developed a real fondness lately for characters who experience a horrific act of violence and come out the other side saying "ah. I don't think I get to be me anymore. they took out the part that was me, killed it, and put something else back in its place, and now I'm whoever the hell that is." love it when someone becomes a corpse and replaces themself <3
she is a princess and you are a dragon. she will be married tonight. do not keep standing outside of her room like that, go inside. go get her. that is what proper dragons do.
not that you have ever been a good or proper dragon. when you hatched out of your egg, your eggtooth was too smooth. the other dragons were rough with you, put little holes in your wings.
you were not bold. you were odd. you liked rippling water and the shine of chitin when bugs scuttle and of course the movement of the stars. those were all acceptable interests albeit maybe not traditional. perhaps you had inherited these through some great-great-uncle or something. certainly a dragon may be wise, or clever, if they are not bold.
yes, you have been a great deal of a puzzle to the other dragons. your body is smaller and rather more soft than it ought to be. so speed should have been yours, perhaps - your mother said it would be like fighting a shadow. if a dragon is not aggressive, it may instead be cruel, sly; a backstab. but alas your scales - so iridescent that they almost shine like the moon at night, a glow from within - you are not a shadow, you are a beacon like the flash of a knight's blade. your father has said at least you would make a fine egglayer, a nice mate to a good male. a dragon like you may still be a good mother perhaps; and that is a fine thing to be; although of course it would have been better if you'd been a trove-hoarder instead.
what a dragon must not be is kind.
you have watched her now for six moons. what a good and proper dragon would do is to go inside and to snatch her. a very proper dragon would have kidnapped her many times over, but you will be the delight of your brood to princess-snatch even at all. when you catch her in your jaws and bring her home, they will love you, then. they don't think you're capable of it, but you are, because you're a proper dragon. you can show them that. if you go in, now, right now.
you are rather too glossy to hide in the shadows, so instead you have learned how to appear flat and round, a puddle of light. (how your siblings would mock you! a dragon should be matte, to blend with the night). you dapple your flank with mud. you perch in odd angles atop of trees, scuttle like the bugs you love - hither, tither, frantic.
what you must not do is fly with your wings full-out. alight, you will be limned by the moon's corona. you will be a beacon. you must remember this when (not if) you snatch her.
____
you found her because of the lake. this lake in particular was your favorite - nestled deep in the woods, between two mountains. it is very quiet; there is nothing to horde there so no other dragon bothers you. a gentle waterfall spills over into a deep cove, and there are many mossy caves you've spent your afternoons napping in. while it is not proper for a dragon to prefer such things, you like to lay in rolling tenure just under the water. you have become excellent at holding your breath, can do it for hours. it is the easiest way to appear as a patch of sunlight.
she was not sunlight. she was the night's joy. the dark press of water. her face at first concealed by many diaphanous layers. her breathing quick and quiet.
she had pulled them back to drink from her water flask. and there she had been: a princess. your first very-real princess. right there, only the reach of a single talon from you. if you had simply lunged then, you would have been able to take her easily, in one single movement.
but you did not take her.
she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.
but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.
you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.
oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.
and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.
___
once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.
at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."
so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.
even so. you had gone looking for her (only to study, of course, so you may know how to snatch her best). but that night you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.
you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then, you wanted to study your prey as best as you could. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.
she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.
and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.
this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.
she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.
"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."
and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.
you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, after this. more than just back to the castle and her bed. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you had heard it said a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.
you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.
but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.
oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.
__
you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have since learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!
you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.
her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.
you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.
you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.
"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."
you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.
you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.
against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.
on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.
an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.
in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.
there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.
___
sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.
but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.
but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.
let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.
afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.
and in that moment, neither of you will be a title nor a story. she will just be herself, and you will just be you.
Gumbo – From Bantu kingombo (okra), brought by enslaved Africans and became the name of the Creole stew thickened with okra.
Goober – From Kikongo nguba, the Bantu word for peanut that entered American English via enslaved Africans.
Yam – From West African languages (e.g., Wolof nyami, "to eat"), brought over during the slave trade and adopted into Southern cuisine.
Banjo – From a Bantu root (mbanza), the instrument was crafted by enslaved Africans based on West African string instruments.
Bogus – Likely from Hausa boko-boko (deceitful, fraudulent), entering American English through African American speech in the 19th century.
Juke (box/joint) – From Gullah juke (rowdy, disorderly), derived from Wolof dzug (to live wickedly), later attached to roadside bars.
Tote (to carry) – From West African languages (e.g., Kikongo tota, "to pick up"), recorded in Gullah before spreading to mainstream English.
Dig (to understand) – From Wolof degg (to understand), popularized by jazz musicians in the 1930s after entering English through AAVE.
Jazz – Possibly from West African or Creole slang for energy/sex, first documented in AAVE in Chicago around 1912.
Okay (OK) – Though its origin is debated, strong evidence traces it to West African languages (e.g., Wolof waw kay) via enslaved Gullah speakers.
Hip/Hep – From Wolof hipi (to open one's eyes, to be aware), entering jazz slang in the early 1900s before going mainstream.
Hepcat – A compound of "hep" + "cat" (jazz slang for a person), literally meaning "one who has his eyes open" in West African-influenced jazz culture.
Jazz, Blues & 1940s–60s Era
Cool (as in fashionable/calm) – Originated in jazz circles, likely from saxophonist Lester Young, and entered mainstream via West African aesthetic concepts of composure.
Cat – A jazz-era term for a skilled musician or cool person, derived from West African-influenced jive talk.
Crib – Jazz slang for a house or apartment, popularized in the 1940s before becoming mainstream in the 1990s.
Hokum – AAVE slang for nonsense or BS, used in blues and jazz before being adopted more widely.
Diss – Short for "disrespect," coined in AAVE and popularized through hip-hop in the 1980s and 1990s.
Bad (meaning good) – From AAVE, where inversion of meaning creates emphasis (something so "bad" it's actually good), used since early jazz era.
Jive – AAVE slang for deceptive talk or a style of jazz dancing, used by Cab Calloway in his 1930s Hepster Dictionary.
1970s–90s (Hip-Hop & Pre-Internet Era)
Homeboy/Homegirl – AAVE for a close friend from one's neighborhood, popularized in hip-hop and later shortened to "homes" in casual speech.
Dope (meaning great) – Shifted from "stupid" in standard English to "excellent" in AAVE during the 1980s hip-hop era.
Props – Short for "proper respects" in AAVE, used in hip-hop to acknowledge skill or achievement before entering mainstream slang.
Word (as in "I agree") – AAVE interjection ("Word!" or "Word is bond") meaning "I'm telling the truth," derived from Nation of Islam teachings.
Phat (meaning cool/great) – AAVE acronym believed to stand for "Pretty Hot And Tempting," though likely an invented backronym; popularized in 90s hip-hop.
The Bomb – AAVE phrase for something excellent or top-quality, widely used in hip-hop lyrics before mainstream adoption.
Def – AAVE slang for "excellent," popularized by Run-DMC's "King of Rock" and 80s hip-hop culture.
Fresh – AAVE for stylish or excellent, used in early hip-hop and 80s pop culture before spreading globally.
Wack – AAVE for "bad, inferior, uncool," popularized in hip-hop and later mainstream youth speech as the opposite of "cool."
Hella – AAVE intensifier meaning "very" or "a lot of," originating in Oakland/Bay Area AAVE in the 1970s-80s.
Cap / No Cap – AAVE meaning "lie" and "no lie," popularized by Bay Area rap in the 2010s, derived from "capping" (exaggerating).
you can kinda tell when a writer has spent a lot of time around kids bc they avoid most of the pitfalls that come with writing children. namely, not giving them a too cutesy or twee voice but making them sound more like extremely weird little adults. kids playing pretend will almost never cutely slot into some romantic scenario for the adults' benefit bc the adults are usually too busy cleaning up or wondering what the fuck is wrong with their child. kids also have surprisingly stringent hangups ranging from very petty grievances to downright chauvinist gender roles, more often than not the result of a tragic education but sometimes far surpassing what they were taught in intensity. what im saying is there's nothing inherently wrong with treating fictional kids as stock characters but it's always quite nice to see when they aren't
It's extremely common for very young children to suddenly say something extremely cogent and articulate, that's jarringly inconsistent with their normal speech. This is usually something that they heard an adult say recently. A kid will spend ten minutes telling you a story about how they fought a wolf yesterday using simple sentences of fifty cent words, then nibble a snack, wrinkle their nose and say something like "I feel like Mum was overenthusiastic with the salt today, and not for the first time either" before going back to their clumsy story. (They do understand what they're saying when they do this. Kids' communication is usually held back by their vocabulary and pronunciation, not their understanding.)
Young kids are also a lot more socially aware than people give them credit for. Young children are perfectly aware that adults don't take them seriously. They know when their parents don't actually like them. They listen and remember when adults talk about them while they're in the room. Kids will develop basic abilities to charm etc. from babyhood and will begin experimenting with social norms and concepts of deception, appropriate information, and acceptable language and attitudes in toddlerhood. By the time a kid is five or six, they have solid social strategies for relating to adults and separate ones fr relating to their peers, that they'll continue to refine for the rest of their lives. They will also say completely off the wall shit because they don't have the context to know what is and isn't considered super fucked up yet.
By the time a kid is eight or nine, their main difference from adults is in experience, interests, and ability for long-term focus. An eight year old can think as intelligently and coherently as a thirty year old, they just have less experience and information to draw from, and are likely interested in very different things. They're also likely still slightly hamstrung by vocabulary and literacy, though much less so than a younger kid.
Teens will behave like adults who have little power (a teen is often at the mercy of their parents and the state and rarely taken seriously, which is extremely frustrating) and who are high stress and mid-crisis, because they're going through a transitory period where their bodies and moods are changing and are having to constantly learn and adjust; a fourteen year old in a stable situation will act pretty much like a thirty year old with an oppressive boss who's just left a tumultuous relationship.
my actual vampire hot take is that if you're going to be a 'vegetarian' vampire (a vampire that only drinks the blood of animals) you MUST have hunter education. i'm so sick of people being like oh well predator animals are mean and scary because they kill cute 'harmless' animals like NO they're crucial for the environment and if you're going to hunt animals for blood you still need to stick to regular people hunting guidelines and only hunt things that are in season and abide by your areas bag limits
vampire that did a detailed study about whether vampires can get prion diseases and concluded they can't and preferentially hunts animals with chronic wasting disease. and then incinerates the corpses.
oh I can contextualize this now. eyes don't have specular highlights underwater.
since eyeballs are wet and irises are very smooth, eyes open in normal circumstances will reflect basically everything around them, especially light sources - usually as bright points or shapes visible in the top half of the iris
but for whatever optical reason - probably because the wetness of the eye is equivalent to the wetness of the water, so the refractive properties change - eyes open underwater don't have that sparkle to them. it helps contribute to the weird underwater dead-eyed corpse effect.
this also makes it super easy to spot which of the google image results for "eyes open underwater" are unwelcome AI slop because they get this wrong every time
anyway this is a real and cool effect that contributes a lot to cue us in that we're seeing someone underwater that I nevertheless elected to one thousand percent ignore in this chapter because shiny eyes are prettier to draw
Confessions on the brink of death a character accepts out of kindness because it won’t matter soon anyway, but then the other person doesn’t die, the other person expects them to carry through on their promise to love them and gets angry when they try to back out. Blackmail held over someone’s head just to force them to flirt and make romantic advances on another person, so it looks like they wanted this relationship. Talks about marriage and happily ever afters together as a threat. “I love you, I love you, I love you” as a violation that you’re expected to smile at and be grateful for, because you’re supposed to want to be loved. noncon romance.
adding to this: feeling love against your will. love forced on you by some power beyond you. love that you know you wouldn’t feel if you weren’t blessed (cursed) by it. love that you don’t want and is ruining you and that everyone keeps praising you for feeling. love that everyone around you gets mad at you for rejecting anyway. love that’s made so overpowering that it wipes out any semblance of “you” that there is to make way for a thing that will love someone back.
funniest part of this post is how many people reblog it tagged something like “this sounds aromantic” or “op not to derail but aromanticism” and like well guys you’re never going to believe why i find forced romance such a horrifying concept-
His pom poms are two sessile invertebrates he holds in his hands and starves so he can punch stuff with anemones who are so desperate to eat that they’ll use maximum sting on anything that gets close to him. When they starve to death he just finds more
The crabs will force the anemones to clone themselves if one dies OR steal others’ anemones if both die
They haven’t found these anemones in their free-living form, so, as far as we know, this anemone species is these crabs’ slave species—it’s only known in association with pom pom crabs
Cool paper on this: Schnytzer, Y., Giman, Y., Karplus, I., & Achituv, Y. (2017). Boxer crabs induce asexual reproduction of their associated sea anemones by splitting and intraspecific theft. PeerJ, 5, e2954. https://doi.org/10.7717/peerj.2954
Crabs of the genus Lybia have the remarkable habit of holding a sea anemone in each of their claws. This partnership appears to be obligate,
So if I understand this right, "slave species" is a biology term only used for this ONE SPECIFIC CREATURE OF ALL THE COUNTLESS LIVING ORGANISMS ON THIS ENTIRE PLANET?!
Oh, the slave species thing is outdated information from the original study in the 90’s. To be fair, that study is still very very respected, it was just wrong about this specific thing.
Their anemones aren’t a unique species, they are only visually distinct because the crab farms them in a very specific way - making a fragment of a larger hawaiian anemone, or finding a newly spawned one. When they carry it around, they force the anemone to adapt to an entire new lifestyle. The crab’s nocturnal behavior slowly kills the anemone’s photosynthetic symbionts, from which it gets its color. After that, the crab can control how much food the anemone actually gets by using it to mop up food off the sea floor, and take excess out of its mouth. Since it doesnt have to reach for sunlight, or reach to catch food, this encourages dense, but short tentacles.
The shortcoming of this study was just that its very hard to get the anemone away from the crab without killing both, and its equally hard to get an anemone to bounce back from this state.
Due to their introduction into home aquaria, we now know any anemone they take will end up in this state, (bubble tips, aipistasia, haitian anemones, the list goes on) and we also know they are not bound to carrying anemone’s specifically. They’ve been seen collecting zoanthids, palythoa, and euphyllia (though euphyllians usually don’t survive).
My dear Ganymede. They speak of him as a symbol, a constellation, a prize lifted into the heavens but I see a child standing at the edge of the earth, still smelling of grass and milk and daylight, still belonging to his mother. He is innocence made visible. And worse innocence noticed. No one speaks enough about the moment before the sky opens. No one mourns the seconds when his feet still touched the ground, when his mother could still reach him, when the world was small enough to be safe. They rush past that part, eager for gods and stars, as if divinity excuses the violence of being taken. I think of his mother often. I think of her hands what they were doing when the air tore open above her son. Was she folding cloth? Grinding grain? Calling his name? Did she hear the wings? Did she run? Did she scream until the mountains learned grief? And I think of myself, standing in that place, knowing that no prayer, no scream, no love is strong enough to stop a god who wants.
romaincrisis
stormborns
titsay
jbbartram-illu
janainaart
pixelskylines
2087
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
