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porcelainseashore · 1 month

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Into the Ether (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions — a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh—” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch — which it did — you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a—”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “PI, actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked.

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have—” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.”

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

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dailycass-cain · 1 year

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So on January 26th yesterday, I looked into how the comics had Cass combat her disability in Dyslexia being not able to read and relate words vocally.

What worked, what didn't, and which era handled the progression better.

At the very core of her very first appearance in Batman #567 by Kelley Puckett and Damion Scott, Barbara Gordon is trying to help Cassandra overcome her disability. And it is her first words spoken that give her father David Cain pause.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #2 gives us the first look into how Cass really doesn't fully care about learning in either study instead focusing on her new vigilante life. That is until running into Robinson and learning WHY words and writing truly matter.

#5 has her run across a metahuman who has mental abilities and because of those rewires her brain to have the capacity to understand.

It's a cheap copout for sure. But it gives Cass a voice in her mind along with the capacity to speak better. Bad news? It screws up her abilities and how her mind was originally wired.

This leads into #6-9 basically being how Cass can get her ability to read body language and learn with the added bonus of her mind continuing to be the way it is. Enter Lady Shiva who gives her this, but at a price aka the crux of what will lead into Batgirl #25.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #20 written by Chuck Dixon (art still by Scott). Where Cass comes to a drop man who's murdered before he can deliver a ransom. Her lack of being able to read leads her to seek out--

-- one Stephanie Brown aka Spoiler. I think at this point the reason Cass went to Steph was that she was afraid Babs would lecture her on neglecting her reading lessons (which she would later on).

Tim Drake, she had just fully befriended (#18), but he was close to Babs. So Cass probably figured he accidentally let slip this and she'd be in trouble. Steph wouldn't she was on the outside from the Bat Family (at this time).

The issue does promise of Cass in attaining another reading teacher (which pays off in the most weirdest place, Convergence: Batgirl #1), but this plot point goes nowhere here. Cass/Steph's friendship would intensify for the next ten issues (#21, 26-28).

For the most part, we don't really get to see fully Cass try and fight her Dyslexia again until the Dylan Horrocks' run with #51 where we learn HOW Cass is expanding her word vocabulary via TV but neglecting on reading.

This bit reads its crux with the infamous #54 (i.e. the one that causes Cass/Babs to fracture away from one another).

In the issue, Cass has to deal with a killer robot that's taking out any place that has a copy of a book that has the codeword to shut it down. We learn during the fight, Cass has been neglecting her studies in reading. Again with the infamous page:

Now Horrocks did this because he was ordered to write Babs off this title (Birds of Prey, the comic Babs was primarily in would be eventually moving away from Gotham). It was the first of that would make the writer leave the comic (and DC Comics altogether).

Regardless again the way the case rattled Cass enough to think about it all and work back into trying to read.

If there was instant positive of writer Andersen Gabrych when he began his run. He made sure this was a reoccurring plot point THROUGHOUT his run starting with #58.

By giving Cass her own diary it enables her better way to try and combat her disability. Along with in the very same issue, Cass trying to actively read a book for the first time on page.

The diary motif would be a hallmark of Gabrych's entire run with the book. So I'm not gonna post every entry. But I think that's why I really loved those first few issues because he covered ALL corners with the character.

You saw it all.

Never once did Gabrych use behind the issues trick. This was a struggle for Cass. I think it better helped resonate the character with readers by doing so. It also went down an angle that was different than Puckett and felt like the better next step from what was built on prior.

Course Cass would still have her bad habits of being an avid TV watcher. So the balance of her trying and struggling was a nice touch.

This came to an ironic fully circle with #67 with Babs returning (for one issue) in the comic and the pair hashing out their differences and mending. But it also reveals a further reason why Babs really wants Cass to learn to read. Again, this is probably the best reason.

She knows Cass wants to be Bruce's heir and be Batman. She knows the only way to fully be that is to get fully conquer her disability. And for the second time in her ongoing we get a look in how Cass's brain was wired from her learning from her father and the metahuman.

And we get the clearest answer how Cass's brain truly operates and why the usual methods in overcoming her disability in reading.

That's the final gift Gabrych gave us.

A hope.

A small faint hope that maybe Cass could learn with whatever writer would take on the character next. The only thing is even he couldn't anticipate what was to come...

Batgirl was canceled with #73 and well the next time we saw Cass and how this disability was handled came in Robin #148.

Alright, before I go into this portion. Newly minted Robin writer (this was his first issue) Adam Beechen came into comics had zero idea of the character of Cassandra Cain, other than what he was told and found.

The DC Editors on Robin did not help him or assist him. They gave him an edict... and he did that edict without question. The result....

Was this INFAMOUS page from Robin #149. Cassandra Cain the character who had the disability of Dyslexia somehow was able to learn another entire language.

That's not even going with the OTHER problem Robin OYL gave us with Cass (but that's an entirely ANOTHER issue). Regardless after the story arc, Beechen (and DC) realized just how badly he screwed up.

Course, the entirety on HOW Cass was suddenly able to learn an entire language with how her brain understood information. Yeah, this was a plot thread nobody truly wanted to answer when the retcons began dropping after Cass's "EVIL" phase to fix it.

In fact, it was Beechen himself who addressed the issue in Batgirl Vol. 2 #1 amongst the CHUNKS of well exposition and history that was the mess DC made of the character from 2006-2007.

So all those issues Babs mentioned in #67? Cass and Alfred fixed them and for the entire MISSING YEAR Cass made great strides to overcome her disability. THAT'S how she was able to understand the Navajo language.

Look I get what Beechen was doing and I also get we were NEVER gonna get the missing stories to showcase that. But to see an entire character's journey in overcoming her disability fixed overnight?

Even with Beechen giving us a classmate in Sal (who's last name we NEVER learn, and is forgettable male love interest #3 for Cass) who gives us the promise of something we never get from the Vol. 1 ongoing. Because DC was gonna DC.

That's basically it for the original run for Cass. That it was a nice harrowing journey that had its bumps but the character was making great strides to be better. Then well the road bumps began to occur and yeah...

I'll give it to Beechen that he tried at the very least to fix the holes he himself caused. But... in the format given it's just crushing how this was fully handled in the end.

Sadly we got nothing more as DC really did a meh job for about five years? We did get this little nugget in Convergence: Batgirl #1 though (somehow connecting that line from waaaaaay back in Batgirl Vol. 1 #20)...

Which is shocking of all places for Cass trying to overcome her disability, Convergence: Batgirl #1 was not the place one ever would think to find that, but we had that surprisingly.

So when Cass was "reintroduced" into the DCU with Batman & Robin Eternal. A reset was in order and writers were allowed back to square one in how to deal with Cass handling her Dyslexia disability.

I will say this for James Tynion IV and Scott Snyder on how they handle putting a metahuman with mental abilities they just slot that character in #11 by introducing the Sculptor who basically fills the same void the meta in Batgirl Vol. 1 #5 did.

Much like the original metahuman, once this link is established Sculptor nopes her way out of the story and is never heard from again.

Which kind of surprises me, because it's something I figured Tynion would maybe address during his Detective Comics run (that had Cass in it) given how much in #11 and 12 establish the character and her origins.

But nope. Nothing further.

So yeah, after this we got James Tynion IV's Detective Comics run that had Cass in it starting from #934-981.

Not surprisingly, Tynion really handled the whole disability issue well than those in the past with the constraints he had. Even more so Juggling multiple characters in this book and going down a better avenue than his predecessors.

And that all begins with #953 with Clayface (Basil Karlo) trying to comfort Cass after learning her mom is Lady Shiva.

By doing this. Tynion lays the seeds on how he'll deal with the issue on Cass combating her disability while also cementing the hallmark of this run, Clayface's rehabilitation and friendship with Cass.

#958 we see Basil teaching Cass Shakespeare by playing audio and having her learn to read and increase her vocabulary via that.

It's probably the best thing Tynion did character-wise with Cass by briefly showing us this but fully giving us a more plausible method than prior on how to deal with her disability.

The fact that this hits throughout this arc (as Cass quotes Shakespeare at a good moment) and is carried over until the very end of his run when Cass meets Barbara in #981.

This version of Cass is actively trying to combat her Dyslexia more than her prior versions, and this Cass is actively doing a better job. Even though we don’t get much Babs teaching Cass (though they do work together in the next arc after this that sets up Batman & the Outsiders). But that run doesn’t dig into Cass’s progress instead going into other routes to touch on with the character.

Unlike what was carried over from Batgirl Vol. 1 to 2 (and between that) Cass has a more concrete subplot here. Where we can SEE and are TOLD of her progress.

That leads us into the current Batgirls ongoing. In #1. where this is a little bit lampshaded. As Cass uses a reading bag to combat criminals to retain stuff she/Steph had that was stolen.

A further bit of subplot is continued throughout and in #4 with Cass now ACTIVELY being a bookworm and reading works of Edgar Allen Poe.

Like it astonishes me that this element of the character has remained actually consistent from point A to B. But it's a nice contrast of things that creators at DC worked on better here than prior.

And no issue highlights that fight of Cass actively wanting to combat her dyslexia then "Sounds" from DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1 by Mariko Tamaki and Marcus To.

It's why Tamaki just fully GETS the character of Cass not in every corner of the character. Why many want the writer to handle the character again.

But Tamaki isn't the only one who did a good job in showcasing Cass fighting her disability and the one that does the best job is Shadow of the Batgirl graphic novel. Where writer Sarah Kuhn and artist Nicole Goux go both literally fighting her disability.

And her actively learning to read and increasing her vocabulary by hiding in the library was absolute perfection.

But it also is a nice avenue (and nod to the past) by focusing on a library since that's the location where Barbara Gordon teaches (and again a nice nod to that character's history too).

Quite literally...

That's another layer to why I adore that graphic novel. Just the layer of dimension to BOTH characters while it gives that nod to Babs, the story is clearly more Cass.

Again, Kuhn modernizes everything to perfection.

So there you have the history of Cass and her disability. And my final gift on this day (which has now passed) to celebrate the character of Cassandra Cain.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #barbara gordon #clayface #tim drake #stephanie brown

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soylent-crocodile · 2 months

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Red Hag (Monster)

(art by @soylent-crocodile)

(Behold! A hag! The red hag exists because nearly every hag outside of core are, like, Leader Only types, someone who always takes control of their coven and makes it follow THEIR rules. That's all fine and dandy, but it means that filling out a coven can be hard, and filling out a high-level coven without the annis hag (CR6), the green hag (CR5), or the sea hag (CR4) is harder. The red hag is designed as a follower-type hag and more martially inclined than her sisters- in particular, she's designed to be paired with the CR9 night hag. I personally would round the coven out with an ame-onna from @thecreaturecodex, whose temperment and spellcast-y nature provide a nice balance.

Also, the trend of hag being supernaturally "ugly" runs into difficulties when you're critical of conflating disability with evil, so i gave this one the high cheekbones, sharp chin, and wiry eyelashes that are intentionally cultivated by certain fitness communities, as that's more a choice someone makes than just the state of their body.)

CR8 NE Large Monstrous Humanoid

Red hags are the towering physical apex of hagkind; great cunning brutes who use their physical might and tactical skills to live out their brutal destructive fantasies. A red hag relishes the sensation of overpowering her opponents, particularly enjoying the experience of bludgeoning them to death. In battle, this is achieved using her deadly tools, but a red hag may execute a captured victim by dropping heavy objects on them, pelting them with stones, or simply slamming their head against a wall or floor. Red hags in particular enjoy brutalizing men in this way, taking immense joy in the reversal of gender roles.

Indeed, red hags often grow up among farmland and secluded, rural areas where misogyny is rampant and a woman’s work is simultaneously demanded and devalued. Such a place can justifiably produce incredible rage in a changeling, and it’s that rage that often leads these daughters back into the clutches of hagkind.

Red hags frequently join covens; they find value in the company of other hags and have naturally weak spellcasting themselves. Red hags rarely lead covens, as they lack the charisma to assemble a coven or maneuver their way to the top. This doesn’t mean that a red hag is without ambition; the typical specimen dreams of leading her own coven, and intends to achieve this through treachery and force. One trick passed between red hags- who are usually used as frontline vanguards for the rest of their coven- is to let a single enemy combatant through, in hopes that that combatant will kill the hag’s leader for her, only for the red hag to corner and kill that very assassin. Covens led by red hags tend to self-destruct quickly, however; red hags have little interest in subtlety or sustainability once they gain power.

Covens with a red hag lose Baleful Polymorph and gain Telekinesis, Greater Heroism, and Flesh to Stone (DC19)

This woman towers over the tallest human, her skin pulsing with glowing blood vessels just under the surface.

Misc- CR8 NE Large Monstrous Humanoid HD11 Init:+3 Senses: Perception:+19 Darkvision 60ft

Stats- Str:27(+8) Dex:16(+3) Con:20(+5) Int:17(+3) Wis:20(+5) Cha:12(+1) BAB:+11/+6/+1 Space:10ft Reach:10ft

Defense- HP:116(11d10+55) AC:20(+3 Dex, +4 Armor, +4 Natural, -1 Size) Fort:+9 Ref:+6 Will:+12 (-4 vs Emotion) CMD:33

Offense- Deadly Tools +19/+14/+9(1d10+13 19-20/x2 plus trip or disarm) or 2 Claws +16(1d8+8) CMB:+20 Speed:40ft, Climb 40ft Special Attacks: Deadly Tools

Feats- Combat Reflexes, Standstill, Combat Expertise (-3/+6), Improved Trip, Greater Trip, Power Attack (-3/+6), Feral Grapple

Skills- Climb +30, Escape Artist +14, Knowledge (Local) +14, Perception +19, Sense Motive +16, Survival +19, Swim +22

Spell-like Abilities- (CL11, Concentration +12) Break (DC12), Magic Weapon, Remove Paralysis /at-will Fog Cloud 3/day

Special Qualities- Martial Flexibility (6/day), Shapechange (A single humanoid form, Alter Self)

Ecology- Environment- Grasslands, Urban (Any) Languages- Common, Giant, Goblin, Abyssal Organization- Coven (Three Hags) Treasure- Standard

Special Abilities-Deadly Tools (Su)- Any sufficiently large item used for housekeeping or farm labor- such as a broom, a rake, or a farming scythe sized for a medium creature- is deals damage as a medium sized +1 Heavy Flail in the hands of a red hag. The red hag does not receive any penalties for wielding an undersized weapon. Martial Flexibility (Ex)- A red hag has martial flexibility as a 6th level brawler. The stat block provided has not used any of her uses of this ability and thus does not have any bonus feats listed.

#soylent original #monsters and races #homebrew #pathfinder #witch #dungeons and dragons

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feathersandfarmers · 1 month

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Kip Tweedy headcanons (Or facts, since she's my character??)

(even if no one asked) (For those who don't know, Kip is my Chicken Run OC. She's a human character, but is an ally to the chickens! She can talk to animals, which is a special power only she has!.. In the events of the first movie, Kip would be around 10! For the sequel, she'd be 16!)

-She is related to Melisha Tweedy, but she has Willard Tweedy's last name because the Tweedys adopted her. They are Kipper's legal parents, but she'll still refer to them as her aunt and uncle.

-Kip loves rainy weather! She enjoys taking calming nature walks in the rain because the air smells so fresh.

-Kip is quite multi-talented. She's always been good at arts and crafts, for example! However, she learned her cooking skills from her Aunt Melisha! Melisha (obviously) wouldn't ever really "play" with her young niece. Instead, Melisha would teach Kip skills and that is how they'd mainly bond with one another.

-Kip also learned a lot of "handyman" skills from her Uncle Willard. Yes, Kip loves learning about tools and repairs. When she was little, she'd "help" Willard by passing him hand tools as he would fix something that had broken (that is how she learned what all the tools were called!). As she got older, Mr.Tweedy taught Kip how to use tools safely and efficiently. She's quite good at it. When she reaches high school, she's the only girl to sign up for any woodworking class and is better than most of the boys! (Bonus info: Mrs Tweedy was always nervous about Kip getting hurt, and Willard being too stupid to protect Kip properly, so she was never a fan of her niece messing around with power tools...until she became good at them and could fix things around the house!)

-Her first friends on the farm (when she first moved in with the Tweedys) were Nick and Fetcher! The rats were raiding the house for food and junk, and Kip would always catch glimpses of them from the corner of her eye...maybe she'd leave out snacks for them to take?? (I haven't come up with all the details yet) But I'm imagining Kipper sneaking downstairs at night and chilling in front of the fridge with the rats as they have a late-night snack together in secret. They'd introduce themselves, and become acquainted. A few days later, the rats would thank Kip for the food with a small toy they found on their journeys!

-Kip is scared of needles! She has a hard time handling medical stuff in general

-Her best friend, however, is Ginger! She gets along well with Babs and Mac too. Bunty wasn't a fan of Kip at first because Kip is human and the hen distrusts her. Eventually, Bunty grows fond of Kip when she sees examples of Kip's goodness.

-Kipper is Molly's favorite aunt (Auntie Kip!) and will be overcome with joy whenever she comes over for a visit. When Kip stays for a few weeks, Molly will want to spend each night over with her auntie and her cool tent. The two will listen to music together, eat candies and chips, and maybe even draw pictures together!

-Kip's favorite food are french fries!

(Adding an old drawing of Kip for reference! hehe)

#chicken run #kipper tweedy #chicken run 2 #aardman

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sergeifyodorov · 8 months

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As a Scheherazade super fan, I'd LOVE some DVD commentary, not sure if this is 500 words sorry but I love this bit:

The memories surge up into Auston’s mouth like vomit now, Mitch Mitch Mitch Mitch Mitch. A teammate, but not a friend. No mini-sticks in Patty Marleau’s basement, no Matt Martin ruffling Mitch’s hair, no Bogo fumbling in the kitchen with them as they stumbled through an Internet recipe.

Their first or second year, Babcock cornering Mitch at one end of the locker room and muttering to him in a low voice, the Babs voice that means it’s this or a bagger worse than any you’ve ever had, and Mitch not even bothering to protest, just hanging his head low and ducking like he had a tail to put between his legs. The list, teammates that hustled hard and then ones that put in the work and then the lazy no-good sons of bitches and then Mitch dead last, and not one person in the room even daring to talk back to the coach about it.

John Tavares, coming to Toronto for Mitch. Because he wanted a true superstar winger, and Mitch was producing seventy-odd points a season as a perennial thirdliner. Johnny, proud and composed, getting laid out against Montreal, blood on the ice and jerking limbs. Mitch flinging the puck over the glass, fighting tears in the box. Johnny, who failed his physical before training camp cause of the concussion and never played again. There’s time left on his contract, sitting forever in LTIR now. He’s still the captain. He won’t be back.

Auston chokes, putting his hands on the floor, trying to ground himself.

“I’m sorry,” Barilko says, and Auston jumps. He didn’t realize he was still here.

“Of the hockey gods,” Barilko says, sounding a little sad, “I have never been known for kindness.”

Auston lets out the rest of a ragged breath, then takes one more.

“But then again,” says Barilko, “have any of them?

“Good luck, thirty-four; you will need it.” There’s a sudden silence in the room; the newfound quiet after background noise disappears. He’s gone, then.

Auston allows himself one more memory on the floor: the apartment fire. He wasn’t there for this, but Mitch’s house burned down while he was at the draft. Auston was there six months ago when his own apartment building burned down -- a cold snap raced through Toronto and much of continental North America, and someone in his building had a space heater that caught something. He remembers coming back to the burning condo, the air hazy with smoke and the fumes of his breath, the fire the brightest light for miles.

So where is he now?

He opens his eyes. The floor is hardwood, but not his own; probably maple from the colour, brushed to prevent scrapes for longer. The memory of this universe is still coming back to him; this place isn’t so instantaneously recognizable. He stands up. It’s a bedroom, even if it’s not his. There’s no dresser, just a few folded sweatpants and suits next to a case, and no art, at least nothing that wouldn’t be amiss in a mid-level hotel. The feel of it creeps in before the context: he’s stayed here for a while, but he doesn’t think of it as home.

He also doesn’t have a bathroom connected to the bedroom, which is fine, but he kind of does need to pee right now so he heads for the door.

There’s a dog on the other side. The flow of memory has slowed to a trickle, and some part of it has caught up enough with him to supply that Felix (God and Jesus -- he missed having Felix, he doesn’t know what other-universes him was thinking) is sleeping downstairs, you’re ever-grateful that you were out on a walk with him when the fire started and also that this dog is not Felix.

It’s Zeus. Mitch’s boy.

Zeus taps his toes a few times on the hardwood floor in front of Auston, whistling out his nose and giving his tail a hesitant shake.

“Hi,” Auston says, and the last piece of this world clicks into his brain, like it was kept from him for a dramatic reveal. He’s staying at Mitch’s house, has been since pretty much the New Year -- a week after the fire. It’s June now, Cup Final season. Toronto still hovers ‘round sixty Fahrenheit, even if the days last well into the night. He’s not usually here this late into the year, doesn’t realize how sticky the first few hot days can get.

“You’re right,” he mutters, to Barilko in general, but, since he’s not here, to no one in particular. “It does hurt.”

Zeus snorts at him, comes up to poke at his hand for pets. Auston gets a wet nose in his palm and sighs, because there’s something Zeus clearly wants from him that he doesn’t have.

“What’s up, bud?” he asks, and Zeus takes a few steps back, snorting again like he wants Auston to follow him.

Okay, sure.

SCHEHERAZADE mon ami my debut showcase still the best thing ive ever written imho etc etc. anyway. yes i can dissect EVERY word if need be

The idea for this fic as a whole came about in a discussion with some friends of mine on a discord server; we were talking about the ultimate tragedy of this draft class and how no matter how it goes, it would be terrible, dramatic, miserable, et cetera. One of us pointed out how even if the picks were in the same order it could be worse: if Connor had been injury-prone instead of unlucky his first season, if the other, veteran Leafs hadn't so willingly embraced and defended Mitch. I don't entirely agree with Kyle Dubas' modus operandi of summoning exclusively sentimental old men as Leafs depth for those first few years, but without them maybe it would have been worse.

Notes for the specific examples: Marleau's kids LOVE 16 and 34, and what is it hockey kids do besides mini-sticks? Also, Zach Bogosian is apparently an accomplished cook.

The infamous list incident. In real life, those that were shown the list were actually really mad at Babcock, but in this universe, again, playing off the concept that things could be a lot worse just where they are, no one defends him. God Babcock just makes my fucking skin crawl.

I'm not sure how known this particular part of Leafs lore is, but Mitch's whole Mitch thing was actually a huge part of the dramatic Tavares signing. Part of the reason he came home was for Mitchy -- not the only reason, but part of it.

I've talked about it a few times, but one of the first times I decided to actively sit down and watch hockey was the Montreal series, game one, where JT caught an edge and hit Corey Perry's knee. Injuries are never fun to watch, and that was horrifying in real time -- it certainly looked like he'd never play again. Actually, it looked a lot closer to him dying than ever playing again.

Like Strange Trails trying to elicit emotions like disgust, visceral sensation, etc, Scheherazade is more of... a kind of meditative depression. I wanted to twist the knife at every opportunity that I could, and the JT injury is a pretty clear candidate for "could have been a LOT worse," so I took the chance to make it a lot worse.

Auston chokes, putting his hands on the floor, trying to ground himself.

“I’m sorry,” Barilko says, and Auston jumps. He didn’t realize he was still here.

“Of the hockey gods,” Barilko says, sounding a little sad, “I have never been known for kindness.”

Right. Bill Barilko. I've been utterly fascinated by him and the story of his disappearance ever since listening to the song -- you know the one -- and have kind of always thought of him as a representation of The Curse ever since. In a way, he's kind of like the Vladdy Konstantinov of his time: spirited, a team's lifeblood, wins the Cup and never plays again. In the years since his disappearance (they won the Cup twice after he died, but only twice in seventy years) nothing really good has happened to the Leafs. Or, at least, nothing that made the Curse go away.

Auston lets out the rest of a ragged breath, then takes one more.

“But then again,” says Barilko, “have any of them?

“Good luck, thirty-four; you will need it.” There’s a sudden silence in the room; the newfound quiet after background noise disappears. He’s gone, then.

Isn't all of hockey a tragedy, though? To go out on a high note is rare, and more common are the ones who flame out or never go back to the ways they once were.

The luck thing is largely a marker of my personal philosophy towards the playoffs: there's skill, there's learning what it's like to win, but it's also knowing that you have to roll the dice -- one bad bounce can end your season, one good bounce can write you into the history books forever. In a seven-game series in the NBA, the "better" team -- the one with the higher standings placement after an eighty-game season -- wins about 80% of the time. To have the same kind of predictability in hockey, you'd need more than fifty games.

Also, for the line about silence: I always thought of that sensation as like... imagine you're running a fan or some kind of white noise generator in the background, and you run it so long you don't really notice it's going, and then you turn it off and are suddenly wildly aware of the lack of noise.

I also tried to play with a lot of repetition, recurring instances of things -- why Auston always seems to be losing his airpods, for example. Mitch Marner's house actually did burn down when he was at the draft, and I needed a way to get Mitch and Auston together so they'd FINALLY start solving problems instead of crying on balconies.

So where is he now?

He also doesn’t have a bathroom connected to the bedroom, which is fine, but he kind of does need to pee right now so he heads for the door.

A couple of notes here: Auston strikes me as someone who's very aesthetically driven, very interested in making things look pretty and understanding art and design -- why he notices the colour of the floor and that the wood has been brushed.

Another note is that the feeling of Mitch's whole house was inspired by my ...stepmother's? suburban house. (She and my father are married, but they only started seeing each other after I was already almost an adult, so she never actually did anything close to parenting. Father's wife, I suppose. I do like her, though, so that kind of feels insulting? Anyway). It's a very nice home, comfortable and large and well-lived-in, but it just doesn't feel quite like somewhere I personally could live whenever I visit.

"like it was kept from him for a dramatic reveal," lol. It was kept from you for a dramatic reveal, I'm just being a little-tongue-in-cheek.

I use Celsius, but Auston's American so he would definitely use Fahrenheit -- I tried to keep track of Canadianisms and Americanisms throughout the fic. For example, if you go back and reread Eichel's section, the narration uses American spelling, meanwhile everything else I spell shtuff the Canadian way. Except "defence" versus "defense." Can never decide about that one.

Also, as a sadly-former Toronto resident, summer gets HUMID and STICKY and it is the WORST. It's not as wet in the spring and fall as somewhere like Vancouver would be -- prefers to storm instead of constant fog -- but in the summer it is so wet it's like breathing in soup.

“You’re right,” he mutters, to Barilko in general, but, since he’s not here, to no one in particular. “It does hurt.”

After several lifetimes of hunting down Mitch, I can only imagine how awful being right next to a very close but fake version of him would be. Yeowch!

#asks #scheherazade #auston matthews #more directors commentary :]

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alanshee-keeper-of-realms · 11 months

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Hey, OP! It's been five years since you've made the post, but is the offer to learning Ninjago Fandom Lore still open? You were there when the ancient scripture was written, you are a relic and lorekeeper of the past, and I am sitting criss-cross apple sauce and willing to hear ye olden tales. That is to say, I watched the show before s3 was even a concept, up until s5 started where I dropped it due to a combination of reasons, but I never forgot how I did want to watch it. And now over a decade later I learn this silly lego show of my childhood had a FANDOM, and I have missed all the moments with the community. Which seems very entwined with fan-show creator interactions to the point they throw OCS into their works and have fans send voice requests to sing the theme song and put it into the show finale. It's like the fandom is that child whose birthday you missed through being totally absentee. A shame :') this is my Pokemon, it's to us what Pokemon is to 90s kids. A show you could've been there since the Pilots and most of everyone is in your age range.

Of course I will always be up to speaking on the lore of the Ninjago Fandom!

Now for the newer anti groups this is your warning. We were the Wild West Kids so we did a lot of stuff that the Modern fandom would be ick about.

I guess that can be the first lore, the OG fandom had crackshipping everywhere, but some of these actually became a thing. One of the original now controversial ships that road a popularity wave alongside Jaya and, yes, Colya, was Greenflame.

Garsako was lovingly taken care of LadyMarissaGarmadon like they absolutely were crazy for it.

I was hiding in the corner with Zaya or Snow Phoenix as I called it

Bruisehipping was huge there was an artist called Blakkycat who was in the Tumblr side known for their Bruishipping Art I actually adopted their OC Chua, more lore

Serpentine Babies EVERYWHERE like everyone had a Serpentine Oc istg it was awesome Blakkys Bab Chua was one of these but he was popular due to his Shenanigans here's some Art for ya

That's Chua! So yeah I'm his caretaker now since Blakky left years ago. Blakky and I actually came up with a very Popular AU let's see if some of the Olders Remember this

Overlord Nya, and yes she's pulling a Katara and using the water in Blood to control it Blakky and I would talk for hours over this AU and the Fandom loved it just as much for a bit, Blakky created the Art I supplied Ideas.

This was I would say 2013/2014,

Season 3 oh man that was a trip, we actually Mourned Zane like held a funeral its funny now thinking it especially with how many times he's died and come back. We all really thought you know logically he was 100% gone

The Love Triangle thing was rough suddenly the Colya and Jaya fans were at each other's throats....people actually got hurt and friendships badly shattered a bunch of us were horrified like outsiders called us the most toxic fandom at least until Voltron stole that crown and we had Season 6 confirm Jaya. But this is why some wince at these ships

Nindroid Jay oh goodness Prpledragon created him and the Fandom was head over ass with AUs with this version I'm pretty sure you can still find the Comic Prple made partially for the AU

Then season 4 ohhhhhh man

I remember fondly the Tournament of Elements held here on Tumblr, like the whole fandom dozens of artists forming their own Art Tournament in honor of it

Then Zane was brought back and it was like we'd won the game celebrations everywhere lmfao

And the uproar that was Garmadons death

Ahaha I can continue but this is getting long so just let me know if you wish for more. I do indeed hold the texts and I'm more then happy to share

I have been Agent Alanshee, The Guardian Alanshee, The Winged Guardian Alanshee

And then Alanshee Keeper of Realms

For anyone who might recognized me

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fandom #ninjago fandom lore

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dritalion · 2 years

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Pink flamingo

Pink flamingo movie#

Having been condemned in the press as “the filthiest person alive”, Divine has adopted the alias Babs Johnson, and fled to a derelict mobile home in the woods with her hillbilly son (Danny Mills), her son’s voyeuristic girlfriend (Mary Vivian Pearce), and her mother (Edith Massey), who is described by Waters in Shock Value as “a 250-pound senior citizen who sits in a playpen dressed in a girdle and bra and worships eggs”. Harris Glenn Milstead, better known by the stage name Divine, stars as a woman who is also called Divine, a vision in a tight sparkly dress, with a back-combed coiffure, and iconic eye make-up that reaches all the way up her forehead. “I would’ve loved to have had my picture taken with him under our big pink flamingo,” Café Hon owner Denise Whiting says of Featherstone.īut best of all, even as the country mourns the loss of the inventor (on Wednesday, Featherstone graced the cover of The New York Time s), his creative legacy lives on-those plastic feathered friends forever emblazoned in American memory as a symbol of novelty, and still stuck, neck arched and one-legged, into the Baltimore grass.The plot, says the BBFC’s website with exquisite understatement, “is unusual but fairly straightforward”. There are flamingos tucked into every corner of the neighborhood’s annual HonFest, on the treetops of 34th Street during the holidays, and, of course, in Cafe Hon, first opened in 1992, with its flamingo chandeliers, cocktails, and prodigious façade (which caused the Flamingogate of 2009). Up near The Avenue, pink flamingo populations are still alive and well. I think when it was innocent, it was much more touching and influential.” But then it went on to become: yuppies have it on their lawn! That’s when I gave all mine away. “And at the time, pink flamingos subtly questioned taste.

Pink flamingo movie#

“But it was always going to be called Pink Flamingos because it was a very calm title for a movie that was the opposite,” he says. Demented, and The Wire, found them for the film, along with other set pieces like a plate that read “God Bless Our Mobile Home.” Waters notes that Pink Flamingos production designer Vincent Peranio, who went on to do Homicide, Cecil B. (As does Madison, Wisconsin, whose council named the plastic pink flamingo their official city bird.) Through bouts of popularity all across the country, the pink flamingo has remained bound to our city, at one point or another designating Hampden as its unofficial urban district, which proudly wears the honor. Later, became like the hula-hoop, they became a huge fad, but they’ve gone through many, many changes over the years.” “When we made Pink Flamingos in the fall of ’71, nobody collected ’50s stuff-it was before ‘modern-antiques’ was even a term-and thrift shops were filled with it.Įverybody was collecting ’30s and ’40s stuff-even hippiesĭressed like they were the gold diggers of ’33-but nobody wanted to “I liked because the ’50s had not been revived yet,” says Waters. Just as Waters’ film was banned in theaters, some neighborhood associations started to ban the eyesores in their communities. Hippies opposed the use of plastic, and what had once been a symbol of taste quickly devolved into a tchotchke of tackiness. From California to Charm City, families welcomed the bright, beloved bird into their yards.īy the 1960s and ’70s, however, the flamingo’s mainstream popularity waned. With a burgeoning consumer society came the embrace of plastic and mass production, and hence, Featherstone’s tour de force. Same, but front lawns were a way to keep up with the Joneses and also standĪpart. All across the country, houses looked the II America was in a state of suburban sprawl, with baby-boom desire driving development of nuclear dream homes. One of his first assignments was to create the neon, umbrella-shaped bird, which debuted in 1957, and was soon immortalized in American culture. He attended art school there, honing his craft as a sculptor, before ultimately landing a job at a large manufacturer of lawn and garden decorations. Fittingly surnamed, Featherstone was not a Baltimore native but rather from Massachusetts. On Monday, the plastic bird’s inventor, Don Featherstone, passed away at the age of 79, nearly 60 years after his famed flamingo first came off the assembly line. “That may have been the beginning of my obsession with them, because whatever I was told I wasn’t supposed to like, I always did.” “When I grew up, I think my mother, who was great at the tyranny of good taste, mentioned her disdain for lawn ornaments, especially pink flamingos,” Waters says. Over the years, the mid-century lawn ornament has cemented itself in our city’s narrative, largely thanks to our own auteur John Waters and his 1972 film Pink Flamingos. And, of course, we have the pink flamingo.

#Pink flamingo

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