#her beak is deceptively small

[thedamesdrains]

Even when I think bathtime is safe, rest assured the tides can changed...

This time with an attached story!

Krrrsshhhhhhh… squeak… plip plop plop…

Char smiled as she turned off the tap. Just what a weary bird needed: a nice hot bath, frothy and white. Slipping out of her bathrobe, she eased a talon first into the water, followed by the rest of her leg. Sighing in bliss, the raven settled down into the water and bubbles. Laying her head by the tap's end, wrapped in the warmth, she closed her eyes. All those worries seemed to melt away as she soaked. Just a bird and her bath.

Or would it be two birds and a bath?

The bathroom door creaked open, and a smirking black beak peered in. With the expected silence and stealth of a bird of prey, a mischievous osprey snuck her way into the raven's bathroom. Charbydis, wearing only her trademark grin, set her sights on the relaxing bird. She would teach her to be more attentive of her surroundings, especially while taking a bath. The osprey would demonstrate how fitting her name was.

Careful and quiet, Charbydis slid over to the front of the bathtub. There, she saw it, glimmering in the water between clouds of suds: the drain plug. Marble white and attached to a silver beaded chain, it kept all the water and a certain birdy in the tub. That wicked grin widening, she slipped her hand down into the warm water. With a grip on the chain, Charbydis wanted to make sure Char knew she was already in trouble.

"Oh Char~?" she cooed in that deceptively deep voice.

The raven slowly opened her eyes, the hazy outline of that mischievous osprey coming into focus. She gulped. She only had time to sit upright before…

Pop!!

With a yank of her wrist, Charbydis pulled the plug out from the bath. Teasingly dangling it in front of the aghast raven, Chabydis spoke: "Bath time's over~"

Glug glug glug… glrrshh…

The sudsy waters started to drain out of the tub. Already amassing into a small vortex at the other end of the tub, Char felt herself pulled with the water! Already her talons and tail feathers brushed and squeezed against the metal of the drain. With a bout of suction, they squeezed impossibly into the pipes with a noisy glrk! as they did.

"W-wait, Bydi!" Char crawhed, pulled deeper and deeper into the drain with each passing second. "P-Pull me out, I-I-I'm…"

"Going down the drain," Charbydis coolly replied. With a proud puff of her chest, she started to twirl the plug by the chain. "Right where you belong, sewerslut."

Swsh swsh swsh… gurgle… glunk!

Her legs vanished into the sudsy swirl, pulling the raven hip-deep into the plumbing and upright atop the drain. Grimacing bashfully, the raven started to spin in place among the water and soap. A dizzying twirl made her head spin! Nothing could stop her descent as she continued to slip away like so much suds…

Char continued to glide down the drain, the loud gurgles of the drain echoing in her ears. Her whole world was in a spin, her vision soon becoming full of water and foam as the last bits of the bath chased after their bird. A relaxing time in the tub, now she's all washed up! With a meek little whine, her head squeezed down into the pipe and vanished beneath the last dollops of foam.

Satisfied and listening to those blubs and gurgles of the water rushing away, Charbydis leaned over the tub to watch the pretty bird go down the drain. Seeing those last feathers vanish into the dark of the drain, she gave a teasing wave.

"Bye bye birdie~" she tweeted toward the pipes.

Down beneath the bathtub, Charmyte was tight in the pipes. The waters pulled her along, still noisy in her head… glrrrrshhh, blurrblbl… She couldn't help but blush and squeak silently to herself. Squeezing down through the plumbing would be the rest of her afternoon, before an ignoble deposit into the sewers… she would definitely need another bath after this.

Hopefully one she gets out of by her own accord and not by pulling a plug cord…

Gluglguglug!!!

#raven #furry #bath #drain #drain kink #osprey #comm'd art #my story #down the drain #bully the bird #bathtime #suggestive

[the-firebird69]

Watch "DUNE 2: Paul's Revenge (2024) Movie Preview" on YouTube

This is a brief overview of what's going on with the families and did not really hitting it on the head that the baron is not them at all and it sounds like it's some sort of clan war which is what the essence of dude feels like but it's really because it's in the desert and they are karma and they're calm and it's because it's mostly about death out there and there's giant worms but they're really cage you and some of them eat them get very sick if they recover they feel very strong and if they do it for too long it'll Rock them away her son said I naturally have that strength when I'm at size and she couldn't believe it she saw the huge worm and he said better hold your breath and she's holding it she said I can't believe I'm doing this and she said he said what that works is to work with us not against us in the face of a massive massive cages she said I can't do that I said then you won't live she called Hera and said I need to beg you for forgiveness I can't control myself for too small we need to ride this beast and she said I know I'm here. That was it she got on and was okay.

There's a lot of fear and they see the power but those concrete structures can withstand a hit from it and pretty easily they're a bigger ones though our sons has a huge beak and it breaks through the concrete it drills through it and one of them can go 5 miles in about 5 minutes and push through and people are very surprised because they build a ton of them out there along the perimeter one of those 20 miles long and about 10 miles high and they rival hours in size they're still concrete but they put plate on them and in between an intermittently too and it works but they are very tough these Macs are tough and deceptive and they're fooling a lot of people. McDonald's is a McDonald's high there's a Mac high that the ruling cast and their humans and they're not retarded they're now fight facing a huge army coming at them here and these people are psyched and they will see this and think to fight but he really wants to show the bases and you see it briefly again it's really brief but he's going to try again

Thor Freya

Zues Hera

Olympus

#Youtube

[thornbushrose]

I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere with this fanfiction. I found an outlining structure that seems to be working. So here's another excerpt. I'm at 24,000 words so far, and it's maybe a little more than a quarter written. I think it'll be novella length when I'm done. If I could write chronologically instead of hopping all over the place, and if I could write a finished chapter without having to just burp out a first draft and then refine it later, I'd start posting for reals, but alas. You will have to wait until I'm done.

Now, if you were a beta reader, I could make exceptions. Just sayin'.

Also, I don't have a working title yet. I hate making up titles.

=====================

This chapter is about what Birdie gets up to after a hard day of work at the orphanage.

=====================

That night, Birdie was the last one to arrive at her meeting. She mounted the ladder to the balcony around the ancient water tower and noted sourly that even her pet raven, Harbinger, was already there, perched on the railing, begging for snacks from the others.

Near the ladder, Victor lounged with his back to the water tank, wearing sweats on his long legs and a ridiculous purple cape over his narrow shoulders, and eating an ice cream cone. “Hey Birdie,” he said nonchalantly. He probably expected Birdie to be impressed that he’d gotten all the way up here with an ice cream cone. Birdie actually was kind of impressed.

Vic’s cape had Chinese characters embroidered on it, which Victor claimed were enchantments, though Birdie highly doubted his Vietnamese family had taught him to read Chinese. “Hey Vic,” Birdie said. “Edna Mode says no capes.”

He scoffed. “Edna Mode can kiss my ass.”

“You mispronounced ‘kick.’” Birdie slid past him to join Louis and Lore sitting against the water tank. “Hey, nerds,” she said.

Louis made a finger-gun salute and said, “Reporting for duty, Nerd Leader.” He was dressed in Daredevil red and had a protein shake in his hand. He always had some kind of health food or other, but he never seemed to lose weight. The pudge around his chin and muscles was deceptive, though. He taught Taekwondo and could probably bench-press Birdie.

Harbinger hopped down the railing, following Birdie. He clacked his ridiculous beak, as if to remind her that he was hungry. Birdie wasn’t buying it. She had fed him plenty at home, and she knew he ate during the day when he was out.

But Louis eyed him suspiciously. “Remind me why a cute little muppet like you has such a creepy bird?”

Birdie shrugged. “Do I have him? Or does he have me?”

“You know I ain’t smart enough for philosophical questions like that.”

Birdie gave him a skeptical look. “Wasn’t your SAT higher than mine? Look, he just showed up in my apartment after the Battle of New York. I don’t keep him locked up. He stays for the free food and the lulz.”

Louis kept frowning at Harbinger. Harbinger ducked his head and croaked, “Nevermore?”

Louis said, “I don’t think he’s actually a raven, you know.”

Birdie sighed. “You may be right. But damn if I’m going to ask him about it.” She plopped down between Louis and Lore.

Lore smirked. She was taller and curvier than Birdie and had her hair in a hundred little braids this week. She had smooth, deep brown skin and tonight wore a purple hoodie and leggings and high-tops that made her look like she might be about to pose for an album cover or something. She had been Birdie’s best friend since high school, and had just returned from the Marines. Now that Birdie thought about it, Lore could probably bench-press her, too. “How’s the blog going, Vic?” Lore asked.

“Same,” he sighed, his voice slightly bitter. “No legit sightings.”

Louis said. “Maybe he’s on vacation or something.”

“For four months?” Lore asked. “Don’t you think he has a day job?”

“I’m just not buying that he’s dead,” Louis insisted. “Heroes don’t die.”

“The other supers said he didn’t make it out,” Birdie said, opening the small bag of peanuts she’d brought. “You don’t believe them?”

“That’s only a rumor. Somebody’s cousin’s neighbor is an emt who overheard them,” Louis said. “I guess I just believe in Daredevil, you know? He’ll come back when we need him.”

“What, like King Arthur?” Vic laughed.

“There’s already been an uptick in crime in Hell’s Kitchen,” Lore said. “We need him.”

Birdie tossed a couple of peanuts to Harbinger. “Two of our boys got caught selling meth last week.”

“Whoa,” Lore said. “Where were they cooking it?”

“That’s just it. They weren’t. Someone was supplying them.”

“Who would do that?” Vic said. He sighed. “I believe in Daredevil too. That’s why I’m keeping the blog open. But wherever he is, I don’t think he’s there by choice. I just hope he can come back someday.”

“He’ll be back,” Louis said. “He’s done so much for the Kitchen. He wouldn’t abandon us now.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Vic pushed himself to his feet. “And on that note, let’s get this meeting started.” He tossed the last bite of his cone to Harbinger, and stood in front of them with his hands folded behind his back. “The purpose of this meeting is to create a name for our group. The list, Louis.”

Louis pulled a piece of paper that looked suspiciously like a drugstore receipt out of his pocket and read from the back of it. “Power Players.”

Lore laughed. “Sounds like a boy band.”

“Did the rest of you get powers?” Birdie asked. “I thought I was the only one.”

“Okay, next.” Vic turned and paced across in front of them.

“Crimemasters?”

Birdie winced. “That might be the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No,” Lore said firmly. “Next.”

“Hell’s Kitchen Crime Fighters, to be abbreviated as HKCF.”

Lore narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like we’re going to make fried chicken.”

“No,” Birdie laughed, wagging a finger. “That might be the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You guys don’t like anything!” Vic complained.

“And before you ask,” Birdie said, “DD Fan Club, or Daredevilitos, or whatever Devil-themed idea you have, is not okay either.”

Louis looked deflated. Everyone sat around for a moment, silent.

“I kinda liked Daredevilitos,” Louis muttered.

Vic spoke over him. “We can’t be vigilantes without a name. What will the news guys call us? How can we make a hashtag?”

“How about ‘The Parkour Club’?” Lore said.

Birdie tilted her head. “Easy to say. Actually describes who we are. No cheese detected. I like it.”

The boys looked unconvinced.

Birdie said, “Okay, raise your hand if you’re too scared of Lore to contradict her anyway.”

Lore giggled, burying her face, and smacked Birdie’s shoulder. The boys reluctantly raised their hands. Birdie gleefully joined them.

#daredevil fanfic #daaredevil fan fiction #slow burn #Matt/OC #matt isn't even in this scene #but doesn't Harbinger make up for it? #matt murdock #The Parkour Club

[ainarosewood]

Flight

As they passed by another of the few people wandering the road this evening Devon felt a pang of guilt as the pair saw them, then didn’t.  What she was doing, this ever so slight warp of their mind could be argued to be breaking the laws of the land.  But, she reasoned, she had little choice, it was either uphold the law and risk her young charge or dance on the knife's edge of it for her charges sake.

So the guard continued her manipulation, each time her heart torn between duty to the young girl holding her paw and her duty to uphold the laws.  She glanced down at the young girl who looked up at her with an understanding in her eyes that by far should not be for one so young.

But it was there, the knowledge of the weight of the burden she now bore.  A burden she must, for her people's sake, cast aside and flee else her traitorous kin find her and finish what they started.

Silently Devon heaped all manner of curses on the curs.  Her own flesh and blood, hells the woman who birthed her and the man who was her sire.  He, who in cold blood, cut down his own parents not for want of their power but to sew chaos in the kingdom. 

She could at least accept it, to some degree, if he had slain them to take the throne from his yet unready daughter.  But that wasn’t why, he did it because he worshiped the shadows and the foul magics they spawned.   They, who since time immemorial, had sought to bring destruction on all the world and only kept at bay by a few determined souls.

Shaking her head to clear it of these musings, she saw fortunately, they had reached their destination, the docks.  Moving swiftly she found easily what she sought.  One of the myriad of small skiffs intended to ferry passengers from the larger vessels too big for the berths.  Silently apologizing to whichever captain owned the craft she ushered her charge aboard and swiftly untied the line that moored it.

“Now would be a good time lass,” she murmured to her charge.

The girl nodded and closed her eyes, her familiar on her shoulder opening its deceptively small beak  into its much larger mouth uttering a single note as its eyes beginning to glow a pale swirling green as the girl began intoning strange words that seemed to sound like flowing waters and swirling winds at the same time.

As she spoke a fog began to climb up from the clouds below the city and completely envelope it in a shroud of fog.  It was a conscious effort on Devon’s part not to start at the movements she saw dancing at the edge of her vision and before her knowing full well that it was part of the spell not actual shapes in the fog. 

Then moments later she felt something brush across her eyes and suddenly she could see clearly as if the fog did not exist even though she could see it swirling all around them.  Hesitating no longer she unfurled the sail, its runes glowing in the gloom and grabbed the tiller pointing straight down.   The little airship leapt from the berth into a straight dive to the clouds below.

Once within the safety of the clouds Devon tilted the craft to go a level heading and none too soon for the girl collapsed onto the deck from the strain of the cast.  Lashing the tiller in place so the craft kept course Devon moved to the girls side.  Fortunately, aside from sheer exhaustion from the cast, she seemed none the worse for wear if her familiar’s reaction was any indication.

Unable to do aught else, Devon removed her cloak and wrapped it around the tired young mage then returned to the tiller.  Turning it and adjusting it to flee to a place she knew would be safe, a place long abandoned by its former peoples.  A place guarded by dragons and other beasts of the air who would obey her young charge without question due to whom she was.

For the girl was the chosen ruler by the magics, that was evident by the wings that adorned her back.  Only those chosen had those and with that mark she could command any of the creatures of the air if she chose.  Devon knew that command would not be what the girl would do, she fully understood who and what she was.  She fully understood the responsibility she had even at this tender age.  She would ask before ever thinking to command and that alone was why Devon would defend her with her last breath if it came to it.

#dentober #preptober

[ghost-bird]

hey i adopted a pigeon

#birds #pigeon #dove #cute #pouter #her name is cupid and shes a big dumb chicken with a fat tit #her beak is deceptively small #i wanted a photo of her yawning but thats like impossible to time right #so ive created a diagram to display her gaping maw

[ai-higurashi]

@beakleyappreciationweek 2021

Day 6: Vulnerable

I don't usually write and this is kinda short so hope you like it!

------------------

It had been a pretty regular mission if someone asked Scrooge. 

Sure, he had somehow gotten captured this time (in hindsight, maybe all the times Bentina had stressed about NOT putting unknown things in his beak had a slight point. Not that he was going to admit it out loud, even less to her face, any time soon though), so most of the work had fallen into 22's shoulders with the extra task of rescuing him. But still, pretty subpar villains compared to the ones they usually dealt with, paired with pretty common goals and a poorly put-together plan made it so the events of the day were unremarkable at best, and he had almost completely forgotten about them by the time he settled reading in the hotel's shared bed, Beakley diligently finishing touching up the main points of her report before joining him with a book of her own.

Eventually he had been so engrossed in his book, detailing the mysteries that surrounded a certain artifact that had recently caught his eye, that he had lost all sense of the time.

Until a soft, steady, rhythmic sound he had never heard before pulled him out of his trance and made him scan his side of the room startled, book gripped hard in his hand in case he needed a weapon, taking for granted his partner would cover the other side. 

But it wasn't until he turned to check with her that he found the source of his alarm and his breath stopped for a moment.

Because Bentina "Agent 22" Beakley looked deceptively defenseless curled under the blankets next to him with her pale hair messily scattered all over the place and shining slightly under the soft combined glow of his night lamp and the crescent moon, long lost to a deep slumber for the first time since they had met all those years ago.

And there he sat, staring at her in bewilderment, trying to remember a single occasion he had seen her like this in their many shared travels.

No matter how tedious the mission had been, how grueling and challenging the fight had gotten nor how many injuries she received from it, Agent 22 had always been awake to see him fall asleep.

Moreover, while Scrooge prided himself on being an early bird, no matter how early he awoke, Bentina was already going about her daily routine, moving silently like a shadow around the room to avoid waking up her partner. He had tried waking up before his regular hour before for a change but somehow she seemed to anticipate when that would be and fix her sleeping schedule accordingly every single time.

Logically he knew she would sleep during the period in-between. After all, common sense was one of her strongest suits, she wasn't reckless enough to enter a battle sleep-deprived, especially not when so much was at stake in every single one of her missions. Plus, she had trusted Scrooge as far as to give him her real name years ago and their bond had only gotten stronger since then.

She simply had never allowed herself to lower her guard to that degree around him during his waking hours.

Of course, he could hardly blame her. After all, old habits die hard, especially if they're the ones keeping you alive. 

Until now.

A small whimper suddenly broke his line of thought, making his attention snap back to the spy next to him, who, in a more awake state, would have never been caught dead making that sound in front of anyone.

Whatever dreams plagued her mind surely weren't pleasant as she whimpered again, her breathing speeding up and her body getting more restless by the moment, until he instinctively put a hand on top of her head, stroking her hair gently with a comforting shush, like he would do ever so often for Hortense or Matilda when they were little kids.

And then he froze.

He expected her sharp senses to snap her awake gasping, her fighting response to kick in and her self-defense instincts to take over in order to subdue the perceived threat, and immediately braced himself for the heavy impact of a bruising hit that never came.

Instead, under his astonished eyes, Bentina sighed and her breathing evened out again, burying her face in the pillow and snuggling closer to his warmth, mumbling something incoherently.

He didn't know if she was fully aware of it yet. But whether on purpose or by chance, Bentina Beakley trusted him enough to allow herself to be vulnerable. 

And if, much to 22's confusion, his smile was a little bit too smug when the morning came and the sun rised, well, could you really blame him?

#scrooge mcduck #ducktales2017 #bentina beakley #beakleyappreciationweek2021 #ai tries to write #sjjsjan I wanted to draw smth for director 22 bc she's so badass and deserves more recognition then for vulnerable and finally #this thing came out?? anyways it's almost 3am and I'm very tired and sleepy and every time I tried to check for mistakes I kept #adding stuff instead so heads up there's no beta reader and the writer was too tired to think straight #in this house we die like feral evil scientists falling into the void #ducktales scrooge #scroogeley #gonna tag it that too bc this can be read either romantically or platonically and I really love both #also haven't properly participated in the tag for so long #indulging my sleep-deprived brain by writing my faves sleeping comfortably instead of sleeping myself I call that an absolute win #yes 'beakley trusts X enough to fall asleep next to them' is a pretty common thing in my drafts but consider #it's cute and she deserves all the love and safe sleep in the world #and also probably a big step in any of her close relationships so jot that down #she needs people who will have her back and not backstab her smh

[tyrantisterror]

The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D: Entry Roundup

You’ve been patiently waiting for the results of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D, and now... you have to wait a bit longer, but at least you’ve got an entry roundup with lots of sketches and a good bit of feedback for all the entrants!  My goal is to get the finalists illustrated in a week or two, and after that, the grand prize winner will be announced.  But, for now, the official entry roundup!  After the cut:

I should note that while I sketched these in the order they were submitted, my scanner saved the documents with random names, so they’re a bit jumbled.  You know, just in case you’re like me and would get confused noticing that it’s almost in chronological order but with some entries jumbled around.

@bugcthulhu’s Obsideban was designed as a counterpart to Rohobaron - the Black King to Rohobaron’s Red King, if you will.  Or, well, Black Queen in this case, as Obsideban also takes her personality from the “delinquent girl” archetype in Japanese media.  Bug’s designs always ooze personality, and I had a lot of fun translating this big, gnarly retrosaur into my own style.

@toothlessloveshiccup‘s Argonox is the first - but far from the last - monster in this breakdown that brings in a bit of fantasy influence to ATOM’s roster.  A golden-fleeced ram with a vicious streak, this sheep is both treasure and dragon at once.  And while it wasn’t written in the monster’s profile, given the Yamaneon-rich nature of its wool, Argonox might be able to replicate the healing power of the golden fleece too!  A very fun mammalian kaiju and excellent entry.

@highly-radioactive-nerd submitted Gunmetal Jeeves, a robot butler who can gigantomax temporarily create a holographic/hard light version of himself to fight kaiju.  That detail was a late revision added to the entry before the contest’s deadline, made after the creator realized that ATOM allows for some truly ludicrous bullshit, which is something everyone should exploit when making entries for this in my opinion.  Also, this is a robot butler who can size shift.  Revel in its awesome absurdity!

Ultranerd submitted Rajasaurus, a dimetrodon-like synapsid kaiju with electric powers.  His origin specifies that the electric powers are a result of the volatile nature of the Yamaneon deposits he mutated under, which is an interesting idea.  That’s another theme that cropped up a lot in this contest’s entries, actually - people really wanted to play with what Yamaneon can do.

Case in point, @polygonfighter’s Yamaneolith takes the Monolith Monsters homage at the heart of Yamaneon even more apparent.  I like the implication that there is a second mineral-based lifeform at the root of this Yamaneon cluster’s anomalous behavior - a parasite, perhaps?  It brings up some interesting possibilities.

@ariccio50 submitted Kukulkuzana, and damn is this a cool spin on the body plan of my martians.  I made a few changes here and there (splitting its tail into two is probably the biggest one), but tried to keep true to the original design, because holy hell is it gorgeous.  The idea that this is a mountain-dwelling creature is really intriguing to me, as it looks like a sea creature, but at the same time, that flexible and low-slung build WOULD work pretty well in mountains, and it’s just the right mix of plausible weirdness that makes for a fun alien design.

@akitymh submitted Aramzados, a Venusian monster that’s basically an organic hot rod car.  I like the idea of organic machinery being the gimmick for Venusian kaiju, and Aramzado’s does it subtly enough to not feel like that gimmick is the sole thing going for it.  I especially love this monster’s stange, apparently mouth-less blade-beaked face.

@virovac submitted Rurzar and Zar Rider, a Beyonder kaiju and mecha (respecitvely) that were both modified and repurposed by humans reverse engineering Beyonder technology to make, like, a motorcycle-saurus essentially.  It is a delightfully absurd concept, and a very, very detailed one (13 pages of description).  There’s a dark undercurrent beneath the sillyness, though, as this pair show that humanity might still be following the same path as the Beyonders before them.

@dinosaurana brings us Krangor, a humanoid monstrosity of living kelp!  The goal here was to create a Jack Kirby-esque monster dude, complete with the gibberish name and all.  He’s also made out of kelp, which feels very classic 1950′s monster-y despite me not being able to think of any monsters that were explicitly made of kelp.  I love him.

@kiryuthechimera submitted Genkakurah, a psychic retrosaur with some draconic features.  Though his substantial powerset is probably the biggest distinguishing feature of this kaiju (given that most ATOM kaiju pretty much have the same standard powers), what really draws me to him is that reptilian pseudo-beard.  It’s just a fun detail!

@glarnboudin submits Tiratola, and see, there’s that fantasy influence again!  Even more explicitly dragon-y than Kraydi, Tiratola still manages to toe the line between sci-fi and fantasy enough to fit ATOM as is while still cementing its ties to my own slice of fantasy fiction.  Man it’s good I’m doing a Midgaheim book next, huh?

@dragonzzilla submitted Scuttlebutt/Argonautilus, a hermit crab kaiju who lives in/with a hollowed out mecha.  That’s a twist I can’t recall ever hearing before, and the idea of a kaiju and a mecha having an equal partnership that doesn’t involve one being grafted to the other is really intriguing to me.  A very unique concept!

@evolutionsvoid submitted Fleagor, an enormous flea who has no idea what to do with itself now that there’s no creature large enough for it to parasitize.  I love that concept - it takes the core idea of the giant bug kaiju archetype (i.e. unsettling the audience by showing how terrifying small, “insignificant” creatures would be if our sizes were reversed) and really turns it on its head.  The name also plays on the Universal Monsters, who were a huge part of 1950′s pop culture thanks to their movies being re-released in that era, so all and all this one is very on brand for ATOM!

@skarmorysilver submitted Lilacorn, another entry that plays up that Midgaheim/ATOM connection.  Reinterpreting the mythological unicorn as an Cenozoic wooly rhinoceros-inspired monster gives it a very unique look, both in ATOM and in the general world of unicorns, and she has a bad-girl with a heart of gold personality to boot!

dracosaurus-rex submitted Florasaura, a two-headed plant/retrosaur hybrid monster.  I love me some plant monsters, I love me some retrosaurs, and I love me some rhyming the word “flora” with other words that contain similar vowell sounds, so this one has me written all over it!

@downtofragglerock submitted Sauroguana, a delightfully odd flying retrosaur.  There’s a great deal of charm to the original illustration that this sketch doesn’t quite capture - it’s a deceptively simple design with a lot of personality in it, and with those unique leg-wings it really doesn’t need a whole lot of frills to stand out.

Draxi submitted Brakan, an unimpressive burrowing retrosaur kaiju whose mastery of illusions allows it to convince other kaiju it’s actually a big, super-powerful badass that’s the ultimate fighter in the universe.  It’s a delightful parody of the concept of a fan self-insert god-mode character, with a really fun story built into it to boot!

@quinnred submitted O.N.I.A.C., a mysterious cocooned kaiju whose chrysalis has been turned into an organic computer of sorts by the people studying it, and seems to possess a fairly advanced intelligence for a kaiju.  It’s a really bizarre and ominous idea, with built in intrigue given how vague its nature is.  Is it just a kaijufied butterfly/moth who got stuck mid transformation?  A relative of the Mothmanuds?  Something else, perhaps equally alien?  Good story potential here.

shadyserpent submitted Vespilitor, a bat/retrosaur hybrid made by the nefarious Spooks Organization.  A mercurial prankster whose tendency to stir up trouble never crosses the line into maliciousness, he’s the kind of monster who would make a great foil to a lot of ATOM’s cast.  I’d especially like to see him in a prank off with Ahuul - it’d be like Bugs Bunny fighting Daffy Duck, but on a kaiju scale.

@multiversefan submitted the Yamaneon King, a nomadic kaiju whose refusal to settle down causes problems as he stirs up trouble at kaiju sanctuaries all over the globe by showing up unannounced and stirring up the locals.  He was basically designed to be a monster that the kaiju sanctuary initiative would struggle to deal with, which is a good idea for a post-ATOM Volume 2 story conflict.

Sir K submitted Jadeera, a kirin kaiju that can actually forcibly convert most of its body to Yamaneon to enter a dormant, statue-like state in a loose homage to King Shisa.  Though the fantasy elements are far more present than I usually prefer for ATOM kaiju, I think it should be noted they’re pushed that far for a purpose - a theme in Jadeera’s entry, which continues where its creator left off with their submission to the previous ATOM create a kaiju contest (Yokaigon), is that the world of kaiju is more complicated and challenging than many are willing to accept, which is a theme in ATOM itself.  Yokaigon’s more supernatural/occult powers are based on the ghost parascience of my setting, which ATOM has delved into a bit (Pathogen being the big example), so it’s not as out of left field as some might think.

@cerothenull​ brings us our final entry (unless some got lost thanks to tumblr’s shitty tagging system), the flying spider Naeranti.  She’s a kaiju spider who uses silk to make complicate hot-air balloons, more or less, and that’s just delightful.  ATOM could always use more spider-monsters, and with a really unique gimmick backing up a wonderfully distinct look, Naeranti is sure to stand out among her fellow giant arachnids.

Well, that’s the roundup!  In a week (or two, depending on how much my hand cramps) we’ll have the five finalists, and sometime after that, the grand prize winner!

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D

[cinebration]

Water-breather (Din Djarin x Reader) [Request]

I saw that at your request were open and was wondering if you’d do a mermaid au of din djarin x female mermaid reader ? — Requested by anon

Fun fact: Star Wars has an actual mermaid-like species known as Melodies. They are native to Yavin 8 and are known in the Legends “canon” of Star Wars.

Warnings: creature violence

Gif Source: djarsdin

The Mandalorian hadn’t expected to chase his bounty clear to Yavin 8, a tundra moon orbiting a gas giant. His bounty, a human by the name of Cornelis Offkin, had taken a beating from the Mandalorian’s Razor Crest, forcing the man to crash-land on the arid moon near the purple mountains ridging the surface.

Din didn’t have time to appreciate the dry beauty of the place. His bounty was somewhere here, his tracks plain in the scanner built into Din’s helmet. He followed the illuminated footprints through the dense wood at the base of the mountain range, rifle slung over his back, blaster at his hip. Strange, cloying smells wafted up into his helmet as he stepped on dense underbrush.

As he neared the base of the mountain range, Din slowed beside a small pond, confused by the footprints he was seeing. Offkin had seemed to stop, then spun around quickly, scattering dirt and detritus. Then a mad scramble deeper into the trees before sprawling to the ground.

Din scanned the area. Had Offkin been attacked? The ground beside the bounty’s footprints had been smoothed by something that had either remerged or entered the still pond. The surface of the water remained smooth.

Din reached for his blaster.

Water sprayed in all directions. Din glimpsed green-black eyes and large fangs before he was on his back, half in the creature’s mouth. Rearing back, it dragged him off the ground easily. Pain lanced up Din’s thigh, excruciating. Stifling a scream, Din tried to pull free his blaster.

The serpentine creature tossed its head back, opening its jaw wider. Din felt himself slipping further into the creature’s throat. He had never considered that he might die to a creature rather than some bounty. At least he knew the fate of Offkin.

An ear-piercing screech blasted the Mandalorian’s ears. The serpentine creature writhed, hissing.

Din glanced up to see huge wings spreading from behind the creature. Oh great, it flies, he thought.

A giant beak peered over the top of the creature’s head, followed by the predatory eyes of a raptor. Din caught his own reflection in the volucrine creature’s pupils before he was suddenly falling.

The serpentine creature rose above him, borne aloft by the avian animal.

Din hit the water hard.

~~

Din gasped for air, choking up water in his helmet and inhaling it in again. Sputtering, lungs screaming, he shoved the helmet up a fraction and spewed the water out and down his chin, breathing air. It burned in his throat, but he sucked it up greedily, only distantly noting the musty mildew smell and taste of it.

When his lungs stopped aching, he breathed easier and took stock of his surroundings. Dimly lit by bioluminescent plants, the cave in which he sat appeared endless. Stalactites hung down from the ceiling, reflected vertiginously in a dark pool to his right.

Eyeing the water warily, he slowly rose to his feet, checking his weapons. Everything was where they were supposed to be. He tried to make sense of how he had arrived in this place, the last thing he remembered being the water engulfing him.

The stalactite reflection rippled. He tensed, ripping out his blaster from its holster. The ripples slowed near the edge of the pool. Din aimed, ready to kill.

A head tentatively emerged from the water, humanoid. Din found himself staring into your eyes as your chin lifted above the waterline. In the bioluminescent light, your face was limned in soft green.

“Hello.” It was all the Mandalorian could think to say.

“Hello,” you echoed. Your voice sounded like a trickling waterfall.

“What is this place?”

“Home.”

“Okay. How do I leave?”

You shook your head. “The reels are out. They hunt.” You spoke in Galactic Basic haltingly. “Not safe.”

“I have to get back to my ship.”

“Wait here.”

Din frowned. He wouldn’t be able to collect the bounty on Offkin, which meant he needed to find a new bounty as soon as possible. He couldn’t wait around losing credits. “How did I get here?”

“One of young ones found you. Brought you here to safety. The reel was not alone in the water.”

He pictured the serpentine creature writhing in fury and pain above him. Shivering, he suddenly remembered the wound in his leg. Glancing down, he found it wrapped in some kind of plant, covered thickly in a dark paste. The latter smelled atrocious, but the wound felt cool, his leg flexible.

“How long do I have to wait?” he asked.

“Sunrise. Reels and avrils sleep.” You made a motion with your hands, imitating wings.

Sighing, Din sat back down, trying to think his way out of the problem. The snake-like thing—the reel, he corrected—had caught him in the water. Looking around the cave, all he could see beside the smooth rock walls was water.

“How do I get out?” he asked again. “How did I get in?”

You patted the top of the water’s surface, sending ripples across the water. “Through lakes.”

It took him a long moment to realize what you meant. One of your people had dragged him through a system of underground lakes to this hidden cave. The only exit was through the reel-infested water.

Sighing again, he leaned up against the rock behind him and gently massaged feeling back into his wounded leg. He felt your gaze on him trying to bore through his helmet.

She may think it’s my actual face, a little voice inside him said.

“Why here?” you asked, propping your arms on the shore of the pool. He watched in disbelief as something crested the surface of the water behind you: a fin.

“I was…tracking someone. The reel got him.”

You frowned but nodded. Din was mesmerized by the fin, watched it slowly move back and forth like a woman moving her legs.

“Rest. I come later to take you to your ship.”

“Thank you.”

With a smile, you pushed back from the edge and slipped back into the water, your fin flashing. Din thought about it for half an hour before sleep took him under.

~~

He wasn’t confident about being dragged through interconnected lakes. He didn’t have a water-breathing apparatus built into his helmet, and he wasn’t sure he could hold his breath long enough.

When you reemerged from the water, the water hovering just below your collarbone and no further, you hefted up a handful of blue-green algae.

“What is that?”

“To help breathe in water.” You mimed placing it over your mouth and nose. “Breathe little.”

Anxiety slithering up his spine, Din took the algae and turned away, lifting the helmet to plaster the slimy material over his mouth and nose. His heart stuttered in his chest, telling him he couldn’t breathe through the pond scum. Fighting it, he resettled the helmet over his head.

He found you had searching a hand from the water, reaching for him. Hesitating, he looked into your deep eyes, looking for deception. He found only an open and honest expression. Taking your hand, he let you lead him into the water. The chill sent a shiver through him as he went deeper into the water, his clothes and armor weighing him down.

You held onto him easily, wrapping your arms around his torso. Panic seized him again as you kicked hard, sending you both careering through a hole in the cave wall beneath the water. He blinked against the burn of it in his eyes as you maneuvered through the tunnels connecting the lakes.

He fought the urge to breathe despite the ache in his lungs. The algae stayed firmly in place despite the water sloshing up under the helmet. He felt stuck in a fishbowl, watching as the world rushed by, dragged along in a current with you acting as pilot and rudder.

At last, he gasped in a breath. No water entered, only a small puff of oxygen pulled off the slimy algae. He held his breath again, focusing on the feel of your arms around him, trying to lose himself in the comfort of being held for the first time since…ever.

Then you were breaking the surface, emerging into a sunlit glade. Kicking gracefully over to the shore, you pushed him onto the ground. Din turned and yanked off the algae, breathing fresh air. The Razor Crest stood a little ways off, its surface gleaming dully in the morning light.

“Safe,” you assured him, gesturing up at the sky. “No avril.”

“Thank you.”

You nodded. “Travel safe.”

He almost laughed. “I try.”

You flipped back into the water, your finned tail arcing behind you. The light glittered off your scales in a flash of brilliance.

Din didn’t leave until the water returned to stillness. The image of you disappearing beneath it would haunt him for years.

#Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin #Din Djarin imagine #Mando x Reader #Mando #Mando imagine #Pedro Pascal x Reader #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal imagine #The Mandalorian #request

[iftheshoef1tz]

our bodies, possessed by light

chapter three: all of your flaws are aligned with this mood of mine

Hybern’s shore fills the horizon as Azriel winnows in, close to the heaving waves of the sea beneath him. Spray dashes against his wings, chilling him, but he stays close to the water, shadows nestling close. The rocky, steep cliffs on this part of the coast loom in front of him, their slate gray faces craggy and hostile.

There is a species of hyper-aggressive bird that lives on these cliffs, with deceptively kind eyes and brightly-colored beaks, and Azriel catches an updraft to get higher than their nests. The first time he had come to Hybern, they had swarmed around him, their abrasive shrill cries assaulting his ears. He can still feel the claws on their webbed feet scrabbling against his wings. One of those birds squawks at him from her nest, but the bird doesn’t approach. He gives her the finger anyway.

The mist envelops him as he crests the cliff edge, and the sprawling fields of Hybern stretch away beneath him. The fields seem well-tended, the crops planted in neat rows, dirt paths winding away towards small clusters of houses. Azriel banks to the left, heading towards a dense stand of yew trees.

#our bodies possessed by light #azris #obpbl #fanfiction #acotar

[exmortia]

Shadowgast soulmate ficlet: Found Familiars

Essek/Caleb soulmate AU where a wizard’s familiar manifests from a fragment of their soul, but if they have a soulmate, the familiar comes from their soulmate’s soul instead. Regular D&D familiar mechanics don’t apply here except for pocket dimension poofing and un-poofing. Rated T for someone almost dying.

Like every student at the Soltryce Academy, the time finally comes when Bren learns how to summon a familiar.

It’s a week-long elective course he wasn’t planning on taking yet, preferring to focus his current semester on the fundamentals of magic, but Eadwulf is the first of their friend group to enroll, and he walks into the dorms next week with a raven perched on his shoulder. It becomes a nearly permanent addition to his friend, large and jet-black, with a deceptively strong beak and eyes filled with confidence and intelligence. Eadwulf spends the next few days answering the same standard question from their peers and teachers - “no, it’s mine.”

Astrid borrows Eadwulf’s notes on the spell and summons her own familiar not long after, a razor-eyed falcon that never stops scanning their surroundings and quietly observing anyone within range. Bren is only a little disappointed when she says “it’s mine, I can tell.” He knows, like everyone else, that soulmates are rare.

Soon it’s his turn, and his friends are making good-natured jokes about what form his familiar will take. They’re hoping for another bird just for the irony of it. “Maybe an owl,” Astrid says with a smile. They make bets. Eadwulf puts ten silver on a songbird, and Astrid puts twenty on a bird of prey.

Bren performs the ritual that night in the privacy of his room. As the incense drifts into the air, he secretly hopes for a feline companion, like the one he knew in childhood. Something soft and warm, curled up in his lap and welcoming him back to his room after a long day of classes. He keeps his eyes closed until the spell completes. 

When he looks down, there’s an unexpected shape on his desk, like a scarf dropped lengthwise into a pile. Then it begins to move, glinting with iridescent color in the candlelight as its body slides and shifts on itself, and then he recognizes the creature when a rounded head emerges, tongue flicking out to taste the air in his direction. 

“A snake?” he whispers to himself, confused and disappointed. Where he’d hoped for fur (or even feathers in retrospect), he sees shiny black scales like an inkspill across his desk where the light doesn’t hit. There are no emotions in its tapered face and round, lidless eyes. When the initial shock wears off, he takes a moment to focus and reach for his connection with it, hoping that what he finds is a reflection of himself, just like what his friends have, but what greets him is a feeling so new and foreign that he can’t lie to himself anymore.

Bren dismisses the familiar in a moment of panicked shame. He spends the night agonizing over what he’ll say to his friends and what their reactions will be. “It’s not mine,” he whispers to himself, dreading the moment when he’ll say it to them in person tomorrow. “I don’t know whose it is, but it isn’t mine.”

“You have a soulmate,” Astrid will say with a small, tight smile, the words neutral on the surface, but there’s a guarded expression in her eyes. Bren can only nod in reply, feeling like he’s wronged her somehow, as Eadwulf inspects the coiled snake presented to them in Bren’s outstretched hands.

“I’m sure it will come in handy,” he declares, trying to soothe Bren’s worries the only way he knows how. Astrid agrees, and the tension passes as they walk to their first class of the day. Bren considers dismissing his familiar again, but then he looks longingly at the companions perched on his friends and carefully tucks the serpent into the neck of his shirt beneath his robe. Its cool weight settles across his shoulders, the movement a slow, shifting pressure that feels good in the summer heat and even better when he’s working through a difficult assignment later.

Bren doesn’t find out until a few weeks later that his familiar is dangerous. An altercation with another classmate leads to him being shoved against a wall, the other boy’s grip twisted into the front of his robe with one hand while the other pulls back for a swing at Bren’s face, and suddenly there’s a blur of motion and the boy is stumbling back with a pair of tiny red dots on his chin. He almost dies right there on the floor, lips blue and foaming at the mouth, before one of the professors is drawn to the shouting of gathered students. Bren is instructed, under threat of expulsion, to keep his familiar dismissed while in the presence of others.

Ten years ago and hundreds of miles away, Essek Thelyss stands in his laboratory, blinking incredulously at the small, furry creature that has manifested in front of him. The trouble with being a wizard of a long-lived race who can’t summon a familiar is that you don’t know whether your soulmate has already died or just hasn’t been born yet. Essek didn’t think he needed a familiar, particularly, but he’d gotten into the habit of trying the spell once every few years when he remembered, partly because it stung to be an accomplished wizard who couldn’t summon one, and also because he secretly hoped that his soulmate, the one chosen for him by The Weave itself, had not already departed this world.

He’d lost count of the attempts, but it was somewhere between twenty and twenty-three when the spell finally worked, much to his surprise. His new familiar, with its striped orange fur and long tail curled neatly around its legs, sat on his ritual table and looked back at him with eyes that glinted in the low, ambient light. ‘My soulmate is alive out there,’ Essek thought with a relief he would never admit to, reaching out to stroke the cat’s soft fur as it stretched and began exploring the table, then his workbench, and then anywhere it could possibly get into.

In his youth, Essek had hoped for a more suitable familiar - something that could blend in, yet contribute to his image as a formidable spellcaster, like a snake or a spider, but he’d grown accustomed to not having one. His new feline companion becomes a sort of household pet. It’s not physically affectionate beyond the occasional rub against his legs. Mostly, it prefers to sit elsewhere in the room and watch him work from a distance. When he trances, it patrolls the halls and kills any small, unfortunate animal that dares enter his home. He wonders about the sort of person his soulmate might be, to have their soul reflected in this mindful, intelligent, and often ruthless creature.

One night, a little over ten years after he first summoned his familiar, Essek returns from his work at the Lucid Bastion and begins going about his routine, only to find that his familiar is nowhere to be found. He wonders if something has happened to make it decorporealize, like accidentally toppling a heavy object onto itself (unlikely), or maybe it had gotten outside somehow and didn’t care to return yet (a common recurring event). His familiar had changed over the past few months, becoming even more standoffish and less receptive to physical touch than before, so Essek doesn’t worry about its absence until the following day, when his familiar is still nowhere to be found. Before using his components to repeat the summoning ritual, he decides to make a quick search of his tower, and there, crouched in the furthest corner beneath a display cabinet in an unused room, his familiar stares back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

When Essek reaches for his companion, its sudden, piercing, feline scream sends him pitching backwards in shock, until he’s on the floor and his familiar has left behind a series of long scratch marks where it fled. Essek is shaken for the few moments he sits there, confused, and then later, deeply concerned for someone he’s never met before. 

This state of mind becomes normal for Essek over the next eleven years. His familiar is a ghost, hiding and wedging itself under furniture and bursting from its hiding spot in a terrified, screaming bolt of fur and claws when Essek unknowingly gets too close. Sometimes he goes weeks without catching sight of it, but Essek finds himself too sentimental to dismiss his former companion. He fears for the source of his familiar’s soul fragment, whoever this person is, and whatever it was that must have happened to them to cause this.

Hundreds of miles away and a few months later, Bren, now Caleb, accepts a torn-off piece of stolen bread from his new goblin companion, and hundreds of miles away, Essek’s familiar creeps out from beneath the workbench in his lab and slinks out of the room, but not before making brief eye contact with Essek, who stares back in disbelief with a set of alchemical reagents forgotten in his hands. 

A few weeks later, after being roughed up and chased out of town again, Caleb remembers his silent protector from his school days, and Nott watches with fascination as a black snake appears in Caleb’s hands with a snap of his fingers. Nott’s fascination turns to concern as he spends a long moment staring at it, drowning in the memory of those days at the academy before he and his friends caught Trent Ikithon’s eye. Later that evening, Nott asks to hold his familiar, and Caleb worries for a moment, but it allows itself to be handed over, and Nott must constantly adjust her grip as its body moves and slips between her fingers. 

“I think he prefers his master,” she says kindly, and although Caleb hadn’t cared to gender his familiar, the pronoun rings true somehow. Caleb accepts the snake from her and tucks it back into the neck of his coat where its cool, comforting weight helps quiet his intrusive thoughts.

It takes a few more months before Essek can run his fingers through his familiar’s striped fur again. Progress has been slow, but steady, and Essek is relieved not just for his familiar, but for the unnamed soul attached to it. 

Things eventually return to the way they were before, and then continue to change. His familiar becomes his shadow, dutifully following him into every room of his tower. Where before it would perch out of arm’s reach to watch him work, now it walks across the paperwork on his desk and jumps into his lap and demands attention, before it’ll curl up and allow him to keep working. It’s an adjustment compared to what he’s used to, but there’s a weight lifted from his shoulders when he thinks about his soulmate now. At least, most of the time. His familiar refuses to leave his home and still vanishes for hours when he gets visitors, even when they remain on his doorstep and converse with him briefly through the open door.

The day comes when a group of strangers walk into the Lucid Bastion. Even among the chaos that follows, Essek’s attention is drawn, inexplicably, to one of their group - a surprisingly well-spoken human with copper-colored hair and pink, freckled skin, covered in mud and Luxon knows what else. 

Caleb, dressed in nothing but leather straps, had dismissed his snake familiar out of necessity back in Asarius. When the situation in the Bright Queen’s throne room eventually dies down, his attention is drawn to a figure sitting near the dias, imposing in equal measure to the other high-ranking drow around them, but something about this individual catches his attention and keeps it indefinitely. 

Later, when he and the Nein are free to wander Rosohna, Caleb decides not to risk going about with his venomous, spring-coiled companion for now, just in case there’s a misunderstanding with the locals or the guards. 

Essek has his work cut out for him, and these new people don’t stay strangers for long. Despite his frustration at their behavior (often disrespectful and almost always culturally inappropriate), he finds himself responding eagerly to their requests for help when needed. When he sees them, his attention is always drawn first to their wizard, Caleb Widogast, and when he teaches Caleb that first dunamantic spell, it’s a challenge to monitor Caleb’s attention to the correct page of Essek’s spellbook, rather than Caleb himself. Everything about this human man, from the way he murmurs to himself while he works, to how he wrings his hands together during tense conversations, to the purely unexpected talent and raw power in the spells he demonstrates, has captivated Essek over the time he’s spent with these newcomers.

Caleb quietly scolds himself whenever the Shadowhand catches him staring. He’s not accustomed to being around dark elves, and even after the novelty wears off, something about their assigned handler, his new and unexpectedly generous teacher in the dunamantic arts, is drawing his attention and thoughts like an arcane compulsion. Caleb carefully keeps this to himself, not wanting to jeopardize their tenuous position in Roshona or the Shadowhand’s willingness to share his knowledge.

Eventually, as the weeks pass and their relationship with Essek grows out of familiarity and Jester’s brute force method of making friends, the Nein are invited to the Shadowhand’s tower for breakfast and the promise of some collaborative spellwork.

Caleb is regrettably late to the event as he makes a detour to find spell supplies, not wanting to impose on their host any more than necessary. When he arrives, there’s an awkward, semi-private moment where Essek answers the door and greets him. Then he’s led further inside where the others are gathered around a large table, and there’s a weird sort of prickling in the back of his mind as he enters the room. Fjord and Beau are talking and leaning against the table while the others are seated in a small group on the opposite side, except for Jester who is kneeling on the floor and talking to someone or something in a high-pitched voice.

A moment later, Jester makes a sad sound and watches Essek’s familiar slip out from under her hands to go trotting across the floor towards its master, or so she thinks. The cat’s gait breaks into a run, and she gasps as Caleb suddenly falls to his knees, his expression that of a mother who’s been searching all day for their missing child as the cat jumps into his arms. Essek’s familiar must be super friendly with other wizards, she thinks, until she sees the startled look on their host’s face. ‘This is the first time in many years that my familiar has not hidden itself from visitors,’ she remembers him saying as they arrived at the tower, and then he coaxed the cat towards them after she asked if she could pet it, which it accepted with mild, friendly interest. Now Caleb is clutching at its orange striped fur as it rubs against his face over and over again, purring loud enough for everyone to hear, and she’s not sure, but it looks like he might be crying a little.

Caleb carefully stands with the cat cradled in one arm, its outstretched paws making biscuits in the air. He reaches out towards Essek, and there’s a small flash of arcane magic before Caleb’s serpentine familiar appears there, balanced in a tight knot of coils in his upturned hand. Essek stares at it, motionless, until the snake begins to move, its body quickly sliding away from its master and into the space between Essek and Caleb, apparently not caring if it falls before it’s caught. 

Essek reaches out with both hands to meet the snake’s trajectory, and soon the familiar is wrapped around Essek’s forearm, coiled tightly in place like a permanent fixture. Essek lifts his arm and stares into its eyes, carefully running his fingers across the black, iridescent scales with a gentle reverence.

“He’s yours,” Caleb chokes out in joyful tears, knowing but not caring that his friends are watching with a combination of amusement and concerned looks. “I always wondered, but I never dared hope . . .” Caleb clears his throat as Essek stares at him, the drow’s expression hard to read. “He, uh, likes to be up high, around your neck, where he can, um . . . he’s v-venomous by the way. I had to learn that. From experience. But he is a good snake, a very good snake,” Caleb insists as more tears threaten to wet his face. In Caleb’s arms, his new familiar trills and then purrs louder, satisfied, when he bends down to nuzzle his face into its wonderful, beautiful orange fur.

Essek makes a quick decision not to ask about what happened to his feline familiar over that eleven-year period. Maybe later when they’re comfortable and alone. For now, he admires his snake companion, the subtle magical thread of connection between master and familiar already transitioned, painlessly, from old to new. He feels whole and complete, and not just from finding his true familiar. Essek’s affection is quiet and immeasurable as he meets Caleb’s overjoyed grin with his own soft smile.

“Thank you for this,” is all Essek can say without his voice breaking. Later, after Caleb’s friends have staged a friendly interrogation about what happened and what it means for two wizards to exchange familiars (and after he’s taken Caleb’s advice and tucked his new companion into the neck of his robe where it fits perfectly), he’ll take Caleb upstairs, his former familiar dutifully following its new master, and spend a few hours alone with his soulmate. At the end of trading stories about their lives and hardships and hopes for the future, he’ll hold the human’s face in his hands and take the first step towards sealing their bond with a kiss.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #critical role fanfiction #can't watch the new episode until later tonight so I wrote this instead #non-wizards could probably gain a familiar this way #I've got another ficlet idea too hmmm

[candythemew]

🔥 SkekLach (can be AOR Lach, Manga Lach, or JM Lee’s Lach)

OH BOY GET READY FOR AN ESSAY!!

(Also old post I’m getting back to, but for context this was for TDC Hot Takes. She asked for my favorite version of SkekLach.)

     Whenever I see SkekLach, it is such a joy regardless of iteration. I don’t know what it is exactly but I absolutely adore her. Although this wasn’t always the case! Originally I was indifferent to her and found her to be physically repulsive. I literally couldn’t look at her for extended periods of time. But through re-watching the series she’s really grown on me! ...But I think you all know about that by now! (Search her up on google and you’ll find SO much of my art.) ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬      Each iteration has it’s own strengths and weaknesses, but I adore all of them. If you want to spare yourself a fangirlish analysis, I like AoR!Lach the best, but Manga!Lach is extremely cool. Although everyone shares traits, it’s more like comparing apples and oranges rather than [ X ] is better than [ Y ] . There is some overlap and bleeding between characters, but ultimately these are all vastly different timelines with different circumstances and characters. I’ll be dissecting each of them under the cut! ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

     As said above, There are three versions of The Collector. In order, the first one to be created was the Legendsverse/Manga SkekLach the Collector. Followed by the J.M. Lee/ Novel SkekLach, and finally AoR SkekLach. Who we see in age of resistance, and is the Collector of the main canon’s timeline. When I write for her, I tend to do a bit of blending with her various other versions. But even in the show, she’s a lot more keen and intelligent than she lets on to be. You just have to look for it! A lot of her character traits are subtle. I only really grew an appreciation for her after my first re-watch of the series! ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ Another thing to notice when it comes to the Collector is that unlike other alternate versions of canon characters, most main characters are relatively unchanged. SkekLach however has the most diversity in her character differences and alts.

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬      Manga!Lach has a much more muscular build. Even for his old age. He is adorned in ornate armor rife with symbolism and battle scars marring his flesh. These quirks to his character design reflect both his intelligence, and physical prowess in combat. His armor is stylized to look like faces. Both intimidating and fearful expressions decorating him in a display of intimidation. Fun Fact: in the manga, SkekLach was the second tallest Skeksis. With the Ritual Master being the true tallest of course. SkekLach was also a bit of a beastmaster. He had a loyal pack of Arduff always by his side ready to snatch up any unfortunate gelfling (or skeksis!) who got in his way. As well as a group of small, crawlie like creatures called Spy-eyes. He would have these creatures attatch themselves to a victim, and they would be allowed to see and hear anything said victim did. Anything they knew, The Collector would know too. He used these creatures to ensure Lahr’s co-operation in his plan for securing his place as Emperor SkekSo’s favorite and to foil The Chamberlain and Garthim Master’s plans against him. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that he’s also a tactical mastermind?

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

𝔍.𝔐. 𝔏𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔄𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔰

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

     Novel SkekLach is much more toned down, calm and (no pun intended) collected. Although he shares some qualities with both his manga and AoR counterparts, he’s kind of his own thing. He’s portrayed as more skinny and lanky. With a beak more similar in shape to SkekOk’s and wearing what appears to be a crown on his head. This Lach is much more directly involved with politics and wants to see his job through. Or at the very least just to get things over with. Oddly enough, unlike his previous version, he performs the Gelfling censuses. This trait would be later carried onto his canon successor. He was often blunt and to the point like AoR Lach, but didn’t really have the same punch that she has. In the novels he also has an animal companion. Much like Manga!Lach. A Royal Blue Phegnese. An avian mount creature that we never get to see, but we do get a loose description of. This was his preferred mount of choice. He was also good friends with SkekOk. They would often write to each other and even got drunk together. This is likely what inspired their close bond in AoR.

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔨 ℭ𝔯𝔶𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔩: 𝔄𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

     And finally, our girl, AoR SkekLach! Everyone pretty much knows what she looks like by now. Incredibly diseased with oozing pustules that cause her constant pain every second of every day. Short snouted with dulled down tusks that were once razor sharp, and even sharper goldenrod eyes. (A glimpse back to the glory days perhaps?) Also since her introduction, she is the shortest skeksis in the series. Taking SkekOk the Scroll-keeper's orginal title of shortest by being about a head and a half shorter than him. Although she’s a female Skeksis, she’s not traditionally feminine. An interesting aesthetic choice for a female presenting Skeksis! Most of her colors being toned down blues and greens, Although she does have lots of bows that adorn her robes. Predominantly on her sleeves and shoulders. and in close up shots you can see that her puppet model has very distinct and pretty eyelashes. She’s very dirty as she doesn’t care much for her hygiene anymore. She doesn’t make an effort to change things as she has already tried multiple times to improve her condition, and has failed every time. The way she acts and presents can help us know that she's been through a lot. You can especially see this in the way she talks to others as well as herself. Adopting a mindset of: “Things either always stay the same or get worse.” This causes her to stay demotivated. To the point of not doing much of anything. She idolizes the glory days of her youth and desperatley wishes to go back to them, but she's a bit more self aware than her peers. Even she mocks her them for thinking that they can truly return to their former splendor. Although speculation on my part; it’s more than likely that in her prime she was similar to her manga counterpart. As she’s deceptively observant and oftentimes makes snide remarks in the background. Although she doesn’t care for showing it off. Being apolitical in the court, she sees no point in it. …Aside from the occasional drama or rumor she hears from either the Ornamentalist or Scroll-Keeper. As she's part of their little circle. Although speculation, she might even have some battle scars under her robes. As she’s talented when it comes to battle. Evidence to support this is when SkekVar the General asks for her assistance. Specifically when the Emperor ordered him to deal with the Gelfling. He picks her out of all of them. When she denies, he asks again reassuring her with an encouraging, “Come now! It’ll be fun!” While she replies with a disbelieving, “Ugh, I DOUBT that…” …And SkekVar was right. SHE DID HAVE FUN!

…And she got acid spit in her face which must have hurt 1,000 times more than it would for someone else as she’s very sensitive in her face due to her pustules. But hey! She got to kill a spitter and her mood changes pretty drastically for the positive going from that. Although she won't be able to enjoy it for too long since she dies 2 episodes later. Also when she drinks essence with the rest of the court during the scene where Skeksil watches the rest of them to make sure the Grunaks did their job, if you listen in the background she just straight up yells "I'M GONNA FIGHT A LANDSTRIDER!!" She wants to punch a horse. Good for her! So basically I just talked about all three of them at length for no reason but I hope you liked my ted talk. I have no idea where I was going with this, but yeah. I really really like SkekLach.

#the dark crystal #The dark crystal: age of resistance #SkekLach #SkekLach the Collector #Skeksis #Longpost #hot take #TDC #AoR

[equustenebris]

New drabble time! The Mad Ducktor falls off the top of the Money Bin, but things don't go as expected when he drags himself to the hospital.

Bill is apparently the name I’m giving Gyro's unseen sibling, Newton's father. It was meant to be a temporary placeholder name for me but I guess it's stuck, so this is me committing to it. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, so car-cans have an official English name, coco-no-nos, but that is not happening lmao. I try to use the official English names wherever possible, but I prefer "car-can" so much more that I'm keeping it.

This was supposed to be a really short drabble aksjfnsb IT GOT AWAY FROM ME

for Whumptober 2021

Eight. Coughing Up a Lung

Prompt - pneumothorax

He staggered back into his hideout, gasping for breath, holding his aching side. Well, that little escapade could have gone better. The tumble he had taken from the top of the Money Bin, courtesy of Mr. McDuck, was a lot longer drop than it looked like from the ground. Fortunately, nothing was majorly injured -- except maybe his ego.

So the direct approach worked about as well as his broken shrink ray, which is to say, not at all. Clearly, next time he needed to do a lot more field testing before he showed up at his nemesis's with a new invention. Having a Plan B couldn't hurt either, lest he get unceremoniously shot off the side of the Money Bin again. He was beginning to understand how Magica still hadn't swiped the Dime despite literal magic at her fingertips; that old man was fierce, and an excellent shot with that salt-loaded blunderbuss.

He closed his eyes, slumping into his desk chair with a miserable groan. Well. He might be covered in bruises, but at least he had managed to escape before the Duck Avenger showed up, so there was that. Small favors.

He winced, carefully tugging off his cape and gloves, not exactly eager to see the damage. His coat followed, admittedly more difficult to remove with the searing burn in his side. He bristled suddenly, seized by a coughing fit. Oh, how his lungs ached -- having to make a fast getaway all the way back to his hideout in the shipping district from Killmotor Hill was definitely not his idea of fun.

He managed to finally peel off his jumpsuit, carefully lifting his undershirt to get a better look. He winced, flinching. His entire left side was already smattered in deep, large bruises and scrapes, feathers speckled with dried blood. It looked bad, he supposed, but nothing a long epsom soak couldn't take care of, and a few days' rest.

He abruptly doubled over, fitfully coughing again, each little movement sending sharp pain tearing through his side. Worryingly, when he finally managed to soothe the tickling in his chest, he struggled to catch his breath. For a few moments he just gasped, each breath laborious, like sucking air through a straw. Maybe it was just the pain? Maybe he bruised the lung? Can you bruise a lung? (Despite the play on words for his villainous title, he was an inventor, not a doctor.)

The pain only seemed to be getting worse. He struggled to his feet, figuring maybe he could start a bath now to help soothe himself, but only made it a few steps before he was seized by another coughing spell, covering his beak with his hand. This time, however, when he finally managed to catch his breath, his palm sparkled with bright red blood.

"Oh...no," he managed breathlessly, dread sinking through his stomach. So yes, he was not a doctor -- but clearly he was going to need one.

---

"Gyro Gearloose?"

He struggled to his feet, following the nurse to the ER bed. Somehow, he had managed to pull on his other self's familiar clothes, and more or less pinned down his head feathers for the blond wig. Breathing was getting more difficult by the minute, but he couldn't exactly go to the hospital as the Mad Ducktor, so his thrown-together Gyro disguise would have to do. Fortunately, the staff was already pretty familiar with Gyro after all of his mishaps in the lab, and didn't ask him for the ID he didn't have. Small favors -- that were rapidly growing smaller in light of the circumstances.

He groaned, lying back on the bed, preparing for the long, mind-numbing wait for the doctor. The long, painful wait, breathing like someone had a weight set on his chest. He closed his eyes, just trying to rest in the meantime, drowsily drifting in and out of sleep as he shivered under the thin, scratchy sheet.

It wasn't long, however, before he was roused by an extremely familiar voice out in the hallway. "Uh, let's not tell your dad about this one, okay?"

"Yeah, Uncle, I think that's probably a good idea... It doesn't hurt that bad, though."

"Yeah, but we should still get it checked out. I'm sorry, Newton. I can see there's still a few bugs to work out!"

He startled awake, heart suddenly slamming in his chest. Here?! Of all the places in all the city, Gyro Gearloose had to be here?! He panted breathlessly, panic rising, sweat beginning to prickle down the back of his neck. He was a wanted criminal, and if Gyro or any of the staff found out about his little deception, his goose was cooked. But what exactly was he supposed to do?

"Hey, Uncle...why are you listed on the board?"

"Hmm?"

"Under the list of patients, look, it says 'Gyro Gearloose' Shouldn't it be my name? Oh, no, wait, there's 'Newton Gearloose' already over on that side..."

"What?"

"Yeah. Do you think you're on there by mistake? Someone should probably tell them."

The Ducktor squeezed his eyes shut, just struggling for breath. Well, come what may, there was certainly nothing he could do about it now.

There was a soft rustling at the curtain separating the Ducktor from the rest of the emergency room. Gyro gave a warning shh to his nephew, then pulled it back, peeking in. The Ducktor met his eyes, wanting to call to him, wanting to say anything, but the air he had to speak with was suddenly gone; he started coughing again, ending the fit with a pained yelp.

Newton made a murmur of confusion, but Gyro quickly slipped inside and pulled the curtain shut behind him. "What are you doing here?!" he demanded, hissed in a low whisper.

The Ducktor wanted to respond to that with some snarky quip, some aggressive hey, captain obvious remark -- but as he struggled for air, he just shook his head, eyes pleading. "I can’t breathe," he whispered back, clutching the sheets.

Gyro's face abruptly softened, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility that his evil counterpart might be at the hospital for a reason. "Are you sick?"

He shook his head, trying to keep his voice low and words short. "I fell," he gasped, grasping his side to illustrate. He decided it was probably for the best that he not share why he fell, or from where.

"Uncle?" Newton attempted to pull back the curtain, but Gyro quickly pinched it shut.

"Just wait, Newton." He turned back to the Ducktor with an uncertain sneer. "He's got a burn on his arm we're getting checked out. A...bit of a mishap with a new invention of mine." He frowned, looking the Ducktor over, considering, then quickly fluffed up his head feathers and took off his button-down, untucking his T-shirt underneath to attempt to change his appearance. "Okay, Gyro. If you can promise me you're not planning to hurt anybody, then Bill and Newton will go wait to see the doctor."

The Ducktor gave a short, breathless laugh, stunned at this sudden change of fortune, and Gyro's unexpected generosity. "Not hurting anyone," he gasped, trying to suppress another cough, "just -- need help."

Gyro nodded, frowning, and slipped out of the curtain and back to Newton, shirt over his arm. "C'mon, Newton, just -- call me Dad for now. I’ll explain later..."

He closed his eyes again, resting back against the hospital bed with a pained wheeze. Not so small favors.

---

Nearly three hours later, he stumbled out of the emergency room, limping, the one pain pill they gave him barely blunting the searing ache. A collapsed lung, they said, but not bad enough to warrant any treatment except waiting and watching. Try to rest and try not to cough. As he began dragging himself on the long journey back to his hideout, badly suppressing another coughing fit, he wondered how exactly he'd be able to do either of those things.

He was so distracted by the pain, he didn't immediately recognize the car that had pulled up beside him at the edge of the hospital parking lot. Hesitantly, Gyro rolled down the window, peeking his head out. "...do you need a ride?" he asked, concern knitting his brow.

As much as he wanted to say no, he found himself already eagerly tugging open the back door. "Yes," he gasped, still struggling for air, "the shipping district."

Gyro frowned to himself, stealing a glance to the anxious-looking Newton squirming in the passenger seat. It had been a long time since he'd gotten to see his nephew. He'd certainly grown. The Ducktor thought he heard his other self mumble something like I hope I don't regret this as he began driving, but he was far too caught up in the elation of not having to walk to care.

Newton peered back at him over the seat, looking uncertain. The Ducktor sat back, just trying to rest.

"...are you the Mad Ducktor?"

He opened his eyes and refocused, trying to concentrate through the pain medication haze. "Yes."

"Oh." He paused for a moment, contemplative. "...are you okay?"

"Collapsed lung," the Ducktor wheezed, "and a fractured rib. Apparently, I’ll be fine."

"Mm." Newton held up his bandaged arm for the Ducktor to see, grinning awkwardly. "Second degree burn. But I should be healed before Dad comes back next month."

The Ducktor smirked tiredly and nodded, turning his attention back to Gyro. "Go left at the light."

"Do you need any help?" Gyro asked, glancing up into the rear view. The Ducktor sat back, grimacing.

"No," he said finally, shaking his head. "You've done enough. Drop me off here."

"Here? But we're in the middle of nowhere!"

"I’m not leading you to my hideout, Gyro," he rasped. "I’ll walk the rest of the way."

Gyro reluctantly pulled over, parking under a hazy streetlight. "Are you sure?"

But the Ducktor was already out of the car, up on the sidewalk. He went to respond, but ended up in a coughing fit instead, leaning on the car for support, tissues he swiped from the hospital held to his beak. Finally, he managed to gasp a few labored breaths. "I'll be fine."

Gyro looked less than convinced, eyeing the blood-speckled tissues clutched in his hand. "...really, I don’t have to tell the Duck Avenger anything about this."

"Can’t risk it," he muttered, straightening up. "Go take the kid home, it's late."

"...I could take a car-can."

"I'm not doing that to you," he snapped, patience wearing thin. "Just go home."

Gyro paused for several moments, clearly reluctant. Finally, he sighed. "...okay, fine, okay. If you're sure."

"It was nice meeting you," Newton called from the passenger seat, so innocent and genuine that the Ducktor couldn't help but give a breathless laugh.

"Nice 'meeting' you too. Take care of that arm."

"I will."

"Say hi to Bill for me."

"Don’t do that," Gyro warned, looking from Newton back to the Ducktor. "We're going to keep this a secret, okay? Just between us three." He pulled the car out of park, frowning worriedly. "...if you need help with anything, I can help you, all right? Just ask."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, sweetheart," he said, gesturing dismissively. "I’ll make do alone. I always do."

Gyro frowned, hands on the steering wheel. "You might be evil, but you're still a person. You shouldn't have to make do alone." He sat back against the seat, eyeing him up and down. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

"Darling, it's almost like you care."

"I do," he snapped, blurting it out without thinking. There was an aching pause between them before Gyro finally turned away, staring straight ahead though the windshield. "...go get some rest."

"Hm. You too," the Ducktor told him, straightening up and giving the roof of the car a soft couple of slaps. "Thanks for the ride."

"Yeah."

He watched them pull away, waiting for the car to disappear over the horizon before he finally started walking, taking slow, drudging steps back to his hideout. He was ready for a nice warm bath, his bed...and the rest of the long night, all alone. He winced, more than just his lungs and bruises suddenly aching.

#gyro gearloose #mad ducktor #newton gearloose #whumptober 2021 #equus writes #tw: blood #only like...a little #tw: hospital

[artreflectiveblog]

John Everett Millais Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil

John Everett Millais’ painting Isabella renders a scene from John Keats’ poem Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil using a distinct narrative control. The poem was originally reprised from Giovanni Boccaccio’s medieval allegory; Decameron. As Millais’ first Pre-Raphaelite painting, finished at only 20 years old, Isabella holds major significance to the inception of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, whose engraved initials P.R.B proudly marks the chair occupied by Isabella. The movement is further embedded in the painting by the presence of the members of P.R.B, Dante Rossetti himself modelling for the man sitting at the end of the table, finishing a glass of wine.

Millais’ distinctive Pre-Raphaelite style encapsulates the catalytic moment in Keats’ Isabella, where the conniving brothers discover Lorenzo’s and Isabella’s love affair. Millais augments the scene through the expressiveness of the brothers faces and clear iconographic symbols that forebode their savage intentions. 

These brethren having found by many signs 

What love Lorenzo for their sister had, 

And how she lov’d him too [...]

When ‘twas their plan to coax her by degrees

To some high noble and his olive trees (ll. 128-135)

Millais uses an almost comedic irony, staging a snapshot in time where the viewer can see the brothers plot their murder and simultaneously the heedless lovers sharing a tender moment. The Florentine scene shows a lively gathering, with focal lines pointing towards Lorenzo offering Isabella a sliced blood orange. The brothers seethe with anger upon their realisation, while the other diners sit oblivious to the grotesque series of events that have just been set into motion. 

The extensive iconography used within the painting gives the same complex richness as the stanzas of Keats’ poem Isabella, or the Pot of Basil. Millais new-found Pre-Raphaelite style gives the otherwise flat composition a lively quality, using the same exact precision to paint each figure despite their relative anonymity. It is within these small details the meaning enfolds within the poem - a didactic insight into the danger of monetary greed and perhaps naivety in young love. However, the deceptively rich colours, sedated atmosphere and flow of composition are dominated by the insinuation of Lorenzo’s death. There is a poignant innocence in his expression as he offers Isabella a blood orange, unaware of the murderous brothers’ plots and the allusions to his violent death that surround him. In the background, a pot of basil taunts their unfortunate fate. 

Perhaps the most obvious iconographical foreboding is that of the hawk, ominously perched on the back of an empty chair, tearing a feather in its beak. Allusive of death, the hawk overlooks the unfolding scene as an almost omniscient entity. More disturbing still, is the white feather it shreds, symbolic of the loss of peace and faith. Millais’ dark symbolism of the hawk consuming part of itself is indicative of the self-inflicted destruction the brothers inevitably experience, having to flee Florence after the discovery of the grotesque head of Isabella’s beloved; emphasising their unavailing plan. 

The apprehension of Lorenzo’s death is further alluded to by the use of colour. The more astute of the brothers stares in pensive thought through a glass of blood red wine towards Isabella and Lorenzo, contemplating his execution. The distorted perspective of the glass reflects their inner deceitful intentions, and the poignancy of the crimson red colour creates a sense of definitiveness, as if the fate of the lovers has already been decided.  The indirect allusion of hatred by one brother is juxtaposed by the brash, violent motion of the other. Their aversion to Lorenzo is epitomised by the thrust of the brothers’ leg towards the dog, whimpering in Isabella’s’ lap - the dog signifying Lorenzo’s devotion to Isabella. This connotes the brothers' treatment of lower class, and their charging of Lorenzo, his leg extended, foot straightened in an accusatory point; ‘to make the youngster for his crime atone’ (line 55).

Adding to the chaotic scene is the salt cellar lying on its side, knocked over in violent commotion. Salt, a symbol of life, is spilled across the table foreboding the blood shed of Lorenzo. It is conceivable that Millais was referencing the religious significance of salt, which is chronicled many times throughout the Bible. Salt as a life sustaining substance Christ used to purify or punish sinners, for example in Genesis 19:23 ‘The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah’, a disobedient woman who is turned into a pillar of salt. It is ambiguously left to the viewer to decide whether it is the pre-marital lovers or the greedy brothers that are in need of punishment or redemption. 

The sweetness of true love in Keats’ writing is not lost among the symbols of death that evade the painting. Instead, love is accompanied by death;

Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord: 

If love impersonate was ever dead, 

Pale Isabella would kiss’d it, and low moan’d.

T’was love; cold, - dead indeed, but not dethroned. (ll. 317-320)

Millais’ floral imagery of white roses intertwined in the arch above Isabella’s and Lorenzo’s head is emblematic of their pure and all-consuming love. The flowers in bloom express the beauty in new romance, but also the fragility of love, as their beauty and fragrance soon wilt away. The use of nature as a symbol of the transience of life echoes that of Keats’ poetry; ‘So sweet Isabelle by gradual decay from beauty fell because Lorenzo came not.’ (ll.134-136) Alternatively, Millais may have been using flowers to express the deceit within their shrouded love affair. ‘Even bees the little almsmen of spring-bowers, know there is richest juice in poison flowers.’  (103) Rather than a depiction of tragic romance, Millais may be using Isabella to tell a cautionary tale about the pursuit of doomed attraction. 

Lorenzo and Isabella’s secret are ultimately revealed through the central symbol of the cut blood orange that he tenderly offers to Isabella. The surface level connotations around the orange evoke images of passion and sweetness, and ground the scene in Florence. However, the dark emphasis on a cut blood orange is figurative of a decapitated neck, echoing Isabella's desperation in keeping her beheaded lover, and the price the brothers ultimately have to pay for their sin.

The guerdon of their murder they had got, 

And so left Florence in a moment’s space,

Never to turn again.- Away they went, 

With blood upon their heads, to banishment. (ll.454-458)

Therefore, Millais may have instead been expressing Lorenzo’s celestial quality, shown in his resurrection in the dreams of Isabella. Perhaps a reference to the European idea of a blood orange delineating resurrection and eternal life. Ultimately, Millais uses iconographic symbols to vacillate between life and death, a recurring theme illustrated by the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood and by Keats’ in his; ‘Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord’. (Line 317)

[in-crow-nito]

Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Glinthawks weren’t normally a welcome sight, which is why when the three women spotted a small flock approaching, they were immediately weapons ready in case there was a fight. Ersa especially was looking for something to smash, she’d just lost Mittens and was angry at the cruel world that took another friend from her.

Except, they weren’t immediately swooped down upon. The Glinthawks circled above them, strangely docile with inquisitive blue eyes and newly painted. These, Aloy could tell, were new compared to some of the older models. The older models were similar, minus the blue stripe painted down the bottom of the body and definitely weren’t calm. That was basically the antithesis of of what a Glinthawk was.

One did swoop down, with it’s legs and beak still tucked so it wasn’t out to grab or peck anything. In fact, it landed right in front of Aloy, body deceptively massive when they looked so small circling high above the ground. It’s eyes fixed all of them with various, plain looks, settling on Ersa with one tilt on it’s head then settled finally on Aloy.

“Do I- Do I scan it?” Aloy still had her bow drawn, hesitating now that she wasn’t being attacked by one of the Glinthawks.

Ersa carefully bonked it with her hammer, the metal bird following the motion and letting itself be pushed over, before popping back up to continue staring at Aloy. When she didn’t do whatever it wanted, it turned towards Ersa, fixing her with the blank look that it had.

Then Ersa’s focus turned on all by itself, showing a script of words, Directive, find Mother, and then there was a screen of Aloy shown, taken from a tiny creature’s perspective. The perspective was unmistakable, it was from Socks but they hadn’t seen her in over a week now... Mother? flashed again, the Glinthawk looked at Aloy then quirked it’s head at Ersa.

“Holy shit Aloy, they think you’re their mother.” She gawked at the Glinthawk who seemed to recognize that she got the message, perking up and waddling closer to her and letting her put her hands on it’s head.

Talanah started cackling, relaxing from her stance as the other five Glinthawks swooped down, joining their brave leader in seeking out their directives from their Mother. Aloy was bewildered the whole time and quite frankly concerned but there was nothing she could do about it, she’d been firmly stuck with the moniker.

#horizon zero dawn

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Black Ships

Brian’s eyes fluctuated with the light they were in. In broad daylight, a crisp blue sky could lighten them into a brilliant silver color. But today, the low light from the heavy storm clouds that had now engulfed the Aido-Hwedo in solid sheets of rain turned them a gunmetal grey as he walked through the halls towards the women’s barracks. He wasn’t allowed in that area, but Ru’Yi hadn’t come out to breakfast.

He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and looked at it, his thumb scrolling down.

“Where are you?”

“Not feeling good. I have a headache.”

“Seasick?”

“Maybe. I took some medication but…”

“But what?”

There was no response after that. He assumed she went back to sleep and went about his morning routine. He checked his phone periodically but that question hung there seen, but not responded to.

It drove him here under the watchful gaze of the security cameras. He dialed her number and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, three times… The operation Final End would start soon. This might be the last time they got to talk.

Voice mail. Her bright cheerful recorded greeting pushed his spirits down. He lowered the phone and looked at it again.

He texted. “I’m outside the women’s barracks.” He sent the message. He started typing. “Can you come-”

But she already responded before he finished. 

“I know.”

He lifted his head, but as far as he could tell, he was alone. He looked up at the cameras. Did she have some sort of video feed she could see him on?

He waved at the cameras. “Are you alright? Can you come out?” He looked down at his phone again.

The door in front of him opened. Ru’Yi stood there in her Cassell uniform, unsmiling, eyelids drooping. Her hair, usually shiny and bouncing, hung in dull fraying ropes.

“Hey…” Brian’s mind filled with concern. “Are you sick?”

Ru’Yi folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the threshold of the doorway. She kept her eyes on the ground.

Brian returned his phone to his pocket. “What’s wrong?”

“This is going to sound stupid. But I had a really bad dream.” The coils of her hair drifted across her face and she lifted them with a half hearted puff of air. “It wasn’t scary or anything. Just depressing. It made me realize a lot of things, the more I thought about it.”

“If you want to talk, we can go somewhere.”

She lifted her eyes to him. They twitched here and there, like she was reading something written on his face. But that whole time, she didn’t smile. He noticed that she didn’t have any makeup on. Her tie was a bit crooked. The more he focused, the more things seemed off.

She gave a little shake of her head. “No. This is fine.” She lowered her gaze again. “This is something that has been affecting me for a long time. I thought by going with Cassell it would be better.” Her lips pressed together.

Brian was unsure what to do. “Uh… we’re on camera right now. If you’re going to spill your guts then maybe this isn’t exactly the right place. That’s what I meant.”

That coaxed a smile out of her, but that wasn’t what he was aiming for. He wasn’t joking, but she laughed. “Right. Well… I think it’s perfect. Anyway, what happened was, in my dream I was laying down on the grass and there was this voice… like really small next to my ear. And it was really annoying, asking me all sorts of questions like… who are you? Where are you from? Who your parents are?”

She twined one finger in her ringlets. “What was funny is that they were trying to be authoritative and demanding but they were so terrified that… I was trying to calm them down. And the more I tried to calm them down the more crazy they got. They started screaming, trying to get me to answer. I just answered just to calm them down. But it didn’t work.”

“I could tell they were still scared. They even tried to threaten me but… they were like a mouse.” She held one hand over the other. “Like this big. And that reminded me of something my father told me when I was little. When I started to realize that I was naturally stronger and faster and quicker to learn than others. He told me the story of the good elephant and the bad elephant. How the good elephant helps others and shares his food and is careful when she moves so she doesn’t hurt all the little people under her feet.”

“But the bad elephant doesn’t care. She steals the food from people and stomps all over them.”

“And he asked me what kind of elephant I wanted to be. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be a good elephant...” She whimpered and her voice cracked. “But that’s not wh…” She looked away from him, her eyes full of tears. “But that’s not what I really wanted! It doesn’t matter if I’m good or bad, I’m still an elephant!”

Ru’Yi’s voice echoed for a second through the empty corridor.

“It does matter.I could have done a lot of bad things with my strength but I chose not to.” Brian said quietly.

Her eyes flicked up to him and she shook her head. “No… you do bad things, you just get to pick your targets. Your friends told me about you. How you hurt people.” She folded her lips and turned away. 

Brian huffed. “That’s different…”

“Is it?”

“Look if this is about Tom…”

“It’s not about Tom! It’s about me.” She pressed her hand to her chest, pleading for him to understand. “There’s only a little difference… a little difference between him and me. He was fine! He was human just… barely over the line and then it’s okay to use your strength on him because he’s a monster, and I’m a ‘goddess’! He’s a bad elephant and I’m…” Her eyes unfocused. She stopped talking suddenly.

“You’re a good elephant Ru’YI.” Brian said. He wanted to calm her down. He wasn’t sure what precipitated this sudden emotional outburst but her manner, her ramblings, it wasn’t right.

“Then why was I raised on an island?” She shook her head. “No…” Her smile returned, but it was bitterly cynical. “You know. I thought coming to Cassell I could be myself. I could … let loose and do whatever. But the truth is… even among the Cassell students I’m not… they’re scared of me. You’re scared of me. That’s... ”

“Ru’Yi. I think you need to just take a deep breath and talk to someone. Dr. Miranis maybe? I think maybe you can call out.”

Ru’Yi’s lips pulled down. “Maybe. If I were to… be myself… would you still like me?”

“What do you mean, be yourself?” He tilted his head. “Aren’t you always yourself?”

Ru’Yi shifted her gaze behind him. The light was suddenly bright in the corridor. Brian turned and saw brilliance beaming into the hall through the thick glass portholes, like the clouds that had hung over the ship for days had suddenly parted and the skies were clear. The glow intensified, until he had to squint and then…

The ship lurched to one side with a deafening bang. The hull shook violently, throwing both him and Ru’Yi into the bulkhead. Bright red strobe lights activated and an ear rattling siren blared.

Brian rushed to Ru’Yi’s side. “Are you okay? You’re okay?”

She nodded, looking dazed. An announcement came over the speaker. “All hands to battlestations! Battlestations!”

“Stay down here!” Brian shouted and dashed through the hall. He was joined by a crowd of West Africans who pounded up the metal stairs to the decks.

Outside on the Aido Hwedo, sliding panels opened to reveal turrets. The ship bristled with them like the quills of a porcupine. Brian hurried to one of them and looked outside into the open air.

The ocean boiled hundreds of feet below him. In the distance, the air was filled with tiny black dots. They fell from the swirling clouds like rain and swarmed wildly like flies. When the lightning flashed, eyes illuminated in the dark.

“Servitors?” Briant left the turret and ran back the way he came, towards the women’s barracks. But Ru’Yi was gone.

“What are you doing here?” An angry faced woman shoved a heavy automatic rifle into his hands. “Get up on decks and start shooting before we’re overwhelmed!” He was carried along by a river of soldiers on their way up to the flight deck. He looked over his shoulders, scanned every face, looking for large brown eyes and a curly cascade of hair.

Coming up onto the flight deck, he was immediately greeted by the roar of the engines. A fighter jet sped down the runway, dropped off the edge, and then lifted up into the air. “Go! Go! I want all the planes active!” A man in a yellow jumpsuit and ear protecting headphones was shouting. “Next plane next-”

His voice was cut off when he was slammed to the deck, a black, jagged thornlike spike protruding from his back.

Brian looked up and saw the hailstorm black bony javelins making a deceptively slow arc. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them.

Brian shouted and called forth a burst of air to collide with the projectiles. Repelled, they sprayed in all directions, sliding across the flight deck. “Take cover!”

The Aido-Hwedo fired back, the turrets on the sides lit up like firecrackers and filled the air with a haze of gunsmoke. Winged servitors fell to the deck from where they had been hidden in the clouds.

Their bodies were black. Their heads were covered with a bony armor that ended at a point in front of their faces, like a beak that would never open. From under this skull plate, their eyes burned with visible dancing flames. It was like their entire skull was actively burning. Their wings were multiple bony appendages, some had four, others, six, but their bodies were skeletal. The ridges of their ribcage hung over nothing but an empty spine, their tails were held together by little more than skin.

When they charged they left gouges in the concrete flight deck. One had looked at him, took one step and leaped, its wings opening, sending it into a glide.

Brian lifted the rifle, took aim and sent a short spray of bullets that rattled its neck and head. The wings folded and it fell so hard the concrete splintered under it. Brian looked at the rifle again. It seemed normal, but those bullets hadn’t been stopped by what was clearly a heavy and durable body armor.

His mind went back to Aaron’s inquiry into the alchemical prowess of the West African hybrids. Turns out his curiosity was warranted. 

Together with them, Brian formed part of the guard in front of the stairway to the lower decks. He took aim and shattered one beast that was galloping down the runway. He turned and shot another climbing up to the deck from the hull.

He felt an eddy in the wind and lifted his head to a flurry of dark wings. He swept the barrel up only to be crushed under the heavy weight of the servitor.

He heard the other soldiers screaming and the rifle fire. And then he was hauled to his feet. “You okay?”

He looked into a dark face and bright whites of eyes. “Yeah.” He retrieved his rifle.

Then he saw the symbol on the man’s chest. He was an officer. “Which one are you?”

“I am not one of the twins.” He chuckled, sliding another round in his rifle. “First company, overhead! Second, forward and flank!” He roared over the noise.

The soldiers knew what to do, half of them pointed their rifles upward for overhead threats while the rest focused on shooting on those that fell from the sky. But Brian spotted one on the deck that dropped off when he shot at it. Others were doing the same.

“They’re leaving the deck!” Brian shouted.

“We’ve got something else!”

“Look!”

Brian shifted his eyes upward and froze. The dark wood hull of an ancient ship was coming down from out of the clouds. It slid from the hurricane as though on rails and sailed over the Aido-Hwedo. 

It wasn’t the only one, but he could see that these dark ships weren’t just targeting the Aido-Hwedo. In the bright flashes of lightning, he now saw the shadows of other ships far away, almost near the horizon.  Had the ghostly ships not directed his attention to them, he would never have seen them. They were partially obscured by the heaving waves and looked like toys in the distance.

The roar of the fighter jet engines were suddenly close. They made passes at the flying ships initially but circled back, got in formation and fired.

Figures abandoned the ships to their fate as falling debris, leaping onto the deck of the Aido. They were giants, at least eight feet tall and covered with rusty colored armor plating. Masks covered their faces and horned helmets sat on their heads. One in particular landed with a heavy thud and stood the tallest among them. In his hands were two sharpened sickles.

Behind that mask, his eyes glowed yellow. He cut the air with the sickles sending a whiplike lightning arc towards the soldiers. In an instant, they were down, twitching, their bodies smoking with the heat of the electric charge. Then that beast of a monster ran at them, scattering those that remained like ninepins.

He hand seized one by the neck and tossed him into the air. With no one and nothing to catch his fall, he landed flat on the concrete while this creature was already moving on to his next victim. The bullets were landing but melting into his armor like simple rivets. He was shielded from the alchemical effect. If anything, the thin layer of metal that was forming on the surface of his chest plate made him more powerful.

Brian once again called for his winds and sent them flying at the monster, they hit him but he barely moved, leaning into it with rugged determination. The combination of the weight of his body and the weight of his armor anchored him. Brian felt the icy spike of fear when the creature chuckled and the lightning flashed from his sickles.

Brian’s world went black.

#Class of 2032 #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction

[thekytchensynk]

Business Lunch (Fictober Prompt 15)

Prompt number: 15

Fanfiction Fandom: Ducktales

Rating: G

Warnings: No warnings

Read this story on AO3

The letter had arrived without a return address, which had set off some warning bells for Fenton and ALL of the warning bells for his mother.

"What is this?" She gestured to it. "What sort of fool thinks we'd-" She trailed off as Fenton just opened it the way he would any other piece of junk mail, giving him a look of disbelief mixed with anxiety that, once upon a time, would have meant he was grounded, big-time.

"No one would send me a bomb or something through the mail," he argued.

But it didn’t turn out to be either junk mail or some sort of booby trap. It was, instead, a letter inviting Fenton to a “lunch meeting to discuss a potential scientific opportunity.” It didn’t even use a name, just starting “To the lucky resident” instead.

His mother’s eyes further narrowed. She didn’t even need to say anything -- he knew the contents made her even more suspicious. And to be fair, Fenton couldn’t blame her. To a detective, this had to look like step one in either a scam or crime.

But he’d already decided to check it out. The “meeting” was to be held at a fairly popular cafe called Serene Subsistence, so the chances of someone trying something were low. And if the person knew where he lived, they also probably knew he was Gizmoduck -- he wasn’t sure anyone in the neighborhood didn’t. So if they did try something, he had ways to handle the trouble.

So the next day, Fenton made his way to the cafe. Since it was a nice spring day and since the letter hadn’t specified any particular seating arrangements, he chose to sit at a small outdoor table in front of the place, shaded by a blue-striped umbrella and looking through the minimalistic menu.

Fenton hadn’t eaten at Serene Subsistence before, and now that he’d arrived, he sort of understood why. His instincts must have seen something in the decor, or in the sign design, and warned him off. Instead of describing the various options, the menu gave each one just a picture, a name -- something like “the Green Continent” or “the October Surprise” -- and a small list of icons to indicate whether the meal was low-salt, low-fat, gluten-free, all-organic or a host of other things. Huge swaths of white space surrounded each entry.

“You’d think they could put a few lists of ingredients,” Fenton mused out loud, squinting at the menu as though that might reveal hitherto unseen text.

“Awww. come on, where’s the fun in that?”

“You.” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it, disgusted and angry and very out of place in this hip cafe. If that hadn’t drawn people’s attention, the way the glassware and silverware rattled as he slammed the menu to the tabletop would have.

Mark Beaks waved a hand at him dismissively as he pulled up the selfie camera on his phone and snapped a picture of himself in front of the table. “Come on, calm down, we’re not here to fight. We’re here to talk business.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I’d known I’d be talking business with you,” Fenton said, enunciating hard to prevent his full anger from leaking through.

Beaks grinned at him as though he were a kid who just got his times tables right. “Of course. That’s why I didn’t put my name on it. Uh-duh.” He pulled one of the other chairs at the table out and plopped into it without looking, eyes already back on the phone. “So, yeah, thanks for not looking into that too much, I would have felt really stupid if I get here and you hadn’t shown up.”

Fenton would have loved to have done that. He would have loved to be anywhere but here. Just showing up had given this arrogant tech addict a win, and this guy liked nothing better than wins. Which left him which the difficult task of trying to decide if leaving or staying would give this guy another win.

Or, which would be better for him. After all … what did Beaks want? Why would he be here? If he was plotting something, odds were good that just letting him talk would get it out into the air. Would that be worth dealing with a bit of Beaks to find that out? Maybe stop something before it started?

With a sigh that couldn’t even contain all of the disappointment he felt at doing this, Fenton sat back down. “All right,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Simple. I’m headhunting.”

For a brief moment -- blame too many supervillains -- Fenton thought he was talking like … literal headhunting. Like decapitating people. Luckily, before he could let his reaction to that get onto his face, the clinical part of his mind reminded him that this was a business meeting, and that in business parlance, headhunting had a whole other meaning.

“So, what, are you checking someone’s references?” Fenton asked, trying not-terribly-hard to cut the venom out of his voice. “Looking for recommendations? People who might be willing to build a body-bulking villain serum to-” His mind put two and two together and came up with an answer he did not like.”Are you trying to hire Dr. Gearloose away? Because whatever his reputation, he’s very loyal to the-”

“Gear wha?” Beaks finally looked up from his phone again, and he looked and sounded so puzzled that Fenton felt sure it had to be real. Any skill Beaks had at deception didn’t really center on fooling others with an act so much as just ignoring most people so you never had to worry about fooling them.

Despite that Dr. Gearloose not being the target was good news, Fenton found himself somewhat insulted on his mentor’s behalf. “He’s one of the greatest scientific minds on the planet,” Fenton said. “But you’d never get him away from his lab.”

“Ohhhhh! The guy whose stuff always goes evil!” Beaks said, looking pleased at having worked this out. “Yeah, no. Not interested. Scrooge can keep that stuff. Not good for the Waddle image when things suddenly go all…” He finished the thought by curling one hand into a claw-like shape and making a rasping sound that Fenton assumed was meant to personify “evil.”

But if he really, honestly didn’t care about Dr. Gearloose … “So why are you here?”

“For you-” something about the way he said it made Fenton think there was initially meant to be another word there -- his name probably. But Beaks had probably forgotten it. It was certainly on brand. “I said it in the letter, right?”

“The letter was vague,” Fenton pointed out. “And it’s not like the two of us are exactly on good terms.”

Again Beaks wave a hand, as though dismissing the entirely valid criticism out of hand. “Past is past,” he said. “Just let it go. I want to offer you a spot at my company and I don’t want any misunderstandings to get in the way of that.”

“Misunderstandings?” Fenton’s voice rose again, drawing more stares. Forcing his tone back to an annoyed murmur, he added, “Like when you put countless lives in danger just for your … your click count?”

“Clicks? What, no,” Beaks said, seeming scandalized. But Fenton counted in his head. Three. Two. One. “It’s likes, man. Engagement is key. Clicks. Who even clicks on something anymore…”

“Whatever,” Fenton said.

“But yeah, I meant misunderstandings like that,” Beaks added, almost as an afterthought. “We just need to move past that and see if we can come to a beneficial arrangement.”

The absolute nerve of this guy. “Listen,” he said, and this time it really was a bare whisper. “The suit will never go anywhere near you or your-”

“Wait, wait wait.” Beaks interrupted, shaking his head. “Not that. You. I got to hear some of what you showed off to Dee on that infiltration mission, some seriously interesting stuff in there. We could use someone with that sort of brainpower in our labs.”

That brought him up short. Him? The offer still wasn’t tempting, but that one reveal had changed the entire perception of their conversation. This was about him? About science?

And also about the info he learned from spying on what you thought was a date, the logical part of him mind reminded him unhelpfully.

“You want me to … invent things? For Waddle?” Fenton repeated, just to make sure. This felt wrong, like a trap. It seemed like something that might actually be part of a real business, not the sham that Beaks seemed to run.

Beaks was back on the phone again, and Fenton would have assumed he’d checked out entirely if he didn’t keep on answering questions and comments. “Well, yeah,” he said. “The awesome Waddle devices that trendy young influencers just have to have don’t invent themselves, you know. Slap our name and logo on them and boom! Instant must-have gear. Something for the shareholders to talk about. I gotta prove I can still bring in the cool -- and the cash, too.”

Ah. “So anything that the people in your lab, you take credit for?”

“Duh.” Beaks looked across the table at him, and for the first time in this entire conversion, it felt like he was actually being serious. “People don’t just want the goods, they want to feel like they’re buying into something larger than life. If I sold our phones under some other random name with a stodgy old buzzard as the CEO, you know what sort of market share that would get? None. Because people don’t just want a phone, they want a phone from me. It’s the same reason people react so strongly to you when the cops could usually do the exact same thing. Because they weren’t just saved, they were saved by a hero.”

He hadn’t thought about it that way before, and now, he sort of wished he never had. A hero? His mother was a hero. She’d saved as many people as he, probably more, and she also did the things needed to bring them to trial, to let justice do its work. All he could really do was stop what was right in front of him. Maybe Beaks was right about how it worked in business. But that was maybe the best reason of all to just stop listening to the idiocy that came out of his mouth. All it did was validate Beaks’ own sense of importance.

He stood. Started to leave. “Thanks, but I’ve got to go.”

A chair scraped. “Hey!” Beaks’ indignant voice followed him.

He felt the hand on his shoulder, trying to tighten with some degree of command or control, but it felt laughable. Weak. And then Beaks said, “Hey, amigo, hold on, tell me what the problem is. We can work something out.”

Whirling, Fenton said, “If I was interested, what would the starting pay be?”

Except he said it in Spanish. Not as fluid as his mother’s but still far more dancing than that one thudding word when Beaks has uttered it.

He expected the confusion -- the tech CEO wasn’t fooling anyone into thinking he could actually speak another language. But he got the other thing he expected to see almost immediately. The narrowing of the eyes. The darkening of the expression, as anger took the edge off Beaks’ carefree attitude. He’d been asked a question, he didn’t understand the question, and he thought not being able to answer it made him look foolish. That more than anything else told him all he needed to know.

“All right. Not interested, thank you.”

He didn’t even wait around to see if Beaks reacted to that. He just walked away.

#fictober20 #15 #ducktales #fanfic #fenton crackshell cabrera #mark beaks