#: lace lichen :

[mycoblogg]

FOTD #102 : lace lichen! (ramalina menziesii)

lace lichen (also fishnet lichen) is a fruticose epiphytic lichen in the family ramalinaceae. it is found across north america & plays multiple important ecological roles :-) the indigenous kawaiisu people of california reportedly used it for its magical properties*.

the big question : can i bite it?? nah - it is mostly inedible for humans, but it is an important food source for deer in the coast range of california !!

r. menziesii description :

"this lichen grows up to a meter long, hanging from bark & twigs in a distinctive net-like or lace-like pattern. it is white to light green."

[images : source, source & source] [fungus description : source]

*so, this was one of the first recorded instances of people using this lichen !! apparently, they would place it in water to bring rain, & place it in fire to repel thunder or lightning :-) the kashaya pomo people of northern california would also use it, but as a "sanitary material" (which i assume means like toilet paper?).

[mynocturnality]

Beards of Lace Lichen.

| Artist: rjadams55

🐌 Goblincore month on @mynocturnality

[bluebrightly]

FIRST MONTH

On a cold January afternoon at sunset, I’m alone, but not alone – driftwood, rocks, fir trees, clouds, and seaweed, all sit with me. Diving ducks and soaring eagles turn my head, gently lapping waves quiet my mind. Separateness disappears. 1. January 31st, 5:00PM. 2. January 31st, 5:03PM. On another day, Douglas fir trees and I share a wind-buffeted view of Deception Island, floating…

[xphaiea]

lace lichen

[aloysiavirgata]

She walks in beauty, like the night

Scully in the simplest, blackest silk. Scully pale, moon-kissed, vulnerable. Scully’s hair and eyes like where the stars are born.

***

Scully comes to him when even the moon is all but asleep, like a single calla lily from a secret admirer. Unbidden. Unexpected.

Unparalleled.

“Mulder,” she says, outside his open door, in a negligee that last shade of sky blue before it goes pitch black.

Spaghetti straps and a low décolletage, though not shockingly low. Lace trim, mid thigh. It looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear to slap you.

Not you. Him.

Specifically him.

She looks up at him through her heavy-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes.

He stares at her for his own sake because deep in his 12 year old heart, no one would ever, ever, believe that nerdy Fox Muld-

Scully takes another step closer onto the sad oatmeal carpet of his hotel room. She has such pretty ankles, she has such pretty calves. She smells like honeysuckle and hot bike tires and buttery lobster rolls and the sweetest, purest moments of his life.

She tips her face up to him, Agent Scully does, all eyes and lips and cheekbones like a geometric proof.

“God,” he says. And he means it.

***

LA belongs to the sun and Scully is a San Diego baby but he knows, he knows, she is an East Coast girl at heart. He knows she loves the first retinal purple-orange sunrises of America and the first sapphire kisses of night. He knows she loves the stars by which her father learned to navigate. He knows she loves the distant moon.

He knows she loves blue crabs and wool duffel coats and khaki shorts and aspires to East Hampton in her most secret, silent heart.

One day he will make love to her in London because she will, he knows, hark to the call of the City. She is a creature of old stone and lichen and liminal space.

She is the answer to Samson’s riddle.

***

He’d rented a jet black ‘57 Chevy Bel Air because Christ, this girl. Abductions and cancer and the most awful brutality and stolen ova and Christ; this brilliant, moonbeam girl.

She sees the car and she says nothing. But her eyes, her eyes. Her Star of India eyes.

Scully sees the car and she smiles, shy. Scully squeezes his hand.

***

He fucks her - hard, desperate - in the Chevy out over Mullholland and she cries out for him because even Saint Teresa writhed in ecstasy.

He kisses her the way a mariner kisses his homeland soil because she is his human credential. He kisses her like a Torah scroll. He shudders, murmurs I love you, I love you into the hot, sweet dark of her mouth.

***

She is bleeding, just a little. She is bleeding in the warm caress of a Southern California night. She is bleeding as though she were a virgin and maybe she is; maybe there is sex and there is fucking and there is making love and there is This.

Are you there, god? It’s me, Dana.

She touches his sleeping rosebud lips. She touches his funny nose and his beautiful jaw and she doesn’t say I love you aloud like he had because she’d learned it was shameful. She’d learned to salute.

But it’s 3 AM, neither properly morning nor properly night. It’s 3 AM and she isn’t LA pretty, not by a long shot, but she’s here with him, with Mulder, who is very LA pretty and has money besides.

She’s too short and too pale and her nose is patrician rather than cute and she gets burnt instead of tan. She doesn’t laugh in the right places at movies. She likes copper because it burns green, she likes moths more than butterflies, she can quote Jane Austen’s most acerbic lines.

She thinks of Mulder swimming hard across the Vineyard tides, Mulder with his cinnamon skin in the whipped cream breakers. Riding a red fixed-gear along Lake Tashmoo, tugging his tiny sister along. Mulder basking on the beach like a young god of summer. Mulder with his heart afire like Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque.

Her father is dead and look, look Mulder has such a tender soul even if he’s Jewish and atheist, Daddy. Mulder has eyes like fern moss.

“I love you,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears, her eyes bright as the newest stars.

[salt-clangen]

Moon 5

Greenleaf

“Lynxkit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed, it’s your wish to study the will of StarClan and care for your clan as a cleric yes?”

“Yes Wolfstar!”

“Then from this day on, until you receive your cleric name, you will be known as Lynxpaw. Your mentor will be our ancestors in Starclan. I hope they will pass down all they know on to you.

Warriors of StarClan, I present you with this apprentice. They have chosen the path of a cleric. Grant them your wisdom and insight so that they may understand your ways and heal their Clan in accordance with your will.”

Only Wolfstar was there to chant her new name, but Lynxpaw stood proud all the same.

“How do you feel?” Lynxpaw asked as she entered the clerics den, she’d decided it should be the den in the center of the half circled camp. Wolfstar even hung lichen and moss over the entrance for more privacy.

“Tired… I guess.” The white molly answered.

It’d been a quarter moon since they found Snowspeckle, laid out in the sand, bleeding from her head and babbling nonsense. She’d been out of it for the first few days, suffering from head trauma. Eventually she recovered enough to speak, though she’d been reluctant to explain what happened.

So Lynxpaw treated her with dandelion root for the pain and ragweed for strength, she’d even used the few sage leaves they had to prevent infection. Her hard work paid off and soon Snowspeckle’s head wound had healed completely. But there was still something wrong, Lynxpaw wasn’t sure what but she could tell the molly wasn’t completely healthy.

Finally, Snowspeckle revealed last night that she was pregnant.

“Let me check your temperature.” Lynxpaw put her nose into her ear. “Well you don’t have a fever, that’s good. Are you ready to talk about what happened now.”

Snowspeckle sighed.

“I fell down the rocky cliff over the beach.”

“I figured that’s how you got hurt.” Lynxpaw busied herself with sorting herbs, tying them with twine. “Why haven’t you gone back to your clan? I’m sure you had one.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Well explain it to me.” Wolfstar called from the entrance, both cat’s heads whipped around in surprise. She stood watching them, eyes firmly on Snowspeckle. “If not then you need to leave, I can’t have a liability in my clan.”

Snowspeckle kept quiet, eyes misty and downcast. With a sniffle she cleared her throat.

“I was from Oakclan, I was an artisan and I met Nightleap. She was from Honeyclan, but we met up at gatherings and at the border. I thought she would join Oakclan, it’s happened before, my brother’s mate was from Duskclan of all places!” She laughed but it sounded hollow. “I guess I should’ve said something, because all of a sudden she’s asking me when I’m joining Honeyclan. I told her she was crazy, why would I leave Oakclan.”

She sniffed again, tears finally falling.

“We fought and broke up, but I missed her so much so I told her I would leave. I even announced it at the gathering, which was a mistake. It took moons to get out, everyone kept trying to get me to stay, clerics said they got messages from Starclan that I shouldn’t join Honeyclan. My own family threatened to disown me, they thought I was insane for wanting to leave.”

Lynxpaw sat beside her, pressed against her side in comfort.

“There was even a trial to see if I had broken the warrior code! I went through all of that and finally I was able to join her in Honeyclan, we’d met up all through out this time. And when we were finally together and then she tells me she doesn’t want to be with me anymore. After everything I had to endure and she did that!”

“Is that why you went to the cliffs?” Wolfstar asked, voice laced with worry. “Did you fall on purpose?”

“Oh stars no not on purpose.” Snowspeckle shook her head. “I was just trying to clear my head, I didn’t want to stay in the clan with Nightleap, but I couldn’t go back to Oakclan, not after everything that happened. I didn’t know what to do, next thing I know I was slipping and falling.”

“That’s awful.” Lynxpaw said.

“I don’t want to go back,” She sighed. “Can I stay here? I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wolfstar finally settled in next to her, taking a moment to groom the top of her head, Lynxpaw resumed her grooming as well. Snowspeckle melted into her nest, calm washing over her.

“Of course you can stay.” Wolfstar said, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Plus we could use an artisan.” Snowspeckle laughed, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Yeah I could tell, no offense but that twine is mouse dung.”

They spent the rest of sun high lounging in the shade, sharing tongues and stories until it was cool enough to go back to work.

“Are you sure about this?” Lynxpaw tried to hide her nerves, stealing glances up at Wolfstar as they walked.

“We have to, we’re a clan. We have to act like one.” Wolfstar hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “It’s time we stopped hiding.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but they both knew, Lynxpaw needed a mentor. She was doing her best, but she was visited by Starclan cats less and less as she got older. She hoped that by establishing themselves as a clan they could have Lynxpaw get lessons from the other clerics.

So at the next full moon, they traveled together crossing the east river and following it north to the Gathering Stone. They kept quiet as they walked, staying close to the river to avoid seeing other clans. The gathering was about to begin, she could smell the overwhelming mix of all the cats in attendance.

The sky was cloudy, but not enough to halt the start of the gathering, moonlight could still speckle through. As they walked over the small hill leading to the Gathering Stone, the wind shifted to carry their scent upwind.

Wolfstar could see a ripple effect of confusion, some cats noticed their strange, salty scent right away, others took a moment to realize.

Jaggedstar was the first to notice, from atop the stone with the other leaders, her face slack with disbelief. Wolfstar met her gaze, resisting the urge to flinch. A yowl break out as more cats realized they were there.

Rogues.

Outsiders.

Intruders.

Cats shouted out, hissing and puffing up at the sight and scent of them. But the pair of cats stood firm, at the top of the small hill, waiting for the right moment.

She spotted her siblings, Greyclaw and Ashenstep, at the forefront of the crowd, eyes wide. She could recognize a few other Duskclan cats, Burnpaw was at the back, trying to push through the crowd. Thornstrike was standing on the stone where the deputies sat, his hackles raised and angry glare trained on them.

It was a blur of shouting and posturing, but Wolfstar stayed still and calm. Finally, Jaggedstar managed to call to order, her deep growl capturing everyone’s attention.

“Wolfpaw?” She called. “What is the meaning of this? Is it really you?”

This caused more yowls, Oakclan and Honeyclan cats confused.

“Jaggedstar what’s going on?” The silver cat on the Leaders stone was new, she didn’t remember seeing them before. She recognized Rookstar of Honeyclan, so this must be the new Oakclan leader. “Do you know these cats?”

“That’s her daughter, Archstar.” Rookstar answered. “I met her once before. Wolfpaw.”

Archstar’s head whipped to Jaggedstar, speaking lowly and intensely.

“My name is Wolfstar. I travelled to the Moon spring and received nine lives from Starclan. They’ve made me the leader of a new clan.” Wolfstar finally spoke, gaze sweeping over the crowd like she’d practiced. “This is Lynxpaw, our cleric apprentice. We no longer belong to Duskclan.”

Another surge of emotion gripped the crowd, multiple cats shouting at once. She saw Thornstrike lunge forward, but he was blocked by Ashenstep and Greyclaw. She couldn’t hear what they said, but she knew they were speaking harshly to their father. At the forefront she could see the Oakclan apprentice she’d met at Capri’s post, Shadowpaw.

For the first time since she arrived she felt flustered, the last time they’d met she’d lied and said they were kittypets. It would be embarrass and discredit her if he revealed this now, she quickly looked for Brackentail but he was missing.

Shadowpaw’s eyes were wide and harsh, looking between her and Lynxpaw who tried not to fidget under all the scrutiny. Despite his intense focus, the apprentice didn’t speak up. She felt a bit of relief and hoped her worry didn’t show.

“How can we be sure you’re truly a leader?” A cat from the back called out.

“Speak with Starclan, they’ll vouch for us.” Lynxpaw’s voice was a little shaky, but she didn’t stutter.

“Wait! Wolf and Lynx! The signs from Starclan we’ve received about a wolf and a lynx in the clans!” An older brown tom covered in leaves called out. Likely a cleric. “Archstar! They’re the visions I’ve been receiving!”

The silver leader is still looking at Jaggedstar but takes a moment to glance at their cleric. They don’t say anything and Jaggedstar takes a moment to jump down from the ledge.

“Enough of this nonsense! You’re coming back home to explain yourself!” She snarls, but Wolfstar takes a protective stance before Lynxpaw.

“We wont be doing that, Jaggedstar.” She hissed, hackles raised. “I’m the leader of Saltclan. Ordained by Starclan themselves, whether you believe me or not. But I won’t let you fulfill your plan to hurt Lynxpaw.”

That caused Jaggedstar to pause, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Jaggedstar! Enough of this foolishness.” Rookstar admonished. “The gatherings are not a place for you to work out your family issues.”

Jaggedstar turned to hiss at him, stepping away from Wolfstar.

In the brief lull of noise, a strong wind picked up and the wispy clouds broke apart allowing the moonlight to shine down brighter than it had all night. The light fell on Wolfstar and Lynxpaw, still poised atop the hill. Murmurs broke out again, many taking this as a sign.

“I believe Starclan has spoken. They honor Wolfstar and her leadership.” Archstar called out to the crowd, causing some gasps. Wolfstar was surprised they would speak up on their behalf.

“Don’t be so quick, Archstar. We still can’t be sure they’re truly a clan.” Jaggedstar argued.

“Yes, but this does suggest starclan is beside them.” Rookstar said. “It would be best to end this gathering, each clan will send a cleric to the Moon spring to commune with Starclan. Next gathering we’ll have our answers.”

“I’m in agreement with Rookstar.” Archstar said, several oakclan cats nodding along.

“Fine!” Jaggedstar spat, glaring back at Wolfstar.

“Wolfstar, do you agree to these terms?” Archstar asked.

“Yes, thank you both for allowing us the chance to prove ourselves.” Wolfstar nodded at the two leaders still on the stone. Ignoring Jaggedstar, who assembled her clan with a flick of her tail.

As the Leaders and deputies gathered to leave Wolfstar ushered Lynxpaw away from the gathering quickly. With the gathering over, the after-gathering would begin in full swing and Wolfstar didn’t want to risk running into any of her old clan mates.

The walk back to camp was quiet, the pair crossing the river back to their own territory. Lynxpaw pressed against her friend’s side, purring hard as they finally entered the camp.

“I’m gonna check on Snowspeckle,” Lynxpaw said. “Can I sleep in your nest tonight?”

“Of course.”

[twstunes]

Take My Hand again actually we're gonna go on a walk through Night Raven College campus real quick while I lose my mind

First off look at the front gate. People have definitely brought up the birds and the keys and those ARE both very important symbols, BUT. What about the thorns sprawled across the top of the gate? And the repeat use of 4-pointed stars in the lettering gives an especially prickly quality, overall.

Also of note are the decorations on the main pillars and the very specific aesthetic choice for the shape of the wrought-iron fence—by which I mean both reflect designs found in Draconimom's appearance.

The carvings on the gate pillars feature an ankh-like shape that matches up eerily well with the central decor of Draconimom's belt, as well as two curves that mimic the main body of the belt. The three-leaf/bud-like shape above that is reflected in the lace pattern and dangling decoration of the Mirror Chamber's chandelier. The two swooping S-shapes mimic the Draconia family's iconic horns, and the little decorations on either side of the carving match with the shape of Draconimom's pauldrons.

As for the fence…it's That Shape again. Each post also bears resemblance to the upper portion of Draconimom's staff.

Considering the focus on thorned vines in relation to Diasomnia/the Draconias, the way that vines are slowly creeping up both the fenceposts and gate pillars feels relevant.

(Please recall: The coffins by which students are summoned into NRC are also referred to as "Gates.")

Next stop is the botanical garden. As I mentioned in a previous post, the building's overall shape is notably similar to the chandelier found in the Mirror Chamber. The large beams surrounding the building, with their spear-like support pillars, give the impression of the building being held in place by thorned vines.

The inside of the garden doesn't yield much in the way of analysis, unfortunately. The most stand-out feature is the crumbling structure in the subtropical zone, but that arguably could've been intentionally allowed to decay as a way of cultivating the various mosses and lichens we see growing on it.

(Please recall: at the beginning of the game, before you choose a student, Crowley has a monologue in which he appears to refer to the Dark Mirror as "a lovely and noble flower of evil.")

And now the Hall of Mirrors. This one has subtler details than the others, but still just enough for the pattern recognition part of my brain to start making noises.

Again, the outside of the hall bears a passing resemblance to the chandelier in the Mirror Chamber, though much less so than the botanical garden. More important to this analysis is the inside of the building.

Listen. Not all lace is related to overblots. But the majority of lace in Twisted Wonderland HAS appeared in relation to overblots. The presence of an unmistakably lace-y pattern on the beams under each ceiling arch feels worth pointing out. After all, as of Book 7, at least one student per dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors has overblotted.

There are also small floral decorations on each arch: two buds in the lower corners, and a bloom at the top. Again, Crowley's "flower of evil" comment comes into play; each dorm, again, features a major antagonist who is visually and textually placed parallel to their respective member of the Great Seven (OG Disney villains).

There's also. Y'know. The horn-like design on the pillars.

(Please recall: each dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors is, apparently, contained within a pocket dimension with somewhat strict borders.)

Okay now we're at the coliseum and I need you to bear with me for this first point. Look at the entrance. It's too ostentatious to not be important somehow, right? It's too overdone. It's the Dark Mirror's mask, kinda? Don't ask how long I've been staring at this thing

Aside from that, the coliseum has thorns lining the rim of the structure twofold. One set of thorns exists as spears jutting out along the rim, while the other set exists as the long, simple, repeating pattern on the wall just under those spikes. On the outside of the building, this pattern repeats for every floor, effectively giving a sense that the structure is "wrapped" in thorns.

There are also thorns visible in the support beams of the stage; they're especially noticeable after Malleus fixes the stage, as they're lit up a bright pink (as opposed to the gold they were prior).

Upon the stage sits an odd, crumbling structure. It's clearly made of a different type of stone than the rest of the coliseum, being a dark gray instead of subdued purple, but that's not all—the architecture doesn't match up, either. The two main columns don't resemble any others found in the coliseum, notably. The arch-and-a-half visible both distinctly feature three-pointed arches, unlike the round arches consistently found throughout the rest of the building.

The fact this structure has been allowed to remain in such a deteriorated state is also worth questioning, especially since it's obviously been modified at some point fairly recently; the LCD screen it's been fitted with seems to work like a normal electronic device w/ no magical component to it. Even if you were to argue that the structure is supposed to have a distinct aesthetic from the rest of the coliseum to better draw attention to the stage it rests on, its condition renders the argument null. I love its decrepit vibe as much as Malleus might, but very few people would see this as an acceptable "centerpiece" for such an important location. With how Crowley squawks about maintaining the school's reputation, why does this pass by without comment from him…?

At least the chains frame the stage nicely. Though, they could serve a symbolic purpose as well…

(Please recall: according to Rook, the school staff claims that the coliseum is "imbued with a special field that makes it harder for damage to spill out." We can assume that this is the truth, as no one outside of the coliseum seemed to notice Vil's overblot—just the traces of excessive magical energy leftover afterwards.)

And finally, we come to the Mirror Chamber. Keeping in mind that the Dark Mirror can teleport people (both for enrollment and in general), the most notable visual qualities of this room are as follows:

Gates (coffins, the Dark Mirror)

Plants (chandelier, rose arches, standing lamps, windowpanes)

Mirrors (the Dark Mirror)

Containment (chains, coffins, the Dark Mirror)

It is very, very interesting that the four primary structures on NRC campus with a direct relationship to the items on this list also feature aesthetic similarities to the Mirror Chamber. Also of note is that although each structure chiefly embodies one item on the list, they all incorporate aspects of the other items:

Front Gate–

Plants: As previously noted, there are vines steadily attempting to overtake the fence and pillars + thorns sprawling across the top of the sign.

Mirrors: Structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis, carvings are mirrored across both horizontal and vertical axes.

Containment: Although open in this view, the front gate as a whole embodies the concept of NRC campus as an area that is closed off to the rest of the world.

Botanical Garden–

Gates: The entire building signifies a departure from the surrounding campus into a space especially designed for the housing and growing of plants.

Mirrors: Look at that thing. You can't have a building made mostly out of tempered glass and not have it be reflective as fuck.

Containment: Aside from the appearance of being held down by thorned vines, the building does, again, exist for the purpose of containing plants.

Hall of Mirrors–

Gates: Each mirror acts as gate leading to each of the seven dorms.

Plants: Previously-detailed floral decorations.

Containment: Again, each mirror contains a dorm. This, in turn, means that this building technically contains…nearly the entire student body.

Coliseum–

Gates: It's got one right out front lmao. But yeah, like the botanical garden, the building signifies a departure from the surrounding environment.

Plants: As mentioned earlier, the entire building has the appearance of being wreathed in thorned vines + further incorporation of thorns in the stage.

Mirrors: Previously-shown Dark Mirror comparison. Also, like the front gate, the structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis.

What does this all mean? NO fuckin clue. But if we consider how the very first battle of the game seems to take place in the Mirror Chamber, at least two of these locations have been (or will be) the setting for a major overblot battle.

(I will say…it's very funny that, despite Pomefiore being the first established dorm from a lore perspective, a lot of the campus has much more Diasomnia-esque aesthetics.)

[lunchboxpoems]

LOVE POEM, WITH BIRDS

They are your other flame. Your world

begins and ends with the dawn chorus,

a plaint of saw-whet owl, and in between,

the seven different neotropical warblers

you will see on your walk to the mailbox.

It takes a while. I know now not to worry.

Once I resented your wandering eye that 

flew away mid-sentence, chasing any raft

of swallows. I knew, as we sat on the porch 

unwinding the cares of our days, you were 

listening to me through a fine mesh of oriole,

towhee, flycatcher. I said it was like kissing

through a screen door: You’re not all here.

But who could be more present than a man

with the patience of sycamores, showing me

the hummingbird’s nest you’ve spied so high 

in a tree, my mortal eye can barely make out 

the lichen-dabbed knot on an elbow of branch.

You will know the day her nestlings leave it.

The wonder is that such an eye, that lets not

even the smallest sparrow fall from notice,

beholds me also. That I might walk the currents

of our days with red and golden feathers

in my hair, my plain tongue laced with music.

That we, the birds and I, may be text and

illumination in your book of common prayer.

BARBARA KINGSOLVER

[lichenaday]

Hi 🙋🏼‍♀️

I just wanted to say I love your blog! ❤️

Lichens are pretty cool so this is a nice way to read up more about them (unfortunately we didn't cover them much in my biology studies in university.)

Don't know if you mentioned this before but: do you have a lichen?/which is the most interesting/prettiest you encountered so far?

Thank you so much! I wish lichens were talked about more often, but you know, only so much that can be covered in most biology classes.

You are asking me a tough question. Every time I meet a new lichen it becomes my new favorite/most beautiful/most interesting. But if I had to choose my personal favorite lichen, it'd be

Rhizoplaca idahoensis, aka grouse pellet lichen, aka Idaho vagabond lichen

She ain't pretty, but she's incredibly rare and super interesting. She produces no propagules and doesn't attach to any surfaces, so she just gets moved around the high-mountain desert by wind and weather.

The prettiest lichen I've met in person? So hard to say, but recently (aka yesterday) I was absolutely enchanted by this

Peltigera leucophlebia, aka ruffled freckle pelt lichen

It's that light glaucous blue-gray when dry, and emerald green when wet, with black polka dots (small colonies of cyanobacteria called cephalodia) , contrasting-white ruffled edge, and red-brown apothecia.

The prettiest and probably coolest lichen in the entire world (who I have only met in our lichen specimen collection) has gotta be:

Pulchrocladia retipora, aka coral lichen, aka lace lichen.

Just . . . What? Why? Incredible. No notes. 10/10.

[mycoblogg]

lace lichen for fotd?

queued for FOTD 102. :-)

[vothnthorvaldson-blog]

Ramalina menziesii (Lace Lichen)

South-eastern Vancouver Island, BC, Canada. March 10, 2024

One of the few lichens I really wanted to see on this trip, because its distribution is strictly restricted to the western coast of North America. I'm not sure when (or if) I'll be here again, so my priority is these Pacific coast lichens.

[ehlnofay]

Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

[sarahdawnsdesigns]

Welcome to July! The Featured Pattern for this month is the newly republished Gauntlet Socks, first published in Cast On Magazine.

Don't worry, if you don't have the pattern from Cast On, it's 50% off through the month of July!

The pattern is 50% off for the month of July, plus, if you finish a pair of socks by the end of July, you have the chance to win a Gift Card from Knit Picks. (US/Canada only at the moment, sorry!) or 4 patterns of your choice from my web shop!

Other cool stuff to know:

The stitch pattern is written only (no need for charts with this one!)

The pattern has a large-print version for folks who need it (this version also works with screen-reading tech)

It comes in three sizes: with a leg circumference of 7 (8, 9) inches, 18 (20.5, 23) cm, and adjustable foot and leg length.

Sample is in Lichen and Lace’s 80/20 Sock, which is 80% Superwash Merino, and 20% Recycled nylon. Any standard fingering-weight sock yarn should sub in well for this pattern.

If you're a Patron, you can download the pattern here

. . . . Yes, part of my inspiration for these socks was the Lord of the Rings movies. /sigh/

Anyway, you can find all the details about how to enter the Knit Along on the Pattern Page, and if you've got any questions, please, drop them on this post or in the Ask Box!

Photography thanks to TKGA

[soulrevert]

»»        * 𝒢REY 𝐻OLLOW    ஐ🪽 . . .      my eldest sister had grown into a gossamer slip of a woman with hair like spun sugar and a face out of greek mythology…

         ▍   note:   this dossier is not spoiler-free so if you plan reading hous.se of hollow just be prepared for that. also, this book sits firmly in the horror genre and dark themes will be explored and discussed here and in threads with grey. everything will be tagged accordingly but big content warnings for gore, suicide,  body horror, child death, and mentions of sexual assault.

» DOSSIER.

full name: grey hollow ( real name unknown ) aliases / titles: director hollow, the soul-stitcher, guardian of the halfway age: 21-30 ( real age unknown ) birthplace: london, england current residence: wherever her career in fashion takes her. gender: transfemme ( she / her ) sexuality: bisexual species: changeling human birthday: june 2nd occupation: former runway/editorial model, currently the lead fashion designer at house of hollow zodiac: gemini sun, moon in leo, virgo rising

» APPEARANCE.

hair: pale blonde, nearly white eyes: pitch black height: 5’11” / 180 cm body type: long, extended limbs, a ballet-dancer's build, strong and lithe voice: a sweet voice with an undertone of gravel. her laugh is low and intoxicating and she speaks with careful locution notable features: a crescent moon-shaped scar at the base of her throat... it was once quite gruesome but it has healed in time to a pale, raised mark, perilously sharp canines, a predatory grace to her gait

» ASSOCIATED MOTIFS.

black widow spiders. a venus flytrap, arctic foxes, cuckoo birds, wisteria, carrion flowers, silver knitting scissors, crawling lichen over bark, the thread of ariadne, theseus & the minotaur, arachne

» HISTORY.

     it has been ten years since the hollow sister first went missing.     ten years since they disappeared off a street in edinburgh on new years eve,    in plain sight.     it has been nine years and eleven months since the three girls were found.    nine years since gabe hollow committed suicide after having his daughters returned to him.    no one knows where the girls went.    no one knows why their hair turned white.    no one knows why their eyes turned black.    everyone wants answers but there are none to be found... 

     grey hollow wears her secrets like silk.     diaphanous and enticing all while revealing nothing.    a puzzle box of a woman,    intent on feeding her own myth for personal and monetary gain.    grey was sixteen when she left home and she hasn't looked back since.    in the years leading up to her modeling career,    grey took on crafting of all sorts to make ends meet.    her most successful hustle by far being taxidermy.    her interest persists to this day but the hobby fell to the wayside once she was discovered and boosted into fame and fortune.     

     no one remembers the forgotten month,    no one but grey...      the burden of being the eldest,    of being charged with being her sisters' keeper.    the sisters hollow live at a distance because peculiarities begin to unfold in the event of their close proximity.    grey being the strangest of all three still exudes it even in the absence of her sisters.    she channels weirdness into weaving.    this penchant for peculiarities into thread and lace and pearls.    her designs evoke a realm of the fantastical and grotesque.    art that reflects her reality rather than what a regular person would see.   

SPOILERS AHEAD [ ! ] grey has known that her and her siblings were changelings since they came back from beyond the veil.    she has studied multiple texts and spellbooks,    in her research and she has found a way back to limbo multiple times.    over the years she has passed back through the veil and back into the mortal realm beyond the notice of her sisters or other folk.    being the eldest,    grey had been the one to stitch her sisters into the skin of the once-mortal hollow girls.    together they are three dead souls living in the flesh of three other dead girls.    souls that escaped in-between by stealing the appearance of lost children.    

     grey has no moral quandary over what she had done to grant her and her sisters another life.    she doesn't remember who she was before,    her only drive was survival,    to carve out a place for herself into the life of another girl...    and what a woman she has become.    enigmatic and at times cruel,    she is someone you want to get to know but seems too far to touch.    her fame allows a strange anonymity;    as she can easily control the narrative surrounding her,    considering her specific skill set,    while still operating in the public eye.    people only know what she wants them to know about her;    nothing more,    nothing less.    

» ABILITIES.

pheromones: everything about her entices you,    draws you in.    like a poisonous flower she seems to be all beauty at first but there is a special kind of poison in her touch.    simply brushing skin against skin with grey makes you susceptible to compulsion.    she can persuade people to do whatever she wants with nothing more than a kiss.    although all she really needs to do is brush a thumb across a wrist,    or a palm at your cheek.    it is not only touch,    her whole presence makes people want to please her and get her attention.    it is a hunger and this power when unchecked actually can result in aggression rather than placidity.    in the case of her younger sister,    iris who doesn't quite have a handle on her abilities.    whoever comes into contact with a sister may try to attack them,    to consume them,    to kiss them,    to have them intimately and violently.    grey has managed to channel all of these feelings outward.    she is the thing that hungers,    she is thing with teeth in the dark.     there is a catch!  those who have been in close contact with death or have had a near-death experience of their own are immune to the sway of the hollow sisters.    since their magic is rooted in their own deaths it cannot touch those who have crossed the veil as well.    

heightened agility & strength: pretty self-explanatory.    grey is more durable than a regular mortal and her strength is fairly immense.    her power is heightened with every trip across the veil she makes she grows more strange and more powerful.    she returns a little less human after each crossing.     

chlorokinesis: the sister with a green thumb.    iris notes that wiseria in particular has a fondness for grey and has at times crawled into her mouth during sleep.    this is a less an active skill and more a passive ability.    from an outsider's perspective there seems to just be a mess of flowers about grey hollow.    specifically carrion flowers,    better known as corpse flowers, often crop up in her wake.    very on the nose but since she is a rotting thing herself it is no surprise that her presence actively fertilizes the ground around her.    

potions / runic magic: grey is not a practiced witch or really an official witch in any regard.    her studies really only surround ways to cross the veil but she has delved into runic magic and potions specifically as they help assist in her crossings.    she also frequently weaves spells into her designs and creations.    it has been rumored that her perfume lovingly dubbed: hollow is a potion as well given it's rather…    unique scent.   

conditional immortality: it is implied that grey can repeat her initial act of stealing a body. considering she still has access to the world beyond the veil it is possible for her to stitch herself into a new body once her current one has run its course. she can jump from host to host although it is not as easy as slimply slipping a coat on and off. a potential host has to be of similar build and make, and it requires an immense amount of power to eat away at the life, the guts, the baggage that comes with a new set of skin.

» VERSES.

ninth house / dark academia: a fashion design student attending yale university in order to gain access to the houses of veil. grey is a member of manuscript and is a skilled mimic and illusionist in her own right. her main goal for joining the ranks of the ancient eight is to seek a way to be rid of the minotaur that has been hunting her down for most of her adolescence. circumstances reach a fever pitch when the bull arrives on campus along with her youngest sister, iris hollow.

        » affiliated with @daylighter

high-fantasy: no one knows the origins of lady hollow... only that she is the most sought after seamstress across the realm. grey has built her reputation on the magic she weaves into the garments she constructs. a witch for a talent with needle and thread it is said her creations can make even the most lowly alluring to all. her true motivations are not know but it is wonder how she ends up in such high places when she is a woman of little means and station. she is often seen by the side of monarchs both large and small whispering in their ear gossip, imbuing them with doubts and reassurances alike.

grishaverse: born of a ravkan mother and kaelish father, grey has kept her abilities as a alkemi hidden from her sisters and parents alike but when her younger siblings catch onto her abilities. she begins to use her potions to conceive of her grandest lie yet... that she is a distant lantsov heir and therefore in the line of succession for the throne. grey's specialty are serums that make those who come into close proximity to her susceptible to her will and her art of persuasion. essentially these are mild poisons that function closer aphrodisiacs more than anything else. this elaborate ruse is all means to secure a position of safety for her and her sisters as they have had to live in hiding until now.

[everlythequestionabletomboy]

UPDATE LOG 4.2.3 MASTERLIST

Beyond this is the things they added to the 4.2.3 upd of DoL

Please send me an ask if you want me to add something or I missed one

Images/stories I still need

SPRITES

PC SPRITE

Bodytypes

Masc., Fem., and Andro.

Chest/breast sprites

Made the breasts have better visibility

Flattest chest size looks flatter on combat sprite

Added breast sprites to lace nightgown, virgin killer, ball gown, evening gown, open shoulder sweater, pink nurse, plastic nurse, skimpy lolita outfits, open shoulder crop top

TATTOOS

Tattoo Parlour

Any unlocked bodywriting can be turned into a tattoo, even if it's not on the PC

Island

New Triangle, Square, and Circle tattoos [look at the Island page for more info]

HAIR

New

All down

Fishtail braid (left, right, twins)

Half-up

Ribbon tail sides

Low tail

Thick ponytail

Reworked

None

FRINGE

New

Short air vents

Side pinned

Dreadlocks bun

Emo/Emo Left/Emo Right

Reworked

Ruffled

CLOTHES

Outfits

Traditional Maid Dress

Victorian Maid Dress

Shrine Maiden Robes

Virgin Killer Dress

Halter Sundress

Leather Dress

Upper

Cat hoodie

Ao dai Top

School cardigan

School blouse

Polo shirt

Color block crop top

Band t-shirt

Boxy t-shirt

Remade Serafuku

Classic Serafuku

Gakuran

Lower

Ao dai trousers

Plaid school skirt

Plaid school trousers

Plaid school shorts

School pinafore

Plaid school pinafore

Wide leg trousers

Straight leg trousers

Yoga pants

Jean miniskirt

Dolphin shorts

Under outfits

Turtleneck Leotard

Under upper

None 😔

Under lower

Tie Side Bikini Bottoms

Highwaisted microkini bottoms

Legs

Sheer Leggings

Stripped kneesocks

Patterned dress socks

Polka dot socks

Sports socks

Rib-knit socks

Rib-knit ankle socks

Feet

Canvas Loafers

ACCESSORIES

Hats

Hairpins (butterfly + star)

Conical hat

Raccoon cap

Fur cap

Bat beanie

Mini pumpkin

Face

Gas Mask

Doggy Muzzle

Eyepatch

Medical Eyepatch

Monocle

Neck

Love Locket

Fur boa

Hands

Work gloves

ICONS ADDED

Locations

Temple garden, moor, farmlands, temp office, altar, secret path, the churchyard, the dilapidated shop, Eden's cabin, brothel stage [pt1]

Garden plots, stream, gloryhole, park fountain, asylum, sea rocks, waterfall, thicket, Great Hawk's nest, and perch [pt 2]

Rainwater pool, Eden's bed, lake campsite, fishing rock, archaeological field office, Remy's Estate, Great Hawk's tower, Ruins,

Animals

Black Dog

Actions

Riding a horse, question mark for inquires, searching for pots in lake, excersizing/hobbling in heels, gliding, entering town, searching for a mark, praying, and renting a stall [pt 1]

Getting in/out/refusing rides, trick or treating, sitting on the school stump, diving, descending/ascending in water, leaving water, and fixing Eden's cabin [pt 2]

Digging, showering, practise shooting, undo bindings, daydreaming, tilling, watching TV, chatting, singing, and plundering [pt 3]

Making tops/bottoms out of seaweed, meditating, relaxing

Events

Trial of purity

Clothes

Patient gown

Items

Milk, breast milk, chicken eggs, truffles, temple pew, dog treat, bronze key, library desk, soap [pt1]

Lichen, cosmetics, small/medium/large/huge exotic/huge decor fish tanks, auto feeder, tank decor, and sewer safe [pt 2]

Antique watch, grass, antique crystal, scrap, stimulants, torch, fertiliser, antique candlestick, rubble, and mud [pt 3]

Spiderwebs [pt 4]

Objects

Salves, sink, computer, rug, broom, dustpan, gift boxes, wolf chew toy, padlock [pt 1]

Cash register, Eden's valentine's day gift, Eden's coatstand, condom vending machine [pt 2]

Tending

Milk

Breast milk

Chicken eggs

Truffles

Ghostshrooms

"Take all"

Shop

Fetish collar icon is updated

LOCATION ART

Pirate ship

Island

Old Church

Sepulchre

Dilapidated Shop

Meadow

GAME MECHANICS

WORLD MECHANICS

Settings

"Split by Gender Apperance" changed to "Set/Ignore Sexual Orientation

Crime

Split into 10 categories; Assault, Coercion, Destruction of Property, Indecent Exposure, Obstruction of Justice, Prostitution, Resisting Arrest, Thievery, Petty Thievery, and Trespassing.

Crimes the PC has commited would be read out before punishment

Can adjust each crime in the cheat menu

Can view the crime stats in the stat menu

PARASITES

Ear Slime

Added an event that prevents PC to wear under lower garments, unless given directly to them

Sleeping event at Alex's farm

Sleeping event if you study at school naked

Alternate abduction event at the dog pound

At Remy's Farm, it would attempt to force you on all fours and eat grass

May force you to have sex with dolphins

Ear slime tasks are now in the Journal menu

Clit Parasite

Alternative masturbation options if PC has a clit parasite

MASTURBATION

Skip Button

Added a skip button that brings you to the next orgasm

PREGNANCY

Alex the Farmer

Avaliable pregnancy candidate [+more]

Crossdressing Fame

Can lower fame more if seen as a female are pregnant

Paternity Test

Option to do it at the Hospital

SHOPS

Hide Option

Can now choose to hide unavailable items in the shop

FEATS

New

Gilded Spear

Lost World

Face of a Guardian

Wild Monarch

Naturalised

Prehistoric Landscape

SOFT BAD ENDNG

The Island

How to enter, how to escape [+more]

UI

Stats

Sensitivity values can be viewed in the "Extra Stats" tab under "Characteristics"

Options

Confirmation dialouge appears when you try to exit/refresh the page [is on by default in ironman mode]. Can toggle it in the Advanced tab

CHEAT MENU

Clothes

Destroy, repair, dry, and drench clothes at once is added

Visuals

Breast and Cum Values have been replaced with sliders

Pregnancy

More additional options for pregnancy cheats

Teleport

Farmland tp is added

ENCOUNTERS

Double Penetration

Unique cum images is added

Anal

Improved xray sprites

Lower Underwear

Able to pull it to the side during encounters

EVENTS

Hitchiking

"Driving Lesson"

Pillory

Rimming and Watersports outcomes

Whipping and buttplug outcomes

Blackjack

Rimming outcomes

Spa

Rimming outcomes

Car Sex

NPCs will ask if PC needs to be dropped off anywhere after

Chalet

Prostitution opt. added

WARDOBE

Wardrobe Outfit Editor

Added a random color option

Filters

Warmth filter is added

LOCATIONS

ORPHANAGE

Whitney can upgrade the Loft

SCHOOL

Mason

Repeatable scene where he unlocks the chastity belt Winter put on you

Untying your bonds before swim class generates slightly random dialouge

Changing Rooms

PCs thoughts of being in the wrong changing room are more diverse, changes based on Crossdressing Rep

PC is no longer rejected immediately when looking like the opposite gender and is given weird stares and comments

Crossdressing Fame/Rep

Chance to lower crossdressing fame after not

THE POUND

Dog Happiness

Added a description of the dogs happiness on the main screen

NPCS/ANIMALS

WOLVES

Wolf Pack

PC is more comfortable naked around the wolves in the wolf pack

Wolf Cave

You can submit to wolves that advance towards you in the cave

BAILEY

Punishment(?)

Will now deliver PC to the tutorial person if PC stays at the orphanage for the first whole week

ZEPHYR THE PIRATE

Named NPC that is found during the Disguised Escape option

ITEMS

SEX TOYS

Fleshy color option is added to sex toys and strap ons

Fleshy color sidebar renderer is added [no idea what that means]

PLANTS

Flowers/Seeds

Plumeria, tendable [view the Island page for more info]

EXTRAS/MISC

ABILITIES

Clothes

Can tie cardigan around waist

Able to lower suspenders

[vladimirsangel]

 For @blackforrestpunk, set in a little alternate universe of their webcomic. If you haven't read the webcomic, you should read the webcomic.

--

“Look, Sasha,” says Erik, resting his hand on the dog’s head. “It’s snowing.”

Sasha doesn’t understand the words, but she can hear the quiet sort of wonder in his tone, and she can sense his emotional state in the way all the best dogs always can. She raises her head, thumps her tail, and nudges the big pale hand with her nose encouragingly.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Ah, now. Walk is a word she knows. She sneezes, delighted, and hustles to follow Erik around as he pulls on his combat boots, lacing them only as much as is necessary for them not to actually fall off his feet. In deference to the weather his jeans have only a few rips at the knee.

“Erik!” comes the immediate call from the kitchen. Erik isn’t sure if Nadir is psychic or whether he just reacts to the trigger word “walk” in a similar way to Sasha. “You’d better be wearing your hat. It’s minus four out there….are you listening to me?”

To avoid a conversation, Erik pulls on a wool beanie hat, tugging it down so that it covers the join between the mask and his hairline, and mutters: “Yes….”

A soft dark green scarf is flung unceremoniously through the kitchen door and lands on Sasha’s golden back. She twists, snuffs at it curiously. “And that!” bellows Nadir, with the benefit of long experience.

Erik doesn’t say anything. He pats his thigh briefly to get Sasha’s attention, clips on her leash, and pulls open the door into the dark winter afternoon. Sasha, scarf dragging, follows cheerfully.

The cold is intense in the city at this time of year. People hurrying past for shopping are bundled up like fat little puppies in multiple layers of coats, scarves and hats. It makes Erik, at his long and spindly height, look even more like a looming matchstick man than usual. The mask at least protects from the brisk wind, and people aren’t looking too closely.

A bus screeches brakes in the slush and Sasha huffs, jumping.

“You’re right,” Erik says, putting a hand out to calm her. He finally picks Nadir’s scarf up off the dog’s back and absently loops it over his shoulders. Nobody is out listening to street music today. Not even the punks will be hanging out in their usual places in weather like this. They need somewhere more sheltered. Somewhere quieter, less bustling.

So they go to the Hauptfriedhof.

Erik likes it here. It’s quiet, and there’s lots of interesting things to look at, old static things, things that won’t change or shift or be alarmingly different suddenly. Human beings are a lot easier to deal with when they’re dead and not changing who they are the whole time. And well-behaved dogs are allowed. On her leash, Sasha is Erik’s constant shadow and tends not to wander far even when he occasionally lets the leash drop. He needs her, after all, and she knows that.

The cemetery is empty. It is growing towards dusk, and the snow remains light, but shows no sign of stopping. Erik and his dog walk together to visit one of his favourite graves, the one with the big stone tomb chest with the recumbent tomb effigy lying atop it. He likes this one because at the feet of the effigy is lying a faithful dog, staying with their master through eternity. The dog has curled ears, reminding him of Sasha.

Erik reaches out a hand and touches the head of the stone hound, brushing away the light coating of snow. He can see from the pattern of lichen and wear on the statue that he’s not the only one to pat the faithful creature. Humans love their animals.

Maybe this is the one thing that, despite everything, keeps him close to his own humanity.

Sasha is snuffling about in the snow that has blown into a drift at the side of the tomb, and Erik glances down to make sure she’s not eating something that’ll make her ill.

And that’s when he sees it.

A footprint.

Inside the hollow eyesockets of the mask, his eyes narrow in confusion as he frowns.

Plenty of people visit the graveyard, but he’d be willing to bet that very few of them do it barefoot in December.

These are the footprints of an adult, judging by the size. He takes a few steps, casting his yellow gaze about him, and – yes – there is another. And another. Someone has walked through fairly recently, barefoot in the snow, heading down the trail between the trees and towards the more distant larger mausoleums.

Of course there are homeless in this city. Every large city has them. Erik counts himself lucky to not be strictly homeless at this present time. He wonders if he needs to worry; not all street people are friendly or safe to be near.

A twig cracks, not very far away. The sky above is almost black with heavy clouds and the oncoming night. Sasha looks up at Erik, her soft eyes alert and interested – and then she trots off towards the sound, leash dragging in her wake.

“Sasha,” Erik calls, but not very loudly, and strides off after her. The dog is not going very fast, her pawprints criss-crossing the bare footprints. She has her head low, as if following a scent, but not like an animal who is hunting. She ambles. Casts back and forth.

And finally she sticks her nose into the shadowy gap between a large stone monument topped with an angel and the circling wall, and there’s an abrupt sound like an overboiling kettle. A loud, bubbling sort of hiss.

A cat?

Not like any cat noise he’s ever heard. Erik stops, and watches as Sasha draws back for a moment, then pokes her nose in again. She’s wagging. Whatever she’s found back there isn’t something that’s worrying her. This time the sound elicited in response is possibly more alarming than the inhuman hiss, because it’s definitely a voice. Using words.

“N-no!...please don’t…”

The voice is high with anxiety, but sounds masculine in tone. Not a local accent, either, and speaking in English.

“Sasha,” says Erik, thinking that he’s probably going to get a lecture if Nadir ever finds out his dog has started bothering random people in public, “here.”

Awkward. This is going to be so awkward. Maybe he should just leave. But the voice had sounded so frightened.

Erik knows a lot about being frightened.

He cranes his neck slightly, trying to see behind the stone.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “She’s friendly.”

He can’t hear any breathing. Erik’s hearing is acute; normally he can hear far too much of the sounds that people make by just living. The sounds that are often almost too much, and he needs to go to his room and put his headphones on to return to a state of calm. But here in the cemetery there’s nothing, only the wind in the trees and Sasha panting quietly, her breath fogging in the cold air. She’s still wagging.

For a moment he wonders if he’s imagining things. It would be nice in a way if he was imagining things. So much less stressful than having to apologise to a stranger in a graveyard because his dog was harassing them.

Then Sasha huffs, just once, not even loudly, and there’s a blur of movement, a shriek, and something – someone – darts out from behind the angel statue. And slams straight into the nearest wall.

Shit.

Erik grabs for the end of the leash and brings Sasha back close to his legs. He stares, eyes huge, at the spectacle before him.

Lying in the snow face down in a tangle of skinny limbs is a -

Erik’s going to go with “person.” There’s a lot of long, lank black hair, legs and arms so thin they’re like sticks. Bare feet and short sleeves, exposing smooth skin the colour of blue-grey slate.

As he watches, the fallen person starts to rise with a whimper, and the hair slips back from the face and ears and the….

….nose.

Or rather, the lack of nose. Erik’s breath catches in his throat.

He looks like...

Like, but not like. The grey ears are long, and fiercely pointed. They react like an animal’s, drooping low and flat in what Erik can only interpret as extreme discomfort. The nose is (to Erik at least) a sickeningly familiar cavity above a mouth that’s more like a maw, with four pronounced shark-like teeth protruding over the almost negligible lower lip. Beneath dark eyebrows angled sharply in distress, sunken eyes as silver as Erik’s are golden stare up at him. The hands clutching at the snowy ground are large and bony, with fingernails tough and dark and more like an animal’s claws.

They’re in a graveyard, and there’s a grey person with fangs and shining predator eyes lying shaking on the ground in front of him. And Erik still can’t hear any breathing at all, where a human in this state would be hyperventilating.

Yeah. This is not a human person.

This is a vampire.

This is a vampire having a panic attack.

Erik can’t be blamed for not knowing exactly what is best to do in this situation. Even regular humans would find this challenging. But Sasha is not human, and she knows very well how to handle panic attacks. She’s a good dog. So she tugs at the leash until Erik, still rigid with shock, lets it slip from his numb fingers. Then she walks directly up to the cringing, whimpering vampire and plops down on her haunches, shoves her muzzle firmly onto that thin and trembling shoulder, and just...is there. Is warm and alive with soft fur and a calm heartbeat.

And Erik finds he can move again, think again.

He trusts Sasha. If she’s not afraid of the vampire, then neither will he be, at least for now.

He takes in the details in quick glances, not meeting the eyes, and stares at the grey earlobes particularly because they have obviously been pierced and stretched with tunnels. The black trousers are distressed and ragged. The black t-shirt has an extremely faded white print on it which could have once been a skull or something similar. Except for his inhuman aspects, the vampire could fit in with any of the local young goths, and Erik finds this prosaic detail reassuring. It could even almost be the start of a joke: a punk and a goth walk into a graveyard...

Sasha’s tail brushes the snow encouragingly. A trembling clawed hand reaches up and shakily starts to pet her ears. Erik crouches down, aware that often shorter people tell him that he looms. He realises he’s still staring, and tries not to. Somewhere at the back of his mind there’s an itch growing, the same kind of itch he gets when new music is trying to be born.

The vampire looks at him in resigned, miserable horror, as if he’s just waiting to be attacked or screamed at. Erik knows this look – he’s seen it in mirrors the few times he’s been unable to avoid them - and for a while they just sit in silence together with the snow falling softly over them both.

Then Erik, the tension of the moment finally pushing him into action, abruptly pulls Nadir’s scarf from his own neck and thrusts it forward without preamble.

“You’re cold,” he says, taking refuge in fact, and can feel the silver eyes on him, full of distrust.

It seems like almost an eternity before - with gentle, anxious hesitation - the scarf is drawn slowly out of his grasp.

It’s almost ten at night. The front door slams. Nadir relaxes, as he always does when he knows Erik has once more returned safely. He glances out into the hall and sees the familiar long hands hanging up the damp beanie hat on a peg.

“And where have you been?” he asks, hearing the thud of a boot being removed. “It’s been hours. You will freeze to death and I will have to explain to the police why there is an Erik-shaped icicle blocking the pavement.”

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. Sasha’s furry head pokes around the door, tongue lolling happily, tail up and waving. Nadir addresses her, as he often does: sometimes he tells Erik that talking to Sasha is the only chance he gets for decent conversation.

“Well, at least you’re happy,” he says, and Sasha yawns at him luxuriously before trotting in and flopping down on the rug. He pets her and recoils. “And wet. And cold. Erik, your dog is dripping on the carpet - “

“I made a friend.”

Erik’s voice is soft. He hangs back in the doorway, a shadow in a baggy hoodie, a little melting snow still on his shoulders.

Nadir blinks. This is unexpected. He wants to be pleased. He has known Erik long enough to not be immediately enthusiastic. But the yellow eyes behind the mask seem calm, and even a little brighter than usual.

“Great,” is all he says. He does not pry. Prying could make Erik skittish. Instead, he cranes his neck. “And where’s my scarf?”

“Where it’s needed.”

This is becoming infuriating. Nadir sucks in a deep breath, and Erik immediately heads off back to his room before any further interrogation is possible.

Nadir doesn’t hear anything more about Erik’s new friend for three months. But in the very first few days of March, when the rain is heavy and Erik has been out all afternoon again, he hears the outer door slam at around 6pm and sees Sasha’s happy dog smile appear in the doorway of the lounge. Their home is full of the scent of the dinner Nadir has been preparing.

There’s a pause, somehow full of anticipation.

“You can come inside,” Erik’s voice says, quietly. “It’s all right.”

And this time there are two sets of footsteps in the hall.