#head of of the toxins and poisons section

[ranticore]

you mentioned wyrms retract the human-ish head to eat, do you have an idea of how that works, anatomically? I'm trying to imagine a cross section of those necks with separate tubes for air, food, the head and the spine. does the head get packed tight in some kind of sleeve? It would be really cool to see that cross section

(also would love to know more about the time Rev spent as a disembodied head, that must have been really weird)

well i was meaning to draw it anyway

the "human" portion (referred to as the head yes all of it) has its own heart, lungs, and accessory oesophagus, though it doesn't have its own stomach. there's a little crop which is the remains of the human stomach, kind of like an appendix now really. the accessory oesophagus (green) connects to the main crop in the chest area, running parallel to the dragon oesophagus but not attaching to it. when the head is out, the dragon mouth is occupied anyway so it doesn't need to eat and the oesophagus is a squishy tube that is collapsed when not in use (unlike the trachea) so there's no issues with space here, it's fine.

the lungs in the head area are only minorly used for gas exchange - they provide very little oxygen, really, but enough to keep that human part running in a very hypoxic state in the case of decapitation. Mostly they're just used to draw air over the vocal chords. If the lungs in the main body were compromised somehow, the wyrm would straight up cease to function (not death. but comatose), while if the head lungs broke, eh nbd it just means no voice until they heal. there is a syrinx inside the chest cavity which provides additional vocals - deep infrasound rumbles. the main lungs are gigantic and in larger wyrms will extend further into the body. in the case of multiple heads, there are multiple syrinxes where the tracheas connect to the lungs and that means they can produce polyphonic rumbles :) breathing is done through the dragon nostrils, there's a sizeable cavity there for their good sense of smell. in case you are wondering how they sync up their breaths when there's multiple heads, the lungs are birdlike in that it's a series of air sacs and a passive inhalation, and an active exhalation governed by different lobes of the lung at once (using the air sacs). each head has its own lobe. so the wyrm is in a constant state of inhaling and exhaling at different rates (if there's multiple heads)

the dragon oesophagus is the main one and it leads to a crop, which is where the wyrm denatures the powerful toxins of their prey and forms a pellet out of the inedible mandibles and spicules found within a crawling beast. this is spat up later and buried (no longer poisonous so nbd). edible portions go to the stomach. the liver is very big and very strong, it's almost impossible to poison a wyrm in any way (including drugs, alcohol, etc)

so the thing about the wyrms is that the number of legs is variable, Revelation obviously has two, Onozar has four. But the two that Revelation has are actually its forelegs! The torso extends quite a bit into what we would consider the Tail area, it's rather snakelike.

as a disembodied head, Rev had no heart, no functioning lungs, and was also completely paralysed because of the severed nerve cord in its (human) neck. literally from the jaw down it couldn't move, which is what made it such a convincing corpse. life was very underwhelming for it since it was essentially running on extreme battery saver mode, always watching and sensing the world but never truly perceiving what it saw and heard and felt. animals made nests in its chest cavity, and it was infested with scavenging worms for a while, but its own flesh is distasteful to other living beings and nothing did enough damage to actually cause decomposition. just some nasty wounds.

Rev needed Wildfire to literally rip up a crawler and put the meat in its mouth before any attempts at healing could be made. when it finally got its lungs working again it found they were full of detritus - dust, spores, roots, random stuff. growing back the lower body would have taken decades more if it continued at the same pace, so it used a little bit of magic and Wildfire's other tiercels' flesh to construct the most basic shape of its lower body, and once it had those bits intact it could start properly gaining strength and growing.

[sickficideas]

hazardous || TachiAku w/ poisoned Akutagawa

ao3! 2.6k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 16: toxin/poison

Tachihara feels his stomach drop when he watches the dart move at an incredible speed and hit Akutagawa right in the left side of his neck.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

There’s too much going on. Tachihara came here with Akutagawa and the rest of the Black Lizard to apprehend a woman who has been doing shady things with the Port Mafia’s money and assets - shady for the Port Mafia, even - and Tachihara took the opportunity to let the Hunting Dogs know, since this woman was a target of theirs as well. A target they needed information from.

But the poison dart was supposed to hit her. Not Akutagawa.

Akutagawa leaves no time for reaction. He pulls the dart out and slices it at least eight ways with his ability, staring its shards down before his eyes scan the area, wondering where on earth it came from. Tachihara knows. He positioned them. But Akutagawa can’t know that.

Tachihara has lost sight of their original target, now, as she and her subordinates have disappeared from the open section of the warehouse, just a few remaining. Tachihara can only hope that their intended target was actually hit, and regardless of the position she ends up in, he can set up something for the Hunting Dogs to purchase her from the Port Mafia. She has valuable information.

But that poison was intended to kill her in case she spent too much time in port Mafia custody, to avoid them keeping her for ransom.

It could very well kill Akutagawa too.

Tachihara pulls his arm just for a second to lead him in another direction, some other room where they’re not in the line of fire, because the woman they’re after is no force to be messed with, either. There’s a reason it’s taking both groups this long to corner her.

“I need the antidote, Jouno. The dart hit the wrong target,” Tachihara breathes as quietly as he can into his earpiece before Akutagawa joins him in the hall.

“Two birds, one stone. The sniper will strike again.”

And the line is silent once again.

Tachihara feels like he can't breathe. Akutagawa is the worst person this could have hit.

He whips his head around to make sure Akutagawa has followed him. His eyes are wide and darting around wildly to make sure they aren’t being followed, and there’s a hand pressed up against the side of his neck, which seems to be bleeding quite a bit. Really, very bad, if it hit a vessel or something already. Tachihara finds a room on the side of the hall and opens the door, deeming it safe enough before ushering Akutagawa inside.

He locks the door behind them with his ability, without Akutagawa’s knowledge, of course. That way he knows they’re safe in here for right now.

“I'm fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Akutagawa hisses, still holding a hand over the dart’s mark on his neck, leaning against the back wall of the bedroom-sized supply closet they’ve hidden in. “Where are Higuchi and Gin? Were they hit?”

“I - I dunno, there was so much going on,” Tachihara says with a frustrated huff. He can’t tell Akutagawa, but he knows they’re safe, he purposefully misled Gin and Higuchi out of the main hall before the sniper made their shot. He knows for sure that Hirotsu was on the opposite end of the building.

“Contact our specialist in the event they are. Higuchi has no poison training experience, this will kill her,” Akutagawa insists, and Tachihara is painfully aware of this. It's why he lead her out of harm's way for this, but Akutagawa won’t make it long either. He’s gotten much weaker over the past several months for reasons he can’t quite figure out, but he;s sure has something to do with his cough. He’s not sure he has the physical disposition to even withstand an hour of this stuff in his bloodstream.

He can see Akutagawa physically trying to fight off the symptoms of the poison. It's evident in his paling skin and the sweat on his hairline. His eyes are fixed on something on the ground to distract himself, it seems like. Tachihara takes a second to text an SOS signal to the backup they had on standby so that they know they need medical attention at the extraction point no matter the outcome, because it seems Jouno no longer has any desire to keep Akutagawa alive for information.

Akutagawa’a body suddenly tenses up, eyes screwing shut before he slides down the wall, not able to fight off enough of it to hide the pain from Tachihara. He feels like his breath is caught in his throat. They use this poison on enemies all the time in the military and he’s never cared once about what it does to its victims, but seeing Akutagawa just in the first few minutes of it hurts him to watch.

Why does it even matter, really? Akutagawa isn’t any different from the enemies and criminals he faces daily with his work as a Hunting Dog. He’s killed hundreds of people. He’s been an information target of the Hunting Dogs for a long time, and Tachihara’s been positioned undercover so close to him to get that information, and he’s never suspected a thing, to his knowledge.

This would be a good opportunity to detain him, but that would mean blowing his cover early, and he can’t do that.

Or maybe that’s an excuse.

Akutagawa's face is paper white, worse than Tachihara’s ever seen it. He hears gunshots and commotion on the other side of the building. He can’t stay here. He needs to make sure their target is detained. Jouno can’t find out he’s hiding with a Port Mafia attack dog to make sure the poison doesn’t kill him before they can get out to the attraction point.

“I need a minute,” he says through labored breaths, eyes darting up to Tachihara, who’s still by the door, “go find the others.”

“I can't leave you here,” Tachihara tells him. He can’t move. He doesn’t know what to do. Really, this is a great opportunity. Fukuchi has wanted Akutagawa captured ever since they were made aware of his existence. Dead or alive, but recently he's left the former out of the conversation.

As far as the Port Mafia goes, Tachihara has no obligation to stay with him, either. He doesn't work for Akutagawa, he works for Hirotsu, under Mori. Their team has been told explicitly by Mori a number of times that they are not obligated to cover or rescue Akutagawa. According to him, he’s a loose cannon and should not be easily trusted. They only take Akutagawa's orders because he's on the same level as Hirotsu, and only because of their mutual respect.

But for some reason, none of this matters. This isn’t a situation where Tachihara can blame the outcome on any reckless actions by Akutagawa. Akutagawa is suffering. And Tachihara doesn't know why, but he can't leave him to die.

Akutagawa kneels over on the side, one arm propping him up and the other only briefly covering his mouth to cough - even that sounds a hundred times more painful than usual -  but it’s not long before Akutagawa gags and chokes up a stream of bile.

Very, very bad. The poison has already saturated his bloodstream if it’s causing him to vomit so suddenly. Tachihara doesn’t know if it’s because of the location where he was hit, or maybe he got a high dose - or maybe he wasn’t physically well enough to attempt fighting it off in the first place.

Tachihara kneels down in front of him, not sure how he’ll be able to help at this point aside from catching him if he passes out, but Akutagawa makes it clear he doesn’t want him anywhere close. As soon as Tachihara’s knees hit the floor, shards of Akutagawa’s coat cover his face in some attempt to get him away, but Tachihara doesn’t react. He’s learned well that this is just an empty threat.

“If - if I'd ingested it, this would…at least be helpful…”

Akutagawa hardly manages to speak through how visibly nauseous he is, and the spot on his neck where the dart hit has almost blackened, like the tissue around the injection site is dying off. He almost chokes on the breath he takes in just before he gags involuntarily to bring up more bile, but after a few seconds, it’s just bright red blood.

He stares down at it - it’s not quite shock, more of a realization, before his whole body tenses up again from the horrific pain he’s in. Tachihara knows all about it, the poison makes it feel like your veins and vessels are all freezing but on fire at the same time, it’s not something anyone can shrug off or hide. Not even Akutagawa, someone he knows for a fact has a terrifying pain tolerance. He can barley breathe.

He’s seconds from passing out, Tachihara realizes, and he takes him by the shoulders before it happens, watching his eyes roll back and a mix of blood and spit drip from the corner of his mouth as he tries to steady him.

“Hey - stay with me, alright? Don't let yourself black out yet,” Tachihara tells him, because he’s not quite out yet. His eyes roll forward again and he’s conscious, for now, but he's not sure Akutagawa can understand him, or even recognizes that he's speaking. He tries to stand, tries to walk off past Tachihara like nothing’s wrong, but he just collapses into his arms.

This can't be happening. Akutagawa can't die because of a mistake. He'd never forgive himself, enemy or not, it doesn’t matter. He can’t walk out carrying Akutagawa’s corpse when everything was going so well.

Tachihara manages to lift him up, into his arms. He’s got some hope left in the fact that Akutagawa’s skin is burning, he’s not cold, but that still isn’t good. He’s got some control left, even half-conscious. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open, slow down his breathing, the little breaths he can get in - he knows exactly what to do if he’s been poisoned, but none of it will work in the end. Tachihara needs the antidote.

“Stay awake,” Tachihara tells him, his voice shaking as he approaches the door, “we’ve - we’ve gotta get you back to Gin, alright?”

A last-ditch effort to restore some determination. Tachihara knows how important his sister is to him, something he’s only pieced together recently.

But Akutagawa can’t hear him. His breathing is slowing down and he coughs a few times, so weak that Tachihara isn’t even sure they qualify. Tachihara opens the door with his ability and kicks it to swing it open, deciding if he should just pursue the sniper for the antidote or take Akutagawa to the extraction point and see if they can help him.

Except, they won’t be able to.

“Akutagawa,” Tachihara shouts, almost, but there’s no response from him, just shallow breathing from pale lips that can’t speak back to him. He watches a thin stream of blood drip from his nose.

Tachihara presses his earpiece against his shoulder to activate its signal back to the sniper.

“I need an antidote, dammit,” Tachihara bites, “if he dies, my whole operation is finished, and it’ll have been for fucking nothing.”

There’s silence. All Tachihara can hear his Akutagawa’s breathing. He didn’t realize he was holding his own breath.

“I’m leaving it outside the rear entrance. We’ve contained our target as planned.”

Tachihara takes in a mouthful of air and runs for the backside of the building.

…

Tachihara can’t sleep. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s sitting on a counter that he can’t possibly make comfortable, but he doesn’t intend to. He just needs to see this through. If he doesn’t, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Gin is asleep. Her head is laying in her arms, crossed over Akutagawa’s hospital bed. She’s only been asleep for an hour or so, but he’s glad she finally fell asleep. Higuchi was here for a pretty long time too, but she apologized profusely for needing to head home, since her sister was waiting for her.

Akutagawa had no objections to this, of course. He talks to them like he’s some old man who wants teenagers out of his yard, but Tachihara knows it’s guilt. Akutagawa isn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thinks he is.

“You don’t need to stay here.”

He says quietly. He can’t raise his voice much, his throat is probably raw from all of the vomiting and coughing up blood, which only continued during his recovery with their toxin specialty team. Tachihara can hear him, though. It’s dead quiet aside from the monitoring equipment’s irregular beeping.

“I know,” Tachihara says. They’ve had this conversation already. Tachihara’s last excuse was that he’s staying in case Gin needs anything - she’s his coworker, after all. “I have free will, y’know. If I wanted to leave, I would’ve.”

“I don’t understand why you feel the need to stay,” Akutagawa whispers.

“Just wanna make sure you don’t die,” Tachihara says. He thinks it’s guilt on his end too, plus a secret crippling fear that Akutagawa fully understood his conversation with the sniper and plans on killing him for his betrayal. He tries to keep those thoughts back.

“I’m fairly certain that’s our medical staff’s job. Have you changed career paths?” Akutagawa says.

“You’re hilarious,” Tachihara teases.

Akutagawa lays his head back into the pillows with a quiet sigh, presumably giving up on his attempt to get Tachihara out of his hospital room. His head lulls to the side, peering out of the tinted window where they can’t see much of the night sky but the moonlight cascading in.

“Do you remember any of that?” Tachihara asks.

Akutagwa is quiet for several moments, but he finally decides to answer. “Nothing after you closed us in the room.”

“Well, good, then,” Tachihara tells him. “Less crap to worry about.”

“You put it so eloquently,” Akutagawa sighs with a sarcastic huff. He coughs a few times, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. They look and sound painful, he can’t imagine his body has even remotely recovered from what that poison did to him yet, antidote or not.

Gin lifts her head at the sound, still half asleep but worried enough to wake up and check to make sure her brother is okay. Tachihara’s heart hurts, remembering her face when he carried Akutagawa back to the extraction point. Gin is very professional, she always has been, and she kept it up, even seeing Akutagawa in that much pain - but she was shaking so much. Tachihara saw it each time, and as soon as it was just them and the medical staff, Gin held him and cried. And she hasn’t left his side since then.

Akuatagwa waves his hand dismissively as the coughs die down, laying his other hand on her head to encourage her to go back to sleep. He had tried to convince her to go home, but she refused every time anyone even lightly suggested it. Tachihara knows just how stubborn she is, he didn’t bother trying himself.

Gin is tired enough to give in, lowering her head back down into her arms, a little closer to Akutagawa this time. Akutagawa’s hand doesn’t leave her head, quietly patting her hair for some time. Tachihara can’t quite place his expression. It’s strange to see him like this - completely defenseless, weak, weirdly soft-hearted.

His soft expression on Gin’s sleeping face makes him wonder what he’s thinking about. Tachihara knows very little about their shared past, but knowing how young they were when they joined the Port Mafia tells him enough.

“I really thought you were gonna die for a second there,” Tachihara puffs, thinking out loud, “didn’t think you were killable.”

“Don’t keep your hopes up,” Akutagawa says quietly to himself.

Tachihara wonders what he means by that.

[whumped-by-glitter]

Chapter 2 Part 5: Laid Bare

⚠️CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Bullying, Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Public Humiliation, Objectification, non-con drugging (poisons). If I missed anything, you know the drill.

This marks the end of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 will be quite a tone shift. thank you as always to my lovely beta readers, @generic-whumperz and @3-2-whump.

This Section does have an extended addition over on my NSFW blog, if that style whump is your jam, if not, this is the "safe" version.

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A pair of rough hands grabbed The Mutt. Electricity coursed unnecessarily through it, paralyzing it, a pointless show of power as it offered no resistance. It never offered resistance. From a young age it was trained to allow its body to be manipulated with no resistance.

The cold seeped further into its body as the meager clothes it wore were torn off. There were a few small gasps from the newer slaves who had yet to see its body riddled in scars. It could smell the newest girl, the one that couldn’t wield a whip, get upset. It gave a low warning growl, sensing she wanted to say something or do something. The growl was far too low for the Valten to hear, the rest of the slaves could hear the warning. Interfering would go badly for her. There was only so much Balor could do to Zan or it without consequence, many of the rest of the slaves did not enjoy such built-in protection though.

The cold pushed further into its core as its arms were wrenched from its sides and pulled taught. A position that left it completely exposed, unable to hide. It shivered slightly as the same process was repeated on its ankles, his legs being pulled apart. A deep breath, and then other, The Mongrel slowly sank into itself. ‘Just a tool, just a tool, just a tool.’ It repeated the mantra over and over again in its head.

Balor soon reappeared, and The Mutt’s heart dropped to its stomach then jumped back up to its throat when it saw what was in his hands, a small yet distinct vial. Divinity’s Downfall…..

Balor held up the vial to the group, “This is why my father spends so much time with this thing. Its not special or important, just a poison drinker…. A poison drinker and a monster!” He turned to The Mutt this time, “I order you to tell them. Tell us all exactly why my mother left 12 years ago. Tell them the truth sworn on the Goddess of Sin and Purity.”

“I swear on the Goddess, Kozula,” it whispered, barely audible. The Mongrel winced at the memory, causing it to hesitate slightly, the bands started to tingle and turn red. It gulped air and began to speak, the warm purple light the bands then started producing offered no comfort this time.

“I-it was given Divinity’s Downfall for the first time that evening. Master didn’t chain it like he does now.” A tear slipped down its cheek as it took a ragged breath. “No one knew that the poison would cause such powerful hallucinations. It stripped and ran off when the toxin took hold……” it trailed off.

“Then what did you do?” Balor demanded sharply.

“It was confused!” it admitted, starting to cry, only to be cut off with a backhand.

“Knock off your damn crying, continue,” Balor snapped.

The Mutt did its best to collect itself, putting its mask of void back on. ‘Just a tool, not a person, not a dog, just an object.’

It swallowed and continued. “It saw what it thought was a monster and attacked it. Then the monster turned into a flower so it watered it….. Only it wasn’t water, it found out later…. This beast clawed itself open and bled all over Lady Claudia. Its blood is toxic, and she got so sick she nearly died.”

The slave hung its head in shame. That evening had cost it everything. Its personhood, its friendship with Balor, even its sleeping mat and blanket. That warm summer evening was the day the world turned cold.

Balor turned to the group, now all were standing deathly quiet. “Now I’ll show you all what this piece of shit does under this poison, and I’m sure you all have your own grievances with it too.” He turned back to The Dog, “You haven’t had your lunch dose poison today, so I’ll give you a little extra.”

‘Not how that works,’ It thought but refrained from saying that. Maybe if it was lucky, Balor would accidentally overdose The Mutt and it could be rid of this cold lonely life. It obediently opened its mouth, catching 1,2, 3 drops of undiluted poison. Normally it only got 2 and it was mixed with food.

The bitterness made him choke and gag. It was unused to drinking it straight but managed to keep it down. Dread coiled around in its insides, roughly 30 minutes… Just 30 minutes perhaps sooner with 3 drops on an empty stomach, before the effects hit.

Before it had time to ruminate on it too much, a sharp prick to its chest jolted it to the here and now, as the world blackened. It took inventory of its senses, could still hear and smell and feel, it seemed like this pin only deprived it of sight. The pantheon above, it hated those pins.

A crack sounded, making it jolt in its restraints, moments before the searing, stinging pain registered across its back. It could feel wetness drip down its back. The closest smell to it was Balor, so it assumed it must be him administering the beating. It bit back a pained noise as best it could as the next crack registered a trail across its chest, startling it again. The smells didn’t change, it didn’t hear anyone walking from around it. Two whips?

Smells started to swirl and it could no longer tell where anybody was. Another crack sounded, fire melted through its body, as if the whip reached through it to hit its chest and back simultaneously. Sounds began undulating, quieting and getting louder again, like a heartbeat…. Like….like the air itself was alive. The black its eyes could see shifted to red. Pantheon, he was sure he was swallowed by some ancient creature. The burning came again followed by wetness. Digestive juices were burning him, he realized.

Fear gripped him for a moment but then he let it go. At least it was warm. Then he realized something…

“Tools can’t be digested, you picked bad food to eat,” The Dog spoke out loud.

He heard a rumble and the earth shook, as if the beast was laughing. He fell to his knees, but hadn’t he been chained? Then he realized the monster must have broke the chain.

A distorted growling came from the direction that must have been the beasts head, “--free to do as you like--,” the words cut off again until he heard one more word, “-Morning.”

That didn’t make any sense, what could he do? The stomach acid was now up to his knees, and continued to drip on him. It hurt, it hurt so much. This wouldn’t be over until morning? He wanted to sob.

---

It might have been minutes or years when fresh pain and humiliation stopped washing upon him, The Dog had no way of telling. Eventually though, it did stop, slowly becoming replaced with a pounding headache. His mind was gradually becoming clearer. He collapsed, exhausted.

He didn’t even have the energy to react when he felt a rough set grab him again. He heard chains clink as he was unbound. The Mutt then felt himself being moved. To where- he didn’t really know or care.

He was dropped with a thud on hard dirt. He heard the clink of chain again before footsteps of the person walked off. He curled into himself. He quietly wished he had just one person who cared.

‘so cold,’ that was his last thought before exhaustion won out.

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@ichortwine

[moonselune]

So I'm writing a longfic and throughout it Minthy adopts a half-drow kid, but I wanted to see the idea as a stand-alone snippet written in your marvelous style, if you're up to it <3

Okay I'm going down the road of accidental child acquisition and for some reason or another she has this half drow kid with her when she is trying to take over Menzoberranzen. I see her plotting in a tavern pre her return, and she just has this kid with her who is trying to show off their latest trick.

Minthara sat at a weathered wooden table in a dimly lit tavern, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on her intricate maps. Her sharp eyes scanned the lines and markings, plotting her next move to reclaim Menzoberranzen. Beside her, a half-drow child fidgeted restlessly, trying to capture her attention.

"Minthy, look! One hand!" the child exclaimed, balancing precariously on a table with one hand.

"It's Minthara, not Minthy, and I am trying to—oh, by the gods, get down from there, now." Minthara snapped, glancing up from her maps. The child wobbled, their hand trembling under the strain.

"Shut up, child eater."

"Sun scum."

"Spider kisser."

"Mongrel."

"Murk—Ow!" The child's arm finally gave way, and they tumbled off the table, landing in a heap on the floor with a crash.

Minthara sighed, a small smile playing on her lips as she smoothed out her maps. "I told you to get down from there," she chided, though her eyes softened as she glanced at the child. Seeing the devious grin forming on their face, she knew they were uninjured. She then stood up abruptly, thwarting the child's plan to kick the chair from under her.

"No fair…" the child grumbled, brushing themselves off.

"Then be better," Minthara retorted as she retrieved the chair that had been unceremoniously kicked across the room.

"Then be better," the child mocked, quickly ducking to avoid the small book Minthara tossed at them. They settled on a nearby chair, drawing their legs up to their chest and huffing. "I'm bored!"

"Then make yourself useful and come plot with me," Minthara said, her tone softening slightly.

"Really?" The child's eyes lit up with excitement as they scrambled off the chair to join her at the table. They peered over the edge, trying to make sense of the intricate plans sprawled across the surface.

"Yes, really," Minthara replied, pulling them closer. "Look here," she pointed to a marked section on the map. "This is where we'll stage our ambush. What do you think we should do to catch them off guard?"

The child's brow furrowed in concentration as they studied the map. "Maybe we can hide in the shadows here," they suggested, pointing to a narrow alleyway.

"That's a good idea. We'll use that to our advantage." Minthara nodded, a proud smile tugging at her lips. She patted the child's head, affectionately, she then motioned for them to grab a chair and sit next to her.

Throughout the night they plotted and schemed, Minthara passing on all that she knew to her new prodigy. She made a mental note to start introducing them to poisons and toxins next, build up their immunity. As the moon peaked in the sky, Minthara was drawn from her thoughts by a light snore, the child had sworn that they were simply resting their head on her shoulder so they could get to see everything from her perspective. She should have known from their ceased chattering that followed soon that you had fallen asleep.

Sighing Minthara picked the child up, being careful not to stir them from their slumber. She had never thought herself particularly maternal, well at least not in the conventional sense, she knew she would be an excellent drow mother. Perhaps she could come to a compromise for this child.

Oh my god I had to stop myself from writing a full fic this was so much fun and I hope you like it - Seluney xox

[eternitas]

Unseen Varia - Profiles

Nono Giuseppi

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2322721

Basic Info:

Full Name: Nono Giuseppi

Nickname: none, nobody dares

Age: 27 / 37 (TYL)

Birthday: REDACTED

Gender/Pronouns: cis male, he/him

Sexuality: undisclosed

Ethnicity: italian

Height: 178cm

Flametype: Sun, Lightning, minor Rain

Weapon of Choice: Scalpel

Affiliation: Varia, Medical Station

Position: Head of Medical Station, Medical supervisor, Special officer for medicine and healing

Strengths: vast knowledge of medicine and medicinal procedures, quick reactions and reflexes, precise, toxicology, poison resistance

Weaknesses: coleric, uncooperative, unhelpful unless he believes you have justifiable injury and illness

Character Summary:

Nono is his own menace and notorious for it in the Varia. While the officers are already fickle and strong to back it up and shut you down, Nono is all that and more. Despite his incredible skill as a medic, he is absolutely terrifying and has no bedside manners. He instills fear of himself to incentivise people to look out for their own health a bit more. He seems to always be in a foul mood, never seen smiling or other. He also never talks about his own past or life, living at the medical station and doing... something. People avoid going to see Nono unless it is absolutely necesarry and he will use the time you are in care to tell you how stupid you were for endangering yourself unnecesarily. People did die because of his refusal of care so he is not exactly taking his oath too serious.

Background:

Not much is known about Nonos background. He never talks about it, but there are many many rumors about it. So most of this section is Character specific spoilers.

Nono was born to a mother that was extremely poor and in need of money. The pregnancy had been unwanted and so she eventually sold him to some people who offered her a substantial amount of money. He was raised in a bunker where he was experimented on, his emotional development stunting and his body going through many different changes over the years. At age 8 the biggest change and transformation was brought upon him. His body was altered to become vampiresque. It was molded to sustain itself on poison, so that from then moving forward he was required to either intake it through drinking or injecting poison directly into himself every day. His body became completely immune to any form of poison, with minor sideeffects like heartburn or a headache. At age 12 the facility was raided and destroyed by tha Varia where Tyr and Zarria found him and took him with them. It was a bit difficult since they did not know of the poison he needed to take but the back then Medical officer Catlena quickly managed to find the source of his unwellness and saved his life.

Nono from then on grew up at the Varia, as Catlenas apprentice until she decided to leave when Tyr died. Since then she has not been seen anymore. Nono became the Varias new head of the medical station and had adopted a lot of his teachers personality quirks, while he continued to inject himself with poison every morning.

When Nono was 20 he met Shamal for the first time, having sought him out to get some form of tratment from him. While the survival chance was just 2.3% Nono wanted to still risk a treatment, but Shamal refused any and all help, which festered in Nono a deep hatred for the doctor that even today he still wants to kill him whenever he lays eyes on the man.

Fighting Style

Nono is not a fighter. When he can he will trick his opponent into drinking poison by offering two vials with liquid, one of which holds just water or syrup and the other a deadly poison. In truth both are filled with poison, because Nono would not die from drinking it. When he is forced into combat, Nono will use his scalpel and several injections of toxins.

Trivia

Unbeknownst to Nono the reason why Shamal refused him care was because his mentor Catlena had vowed him to never try a treatment on Nono. Despite his circumstances being dire he can still survive with it while a treatment is not just risky but might do his already altered body more harm than good

Nono only treats wounds and injuries he sees as legitimate, such as from ambushes or enemy attacks. If you got hurt during training or were stupid enough to pick a fight with someone stronger than you you were tough out of luck

It is only known that Nono is very resistant to poison. Not many know that he injects himself or that he can suck poison out like a vampire.

Since Nonos mental stability is ... not the best, it adds to people avoiding and outright being afraid of approaching him for anything.

Nono and Zarria both share the mutual melancholy and grief of having been in the Varia before Tyr died. it's why in general they are a lot more soft with each other

He eats most fruits with their skin.

It is a standart praxis to refer to the Vongola Ninth as Vongola Nono, to differentiate between him and their local Nono.

Nono has been asked repeatedly by "other members" to dismember passed members and sell or even store their organs and limbs, but Nono refuses each time. Whoever dies in his medical station is his property and he will do what he wants with it and if that is cremating them he will do just that

Nono lives at the Medical station. This also means that he sleeps in his office.

[lighthouseborn]

@calithal || The Whump Wheel

+poisoned

  Their scouting mission hits its first snag in a strange plant, twisted 'round the other plants, CJ, and even itself like the bands of a rope. Where it tangles around her arms and legs, it seems to twist and grab itself, pulling tighter and tighter with every movement like a snare set by mother nature herself. CJ's impatience guarantees it's wrapped over most of her arms and pulled so tight her fingers are starting to turn colors. It takes Henry careful effort to get his knife underneath it without cutting into her forearm. With the blade in place, the vines resist for a second, but once the edge catches it's fairly quick work to cut the rest of the way through. He frees up her sword arm so she can go after the rest of the plant on her own. As CJ grumbles and growls about the stupidity of everything and hacks the rest of the ensnaring vines away, Henry looks closer at the section of greenery he cut away from the rest of the plant.

  He has a vague feeling he can't name. He sits with it, looking over the odd leaf clusters and those thick-skinned tendrils. At the ends where he'd cut it free, a clear, faintly yellow-tinted liquid gathers. He almost touches it. Curious on the nature of it and certain, for some reason, it will be slightly sticky, like sugar water. Then the vague feeling clarifies itself as recognition. He drops the cut length of vine like it burns and immediately— “CJ,” tries to find where she's disappeared off to, cutting further into the forest.

  Henry pushes through the underbrush, unsure if the tingling in his palm is fact or imagination. Too-aware that the faster his heart beats, the faster- “Ceej!”

  He catches sight of her a meter or two ahead, her weight braced against the trunk of a tree, a handful of underbrush still clutched in her hand where she must have been cutting it aside. She turns toward him, her expression a confliction of annoyance and confusion. Then she tilts. Henry reaches her just as her balance goes, her shoulder smashing into his chest with enough force to make him grimace.

  The feeling is real now. A burning in his arm and the growing edge of a head rush — he takes a beat to literally shake his head, trying to power through.

  “Lani warned me about this,” he explains to CJ, hefting her arm up over his shoulders. He tests a step forward. She's not a complete slack weight, pushing back against gravity clumsily. He nods once, good, and starts walking. “Or... it was something similar.” Step over step. Less than half the speed going on, he hauls them both back the way they came. “Can't remember... what it's called. Be worse if we found the thorns.” Unlucky enough creatures who felt the bite of the thorns could die outright, their hearts overwhelmed by the toxin dropped right into their blood. He skips over that bit of information, focusing instead on getting them both up and over a fallen tree. “But... all you have to do is touch it. Has a trick for... getting itself in through skin.” A look in her eyes like she wants to tell him to shut up, for being obvious. But she doesn't actually say anything, which he doesn't like. And he ignores it. But he has to stop for a moment, struck by a wave of dizziness.

All they need to do is ensure they don't fall to the ground in the jungle. The poison's not likely to kill them now, if it hasn't already, but it will leave them vulnerable. He needs to get them back within sight of the stretch of shore where the ship waits.

And he will. Just as soon as the ground stops rippling like water. “..Don't trip..”

[catachan-jungle-fighter]

John

John does have a unnatural resistance to drugs and poisons, but the latter is mainly from the Jungle Geists love of everything poison to the point it's a point of pride for them to include it in every meal they make and serve, even with the sweets they give to the children of their Clan.

Essentially, they dose themselves with low levels of poisons/toxins/venom constantly throughout their life, then their habit of painting their bodies with handmade paint that requires poisons/toxins/venom as a major ingredient has them smearing it across their skin.

-

The resistance to drugs come from his past after the loss of his original unit, the few years between him wandering by himself and the Wolves being formed, where he was a broken man surviving off of alcohol and whatever bathtub combat drugs he could find, where half the shit he put in his body should have killed him and had been but far too slowly.

This led to him becoming a adrenaline filled Berserker who tore his way through the Underhive with nothing more then his blades and a Deathseekers wish on his breath, until one day a figure recruited him for a duty...

And from there, he became the Old Wolf of the 6th Section... well only after the former leader of the 6th suffered a unfortunate accident during a battle where he tried to order John into the path of a heavy bolter emplacement.

-

He kept up drinking and using combat drugs, this time Guard Grade stuff instead of the mess that came out of the Underhive gangers he had been hunting in the past that he scavenged off of, until he was broken of the need for constant booze and drugs through a intervention/having his head damn near beat in.

[sporesgalaxy]

[link]

EDIT: smirks evilly yet again. updated with some For The Future quotes n images

Anyways: BEHOLD. Short little annotations with pictures for each song! Enjoyable even if you don’t listen to the playlist!

rises the moon - introduction

Days fade into a watercolour blur Memories swim and haunt you But look into the lake, shimmering like smoke Rises the moon

The Lesson - "Caleb did his best to take care of his younger brother.”

It's best to not breathe in at all Your teachers say The toxins in the air will take your life away

But don't believe a word from them You'll be okay For I will breathe with you

The Ocean - “They tried to fit in with this town...and its unsavory practices. They became witch hunters.”

No one complains, ‘cause it’s got to be fed And they’re just glad that it didn’t see them.

And they shouldn’t blame themselves for that ‘Cause it’s really, really hard to break even.

Overgrown Garden - "...the brothers Wittebane met a real witch...and the older brother was spirited away.”  (“...I already let you go. Many times.”)

I wonder when you left me behind that day Asleep beneath the willow withering away If you were okay Because I would do anything for you I would do anything

Have You Seen My Sister Evelyn? - "Philip set off to save his brother, and bring the witch to justice.” (”Sounds like big bro got a hot witch girlfriend and little bro got upset”)

Did that ho-bag quit her job and run off With that dick-head Mike To Indio, Guantanamo Or Panama or Disneyland?

Heroes and Villains - "...neither were ever seen again!”

I've been in this town so long that back in the city I've been taken for lost and gone And unknown for a long long time

Sweet Bird - "I was trying to save your soul. It’s your fault this all happened!”

I can't recognize you Oh sweet bird of my youth Where have you flown to?

Now let's make one thing clear as crystal The blood is on your hands And the blood will stain your hands

Nightengale, Pt. 2 - A lament for Caleb

“Homer evokes the nightingale in the Odyssey, suggesting the myth of Philomela and Procne (one of whom, depending on the myth’s version, is turned into a nightingale).”

“Because of the violence of the myth, the nightingale’s song was long interpreted as a lament.”

(Wikipedia page for the Common Nightingale, “Cultural connotations” section)

Angel - “I’ll do anything to save humanity from evil.”

I believe that you believe that you're an angel Nowhere to rise, everywhere to fall I believe that you believe that there's a heaven Where you belong, where you belong

Neighborhood #2 (Laika) - “It does feel good to hear another human say that name. I had to change it when Philip was run out of too many towns.”

Alexander, our older brother Set out for a great adventure He tore our images out of his pictures He scratched our names out of all his letters

Hymn for a Scarecrow - “’Why,’ says [the bird catcher, laying his net], ‘I am laying the foundations of a city.’” (The Bird-Catcher and the Blackbird)

You hang around for a living Somewhere between all the land and the sky Being by never forgiving Nobody knows you and neither do I

Poison Tree - "All these weepy Palisman souls...their voices constantly nagging me...vile. But without them, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

Make me feel like something powerful Is growing deep inside of me Turn me into a poison tree 

The Nowhere King - “Betrayed, beguiled, alone, decieved! We’ll have our revenge on-- ugh! ‘Unity’ is so hard to rhyme...”

Silent, secretive feeling Of fearsome hatred that reaches the skies

Open Hands - “A better version of an old friend.”

Here is what I lost forever Open hands, a certain laugh Here is what I thought I wanted Some lost smile in a photograph

Crocodile Tears -  “It hurts every time he chooses to betray me.”

Crocodile tears marching down your cheek Ooh, a small sob for the thing you did last week I look in your hands and there it is again You don't regret a single thing, friend

Pyre - Creating a Utopia, free from Wild Magic.

We're wresting now from our own hands a future Regret the flower of watered seed Are we the ghosts that swarm about us? We can begin We can begin again

Dancing in the Moonlight - "Collector. You’re free! Just as promised.”

We like our fun and we never fight You can't dance and stay uptight It's a supernatural delight Everybody was dancing in the moonlight

Christmas Kids - “I thought this one was another lost cause. Because of you, we can finish our work as witch hunters...”

You'll change your name, or change your mind And leave this fucked up place behind

But I'll know

Home - “I just have to live long enough to see this through.”

No, no, you can’t go home, she says, the world, where do you think you’re going? We’re not done with you. The world is never done with you.

Love Love Love - “...maybe he’s still chasing his brother...”

Raskolnikov felt sick, but he couldn't say why When he saw his face reflected in his victim's twinkling eye

Some things you'll do for money and some you'll do for fun But the things you do for love are going to come back to you one by one

(cw: suicide mention in the full song)

[perditus]

Another heavy sigh slips from him as he approaches the sectioned off hemlock plants, retrieving his own mask from one of the hidden pockets in his armor. It was thicker and matched the rest of his armor, a former cornerstone of his uniform before he eventually discarded it. Though it was useful against airborne poisons and toxins, it had the unfortunate side effects of amplifying the heat. He reaches back to tug his hood back over his head, hooking the mask in place using the fabric as an anchor. 

Not that he was stupid enough to let his curls brush against the dangerous plants he had spent years cultivating in this small room. At the beginning he had suffered some mishaps, knowledge sometimes acquired through blood and tears. Now? He was much more careful. 

“ My level of faith correlates to your ability to not cause me grief ” he retorts, kneeling down slightly as he begins working with the hemlock plants. They were his prized possessions, one of the most dangerous flora in his small garden. Every single part of them was toxic, from the roots to the innocent looking flowers that rested at the top. Though the toxicity often was dependent on the season, springtime being the best time for making the concoctions that involved it. Collecting the seeds quickly was important as well to avoid the plant from spilling out of its small box, confined to a corner farthest away from the door. 

He had antidotes to cure hemlock-related poisoning of course but it was always an annoying endeavor. Especially if it was an unnecessary incident to begin with. Viago collects the seeds carefully, depositing them into one of the small sacks he had tossed into the basket. Though he has gloves, he uses small tweezers to do so, attempting to avoid mistakenly diluting the toxicity through cross contamination. 

“ I prefer to ensure my Crows and Fledglings develop their skills naturally rather than hoping they’ll pick up the ability to eavesdrop through training. If they only worked on it through official training they’d never develop it to a level where I can actually make use of it ” Viago grumbles as he carefully collects all of the seeds beneath one of his hemlocks before moving to the next one, performing the same monotonous activity. 

If he really didn’t want someone to hear something they wouldn’t. Viago had no desire to waste his time or resources on Crows who only nurtured their skills through training - there was always something to learn throughout the day. House De Riva Crows were dedicated to their organization, honing their skills at all times even when they weren’t buried in contracts. At least that's what he wanted from them. 

Some Fledglings disappointed him more than others. 

“ I have to worry about every Crow and Fledgling in House De Riva. I need them to refine their skills and if I have to afford them something interesting to listen to then so be it. I’m more upset they did it so poorly. Our actual Crows have more talent than some of them in the craft ” he grumbles, stepping back and setting aside his basket for a moment. Viago ties the small bags of seeds with a double knot to ensure they didn’t spill out before returning his attention to the plant he had been working with. 

He observes the slight discoloration along stems, noting its age and sighing a bit. It was the older of the two, well into its second and final year before it would eventually wilt and die. Unfortunately, it was an erect biennial, only lasting two years before eventually dying. Viago would need to get a second one started soon. 

“ Are you upset I didn’t choose to have our conversation in a more private setting? You already know how to minimize the amount of talks we have to have in that room ” Her spreading reputation was already beyond his control anyways. All he could do was damage control at this point - and he did. Viago had full confidence in her abilities and had invested his resources accordingly. Regardless of his willingness to verbally acknowledge the fact, he was proud of her to a degree. 

He knew she could handle these plants just fine. Otherwise he would not have turned his back on her to focus on the hemlocks, returning back to the small table to begin getting a new hemlock started.  “ One of my hemlocks is going to need to be replaced. You remember how to dispose of them correctly yes?”

“ funny how ‘easy’ means ‘i’ve memorized this since i was five & can’t fathom anyone else not doing the same.’ you simply must forgive her for not immediately grasping the rich & accessible language of poisons. ” her scoff came & went, shortly followed by a snort of exasperation, eyes rolling heavenward as if she might be saved from this particular conversation.

her fingers sank into the dense mass of curls framing her face, disappearing into the voluminous halo as she gathered the wild spirals gently, fingertips grazing her scalp in soft, absent affection, like one might soothe a restless animal.

the band twisted once, then twice, then once more for good measure — elastic stretching, protesting against the sheer gravity of her hair. the curls formed a high, tousled ponytail, still wild with life even bound & coaxed into obedience. with a final tug, she secured it. her sigh was half triumph, half surrender.

“ right, right — how many years has it been, & you still repeat the same lectures i’ve heard more than my own name. ” she pulled on gloves, fingers slipping into the leather with well-practiced ease, resisting the urge to sigh a third time since stepping into the room. there were only so many times she could get away with that in viago’s company.

though she was very tempted.

his conditions for naming a new poison were improbable, not impossible — though barely. the chance was always low, but never zero. but to outmatch the master poisoner of the antivan crows in creating a poison before he did ? she might as well poison herself & save the trouble. at least that would be quicker. she didn’t say this, of course. maker knew she ingested more poison than a body reasonably should. it was godly intervention she hadn’t burned out entirely.

her magic counteracted most of the effects, even the particularly nasty ones. it made her a perfect test subject — not that she offered. but she had her uses, even if she did tend to break everything in a ten-foot radius during most jobs.

harvesting plants was a far gentler task. not that he’d be convinced with words alone. “ your lack of faith in me is insulting & upsetting. ” she might have joked about transferring to a different house just to be appreciated, but even she knew better than to test those waters with current company. maybe caterina would take her on full-time as a glorified crow speaker — actual crows. though frankly, some of their ranks needed translation just as much, based on the nonsense she’d overheard.

she slipped a mask over her face — better safe than sorry, given the volatile contents of the room. amatista started at the far end, blade flashing silver in the low light as she began harvesting from the organized shelf of carefully cultivated plants. the monotony grounded her. it had been a long week, & she was grateful not to be thrown into another contract just to get her out of someone’s way.

she had a habit of provoking viago’s ire, & she was still surprised he let her tag along. he didn’t need the help. he never did.

still, she imagined it soothed teia’s nerves to know someone had accompanied “that foolish man” while he played with death in its most refined, powdered forms. not everyone could accompany him, & it was — well, not quite a miracle, but something adjacent — that she’d grown up in the same house as viago & knew his tics better than most. it also meant she’d tagged along during his studies just to be annoying, picked up a few things here & there. enough to make herself a decent student. a dangerous one.

“ has it not occurred to you to get a soundproof door if you’re worried about people hearing you talk to yourself ? ” she asked, her tone falsely innocent. “ magical enchantments, perhaps ? ” the coffers could certainly afford it. & if he played it right, caterina might even owe him a favor that could pay for it. his skill was an invaluable asset, even if the first talon didn’t seem to trust him within a foot of her. “ or move your garden somewhere less … public. ”

[acocooninmetamorphosis]

-batman is killed by the joker before he gets Robin.

-Joker makes it very public.

-Everone knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman.

-the city morns the loss of both it's knights.

-with Batman dead all the rogues carve up Gotham city. Other heroes tried to step in. Nothing stops the villains.

-the city becomes an active war zone.

-the government quarantines Gotham city. No one in, no one out.

-one year after the death of Batman, a shadow pulls itself away from the rest of the city. It holds eyes bright white as it stairs down into the bright lights of a hopeless City.

-it doesn't remember much except that there was a game that everyone talked about.

-And it wants to play again.

-it gos to seek out the last thing it remembers, a clown with green hair and a pretty, pretty laugh.

-it giggles as it disappears only to reappear in an in the thick of action.

-Gotham PD vs. Jorker and Harley.

-they have converted the bank into their own gauntlet of horrors. All for the laugh of getting a few bucks.

-a shadow peels itself away from the flickering light of the fires. Standing tall as the last few cops hide behind cars.

-"Clown? Game? Play. Laugh." Rasp a inhuman echoy voice. It hangs in the air. This sound that everyone can hear as if the darkness is speaking. Stopping the endless laughter.

-"Did you hear something Harley Dear?" Joker questions before he is lifted and thrown off the building and down a few floors. He is cought inches from the ground to the sounds of a raspy laughter and Harley screaming.

-the shadow that had once belonged to the joker has coalesced into a bat-like shape with burning white eyes. It's the Batman.

-But it cant be joker killed him.

-"w-what are you?"questions Harley staring at this creature he looks so familiar and yet completely different. It cocks its head past that of any human bending and twisting unnaturally at her and it stares at her before saying and rasping choking voice."Clown Game. Play?" It barley moves to swallow her in shadows.

-The screams of the Harley Quinn end.

-before she is spat out of the jokers shadow on the ground floor.

-Batman drops Jorker ontop of Harley

-the Shadow from the above disappears just to appear above the Joker and Harley.

-everyone on the scene is silent. The disbelief is palpable.

-a spotlight on the ground turns to focus on the clowns and the figure above them but it casts no shadow.

-Instead it seems to come from all the shadows it can reach.

-"Clowns Lose. Game easy. Find new play friends." It crocks out. To everyone it's enough to make ears bleed. Black rope appears around the Villains, binding them and then the creature disappears.

-two weeks later the clowns are still in jail the ropes never having fully disappeared.

-poison ivy gets up to trouble.

-in her section of City she has completely blocked off the rest of the world. She has manipulated and controlled everyone in her sphere of influence to take care of her plants above All Else.

-Batman appears in the shadows of her garden. No one knows what happens poison ivy won't tell, and the hypnotized people can't remember.

-but the evidence of lots of her plants burned and decayed is clear enough.

-plus her haunted look never disappeared off her face.

-she was dropped off at the last Gotham PD station holding cell with one note form the batcreature. "Plant game over. Plant Lose. New Friend Find."

-she looks to the cell joker is in"what did you unleash upon us joker?"

-the clean up on the city was swift after that. No toxin worked of the creature. Nothing could harm it. Light just made it move out of sight.

-one by one the kings and queens of the city were dethroned and captured.

-it took 5weeks untill the streets were clean of villains.

-or as the new Batman would say: Friends put in time out.

-and for 2 weeks everything in Gotham was peaceful.

-then the ropes binding Harvey dent released and he found himself in his old hideout."board now. game start." Was the last thing he heard as he disappeared from the holding cell.

-"Two weeks. Only rules. Be polite to civilians. No harm EVER Civilians. Pay for time. Money. Smile, laugh, Half Half. Stop? Time out." The voice sounds just as scary but there a touch of gentleness. The ear bleeding tone and endless Wispiering no longer accompanying his words.

-Harvey dent stared uncomprehending at the Batman."I-I don't want to pay any games."

-but the batman vanished

-batman knows everything in Gotham.

-always comes for his villains.

-literally cannot see or perceive anything not from Gotham

-people can see him. But he can't see them.

-unless someone brings it to his attention.

-when lex Luther and the joker teamed up.

-batman could not see or hear lex or superman.

-batman couldn't even touch them.

-they could see him.

-he just came for the joker and left.

[stingslikeabee]

The captain's eyes opened slowly. He winced against the bright bloom of light that filled them. Slowly, Daigo became aware of where he was : sickbay. Its ceiling was all too familiar. With a soft groan, he started to look around.

This was the . . . surgical section. Frowning, Daigo moved to prop himself up but was forced to abandon the endeavor. His right arm was firmly encased in bandages and a gleaming metal cast to stop it from being jostled. Perhaps that was why he ended up here. Daigo vaguely remembered his last mission on that planet not going to plan ; the vegetation there had been far more sentient and defensive than expected. That would explain his shattered arm and the stitched incisions across his middle.

With a sigh, the captain settled back into place. He groped for the thin blanket over his legs and brought it up to his torso. The screen showing his vitals flickered to life nearby, updating its hourly log. Everything there looked good, at least.

The hiss of the nearby door caught Daigo's attention, though his eyes remained fixed to the display of his heartbeat. "Kashiwagi-san," he said, voice still clipped and commanding despite the fog over his thoughts, "can you tell the first officer to report here ?? I want to make sure that idiot is alright. If I . . . "

Daigo sluggishly turned his head then, words faltering at the sight of the figure in the entrance. "Counselor ??" he breathed, unable to help the curious mix of emotions in his expression. The captain ( carefully ) propped his torso up on his left arm with a grimace. It was then he saw the bloody scraps of his uniform, sealed up neatly in a bag on the nearby seat. "What are you doing here ??"

unscripted asks . always accepting

Things with the Tojo had been... Eventful, to say the least. Within the last few hours and given the delirious state of their captain (in addition to certain injuries that required medical care of his first officer), the bridge had been temporarily under command of three different officers, who changed places with each other as their superiors either returned or got discharged from sickbay.

It should have been an easier assignment - their databases were either terribly outdated or something had happened to the environment of Mirila III over the last decades to explain the hostility that met the Tojo's away team. However, if the captain had stayed aboard the ship, as it was provided for in the regulations of the fleet, he would have not been returned in such a sorry state and mumbling incoherent thoughts.

The vegetation there was toxic in levels that far exceeded their preparations; the poison that spread through Daigo's blood had made him delirious, one of the very few things that made sense being his cries for the ship's counselor. Melissa had gone there immediately - regardless of whether or not it was a fever dream, in her experience these hallucinations tended to have some minor grounding in real (albeit sometimes unconscious) needs.

The woman had stayed there during most of the procedures required to immobilize his busted arm and estabilize his vitals - luckily Kashiwagi had seen a similar case of severe poisoning in another planet within the same system, and the tested solution of the past worked beautifully on Daigo and the other crewmembers who also got in contact with the toxins. The captain, however, had taken it harder - ever the self-sacrificing individual, he had jumped in front of others, and shielded his people in a valiant act of bravery (much to the displeasure of his first officer, who constantly argued about the unnecessary danger Daigo put himself in).

Melissa had really been dropping by to make sure the captain was feeling better - a purely professional endeavor, of course. Not at all associated to personal feelings on the matter and the way that she refused to leave his bed until Kashiwagi ordered her to, outranking the counselor in medical matters (although his voice was stern, his eyes were kind; he understood she meant well). The bracelets with the black stones that doubled as neural blockers were around her wrist, a sign of the commitment to not invade his privacy during such delicate, vulnerable moments.

"Hello, captain. Good to see you're recovering well," Melissa smiled in response, walking over to the bed and gently fussing over Daigo - her hands helped him back to the original position, knowing that Kashiwagi would be furious if he returned to find her causing some undue excitement or exhaustion for their leader. "You asked for me earlier, when they brought you back from the surface. I just wanted to see if I could be of any more help to you."

Melissa did not say much afterwards - but her honey-colored eyes looked at Daigo with a softness that was not usually reserved for anyone. The woman gingerly fixed his hair and pulled the covers back to prevent the captain from straining himself, and then placed a hand over his shoulder as if it was a featherlight caress - just a grounding motion rather than an overwhelming one.

"I will look for Commander Akiyama and pass on the message, but he is fine, sir. Your heroic attitude back at the planet prevented the worst, but I'm fairly sure he is also keen on giving you a lecture later. You are far too important to the Tojo to be injured while looking out for the crew, sir."

A small smile followed - Melissa knew Daigo disagreed; their progress in sessions had been slow, but it was evident that he felt everyone else under his command more valuable and precious than himself. Admirable to a degree - but also self-destructive. Akiyama had been working on that for some time, but he lacked the professional training the ship's counselor had. Perhaps, as much as Admiral Sohei had tried to make his son's life harder, he had unknowingly assisted in improving it by ordering his child to forcefully go to therapy.

"I will also say that the captain is currently experiencing mild hallucinations as a residual effect of the toxins in his blood, and should rest for a couple more of days," the brunette said at length, her smile taking on a slightly mischievous and conspiratorial edge, "I'm risking my reputation to free you from a sermon, captain. If the first officer drops by later, I fully expect you to act like an idiot," the counselor paused, chuckling before adding, "Sir."

[aether-anonymous]

PSA: WHAT TO DO IF FACE TO FACE WITH A UB-06-1 ADHESIVE

Also known as Poipole, UB-06-1 has been identified as a Poison type Pokémon. Unlike most UBs, UB-06-1 has been shown to be an incredibly social and friendly life form. I still however cannot in good faith recommend attempting to make contact with or seek out this UB, as we still do not have enough information on this UB to confirm nor deny it to be safe to do so.

UB-06-1 produces an incredibly sticky toxin from a gland located near the top of its head, which it fires out of the needle on its dome. We do not yet have an understanding of the affects this toxin has, so we cannot confirm if it is safe to handle. If you find this toxin please inform the Aether Foundation and we will issue a cleanup crew as soon as we have availability. We are unsure why it leaves this toxin, current theories include territory marking and socialization.

This UB is the only one we have confirmed to evolve, becoming UB-06-2 which I will discuss in the next section. Although we have a lead to a potential pre-evolution to UB-04-C, I will not be discussing it today as we have not confirmed its existence quite yet. Being a pre-evolution, UB-06-1 is the weakest of the currently identified UBs. This makes any necessary battle a potentially safe option, though I still do not recommend unless absolutely necessary.

[metaoflocasol]

You taking care of her (she/her can still apply when referring to them, just so you know) is enough, here are some more tips for general care

They have a lot of energy, so let her roam around out their ball often

Let her approach you, rather than you approach her when it comes to petting or cuddling

They tend to leak adhesives when startled or excited, cover it in 2/3 baking soda and 1/3 vinegar for a few hours. This nullifies the toxins and solidifies it, making it easier to dispose of

Seriously, do not touch the needles on their head

Regular antidotes for Pokémon can be digested if stung. While the poison isn’t lethal, it can cause serious harm to the human body.

Their brains are in their lower section, not the head, so be careful of injuries there

They can see the same colors we can, but the tend to focus on purples and blues more than reds and oranges

If you need anymore help with care, please let me know and I will give you advice!

Hey everyone, sorry I haven't updated in awhile! I'm still here, just been a bit busy helping my dad out and stuff.

To make up for my absence, here's a cute photo of Wednesday I took earlier today on a walk:

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Three

Previous Parts | Part One | Part Two

Series Masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Summary | one of the many things that you had never had the chance of doing was disposing of a body; luckily for you, you know just the right person who can tend to your aid.

Warnings | mentions of death, disposing of a body, mentions and aftermath of murder, mentions of rape, mentions of sex, swearing, mention of suicide

The smell of the carcass had your nose turning up, and the sight wasn’t much better. There was blood staining your lovely dress, that Lee had taken off hours prior. Now it was ruined, with the red digress of your husband; he always had to taint everything, and it still appeared to apply despite him being deceased.

Your eyes wallowed with water, as you thought of the mistakes you had made. There were so many, and marrying Simon had been of the greatest, considering that his treatment of you had been beyond disgraceful. And now, the red of his departed insides was sticking beneath his nails, causing you to gag.

This part, the slashing and ripping apart of his limbs, using your trusty shovel, had been worse than actually committing the initial crime. Killing him had been bliss, but this, reminded you of the possible consequences that you would be forced to partake in.

“Oh no.” You heaved, feeling nauseous from the pungent aroma, grasping at the top of your chest in sickness. You dropped his hand, that felt ironically lighter now that he was dead, letting it fall with the other parts of his distorted, and broken, body.

The worst part of all was, now that you had control of where his palms were permitted to go, and the power had you feeling complete. It had you basking in your own glory, but now, you were lost, grieving the path that you had lost regarding the man that you truly were infatuated with.

Walking backwards, and closing the shed door, you abandoned the sections of Simon, hurrying back into your empty home, and going towards your lined phone. Without caring about the prints of blood that you were padding onto the numerical keys, you dialled a woman that you knew to be in the business of cold body abandon.

For a minute, the line rang, leaving you antsy and picking at your stained nails, chipping away at the surrounding skin. All you could smell was the reminder of blood, that smothered you in a hermit of remembrance.

A remembrance of the times that he would splatter your body with his self, claiming that you were his wife, and even bragging about it to the fellas that he worked closely with. But you were nothing more than a shadow in his eyes, a prize that followed him around the house, flaunting her terrified doe eyes at his silhouette.

His greatest flaw was, aside from his poisonous and lingering touch, that smothered you in the cruelest of ways, was that he thought he was aware of everything that went on around him. It was as though he thought he were the sheriff...

But behind his turned back, your shadow would dance with the image of Lee Bodecker, in a private and disclosed matter. He was the true sheriff of the town, the wine who could order you to do anything, and you would wilfully comply.

Lee had, and never would hurt you. That was the definite difference between the polar pair. He was a lovely gentleman, and Simon, well, he was more like a rat swimming out of the sewer.

All these thoughts and actions of adultery were fair play, you slept with Lee behind the now scathed and chopped up back of your husband, whilst he bedded as many women that were actually willing to slumber with.

You were not dumb to his pattern, each night when he went out, he was pursuing a dame, but that never bothered you, because while he was out, the sheriff would make a stop, and check you over, in more ways than one.

Finally, you running with your thoughts was disrupted, for the ringing ceased. A upbeat and facade of a ‘hello’ rang though your ears, making you breathe a much deserved intake of relief.

“Hey Sandy.” You replied, holding the phone aggressively against your ear. Anything she had to say, you were willing to listen to, after all, she was a master in the ways of murder, as you knew and were trusted peculiarly with that detail of secrecy. “I need your help.”

The sound of Simon’s body parts beating around the trunk as sandy surpassed over a bump in the road reverberated through the entire vehicle. It soothed the initial silence that was exhibited in it, and nervously, you licked your thin lips, hoping that you would reach the ‘middle of nowhere’ soon.

It wasn’t that you and Sandy didn’t get along, in fact, you got along great, which was one of the reasons that she insisted to husband Carl that they leave you alive. But it was the fact that there was an unspoken gesture that waded through the air, like a muting toxin.

“Does Lee know?” She asked, finally breaking the silence like ice. It was a relief to hear voice, deep down, you were insecure that she was silently judging you for the entire ride, or at least, how far you had gone so far.

“No, and I intend for it to have a cap kept on it.” You slunk your shoulders, whilst thinking of Sandy’s sibling. He was far too good for you, he was the sheriff, and now, you deemed yourself as nothing more than a murderer.

The fact that you were a survivor of all sorts of horrid extremes wouldn’t matter to the boys in blue, they would not see you past your crime, and you feared that sheriff Bodecker would not either.

“Son of a bitch had it coming to him anyways.” Stated Sandy, being heartless to her admission. “The sight of you and that prick drove my brother insane. We all knew what he was doing to you, yet, they wouldn’t charge him, all because you were simply married to him.”

“What would you have done if Carl had dared lay his hands on you in an in-consensual manner?” You asked, plucking away at the trim of your clean skirt. Before you had left to go on this joyous trip with Sandy, you had changed, all in favour of the neighbours, and anyone else you happened to pass.

“I’d have done the same darling.” She comforted you, looking away from the road for a moment, to send you a quick and sincere smile. Things within the car were falling into their previous rhythm, it being apparent that the two of you were good and well adversed friends. “I wanted to kill Simon too, you know? But with the threats I have made in the past, it would have been far too suspicious.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, suddenly feeling guilty that if it were found to be known that Simon was butchered, Sandy would be interrogated, most likely from her own brother. “How is Carl?” You changed the subject, shifting under the grip of the seat belt.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you how my lovesick brother is?” She replied, laughing lightly at your warm face. “He’s still head over heels for you girl, and yet, the other man won your heart.”

“I wouldn’t say won it, I’d say he manipulated it.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest to pave down the swell of tension inside. “I’d always told myself, and you, that I’d choose Lee Lee, but high school was a long time ago, and I can’t go back to sneaking kisses with him under the bleachers when your back was turned.”

“Trust me, I knew all along.” She smiled, thinking back to the simpler times. “And though, I know when he was training to be a deputy, he’d told you he had no time for a relationship, and he didn’t exactly expect you to wait for him. But you may as well have, considering the two of you continued to fornicate like wild rabbits.”

“Please stop.” You groaned at her words, covering your face with your clear and evidence free hands. “And we did not fornicate like-“

“My bedroom was right beside yours when we got that apartment, and before then, well it was against Lee’s. Trust me, when I say that I know off by heart how you sound in bed sweetie. And god, did I grimace as I heard you mewling my brother’s name.”

Breathily you laughed, thinking back to the times that were spoke of. “Sandy.” You spoke her name, earning a radical hum in reply. “I love Lee.”

“Trust me darling, I am well aware of that. The two of you are like Romeo and Juliet, except you’ve killed someone else rather than taken your own life. And then, there’s never been anything holding the two of you apart-“

“Okay, you’re trying to make a point here Sand. Nothing like Romeo and Juliet, I got it.” You nodded your head, before leaning it back into the plumpness of the head rest. “And then there’s you and Carl, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Sweetie, you’re a killer too now, so I wouldn’t make comparisons. You’re just lucky that the first suspect for Simon’s disappearance will be a man, and then we’ll see where I am on that list. And you know me, I will always protect you, it’s what we do.”

“It is what we do.” You repeated, watching the road ahead, and tapping your feet in tune with the floundering of Simon’s own rolling feet.

Tags;

@charmed-asylum @brynthebulldozer @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @acciosiriusblack

[vajranam]

Dealing With Anger

ON DEALING WITH ANGER

Undoubtedly, both Shantideva and the Dalai Lama are most articulate in their discourse on how to deal with anger and hatred.

Shantideva in fact opens the chapter on patience with the strong statement that an instance of anger can destroy positive imprints created over “a thousand eons.”

He further asserts that there is no evil like hatred and that there is no fortitude like patience. Thus, he recommends that we all seek to develop patience.

In Shantideva’s view, anger acts as the principal obstacle to the development of patience. To use the well-known medical analogy, hatred is the poison and patience is the medicine that removes the poisonous toxins from within the mind.

As the Dalai Lama’s commentary makes clear, Shantideva identifies two key elements in our attempts to overcome anger.

First and foremost, it is important for us to have a profound appreciation of the negativity of anger. Of particular relevance is to reflect upon the destructive effects of generating anger.

Second, Shantideva identifies the need to develop a deep understanding of the causal mechanism which underlies the arisal of anger. This is of special interest to the modern reader, who will unavoidably be approaching Shantideva’s text with many of the popular assumptions associated with modern psychology and its views on human emotions.

In verse 7 of the chapter, Shantideva makes the crucial observation that the “fuel” of anger is what he calls “mental discomfort.” This is an interesting notion. The Tibetan word is yi mi-dewa which can be translated as “dejection,” “unhappiness,” or simply as “dissatisfaction.”

It is best understood as a pervasive, underlying sense of dissatisfaction, which need not be felt at the conscious level. It is that nagging feeling that something is not quite right.

Shantideva seems to be suggesting that it is this underlying sense of dissatisfaction that gives rise to frustration. When this happens, the conditions are set for an immediate outburst of anger when things do not go the way we wish.

Once this causal nexus between dissatisfaction, frustration, and anger is understood, we can then appreciate the virtue of Shantideva’s approach to dealing with anger. We can see that much of his approach is aimed at rooting out this underlying sense of dissatisfaction rather than engaging in a head-to-head confrontation with actual full-blown anger.

This is the reason for Shantideva’s emphasis on reflections which aim to create stability of mind. As to the specific practices, the reader can follow the detailed commentary of the Dalai Lama in the appropriate sections of the book.

An important point to note here is that Shantideva does not appear to make any distinction between anger and hatred in his discussion.

However, the Dalai Lama’s commentary explicitly underlines this critical distinction. He observes that, in principle, it may be possible to accept what could be called a “positive anger.”

Anger as an outrage toward injustice done to others can often be an important catalyst for powerful altruistic deeds.

However, he rejects such possibility with regard to hatred. For the Dalai Lama, hatred can have no virtue. It only eats the person from within and poisons his or her interactions with fellow human beings. In his words, “Hatred is the true enemy; it is the inner enemy.”

Perhaps we can say that the feature that distinguishes anger and hatred is the absence or presence of ill-will. A person can be angry without bearing any ill-will toward his or her object of anger. The Dalai Lama instructs us to ensure that our anger, even when it arises, never culminates in full-blown hatred. This, I think, is an important ethical teaching.

A few words on some of the general principles which lie behind the approaches suggested in this book for dealing with our emotions and developing patience may perhaps help the general reader.

A key principle is a belief in what could be called the plasticity of the mind, that is, an assumption of the mind’s limitless capacity for improvement. This is supported by a complex understanding of the psychology of the mind and its various modalities.

Both Shantideva and the Dalai Lama are operating within a long history of Buddhist psychology and philosophy of mind which emphasizes a detailed analysis of human emotions.

Generally speaking, in this view the mind is perceived in terms of a complex, dynamic system where both cognitive and affective dimensions of the psyche are seen as an integrated whole.

So, when the two masters present means of dealing with emotions such as anger, they are not suggesting that we should suppress them. Both Buddhist and modern psychology agree on the harmfulness of mere suppression.

The Buddhist approach is to get at the root so that the very basis for anger is undercut. In other words, Shantideva and the Dalai Lama are suggesting ways of reorienting our character so that we become less prone to strong reactive emotions such as anger. It is in this light that most of the reflections recommended in this volume should be understood.

The motto is simple: Discipline your mind. Shantideva underlines the critical importance of this inner discipline with a wonderful analogy:

Where would I possibly find enough leather

With which to cover the surface of the earth?

But (wearing) just leather on the soles of my shoes

Is equivalent to covering the earth with it.

Likewise it is not possible for me

To restrain the external course of things;

But should I restrain this mind of mine

What would be the need to restrain all else?

(Guide, V:13–14)

This of course is reminiscent of the memorable verse from the Dhammapada in which the Buddha says:

Intangible and subtle is the mind,

That flies after fancies as it likes;

Wise are those who discipline their minds,

For a mind well-disciplined brings great joy. (Verse 35)

Shantideva calls this basic Buddhist practice “guarding the mind” and he discusses it at great length in chapter 5 of his Guide.

Another general principle I wish to draw the reader’s attention to is the basic pragmatism of Shantideva’s teachings. He does not appear to believe in the possibility of one cure or solution to any problem.

His is a strategy that involves drawing extensively from all our inner resources. Many of his arguments appeal to what we may call human rationality. But he also uses approaches that appeal to our fundamental humanitarian sentiments. Often he plays upon our sense of moral outrage too. So, the bottom line seems to be “whatever works best.”

In the final analysis, many of the approaches presented in this book are insights grounded in common sense. For example, who can argue with the sheer practicality of the following lines, which the Dalai Lama is so fond of quoting:

Why be unhappy about something

If it can be remedied?

And what is the use of being unhappy about something

If it cannot be remedied? (Guide, VI:10)

Perhaps most importantly for the modern reader, it is vital to appreciate that both Shantideva and the Dalai Lama do not believe in “instant enlightenment.”

In their teachings, there is the basic assumption that cultivating inner discipline is a time-consuming process. In fact, the Dalai Lama rightly points out that having expectations of immediate results is a sign of impatience, the very factor the teachings in this volume aim to counteract.

With a sense of irony, he observes that often what the modern reader wants is “the best, the fastest, the easiest, and, if possible, the cheapest way.” So the journey of someone who is on the path of self-betterment is arduous and requires long commitment.

Nevertheless, the rewards of embarking upon such a journey are potentially enormous. Even in immediate terms, the benefit such an endeavor brings to the traveler’s life seems remarkable.

If the Dalai Lama is representative of those who have gained the fruits of this journey, its merits are shown to be beyond question.

Geshe Thupten Jinpa

Girton College

University of Cambridge

Perfecting Patience - His Holiness the Dalai Lama & Geshe Thupten Jinpa - Shambhala Publications, Inc.

[chaoticevilbean]

Voltron Humans are Weird 3/?

Lance tugged at the suit he wore, hating it with every fiber of his being. Ever since the Alteans found out humans are mostly water, they insisted that the Paladins wear special suits that covered from their necks to their ankles to avoid a catastrophe. Allura and Shiro were to explain the situation, and arrangements would be made to let the Paladins wear normal clothes if possible. They'd been lucky so far that no one had died from something like a handshake. But the suits were skintight to avoid any water escaping too early, and Lance hated it.

It was sunny as well, so Lance desperately wanted to be free from the fabric that regulated his temperature. It made him feel constantly at a neutral point, and he just wanted to feel the blaze of heat from sunlight and bask in the warm glow. It took nearly half an hour to even get past the pleasantries and another two hours to get the arrangements set up. The humans were escorted to an open pavilion, like a gazebo, where there were several pitchers of water for the Terrans to drink, and every diplomat that came with had full-covering clothing to protect their skin. The Paladins were given a place to change, and Allura made the mistake of saying that they could wear whatever they wanted seeing as they worked so hard protecting the universe that the diplomats did all the safety work.

It wasn't a mistake to Lance, but it was to the aliens.

Lance forwent the shirt and jacket, instead putting them with his suit. He was glad he had managed to find some old Altean clothing and make shorts out of a pair of blue pants. He slipped the shorts on and sprinted back to the gazebo to find his fellow Paladins in much different attire. That is to say that they were wearing their normal clothing and Hunk was the only one to not wear the full outfit. All he'd done was take off the vest.

"Lance, what are you wearing?" Allura seemed perturbed by his lack of covering, but the Cuban ignored her, instead finally leaving the shade and flopping down on the purple space grass. It was softer than regular grass, like silk or one of those really soft blankets.  The teen hummed at the feeling of sun warming his body, soaking up every ray like a lizard.

His peace was interrupted by the screams of the diplomats and Allura. He wondered why until a guard ran forward with some sort of umbrella that held a shield all the way around the being's body. None of the aliens had been in the sun. Coran had mentioned in the briefing that the sun was out for only about a quarter of their year, meaning they had no natural adaption for the heat and radiation. The guard had almost reached Lance when the Paladin launched to his feet and took off running away from the shade. He was a Cuban boy, and he loved the sun. Humans were already terrifying, what was one more thing like this. It wasn't even that weird considering the solar cycles of Earth.

As Lance was being chased down by now several severely concerned and mildly fearful guards with umbrella shields, Pidge managed to get the diplomats to calm down by saying she was a scientist and could explain it all. Although some looked stunned that she said she was a scientist. Maybe they had social castes or something? They wouldn't understand being both a warrior and a scholar. Research for another time.

"How is the Blue Paladin handling the heat? Not even the adaptive nature of the Alteans can adjust from the shade to the scorching temperature."

"Earth has several climates. Lance is from one that is more hot and that's why his skin is darker as well. He can handle the heat just fine because he grew up with a similar temperature. Next question."

"How can he also handle the cold of the shade then? Even if he could withstand it temporarily, he should be stiff from the lower temperature, and he spent over two vargas in it."

"Humans can handle temperatures ranging from -40 to 50 degrees Celsius, which Allura can calculate better for you. We prefer the 0 to 30 degree range, and many humans can live in most climates on Earth. There aren't many places that aren't inhabited at this point, and part of that is due to our ability to adapt to new environments with relative ease. Next."

"How many climates?"

"Hundreds, next."

"What are the worst? To give us a better view of your extremes."

"Some places have active volcanos, so we have to be careful of the molten rock they spew. We have tectonic plates, which cause earthquakes and can bring down entire cities. Our Poles are extremely cold, under -60 degrees at least. Next."

"Some of you live near active volcanoes?"

"Yeah, and we swim in the nearby groundwater because it has good minerals for us. Next."

"Your planet has earthquakes? And they can level entire cities?"

"Yeah, but that's our fault. We built them on fault lines. Next."

"Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yeah, when the buildings fell down, we built them back up better than ever. Next."

"You rebuilt the cities in the same spots?"

"Yes, next."

"How did you find out your Poles were so cold? From what our scientists know of Terra, it's rather undeveloped comparatively."

"We sent people. Before you ask, yes, the first few groups died, and yes, we sent more with only slightly better equipment. Humans are curious about our world, and we'll do a lot to discover more. Next."

"Why is the Blue Paladin refusing the shade if he can handle the cold?"

"We live on the Castle, and only get a simulated version of sunlight. It's not often that we get to relax a bit and enjoy our surroundings. Lance misses the sun and its heat, so he doesn't want the shade. He wants to sunbathe, like a snake or a cat or something. Call the guards off and you'll see." The diplomats, somehow managing their fear of and for the humans and their planet, did just that.

"Lance, you're free to tan!" Hunk shouted over. Lance, trusting his bro, skidded to a halt, then let himself fall backwards. He wasn't too far from the group in the gazebo, having had to run circles around the guards. Hopefully Allura didn't notice that the guards were rather undertrained. They could barely maintain the chase! And they couldn't turn very well.

The diplomats and Allura watched with fascination as the Terran boy simply laid on the grass, eyes closed and letting the sun shine directly on him.

"Feeling better, buddy?"

"Mi hermano, we better get these allies! I'm not giving up this chance!" Hunk laughed, especially when Shiro received questions as to what Lance meant.

"He's saying he's glad you have sunlight and it's another reason that we should be allies. Mostly a joke."

"But why?"

Lance paid the conversations no mind. He only moved when Hunk yelled, "Turn!" at him. It was something they came up with so Lance never got close to burning. He would flip over whenever the call went out. The Cuban laid through the entire peace talk and treaty signing and whatnot, and groaned in displeasure when he was told it was time to go.

He was up on his feet in a second once Pidge said she'd taken some time while waiting for Allura and Shiro to finish up calculating how to fix the fake sunlight that gave them Vitamin D on the Castle. More sun, whenever he wanted, and it wasn't the weak sauce of the giant Altean ship? Yes please!

Feeling much better than before, Lance ran over to the group, refusing the shirt Hunk tried to give him. It was a halfhearted attempt, given that the Samoan knew his bro wouldn't want it in the first place. The team of Terrans headed back to the Castle, this time taking the sunny route. The diplomats and Allura remained in the shade, discussing some less political topics. One in particular came up.

"Is there any way to obtain more information about Terrans? We would never have known that the Paladins were so adaptable and biologically dangerous if you and the Green Paladin had not told us."

"Actually," Allura smiled warmly, "my advisor and I are compiling a log. 'A Guide to Humans', we titled it. I can give you viewing access, although, I must warn you. Almost all of our information is in the preliminary stage. We know next to nothing about humans and their planet, and we may find that some of the data is false. An example that recently happened was that we found Terrans have strong tolerances to quite a few poisons. But we had to update the log a second time after investigating further and discovering that only some of them have strong tolerances. Most have mild tolerances, but only a few can handle some toxins in larger amounts."

"Which poisons?"

"I believe it would be better if I simply sent you the log."

A varga later, Allura and Coran were adding a few new sections to their guide.

Due to the many different climates that somehow coexist on Earth, humans have a large range of temperatures they can tolerate, along with having the ability to adapt to a new temperature very quickly. On the Terran scale labeled 'Celsius', humans can handle temperatures from -40 to 50 degrees, with their comfortable range being about 0 to 30 degrees. Some humans prefer warmer temperatures and some prefer colder, depending on where they were raised.

To elaborate on the different climates Earth sustains, there are a few extremes that should be made known. Some populaces live near active volcanos, occasionally submerging themselves in the dihydrogen monoxide found nearby the deadly formations. They claim to do it for the beneficial properties found in the substance. Another climate is the freezing cold of Earth's poles. They are, at their warmest temperatures, 0 degrees or less. Humans, with their still young technological advancements, deemed their curiosity of the poles a worthy cause to send groups of their own people to the frozen locations. After the deaths of their initial teams, they sent more.

Earth also has tectonic plates, and earthquakes are common enough that Terrans often pass off the tremors as normal. Some cities are built on fault lines, and are damaged by larger quakes. Humans, instead of doing what most races would and relocating, rebuild their cities in the same places with better foundations.

Be receptive to suggestions a human may give about how to handle a new climate. They likely have a good knowledge of how to withstand different temperatures and how to handle the unfamiliar conditions. If a human requests specific equipment for the trip, it would be best to supply. Most Terrans will never risk the safety of themselves and others to extort the goodwill of another being. The younger a Terran is, the less likely they are to be greedy in those situations, unless the Terran is not fully matured, in which case they will not understand the circumstances well.