#they all look like rodents and marsupials

[uglypastels]

Slowly trying to get into F1 (bc i am nothing if not a sheep and a follower) and i wish it would be as easy as "oh i only like it bc the drivers are hot" but ????

Sorry who are we talking about here exactly?

[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom. 

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt. 

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket. 

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right? 

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal. 

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler. 

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears. 

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment. 

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it. 

Besides, his mind should be on other things. 

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal. 

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern. 

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers. 

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.) 

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above. 

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly. 

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.” 

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down. 

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby. 

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road. 

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times. 

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?” 

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.” 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something. 

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass. 

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living. 

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case. 

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)  

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too. 

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere. 

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs. 

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him. 

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise. 

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady. 

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back. 

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake. 

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam. 

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)  

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night. 

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours. 

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos. 

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive. 

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on. 

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night. 

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet. 

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night. 

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets. 

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both. 

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake. 

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat. 

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth. 

Oh, oh no. 

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck. 

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals. 

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.  

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black. 

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him. 

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter. 

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean. 

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment. 

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand. 

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt. 

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove. 

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease. 

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.   

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game. 

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up. 

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun. 

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!” 

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian. 

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear. 

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!” 

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm. 

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!” 

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf. 

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified. 

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively. 

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease. 

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around. 

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved. 

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away. 

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge. 

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.” 

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.” 

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how. 

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward. 

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him. 

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar. 

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip. 

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!” 

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was. 

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet. 

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?  

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance. 

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic. 

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button. 

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.] 

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.” 

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them. 

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.  

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again. 

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents? 

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’ 

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now. 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]  

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?” 

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly. 

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man. 

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain. 

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.” 

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.] 

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning. 

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days. 

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days. 

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed. 

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos. 

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him. 

“​​Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh! 

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?] 

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.” 

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh. 

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp. 

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him. 

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.] 

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again. 

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.” 

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard. 

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.” 

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that. 

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you? 

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’ 

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form. 

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm. 

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip. 

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first. 

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.] 

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up. 

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky. 

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried. 

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.  

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort. 

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool. 

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt. 

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. 

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side. 

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house. 

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction. 

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof. 

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door. 

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk. 

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it. 

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination. 

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.” 

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back. 

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask. 

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs. 

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword. 

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt. 

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless. 

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help. 

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin. 

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams. 

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.] 

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him. 

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english. 

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins. 

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more. 

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian. 

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk. 

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos. 

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another. 

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan. 

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone. 

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

[your-ne1ghbor]

Asha's Animal Side Kick

Now presenting...

the one...

the only...

BONSAI !!!!!!!!!

It was either between a possum, ferret, or a great eared nightjar/type of bird, but either way, I had to go with the possum.

I liked the light brown possum a lot personally since I thought it was really cute yk??

It was also based off of this possum:

OKOK, you may be wondering why I changed Valentino, or Bonsai into a possum.

There are 2 reasons:

Numero Uno:

VALENTINO IS FUCKING UGLY

I think my friend @sewerpalette said it best here:

Nothing can convince me otherwise. His design is just SO ugly to look at. It is not pleasing.

And it doesn't help that I wanna punch his stupid fucking face like it is so punch-able

OKAY SURE, the concept versions of Valentino is cute...but ever but I didn't like how I drew goats in my style. It could be just that I'm not good at drawing them, but I also didn't like my color pallet I did for him, which was a lot like what Bonsai has color pallet wise, and it fitted Bonsai more than Valentino.

Numero Dos:

ESMERALDA HAS A GOAT SIDE KICK.

OR BETTER YET, WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN IT.

It is basically a repeat of what we have already seen, which I didn't like.

Just because you aged down a goat does not make it ORIGINAL.

Its okay to have Asha have a pet goat in the other rewrites though I don't MIND AT ALL. ITS YOUR AU U DO WHAT EVER, IM JUST MAINLY TALKING ABOUT MY ICK WITH THE MAIN FILM. IT JUST REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING ELSE.

What I'm trying to say is that Valentino feels like a refrence to Huntch Back of Notre Dom, which this movie has a thing with adding stuck out refrences instead of making it subtle. I mean I know it was a 100 year aniversary, just make it more subtle though so people can rewatch it and find refrences they didn't notice first time watching.

Anyways....

Some fun Facts about Bonsai:

Bonsai is actually a little dwarf, and the runt of his family. Asha adopted him when she found out Amaya told Charo (Charo is a lynx btw) to get rid of them all since she thought they were rats (even though they are fucking HUGE) (PLUS IT IS TO EMPATHESE ON THE FACT THAT THEY ARE MISTAKEN FOR RODENTS WHEN THEY AREN'T, THEY ARE APART OF THE MARSUPIALS FAMILY AND THEY GET RID OF RODENTS/EAT THEM)😭

(I might actually make him slightly bigger than how I drew Bonsai, but who knows yk?)

So Asha took the responsibility of taking care of the little Possum, since she didn't want the possum to grow up alone, and so that she can have some company.

IT TOOK A LONG WHILE for Bonsai to warm up and trust Asha, but in the end, he saw her good nature and swore to protect Asha like how Asha protected him from getting eaten from Charo. Which is why he dislikes Star Boy A LOT (mainly because he doesn't trust how this creature can literally transform into anything and doesn't want him to end up being something like Charo 😭)

He is just a little guy that wants to make sure his friend doesn't get hurt by a celestial force.

This is basically how I imagine how they both would meet:

(Just wait till he finds out Asha likes him. He is going to be so judgemental)

To get this part out of the way, if I end up having Bonsai speak, it would sound like a child, since I DREADED when the goat started...TALKING LIKE A GROWN ASS MAN LIKE NO PLEASE NO. And it would be more adorable yk?? :3

Lastly, here is the first doodle I did of him.

(JUST IMAGINE HIM TALKING LIKE A CRAZY 7 YEAR OLD LIKE THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY)

@oh-shtars @annymation @signed-sapphire @chillwildwave @spectator-zee @uva124 @rascalentertainments @tumblingdownthefoxden

I might also go with a different color pallet for Bonsai but idk yet

[madlittlecriminal]

Okay okay okay, hear me out on this. Jonathan Crane x Non Binary reader, and the reader brings home an injured opossum. With the prompt "Do you want a pet rodent?" + "You're weird, you know that?". I think a silly little oneshot about this would be great. (I know opossums are actually marsupials, don't come at me). I just genuinely think it would be funny

Marsupial Parents ↦ Jonathan Crane × Non-Binary!Reader

lol i laughed a bit too hard at the thought of this. it's funny and cute! i alo love how you guys absolutely trust me for soft!crane :) the amount of requests ive gotten for him has really made me believe that y'all love how i write for him

Warnings: jonathan thinking the worst, opossum doesn't have a specific gender

It was late and raining outside, so when you didn't come home, Jonathan was worried. He tried calling you and texting you, but you didn't respond. It was safe to say that Doctor Jonathan Crane, aka Scarecrow, was afraid something happened to you. However, his fears quickly vanished when he heard the sound of your familiar laughter and your keys hitting the door as you unlocked it.

"I'm home! Sorry I didn't tell you that I would be running late, my phone lost reception because of the rain, but I'm safe! I promise." He raised a brow. "Why were you laughing?" You froze as you closed the door. "Well, I have a question first." He tilted his head to the side and waited. "Do you want a pet rodent?" Jonathan stared at you in confusion. "A what?" You looked at him a gave him a small smile. "A pet rodent." He chuckled. "You want a pet rodent?"

"I mean, I don't see a problem with it, but I had to ask you since, you know, you'll be their dad." Jonathan raised both his brows with a smile on his face. "Their dad?!" You nodded. "You're weird, you know that?" You grin. "Well, you love it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be with me." He nodded. "But why do you ask?" You pulled out an opossum from under your jacket. He stared down at the opossum and then looked back at you. "My love, you do know that's not a rodent, right?"

"What?" He took the opossum from your arms and held it. "It's a marsupial." You felt your cheeks grow warm. "Oh." He chuckled and kissed your cheek. "Did you find it on the side of the road?" You nodded. "Now, how did a person like you with such a great heart fall for me, hmm?" You shrug. "I see the good in everything...like this marsupial!" He laughed. "Fine, we'll keep it. Do you have a name for it?"

"I was thinking Toxic or something." He raised a brow. "Toxic?"

"I don't know, I wanted it to have something that related to you...well, to Scarecrow." He smiled. "Then we'll name it Scarecrow. After all, you don't call me that, so it won't be confusing." You grinned. "Welcome to the family Scarecrow. Now, it's too late to get you the things you need, but you can sleep in the attic. Your dad works in the basement anyway." You take the opossum from Jonathan's arms and head to the attic. All Jonathan could do was smile as you walked with the new member of your family in your arms, heading to the attic.

[seizethedre]

(In the Land of Gods and Monsters)

Chapter Twelve: Motel Sprees, Sprees

As reality would have it, the King of Hell was not, in fact, a duck, proverbial or otherwise, and thus he was only slightly less capable of permitting the nasty waters of this life to simply roll off his shoulders. In fact, if he had to continue with the metaphor, he would say that he was thoroughly soaked, drenched all the way down to his weary bones for reasons he wasn’t quite yet ready to admit to himself.

Let it be understood that when the angels of Heaven were tasked with creating the florals and fauna of the earth, they weren’t exactly given a lot of material to work with. As with all other celestial creations, they were each to serve a unique purpose with the greater intention of providing mankind with the tools they would need in order to fulfill the Plan. 

Now I know what you’re wondering: why bother making so many different everythings? Why put in the effort to make over twenty species of oak trees instead of one? Or create the common dolphin if you’re just going to turn around and whip up the objectively much cooler bottle-nose dolphin right after?

The answer to that, clearly, was because it was much more fun to have a little bit of variety among species. Why settle for the plainness of a leghorn chicken when you could have all the glamorous appeal of a silkie bobbing around your backyard? They all tasted the same in the end, might as well get something worthwhile from the experience.

That’s not to say that every creation was a win-win. In fact, Lucifer could recall several, erm, interesting choices that just barely made the cut. Choices, also, that should have probably stayed in the drafts folder. The list included arachnids the size of dinner plates, STI-carrying marsupials, and cuddly-looking rodents the size of a beagle that wouldn’t hesitate to chew through human fingers. 

Hindsight, maybe some of their design flaws were a tad obvious, but at the time of their creation, the main focus on everyone’s minds was how each animal would provide for humanity, and of course they were of the mind that bigger animals meant more food to go around. Errors fully realized, Heaven made quick and easy work of gathering the more unsavory picks and dumping them all onto one of the lonelier, desolate corners of the earth, far away from Eden and hot enough to give the pits of Hell a run for their money–-rhymes with Shmaustralia, perhaps you’ve heard of it?

Well, Lucifer could hardly be blamed for the humans who decided to settle that wasteland.

Abominations aside, most of what they created was pretty sweet. His favorite, if not yet apparent, was the duck. Runner ducks, specifically. Something about those long bodies and stubby little wings tugged at his heartstrings and they were quite useful in the field of pest control.

Ducks were great, not just because they were created by yours truly, one of the first to be created, as a matter of fact, but because their design was, perhaps, the most perfect. Bias? Never heard of them. They were all precious beady eyes and compact little bodies, propelled forward by their little paddle-feet and the cutest call of the entire animal kingdom. Aerodynamics aside, they had all the marvels of science working for them as the oils coating their feathers made it easy for them to keep dry and warm, their environment simply rolling right off their hydrophobic backs in perfectly inconsequential droplets.

Yes, Lucifer had reconsidered his ranking time and time again over the centuries, but nothing had captured the spotlight in his heart quite like the duck had. My, how he envied them sometimes.

As reality would have it, the King of Hell was not, in fact, a duck, proverbial or otherwise, and thus he was only slightly less capable of permitting the nasty waters of this life to simply roll off his shoulders. In fact, if he had to continue with the metaphor, he would say that he was thoroughly soaked, drenched all the way down to his weary bones for reasons he wasn’t quite yet ready to admit to himself.

He couldn’t exactly place why he was in such a funk. Okay, that was definitely a big fat lie. He knew exactly why he was upset, but he was more concerned with the fact that he continued to be upset a whole week after his argument with Alastor. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get over it.

For a moment, when he had first stormed back to his room, his chest still tight with anger and hurt, he contemplated going back to the palace for a few days to cool off a bit, create some distance between him and certain residents, but he threw that idea out really quick. 

While isolation felt like the proper remedy to his current situation, he had gained enough self-awareness in the last few months to understand that whatever desires he had to be alone during times of emotional crises were only a defense mechanism which stemmed from centuries of self-loathing due in part from the trauma he received because of his fall. 

Ultimately, being alone would do more harm than good. Not only was he unwilling to put himself on the path to self-destruction again, but he had Charlie to think of. The hotel, too. Not to mention his art therapy classes. Point of the matter was that Lucifer had so many more reasons to stick around than he did to leave. He wouldn’t be chased out of this little nook he’s carved out for himself just because some asshole was mean to him and he definitely wouldn’t be dedicating any more emotional energy to the demon, period.

Or at least that’s what he told himself. 

It was an undertaking easier said than done, if he was being honest. 

So he turned to another mechanism, this time of the coping kind, which was definitely far less destructive than his first option. He threw himself into his work around the hotel. He took over a few more of Charlie’s duties, such as going through the rest of the interviewees for the yoga instructor position, helped Niffty with some of the chores around the hotel, and he even took over the last-minute details for the Open House that was comin up. It was mainly flier business and securing multi-modal advertisement slots across Pentagram City, but it seemed to be enough.

Another big distraction was the painting he was working on for that same occasion. It was a pleasant distraction, and perhaps the only healthy outlet that the king had at the moment. On the off chance that Charlie had run out of chores or errands for him to run, he snuck into the art studio to work, sometimes all night long and into the early hours of the morning. He was happy with the progress he made, thinking that it should only take a few more sessions before he could call it completed. He could get it done by the end of the week if he skipped a few more dinners. Truthfully, he was glad he didn’t really need to eat, otherwise Charlie would definitely be on his case more about his recent absence at the dinner table.

Unfortunately for him, paint could only dry so fast and he refused to use his power to speed up the process. Some things were better left to nature, after all. Which is exactly how he found himself in his current predicament.  He could sit around and literally watch paint dry–he was using oils, so that would take an obscene amount of time–or he could leave it until tomorrow and find something else to occupy his time with in the meantime. 

Yup, the latter option seemed much more appealing to him.

Tucking his occupied easel against the wall of the studio, he made quick work of cleaning his brushes and storing his tubes of paint in their rightful place. 

Locking the door behind him, Lucifer stood in the hall for a few seconds, glancing first down the hall to his right and then down the hall to his left, pondering what to do next. Dinner should have ended well over an hour ago and there were no more therapy sessions tonight. Around this time, the residents were usually winding down before bed, which meant his possibilities for entertainment were pretty limited. 

The night was still young and the thought of him holing himself up in his rooms for a few hours with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling didn’t really appeal to him. It wasn’t like he planned on getting any sleep anyways. If he was being completely honest, he just didn’t feel like being alone at the moment. 

Mulling over his options, he opted with heading down to the bar and scoping out the scene. If anything, he could at least count on Husk’s company, granted the bartender wasn’t swamped with patrons. Having made up his mind, Lucifer made the quick walk over to the front of the hotel, crossing the empty lobby before turning into the bar. 

It was, by his standards, an improvement from the bar in the original hotel. A lot less green and spooky looking. The ambiance was warmer, much more relaxing and befitting of a place where people could come to unwind and step away from their woes for a bit. Marquise lights lined the walls, filling the room with a perky brightness during the day, though in this late hour they tended to dim them down a bit more. What few posters could be salvaged from the original bar had been framed and hung neatly on the walls alongside a few new vintage pieces and decor. Per Alastor’s insistence, they kept a few other choice decorations, mainly the mounted exotic skulls that he seemed to like for some reason.

Most notable was the massive cork board, hung up at Angel’s insistence. His vision was to turn it into a picture wall where all residents, whether permanent or just passing through, could document their experiences at the hotel. It was a sweet idea, a surprisingly sincere suggestion coming from the spider, but one that was supported wholeheartedly by the staff. 

No one really talked about it, but Lucifer knew that they were all thinking of Pentious, the colorful wannabe-overlord-turned-martyr who gave his life defending the hotel against the Exorcists. Lucifer had overheard Angel talking to Husk about how he wished he had taken more photos with his friend before the battle. Although he didn’t know him well, it was obvious that the demon had been a part of the family and his absence was felt deeply. 

The photo wall was, in its own way, a means through which they could keep his spirit alive all while serving as a manifestation of the hotel’s core values and beliefs. Looking over it now, Lucifer could see that it had become quite the popular attraction. The space was filling up nicely and he found that he recognized a few of the faces he saw. There was a whole lot of Angel Dust, all sly grins and sultry-eyed in his selfies, but he was pleased to see a lot of the usual suspects too. A few of them boasted a somewhat smiling Husk, which was a miracle in and of itself, while another displayed a gleeful Niffty wielding a knife in one hand with a crown of roaches adorning her bright hair. Her cheeky grin was deceptively sweet. 

Lucifer smiled fondly at a photo of Charlie as she threw her arms happily around Vaggie who was planting a sweet kiss on her cheek. His chest filled with warmth at the sight of them, so young and in love, having faced so much already yet never losing sight of what was important to them. 

His gaze eventually landed on the largest of the photos, pinned front and center. It was inevitable that he'd see it, really, given its location and the fact that it was the only image printed entirely in black and white. It was a picture of all of them taken at the front of the newly-rebuilt Hazbin Hotel. Behind them was the proud, gleaming statue they had erected in memoriam to Charlie’s beloved Dazzle. 

The whole lot of them were smiling, proud of the outcome born of days and weeks of hard work. His daughter stood in the middle, eyes shining as she held up the portrait they’d commissioned of Sir Pentious. Vaggie stood to her right, an arm wound tightly around her partner. She was looking up at Charlie, adoration clear in her gaze as she smiled softly.  Next to them, Niffty was standing on top of Cheri’s shoulders, both cyclops grinning widely at the camera, one of Cheri’s decommissioned bombs held tightly in the little housekeeper’s hands as she brandished it over her head menacingly. Cheri, ever the bold character, was flipping off the camera. 

He stood on Charlie’s left, eyes squinty in delight, an expression that he found, for some reason, to be odd on himself. Strange, but genuine, and he couldn’t argue with that, he supposed. Husk and Angel stood on his other side, the grumpy old cat having managed to crack a smile as he held a fan of cards in one hand. Angel looked like he was mid-laugh, one arm draped over Husk’s shoulders while another hung loosely around his waist. He leaned into the cat’s side gleefully. The pair was a peculiar one, and while Lucifer was no expert in the realm of relationships, romantic or otherwise, he felt that the two complimented each other well enough.

Finally, his eyes fixated on the last, lone figure at the end. Alastor, in all his cruel glory, stood tall, his cheshire grin tight and arrogant as his eyes shone devilishly. His hands were hidden behind him, his cane was nowhere to be seen, but at least now he knew why. The longer he looked at that stupid face the tighter the knots coiled in his stomach. He was angry. So, so angry. Unreasonably angry. At Alastor and his pride, his sharp tongue, his biting words. He was angry at the sinner’s selfishness, his inability to accept help, his insistence that he didn’t need anyone. More than anything, he was angry at the fact that he was, beyond what he felt for the demon, most angry at himself for feeling guilty about how much he hated him. At the same time, he couldn’t fucking look away from him.

He closed his eyes, willing his fists to unclench. He took deep, cleansing breaths as he counted along in his head to the exercises Charlie had taught them. When he finally managed to wrangle those unpleasant thoughts back into the shitty little box in the back of his mind where they belonged, he opened his eyes again and blew the air out slowly.

Cool. I’m cool. So so cool. Cool and collected and unbothered by life’s many atrocities.

Stepping away from the wall, the king turned his attention back to his original task and wandered over to the back of the room. Now, Lucifer was no expert on bars or anything, mainly because he’d never really visited a human bar and honestly wasn’t particularly fond of the ones they had down here either. Alcohol never appealed to him, though perhaps his opinion on the matter would be different if we could actually get drunk, but he’d seen enough tomfoolery and received enough second-hand embarrassment from inebriated jackasses to know that it wasn’t something he’d ever want to experience anyways. Not that anyone was ballsy enough to invite the King of Hell out for a few cold ones. 

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t indulge in a drink or two every so often, and as he hopped himself up onto a stool, that was exactly the kind of plan he had in mind. Husk was busy down at the other end of the long counter talking to a few guests and Lucifer busied himself with taking a good look around, swiveling in his seat and leaning back against the bar.

The room itself was sparse, with only a dozen or so demons milling about. A few booths were filled with the odd pair or trio, but for the most part a lot of the patrons were seated alone. Music was playing from the speakers, just loud enough to provide ample ambient sound throughout the room. From the looks of it, no one appeared to be too drunk and Lucifer hoped their luck would be drawn out until the end of the night. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with an obnoxious sinner who didn’t know when they’d had enough to drink. Somewhere to his left some bug-looking demon burst out into a flurry of clicking sounds which Lucifer reckoned were meant to be laughter.

Quiet night, he thought to himself. To be expected of a weeknight, definitely, especially at a place where drinking to forget was typically discouraged and traded for healthier coping mechanisms. That’s okay, Lucifer could do with a quiet night. He swiveled back around.

A few spaces down was, what he assumed to be, an abandoned drink. It was in an opulent looking glass, filled almost all the way with a pretty pink shimmery concoction and garnished with a cherry skewered through with a tiny electric blue umbrella. He eyed it appreciatively.

“What can I get for ya, Your Majesty?” Husk, finally free, made his way over to the ruler, wiping down the bar as he went.

“Husk, we’ve been over this already. You , don’t have to call me that,” he admonished with a look. The bartender simply shrugged his shoulders, swinging the towel over one of his shoulders.

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty ,” he responded with a mischievous smirk. Lucifer groaned while the old cat laughed. “Alright, alright. Fine. What can I get for you, Lucifer?”

“I’ll have one of whatever that’s supposed to be,” he said, gesturing over to the pretty little glitter bomb to his right. Husk looked over at it too, not at all surprised by the man’s choice.

“Should’ve guessed as much. I reckoned you were more of a fruity type of guy. One Primadonna coming right up.”

“Not much use going for the harder stuff if it has no effect on you,” he replied easily, propping up his head with one of his hands. “Plus, the fruity stuff tastes much better. All that other shit tastes like, well, shit.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Husk agreed.

Lucifer watched as the man worked behind the counter, marveling at how easy he made it look. Lucifer himself had a pretty shitty memory, so to say he was impressed by the bartender’s ability to put together all sorts of drink combinations at the drop of a hat without having to consult some kind of recipe was an understatement. It was incredible.

“So what brings you down here tonight, if you don’t mind my asking. You don’t seem like the drinking kind of guy.” The words were aimed at him, even if Husk hadn’t looked up at him while talking. 

“I’m not usually,” he shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess I was just tired of being cooped up in my room.” It was an honest response, Lucifer had no reason to say otherwise. Especially to Husk. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to drain the old social battery a bit before calling it a night.”

Husk hummed, cleaning up the edge of the glass before sliding it over to him. “We haven’t seen much of you around here lately.” It wasn’t exactly posed as a question, simply a statement of fact, and while Lucifer knew he meant no harm of it, he deflated a bit at the words. He wrapped both hands around the tall, cold glass, stalling for time while he took a sip. It was, as predicted, very sweet, tangy and cool with a hint of something spicy that added well to the flavor profile. He hummed appreciatively. Husk picked up another glass and began polishing it.

If there was something that Lucifer admired about the bartender, it was his ability to stay in his own lane. He wasn’t offended by what Husk had to say by any means and he assumed that this was just his way of offering a listening ear to the angel’s woes. Or, on the contrary, it could very much be true that the bartender simply didn’t care and was just trying to make small talk. It wouldn’t be entirely out of the question, sure. He was forced into being here, but Lucifer had been around the guy long enough to know that there was a heart somewhere beneath all that tough-as-nails exterior and larger-than-life eyebrows. Either way, Lucifer could respect that he never tried to pry for answers. 

He heaved out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know,” he said, deciding to move forward with that line of conversation. “I’ve been…busy.” Busy was maybe not the best way to describe whatever emotional rollercoaster he was going through, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. “Hotel stuff, you know? Helping Charlie with Open House stuff. I’ve been working on a new painting, too.”

“So I’ve heard,” Husk nodded. He turned around to set the crystal-clear glass on a shelf behind him before going back to the king and picking up another one, setting to work once more. “Angel says it’s coming along well.” Lucifer blinked in surprise.

“He said that?”

“Yup. Says it’s pretty impressive. He was going on and on about it the other night at dinner. Got Charlie all up in tears over it too.” He smirked, pausing as he served Lucifer with a quirked brow. “I gotta say, you’ve got some high expectations to meet.”

“You’re telling me,” he groaned, clapping his hands over his face. “Me and expectations have never quite seen eye-to-eye,” he mumbled. 

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Husk said. He placed the glass down next to him taking another look at the angel in front of him. “You sure that’s all you got on your mind?”

Lucifer pushed one of his fingers aside, fixing the man with a suspicious, narrowed eye through the gap in his hands. “Why do you ask?” Husk lifted his shoulder noncommittally, picking up the glass to resume his cleaning.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly a relaxed man,” he said plainly. “There’s always something you gotta be doing or someone you gotta be talkin’ to. If you’re not out running some errand then you’re hanging around here spazzing the fuck out and scaring the residents with you loud company.” He looked the seated king up and down. “These days have been a little too quiet around here is all I’m saying, and in Hell that’s never a good thing. Figured of there was something botherin’ you, I’m probably the right bartender to talk to.”

Lucifer dropped his hands from his face and hunched his shoulders. Husk was right, there was something bothering him. His problems with a certain red-eyed demon aside, much of his attention had been preoccupied with trying to figure out whose memories he had seen that night in Alastor’s room when he finally broke through the walls of holy energy in Alastor’s cane. He looked down at his hands, bandaged haphazardly. That was another reason why he was making himself scarce: he didn’t know how he would explain how he, an ex-Seraphim of Heaven and the Almighty Ruler of the Damned, was sporting injuries that he couldn’t automatically heal.

He looked up, noticing that Husk was also looking at his open palms. He closed them quickly, hiding them on his lap under the counter. If he was suspicious of anything, Husk didn’t show it, nor did he say a word.

“There are certain, erm, things ,” he started slowly, mindful of his phrasing and careful not to reveal too much. They couldn’t know about this. Not yet, at least. Not until Lucifer knew what “this” even was. “That I’m working through right now. Things I’m not at liberty to discuss. Sorry,” he added sheepishly. He hoped Husk would understand his secrecy. The last thing he wanted was to make the cat feel that he didn’t trust him, but his silence on the matter was for the best. 

“Don’t apologize. I get it,” Husk said. Lucifer felt himself relax a little bit. “You’re not the first man to come around here with secrets. You won’t be the last one, either.” Lucifer was expecting the shift in conversation coming up, grateful that Husk was willing to drop the conversation for now. He was not, however, prepared for what exactly that new conversation would be, nor the sidelong glance thrown his way.

“You know, Alastor hasn’t been ‘round much these days either.” And yeah, that was a surefire way to get the gears turning in Lucifer’s head.

“He hasn’t?” 

He wasn't sure why that particular fact made him uneasy. Alastor had a tendency to wander off, his own agenda to fulfill and whatnot. Him being gone for a while wasn’t surprising by any means, but it unsettled him nonetheless. Husk hummed, unperturbed.

“It was about time. I’m surprised he’s spent as much time around the hotel as he has in recent months. That guy’s just like you: he can’t sit still.”

Lucifer tried not to be offended that Husk had just compared him to the Radio Demon, choosing to let it go instead of pouting over it like he wanted to.

He cleared his throat, swirling his drink around the glass with his straw and trying so hard to look unbothered by the intel. “So, uh, where’s he been?”

“Fuck if I know. In town somewhere is my best guess. Probably doing something shady, conning some poor asshole out of their soul.” Husk was scowling now, probably recalling how he had come to lose his own soul to the demon in question.

“Town? By himself?” Lucifer couldn’t imagine Alastor wandering around Pentagram City without his cane, his main source for channeling his power. Wasn’t that why he had brought Husk along that one time? For backup? 

Maybe his concern was more evident than he had thought, because Husk was looking at him again all weird, eyes narrowed and making Lucifer feel like he was an unwanted smudge on one of the bartender’s glasses. 

“Yeah alone, what about it? Boss usually goes out alone.” And Lucifer really didn’t care. He really didn’t want to ask, but he just had to know.

“Did he take his staff?” he blurted. Husk looked at him like he was stupid.

“Yes?”

Oh. Okay. There’s that answer then.

But how ? Alastor knew how dangerous it was to be walking around and it seemed especially irresponsible and illogical that he would risk himself like that. Not to mention how bad his hands would get. Lucifer had already healed them once, he wasn’t too keen on doing that again just because Alastor refused to be seen as anything less powerful than he was. Lucifer gnawed on his lip, anxiety flaring up inside of him for whole new reasons.

“Funny thing is,” Husk interjected his spiraling thoughts, “looked a little different now that you mention it. Newer, not as dramatic. The asshole probably finally got some commonsense and upgraded his equipment.” 

Oh .

Against his better judgment, Lucifer went a little gold in the face. Was it hot in here, or was it just the hellfire acting up again?

“A new staff, you said? I have to agree with you there, Husk, it was about time, huh? Ha-ha,” he laughed weakly, suddenly uninterested in his drink and talking to Husk and being anywhere other than his nice warm bed and his dark room where nothing else existed except for him and his hundreds of beloved ducks.

Still, not wanting to be rude, he sipped on his drink until it was all gone. Husk, having seen whatever expression was on his face, didn’t ask any more questions or try to rope him into another unwanted conversation. Instead, he went about collecting glasses and wiping down the countertops, consistent in his never-ending routine.

Once done, Lucifer hopped off his perch, mind swimming with all kinds of thoughts and feelings as he left some money on the counter. He waved a small farewell to the bartender, wishing him good night as he headed out the entryway. 

Once out in the hall and out of eyesight, he quickly opened up a portal to his room, eager to put a stop to all this incessant thinking for the rest of the night. Stepping through, he brushed the red sparkles off of his clothes and nearly stumbled over a foreign object placed right in front of his closed door.

Scowling, he looked down at the culprit, finding not one, but two of them.

They were boots. More specifically, they were his boots. Boots that he hadn’t seen in over a week. Boots that he had abandoned in another room in a fit of rage. 

Boots he never thought he would see again, to be frank. Yet there they were. One stood neatly in front of his door while the other had been kicked to the side by him by accident.

Boots that could have only been left there by one person.

Fuck me . 

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[vioshortforviolence]

Minish Variants

So I had a thought: What if the Minish looked different depending on where they live, based on different rodent and rodent-like species?

I mean, we already have Forest/Town Minish, and Mountain Minish, how about Tropical or Desert? Snowy?

Forest & Town: Wood or Deer Mouse

The "default", and most common, Minish variant.

In Minish Cap, the Town Minish are just Forest Minish that decided to move into town, so it would make sense for them to be the same variant; but if they were to be different, I suppose Town Minish could be House or Fancy Mice.

Plains/Grasslands: Striped Grass Mouse

The second most common variant.

These Minish would have either a single dark stripe running down their back, or many light and dark stripes.

Desert: Jerboa and/or Grasshopper Mouse

Jerboas are the funny looking ones with long legs, ears, and a long, tufted tail. They usually move by hopping around and can even run up to 15 mph (24 km/h)!

Also, fun fact: The grasshopper mouse howls (yes like a wolf) and is carnivorous! 😌

Snowy: Lemming (Tundra Mouse)

These Minish would have long fur and live in large tunnel systems under the snow.

Or maybe they'd live in cute little log (stick?) cabins 🥺

Mountain: Yellow-rumped Leaf-eared Mouse or Pika

In Minish Cap, the Mountain Minish we meet are actually just Forest Minish that moved into Mt. Crenel, but if they were to be different, I suppose they could be the yellow-rumped leaf-eared mouse.

These mice in particular have been found more than 20,000ft above sea level, on the summit of the Llullaillaco volcano!

Another option would be the Pika (which isn't actually a rodent, but is instead a lagomorph) as they also live in the mountains.

A defining trait of the Pika is their various calls/songs, which would fit the Mountain Minish's tendency to sing the "Ting Tong" song.

Tropical Rainforest: Feathertail and/or Sugar Glider

Though not rodents (they're marsupials), glider Minish would be cute! Unlike the Forest Minish, who live in mushroom houses on the forest floor, these Minish would live up high, in the tallest trees.

Aquatic: Water-rat (Rakali)

These Minish would be semi-aquatic, with partially-webbed hind legs and waterproof fur. They would also be the best swimmers out of all the Minish variants.

...and mostly carnivorous, with a focus on aquatic animals. That too.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Welcome to the final instalment of my series where I discuss the origins of every fish Pokemon. Today I’ll be covering gen IX. For previous generations see here: gens I-II, gens III-IV, gens V-VI, and gens VII-VIII.

People criticize Paldea for having too many birds and dogs, but I haven’t seen people talking about how many fish it has. I bring this up because Paldea has a lot of new fish. Only Hoenn introduced more fish lines. The first Paldean fish is the Wiglett line, which is also the only new multi-stage line. In this case, the species name helpfully tells us what it’s based on: garden eels. These eels are famous for poking their heads out of the sediment while keeping most of their bodies in an underground burrow. Because they typically live in large colonies and look a bit like grass, a group of eels can look a lot like a patch of plants, hence the name. Garden eels are very shy and will retract into their burrows at any sign of danger. This behavior is shared with Wiglett, which will retract if it sees the player coming, forcing you to sneak attack it to battle.

(image: garden eels looking adorable)

Wugtrio follows the garden eel origin, but also incorporates some moray eel inspiration. Both Morays and Wugtrio lurk in holes in rocks and grab passing prey, dragging them in. The fact that both Pokémon are slimy enough to get the Gooey ability is likely a reference to hagfish. These jawless fish are famous for their defense tactic where they secrete large amounts of slime when threatened.

(image: somebody playing with hagfish slime)

Finally, Wugtrio’s red coloration may draw from the giant tube worms found around hydrothermal vents.

(image: giant tube chilling on a hydrothermal vent. Except not chilling because it's really hot there)

As one of the two convergent pokemon lines, the Wiglett line is an example of convergent evolution. This is when distinct groups of organisms evolve similar adaptations in response to similar selective pressures. A classic example of this is the flap of skin used for gliding known as a patagium that has evolved independently in flying squirrels (rodents), gliding possums (marsupials) and colugos (primate relatives). All three groups evolved the patagium to beter move between trees in their arboreal environments. In the case of Wiglett’s similarity to Diglett, the dex entries and official website helpfully tell us that the two species evolves similar body plans because they are both dedicated burrowers.

(image: a diagram showing an example of convergent evolution in sugar gliders and flying squirrels)

Veluza is based on hakes, specifically merluccid hakes. These are predatory fish in the same family as cod and haddock who are known for being indiscriminate predators of smaller fish. Fittingly, Veluza is pretty aggressive, chasing down the player whenever they get near one. Hake are pretty economically important in Spain, Paldea’s main real-world basis. The Spanish love their hake. Not only do more than half the hake sales in Europe go to Spain, Spain is also the world’s largest consumer of the fish.

(image, a silver hake)

Veluza having a prominent dorsal fin and what seems to be an anal fin followed by smaller triangular finlets reminds me pretty heavily of tuna, who are also very fast predators.

(image: a tuna's tail, showing the finlets)

Veluza also almost looks kind of mechanical, which makes me wonder if there’s some inspiration coming from torpedoes or submarines. Veluza’s habit of removing parts of its own flesh is an example of autotomy. This is when an animal will remove parts of its own body and is the basis for the pokemon move autotomize (which Veluza doesn’t get for whatever reason). Autotomy is mostly used for defense while Veluza uses it to increase its speed and offenses. In my very quick search I was unable to find any examples of fish that use autotomy, but the fact that the move that represents this in Veluza is called Fillet Away and the dex mentions how the shed flesh tastes, it’s pretty clearly another reference to how much the Spanish eat hake. In this case, it’s a fish that fillets itself for you.

I’m going to talk about Dondozo and Tatsugiri together as while they’re different lines, they’re linked to each other. Dondozo is a giant catfish, specifically a wels catfish, the largest freshwater fish in Europe. While not native to the Iberian peninsula, the species has been introduced there. Dondozo’s diet including bird Pokémon is a reference to how wels catfish will beach themselves to try to catch and eat birds.

(image: an absolute unit wels catfish with human for scale)

Something I can’t understate is that Dondozo is big. At a height (presumable length in this case) of 39’04”, Dondozo is the second largest non-legendary in the franchise and 3rd largest overall after Eternatus and Wailord. That’s whale shark sizes and dwarfs the beluga sturgeon. The largest freshwater fish in the world. The two largest non-legendary Pokémon being aquatic is true to real life, where animals in the water can get much bigger than animals on land. Nothing as big as a blue whale can exist on land because without the support that water gives, the animal’s own weight would crush it. This is why beaching is usually a death sentence for large whales. Of course it would be remiss of me to not mention that both Tatsugiri and Dondozo have a sushi theme. Dondozo is based on a sushi chef. It’s head frills look like the traditional sushi chef headband and its tongue looks like a sushi geta, the wooden bench sushi is commonly served on. The sushi theme is more prevalent with Tatsugiri, which looks like a piece of hand-shaped sushi.

(image: sushi nigiri)

The different forms and colors of Tatsugiri make different individuals look like different dishes. The different colors may reference koi, which could also explain its dragon typing. Koi, and carp in general, are often associated with dragons. Tatsugiri can use its fins like limbs and survive out of water, possibly referencing fish like lungfish and mudskippers, who can live out of the water. Dondozo and Tatsugiri have a mutualistic relationship, a type of symbiosis where both parties benefit. Tatsugiri is the brains to Dondozo’s brawn, giving instructions to the larger fish and acting as bait to lure in prey. This is a form of aggressive mimicry. Tatsugiri is stated to dwell in Dondozo’s mouth. This could reference two things. The first is mouth brooding, where a parent fish will keep its offspring inside its mouth to protect them. The second is cleaner fish, who can safely go into the mouth of larger predatory fish because of a mutualistic relationship with them.

(image: a mouth-brooding fish)

The final fish Pokémon so far and the only legendary fish is Chi-Yu. This adorable little malevolent monstrosity is based on a goldfish, or rather fire in the shape of a goldfish. Like the other Treasures of Ruin, its true body is the actual treasure, magatama beads in this case, while the rest of the body is gathered from the environment to support the treasure. Chi-Yu being born from envy and the jade beads being in place of the eyes makes it a very literal green-eyed monster. Chi-Yu and the Treasures of Ruin in general are based on the Four Perils, malevolent beings from Chinese mythology. The Treasures don’t map exactly to the Perils and the connection is stronger in some than others. For example, Ting-Lu is based on the Taotie, which is usually depicted on cauldrons, and it has a massive cauldron on its head. Chi-Yu is probably based on the Hundun, a faceless creature with 6 legs. Chi-Yu doesn’t have a proper face, just beads where eyes should be, and it has 6 fins on each side of its body. The Hundun also has wings and fins are kind of like wings I guess? Not related to Pokémon, but the Hundun appears in the Iron Widow, which is a book you absolutely should read.

(image: a depiction of a Hundun)

And with that, this series comes to a close, at least until we get Gen X. I may do something similar with other Pokémon based on aquatic creatures, but I haven’t decided yet. I may also discuss some of my own fakemon if anyone is interested.

[downtofragglerock]

Okay I don't want to stay with mammals for much longer so I'm gonna go through the rest of them here

There are 22 distinct groups of mammals, I've already covered three of them (Carnivora and the even and odd-toed ungulates).

Going through the remaining 19:

There are four groups of marsupials, but that doesn't matter because Rahi-wise there is only one species, the Fusa, a kangaroo. The Kikanalo might also count, but see my ungulate post for that ramble.

There are two groups of Xenarthra (armadillos, sloths, and anteaters) but there are no rahi equivalents at all.

Monotremes (echidnas and platypuses) have no representation either.

Same with Sirenia (manatees and dugongs), Lagomorphs (rabbits), Scandentia (tree shrews), Macroscelidea (elephant shrews), Erinaceidae (hedgehogs), and Afrosoricida (tenrecs and some other miscellaneous small African mammals).

Soricomorpha (shrews and moles) has one representative, the Archives Mole.

Pachyderms likewise also only have one rep, the Hapaka.

Cetaceans only have two reps, the Razor Whale and the Stinger Whale. There is a unique whale rahi in the 2003 console game, but much like with the unique fox rahi, I don't know if I can consider it canon given the nature of the game and how drastically different many canon rahi appear in it.

Chiroptera has three reps, the Cliff Screecher, the Ice Bat, and the unnamed bat rahi from the cancelled pc game and various other 01 promo renders.

There are three primates, the Brakas, a monkey, and two apes, the Lava ape and the Spiny Stone Ape. Much like with the Kavinika, I have some questions regarding if the Spiny Stone Ape is actually an ape, given that it has a tail and frankly, kind of looks like a dinosaur, but that's a discussion for another day.

Lastly, the rodents, of which there are quite a lot. There's the Gafna, the Ice Vermin, the Kinloka, the Kuma-Nui, the Lava Rat, the Stone Rat, and the Wolf Rat from the cancelled pc game. The Kuma-Nui and Wolf Rat are especially interesting considering that the former is really fucking huge, and the later engages in some interesting specevo, being a species of one group filling in the role of a species belonging to a different group.

There, that's every mammalian analogue rahi charted

[dadbodbensisko-moved]

y'all's bajoran redesigns are either tigers or rodents but consider:

specifics below the cut

Bajorans are similar to marsupials

a fetus gestates for two months

bajoran babies spend five months in the mother's pouch

at three months, baby starts poking her head out

as the months go on, the baby starts poking out more and more and may attempt to leave

kind of like how some women stop breastfeeding at different ages, bajoran women may choose to leave baby in the pouch longer, but five months is considered the bare minimum

the baby will ride around on family member's backs

bajoran babies can tell who is family by smell. they can form other attachments, but will naturally be drawn to family

bajoran's eyes are considerably bigger than a koala

bajorans are omnivores. their diet mostly consists of vegetation and bugs

bajorans are plantigrade

they have paw pads on their hands and feet

feet are somewhat dexterous

bajorans do not wear shirts normally

they also don't have boobs

the think humans flipping their shit over titties is SO WEIRD

no tails

their skull is shorter than a koala's, flatter and more humanoid

continuously growing teeth

just super fucking soft

so soft

the fur on their head grows longer, so they have "hair"

they can be multiple different colors

spots maybe??????

they are pretty much humanoid

yes they can breed with other humanoid species w/o help. however, there is high maternal mortality rates and without genetic engineering, there's high rates of miscarriage, conditions incompatible with life. hybrids may also have chronic conditions. tbh this is my headcanon for all hybrids of any species.

HOW exactly do they reproduce with other species? don't worry about it

just don't worry about it

it doesn't matter don't worry about it

this is how babies cry:

but also when leeta and rom have a baby quark baby sits and when quark tries to put her down she starts screaming her head off until he picks her up. he pretends to not love her but he does. b/c ferengi don't have any fur to grab on to, rom makes a harness for her ferengi family members to wear so with handles for he to grab. quark refuses to wear this b/c he thinks it makes him look stupid but eventually breaks down and does it. he's tending bar with a fuzzy ferengi on his back

[herebecritters]

Hey guys, how ‘bout a fun fact science corner? I’m wanting to talk about Kimbetopsalis Simmonsae. I know it’s a big word, sadly we don’t have common names for most extinct animals so any creature that hasn’t existed within the last 1000 years is gonna be a mouthful.

Now what does Kimbetopsalis have to do with Cro-Marmot and Dumuzi? This is where science and my headcanons merge.

So Let’s talk Dino-Sore days.

If Cro was around during the age of the Dinosaurs, that dates him all the way back to the Mesozoic era. So let’s throw him at the tail end of the Cretaceous period, when the most popular of the giant reptiles reigned, tyrannosaurus, the titanosaurs, pteranodon, ect.

Marmots did not exist at any time during the entirety of the Mesozoic. In fact, though many of the mammals that lived during that time were very rodent like, true rodents did not even appear for another 10 million years after dinosaurs were wiped off the face of the planet. And marmots did not evolve for at LEAST another 48 million years after THAT.

So Cro and his sister Dumuzi could not have been marmots. So then what were they?

Time to put on my paleonerd hat.

Meet Kimbetopsalis Simmonsae

To the left we have paleoart of what we believe Kimbetopsalis to have looked like, and to the right we have a modern day marmot. Not too drastically different, eh?

Now here’s what’s really cool about Kimbetopsalis. We have fossil evidence that tells us that they are one of the few survivors of the K/PG mass extinction. That’s right, these are one of the legendary mammals that survived the famous asteroid impact that wiped out all the non-avian dinosaurs and played a role in bringing forth the Age of Mammals. If it weren’t for little survivors like them, we wouldn’t be here!

Kimbetopsalis is part of a group of mammals that no longer exists, the multituberculates. These group of animals survived for 130 million years, dying out and disappearing from the fossil record forever in the late Eocene. But don’t be too sad! Multituberculates existed for longer than ANY other group of mammaliforms, including the one that you, I, and every canon character of htf belongs to. The placentals. Today there are only three living groups of crown mammals (aka true mammals): the monotremes (such as the platypus and echidnas), the marsupials (such as kangaroos and opossums), and the placentals.

Now I could go on forever about taxonomies but trust me we’d be here forever. Especially since we are still learning what we can to fully understand mammal evolution. You see, the fossil record for Mesozoic mammals is scarce. Mammals did not get much larger than a badger throughout all the Mesozoic so they did not fossilize easily. Most of what we know about them from that time is from small fragmentary remains, mainly teeth. But despite very few full fossils having been found, we are learning and discovering something new about our ancient mammalian ancestors every day. What we know is constantly changing, but that is the nature of paleontology.

Like I said. We’d be here all day. So let’s move on.

As far as mammals go, Multituberculates like Kimbetopsalis were very common during the Mesozoic. They are easily identifiable by, you guessed it, their teeth.

As you can see, the molars have some crazy cusps on them, also known as “tubercles” hence the name. Their teeth are designed for chomping and crunching all kinds of vegetation. These teeth are very unique among mammals and probably helped them to have a generalist diet which would have aided them greatly in surviving the aftermath of the Chicxulub asteroid impact.

Anyways, Kimbetopsalis is a survivor and a cool little critter, much like Cro is. They lived among the largest land animals to ever walk the earth. They survived the horrifying event that saw an end to the Age of the Reptiles.

I dunno bout yall, but I just think that’s pretty neat.

[cheapsweets]

The gregarious Gligglae

My response to this week's BestiaryPosting Challenge from @maniculum!

Initial pencil sketch for proportions, Sailor fude nib fountain pen with Rohrer & Klingner Sepia ink for the lines, then Derwent Inktense paint with waterbrush for the *gasp* colour!

I wanted to try something a little different this week, and I've been wanting to try out the inktense paints for a while, so this was a good excuse. Heavy influence from Ken Sugimori's Pokémon illustrations, not least since I feel there's a weird parallel between Medieval bestiaries and the Pokédex... I feel like the bestiary authors and Pokémon professors are both doing the best work with the information they've got, whether that's provided by a naturalist who died in 79AD, or by over excitable children forging their way through The Long Grass...

The water brush is definitely going to take some getting used to (very easy to squeeze out too much water!), and the R&K ink is a little less waterfast then I was hoping (necesitating a little bit of going back over some of the lines after it was dry), but it was an interesting learning experience. I also feel like If I'm going to be working on a small (sub-A5) canvas, it might benefit me to find a finer nib, or at least try and make some of the detail bigger! :D

Reasoning under the cut...

"The Gligglae, a lowly animal, gets its name from the evening, when it emerges."

- A lowly creature makes me think it's a small critter, reinforced by the knowledge that it clusters together in groups. We have some purple overlaying the blue of the sky, to indicate that dusk is falling and the Gligglae are becoming more active...

"It is a winged creature but also a four-footed one, and it has teeth, which you would not usually find in birds. It gives birth like a quadruped, not to eggs but to live young. It flies, but not on wings; it supports itself by making a rowing motion with its skin, and, suspended just as on wings, it darts around."

- Okay, does it have wings, or not? I suppose I could have interpreted it as having wings but not using them, which would have been interesting, but my thoughts inevitably turned to flying squirrels adn sugar gliders; floating in the air using a 'rowing motion with its skin' sounds like patagia... What with everything else and vivipary, I was definitely leaning towards something fuzzy and mammalian by default; we have no indication about the diet of this critter, so I could have gone either way with its teeth, but I ended up thinking that pointy insectivorous/marsupial teeth made more sense given no mention of rodents by the author (and they were also easier to draw, which didn't hurt!).

"There is one thing which these mean creatures do, however: they cling to each other and hang together from one place looking like a cluster of grapes, and if the last lets go, the whole group disintegrate; it is an act of love of a sort which is difficult to find among men."

- Cute! :) On the right, we can see a cluster of Gligglae starting to wake up. They are holding on to each other, and the ones at the bottom (or top, I suppose) of the pile are holding onto a branch of a tree - they must be able to hold on pretty tight in order to support the weight of all their friends, hence the large, prominent claws on each of its limbs...

Thanks again for the prompt @maniculum, and I hope you're starting to feel better!

[atwas-meme-ing]

Sometimes I see people complain about Eggman calling Sonic a rat or a rodent, saying how it doesn't fit with Eggman having a 300 IQ because surely someone with a 300 IQ would know that a hedgehog is a completely different family of animals than a rodent.

Like, DUH! Of course, EVERY version of Eggman knows he's not a rodent, that's the whole reason he calls him one! It's an insult, it's not meant to be true, it's meant to be demeaning. It's no different than Eggman originally being an insult- he's not an egg, he didn't come from an egg, he's just round and bald like an egg. Eggman knows hedgehogs aren't rodents, but since hedgehogs resemble porcupines, which are rodents, or even somewhat like spiky mice or rats, and since Sonic absolutely loathes being called a rodent, it was a fitting insult.

And then we get into Prime and they start throwing out all kinds of rodent insults. Like, they stick him in a hamster wheel. They call him a rabbit (possible Feels the Rabbit reference, definitely still calling him a rodent). One of them calls him a possum, which is a major insult, cuz even possums aren't rodents, they're marsupials- but they look like nothing more than some kind of giant, undead-looking rat-thing.

So, yeah, it's not in the least OOC for Eggman to call him a rodent. He's not being scientific, he's deliberately being vicious.

[tiddie-taylor]

here’s a few with various levels of silliness (this is just a few of my headcanons, cuz I’m getting eepy [its 2 AM in my timezone]).

Sadness and Fear are both therians (this may be slightly self-indulgent since I’m a therian myself). I imagine Sadness is an arctic fox therian while Fear I’m not too sure about his species. Maybe red panda or opossum? (He gives me those vibes) If they do have therian gear, the others know about it. (Because of how Fear jumps in that wifi modem video, it looks like he was doing a quadrobics jump. Sadness is just because of vibes only lol)

Disgust doesn’t like opossums because they remind her of that dead mouse that they all saw once. (Even though opossums have no relation to rodents, as opossums are actually marsupials!)

Anger has an unhealthy obsession with the concept of dragons and demons. He doesn’t try to like, actively make sure he gets to hell when he dies or something, he just researches them a lot and whatnot.

At least of the emotions is probably a furry. Who? Nobody can tell because if anyone was to make something like a fursuit head, eventually the others would find out, as there’s only so much room in headquarters to hide things. (Nobody has made any sort of item like that for that reason due to the potential awkwardness that would result from the others finding it.)

Bing Bong can chatter (y’know, that noise that cats do when they look at birds n stuff? The ekekekekek? Yeah that)

therian headcanon? That's actually so cool!! I've seen many different kinds of headcanons in my time but never a therian one /pos

I also like that idea, that anger is a fan of dragons and demons and stuff, very fitting to his fireiness XD /pos /lh

And one of the emotions being a furry is actually kind of interesting to think about tbh /pos

Also bing bong being able to chatter like cats is so real

I love the idea that bing bong does cat like things (since he is partially cat)

[encyclopika]

Animal Crossing Fish - Explained #228

Brought to you by a marine biologist and our last mammals...

CLICK HERE FOR THE AC FISH EXPLAINED MASTERPOST!

It's time we covered Chip and CJ, two beavers who hold the Fishing Tournaments in the AC franchise. Let's get into it!

From https://nookipedia.com/

Chip there on the right is an older beaver who has held the Fishing Tournaments in the AC series since the very beginning all the way until ACNH when his son, CJ, took over. Chip and CJ both host the Fishing Tourneys in Pocket Camp off and on. These special events allow players to fish and win great items they can't get any other way.

Beavers are in Class Mammalia - they have hair, are warm-blooded, and most importantly, feed their babies milk produced by an adult's mammary glands. Within this Class is the Order Rodentia, the order of rodents, which make up about 40% of all mammal species. However, I find that a lot of people confuse what is and isn't a rodent quite often - it feels like people classify something as a rodent as long as it's really small and furry (which is a mistake and we'll get back to that). Rodents are characterized by a single pair of continuously growing incisors on the upper and the lower jaw. If a rodent doesn't have anything to gnaw on, those incisor teeth can actually grow in dangerous ways and kill the animal if not treated. That being said, here is a short list of animals I hear people call "rodents" when they're not:

Bats - are NOT rodents. They are not "flying rats"; they are more closely related - and have almost the same dentition - as your dog. As primates, us humans are way more closely related to rats.

Moles, hedgehogs, and shrews - are NOT rodents. They belong to a separate Order between us and bats called Eulipotyphla.

Oppossums and possums - are NOT rodents - they are marsupials.

Rabbits and hares - are NOT rodents (they're Lagomorphs) but at least you were close, as they're sister groups.

Who is a rodent? Beavers, capybara, guinea pigs, hamsters, rats, mice, squirrels, marmots, chinchillas, etc etc etc. Many of these animals listed are common pets with relatively short lives. Despite their size and lifespan, they are a lot of work and are a commitment, so don't get one if you're looking for an "easy pet". No such thing.

So, yeah, "small and fuzzy" isn't a trait all rodents share. Beavers are some of the largest rodents in the world, with large individuals growing to about 70 lbs. (32 kg). They are not small.

Despite the way Chip looks at fish and alludes to the fact that he'll eat your fish when you aren't looking, beavers irl don't actually eat fish at all. Beavers are strictly herbivorous and feed on a wide variety of woody and aquatic plants. Despite the diversity of rodents, there are only 2 species of beaver in the world - the North American (Castor canadensis) and Eurasion (Castor fiber) beavers. Both species look very alike, so it's anyone's guess which exactly Chip and CJ are. Nevertheless, beavers boast one of the thickest and softest fur of any mammal, which wasn't great for them, as many populations were hunted extensively for the fur trade. Luckily, beavers are still considered Least Concern, with the both species having wide ranges across their home continents.

Beavers, like quite a few of their rodent cousins, like the capybara and muskrat, are semi-aquatic and are great swimmers. They have webbed back feet and can stay underwater for 15 minutes. They use this skill to their advantage by using water as a place to hide from their predators.

Look at him go!

The most incredible thing about beavers, though, is their engineering skills. Although not every beaver will build a dam, they have the skills and the tools (their teeth) to do so. And once they do, they create new wetland habitats I spoke about in this Museum Tour entry. Misconceptions about beaver dams are common, no thanks to the media image of the beaver. As I said before, not every beaver will build a dam - if they find a spot that provides quality swimming area and food, they're just as happy in a burrow on the water's edge. Beavers also don't live in the dam - that structure is actually to dam up a river and create the pond they use for protection. A beaver lodge is another structure all its own where the beavers live, have their babies, and hang out during winter (they don't hibernate). One structure can exist without the other. The lodge often has its entrance underwater so only the beaver family can get into the lodge. Beavers, though happy to munch on a great variety of plants, are actually picky about which plants are used for building and which ones are for eating. And last but not least, and certainly not exhaustive, beavers don't use their tails to build - the tail is for swimming, storing fat, and communicating with their family and other beavers. So, no, they don't use their tails to deliver or spread mud while building their dams, I'm sorry to say. Woulda been cute, though.

And there you have it. Fascinating stuff, no?

[grimsbygrovedrama]

I personally despise that gg calls folk opossum based when they all look like fucking mice, just call them marsupials or rodents instead because they sure as fuck don't look like opossums

.

[biglisbonnews]

Studying Australia's Feisty Northern Quolls Requires Beef Chum and Backpacks Australia’s northern quoll is, by all accounts, an unpleasant animal. The carnivorous marsupial, Dasyurus hallucatus, lives in isolated pockets in the country’s north and, at first glance, might be mistaken for some kind of rat or other rodent—until you notice all those sharp teeth, similar to those of a cat. Like cats, northern quolls are highly skilled nocturnal hunters, nabbing mostly insects, but also the occasional small mammal, bird, or reptile. They have an outsized reputation for “being lively and pugnacious,” says University of Queensland marsupial expert Diana Fisher. For example, in a 2018 Functional Ecology paper on northern quoll biomechanics, including the animals’ impressive bite force, the authors observed that their subjects “readily bit down on anything close to their mouths.” “We joke that they have ‘small man syndrome,’” says Joshua Gaschk, who studies animal movement at the University of the Sunshine Coast. Northern quolls are only about a foot long and max out at less than three pounds—the smallest of Australia’s four quoll species—but, says Gaschk, “They’re just an exceptionally vicious animal.” Gaschk knows from experience: He and his colleagues decided to fit several northern quolls with tiny felt backpacks. “They did not enjoy it,” he says. The backpacks carried accelerometers that collected information on how and when the quolls moved, including whether they were at rest or active. After retrieving as many of the backpacks as possible—it was “a bit of a struggle,” says Gaschk—and crunching the data, the team uncovered new clues to one of the northern quoll’s most unusual traits. But to get there, the scientists had to hike through the rugged bushland and rocky outcrops of Groote Eylandt, a large island off the coast of Australia’s Northern Territory, where daytime temps—even in winter, when the fieldwork was conducted—reached a sweltering 95 degrees Fahrenheit. The team endured biting ants, skin-shredding thorny plants, crocodiles, snakes, and packs of dingoes. And that was before they even reached their bitey, irritable subjects. Understanding how the endangered northern quoll behaves in its environment may be key to learning how to stabilize their numbers—but the team discovered something else along the way. In a recent Royal Society Open Science paper, Gaschk and his coauthors quantified for the first time something that researchers had suspected about the males of the species: During mating season, they spend significantly less time resting than females. While females rested 24 percent of their day, males took it easy a mere eight percent of the time, and instead traveled considerable distances—sometimes several miles—looking for love. Essentially, male northern quolls live fast and furious, mating as often and with as many females as they can in a single season. And then, sleep-deprived and weak, they drop dead. Northern quolls are among the handful of mammals that are semelparous, which means the males typically die after a single mating season, while the majority of females survive multiple mating seasons. “Many other animals, such as salmon, octopuses, and spiders, use semelparity as their breeding strategy,” says Julie Old, a comparative immunology and mammal biology expert at Western Sydney University who was not involved with the new paper. Old works with red-tailed phascogales, an Australian marsupial that’s much smaller than the northern quoll and, as she notes, “truly semelparous.” While scientists doing long-term studies of northern quolls occasionally come across a male who survives to a second mating season, red-tailed phascogales are decidedly one-and-done. Although semelparity in mammals is rare, Old says, “It’s just a different method of reproduction.” All or most of the males dying after mating may free up resources such as food and nesting sites for females and their offspring. In semelparous species, success for males is not measured by longevity, but rather by the number of offspring. University of Queensland’s Fisher, who was not involved in the Groote Eylandt research but works closely with some of the paper’s coauthors, compares northern quolls with another semelparous, carnivorous marsupial: antechinus, a roughly rat-sized animal whose reproductive strategies have been extensively studied. “Antechinus males try to out-mate other males rather than fighting,” Fisher says. As the antechinus males mate frantically day and night, their stress hormones and testosterone increase, they deplete their energy, their immune systems collapse, and they die from internal bleeding or infection. But, Fisher adds, “Males that die sooner are actually more successful.” While, as Fisher notes, the new paper hints at similarities in how northern quolls and antechinus males “deplete their body reserves to gain a mating advantage,” its appears unlikely that the same thing is happening physiologically in both species. The spikes in stress hormones seen in antechinus males, for example, have not been observed in northern quolls. Instead, the quolls suffer symptoms similar to those experienced by rodents in sleep deprivation studies. “I don’t think this gives us the full picture of what’s happening, but it definitely adds to the information,” Old says of the new paper. “We have so much more to learn.” The new study offers promising leads for additional research, but it’s just one facet of Gaschk’s work. In fact, the quoll semelparity paper was almost an accident. “At heart, I’m an animal biomechanist,” he says. One particular area of interest is how prey moves in relation to predators. Having just completed a similar study on feral cats, he wanted to compare their movements to those of northern quolls, which are often hunted by the felines. Logistical issues delayed the planned fieldwork until the quolls’ mating season, however, which afforded the scientists an unexpected opportunity. The Groote Eylandt research began with setting out dozens of traps, each baited with beef-flavored Chum, an Australian dog food brand. “That’s the thing the quolls love the most,” says Gaschk. He pauses, contemplative. “It’s not a great name.” Once trapped, the animals were fitted with the small felt backpacks—carefully—and then released back into the wild. The team then tried to recatch the quolls using the same method; they recovered about half of the devices, each with hours or days of data, depending on how long it took to retrap the animal. About a dozen more minipacks fell off before they could be retrieved, though one was later found by a local in her backyard. When fitting or removing the tiny packs, to avoid stressing the animals or getting bit, the team worked in pairs and kept the quolls’ faces covered as much as possible. “As soon as you cover their face, they’re like oh, I’m in a burrow, I’m okay, life’s good,” says Gaschk. He dodged being bitten during the fittings, but one northern quoll in the field gave him “a glancing bite” that he won’t soon forget: “It didn’t do much, but I felt it.” Another team member was not so lucky: A quoll bit him on the hand, with a sharp tooth “punching a hole right through the fingernail,” Gaschk says. Gaschk didn’t make it through the study unscathed, however. He recalls a particularly steep, rocky outcrop that was “a bit sketchy” climbing up, and very sketchy getting down while carrying two trapped quolls in thick, pillowcase-like bags. Gaschk slipped and landed on a young pandanus bush, which was full of sharp spines. “My hand was just shredded,” he says, recalling the pain of pulling out the embedded spines. “But I saved the animals. They didn’t get squished.” Some of the traps were set near watering holes frequented by crocodiles, and, on more than one occasion, Gaschk and his trapping partner were stalked by small packs of dingoes. “One dingo is not a threat … but two or three of them are,” he says. “It sounded like someone driving a car through the bush.” Aware of the various dangerous animals in the environment, “the biggest fright I got was in a dense bush area when I heard this thing, it sounded like someone driving a car through the bush,” Gaschk says. Crocodile? No. His smile turns sheepish. “It was just a big bandicoot,” he admits. The long-snouted marsupials reach lengths of only a couple feet, and, while they are omnivorous, they do not eat scientists. Sometimes, however, the scientists helped themselves to the local wildlife. Gaschk recalls how some field sites on the island were densely wooded with eucalypt and melaleuca, others thick with tall grasses “absolutely filled with (biting) weaver ants. “They stick onto you really well,” he adds. “They’ll be all over you when you’re out in the bush.… All of a sudden one’s creeped into a really soft spot, like under your armpit or in your groin, and starts nipping you and it really hurts.” Gaschk pauses. “They taste like limes. I was munching on them as much as they were munching on me. Just as revenge.” https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/australia-northern-quoll