#two possums in a coat

[slocumjoe]

Florence @ Isadora; fellow girl boss, very much accepts her as a peer and values her work, even if she thinks Isa is a little idealistic sometimes, bonds over makeup and murdering their enemies

Florence @ Augustijn;

[makethatelevenrings]

Rest // D. Grayson x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: illness, mentions of child assassins, not Titans!verse I just think Brenton is pretty

Summary: You’re feeling sick but refuse to admit you are. Damian intervenes and makes sure Dick is aware of the problem.

This is apart of Assassin!verse that you can read here

You had been shot, stabbed, poisoned, thrown through windows, and broken numerous bones, but for some reason, this sore throat was going to be the end of you. When you woke up that morning, it started as a simple scratchy throat that had bloomed into some demonic rash of pain that coated your throat and made every swallow feel like knives scraping against your skin.

“You are unwell,” Damian observed. You ignored him in favor of jabbing the small needle through the taut fabric and tugging it down. Cass had recommended embroidery as a hobby you should try out and you found that it was soothing, fun, and an outlet for you. After spending years surrounded by silence and met with anger if you spoke out of turn, sometimes you needed to retreat from the constant noise of the Wayne Manor.

While you had your apartment in Bludhaven, some problems in Gotham required the both of you, and Haley of course, to stay at the Manor for a few days.

Where two of the family members attended school and the others interacted with the public every single day.

So, of course, you got sick.

You stabbed the point into the fabric once more and pulled it taut. You hoped that Tim would like the screaming possum design you were making for him. He loved sending you those memes and delighted in the fact that he gets to teach you about memes and pop culture.

“I’m fine.” You internally winced at how rough your voice sounded. Nothing screamed “picture of health” more than sounding like you were choking on gravel. Your head pounded, the ache radiating at your temples and along the sides, and your nose felt like cotton was shoved up there. All in all, you felt miserable. All you wanted to do was go back to the queen sized mattress shoved in Dick’s old bedroom and sleep for a thousand years.

But Dick, Bruce, and Tim were all making appearances at a gala to collect intel and you needed to stay awake so you could assist if something happened. What if the gala was under attack? Or what if they needed a quick getaway? Or what if-

The couch dipped as Damian crawled onto the cushion next to you. He settled in comfortably, Alfred the cat resting comfortably in his arms, and blinked up at you with those wide eyes of his. You set your embroidery down and gave him your full attention.

While Dick was your closest friend, companion, and lover, Damian understood you better than anyone aside from Cass. Damian knew what it was like to be trained from a young age. When Dick first brought you to Wayne Manor, bloodied and weak and still as fiercely on guard, Damian was the first person to gain your trust aside from Dick. And if this kid was your boyfriend’s brother, then dammit, he was your little brother too.

“When I first came to live with Father, he sat me down one day and told me that it is one thing to know when to be on guard and ready. But it’s another thing to live your life always on edge waiting for the next attack. Father helped me realize that I was living my life feeling like I was never safe made me sure that I would never be safe. He assured me that he and the family would never let anything happen to me.”

Your mind was cloudy with fatigue and fever, but you nodded slowly as you tried to grasp what he meant. “Okay…?”

Damian turned to face you fully, the little tuxedo cat in his lap snuggling in closer to his owner’s arms. “We would never let anything happen to you or to one another. You can rest.”

You swallowed painfully against your aching throat and offered him a tight smile. “Thank you, Dami. I’m fine.”

He huffed and climbed off the couch. “You’re not fine. I am telling Pennyworth.”

“Don’t!” The exclamation left you so quickly that he looked at you with more concern than before. “He’s busy right now. He doesn’t need to be bothered with a little sniffle. Please don’t tell him. I swear I’m fine.”

He stared at you, doubt written all over his face, and then sighed. “You are more stubborn than Richard. It’s a miracle the two of you get anything done.”

With that, Damian and Alfred the cat exited the room. Silence fell over the leather furniture and aging books once more. You inhaled deeply, fighting against the stabbing pain of your sinuses, and focused on your embroidery once more.

It wasn’t a half hour before the door to the library flew open. Dick strode in, impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. Damian. That little rat.

“I’m fine!” you insisted. Damian peeked out from around the doorframe and you, the adult, stuck your tongue out at him. He merely smirked and disappeared, probably to go find his next victim.

“Richard, I am fine,” you snapped. He ignored your protests and laid the back of his hand against your cheek before doing the same to your forehead. You shuddered at the cool touch of his skin against yours and he immediately stepped back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dick demanded.

“Because I knew you would blow it out of proportion and make a big deal out of nothing,” you retorted.

“You’re burning up. And Damian said your lungs rattled a bit when you took a breath.”

“Damian’s a trained liar.”

“Stop with the bullshit!” His outburst caused you to pause. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. You had been in much worse condition than a little cold.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” you said quietly. Therapy with Dinah was helping you express your emotions, as she said. It helped in times like this. Dick’s face crumpled and then he pulled on the mask of assuredness that you were used to seeing. He crouched down so you were face to face rather than him towering over you.

“You don’t have to act like everything is fine, Buttercup. You’re allowed to let your guard down. You’re allowed to get sick.”

“But I can’t,” you blurted out. “If I’m sick and you or one of the others needs me-”

“We have legions of people that can help us,” he interrupted. Dick reached up to gently cup your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You are allowed to rest.”

“My head hurts,” you admitted.

He smiled that crooked grin of his and you shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. He stroked gentle lines across your face and of course he was still there once you opened your eyes once more.

“I’m tired.”

He stood, his hand falling from your cheek and entangling itself with your free hand. You set the embroidery down on the coffee table and stood. Before you could take one step, Dick swept you into his arms and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.

“You realize that I’m going to coddle you until you’re back to normal?”

You tightened your grip on his neck and grinned. “Can we watch Riverdale?”

“I’m going to throw Timmy off of a fucking roof for introducing you to that show.”

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @bunny-kawa​ @khaylin27​

[sonicasura]

Biological Complications of Being A Kaiju

Here we are with my personal thoughts on the possible biological changes done to Kaiju No. 8's Kafka Hibino. I will be talking about different biology such as reproductive amongst others things. Fair warning that shit will get weird. (Nothing is sacred with kaiju.) Now let's get started.

Kafka's kaiju form has traits seen from various different animals mainly reptiles and sharks. His hide acts closer to that of the Nurse Shark with some traits of marine iguanas alongside poisonous frogs. Thanks to this, he can secrete substances like poison or liquid waste from his entire body. (Kafka doesn't fully know this because otherwise the man would never use his nips like THAT again.)

Similar to Marine Iguanas, his kaiju side is an very adept swimmer. Kafka's average speed can be clocked around 80mph in water but he could go even faster by manifesting a tail and webbing his hands/feet. The awkward shape of his neck conceals special gils that filters out water or harmful gases.

Kafka is cold blooded to a degree. He prefers seeking out warmth by sunbathing but it'll take constant extreme cold to make him hibernate. Attempts to force him into such a state will result in his kaiju side growing thick fur similar to polar bears as a defense mechanism. This coat being shed off over the course of Spring and regrown during the fall.

Kafka's body will adapt under extremely stressful situations. These particular changes can be difficult to near impossible for him to will away as they were done by Tiny(Mosquito Kaiju). Pecking order involving alterations to their kaiju form: Tiny, Kafka, Ai.

Fangs are very similar to that of any shark. Should Kafka lose any then new ones normally grow in after two minutes. His jaw strengthens matches that of an alligator mixed with a snapping turtle. Unless Kafka lets go then breaking his teeth is the only way to free oneself. Although the fangs will be embedded in his victim as a way to cripple them.

Kafka has a tendency to shed his scales from time to time. A normal process as its a way for his body to naturally dispose of the dead ones. Losing large patches occurs from either sickness or bi-annual molting.

Similar to a lizard, Kafka can climb and hang on different surfaces. His claws are perfect to retain his grip should the climbing target be slippery or someone tries to pull him off. If push comes to shove, one adaptation Kafka can use is camouflage similar to a chameleon.

*Reproductive Section is here. You can skip this as nothing new is past it.*

Reproductive organs are still present even in kaiju form. Similar to a lizard, Kafka's genitals are hidden behind a cloaca for protection. His kaiju form comes with both sets of reproductive organs i.e male and female.

The species are highly adaptive when it comes to keeping their population numbers stable. Kafka wasn't exactly happy to learn about this change. Especially since most kaiju are the egg laying type, his included.

Should conception occur then at least 3-5 eggs are laid after 3 weeks. During that time period, Kafka will eat twice his body weight and be quite aggressive around unfamiliar faces. A nest is also made from various bedding materials like pillows, blankets, to even mattresses.

Eggs will hatch in the span of 4-7 weeks. Newborn hatchlings are the size of kittens and have small fangs as they only feed on meat or fish at this age. They age at the same rate humans do thus reach full maturity in around 20 years. All of them will have a human form and obtain it at the 4-5 year mark.

Similar to a possum, Kafka will carry any whelp he has on his back. His instincts make it difficult for him to leave them alone for too long until they are at least 3 months old. It'll take some heavy persuasion from anyone close to Kafka to have someone babysit for him during that time period.

Experimenting with Kaiju biology is quite the acid trip, huh?

[fishy0bishy]

Mission upcoming

AN:after a minute of bringing up Mrs.Unamed and at one drawing I did of her and Merrit fighting reunited I wrote a little something leading up to that fight (long way of saying I wrote Merrit lore.)

also all of North’s crew is here! And Gilded!

Start of something bigger.

It was a cozy evening and Lizzy was wandering about and stumbling on Merrit in her lab making and testing some Filter soil but before doing or saying anything Merrit pauses and goes “Goggles and coat before doing anything in here”. 

Lizzy rolls her eyes and puts on the gear “what did ya parents told you to do the same thing beforehand?”

  Merrit smiles and nonchalantly goes “Nope never knew them. But my grandma and my other caretaker did” 

Merrit pointing at two photos on a bulletin board. One image is of two tiny elderly women, one a ferret and the other a possum. But the other photo is blurred by a drink spill stain but Lizzy could still make out ferrets one with creme colored fur and the other brown colored.

  Lizzy blinks at the photo and turns saying “wait what? You don’t seem like a person to have as trauma as everyone else on this ship.” Merrit exclaims and shakes her head

 “Woah woah it’s not like that. I just never knew them and I don’t mind it. All I know is that they’re space riders so I assumed they were always busy” 

“But wouldn’t you see them even when you became a space rider?”

“Someone is getting curious are we? You can ask poppy when we’re at HQ”

“We’ll I’m just say-“

Before the conversation (or questioning if you will) continues North interrupts by loudly knocking on the door and yells “Mission time! Suit up we got a big boss on our hands!” 

 Both Merrit and Lizzy look at the other and they go to the halls removing their Lab gear and Merrit going to her locker to change up and Lizzy leaving with north but a time skip and the whole crew is meeting up and discussing plans. the first to speak up is Zane “i heard we have a big boss what’s that about?” North smiles and leads by excitedly going “I found a lead with the cult and I’ve tracked down a High ranking member! There’s no photos of her, not a lot of information well except that she leads supply raids from our docks and only seen a total of 2 times within 22 years that she’s appeared and apparently there’s a urban legend about her!”

 “Woah she’s pretty tough and sneaky if there isn’t anything about her!” Jaz exclaims and stares at an artist rendition of the woman. A red cloaked figure with a twisted smile and crème colored ears sticking out the hood. But North nudges Lizzy’s shoulder and asks “Hey you were a high member ever seen them. If you don’t mind answering of course.” 

“A please would work but sure-“ Lizzy looks at the photo and her ears raise up and turns back to north pointing to the photo going “you do know who you’re dealing with? I dunno if the urban legend said something but she’s crazy scary. Even I didn’t get buddy buddy with her.”

They all stare at Lizzy till Zelda breaks the silence and tells North “what’s the legend about? Can’t be that bad.” 

“Well from what I gathered from Poppy apparently this lady used to be a space rider. A very honorable one as well. And she had a husband who’s was a medic in the crew she was in but he also disappeared but myth states they had a child but I couldn’t find anything on files dealing with Rider disappearances. Except the crew Zane’s mother was in. The room immediately goes quiet and they all give each other looks but Merrit speaks up “are we even qualified? Sure we are B+ rank but this woman is maybe a S rank cultist. And remember what happened with Gilded.” 

  Jaz teases Merrit and North by saying “oh the cultists that Merrit has the doki dokis for and the one who whooped North?”

 “Jaz this is serious.. but yeah you’re right…But let’s head out crew we don’t wanna lose track of this woman” “oh changing the subject so quick boss? Sunny remarks as the meeting ends with everyone nodding their heads and the crew leaving to their bikes flying to the upcoming red filled planet.Lizzy and Sparky waving bye waiting for their return. 

Meanwhile Mrs.Unamed with a treat left by a certain kitsune (cough cough @truelazymaker )

All Ocs Belomg to the listed!:

NorthHeat(@north-heats-stronghold) Lizzy and Sunny(@novalizinpeace) Jaz(@fanofanythingsblog)

Zelda and Sparky(@fandomssvetlanafrom) Zane(@moonspiritleaf) And finally Gilded(@qxurugosk)

And this Au Belongs to @onyxonline!

[christian-oc-tournament]

I don't know how much we're meant to share as oc propaganda, so this might be too much? But I've rewritten a lot of Ahleri's character and worldbuilding since submitting 😅

Ahleri is a 19 year old who grew up on a farm in the mountains of Strahna, an Australian-inspired continent on a world called Lhoam. Her family raises jumbucks, (otherwise called woolly jumpers) which are large marsupials resembling quokkas with sheep-like coats. Ourem is one of their livestock guardians, who helps keep predators away and herd the woolsies.

Due to her upbringing she has loads of practical farm skills, along with a lot of general outdoorsy survival knowledge. She's also very skilled at the high quality textile work which her town is know for, like spinning, weaving and embroidery. She loves animals and the outdoors, but isn't fond of being cooped up inside unless she's busy with her textile work.

While out bushwalking she stumbles on the lost Hero's Bonds, two thick gold bracelet-like bands joined together. Without realising what they are, she jokingly puts her hands in them and they "bond" down onto her wrists and grow into her body. The Hero's Bonds give her various abilities, like heightened strength, speed and agility, along with being able to make a shield and "store" objects (like video game storage).

Unfortunately for her they come with weighty responsibilities and a very changeable in-built personality named Berianthari, Bertie for short. Bertie is mostly goofy and kinda stupid and unhelpful most of the time, but can occasionally switch to biting, sarcastic and irritable, with moments of incredible intelligence in between. If she makes a visible appearance it's usually as a gold light shaped like a fairy wren or willy wagtail.

Ahleri's generally very confident, friendly and laid back, chill in the fact of danger or problems and very good at thinking on the fly in rough situations. Loves to help others in practical ways and solve issues. Usually kind, she can be a bit amused and blasé when other people are scared or upset about something she thinks is nothing to worry about. Finds ignorance in others or lack of practical skills both amusing and a bit irritating. Prefers to laugh or shrug off inconveniences. Quite stubborn when convinced she's right, and not the most sensitive to other people's emotions. Hard to make really angry but once enraged is explosive and terrifying.

She loves to good naturedly tease and wind people up, and is especially fond of telling yarns, getting people to believe in harmless lies (think drop bears etc, except those ARE real in her world lol). Messing with or impressing the politicians and aristocracy she's forced to mingle with by playing up her "feral country jilleroo" persona is a favourite way of coping with the stress of her new position.

Generally accompanied by Nimble, a little scruffy golden brushtail possum-like creature she saved as a baby who is curious and naughty. She's told a lot of dignitaries wild stories about how she got that scar over her mouth, but the truth is that it was Nimble clawing at her when she saved him as a joey.

Conell is her assigned guard and one of her main fighting tutors, while Zhahara is her palace etiquette coach and general handler. Basically it's their job to teach her her duties as Hero.

Ahleri and Conell have a bit of a mutual pining situation going on 👀

.

[kolcheksluver]

Frank, while he doesn't seem like it, has a nightmare of Lambert killing Joey who's right in the bed next to him, sound asleep and he's extra clingy and just doesn't let her leave his sight. And kisses. Like forhead while she's still asleep to reassure and actual kisses when she's awake

NIGHTMARES — A ONE SHOT.

characters mentioned: Ana Lucia Cruz / Joey, Adam Barrett / Frank, Lambert, Abigail, Lazar, Caleb Cruz.

overview: In reality she looked up at him, drenched to the bone in blood from both Sammy and Lambert shaking and carefully reaching for the stake, and Frank would tilt his head and ask, “The fuck are you doing? Get up, we’re leaving before Fancy Nancy and her father decide to show their ugly faces,” but now Joey wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t reaching for the stake, she wasn’t fearful that he had turned on her.

Joey wasn’t moving at all, actually.

words: 771

warnings: None just a blood mention. Sorry for the delay!! Writing under the cut per usual, enjoy.

Sleeping at night wasn’t something Frank much needed anymore. Throughout the day was another thing but at night he usually stayed awake as Joey rested, her head against his arm. He often lost feeling in it but he didn’t care. As long as she slept soundly he would be alright. Sometimes he would doze off but it was very rare. The city was loud at night and with his enhanced senses it was hard for him to fall asleep.

Frank didn’t even remember falling asleep but when he opened his eyes he was back in that damned mansion’s control room with that two - timing bastard Lambert. He had found himself thinking about that night often but not once did he turn up in his dreams. His eyes were trained not on his face but his hands which were wrapped tightly around Joey’s neck squeezing in an unrelenting grip. Her face was red as she was helplessly pawing at his arms to pull him away to no avail.

He took a deep breath as she offered a weak plea of his name which was something he thought about a lot, but it was mostly what came after. He was rooted in selfishness so why he had given up his humanity for her remained a mystery to them both but one thing was for sure; he would do it again given the chance.

“Fuck it,” he had said with a relatively straight face as if to not give away that he was plotting against him. “Bite me.”

Frank could’ve winced when Lambert had let go of Joey, damn near bashing her head on the wall and she collapsed. The rest of the dream played out how the situation went down except for one variable — Joey. In reality she looked up at him, drenched to the bone in blood from both Sammy and Lambert shaking and carefully reaching for the stake, and Frank would tilt his head and ask, “The fuck are you doing? Get up, we’re leaving before Fancy Nancy and her father decide to show their ugly faces,” but now Joey wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t reaching for the stake, she wasn’t fearful that he had turned on her.

Joey wasn’t moving at all, actually.

Frank furrowed his eyebrows and gave her leg a light kick, “Joey. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” No response. “We don’t have the fucking time to play possum, Joey, get up.” When she didn’t respond again he started to get a bit worried, slightly. Frank knelt down and lightly shook her. “Ana?” He reached for her head and on his hand was a fresh coat of blood that was not there prior. When the realization set in he shook his head, moving to carry her in his arms if he had to. “No, no, no .. you are not fucking dying here. Y’know how annoying it’ll be to explain why you’re so fucking bloody to a morgue?” When the door to the control room opened, that's when Frank finally woke up.

He would’ve sat upright had it not been for the weight of Joey’s head against his arm.

The weight.

The weight of Joey.

The weight of Joey’s head against his arm.

He looked over at her and in an attempt to be discreet, gently set two fingers on the pulse in her neck. It was slow but it was there. She was fine. She was alive. She was sleeping. Frank relaxed slightly but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something would happen to her, so he carefully moved Ana so that she was gently pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around her protectively, that way nobody could touch her.

Not Lambert, not angelina ballerina, and certainly not Lazar. It was just them. Joey, in his arms, Frank holding her, and Caleb in his room down the hall fast asleep. He placed a hesitant kiss to the top of his head and felt a shift in his arms.

“What’re you doing?”

Fuck, he woke her up.

“Nothin’,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “You rolled over is all.”

The state of them could have been near impossible if it were Joey who had just rolled over into his arms but she wasn’t even fully awake so he doubted she would cue in on that. “I did?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep, Ana.”

Despite his hearing he didn’t catch what she said before she pulled the covers more over them and went back to bed. Frank took a deep breath. He was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.

Just a stupid fucking nightmare. What was he, twelve?

[thelemonsnek]

[id: five photos, the first two of marker drawings and the last three sketches done in pen. The first two photos show a Torracat yelling, a Wurmple sleeping, and two Joltiks.

The third sketch page includes a human pokemon oc, Sol, who is a white person with their hair shaved on one side, and wears a long black coat with stripes on the sleeves. The first sketch shows them smiling, and another of Sol with a Torracat perched on their shoulders. There are also two sketches of a Galvantula, another Torracat, and two of a Zoroark, one somewhat ominous labeled "what the dog doin".

The next sketch page shows a Hisuian Lilligant, named Phyll. The first couple drawings are fairly on model before it starts to diverge with unique traits. One sketch shows her alongside either Ingo or Emmet (impossible to tell) with greatly exaggerated shoe sizes, labeled in all caps, "clown shoes". There are also a couple sketches of a Hisuian Goodra.

The final sketch page has several possums, one walking, two screaming, and one curled up holding its tail. There is also a fifth incomplete sketch. End id]

Some misc sketches I've done lately :]

[c0zmo-writes]

Hello! I was inspired by the always amazing @possum-quesadilla to write some details, background stuff, and other little notes for my harpy Beetlejuice fanfiction, Birds of a Feather. This is just chapter one for now.

Chapter 1- Feathered Finds

“It had what was either a scraggly beard or lichen on its face. Maybe both?”

Beej has plant life growing on his body! He could be his own little forest if he wanted to.

“My name is Shilo. I study cryptids and monsters. Ever since I found out that a harpy lived in the deepest part of these woods eight years ago, I dedicated my life to finding it! Yes, I moved to the woods and built my own house here, and yes, all my friends and family think I’m crazy, and yes, they tried to get me diagnosed with something, but it’s all been worth it! I knew you were real! Oh, what’s your name by the way?”

Fun fact: Shilo is autistic and has ADHD! She is also a big infodumper. She either talks to herself a bit, doesn’t talk for three days straight, or never stops talking. She’s just like me fr.

“And to answer your other questions, first, because when I get focused on a project, I get focused, and I’ve been interested in cryptids and monsters my whole life.”

Special interest moment !!

“Shilo wanted to fight back, wanted to argue that she didn’t wait this long searching for him just to not be able to publish her findings,”

By “publishing her findings”, Shilo was really planning on screaming about Beej on Reddit. I love this nerdy mad scientist loser girl <3333

“Before she could change her mind, Shilo wrapped her arms as far as she could around the harpy. He smelled of roadkill and pine sap. His soft chest feathers tickled her nose and she held her breath as his body stiffened.”

Is it a good idea to hug a large forest bird monster that you’ve just met? Probably not. Not that Shilo cares. 

“You, my feathered friend, are a whopping seven feet and two inches tall!”

He’s a tall boy!! Even larger than the average male harpy (based on my slightly modified version of the species at least)! I wonder if there’s a reason behind that…

“Yeah? What, is parrot Shilo comin’ back again? If she is, you should dress the part. You’d look good in a bit of color.” He gestured to her current attire, a long sleeved black undershirt, ratty lab coat that looked older than time itself, and some black pants, stained with grass and grime”

All of her clothes are either stained or dirty. This girl is Not Good at keeping up with laundry.

“I dunno about immortal, ‘cause my mom definitely wasn’t. I guess I just have a long life span? I never really questioned it.”

…

“Wow!” Shilo stretched the word out, speaking a few octaves higher than normal. “That’s… such an interesting answer!” Beetlejuice didn’t seem to see her discomfort.”

Shilo isn’t amazing at picking up social skills, but Beetlejuice is worse.

“It was populated with tables, corkboards, and journals. So. Many. Journals.”

She has around 50-ish journals. She’s written in about 34. She’s actually completed about 10.

“He kept roaming the lab, sniffing at books, tables, and walls. From upstairs, he could hear the quiet clattering of what he assumed were pots and pans. He crawled onto the mattress and inhaled deeply. It smelled like her. Sweat, earth, and something vaguely floral. He liked that. He nuzzled against her pillow a bit,”

Sensory input is incredibly important to him, especially scents and sounds! He’s got a very sensitive nose and ears.

“SALMON!!!” Beetlejuice leapt up from his spot on the floor and lunged for Shilo. In his rush, he bit down on both the salmon and the plate, narrowly avoiding Shilo’s finger.”

Poor guy was starving :(

“He tried to sit down the way Shilo did, but his wings got in the way. After a bit of struggling, he stood up, made a low growling sound in the back of his throat, then kicked the chair over in a rage, sending it flying.”

When you try to fit in with your new friend but you’ve got two heavy duty feather dusters permanently strapped to your back.

“He jerked his head up, face smeared red with raspberry carnage.”

I picture him looking like a baby eating cake for the first time. 

“A soft purring sound emitted from him as he dozed off again. Shilo made a mental note to write about that as she ran her fingers through his crest of hair, eventually joining him in slumberland.”

Despite being half bird, Beetlejuice purrs like a cat!! His feathers and hair are also very soft and fluffy! 

[zoguy1]

Trollsona

Decided to post a detailed post about my sona's design, incase if anyone wants to draw them.

Nick named ZoTroll.

My trollsona is a rock troll that was adopted by Pop at the age of 6, and once Trollstopia was established, they've grown a liking to Techno.

I have two designs for my sona. The canon compliant and the fanon designs.

Canon compliant has reddish gray skin and a more reddish nose with brown hair that has a massive swoop that was inspired by Ariel's hair from The Little Mermaid, a red dyed streak in their hair, and red eyebrows. They wear a black choker and a light green shirt with a dark blue heart over the chest that matches their dark blue shorts. Overtop the shirt, they wear a red glittery sweatshirt with white accents. Attached to the coat is a techno-inspired tail that is a dark blue to light cyan gradient and bright cyan pixels scattered about in random order. On their feet, they wear rainbow socks. Though the rainbow socks in the canon-compliant picture aren't toe-less, I prefer the toe-less socks. I also prefer the green eyes over the red eyes.

The fanon design is very similar to the canon-compliant design, with the major difference being that I have simple tabby cat stripes that are a darker color than the skin, green catlike eyes, paw pads that are the same color as the nose, white claws, and a possum tail that stays hidden when the Techno tail attachments are equipped.

[suspiciousjello]

Junkenstein’s most prized possession isn’t a creation…

A/N: Greetings lovelies! I wrote this SEVERAL years ago and for whatever reason just felt like finally "publishing" it. I hope that this will be an interesting read, despite my pathetic grasp on proper grammar and punctuation. It does have more chapters so if it's well received, I can post what I have of this self indulgent story. Also I should mention that this is most definitely my interpretation of Junkrat from highschool (I had a massive crush on him) so please be kind.

Tw: mentioned blood from injury, anxiety, mentioned thunder

Chapter 0: An unusual source of aide…

Angry grey clouds loomed above, blanketing the sky in warning of the imminent. Having been running for what felt like hours, your lungs burned as though they had inhaled layers of nicotine coated smoke. Breath heavy, and chest heaving in an attempt to regain stability, your eyes trail around the surrounding woods,darkness inhibiting most of it. As the first tear drops of rain fell cold against your cheek, a bellowing clap of thunder ripped through the sky. A terrified scream elicited from your chapped lips, in response to the angry cries of the heavens and your eyes search more frantically for cover. With the brief flash of light from above, an old tree revealed its gaping hole calling for you to take refuge inside, away from the storm.

Steps all too eager, the searing pain of large thorns taking purchase in the soft flesh of your right calf pulls another wail from your body and you lug your now seemingly two ton weight, into the safety of the hole in the rugged tree. Pulling your legs in toward your chest, the warm blood of your fresh wound trickling down your icy skin. Tears fell down your cheeks due not only to the new found pain in your leg, but also over the fear of storms you had accrued as a child and sadly the claws of that fear never loosened their grip, even now in your adult years… *Stomp, ka-thunk! Stomp, Ka-thunk!* the sound of presumably footsteps, coupled with clanking metal pried you from your thoughts and you swore you could hear a faint voice in the distance likely belonging to the person trampling around in the dark, steps disrupting the water laden soil. Nothing they said was comprehensible but seeing as you didn’t know the identity of said person, you opted to pretend you weren’t in your hiding spot, in hopes you would remain unfound.

Hurried thoughts becoming blurred as the temperature of your form seemed to spike in spite of the frigid rain still pounding down against the softened soil in rage. Your attempts to see anything in the surrounding area futile as the bleary film of a fever muddied your senses. A blue glow barely registering coupled with the sound of the footsteps from mere moments ago becoming more and more prominent. Praying to God that you wouldn’t die, as you tried to huddle into a tighter form. The remains of your energy, distracted you from the fact that the footsteps had stopped. Vision impaired by your arms serving to cover your face, and pillow your heavy head, meant that the blue glow now impressively bright above you, was unnoticed. Heavy breathing from above you and the screeching of metal protesting against the weight of whatever it supported as said figure bent, squatting down to observe your weakened body. “Hoggy, oi think we gots a live one…poor possum looks worn out” a strangely distorted voice commented in regards to you. The companion of the voice merely grunting, and offered no other response. “ Take our finds, and ‘ead back to tha’ lab. Oim gonna try ta git possum ‘ere to tha ‘ouse, reckon that gash in ‘er leg gonna git infected if oi don’ ” The voice gently ordered, once again receiving another grunt but not seeming to take any mind to the wordlessness of said companion.

Footsteps with exceptional weight, fading away into the rainfall. Metal screeched again as its owner leaned forward, the sound of cloth being removed, lead to a large heap of fabric covering your icy form, and two hands made contact with your body the only barrier between you being what you would later realize, was a cotton lab coat. It probably started out white, but had become more so a cream with age, and consistent use. Your body now snuggly swaddled in the large coat against a warm chest that housed a heart beating at the pace of a skittish hare. The blue glow from tubes of chemicals, strapped on either side of him prominent from both sides, and supplementing more heat to defrost your body. He had covered your head with the collar of the lab coat leaving himself exposed to the elements. Had your mind not been incapacitated, you would’ve fought this person, but something deep down whispered that you were in safe hands, and allowed you to decompress in the arms of your hobbling Samaritan.

The fog in your head kept you from realizing how long he had been walking, but when your mind faded into temporary consciousness, you noticed that your head was being cradled carefully between the neck and shoulder of your new found helper. Gentle vibrations from his throat as he hummed something incomprehensible, the tune lulling you straight back into the darkness of sleep. When you awoke, you were on a bed, your previous clothes removed, replaced by a simple pale lavender hospital gown. Taking in your new surroundings, your eyes flitted around the room in fear of the unknown territory you found yourself in. Sitting up quickly, you feel a wet cloth fall from your forehead, into your lap lamely and the coolness of the air touching your once covered forehead, sending a chill down your spine. The crackle of a warm fire in the stone framed fireplace distracted you from the rain pelting against the window as howling wind suggested the storm would continue for some time to come.

The rest of the room was lackluster in appearance, clearly not having been used for quite some time. Despite that, there was evidence of someone’s rushed attempts to make it habitable. “...Hello?” you croaked, throat parched from the fever which had thankfully broken while you had been asleep. There was no direct answer, but you strained to hear the faint echoes of the voice you vaguely recalled hearing earlier in the evening, when you were first discovered. Daring to move your legs from under the covers, your now active nerves scorn your movement, as a reminder of your wounded leg. Hissing in pain you relent in trying to move your right leg, and use your arms and left leg to awkwardly shuffle in the bed so you faced the door. You pulled the lab coat that had served as a blanket covering you, around your frame before inspecting your wounded leg finding it had been bandaged and some sort of salve had been applied to presumably, prevent infection. The bandaging had been dressed with practiced hands and neatly clasped so as not to disrupt the now tarnished flesh.

Who could’ve possibly done this? And where were your proper clothes? You pondered, thoughts consuming you to the point of noticing all too late, that there was a monstrous figure looming in the doorway. When you noticed said figure, you released a bloodcurdling scream, spooking the lumbering monster into taking a few startled steps backward, breathing in deep huffs almost like…a pig? But pigs don’t stand on two feet, nor are they green! And they certainly don’t stand over 7 feet tall! Where on earth had you been taken to?! In your terror you attempted to run despite having nowhere to hide, limping quickly to a corner of the cold cobble floor and covered you head with your hands and the lab coat, shaking like a leaf in the winter wind. “Didn’ oi say ta knock first ya drongo?” an unseen figure scolded the creature. “Ya scared the poor possum ‘alf ta death!” the voice continued, gradually nearing your cowering form as the familiar creak of metal and haphazard steps became louder. “s’alright luv, no need ta be frightened” the voice cooed from a few feet in front of you, careful not to invade your space, lest he worsen your discomfort. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks stung your eyes, as you assumed your worst fate in this unknown space, but the man in front of you merely eased himself to the floor. The sound of what you proposed to be a metal cane (perhaps?) struck the cold floor as he settled there. Lifting your head ever so slightly from beneath the coat, you stole a peek through guarded hands at the owner of the voice now sitting across from you.

Striking white hair stood wild in every direction against honey skin littered in freckles and a few distinct “beauty marks”, beneath the soot and grease smudged across the face of a man. He sported goggles hanging around his thin neck, and the vials of various chemicals were still strapped to his lithe form. Clad in a pair of stained eggplant purple pants and a simple black shirt, he did his best to be as unassuming in posture as possible, even though anyone would be hard-pressed to find him “unassuming” considering his semi manic expression, yet he still radiated a strange sense of genuine harmlessness in his crooked smile, and the creases around his eyes where his sharp cheekbones raised. A bizarrely childlike giggle erupted from the man as he fidgeted about, curiosity obvious in his saturated golden eyes. “Sorry ‘bout tha’ possum, he’s not very good at manners quite yet. Oim still workin’ ou’ tha kinks in ‘is personality'.

The white haired man giggled, his grin revealing a set of sharp teeth like that of a wild animal. Glancing away from his intense gaze, you looked down only to realize, he had a prosthetic leg and arm which had been the sources of all the metal grinding you had heard before. Noting your continued silence, he decided to try and engage you with a question he sincerely wanted an answer to: “ ’Ow’s yer leg ‘oldin’ up darl’? I did basic first aid, but oi imagen ye still ‘ave a lot ah pain”. His countenance contorting with concern and the unease obvious in the lilt of his voice. He looked at you with worried and expectant eyes, hoping to pull some sort of reply out of you to ease his distress. Mulling over whether or not to grace him with a response only fueled his fidgeting more, his prosthetic laden knee now bouncing in anticipation. Your eyes returned to observing the floor beneath you as you let out a reply, just barely audible. “It still hurts…but not as much…t-thank you for bandaging it…” you whispered, but he heard you nonetheless and he beamed with pride at being able to have some semblance of a conversation started with you. “Was nuthin’ oim jus’ glad yer fever broke an’ yer okay” he replied, as his already large grin seemed to get wider.

He reminded you of a child revealing a piece of prized art they made to their parents, worthy of hanging on the fridge. You were tempted to let out a giggle of your own due to how infectious his was, but bit your tongue. After all, he was still a stranger, even if he did save your life… *CRASH!!!!!* a cacophony of thunder and lightning reminding you of the storm outside, encouraging your huddled form into a tighter ball, much like before and a whimper escaped your lips. “You alright there darl’?” the man’s manic grin replaced once again with his previous expression of worry. “Scary” the monster in the doorway grumbled, spooking you. You hadn’t remembered that he was in his spot he had been in when he had alarmed you earlier. “ Ah~ I didn’ even think a tha’" The man mused slowly, rising to a standing position, though hunched over in a way that seemed more uncomfortable than anything for the average person. Slowly he hobbled up to your curled up form, carefully pulling his lab coat tighter around you much like he had earlier in the night, before speaking again.

“Oim sorry darl’ oi wasn’ thinkin’. Shoulda’ realized you was afraid o’ the storm…oim gonna pick ye up so we can go to tha lab for som’ tea, ye can’ even ‘ear tha storm in there.” He said softly as he eased his arms around you once more. Cognizant of your injury, as well as the possibility of you trying to fight him, he moved slowly due to the fact that he was still technically a stranger. You nodded slightly despite yourself, allowing him to coddle you like a small child. He was gentle but his hold was so secure, that you didn’t worry about him dropping you as he rose back up hobbling out of your room, his monster in tow. As he walked down the hall toward the aforementioned lab, the sounds of the storm faded like a distant memory, just as he had promised mere moments ago.

[btnclmrttn]

Hii, I love the way you spell Garou🥺 can I ask for headcanons of how you think Garou would dress/what style would he like to wear? (I am a person with many styles of clothing and makeup and would love to know what style of clothing our wolf boy would be interested in)

Appreciate it my dude thank u. I hope this is satisfactory as I've never done this kind of ask before!

Outfit HCs: Garou

~~~~

I'll b honest with you. Garou has been shown to wear the same shit daily. He is also homeless, his parents don't like him, and would probably eat garbage. He's a possum boy.

Therefore, I would Headcanons he has ZERO fashion sense. NONE. No color coordination, no concept of popular subcultures of fashion, nothing. He would probably only have one or two pairs of shoes, and he would run them to the last millimeters of soles. They were probably shoplifted at some variation of Walmart in that universe. That's not to say they weren't nice looking at one point, but they're worn to shit!

Pants? He tries. He would have like one good pair of jeans but they don't QUITE fit, probably highwaters. Not his fault tho he's long. He likes comfortable pants. And doesn't care really how they look as long as they fit. Has one pair of slacks

Shirts he does better! Again, probably picked up at a common outlet store. Brands to him are ANNOYING as fuck and he don't like people that will spend hundreds of dollars on something that doesn't even look that nice. Probably plain T-shirts. Maybe a band shirt that he doesn't mind. Something with sarcasm. Not to say he wouldn't indulge in some merch of things he likes. If he can find a place that he can repeatedly borrow from that won't get too on his ass. Not likely considering it would be fr merchandise

He's got like one white button up shirt and a flannel patterned button up he got from Bang he never wears unless Bang drags him to an outing and tells him he gotta look nice. Bang will crucify him if he doesn't have an undershirt either.

One hoodie, one zip sweater, grey and black. That's it. He don't fuck with coats either.

He would rock the flannel hoodie combo tho he feels like he's the SHIT.

[jabbage]

Possums Book of Practical Cats/ Sherlock Holmes references

Further to my post where I described how Arthur Conan Doyle is entirely to blame for Cats (2019) by first inspiring TS Eliot who then inspired Andrew Lloyd Webber, here are some Sherlock Holmes references from Old Possom's Book of Practical Cats.

Firstly, everything about Macavity.

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime! -Macavity the Mystery Cat

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized. - The Final Problem

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake. -Macavity the Mystery Cat

He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion - The Final Problem

We also get a few references to the plots of The Naval Treaty and The Bruce-Partington Plans:

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair— But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!

And from Gus the Theatre Cat:

He once played a Tiger--could do it again-- Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.

“It is true,” Holmes answered. “Up to a certain point he did well. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. (From The Empty House)

[pikku-peruna]

I made a lil guy based off of @jayrockin 's Avian Aliens from RTTS because I love them.

I've been calling them Paragliders since they're Pear Shaped Gliders (ahaaaaaa)

But they're based off of Sugar Gliders, Rodents, Opossums, and ofc- Avians from RTTS

I'm not too proficient with the speculative biology of things, but i started to doodle and it turned into an alien creature.

I think they'd live in a mountainous region where they can glide and climb around in search of Scraps and dead things/small game because they're like Vultures in that way. They could also hang upsidedown like bats or Possums with their prehensile tail, which could open up the possibility of them having a semi-upsidedown society.

They have hands like Avians because nothing else made sense, but They'd be very affectionate towards others since They Eat Dead Things and no predators wanna eat the things That Eat Dead Things bc diseases. They'd also probably have an iron gut from all the different types of needed microflora in their organs keeping them from dying after eating some bubbling rotting mush.

You'll notice they don't have an teeth onto than the fangs on their mouth, well that's their skull, and those are outside teeth for holding things and grooming each other. They DO have inside teeth but they're like rodent teeth but the buck teeth are sharp and curve inwards to tear flesh with canines around where their outside fangs are and molars in the back, for the rare plants and root veggies they eat, or Fungi because tasty.

Their stripes (not colored in but lined bc im stoopid) are furry like bat fur and serve to camo to the sediment rocks in their weird mountain world, so assume these guys are naturally Gray, Yellow, Black, Orange, and Red -not necessarily in that order* they're usually only two to three colors plus their face, fingers, tail, and ears as Skin, but their Crests are just more vibrant coat colors, with Males having cool spots on theirs.

Paragliders aren't built for walking, in fact they can't really unless they straighten their spine to a 180° angle (minus their tail, that can stay curled until needed) or they'll end up having to pretty much flip themselves sideways and THEN take a step forward which just sounds awful to do. They can hop like frogs on all fours tho, and they pretty much launch themselves forward, grab the ground with their hand claws, yeet themselves forward again, and jump with their legs again, rinse and repeat to "run" (ALL OF THIS AT THE 180° ANGLE THO!) But most prefer Climbing so maybe a vertical society??

They have rat like ears, and hear pretty similar to humans but with cat-like ear motion, plus they have sniffers which are kinda like humans but a little bit stronger to better look for Dead Things To Eat.

CLOTHING AAA, HOW TF DO I DRESS THESE GUYS?!

Maybe similar to Jay's Avians? But less poofy clothes and no head covering for females/duns. I think clothes would be kinda like BIG, WIDE, STRETCHY onesies/jackets to stay warm and covered, it has holes for the fingers and tail and head, clasps on the front to hold it together, and small cuffs on the finger holes and tail hole and head hole to make sure IT STAYS ON.

Unlike Avians they'd be more ok with skin showing, since their membranes are so big but piercing their membranes are a NO-GO. It will HURT a LOT since they have a lot of nerves there, but small enough wounds will heal back up fine. But ears can be pierced :D

They will bow to greet each other and lovers may hold tails while they walk. They are mammals like Bats and can have 3-5 'Pups' (PARAGLIDER PUPPIES AAA), usually if only 1 pup is born that means the mother is sick/got too stressed during pregnancy (which lasts about 6 months, during that time the mother should not go gliding around and will usually stay home to prep for birth and then Puppies.) Pups are borthed without Crests and grow them as they reach sexual maturity (the crest is the first sign of Puberty) and they are born face first from [normal mammalian genitalia]. Males btw have normal mammal (not human that's WEIRD) genitalia too. Im just not gonna draw that because ew.

EYES: You may notice I drew them blank, that's because I'm lazy. They have slit pupils like cats, with their night-vision too. And yes, they can go idiot mode like cats too XD

Uh ill post more later but EEE PARAGLIDERS :D

[thiswasinevitableid]

Your Monster (Indruck)

The second place winner of the monster-I’ve-done before was “House Monster.” This fill is NSFW and does reference suicide.

The house on the hill has a thousand eyes

The sentence echoes through Indrid’s mind as he steps from his Super Bee. Those nine words changed his life, gave him freedom, made him a name and a fortune that mercifully eclipsed the memories of the place that had inspired the phrase. 

Holding the keys the family lawyer handed him an hour ago–both of them pretending to be sadder than they were–he tips his head up, up, up at the grey and white Victorian. The woodwork along the front looking less like a dainty ladies lace and more like jagged, yellowed teeth. As he steps inside, his impression is exactly the same as it was twenty-two years ago. 

When his father moved Indrid and his twin brother into this house, the pair only two months past their eleventh birthday, Indrid felt as if the entire place was watching him. The windows glared down with harsh lights, the movers had already put all the family photos of grim-faced Colds on the walls, and even the wallpaper seems to form irises and ever-watchful pupils. 

Yes, eyes had followed him as he dragged his luggage into the bedroom–the one benefit of the move was Apollo and himself no longer having to share–and as he stared up at the light on the ceiling, that of course had two bulbs to look down at him.

He’d turned it off and rolled onto his side, hoping for sleep. 

That’s when he discovered there were eyes in the closet, too.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Motuscomes never forget a feeding ground. And if they used one often, they can feel when there’s a sudden shift in its primary emotions, even years after their last visit. ‘Which is why Duck knows it’s time to go back to the house on the hill. 

When he was a much younger monster, he’d sniffed out a house with three brand new occupants. His portal opened into the room of one half of a pair of twins, revealing glasses on a bed stand and an odd lack of art on the walls. Humans love to put things on their walls (monsters prefer their art on the ceilings).

Fear was heavy in the house; not an acute kind either. A lingering kind, one that seeped into the floorboards and coated the walls in a matter of months. Duck fed there every day. 

But it wasn’t solely about filling his belly. From the closet, he’d watch Indrid Cold draw, or read, or curl up under his covers and shake. And one day, the boy peered out from under the blanket and spoke to him. 

—---------------------------------------------

“Go away.” Elliot whispers.

The glowing, green eyes watch him, and Elliot is certain if he blinks they’ll move closer and closer and then he’ll be swallowed up, dissolved in a slimy belly and never heard from again. 

“I said go. Away.”

“Go away where? I, uh, I mean, uh, there, there ain’t a monster in here.”

Elliot fumbles for his flashlight, pointing the beam into the crack in the closet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his old teddy bear had fallen from the shelf. Then the monster speaks, tusks gleaming from the shadows. 

“Any chance you’d believe I’m a possum?”

Indrid closes the book, setting it on the shelf with the other first editions of his novels. The House of a Thousand Eyes will always hold a special place in his heart; it was his first, complete with illustrations that his publisher called “the perfect mix of eerie and endearing.”

Wind shakes the shutters and he sighs; he forgot how stormy it was here. How throughout his childhood it was if every night was marked by trees scratching the windows and claws scraping the floor. 

There’s so much he tried to forget, it makes him question what he does remember. The incidents when he was in middle school he could pass off as dreams, as they always happened in bed. But there was one night when he was fifteen…

He’s the lucky one and not been dragged off to a work function with father (he and Apollo have both learned to feign disappointment if they’re not chosen, so their father will continue to see it as a means of pitting them against each other to choose them at random). He’s spent it watching as many horror movies as he could, drinking from his hidden stash of Capri Suns as rain pelted the windows and wind battered the trees. 

His father called around eight to say the road back to the house had washed out and he and Apollo would be staying at a friends house in town. Indrid couldn’t believe his luck. He stays on the couch through the midnight movie double feature, puzzled as to how his popcorn keeps running out when he’s not eating that much. 

When he turns off the T.V, the dark screen reveals the answer. A dark, ursine snout and glowing, green eyes peer over the couch behind him, then disappear. As he hurriedly turns and pokes his head over the couch. There’s nothing there. 

But from the shadows beneath it he hears, “Didn’t think that one with the bunnies was all that scary.”

Indrid smiles, glad he’ll have someone to talk to about it with “Me neither.”

His therapist had said Duck, as the monster was called, made sense as a coping mechanism. A confidant when he had none, a defender he could call upon should he need it. And in the A Boy and His Monster series, his hero does just that. He’s learned it’s best to agree with this idea, and not think about the few times he’d been huddled under the covers and paw had pet his side, Duck telling him he was sorry. Agreeing with him that it wasn’t fair. Or how, when he passes an abandoned house or a particularly unsettling closet, he still expects to hear his monster's voice. 

—--------------------------------------------------

“How do I know you won’t eat me?” Elliot crosses his arms and keeps his feet firmly tucked beneath him on the bed.

Goose shrugs, his bearish face and komodo dragon body less threatening by the moment, “Monsters don’t eat people. We eat feelings.”

“That’s what my mom calls it when she eats cake when she’s had a bad day.”

“That’s eating her feelings. I only eat feelings that come from someone else.”

Duck snorts and uses the tip of his claw to turn the page; Indrid’s been out of the house most of the day for the last four days dealing with his father’s estate, returning in the evenings to eat, haul unwanted furniture out the door, and bicker with his twin over the phone. They seem to get on better these days, and Indrid radiates exasperation rather than anger or fear while talking with him. 

Indrid being gone allows Duck time to pad about the house and see how he’s making the space his own. It also lets him read the books that made Indrid Cold a big name in horror. Duck had overheard people reading the Boy and Monster books aloud, usually to scare their little siblings, and always suspected it was based on him and Indrid. He can’t blame him for giving Duck the wrong appearance; it’s not like he ever saw Duck’s whole body. But “eating emotions” makes it sound like he subsists on happiness and rainbows.

As he closes the book, trading it on the shelf for The Woodsman, one of Indrid’s adult novels, he decides it’s high time for the monster to pay his boy a visit. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Any tedious article about Indrid includes a description of his vivid imagination and awe at his ability to come up with creative horrors that rival the likes of Clive Barker. These same articles seldom mention that a mind like his comes with downsides. Especially when it’s a dark and stormy night and his power has just gone out. 

Lightning cuts the windows as he moves from the living room to the hallway as easily as a ghost. The power has always been unreliable here, and he suspects the stash of candles will still be in the kitchen. If not, he can always fetch his flashlight from upstairs.

The candles are right where he expected them, wicks dusty but usable. It’s as he’s lighting the first one that there’s the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the top stair. He cocks his head, wishing the wind would die down enough for him to hear it more clearly. 

Another step, then a third, the wood groaning as it supports the encroaching terror. He races through the possibilities: A crazed fan? No, contrary to Misery he finds his fans to be rather respectful and calm. A robber? Possibly, as he does get recognized and someone might assume a wealthy author has possessions worth stealing. 

A howl of wind, rattling the house from weathervane to foundation. This house borders deep, thick woods, with hills beyond with plenty of space for creatures to hide. Creatures that can make a meal out a lonely human in an even lonelier house. 

Bright, white light cracks the darkness outside, and from his position in the kitchen he watches it throw a monstrous shadow onto the wall by the stairs. 

He jams the candle into its holder, takes a deep breath, and steps into the hall, holding the little flame aloft. 

The monster takes up the entire width of the stairs, and it’s gleaming black claws are already on the second to last step. It’s razor-backed; short, coppery spines sticking out of its black fur.  Tusks the size of his thumb poke out from its mouth as it grins at him. Scales on his arms reflect the light back at Indrid, In the darkness at the top of the stairs, a mussed tail with green feathers on the end flicks menacingly. Its face has a mask of paler color around the eyes. Green, glowing eyes. 

One paw rises, holding up House of A Thousand Eyes

“You know, slim, I really oughta get a cut.”

“Duck?”

“Yep” The monster finishes descending the stairs, sniffing the air, “huh, that scared you.”

“Yes, because I didn’t think you’d still be living here.” He blows out the candle as the lights come back on, “At least you got a snack out my brush with cardiac arrest.”

“Aww, c’mon, you weren’t scared of me as a kid. Can’t be any scarier now than I was then.” Duck follows him into the kitchen, barely squeezing through the door. 

“You are considerably larger now. And we both know you weren’t the scariest thing in this house back then.” He turns and fights down a smile; formidable as he is, Duck looks rather awkward standing in the muted yellow kitchen with its ugly, spartan white furniture Indrid has yet to re-paint.

“Why’d you come back, ‘Drid?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Felt the energy change and decided to stop by. See how you were doing.” Duck sits on the floor, rests his paws on the kitchen table, “seems to me you coulda handled sellin’ the house without coming back.”

Indrid sits in the chair across from him, “I could have. But I’ve been wanting to move out of the city for awhile, and many of my friends are still in this area. And I…I suppose I wanted to take it back from him. The house, I mean. There were so many things I loved about it and I’m not ready to lose them to him a second time.”

“Does explain why you moved into the turret bedroom.”

“Exactly! He put a study in there and never used it and made Apollo and I cram into glorified broom closets!  What?” He frowns as Duck smiles at him. 

“Just glad to see you still got some fire in you. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to makin’ dinner.”

As he stands Indrid blurts out, “Will I see you again? Or were you just stopping by to say hello?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t not, uh, decided, fuck. Uh.” Duck clears his throat, “If you don’t mind me stoppin’ by more, I will.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Duck grins with his sharp rows of teeth, “See you around, ‘Drid.”

As slow, padding footsteps retreat, Indrid finds himself smiling back. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Wind shakes the chandelier in the living room. The crystal rattles a second time as Duck sneezes, his short ears wiggling as he finishes with an, “excuse me.”

In spite of the breeze carrying pollen and dust from the valley below, closing the windows is the only way to keep them from choking on the smell of fresh paint. Indrid was determined to get the last of his fathers gloomy touches from his house, which resulted in two full days of painting the rooms emerald greens and desert-rock reds, of splashing blue accents or white patterns across walls and doors. 

Duck’s help has been invaluable; he can reach ceilings and high corners, and he’s decent enough at household repairs that the railing on the back porch is stable once again and the doors all sit right on their hinges. 

But really, Duck’s been invaluable ever since they reunited. His “now and then” visits went from every few days to daily in a matter of weeks, and at this point he doesn’t knock on the closet door to announce himself; Indrid will just step onto the porch to find a dark-furred boulder sunning itself, or scoot over on the couch as claws click on the hardwood when he turns on the T.V. 

He’d daydreamed about Duck following him around when he was young, and it turns out his teenage self was right about how nice it is. 

Duck uses his claw to uncap a hard cider, his bulk functionally making a cushion out of the old easy chair in the living room, “Why’d you change how I feed in the books?”

“Because my editor said the monster feeding on fear was too intense.” He raises a teasing eyebrow, “are you going to start going through my books and circling everything I got wrong?”

“Nah. Was just curious. Besides, it ain’t like I told you much about my world.”

“I never thought to ask. At the time it seemed far more important to learn about you.”

The scales on Duck’s arm shift from copper to deep green, “Feels like I oughta admit I ain’t that interesting by monster standards. All I do is work as an arborist and build model ships. And, uh, see you, of course.”

“You’re as fascinating now as you were then, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Indrid smirks as Duck gives a bashful huff, “Now, please find us something to watch while I go order pizza. And yes, I will get one with anchovies.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. 

“This from the fella who likes pineapple on his.”

“Hush, monstrous one, and tell me what we should get for dessert.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid lays in corpse pose, breathing deeply. A scent drifts past him, conjuring images of a hollowed out, fallen log in a wet forest, earthy and dark.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He murmurs.

“N-yeah, uh, I wasn’t watchin’, I don’t even have, uh, eyes?” A sigh, “it’s just wild to me that twisting yourself up like that calms you down. Makes me stressed just watching it.”

“I find it helps me remember I’m in my body when I start to drift off for too long. I do love my work, but sometimes…” He sits up, finds Duck sitting in a close approximation of cross-legged at the foot of his mat, “sometimes I wander too far and end up in the past.”

“This got anything to do with the funeral bein’ yesterday?”

“Some. Apollo and I seldom agree, but we seemed to both arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth correcting anyone when they said nonsense like ‘he took such good care of you boys.”

Duck snorts and leans forward, creeping his body across the mat to rest his head in Indrid’s lap. 

“Agreed. That man only ever did one good thing for me in his entire life and that was move here. Without that, I’d never have met you.”

“I did turn out to be a hell of a meal ticket.” Duck says without a trace of malice. 

“That’s true, but not what I meant. I’m glad we became friends. And I’m glad I came back, if only so you could find me again.”

Duck turns his head to the side, looking up at Indrid tenderly, “Me too, slim. Me too.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Indrid spends his entire Monday in bed, Duck doesn’t worry. The human works hard, and he mentioned he might be coming down with a cold, so burrowing under his blankets makes sense. Duck tells him to take it easy, and says he’ll be back once he’s done seeing his sister and his nephews. 

It’s when he comes back two days later and finds Indrid—still in bed–wearing the exact same clothes with dirty plates and wrappers on the floor that his own fear creeps up his throat. 

“You doin’ okay, slim?”

Indrid shrugs.

Duck tamps down the hurt that Indrid doesn’t seem to care that he’s back and continues, “When was the last time you got clean?”

“Few days ago.”

“Seems to me you’re overdue then. Howsabout I run you a bath?”

Indrid manages a nod and Duck plods over to the bathroom and turns the taps on the crow-footed tub. He adds in some citrusy soak and returns to find Indrid in the exact same position he left him. 

“You, uh, you need help getting there?”

“No…” Indrid sits up as if he’s moving through syrup and makes his way towards the bathroom. The door closes, and when Duck hears the taps shut off and the splash of Indrid sinking in, he shoves all the trash into an overflowing bin and carts the dirty dishes downstairs. Going by the trash, Indrid’s been eating a lot of boxed mac and cheese, so that seems the safest bet for dinner. 

Thanks to accidentally piercing not one, but two boxes with his claws and getting cheese powder all over his fur, it takes him longer than planned to make dinner. He lumps the neon orange pasta into a bowl and carries it back to the bedroom, setting it on the bed before knocking on the bathroom door. 

“‘Drid? I made us some grub.” He waits a moment, and when no reply comes he eases open the door. 

Indrid sits in the tub, staring in the direction of the window but not looking out it. Duck recalls the flat expression from when they were younger, but it seems so much worse now.

“Want me to get you a towel?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Please.” Indrid’s detached tone carries into his movements, and climbs from the tub, seemingly uncaring of the fact he’s giving Duck an eyeful. Duck wishes he could appreciate it, but any desire he feels for those long legs and angular face is crushed under his worry. 

Indrid eats mechanically. The only thing that keeps Duck from panicking is that, as he’s clearing the dishes, Indrid touches his wrist. 

“This happens sometimes. I ride it out. You don’t need to worry about it.”

The statement calms his fears for a day. But then another day passes, and another, and another, and then it’s been a full week and Indrid has barely left bed, will read or watch videos without his expression shifting in the slightest, seeming so far removed from his usual self that Duck worries he’ll never come back. 

Duck should have snuck off to feed three days ago. But he can’t bring himself to leave Indrid, even for an hour. When you feast on fear, now and then you come across someone whose fear that things will never be better, that they will never be better, have become too much. 

(Sometimes you stand in an apartment, a human passed out at your feet, raising Cain until the neighbors barge in and find her and you see her a week later alive).

If the choice is starve or lose Indrid, his stomach can fuss all it likes. 

Tonight, it rumbles so loud Indrid actually rolls over and looks at him.

“Have you eaten?”

Duck shakes his head and explains why. 

“Can you feed from what fear is left in the house?”

“Nope. Because there ain’t any left. The downstairs tastes like hope and the landing tastes like happiness and I can’t eat those. In here is all steeped in sadness and I can’t eat that either.”

“I’m sorry.” Indrid whispers. Then an idea flickers across his face, “what if I watched some horror movies? I, I don’t have a lot of feeling in my right now, of any kind, but if nothing else a scary movie will distract me from how flat I feel and generate enough fear for you to eat.”

“Worth a shot. C’mon, let’s go be couch potatoes instead of, uh, bed potatoes?” 

Duck builds a nest of blankets while Indrid queues up several of the “scariest movies ever made.”

Halfway through Martyrs, Indrid is showing little reaction, screams blare from the sound system, and Duck is regretting this plan. A third of the way through Terrifier, Duck’s whole face is hidden behind a pillow and he’s feeling kind of ill.

The screen mercifully goes black and Indrid sighs, “I don’t think it’s working. Are you getting any fear from me?”

“Couple of jumpscares gave me a little, but that’s about it.”

“I hate this.” Indrid tucks his knees to his chest, “I hate this, Duck. And I hate myself for the fact I could just promise you I’d be alright for an hour so you could eat, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to be alone, I can’t be alone. I want to cry or scream or laugh or do something and it’s like it’s all just out of reach. I don’t want to be unfeeling. Not like him. Never like him.” Indrid presses his forehead to his knees and Duck racks his brain for some way to fix this, to make up for all the times he wished he could help Indrid but didn’t know how. 

He catches sight of himself in the window, his claws worrying his scales. He’s at a loss for how to help Indrid as a friend. But he might know how to help him as a monster. 

“‘Drid? I got an idea. But” he gingerly reaches out, cupping his human’s face so their eyes meet, “before we do it, I need you to hear me when I say I will never, ever, ever actually hurt you. No matter what happens, can you remember that?”

Indrid rests his hands atop Duck’s, “I’ve never forgotten it.”

—------------------------------------------------------

A storm rolls from the ocean up into the hills at nightfall, wrapping around the house as Indrid lays in bed and wonders what Duck is planning. This is an improvement from hating himself or feeling so blank he’s certain he’s not really a person. 

His monster had told him it would take him a few hours to figure out just how to execute his plan, but that he’d never leave the house and Indrid should holler if he needed him. And that if he had to, yelling the word “red” would stop the plan. 

The lamp in the corner snaps to black and he groans.

“Duck? Could you see if that’s the breaker box or if we’re completely without power?”

There’s no reply. He mutters to himself and stands, searching for flashlights that don’t appear. And where the hell are his glasses?

Never mind. The sooner he does this, the sooner he can get back in bed. 

The house is a blurry box of darkness as he steps into the hallway. Then the hall closet flies open and claw grabs his shoulder, trying to tug him into the space. It must be Duck, it has to be Duck. 

“I, I spent plenty of time in the closet, I don’t need any more.” He tries to shrug off the hand and finds he can’t.

“Don’t care.” The growl is rougher than he’s ever heard it, “I’m hungry, slim.” Rows of teeth show in the darkness, the grip on his arm loosening so he can pull free right before they snap at him. He wants to pause and figure out the game, but the animal part of his brain has awoken violently and has no desire to stay near a lumber beast with hundreds of sharp teeth. 

He bolts for the stairs, running down them as Duck’s laugh rumbles behind him. 

“Cute how you think you can run. House is mine as much as it is yours.”

Indrid’s hand finds the handle of the front door. It’s unlocked. But it won’t open. 

“You never did ask what powers I got.” Duck is on the landing, scales glowing a slimy green and smile wide, “bet you’re wishin’ you’d been a bit more thoughtful.”

“I, I am thoughtful!” He runs for the back door and discovers the same situation, “we’re friends.”

“Nah” growls a voice from the pantry, “we may be friends, but one of us is a skinny little human–don’t bother tryin’ the windows, they’re all locked–and the other…”

Duck bursts from the pantry, backing Indrid against the wall, “is a goddamn apex predator who’s gone too fuckin long without dinner.”

Indrid dives under Duck’s arm, heart booming in his chest, yelling as he runs, “I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.” Duck snaps, charging after him. Indrid braces to be hit, but the monster is gone, leaving only a laugh in his place. 

“Oh you’re cute when you’re scared.”

There’s no point in denying it, Duck can taste the truth.

“Yesyes, I’m very scared, which means you shouldn’t be hungry now.” 

“Ain’t as hungry now, no. But this whole mess has got me thinkin’” the voice sneaks from under the floorboards, “I ain’t been taking advantage of the situation.”

“What situation?” If he stays right here, in the first floor hallway by the stairs. Duck won’t be able to get to him without Indrid seeing him coming. There’s no furniture, no beds, no closets.

Wait. 

There’s a closet under the stairs. 

One moment his feet are on the floor, the next they’re kicking helplessly in the air as Duck, on two legs, lifts him up. Pleasure sneaks beneath the adrenaline at how easy Duck handles him, how Indrid can see the muscles flexed beneath the fur. 

“See, I’m thinkin we oughta have a new arrangement; I keep living here and keepin’ an eye on you. And you”  the clawed hand circles his throat, ��are my dinner, every. Goddamn. Day.”

“I have to be, be scared for that” he gasps, scratching at a scaled arm. 

A blood-chilling grin, “You think I can’t find new ways to scare you? Lookit me, slim. I can do things to you that horror writer mind ain’t ever imagined.” Indrid jerks forward, Duck bringing them nose to nose, “you are mine, Indrid. I’m gonna do whatever I want to you, good use you whenever I need you, and you are gonna spend your life locked in this house because I ain’t ever lettin’ you free.”

Any fear, any pleasure he felt dies at those words. Panic slithers up his chest and he sobs, the horrible, ragged kind that feels like it will never stop. 

“Indrid? Oh, oh fuck, or ‘Drid I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Duck’s hold changes instantly, and cradles Indrid against his warm, fuzzy chest, his scales the pale, comforting color of glow-in-the dark stars “fuck, I shoulda thought about that, how he always talked about how he’d never let you leave” 

Indrid wants to say it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame Duck for not remembering. All that comes out is another, harder sob. 

“Shhh, hey, I got you. I got you.” The soft pad of his palm rubs along Indrid’s back, “Lemme, lemme get you-” there’s a whiff and then a tissue presses into his hand, “let’s get you some water, everything’ I read said snacks help.”

“You read?” Indrid manages between hiccups.

“I, uh, I was readin’ up on BDSM. It ain’t like there’s a guide to how to scare humans in a fun way so it seemed like the closest thing.” Duck opens the fridge, reaching for a Capri Sun. Indrid spots their reflections in the kitchen window, Duck carrying him like a thrift store teddy bear he has no intention of letting be discarded again. 

He laughs, quietly at first, then bubbling up so forcefully he’s shaking them both. Duck carefully lowers him to the ground, clutching the juice to his chest as he murmurs, “You okay there?”

“Yes, yes I think I am. I certainly feel much more human than I did a half hour ago. And I…I realized something important.” He looks up into green eyes, “I love you, Duck. I think I may have loved you for a long time.”

Duck tilts his snout forward, allowing Indrid to raise onto his toes and kiss it, “I love you too, ‘Drid.”

“Shall we turn the lights back on?”

“Uh, that wasn’t part of my plan. Powers out to the whole area.”

“In that case, I request you bear me to the living room and make me a fire.”

Duck lifts him into a bridal carry with a pleased snort, “You got it.”

Once the fire is going, Duck pulls into Indrid his lap, insisting on feeding him bits of strawberry PopTarts as Indrid gradually feels more and more like his normal self. The depressive episode is still lingering, and he knows it won’t go away that easily, but it’s as if he’s purged a great deal of it from his system. 

Duck is so attentive that Indrid’s cock begins to take notice, something he wishes it would do when the monster wasn’t close enough to see him tenting his yoga pants. 

“Well now, what have we here?” Duck wipes the crumbs on the rug, then trails a claw up Indrid’s leg. 

“We have a situation in which I am both very turned on by the fact that you could so easily pursue and subdue me and also by having such a magnificent creature doting on me like this.” Indrid looks up through his lashes, “I don’t suppose my monster has had such thoughts about me?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck rests his chin on Indrid’s shoulder, “figured you’d rather have a human fella so I never said anything. But, uh, seems I was wrong.” A large paw cups Indrid through his pants, “y’know, back when we were teens, used to get so fuckin turned on by those, uh, those mothman pajama pants you had.”

Indrid laughs, petting his hand along Duck’s back. The spines on them aren’t sharp, and feel more like polished wood beneath the soft dusting of fur. As he rubs them Duck makes a pleased click-growl. 

“I’m serious, I had this whole damn fantasy about just, just holdin you down and humpin you through ‘em, so they’d feel soft on my dick and you’d cum on the bed and go all melty.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “these pants are even softer than those were.”

“Seems they are.” Duck carefully turns Indrid to be facing away from him, then slowly grinds against his ass, the click-purrs growing louder with each roll of his hips. He nuzzles and nips Indrid’s neck and Indrid sighs, relaxing against him as one claw runs up and down his cock. 

“Spread your legs for me a sec, darlin. There we go. Close ‘em for me?” 

Indrid obeys and looks down. The cock between his thighs his a thick head tapering to a thinner base, with ridges swirling up the sides. The head is dotted with small, short nodes that wriggle as a pearly fluid drips from the center. 

“Ooooh! Oh I’d very much like to suck that later.”

“You got it darlin. But right now.” Duck cups his cock in his palm, the movement of his hips causing Indrid to grind against it, “let’s see just how cute you look when you cum.”

“I’m not that close ye-AH, ohgod” Indrid gasps as Duck scrapes his tusks down his shoulder. 

“Y’know, my kind mark their mates with these. You someone all scratched up here, you know they’re spoken for.”

“Yes, yesyes.”

“You’re mine, ‘Drid. But not because you’re stuck; because I love you so goddamn much and I, I wanna make, wanna make-” he cuts off with a growl as his hips pump harder and the nodes begin turning to tentacles, “make you feel so fucking good, oh fuck, fuck darlin if your thighs are this good your ass is gonna be even better.”

Indrid moans and wiggles in his arms, cumming with a little squeak; he’s too tired for it to be intense, but it’s bliss all the same, and as he melts against his monster there’s a loud grunt and then cum is spreading down his thighs.

“Guess I’ll need another bath.” He murmurs. 

“Uh huh.”

“But this time I’d better have company.” Indrid kisses a scaly arm.

Duck kisses him gently, “You got  it. You know I never mind staying by your side.”

[catboybiologist]

What's your favorite non-avian dinosaur?

And the complement for the other ask! This is a very, very hard question to answer, and it's flip flopped a lot over the years. As a kid I was OBSESSED with ceratopsians, but that's slowly died down over the years.

I've become more and more in love with small, feathered maniraptorians. Especially after melanosome analysis took off, and we can actually figure out the color of some of them! In recent years, this has also been applied to non feathered dinosaurs, but feather color patterns on small, ground dwelling therapods will always invoke a warm, cute feeling to me.

In particular, I love the coat on Sinosauropteryx:

Look at them. Small lil dappled forest critters. Like skunks or raccoons or possums or foxes... Just on two legs, and with feathers. I want four of them.

[restartjupiter]

Undertale Au: Extended Family!

(Alternatively: More Skeltons that aren't Sans and Papyrus!)

This Au is about there being more skeletons besides Sans and Papyrus and there's also more variety to them as well.

Tag is #FamilialTale

Oh. And Gaster is their Grandpa and he's a wendigo.

Mom and Dad

Lucida Font

- Lucida is Sans and Papyrus' Mom.

- She's a Mexican sugar skull.

- Lucida is a strict mother, but she's very caring and loving.

- She is friends with Toriel, the shopkeeper bunnies, and Undyne's Mom.

- Lucida loves to bake, paint, and read romance books.

- Sans gets his shortness and round head shape from his Mom.

- Papyrus gets his caring and loving personality from his Mother. Papyrus always admired his Mother's cooking and her strong will.

Oswald Font

- Oswald is Sans and Papyrus' Dad and Gaster's Son

- Oswald has a Muntjac skull

- Oswald is a affectionate, bookwarm, and interactive father. He's the type of Dad to help you build a science project while researching every bit of it.

- Oswald is friends with Gerson, Asgore, and Alphy's parents.

- Sans gets his lazy and joking personality from his Dad. Sans definitely admires his father ever since he was a young skull.

-Oswald's father is Gaster, the best seems to be professional aside from random moments where Gaster acts like a actual father.

-Oswald swears to never be a father like Gaster.

Both live together in the capitol and raised Sans and Papyrus there until the two boys moved out.

Siblings

Arial

- Arial and the youngest and baby sister.

- Arial was born only a year before Sans and Papyrus moved to Snowdin. She's currently 4 years old.

- Arial has a smal cat skull

- Arial wear a big, taped on, purple bow on the back of her head. She wears a green and teal collared dress.

- After Sans made Papyrus' costume, he made Arial a blue bandana so she "wouldn't feel left out" and Papyrus gave her red boots to match with him

- Gaster gifted Arial the purple bow when she was born but doesn't spend much time with her.

-Arial is friends with Chump (A possum monster who wears a red and white stripped hoodie), Sona, the inn keepers son, and Monster kid's sister.

Grandfather

Wind ding Gaster

- Gaster is a wendigo.

- he's 9ft tall (7ft without his antlers), he has black fur and he wears a white science coat.

- Not much is known about him aside from the fact he was A royal scientist. Because there was multiple. The other 2 were Alphy's parents.

- Gaster was the head of royal scientist team and he took his job very very seriously.

- He was a absent and workaholic father. He visited more and more when Sans was born and homeschooled him until Papyrus was born.

- Sans soon started working as a intern for Gaster and followed him everywhere.

- Gaster died shortly after Arial was born because Sans pushed him into the core after he found out Gaster was going to kidnap and experiment on Arial.

-after he fell into the core, he melted and his personality changed to be more delirious and goofy. He lurks in the shadows, watching his grandkids.

Other skeletons.

Sono

- Sono has a bat skull with bone ears.

- Sans and Papyrus' punk cousin on their mother's side.

- Sono is Nonbinary and is a shopkeeper that sells in garbage dump, right before you meet Dumby. Their shop is made of card board and it's inspired by Sans' hot dog stand.

- Sono is into grundge and punk human stuff. They love to look through the trash for cool stuff.

- Sono hangs out with Catty and Bratty and but their Aunt Lucida doesn't approve.

- they look up to Sans (literally. They're short) as a brother figure since they have no siblings and their parents are always working.

- Sans use to babysit Sono when they were a babybones and that's one of the reasons they're so close.

- Sono works as a babysitter for Arial when Lucida and Oswald have date night, need a break, or are both working.

- never knew Grandpop Gaster, bc they were never interested and Gaster took the time to even meet Sono.

Allura

- Allura used to be a human but was brought back to life as a skeleton by a huma mage.

- The only skeleton to have hair and it's short black with a white hair band.

- Allura wears a orange, and purple sweater, and ripped blue jeans with white sneakers.

- instead of Frisk falling down it's Allura. Allura fell down bc when they were brought back, the necromancer convinced other mages that Allura is a monster that escaped bc necromancy is forbidden. So they pushed Allura down Mt. Ebott.

Check #FamilialTale