paintcrab

[paintcrab]

Stargazing + Garden (mageliens story)

just a short one, for now! comments & rambles help me write this series, since I don’t have as many ideas for it

contains: living weapon, rescued whumpee, young canine whumpee, and as much softness as I can fit

•••

Shale looks at the stars. There’s so many of them, up here, and it can sit out of the way of the blinking lights and switches and dials.

The blinking lights are like stars too, but….

Looking back at the stars, it notices a trail of blue and red lights blinking. Tips its head.

“That’s a ship.”

It startles off the counter. Claws scrabbling at it, it tries to get back up, but only manages to pull a tangle of blanket and pillow down.

“Here,” they say, pulling the blanket free. Two of their—he’s one of the tentacle ones—two of his arms have lines on them, and are longer than the others.

‘They’re stretchmarks,’ he telepaths. ‘From healing spells, so they’d grow back faster.’

“My name is Mango.”

“The Weapon has been given the name Shale,” it says, picking up the pillow with its secondary arms and hopping back up. Is it permitted to share its name?

It isn’t sure, but this is Captain Edgar’s ship, and everyone on it belongs to him.

If he allows it to have a name, no one can revoke it.

“Ships are required to have a specific set of lights, so they’re easier to spot. Even if the radio doesn’t work, or if the ship’s crew is all humans, you should be able to spot it.”

“Human, sir?”

“Like the Captain, or Doctor Gabriel. They don’t have a drop of mana, so they can’t scan for life or be seen on life scans. They’re immune to it.”

It will never be strong enough to crack open Captain Edgar’s mind, but he will never be able to read its. Ever.

It looks back at the stars. Edg—Captain Edgar brought it a fluffy blanket, cleared a spot no one was using, and let it watch the stars instead of making it stand at his side while he works.

Why? It isn’t training, it’s the opposite of a punishment, and it isn’t like it’s a test. He doesn’t—

“Kid?”

It looks up.

“Did you have fun stargazing?”

“The Wea—I learned about ship light regulations, sir.”

Edgar looks at the kid. Looks at Mango. Looks back at the kid. “That’s nice. Now, do you want to visit the garden or the gym?”

Visible hesitation. He forgot the garden during the tour, but Shale might like the plants. And the little critters that are necessary to maintain the environment. It’s more like a giant terrarium or a little wildlife area than a garden, really.

“What is a garden, sir?”

“It’s a place full of plants. On this ship, it’s like a little forest. Might be a nice way to get you used to being on-planet.”

Opening the door, he watches it sniff at the air. It tips its head, buzzing like a beehive.

Plants. The kid has never seen plants before. Has never seen moss. Has never heard birdsong.

It digs its claws into the dirt, stretches, stops at every plant just to look at it, and stares at a moss covered rock for a long moment.

It runs. He doesn’t try to keep up, just watches it race past him, running in loops until it crawls back, panting heavily, and sinks its body into the mud at his feet.

“I’m going to read, kid. You aren’t on a time limit, and you can visit this place whenever you want.” Mel fixed the issue with its profile (the one where he and Dr Gabriel both made one) so its tag is functional, and its keycard is low priority.

It curls up on his lap while he reads.

His lap ends up covered in mud.

It gets a nice, warm bath to get all the mud out. Leans into the touch, just slightly, while he works the soap into its fur.

Accepts the peanut butter bites he offers it before lunch.

•••

Story Masterpost

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The Mimic Centre (mimzomworld story)

FINALLY DONE THIS ONE!!! I’M FREE!!!

Gingersnap Sharpteeth meets ‘Fox’ Whisperstep! If you came here from my Sharpteeth stories, it’s older than it is there (old enough for a job) (also, you might want to read ‘Alex’ and ‘Memory Stones’ for a bit of context)

contains: Sharpteeth flashback (involves collar/chains), violence/anger issues, someone trying to speak for Sharpteeth

•••

Whisperstep walks through the halls with the strange humans and the not-strange human with the familiar voice. The maybe-packmate ce talked to like Fishbringer. With the pocket-rectangle.

Matriarch Murmurdawn is right next to em. Murmurdawn is right next to em so it can’t be a bad place. It doesn’t smell like death. It mostly smells like people. Echo-people, like Whisperstep and not (prey-people) humans—which is weird, because this place is full of humans and should smell like prey—

There’s a room with windows. And other people.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do the puzzles, Lightkeeper, not that I don’t enjoy your company—”

“Hello!”

The lorekeeper stops tap-tapping thons stick on the ground, tipping thons head at em. “Hello, pup.”

Thon’s skin looks covered in clouds. Thons skirt is wide and red, with long bones stitched into the bottom.

A human shows em a cup with a thin lid. Pretends to bite it, then hands it over.

Lightkeeper, a sturdy person with blue hair and burn scars over thons arm, taps at the thin cup lid and says, “Pup, I think they want you to show them your venom.”

So ey do. Ey bite into the cup’s lid, leaving a small spoon’s worth of venom inside.

“What happened, pup? How did you end up here?”

“Matriarch Murmurdawn—” ey grab cir hand— “that’s cir—asked me if I wanted to see people (like me) and I said yes! So ce took me here. And I hope the plan is to just visit. I still want to stay with cir, but I miss talking to people.

“People who know what I’m saying and don’t have to think about translating, right? So—”

“Slow down, pup. Not everyone can hear as well as Deathmaker,” Lightkeeper says, nudging thons friend.

Deathmaker, the blind one, leans down, offering a hand, which ey take.“Ae’re just mad aer hearing is going.”

Lightkeeper is a guard, then.

“I’m Whisperstep. No one in my pack was named for the all-hunter.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Murmurdawn?” Ce asks, pointing at cirself.

“Oh! Yes! You pronounced it right, which, I know you don’t know what I’m saying yet, but….” Ey’re chirp-chirp-chirping, and ce knows chirping means happy, so even if ce didn’t understand ‘yes’ ce understands enough to know what ey’re trying to say. Probably.

“Your claws are….” Lightkeeper takes eir hand, tipping aer head slightly. “…Covered.”

“Except this one, see? I—” ey move Murmurdawn’s arm— “See? I panicked, and it’s better to have most of them blunt so I don’t hurt cir. I can bite them off, if I wanna change the colour, but I like them matching.”

“What did they do,” a new voice hisses, stalking at the humans, “What did they—”

Sharpteeth spots a new packmate in the human den. Not-den. No one lives in it, so it’s more like a healer’s nest.

Ae scoop a bird into aer claws. They aren’t technically for eating, they’re for the eggs, but Deathmaker says it’s good to be kind to guests, so ae can always blame it on thon.

…And they can always make more birds. That is obviously the first thing it thought of, and not the second.

Silentpath would say, “It’s hard enough keeping predators out when you keep snatching them up.” And xe has said it. Multiple times.

Ae set the bird down.

A new human in the puzzle room. An argument about the human, who’s holding hands with a pup. A pup, backing away from—

Oh.

Oh, ae’ve had enough of xem—

“Delusionspeaker.”

“It’s Fatespeaker,” xe snaps. Ae don’t care. Xe earns the right to be called xyr name when xe starts trusting aer parent. “And the pup—”

Is upset with xem. Xe says something about the human, as if it hasn’t noticed them.

“Good human?” ae ask the pup. Ignoring xem.

“Yeah! Ce froze when I said ‘I love you’ in cir language, like ce didn’t expect it even though ce says it all the time.”

Xe makes an offended sound—the chain yanks it, making it stumble, until Pain yanks it again, harder, and it barely brings its hands up in time to stop its head from hitting the floor.

“Sharpteeth? Sharpteeth?”

It’s silent. Hands pressed against its neck, taking heaving breaths as it tries to count the way Deathstalker taught it to. One of the ways. The way that’s easier to remember.

The way that grounds aem best.

It breathes through its nose. …Three, two, one…. Two, three, four, five…. Four, three, two, one…. Two… three….

“See? Poor Sharpteeth is traumatized. Haven’t they done enough—”

Ae tap at Deathmaker’s hand. The one holding thons cane. “Borrow.”

Thon lets aem take it.

THWACK— “Shut up,” it hisses. “Shutup! ShutupShutupShutup!—” It punctuates each word with a hit.

“Ae’re just a little confused,” xe says to the pup. “This is normal.”

“LISTEN TO SHARPTEETH. LISTEN.”

SNAP. Fatespeaker is bleeding, Fatespeaker is bleeding and ae keep clawing and biting and maiming—

Killing a packmate would make Deathstalker upset, so it can’t kill xem, but aer claws dig into flesh and all it wants to do is make xem stop. Stop misunderstanding it, stop speaking for it, stop being an ignorant stick-eater who THINKS XE’S FRIENDS WITH IT—

A strong hand pushes it away. “Easy, Sharpteeth, easy. Easy.”

Push is good. Push is safe. Sharpteeth hisses at Fatespeaker before picking Deathmaker’s cane up and giving it back. “Sorry,” ae mumble. It was less violent until xe opened xyr stupid mouth—

“Is it broken?”

“No.”

“Then it’s alright.”

If xe doesn’t listen after this, it’ll wake up Deathstalker and let nem deal with xyr. If xe doesn’t listen after this, xe deserves more claws in xyr face.

Whisperstep tips eir head.

Sharpteeth, the new guard, is scary. Ae have a key-necklace that looks like a claim braid, though ae can’t wear it in aer hair. It’s too short.

Ae’re growling. Ae shove aer face into Deathmaker’s shoulder so ae aren’t a threat, but. Ae snapped without warning. Sure, Fatespeaker was rude and obviously crossed aer boundaries, but—

“Play?”

But… ae seem nice enough.

Nat watches Fox play with Gingersnap. Tries to figure out the rules by watching.

Gingersnap stalks towards Fox, who is wearing a blindfold. Fox chirps loudly, pointing at xem, and they swap roles.

They do this five times before she understands the goal is reaching the other without being heard. Fox seems better at the stalking part than the listening part.

By the time they get home, it’s already night. They stand outside, staring at the moon, then make a long sound like a wolf’s howl.

They get an answer.

They try to murder her arm over getting an answer, then stare at the mourning stones for a long time.

•••

Whisperstep Masterpost | Sharpteeth Masterpost

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Mimic Roles & Pronoun Key (mimzomworld)

Roles are job-based mimic genders. Pups officially take apprenticeships once they’ve crossed their season fifteen times (when they’re 15), and are encouraged by a matriarch to transition to roles that are needed.

Adult mimics transition across roles when there are gaps to fill, often when a matriarch notices them.

more under the cut:

•••

Matriarchs & Aunt-Matriarchs (ce/cir/cirself)

leader, symbolically the parent to all in the pack. aunt-matriarchs are a council that helps guide the pack, but the Matriarch has a veto and final say (not necessarily the oldest, but the council does often have older people on it)

I call them “matriarchs/aunts” specifically because their symbolic role is that of a dam (whose lineages are easier to confirm)

make things for the pack (when not making decisions)

Lorekeepers (thon/thons/thonself)

teachers, historians, and storytellers. Help raise & babysit pups, and spin thread or make clothing while telling stories

embroider stories into clothing (for record keeping)

mimics who become disabled and/or retire often transition to lorekeepers (hunting lessons, for instance, are sometimes taught by retired hunters)

Healers (ne/nem/nirself)

often specialized in certain areas (trauma, sickness, pregnancy, mental health…)

can wear full white even if not deathclaimed (staying clean is important)

disabled mimics often become healers

may transition to hunter/healer or scout/healer if there are too many healers

Scouts (ve/vis/vir/virself)

general term for people who tend to go far from home, but aren’t hunters (in their languages, the pronoun is often a variation of the hunter one).

mimics who gather medicinal herbs, make maps, collect water, etc, are called scouts. They might hunt, but their outings aren’t for hunting

when they are at home, they do things like preserving food

Guards (ae/aem/aer/aemself)

watch over sleeping packmates, guard buildings (especially dens, healer’s nests, and pantry-houses), and defend against threats. They’re trained to make a pack-specific warning call.

cook food for the pack, especially hunters who are preparing for a hunt

Hunters (xe/xem/xyr/xyrself)

are often in charge of butchering/preparing food, and act similarly to deathclaimed for funerals and other traditions (if there are none in the pack) (they can name death, but only in the past or by giving it a target)

set traps close to home or set out on longer trips for bigger game

Pups (it/its/itself or ey/em/eirself)

named by (and after) their dam and sire. Can be claimed by anyone, but their dam and sire have first dibs, and their dam and sire’s spouses have second dibs

unclaimed pups are claimed by a matriarch and raised by the whole pack (this is. incredibly rare. I cannot put into words how weird this is. mimics will genuinely get into fights over who gets to claim a pup)

it/its pronouns are used for concepts (unborn pups or pups under two) (spirits and stories sometimes), and ey/em are used for pups and pups only

will transition to an adult gender (using a combination of pronouns) during apprenticeship

Since roles are fluid, the interactions are more… individual? You can be a healer-scout or a guard-lorekeeper or a hunter-guard, or whatever, and while there are certain stereotypes, I’ll just let it leak out in my stories.

Smaller packs tend to have more hybrid roles (because there aren’t as many people)

Gonna clarify this: everyone can and will make basic things, I just don’t mention it because scouts and matriarchs have more downtime (and lorekeepers can spin thread and such while speaking).

•••

Lore Masterpost

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The Claimed:

Digital art: two characters from my mimic zombie setting, Deathstalker and Deathmaker. Deathstalker has green skin, dark hair tied up in a bun, and pointed ears. Ne is wearing a red skirt and boots, has solid black tattoos covering nir arms below the elbow, and nir left leg is a prosthetic. Deathmaker is taller, has similar green skin, vitiligo, and longer ears. Thon wears a much longer skirt with bones on the end, and a yellow sleeveless shirt. (End of description)

Deathstalker got nir tattoos as a teen, and doesn’t feel worthy of them as an adult. Ne was named illegitimately, because nir dam didn’t want nem to exist, and ne…. It isn’t common knowledge in the Frostwood Pack, and ne doesn’t want it to be. Ne wears skirts in death colours to easily access nir prosthetic if needed, but they aren’t bone skirts.

Deathmaker has vitilligo, and doesn’t really need tattoos or paint for thons limbs. Thons skirt is wide enough to give thon feedback if thon hits something, though thon uses a cane when thon goes outside (not pictured here). Deathmaker was a hunter before thons eyes got infected and had to be surgically removed (before thon retired)

•••

Lore Masterpost | Sharpteeth Gingersnap Masterpost | Rainchaser Masterpost | Whisperstep Masterpost

(see Sharpteeth & Rainchaser for Deathstalker, Whisperstep & Sharpteeth for Deathmaker)

I’m drawing Deathmaker (Nyx) and since I’ve never drawn Deathstalker (Remedy) in traditional clothing, I think it’s an opportunity to explore what Deathclaimed mimics wear + their role in society. (And maybe explore why Deathstalker doesn’t really wear traditional clothing) So! Here’s a couple thought-rambles while i work on deciding:

Memory Stones are tied to the ground, so I think Death, as a concept, is of the ground. Souls live in the earth, calling to the living—which may be used as an explanation for gravity—so Death is bottom-heavy. Like a triangle (∆). Like a skirt. Solid/heavy boots, dangly earrings, painted/tattooed hands & feet, makeup focused on the bottom of the face.

Colours shall be red and white. Traditionally blood-red and bone-white, and only Deathclaimed mimics should wear red and/or white with nothing else. Otherwise, Death may mistake you for one of its own, and pull you into the earth.

More info under the cut:

So! Traditional Deathclaimed clothing! (Often modified based on the individual’s job and preferences)

Bone skirts. Triangular silhouette, blood red, and decorated with bones on the bottom. Often donated by packmates who consented prior to their death, but the bones of prey are also used. Deathclaimed will keep a record of those who choose to donate to them, sewn on the inside of their skirt (have not mentioned but the script is gonna be written like embroidery! Beads for tactile writing!). Maybe gonna do petticoats (is that the word?) or hoop skirts for that silhouette? Dinno yet

Heavy boots, sometimes with wooden taps on the bottom (especially in sedentary communities where the floors are hard and the sound can be clear) (worn indoors)

Simple tunics and bone jewlery.

Tattoos or paint on the arms and legs, red or black. Solid, stones, and swirling fog are the traditional patterns.

What Deathclaimed do (besides look pretty)

Are a source of hope: they are named for Death as a sacrifice during difficult times (famine, plague, conflict) in hopes they’ll be given its blessing. (This is only done out of desperation, otherwise Death may take offense and kill the parents who dared to name them)

Handle funerals: they’re the only living mimics who can talk about Death outside the past tense, and are already connected to Death. (If there are no Deathclaimed, the Matriarch will do it instead)

Predict hardship: they either do this by noticing the signs, or falling ill. When a Deathclaimed mimic begins to approach Death, it is a bad omen, just as it is when the Deathclaimed is a pup named to save them (no matter how old they are, it’s seen as a horrible sign)

Guard the living: Deathstalker is an excellent example of this, since ne’s a healer, but other jobs can guard the living as well. Hunters trade deaths for food, Scouts and Guards watch out for danger, Lorekeepers teach pups how to stay safe, and Matriarchs guide the pack. Lorekeepers and Matriarchs also craft things they need to stay alive, like winter clothing.

[paintcrab]

Lore & Bonus Stories Masterpost (mageliens world)

Where I put loredrops and stories that aren’t part of the Shale storyline. Might be related to crew on the ship, dunno yet

•••

Stories (order of posting?)

Mango :)

???

Loreposts (order of posting)

???

Art (order of posting)

Mama Train (pinecone dogs)

Species Lineup

Mango

???

•••

Master Masterpost

People to tag (bonus stories & snippets): @/painwithoutplot

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Alien designs for mageliens world!!

(Click to see clearly)

They aren’t the focus of this setting but you’re getting alien designs anyway (notes & cropped versions under the cut)

Atlanteans:

Rely on mana for camouflage, communication, and enhancing senses

Live on an ocean-covered moon orbiting the Drake planet (first contact via radio? unsure)

More extreme sexual dimorphism than humans

Taste with arms

Males should ideally be a headache to look at (and make art about)

Mess with clothing a bit more

Drakes:

Rely more on tech than mana

Live mostly in warmer climates on their planet

Tail is storage (chunky tail = healthy drake)

Counterweight tail!! Tail as counterweight to allow bipedalism!!!

Excellent sense of smell (often enhanced with mana)

Dresses more convinient than jumpsuit-type clothes due to tail

Slimes:

Rely almost entirely on mana for sensory input

Taste everything they absorb

Aren’t good at making tech (use it to communicate with humans via text)

Don’t think they can wear clothes

Avians:

Tech birds?

Tech birds.

Low mana, not as techy as humans but still good

Design may change, I just wanted bird aliens that are. Birds, so….

Just realized this guy has an overbite

Leg bands is clothes

Most sapients communicate using a telepathic network, which mana-neutral humans can vaguely interpret. Because of this, the common language is an earth language, English, and names for nonhuman sapients are human nicknames (true names are a sort of… essence that spoken names mimic in their original languages)

Basically, I didn’t want to make alien names, so you’re getting nicknames that translate the idea of the character and/or just stuck

•••

Storyline Masterpost

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The Trash Thief (mimzomworld story)

new storyline! (I missed calling them zombies)

contains: feral/zombie whumpee, past abuse, environmental whump?, animal death, starving whumpee, carrion eating (rotten meat + maggots), cautious/hesitant caretaker, and nervous whumpee

•••

The critters have gotten into Moira’s trash again. She stalks out the door, hoping to scare them off.

Good news: it isn’t the racoons.

Bad news: the raccoons are headless.

Worse news: the bloodstained heap of fabric that bit their heads off is eating a rotting turkey leg from her trash.

It’s a zombie.

A fucking zombie. Eating carrion out of her trash when there are two perfectly good raccoon corpses lying on the ground.

It’s trembling.

The weather forecast says it’ll rain heavily tonight.

She goes back inside. Grabs a raincoat and a fish that’ll go bad soon enough. Gives it the fish, and gestures for it to follow her to her shed.

“You can stay dry in here, understand? Dry and safe.”

It slowly takes the coat from her hands. She leaves.

Trapfinder sits down on the bench. Xe—ae—thon—xe doesn’t know what to think of the human. Xe knows what xe should think—that it’s dangerous and xe should return to the pack where xe’s safe, but….

But.

For now, xe has a place to rest.

How long xe’ll have it, xe doesn’t know, so xe has to use it well. With that in mind, xe peels off xyr clothes. Enough to look at xyr injuries, which leaves xem almost nude and shivering. Worse than xe thought.

Worse than xe thought.

Most of xyr body is bruises, now, and the pain when xe breathes makes it difficult to hunt. Xyr ribs aren’t broken, xe thinks.

Hopefully, Snapstrike told the pack xe’s dead. Xe won’t face consequences, xe never does, but xe doesn’t want to go back if xe’s there to keep—

Taking a shuddering breath, xe pours some of xyr water over the gash in xyr left hand. Bandages it with strips of fabric torn from xyr clothes.

Xyr ankle is…. It’s bruised, twisted the wrong way when xe fell. When xe pushed xem.

Snapstrike got worse.

Of course xe got worse. Trapmaker’s the awkward runt, and Snapstrike is a matriarch’s pup. It was only a matter of time.

Xe jumps at the sound of the door creaking open. Xyr spear is gone, so all xe has is a knife and claws. A knife and claws against a human who—

It’ll see xyr injuries.

It’ll know how to hurt xem.

Holding a bundle of fabric, it steps inside. Makes a soft noise at the sight of xyr injured state, arranging the blankets in a nest on the floor.

Taking a bag off its back, it pulls out a bottle of brown liquid and a roll of bandages. Gestures to xyr hand before leaving again.

The stuff in the bottle stings. Xe hisses, but re-bandages the wound with the clean bandages.

Carefully, xe looks through the bag, finding warm, clean clothes, a large bottle of water, and a comb.

Xe transfers everything from xyr hunting bag to the new bag. Gets dressed in the new clothes, and works on untangling xyr hair with the comb before pushing a chair to block the door and burrowing into the nest of blankets.

The rain is heavy that night.

Xe wakes up screaming.

People aren’t meant to be alone.

People aren’t meant to be alone, losing packmates can be lethal, why did xe ever leave—

Xe knows why.

Curling up around xyr new bag, xe pretends xe’s sleeping with someone. Softly, quietly, xe echoes a story with the voice of a lorekeeper. Echoes a story xe heard when xe was a pup.

Echoes it until xyr eyes grow heavy, and xyr words blend into nonsense, and the sounds of outside almost sound like other people.

Echoes it until….

Moira finds her shed empty in the morning. She moves the guest bedroom’s mattress inside, places the zombie’s bedding on top, and leaves a bag of jerky on the table.

Leaves it unlocked, so the zombie, Carrion, can come back.

Near sunset, when the rain picks up again, Trapmaker returns to the shelter. Xyr hunt was unsuccessful, xyr ankle too painful to chase, but xe set a couple traps, and hopefully they’ll produce results.

In xyr state, scavenging provides better results, but nothing tastes better than a fresh kill.

The scent of cooked meat drifts towards xem, and xe spots a plate outside.

An unguarded plate.

The meat is hot, free of maggots, and xe almost burns xyr mouth eating it.

Xe licks the plate clean. Rinses it in rainwater and puts it back before entering the shelter.

A soft, raised bed greets xem, as does an offering of dried meat.

Still, xe doesn’t regret stealing.

The mere memory of those juicy bites gets xem drooling. If the human is forgetful, it’s not xyr problem.

•••

Storyline Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Carrion Trapmaker Masterpost (mimzomworld)

Hesitant Found Family? Maybe? + Whump. A starving, wounded zombie finds a human xe might be able to trust. Maybe. Moira finds a trembling zombie digging through her trash, and doesn’t want to leave it out in the cold. It’s willing to eat carrion. Its clothes are filthy. Whoever was taking care of it clearly wasn’t doing their job.

stories and art coming soon!!

•••

Stories (chronological)

The Trash Thief

???

Art (order of posting)

Trapmaker’s Shelter

???

•••

Master Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Cold, Drowning (mimzomworld story)

part four of the sickfic arc that’s mostly focused on the adults. Entirely Skippable (it’s heavier than the rest of the storyline)

contains: young (nonhuman) whumpee, flashback, referenced rape (related to a character’s existence), past attempted murder, live prey & animal death (almost forgot)

•••

Pup is cold. Pup tucks itself into Rumbly’s chest, digging claws into thon, trying to stop shivering.

Thon wakes up. It woke thon up. It.

“Pup?” Gentle voice. Gentle hands. It breathes, lets thon press a hand to its forehead. “You’re too warm, sweetheart.”

No. It isn’t warm. It’s cold. Cold hurts. It reaches for its buttons. «No. Hurt.»

“I know, Pup. Your body is trying to be warm to get the sick out, so you feel cold.” Thon gets out of bed, pulling out a small pillow out of thons bag.

Shaking it, thon hands it to Pup. It’s warm.

Curling up around it, Pup falls back asleep.

Deathstalker tries to feed nir pup, but ey don’t want anything.

Rainchaser brings em another rabbit, and ey track it, but don’t chase it. Thon has to kill it thonself, rip it into little pieces, and feed em slowly. Only a few bites, before ey tuck eir face into nir shirt.

“Watch em,” ne says softly. “I’ll make em some tea.”

It’s more broth with honey in it than tea, but ey need something, and it’s nice and warm. Ey hold it in eir hands and sip at it.

Curl up around Rainchaser once the cup is empty.

Sleep brings dreams. Awful, horrible dreams ey have to be woken from, sitting up and taking gasping, choking breaths before drifting back to sleep.

It. Deathstalker steps outside. Breathes, remembers to breathe, and tries to remember what nir parent did for nem when ne was a pup. When ne was a pup with flashback-dreams of nir dam trying to drown nem in the lake.

Ne was younger than nir pup is now.

Ne breathes, curled up in a ball, and tries not to think about how young nir pup was when those dreams started.

Nir dam was allowed to stay in the pack, though not anywhere near nem. Not without witnesses. It wasn’t xyr fault ne reminded xem of what happened, and it wasn’t nir fault ne was born.

It didn’t stop a three winters old Deathstalker from drowning in panic whenever ey saw xem come back from a hunting trip. It didn’t stop an eight winters old Deathstalker from crying at night. It didn’t stop a twelve winters old Deathstalker from thinking it was eir fault.

As an adult, ne knows xe was hurt.

But. Ne sees nir pup, gasping for air, and has to step outside at the thought of being the other person in that dream, nir dam, holding a struggling pup under the water until ey go still.

Ne takes a slow, shuddering breath, and stands up.

By the time ne steps through the door, ey’re asleep.

Ey’re asleep. Rainchaser tips thons head. “You’re shaking. You were gone for the walk to the river, almost.”

Nir pup is breathing. Breathing, curled up around emself, while thon combs thons fingers through eir hair.

Nir pup is breathing.

Nir pup is alive.

Deathstalker removes nir metal leg, placing it next to the bed. Tucks nirself under the blankets. “I think,” ne whispers, “you should visit em during the day. Ey need eir sleep, and we don’t want em to start thinking ey have to stay awake for you.”

“Can’t have that,” Rainchaser says softly. “Are you sleeping alright?”

“I—” the pup coughs. Ne flinches. Grumbles a curse under nir breath.

“I just can’t imagine myself in my dam’s place, especially after seeing em….” Ne rubs at nir face. “Drowning a pup. A pup.”

Thon growls. The pup presses emself at thon.

“Why…?”

“I look like my sire.” Ne growls.

The pup likes growling for some reason. Messed up little thing. Thon combs fingers through eir hair, being careful to avoid scratching em.

•••

Character Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Mama Train! (All Aboard!!)

(Click for better image)

Bitty spiky fruit babies clinging to fluffy mama who is vaguely horse sized. As they get older, they lose the spikes and grow fur (spiky form is still possible, but they gotta shapeshift for it!)

Pinecone dog pups cling to their parents, so Shale might get clingy when it realizes its new handlers are safe to mess with (hence the sketches and Edgar’s back pain) (yes, it’s official, they’re called pinecone dogs now. Humans are the ones with the nicknames, since we aren’t telepathic, so… pinecone dogs)

•••

Shale Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Made some art about your comment @painwithoutplot (thank you for the heart!)

A digital drawing of Gingersnap/Sharpteeth, a mimic pup from my mimic zombie setting, eating a heart with little blood smudges on its face and arms. Sharpteeth is a grey-green humanoid, with pointy ears, large black eyes, a very wide mouth, and dark hair slightly past its chin. A voice off to the right says “pup, sweetheart, I don’t think that was literal”

•••

Sharpteeth Masterpost • Pelican Mouth Version

[paintcrab]

Updated Shale Design! (Plus a couple sketches about it)

……i want it to have a longer tail. It looks like some kind of spiky fruit instead of a beetle-pinecone, and i love it.

Still inspired by golden plover chicks and canines, but now I have pangolins in my head. So. Pinecone Shale. Also, made its face a triangle. I might draw it with bigger segments later

Character Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Day Two: Rules (mageliens story)

pinecone :)

contains: living weapon whumpee, rescued whumpee, nonhuman (canine) whumpee, young whumpee, panic attacks, references to physical punishment and starvation, and, of course, as much comfort as I could fit

•••

Edgar opens his eyes. The dog bed is pushed up against the window, and the tip of Shale’s tail pokes out the pile of blankets.

He yawns. It jumps, scrambling to put the bed back where it was before— “I’m sorry, sir. The Wea—the Weapon—” it can’t manage the rest of the sentence. It chokes its way through something incoherent before ducking its head.

Ignoring it, he opens a drawer and pulls out a dog tag. Enters his password and the tag’s code so it’s in the system, and sets up a profile for Shale. He gives it access to the common areas, his room, and the entrances.

Mel will see his request and activate the account—or, if they aren’t busy, they’ll kick down his door and demand to see the puppy.

That might be good for it, he thinks, gathering some pillows and setting them in a vague semicircle next to the window. He folds one of his big, soft winter quilts in half, then quarters, and puts it on top.

It’s a bed, or close enough.

“There.” It looks up at him. Steps carefully, hesitantly, towards the new bed, almost touching it with its nose while it inspects his work.

“That is your blanket, sir.”

“I can get you a different one, if you don’t like it.” The quilt he used is covered in constellations. It doesn’t say a word.

Maybe it likes the bed. Maybe it doesn’t want to be accused of talking back.

“Let’s get you breakfast,” he says.

Deliberately leaving out the heel command, he walks with it to the cafeteria. It doesn’t notice. With some work, he can quit using commands, wean it off them, but he has to start slowly.

Gabriel walks up to them, and offers to show it the options. Walking bipedally, it follows almost at her side.

“You’re omnivorous, so you should be able to eat most things here. Anything with this symbol is human-only, anything with that symbol is atlantean-only, and foods everyone can handle are marked with a star.

“What would you like to try first?”

It stares blankly, nose twitching at the smell of food. Doesn’t speak.

“How about this? I’ll fix you a plate, and you tell me if you like the food, okay?”

“Understood si—” the tip of its tail flicks, nearly tripping Hex. “Understood, Doctor.”

Hex stares at him. Lifts one of the arms wrapped around xyr body to point at Shale, and curls another like a question. Edgar nods at xem, and takes his breakfast to a table while it watches Dr. Gabriel prepare its meal.

“What do you look like today?” he asks once xe’s sat across from him, xyr frontmost arms draped over not-shoulders he doesn’t remember the name of.

Xyr other arms aren’t visible. Likely in a bun: tucked into a jar attached to xyr shoulder pads. Not-shoulder pads. Language is a horrible curse.

“Female coloration,” xe says, “light purple and gold.” Unzipping the window in xyr shirt reveals xyr mouth, with its rows and rows of sharp teeth.

“I thought about inverting it, though. Making gold my primary colour would be nice: a hint of masculine flamboyancy in a feminine palette.”

To him, xe’s bright pink with orange on the underside of xyr six arms. Xyr pattern, a pattern he can only describe as “drunk rings with drunker outlines,” is pale blue tracing dark purple.

“Sounds pretty,” he says. “Could you teach the kid how to telepath? It was taught to break shields during interrogations, and it needs to learn how to… not do that.”

Hex pries open one of the brightly-coloured shells on xyr plate. “I’m up for the challenge. It’ll probably have to learn a couple more things, actually—”

They discuss teaching strategies, and Hex tells him shapeshifting isn’t possible. He sends xem its training files and medical record, and absentmindedly gives Shale the eat command when it appears at the table with a slow feed bowl.

The blueberries he was planning on having with his oatmeal quickly disappear into Shale’s pointy mouth. He doesn’t comment on it.

Silently typing ‘blueberries’ into a new document titled ‘list of treats for Shale’ doesn’t count as commenting on it. Not when it’s too busy eating lightning-quail eggs to notice he’s watching it.

It works on licking the bowl clean. Gabriel gets up, bringing it some more food. “I noticed you like the eggs,” she says.

“I—The Weapon—” it ducks its head. “They’re crunchy,” it mumbles.

Edgar pats its head. “Good. They’re good for you.”

It only eats when he gives it the command again.

If he changes the command to an action, he might be able to get it to eat on its own.

Maybe tapping at the dish could be its new command? That might work, since it shouldn’t eat things off the floor, and the floor isn’t a dish. Unless it thinks plates count as….

It’s sapient and can understand speech. He can just tell it not to eat off the floor.

Hands might give it issue. Hmm…. Maybe he should start teaching the alternate command by hand feeding it, then expand it to other things.

He can’t keep blueberries in his pocket, but peanut butter bites and jerky-treats should work.

It finishes its second helping of breakfast, and he shows it where to bring the dirty dishes. Picks up some snack-treats for it.

“If you get hungry outside of mealtimes, tell me. You’re malnourished and underweight.”

“The Weapon does not eat when it fails.”

He stops.

It flinches.

“The Wea—I—the Weapon can skip eating tomorrow. Next meal. It—”

“I think,” he says slowly, “we should have a talk about rules. Follow me.”

The little art studio on the ship has a peeling sign that reads ‘enrichment centre’ covering the original sign. And a field of flowers on the wall that’ll get painted over when the mural battle continues.

He fishes the tag out of his pocket, holding it up. “This will let you access most areas on the ship until I can get you a key card. But it’ll still come in handy after you get the key card—you don’t have to remember which pocket it’s in, for one.

“Now, do you want to pick out beads or write down your rules first?”

“Weapons can’t read or write, sir.”

Edgar gets out a jar of beads and some string. “Can you pick some nice colours?”

Black and dark blue. It picks black and dark blue. The beads are different shapes and textures, and he rolls them between his fingers before putting enough for a bracelet on the string.

A bracelet that does not have a tag. He still puts it on its wrist. Gathering a couple star beads to fill out the tag bracelet, he picks a soft orange and deep purple that aren’t quite the same shades as the blankets Shale chose.

“Here,” he murmurs, sliding the bracelet to it. “You can wear it however you want, but please tell me if it goes missing so I can find it.”

Hastily cut-off buzzing. He gets a notebook, blaming the sound on the ventilation system needing maintenence, and hears he sound return slightly softer than before.

“Now, can you tell me what rules you had before?” There’s a better way to say it. He can’t think of a better way to say it.

It ducks its head. “Yes, sir.”

He can’t back out now.

He picks up a pen.

“The Weapon must obey orders from its Handlers without hesitation. It may only speak when spoken to, and must give the correct answer to every question even if it doesn’t have an answer.

“The Weapon must accept corrections without complaint or attempting to defend itself. It—” Edgar can barely keep up with writing them down, doesn’t get a minute to feel anything about the words it’s saying, just writes.

Writes, and listens, and does not think about how its voice is turning into a whine.

Does not look up.

Does not speak.

Does not stop writing until every last word is on paper.

Until the Weapon—until Shale closes its eyes.

Until it clamps one hand around its snout, trying and failing to shut itself up.

Edgar stands. It scrambles to sit, pressing all its limbs to the floor, bowing its head, and curling its tail around itself. A beetle-shiny carapace replaces its fur, making it look like a strange armadillo. Or a pangolin.

Whichever of the two looks like a pinecone. That’s what Shale looks like. A pinecone-dog that’s trying its best to stay still.

Resting his hand on its head, he takes a slow, even breath. The hard, armoured surface doesn’t react when he pets it. “Hey—”

It tenses. The scaly carapace turns back into soft fur and skin under his hand. “I—the Weapon apologises, sir. It meant no disrespect, it—meant no disrespect, it was an—it was—”

“Hey, look at me,” he murmurs, crouching down to its level. “Look at me. Breathe with me.”

“I—” it chokes. Closes its eyes. Tenses, opening them— “Sorry, sir, the Wea—the Weapon is mal—malfun—malfunctioning. It. It is better—better than this. It. This—”

“Turn back into a pinecone,” he says, forcing it to sound like an order. “If you can breathe in that form, turn back.”

It does.

Pulling it forward, into a hug, he runs his hand firmly down the scales on its back, hoping it can feel the pressure. Follows the first hand with a second, letting his short nails clack-click-clack-clack over the overlapping scales.

Scales that rattle under its gasping breaths and trembling body. With choking breaths, it promises to be better, to do better, and all he can do is hold it. All he can do is hold it, and—

And not count breaths. Counting makes it worse. Counting makes it worse, so he breathes slowly and deliberately and tries not to feel like the worst person of all of time for making it worse.

He breathes slowly, murmuring reassurances until it curls up in his lap. Until its breathing is stable.

Until its fur returns.

Until it looks up at him and asks why he isn’t punishing it. It’s required to speak clearly, and it used its defenses without permission.

Taking a peanut butter bite out of his pocket, he offers it to it. “Thank you for telling me your rules, Shale. Now, we have different rules here.…”

It asks questions. Hestitantly, like he’ll hit it for asking the wrong one, but it asks.

It asks questions, and looks startled every time he offers it a reward for it.

It asks questions.

And, running a hand through its fur, he answers every last one.

•••

Story Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Gingersnap (mimzomworld story)

part four five SIX of the sickfic arc. pup isn’t really sick here outside the voice thing. Also! It gets enrichment! Yay!!

contains: young (nonhuman) whumpee, caretaker new master, fear, language barriers, swearing (in narration), flashback, talking buttons

•••

Maria steps into the pup’s room with a tray of food. Xe really should have a name by now, but Violet always insists on picking the perfect name. In theory, it’s polite, but in practice, it just ends with the mimic getting whichever name sticks—

The pup startles awake, snapping xyr teeth. Remedy wakes up, rumbling a low growl in her vague direction.

“Remember me? I kept people away from Raindrop, and tried to communicate with it using drawings?” It pulls the pup closer. Yawns, giving her a slow blink, which she returns.

Raindrop was at least able to be gentle with her, though not really calm. It trusted her to back off when it told her to, and would let her touch it if she kept her movements clear.

The pup isn’t Raindrop, but xe needs to be handled carefully too.

“I brought breakfast, if xe’s willing to eat.” And the button. The button is mandatory. Given the recordings she’s watched, the ones he kept, it’s no wonder Violet reported the pup getting distressed over xyr voice going hoarse and painful.

Mimicking is a natural behaviour, equal parts defense and self-soothing mechanism, and being forced to mimic for food on top of that….

The pup’s voice holds too much weight. The pup needs to learn xyr voice isn’t everything. Hopefully Remedy knows that, hopefully it can teach xem, because, as a human, she’s likely to fuck things up.

Raindrop tolerates her, but she still has to be incredibly careful with it. The pup doesn’t know her, worries about making humans mad, and is likely to pick up on signals she isn’t aware of.

Remedy presses the button, and spoonfeeds the pup soup until xe starts reaching for it. Murmurs something, and taps the button. The pup keeps xyr mouth shut until it presses the button properly.

Trembling hands wrap around the button. Xe stares at her. Presses the button constantly, trying to reassure xemself.

A pup who wants her to like xem is so much more intimidating than the openly hostile mimic who wanted everyone to fuck off. She could break xem accidentally.

This little pup doesn’t know her. Sure, she was there when xe was rescued, but she was more focused on evidence, on her recording, than on xem.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs. It doesn’t help.

Xe doesn’t know her, and she can’t communicate that she would never hurt xem.

All she can really do is try not to startle xem and watch xyr reactions.

Maria ends up looking as disinterested as she can, opening her notebook and writing potential names for xem (most of which are related to the bite Ben got trying to give xem a checkup). Glancing at xem, she writes down that looking disinterested helps.

“Do you want to introduce new buttons?” she asks, once xe’s done with xyr soup and a little less spooked. Shows xem the box of buttons.

Remedy pulls out two purple ones, and points at her and itself. Watches her put her name on a button, then puts its own name on the other one.

Taking a permanent marker, she writes the word for each button on the side. It takes the marker, writing on top of each button with careful, legible strokes in its own language. Sounds each word out for the pup.

Languages aren’t her thing—she knows some vocalizations, but it’s mostly body language and behaviours—but Elliot has been trying to figure out their language for years. He’ll be so upset he missed this.

He’ll be slightly less upset when he sees the script on the buttons.

Xe points at the red button. SNAPS xyr teeth, staring up at it with pleading eyes until it says something xe’s happy with, choosing to headbutt it affectionately.

“Gingersnap,” she says. “I’m naming you Gingersnap.”

They add new buttons. “Yes” and “No” and numbers up to ten. Parts of the body and the word “Hurt,” at Remedy’s insistence, which she should’ve thought of before it had to resort to charades to communicate.

Better it than her, though. She’s terrible at charades.

Pup can snap teeth. Pup can snap its teeth and click its tongue. It isn’t talking or repeating but it is sounds. Sounds it can make even when it’s broken.

It tucks itself into Rumbly’s side and stares at Not-Holder. They don’t want it to make sounds. But. But there’s so many things that aren’t sounds they could want, and it doesn’t know. It doesn’t know what they want.

And. And Pain hurt it when it didn’t do what they wanted. Which means they might be worse than Pain, even if they’re better, because if it can’t figure out what they want—

Holder gave it to them. Holder is gone.

It presses a hand to its neck, clamping its mouth shut, trying to keep all the voice-sounds inside. It doesn’t work.

The Bad sound leaks out, hoarse and cracking, and it tries not to flinch when Rumbly touches its shoulder. It still flinches, even though that hand was rubbing circles into its back before and it isn’t scared of thon.

It still flinches. It still can’t breathe right.

Thon isn’t Pain. Thon doesn’t look anything like Pain. Thon murmurs reassurances, and helps it breathe right, and doesn’t want it to do things for food.

Thon tells it to breathe through its nose, following thons count, and focus on all the things it can smell. It’s mostly Rumbly’s scent and the blanket scent and Holder’s scent, but Not-Holder’s scent is there too.

Its voice hurts. It hurt its voice more. It curls up around itself until Not-Holder tucks one of the really soft blankets around it.

Not-Holder puts the food button on the table next to the bed, and puts all the other ones in a row.

It clicks. It click-click-clicks, and Not-Holder starts clicking too.

It startles. Stares.

Pain never liked when it made random sounds, but Not-Holder, Echo, does.

Echo leaves, and comes back with a box. Shows it a picture it can put together, and a lot of small, colourful boxes. And a round thing that rolls away from them.

It points at the picture. Jumps off the bed, sitting down on the floor in front of Echo.

The picture is supposed to be of something it hasn’t seen before. It waves a hand in Rumbly’s direction until thon says, “Fish. That is a fish, Pup.”

Pup works on making the fish picture. Starts by sorting the pieces by colour while Echo helps.

Until they put a piece in the wrong group, and it hisses at them. Freezes.

It can hiss without its voice.

It can’t hiss. Hissing is bad. Hissing isn’t like the Bad sound, but Pain doesn’t like it, Pain tugs its chain harder when it does that, it isn’t allowed to hiss—

Echo clicks. It tips its head. Doesn’t move when they offer it the piece. It points at the right pile, and they put it there, and they start offering the pieces to it when they aren’t sure where they go.

When all the pieces are sorted, it starts putting similar pieces together. Echo taps at the box and traces the edges of the picture. It doesn’t want to make the picture from the edges.

Maybe that’s why Echo sorted the piece wrong. They do it differently.

Is that how they want it to make the picture? Are they going to hurt it if it does it the wrong way? No, they asked for its input. They asked it to show them how to sort the pieces.

They aren’t Pain.

Pain was impatient. Maybe they’re patient, and they’ll wait until the puzzle is done to hurt it.

It finishes the puzzle the way it wants. It finishes the puzzle with shaking hands, and looks up at Echo to see how they react. They click.

They click, tucking a piece of hair behind its ear. Take a second picture out of the box.

A picture without straight edges.

•••

Character Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Feeding the Stones (mimzomworld story)

short companion to Memory Stones (i wish i’d had this idea sooner so i could have more stories about it)

contains: grief/mourning (death of original family), found family

•••

Child sprinkles ashes from the fireplace over the name-stones, and places chicken bones next to them. Nat…would prefer if the bones were clean.

He takes small dishes from the kitchen, and carefully lifts each stone onto a dish. Cleans the bones as much as he can before giving them back to Child.

They put the bones down.

“Paint?” they ask.

Each plate gets painted differently. The nameless stone’s plate gets something written on it. It’s the only one to get writing.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispers.

Once the paint dries, they place each stone on specific plates, give each one a bone, and sprinkle ash over them.

They talk to the stones. They talk to the stones until their voice turns raspy, and they start reaching a soot-stained hand at him. He scoops them into his lap. Watches them make gestures until he understands, and starts telling the stones about himself.

Tells the stones about them, and all the things they’ve done, all the things he loves them for, and all the odd quirks they have that might not be that odd for a zombie. Mimic. Most of the papers he’s read call them mimics.

“I’m sorry they lost you,” he says softly, once they’ve fallen asleep in his arms. “They were clearly well taken care of before they came to me.

“Thank you,” he says, “for being there for them.”

Nat tucks them into bed, and tries not to think about how much Child saw. Tries not to think about his child, this little zombie, watching their family die.

Nat curls up around himself, on his floor-mattress, and tries not to cry.

Ends up crying when they wake up and burrow their way into his arms.

•••

Character Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Memory Stones (mimzomworld story)

something short and full of lore! (realized I needed a scene like this when rewriting “Mimic Centre”, so here’s my preferred loredrop medium!! …is this even a loredrop?)

contains: minor self-harm (literally pricking a finger), mourning ritual (loss of… let me just link the first part), parent & child (found family), and language barriers

•••

Child collects stones. Smooth, hand-sized stones, and brings them inside.

Nat doesn’t interfere. Not until they prick their finger with an unblunted claw, and start writing on the stone with blood.

“Hey,” she says, taking their hand. “What if we get some paint instead?”

They tip their head.

“Red paint? Nail polish?”

“Black?”

She gets them black paint. Dark brown paint. And white. She doesn’t have black.

Each stone gets something written on it in careful strokes of a thin paintbrush she managed to find. They write with careful strokes despite shaking hands.

They write something on their hand, too, and it’s at that point when she realizes they’re names.

Two of the names look like theirs.

Two of the names look like theirs.

She doesn’t speak. She can’t speak, while they say things she doesn’t understand. While they press their forehead to each stone. Including a blank one. They don’t seem to know what to do about the blank one.

There’s only eleven named stones, so maybe the twelfth is for those they don’t remember.

Child places each stone by the fireplace.

Child places each stone by the fireplace, and she doesn’t dare disturb them.

•••

Character Masterpost

[paintcrab]

Aroace Flag Deathstalker for Pride Month!!! (also more marriage bead lore)

Fun fact! Did the flag from memory and thought it looked weird. I accidentally did it upside down………. and had to flip it…. Also! The shirt is blue for clarity (don’t want flag lost in the wretched circle)

So! Mimics make marriage beads (heart beads?) to gift to spouses, and mimics who only make (& wear) one bead, like Deathstalker, are openly asexual and/or aromantic. (Note: we are counting the big bead here, the small bead is to keep the big one up)

A mimic with a single bead braid is considered self-married, as i explained in this lore post, but only making one bead (and the not expected two or more) is significant. It means you aren’t going to have a secondary marriage with someone else*

Mimics use a term meaning “to keep one heart-bead/to be complete” to mean something close to aro/ace. Since they’re a dualsex species, I haven’t really thought about other orientations? I mean, “paired-beads/paired-hearts” would be their term for monogomy (polyamory is their default), but other than that? I dunno.

*My solution to the problem where everyone on a marriage braid is married to everyone else. It’s like an additional layer of marriage