#familiaris ground

[crowleyholmes]

Artwork for the @ineffableidiotsbigbang

I got to work with the lovely @inflappible, and her fic "Familiaris Ground" was SUCH a joy to read and to illustrate <3

Details:

[pradaldi]

∅G-DOGS, ZOM n°4, published in April 2023.

The dog, Canis lupus familiaris, has followed Homo sapiens everywhere for 15,000 years. Naturally when Homo sapiens left Earth for space, dogs followed them. Generation after generation of natural and artificial selection adapted them to their new environments. This little booklet focuses on dog breeds living in low to 0-gravity artificial habitats. 01: The Spider Sighthound uses its claws and elongated middle toes to grab things and move itself in zero-gravity.

02: The Bloodhound is selected and genetically modified for its olfaction. It can detect chemical leaks in habitats.

03: Patous de Station are both companions and protectors. The breed reached great sizes after a few generations in zero-G.

04: The Dachshund & Pug are companion dog breeds that have been selected to develop traits suited to space habitats and are impossible to maintain on the ground.

05: The Yorkshire Glider has developed skin membranes that help it glide in low-G environments. For sale here.

[bisexualbuck]

STAR TREK CREATOR CHALLENGE

Week 5 - Favorite pet

Porthos

[Image description: five gifs from Star Trek Enterprise focusing on Archer's beagle, Porthos

Gif 1: Porthos is sitting and wagging his tail, he barks one time. The background of the gif is purple, and Porthos is written with a green background. Underneath, Porthos is written in the phonetic alphabet.

Gif 2: Porthos is sitting on his bed, he looks at something before he puts his head down. The gif has a green backround. On the right, there is written "Species: canis familiaris (dog)", and below "Breed: English beagle"

Gif 3: Archer is holding Porthos who has a bandage on his forehead. Archer is talking to Phlox off-screen. On the top left corner is written "Rarely seen without his human: Jonathan Archer"

Gif 4: Gif comprised of three smaller gifs. The larger one shows Porthos laying in Archer's ready room, he hears something and looks up. On the top left corner, there is written "Strengths include". The first smaller gif shows Archer laying on the ground, unconscious, and Porthos licking his face. Below is written "Being an alarm clock" The second smaller gif shows Porthos standing up and barking. The text is "Detecting anomalies" The last smaller gif shows Archer and Porthos playing on Archer's bed. The text is "Good boy behavior"

Gif 5: Gif comprised of three smaller gifs. The larger one shows Porthos being pet by an off-screen person, he lays down on his side to offer his belly to scratches. Text on the top left corner reads "Weaknesses are few" The first smaller gif shows Archer giving Porthos some cheddar. The text below is "Cheese" The second smaller gif is of Porthos in isolation. Archer uses the glove to pet him, and Porthos puts his paw on Archer's hand. Below there is written, "Alien pathogens" The last smaller gif shows one of the Ferengi intruders holding Porthos and looking at him under different angles. The text below reads "No language skills."

/end image description]

[strangelittlestories]

There was a great palaver in the town of Leamington Spa when it was discovered that the mysterious Mr Meles would take over the empty Familiaris estate.

Mr Meles was a figure of great speculation amongst society. Only three things were known about him (four if you count ‘being an enigma’ as a known quantity and do not mind the sophists getting angry with you): 

Firstly, he was in the possession of an income of over £10,000 a year. Secondly, he was a bachelor and extraordinarily eligible. Thirdly, he had a very handsome badger stripe.

(By which I mean, of course, that he was a badger and that the stripe on his forehead was very fine.)

The Sheppertons - a local family of weasels - discussed Mr Meles’ arrival over breakfast.

“If you ask me, the arrival of such a *character* is sure to bring nothing but acrimony.” Said Mrs Muriel Shepperton, as she truly ravaged a plate of kippers between her fangs. “You mark my words, children, only two kinds of people attempt to cultivate an air of mystery: those with terrible secrets the likes of which would shake polite company to the very core and leave us questioning the very values that shaped us, or worse, the terminally dull.”

“Oh, I do so hope Mr Meles won’t be dull.” Said Mr Edward Shepperton, who was already somewhat in love with the idea of Mr Meles and increasingly determined that one of his daughters should marry him. “Let him have something dreadful to hide instead. It will certainly enliven the season to have everything I’ve ever known thrown into question!”

“I’ve heard,” said Miss Angelica Shepperton, who could chase down a rumour with only a whiff of its scent across two miles of uncertain terrain, “That Mr Meles has only recently come to live above ground at all, and that he has been a member of the Excavationists who believe we should all go back to living in holes underground.”

“Oh my!” Replied Mr Shepperton in some alarm. “I heard they had a plan to collapse the entirety of Buckingham Palace into a sinkhole!”

“Well I, for one, simply cannot believe that a dangerous radical of that sort could ever come to live in our town.” Replied Miss Vermillion Shepperton. “Indeed, until proven otherwise, I shall choose to believe Mr Meles to be a true gentleman of utmost honour. I refuse to countenance that he could be a member of that … sett.”

But despite her clever pun, Miss Vermillion would soon find out just how wrong she was about the safety and genteel nature of Leamington Spa…

---

Thank you for reading, if you would like to support my writing you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[televised-eyes]

here’s a few of my current favorite fluffy fanfics of the ineffable husbands as requested by @goodomensduh !

Cosy Preening by canadiankazz

Aziraphale preens and massages Crowley's wings in their South Downs Cottage. That's it. :)

Familiaris Ground by inflappible

A tale of how two immortal beings accidentally resulted in the domestication of modern dogs.

Drinking Buddies and Diaries by dove_dove

“I read the books about you,” Muriel said matter-of-factly.

Crowley wasn’t following. “The books about me?”

“The letter books to Aziraphale’s friend Diary? You must know them. They must be an angel, but I don’t think I’ve ever met them before.”

Crowley coughed heavily. “You’ve read Aziraphale’s diary?”

[xantchaslegacy]

Lyese

(A March of the Machine Aftermath fanfic; please give the story on AO3 a read and leave a comment if you can ;) )

Lyese was gone.

Lyese was gone, and the sky was empty.

And below, Phyrexia reeled.

...

Glissa stood alone. To every side the open sands of the Glorious Facade rolled away in shallow hills, fine grains of pearl-white sand cool and still beneath her heels.

Not even the wind stirred those grains.

And Lyese, that green sun of Phyrexia, and of Mirrodin before it, was gone.

They’ve all gone.

Every sun that’s ever graced Phyrexia.

Or Mirrodin before it.

Black reigned above Glissa. Not even the vivid-dark light of Ingle, the black sun, but an empty, blank, unbroken black. Lifeless black. Only the far edges of the sky (if you could call it a sky) were interrupted, by tilted, moldering monuments to Phyrexia and its praetors. Silent sentinels lording over nothing at all.

Glissa’s eyes searched the black.

Searched in vain.

Even without the light of the suns, she could see the plane around her clearly. The sands, the monuments, the wandering figure of the occasional phyrexian pilgrim, one of those pensive, nomadic creatures who graced the facade of late. Everything was thrown into sharp, shadow-less relief, as though illuminated on all sides by a colorless, unseen moon.

Whether this strange, source-less light was the effect of Phyrexia’s banishment to a pocket space beyond the multiverse, or of some as-of-yet unknown property of the argent shell their new Phyrexia had been built upon, no one yet knew.

Karn had said once, when Glissa was fitting him to be the next father of machines, that Mirrodin was sunless at the time of its creation. He had called it “Argentum” then, in the eponymous nature of a demigod. Argentum had been empty too, if the silver golem’s ravings were to be believed. Empty but for the blinkmoths. Empty, but beautiful and precise and rich in detail. Mathematical artistry in planar form.

A bitter smile split Glissa’s lips. Urabrask would have loved such a thing, that form-loving fool.

Now the exterior of the plane was an unending uniformity of sand, hex-plates...and these gaudy monuments to the glory of Elesh Norn’s Phyrexia.

Glory . Glissa spat a wad of tarry oil onto the ground. It shivered on the surface for a moment before soaking into the sands. What arrogance drives a conqueror to build monuments before she’s even triumphed? As if New Phyrexia were ever even hers entirely. As if she’d won us all over before she planted her ruinous realm-breaking tree and challenged all the multiverse.

She felt the lie in these thoughts as they filtered through her mind. Just out of sight over the horizon, there was a statue to Vorinclex. Further in the other direction, one of Urabrask, heretic and rebel though he had been. Phyrexians of all factions had joined in Norn’s invasion, even if some had dissented, and the monuments would not let her forget.

Glissa had walked as far as she could from those monuments for...for what, really?

An uninterrupted view of the blank, pitch nothing that surrounds us now?

Her eyes twitched; a hunter’s acuity taking in the whole expanse above. Again and again. Moment by moment. Alert for even the smallest movement or disruption to that black uniformity. A secondary set of optic nerves, connected to a lens in her eyes that saw heat signatures, flickered on and off, seeing the same blank field.

Yes, that’s exactly why I came here. Exactly why I keep returning. Confirmation that the suns have fled our sky.

No.

That they’ve been torn from their place.

White Bringer, red Sky Tyrant, the blue Eye of Doom, black Ingle...the green Ugly Child.

Lyese. Lyese was not an ugly. And she was a woman grown. A child for a time, perhaps, but it was beautiful.

No, not it.

She.

Glissa grimaced. Not at the sentiment itself, but because, no matter how hard she tried to recall, she did not know where the sentiment came from. The Mirran goblins had had a vast mythology prescribed to the suns. She had familiarized herself with that mythology, but she also knew their name for the green sun, ‘the ugly child’ was not appropriate. She knew Lyese was a name for the green sun, she also knew it was not their name for her. It was Glissa’s name for her. It had been her name for the green sun for many years, before she’d known Phyrexia’s touch.

She was so certain of it, she just couldn’t say why.

She moved forward. One step. Two steps. The facade had been as dangerous a place as any in New Phyrexia before the great invasion, but now it lay inert. Swallowing, confounding sands had fallen still. Wandering predators, the outcasts of the layers below, still haunted the corners of the place, but most had fled back into the lower spheres in the time since the plane had been cut off from rest of the multiverse.

Fertile hunting grounds, once. Now it was still and sterile. Prey could see and hear a predator coming miles off. This glorious facade was the furthest thing from the Hunter’s Maze. Even the Quiet Forge had ledges and heights for a predator to pounce from. Even the Jin’s surgical bays had tunnels and chambers to lie in ambush – and prey worth chasing.

There wasn’t much prey worth hunting on New Phyrexia now, and the hunt was no longer about growing strong for the Grand Evolution, but simple, mean survival. The plane could no longer afford to squander its resources pursuing the disparate objectives of every sphere and faction.

Glissa grit her teeth. Stepped faster. Even in the absence of wind, the cold air rushing past felt soothing.

The facade was no place for a hunter, but it was the only place she could get away.

The only place she could breath.

This is as far as any of us can go without leaving, and leaving is no longer an option.

She’d felt most comfortable above the surface of the plane for as long as she could remember. Maybe that was why she’d pushed to unleash the beasts of the vicious swarm on the Mirrans long before any other faction had deigned to emerge. It had been balm to leave the artificial light of the interior…

...to hunt and bask in the light of Lyese...

Glissa scowled. Rushed forward even faster.

Her responsibilities in the spheres below felt distant here. The facade was a reprieve. A precious rest and intermission from the burdens of being a leader, and a mother to a world thrice-orphaned.

Veins pulsed in the back of Glissa’s skull, beneath copper cables of hair. Each throb a phyrexian, waiting still in its incubating pod somewhere on the spheres below, destined to emerge too late to take any part in the invasion for which they’d been germinated and crafted. Each throb a child who would emerge instilled with an undeniable purpose they would never be able to fulfill.

And it fell to Glissa and the other remaining nursemaids of this abandoned Phyrexia to find purpose on their behalf.

Her skull pounded. She had attuned herself to the birthing pods of Phyrexia at Norn’s suggestion, but using the means of the Grand Evolution. She’d thought it a clever subversion of Norn’s machinations, to incorporate her own innovations, crotus-born organs and enhancements, into the final design of the birthing and conversion pods, but all she’d done in the end was saddle herself with a responsibility that weighed down like shackles of blightsteel.

Another succession of pulses, bringing her head close to aching.

Glissa did not want to be a mother.

The Glissa she had been before Phyrexia had not wanted to be a mother either. She hadn’t even wanted to be a warrior. Not in the way that was expected of the elves of the Tangle, at least. Though she only remembered this life in brief, erratic flashes, or those rare stretches when she dreamed, she was sure of this much. The Glissa-before-Phyrexia had only wanted to be free.

But Mirrodin was not a plane for being free. It had never been such a place, no matter how much the Mirran resistance romanticized the times before New Phyrexia’s ascendancy.

It had been sterile from the start. This much they knew from Karn. It had been empty. Unintended for any life except for Karn’s guests - the demigods that had been the planeswalkers of old. When life had been brought to its sterile surface, by Karn’s mad steward, Memnarch, that life found a hostile world waiting for it. Grain and game scraped from what cold metal would allow to grow on it. A menagerie of artifact predators that swept across the plane to cull and to kill.

Not a home , but a slaughterhouse. A petri dish for Memnarch to grow a planeswalking spark so he could steal it and leave that world of barren metal behind .

K arn had lamented Memnarch at length in his more lucid moments. He had not meant to be a parent either. The weeping regret he felt in his failure at that role had made Glissa uneasy in a way that even his most frantic ravings had not.

Perhaps because it affected me directly, in another life.

Memnarch’s world produced Glissa. Glissa and a spark that should have made her free, but made her prey instead – the indefinite prey of Memnarch the mad. That world had forced the old Glissa to be the meanest, lowest thing imaginable: a survivor. Prey.

None of that made her any more inclined toward motherhood, and neither her death nor rebirth had changed that inclination. To live as a phyrexian was enough. To hunt as a phyrexian had been sublime.

And yet she had let motherhood be thrust upon her.

Norn had been clever about it. Dressed motherhood in skins (skin...that hateful stuff) that she knew Glissa would find appealing. The role as an alpha not just for the Vicious Swarm, but for all the fledgling cubs of Phyrexia. A mentor for the incubated, the new swarm that would prey upon the every inch of the multiverse that their invasion tree could spread its branches into.

She would have an avenue to ensure the Grand Evolution benefited all factions of Phyrexia. Through the invasion, she would have brought the blessing of strength to countless worlds. Thanks to her, all would have known the freedom to evolve past the limits the incompleat put on themselves and others in compensation for their weakness. Liberation from all the expectations and trappings and manipulations and hypocrisies of “civilized” fools.

Glissa clenched her fists. Copper on copper ground together. Sand ground under her heels as she strode on.

In truth, she’d been nothing more than a nursery guard. A kept spouse keeping Norn’s house in order, worrying over germs in the womb while the self-proclaimed “Mother of Machines” stood on her parapet, conducting the actual invasion efforts.

Efforts that failed. Efforts that set back everything their New Phyrexia had worked towards.

And just like Norn’s incompetence had stolen the future of the Swarm, just as Norn’s cunning (and the interference of that worm, Tezzeret) had stolen Karn and Glissa’s place at the helm of Phyrexia years ago.

More pounding. Glissa touched the wind-cooled copper of her palm to her forehead, to ease the sensation.

If Norn was wrong to seize control, and to force herself on all the burgeoning beliefs of New Phyrexia, was I truly any better?

Hadn’t she been acting the mother to Karn then? Hadn’t she betrayed the swarm’s disdain for individuality by taking on that role? Hadn’t they excised Yawgmoth from their dogma of predators and prey for his failures? Didn’t making any one phyrexian the father or mother of machines run contrary to what she aspired to?

No. It was not the same. I sought to install leadership to oversee that nature was left alone to run its course. It was not for the glory or honor that came with such a role, but for the functionality. The practicality of it.

A rationale as fragile as the facade, but it would do for now.

That Glissa had believed Norn would ever hand her back any fraction of that power in earnest was laughable. She should have been suspicious when so many of the caretakers of the incubating and converted proved to be members of Norn’s Alabaster Host.

But she had persisted in her role, down in the depths of the spheres. A better caretaker than most of the Orthodoxy's host, at least. Even now, she had to move mountains to gather the hands needed to tend to the remaining pods. She had been so subservient to those ends during the invasion that she had not even been present on the surface to say a final farewell to Lyese, before the Zhalfirins stole her away.

Not been present for a final farewell.

Maybe it was justice, for her folly.

Glissa halted, inspecting the sands around her. She might as well have not moved, for all the change in scenery her strides had brought.

Her muscles tensed, and for a single, thrilling moment, Glissa warred with the impulse to attack the ground with her claws, and tear a new hole through the facade to Mirrex below. It would be a delicious catharsis , but she had to be a builder now, and tearing the facade down would only be denying Phyrexia space that it would badly need in the days ahead.

W aste not, want not.

Slobad was at work on a scheme to reinforce this outermost sphere into a surface they could actually build something meaningful upon. The facade had been made at first out of little but scrap metal and malice. A structure as mean as the spite that had motivated it, and just as flimsy. Norn’s mouthpieces had claimed constructing the Facade was a strategic decision. One to expedite the task of defeating the Mirran rebels by demoralizing them. Any fool could have guessed it would only aggravate. Solidify the Mirran resolve and spur them to fight all the fiercer. Norn had to have known that, but she was, in the end, a spiteful creature. A cruel creature.

It was by malice the mirrans had their suns taken from them. Had their suns blotted out.

And now those suns were lost to Phyrexia.

Maybe that was justice.

Glissa shuddered. That was not a phyrexian thought. Strength was the only justice in the multiverse. Triumph was the only vindication that held any value in the world.

And yet, Glissa could not help but feel Lyese would have found a justice in what had happened. She had always had a strong sense of justice, especially when it came to punishing the guilty. Especially after her parents had died.

Glissa blinked.

Parents? The only parent the suns of Mirrodin had was the core. And she was certain none of the goblin myths had mentioned any parent other than the great mother. Certainly not a mother and father, as Glissa felt certain Lyese had had.

Lyese is a sun, not a daughter.

Or was she a moon?

Again, Glissa tilted her eyes to where the sky was not. Lyese continued to be nowhere in sight.

Lyese had wanted to be a wife. A mother. Glissa could never empathize with that, but she wanted it for Lyese. She wanted Lyese to be happy.

Glissa scowled. Why did she know that? Where did it come from? The notion had vexed her for years, and not a single comple a ted mirran goblin had ever corroborated these notions of Lyese. They did not even know the name.

And why did she miss Lyese?

Because Lyese was strong and bright and beautiful.

She is a sun.

It is a sun.

A strong, beautiful sun.

But strong as it was, if Glissa didn’t know where Lyese was, then how could she protect it when it needed protecting? How could Glissa embrace her when she cried? How could-

Glissa grabbed at her shoulder with metal-shod fingers and gripped it tightly.

Where is this coming from?

The pain was just inconvenience for her body, but it centered her.

It was all the losing that was causing her to lose focus. Losing Karn. Losing authority to Norn and the machinations of that shit-licker Tezzeret. Losing the invasion. Losing Benzir. Losing Lukka, and so many of the Swarm’s other beautiful predators.

Losing Geth, even, had stung. Grasping, treacherous buffoon though he was, Geth had been familiar, even when New Phyrexia was not, and Glissa was quickly running out of familiar things to anchor herself when everything became heavy. She would work with Ixhel to keep this new, reduced Phyrexia intact, but she would never forgive Atraxa’s little maggot of a child for re-purposing Geth.

Everything familiar is falling away.

Glissa drove her claws deeper into her shoulder.

The pain centered her.

...

The pain helped her focus.

…

…

Glissa’s eyes snapped open.

Someone was coming.

She did not move, or make any further outward indication she noticed that the ground was vibrating, just slightly. That there was a shifting in the grains of sand in the distance behind her. A predator did not scare so easily, and…

...

...and besides, she recognized the tread of the creatures approaching her.

They were welcome.

So she waited, breathing steady. She tilted back her head, eyes scanning the sky.

Just in case.

“Glissa?”

“Is something wrong, Slobad?” She kept her back turned, but she could picture the two figures behind her. One made of solid-forged steel, guided by the keenest mind left on the plane. One huddled and bristling, but bulging with muscle that put the steel body of the other to shame. Smaller creatures bustled and skittered at this second figure’s feet.

“Just came to see you, huh? Everything alright?”

S he didn’t answer. D idn’t know what to say to that. So she let them approach, turning only when they were within five paces.

Vorinclex was still technically shorter than Slobad, even though he’d been eating and growing at a voracious pace since the Zhalfirins had separated his head from his body. It was a w ound that would normally have been trivial for him to regenerate from , but the Zhalfiri ns’ cursed time mage had cast an enchantment on Vorinclex that slowed his normally prodigious healing to less than a crawl. The spell had persisted beyond Phyrexia’s banishment to this void, and the nominal praetor of the Vicious Swarm was still no larger than a juvenile vorrac.

But he was growing, at least. Growing, and more than a match for most any creature left in, above, or below the Hunter’s Maze.

S curr y ing about Vorinclex’s legs were small, hunched, raptor-like creatures of chrome, poking at the sands and sniffing the air. T wo of them were perched on Vorinclex’ back.

Glissa gave a tight smile as one of the little chrome raptors trotted up to her, and examined her legs with small tilts of its head. Norn hadn’t tried to make a parent of Vorinclex, but he had insisted no one else was suited to raise Jin’s cannibal larvae into proper phyrexians.

Slobad coughed. “Glissa? How are you?”

“Did you smell me all the way up here?” Glissa did not like ignoring Slobad, but she still didn’t have an answer for him. Instead she ran a hand along Vorinclex’s snout. He growled appreciatively, though she knew, and he knew that she knew, that he had no tactile feeling in his steel bone carapace. “Stronger and sharper with every day. I knew that meddling mage couldn’t suppress your prowess for long.”

S lobad shook his head. “ Not Vorey. Myrabrask saw you, huh? Sent a message down to the other myr in the F urnace.”

Glissa spun around, grinding the sand beneath her heels and glaring at the nearest monument. It was in bad repair, even by the standard of the facade, sitting crooked in the sand like some titanic tree, a broad mask in the shape of Elesh Norn’s own face crumbling atop it.

And there, in the upper reaches of the porcelain metal, a dark-red form skulked, perched on the mask like a bird, half hidden with a single beady eye fixed on Glissa from atop a curved, beak-like head.

“From master of the forge to a skulking snitch,” Glissa hissed. “I wish you hadn’t put him back together, Slobad.”

Slobad shrugged. “Waste not, want not, huh? He’s been handy, hasn’t he?”

Glissa grunted, and turned away from the monument. She didn’t trust anything sneaky enough to get so close without her notice.

Still, she didn’t begrudge Slobad finding a use of Urabrask’s parts. He remained as good at skulking in the periphery as he’d been in his previous life, and honest to a fault. The information he’d gathered on the still-power-hungry portions of the Thane and Orthodoxy factions around the core kept their outer layers one step ahead of any scheming.

“So there’s nothing wrong?” She looked up from Vorinclex.

“Nothing you don’t already know about, huh?”

“Right.”

Glissa raised her gaze further, back to the sky above Slobad. On top of the utter upheaval among what was left of the Thanes and the basilica phyrexians, t here were growing concerns about how many of their offloaded resources were forever lost across the multiverse to the nigh-countless planes that Realmbreaker had linked together. Phyrexia had, in effect, gutted itself to empty out armies across every world in reach, banking on the prediction that what they spent would be replenished by the worlds they claimed. Very little had been brought back, relative to what Phyrexia sent out by the time the invasion tree had been hijacked, and the enemy had swapped P hyrexia’s place in the multiverse with this pocket of nothing where Zhalfir sat for centuries in stasis.

The lingering unrest between the spheres and the factions therein was almost trivial next to these logistical issues. The orthodoxy and the thanes did not have enough military might to exert the kind of authority they coveted. The former had spent themselves more completely than any other faction in the invasion, and the latter where as divided by in- f ighting as ever, the deaths of multiple thanes having done nothing to make their sphere more united.

The introduction of several not-fully-compleated, or even completely incompleat creatures from other planes was another issue. Branches that led out to the multiverse led right back to Phyrexia, and not every creature from the planes beyond that currently inhabited their isolated world had been brought their by their invasion forces. Ezuri, of all creatures, had allied with Vishgraz to gather these disparate planar orphans into a loose group that remained incompleat and as-of-yet unaffiliated with either the thanes, the orthodoxy, or Glissa’s even more tenuous coalition of Forge, Swarm, and Engine.

Slobad tapped a steely finger against his arm. The sound rang like a bell, soft and clear over the silent dunes. “Another council soon, yeah? See if we can’t talk our way to peace?”

Unlikely.

“Peace is a fever dream of the flesh,” Glissa answered. “I’ll settle for antagonistic coexistence at this point, so long as those fools don’t rip what’s left of Phyrexia to pieces.”

“You gotta talk to Ixhel at some point, huh?” Slobad tapped a nervous finger against his side. “Geth’s gone.”

“Geth’s gone,” Glissa echoed. She scooped up the Jin-raptor closest to her and set it in Slobad’s hand. The little creature tapped its snout against the goblin’s forearm, and started to climb its way up to the shoulder. “And a child holds the key to controlling the Thanes and the Orthodoxy both.”

“I’ll take Ixhel over the Alabaster Host worshiping some scarecrow made out of Norn’s guts, huh?” Slobad was flexing his arm up and down, making an obstacle course of the limb for the Jin-raptor. The goblin heads adorning Slobad’s shoulder moaned petulantly as the chrome creature clambered closer.

“A low-hanging fruit,” Glissa replied with a tight smile.

They hadn’t even found Norn’s pieces, in the end. Glissa had hoped, in small part, that she might at least be able to take out her frustrations on the Grand Cenobite’s corpse, but not a trace remained. She would have put a bounty out on the pieces, but the remainder of the Orthodoxy had put that exact call out already, and as far as anyone could tell from the wailing that still pervaded that inner sphere, no one had delivered.

“Three out of five spheres is more than we could have hoped for already,” Slobad remarked with a shrug, leaving the little raptor dangling from the lower lip of one of his shoulder-heads. The little thing squeaked and rasped as it pulled itself up, and started pecking the heads on the nose.

“More than we could have hoped for, and yet not enough.”

“When did you become the pessimist?” Slobad asked.

“I’m ever-evolving.”

“Still, well done so far, huh?”

Glissa nodded. She had thankfully engaged in plentiful diplomacy with the Progress Engine, even before Norn’s ascendancy over the other factions. Vorinclex’s constant and vitriolic spats with Jin-Gitaxias had made it necessary to pay that faction especial attention to ensure the sniping across territory had not unduly slowed the Grand Evolution. That groundwork had paid off in the past few months in securing gitaxian cooperation in negotiations with the inner spheres.

Slobad, in turn, had been vital to securing the cooperation of the fickle Furnace host. He and his newer, even more hidden Myrabrask.

Still, difficulties abounded. The gitaxians couldn't decide whether they loved or hated councils to discuss the way forward. One day they would be clamoring for an audience with every faction to proclaim they had divined some great advancement that would bring Phyrexia back to a state of flourishing. The next someone would press them on their research and the shrimp-spined fools would slink away to their labs and hiss that they did not wish to be disturbed. 

The Furnace layer remained taciturn and sullen. Preoccupied with their craft to the point of obsession. With Norn gone the personalities with the...loudest sway seemed content to treat Urabrask’s remains as figurehead and Slobad as a tolerant (meaning ignorable when it suited them) leader, following the hidden praetor's final dictates to persist in their quiet building and development. 

“We all have so much to offer,” Glissa said, half to herself. “If only we could act in harmony. If only we could converge naturally.”

Slobad tilted his head, quizzically. The raptor at his shoulder echoed this movement.

“Norn was wrong to partition New Phyrexia,” Glissa said, louder. “She was wrong for this desperate, sad attempt to ape the glory of the nine spheres. What has it benefited the Grand Evolution? Or the Great Synthesis, or the Great Work, for that matter? It was all for her vanity and the vanity of the Orthodoxy to be placed at the physical center, to keep Phyrexia divided into its singular colors, rather than letting them mix and make each other stronger. Divide us and lord over us, that’s what she did. We were meant to grind up against each other. To come together as a strong whole.”

Slobad nodded, though his lips were tight. “Is that what Phyrexia is?”

“It’s what it should be.”

“But is it what we are?”

It was Glissa’s turn to purse her lips. Old P hyrexia had been a parasite, ultimately, thriving only where it was able to steal and invade to claim the resources of others. What were the first phyrexians, after all, except for weak, arrogant, xenophobic, aristocratic flesh that had stolen the stronger flesh of other cultures, other bodies, to prop themselves up?

T he pounding in her head was back. Throbbing. Searing.

That was an incompleat way of looking at things, of course. The strength to steal for one’s own benefit was, after all, strength. Doesn’t the predator steal the life and vitality from the prey it consumes? Would anyone ever suggest that a predator apologize for taking that which it is strong enough to take?

Something nudged Glissa’s shoulder, nearly bowling her over and breaking her train of thought. Vorinclex had lunged at her, and was pouncing again, jaws wide.

She laughed and threw her body into a spin. Her foot landed along the side of Vorinclex’s face, and sent him sprawling sideways in the sand. The jin-raptors scurried all around them, flailing their arms and chirping shrilly.

Vorinclex swiped at her with one paw, then another. She dodged both, and when he swiped again, she knocked it aside with a savage counter-blow.

She hooted. “Such soft blows, cub!”

Vorinclex lunged again, but she seized him around the neck and threw herself onto the ground, dragging him to the sand with a heavy THUD.

They lay there entangled for a long minute, Glissa’s arms locked firm around Vorinclex’s neck.

“Better to – hrk – act than to stew in useless thoughts,” Vorinclex grunted.

“Better be strong if you wish to act against me,” Glissa grunted in return.

Vorinclex laughed at that. Most creatures would not know his laugh from the other fierce vocalizations of beasts, but he was Glissa’s own beating heart, and she knew.

The raptors knew too, and they swarmed the both of them, chirping and pecking.

The two disengaged and rose to their feet. Glissa gathered two of the raptors as she rose, and tossed them onto Vorinclex’ back, where they clung.

“A gathering then, soon.”

“Yeah.” Slobad dropped his shoulder-riding raptor onto Vorinclex’ back as well. “With Forge and Engine leadership, plus Ixhel and Ezuri. We’ll need to make sure the gitaxians behave this time, huh?”

Glissa nodded. “ The progress engine can posture all they want, but we have resources, and we’re the only factions willing to work with him and not above him. Unctus is too proud to acknowledge equals, but Malcator isn’t as fool-headed– he’ll wrangle the m into line.”

“And we trust Malcator to get the others in line?”

“I trust Malcator to know the value of having his house in order,” Glissa flexed her wrists. Both her arms looked the same now, for the first time in a long time. Her sickle lacked practicality on this new front, and she suspected, would antagonize those she wished to bring into the fold.

“Malcator’s not the only loud voice in the Progress Engine.”

“Yes, but he is the most stubborn by leagues. Unctus doesn’t have the pull to displace him, and he knows it. Threx just wants to get back to his work. We’ll have the surgical bays on our side.”

Vorinclex growled, just low enough for Glissa to detect, at Threx’s name. The chrome butcher had been all too keen to get his own claws on Jin’s children.

“Optimistic,” Slobad said.

“It’s that or defeatist. I thought you believed in New Phyrexia.”

“I’ve got brains enough to know Phyrexia’s the only thing that can save any of us. Not so sure Phyrexia can be saved though.”

“What choice do we have but to try?”

“You’re right, Glissa. You know I know that’s right, huh?”

Glissa smiled. “I know. Go back, Slobad. I’ll find you both when I return.” She tapped her forehead against Vorinclex’s. “Go. Eat and grow. I need you strong again soon, and there’s nothing worth consuming up here.”

“No.” Vorinclex nudged back against her head. “Nothing but memories. Those won’t sustain you, either.”

“No, but I’ll linger here a little longer all the same.”

Vorinclex grunted, but turned trudged away.

“Stay close”

The little chrome creatures clustered near to his sides, running at a pitter-patter jog to keep up with his longer strides. In the spheres below, Vorinclex left the larvae to hunt and forage on their own, but around the surface, or the remains of the Basilica, he kept them nearby. Norn’s ruinous interference into the Swarm’s evolutionary aspirations had made him protective, arguably to the point of detriment, in the production of new predators.

Glissa grit her teeth. Vorinclex resented as much as she did the way Norn had wasted Lukka. A fine predator, and a grand addition to the swarm. So much potential for evolution, and Norn had thrown him away to die in a pointless exercise against a whole world of beasts. Of course even an apex predator would die if pitted against a whole world. Norn had done it just to spite them. So she would have an example to point to when she needed to set the other factions against the Grand Evolution. ‘See how this planewalker who chose the path of the swarm fared,’ she would have said. ‘See how their path pales besides the glory of the orthodoxy.’

Well Norn had gotten what she deserved in the end. All her plotting and bluster and now she was pieces and parts – porcelain rubble on who-knows-what world that would do no more conquering.

Glissa wondered if her pieces were on Zhalfir, rotting under the light of...

“Slobad?”

The goblin stopped short, and turned about to face her. He’d waited a few seconds longer than Vorinclex had, but was turning to leave when she called out. Vorinclex kept his pace, stalking away with a muted urgency.

“Yeah?”

“Who was Lyese?”

Slobad shifted. His unease was not phyrexian. Not really. But he was a greater help and reassurance than anything else on this plane, and Glissa would take that, even if it came with the unease of the flesh. Even if he cried at times, when he thought no-one was watching him .

It was rare to see a phyrexian cry, but the bodily structures that allowed the process were left in place for most compleated sapients who had the capacity originally. Jin-Gitaxias, during a long-ago convening of the praetors, had explained it thusly to Vorinclex, in his usual haughty way:

"We've found it sensible to allow this biological release for imperfect emotions that might otherwise build up to tear one of the compleat apart on a psychological level. While it might do us good to remove the capacity for such a buildup entirely, eventually, at present it is too much a liability to have a large portion of our population susceptible to."

"Not that you would concern yourselves with such complexities," He had added unnecessarily, as was his habit.  "Working as you do with beasts."

“I’d tell you if I could, huh? Geth knew...but I don’t know if Vishgaz still has those memories. And besides...” Slobad grimaced. “Geth said they would break your heart. He was very happy about that, actually.”

“My heart is too strong for that.”

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other. Slobad. Vorinclex. Glissa would never let any harm come to these two. She had lost more than she could remember, but as long as she had them, she would persevere.

“Not today then,” She whispered, barely loud enough for Slobad to hear.

“Lyese is safe, though,” Slobad said. “At least...Geth told me she’d been sent away, and away from here must be some bit of safe, huh?

“Even after the invasion?” Glissa asked.

Slobad only lowered his head.

“Right. It is not in our nature to hope. Only to do.”

“We do what we can,” Slobad said. “Waste not, want not.”

Then he was off, following the prints Vorinclex had left in the sand. The onetime-praetor was gone already, disappeared into a hole at the base of a many-armed monument in the distance. Glissa turned away. She could tell by Slobad’s heavy, halting tread that he was stopping every few paces to glance back at her.

To make sure she was alright.

Alright was debatable, and beside the point. She was, at least, not without a pack. This was good. The scriptures, so far as she understood the interpretations of factions outside the Swarm, had little to say on the concept of being alone. The compleat were sufficient in all things, it was true, but outside the cowardly work of sleeper agents, it was pre-supposed in most texts that phyrexians worked among and besides phyrexians, and that in their inevitable spread across the multiverse, phyrexians would all be, always, among their peers.

All will be one.

It was good to not be alone. To have others. To have a pack.

A cluster of mites scuttled across the sands, some distance away. The creatures were slowly learning how to mold the sands of the facade into burrows and nests.

Glissa let out a slow breath.

I am not alone, but this new life is lonely, all the same. 

She’d come out here in the past, after Norn had erected the facade. There had been something comforting about the suns. The artificial light of the Hunter’s Maze had been a great achievement for the Swarm, but it was not the same as the moons...as the suns...as that daughter and child and…

...and what?

At times Glissa even missed the blue and the red and the white suns. She had come up here to the surface before to ponder them too, on rarer occasions. And their names…

Bruenna? Bosh? Raksha?

These were not the goblin names for those suns either, but Glissa was less sure that they had ever been the names of the suns, though something in her crotus-enhanced brain connected them nonetheless. 

A wave of nausea gripped Glissa, and she hugged herself closer, half by reflex to steady herself, and half consciously, copper claws pinching her arms. 

These spells had come in waves, nigh-paralyzing lows that she couldn't control, punctuating the longer, more stable periods. Standing there on as solid a surface as the facade could offer, she felt as if the ground beneath her had given away entirely. 

By the spheres, but I miss Lyese!

Glissa breathed, and spread her arms. Slowly, she flexed each hand, then her arms, then her shoulders. She was strong. She had her pack. All was not lost for her or for Phyrexia. 

So why do I care so much about a sun?

Glissa brought her hands back to her side.

Why does its absence feel like part of myself is lost?

Oil ran freely from her eyes, streaming harder than ever.

Why my worry for the sun's safety, its health, its...happiness? Glissa hardly fretted as much over these things for her own comrades, the closest of her pack excepted. 

A tremor hit Glissa’s knees. She would not fall. She would not kneel here. Still, she brought her hand to her mouth and gripped her jaw with talons of copper.

So why?

The flow of oil splashed down onto the white sands. Dark shapes formed in the pools and soaked into the grains.

Why do I miss Lyese?

"Lyese" is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

[birdstudies]

June 19, 2023 - Bar-winged Prinia or Bar-winged Wren-warbler (Prinia familiaris)

Found on the islands of Sumatra, Java, and Bali in Indonesia, these prinias live in a variety of habitats, including scrubland, mangroves, gardens, and parks. Foraging alone or in pairs during the breeding season and in flocks of 12 to 15 birds at other times of the year, they eat insects and their larvae, picking prey from leaves and the ground. They build oblong domed nests with top entrances attached with spiderwebs and plant fibers to low shrubs near the ground. Females lay clutches of two to four eggs. They are classified as Near Threatened by the IUCN due to recent population declines caused by trapping for the songbird trade.

[batrogers]

Mangled Wild

Because I am prolific, and because the last like four things I wrote are too mild and I wanted to indulge.

Don't worry about it, @recalled11 knows what I did.

CW for graphic violence/injury and abuse of healing factor. Also on AO3, word count ~1500

IIII

“It’s not that we heal better than others,” Captain said. “We’re simply more likely to be equipped to handle it.”

Sky responded in a tired tone. “I didn’t say I thought we healed better by a large margin, but there’s a lot more injuries we have survived as a group than the average person.”

“I think judging us against a normal person is going to be biased, because we’re also significantly more likely to be injured than them.”

Link fought down a laugh and turned to walk backwards, curious what on earth had gotten the two of them arguing. They weren’t upset; he could see them both scanning the dim area around them, alert and focused on the distance as if for danger... but there had, so far, been nothing in the depths today. They were in a wide open area beneath the Gerudo desert, so far unchanged since he’d been here last months ago.

(Was it months? He could check; he had journal entries to read, notes he’d taken but he didn’t wish to do so right now even as the information came up just because he’d thought of it. Months, yes, although close to a year...)

“We’re also more likely to have multiple injuries in a row.” Sky squinted at something behind them and nodded his head. “Wild, what’s that mound? Do you know?”

Link turned quickly and looked, seeing only mounded darkness at first. It wasn’t red, or shining; it was dark and slow and ragged spikes of zonaite – gleaming in the light, but their internal light was paler and familiary – jutted from its skin.

Because it was skim. It was a sleeping frox. Link held up one hand and waved the other two back, hoping they didn’t (hadn’t) woken it, not yet.

“Wild—” Sky objected again. Captain hissed; Link heard the sound of hand on skin and staggered footsteps.

Heard the Frox huff, and it’s eye snap open.

He’d forgotten how fast they could be.

They’d been thirty, forty feet away: more than its body length. The frox went from sleep to lunging so quickly, he could only get his arms up before—

It didn’t slam into him; it engulfed him, mouth wide open. He splayed out hands and feet immediately, but its bony tongue slammed him against the roof of its mouth and knocked the wind out of him. He gagged on fetid air and slumped.

He slumped into the side of its mouth, and when it’s teeth came down he felt his thigh crush. He gagged on a scream and kicked out with his good leg, trying to drag himself free. The frox shifted, opened its mouth and its tongue swept from one side to the other, throwing him against the far side of its mouth instead. He threw out his hands and pushed back, narrowly escaping another bite. One forearm wedged between teeth, stuck and bruised.

At least it wasn’t his ribs this time. He exhaled, fighting down panic. It had to spit him out. It had to get annoyed, right?

It got annoyed, certainly: suddenly it thrashed its head and Link was thrown from its mouth. He hit the ground, hard, skull slamming into the dirt hard enough to daze him. He struggled towards his feet, hearing screams (Sky and Captain, he thought, screaming his name) and as he half-rose the frox reached out and slammed one massive paw onto his broken body.

Link screamed. His vision burst with colour; his lungs burned. Something wet was in his throat and on his face, and he thought it was about to grab him again while he still couldn’t move, and could barely think.

He wasn’t dying; he’d have had a fairy out if he was dying, but in Hylia’s name he felt like he should be.

At least death didn’t hurt this much.

Something boomed, nearby. The frox swung around violently, hard enough its tail slammed into his side and sent him skidding across the ground. His neck burned; there was blood in his eyes, his vision turning colours even when his eyes were open but the sudden adrenaline cleared enough of his head to focus: he could fix this.

Neck first. He had enough material to fix it. The process was easy, internal. He didn’t need help but it made this easier. It made it so he didn’t have to think about each piece.

It meant he wasn’t quite as aware of his bones as they snapped back into place. Losing swelling felt like ice in his veins, it was so sudden.

Ribs next. Stabbing pain became nothing; dull, aching throbs turned to something more like breathing in mist. He cracked his neck, like a reflex, as if it could distract him from each broke rib as it went back into place, but no. No, he was fine. He’d be fine.

Leg next. He wasn’t haemorraging, not externally. Apparently not internally either, but as he shifted focus he nearly blacked out. Oh, that wasn’t a simple break. He could feel the pieces of bone like knives in his muscle, cutting him even as they sought to fix themselves: shards wedged in muscle and other tissue coming free to reassemble into one, cohesive whole.

It was almost too much. He didn’t realize he was sobbing or screaming at all until suddenly someone was touching his face. He hissed, although the sound was more guttural than that and tried to push their hands away. He didn’t realize he’d put his weight on his bruised arm until it collapsed under him. He dropped, gagging and shaking, and he couldn’t tell what hurt more: his leg or his arm or—

Sky was talking. Sky was saying something, but he didn’t touch him again and Link just put up his good arm to ward him off as he tried to focus again.

It took longer than it should have. It still hurt so badly. He didn’t think there were other breaks; he shifted to his leg, his mangled leg and that slowly faded. His arm followed and as each sorted itself out, he tried to push himself back up.

“Shit, Wild,” Sky begged. He sounded hoarse; like he’d been crying or screaming too. “Don’t move, please don’t move!”

He tried to wave him off and flexed each arm, then twisted his neck again: no pain. He flexed his feet and legs, and it was almost... almost right. Something was still off. He shifted his focus to his chest and back and tried to turn over.

Something – something grated in place, like a knife through the stomach and he collapsed gagging to the ground. He wanted to throw up; he nearly did. Maybe he did. He wasn’t sure; he was sure he was in too much pain to think until he could force it to stop – stop – stop—

Slowly, the ache faded again. He slowly came to again, to Sky and Captain talking.

Well. Sky talking. Captain was breathing hard.

“...nothing’s broken. You’re sure you’re okay? It threw you a long way.”

“Fine,” Captain repeated. “I had a potion. How’s he?”

“I think he’s... I hope he’s gotten it all but he won’t respond to anything I try to say. He tried to move and collapsed once he started turning over, so either his back’s hurt or his pelvis...”

Link grunted affirmative to that and pushed himself over onto his back again. He did know better. He was fine; he would be fine. He exhaled slowly and shifted again, trying to check more thoroughly this time. A healing potion would likely be more effective: it addressed things without him having to think about them but as Captain just proved, they needed them more.

He could handle things himself just fine.

“Are you awake now?” Captain called.

Link raised one hand and closed it into a fist and spread it, checking first before he threw him a thumb’s up.

“Will you let one of us check if anything else is broken before you try and stand up aga...”

He didn’t finish, because Link pushed himself to sitting, quicker perhaps than wise but he was quite sure he was fine. He shifted in place again and stretched out each leg. The memory of pain from his hips lingered, but he didn’t want them to worry. He glanced around, to see the shattered and bleeding back of the frox nearby, and pulled an apple out into his hand to start eating.

“You killed it yourself?” he signed to Captain. “Good job.”

Captain and Sky exchanged dark looks, and Link deliberately took another bite, holding it in his mouth for another moment more.

“I’ll get the valuable parts out of the corpse for later use in a minute.”

[zuzsenpai]

Zuzu's Bug-ventures: Jersey Shore Edition Part 2!

I'm back from New Jersey and in total I ended up finding 43 different kinds of insects/spiders/isopods/etc. Not all of them are getting posted (some of the photos I took are so dogshit I can't in good conscience consider them internet-worthy.) But here is part 1 if you haven't seen it.

Anyway, there are a couple repeats from part 1, having found and taken better pictures of some of these bugs in the latter half of my vacation.

Restless bush cricket (Hapithus agitator). A repeat, but a much better photo. They mfers are SO NOISY. Also I spent an entire evening trying to get good photos of like 5 different spiders with my camera's terrible flash, none of which came out well. But this guy gets a perfect nighttime photo, apparently

Spotted orbweaver spider (Neoscona crucifera). Also a repeat. I ended up seeing about a dozen of these guys all over the boardwalk

Arabesque orbweaver spider (Neoscona arabesca). Another orbweaver, but different from the previous one. I really love the webs in these photos

Bellflower resin bee (Megachile campanulae). Cute

Cabbage white butterfly (Pieris rapae). We're old friends at this point, though this one doesn't look as cabbage-like as others I've found

Flea jumping spider (Naphrys pulex). I was sitting in a gazebo near the ocean and saw this fella walking around. Apparently I'm getting really good at seeing bugs and spiders now, because this one was tiny and very well camouflaged

Unsure of ID. Possibly Helcystogramma badia.

Common pill-bug (Armadillidium vulgare). My isopod bestie who I saved from the windowsill <3

White-jawed jumping spider (Hentzia mitrata). Another repeat. It would be nice to get an actually good picture of this one someday

Swamp cicada (Neotibicen tibicen). Flew directly into my mom while we were playing mini-golf. Twice

South American toothed hacklemesh weaver spider (Metaltella simoni). Very dead, unfortunately. Also found this one during mini-golf. The internet says they like to be underneath things in damp places. So the fact that it was in the middle of the course with the sun beating down on it should have been my first clue. Also it is squished and curled up as hell :(

Praying mantis (Mantis religiosa) and a guest appearance by Canis familiaris, AKA my son Linus who has every disease. Including cataracts, so it's unclear if he could actually see the mantis

Unsure of ID. Probably a leafhopper of some kind

Unsure of ID. It's an orbweaver for sure

Columbian trig cricket (Cyrtoxipha columbiana). This was a really cool find tbh, even though they are definitrly known to be in New Jersey

Unsure of ID. Absolutely no idea. A soldier fly or a flat-headed wasp or a sweat bee or something else entirely??? I'm thinking of posting it on reddit at some point

Red-banded leafhopper (Graphocephala coccinea). Leafhopper colorations are super rad!

Yellow fever mosquito (Aedes aegypti). Aaaaand here we have some brand new trigger warnings for my bug posts! A disease-carrying mosquito that has absolutely and very clearly fed on someone. I saw it moving on the ground and thought it was a tiny beetle. Boy was I wrong. 0/10 do not recommend

Unsure of ID, probably a sweat bee. I think it's covered in pollen from that flower, which is honestly adorable. Also my phone's ability to take nice photos is so arbitrary

Triangulate cobweb spider (Steatoda triangulosa). My shower buddy. Took showers on two separate occasions and found this guy chilling near the sliding door. It was definitely alive and didn't seem to be getting wet, so I let it do its thing

Unsure of ID. Picture is shit so no clue at all. Probably died while hanging from the ceiling

There you have it! I regret not being able to capture a photo of an elusive giant solid neon yellow butterfly I saw all over town for days. But it wouldn't stop flying for even a second ;n;

Next time, I guess it's back to local stuff, backlog, and friends' photos! Weather looks pretty nice for the next week, so hopefully I can spend some time outside finding bug friends before it gets too cold

[isfjmel-phleg]

Who is Delclis?

I don't have any new material for his birthday today (September 26), so I thought I'd do a general introduction post instead, in case you haven't met my OC.

Bio

Delclis (full name Andras Delclis Gearalt Phemister) is the only child of an unpopular king who died unexpectedly around the time Delclis was born. Due to shenanigans, the throne didn't go to the infant Delclis but to a distant relative, who managed to corner Delclis's mother into marrying him. Delclis grew up on an estate in the country, far away from the court, alongside his younger half-brother Elystan, the current king's heir. The isolation never bothered him; he is reserved and reclusive by nature, and his stepfather took care to encourage that. Delclis developed a passionate interest in botany and had plans to study natural science at a university, but his stepfather wanted him to have a clerical career, where he'd be conveniently celibate and therefore unlikely to continue his father's dynasty.

As it happens, neither of these work out. Delclis's stepfather is forced to abdicate for both himself and Elystan, and Delclis, at age fourteen, finds himself stuck with a throne he never wanted and has no training for. He struggles with having to be a public figure, he hates politics and hates his Prime Minister, he's in no hurry to plan an advantageous marriage, and he's unaccustomed to taking responsibility for anything outside of his own ambitions. It doesn't take him long to become desperate to get out of this role, especially as his eighteenth birthday, which ends his minority and lands him with the full extent of his obligations, looms. But can he get out of it? And is that really what he needs?

Why I Love Him

My plant-loving son! He has no social skills. He has an all-consuming passion which he has committed to hard. He's serious to the point of being comical. He named his dog Canis Familiaris (the scientific name for the species) because he didn't think he could remember an ordinary name. He went to a Halloween party dressed as deadly nightshade once. He's soft-spoken and easygoing until he absolutely isn't. He's been so deprived of attachment that he believes he can function without it. He's not malicious at all but he's so wrapped up in his own concerns that he's frequently oblivious to how he can be a jerk to other people. He has no friends. He's a lot angrier than he realizes. He needs some very bold and determined person to decide that he needs to be loved and make that happen.

Description

According to his brother, Delclis had spent so much time around plants that he had begun to look like one. He had the sturdy build of a tree, with an unkempt bush of brown hair tinged red as if for the coming autumn. His face hid beneath a camouflage of freckles and acne, and his wide-set hazel eyes were usually downcast. Whether he picked up the habit first from shyness or a fixation with the ground level and its flora no one knew. When he did make eye contact, it was either from behind the glassy safety of his pince-nez or with his neck pulled backward like a reverse turtle when his spectacles were not permitted. He seldom spoke in public, and his soft voice tended to sound as if he were reading his own dialogue off some unseen cue card.

Further Info

There are lists of random OC facts for him here and here. These are somewhat old lists, created when I was still trying to more fully develop the character, and I might need to revisit/rethink them, but you get the idea.

Appearances

Seeing the Elephant (at age ten)

A Building Project (at age eleven)

Correspondence (shortly before Book 1--I am less fond of this early experimental piece and it may not remain canon)

The Breakfast Room (shortly before Book 3)

He also has supporting appearances in "The Boy with the Botanical Box," "In a Nutshell" and the prequel scene for Book 2, a cameo in Book 2 Chapter Four, and is quoted in a letter in Elystan's POV of "A Christmas Chapter."

[fursona-resources]

Species: Wolves (Canis)

This series focuses on helping people choose interesting species for their fursona through informing them of the many, often overlooked, species out there! This post is about wolves.

──── ◉ ────

Species:

Red Wolf (Canis rufus)

Size: 66cm (26in) height (at shoulder), 121cm (4ft) lenght, 20-36kg (45-80lbs)

Diet: carnivorous, preys on deer, small mammals

Habitat: coastal prairies, marshes, forests

Range:

Status: critically endangered/endangered

──── ◉ ────

Eastern Wolf/Timber Wolf (Canis lycaon)

Size: 63-91cm (25-36in) height (at shoulder), 160cm (5.5ft) lenght, 23-30kg (53-67lbs) weight

Diet: carnivorous, preys on deer, large herbivores

Habitat: deciduous forests, coniferous forests, mixed forests

Range (in blue):

Status: imperiled/threatened

──── ◉ ────

Coyote (Canis latrans)

Size: 58-66cm (21-25in) height (at shoulder), 76-86cm (2.4-2.8ft) lenght, 6.8-21kg (14-46lbs) weight

Diet: omnivorous, preys and scavenges small mammals, deer, livestock, insects, carrion, berries

Habitat: varied, sagebrush-steppe, forests, prairies, deserts, savannahs, alpine meadows, temperate ranforests, urban

Range:

Please note, the coyote has 19 subspecies!

They all have small but interesting variation, and can vary in size quite dramatically. If you'd like a coyote fursona, I recommend checking them out! The picture above is of a mountain coyote (Canis latrans lestes)

Status: least concern

──── ◉ ────

Grey Wolf (Canis lupus)

Size: 80-85cm (31-33in) height (at shoulder), 100-160cm (3.2-5.2ft) length, 23-80kg (50-176lbs) weight

Diet: carnivorous, preys on large ungulates, small mammals

Habitat: varied, temperate forests, mountains, tundra, taiga, grasslands, deserts

Range:

Please note, the grey wolf has 38 subspecies (the above pictured being eurasian wolf, Canis lupus lupus)!

Of which I would like to highlight:

Arabian Wolf (Canis lupus arabs)

Arctic Wolf (Canis lupus arctos)

Mexican Wolf (Canis lupus baileyi)

Also, please note the grey wolf comes in a variety of colors, regardless of subspecies

Status: least concern

──── ◉ ────

Dingo (Canis dingo)

Size: 52-60cm (20-23in) height (at shoulder), 120-150cm (3.9-4.9ft) lenght, 10-15kg (22-33 lbs) weight

Diet: carnivorous, preys on small mammals, livestock

Habitat: varied, spanning all if Australia

Range:

Please note, the dingo's taxonomic classification is debated - you may find it also listed as Canis familiaris, Canis familiaris dingo, or Canis lupus dingo

Status: threatened

──── ◉ ────

African Wolf/Golden Wolf (Canis lupaster)

Size: 40cm (15in) height, 7-15kg (14-33lbs) weight

Diet: Carnivorous, preys on small mammals, small reptiles, ground-nesting birds, insects

Habitat: mediterranean, scrublands, forests, savannahs

Range:

Please note! The african wolf has 6 subspecies!

Status: least concern

──── ◉ ────

Ethiopian Wolf (Canis simensis)

The Ethiopian wolf has 2 subspecies:

Northern Ethiopian Wolf (Canis simensis simensis)

Southern Ethiopian Wolf (Canis simensis citernii)

Size: 53-61cm (20-24in) height (at shoulder), 100cm (3.2ft) lenght, 11-20kg (24-44lbs) weight

Diet: carnivorous, preys on small mammals

Habitat: afroalpine grasslands, heathlands

Range:

Status: threatened

──── ◉ ────

Golden Jackal (Canis aureus)

Size: 46-51cm (18-20in) height (at shoulder), 69-84cm (27-33in) lenght, 8-11kg (18-24lbs) weight

Diet: omnivorous, preys and scavenges small mammals, small reptiles, ground birds, fish, insects, fruit

Habitat: open savannahs, deserts, arid grasslands

Range:

Please note! The golden jackal has 7 subspecies!

Status: least concern

──── ◉ ────

[pikasus-artenews]

NARI WARD. Ground Break

Nari Ward è un artista di fama internazionale noto per le sue installazioni realizzate con materiali familiari e quotidiani di recupero

[gigicatchesair]

Camping

Daily writing promptHave you ever been camping?View all responses Despite being a poodle or rather a canis lupus familiaris, I have never been camping. My novelist, on the other hand, has`camped in an Airstream, camper, log cabins, elevated log cabins, wooden cabins, tents of different types and out on the open ground in a sleeping bag. Most of these modest adventures were done in her childhood…

[rosaliewolfheart]

Soft, sweet, and highly trainable. Cats are the number two most common pet in the United States. I bet you thought I was describing dogs, cats are also some of the most misunderstood common pets that humans keep. They are hard to motivate but once you find what does(be it toys affection or food) then you’ll find your feline friend is just as smart if not smarter than Lassie, and don’t get me wrong they are limited in what can be taught to them but basic obedience and minor agility(on command) is very doable. 

Cats self-domesticated about 10,000 years ago, in the Middle East around the fertile crescent area. Felius Familiaris still carries most of the same traits as their wild ancestors like long tails used for balance when running and jumping, keen night vision, and sleek limber bodies that move silently on padded paws. Cat’s pupils a verticle to allow for light to enter their eyes without blinding them, and at night they have reflective tissue in the back of their eyes. The pinna’s(the outer part of the ear) job is to capture sound waves and funnel them down the ear canal to the middle ear. Cats’ pinnae are mobile, and they can turn and move them independently. Their ears help them display a range of emotions from calm and relaxed to scared and stressed, based on minute movement and the angle at which they carry their ears you can usually gauge how they are feeling. Their ears paired with the position of their tail, the way they’re walking(or lack thereof), and any vocalizations they might be making. This is why it is very important to get to know your cat and ALL of their normal behavior patterns, if your cat likes to be up high try providing lots of cat trees if your cat prefers to be on the ground make sure lots of beds and tunnels are available to them is very important for their mental wellbeing. Many cats display aggression because their needs are not being met, cats are creatures of habit so it’s vital to have a routine and stick to it. If you set up a routine and then you are not consistent with it your cat will end up very stressed out and potentially lash out. Some tools that could help create that schedule are things like auto feeders and independent play toys, and offering very specific toys in specific circumstances, like if you have to work on your computer for extended hours at a time providing your cat with a puzzle toy will keep them occupied and allow them to mentally exhaust themselves while you work and once you’re done you pick up the puzzle so it retains it’s value.

Another note there: toys that are always accessible are less valuable than toys that only come out at certain times, even if your cat can’t reach it but can still see it it will lose value.

Cats are wonderful cuddly companions that are amazing family pets, but unlike dogs they’ll only put as much work into you as they’re getting from you which is where the misconception that cats are aloof creatures comes from.

[nochd]

So it happened again. A perfectly wrong statement came across my dash, this time in the #philosophy tag:

Actually, no, we should know what a woman is. If you’re going to challenge a term, you have to come up with a new definition. If we are going to have a rational conversation, all terms must be defined. If woman doesn’t mean adult female human, what does it mean? If you’re getting defensive reading this, that’s a problem. You should be able to know what you’re arguing for. You should be able to tell people what you’re arguing for. Otherwise, what the fuck are you even doing? Why are you arguing about something that, if undefined, logically does not exist? I would love for everyone to be happy. Delusion is not happiness. I need to know whether this is delusion or not.

OP has turned off reblogs and replies, but this is so exactly wrong that it'll do for a teaching moment. (I shouldn't have to say this, but just in case: please don't try and find out who they are to hassle them about it. That doesn't help.)

Language and the real world just don't have the one-to-one relationship this argument implies. Try to define the word cat or dog in a way that captures all instances of cats or dogs, leaves out all things that are not cats or dogs, and doesn't resort to just using synonyms (such as Felis catus or Canis lupus familiaris) which then have to be defined in turn.

Pretty much all concepts that we talk about in natural language have fuzzy conceptual edges that are hard to pin down to a definition. If that means they "logically don't exist", then most things in life logically don't exist.

Now of course, when we're discussing something rationally, we need to be clear about what we're talking about. There are few bigger wastes of time than debates where the opposing parties refuse to agree on a shared terminology because they think that would be yielding ground in the debate.

But that's a matter of conversational procedure. Clarity is something we impose on the real world so that we can talk about it, not something that is naturally present.

Another way to waste time in debates, one that is much used in courtrooms, is to endlessly challenge definitions. This can go on literally forever, because definitions are made out of words, definitions of which can then be demanded in turn.

However, if we're debating in good faith, it's not that hard to come up with a working definition. (Legalese is for when good faith has broken down.)

Humans are not born with blank slates in our heads. We come into the world with a starter kit of concepts, which is then expanded and fine-tuned through our interactions with reality. Most people's starter kits include the concepts of woman and man.

Now I don't know about you, but with most people I personally perceive them to be a woman or a man -- just according to the concept in my head -- without ever having seen their genitals, or a picture of their genitals at birth, or their chromosomes laid out on a microscope slide.

Even in naturist contexts, where I do see people's genitals the first time I meet them, my perception of their gender is a feeling about their entire self-presentation, not their genitals.

So although chromosomes and genitals do correlate with what gender I perceive people to be, they don't determine it. (Please look up what a "correlation" is before quibbling over that statement.)

That sort of perception, that assignment to a mental percept, is what I'm referring to when I talk about whether someone is a woman or a man or neither.

But suppose I perceive a person to be a woman and someone else perceives them to be a man, whose perception determines which one they actually are?

Their own.

A woman, by definition, is a person who perceives herself to be a woman.

It's that simple.

[giancarlonicoli]

28 set 2023 16:12

“I RAGAZZI CHE VIVONO IN FAMIGLIE SENZA PAPÀ SONO INCLINI A FINIRE NEI GUAI A SCUOLA O CON LA LEGGE” - IL CASO DEL LIBRO DI MELISSA KEARNEY E’ UN CEFFONE ALLE NAZI-FEMMINISTE CHE VOGLIONO CANCELLARE IL MASCHIO: “I BAMBINI PROVENIENTI DA FAMIGLIE MONOPARENTALI HANNO PIÙ PROBLEMI COMPORTAMENTALI E TENDONO AD AVERE REDDITI PIÙ BASSI IN ETÀ ADULTA” - NEGLI USA QUASI UN BIMBO SU 2 NASCE DA MADRI NON SPOSATE: ABBIAMO FATTO UN VUOTO E LO ABBIAMO CHIAMATO PROGRESSO... -

Giulio Meotti per “il Foglio” - Estratti

(...)

Ora il libro di economia più atteso dell’anno sostiene che avere genitori sposati fa bene ai figli. Banalità?

“Per anni, gli accademici che studiano la povertà, la mobilità e le strutture familiari hanno evitato questa verità evidente”, scrive l’economista Melissa Kearney in “The Two-Parent Privilege”, pubblicato questa settimana e recensito da tutti i grandi quotidiani che contano. Un tentativo di spiegare l’importanza del matrimonio ai colleghi intellettuali.

Purtroppo, Kearney ha il suo bel da fare. L’autrice è un’economista formatasi al Mit e scrive: “L’assenza di un padre dalla casa di un bambino sembra avere effetti diretti sui risultati dei figli – e non solo a causa della perdita del reddito genitoriale”. Per questo dobbiamo “ripristinare e promuovere la norma di una casa con due genitori per i bambini”. Daniel Patrick Moynihan lo disse nel suo rapporto del 1965 sulla famiglia. George Gilder ci ha scritto “Sexual Suicide” (1973) e “Men and Marriage” (1986). E Charles Murray, che ne aveva parlato nel suo studio fondamentale, “Losing Ground” (1984), ha avanzato argomentazioni simili in “Coming Apart” (2012).

“Le prove sono schiaccianti: i bambini provenienti da famiglie monoparentali hanno più problemi comportamentali, hanno maggiori probabilità di finire nei guai a scuola o con la legge, raggiungono livelli di istruzione più bassi e tendono a guadagnare redditi più bassi in età adulta” scrive ancora Kearney. “I ragazzi che vivono in famiglie senza papà sono particolarmente inclini a finire nei guai a scuola o con la legge”.

In un’intervista-podcast con il collega economista Stephen Dubner, Kearney dice anche che scrivere il libro è stato correre “un grosso rischio” a livello professionale, perché i suoi colleghi tendono a evitare di affrontare il ruolo della struttura familiare nelle discussioni sulla disuguaglianza sociale e a guardarli dall’alto in basso. Sfida “le conversazioni progressiste sul benessere dei bambini”. Nel 1960, negli Stati Uniti solo il cinque per cento dei bambini nasceva da madri non sposate. Nel 2019 era quasi il 50 per cento.

Abbiamo fatto il vuoto e lo abbiamo chiamato progresso.