)

— “I love you Angel!” Out of nowhere

— It catches you off guard, a lot

— One time all the critters were playing truth or dare

— And KickinChicken said, “Dogday! I dare you to say I love you to our lovely sheep!!”

— “I LOVE YOU.”

— Everybody went silent and then Dogday started up the game again

Jealousy(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

— He rarely gets jealous, it's barely ever happens

— The only way he could if someone's getting WAYYY too touchy

— “Hello! Could you give us a sec?”

— Then he takes you and goes wherever that's not near the person

Kisses(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

— Very loving and lovely

— You can tell he puts so much love into his kisses

— He likes kissing you on the forehead and cheek

— He tells(asks) you to close your eyes when he gives you forehead kisses

— He doesn't want you to be terrified at the darkness you'll see

— Would love receiving kisses anywhere

— Secretly would love getting kisses on his ears

Little ones(How are they around children?)

— Not in the making kids way, by the way I'm going to make fluff alphabets of all the critters

— And for the little ones section it will never be about having kids with the critters

— But as he does, taking care of the orphans, he is fantastic at taking care of them!

— He’s the one to cheer them up! The one who’d play games with them! The one who’d give them bandaids whenever they got hurt!

— 10/10 babysitter

Morning(How are mornings spent with them?)

— “Good morning Angel!”

— Every day.

— He usually asks if you slept well or if you had any dreams, or (hopefully not) nightmares

Night(How are nights spent with them?)

— Absolute cuddle bug

— If someone were to see you two he’d get pretty embarrassed

— If you’re not sleeping on top of each other, you’re holding hands at least

— He also says, “Goodnight Angel! Have sweet dreams!”

— And yes, it’s every time you two have to go to bed

Open(When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

— He would, only if you asked him to

— Sometimes he brings up personal stuff without realizing it

— Then he goes, “Anyways!” or, “Nevermind!”

— It’s really concerning

— He’d reveal things slowly but surely

— He’d be really nervous talking about it though

Patience(How easily angered are they?)

— He barely gets angry at you!

— Most likely will never get mad at you

— He has never gotten mad at you.

— He will never get mad at you ^_^

Quizzes(How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

— Remembers almost everything

— Sometimes he can forget

— But he always remembers the important things(in his words)

— He does remember the smaller details too!

— But he sometimes forgets

— He makes notes just in case so he doesn’t forget

Remember(What is their favorite moment in the relationship?)

— His favorite moment was when you gave him a big hug after he got his legs back

Security(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

— He isn’t scary protective but he can be protective

— Like hero protective

— “Don’t worry Angel! I got this!” head ahh

— He’d protect you in any way he could! But if it gets physical he tries to calm down the situation

— He’d use his body and hold his arms out, like how a little kid does it when protecting their friend or something

Try(How much efforts would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

— Too much effort

— Jk jk!!

— He puts in as much effort as he can

— ‘Dates’ go however you want them to go!

— It’s your choice! Unless you really can’t or don’t want to then he’ll do it himself! No worries!

— “It’s our anniversary!”

— “:O”

— “I know right?! I’m so happy!”

— Puts so much effort and love into his gifts, it’s usually your favorite things

— On Valentines day he gave you a box of chocolates

— Obviously, he’d put a lot of effort into everyday tasks

Ugly(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

— Honestly it depends on how you think, because if you find it annoying when someones happy all the time, or you can tell when someone is trying to constantly trying to cheer you up and you find it annoying then yeah

— It’s not an ugly habit but it depends on how you think

Vanity(How concerned are they with their looks?)

— I do not give one fuck, two fuck, red fuck, blue fuck, yellow fuck ^_^

Whole(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

— Yes.

Xtra(A random headcanon for them.)

— Whenever he sees you he gets very happy

— His tail starts wagging and his eyes light up

Yuck(What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

— Nothing! He loves you!

— As long as you’re not truly negative, as in you mean what you say if you insult him or something

Zzz(What is a sleep habit of there's?)

— Probably snores, very loud, every time.

— But you always wake up with him on you or right next to you so I guess that defeats his snoring

#gender neutral #gender neutral reader #poppy playtime #dogday #gn reader #poppy platime fanfic #poppy playtime x reader #dogday x reader #poppy playtime 3 #smiling critters #x reader

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 4 months

Text

𝔗𝔬 𝔅𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 ℑ𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔅𝔢 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔡

Summary: Because of a past refusal, the god who once fostered and protected your village has cursed the land and left it in constant darkness and bloodshed. But years after the island's condemnation he visits the priestess in her dreams, claiming that he is once again willing to take a sacrifice in exchange for the people's salvation.

You are left to grapple with your reality when that sacrifice is announced to be you.

Notes: 26k words, so . . . grab a snack? Also, this has not been proofread yet so sorry for any errors and misspellings. Banner is credited @saradika

Warnings: MDI - 18+ content! AFAB, Sacrifice AU, violence, horror elements, the reader is drugged physically for ritual purposes but it doesn't affect her in the Dreaming? illusions to death, an animal is harmed but does not die, a small teaspoon of stalker Dream (sorta), hints of possessive Dream but he's also soft. Oral (F!receiving), he's a switch, a bit of soft dom Morpheus I suppose, sex outside but there is no voyeurism involved, unprotected sex.

The memories of your mother are vague at best. Like gazing up at someone while being submerged under water. But what you could remember, quite vividly at that is the wild fables and stories of gods and heroes that she would tell you, sending you off to sleep with images of great serpents slicing through the waves of the seas or the behemoth hound snapping at the tormented souls of the underworld with its many heads. And she taught you of the nymphs of the ocean and the wood, and the great gods that cloak the skies with heavy storm clouds and bind the souls of lovers together.

But perhaps one of the most important to your isolated village, the one who was vital to the people's survival was the deity Morpheus. Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The heavenly benefactor that assured you all prosperity and wealth. He was benevolent and caring, and to commemorate the god, murals were created in his image. Some portrayed him as both beast and man. With the lithe physique of a human, the textured, taloned feet of a bird and great wings pridefully expanding from his back, stretching high in a reaching arch and a head that you could not discern if it was intended to mimic a bird or insect. The protrusion from his face reminded you of the proboscis of a mosquito but it was jointed and colored like ivory like a bleached spine.

But on occasion the paintings depict the god as a striking statuesque man, clutching a group of blood red blossoms in one hand and fragments of pale sand poured through the fingers of an opposing upturned palm. And he seems to have his wings in this form also. And they are always with feathers the color of the night sky.

Your mother had told you that he was a kind ruler. But even kindness is not without its conditions.

The people had spoken of an offering that must be made to the Endless to appease him, an exchange for his watchful eye and shelter. A sacrifice must be given. A human one. The thought had terrified you as a child. But the villagers - even your own parents seemed to accept the requirement without any qualms. No complaints were made from the people. It was taken as a fact of life. The same as how the sun rises in the east or how fire burns when touched. No one fought when the shrine guards came in the morning. When the dawn was but a smudge of lavender in the horizon, knocking on doors and collecting any woman who was of age regardless of it they were already wives with families and duties.

Not even your father or mother had protested when they came to take her away to the temple. And you had latched yourself onto her hips, refusing to let go even when she assured you that this was a good thing. That it was a great compliment to be even considered for the choosing. And that if she was selected as the offering - to join the Dark God that it would bring honor not just to the village but to your house as well. But you had refused to listen, shaking your head while your tears dampened the fabric that covered her body. The hierodules had to tear you from her hips, and your father had to secure you in his arms as she left with the guards to the join the other women who had been collected from their homes.

The next passing days for you had been melancholic and distressing to say the least but the village was a kaleidoscope of colors and festivities. And despite the joy that thrummed across the air, the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting the day for the Choosing when the head Priestess would reveal the offered woman that Endless had deemed worthy enough to be his sacrifice.

The ceremony had been held near dusk and a heavy quiet had fallen over the collective as you all look up to the priestess, desperate to hear which womans name she would utter. The anticipation was stifling as you all awaited who would become his bride, and your fingernails had dug into your father's hand so harshly that it must have stung, but he did not flinch or jerk away once, far too enamored with the event. And when the sister had revealed the Chosen the crowd had cheered and some gasped, but you had cried. Cried with relief and joy.

But on that day the Priestess decided to deny the dark god of his sacrifice and that decision would mark the fall and despair of your village for years to come.

And now you stand where your mother once did. But instead of the cover of a gentle twilight, the unforgiving heat of the sun wafts over you, engulfing you in a sweltering heat and pounds down on the crown of your skull. Voices clamor from down below, the frenzied cries of desperate people, and it has the women standing at your sides shivering like startled doe's. You could not blame them in the slightest. You too wanted to quiver and sob to expel your fear, but you could not bear to show any vulnerabilities. Not to the hungry crowd, too terrified in their own right to empathize with your distress.

The ritual is only in a few days' time and the atmosphere that looms across the village with a heavy sort of anticipation is a conflicted sort of energy. There was an obvious air of excitement, prickling at your skin and nearly leaving you breathless but there was also the underlying thrum of . . . fear. It pained you to look out to the masses and see their jostling bodies, waiting with bated breath to hear the name of the Endless' intended. To hear if he would finally accept a sacrifice again after so many years of anguish and terror.

They had decorated the thresholds of houses, and the columns of buildings with rich tapestries and fine wreaths just as had been done in the past. The people- your people frolic about in special fabrics- deep reds and blues to herald the Endless. Gorging themselves on the five-day long feast: the meat of boar and quail and an abundance of fruits. The flow of wine and spirits did not stop. It had only progressed if the slurred shouting and rumbunctious laughter that had reached you from behind the thick walls of the commune was any indication. Celebrating their lives. Celebrating your death.

Despite your circumstances you had been nothing but pampered since your forced participation. Fed only the finest meals and bathed in expensive oils and perfumes. You have been chosen by an ancient; a harsh voice hissed cruelly from the depths of your mind. The voice of the old sister. The woman who had sealed your awful fate. The one who claimed that the mind walker -the dark god himself had come to her in a dream and had spoken to her she had reiterated animatedly, sharp piercing eyes nearly rolling back in her skull from her mania. Her body had quivered from her passion and the other women that had been selected and forced into a reluctant row had nearly flinched back at the intensity of it. You all clung to each other, hands gripping the other for support. Something to tether yourselves to the ground. All of the eligible women had been wrangled up, torn from the arms of their families. Even women with husbands and children were taken away, no one was spared in the wishes of finally appeasing the god.

You had scanned the clamoring crowd in the hopes of finding someone who would be willing to help. Someone who would disagree. Perhaps a stranger would show pity or sympathy, but you found no one. They were all hanging on to the demented rambling of the old priestess. Their silence was palatable. The crazed joyous eyes of people with hope. Hope of reprieve from the decade long curse that had tainted the village. And unfortunately, one of the maidens- one of you that stood in that horrid line was the answer to their prayers. And when you found no sympathy, you looked past the commotion and the roofs of houses to the sea in the distance and imagined yourself taking to the dark waves and escaping under the tide and froth. Emerging somewhere new and wonderful.

Of course, there would be no freedom for you. Not when her horrid eyes strayed from the desperate crowd and pinned you in your place the air had been expelled from your lungs with a harsh gravity. The realization of your fate.

And then as if to perpetuate her point further, to drive the knife in deeper and twist, she lifted her crooked finger up in the air and pointed. Right at you. And the other girls that were clinging to your body for support and comfort had jerked from you as if you were dirty and blemished, sobbing with cries of relief while they fled in search of their mothers and fathers in the crowd. But some of them had sank to the dust and clasped their hands together as if in prayer, kneeling at your feet like you were sanctified.

"The Endless has found his Chosen." She crooned and the people had roared in a victorious cry.

They took you kicking and screaming, ignoring your cries of protest while they carried you off to the Sisters commune to prepare you and the townspeople looked on, watching you feverously with a horrid sort of enthusiasm. Relief you recognized.

You had been forced into decadent silks and decorated with jewelry that at one time you would have dreamed of wearing, but they might as well as have been hot iron with the way that they felt against your skin. Restricting, disgusting.

They paraded you around for days, making you the pinnacle of the festival while you watched them all sink into their basest desires, influenced from alcohol and the intoxication of relief. You tried not to blame them. To see past your pain and hurt and summon some forgiveness. After all, they were only afraid. The same as you had been, the same as you are now. Fearful of the Night King and his spirits. The horrible kakodaimon hoard that serve at his command and wreak havoc should their emperor be denied of his sacrifice. Some are little more than mischievous deities, entertaining themselves with otherwise harmless pranks: Stealing shoes and tying the hair of women into knots while they sleep unaware. The stuff of tales and bedtime stories. But he has other creatures. Monstrous, evil things that steal infants from their cribs and drain bodies of their lifeblood and chew bone.

The same horrid beings that have been tormenting the village for a decade now, arriving in the night to snatch up any poor soul who had been foolish enough to be caught outside during the dark. Many have died during the years since he's unleashed his army of terrors upon the village. The dark creatures snatching them up in their gnarled claws, as lethal as a sharpened daggers and carrying them off with the swift whisper of wings. All because he was refused.

And now finally you sit underneath the stars again, after being forced behind barricaded doors and huddling underneath the table and hoping that the creatures wouldn't break through the door and tear themselves inside with gnashing teeth to feast upon your flesh. Clinging to the hope that you would survive until daybreak when the blessed sun would rise from the horizon and banish them away. If only for a little while.

For the first time since you were a child you may embrace the dark and breath in the warm night air, feeling it sooth your lungs like a balm. You're as full of wonder as you are paranoia. Waiting for one of the nightmares to leap out of the shadows and steal you away. But even the weight of the silver and diamonds adorning your body and the deafening laughter of the feast couldn't tear your eyes away from the black expanse that loomed above. Stretching out like a horrible, beautiful black void that threatened to eat you alive. And you nearly felt crushed with how small - insignificant it made you feel. The unforgiving stretch of the cosmos looming above seemed to force your own mortality upon you with a harsh sort of grace. And it angered you that the dark god had stripped this sight from you for so many years. He had taken so much from you all and now they all once again chant his name as though he was a savior and not the reason for their strife and agony. Celebrating his image like he was a humble god that had not punished them and their children with beasts and terrible dreams. All because he was not given a woman who had been promised to him.

You had never felt so bare in your life, having been forced on the plush velvet cushions of a palanquin to be carried around on the shoulders of the temple guards and displayed around the village. There was no shelter from the prying eyes of the townspeople who had watched you with the same sort of desperate hunger as a pack of starved dogs, shameless and pitiful. They had been pelting you with the vibrant blossoms of violets and dark seeds, and the abundance had begun to collect atop the cushions, and you had been tempted to sweep the offerings off the side of the vehicle but as if sensing your intentions one of the priestesses had swiftly swiveled her head to glare at you from her place beneath you. You had been tempted to defy her regardless, to hold eye contact with her as you did so, but despite your petty desire you held yourself back.

They did eventually lower you from their shoulders and back down onto the earth, and a few women had emerged from the boisterous crowd -servants perhaps - to hand you food and drink. You had not wanted to accept it, too prideful to take what they had given you and make them believe that they had managed to placate you with a meal and wine, but eventually your stomach had won and you hesitantly abandoned your dignity. It had been too long since you had last had a decent meal, having survived off of measly scraps for too long. You had gorged yourself on the figs and fish and honey cakes, chasing it with the rich wine when you had become parched and soon your head had become light with the influence of the fermented liquid, and it allowed you to ignore the cajoling throng of people and the sisters' that observed you.

The priestesses surrounded you like a group of statues, pillars of death. Silent and watching. Guarding. They observe when the villagers approach you, eyes glinting hauntingly like they're waiting for one of the people to lash out and attack you. You hoped someone would and finally put you out of your misery. But instead, they all crouched down low at your feet, whispering their gratitude like you had asked for this purpose and placed bundles of red flowers on the earth to surround the palanquin. Even a child had approached you, thanking you for the salvation you offered. It had nearly broken you and tears had threatened to spill down your face. It almost disgusted you to look at them. Soft, delicate blossoms that were a harsh scarlet. Red like blood. Poppies you had realized. The flower associated with the Endless. It made you nauseous to be surrounded by his symbol. And suddenly they were not so pretty anymore and there were too many. Overflowing at your feet and pilling up so high that it felt like the people were trying to build a wall around you.

"Why must I do this?" You gasp, feeling as though you were being crushed. The sister to your right is the one who speaks but she does not turn to look at you, instead focusing on the roaring pyre that the villagers dance around under the guide of the drums and flute. "Because it is your purpose." The answer is cold and matter of fact, sparing you no sympathy. It is a sentence that you have heard uttered one too many times in the passing days, almost as though they believed you would come to accept your circumstances if you heard it enough. You just could not understand why they would be so easily swayed to accept the god who had turned his backs on them so long ago. Abandoned them and tormented them because of his own hubris. Scorned because the head priestess before had not given him her own daughter.

He had plagued your village for too long. Ravaging men and women and children with horrid dreams and dying crop. Except for now. Ever since the choosing ceremony, when you had been selected the gardens had blossomed seemingly overnight, overgrown with a prosperous harvest and the hunt had been successful after many moons of coming up with little more than measly rabbits.

They would always return to his dark embrace after the horrors that you have all been forced to endure. It did not matter if he demanded one maiden or a thousand, they would spare as many women that he demanded. Even if it meant finding shelter under the punishing hand that caused all of their pain.

But it still does not explain why he had accepted a sacrifice after so many years of silence and refusal. After turning his nose up at every attempt to reconcile and give an offering he makes his presence known now. But what had changed? Why you? Surely the god that presides over dreams and walks amongst the subconscious must know that you are no longer a chaste woman. A tainted old maid is what they would whisper about you. There was no sense to any of this.

"But why me?" And the fragile strings of jewelry draped around your neck clink against each other, but it is an annoying sound that has your nails digging into the rich tapestried cushions. It is the one to your left that speaks now. Her voice is deceptively soft, bubbling like a gentle stream. "We do not question the Endless. " She responds. And although her voice is much more welcoming than her sister's her words are just as indifferent. " You will be our salvation. Our forgiveness. You will save us. "

Any bit of protest had died in your throat before you could get them out. You focused on the festivities instead, watching the people chant and sing old songs. And dancers leapt around the fire, dressed in furs and leather and colorful fabrics to mimic figures from folklore and the very monsters that had massacred your village for years. Wearing masks fashioned from old hides and animal pelts, brandishing the horns taken from cattle and deer. They playfully leapt at the crowd that encircled the fire as though they were going to swipe. And some had constructed costumes to imitate the dark plumage of the raven, one of his coveted animals.

This was twisted. A mockery of suffering and pain. Pissing on the memory of the people who had fallen victim to the dream god and his nightmares.

How could they all forget so easily?

You could feel the sting of anger simmering within your chest, prickling at your fingertips. It made it difficult to breath around the weight of it all. You continue to watch them all despite the rage and sorrow that it induces. The horrible way they galivant around and clap and cheer. It's disgusting and awful. Even the children. The poor children participate, lunging at the false monsters with wooden swords and some are dressed as the dark creatures themselves.

To get some sort of reprieve you looked to the night sky, staring up at the full moon as though its goddess would hear your silent plea and save you from your fate. Whisking you from this starving mob and your doomed fate to her hidden island to frolic with the nymphs free from your crude duty. But the glowing deity did not appear, and you were left to stare at the lonely dark void of the night while the stars winked and fluttered as though their light might dim and die. It was foolish to believe that the goddess of virtue would appear for a woman like you.

But then you could feel it. A magnetic pull that tilted your head from its upturned position, and your eyes lower onto something gleaming with a pale light. Two shimmering pieces, shinning much like the moon hanging above. It is a pair of eyes you come to quickly discern. Reflecting the bright glow of the pyre in a way that is decidedly not human. Those are the eyes of a beast: An owls may do that, or a wolf's or a cat. Not a human. But the face that they belong to is very much a man's.

It is difficult to make out the features of his face past the way that the heat of the open flames warp the surrounding atmosphere and the smoke twists and coils into the open air like deadly serpents. But you can comprehend the sharp jut of high cheek bones and pale milky skin almost as though he was cut from a fine marble. His expression is not a joyous one or celebratory like the other villagers, instead it is stoic and serious. The intensity of his glare has you pinned in place. It is you; you realize. He's staring at you.

The world suddenly feels weightless, like you're suspended in a vacuum. You had heard a story from an old hunter once. One who had miraculously survived a lightning strike and he had been shunned by many of the others for his scars. After all he must have done something to warrant the strike. He must have scorned the Lord of the Sky himself. But you had spoken to him regardless and he had told you that he had felt it before it had hit him, even though it was only for but a second. His hair had stood on end and his skin had tingled strangely before his body was flooded with a numbing white-hot heat. And you could feel that sensation prickling over you now, like the whisper of a thousand fingertips brushing you all over. It made you shiver, and you adjusted yourself in your seat in an attempt to banish the feeling, but it never faded. If anything, the steady pulses persisted and seemed to thrum with even more intensity nearly making you gasp aloud. You wanted to look away from the strange man, but you could not seem to will yourself to turn your gaze from him, and some strange part of you did not want to. He was gorgeous in a haunting sort of way, but you could not figure out why. There was an unearthly quality to his countenance, like he was he was not a man but wearing the face of one.

It was then you noticed the color of his robes. Black. But that was not right. No one else was allowed to sport the Endless' color, no one else apart from the head priestess was allowed to wear his color, as a way to display her connection and loyalty. It was considered an extreme offence for any other person to bear a cloth in his shade. A punishable offence that would often result in public ridicule and the removal of the criminal's dominant hand. Some have even claimed that the accused may be haunted from night terrors for the crime until the passing of their natural human life. So who would be bold enough to flaunt around in public in such dark robes?

He must be a foolish man. Or at least an arrogant one. And as though he could hear your thoughts the corner of his mouth quirks in just the faintest hint of a smile. So delicate that it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But you could see it in his otherworldly eyes too. It looked as though that it did not suit him, but he also wore the expression beautifully. It was an odd juxtaposition, and you did not know what to make of it. He looks like no one you had never seen before but is also painfully familiar, like an old memory.

Oddly enough no one else seems to notice his presence at all. A phenomenon that could be blamed on the alcohol and high spirits but what couldn't be wrote away by reason was the way that a drunk seemed to stumble through the strange man, causing him to vanish like a plume of smoke and the pale shimmer of his eyes was the last to fade, piercing some buried part of you before disappearing entirely and with it something clicks into place.

The sensation that had spilled over you leaves with him, releasing you from its hold and allowing you take a deep breath that you had not known you needed. That awful wonderful stare. . . Could that have truly been the nightmare masquerading as a man? They have been known to do such a thing before. Using the guises of people and loved ones to lure vulnerable victims out for slaughter. Then another thought trickles down to the forefront and it has a cold shiver skipping down the notches of your spine. What if it had been the nightmare king himself? Come to see you, his intended bride?

Surely you were hallucinating. It has never been mentioned before that the deity has ever made appearances before the ritual. None of the other past offerings have spoken of it. If it has happened, then none have ever cared to mention it.

It had a troubled sinking feeling plummeting in your gut and it stayed with you throughout the night until the priestesses had collected you from your place and ushered you back to your temporary quarters where the servants prepared you for sleep. Insisting that you bathe, pouring luxuries oils into the steaming water and combing your hair before bed. They fret about like ghost. Silent and always moving so they are often little more than glimpses in your peripheral vision. They hardly speak. Only enough to offer commands that are loosely guised as suggestions or to whisper softly amongst themselves.

They do not like you; you could easily tell. If the unabashed away that they gossip quietly while in your presence is any indication. But one of the women in particular does nothing to hide her distaste. Watching you with scorn in her eyes and a scowl on her lips. Neither of you had made any efforts to verbally communicate your hatred for the other, instead opting to passive aggressively telegraph the fact with petty gestures. Such as when she had decided to harshly pick through your hair while preparing you for the first feast. Clawing at your scalp with the teeth of the comb harshly enough to sting and throb for the entire night. The apology that she had given you was pathetically fake, contempt framed around a smile and feigned concern. She did not do it again when you had accidentally spilt hot tea across her hip when she was selecting your jewelry.

But even now you could feel the heat of her glare against the crown of your skull and the grip that she had on your hair was harsher than necessary, but you simply did not have the energy to reprimand the action. Not after being paraded around the feast all night like a prized brood mare, sluggish under the weight of silks and pearls that decorated you.

You feel her leaning over your shoulder before she speaks, the heat of her body irritates your skin and you find yourself tensing and trying to lean from her presence, but she is gripping your hair in a tight grip that keeps you from shifting. "You do not deserve to be touched by a god." She hisses, venom tainting her words.

"Clearly you do not either," you snap just as harshly, gripping the sides of the basin so that you do not twist out of her hold and lash out. The other maids do not so much as glance over at the altercation, simply going on about their duties as though the both of you do not exist. "Or else you would be the one bathing in oils and dining on fruits and wine. " The hold on the back of your scalp goes slack somewhat, allowing you enough leeway to peer over your shoulder and meet the heated gray of her eyes. "How does it feel to know that your god has no desire for you?"

She does not respond even though you can tell that she is actively biting her tongue to hold down her barbed words. It irritated you. The way they all acted as though they truly loved him. It was not affection they felt, but fear. You loathed the lying and the pretending all in the sake of appeasing the horrid god, and yet you could not find the courage to voice your opinions. It was a fruitless endeavor you knew to try and speak to these people. As tortured and hopeless as they were. And as much as you wanted to ridicule them their actions were not unfounded. You had seen firsthand what the Endless was capable of when he was denied of promises. You had watched you own mother be dragged away by venomous claws and terrible simpering fangs. There was no room for argument. At least not a sensical one.

And so, you had remined silent for the remainder of your bath and until the servants had retired for the night, settling underneath the soft linens, but you were unable to relax. Not when you could still feel that man's eyes searing into your skin. Not from the fear of falling danger to the night terrors and horrible dreams, even though you have been quite fortunate, having not experience a single nightmare in quite some time. But that dark figures presence felt like a bad omen. An awful warning for the things to come. What if he sends his demons to come and haunt you and drag you away in the dark? What if he means to punish you? You wrack your brain to try and remember if you could have ever possibly scorned the dark god but come up empty. Granted you have never particularly harbored pleasant feelings towards the deity but not a single soul in the village has since the day that he chose to curse it, tainting it with beasts and painful dreams. Sometimes tormenting the people with dreams so intense and horrid that some have passed away in their sleep, suffering from weak hearts or fragile lungs. Other have been driven mad from the vividness and the persistence of the nightmares to the point that they have lost all sense of self and reality, some noy just taking their own lives but even the lives of others in the midst their distress and agony.

He was a dreadful god whose love was built with conditions and lies. Boasting the promise of prosperity and protection but the only thing you need protection from is him.

An airy coo breaks you from your troubling thoughts, drawing your attention to the corner of the room where a familiar black shape trots out of the shadows, almost as though he had materialized from them.

"What are you doing here you silly thing?" You could not hold in the short disbelieving laugh that escapes you in a huff, affection growing within your chest. You are not even sure how he could have possibly gotten inside the Sisters' commune and found your quarters, especially considering that the trek from your cottage to the village was a decent walk. He must have found an open window or slipped inside when no one was looking. You would not put the feat past him, he always seemed to be skulking about.

You prop yourself up on your elbow to welcome the cat as he leaps onto your mattress, leaning into your hand with the tilt of his head. And you are thankful for the familiarity and the calm that washes over you at the feel of his long fur against your palm. It is a great comfort to have your companion back with again after being away from home for so long. But when your affection became too much, he slipped out from underneath your hold and retreated to the foot of your bed with a petulant flick of his tail, deciding to watch you with the piercing blue of his eyes instead.

"Oh, my dearest apologies, " you jest, pulling your blanket up higher around your shoulder and try not to take it personally as he moves from you. "I did not mean to offend you."

He blinks slowly, a very simple gesture but it always felt like it was done with an air of judgement. But then again, the animal always seemed to carry himself an imperious sort of way, even though he is but a cat, he manages to be rather expressive when he wants to be.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" You ask as though you would get an answer. You hate the thought of him being out so late with the possibility of those dreadful creatures roaming the ground and skies, ready to snatch and gouge with deadly claws. You know that he could fend for himself. He is a feral cat at best, coming and going as he pleases. Often vanishing for concerning periods of time before reappearing at your doorstep as though he had never left at all. But not even the beasts - the regular forest dwelling kind or the godly ones are the only threats that roam the dark. People could be just as awful. You honestly do not how he has managed to survive as long as he has with all the dangers lurking about. It was the same thing that you had wondered about on the first day that you saw him wandering around the tall grass that surrounded your home while you were out tending to your stubborn garden. But the second thought and the most startling was the realization that you were even looking at a cat at all. There had not been a single feline spotted on the village since the morning after the failed ritual all those years ago. All of the cats had but vanished from the island without a trace. Gone as though they had not been here at all, like they had all piled onto a boat and paddled to the mainland or a giant hand had descended from the sky and plucked them from their homes and alleyways. But now there was one there, slinking through the tall grass, a whisp of black against the dead golden reeds.

It had you pausing from your task of searching for an unblemished vegetable that had not been tainted by worm bites or disease (which was proving to be a pointless endeavor) to watch the cat on its little journey. But despite your awe you had noticed the lethargy that seemed to slow its movements considerably. The usual feline grace that the animals typically carry themselves with was replaced by sluggish and jerky movements. The cat was all but stumbling between the tall stalks of grass. And in your worried study of the animal, you noticed a series of angry red slivers peeking through the thickness of his fur along its side. Four angry red wounds that would have been difficult for a human to endure, but for a cat you could not imagine the tole it was taking on its body to remain conscious. Especially through the pain no doubt.

It had been entirely upon reflex to jerk up from your place on the ground, concern overshadowing your tact and making you forget that it may be a feral and undomesticated creature. And your worry did not prove to be unfounded when the cats head swung over in your direction, freezing in its walk to assess you. The both of you held a long exchange of stares and you had wondered if you should try to approach it, but then it had bolted. Lurching forward on wobbly feet and your heart had jumped in your throat, entirely frightened that he would flee to the cover of the forest and succumb to his wounds. But the cat had only made it a few paces before it was crumbling to the dirt and collapses on its side.

You had barged through the gate of your garden leaving it to creak on its hinges while you approached the cat's body, hoping that he had not given into the trauma of the lacerations. But a glance over with your eyes confirmed that it was thankfully still breathing. You had whispered your apologies when you had noticed that he was watching you as well with a tired glassy stare, scooping him up as gently as you could and carrying him into your house to provide as much care as you could.

The cat's body was already making efforts to build scabbing, the thick red having coagulated along the edges of its wounds. But the blood was still flowing too much for your liking, staining the linens that you had folded near the hearth for the animal to rest on. You were going to have to sew. Unfortunately, due to the infertility of the soil and the bad luck with yielding a healthy garden you had little herbs or flowers for medicine. And truthfully you did not know much of cats and which plants and medicines that should be avoided or would help him recover from his ailments, but with no one to confide in you did your best. Making sure to cleanse the slashes with fresh water before you began to stitch. Having no choice but to settle for the needle and thread that you used to make repairs on your clothing.

"I'm afraid you aren't going to like me much after this, but I don't think we have much of a choice. " You had said, as you knelt down on the floor of your kitchen, settling in front of the animal with your thread in one hand and the needle in the other. It had peered at you from the corners of its eyes, too weak to move its head, but you had seen something flashed in its weary gaze that seemed a lot like irritation.

You had tried to be as nimble and delicate as possible, doing to your best to focus past your anxiety to steady the mild quiver of your fingers, especially when they had become slick with blood. You tried to softly sooth the cat as gently as you could muster whenever he would jerk from pain. And thankfully you were finished before you realized, and you wrapped a strip of clean cloth around his middle to keep it clean from dirt and possible infection.

He had laid there for several days, only moving when you had to change his dressings. And in the beginning, he had hardly eaten or drank, and you had feared for the worst. That despite your best-efforts illness had gotten ahold of him and stripped him of his appetite. But on the second day of you trying to persuade him to at least drink it seemed he had grown tired of you tapping your fingertips along the edge of the bowl or the way that you would defeatedly try to spoon-feed him water from the divot of a spoon and had lapped at the water from the edge of his linens before looking up you with a pointed glare. It took even longer to get him to eat, sharing with him pieces of rabbit that you had managed to trap.

And since his presence in your home the beasts outside had been more active than usual, as though they could smell the blood of his wounds and had taken to clawing at your door. And on some nights, you could hear the muffled thump of footsteps skulking along your roof. They had never been so eager before. So persistent. Typically, the thing that mimics was the only one that stayed so close to your home, often screaming throughout the night like an animal. It even cried like a distressed woman or an anguished child. Sometimes it's true voice slips through the glamour. The sound of thousands speaking in unison, of men, women and children. Stolen souls forced to speak through the maw that devoured them whole.

As terrible as it sounds a part of you has grown used to its presence. It had become routine almost, hearing the awful imitations pouring from its mouth from behind your front door. And you have spent many a night underneath the latch that you had made in the floor of your house, sleeping in burrow dug underneath the wooden planks with a dagger clutched to your chest. But when you had the cat in your home the activity seemed to increase, and you had spent every night spent underneath your floor with the cat delicately placed in the corner on his own bundle of blankets where he would lay without moving, too weak to shift or turn.

And they had returned the next night too with the number greater than the last, stalking around the perimeter of your house. Hissing and chortling in the night like a pack of demonic rabid wolves. It had been most cruel when a familiar voice had spoken from the other side of the front door, too distorted and inhuman to truly be your loved one, but similar enough to taunt you. A mockery of your father's voice begging you to let him inside. And even within your room underneath the floorboards you could still hear it. It talked for hours and spoke as both your mother and father until tears were prickling at your lash line and threatened to fall, and you had done what you could to distract yourself. Staring at the floor above you, finding shapes and faces in the patterns and shifting shades of the wood.

It was the first time that the cat had even attempted to seek out any sort of contact. Weakly perking up from his corner and settling on the length of your legs from above your blanket and he had stared up at the floorboards above you with a startling air of intent. The voices crooned out and the rasp of talons scratched along the walls of your house. Then mercifully the voices had stopped. Seemingly all at once a peaceful hush had fallen over the atmosphere and you finally felt as though you could breathe again. The monsters had not returned that night. Or on any other night. It was as though they had vanished entirely which you knew could not be true because you could still find evidence of their existence in the forest while you hunted or washed your linens in the nearby stream.

His health had steadily risen over the next few days. The wounds on his side had healed up nicely and he had quickly grown more restless. And he had taken to occupying himself by investigating you home and snooping around the rooms until one day he had slipped out from the front door when you were not paying attention and vanished into the tall grass. You did not heal him with the intent to keep him. A part of you assuming that he may have had a family eagerly awaiting his arrival somewhere on the island, but you could not lie to yourself that it had been nice to have company even if it was just a cat.

You had not seen him for several weeks after that and a part of you had feared that he may have fallen to one of the beasts in the wood. And the more optimistic side of you had hoped and imagined that he had found his family. Life had returned to its monotony without him at your side and you were once again alone while attending your chores. But there had been some promise, such as the abrupt but not unwelcomed revival of your garden, which had now begun to sprout bits of life again. You had been shocked when you had seen a green hue returning to the withered remains of the mint and thyme and beginnings of a humble pods growing along your fig tree, promising the growth of fruit. And then one day he surprised you with his return, trotting from the golden meadow while you were beating a rug of the dust and grime that it had been collecting and you had smiled and greeted him like an old friend. And he would begin accompanying you as you went about your chores, always sticking by you closely and observing, even if you ventured all the way around the other side of the island to hunt for oysters and scallops, though the harvest you returned with was always slim.

And you tried your best to name the creature, but he would not accept any of them. Not Akakikos or Thales or Arye. They were all promptly ignored when you had even tried to address him as such, and you were met with looks that could only be described as unimpressed. Of course, you could not find it in yourself to blame him. You did agree that none of them seemed to suit him all that much. But you could not call him nothing and so you had aptly christened him as 'Cat' which had been even less enthusiastically received as the others. But he would follow you everywhere despite the displeased looks that he would give you every time you addressed him as so, accompanying you when you washed your laundry in the nearby stream, and when you visit your parents' empty graves (you had never found their bodies) to tell them of your day. But he had especially surprised you whenever he would trot alongside you on your strolls down the shoreline of the ocean. It had shocked you to say the least, when Cat had wadded in the gentle waves after you, unaffected by the way that the water lapped at his paws.

A strange cat indeed.

It struck you suddenly, the realization that you would never see your home again. As empty and cold as it could be. Forced to live on the outskirts as a pariah, assuming that you would fall to your death underneath the claws of a nightmare. Many had perished living so close to the wood, and they surely had no intention of you surviving the forest on your lonesome. But you did and you made your vacant house your own, even with the bad blood-stained memories haunting the walls. You accepted your life alone rather early on and have even learned to love it in all of its solitude and freedoms. But they have once again bent you to their wills, selling you off like a lamb for slaughter to appease a selfish god.

You cannot fight of the stinging lump that has risen and lodged itself in your throat. Not this time. And it burns and pushed up tears that spill down your cheeks and stain the bedding. You could not stop yourself from mourning everything. The loss of your life, the waning humanity of the townspeople, the bloody deaths of your loved ones. You tried to clamp your teeth shut to conceal your sobbing, worried that the guards posted outside of the door may hear you. And even more crippling was the sudden painful awareness that tomorrow was the night of the ritual. You had been ignoring the date, too distressed to acknowledge it. But it was coming. It was coming at there is nothing that you can do to stop it.

There is the brush of something soft against your face, and it is not until your opening your eyes that you realize that you had even squeezed them shut. You look past the blur of your tears to see register two vivid blue irises watching you.

Your heart ached at the sight. Torn between a flicker of affection and your unignorable grief. But you smiled regardless of your tears and stroked his chin with your fingertips. It always surprises you when he chooses to crouch down against your chest, snuggling into your body. He was not always one to seek out affection, often preferring to lie somewhere near by while watching you finish up your routine chores and tasks. His favorite spot was the window seal of your kitchen where he would perch and observe you while you would knead dough or slice the vegetables for stews. But whenever your sleep was fitful, and you would wake with a layer of cold sweat dampening your clammy skin and the anguished cries of your parents still echoing in your ears he would scurry into your bedroom if he was not already there and curl up with you as he is now until you were able to fall sleep once again.

It troubled you to think of how he would fair for himself in your absence. You had been taking care of him for many moons now and you could only hope that in your effort to keep him from starvation that he had not grown to become too dependent of you. You could not bear the thought, that in your attempt to help and offer companionship that you had unwittingly ushered him closer to death. Would he go back to being alone after the Priestesses had sent your soul off to the nightmare god and all, but your lifeless body remained?

Would he once again wonder aimlessly with no one to care for him?

You could only hope that he would find someone else.

"I'm sorry." You whispered into his soft fur and clutched him closer to you and you remained that way until your grip of time had slipped and the only thing that told you that it was still the same night was the darkness that encompassed the room, most of the candles having long since burnt out of their wicks apart from one that was little more than a pinprick of light. Even with the pull of sleep turning your limps into heavy, useless extensions and the weariness burning at your drooping eyes you could not allow yourself to fall unconscious. You were desperate to keep as much time between yourself at the ritual as possible, even though it was a fool's errand of course, as the moon was still drifting along its path in the sky and the sun was still on its way to rise over the horizon. Tomorrow would come regardless of your distress and fate. Time was cruel and it stopped for no one. But still you could not let yourself sleep even with Cat embraced in your arms, and his body thrummed with a rare bout of purring. . . It was loud. Oddly so and you opened your eyes that you were not aware that you had even shut. And when you looked down, Cat was absent from his place against your chest even though he had just been there a second ago.

Worry broke through the exhaustion that sapped your bones and you were up in an instant, sitting up in the bed with the linens pooling around your waist while your gaze roves around the room and it does not pause until it finds a familiar shape in the darkness, watching you from a shaded corner. His eyes reflect the light from the dimming candle, and they bore into you with that pale shimmer. An unsettling chill trickles down your neck and raises the hair at your nape. The gleam of them disturbs some part of you, but you cannot place why. It is a look you recognize but it feels wrong and alien.

Its eyes. There is something wrong with its eyes.

"What are you doing over there?" You ask, and your voice is little more than a whisper, low from sleep and unease. But he does not so much as blink, continuing to stare steadily and the candlelight wobbles on its wick and the cats shadow flickers. It is a strange shadow, much too big for a creature so small.

Then without any warning he shoots up from his place, trotting across the expanse of the floor and slipping from the door that had been left ajar.

Had it always been open? No

You hardly question it before you are scrambling from the bed to take after him, harshly whispering for him to come back as you pick up what little bit remains of the candle to light your way before hesitantly peek your head between the open gap of the threshold and door, scanning the hallway. But there is not a single guard in sight. The hierodules that had been stationed outside of your quarters were absent. Another peculiarity that is brushed aside when you catch the tip of Cat's tail vanishing amongst the heavy shadows that blot out the hallway and you chase after him regardless, shielding the tiny flame with your hand lest it blow out from the hasty speed of your walking.

You are being watched you can tell, and your mind distantly supplies that it must be the murals observing you. The painted eyes of the old priestesses and spirits that adorn the walls in robes and vines made from strokes of scarlet and hunter and cerulean. But you could not let yourself look to their judgmental and buoyant faces.

"Come here!" You hiss lowly through gritted teeth and cast a wary glance across your shoulder to briefly study the black void behind you, hoping that there is nothing lurking within it.

And you walk for what felt like forever, chasing after the cats wavering tail that turns around twisting halls that do not seem to end, never catching up no matter how quickly you shift your pace. And it is not until you come across another bend in the corridor that the suffocating walls finally seem to open up into a massive room of dust and stones, and the light from the candle casts a glow across the space that was much too abundant considering the modest size of the flame. But he is nowhere to be seen, almost as though he has vanished from thin air.

The air is damp here, clinging to your skin like the spray of the ocean's waves but much less pleasant. It is much more akin to the sweat that covers you when under the influence of a sickness, you decide. And the aged earthy aroma that permeates the air is even more troubling. Musty and cloying like rancid grapes. It has your nose wrinkling, and you suppress the urge to gag while you investigate the room. It takes a moment for you to make sense of what you are seeing, making out the details of the great room from underneath the oily yellow glow of the candlelight.

There are large rectangular divots that had been crudely chiseled or dug into the stone near the base of the floor and the many burrows line above each other and descend up along the wall and towards the high tenebrous ceiling. But nestled delicately within each one is some sort of lump, gently wrapped in a rich red clothe.

That nasty sense of unease washed over you again, prickling at your skin and your heart skips a beat at the sudden burst of fear. But there is curiosity too. It emerges from the recesses of your mind and seems to take a hold of your body, nudging you towards one of the burrows, and with each step you forget why you are even here. The search for your wayward cat completely discarded. Your focus is completely arrested one the form hidden underneath the vibrant silks, and that apprehensive part of you dislike how large the hidden shape seems.

You mouth has gone dry and your tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of your mouth and a part of you wonders if you would be able scream should you need to. You feel helplessly trapped within your body, like a reluctant passenger, once again forced to be paraded around in a vessel that you did not want to sit upon. And all you could do was watch and feel as your shaky had rose over the red silhouette. You felt the silk underneath your fingertips, too soft and too smooth. Like water. Like blood. And your mind ceaselessly chants no, no, no even as your body refuses to yield to its commands and your fingers pinch the cloth in a hold and pull it back from the shape. And the blood in your veins seems to freeze despite the way that it races, and the pit of your stomach drops like a stone.

You want to look away, but your head is locked in place and every muscle has coiled inside of your body tightly. You are paralyzed and pinned where you stand, forced to stare down at the gaunt remains. The sunken eyes and withered, leathered skin pulled taught around its bones like the skeleton is trying to break free from its own body. And brittle hairs still collect around the skull, that once probably shimmered yellow like the rays of the sun but was no lackluster and dry, frayed in its braids. Pinned in place underneath the wring of a ceremonial crown. Vine leaves and olive branches that is embellished with the bright blossoms of poppies. The crown you would be forced to wear tomorrow to symbolize your union with the Endless.

A shaky exhale rattles out, a dry rasping sound that you would have easily blamed on yourself and the fear squeezing your body in a harsh grip if not for the way that you see the mummified bride's chest quiver unsteadily. She is still alive with her body forced into some sort of permanent sleep. You cannot help but wonder how long she has been held captive here. A hostage in this awful, animated state. And all of these other shapes swaddled in red silks are other sacrifices. And they too are all still awake you realize once you hear the dry whispers of their breath echo across the chamber.

You want to scream. You can feel it rising and clawing at your throat, but it never escapes, balling up harshly in your chest and just sitting there. But whatever spell had been casted over you finally slips and you stumble back from the burrow and the mummified bride, and your knees shake and give, and you fall onto the chilled floor, dropping the tiny candlestick on your decent. Your knees scrape the rough granite, erupting with streaks of red but you can't be bothered to care, too focused on crawling away from the looming walls, towards the center of the room while your eyes search from the entrance, but it is nowhere to be found. You spin on your knees ignoring the sting, expecting to find the threshold, but all you see are the cold painted walls, adorned with stars and poppy fields and strange beasts with wings and horns and some have the faces of men and the bodies of beasts. But even worse are the open tombs carved into the walls, and they suddenly seem like gapping, hungry mouths and the red silks that adorn the bodies seem more like lashing tongues.

The candle flickers unsteadily, melted wax pouring around the weak flame, threatening to drown it and douse you in darkness. You make to crawl towards it before it before it can be snuffed out, but your stopped short by a pair of gleaming eyes watching you. The dark fur tells you who it is but your gut lurches at the sight of the cat. And some buried instinct tells you that something is not right.

The eyes you realize, are tinged with a faint scarlet around the edges, staining the pale silver glow. And it was wrong. That was not the right color. This was not your cat. How did you not notice before?

It was an imposter. The face too narrow, its shadow too big. Too sharp.

Your heart flutters like a startled bird and your breath seizes in your lungs when the red silks bound around the brides starts to drip and flow down from the stones like liquid. Blood. Their garb has shifted into blood and is pouring and merging into a massive pool around the edge of the wall and it steadily grows.

The brides labored breathing whistles across the air, raising in volume until it hurts, harshly grating in your ears in a shrill pitch. And the sound mutates into a chorus of screams that you swear you can feel dragging over your skin like claws. You cover your ears with your hands to muffle the impact of the tortured shrieking, but it offers you no solace from the pain. And all the while the cat - the thing - stares at you from its place on the bloody floor, stained by the very red that is closing in on you from all corners, but you cannot find it in yourself to look past the agony to find strength and collect yourself from the cold granite.

The red pours around the remaining bit of the candle and the small flame at the end of the wick hisses and sputters at the liquids touch. The light emitting from it dims considerably, threatening to enclose the catacomb in a void. And the cats shadow seems to expand underneath the waning fire, stretching in a jagged way that looks like arms trying to tear free from cloth or skin.

And the cat - a mere extension of the true monster - steps forward while its eyes burn brighter. And the blood is upon you, threatening to touch you. Nausea churns in your stomach and all of the muscles in your body draw taught. You are forced to watch as the creature grows closer, and all you can do is try your best to prepare to fight it, as pathetic as your odds no doubt are. And the brides screaming warbles and shifts into a painful mocking laughter as though they could sense your thoughts. And it makes you feel like an animal caught in a cage. A bird pinned between jagged teeth and the jaws are closing in. The walls and shadows move in closer and their joyous howling and giggling rises in a crescendo, celebrating your anticipated death. You brace as best as you can, balling your hands into fists so tightly that your nails break the skin, watching as the monstrous shadow builds up and prepares to lash out with obsidian talons.

But the killing blow never comes. Instead, a pair of steady arms wrap around your body, encasing you against the comfort of a chest. And a rush of scents washed over you with its presence, and you struggle to place what it reminds you of. The musk of the soil after fresh rain, the salt of the sea, a calm breeze on a summer night; light and floral and earthy, but those descriptions also do no service to the fragrance that engulfs you. And with it something magnetic dances across your skin and it steals your breath away and your body threatens to melt against theirs.

Your mind can hardly catch up with what you are seeing. The bloody floor of the burial chamber dematerializes from underneath you, but you do not fall but your body tenses in preparation regardless. The walls shake with a tremendous groan, splitting under the seize and giving under spills of sand and the murals bleed with the fractures. And the air is electric with something heavy and alive and angry, and it courses across your skin and siphons the air from your lungs from the gravity of it. Even the beast made from shadows lurches back as if it was struck and hisses underneath the heat of the rage permeating the atmosphere, clawing against the wall that was rapidly disintegrating and losing tangibility. And the beast screams along with the brides as they vanish from existence. One final baleful cry that rattles your bones and shudders over you before it drowns out completely and with it the catacomb all but vanishes and instead of the blood-soaked stones you are looking down at the expanse of the night sky with stars spread out underneath your feet.

You brain fails to register that you appear to be hovering over a cluster of distant galaxies and you are left to stare down dumbly at the dark mass of the sky, taking in the stretch of the rich splashes of blues and stellar remnants and stardust gathered like clusters of diamonds and the scale of it nearly makes you forget about the press of someone's body along your back. Their arms around your waist in a tight hold, but there is also a sort of reluctance in their grip made known by the rigidity from the muscles of their arms and the narrow gap left between your bodies. But even between the space you can feel the low heat of them radiating against you. A part of you wanted to look over your shoulder, to discover the face of your savior but some pull in your gut warned you not. That you would not like what you would see. And so, you keep still underneath their embrace, staring off into the quiet breadth of the cosmos where comets drop across the darkness like crystalline tears. Seconds pass without either of you moving, as still as statues. As though if either of you so much as breathed the delicate emanation that cocooned the both of you would shatter. But despite your hesitation there was a prickle of curiosity tugging at you, and you could not deny the pull and you made to slowly turn your head in an attempt to sneak a glance over your shoulder.

You barely manage to twitch a muscle of movement before they seem to shed their initial diffidence and nestle their face near the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tip of their nose brush against your ear like they mean to hide their identity from you. Their chest expands against the flat of your back, and it takes a moment for your overstimulated brain to realize that they are drawing in a breath, taking your scent into their lungs and holding it there like its oxygen. For some reason it sends of thrum of heat over your body, and combined with the steady, pulsating hum of otherworldly power that courses through the air, it makes you feel as though you may collapse. That you might come apart and burst into flames. There is no chill of fear and disgust does not rise in your stomach like nausea instead their presence feels welcomed. And despite the foreign sensation of their touch, there is also a sense of familiarity to it. Like finally falling into the arms of an old lover.

They move their head from your by just a few scant inches, and a strange part of you mourns the loss. You wished that the hover of their lips would land on your skin, but they do not. The circle of their arms seems to press you in closer, like they cannot bear even the possibility of you parting.

For a moment the cosmos seems to halt, the intersperse collection of individual galaxies and stars pausing in their rotations and the night holds its breath and so do you. Then a sound purrs out, a heavy baritone that pours across the silence of the universe and fills you with honey and warmth. A deep, smoky cadence that you can feel curling inside the cavern of your chest and running deep across your bones and the nerves and sinew of your entire being.

"This dream is over."

You wake with a start. Sucking air into your lungs with a strained gasp while your hands reach around the bedding in a mindless scramble, struggling to orient yourself, but eventually you are able to at least prop your body up on shaky arms. Your eyes rove across your surroundings, no longer taking in the breathless view of stardust and nebulas but the dull clay walls of your vacant quarters and apart from yourself the bed is empty. A quick press of your hand against the stuffed mattress confirms that Cat - you're Cat had been there at some point in the night, the heat still trapped within the fabric from where he sat next to you. And you had shakily removed from yourself from the bed and searched the room for him. You had even approached the door, pressing your head against the wood and contemplated opening it but you could hear one of the guards shuffling behind it, trying to find some reprieve for their aching feet. And so, you returned to the bed with that dark voice still echoing in your ears. You could not sleep. Not even if you wanted. Not with that shadowed creature lurking and that familiar stranger invading your mind. The Nightmare Ruler, your brain supplied without forgiveness, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

And you lay there for hours, now awaiting the sunrise despite the threat that it posed, clinging to your own body with shaking arms as you stare into the darkness, waiting to find something looking back. But soon the maids are pouring into your room and scattering around the foot of your bed, and they must have noticed the panic on your face as a hint of curiosity bleeds through their blase expressions, apart from that single one who always seems to be plotting your demise.

"Is something the matter? You look troubled." And even in your tired haze you know that it is the voice of the one who openly dislikes you. The one with the sable hair and venomous words. Euthymia, you had learned her name to be. She makes no effort to hide the delight in her tone and in turn you do not even try to school the scowl that takes over your features, pinning her with an open glower, but it does nothing to extinguish the joyful gleam in her eyes. The other servants are ushering you out of bed, already cooing and gushing over the prospect of preparing you for the day ahead and you suddenly feel as though you have been tossed into a lake of ice. The five-day long celebration is coming to a close. The ritual is tonight.

They ignore your distress, urging you to shed your slip and climb into the bath full of steaming water and oils to prepare you for the ritual. And they had patted you dry when you had gotten out of the tub so that they could dap at your skin with lotions and perfumes. Running marjoram in your hair and something faintly sweet but heady and spicy beneath your jaw. Even spreading fragrances across your inner thighs and palm oil around your breasts. It had an embarrassed heat prickling across your face, and you nearly scoffed at their presumptuousness. And then they were guiding you to kneel on the cushions placed before the large, polished bit of bronze propped along the wall, using the reflection so that you may observe the process as they worked. You were in a fog as they combed your hair and set it and pinned it in a way that they deemed worthy, but you cannot stop thinking of that velvet timber and the feeling of being watched by concealed eyes prickles along your body. And you try to ignore the sensation, telling yourself that it is just paranoia.

But you could not dwell on your troubles for long before you had taken notice of the strip of fabric from the corner of your eye. And a better look had confirmed it was indeed that dreadful gown that had been laid out along the cushions. You stared from your peripheral vision and each time your head moved even the slightest degree out of their disliking one of the maids would jerk it back into place, scolding you underneath their breath, but your eyes did not stray from the pieces of clothing once. It would have been a gorgeous thing if not for the horror that is comes with it. A vibrant scarlet and intricate gold and black stitching and embroidery. But you could not marvel over its beauty, instead you eyed it warily as though it was poisonous. And perhaps it was.

It truly disturbed you. That horrid red thing that signaled the final chapter of your life, and you could hear the anguished cries and manic laughter of the brides from your nightmare echoing out from the depths of your mind. You could not suppress the way you shuddered. Was that meant to be your fate? A captive in her own body, suppressed underneath a spell of eternal slumber while her body wasted away in a forgotten tomb? You had heard rumors of what happened to the nightmare king's brides after the ritual. Presumptions truly, fabricated speculation that had no true foundation as the priestesses are very private about the affairs of the ceremony that do not require the presence of the villagers. And the townspeople are typically guided out of the temple after the connection between the Chosen and the Endless has been successfully tethered.

Most speculations were good natured enough. Painting the role of becoming one of the Dream King's brides in a lavish light. Something to be envious of, with many saying that to be one of his Chosen was to spend eternity of nights in endless pleasure, with the world at your fingertips.

But there had been other more sinister whispers, idle gossip that the unconscious brides were taken to a subterranean set of tunnels built underneath the temple. Dug to house the women as they slept on, not killed so as not to sever the link between them and the dream god but kept animated and sleeping within the icy tombs of the catacombs. Kept that way so that the deity could torment them in the halls of kingdom for all eternity. Feasting on their souls and flesh. But many refuse to believe the rumor, even your own father had rebutted the very possibility, as he was a firm believer that the Chosen were simply killed off after the ritual and their bodies were burned so that the ashes could be released upon the winds and lifted to the gods along with the plume incents and smoldering herbs.

But neither option fared well for you.

"You had seemed quite distressed when we came in. Did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Euthymia asks, voice sickly sweet with false sincerity. "How strange that the Dream King would allow his Chosen to be harassed by his spirits." And she pats the juice of crushed mulberries onto the rise of your cheeks to add color to your skin, but the push of her fingertips was much too harsh. You were tempted to lunge at her but restrained yourself.

"Not at all. In fact, I had a rather pleasant dream. " You reply cooly, not allowing her to see you shaken and you tilt your head, pretending to admire the way that they had dressed your hair and decorated it with flowers and pieces of jewels. " It was a rather pleasurable one."

"Pleasurable?" Comes her nonplussed response and her hand pauses, simply hovering.

"Oh, yes." You speak lowly, like you are sharing a scandalous story, and your tone is all smooth and honeyed. " It was not a nightmare that visited me, but the Dream King himself. " And you cannot help but internally gloat at the way that some part of her seems to waver, visibly deflating underneath your lie. " He had crawled between my thighs you see and ravished me with his tongue in ways that no mortal man ever could." Even the other ladies had halted in their routine, stopping to listen to your hastily spun fib. And you casted your gaze downward to your hands demurely, like you were shy or embarrassed that you had lost your manners. Scandalized, the other maids had bent towards each other and exchange giggling whispers, but Euthymia was less than enthused. And for the remainder of your time together she had been tightlipped and scowling, and you were surprised that a storm cloud had not been following her every move with how bothered she seemed to be.

But you could not deny that she made a good point. Why had you suffered from a nightmare at all? It had been sometime since you had. You could hardly recall when it had been last. Perhaps you truly had done something to anger the god. But that had been him, had it not? The one who had come to your aid and taken you in his arms and spoke to you with that smoky cadence. It must have been if the way that he had ended your dream so easily was any indication. And that primordial vibration that had surrounded you both; it was the same that you had felt at the pyre when that strange man was watching.

And perhaps tonight you would get the answers that you seek, but then you might not want them.

The rest of the day pours in a distorted stream, and you hardly register slipping into you into that disturbing red garb and you barely notice when the priestesses and temple guards arrive to collect you from the maids and guide you to the dinning haul of the commune where you are assisted down to the sunken floor in the center of the room as some sort of center piece, once again forcing you to sit underneath the eyes of hundreds. You feel exposed, as though you were not wearing clothes at all. Stripped for them to criticize and leer at. You were sure that every person in the village was here to enjoy the banquet. Even the servants were allotted freedom from their duties for the final night of the ritual and were free do dine alongside their masters as equals.

And once again they had provided you with the best meats and fruits and wine available. The finest of the bounty collected over the farms and orchards for you to gorge yourself on like a swine before its slaughter and because of that you could not bring yourself to eat despite the hollow pit in your gut that begged you to do so. And you could feel the Priestesses dozen eyes boring into from their place from above, no doubt taking your refusal to eat as not just an insult to themselves but to their god as well. Good.

But the townspeople did not seem to care, laughing freely and enjoying the festivities without pause and you had been forced to sit as time waned and the sun drifted closer and closer towards the edge of the earth, no matter how much you wished and willed for it not to. And once the townspeople had finished indulging on mead and wine and satiated their hunger, the shrine had collected you once more to climb upon the palanquin that awaited outside, surrounded by servants who prepared to march you across the town from the strength of their shoulders to the Temple of Morpheus where death awaited you. You had tried to struggle against the shackles of the hierodules hands that had seized your arms and shoulders like bands of steel. But you could not shake yourself from their grip and they were mercilessly placing you upon the extravagant cushions of the human-powered vehicle to be suspended high in the air.

And the townspeople congregated around you as you were carried from the walls of the commune and into the streets, lighting the way with burning torches. And many people had once again adorned themselves in the beastly costumes and danced and cavorted around the palanquin and through the crowd. The Sisters' lead the collective. And you had noticed in the head priestesses' hands, she cradled an obsidian bowl covered by a lid decorated by strokes of gold. A harmless item that on its own would have done nothing to inspire fear in you, but you had heard hushed conversation of its contents before. Some sort of vapor that smoldered from the extract of the poppy flower, and it would serve to tether you to the gods. Or in this occasion one god in particular.

And once again blossoms and seeds were being tossed over the procession in a celebratory display. In the hands of men and women and children alike people carried votive offerings for the Endless, such as figurines of animals and carvings of a humanoid figure. And in the cavalcade, musicians were present, playing from a kithara and an aulos, and a lyra. But even over the cheering and commotion and music you could hear a soft repetitive ruffle along the low breeze. You had jerked your head up to search the sky, nearly straining a muscle in the process but the pain had faded into the background at the sight of a dark bird coasting along the current. And a faint iridescent sheen had gleamed on its feathers from underneath the dimming sunlight and the Priestesses - and in turn the crowd had all rejoiced at the bird's appearance, as it no doubt heralded good fortune.

But you did not share their positive reactions. You heard all the stories, that the ravens were the dark god's familiars, serving as his eyes and ears when he himself could not be present. Your anxiety had not time to settle no matter how much you tried to swallow it down and the presence of the circling bird did nothing to quell the bubbling fear in your gut and bones.

And soon the procession ventured from the village and the pale marble of the temple seemed to rise from the hill behind the security of its protective wall. It was the only building that had been spared in the initial siege from the Oneiroi when the Nightmare King had abandoned the village in his scorn. It is just the same as when you had last saw it as a child. The ghostly white columns that reminded you of the remains of a skeleton, and the sculpted pediment that depicted beastly creatures in various poses; lashing out and snarling while some seemed to be frozen in the motion of dance. But in the center was a more human figure. No doubt the Endless himself. And the scene was painted in blues and black, with hints of red and gold embellishments.

And the closer you got to the temple the more your anxiety climbed, until you trembled where you sat, staring into the vacant eyes of the god's sculptured image. And even those they were not real they seemed to bore into you and flay you open until all of your emotions and shaky breaths poured out. Even the sheer fabric of your veil did little to lessen the feeling.

It was not until you felt hands circling the shape of your arms that you came to and were able to discern that you had been lowered to the ground of the courtyard and were being pulled from your knees, and you were wordlessly guided up the temple. But you did not feel the stairs underneath your feet and the music and laughter sounded as though it were coming from miles away, carried in on a foreign wind. And even when you stepped upon the landing and two of the sisters spun you around to face the crowd down below that had not felt real either. It was like looking at a tapestry of faded figures and blurred colors.

Then the head priestess stepped in front of you in a flash of black, blotting out your vision of the crowd like the moon obstructing the sun in an eclipse, but you were thankful for it. Then her voice broke out in a shrill bellow, the passion expelling from her cracking it around the edges. " Tonight marks the emergence of our return to grace and glory from underneath the compassion of our god! " She cried and the crowd cried along with her, waving their torches animatedly to show their elation. " No longer will we be shunned by His Sovereignty for we have been given a chance to correct a wrong that should never have happened! To bow our heads in humble plea and return to him which was stolen all those years ago!"

It made you nauseous the way they spoke of you. As though you were some frivolous token to be bartered. How they did not see you or any of the women before you as human beings with lives and wants and futures but as a cow to be slaughtered. A coin to be exchanged for lavish fabrics and abundant crops. And you could feel the stinging heat of anger filling your chest and pushing out heavy breaths from your lungs. But when the Head Priestess had shifted and moved from out of your vision it left you to make eye contact with the cheering masses; her voice had faded into a low, distant drone. And inside their crazed sort of jubilation, you could see every other emotion that you had felt since the Endless had descended his hoard upon the village in incessant torment: Loss, pain, fear, hunger, sorrow, confusion.

Many lives have been lost since the day that he had seemed you all unworthy of his gratitude and sanctuary. He had turned the land barren and dry and the animals that had once flourished here have all been culled by his nightmares and their numbers have suffered and dwindled greatly. But as much as you sympathized with these people, understood their plight, you did not owe them anything. Certainly not your life. Especially since they had casted you from your home without so much as a backward glance, forcing you live along the forest all because you were not a kept woman.

And in five years' time there would be another there would be another girl here, standing just as you do now, willing or unwilling to bear the collectives sins, to pacify the Endless for the good fortune. It would be a ceaseless loop. History repeating itself one poor soul at a time.

A part of you considered fighting free from the sisters' hold. Of running down the steps and out of the temple grounds without looking back. But even if you happened to make it past the massive crowd of desperate villagers and to the sea, there were no ships, no small rowboats left for fishing. All of the seafaring vessels had been all but demolished by his spirits to keep all of the locals who wronged him trapped on the island to endure the full brunt of his punishment. And even those who have managed to hide the construction boats - avoiding the Ruler of Nightmares many scrutinizing eyes and pushed their watercraft into the dark waves while underneath the shine of the sun, when his influence was claimed to be at its weakest had all disappeared into the heavy wall of fog that surrounds the coast. Only the remains of their boats would float back to shore, sometimes with blood staining the waves.

You truly were left to the fate that these people and their god spared you to.

Then the head priestess was spinning around in a flurry of robes, and you could not evade the fervor of her gaze, could not flee from, still immobilized by her sisters and their rigid hold of their hands. The gleam in her eyes was detached and wild; the darkness of her pupils swelling, eating up the colored rings around their borders until they were nearly gone. It was the expression of someone who could not be reasoned with. Poisoned by power and hope. But you did not waver underneath the weight of her fixed stare.

Then one of the sisters was gripping you by the nape of your neck, the movement unexpected enough to pull a startled cry from your lips. It did not give you time to register the obsidian bowl being lifted to your face, the lid being removed to release plumes of smoke. Even through the veil you could feel the warmth of the vapors caressing the skin of your cheeks. It is all so abrupt that you inhale a large lungful in the midst of your struggle, and the scent of it overwhelms you. Stuffing your mouth and nostrils full of something sweet and floral, tinged with the musk of the earth. It reminds you of flowers, of incents but also not at all. And your lungs are too busy heaving around the unexpected rush of smoke and your mind too confused and scrambled to feel or focus on the world around you, and the Priestesses voice was the last coherent thing to break through the fog: "Do not fight this, my dear. " Her voice crooned. Too sweet, to gentle for her cruelty. "To you we give thanks for your sacrifice for our prosperity."

And in your distress, you tried to think of anything to keep yourself grounded and present. Anything to keep you here in your body, terrified of crossing over and falling into the Nightmare King's gnashing teeth. So you think of your list of chores awaiting you at home; tending to the garden now that life was coming back to the soil, setting more traps in the forest, plucking wild strawberries from the small cluster that you had discovered growing in a small grove, seeing Cat again - the little beast refuses to eat unless you prompt him to (there is no one else to take care of him) - and walking along the beach during the sunrise. Feeling the sand and water underneath your toes and watching the sunlight reflect and dapple the surface. But soon the thoughts were drowning out underneath the impression of the fuzz and haze that blanked your mind. You felt as though your soul was rising from the casing of your body and floating up to the sky above the temple, but you could still feel your knees making contact with the cold marble floors, though the feeling was far off and dull. But there was still anger simmering through your veins. Hurt and betrayal. What were you mad about?

And the world around you is a rush of colors and blurred shapes and muffled sounds. But you do not want to focus on it regardless. You can't when the weightlessness is pulling at your fingertips and threatening to take you away with it (but you can't leave, what about him?) and deposit you among the stars, and the only thing that gives you even a scrap of connection to your own body is the repetitive pulse of your heartbeat coursing in your ears. The floral sugar and salt of the smoke still coats your tongue, and you can feel it in your lungs, heavy and syrupy. And the drag of your relaxed limbs seems to pull you down now instead of up, with the thrum of your heart doing little to center you anymore. But its less of a pulse now and more of pound -an angry crash. That's not right, is it?

You try to blink. To get some scope of reality, but it's difficult to keep your eyes past the blurred sting. Are you crying? No, that is not right either. It is no longer a steady beat, but a deafening layered rumble, muffled but also painfully loud. You can faintly see past the red sheer of your veil glimpses of black and blue streak across your vision, with peeks of flashes of tiny pale dots.

It is all to distorted and airy. Too muddled for your mind to make something tangible but then your body is being tossed by some unforeseen force. A sharp, unrelenting pull that moves your entire being like it weighs nothing and the air is snatched from your lungs, and you choke on something. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct awakens and your body flails, limbs dragging and reaching through the thick atmosphere in attempt to grab ahold of something. Anything to orient yourself and make sense of what is happening to you, but your hands come up empty. Your lungs twitch, trying to draw in a breath but instead they burn, and the sting is so potent that it licks a trail up your throat and the pungent taste of salt blankets you tongue.

Water, some faint thought breaches the cotton that stuffs your skull. You're in water.

And your body moves on its own, arms and legs kicking to propel in what you hope is the direction of the surface. In a glance upward you notice the distorted expanse of what must be the waves, and through the commotion above you see that glimpse of those burning pinpricks of light again and with no other alternative, fueled by an animalistic sort of fear you swim towards it. You can only hope that you make it up in time, with your lungs aching and burning like smoldering embers within your chest. You can already feel your limbs growing sluggish from the lack of oxygen and the heavy tow of your ceremonial robes, but you try your best to keep moving, dragging yourself forward with weak arms and legs. But death still hangs heavy in the back of your mind. And for the second time tonight you're terrified that this may be your final moments, with your legs flailing uselessly and the darkness clouding at the base of your senses like a layer of winter ice. It makes it difficult, but it is sheer instinct and panic and hope that burns at your muscles, reviving them of their vigor and pressing you onwards.

It is your hands that break through the surf first, quickly followed by your head and you could have sobbed with relief if you were not busy trying not to remain afloat and actively choking on the water in your throat. And you push yourself forward, even as the waves toss you in their angry roll against the shore. But blessedly under the current that threatens to drag you under and drown you it also serves to propel you forward towards the beach, jostling your body with their great power and you feel like a child's toy that had been lost over the side of a boat. It is on the pale crest of an angry wave that you meet the shore, being carelessly discarded on the sand and the rush of water pelts across your back, soaking you one final time before retreating back into the ocean behind you.

You gather as much as strength as you have left to prop yourself up on your hands and knees, carrying yourself across the beach with wobbling limbs while your abdomen and chest shiver and heave in a violent fit. The muscles of your body squeezing you tightly to expel the sea water from your lungs in a shaky grip that has you gasping and wheezing. And even though your lungs sting like a raw wound as you suck in a ragged inhale, the dim feel of oxygen filling your lungs is wonderful, like a healing ointment smoothed over a fresh burn. You allow yourself to collapse onto your stomach once you escape the reach of the sea, but it is difficult to see, to hear and even still hard to breathe with the thin fabric of your veil clinging to the shape of your face from the weight of the water pulling the material down, pressing it against the divots of your nostrils nearly waterboarding you with each breath.

You blindly yank at the veil, tearing it and your Stefana from your head with an angry huff, carelessly tossing it. You do not see where it falls but you can hear it land with an unattractive wet plap. You blink freely now able to take in your surroundings now that, that cursed thing is no longer tainting your vision. You deduce quickly that you are on a beach. Obviously. But it does not appear to be the one that you often find yourself strolling down on your free time, fantasizing about distant lands or the Isles of the Blessed, or the islands where the sirens live and lure sailors to their deaths. The sand was far too pale. Too soft. And when you moved it seemed to glitter like snow underneath sunlight. But it was a glance upward that confirmed your awful reality. The sky above was not yours. The scattering of stars not sparing enough and the expanse of it was not simply a dark backdrop but splashed with vibrant rich nebulas of azure and silver and pale golds against the black velvet of space. The stardust seemed to shift as though the heavens were a living breathing thing. And the constellations above you are unrecognizable. There is no Orion, lunging forward to strike or brace against the blow of a foe, and the scattered knot of the Pleiades is absent from the sky.

Your heart sinks to the base of your gut and a heated rock seems to lodge itself in your throat, rising with the threat of tears all from the bruising reality that you are no longer home. Not just the island, or your house, but the entire plain of your existence. Plucked from everything you have ever known by the hands of your people to appease a monster. Heartlessly thrown into the deity's domain. Forgotten and used.

You remembered the tales told by your mother and the words that had been passed down from priestess to priestess across the centuries that spoke of the Nightmare Ruler's world: The Dreaming, it was called. The place that served as the cradle of the universe's collective unconsciousness, housing the minds a mortal, beast and god alike while they slept. An extension of the Endless himself. The entire realm was a dream in its own right. That means that you must be able to wake from it. Perhaps you could will yourself awake if you concentrated enough. You have been never much of a lucid dreamer. Only able to do small feats of altering landscapes or changing the color of your dress. You had never been aware enough to wake yourself. But maybe here in the Dreaming you would be able to conjuror some sort of exit.

You centered your attention down to a single thought: Waking up. Of feeling the drag of consciousness slipping back into your physical body and opening your eyes. And you pushed that thought until your body responded with the ferocity of it, your muscles tensing under the strain of it, and you are left gasping, the same as you had when you crawled ashore. You think of your body, still and induced in that horrific stasis, being purified underneath the smoke of incense and wrapped in the red silk and voile fabric by the Priestesses to be carried and stuffed down in the catacombs like a forgotten relic. You thought of waking suddenly. Of tearing yourself from the cloth and fleeing home and dropping to your knees to burry your fingers in the soil there and crying with the relief that would swell within your chest and blossom with the joy of being home.

And you had found that in your desperation you had actually crumbled to your knees, but you did not feel the gentle earth beneath your hands but sand.

You take to pinching at your arm in a pathetic attempt to try and escape the Dreaming, twisting the flesh between your fingertips until it stung but to no avail.

And a low, heavy wind rumbled across the beach, howling over the waves and the field of crimson blossoms and golden wheat, punctuating the silence and the loneliness that hung over you like the aftermath of a tempest. Defeat weighed down your shoulders as you watched the thrashing ocean with a sense of detachedness. Then something in the air seemed to shift, pulsing with something alive. That distantly familiar alien thrum and you could feel it against your skin; a magnetic pressure that reminded you of a brief night in the cosmos, held in a tight embrace. You did not have to turn to confirm who the presence was. You did not know if you had the strength to. The fear and gravity of the beings pull nearly seized your lungs, and you clenched your hands into fist to bear the feeling of it. And then that velveteen rasp speaks out, moving down your body like a flow of water and smoke and you can feel the hum of it in your bones.

"I had no intention of your arrival being so distressful. Had you not struggled your coming would not have been so violent. " His tone is a placid timbre, but you swear you can detect sympathy - perhaps a sort of regret - tinged into the edges of his words. But it does little to placate you. His detached surprise at your anguish only serves to mutate your sorrow and defeat and it gives way into anger, searing at you like a burning fire that needs something to burn, and chars any remaining pieces of your self-preservation and wit, making you forget that you were in front of deity that has seen eons come and go in its lifetime and was currently holding your mind and possibly your soul hostage. But you did not care. Not now, with your entire life in an upheaval. And even then, you still can't bring yourself to look at it - the source of that primordial electric pulse. To confirm all of your fears, that home was truly out of reach, that you were entirely out of depth and in a plain that you did not belong in. There was a safety in your delusions, your self-imposed ignorance. And so you stared at the angry, rolling waves and pretended that they were your own, not daring to turn yet. "What was your intention? " You inquired, not even bothering to hide the scorn in your broken voice. Not caring of the consequences. " That you'd just steal me away from everything I've ever known, and I'd be content with it?"

"Look at me. "

It is a simple set of words, but the conviction of it beats across the very fabric that binds and creates the Dreaming, rippling over the sand, shifting stars and stirring the already tumulus waves to threatening heights and the power of it runs through your unconsciousness as well, tingling across your body and it commands you to move. An unwelcome reminder of your mortality and the scope of the deity and his domain. You turn slowly, helpless to ignore the order even while you dread looking upon him. Wondering if he would wear the skin of a monster to punish you for your ire. Perhaps contorted limbs and bloody jagged teeth or stretched flesh and the lifeless abysmal gaze of that otherworldly helm.

There is none of that. No cloak made of nightmares or terror. Just a man. But that is not right either.

Regardless of the glamour he had casted this was no man. Ignoring the information as told by the naked eye all of the minute tells became glaringly obvious, such as the way his skin was too soft and free from blemish or flaw, like the statues crafted in his commemoration; the messy tresses of his hair that appeared as though they were spun from the night sky itself and the impossible blue of his eyes that mimicked the shade of a crystalline sea, or perhaps they were a reflection of the very nebulas above you now. He is so beautiful that it is almost cruel. You have to wonder why he chose you specifically. That he has been watching over you since the night at the pyre. Long before that even. That, that same voice had spoken to you during your sleep and commanded you to wake, and once again you are unable to ignore it, standing from your place on the sand.

The brunt of his gaze is too much- scrutinizing. You felt like you were stripped bare. Every nerve, every want or worry or promise that you had ever made was laid out across the shore for him examine. You quailed underneath the breadth of it, the sheer intensity was maddening - that there seemed to be no secret that you could hide from him. The entirety of your mind held within the webbing of his domain for him study and toy with.

"Why do you fear me?" He asked, and you could laugh or cry at the question but neither would do proper service to express the severity of your emotions. The turmoil and confusion. He sounded so sincere. Just as perplexed as you even though his stance was devoid of any body language. Rigid and exact, with an almost clinical posture. But you could see it in his eyes. A small, fleeting glimpse of his own confusion, a slight furrow of an eyebrow, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, erased and blotted out by that aloof expression.

You were not even sure how to respond, and for a moment your mouth hangs open silently while you collect yourself and find your voice: " I - just - all of the death. " You finally answer lamely, trying to swallow around the dryness of your throat. " The slaughter and starvation. The disease. The suffering."

"They broke their promise. " It was said so simply. As though it was enough to justify the atrocities and it made nausea bubble in your gut, and hatred too.

"All because of a woman." You cannot contain the way you scoff, shifting on your feet like you do not know whether to approach him or step away and create more space, your body prickling underneath weight of his aura and his unwavering observation. "You had hundreds slaughtered because you were not given one woman."

"That is the price for bargaining with an Endless and taking back your word." He replied easily. A simple matter of fact for him, like it was a natural law, a part of his nature that should be expected and understood without consequence, that all failures to comply could not be faulted on him. It was just another tough reminder that this was no mortal that you stood before and that he could not be expected to obey or sympathize with the jurisdictions of your human morality.

And there was a shift in his expression, something steely and resolute, and the distance between your bodies seemed to close in even though neither of you had placed a single step until there was only a scant space left between you. " I will do the same for you. "

There was no past tense used. And perhaps under different circumstances you could have seen it as an intimate declaration of love, but it was uttered with a conviction that you could feel and the threat - the promise was hauntingly clear. That he would lay waste to the remaining people of your village if you refused. And although his body remained unmoved, the pressure of his influence hummed and molded against you and robbed you of your breath. It felt like you were standing within the deluge of a summer storm, caught within spires of stardust and the heat of a nova.

"Their crime is no longer yours to bear. " He said calmly - soothingly like he was trying to placate you. " You will not be harmed. "

"Is that really true? " You ask, still full of disbelief and contempt and this time you do venture to take a step back and blessedly he allows you, and you cannot help but be thankful that he does not shift the sands to draw you in closer. "They tell stories of what you do to your tributes once you have them, I'm sure you've heard. That you mold yourself into the likeness of a beast and hunt them, chasing them down the halls of your palace and tearing them limb from limb for eternity: A cycle of death and pain."

And that pale animal gleam from the bonfire burns alight in his eyes and it does little to quell your steady stream of anxiety, but his indignation does not seem to be aimed at you specifically. " Is that truly what you believe?" And there is a gentleness to him, the annoyance receding as though he was more perturbed than angry, and a part of you nearly regrets having told him, but you squash that scrap of emotion before anything can come of it. "That I am some heartless monster than means to torture you for my entertainment."

"Well, what else am I supposed to be led to think?" Surely a being of his scope, of his age and power must realize the severity of his actions. The violence and heartache that has bleed across the island and tainted the soil at his command. The senseless slaughter and starvation, forced to helplessly watch as your loved ones succumbed to it. The horrid, twisted sleepless nights and soiled dreams, and then you can hear it again, that twisted vacant laughter, rushing blood and mutilated shadows. " Especially after you sent your nightmares out to trouble me."

"I promise that I have done no such thing" He assured, but it did little to soothe your frazzled state. " I gave them all specific instruction not to harm you, but they are not without their own free will, and I have delt with it accordingly." He spoke of his creatures as though they were misbehaving children. Simply spoiled and wayward, and not cruel, sadistic beasts. And perhaps he truly did not mean for one of his Oneiroi to haunt you in the night. After all, he did arrive to banish the spirit from your unconsciousness, to wrap his arms around your body in a secure embrace before ending the dream. But regardless of the fact, you could not forgive him.

"I don't care. I want to go home."

"Is that truly what you are clinging to? Those empty cold walls, vacant of family or companionship? Or is it them? The very people that so freely discarded you. Abandoned and out casted you as though you were a leper."

He was right of course. You were already well aware of the fact, but it did not make it sting any less to hear, and the old memories that rose up were less than welcome. A painful reminder that even your own father and mother had rejected you, not physically but the emotional disconnect had been there. A rift had torn between your dynamic like a gaping, festering wound that had never truly healed. They had never looked at you the same, the both of them loathing you for marring the family name and social standing. And the other villagers would all murmur and stare in disdain whenever you had ventured into town to collect fruits or fresh meats at the local market, all because you had slept with a man as an unmarried woman. And your alienation was palpable. But you did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it and caving in.

"No- they didn't-"

"But they did, didn't they?" You could not stand his confidence. How he held his head high with that resolute air of certitude and kingly ego, how the air pulsed over you and tingled at your flesh like a balm. "Leaving you all in alone in that quiet little house, hoping that you'd fall prey to one of my nightmares."

He steps forward crowding into your space with that pale wicked gleam in his eyes and the stars hanging in the sky behind him seem to warp towards his person, as though they were trying to leave their heavenly cradle to follow him. You heart speeds from apprehension surely, but you don't find yourself leaning away from his body or trying to flee. You are stock still, hardly able to spare any pieces of your attention on anything other than him. And then he is lifting a hand to brush against your cheek, featherlight but somehow still reverent in its glide and you can feel the life radiating from it. Ice and heat simultaneously, cosmos and earth.

"I can give you everything you crave. The life you've always dreamed of having." His voice that dark velvet purr, draping around you temptingly. "You will want for nothing." But you are hardly hearing his words anymore too preoccupied with the tender trail of his curled fingers; his knuckles tracing a blaze of warmth down your throat, slipping down dangerously close to the bit of your chest exposed by the low hang of the garment. But his hand pauses in its descent, stopping just a few inches from the valley between your breasts, and you cannot hide the way that your body shivers at the contact, a heat stirring within you. "But it is a decision that must be made of your own accord."

And then he is backing away from you, allowing the atmosphere to clear of its electrical charge and for oxygen fill your lungs, but your body mourns the loss of his touch regardless of your returned breath. And it is then that you are able to realize what he had said, and some bit of hope blossoms, and now it is you who makes after him, following his path as he glides through the field of red and gold.

"Wait? I can go home if choose to?"

"No."

"But you just sai-"

He turns to you so quickly that it is surprising, whipping around in a stream of darkness, and in the distant stars held within the fabric of his chlamys adjust with the movement. "You are a part of the Dreaming now. There is no place for you in the mortal realm - not anymore."

The revelation has the same effect as a pail of ice water being doused over you. Unforgiving, paralyzing. And this time you do not have the ability to respond, far too busy grappling all of the emotions that are clamoring for the forefront.

"Your home is here now. " He insists, lips pursed in a petulant sort of way. " Regardless of if you decide to take your place alongside me, this is where you must stay. Even if you were to leave this instant, time within the Dreaming does not abide by the same laws of your world. You would return to a point not of your own. Lost in a time entirely unfamiliar."

And the chasm that has been threatening to break seems to grow deeper, fissures and cracks breaking at the foundations. And you vehemently want to deny him. To call him out for lying. Surely, he must be, how good can the Nightmare Ruler's word truly be? Is he a being that can possibly be trusted? But if he is correct, telling the complete truth and you were able to return to your realm would you be able to survive it? The sight of your home now years, if not decades old crumpled and dilapidated from the unforgiving pressure of time might break you. He must notice that vulnerability wearing down on you, because something in his gaze softens and you wished that he didn't look like he cared because some horrid part of you - the same one that had preened underneath his touch - is comforted by his attention, left wanting for it even and you are finding it difficult to be revolted or angry anymore. You would like to blame it on remnants of that perfumed smoke being still in your system, but truthfully you have not felt its influence since you had been dunked into the ocean. The brackish water and chaotic waves seeming to have strained it from your system. Or perhaps it had been the Dreaming itself that had done so, assisted with the fact that you may not even be tethered to your body at all anymore, the effects of the smoke too distant to reach your spirit that has drifted too far from its body. Maybe you truly do belong to his realm now. And you wait for that coal of anger to burn again, but it never comes, leaving you feeling hollow and broken. Exhausted even while you stand in a world fashioned from dreams. "I'm just tired . . . " You mourn weakly, watching the reeds and blossoms sway in the soft wind.

"Then let me ease your burden. " His voice is much closer than it had been before, and when you jerk your head up, startled from the proximity of it, the point of your nose nearly brushed against his. You are immediately drawn into the all-consuming center of his gaze, and it feels like you are being held within it, called to the edge of something yawning and consuming, beckoning you to jump and you do not think that you have the strength to pull back from it. And you found that you did not want to.

He has not made any means to move, leaving it to you to close the distance and you do, the hesitation thawing. He tracts you as you draw near, seeming to hold a breath that he did not need, and he appears tense, rigid like he was physically restraining himself with a practiced sort of patience. And it might have frightened you earlier, but the fervor in them does nothing to dissuade you now if anything it only serves to motivate you. Inside those pale irises you see cyan and indigo and sapphire flaring like nebulas drawing you in like a flower leaning towards the sun, and for a moment you swear you caught a glimpse of something else lurking inside of them, a glimmer of his true self perhaps; something vast and entirely beyond you. It felt ancient and ever-expanding, ignited and twisting and looming. And you felt like you were on the horizon of making sense of it and both entirely too far, slipping through your muddled understanding like sand and smoke, scorching like a harsh ice.

It is the whisper of his nose brushing against yours that draws you from your fixation, a delicate sensation but it was blessedly enough to bring you back to the present, assisted by the rich rumble of his voice. "Come back to me. "

"I nearly fell in, " you murmur back. And it was not a lie, you had nearly lost yourself in the paradox and cosmos that created him but it was also said in an attempt to jest. And you succeeded it seemed if the light, barely there rise at the corner of his mouth way any indication. It all feels fragile, unsure but not unwelcome. Like life returning to the earth after a harsh winter, blossoms breaking through sheets of snow, guided by the tender thaw of sunlight.

"May I touch you?" He asks, tilting his head to just barely skim the fulness of his lips against yours, not kissing you but just enough to leave your skin tingling in their wake. It is a simple question, but it is enough to have that burning ache coming alive again, taking root deep in the base of your abdomen and you find yourself nodding. Frustratingly enough he does not move, ever a pillar of restraint and he leans his head back when you tilt to close the distance between you. And you catch the smug air that surround him, and you would have snapped at him if you had the gall to, if you did not want him to just kiss you already.

"Use your words. " That dark honeyed resonance tramples any semblance of a barb that you had even fleetingly entertained. The Dreaming has long since gone quiet, seeming to betray its creator's appearance of undisturbed control with the febrile energy that tangled around the both of you, fueling your own growing need with its charge. And you were unable to withhold the plead that leaves you, a floaty sigh: "Please touch me."

You do not compute him nearing, eliminating the remaining space that divided you to press his lips against your own, suddenly they just are. It is soft, explorative but not without longing. And the sheer need behind it has your knees going weak, and if not for the appearance of an arm around your waist you feared that you might have actually fallen. Your body thrums with a sort of unsuppressed elation, a syrupy heat spreading across your limbs and dripping down your spine, settling between the cradle of your hips from the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for your permission. You thread your finger through the silken tresses of his hair and lightly scratch across his scalp. You can only feel the groan rumbling against your lips when you allow him to lick into your mouth and you immediately decide that you need to actually hear it. You are sure that the sound of that husky timbre breathing out in a rapturous moan will haunt you for the rest of eternity, and you could not wait to hear it.

He cups your face in a single hand, securing your head with the curl of his fingers, allowing him to slant the plush of his mouth against you in an angle that let him to pull you in closer, enfolding you into the warmth of his chest. And the remaining doubt and restraint that had seemed to hold you two back was quickly beginning to melt, giving way to carnal sort of urgency. And already you are left panting, sweeping your hands across any part of him that you can, gripping the watery flow of his robes to center yourself through it all.

You had not felt yourself tipping but your back is now pressed against the textured terrain of the Dreaming, the crushed stalks of reeds and flowers lightly digging at your skin, though it does little to take precedence over your current focus. And he is pulling away from your mouth to duck his head neath your chin, nipping and sucking at the skin there until its tender and you can tell by the way that he tucks your flesh between his teeth and licks that he is leaving marks in his wake, staking his claim upon your body and the mere idea of it has you lowly keening into the night; your body going lax underneath his. All things considered; he has not done much but your brain is already clouding with want, eyes glazing over. And then the heat of his mouth is sealing over your breast, the silk texture of your robe only adding to the pleasure as his tongue circles around your taut nipple. You can't help the way that you arch into it, seeking out more mindlessly but it is not enough. It is does little more than tease you, even with the way that he has draped himself over you he has himself suspended in a way that keeps you from being able to achieve the friction that you desire, stoking that heat inside you with eat nip and suck from his teeth and mouth.

You can hear him chuckling from above you, the vibrations of his low smug amusement tingling across your chest, adding to your pleasure. If you were not so preoccupied with thoughtlessly trying to grind against his abdomen like a whore, you might have snapped at him for it, but instead you are removing your hands from the rich earth to sweep through his unruly hair, holding him against you instead, melting underneath the feel of his tongue.

He does not let you have that for long either, releasing the swell of your breast and ducking from your grip, nuzzling a path down the plain of your abdomen and taking your thighs into the smooth glide of his hands, ignoring your protesting cry as he licks at your stomach from over the barrier of the silk. And once again you find yourself cursing that dreadful fabric, swearing into the night while you squirm in his hands.

"Easy, sweet thing. " He coos, the image of patience. And if not for the wild, glow twinkling in both of his eyes like a beast you would not even think he was affected in the way that you are. That burning light serves as a reminder that he is not normal man, that you are rabbit ensnared within the jaws of a wolf, a mortal lying with a god. But it does not frighten you anymore. Instead, it douses fuel over an already steady flame. And you find yourself hoping to be consumed, taken between the teeth of this dark, cosmic deity and eaten alive.

His descent does not stop, the point of his nose dragging down until it stops over your mons pubis and your whole body tenses in anticipation, waiting for him to move just a bit lower, to bundle your skirts in his hands and take you into his mouth. But he does not do any of that. He simply hovers there. His clutch on your thighs tightens, threatening to turn your flesh tender and you swear that you can feel the points of talons pricking at you, but it is too dark from the cover of the moonless night to see if he truly has grown claws in his passion - if they have drawn blood. Not that you would have minded if they had. You wanted it. Wanted his claim visible on your body, open to be seen by anyone who may gaze upon you. A trickle of concern does make it through the honeyed smoke of your want, as fleeting as it is, and it is quickly forgotten. Casted aside at the sound of a soft repetitive panting filling the silence. It does not take you long to realize that it is coming from him. He is breathing in your scent, hovering over the heat of you to take lungful's of your arousal.

It is completely debased. Dirty. But the sight of a this primordial being kneeling between your legs and drawing in the scent of you in this perverted display that you would expect from man and not a god has you moaning into the air. Your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing while you rock your hips near his mouth. His grip tightens once again, smarting your skin while he tries to pin your body even while he chases the shift of your hips. And for one moment you think that he may finally ease both of your discomfort, feed the hunger ravaging your bodies but then horribly, he is pulling from you, leaving you to pant into the open air in a confused daze. "Why did you stop? "

"Let me taste you. " He said thickly, and his eyes shimmer again like the stars suspended in the heavens behind him. "Let me drink from you- worship you."

His words have your mouth going dry and that aching heat pooling between your thighs. Never in your life have you ever known a man so desperate to pleasure you. To practically beg for it with a barely concealed avidity. That an Endless would ask for your permission. But he is no man after all. And you are nodding once again, but he does not move until the echo of that old sentence chimes in your head, use your words, you remember, and you manage to utter a rushed, "please" out from a shaky huff.

He rumbles in a pleased way, the Dreaming trembling lightly with the resonance of his satisfaction. You hardly have time to blink before your ceremonial garb all but vanishes, baring you to the soft breeze and then a soft warmth enveloping your wet cunt, leaving you to jerk in surprise and scramble to grab something, anything to tether you. You claw at the field, the soil, before combing them into his hair while you gasp. All the while he is completely immovable, fixed to you throughout your writhing, lapping at your slit to collect the taste of you on his tongue and drink it down with a content purr, before licking up so that he can suckle your clit into the clutch of his mouth. Prompting that heady warmth to drizzle up on top of itself within the base of your abdomen.

He alternates between that for a few moments, completely unhurried as he switches between lapping at your slit and sucking at your engorged bundles of nerves. And then his tongue is slipping inside of you, working along the walls of your cunt in a way that has your eyes rolling and your back bowing in a taut seize. But it does not stop. Extending into an inhuman length. It is thick and textured near its base, working so deep inside that you have to cry out. The repetitive drag and pull of it ushering you to roll your hips to match its delicious rhythm, building up a rising tide, dangling you over the precipice of something debilitating.

"Oh gods - I - "

But he is jerking away from you leaving your cunt to squeeze around the absence of his tongue, biting into the meat of your thigh like he has to preoccupy himself or else he will bury his face back into your heat like you so desperately want him to. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and the intensity of his gaze would have been intimidating if you were not in your current position.

"Why did you stop?!"

"When you come in will be with my name on your lips, " and something possessive layers the rich rumble of his tone. It is heavy and bears no room for argument, but you have no wish to do so. "Say it."

"My Lor- " But his pointed glare is enough to cut you off, but you find yourself yelping from the reprimanding nip at your sensitive skin. It did not hurt but it took you by surprise regardless.

"My name." He repeats carefully, and laves his tongue over the dull sting to soothe it, all without breaking eye contact, keeping you within the scope of his watch. And it takes you a moment to sift through his abundance of monikers and titles, trying to think past the sensation of his teeth and lips on you, but you finally manage to settle the same one that the Priestesses would often whisper with reverence.

"Morpheus. "

A pleased hum greats you and then blessedly he is spreading you open with his thumbs to subject you to the calculated, blissful lashing of his tongue. And you allow yourself to fall back onto the ground in a boneless heap, easily falling back underneath the sway of that fuzzy Elysian pleasure. Unrestrained moans now freely spilling from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to be the least bit embarrassed by the way you openly keen and whine in bliss. You head tips as you toss in reckless abandon, staring up almost sightlessly at the star cluttered sky. And in your drunken haze your mind oddly remarks that the twinkling stars remind you of peering eyes. But before the thought can take flight a strange sensation is enveloping you, like the brush of water rushing over you. Rolling textured waves, feathered touches and the brush of fingers.

Hands, a distant thought supplies weakly. It does feel like hands. Thousands of them all scattered about your body. Running over your hips, your stomach, your chest, your throat. And then it feels as though a pair of mouths are taking your breasts into them, and you just barely manage to jerk your head up to confirm that Morpheus is still nestled between your thighs, slurping at your messy cunt even while those phantom hands and mouths stroke over your body, sucking at your nipples in a way that has a gutted moan tearing out of you.

He is watching you from his place between your legs and the gleam of his eyes are nothing short of smug, taking absolute pride in the way that he is unraveling you at the seams.

Your body moves as though it is possessed. Writhing like it can't decide which sensation it wants to arch into; the ghostly grasp of a thousand hands or the needy, warmth of his mouth.

And the squelch of his tongue is sinful, noisily plunging into you. Its passage completely frictionless with the combination of his saliva and the way your cunt drips around the intrusion. He takes the meat of your ass into his physical hands, guiding the jerky rock of your hips into something deeper while he drinks you down, swallowing the obscene slick of your coupling down his throat. And you are babbling now, unable to recognize or understand the scattered way that you beg and cry. Lost to drift in the ceaseless ecstasy, a willing prisoner forced to take it. It feels as though your mind is breaking around the edges, fraying from the sheer scope of your pleasure, leaving you a weightless passenger, no longer held within the restraints of your own body. You soul is alight, burning and drowning in a rapture so sweet that you have no choice but to sob from it all.

"Morpheus - " You choke around the raged heaving of your chest. And the hands on your body are joined by the phantom lapping of tongues, invisible teeth nipping at your skin and the mouths on your breasts pull and tweak at your nipples. The pleasure is too much, too great for you to fully comprehend and that wave is climbing once again, hurtling you towards that cliff. And now you are begging - pleading that he does not stop and leave you wanting. His name falls freely from you now, and endless mantra pleading for him to guide you into the sweep of fire and bliss.

You barely feel it approaching. Suddenly your body is tensing, going rigid underneath the curl of his tongue and your thighs clamp around his head while you sob through the convulsions wracking through you. Completely swept up in a tide of heat and electricity. But he has not pulled away from your cunt, still nuzzled between the clutch of your thighs while he drinks your come with a satisfied sigh. The vibrations of it combined with the idle way that he continues to lap at you despite the sensitivity and it has your muscles twitching in response.

"Morpheus, please. " You gasp underneath him, and he finally pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly before he is crawling over you, leaving gentle pecks across your body as he moves. And you can still feel those phantom touches across you, but they are feather light now, melting into the background as his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. It has you moaning into his mouth, and even with your recent orgasm you can already feel a syrupy heat building up within you coaxing the gentle rock of your hips. You can taste yourself on his lips, earthy and somewhat sweet. The weight of his arousal presses against you from underneath his robes, heavy and hot and the Dreaming thrums with his want, the soil trembling beneath you both.

You reach a hand down to paw at him through the dark fabric of his chlamys and the smoky, ragged groan that escapes him is a reward all in its own. And you were right. The sound of his breathless, rumbling satisfaction is something that you will never tire of hearing, and you are already desperate to drag more from him. But what truly has your attention is the length of him. You are unable to see it from the cover of his robes, but you can feel it, the thickness of it, the length. And you drag your thumb around its head, the cloth clinging to the shape of his cock from the precum leaking from the tip. He jerks in your hand, breaking your kiss to duck his face into the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin, prompting you to moan breathlessly.

"I need you inside of me. " You whisper unsteadily.

"Take what you need. " Comes his response as he mouths along your neck, taking your ear lobe into his mouth and pulling it between his teeth. Just as yours had, his robes vanish from his body, baring himself for you admire. And admire you do. Gazing upon the milky hue of his skin. The lithe muscle that ripple and flex and the added detail of blue vessels spidering underneath his flesh. Your eyes drop lower, settling on his cock, and the tip has flushed red from his arousal, and you briefly entertain the idea of taking him into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue as he had done to you. But the throbbing heat that has settled between your thighs is the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You need finally feel him and so you are gently pushing at his chest, guiding him to remove his head from your neck and to lie on his back. And he allows you to so - a god obeying your wishes.

His gaze does not stray from you, even as he settles against the ground and allows you to climb astride his lap. Now that you are here atop him you find yourself wavering under the intimidation of your self-imposed task. It is a stupid thing to be fearful of. You have done this before. But those was a man, not an immortal deity that has seen centuries come and go, watched curiously as humanity's ancestors evolved and give way to empires the ultimately rose and fell. You are sure that he has lain with deities beyond your comprehension. Gods and goddesses, nymphs and spirits, pure divine beings from the heavens. How could you compare? How could you possibly please him? Would he want you even as a tainted woman?

And as though he can sense your discomfort, he sweeps his hands along your hips, the action breaking through your internal struggle, and he is once sitting himself up enough to plant a kiss between the valley of your breasts. And then he is guiding you to look down on him with the gentle brush of his fingers, fixing your attention solely on him.

"Take what you need. " He reiterates. But it is not said in a scathing or annoyed way, it is gentle, loving you want to believe, and you nearly melt against him. Those ghostly touches are back, no doubt an attempt to draw you out of your head. And it is working to stoke the fire, the fervor returning to your bones, but your mind still struggles to return you, still tangled within the confines of your insecurities. You could not manage to pin them down no matter how hard you tried to.

"Speak to me, " he murmurs against your skin. "What troubles you?"

"I - " you choke around the shakiness in your chest. You want to speak but it is difficult to do so around the rock in your throat, the disconnect between your head and your tongue stalling the words before they can even truly form. He begins to circle his thumbs against your hips. It is no longer sexual but completely tender, meant to coax your feelings from you rather than your desire and it does serve to ground you somewhat, offering you some clarity to articulate yourself. " I - you do know that I'm not . . . " You trail off and you attempt to meet his curious gaze, but you find your own quickly darting away, scanning the kaleidoscope fields that surrounds you like it might help you find your courage. " . . . What if I'm not good enough?"

His expression becomes stormy. Something menacing and severe and it is a stark reminder of the darker side of his nature. He had been so gentle and giving with you that it had been easy to forget the depths of his anger, and for a moment you had feared that you somehow managed to offend him personally. His lips have pursed in that cross way, his eyebrows pinched, and you would have anticipated him molding himself into wicked shadows and talons, if not for the flash of something soft showing through the cosmic blue of his eyes.

"Have I not worshiped you thoroughly enough?" He asks, but he does not necessarily sound affronted out of concern of his own pride but rather disappointed that he did not please you. The mere notion of that could make you scoff; you were certain that he ruined you for anyone else. No man would be able to touch you in the way that he had. And now you were opening your mouth to reassure him, but he is responding before you can utter a single word. " Then allow me to rectify my transgressions."

And you whole heartedly expect him to once again knock you on your back and take you, but he does not. He keeps you secured on his lap, grip firm but not controlling and fixes you with a stare that seems to hold you open and reach inside, melting at your frayed vulnerabilities. "Now. Take what you need." His voice has dipped into something deep and orotund, clearly enunciating to make sure that his intent is clearly broadcasted. And the intensity that he projects is enough to pull you back into the moment, his power coursing over the Dreaming and rippling at its seams. But it is more than that too. He has been nothing but gentle with you this entire night. Patient. Without judgement. And it is as though he has been plucking you apart piece by broken piece, stuffing you full of sunlight and helping you mend your shattered edges. Not fixed or magically repaired, but it is the closest you have felt to peace and adoration in a long time. And you feel like you are choking on the affection that he openly displays. The want and the need.

You become startlingly aware of the way that your cunt drips, come smearing the insides of your thighs while that warm honeyed ache steadily thrums within your abdomen. And it is difficult to ignore it now. The sheer scope of your desire could smother you, threatening to take you under and drown you. Everything else after that is instinctual -needy. You take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his in a bruising kiss trying your best to project your emotions into the exchange of tongue and teeth, stroking the sharp edges of his cheek bones with the same reverence that he had shown you. And you blindly reach down to take the rigid heat of him in your grip, throbbing and wet with a steady flow of precum, and he rewards you with a heady groan when you circle your thumb around the leaking slit of his cock.

You are quick to line him up with your entrance, and without little fanfare sink down onto him. The relief that comes with the fulness of his girth tears ragged sighs from the both of you. And you give yourself little time to adjust before your already working yourself down his length, toes curling when the blunt head of his cock brushes against that devastating spot inside of you that has you jerking from him to gasp into the night. And unable to ignore the all-consuming passion that takes you over, the pulsing, electrifying power that permeates around Morpheus you draw yourself up with the strength of your thighs, using the push you can achieve from planting your feet on the ground to bounce on his cock in a hedonistic display.

It is debased and vulgar, fucking out in an open field, in the soil like animals. Completely lewd, but so right.

Morpheus lies back against the ground on his own accord, reclining like spoiled royalty and allowing you to plant your hands on his chest to assist you to deepen each thrust, letting you take from him. And already his name is spilling from your lips like a hymn while you watch the Dream King with rapt attention, enthralled by every minute expression that flickers across his schooled features. The way that his eyebrows pinch together, how dim but eager pants puff past his open mouth, the dazed sort of pleasure that shows in his eyes while he gazes upon you like you're a deity that has descended down from Mount Olympus, a nymph fashioned from Aphrodite herself to encapsulate his every wish.

And those delicious, invisible hands have returned to roam about your body in their sweet exploration, plucking at your body like it is an instrument that they have played for years. The sound of your coupling rings across the Dreaming, the smack skin against skin, your unrestrained moans. It all has that thick, deep-rooted ache spreading further throughout your body, reaching from your core and all the way to your fingertips and toes. But there is something missing, a nudge needed to push you over the edge. "Morpheus, " you cry weakly, thighs already beginning to sting from exertion, but you refuse to stop, continuing to drop yourself on his cock, working tight circles with your hips with each descent.

You can see something smug bleeding into his features, your neediness nurturing his hubris, and his lips quirk in just the faintest hints of a barely there smile.

"What is it, my love?" He asks, feigning ignorance and it irritates you how put together he sounds, voice having dropped into a low, rumbling cadence, but apart from that he sounds seemingly unaffected despite the glazed over quality to his gaze. You whimper around a particularly harsh thrust from him that has your back bowing, pushing your breasts into the palms of ghostly hands. Your eyes nearly go cross at the drag of his cock, but you manage to keep your concentration around the sweeping torrents of smoke and ecstasy.

"Please!" you keen drunkenly. "Please, I need you! "

A satisfied purr resonates underneath your palms and his pupils flash in that pale tantalizing, dangerous way and you cannot believe that the look of it had frightened you at some point. Now it only serves to pool more liquid heat down the base of your spine. A heaving mewl is all but punched out of you when he takes you by surprise, using his place along the ground to thrust up into you with wicked rolls from his hips. Fucking up into you with a ferocity that has you struggling to meet his pace, and you are hardly more than a passenger at this point. All coherence is stripped from you and your entire body feels like it has been doused in honey and fire, and the timbre of his raspy voice speaking out only serves to nudge you closer to your undoing.

"You'll stay here with me, won't you?"

"Yes!" You agreed in a slurred whine.

"And you'll give yourself to me?"

"Yes!" You are near sobbing now, body jerking and writhing atop him while the phantom touches roll your nipples between soft fingertips, and his cock pumps into you with depraved, filthy squelches of your combined arousal. And that primordial energy is pulsating around the Dreaming. The same power that creates the ground you both lay upon, that fashions the field and the sky above you too, permeating from the deity that is currently fucking every shred of a possible thought from your brain. And the power feels charged now, like it is growing and expanding into something great, seeping into your skin and soaking your bones. Then a transparent grip is taking your jaw between its fingers, directing your gaze to the god underneath you, and another slips down your stomach, reaching down to drag tight circles around your neglected clit.

"Then come." It is a command that your body cannot ignore, seizing up tight, trapping the strangled wail deep inside your lungs while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, stars exploding against the darkness there and you lose all sense of tangibility. Your sense of time, place and self slip from perception like water pouring through spread fingers, and now you are just floating. Caught in bursting cosmos, pinned before the scalding light of the sun, caught in a torrent of arresting, unyielding rapture. And your cunt clamps down his cock like it means to milk him for all he is worth, your orgasm ushering him into his own and thankfully your coherence begins to return to you in time for you to admire him while he is subjected to the throes of his pleasure. And you are still gasping and moaning while his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, observing as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth opens for a long husky moan to escape him as the warmth of his release pools inside of you.

You all but collapse on top of him in a boneless heap and your cunt spasming weakly around his spent length but neither of you make any effort to move. Simply basking in the afterglow of your highs. It is your sense of touch and hearing that serve to orient you. The distant crash of waves rushing over the surf, the whisper of the breeze dancing across the grass and blossoms. And you can feel him underneath you. His chest is moving with a breath that you are certain is simulated for your own comfort, an attempt to appear more human. But he feels too heated and simultaneously too cold to be a person, like he has no idea which temperature to project. But you decide that it is not at all unpleasant, instead it feels good against your feverish skin.

But you still wait for the sting of disappointment to strike you - for disgust to bleed and taint the satisfaction now that the lust has died, but it never rises to meet you. And so, you rest, satiated upon your god. Pliant like melted wax. But there is the insistent nudge of something burrowing at you. Concern, you quickly identify. And it has your sluggish mind wandering back to the root of the thought, trailing after it until it finds the conclusion which takes that shape of a memory. The memory of perhaps the only companion you have ever known, and it is bitter and sour reminder that they may not even be alive anymore. That centuries may have passed during your brief stay in the Dreaming, and that they may have succumbed to the passage of time.

"What ails you now?"

You want to say that it is nothing, sweep it aside and ignore it while it festers and grows. But you know now that he will not accept nothing as an answer, not when he can possibly feel your distress across the threads of the Dreaming. You feel foolish in your answer, but it is the only one that you can manage. " My cat. "

"Your . . . cat. " He echoes slowly, and you are certain that amusement is lacing his tone. You bristle a bit preparing to defend yourself, your right for being worried, but he is nudging you from his chest so that you may see each other as you speak.

"I can assure you that your companion is safe. He's quite content." He says. His gentle mirth still very much alive, but you do not return his light-hearted attitude, waiting with bated breath for him to answer the question that hangs heavy in the air. And a part of you fears that he may have somehow managed to converse with Death of the Endless, or that he was still connected to the passage of time that operates outside of the Dreaming and was able to deduce that the feline had long since passed, joining Teleute in the Sunless Lands. But then he is brushing a hand along his side, drawing your attention to his ribs where the skin there ripples like the surface of a disturbed lake, and a set of angry jagged scars emerge from the mirage, appearing across his pale skin, spanning from his armpit down to the notch of his hipbone. It is hauntingly familiar. The placement, the number of claw mark left in stretched healed tissue. One, two, three . . . four, you count.

You understand what it is that he is implying. And betrayal sinks its enamel into your heart, but the bite is shockingly dull and not the unforgiving split that you were expecting. And you can tell that he is calculating something, surely waiting for you to lash out. To scream at him and demand that he take you home. Perhaps that is what you should do. But you do not. "How? Why did you- a cat?" Is all you manage, more perplexed than irate.

"I had been injured by an old foe of mine, " he explains, allowing you to curl into his side, curiously running your fingertips over the marred flesh. And you have suppress a shudder, wondering what sort of being could be strong enough to injure an Endless. A god. "As for why I assumed that particular form, I needed to conserve energy. It was small. Familiar. It served to save much needed strength. "

There has always been something strange about that cat and his watchful stare. Admittedly you had always swallowed down the suspicion that prickled at you whenever he had curled up within your house, but you had been too desperate for some sort of friendship to truly question anything. The barrage of emotions flooding you, making you a muddled unsure mess, but one thing that you do know for certain is that you are completely and undeniably relieved. And truthfully you are still far too tired, simply uncaring to have been tricked by the god. You are happy- actually well and truly happy to embrace the joy and serenity.

"And then there was you, " he murmurs in your ear, devout and soft.

The both of you remain there for an insurmountable length of time. Lounging in each other's embrace, delighting in your shared presence. Listening to the peaceful noise of the Dreaming and the warmth of your lover. And for the first time that icy gapping pit of loneliness no longer gnaws and tears at you. You finally feel at home, and the desire to flee and leave eludes you. Perhaps because you have finally found a place to belong.

Here with him.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream the endless #the sandman #netflix sandman

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ginovasims · 4 months

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THE SEASONS LEGACY

A mini legacy challenge that focuses on the four seasons. Each generation will have a different set of goals and requirements before the new heir takes over.

Rules:

Pick any three of the five traits offered for each generation, and one of the two aspirations. For an extra challenge, you can try and complete both aspirations.

This challenge contains a lot of gameplay from a variety of expansion, game, and stuff packs. Feel free to skip or adjust any rules if you are missing content.

If you do this challenge, please credit me (@ginovasims).

Vague guidelines/suggestions:

The heir can be any gender, they don’t have to be female. They can also be any sexuality.

Children don’t have to be genetic, they can be adopted, and you can have science babies.

Mods and custom content can be used.

Use the hashtag #SeasonsLegacy on tweets, posts, and videos. Check out my video where I introduce the challenge in more detail: https://youtu.be/j0R4fVdiLfI

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THE GENERATIONS

Generation 1 - Spring

Spring is the season for new life and new beginnings, so what better time to start a new family legacy?!

You make the most of the weather warming and enjoy spending time outside with animals. Fresh is best and you won’t settle for anything that’s not the best quality, in all aspects of life. Your true love is out there and you won’t stop looking until you find your perfect soulmate.

Requirements:

Date around before finding your soulmate and settling down

Meet your soulmate at a park

Always keep your home in pristine condition

Raise chickens and/or a cow/llama

Befriend a rabbit and/or a flock of birds

Buy groceries from market stalls in Henford-on-Bagley

Win a competition at Finchwick Fair

Frequently have picnics in the park

Discover Sylvan Glade and/or Forgotten Hollow

Gain the hungry for love lifestyle

Always have the simple living lot challenge

Celebrate Spring Festival and go all out with decorations and festivities

Complete the insect and/or decorative eggs collection

Reach the top level of any outdoor based career (e.g. gardener, conservationist, lifeguard etc.)

Master two of the three skills: fishing, herbalism and flower arranging

Complete either the Country Caretaker or the Serial Romantic aspiration

Colours: Pink and Green Traits: Neat, Romantic, Cheerful, Perfectionist, High Maintenance Aspirations: Country Caretaker or Serial Romantic

Generation 2 - Summer

Did someone say beach party?!

Growing up, you spent a lot of time outdoors with your family, and you loved every second of it. You’re both laid-back and the life of the party. The sea calls your name and you always make the absolute most of your summertime memories.

Requirements:

Throw weekly parties (at the beach if it’s good weather!)

Frequently have BBQs in the garden

Frequently go bowling with friends/family

Have a sun tan as often as you can

Go camping at least twice as a young adult

Have a pool in your garden

Have swimming as a hobby

Meet your lover at the beach

Build sandcastles with your children

Gain the people person lifestyle

Always have the volcanic activity lot challenge

Celebrate Summer Festival and go all out with decorations and festivities

Complete the seashell and/or message in a bottle collection

Reach the top level of any active career (e.g. actor, doctor, police etc.)

Master two of the three skills: dancing, mixology and bowling

Complete either the Beach Life or Party Animal aspiration

Colours: Yellow and Red Traits: Dance Machine, Party Animal, Loves the Outdoors, Child of the Ocean, Outgoing Aspirations: Beach Life or Party Animal

Generation 3 - Autumn/Fall

The spooky season is among us…

You’re more of a homebody than your parents and grandparents and prefer to spend time tucked up at home, reading a book by a warm fire. You’ve always been interested in the supernatural, believing them to be fictional your whole life, until discovering one day that there’s more out there than you could ever have imagined.

Requirements:

Turn into any occult

Marry a different type of occult

Always own a black cat and encourage them to have kittens (with success) at least twice

Earn a distinguished degree

Join a university club/team

Throw a costume party every other week

Light fireworks at bonfire nights

Have a family club gathering at least once a week

Write children books and read them to your own children

Gain the indoorsy lifestyle

Always have the spooky lot challenge

Celebrate Autumn/Fall Festival and go all out with decorations and festivities

Complete the space prints and/or postcards collection

Reach the top of any mental/academic career (e.g. education, secret agent, scientist etc.)

Master two of the three skills: medium, vampire lore and research & debate

Complete either the Spellcaster & Sorcery or Bestselling Author aspiration

Colours: Orange and Purple Traits: Bookworm, Insider, Overachiever, Creative, Cat Lover Aspirations: Spellcaster & Sorcery or Bestselling Author

Generation Four - Winter

Life is like your own winter wonderland!

You grew up with your whole extended family around you and so this has become a very important part of how you are. Your family are everything and you want to treasure every moment and memory. Food is another big part of your life, and you relish in spending time in the kitchen with your loved ones.

Requirements:

Have a blended family (e.g. step children, adopted, etc.)

Bake with your partner/children every weekend

Always gift your household members a present for the holidays

Play outside whenever it’s snowy - build snowpals, make snow angels, have snowball fights etc.

Go ice skating on every first date

Always have a caged pet for your family

Have perfect relationships with all of your children - spoil them!

Decorate your house with family pictures

Gain the junk food fiend lifestyle

Always have the gremlins lot challenge

Celebrate Winter Festival and go all out with decorations and festivities

Complete the snow globe and/or simmies collection

Reach the top of any stay at home career (either freelance or always choose work from home option)

Master two of the three skills: knitting, baking and photography

Complete either the Mt. Komorebi Sightseer or Big Happy Family aspiration

Colours: Blue and White Traits: Gloomy, Family-Oriented, Foodie, Materialistic, Childish Aspirations: Mt. Komorebi Sightseer or Big Happy Family

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p-paradoxa · 10 months

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i’m still early into Dungeon Meshi but I enjoy how much it concerns itself with ecology. no part of the dungeon exists in a vacuum. adventurers are not just an outside force that loots and kills, although adventuring does in some way end up sustaining cycles of oppression (read: orcs). rather, adventuring itself is integrated into the ecosystem—each kill they deal, every death a party incurs, any waste they leave behind is taken into account as being something a component of the environment is adapted to, from the individual to population level.

we even see adaptations that have evolved over short periods of time, as with senshi’s golems adapting to the nutrients used to farm on them

another detail I enjoyed from off the top of my head was when senshi warned marcille not to use a spell that would damage a wide area of the lake, because the fish would die and the merfolk, krakens etc. would suffer in turn, despite a general interest in keeping the monsters at bay. this is narratively smart because it leads to more creative solutions, and also communicates a value of animal life without reverting to “isn’t it just fucked up to hunt things.” the focus of cooking and eating in the manga feels very intentional as a way for the characters to interact with this premise. unlike accumulating treasure, trying to earn fame and fortune, or hunting specific monsters (besides the one that swallowed a party member), eating is a necessity to life, which life itself factors in as part of its cycle. the party members became a part of the ecosystem the very first time they entered the dungeon, but by choosing to sustain themselves from it, come to a better understanding of it—this isn’t a value judgment or an appeal to nature, at least to me, it’s just an observation about how these systems work that the series is making, and something the author wants people to be mindful of

a last point that really hammered it in is an explicit visual representation of the dungeon as an ecosystem—the flashback to the sprite project (analogous to real life insect cultures). the sprites thrive when the cultures mimic dungeon conditions. because that’s all a dungeon is: a self-sustaining ecosystem (as long as it has the resource of magic, as well as other life-giving resources), which is resilient and yet sensitive to change

so far I think it does subvert most of the sensibilities of the dungeon fantasy subgenre in a meaningful way, which is to say it draws the emphasis somewhat away from battling and racking up kills in favor of environmentally conscious problem-solving and acknowledging the lives therein as being in interaction with each other

this is all surface-level praise as I’m only on like chapter 20 but I’m saying. I think you should read it. don’t just take my word for it though. check this out:

oops that’s just a picture of marcille being a big big lesbian whoooops post cancwlled

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi

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t34-mt · 1 year

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kyhuine live jewlery: spider-like insectoid, there are many variants of them that are all the same species (like how dogs have many breeds). Kyhuines have domesticated "spiders" for silk and even have dedicated houses to them, they have spiders for show off like this one that is specialized to crampon on the head, and others that wrap around the wrist like a wrap-around-spider. they have another species of insectoid that are like centipedes and stand on a necklace if not almost wrap around the host for the longest specimens.

a little info chart

live jewelry is not something they will use every day. They are worn during special events, and they will not dance or do wide movements that could scare off their beloved bug, domesticated spider-like ones are called "buikarbutuh" (kyhuine word), i haven't gotten a name for the centipede-like insect ones yet.

The breeding of spiders was firstly done to have their silk, bred to be docile and accepting of manipulation but also tolerable/accepting to each other so a big colony could be put in the same place without them just cannibalizing their spider neighbors every day. spider houses can be rounded domes made out of dirt/clay, or more casual houses, there are special ones mostly found in salt desert that are build like long cones, the outside is bright white. Like the two previous the walls are made out of dirt/clay. The inside of spider houses are full of dead trunks, dead and live plants, sticks, build in pillars and anything to give their bugs a lot of surface to build against and hide into.

While this took a while (like any domestication), they did succeed to have chill spiders. Family homes often have one or multiple spiders at home so they eat nuisances, it's their little guar dog against undesirable animals. With that base started other more specific breeding types, pet spiders came first!

There weren't really any changes to do, just taking a calm one and giving it to a child so they take care of it and also get desensitized of bugs, both species learn to not fear bugs at a very young age, recognize potentially dangerous that they should stay away from and how to handle x type, know which is safe to eat and so on. Bug desensitization is done at an even earlier age for kyhuines. Kyhuines will trade their spiders and other bugs to each other, bug trading in kids is also seen in maanuls tho maanuls do not have domesticated bug pets.

after pet spiders, came the idea of using them for live jewelry to show their appreciation to their all-mighty mother. So started the breeding of spiders that would stay on their head/wrist. Taking in consideration their health when doing it they eventually ended up with these, calm critters that would sit down where they're placed for several hours, having color/pattern variation was a thing that came after.

Like ive said, theyre rarely worn, and are mostly just fancy pet spiders for adults, buikarbutuh keeping is a job (whenever its the pet ones, silk or jewl ones)

#altuyur #digital art #worldbuilding #kyhuine #my art #2023 #speculative zoology #xenobiology #xenofiction #buikarbutuh #artist on tumblr #ms paint #txt

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bailey-dreamfoot · 8 months

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‼️‼️THE GRAMPA SQUAD COMIC IS DONE‼️‼️

Ok so, wee explanation + headcannons under the cut.

Ok so assuming you've stuck around for my insane ramblings, heres the gist:

This comic is very much inspired by Factual Fantasy's Comics about Marsh, Natquick, and Calico Jack. And while my personal head cannon does share in the idea of the group working together- I thought it would be hilariously fun to include Inkling, and tbh it focuses more on him than the others anyway.

In the show, inkling doesn't really get out much. There are really only a few episodes where he has a significant role, and even less when he actually participates in missions outside of *insert knowledgeable insight*.

I believe this is for 2 reasons:

He just prefers the comfortable vibe of his library. The book-worm role fits his personality well - enjoying studying or cataloging species alongside Shellington - and he likes spending time with the Vegimals.

His Mobility issues. While he can very easily traverse the watery environments in the base show- in a&b, he doesn't really show much interest in exploring the land until he's told an old friend was the one in need of help. He has the ability, its just difficult- and he knows his limitations.

Inkling has his hover chair, that allows him to move around the octopod relatively easily. However - in the Min episode - they make it a point that he cant take it with him on land, or use it over rough terrain.

My version of Inkling uses an actual wheelchair, so I thought it'd be a neat idea that after that adventure- he'd want to try joining missions more often. And to deal with said mobility issues and limitations- say they got specialized tires for his wheelchair- so he could go join up on land missions more often.

After going on a few more missions with the other Octonauts, he hears about Octoagents Calico Jack, and Professor Natquick joining up with Ranger Marsh to help out in the Everglades- you best bet he jumped at the opportunity to tag along. Think of all the species he could ad to his personal catalogue. They might even discover a few new ones! Leaving the Octopod for so long after being basically the one constant to the place was a bit scary sure - and the other Octonauts were certainly emotional ab him leaving (especially Barnacles) - but maybe a change of scenery would do him good.

Sooo He does that! Professor Inkling meets up with the others on a dock near Marsh's Ranger station and get to work! One of the coolest things they did was collecting egg samples and catching an adult specimen of a newly discovered trapdoor spider! the Pine Rockland Trapdoor. Marsh Has a nursery where he cares for tons of snakes, lizards, insects and birds to make sure they have the best chance for survival. Thats where these eggs are going- to hatch in safety and then be released back into the ecosystem. On top of that, they take samples of the adults venom for study, and inkling is sure to make a detailed report of the arachnid in his many journals brought along with him!

As you may expect, Kwazzi takes after his grandad in his fear of spiders. Jack has seen worse, but It doesnt make it any easier to be close to them. Natquick on the other hand- In all his time in the arctic hes never seen anything as freaky as a spider bigger than a quarter.

Aaand that's it! I'm hoping to do some more comics with the lads in the future, although probably not as detailed as this one. It took more than 2 weeks- please.

Also, I find it kinda goofy that the panels get more detailed as you go along. Thats what happens when the first and last panel were made almost a month apart from each other. 💚

Also also- yes I did do actual research for the animals in the last comic. It was going to be a funnel web spider they're researching, but then I looked it up and found out Funnelwebs don't live in the Everglades. :']

#bailey’s art #octonauts #octonauts fanart #octonauts grampa squad #arachnaphobia tw #arachnophobia

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ms-scarletwings · 9 months

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The Speculative Analysis About Irkens No One Asked For: Part II

Hiya! Back at it again with not shutting up about the lil green dudes. In case you found this first, here’s the Part One of this spiel, touching on some of the environmental theories about Irk and its cyberpunk-leaning cultural direction. While this post is dedicated to a more biological look of what’s going on with the Irkens, there was some leading context and other tidbits back in that one you may also enjoy, too.

So, carrying through what we previously set up, I want to… admit off the bat that, I found it a little difficult at first, you know?-To pick an angle I wanted to sink my teeth into. With how old the show’s become and how creative & enthusiastic a fanbase it attracted, it’s getting hard to really note (or theorize) something about Irken anatomy that hasn’t been said before somewhere. And don’t get me wrong, that’s awesome and I love almost every word of it I’ve read. A lot of it from various sources is almost certainly going to bleed together into the first half of this. So, keep it in mind, yet I will try to chew a little deeper into the questions we can’t actually answer with just a rewatch of the show, all good? Because there’s a few more base things we know from the canon I’m going to include to start listing: - Irkens lack any visible form of nose or ears, but are equipped with a pair of sensory antennae. Presumably, these organs fulfill the same roles, as they do in real-world insects. - Irken organs are obviously very alien, not well explained, artificially enhanced, and hard to compare to that of a human’s- outside of their general body shape, the presence of a primary brain separate from the PAK, and the fact that they do possess something of an internal skeleton. - A petite race on average (relative to humans), Irkens universally follow an unquestioned social hierarchy based on individual height. - Irkens are endowed with a remarkable ability to regenerate and heal superficial injuries, even up to repairing the damage of being nearly skinned alive (chest-down) or severely burning their corneas within a matter of hours. - Their preferred diet is one that is rich in (if not primarily made of) refined carbohydrates, and while they seem to tolerate fatty sources, such as processed dairy, their anatomy is poorly suited for dealing with high-protein foods like beans and meat. - In fact, all forms of contact with exposed animal meat itself will cause it to dissolve and meld into their own flesh, via an incredibly painful process. - On contact with water from Earth, their skin will receive harsh chemical burns (This has been explained by Vasquez to be a consequence of impurities and man-made pollutants, which Irkens seem sensitive to). - While I’m already on a roll about their skin, it also contains/produces a substance capable of killing lice.

Now, I think we’ve all heard a lot about sqeedily spooches, but does anyone else want to keep marinating a second longer on the topic of s k i n ? Because I have some damn thoughts to release about Zim’s outer casing.

Let’s Get Chemical

First hot take, and the hill I am willing to be slain on: That ain’t actually skin! At least, it is nothing chemically alike to Earth-native vertebrate skin. I’ve given all of the above and the general running theme about Irkens resembling arthropods a lot of thought, and I’ve come to about the only conclusion I could that makes their dermis equivalent… make sense.

See, one of the biggest traits that sets apart invertebrates from other animals in real life is the “innie or outie” skeleton question, but you gotta understand that the “skeletons” that bugs and crabs have would still be considered something completely different from our endoskeletons even if they were on the inside. The hard tissues that make up OUR skeletal systems are mostly made up of a *collagen (remember that word!) frame that is reinforced by calcium, phosphorus, and other minerals. The hard parts of an ant’s skeleton, on the other foot, are mainly composited of chitin.

Chitin, now, is a very neat substance. It’s a polysaccharide, meaning that it’s made up of a bunch of sugar molecules chained together. This makes it distinct from proteins, which are made of amino acid chains instead of carbs. Chitin is also one of the single most important structural polymers in the universe to a ton of existing life. It makes up the literal backbone of arthropods and the cell walls of all fungi. We’ve even found it in fish scales and some amphibians. So, must also be important to humans, right? NAH. Not a chance. Higher animals actually long ditched the ability to synthesize the stuff, and are not any the worse for it, since there’s more than one way to stick a bunch of creature pieces together. For two examples, keratin and *collagen are proteins we naturally synthesize that functionally do the same thing. Keratin is the hard substance that makes up hair & fingernails, and collagen is practically the wonderglue of flesh: It’s a fundamental binder that holds together your bones, your skin, your precious muscle meats, the ligaments, the tendies, the nerves…

pretty much the whole person blueprint if you get the picture.

And thus concludes your (VERY overly simplified) highshcool bio class recap, but what the hell did that have to do with the cartoon spacemen again? I’m gonna round back to them through a funny secret about exoskeletons, actually: They have a softer part, too! Chitin’s hella diverse in its forms and utility. What’s in an exoskeleton is actually a version of it modified with other materials (like what’s done to collagen in bone) to make it so rigid and shell-like. A purer chitin, on the other hand, is more leathery and flexible, less like the shell of a beetle and more like the squishy wall around a caterpillar or maggot. Even the hard bodied insects still have an endocuticle layer like this hiding just under the “shell”, still considered part of the whole exoskeleton, but suddenly looking and acting more like we’d call a skin.

Eh, see where I’m going with this? My conviction is this- Irkens may have used to be even more arthropodal in an earlier stage of their evolution, including BOTH an internal skeleton, and some form of protective exoskeleton in their body plan. And hey, maybe the two were extensions of the same system once, too. You recognize something like that in modern tortoises when you remember that their “shells” are actually just the bone structure of their own ribcage. Then, let’s say that Irkens later saw the loss of their heavier exocuticle, leaving behind the endoskeleton and the flexible inner (now just an outer) cuticle of what used to be an entire body shell. This could have been a gradual change, via natural selection, or it could have been another artificial mutation brought on by technology- wherein the elder brains decided the feature was less efficient and simply phased it out of the cloning process- the same as the loss of their species’ sexual organs.

But, you’re thinking, why on Irk would the loss of an entire badass armor layer be beneficial to their fitness? Few reasons- For one, they are cumbersome and limiting. The downgrade on freedom of movement and flexibility they would be for a bipedal humanoid is self-explanatory enough. When it came to structural integrity, the inner skeleton would have already done a well job with little modification. For all the protection they provide, they don’t leave much room for expansion, and need to be shed in order for the animal to grow any further or to recover from certain injuries. The process of molting itself would be an excruciating process for any intelligent species to have to endure; one that also temporarily leaves the critter in a very vulnerable and stressed state for every molt. To advance from more primitive origins into a dominant race, manual dexterity and mobility would have to take a front seat over a small amount of modest defenses, and mind you, Irk long ago woulda managed to compensate for that loss in the form of advanced weaponry (obviously).

I’m also of the mind that the shift away from an exoskeleton could have even been the key to allowing the Irkens to even grow to the size they are now. Recall back to Part One for a second, where I shared the likely case for Irk having a massive bulk behind its gravity field. Gravity is a hard thing on any skeletal structure, representing a constant strain to be fought against when moving, growing, and bearing weight .There’s a lot of factors behind why we don’t have horse sized spiders or elephant sized lobsters IRL, and weight is actually one of them. Notice how terrestrial isopods only get about to the size of a bean, but the aquatic ones can top out at over a foot long? And that’s only having Earth’s level of gravity to struggle against, let alone however harsh the conditions would be on a larger planet. So, there’s my framework for explaining what I think the aliens’ cuticle is not; however, what does that mean for what it is, besides “feels and looks like a grub’s”?

Well, look again at some of the extraordinary things it can do.

Cooties Immunity

“Germs” was a memorable episode that posed a very legitimate question to the viewer. Why IS IT that foreign pathogens aren’t a bigger concern for the invaders? They’re literally sent off to other worlds to blend in: Socializing with the native inhabitants, eating their foods, and living in an alien habitat. In the case of an undiscovered rock like Earth, our infectious diseases would have no reference available to the Armada whatsoever. Sure, species incompatibility would provide some protection, but the risk of something carrying over and adapting is always still there. Zoonoptic jumps happen all the time with bacteria and viruses, and Zim’s body temperature IS in the normal human range. And what about fungal pathogens, or parasites-

Oh, wait, the lice episode gave it away right there.

I love this sequence so much, because it’s coincidentally like, an exact “art imitates life” parallel to something a real species of primate does. Black lemurs live in the same area of Madagascar as these vibrant, red millipedes.

The millipedes are special because when threatened, they secrete a poisonous substance from their skin. The lemurs are special because they like to grab the bugs and nibble them for no other reason than to make them release those toxins. Those chemicals are then rubbed into their fur, because somehow the lemurs figured out it makes a really handy mosquito repellant. The lemurs also like to get completely zonked out on the chemicals too but eyy- Point was it stands to reason that Irkens may also secrete small amounts of their own potent toxin from the cuticle, perhaps for more hygienic than defensive purposes. This secretion would be responsible for protecting them from parasites and topical infections. Could it also make people blazed out of their minds? …Maybe? I think I’d like to promote the “Just Say No” policy on the matter of licking aliens, though. Ffs at least ask them out to dinner first.

When it comes to other kinds of sick, looks like it might be the trusty old PAK to the rescue here again. I imagine that, being an intergalactic, partially mechanical civilization, the Irken race has come down this road enough to put in a workaround. A standard PAK contains the entirety of the population’s collective knowledge/history- which would include a catalog of all known infectious agents they have encountered across the universe. Some kind of nanobot-bolstered immune system that could detect and respond appropriately to new threats isn’t out of the question, nor should a feature that can automatically administer the appropriate medicine directly into the wearer’s bloodstream. For all this awesomeness, nonetheless, there remains a downside or two that they haven’t quite conquered..

The Meaty, Sweety, Mending of DOOM

Anyone ever actually think about how as far as resilience is concerned, Zim is practically an X-man compared to any Earthling? He has regenerative capabilities that surpass anything else on earth, save idk, bamboo shoots, if even. Injuries that would leave a human permanently disabled only seem to incapacitate an Irken for a few hours to a day at most. They’re all the more tough to put out of commission when considering that a PAK doubles as a form of backup life support, ready to “soft reboot” the host with a quick jolt if it detects a sudden drop in vital signs. It is tempting to credit the same device as the source of this healing boost as well, teasing the nanobot suggestion again; however, I see a chance instead to bring this back a step.

Although not as quick-acting as Zim, or Skoodge’s healing, there are some remarkable examples of regeneration in real arthropods, from repairing tissues/organs to replacing entire lost limbs. What the aliens are packing doesn’t seem all that different, only refined (through years of bioengineering) to work at a truly frightening efficiency. It shows through in their diet as well. Almost always, if we see a member of this species eating on screen, and believe me there was no shortage of examples, what are we watching them shovel their face with?

Space doughnuts, space popcorn, space Fun-Dip, sodas, and curly fries. Sure, there’s plenty of calories here, no doubt with the amount of carbs and grease that could even turn the stomach of a college freshman, but is this… nutrition?

Yes. Just not for us.

Like their civilization, we have also turned the mass production of sweet-packed, fat loaded foods into one of our favored art forms, and there are scattered pockets of our planet that can enjoy these items in cheap abundance. The catch 22? Obesity and heart disease. Meanwhile, Irkens are so metabolically blessed that they can follow the same lifestyle and actually be thriving by it. We know that the majority of human food is utterly toxic to Zim, but then there were waffles, a literal stack of dessert and butter that pretends to be a breakfast…. Our guy was experiencing the “finally some good fucking food” meme from the first bite off that plate, but this can’t seriously be healthy,or if it is, then how?

Well, if I did sell you on the idea that much of their tissues and skeleton swaps out a chitin base where we would be using protein, there you go. Sugars for the building blocks to synthesize the connective/structural tissues for maintaining the body, and the bulk of the energy required to keep it running. And I won’t make the leap and suggest that’s all they have.

After all, the Irken equivalent of sandwiches do actually seem to contain “lettuce” and something that people will say looks like meat slices while not convincing me. I can get behind the thought of the natural or maybe original Irken diet to be a mix of plant matter and supplemental fungi, but everything I’ve put together implies that they are completely unfit for processing the goodies in animal flesh.

Overwhelmingly, I believe that the only time they possibly even seek out more sources of amino acids is going to be when they are smeets. That’s how it works in many wasp species. I.e. The growing larvae are the only ones that actually get to reap from the hard work of a colony hunting down enough protein to feed them with, yet the adults live out the rest of their lives more than content to gorge themselves on nectars and fruits exclusively!

And you even could put that aside, but you’ll have to grapple with the ungodly thing that happens every single time you see Zim touching a piece of meat. Would be awfully convenient to blame it on his personal brand of weirdness, or earth contaminants, but we remember this was a weakness that Tak approached fully aware of and expecting.

We know that polluted water can burn them. We know that beans and other foods can give them grotesque allergic reactions. Well what in the horrifying name of Resident Evil is this, though? Buddy pals, I think we got some unintended consequences of that bio-hacking on hand. Collagen and chitin aren’t just functionally similar to each other, they are practically analogous building blocks.

For a WILD science fact, consider that there’s a ton of ongoing research into the application of chitin and chitin-derivatives into having a role in tissue engineering, as a hypothetical scaffold in lab cultured meat, and as an effective wound dressing ingredient.

What we’re seeing with incidents like Dib throwing that Bologna at Zim could be an extreme form of the vise versa, because I know a certain protein that processed meat happens to be pretty high in :)))

Imagine the coupling of this with the bioengineered genome of Zim’s kind being so… reactive to a foreign intrusion, yet also flexible to modification. Maybe it is the acids, or some contaminant/seasoning on the meat that first damages the cuticle. That healing ability kicks in, but doesn’t stop where chitin does, readily binding to and with the collagens in these strange tissues that are sorta like an Irken’s but also just enough not like an Irken’s that it also kicks the immune system into overdrive. Think of all the pain and inflammation of a poison ivy rash but if the damn plant itself could also fuse itself with whatever you brushed against it. I think Zim actually had an understandable reason to be homicidally pissed off for that Bologna assault. Also how the Bologna virus was accelerated in Zim’s body. Once it had incorporated itself into his own DNA, it was game set and match with the speed and help those cells had to replicate themselves.

And uh, yeah, I think this post has gotten about as long as it reasonably should be here. I did have a couple more points I really wanted to get out of my brain about the Almighty Tallest, and I think that would be a good launching point actually for a possible (and hopefully final jfc) part three to this. Till then I got some off-topic scoliids to taxidermy 👀

#invader zim #iz fandom #irkens #xenobiology #iz #scarlet talks about things #long post #we hyperfixating #absolute ramblings i mean holy crap #cool bug facts #sci fi

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turtlesandfrogs · 1 year

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One of the things I think about a lot is productivity comparisons between conventional and unconventional agriculture. Mostly because that's the first question you get asked when you talk about anything that's outside the norm*, but, on what metric are we measuring? Per acre? Per hour worked? Per cost of input? Are we measuring yields of product or dollars earned?

This question also, to me, rings of fear. Fear of food shortages, which are really a problem of greed & distribution, not the world's capacity to grow food. If we were really worried about calories though, I think we'd at least switch to pastured animals instead of sending so much corn and soy to livestock (for any non-farmers out there, you do not get nearly the calories out of a chicken or pig that you put in- you get much less**). Or we would put more effort into making cities great places to live so we stopped turning farmland into suburbia. Or we would be much more concerned with how to prevent erosion & loss of arable land. But we don't, and we're not.

I also think of the complexity of non- conventional farming, and how instead of it being a return to the past, it actually relies on new information and methods***.

Take the plot of land that I'm working to make into a market garden. It's soil is, from a farmer's perspective, crap. It's gravely, sandy, very little organic matter. If I were to farm it conventionally, I'd basically have till to open the soil and kill weeds, and then provide all of the plant nutrients through fertilizers, which would cause the plants to kick out their symbiotic fungi, leaving them vulnerable to pathogenic fungi, and more dependant on me for water. There would also be bare soil everywhere, increasing evaporation & providing plenty of opportunities for new weeds. My costs would be very high, paying for fertilizers, pesticides, & herbicides, and I would have to water, a lot. It probably wouldn't be at all economically feasible to grow food on this plot using conventional methods.

Now, I look at it and say, I'm going to do no-till. I look at the hard, weedy, depleted soil and there's no way a seed is going to be able to come up through that. But, I'm not just doing no-till, because I'm not looking at it from a conventional mindset and just trading out one practice. I'm doing basically everything different from above.

Instead of tilling, I'm laying down a thick layer of mulch, to shade out the weeds, increase soil organic matter (increasing the amount of water and nutrients the soil can absorb & good on to), and feed the soil ecosystem. By the time spring rolls around, the soil underneath will be much better, but I'll still add more compost in most cases.

Instead of fertilizers I've had to pay for, I'm using mulches that I got for free from my gardening work & composts made for free from restaurant kitchen wastes****. I'm going to use over crops, plants that fix nitrogen and also serve as perennial hosts to beneficial soil fungi, which will also form symbiosis with most of my crops, increasing their resistance to pathogenic fungi while also providing them with increased access to water and soil minerals.

Instead of bare soil, there will be mulches and cover crops every where. Instead of monocrops & pesticides, I'll be intercropping which will help by hosting beneficial native insects that will chow down on aphids and other crop pests.

From this framework, there's an upfront investment of effort and planning, but farming this land now seems feasible.

And the thing is, each of those choices is backed up by research. We know so much more now about soil and nutrient cycling and how it actually works than when conventional ag really got started. We know so much more, and so many practices are new, so growing non-conventionally isn't a step back into the past of how things were grown.

But at the same time, it's not exactly completely information either- other cultures have different ways of growing food crops, and if you broaden your concept of what cultivating plants looks like, there's examples everywhere. We're just studying it now and providing it scientifically.

*and I honestly think that it's a result of the extractive mindframe that comes from being the decendants of colonizers. Just look at the different perspectives between many western foragers ideas and Indigenous peoples' relationship with the land.

** chickens are one of the most efficient, with a feed conversion ratio of 1.6, which means for every 1.6 pounds of food you give them, you can expect the chicken to gain 1 pound (cows are over 4 pounds of feed to pound of live weight, and pigs are 3 to 4ish). That's the whole bird though, counting all the parts we don't eat- guts, feathers, bones, etc. Even so, a pound of chicken food has over 1300 calories, and is about 20% protein for starter/grower, where as a pound of chicken has about 500 calories and about 30% protein (for dark meat, you get fewer calories from white meat). I'm not saying everyone should give up meat, but I am saying that the amount of meat in mainstream diets has increased dramatically, much of it comes from cafos where animals are fed on grains & legumes, and if we're measuring productivity and yield per acre because we're worried about feeding the world, this is a huge factor. Look up how much of the corn & soy crop goes to actually directly feeding people.

*** from a western, colonizing prospective

**** is this a particular boon from my particular circumstances? Yes. But everyone has their own challenges and resources, there is no cookie-cutter solution to all agriculture, everywhere. You have to find the solutions that work for you.

#thoughts #permaculture #gardening

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adobe-outdesign · 2 months

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have you been asked to review the Tapu pokemon yet?

As a whole, I really like the Tapus. It's neat to have one guardian per Alolan island, and the designs themselves are well thought out. I really like how each one has a set of white triangular markings with a darker border, which allows each one of them to be very distinctive with unique designs and palettes while also making sure all three look like they belong together in a group. This is also enhanced by them carrying tiki-inspired masks, with each one being based on a different animal that also influences the creature itself to some degree. Good stuff.

Thematically, the Tapus are also based off of the four main Hawaiian gods (Koko, Lele, Bulu, and Fini seem to be based off of Kūkaʻilimoku, Kāne, Lono, and Kanaloa respectively). I'm obviously not Hawaiian so I don't feel qualified to judge these guys on accuracy, though it seems like Tapu Koko is the most on-point with the feathered look while Tapu Fini is the least, having little to do with the deity it's based off of aside from a vague connection to the ocean.

Regardless, all of these designs are distinct and do a good job standing out from other legendaries, as well as tying back into their region. There was clearly a lot of thought that went into them in terms of both functionality and visual aesthetics.

Tapu Koko is my personal favorite of the bunch. Vaguely based off a rooster (side note: I'm amazed we don't have a rooster 'mon yet. I guess Blaziken counts but it's only a rooster in the vaguest sense of the word), it sports feathers, a beak-like structure on its face, and a mask that it forms a beak with using its pincer-like hands. Really neat! I also like the mohawk becomes the rooster's comb when the mask is closed.

The orange and yellow palette is also nice, as it's very high-contrast and pops well against the black body. My only nitpicks would be that the two pairs of chest markings feel a bit too busy, as do the lines in the yellow part of the eye (though granted, they all have those). Otherwise, this is a very neat design.

I like Tapu Lele because it looks all cute and pretty and then it turns out it's an incredibly cruel nature deity that does not care about the suffering it causes. It and Beautifly should be friends.

Anyway, Tapu Lele is meant to resemble a butterfly head, with the hair curls becoming antennae and a tentacle emerging from the bottom that resembles a proboscis, along with two wing-like structures on the back. I don't think it reads quite as clearly as some of the others, and I do wish the body took after its animal more (the creature itself having no insect-like traits, compared to the other Tapus where you can see the animal influence outside of the masks), but it's still neat.

Tapu Bulu probably resembles its animal the most in terms of body shape, having a bull's signature nose piercing and hooves, as well as horns. Most interesting is the long tail, which not only matches the hooves but becomes the bull's nose ring when the mask closes.

The colors are nice and high-contrast, but I do wish it had been green instead of red. Koko is yellow and orange, Lele is pink and red, and Fini is purple and blue. Having Bulu be red and gold feels too similar to Lele, even if it fits the angry bull idea. It also would've made sense from a typing perspective, as Tapu Bulu is the grass-type of the group (even the horns kind of look like pencils/wood).

Otherwise I don't have any real complaints, outside of the face markings feeling a bit busy, as you have the nose, ring, and three different eye markings. I feel like they could've easily dropped the white eye markings and not lost anything.

And finally, Tapu Fini is probably my least favorite of the group, though it's still a good design. I like the body shape (kind of siren-like, though I don't know if that was intentional) with fin-shaped accents in the hair, on the hands, and on the body.

When it closes its mask it resembles a swordfish of sorts, with the hair strands becoming the side fins and the hair fin slotting into the mask's purple ridge to form a dorsal fin. Something about the fish itself feels a little off though; maybe it's just that it lacks a tail fin, or maybe it just looks a bit too plain compared to the others because it's meant to be viewed more from the side. Still a pretty solid design all around though.

Anyway, overall, I think these guys are great. They're cohesive but distinct, have unique visuals and themes that set them apart from other legendaries, and designs that work from both a visual and mechanical standpoint. Good stuff.

#tapu koko #tapu lele #tapu bulu #tapu fini #pokemon #pokemon reviews

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anipgarden · 10 months

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Supporting Your Plants for Cheap

This is my fifth post in a series I'll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps!

Once you start gardening, you’ll find a lot of things go into it, and it can be a bit daunting to think about--especially if you’re trying to keep things low-cost. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be as hard--or as expensive--as it initially appears.

Composting

There’s several different ways to compost, any of which are helpful indirecting food waste and nutrients out of landfills and into your soil--which in and of itself can help increase biodiversity by making the space more livable for microorganisms and insects, which then cycles around to the rest of the habitat.

The classic one you see is hot composting. Most of the time, when I see hot composting set ups online, or hear people talking about them, it’s like listening to a wizard cast an intricate spell and prattle on about ratios and temperatures and special ingredients while standing over a detailed self-built setup made of the finest wood money can buy. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be complicated. First off, there’s lots of ways to make compost bins--some can be more expensive than others, but there’s definitely options asides from buying pre-made tumblers or getting an engineering degree. I’ve seen people use metal trash cans dug into the ground, make compost pile setups out of old pallets, or just pile stuff up and leave it. While using different ratios of certain items can help them decompose faster, it’s ultimately not something you need to worry about a lot. If it can break down, it’ll break down--it just might take awhile. Composting this way can also help provide habitat--some insects like bumblebees have been known to make nests in compost heaps. In addition, it provides a robust ecosystem for decomposers like worms and other organisms, and bats and birds will be attracted to open-top piles to eat flying bugs that live off the compost. Amphibians enjoy them for humidity, warmth, and feasting on insects. Do note that sometimes snakes may also rest in and lay eggs in compost heaps, so be careful when turning them.

Do note, though, that if your compost pile looks like that you're getting roaches and rats and raccoons out of your goddamn mind. Bury the food scraps.

Personally, when I compost, I use a worm bin--they’re a fantastic option for limited space and limiting smells. I keep mine outside in a big rubbermaid tote with holes drilled into the bottom, sides, and lid. I put a layer or two of weed block on the inside, so it’s still able to drain but keeps the worms from trying to escape during rainy days. There is an initial cost of buying the worms, getting enough bedding materials, and getting a new bin if you don’t have an old one suitable for use. But with occasional feeding, it should sustain itself and provide valuable worm castings that can be used in the garden. Please do note, however, that earthworms are considered invasive in some places.

Look at that worm bin-y goodness. This is a pic of my bin, from earlier this month!

Though I’ve never done it, I’ve heard of people having good results with bokashi composting--a method that’s done in a bucket, and is relatively easy to do indoors.

Once you start a composting system, keeping it stockpiled with organic material can become pretty easy for cheap. In general, if it comes from a plant, it’s safe to use. It’s also a good idea to avoid putting already-cooked things in a pile, as salts and sauces can kill beneficial bacteria in the compost while also attracting animals. Adding meat is also generally avoided to not attract animals. But below are some things that I’ve put in my worm bin quick, easy, and cheaply; or things I’ve seen friends put in their compost piles.

Cooking scraps/snack leftovers--things like cut up bell peppers, the ends of tomatoes, strawberry tops, apple cores, watermelon rinds, coffee grounds, and orange peels are amassed somewhat quickly in my house--my dad likes to cook. Around holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas? Corn husks, potato peels, sweet potato fibers, leftover greens and other trimmings are a feast for compost piles and worm bins.

Vegetables and Stuff that went bad in the fridge/pantry--we’re constantly victims of the ‘forgot it was there’ conundrum. Fridge cleanouts are great times to decide what can be tossed to the compost--moldy bell peppers, spotty celery, questionable carrots, onion halves, old eggs, bagged salads, and stale/moldy bread have all been tossed into the pile before!

Grass clippings--though my worms don’t like grass clippings, they’re still great material for a classic hot compost set-up!

Fallen leaves--another classic addition to a hot compost pile. Some friends keep them stocked up and stored for later use.

Plant trimmings--what is plant clean up if not compost material? I’ve put cleaned-out sunflower heads and stalks in my worm bin, and they decomposed after about two months. If you get blossom end rot on your tomatoes or peppers, they’re still fair game for the bin as well!

Shredded mail--just make sure to not put in the thin plastic that covers the address section on some envelopes. Otherwise? As long as the paper isn’t glossy, it should be great for a bin or pile! Shredded paper or cardboard also makes great bedding for worm bins. Put those Amazon boxes to good use!

Pumpkins! Snag your neighbor’s halloween pumpkins in November and toss them in my compost! Last year my dad went around the cul-de-sac and nabbed all of the post-halloween pumpkins, the worms loved it.

Christmas tree needles--can’t confirm I’ve tried this, but it seems like it would work.

Mulch

Mulch is an excellent way to keep your soil moist, while also beginning and continuing to improve soil conditions as it breaks down into organic matter. You’ll have to water less, and it’ll prevent/slow down the growth of unwanted weeds (which is always the final straw to gardening for me, I get so overwhelmed I just stop going outside). Win-win situation, right? Except stepping into a Home Depot and finding mulch being sold for five dollars per square foot and knowing you have to cover a whole garden with it all can add up… pretty quickly, to say the least.

Fortunately, there are a few solutions to this, and likely from your own backyard!

Grass clippings are the first that come to mind. If you’re mowing your lawn, or have neighbors who are, collecting the clippings and spreading them over your soil is a cheap and easy option for some quick mulch. It’ll be very nitrogen-heavy, so keep that in mind, but it’ll still prevent weeds, retain moisture, and break down into organic material over the course of a few months. Do try to not use grass clippings you know are treated with pesticides, since the aim is to use this mulch to help increase your biodiversity, and having insects around plays a big role in that.

Fallen leaves are the next that comes to mind. If you’ve got a tree in your yard, or in your neighborhood, then you or someone around you knows the neverending avalanche of leaves or pine needles that drop come fall. As mentioned before, they can be used to make brush piles for creatures, or added into compost, but they have a fantastic third use as mulch. Add them on top of your beds!

Want free wood mulch? A program called Chip Drop might be the best solution for you! They team up with arborists to find cheap drop sites for shredded wood, logs, etc. that are produced as they maintain trees! If any local arborists tied to the program are operating in your area, instead of paying to dump the resulting mulch at a landfill or some other dumpside, they’ll simply dump it at your place! Now, you won’t be able to control when the mulch gets dropped--I’ve heard of people coming home from work one day to find a chip drop in their driveway. But… free mulch!

Want wood chips but not a whole truck load? If an arborist is working in your area, and you can muster the courage, its worth a shot to ask! One time someone in my neighborhood was getting a tree removed, so my Dad and I parked near their car with a tarp in the trunk, some shovels, and an old storage bin. We approached nicely and asked if we could have some chips, and they were totally cool with it! At that point, how much you get depends on how big your trunk space is, and how many times you’re willing to ferry mulch back and forth out of your car so you can go back for more. But it is an option! Alternatively, you can ask them to dump the whole load in front of your house, but at least you’ll know when and where it’s happening!

Trellises

Many plants need, or will appreciate, some kind of climbing structure. But trellises aren’t often cheap to find. To that, I say--we’ll create our own!

One popular option is to grow taller plants, and then plant climbing species are few weeks/years later so they’ll climb the taller plants! I’ve planted passion vine near a tree in my garden for it to climb, and I’ve seen people do similar concepts with sunflowers, corn, and other such plants! Sunflower stalks can provide support even after they’ve been cut back.

A combination of wood, some stakes, some nails, and some string can create a great frame trellis that can be used for beans, tomatoes, vines, etc--so I’m sure if could be put to good use for native climbers, especially since my dad’s used this structure for passion vines before. You may have to replace the string every year, but most of the time, the string is compostable anyways!

This may take a bit more setup and have a more upfront cost, but creating a trellis out of cattle panels makes a durable structure that can support all kinds of vining plants!

Of course, there’s always the easy alternative of simply letting plants climb along your fence! This is especially easy if you have a chain link fence, but wooden fences are plenty suitable for some species as well! I’ve seen passion vines do great growing along chain link fences as supports, and one of my favorite sights as a kid was always seeing bushels of trumpet vines growing up and over fences on the drive home.

Why are we worrying about trellises? Creatures are attracted to diverse landscapes with a variety of plants within them, so having a few climbers can be a great way to attract more wildlife! I know some plants in my area that pollinators are attracted to, or even rely on as host plants, are climbers that can get upwards of 15 feet tall, and will climb any surface you give them. A trellis provides you a great place to put extremely beneficial plants.

That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about how different 'kinds' of plants can all be beneficial in a biodiversity standpoint. Until then, I hope this advice was helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, your success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

#biodiversity #solarpunk #gardening #outdoor gardening #composting #mulch #trellis #budget gardening #cheap gardening #ani rambles #out of queue #the biodiversity saga #i remember junior year of college me and my friends considered doing a cattle panel trellis #but then we couldn't figure out where to buy cattle panel #apparently the answer is 'tractor/farmer supply companies'#also so anyone reading these tags knows what took me 5+ years to learn #CATTLE PANEL DOESNT COME IN ROLLS IT COMES IN LENGTHS #all this time I was like 'man i wanna make a cattle panel trellis but it comes in like 40 foot lengths and i dont need that much'#and all my gardening homies were confused because theyve been getting it in lengths THIS WHOLE TIME #I WAS LOOKING AT FUCKIN ROLLED FENCING #i actually dont think any of the big box stores by me even fuckin sell cattle panel but thats beside the point #you can get it delivered though #(Delivered to the store for pickup i think)#someday i want a cattle panel trellis with like moonflowers or trumpet vine just a BURST of color and life

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onenicebugperday · 19 days

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@shesus-crisp submitted: Hello, could you help me identify this little creature crawling on my wall? I've been finding these guys all around my room as well as in houses of a few friends for years every now and then, and it only just occurred to me that you may know what they are! They are really tiny, only about 2-3mm long, refuse to fly even when I hold them for relocation and I assume they are under some stress, and move pretty slowly. I have never seen them outside, only in buildings, regardless of weather or season. Location is South-Western Germany. Any clue to what they are called, and why they keep coming into houses?

It's a carpet beetle! Probably an Australian carpet beetle as far as I can tell. Obviously not native but now found in Europe. They come inside because their larvae like to eat animal fibers found in houses. They're called carpet beetles because they used to be associated with wool carpets. Less so now since carpets tend to be synthetic. They'll also eat human hair or pet fur, taxidermy, leather, dead insects, feathers, wool clothing, dried pet food, and a lot of other animal fibers. Or sometimes plant fibers if that's all that's available. Adults eat nectar but if you're seeing adults all the time, likely there are larvae around too. But they're not a health risk or anything, they can just be destructive if there are a lot of them.

#animals #insects #bugs #submission #beetle #dermestid beetle #carpet beetle #australian carpet beetle

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