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usafphantom2 · 9 months ago

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I flew the most secret MiG fighter in the world for the US Air Force: Red Eagle pilot gives the low-down on America’s MiG-21 ‘Fishbed’

Hush KitMarch 16, 2021

Name: Brian McCoy

Rank: Captain

Service: United States Air Force

How did the MiG-21 differ from the F-5E?

The biggest difference for the pilot would have to be familiarity. The F-5E is essentially a beefed-up, fighter version of the Northrop T-38 Talon … an aircraft every USAF pilot had experience in during basic flight training.

First Impressions?

Small airplane! Small cockpit, archaic instrument panel, high canopy rails.

How would you rate the cockpit for the following:

a. Ergonomics?

Ergonomics wasn’t yet a thing when the ‘Fishbed’ was designed.

b. Pilot’s view?

Outward visibility contends for the worst single problem encountered by the Fishbed pilot during air combat manoeuvring. Fighting the MiG-21 required deliberate manoeuvring simply to keep the adversary in sight … regardless of the tactical advisability of such manoeuvring.

The blind zone behind the pilot (due to the ejection seat and structural members behind the seat) extends at least 40 degrees either side of the tail. The wings are not visible to the pilot – neither is the vertical tail.

The blind zone under the high canopy rails extends about 70 degrees either side as measured from the pilot’s butt centerline (aircraft structure).

The blind zone out front is about 10 degrees either side of the nose (tall instrument panel; poorly-placed gun camera; combining glass supports; thick, translucent Pexiglass sheet placed in front of pilot as protection from B-52 tail gunner).

c. Comfort

i. While not really a concern for the designers, it’s not any more uncomfortable than other fighter designs from the era. And they did paint the instrument panel a soothing shade of green specifically to calm the pilot.

d. Instrumentation

i. Primarily the instruments we used were factory-installed … with Cyrillic characters and metric system measures and graduations – neither of which were familiar to the average American fighter pilot. Luckily our outstanding maintenance professionals placed green arcs for normal operating ranges and red radials for system limits. At some point, numbers are numbers.

Our jets had American altimeters, airspeed indicators, radios, transponders, oxygen regulators and drag chutes (for the Soviet jets … F-7 jets came from the factory with drag chutes).

Yes, the ejection system was factory installed. For the older Soviet jets, that meant a 57mm mortar shell fired to propel the ejection seat (and pilot) from the aircraft. It also brought along the forward-hinged canopy which attached to the headrest of the pilot’s seat and then folded down in front of the pilot as a shield from windblast. (The canopy and related support members probably weighed 250 – 400 pounds!) The later F-7 jets featured a rocket-propelled seat that had nearly 0/0 capability (the pilot was on his own against the breeze). The fabulous ACES-II ejection seat installed in the F-15 and F-16 aircraft (among others) used similar rocket tubes that fired sequentially to keep the G-loading associated with riding the seat during ejection down to a maximum of about 16 G’s. The F-7 rocket tubes fired all at once … giving the ejectee a spine-compressing 21 G “boost” from the aircraft.

Against the F-16?

a. In WVR: Which aircraft would have the advantage and why?

i. The F-16 holds every advantage: Higher thrust-to-weight ratio, vastly better outward visibility, higher instantaneous turn rate, much higher sustained turn rate, better weapons, much better cannon and gunsight, better man/machine interface, better acceleration … the only potential advantage the ‘Fishbed’ pilot might enjoy is if the speeds in the fight slow below 250 KIAS – well below. The slower the fight gets, the more the advantage swings to the MiG.

b. Which set-ups and altitudes would the MiG-21 favour?

i. Offensive perch at 1,000 foot range in solid gun tracking solution … LOL.

ii. Side-by-side, line-abreast 500’ spread, 150 KIAS (or less), 20,000 feet MSL.

c. How should the MiG-21 pilot fight?

i. Call for help, stay close to the Viper, get slow (and hope the Viper follows suit), keep pointing the nose at the Viper to threaten him, call for help, look for any opportunity to leave the fight, consider pre-emptive ejection, call for help!”

d. Who would you put your money on?

i. It might be obvious that I’m leaning toward the F-16.

ii. But this question opens a line of consideration I’ve encountered several times on related FB posts … the idea that the superior aircraft always – and almost automatically – wins. For nearly eight years I flew nothing but air-to-air in engagements ranging from 1v1’s to Red/Green/Maple Flag exercises. I’ve led small missions and those Flag exercises. Debriefed both using high technology or chalkboards in as much detail as the situation required to illustrate the learning points involved. I estimate I’ve been in 4,500 engagements during those years. As I learned more and more about air combat and experienced varied tactics, aircraft capabilities (or lack thereof) and the occasional imposition of simple luck … the more I came to realise the skill, daring and bravado of the pilot in that other airplane was far more important in determining an engagement’s outcome than the type aircraft he was strapped into.

iii. But I’d rather be in the F-16 for such a fight.

About 60 – 70% of our ‘adversaries’ paid attention in our pre-mission briefings and avoided fighting in such a way as to maximise our limited list of potential advantages. They kept their energy up, kept their distance, threatened us enough to force us to bleed energy and then killed us quickly and cleanly. We lost nearly all of these sorts of engagements – just as intended!

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20 – 25% of our adversaries either ignored our briefings or intentionally sought to see what happens when they ‘stepped into the phone booth’ with us. We’d win well over half of such fights … pretty good considering we almost always started out defensively.

The rest either had a bad day, didn’t have a plan, or were so overcome by the situation that they forgot what to do. We knew what to do.

iii. We normally started on the DEFENSIVE perch, allowing frontline pilots the opportunity to watch the threat aircraft do it’s thing while they were looking out their front windows … much easier than assessing performance while looking over their shoulders.

iv. I had memorable engagements against F-15’s, F-16’s, A-4M’s … but perhaps especially against the original F/A-18.

Best thing about the MiG-21?

a. Simplicity

Worst thing about the MiG-21?

a. Toss-up between abysmal outward visibility, incredible susceptibility to battle damage and astounding energy bleed-off during heavy manoeuvring.

How would you rate the MiG-21 in the following areas:

a. Instantaneous turn rate

i. Totally dependent on airspeed. Nothing special until below 250 KIAS – then it became startling. The rate did not increase at the lower speeds … it simply did not fall off as much as expected.

b. Sustained turn rate

i. Woeful. A 4+G level turn in full AB bled a bit over 1 knot per degree of heading change. Impossible to assess a “sustained turn rate” with bleed off like that.

c. Weapons platform

i. Keep in mind we flew very early export model ‘Fishbeds’ – MiG-21 F-13’s and F-7’s. Not the most advanced Fishbeds built.

ii. We simulated carriage of the IR-guided AA-2 Atoll … a direct copy of the AIM-9B Sidewinder. Not an impressive missile. Fishbeds also carry the AA-8 Aphid IR missile … a short range missile with impressive cornering capability.

iii. As a gun platform the Fishbed suffers from an incredibly unstable gunsight … useless above 2.5-3 G’s. The gun itself suffered from poor rate of fire and low muzzle velocity … but at least it didn’t carry many rounds.

d. Acceleration

i. Acceleration of the early-model Fishbed was actually quite good. Less than late- model F-16’s but on par with F-15C’s.

e. Top Speed

i. We lived with a self-imposed limit of 600 KIAS … enough for perhaps Mach 1.3 at altitude. It’s reportedly a Mach 2 capable airframe. I see no reason to doubt that capability.

Read what fighting these MiGs was like from an F-15 pilot here

f. Take-off characteristics

i. Tonopah Test Range Airfield sits at about 5,600 feet above sea level – enough altitude to seriously reduce takeoff performance. We never flew the Bandits from a lower field elevation.

ii. Temperature varied considerably at TNX – also effecting flight performance drastically.

iii. Taking the runway, I’d lock the nosewheel in the straight-ahead position and select nosewheel braking to aid in any abort situation. Once cleared for takeoff (except for that ONE time!), I’d run the power up to MILITARY while holding the brakes. When prepared to launch, I’d simply release brakes and note the acceleration sensation at the small of my back. After perhaps 2 seconds of acceleration at just MIL, I’d thumb the release and select MAXIMUM power. The afterburner lightoff process took a few seconds (and featured a very good opportunity for the engine to cease operating altogether), caused several expected engine instrument fluctuations and normally resulted in much higher thrust output. (Sensing the differing acceleration rates of the two power settings gave me another check for normal engine operation.) Once lit, the afterburner made things happen much more quickly.

iv. The MiG-21 typically rolled about 3,500 to 5,000 feet before attaining takeoff speed at about 150 KIAS. Climbout was always in full afterburner until reaching 10,000 feet MSL. (This was to get us as quickly as possible out of the more dangerous low altitude ejection envelope.) We typically climbed out at 300 KIAS with a very steep climb angle.

v. The aircraft was designed to takeoff from even unprepared fields, climb quickly to high altitude, accelerate to supersonic speed … and run down attacking B-52 bombers. I never took off from a plowed field, so I can’t verify that specific capability – but the airplane’s delta wing made it very capable of quick climbs and rapid acceleration.

g. Landing characteristics

i. Oh, boy! Do we have to do this?

ii. First of all, refer back to the section where I discussed the limited forward visibility. Nowhere is that more relevant than during each mission’s landing phase.

Pilots had to fly the overhead traffic pattern looking obliquely forward during the final turn. This is completely natural and how every final turn is flown in every fighter jet.

When rolled out on final, that same oblique viewpoint (out both sides now) has to be used to fine-tune runway alignment … and it works okay. But the normal down-the-runway cues most guys use for rounding out and flaring to land are hidden, so peripheral vision has to substitute perceived sink rate to help ‘feel’ for the runway. This skillset needed some development. (It wasn’t as bad as the wall in front of Charles Lindbergh in the ‘Spirit of St. Louis’ … but it wasn’t as good as looking through your car’s windshield, either.)

iii. The engine’s extremely slow windup makes the landing pattern the most dangerous phase of flight for the unwary or careless ‘Fishbed’ pilot.

Idle to MILITARY power took as much as 13 seconds … almost a quarter of a minute!! Imagine a ‘Fishbed’ pilot allowing the engine’s rpm to decay all the way to idle while at low altitude, low airspeed and high sink rates – as normally occur during any routine traffic pattern.

One of the signs of low thrust availability came anytime engine rpm dropped below 80% N1.

a. The extended windup time was less than the 13-second Idle to MIL marathon … but even 5 or 6 seconds waiting for useable thrust could be critical.

b. The exhaust nozzle opened fully right around that 80% N1 reading, dropping the effective thrust to nearly nothing. That was the true danger of allowing the engine rpm to decay.

c. Instructor pilots flying chase aircraft (AT-38B’s) could visually monitor the exhaust nozzle during traffic patterns with new pilots so as to provide warning and guidance in case of decayed engine rpm … or other issues with transitioning pilots’ traffic pattern work.

An AT-38B Talon aircraft flies over the plains during a 479th Tactical Training Wing Lead-In Fighter Training (LIFT) flight near Holloman Air Force Base. Training on the Talon, LIFT pilots and weapons systems officers become familiar with fighter tactics and maneuvers which they will eventually use tactics and maneuvers which they will eventually use when flying more technologically advanced aircraft.

d. While potentially dangerous, this condition was easily avoided by simply not allowing the engine rpm to slow below the 80% N1 level. As a result, we flew wimpy wide traffic patterns with very gradual turns and descents.

iv. The Fishbed was actually easy to fly through it’s landing pattern … so long as the pilot was aware of and prepared for the unusual and potentially dangerous pitfalls unique to the aircraft.

v. Being a single-engine aircraft, we spent a lot of time thinking about and training for flameout recoveries. Our glide profile was flown at 250 KIAS … the same speed we used for other emergency recoveries.

vi. While TNX was our prime recovery field, flight conditions at the time of the emergency could make landing there impossible due to distance. There were several contingency landing possibilities in the area – like old, inactive runways or dry lake beds. (Necessity is the mother of invention.)

vii. We used drag chutes on every landing to extend brake and tire life.

Read what fighting these MiGs was like from an F-15 pilot here

h. Climb rate

i. The aircraft could climb rapidly and steeply to whatever altitude was required. Once level, the Fishbed could quickly accelerate to supersonic speed.

i. Range

i. This is an astonishingly short-ranged aircraft … even for a fighter. I’ve taken off from TNX, climbed to meet an adversary almost directly overhead the runway, fought three engagements and left the range with need to land immediately due to fuel considerations … ten minutes after takeoff!

ii. I flew 287 ‘Fishbed’ sorties in my Constant Peg career – logging 134.5 hours … a bit under 0.47 hours per sortie. We weren’t trying for long sorties and made liberal use of afterburner, so your results may vary.

iii. We never flew the Bandit jets with external fuel tanks or in a cross-country fuel-efficient mode … at least not while I was there.

j. Sensors

i. Mark-1 eyeballs were our best set of sensors – by far! Our best-in-the-business GCI controllers were a close second.

ii. There was no onboard Airborne Intercept search-and-track radar.

iii. There was no IRSTS.

iv. There was a range-only radar system that displayed information on a meter equipped with lights to indicate “In Range.” It was a pathetic system useful only when I pointed the jet straight down to get altitude verification. I suppose it may have been effective against relatively cooperative, bomber-sized targets.

Biggest myth about the MiG-21?

a. That it is not an effective combat machine. With well over 11,000 copies built over a very long production run, it remained deadly due to sheer numbers for decades.

What should I have asked you?

a. How many times did the MiG-21 try to kill you? [Tried hard only once]

b. Would you willingly fly the MiG-21 into combat? [No.]

c. Was the MiG-21 easy to taxi? [Not Day One … or Day Two]

Describe you most memorable exercise in the MiG-21?

a. Describe a typical MiG-21 fight

b. How did the Soviets fight and where did this knowledge about their tactics come from?

i. I’m unsure of the remaining classification status of some aspects of this sort of information and not comfortable discussing it. It’s probably now unclassified since the USSR is out of business but I’d prefer to leave this topic alone.

c. Which model of MiG-21 was it and where did it come from?

i. We flew the MiG-21 F-13 (an early export model best known for combat operations versus United States aircraft in Southeast Asia.) We also flew later license-built (?) F-7 aircraft. Where these aircraft came from is frankly more than I personally know or am willing to discuss.

d. What was life like between missions? How did the desire for secrecy change things in your life?

i. We left Nellis AFB every morning via MAC-owned/operated C-12 executive transport aircraft (Beechcraft King Airs). We returned almost every evening after the day’s flight operations were complete. This travel was required to enable face-to-face debriefings with our adversary aircrews. Non-pilot personnel typically traveled to Tonopah on Monday mornings and returned to Nellis Friday afternoons. There were adequate dormitory, mess hall and recreational facilities to accommodate all assigned personnel. Pilots each had a full-time dorm room in case they needed to remain overnight.

ii. Details of our squadron’s operations were classified – but the fact that something special was going on was not a closely-guarded secret. We were treated with something like lofty respect by the Nellis fighter community – and granted unquestioned ‘expert’ status in matters regarding adversary aircraft.

iii. I could not share specific information with my family. If I’d been killed while flying a MIG – my family would have been told a cover story.

iv. One night at home my heart nearly stopped during a local news broadcast clearly showing a MiG-21 taking off at Tonopah! I couldn’t say a word about what I’d seen on the TV … thankfully my young family couldn’t tell a MiG-21 from a B-29 … but my jaw dropping to the floor might have drawn attention.

Tell me something I don’t know about the MiG-21

a. It accelerates right with the MiG-27 … knot for knot!

Describe the MiG-21 in three words

a. Surprisingly nimble $hitheap!

Quickest way to lose a fight with a MiG-21?

a. Failure to pick him up visually before he’s in firing position. With a wingspan under 24’ … it’s very hard to see!

b. Slowing down with him (assuming he’s willing and able to fight at very slow speed)

Against the F-15

a. How does the MiG-21 compare to the F-15 in WVR?

i. Each of the advantages enjoyed by the F-16 in the previous discussion also apply to the F-15’s advantages (except that acceleration is basically a draw) – with the additional factor that the Eagle is even better than the ‘Fishbed’ at slow speeds. The MiG is considerably smaller and much harder to see and perhaps keep track of in a visual fight.

b. What was your most challenging opponent in BFM/DACT and why?

i. Not really a definitive single answer to this question – owing to the pilot skill factor brought up above.

ii. Need to mention that most Constant Peg engagements went according to plan.

In a 1v1 between an F-5E and a MiG-21 which aircraft would you rather be in and why?

a. If life and death is not on the line, I’d prefer to be in the MiG-21. Knowing what I know, I can control the fight, bring it to a situation I can completely control and confidently maneuver to win the fight … decisively.

b. If life and death is on the line … give me the F-5E. (Damn few ‘Fishbed’ pilots realise they can fight that jet down to 30 KIAS. The better survivability of the F-5E can’t be denied.)

What was Constant Peg and how did it work?

a. Constant Peg was a flight program utilising actual threat aircraft to expose frontline American fighter crews to the sight of an aircraft they’d expect to kill. There was some exposure to fighting that aircraft – with the expectation that they would not encounter more skilled pilots anywhere else.

b. Normally selected units deploying to Nellis for Red Flag exercises were given the opportunity to spend part of their time with us.

i. They would operate out of Nellis – just as they did for Red Flag.

ii. We’d inbrief them into our program – usually on a Saturday.

During this inbrief each pilot would sign a sheet informing them of the penalties for divulging information about our program.

We’d also brief them about the aircraft they’d be flying against. (This was when we’d tell them not to go into the phone booth with the ‘Fishbed’!)

iii. We would wait on the ground until GCI told us our adversaries were inbound to our operating areas at the extreme northwest corner of the vast Nellis airspace complex. Our flight time was extremely limited, so saving fuel was a primary … and constant! … concern.

iv. Immediately after takeoff (we most often took off in pairs), we’d run a Soviet-style tactic for our adversaries to practice their radar work. They’d also run a stern-conversion on us to get us quickly together to get on with the meat of our mission.

v. Participating pilots had to first experience a Performance Profile mission with one of our pilots. This was a sophisticated ‘show and tell’ mission where the Red Eagle pilot described identifying features of his aircraft (without actually naming the aircraft … never know who’s listening!), coordinated a drag race to compare acceleration capabilities and led an advanced-handling demonstration.

vi. Once completing a PP with a ‘Fishbed’ pilot, our adversaries normally got a second PP with a Flogger pilot.

vii. After flying a PP with both aircraft, they were cleared to fly BFM missions with us.

BFM missions with the ‘Fishbed’ were full-up fights. We’d normally begin out front in the defensive position … allowing our adversary to watch us do our thing out their front window. Most of the time we’d start at about 20,000 feet, with about 400-450 knots on both jets and the adversary about 9,000 feet behind at the MiG’s 4:30 or 7:30 position. We’d usually get two long or three short engagements before the ‘Fishbed’ was out of fuel.

Who would win Eurofighter Typhoon versus Dassault Rafale? Analysis here

BFM missions with the Flogger were not very challenging for our adversaries … the Flogger couldn’t turn well at all. But seeing that in person was an important thing to learn.

viii. Once completing BFM missions with both aircraft, adversary pilots moved on to DACT missions – normally against one ‘Fishbed’ and one ‘Flogger’. (We rarely flew DACT sorties since so much emphasis was put on the BFM missions.)

c. We also participated in actual Red Flag missions – either with the Bandit aircraft or our AT-38B’s … or sometimes with both! (Our participation limited the Red Flag scenario to American participants only – due to the classification of our program.)

Why were you chosen for this effort and how would you describe the other individuals in your team?

a. I sometimes wonder why I was selected for this program. I volunteered, had built a solid reputation within the USAF fighter community and had appropriate experience that allowed me to be considered. Only Aggressors, Fighter Weapon School graduates and former Topgun Instructors were considered to become Bandits! I was an Aggressor. Bottom line? I got lucky!!

i. Even with those prerequisites, a prospective Red Eagle had to pass muster with the current Red Eagles. One vote, “No” … and you were out.

ii. Three personal interviews took place: two with individual General Officers – in their offices. Not intimidating at all! The third … and most important … was with the Red Eagle Operations Officer. Fail that one – and the outcome of the other interviews didn’t matter.

iii. Needed a security clearance a notch above Top Secret to play. Not routine.

b. Everyone that wore a Red Eagle patch was absolutely top-notch! The pilots I flew with – USAF, USN and USMC – were extremely skilled aviators. I’d go to war with any one of them … or all of them! Red Eagle GCI controllers were the absolute best. Our maintenance folks were beyond comparison … best in the business! They could build an airplane from spare parts without any problems – or they could fashion parts if none existed! We pilots routinely placed our lives in their hands without batting an eye. We also entrusted our lives to the Life Support technicians that worked directly for me (I was the Squadron Life Support Officer) but needed no direction from me. (There were two ejections while I was there … both pilots survived without meaningful injuries – thanks in part to the efforts of my guys.) We had dedicated professionals manning the firetrucks, security posts, refueling trucks, cooking our meals, cleaning our rooms, filling out our paperwork … at every level of effort – amazing, hand-picked personnel volunteered to pull classified duty at a classified location for several days each week away from home. I’m still impressed by the numbers of highly-qualified people that supported our unique mission. And kept it all secret until the program was declassified in 2006!

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mcmansionhell · 5 years ago

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Coronagrifting: A Design Phenomenon

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled content to bring you a critical essay on the design world. I promise you that this will also be funny.

This morning, the design website Dezeen tweeted a link to one of its articles, depicting a plexiglass coronavirus shield that could be suspended above dining areas, with the caption “Reader comment: ‘Dezeen, please stop promoting this stupidity.’”

This, of course, filled many design people, including myself, with a kind of malicious glee. The tweet seemed to show that the website’s editorial (or at least social media) staff retained within themselves a scintilla of self-awareness regarding the spread a new kind of virus in its own right: cheap mockups of COVID-related design “solutions” filling the endlessly scrollable feeds of PR-beholden design websites such as Dezeen, ArchDaily, and designboom. I call this phenomenon: Coronagrifting.

I’ll go into detail about what I mean by this, but first, I would like to presenet some (highly condensed) history.

From Paper Architecture to PR-chitecture

Back in the headier days of architecture in the 1960s and 70s, a number of architectural avant gardes (such as Superstudio and Archizoom in Italy and Archigram in the UK) ceased producing, well, buildings, in favor of what critics came to regard as “paper architecture.” This “paper architecture” included everything from sprawling diagrams of megastructures, including cities that “walked” or “never stopped” - to playfully erotic collages involving Chicago’s Marina City. Occasionally, these theoretical and aesthetic explorations were accompanied by real-world productions of “anti-design” furniture that may or may not have involved foam fingers.

Archigram’s Walking City (1964). Source.

Paper architecture, of course, still exists, but its original radical, critical, playful, (and, yes, even erotic) elements were shed when the last of the ultra-modernists were swallowed up by the emerging aesthetic hegemony of Postmodernism (which was much less invested in theoretical and aesthetic futurism) in the early 1980s. What remained were merely images, the production and consumption of which has only increased as the design world shifted away from print and towards the rapidly produced, easily digestible content of the internet and social media.

Architect Bjarke Ingels’s “Oceanix” - a mockup of an ecomodernist, luxury city designed in response to rising sea levels from climate change. The city will never be built, and its critical interrogation amounts only to “city with solar panels that floats bc climate change is Serious” - but it did get Ingels and his firm, BIG, a TED talk and circulation on all of the hottest blogs and websites. Meanwhile, Ingels has been in business talks with the right-wing climate change denialist president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro. (Image via designboom)

Design websites are increasingly dominated by text and mockups from the desks of a firm’s public relations departments, facilitating a transition from the paper-architecture-imaginary to what I have begun calling “PR-chitecture.” In short, PR-chitecture is architecture and design content that has been dreamed up from scratch to look good on instagram feeds or, more simply, for clicks. It is only within this substance-less, critically lapsed media landscape that Coronagrifting can prosper.

Coronagrifting: An Evolution

As of this writing, the two greatest offenders of Coronagrifting are Dezeen, which has devoted an entire section of its website to the virus (itself offering twelve pages of content since February alone) and designboom, whose coronavirus tag contains no fewer than 159 articles.

Certainly, a small handful of these stories demonstrate useful solutions to COVID-related problems (such as this one from designboom about a student who created a mask prototype that would allow D/deaf and hard of hearing people to read lips) most of the prototypes and the articles about them are, for a lack of a better word, insipid.

But where, you may ask, did it all start?

One of the easiest (and, therefore, one of the earliest) Coronagrifts involves “new innovative, health-centric designs tackling problems at the intersection of wearables and personal mobility,” which is PR-chitecture speak for “body shields and masks.”

Wearables and Post-ables

The first example came from Chinese architect Sun Dayong, back at the end of February 2020, when the virus was still isolated in China. Dayong submitted to Dezeen a prototype of a full mask and body-shield that “would protect a wearer during a coronavirus outbreak by using UV light to sterilise itself.” The project was titled “Be a Bat Man.” No, I am not making this up.

Screenshot of Dayong’s “Be a Batman” as seen on the Dezeen website.

Soon after, every artist, architect, designer, and sharp-eyed PR rep at firms and companies only tangentially related to design realized that, with the small investment of a Photoshop mockup and some B-minus marketing text, they too could end up on the front page of these websites boasting a large social media following and an air of legitimacy in the field.

By April, companies like Apple and Nike were promising the use of existing facilities for producing or supplying an arms race’s worth of slick-tech face coverings. Starchitecture’s perennial PR-churners like Foster + Partners and Bjarke Ingels were repping “3D-printed face shields”, while other, lesser firms promised wearable vaporware like “grapheme filters,” branded “skincare LED masks for encouraging self-development” and “solar powered bubble shields.”

While the mask Coronagrift continues to this day, the Coronagrifting phenomenon had, by early March, moved to other domains of design.

Consider the barrage of asinine PR fluff that is the “Public Service Announcement” and by Public Service Announcement, I mean “A Designer Has Done Something Cute to Capitalize on Information Meant to Save Lives.”

Some of the earliest offenders include cutesy posters featuring flags in the shape of houses, ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home;” a designer building a pyramid out of pillows ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home”; and Banksy making “lockdown artwork” that involved covering his bathroom in images of rats ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home.”

Lol. Screenshot from Dezeen.

You may be asking, “What’s the harm in all this, really, if it projects a good message?” And the answer is that people are plenty well encouraged to stay home due to the rampant spread of a deadly virus at the urging of the world’s health authorities, and that these tone-deaf art world creeps are using such a crisis for shameless self promotion and the generation of clicks and income, while providing little to no material benefit to those at risk and on the frontlines.

Of course, like the mask coronagrift, the Public Service Announcement coronagrift continues to this very day.

The final iteration of Post-able and Wearable Coronagrifting genres are what I call “Passive Aggressive Social Distancing Initiatives” or PASDIs. Many of the first PASDIs were themselves PSAs and art grifts, my favorite of which being the designboom post titled “social distancing applied to iconic album covers like the beatle’s abbey road.” As you can see, we’re dealing with extremely deep stuff here.

However, an even earlier and, in many ways more prescient and lucrative grift involves “social distancing wearables.” This can easily be summarized by the first example of this phenomenon, published March 19th, 2020 on designboom:

Never wasting a single moment to capitalize on collective despair, all manner of brands have seized on the social distancing wearable trend, which, again, can best be seen in the last example of the phenomenon, published May 22nd, 2020 on designboom:

We truly, truly live in Hell.

Which brings us, of course, to living.

“Architectural Interventions” for a “Post-COVID World”

As soon as it became clear around late March and early April that the coronavirus (and its implications) would be sticking around longer than a few months, the architectural solutions to the problem came pouring in. These, like the virus itself, started at the scale of the individual and have since grown to the scale of the city. (Whether or not they will soon encompass the entire world remains to be seen.)

The architectural Coronagrift began with accessories (like the designboom article about 3D-printed door-openers that enable one to open a door with one’s elbow, and the Dezeen article about a different 3D-printed door-opener that enables one to open a door with one’s elbow) which, in turn, evolved into “work from home” furniture (”Stykka designs cardboard #StayTheF***Home Desk for people working from home during self-isolation”) which, in turn, evolved into pop-up vaporware architecture for first responders (”opposite office proposes to turn berlin's brandenburg airport into COVID-19 'superhospital'”), which, in turn evolved into proposals for entire buildings (”studio prototype designs prefabricated 'vital house' to combat COVID-19″); which, finally, in turn evolved into “urban solutions” aimed at changing the city itself (a great article summarizing and criticizing said urban solutions was recently written by Curbed’s Alissa Walker).

There is something truly chilling about an architecture firm, in order to profit from attention seized by a global pandemic, logging on to their computers, opening photoshop, and drafting up some lazy, ineffectual, unsanitary mockup featuring figures in hazmat suits carrying a dying patient (macabrely set in an unfinished airport construction site) as a real, tangible solution to the problem of overcrowded hospitals; submitting it to their PR desk for copy, and sending it out to blogs and websites for clicks, knowing full well that the sole purpose of doing so consists of the hope that maybe someone with lots of money looking to commission health-related interiors will remember that one time there was a glossy airport hospital rendering on designboom and hire them.

Enough, already.

Frankly, after an endless barrage of cyberpunk mask designs, social distancing burger king crowns, foot-triggered crosswalk beg buttons that completely ignore accessibility concerns such as those of wheelchair users, cutesy “stay home uwu” projects from well-to-do art celebrities (who are certainly not suffering too greatly from the economic ramifications of this pandemic), I, like the reader featured in the Dezeen Tweet at the beginning of this post, have simply had enough of this bullshit.

What’s most astounding to me about all of this (but especially about #brand crap like the burger king crowns) is that it is taken completely seriously by design establishments that, despite being under the purview of PR firms, should frankly know better. I’m sure that Bjarke Ingels and Burger King aren’t nearly as affected by the pandemic as those who have lost money, jobs, stability, homes, and even their lives at the hands of COVID-19 and the criminally inept national and international response to it. On the other hand, I’m sure that architects and designers are hard up for cash at a time when nobody is building and buying anything, and, as a result, many see resulting to PR-chitecture as one of the only solutions to financial problems.

However, I’m also extremely sure that there are interventions that can be made at the social, political, and organizational level, such as campaigning for paid sick leave, organizing against layoffs and for decent severance or an expansion of public assistance, or generally fighting the rapidly accelerating encroachment of work into all aspects of everyday life – that would bring much more good and, dare I say, progress into the world than a cardboard desk captioned with the hashtag #StaytheF***Home.

Hence, I’ve spent most of my Saturday penning this article on my blog, McMansion Hell. I’ve chosen to run this here because I myself have lost work as a freelance writer, and the gutting of publications down to a handful of editors means that, were I to publish this story on another platform, it would have resulted in at least a few more weeks worth of inflatable, wearable, plexiglass-laden Coronagrifting, something my sanity simply can no longer withstand.

So please, Dezeen, designboom, others – I love that you keep daily tabs on what architects and designers are up to, a resource myself and other critics and design writers find invaluable – however, I am begging, begging you to start having some discretion with regards to the proposals submitted to you as “news” or “solutions” by brands and firms, and the cynical, ulterior motives behind them. If you’re looking for a guide on how to screen such content, please scroll up to the beginning of this page.

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If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to my Patreon, as I didn’t get paid to write it.

#architecture #design #coronavirus #dezeen #designboom #capitalism

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davidcampiti · 3 years ago

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A SCREENPLAY IS NOT A COMIC BOOK SCRIPT

I'm frustrated by writers who hire a comicbook artist then send a screenplay as their script. My first question to them is, "Are you hiring one of our writers to adapt this into a comic book script?" Usually they'll respond, "No that's the script to work from."

But it's not.

Word balloons aren't broken out or numbered, SFX aren't identified, the pacing is wrong, and most panel descriptions are missing, causing the artist and the editor to do twice as much work without a corresponding increase in pay.

Here's a good article from Nick Macari about the differences --

I think you’d be hard pressed to find some work of fiction, some type of writing, that you could NOT turn into a comic. That is to say, you could create a comic from notes on bar napkins, a published novel, heck I bet you could even create a comic using nothing but a movie as the source material.

If you’re making a comic yourself, like literally by yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it… only the final product matters. If you have some crazy process that gets you a beautiful finished product, good on ya mate.

But for those writing spec scripts, trying to write for others, or trying to entice others to their project, it pays to create scripts that open doors instead of closing them.

In 2020, there are a million writers writing screenplays and pawning them off as comic scripts.

If you want to be one of those guys… as you were.

But if you actually want to write comics, if you want to be a comic book writer, you should learn how to write an actual comic book script, not how to sell some other script as one.

There are lot of useful technique comics can borrow from screenplays.

For the innocent novice writer, it’s understandable to see some technical execution confusion. But for working and professional writers, knowing what transfers over and what doesn’t separates the riff from the raff.

Before we get into it, let’s put to bed, once and for all, why a straight screenplay script is not a comic script. Here’s why;

Director Production Designer Art Director Costume Designer Cinematographer … Camera Assistant Director of Photography Scenic Artist Set Decorator Storyboard artist … Makeup artist Wardrobe stylist Assistant Director Production Assistant Production Coordinator Production Designer … Script Supervisor Sound Mixer Special Effects Coordinator

oh yeah, and actors.

These are a few of the people involved in a film.

Individual roles dedicated to a specific area of production. In essence, a screenplay can deliver fairly minimal information and it’s someone’s specific job to interpret that information, its context, and otherwise apply their knowledge, experience and skill, to turn that information into some tangible, successful element.

If you think it’s the artist’s job to fill all these roles, you’re crazy… and mean to artists.

Ok, you still here?

Good.

Let’s showcase some specific examples of why a screenplay doesn’t hold up for comics;

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Drug Dealer I don’t…

Doyle Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer What?

Doyle Did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

Doyle Were you ever in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer No… yeah…

Doyle Did you ever sit on the edge of a bed, take off your socks and stick your fingers between your toes?

Drug Dealer Man, I’m clean.

Doyle You made three sales to your roaches back there. We had to chase you though all this shit and you tell me you’re clean?

Russo Who stuck up the laundromat?

Doyle How about that time you were picking your feet in Pougheepsie?

The drug dealers’ eyes go to Russo in panic, looking for the relief from the pressure of the inquisition.

Russo (in pain) You better give me the guy who got the old Jew or you better give me something or you’re just a memory in this town.

Drug Dealer That’s a lot o’ shit. I didn’t do nothin’.

14 dialogue exchanges, with for all intents and purposes not a single visual description (one minor one toward the end about the dealer’s eyes.). This is likely at least one page of comic with this volume of exchanges and dialogue, and there is literally, nothing cuing the artist as to how this should go down.

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Mutchie

That’s right, he couldn’t fight legit. One night at the Garden about 1950, ’51—he fought either Jake LaMotta or Gus Lesnevish, I think it was—he took one o’those cream puff punches in the sixth—the laziest left you ever seen—missed him entirely. Down goes Blackjack without even workin’ up a sweat and the whole Garden gets up on its feet and I swear to Christ, everybody starts singin’ “Dance with Me Henry.”

75 words. Way too much for a single panel.

How many ways can you break the dialogue into how many panels?

Is one way to break it up more effective than the others?

Because if it is, and that’s NOT the method you write up, you’re producing a less effective script.

But ultimately, what works in film as a 30 second monologue (doesn’t work in comics), would be far more effective as caption narration over flashback action.

THE EXORCIST

EXTERIOR – IRAQ- NINEVEH- DAY

The old man arrives back at that dig site in a small jeep. As he pulls up two armed guards rush out. When they see who it is the old man gives them a wave and they slowly walk back to there quarters. The old man walks up the rocky mound and sees a huge statue of the demon Pazuzu, which has the head of the small rock he earlier found. He climbs to a higher point to get a closer look. When he reaches the highest point he looks at the statue dead on. He then turns his head as we hear rocks falling and sees a guard standing behind him. He then turns again when he hears two dogs savagely attacking each other. The noise is something of an evil nature. He looks again at the statue and we are then presented with a classic stand off side view of the old man and the statue as the noises rage on. We then fade to the sun slowly setting as the noises lower in volume.

Hey! this has some nice direction, this screenplay stuff is perfect for a comic.

NO.

Let’s break it down;

This passage is 15 beats, give or take. One beat a panel, 3-5 panels per page, we’ve got 3-5 pages of comic in this passage alone.

Hang on we’re not done.

If you fill your page with this type of description (you shouldn’t, but let’s say you did), you could get almost double that amount of beats. So one page of screenplay delivering nearly 6-10 pages of comic content!

Tell me, when was the last time someone delivering a screenplay “comic script,” delivered a 2 page script for a complete issue? Never says I.

BONUS on this example:

Did y’all notice the soundtrack emphasis in this excerpt from the Exorcist script? Of course you can have sound effects in a comic, but no matter how you crack it, comics DO NOT have soundtracks. Relying on film soundtracks in a comic script is a sure fire way to deliver less effective scripts.

BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

WANG Forget about your truck, Jack. You don’t wanna go back there. You’ll have to go through the Wing Kong to get it. It’s insured, right?

JACK Of course it is. But that’s not the point.

WANG The smart man comes back for it later…

JACK The smart man calls the cops!

WANG Cops have better things to do than get killed.

We showed the typical lack of visual description a screenplay gives in the first example. [Screenplays tend to focus on the scene setup, then briefly hit key actions of the scene.] Here we have another example of missing visual description, but I point it out for something more specific–LACK OF EMOTIONAL context.

As I point out in the Writer’s Guide, Emotional content is one of the essential elements of each and every comic panel. So not only do we not have visual cues to support the action in the screenplay, but how are the characters delivering these lines!?

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

How many ways can you say this line?

I can say it pissed. Irritated. Fearful. Sarcastically. Comically. Those are just a few that pop in my head… and I’m no actor.

Leaving emotional context open to interpretation undermines narrative control–in a big way.

A good, effective scene, could die a horrible misinterpreted death.

For the record, you can use parentheticals in a screenplay. This can give emotional context, like the one from Jack’s first line I omitted to make the example more effective

JACK (pissed off)

But where parentheticals do contain emotional context, you use them in a script sparingly. Just like you don’t tell the director how to do his job filling your screenplay with camera direction, you don’t try to tell the actors how to do theirs. (Remember, the answer to why Screenplays aren’t Comic Scripts, there’s a lot of people, hopefully professionals, bringing their expertise to the table.)

CASABLANCA

Ilsa Your secret will be safe with me. Ferrari is waiting for our answer.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ferrari Not more than fifty francs though.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo We’ve decided, Signor Ferrari. For the president we’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.

Ferrari Well, good luck. But be careful. ( a flick of his eyes in the direction of the bazaar) You know you’re being shadowed.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

Screenplays live in movement. Unless you’ve got a static insert of a letter or photo or something, everything is in motion and there is constant change (even if subtle) from micro-second, to micro-second.

While comics work to capture movement (and there are some tricks), it is ultimately a static medium, locked into showcasing moments frozen in time.

What I explain in the “works in movies not in comics article” is that the constant movement and motion, supported (primarily) by actors, but by the lighting people, the art direction people, director, etc. all gives depth and purpose to every single second of a film.

With all these people doing their job, a screenplay can give super general stage direction, like what we see here in this Casablanca excerpt.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

These trivial actions carry no narrative. They work in film because of performance and motion, which steps in to create narrative.Without performance and motion, a single frame captured from core stage direction translates to ineffective comic panels.

By the way, all the examples I’m giving here, are from solid movies. The big pink elephant in the room when writers deliver “comic screenplay scripts,” is that they assume they know how to write a good screenplay in the first place. Trust me, novice writers rarely do.

There’s a lot of technique and skill in writing a solid screenplay. And if you think a good screenplay causes problems converting to a comic, wait till you try it from a shitty screenplay.

Still thinkin’ screenplay is synonymous with comic script? Well you’re wrong sunshine, but what do I know?

I’m just a non-famous full-time mercenary writer, writing almost exclusively in comics and games for a decade or so. :p

I’ve spent a few hours writing this article, but there are plenty of other examples I haven’t touched on.

I’ll come back and add some more as I think of them in my down time. Maybe eventually when the list is so long it takes you a couple hours to read this article, y’all get it through your noggins that comics are there own medium which demand the attention and respect of a unique format and writing approach. Something the comic book writers reading this, already know. #justsayin

About the Author — Nick Macari is a full-time freelance story consultant, developmental editor and writer, working primarily in the independent gaming and comic markets. His first published comic appeared on shelves via Diamond in the late 90’s. Today you can find his comic work on comixology, amazon and in select stores around the U.S. Visit NickMacari.com for social media contacts and news on his latest releases.

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the-wiresmarvelau · 4 years ago

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T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn’t help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: arrangements 2

Peter picked out a small array of clothes from the ones they had gotten for Clint, Sam and Natasha.

Bringing the clothes to the room didn’t help the buzzing in his head though. So, he decided to take a walk to the small lake in the forest behind the compound.

As he stepped out, the sun had begun to set. Its warmth still lingered in the air, carrying the scent of dry earth and wildflowers

Breath after breath spread the dulled down electricity of summer throughout his whole body; and he savoured every last one of the sunrays reaching his skin.

Usually, he didn’t go for walks that much. Because for some reason.. birdsongs made him uneasy.

But right now, when coupled with such calming sensations and the contrast of how uncomfortable the compound felt right now, not even those alien tunes could bother him.

His spider sense in his head wasn’t gone perse, but it had calmed enough to be mistaken for a comfortable dizziness.

Strolling towards the forest, he cherished this moment of peace.

Bevor, he had thought that the only reason he was this wound up had been his concern for Loki.

Now he realised that it was pent up stress from the last few weeks. There had always been something to do.

Even though he knew he had enough time to get everything done; his perfectionism and anxiety to mess up seemed to have gotten the better of him.

Right this moment though? He felt a fragile, airy kind of contempt.

Trying to hold on to it for as long as possible as he made his way over to the treeline, he attempted to keep his thoughts empty and concentrate on all senses but his vision.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven and had only a minimal give to it.

Occasionally a stray fern or flower would stroke over his ankles and his clothes were soft on his skin, slowly building up warmth.

Behind him the faint, familiar hum of the arc reactors and electrical currents gave him a sense of safety, while the trees that rustled lazily in front of him seemed calm and reminded him of picnics with his aunt and uncle in the park.

He could hear woodpeckers, chip away at varying distances and wondered how many a normal person would be able to make out.

Only someone with enhanced senses would be able to hear the sloshing of the lake; of that he was sure.

But what about the cracking of twigs now and then? The beating wings and calls of baby birds, signalling their parents? Would Tony have been able to pick up on the grunting deer, somewhere to the right of him?

As he stepped under the first tree, he was greeted by the much colder, more humid air.

Moss cushioned his steps, swallowing all noise he made.

All but his breathing, which refreshed his lungs and grounded him, further.

Just as he thought that it would be helpful, if he opened his eyes again, the buzzing in his head flared up. Telling him to step to the side.

He did and at the same time opened his eyes. He had barely managed to avoid a collision with a tree.

Smiling to himself, he continued along, following the sound of water.

Arriving at his destination, his light mood seemed to shatter, like a bubble of hair thin glass. A cold shudder run down his spine as he found himself a tree with a large branch he could sit on.

In the dim evening light, the lake looked almost like a black void; reminding him of the deep, freezing cold water the vulture had dropped him in, and how he could have drowned if it wasn’t for Tony.

Peter owed this man, to whom he looked up to like he was a father, so much, that it stung; having to hide something so big from him.

A resigned sigh escaped his lips, when his spider sense suddenly concentrated more to one side, not telling him to do anything, but alerting him of some kind of presence.

‘Probably just some wild animal’ he thought. Not wanting to move and startle it.

But then, whatever it was, came closer and he got the impression that it probably wasn’t an animal.

His spider sense didn’t seem to register it as a threat though, and in his melancholic musings, he refused to move.

It was probably vision, wanting to check on him.

“Excuse me.” A female voice broke the silence, making him look in her direction.

“You are Spiderman, are you not?”

The woman he saw standing there was beautiful. A golden glow emanated from her, making everything about her look incredibly soft.

What struck him the most was how much she reminded him of his aunt May. With that kind look on her face. Eyes filled with worry but standing firm; No doubt in whether or not she did the right thing.

It was by no means hard to believe that she was a goddess.

Because of course, he knew who she was.

He had waited for her to arrive since he spoke to Mr. Loki.

“Uhm. Ma’am. Yes, I-. I’m spiderman.” He had to clear his throat bevor continuing. “I guess you’re here because of Mr- because of your son?”

In his head, Peter scolded himself for stumbling around his sentences, and almost faceplanting when he jumped down from the tree.

The goddess before him just smiled sweetly.

“Yes. He said you would find some place for him to stay.” she replied, politely ignorant of the teens nervousness; which put him at ease a little bit.

Nodding to himself, he answered “I have a room for him, hidden in the compound. Nobody will know he is here.” With his eyes he tried to convey as much earnestness as he could.

If this woman was anything like May, she would want to be sure that her son was in safe hands.

“We just have to somehow break him out. He said you would know how to?”

His answer was another one of those kind smiles, she seemed to give out plenty of.

How could the child of a woman as sweet and caring as this turn out trying to take over a planet. It was a puzzle with at least one missing piece; but he was determined to solve it non the less.

“Bringing him to Midgard is easy enough. Shall I bring him directly to the building?” It was clear that she was convinced he would say yes, but he shook his head.

“I think it’s better if you bring him here. His room is underground, and the nearest entrance is right over there.” He pointed to a big tree stump near where the forest gave way for a little gravel beach.

“It was mean to be a hidden bunker” He explained, blushing a little with how weird this must be for her.

She looked around, trying to memorize the place as detailed as possible before returning her gaze to Peter with a sigh.

"You can't imagine how grateful I am for your generosity. He has made his fair share of missteps but..

“he is a good boy at heart and I believe much can be attributed to his father’s treatment of him. I don't know what exactly happened when I wasn't around, but judging by the current situation, the animosity between them must have festered for quite some time now."

The young hero wasn't sure why she felt like she had to explain herself.

Without her, there was probably little to no chance of escape for her son, but she did help and it was clear to him that she cared.

“I’m sure he knows that.” He replied, not knowing what else he could say. “I will make sure that he is safe and has time and space to heal.” It was the least he could do in his opinion.

Frigga smiled again, her eyes fond and a little sad. Something about him told her that he was familiar with pain.

“He always had a good judgement of people. I’m just glad he will finally have a companion his age, you two are not so different from each other.”

A companion his age?

That statement confused Peter but bevor he could ask, the woman in front of him sighed and stood up a little straighter.

“Don’t worry if it takes a while for us to get back. I have to make sure that we can’t be traced back here. And it would probably be best, you prepare everything.”

Nodding the boy took a step in the direction of the entrance.

“When you arrive before I’m back out, just knock three times in the stump, leave a small pause, and knock twice. It will open and notify me.” He demonstrated the pattern but nothing happened.

The goddess raised a brow in question.

“Just need to put that into the system it’s for this occasion only... makes it easier.”

She nodded.

“We will meet again soon” she said before turning to the side and disappearing with a single step.

For a few seconds, he stood there, trying to get the whole conversation straight and not miss anything.

He still had no clue what she meant with the ‘his age’ thing but decided it wasn’t that important right now.

Loki’s Room was furnished, had electricity and a bath, he had fresh clothes…

What else did he need; like right now?

While he thought about it, he went over to other side of the stump and with his fingers found a small crack in the wood.

Pressing a plate at the top of it opened a panel in one of the roots, easy to miss if you didn’t look for it. He tapped in the code to open THE WIRES and was promptly met by the voice of Manuel.

“Sneaking in through the back door, are we? Does your father know you’re out this late?”

For some reason, the AI kept referring to Tony as his father; probably because of the rumours going around the tower.

Most of the data he had given him to learn speech from was security footage from the labs and living quarters.

“He wouldn’t be surprised now, would he?” Peter replied, before instructing Manuel on what to do when he got the signal.

While doing that, he remembered that his guest probably didn’t have nearly enough to eat in the past years, so he decided to make some eggs on toast, as well as bring some ingredients to the little kitchen nook for the god to be able to make himself something whenever he desired.

Most of the tracks back and forth were made by the service robot, while he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn and that at least one of the ways into THE WIRES was open, so he could communicate with the AI in them.

The Gods hadn’t arrived yet, when he was done.

Placing everything to be kept warm into an insulated box and handing it off to the ever-busy robot, he made his way to the lab to finish of his watch.

KAREN was too much of a risk, and it was important that Manuel could always contact him.

This task didn’t take long either; the programming for it being rather simple.

Though he was sure that the older AI had noticed that his behaviour was weird; He hoped that she didn’t notice that he had given Manuel the possibility to override any protocols and contact attempts KAREN started from there and to ‘switch out’ at any time he entered THE WIRES.

Peter had just grabbed a (second) first aid kit and was on his way to their meeting place, when Manuel informed him that the two had knocked.

He checked that KAREN couldn’t hear through the watch, but the display pulsed a dark green, as opposed to her bright red.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that she won’t find out.” Her counterpart assured. The boy gave a nod, but was too tense to speak, while running to greet the arriving Aesir.

They were taking the last step down the stairs when he came around the last corner; and the aspiring engineer was glad that he had decided to change to stairs after a short, initial drop with ladder.

Loki looked even worse, than when he had last seen him.

Running the last steps towards them, he gestured to the door near them, leading into the small storage room that served as front for the bunker.

Manuel had already opened the way for them.

Directly behind the opening was a narrow staircase, leading further down.

For the descent the super powered teenager carried the god bridal style, followed by his mother.

Every inch of exposed skin was coloured some variation of red, black, blue or yellow from bruises lacerations or gashes.

Dried blood clung to his skin in rivulets of crimson.

Fortunately, none of the wounds was actively bleeding.

The metal thread in his lips had been removed, but not after it had torn through his lips in several places. A golden glow held them together, which was probably some kind of healing spell.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he quickly but carefully, made his way over to the large, cushioned sleeping place encased in the wall to the right, at the opposite end of the room.

“I hate to leave him like this.” The god’s mother spoke up, “But I have to get back to Asgard, before my husband notices my absence.”

Her gaze spoke of the pain she felt at the prospect of leaving her boy alone like this.

Before the hero could answer she pulled out, what looked like some sort of fancy bowl or plate and placed it on the desk, next to the bed her son lay in.

“This will allow me to send you some healing elixirs, you will surely need. Never place anything in it, not even water to wash it. My boy can explain the rest to you once he awakes.”

And without another word she disappeared, the same way she had the first time.

Several moments went by in which Peter didn’t know what to do.

The unconscious form of the man on the bed looked almost dead, were it not for the irregular raise and fall of his chest.

He had forgotten to ask about the age comment she had made earlier.

Not that it mattered…

With a shake of his head, he turned towards the small bathroom, on the diagonally opposite side from the one the bed was in.

Soon he found several towels as well as a bowl of water, before covering the couch, in front of the bed with some of the towels and moving the thin, pale body onto it to start carefully washing the dried blood away.

Only where he could reach of course, but the sole fabric covering the god’s thin form, was a pair of shorts, so he got almost everything.

He worked in silence, grateful that Manuel kept quiet.

The whole day, he had been in strange moods and he didn’t want to have a shouting match with such a new AI, which would probably be the outcome of any comment right now.

After what felt like an endless but short while, he had washed away everything he could, leaving his guest looking only marginally better; but much more peaceful than before.

As expected, all clothes he had at brought from the others’ room were either too short or too wide.

Right now, too wide was a much better option, so he looked for the softest hoody he could find to slip over the ravenette’s torso.

When he had placed him back on the bed and covered him with a thin, but soft blanket; the teen put away the supplies he had used and sat down on the couch.

And again... he was at a loss for what to do.

Looking around the room, he cringed a bit at how unsymmetrical everything was. (visual)

The couch he sat on stood in front of a large shelf along one side, the shorter side of the L shape was against a wall.

In front of the longer side was as a sort of wall standing into the room, another shelf, this one made up of hexagonal shapes with a TV fastened onto it.

He had taken it from Bruce’s room, where it was meant as a reference to chemical structures, while in Loki’s it was more to hint on honeycombs.

Next to the shelf, in the corner between sofa and TV, was a seat made out of fabric hanging from the ceiling, looking almost like a hammock folded in half; held open by a wooden bar on the top.

Behind the honeycomb shelf was a closet, the door to the bathroom and another nook with two beds in it this time. They weren’t as big as the one Loki lay in right now and were positioned above one another.

The lower bed was open towards a narrow pathway on it’s left, where a small bedside table occupied the far back corner, while the upper bed could only be reached from the front and a small opening at the turn of the stairs; situated in the middle of the far wall from the couch.

Encircled by the stairs on two sides and the writing desk towards another, was the kitchen crowded into the wall.

On the desk was only the basic drawing supplies. And the bowl the goddess had left behind.

Curious, he made his way over to it. He was sure as hell not gonna leave the room until Loki woke up, might as well spend the time inspecting something, even though it probably wouldn’t tell him anything.

Hundreds of small ambers of varying colour made up the bowl like a mosaic, held together by gold, molten to perfectly encase the individual pieces which seemed to have been carved by hand.

Other than that, it didn’t look magical, but then again... He glanced over to the form on the bed and sighed.

The god didn’t look magical either. More like a porcelain doll, left in the care of an overly artistic toddler with red and blue crayons.

Just as he put down the bowl, the litte service robot came zooming back into the room; His wheels humming, eager to be of use.

Somehow the sound reminded Peter of bees, the diligence he had portrayed today furthered this imagery, so he send a text to Ned, asking if he could name the robot bumblebee and paint him accordingly.

After that he run out of ideas what to do.

Deciding to read a book, while he waited for his guest to wake up, he steeled down with a copy of Sherlock Holms.

At least there, everything worked out perfectly by the end of the stories.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

#peter parker #MCU #chapters #chapter 5 #loki marvel

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talesofsonicasura · 4 years ago

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Stone and Dove

Hello folks and happy pride month! I was scanning through my Google Docs and had forgotten I written this story...or that it was perfectly suited for this particular monthly event.

My first story doing Male X Male pairing! This tale involves my first PlayStation 4 Game Knack and Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. Particularly, a Jojo OC on my @sonicasura account, Jodari Jonah so check that out when you can! No information about Knack is required! The story will explain some of it.

They say the dove is a symbol of rebirth. For when one life passes, it is reborn anew in a different form. A clean slate just like a pure white dove. Yet, sometimes, rebirth can be a chance to fix something before it could be broken. And to connect two hearts of two different worlds.

Doctor's Laboratory

"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes. But it's home to me and I walk alone. I walk this empty street on the boulevard of broken dreams. Where the city sleeps, and I'm the only one and I walk alone." A voice sang through the halls, rough, slightly rugged but rich with smoothness, balance of husk and baritone.

Walking the halls of the facility belonging to one Doctor Vargas, world renowned inventor for his research on relic fueled devices, was a strange man. He was bulky which was balanced by his frightening height of 7'4. Curly, messy black hair tied at the back with a large white bow of sorts resembling broken wings, one side with an aqua green stripe and the other a bubbly blue.

Heterochromatic eyes with the right blue and the left a verdant green but a line going down the optic starting from the eyelid to the bottom. A bisected line birthmark at the center of his face even going down his nose and lips. He wore a mismatched long coat, the right half a pure white with no sleeve revealing his ripen with muscle arm, black pocket, and featherlike ends, the left being pure black with a long sleeve, white pocket and flat end.

A gray shirt with a large V neck revealing large abs, hot rod leather pants and black boots. The biggest oddity was the nails of his right arm, they were of a stone. The ones on his left were normal as he was carrying what looked like a liquor bottle, which he was currently downing the contents merrily.

He was baffling as he walked through the humble abode like halls unaware of being on camera. The unknown man was wandering in a battle site, while the people on the other side of the glass walls were just baffled. "Um… Doctor, is he another one of your assistants?" "Who is he?" That guy wasn't in the meeting! I'm sure as hell would remember someone dressed like that! Is he literally singing Green Day while drinking vodka?!"

One of the onlookers, a large slightly portly man with a gray frohawk paired with a goatee, chocolate brown eyes and wore a white lab coat was more attentive on the stranger's hand. This man was Doctor Vargas himself, owner of this very facility. "His nails… they are pure red relics! Astounding." The man said while examining the stranger.

Mechanical clanking had the stranger look up from his bottle. Standing at the end of the hall were white and black humanoid robots with red visors for eyes but also wielding swords made out of pure plasma. Doctor Vargas quickly ran to his control console for the robots. "Oh no! I got to shut down before that young man ends up getting hurt!" Vargas exclaimed, ready to pull down the lever.

The lever controlled the battle site which would shut off both robots and obstacles meant for his greatest creation to power through, not an innocent human. Three words was the only thing that stopped him. "Don't underestimate me." Followed by the loud screech of shredding metal. His eyes widened upon the sight before him.

The robot that was ready to slice the stranger in half was laying on the ground. A large hole in its chest dripping out what looked to be alcohol from the damaged circuits. The man had the bottle of alcohol pointing at where the machine once stood, fizz foaming from the entrance of the vodka. "Wow! He...just busted a hole through the robot with a shot of alcohol!!!?"

It wasn't a lie either. Vargas had rewinded the footage on the small monitor of the control panel to the moment before his robot was shot. The stranger pointed the bottle of liquor before yellow electricity began to crackle around his hand. Next thing that happened was a small bullet of the liquor shot sparking with this same energy but it was also spinning!

The spinning orb tearing a hole through the metal circuitry by compressing it with pure rotation into the liquid itself. Sure enough, there was a little ball of metal at the center of the whole, circuits, wiring and liquor compressed into the tiny marble sized orb. "Black Hole Overdrive." Were the words that left the odd man's lips.

Black Hole Overdrive… Vargas didn't know how the young man manipulated the liquid to perform such a feat but it proved the stranger was very skilled if this was an actual technique. "A golem made out of relics?" The stranger said looking at the oddity that greeted him from down the hallway.

This oddity was a humanoid made out of pure relics. Ones acting as the main body were light tan to mimic skin color but also position to form the main body: tipless cone and flat cylinder for the head, cube relics stacked together to form arms, legs, hands and rounder ones to mimic muscles, the gold forming the gumdrop nose, large tusks, small teeth, tips of the ears, and joints from the sphere and triangular pieces located in the shoulder, knee, thigh and ankle areas. Red stone relics forming small wild hair, claws, front and back toes, even fuzz around the chin and on the arms and legs.

The main piece was the large dark gold orb at the center with an aqua blue core. From the two oval obsidian eyes and the red rectangular pieces forming the squinting eyebrows, it was clear the 5'11 golem was surprised by the stranger's appearance. "For something so strange, you are really adorable." The odd man said while giving the subject of his attention a subtle wink.

Vargas, who noticed the wink, almost burst out laughing from seeing Knack, the golem he created jaw nearly dropping to the floor. "This must be a battle site designed for you? Oh dear, looks like I ended up getting lost. Can you please escort me to the exit? I'll follow behind you without any interference." The odd raven asked politely.

Knack merely nodded to the man's request. The relic bound golem could easily protect the stranger from the Doctor's test drones. "Thank you. You're such a gentleman. My name is Jodari, Jodari Jonah. Time to move out, Red~" Knack's core immediately heated up by the raven Jodari's subtle greeting.

Jodari Jonah wasn't exactly normal was a simple thing for everyone to understand. The odd man sidestepped and easily avoided every obstacle that was designated for his golem escort. Leaping across electrified panels in a single step, walking past fast blowing vents undeterred and even dodging the attacks of various machines while drinking from his vodka bottle.

He kept his word of not interfering with Knack's progress while the golem ran the deadly gauntlet. Honestly, Knack was impressed on just how agile this human male was. The raven's presence was bizarrely soothing to him. Sunbathing on the beach or listening to the sound of nature type of soothing.

It didn't take long to go through the last obstacle and escort Jodari back to the human officials alongside the Doctor. One of the women, the chairwoman easily recognized by her well kept silver hair stepped up. "Most impressive Doctor. You call it 'Knack' is that right?" She asked.

A husky, smooth and a touch rough male voice joined in the banter. "Actually, I call myself Knack." Came from the golem, Knack sounding awfully cheeky. "So your name is Knack? Cute, suits a cheeky fellow like ya. 'Knack' for mischief, huh?" Jodari said, voice filled with merry. 'Is he really flirting with a being made of living stone?!' Being the thought of every guest in the facility. "Young man, how did you even get into this meeting?" Heterochromatic eyes bore into the woman as she flinched.

"Goblins didn't just destroy a high tech military base, miss Chairman. They flattened my village first as a mere test run." Any rebound died from Jodari's words. "My dear god. I'm so sorry." Vargas said only for the raven to wave him off. Jodari taking a swig of his liquor before pulling something out of his pocket.

"Don't apologize. You didn't do the deed, Doctor Vargas. For why I'm here is simple. I came to deliver schematics on the few weapons I stole from them bastards but I want to join the expedition." The young man said, handing the man a few pieces of paper. These pages detailed a few weapons from a blaster, mechanized spear and even a small tank.

"And how did you get these schematics?" Questioned a tan skinned man with combed brown hair, trimmed beard, brown eyes and expensive purple suit. "From their corpses, Viktor. Sketched down every single detail of the spoils once I put them in the dirt. Got a problem?" Jodari towering over the man with a heavy glare.

"You wish to join the expedition? Heh. All I see is a drunkard and as for Knack, he seems a little too delicate to me." Viktor said, walking back with nonchalance. "What are you getting at, Viktor?" Vargas questioned eyeing the billionaire industrialist with suspicion. "I brought a few security robots with me. If Knack can get by those, then he'll have a place on the expedition. Jonah can try too."

The golem in question walking up to one of the bots in question. It was cycloptic and humanoid from the built silver armor over the black exoskeleton. "Huh!" Knack barked, the robot flinching in defense from the hostility. Jodari let out a bark of laughter before downing the remaining liquor in his bottle. The raven immediately crushed the bottle with his bare hands before tossing a shard into the eye of Viktor's guard bot.

The shard spinning in velocity before drilling a hole through the green optic and back out hitting the wall behind it. Metal crashed onto the floor as the machine fell dead. Knack inspecting the damage and glass shard in awe. The golem let out a whistle in admiration. "Like that big red~? Call it the Drill Technique. A bit of rotation can turn even a fragile piece of glass into a drill capable of piercing tank armor." Jodari said, grinning at the stone ginger.

"Nice. Hope you can teach me later. Now let's take this to the garden, there's a bit more room. Would you like another escort, Jodari, so you won't get lost?" Knack asked the raven offering his hand. "You are such a gentleman! I would love an escort, Knack!" The odd raven said taking the golem's hand, but after giving him a teasing smack to the ass.

'So bold!!!' Everyone who just witnessed the scene couldn't help but think. Knack's chest orb was scorching hot after the smack. They thought the man was merely poor ass drunk after downing an entire bottle of pure Vodka but to Vargas and to some extent Knack, Jodari was as sober as if he was drinking water. No flush cheeks or slurs, the man was bold and had a thing for gingers. Male gingers because no one knew that Jodari Jonah, was a purely gay male.

The golem and odd man were alone at the moment. Their trial would be held through the maze-like garden, a maze that will soon be littered with machines belonging to Viktor. "Hey Jodari, are those nails of yours pure relics? My chest orb has been picking up on some for a while." Knack asked, the raven looking at said object of attention.

"Yep. I think I was born with them? I honestly don't remember anything past 5 months ago when pops found me, naked and no name." Jodari responded nonchalantly. "You have amnesia? I'm sorry for bringing that up." The relic golem was flustered from being carelessly rude. The raven merely waved it off.

"Oh don't frown, Red~! You didn't know, plus my amnesia never really bothered me. Why focus on the past when you have a future in front of ya? Pops did tell a nice 'wive's tale' once. He said that the nails of your right hand matches the one of your Soulmate. If you don't know, a Soulmate is the person you meant to bond with for eternity. A 'true spiritual marriage' to be appropriate." The golem's jaw dropped immediately.

"M-m-m-arriage?! Soulmate?! NO WAY CAN I BE YOUR SOULMATE! I'M NOT EVEN HUMAN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" Knack would continue if Jodari didn't put a finger to the golem's mouth, lips if you count the gold area around the opening of the two stone pieces that make up his head.

"Species doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't even care if my significant other was a goblin. Plus, even if you aren't my soulmate, you are a sweet gentleman and whoever gets ya is very lucky. Handsome face, your ears are cute, the nose makes ya adorable, and the teeth and claws just add the perfect amount of fierce to the incredible mix. Plus, I love strong gingers." Knack felt like his orb was going to explode from this sudden new emotion, felt like deep admiration but way different.

"Thank you. You look nice too. I, uh, like your eyes, they're pretty. And your bow is very nice, Jojo." It was Jodari's turn to slightly blush. "Jojo?" He asked, refusing to stutter like a schoolgirl. The raven wanted to put Knack through the hardcore school of flirting. Nicknames was step one.

"I took the first Jo of your name and put it together with the second one. Hence, Jojo, I figure you didn't want me to continue calling you Jodari since this... Soulmate thing." The redhead explained with sincerity. "How sweet~ You may call me Jojo then, Red. So Knack, before everyone else arrives, why don't we get to know each other's abilities first? Teamwork is a good key to winning battles." That the golem could easily agree on.

It wasn't much longer to reach their destination or everyone to arrive in order to spectate. The two males were starting to see why they seemed likely paired from that wive's tale. Their abilities were very similar. While Knack could channel Sunstone, Jodari had Hamon.

Hamon was a breathing technique that allowed someone to use their lungs to create an energy akin to sunlight, which was what Sunstones were, crystalized sunlight. With Hamon, he can supercharge any water like elements or good conductors like metal to unleash powerful and devastating attacks.

Knack could manipulate his parts to a large extent, shrinking by removing his parts, form a barrier around him, and even expel in a spray fashion or large clusters. Jodari had Spin, a technique that uses the state of perfect or near perfect rotation to produce energy with a lot of applications.

He could bound this energy to any object and fire them with destructive properties. It was how he could make that glass shard drill right through Viktor's robot that easily. Sphere shaped objects can produce more energy than any other one.

Jodari had one more ability but he wouldn't say anything about it. 'If we have cars thrown at us here, then I won't mind showing my ace in the hole in front of everyone.' Was the raven's response while blowing a kiss at the golem. It just made Knack really curious on what this hidden ace was but he wouldn't press on it.

The duo's goal was simple, defeat all the robots while making their way to the end. Apparently the industrialist had two different types of his guard robots which Jodari personally dubbed Goliaths. The thin human size versions which would wield rods, toss boxes or punch at them from what he glimpsed while he was lost in the lab.

He only saw one of the large models which reminded him of a walking fridge. They were very bulky from what the raven could glance, but it wouldn't make Jodari drop his guard carelessly. Apparently it was two bots from the first category that were their first opponents. One had no weapons while the other held a large black bat cops often used.

"Hey Knack, I'll take care of the stick on the machine. Will you be kind to deal with the other one?" Jodari asked before taking something out of his pocket. It was red plastic yoyo with a star on each side, the string was pure metal wire from the golem saw. "You got it." Knack said before reading himself for combat.

The rod wielding robot was the first to attack, leaping at Jodari with the intent of caving his skull in. With a flick of his wrist, Jodari launched the toy part of yoyo at the offender. The string wrapping around the rod tightly and with a gentle tug, sliced the black metal to pieces. "Hup!" And the raven delivered a spin kick to the machine, his right leg glowing a bright yellow aura.

"Shining Sunlight Overdrive!" Jodari's kick sending the robot flying back, his Hamon frying its circuits upon contact. "Raah!" Knack roared lunging forward at his respective opponent. His left arm reared back and claws open for a swipe. The bare handed Goliath went to respond for a punch, but Knack was quicker.

The golem quickly moved the relics of his body to the other side of his opponent's attack, then he brought down his claws on the machine's side. Metal tearing to shreds from red ancient stone piercing its surface, yet he wasn't done. His left arm which was cocked back into a fist upon reforming, Knack delivered a brutal punch to the same place.

The added pressure of his attack to the robot's damaged side was enough to tear it completely in half. Both halves crumpling onto the ground lifeless. "Nice job. Come on, Red~ Let's wreak some true havoc." Jodari said before rolling down his yoyo. He was performing the 'Walk the Dog' trick as they continued onward.

In all his life, Viktor had never felt so humiliated. He had gotten everything he ever wanted without a fuss. The best business dealer in robotics, from advanced airships to robots capable of eliminating any threat. Immense wealth and rich heritage from his noble lineage. But yet…

Here he was, watching his robots getting destroyed. Torn to pieces by the Doctor's pet project and a drunken man fighting with a damn yoyo! A child's plaything was smashing through thousands of dollars of advanced circuitry! However he couldn't deny that, they had his interest.

It was the man that interested him the most between the two. Jodari Jonah, he seemed capable of manipulating pure Sunstone energy without a care in the world. It was an easy feat as Sunstone energy was the same as electricity, conducting would end up in pure electrocution. However the odd man didn't seem affected. He needed more information.

"Black Hole Overdrive!" Jodari tossed a handful of water from his hand at the robot across the stream. Apparently the machines decided to use a blocked off path to chuck empty crates at the checkered pair. Despite it being cheap, it was a good tactic he had to admit. However the crunching sound of metal being compacted into a small marble was enough to explain the results.

Or the large cluster sunstone charged relics that decapitated the other opponent. The head landing in the water separating them with a nice splash. Taking a few steps back after reclaiming his parts, Knack leapt over the guards rail to the other side. "Woohoo!" As Jodari followed the golem with a large jump. The raven easily made it across the opposite rail while Knack grabbed onto the wall.

"Here you go!" Jodari said, helping Knack over the rail. "Thanks." The golem thanked, earning a smile from the young man. Following Knack since he knew the way, the duo encountered three more robots. Only one had a weapon which was another baton rod. Not so hard for the two males to destroy.

"Vibrant Drill Overdrive!" Jodari spun his yoyo into the chest with a bare fisted robot. The toy being charged with Hamon and a mixture transformed it into a spiral drill. This drill tore through the circuitry and metal plating with ease. He wasn't finished though. The yoyo ran a loop around the dead machine through the hole in its chest before effectively wrapping around. "Clutch!"

Jodari then turned at Knack. The relic golem was busy fighting the mechanical staff user but was unaware of the other robot to strike him in the back. "Crimson Revenge Overdrive!" Yelled the raven haired male before tossing the lifeless robotic shell at its former comrade. Mechanical junk began to spiral in vicious red into makeshift top, drilling into Knack's sneak attacker much to the golem's surprise.

"Be careful Red~ You're enemies won't play fair and square. Rather not have my new friend get hurt." Jodari responded softly with a small flirtatious tone. Knack merely gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Cheering could be heard from outside the garden. Apparently the Doctor's guests were enjoying watching the two gladiators wipe out their opponents in style.

Jodari wasn't just enjoying the destruction but he was enjoying the show the golem was putting. Seeing the golem bulk up with relics to increase his size was an incredible sight. He wouldn't lie that he liked guys who were bigger than him. After all, they give the best hugs and cuddles. And Jodari was just ready to give the now 9'7 golem a big ol' hug.

It wasn't long to reach the car lot. The car lot was the halfway point to the end of the garden. Knack had already trashed the robot there with a nice drop kick to the face. However, it seemed a bit too easy for the raven's liking. His suspicion was answered when two of those walking fridge Goliaths he spotted jump down in front of them.

Their hands were way too big to be a normal function, or the fact they were eyeing the cars parked here. "Son of a bitch! Guess I have no choice. Yo Knack, get behind me. I rather not accidentally hit you." Jodari warned. The golem was about to question the raven only to notice how different he seemed.

His eyes were hardened instead of the carefree brightness he saw earlier. A bright reddish violet aura burning around him. Knack didn't question Jodari's words and walked behind the man. "Everyone's got a fighting spirit. Some are weak while some are strong. However, for those whose spirit burns than the sun, it can take a physical form." The raven started.

Raising his right hand to his head and clutched it with his claws. A mad grin tearing across his face as the aura around him exploded in a large burning haze. "The Star! The 17th card of the Tarot Deck's Major Arcana. It symbolizes hope, optitism, and faith for those it blesses and despair to those who oppose it!"

"Take form, the spirit that burns brightly from my starlit soul! Roar to the heavens and show the light that survived absolute disaster! This is my true power! Behold my Stand: Star Platinum Ruin!!!" With a raise of his left hand to the sky, the world around Jodari exploded in a blast of light as a pillar of light shot skyward.

No one expected what would happen next. The violet aura around Jodari separated from bed taking an actual physical form. This aura soon took the shape as what you can describe as an ancient Aztec warrior. Skin a bright violet with a lavender inner tone across his large bulky frame decorated by golden wavy lines spanning down the chest, arms and legs.

Large mane of smoky black hair that waved constantly as if it was pure fire. Bright burning blue eye, a white loincloth but the biggest focal point was what the rest of his body and clothing were made of. They were crafted from pure relics and Sunstones. The left eye was black oval stone amongst the remaining white, ears were just like Knack's but attached to the head, two large gold tusks on the side of his plump lips, red string stone eyebrows paired with a gold circlet and a blue jewel to it but another on his forehead.

Gold and blue jewel necklace that made up part of the neck, two triangular blue jewels on the upper top of his abs, shoulder pads made of pure flat carved Sunstone with red and violet spikes jagged out of it, the center of the arms made out of block stone and gold relics, the outer sides having small wings made out of 6 purple, gold and red relic pieces before ending with yellow Sunstone knife like shards.

Right hand a full trapezoid tan relic with claws made out of red, violet and small gold pieces, left hand fingernails made out of red relics with a gold studded black fingerless glove. A kilt made out of jagged purple and red relics with pieces on the back floating separately, knees made out of tan and gold relics with an aquamarine jewel in the center, floating red back spikes, gold trapezoid shaped feet with three purple and red front claws and one back claw.

The spirit or Star Platinum was large, almost as big as Knack but a foot shorter but the golem could feel it. Immense power pouring from this entity but also some sort of connection. Almost if he was part of Knack himself. Then the entity spoke or to be precise, roared.

"OOORRRRAAAAAAA!!!!!" Star Platinum Ruin howled voice sounding like a mixture of both Knack and Jodari with a bit of static like distortion to it. Feeling threatened, both robots went to grab a car. Too bad they didn't realize how fast this new being was. One second, the left Goliath was fine, then the next it had a large hole in it with Star's arm through it. Knack pitied the second robot for what happened next.

"ORAORAORAORAORA!!" Came an onslaught of punches from the Stand. The bulky machine was form to pieces with every brutal punch, metal scraps flying everywhere until the machine dropped dead. The Goliath was reduced to nothing but few pieces of scrap metal. "Ora!" Star roared in triumph.

"Holy shit." Was all Knack could say at the sight. Jodari and his Stand looked at Knack, the raven had a smile while the hybrid had a look of curiosity on his face. "Come on, Red~ We still have halfway to go. Star Platinum Ruin will be fighting in my place for the rest. Wouldn't be fair to pull him back just for two robots, right, Star?" Jodari said looking at the spirit in question.

"Ora!" The purple goliath chirped with a nod. He seemed very pleased from the odd man's consideration. Regaining his voice from the huge surprise, the golem finally spoke. "Sure. You got it partner. I'll do my best to help out." Knack answered, earning a smile from Jodari.

Making it to the end of the garden wasn't hard with the inclusion of Star Platinum Ruin. The Stand, Knack believes is what Jodari called him, was insanely powerful. Star was fast, tearing apart Viktor's machines left and right with either his fists or claws. Not even one of Viktor's mechanical menaces could so much as touch much less hurt the violet skinned berserker.

He was kind to leave enemies for Knack to fight on his own while keeping the rest from sneak attacking him. Jodari was being his odd self… taking out a flask of alcohol (where did he even get that Knack would never know) and chugging it down while singing Camptown Races.

Finding the end of the garden didn't really take long. The key mark to it is the stone statue of a beautiful woman. A memorial crafted by the Doctor for someone he cared about the most but lost a long time ago. Knack had grown around 13 ft in size at the moment before looking at his strange human companion.

Jodari had stopped singing and drinking. The man merely looked at the statue with honest empathy before walking up to it, Star Platinum Ruin following. The raven stood in front of it before closing his eyes and placing his hands together, Star following suit. Knack knew what he was doing, Jodari was giving a silent prayer, a respect to the fallen.

It was a sincere and beautiful moment, however it became one that would soon rot. One of Viktor's robots had emerged in the garden and aimed its gun at them. It started shooting medium balls of green plasma with no hesitation. Quick to act, Knack ran over to Jodari and pulled him out of the way. A stray shot hitting the base of the statue.

Looks of horror spread on both the Doctor and Jodari, a loud cry of 'No' echoing from outside the garden. A cry came out of Jodari's throat, a phrase Knack didn't recognize. "Za Warudo Riwaindo(The World Rewind/Rewind The World)!!!" Everything around them suddenly greyed out before everything just stopped in place.

Yet, Knack, Star Platinum and Jodari were unaffected. Jodari was immediately shocked at what was going on but Star didn't seem to be. It's almost if the Stand knew...no he was doing this. Next thing other of them knew, their bodies began moving to previous positions, alongside everything else. 'We're...going back in time!!!' The golem thought in pure astonishment.

They then found themselves in their previous spots, 30 seconds before Viktor's robot appeared and attacked. Knack was stunned beyond belief but immediately shook it off hearing the familiar hum of circuitry. Without a thought, the golem spun around and delivered a Falcon Punch into the robot that would've attacked in the past.

The fist decapitating the attacker while it's head went flying to the opposite side of the garden. Jodari spun onto his feet looking up to see more of the drones, ready to drop down on them from the sky. Aiming the small flask of liquor and giving Star three metal ball droppings. "Blackhole Overdrive!!" A shot of spiralling alcohol came out of the flask like a rocket.

Star Platinum Ruin flicked one of the metal droppings with his finger, the item went airborne at the speed of a bullet despite the little movement used. The liquor shot tearing through the chest plate of one Goliath while the metal ball pulverized the head of the other. Both bodies of lifeless dropping down to the ground with a heavy thud.

Two more Goliaths, both with installed cannons came flying from the garden over to their current spot. This was the last wave of machines. "One more push, Star Platinum Ruin! Time to shine bright as the stars above! Knack!" The golem looked at the raven. "Toss me into the air!" Knack looked at Jodari for a moment before nodding.

Picking up the raven, Knack threw Jodari right at the two airborne machines. "Raise your graceful wings, my precious star!" The relic wings on the Stand's arms immediately spread forth, Sunstone energy began to channel between the pieces. What came from it was a large glowing pair of golden Phoenix Wings.

"Saki Spiral!" Channeling Spin into his flask, the raven sent it forward, Star Platinum following by tossing the two remaining metal bearings. The clear liquid created multiple spirals of Saki in two groups from the bearings that grew in the air and with a spark of Jodari's Hamon, they ignited into twin tunnels of fire. Star Platinum Ruin grabbed onto Jodari's arms as the young man shifted into a kicking position with a quickly growing rotation, the Stand sinking into his body with the wings now spread across his host's body.

"Ultimate Technique: Rising Phoenix Overdrive!!!" Jodari roared, now an angelic drill fire and burning rings, with all his might. The raven drilled through the robot in his range and tore a massive hole into it, however it wasn't what finished the machines off. The spirals of fire he created had grown in a viciously large vortex as they travelled, swallowing the remaining robots within its maw.

Using the wings of his Stand, the amnesiac raven descended down like an angel that flew out of battle in triumph, a large explosion of golden fire exploding in the sky. He stood up as the rest of his Stand dissipated before looking at Knack, with the biggest grin on his face. "That was a blast! Looks like we're in!" Knack couldn't help but laugh.

This adventure was going to be very interesting and very bizarre.

This is Knack if you haven't seen him.

#knack #jjba #happy pride 🌈#oc #jojo oc #jojo's bizarre adventure #joestar oc #jodari jonah #star platinum ruin #oc stand #male x male #sonicasura #story #crossover #lgbtlove #tales of sonicasura

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lokemikaze · 4 years ago

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i don't think i can add a title on mobile, but if i could it would be ZUKA COSTUME RANTS: PART 1. in this essay i will delve shortly into the costumes of takarazuka's 2009 production of the musical 'elisabeth', why i'm salty about them, and also sneak in sketches of what i personally think are improved versions of two of sena jun (aka asako)'s costumes. members of the takarazuka discord server may have already read my rant, but bear with me. (also somehow half this got deleted and i had to retype it and it's 4am, so i'm sorry if i missed anything)

everyone who's watched a stream with me knows that i get really caught up in the costumes. and i mean *really* caught up. probably every second message i send in the chat is about one outfit or another, and half the rest are just me shouting out my love for yurika. costumes are a passion of mine, and i love designing, cosplaying, and studying different types of clothing (currently i am doing research on traditional chinese hanfu, purely to make my wei wuxian cosplay as historically accurate as possible). most of the time i am *obsessed* with zuka's costumes, and i've cried more than once due to my love for these beautiful, extravagant pieces of art. also, sparkle. we love sparkle.

however, after watching the 2009 zukabeth, i have some beef with the costumes. i am honestly disappointed. i have by now seen quite a few zuka shows, and in every single one i am blown away by what i see. stunning. spectacular. simply amazing. the costumes of this production, though.... do not meet the standard. as zuka fans, we're pretty spoiled when it comes to beauty and extravaganza - we have high expectations, and usually know that those expectations will be met. not in this one, though. of course, there are plenty of very pretty costumes! it's just that it's not Enough. for a 'normal' theatre production, i would be impressed at the level of the costumes. but when expecting zuka quality, and especially after recently ranting about my love for (i think it was?) 2007 zukabeth's tod costumes, where mizu natsuki had a reoccurring 'scar' theme and was honestly so beautiful, this was... underwhelming, and honestly a little sad.

of course there are good pieces, like the skirt of elisabeth's blue coronation dress, and the colour of that one coat that matches asako's voice perfectly (though that, of course, is a complete coincidence, as my synesthesia is not blatantly obvious to everyone else, but still fascinates me), and tod's opening costume with the wings. this is a stunning piece with sparkle and feathers, where asako's entire left arm is covered to look like a wing. it is intricate, it is detailed, it has drama, and it sets our expectations wayyy too high as to what we'll get during the next 2,5 hours (not counting the finale, as those outfits are more typically zuka, aka better). this is probably the one costume i really loved in the entire show, and... it's onstage for less than 5 minutes.

this does not mean that there aren't any other elaborate costumes - quite the opposite. it's just that the costumes are either too much or too little, with no in-between. for example, the classic white elisabeth gown is very crowded and seems a bit messy. meanwhile, tod walks around for almost half the show without a single rhinestone, which is... not very zuka. it also feels a lot less colourful than most zuka productions, and with that, it loses some of its life. there is nothing in the costumes that conveys passion in the way it does in so many other examples. @lost-in-the-land-of-stories even pointed out that a lot of elisabeth's dresses were borrowed from previous productions, which while not unheard of, doesn't seem to be a thing that happens as frequently as this... of course, i don't know why things turned out like they did, there may be a good reason behind it all, but when i do not know that reason, all i see is a set of costumes as tired and uninspired as asako sometimes seems throughout the show.

so, i promised to share some sketches. as you may have been able to gather (and as many can attest), i love the character tod and his actress asako. after the beauty that was the wing costume, i was seriously disappointed in tod's costumes - so i decided to sketch some more interesting 2009 tod looks.

so the only things i found costumewise that asako!tod had going for him was 1: feathers (in the opening costume) and 2: these kinda sharp v like patterns on that purple coat. i decided to roll with that and base my designs off the shirt costume (seen inthe doctor scene), and the aforementioned purple coat. any dots/circles on the sketches below = bling

starting off with the shirt, i kept the bishop sleeves (we love a good bishop sleeve) and added some rhinestones in a subtle v-pattern along the upper arms as well as the neckline. i removed the lapeled collar in favour of a straight one, to keep with that sharp feel. on top of that, i added a vaguely feather textured belt instead of the plain one. a subtle look, but gets the job done, and is more exciting than the original.

for the second outfit, i firstly decided to keep the belt from the opening costume with the wings. it adds some sparkle and shape. next, i decided on angled, v-shaped cuffs, as well as asymmetrical lapels for the drama. keep the v shapes on the side/torse of the coat and then, i added a shoulderpiece. this is based of the wing, taking one of the "panels" from the wing shoulder and adding a light layer of feathers attached to it. it's asymmetrical, it's sassy, and the feathers can catch and reflect the light.

anyways i'm gonna wrap it up right there bc it's now 4:30 and i'm really really tired. i might add on something in the morning if i think of anything, but for now i'm just gonna yeet this out there. thanks for joining me, hope to see you again if/when i decide to rant about costumes again

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windyfiend · 5 years ago

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Characters: Josh and North. Prompt words: Trust, magic, angle!

Thanks zalein!!! Wooo two underrated characters! At first I misread “angle” as “angel” and now my brain won’t unsee it, so I’ll do both! 😂

—

“Magic markers?” North leaned on one knee and craned her neck, squinting up at Josh as if he’d just suggested drawing on the Sistine Chapel in crayon. “That’s your big business idea?”

“Hey,” Josh objected, waggling the marker at her, “they’re permanent, they come in a ton of colors, and they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than the multi-thousand-dollar laser etching systems I would rather be using. Every great business has to start somewhere.”

“You realize every single android can pick up a magic marker and duplicate any image they want.” North rolled her eyes. “No one’s going to pay you to do it for them.”

“True, but anything they copy can’t compare to my unique, original designs.” Josh grinned triumphantly. “Trust me. It’ll be great. Everyone will want one. And you’re my first customer.”

North glared at his bright hopeful smile for thirty seconds before she huffed a resigned sigh.

“If you screw this up,” she growled, “you’re going to wake up from stasis one day with an asshole drawn on your face.”

“Deal!” Josh hurried to prepare his new collection of magic markers while North deactivated her skin and pulled up the back of her shirt. “So! What kind of tattoo do you want?”

“Angel wings.”

Josh paused a beat.

“Angel wings?” he asked, skeptical – but the demonic glare in her eye made him rethink the question. “I mean, angel wings! Perfect!”

“Fuck you.” North suppressed a grin.

Josh uncapped a marker with his teeth, leaned over North’s plastic back, and began to draw.

Ten minutes later, a masterpiece had been born: sweeping detailed feathers draped in crystal blue and gold, shadowed with shades of indigo and violet so that the white feathery wings looked almost real.

“Okay!” Josh crowed, triumphant. “It’s done.” He took a step back to admire his work…

…and discovered that the wings were positioned at a considerably skewed angle, so much that they looked like one was attached to her armpit and the other came out of her spine. It was a unique placement to say the least, like a bird with a strange deformity. He must have been looking at the details too closely to notice the bigger design was positioned wrong.

Josh’s nerves balled tight in his throat. He stared at it, horrified, knowing it couldn’t be undone without replacing the plastic panels in her back.

“Well?” North glanced at him with an impatient smirk. “I want to see it.”

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” Josh blinked to take a snapshot of the tattoo, and in his head he quickly edited the image so that it fit perfectly at her shoulders the way he’d originally intended. She couldn’t see it herself, so she would never know the difference … right?

With a nervous grin, he transferred the image to North.

North sat up while she readjusted her shirt, and her skin and hair shimmered back into place. A smile warmed her eyes.

“Y’know what? I like it. It’s … kind of beautiful.” She stood up with a full grin and gave him a gentle punch to the shoulder. “Maybe this business of yours isn’t such a bad idea.”

“Heh, heh, thanks!” Josh stood grinning stiffly while North walked away, and he wondered whether it might be a good idea to skip town before she showed that tattoo to anyone else. His chances of survival were nonexistent.

#fic prompt #detroit become human #dbh josh #dbh north

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dayseternal-blog · 5 years ago

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A NaruHina fanfic based off of shamy’s doujinshi posted May 31, 2019. Please check out her 5-panel illustration!

Read Chapter 1 here.

Read Chapter 2 here.

Chapter 3: Better than J-dramas

She was looking at me a lot, right?

He slumps down into his couch at home, pondering the girl he just met.

It could just be that she was shy, knew him the best, and so she felt more comfortable turning to him during their lunch break.

Or, it could be his imagination, his ego, talking. But he doesn’t want to be one of those guys, who thinks that every time a girl smiles at him, that means she’s into him.

Or…

He tilts his head in thought. Maybe she liked me a little?

True, they just met, but he’s a pretty attractive guy, right? He knows he’s not ugly, maybe not a 10, but not like a 3, either. He works out regularly, and in his own, awesome opinion, he thinks he’s pretty nice.

Would I like that?

If she is interested in him?

He wouldn’t mind it…

She was rather pretty. She had a nice face and nice skin. Nice, interesting eyes. Nice hair. Nice voice. She was a nice girl. Cute.

Not very fashionable, with her long skirt and sweater layered over another sweater, but maybe that just means she’s not high maintenance (unlike his semi-serious, acting-major ex Shion from sophomore year).

It’s not like he’s really fashionable, either.

He recalls her quiet smiles and determined expressions. Yeah, she was cute. She definitely seemed sorta innocent, which is a quality he doesn’t see too often in girls his age anymore. That seems to really up her appeal to him in ways he doesn’t want to self-examine.

Wonder if she has a boyfriend.

He remembers everything she told him and the things he learned about her online. He knows she doesn’t have any social media accounts, or they at least don’t pop up on search engines. And nothing she said hinted at a special someone.

She did talk about a few friends.

He frowns at the extent of his contemplation. I should just ask her out! It wouldn’t be a big deal because if she says no, he’d probably never see her again after the concert, unless she has another concert, but it’s whatever.

He’s old enough to ask people out casually, isn’t he?

It’s just not something he’s ever really done. With his “free” time in college spent in various theatres around town part-timing, building his network, or watching other shows to learn new design ideas, he doesn’t exactly have a strong dating history. Usually Sakura makes it her personal mission to hook him up with someone, but it’d be nice to not wait for her to find him his next maybe-we’re-together-but-maybe-we’re-just-seeing-each-other fling that inevitably ends because the girl can’t handle his fluctuating work schedule (Monday and Tuesday or Thursday off, work some weekday nights and every weekend).

Imagine if he told her he started dating someone without her help! Hah! He’s not a helpless case after all!

Anyway, it’s not a big deal.

He can do it.

And, if he doesn’t start now, Sakura will run out of willing friends eventually, and he’ll have to start signing up for those dating apps and “sliding” into random people’s DMs, and, well, he’d rather not?

Yeah, yeah, I’ll ask her out for coffee or something.

With that matter settled and tucked away for later, he grabs the remote, turns on the streaming app, and navigates the site to the drama. It’s only 13 episodes long, one hour each. He can definitely marathon it, especially since he doesn’t have to go in for work in the morning.

He’s halfway through the first episode when his flatmate, his best friend, walks in. “Oh, you’re watching Picture Tomorrow.”

Naruto turns to hear Sasuke dumping his stuff in the kitchen. “Yeah, did you watch this?”

“Sakura made me.”

Figures. Naruto turns back to the show.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not?”

“Well, of course not since the girl dies at the end.”

Naruto turns furiously to see him standing there indifferently. He throws his hands up. “Sasuke!”

“What. You didn’t know that? How could you not know that?”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“Oh.” Sasuke retreats back to the kitchen.

With the end spoiled, Naruto continues the show with less enthusiasm than before. He watches the love interest gaze at the simpleminded heroine curiously. She’s gonna die! Don’t fall in love with her! He sighs as he realizes every single moment watching this drama will now be colored with those thoughts. “Did you like it?” he questions loud enough for Sasuke to hear over the sound of the sink’s running water.

“...”

Naruto watches Sasuke silently deliberating across the serving counter. If he hated it, he would have said so already. “So it’s a good show, then?”

“It’s interesting.”

That’s pretty much Sasuke-speak for ‘it’s great.’ “I’m gonna marathon the whole thing tonight. You wanna join?”

Sasuke grimaces at him.

But a couple minutes later, after he microwaves some leftovers, he joins him on the couch.

“Oh, this is one of her songs,” Naruto comments aloud as the episode flashes a few sponsors before a commercial break.

Sasuke turns to look at him.

“Hinata, the pianist. She’s having a concert at HKT this Saturday, and I’m her point person,” he explains.

Sasuke silently nods.

Throughout the drama, he vocally notices her songs. “This is her song, too...think this one’s called ‘Finally Arrived.’” He mentally considers that the music sounds different from her online profile, like with other instruments added, and he doesn’t doubt that she composed the music for them, too. “Gee, she’s really talented.”

“Hn.”

Eventually Sasuke leaves him alone, and it’s a good thing because when the heroine tells her love interest her diagnosis, but they start dating anyway, Naruto finds himself tearing up.

By morning, he’s got a permanent frown on his face when she tells him she wants to break up with him, while keeping her terminally ill prognosis secret.

Sasuke comes out, readying for work.

“Sasukeeee...why…” he exhaustedly whines.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, no, I like it...I think…”

“Are there still tickets for her concert?”

“Wha? Oh, I dunno...probably…ugh I hate this show...I mean I don’t hate it…”

“Stupid.”

“Noo, this is your fault.”

“Later.” The door clicks shut, and Naruto is left alone to wallow in his misery.

Sasuke doesn’t come back that night, probably staying over at Sakura’s place, so he doesn’t have anyone to voice his thoughts to until the next day when he goes in for work.

He tells the rest of the crew about how his jerk of a flatmate spoiled the ending, and how touching it was that the boyfriend ended up becoming a cancer researcher.

To which their only reaction of note is how Naruto didn’t know that the girl was going to die at the end. “How did you not know that?” “The novel’s been on the best-selling list all season!”

“I just didn’t know!”

When Hinata comes in for her rehearsal, he unthinkingly engages her in his venting. “I finally watched Picture Tomorrow!” he informs her.

Her lips turn up slightly. “Oh, did you like it?”

“Yes! I hated it.”

“Oh…”

“It was so sad,” he bemoans.

“So...you didn’t like it?” she asks.

“No, it was great! It was awful,” he clarifies for her.

It starts quietly, her giggle. He watches her light grey eyes disappear into small slits under dark lashes, and he’s momentarily struck by the realization that he made her laugh.

“Your music was great, too,” he adds, and he suddenly finds himself much more taken with her smile than the drama. She’s wearing make-up today. And a dress. “It completely tied together every scene, it was really nice.”

Her eyes, her entire expression, shines up at him. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Yeah...” He works his hand into the back of his neck. Right before the rehearsal starts would not be a good time to ask her out. So, he redirects his thoughts to his work. “Are you ready to get started?”

She nods, her shy gaze still focused on him, her cheeks still lightly pink from her laughter.

And he notes how she still looks happy as she follows him toward the stage.

He and the rest of the crew clap and give her cheers as she bows to the empty seats.

She turns and looks at him, smiling a scrunched up, embarrassed and amused expression at their antics.

He grins at her, making sure to holler an extra loud “Wooh!”

Her mouth seems to drop open in surprise, her brows furrowing in confusion at his enthusiasm as she comes off the stage into the wings.

“We won’t be able to cheer you on tomorrow night, so we gotta do it today,” he explains. Tomorrow they’ll all be in work-mode. Silent and invisible.

“Oh,” she answers thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

“Yeah! Everything sounded great. Looks like we’re ready for tomorrow!”

She smiles in agreement and nods.

He feels his weight tipping forward toward his toes, an antsiness that urges him to bounce on his feet. Now’s the time, now’s the time.

His senior’s yell bursts through his thoughts. “Hinata! Before you go, I wanted to know if you’d sign this sheet music for my wife. She teaches your songs to some of her piano students.”

She turns from him, her smile directed away. “Oh, sure!”

Naruto lets out a silent sigh.

He doesn’t get another moment alone with her, and he doesn’t want to subject himself or Hinata to the pressure of asking her out in front of everyone.

It’s only later that night when he’s leaving the theatre and walking to the bus stop that it occurs to him he could message her. He has her number saved, at the time it was for “just in case” as her point person.

Well, but asking her out in a message seems like a cop out.

He fiddles with his phone for a few seconds before opening a new thread.

“Hey Hinata this is Naruto”

He sends it before he can regret it.

He waits a minute.

Nothing.

She might be one of those people who doesn’t obsessively check their phone’s notifications.

He starts typing again.

“We’re all getting dinner around 4:30 tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us before your warmup”

He stares at his phone for a few seconds before pocketing it. Based on her response, he might be able to gauge her interest in him. If she responds.

His phone vibrates when he’s nearing his stop, and he’s relieved to see that it’s her as he exits the bus.

“Hello, Naruto, thank you :) I’ll be there!”

A positive response. A pretty normal, positive response.

He doesn’t gauge anything from it, and now he has to figure out how to reply. For anyone else, he would just “like” her reply.

But she’s not exactly just anyone, and he kind of wants her to notice him the way he’s noticing her.

“Great, see you tomorrow”

He considers adding “have a good night,” quickly decides against it, and presses send.

Her reply comes almost automatically. “Yes, have a good night :)”

He frowns at his phone. He should have just added it the first time. Now is it weird to drag on the conversation? Why didn’t she just say “see you tomorrow” in response?

Before he can take any longer thinking about it, he sends a short message.

“You too”

He lets out a long breath.

The last time he exchanged messages with a girl (that wasn’t a platonic friend) was three months ago. That contact didn’t last past the first date, set up by Sakura.

They were incompatible. Little attraction on both sides when it came to conversation.

It would be nice if he could have a relationship. None of this waiting around, none of this feeling the other person out, none of this second-guessing every move, or just trying to make a move.

He’s ready for more.

He's ready for someone to share some sweetness with.

#naruhina #fanfic #music au #theater au #modern au #piano au #thank you shamy #shamyliciouss #romance #fluff #naruhina fanfiction

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usafphantom2 · 2 years ago

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MARCH 16, 2021

I flew the most secret MiG fighter in the world for the US Air Force: Red Eagle pilot gives the low-down on America’s MiG-21 ‘Fishbed’

Name: Brian McCoy

Rank: Captain

Service: United States Air Force

How did the MiG-21 differ from the F-5E?

First Impressions?

Small airplane! Small cockpit, archaic instrument panel, high canopy rails.

How would you rate the cockpit for the following:

a. Ergonomics?

Ergonomics wasn’t yet a thing when the ‘Fishbed’ was designed.

b. Pilot’s view?

The blind zone under the high canopy rails extends about 70 degrees either side as measured from the pilot’s butt centerline (aircraft structure).

c. Comfort

d. Instrumentation

Our jets had American altimeters, airspeed indicators, radios, transponders, oxygen regulators and drag chutes (for the Soviet jets … F-7 jets came from the factory with drag chutes).

Against the F-16?

a. In WVR: Which aircraft would have the advantage and why?

b. Which set-ups and altitudes would the MiG-21 favour?

i. Offensive perch at 1,000 foot range in solid gun tracking solution … LOL.

ii. Side-by-side, line-abreast 500’ spread, 150 KIAS (or less), 20,000 feet MSL.

c. How should the MiG-21 pilot fight?

d. Who would you put your money on?

i. It might be obvious that I’m leaning toward the F-16.

iii. But I’d rather be in the F-16 for such a fight.

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mcmansionhell · 6 years ago

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2018 McGingerbread Hell Competition Winners

Happy New Year, Folks! I’m pleased to announce the winners of this (past) year’s McGingerbread Hell Gingerbread House Competition!!

First off, I cannot find the words to say how much joy each and every entry to this competition has brought me. Every single one of the participants put their 100% best McMansion Hell face on and the results were charming, hilarious, and, if we’re being punny here, downright sweet. This may be the best idea this blogger has ever had.

Second, let me say that the when I say the competition was fierce, I mean, it was fierce. So much so that I drafted the fellow judgement of two of my favorite colleagues, my literary agent Caroline Eisenmann, and fellow architecture critic/Editor of Chicago Architect Magazine Anjulie Rao to help me narrow the 43 contestants down to 8.

Just a note: Last names of the winners have been abbreviated for privacy reasons. If you would like your full name to be published instead, please email [email protected] with your preferred name.

We’re going to start our line up with the 5 honorable mentions in alphabetical order, after which there will be a break to take those of you scrolling through this on the dashboard to the full article where the top 3 McMansions will be revealed.

Without further ado...

Honorable Mention #5 : Manoir de emporte-pièce by Anya D.

The judges were impressed by the whimsy, creativity and finely detailed execution of Anya’s house. Caroline summed it up best: “what else is a McMansion if not a bunch of smaller houses wrapped into one package?”

Anya writes:

Hi I'm Anya and I'm 12. I made my Gingerbread house from Gingerbread I mixed and baked myself. The house shapes came from a cookie cutter. It's held together with royal icing frosting I made. The shingles are almonds and the house off to the side is the dog house and has candy dog bones on it. The "lights" on parts of it are candy balls. I hope you like it!

Honorable Mention #4: AMAZING Custom Home with Quality Features by Sydney E.

The judges were impressed by the house’s fine craftsmanship, attention to detail (especially the peppermint columns, the gumdrop crenellations, and the chandelier in the back) and great sense of humor. Anjulie remarked: “Love the inclusion of the nuclear family.” What really had us in stitches was Sydney’s wonderfully rich description, especially this part:

“...You'll know you're living in the lap of luxury when you see the ENORMOUS GOLD CHANDELIER in the dining room. But it's the ROOFTOP PATIO with no discernible purpose or point of entry that will really set you apart from your neighbors. "Hey, how did you get up there?" they'll ask, but you're not telling (mysterious!). The landscaping will make you feel like you're in the countryside, in a sea of royal icing TURF GRASS (shown here, lightly dusted with coconut snow). The FOUR TREES on the property are either too far from the house to provide any shade (stately!) or extremely close to the house and actively obscuring at least one window (posh!). The entire house, the front walk, and the driveway are all bordered in royal icing ENGLISH IVY, which is definitely never going to be a problem for native plants (colonial!).”

Honorable Mention #3: Suburban Hobbit House by Jennifer K. & Cara M.

The judges were impressed by the difficulty of execution in Jennifer and Cara’s house, especially the dome, the cleverness of using almonds as cladding, and the hilariously barren “asphalt” lawn complete with soul patch. Kate remarked: “Pretty sure I saw this exact house in Bergen County, New Jersey.”

Jennifer and Cara wrote about their house:

Made of solid gingerbread in shape of skulls (had the pans), graham crackers, lots of icing, nuts, chocolate, a candy cane, grape tic-tacs, decorator sprinkles, butter-rum Lifesavers, fondant, Tootsie Rolls, and a loaf of rosemary bread. Round center mass house with back porch nub, two wings, a charming turret. We totally meant for it to look this way.

Honorable Mention #2: European Charme by Núria O.

The judges were very impressed with the fine detailing (such as the columns, balustrades, and front door), the crisp, clean execution of the design, and total commitment to the McMansion Aesthetic™ from front to rear, including the completely barren lawn.

Núria describes the house in finely practice Realtor-ese:

Beautiful gazillion-square-feet chalet featuring lots of personality and European flair. This cozy 4-bedroom, 10-bathroom cottage is made of sturdy construction-grade tan-beige gingerbread from top to bottom. Roof plates are structurally tinted, not painted, ensuring a durable color that will last until the last crumble is eaten. Windows glazing is made of gelatine sheets coated with black-coloured blueberry jam to ensure privacy as you lounge by the bay window or enjoy the views from the beautiful faux-balcony.

All doors are solid gum paste, with royal icing on all window frames as well as the balustrade. This home is ideal for entertaining, with its luxurious two-story entrance featuring genuine Spanish _neula_ columns with doric capitals, ornated pediment and a quaint half-tindered wall that gives true European _charme_. Utilities are housed in a lovely turret next to the service door. The garage accomodates two SUVs or six European sedan cars. The magnificent brown-sugar-paved front yard features icing plants and a signature landscaped crushed-sprinkle turf patch on cookie soil. The same type of grass was used in the large, sunny backyard which also has a patio area.

Honorable Mention #1: Existential Crisis on 34th Street by Caitlin R.

The judges were very impressed by the house’s clever use of different baking materials and attention to detailing, especially in the icing work. Kate was especially excited by the rounded gingerbread turret, and Anjulie loved the “Existential Crisis” detail and monumental marshmallow columns. The description had Caroline especially in stitches.

Caitlin describes the house:

This nine-bedroom mansion is made from the most exquisite of gingerbreads. Lovingly handmade from scratch, and crafted by local artisans, it's ready for your own sweet family. Grecian inspired columns impose your might on the neighborhood, while a pebble-clad tower with bay windows adds a touch of country charm. Architectural details include a 'stonework' wall and chimney, sweet dormer windows, and a luxurious back porch. A myriad of windows let light into this expanded historic house - the original building dates all the way back to 1982! Come by today, and soon you'll be calling this three-and-a-half story, Greco-Chateauesque Italian Revival Americana, 18,600 square foot mansion - home!

Now on to the TOP 3 PRIZEWINNING HOUSES!

It all comes down to this. It was stiff competition through and through, and the judges deliberated long and hard about who the top 3 spots should go to. Each house showed tremendous ability in craftsmanship, detailing, and McMansion Engineering. Without further ado:

Third Prize: Saccharin Sanctuary by Christa H.

The judges were wowed by the amazing craftsmanship and attention to detail present in Christa’s house. Caroline was impressed by the use of Cinnamon Toast Crunch as shingling, Anjulie loved the jellybean stone accents, and Kate found the use of sticks of gum as fake-stucco siding to be very clever. The execution of the lawyer foyer, turret, and appropriately nonsensical rear exterior put this house in to the third place slot.

Christa’s description, in perfect Realtorese:

This fabulous 1.5 story house features a gorgeous columned entry, double garage, show-stopping turret, and the picture perfect back patio. Built from the finest gingerbread and white chocolate... you can be sure that this house has a superior foundation that you can trust for years to come. Jelly Beans, spear mint Lifesavers, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Double Mint gum among other award winning materials make this house’s curb appeal unforgettable! List Price: 🍬574,900 Est Mortgage: 🍬2,240/mo Listed By: Sugar & Space Reality®️

Second Prize: The Hundred Thousand by Louisa G.

The judges were blown away by, as they say, the sheer size of this lad. The monumentality of such a massive roof must have taken some serious gingerbread engineering, all while perfectly encapsulating McMansion Roof Culture. The engineering, clean execution, attention to detail (millions of nonpareils!!), and true, well, McMansion-ness of this house vaulted (ceiling) it into 2nd place.

Louisa describes the house thusly:

The Hundred Thousand has no equal. This 37-piece towering gingerbread edifice was baked and constructed over four days during the heat of an Australian summer, by an Australian and a Finn, using a Finnish gingerbread recipe. Inspired by Mt. Nub, The Hundred Thousand boasts a porcine screaming porch, eight ahoy-mateys windows, a royally-iced gable front that almost but not entirely obscures the front door, and palatial grounds landscaped with topiary sweets, all topped off with a soaring roof tiled with hundreds & thousands.

So many hundreds & thousands were used that the builders ran out of material - causing the construction project to grind to a halt for almost ten minutes, until the Australian’s father arrived with more much-needed building supplies. The Hundred Thousand was fixed together using high-quality caramel, and is internally braced by two large gingerbread cross-panels. This fantastic abode required nearly 2kg of flour and eight eggs (provided by the Australian’s chickens) and was constructed as large as the oven would allow, measuring a whopping 40 cm across on the front facade, and nearly 30 cm high.

And finally, (DRUMROLL PLEASE)

First Prize: Casa de McGingerHell by Beth and Tina C.

From the moat, dome skylight, and lawyer foyer, to the rice crispy treat retaining wall, and chocolate rocks, this house, in the words of Caroline, was “truly next level.” The judges were blown away by the incredible attention to detail and clever use of different materials, specially the pretzel railing on the bridge, the marshmallow penguins, and we all freaked over those sugar glass and water elements. From the several different types of windows, bizarre massing, and three car garage, this house encapsulates the deranged opulence of McMansions in the sweetest way possible.

Beth and Tina describe their house:

Located centrally and literally dominating the entire living room, this McGingerMansion features over twenty handcrafted stained glass windows, a double sized garage, and three hand laid rock face walls! This gingermansion also has not one, but two incredible water features including a delightful frozen waterfall in the spacious backyard. Boasting several pre-decorated pine trees surrounding the property, this festive gingermansion showcases several dozen strands of lights and as well as a handful of charming wreaths.

The one hundred percent genuine pretzel log deck overlooking the backyard is the perfect place to entertain friends and family alike, especially during the holiday season! Standing at just over a foot and a half tall, this truly massive gingermansion has a total composition of just over twenty pans worth of gingerbread. Call now to schedule a tour today; this gingermansion won't last long! *Disclaimer: As required of us by law, we must disclose the presence of a minor pest infestation in the form of roughly a dozen cute, but possibly rabid penguins on the property.

On behalf of the judges and McMansion Hell, we would like to thank everyone who entered the competition for their amazingly wonderful houses, and for the funding from McMansion Hell’s Patreon supporters whose generosity made running the competition and supplying the prizes possible.

Stay tuned for this year’s new and exciting McMansion Hell features:

- The conclusion of the 50 states, starting with Virginia next week. - A series of essays on kitsch - Looking at McMansions decade by decades - McMansions in film and media - Updates on the McMansion Hell Book

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Copyright Disclaimer: All photographs are used in this post under fair use for the purposes of education, satire, and parody, consistent with 17 USC §107. Manipulated photos are considered derivative work and are Copyright © 2018 McMansion Hell. Please email [email protected] before using these images on another site. (am v chill about this)

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aranea-mechanica · 6 years ago

Text

Empty Nest Syndrome

Set directly after this particular movie night, in which Swoop was trounced in a smackdown with Soundwave.

Swoop is whisked off to the Tor, thoroughly scolded, expertly repaired, sneakily stuffed full of diluted obtenteum, given a few interesting upgrades, and ultimately snuggled to sleep.

Tarantulas

What now? Getting carefully manhandled by a massive spider is what's happening now, Swoop. As soon as he has the pteranodon securely on his back, Tarantulas is bridging off to the Tor with him in tow.

Swoop

Swoop makes absolutely no attempt to stop this. Unless bleeding on Tarantulas counts as an attempt to deter him. But probably not. Off we go!

Tarantulas

Given that the bleeding isn't exactly a conscious thing, Tarantulas isn't deterred in the slightest. He's been bled on plenty of times before, believe him.

Instantly they're there in the Tor, and Tarantulas is navigating the halls upside-down on the ceiling in a manner eerily reminiscent of his tour with Prowl long ago. Swoop's neatly webbed to Tarantulas's carapace, only swaying beneath him a little along with the rapid patter-patter-patter of arachnoid feet.

There's a stream of muttered hissing to go along with every stride. "You're a brash, egoistic fool with the impulse control of a toddler! At least you have some self-preservation instinct in you, that's fair enough, but why did you have to go and get yourself this mangled before you tapped out? Why?"

Soon enough they're in one of the smaller operating theaters, and Tarantulas plops down onto the floor properly. Without giving Swoop a second to recover, Tarantulas mass-shifts down to extract himself from his webbing, leaving the Dinobot in a heap wherever he lands on the floor. Sizing up again, transforming, then pacing around the room, the spidermech collects tools and materials he thinks he might need.

Swoop

At no point did Swoop consider what step two of Tarantulas spiriting him away would entail. He had simply moved because they were moving. Appearing in the Tor was a bit of a surprise and, despite his downtrodden air, Swoop still looks around at everything streaking past below them with a bit of interest.

Tarantulas suddenly disappearing earned a startled look, but that was about it. It didn't take long to figure out what happened and he didn't have anywhere else to be. Being in a heap worked just fine for him. Although...

His back hurts...

Carefully, the scrawny mech uses what mobility he has to maneuver into a position that lets him keep his wings held carefully aloof.

Tarantulas

Swoop doesn’t exactly have to consider what comes next – he’s a child, after all, and someone else is taking care of him. It just so happens that this child is also a murderous dinosaur.

More loud muttering. "And you're not even RESPONDING to me. Did Soundwave really shell-shock you that much?"

After a bit of organized clattering, Tarantulas strides over to Swoop again and stands over him, his visor squinting keenly to assess the damage. Nothing too awful or life-threatening - thanks, Soundwave - but not exactly a patch-up job either. At least Swoop isn’t being his usual bouncy self and making things difficult to repair, but this just feels... wrong. Definitely wrong.

Tarantulas stands there for another long moment, wondering if Swoop will actually respond in any way.

Swoop

All of Tarantulas' clattering goes fairly unnoticed. Swoop looks over the webbing around him and the room at large. But his movements are stiff and cautious. Twisting on a shredded back isn't the most comfortable of moves.

Tarantulas' looming does eventually draw Swoop's attention. He turns his bright optics up at the spider.

"No."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas nearly does a double-take at that. So flippant. Where does he even get the nerve –

He fluffs. "Then why are you such a Primus-damned slug, a - a lump, a - you're not like this." Briefly Tarantulas stiffens as well, then turns tail and all but stomps out of the room to go acquire a few other materials.

Swoop

In the absence of anything else to do, Swoop turns his attention downward to his mangled hand. There are some small shards of metal from where he bashed the open wound against Soundwave that he can dig out on his own.

Doesn't feel awesome. That's fine.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas doesn't feel awesome either, but it's hardly comparable. He's away for a good minute or two, but when he comes back it's with half a dozen more tools and a haphazard roll of something metal-meshy dragging along behind him.

Tsk. "Stop that, you're going to injure yourself further." Thunk, something falls to the floor, and tink-tink-clank, the tools are set down on the tiered trays hovering around the main medi-berth. "Ratchet may have taught you a thing or two, but hands are tricky business, and I'll not have you severing more lines than I already have to fix. Now, can you stand? On the berth. Up you go."

There's none of his usual faux-politesse in his language, no sir. And unless Swoop says he can't stand, Tarantulas isn't offering any help either.

Swoop

Swoop slowly gets up, wiggling a leg here and there to get the webbing to fall off. Moving while holding his wings in place throws off his normal bouncing gait. But he makes it over to the berth just fine.

"You Spiderbot fix wing?"

Tarantulas

Tarantulas watches every move Swoop makes, this time with a calculating optic. Favoring this side over that, flexing one joint a particular way - they're all indicators, all datapoints he can use in repair. Despite how ruffled and uncomfortable Tarantulas feels right now, he's not about to let that get in the way of his expertise and genius.

A scoff. "Yes, I'll fix both of them - that, and then some. You're quite welcome in advance." Hovering around the berth in a manner that's only slightly threatening, Tarantulas prods and pokes at some of the finer details of Swoop's injuries. The bloodied hand gets particular attention. "...You only lost two digits? I could have sworn I saw more than that lying on the floor. Maybe it was all the energon. Hmph."

A slight twist of Swoop's wrist, and Tarantulas lets him be for a moment. Energon, hm? How much energon did it look like Swoop lost back there, anyhow? What is he even running on right now? There's so much Tarantulas doesn't know, and he hardly has the patience for asking questions aloud.

"Do you have any sort of medical hardline, Swoop?" Tarantulas's own three-fingered hand reaches forward, either to accept a line or connect something somehow.

Swoop

While he is stiff from his injuries, Swoop doesn't come across as nervous or unsettled by Tarantulas' scarce bedside manner. If anything, he looks to be getting settled in on the berth.

The thin Dinobot starts to lay down on his tummy when Tarantulas approaches again.

"Oh. Yah!"

The red bit of plating on his chest slides aside as he awkwardly positions and repositions his gangly limbs to try to find a comfortable way to sprawl out on his side.

Tarantulas

Alright then, Tarantulas's turn to unlatch a panel just under his chest plating and unravel a few thin, snaking cables. It takes half a second of fiddling before he's got the right connector, and the unused cables are retracted again, leaving a single red trail linking their two frames together. Do tell - what medical details can he find?

Swoop

The inside of any one of the Dinobots is an absolute reflection of their creators. Perhaps moreso with the older three, but it wouldn't take a detective of Prowl's capabilities to figure out who made Swoop.

Wheeljack's "fingerprints" are, naturally, all over the Dinobot's hardware. The systems making up the flamethrower that lives in his throat is every bit as excessive as the engineer who designed them. Not to mention the extensive work that goes into a cooling system that prevents this toddler from melting his own processor after extended us. Absolute consideration is paid to making him as light and springy as possible, while also being built to take significant blunt force trauma and bullets. He's got a high pain tolerance and about as tough a hide as they could give him without interfering with his ability to fly.

Swoop's software - and subsequent firewalls - are a product of his more serious creator. Ratchet's "tone of voice" can be found in the design of this medical interface. After all, he's the one who uses it most frequently. It ought to be designed to make his life easier.

Of the available systems - the ones any medic could access without having to go toe-to-toe with Ratchet - there were the standard readouts. Tarantulas could easily get a list of the damaged areas on their severity. After all, if Hoist or First Aid got to Swoop before Ratchet, he wouldn't want to prevent Swoop from working with them. The little Dinobot is hurting and running on empty, but there isn't anything dire.

Sprinkled about, however, are little notes that are meant to be found. The author doesn't identify himself, but the repeated reminders and threats of bodily harm if Swoop fusses with this setting one more goddamn time should give a fair hint.

Tarantulas

If this were any other situation, Tarantulas would be living for the rich inner life packed inside this lanky pteranodon. Right now though, he makes note of Wheeljack's fingerprints and Ratchet's stickynotes and rifles through the rest of the contents with unnerving speed to get at what he wants.

Damage reports indicate, of course, missing fingers, but also moderate electrocution damage, glaring alerts on the differing statuses of his wings, yanked and shredded and stressed as they are. And - hm, Tarantulas had missed this at first - throat damage? He'll have to pay closer attention to Wheeljack's notes about Swoop's flamethrower mechanisms when he tinkers with that.

He's more concerned right now about the energon situation, actually. He knows Swoop doesn't get enough in him, but this is a solid reminder of that fact, one that feels like a punch in the gut. Injuries or no injuries, Tarantulas has found himself in similar pinches with energon levels, and knowing Swoop probably wobbles on the verge of empty like this at crucial times - hmph. Damnit. Let's convert that fretting and worry straight to terseness and scolding.

Yank - out comes the medical line, snapping back into place in Tarantulas's abdomen. His words snap as well. "If I give you a cube or two, will you drink, or will I have to bypass that?"

(Primus, is he ever glad he found that bolt of solar-panel mesh. At least if Swoop's energon levels get truly low again, maybe - yes, if Tarantulas installs the majority of it in Swoop's wings, it should be enough to keep most systems running, right? He can only hope.)

Swoop

Joke's on Tarantulas. Terse scolding is standard operating procedure in Ratchet's medbay. Swoop is unfazed.

"Me Swoop not hungry," he informs the spider factually.

Tarantulas

A brief, cold stare. "Very well." Sounds like Tarantulas will have to finagle a way to IV Swoop, but he isn't concerned about that. Gnawing at him is the juxtaposition of Swoop's internal and external states - he's running on empty but not hungry? Tarantulas trusts he's telling the truth, and that's even more worrisome than lies.

"Can you deactivate pain sensors, or is that something I'll have to do manually? I'll be detaching your wings at the very least, so it's nothing to take lightly." Tarantulas suddenly resolves that he'd rather force Swoop into medical stasis than have him suffer through his own machismo.

Swoop

Swoop rubs his feetsies together as he gets more comfortable on the berth.

"Me Swoop can do it. Me Swoop know how to that."

This isn't his first rodeo, Tarantulas. Or his first maiming.

Tarantulas

Oh no, the feetsies move is cute. Don't make Tarantulas feel soft fuzzies when he's so frustrated at you like this, Swoop.

"You can do it, or you will do it?" There's a difference, clearly.

Swoop

That earns a little smile. Swoop glances up at Tarantulas from under the edge of his helm.

"Will do."

Tarantulas

No more soft fuzzies. Unacceptable. Tarantulas almost has to turn away from the smile, but thankfully he's got enough concerned focus to keep his wits about him.

Time to get down to business, then. Order of priority - wings come last, they'll take the longest. Hand first, it's still bleeding energon on the berth. Maybe neck after that? That way he can sneak some energon (or obtenteum? Yes, diluted obtenteum, definitely) into Swoop early on.

Muttering under his breath, Tarantulas gets to work on stabilizing Swoop's hand against the berth, then picking and prying most of its pieces apart. He's hunched over close enough to keep six optics on the intricate details, but his spider limbs are reaching out blindly and snatching up the equipment he needs nearby.

If Swoop listens close enough, he'll hear an intelligible train of thought in the muttering. Look at these remaining fingers. Clawed, but still painfully blunt. What use is it to have clawed fingers that hardly work as claws. Definitely remedying that. Repairs first, then touchups.

Swoop

Swoop lets Tarantulas move his limbs around however he wants. There is the occasional twitch, of course, but it's his natural inability to hold still. Not pain. He was perfectly numb at this point.

Once the spider is focused on his hand, Swoop slides his other arm underneath his head for a pillow. A few moments pass and he scoots just a hair closer to Tarantulas. His hand is more or less still, but now that his back isn't paining him, Swoop curls up a bit more, looking every bit the child that he is as he watches Tarantulas work on his hand with relaxed optics.

Tarantulas

Precious child that he is, Swoop himself isn't exactly Tarantulas's focus now, so the soft fuzzies can't touch him anymore. Analytical optics intent on medical repairs don't pick up on that sort of thing.

It isn't long before the bleeding's stopped, then cleaned, and the hand's wires and cables and lines are prepped for new parts. That'll come later though, once Tarantulas picks a set of digits to install. For now, cauterizing the wound properly will do just fine.

All the tools are back on the trays again, so Swoop should be able to tell they're on to the next stage. Still focused and muttering, Tarantulas extends his abdominal cable again and hooks into the other's medical line - he needs those specs on Swoop's throat hardware if he wants to keep the flamethrower intact, and therefore keep his own hide intact.

A brief glance over the blueprints gives Tarantulas all he needs to know, but he'll stay connected now just in case. "Hrm... On your stomach, please." Because the back of the neck seems like the most efficient way of getting at things, what with the shredded mess attached to Swoop's back right now.

Swoop

With a chirp of acknowledgement, Swoop rolls onto his belly.

He assumes wrongly that Tarantulas must be thinking about his wings, because Swoop is thinking about his wings. They're the only part of this fight that he couldn't just walk off.

Both his arms come up to make a pillow for his head, which reflexively causes his wings to droop lower. This is an excellent chance to look closer at the new status of his damaged hand.

As the repairs continued, however, his other hand drifts absentmindedly down to fiddle with the medical line. He's not pulling it out or interfering with Tarantulas' ability to do his job. It's just something he's aware of due to his position on his front. And anything that registers in his birdy brain must be touched.

Tarantulas

So long as Swoop's not actually pulling the medical line out, Tarantulas couldn't care less what he's doing. He can still feel him fiddling with it though, as if Swoop were a fly plucking a spider's web. Hah.

Wandering away for a second, Tarantulas extends the line some more so he can grab a glowing cube of obtenteum and quickly dilute it down. Then he's back.

Grumbling, he tries to think of how to stabilize Swoop's neck for repairs. He can't exactly tell the Dinobot to hold still - that's a futile request. He'll just... he'll just hold him where he needs him. That's totally kosher, right? And if he holds Swoop's crest, he has even more leverage for restricting movement. Two spider limbs latch onto the crest arching from Swoop's helm and lock everything into place, then.

"Don't try anything funny," Tarantulas adds. Ironically he's the one doing something sneaky, strategically removing pieces of Swoop's neck so he can begin funneling the obtenteum into him with some equipment he's keeping out of view. Unless Swoop says anything about it, Tarantulas will simply continue with further neck repairs as if nothing else were happening.

Swoop

"Me Swoop always funny," came a murmured reply. Still, he didn't attempt to squirm away. His crest was, fortunately for Tarantulas, a very handy way for his brothers to drag him around or Ratchet to make him look at something. This was standard fair.

Swoop was similarly unperturbed by the feeling of a tube moving down his throat. He was numbed up, distracted by a hundred small noises and touches, and distinctly feeling the post-battle drain of his excitement. The sedate little Dinobot wasn't still - his limbs and digits twitched in little motions to keep him occupied - but there was no suspicious air about him.

Eventually, after far longer than it really should have taken, Swoop lets out a muted chirp and tries to lift his head slightly.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas huffs at Swoop's attempt at humor as he works, though he's just as focused on the neck as he was on his hand before. He doesn't seem to have anything else to say aside from his intermittent muttering - cables are overextended, the casing's dented, I'll have to remove that if I want a chance to replace the one behind it, but - ah! - yes. Much better, much better. Every once in a while his words are punctuated by slight tugs on Swoop's helm, directing his helm and neck in a particular way.

All the while, of course, Swoop's being force-fed diluted obtenteum and apparently seems none the wiser. Well, either that or he's content with his fate, which –

- ah. Slag, Tarantulas must have jinxed it. As soon as Swoop goes to lift his helm, spider limbs are pinning him a tad more aggressively. "Tsk, stop that. I can't have you jeopardizing your repairs." Maybe if he keeps up the force it'll remind Swoop of some sort of dominance and honor code? Isn't that what this fight and its results were all about anyway...?

Finally Tarantulas decides Swoop's had enough and slickly extracts the intubation equipment. There - done and done. A bit more of a hassle than just drinking a cube, but at least he didn't have to fight over it.

A few minutes later he's done with neck repairs as well, all loose wires clipped and metal bits welded into place under the paneling. Wheeljack ought to be pleased with how careful and considerate Tarantulas was to his flamethrower design integrity, he thinks. And yes, he's letting up on the crest now too, once he remembers he doesn't need to pin Swoop's helm down anymore.

Swoop

Under other circumstances, getting pinned would send Swoop into a squirming (and laughing) fit. Thankfully for both of them, Soundwave's recent trouncing made the pterosaur more pliable than usual. Tarantulas would just have to put up with periodic "woe is me" chirps until Swoop was freed.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Swoop looks down at his own tummy, touching it with his damaged hand lightly.

"Ew."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas can tune out the chirps well enough - they sound like the beeps of stable medical equipment, almost. He also might subconsciously be patting or petting at Swoop's crest when he makes the silly little sounds, totally not in a comforting way.

Ah, so finally Swoop notices his tanks. Tarantulas squints. "What's 'ew', hm? You're not even three-quarters full, you know."

Swoop

"Me Swoop weigh a billion pound," he states firmly while squirming up to a sit with his legs underneath himself on the berth. "Yuck."

Tarantulas

"Tsk. Hardly. Obtenteum is even less dense than energon - whatever increase in weight you might have isn't that much. I expect your tanks simply aren't accustomed to actually being filled properly anymore. If they ever were."

Tarantulas allows Swoop to sit for now while he prowls the room again, medical line trailing after him. First hand, then throat, now the odds and ends sprinkled around Swoop's frame - he'll need a wider variety of tools and materials for this round.

After returning and emptying his arms, Tarantulas simply gazes down at the pterosaur plopped on his medi-berth. All he can do is chitter and sigh, his vocals strangely muted - almost... gentle. "Let it be for now. The feeling ought to pass soon enough. But - are you experiencing any other undesirable symptoms?"

Swoop

Swoop's hands gravitate over his tank while he watches Tarantulas come and go.

"Me Swoop going to barf for a million years." He isn't.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas stares at him, strangely deadpan. "If you do that, I'll have to repeat the process. Is that what you want?"

Swoop

Swoop's lower lip stuck out the tiniest bit as he shook his head no.

Tarantulas

Nrgh. No warm soft fuzzies, Tarantulas. Remember what a menace this pint-sized Cybertronian usually is.

"Good, thank you, Swoop." Tarantulas can't resist giving a brief helm-pat with a spider limb. "Now - arms, please." A good place to begin as he methodically begins patching Swoop up bit by bit.

Swoop

Swoop tries his best to lean into the pat, but it's gone too fast. Instead, he sits back and holds both arms out in front of himself.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas notices Swoop leaning in, then watches how willing and trusting he is about opening his arms, and he thinks - if he didn't understand the significance of body language already, he'd be virtually slapped in the face by it now. The mech couldn't be asking for a hug more clearly even if he was shouting.

It only takes a split second for Tarantulas to give in to the warm fuzzies and take that step forward, nearly lifting Swoop off the berth in his many-armed embrace. He's being careful for the damaged wings as best he can, knowing he still has to tend to them, but... well. This isn't what he meant when he asked for 'arms', but this what he wants to do right now, damnit.

Swoop

Swoop involuntarily lets out a squeak when he's all but cocooned in arms. The implications of a spider-hug never occurred to him before this exact moment. Oh well.

Without hesitation, Swoop wraps his arms around the larger mech and rests his helm on soft fluff. There are lots of comments buzzing about his birdy brain. None of them make it to his mouth, however.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas isn't speaking either, so Swoop's in good company. For all the warm fuzzies he's been feeling, there's an equal amount of discomfort too, something about difficulty demonstrating platonic affection. Thankfully Swoop is pretty easy to hug though, so he's trying his best to shut out any awkward uneasiness for now.

It takes a while, but after a long moment Tarantulas pets the back of Swoop's helm, squeezes him, and lets go. He's not looking him in the optics anymore, just gonna grab the tools he needs and start in on miscellaneous repairs right away. If you don't say anything about it, he won't either, Swoop.

Swoop

Fortunately for Tarantulas, platonic affection is this Dinobot's bread and butter. As is overlooking awkwardness. Swoop is content in the hug with only minor rubbing his face against the strange floofy feeling on his cheek.

When the spider lets him go, he doesn't fight it. Instead, he picks at one of the more clearly damaged parts of his arm before holding it up to get fixed.

Tarantulas

Don't think Tarantulas didn't notice the face-rubbing, Swoop. He's used to people fawning over the texture of his fur though, so it's more than acceptable.

Tarantulas is about as focused as he's ever looked as he gets down to business, muttering and tearing apart sections of Swoop's frame in order to patch up both external and internal damage. He doesn't have any problem uttering commands and manhandling Swoop when he needs to, occasionally even swiping at him with a quick smack or two when he gets too fidgety. Apparently the affection of the hug needs to be balanced out somehow.

Overall it doesn't take too long til he's satisfied with his repairs. The Dinobot is as good as new and then some, except for his wings yet, as well as all the superficial scrapes and dents that someone less experienced could take care of instead.

Swoop

Smacks are clearly affectionate and no one can convince anyone who has met Ratchet otherwise. Swoop is perfectly fine with all of this manhandling. Once Tarantulas stands back to take in the repairs, Swoop does the same, looking himself over.

"Him Soundwave hurt Me Swoop wings."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas gives a snort at that. "You don't say. I was saving them for last deliberately, if you must know. I've got a bit of a project in mind for them. How would you feel about installing solar paneling in your wings?"

He makes it sound as if Swoop really has a choice. Hah.

Swoop

Reflexively, Swoop's wings twitch and rise a little as he thinks about them.

"Solar panel is a Snarl thing."

Tarantulas

"Hmm - does that mean you don't want them?" Tarantulas's visor quirks in a question.

Swoop

"Um!" Swoop's optics dart around as he briefly considers the question. "No. Yes? Uhh..." How to words? "Do it." Got it. "Me Swoop and Him Snarl matchy matchy keheh."

Tarantulas

"Very well." Tarantulas looks pleased - it's always nice when someone actually consents to the projects he's settled on. "It'll be a moment while I craft the wings, but you needn't do anything but sit there. Is there anything you need first?"

Swoop

"Need...?" His head cocks in confusion. After a moment, he scooches to the edge of the medical berth. "Watch. Me Swoop want to see."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas just might preen at that; he loves showing off. "You're more than welcome to, hyeh. Feel free to ask any questions that come to mind."

Oh - he still has the medical line attached. He'll remove and retract it a little more gently this time, since he's already got the specs he needs from Swoop's blueprints. Time to start shearing off the right-sized pieces from the bolt of metal fabric he's unrolling on the floor, making careful note of connecting wires and vulnerable edges.

Swoop

Normally, Swoop would make an absolute nuisance out of himself with such an open invitation to get underfoot. There's a lot going on with him right now though. Being physically numb but also absolutely stuffed isn't the best way to make an attentive student out of this birdy boy.

Swoop takes a few tentative steps around while he looks for a perch. There are plenty of options - crates are always a solid choice - but that doesn't give him a great view.

Hmm...

Swoop walks up to the decontamination locker. That works! He reaches up to the edge and pulls himself up to perch on the side. Pull-ups with wrenched wings, however, are not the ideal. Swoop's back makes unhappy noises at the motion. But he's up here all the same now.

Tarantulas

Swoop's clambering only garners some light snickering from Tarantulas. Oh, he understands restlessness and retreating to high places, alright. Wherever Swoop wants to be right now is perfectly fine by him, so long as he doesn't break anything or open any of his fresh welding.

Absentmindedly he lets flow a stream of tips and pointers as he works. "Always err on the side of more, even over preciseness. One can always trim." The paneling makes muffled screeching noises as he confidently cuts through it without laying down guidelines. "And with multi-paneled wings like this, the supports take up room that requires extra clipping - oh, and make sure the integrity of the solar mechanisms isn't compromised."

Several minutes and plenty more pointers later, Tarantulas has all the pieces and outfitting he needs for two Swoop-sized wings. Without ado he leaves it all lying on the floor and strides over to Swoop himself, plucking him off the locker and setting him down on the medi-berth again.

"Wings out behind you, if you please." It's a sing-song voice, vaguely whimsical and definitely in contrast to his earlier terse tones. New projects always put Tarantulas in a good mood, much moreso than simple repairs.

Swoop

Swoop watches with bright optics, chewing on the tips of his claws and making the occasional chirp. It's not an attempt at communicating. He's just a noisy boy.

He lets himself be carried off without complaint, plopping on his butt and fanning his ruined wings out behind himself. They end up with less than symmetrical positioning since, even without feeling how painful they are, Swoop's range of motion has been damaged. Soundwave wasn't playing around back there.

Tarantulas

Chirps and chirrs are the same thing in Tarantulas's book, so he pays them no mind. In fact, he chirrs back from time to time. It's a little eerie how much these two have in common that they're not aware of.

Asymmetry is fine - the wings are coming right off anyhow. Tarantulas is careful to preserve the overall wing frame as he dismantles all the connections, wires and cables and the whole kit and caboodle. Then the wings are on the floor too, and all the flexible bits are extracted and subspaced into Tarantulas's other-dimensional garbage chute. How's it feel to see your disembodied wings getting shredded even more, then repaired and reassembled with shiny new material, Swoop?

Swoop

If Tarantulas thinks this is the first time Swoop has watched over his shoulder as his wings have been taken apart, this scientist has vastly underestimated how much trouble the Dinobots get into when allowed to cut loose on a battle field.

Still. It feels strange. Even if he can't register pain, the change in weight and pressure on his back and shoulders is unsettling. Swoop's natural fidgetiness increases as he becomes more exposed.

As the (admittedly normal) skittishness of being a wingless flyer settled on Swoop, a question manifested.

"Tarantulas." He twists around as much as he's allowed. "Why you fix Me Swoop?"

Tarantulas

That definitely gives Tarantulas pause. Swoop is calling him his real name and positing a question that's clearly just as keen as Bob's was been before, the one about being afraid of himself. It puts Tarantulas oddly on edge, but he keeps working as if nothing were amiss.

"Hyeh. Because you're injured, of course. Why do you ask?"

Swoop

"Cuz," he states definitively. "Lots of medic in Ark. Someone fix Swoop."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas rolls his shoulders and finishes soldering one last wire in place. "I - hm. I happened to be there at the scene and have crucial knowledge of what happened, as well as the expertise to handle the more... invisible aspects of your injuries."

Another moment of silence, then tacked on as an afterthought: "My original function was emergency medical personnel, as a matter of fact." That's right, distract Swoop with key information about your veiled history.

Swoop

There's a very pointed tilt of his head at that explanation. But Tarantulas makes a good call with throwing out an unrelated fact. Swoop's birdy brain flew off with it immediately.

"Tarantulance! Keeheh!"

Yes he is imagining a spider going wee whoo thank you for asking.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas lets out a cross between a snort and a scoff as he stands up, surveying the wings and checking for flaws. "I haven't always been a tarantula, you know. I was hardly constructed in this frame."

Swoop

Once Swoop gets the sense he's free to move - whether that is the case or not - he rolls onto his back to guard his 'naked' backside.

"What frame you construct in?"

Tarantulas

Alright, good. The wings pass Tarantulas's final inspection, so now it's time to start reattaching. But Swoop is - when did he flop backward like that? Tarantulas chitters in disapproval and shoves him back upright on the berth, one hand splayed firmly against the middle of his back. Taptap with a digit - "Lock your spinal strut."

A few seconds into reattachment Tarantulas remembers Swoop asked a question. "Ah - I was a two-wheeler. A motorbike, if you will." Ping - here's an image of his old alt mode. "Believe it or not, I still possess many of my original parts - the frame type isn't too far off from what an arachnid layout requires, hyeh."

Swoop

Swoop makes no attempt to prevent getting shoved around. Back locked, he rolls his neck and then checks the image sent to him. Laughter immediately bubbles out of the thin mech.

"That not look like You Spiderbot AT ALL! Keheh. Me Swoop always a Dinobot! Us built for dinosaur stuff."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas narrowly avoids getting smacked by Swoop's crest - rude! Thank goodness for Swoop he's too busy with the fiddly bits of reattachment to care about retaliating.

"It may not look like me, but that was me for quite some time." Longer than he wanted, frankly, but it was a complicated matter. "Ah yes, you were constructed as such, or so I'm told. There's one thing about that that's always bothered me though - you do know organic dinosaurs never breathed fire, don't you? That's not exactly dinosaur stuff."

One wing down, one to go!

Swoop

Swoop bursts into his first real cackle of the evening.

"DUH! Kahah! Me Swoop know that!"

While Tarantulas is getting the materials for his second wing, Swoop repositions himself on the berth so he can rest his chin on his bent knees.

"Dunno why Wheeeljack and Ratchet do fire for Us. Fun, probably! Cause Them see bones - dinosaur bones in cave! And do a museum before Grimlock, Slag and Sludge."

Tarantulas

It's unexpectedly spark-warming to hear that cackle again. Tarantulas was really starting to worry there, Swoop.

"Fun and a highly effective dual defensive/offensive mechanism, I'd wager." And now the second wing's getting set into place, a little quicker than the first. Everything's easier on the second time around after all.

"...Do you like being a Dinobot? That is - have you ever thought about taking another shape?"

Swoop

Swoop's head whips around, shaking vigorously.

"Never EVER want to be something else! Being Dinobot THE BEST! Me Swoop don't want to Autobot. Me Swoop stay with brothers FOREVER!"

Tarantulas

That garners a laugh. "Autobots aren't the only other sort of mech out there, Swoop. Even if you don't wish to be a Decepticon, you could always drag yourself and your bothers into joining me as a Neutral. That's not even a frame-based suggestion - you hardly have to change frames to switch sides."

Aaaand - "Done!" With a pat on the back, Tarantulas steps away from Swoop and out of the range of his wings. "Go on and reactivate all your sensors, please. Nothing should be amiss now, and you should be receiving input from additional sensors for the solar paneling too."

Swoop

"No no no no," he mutters with a little shake to his head. The pteranodon is clearly gearing up to argue. He has OPINIONS, Tarantulas. Opinions that want out.

But now he's getting directed to his wings. The most important thing in the world.

For a long moment, Swoop looks genuinely perturbed by the fact he cannot handle both these feelings at once. His little brain won't do it. His spark does emotions too big to hold them both.

His wings, of course, win the day. Once he reactivates the sensors, Swoop lets out a happy squeak and a full body squirm. His wings flex, coming as tightly to his frame as they can, then spreading out as wide.

"What Me Swoop do with solar panel stuff?"

Tarantulas

It's OK, Swoop. Tarantulas knows all about emotions that are too big for his spark. He's never had wings before, himself, but he can tell just by watching that Swoop's going through some big rollercoastering right now.

Tarantulas props his hands on his ample, fuzzy hips. "Oh, you don't really have to do anything. I'll cook you up some software should you want to fiddle or install controls, but the current mechanism of it all is very simple and feeds the energy directly into your reserves."

Swoop

"Cool," chirps the kiddo as he runs his fingertips over the new material on his wings. His smile gets a little wider at the slightly different texture. He can't wait to show Snarl.

.......

Realization dawns on Swoop.

"Him Grimlock going to be pissed."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas always gets such a rush when people admire his work, and this time is no different. Well, a little different than when Prowl's the one admiring, but he's proud of himself nonetheless.

Until Swoop mentions Grimlock. It's almost funny how Swoop uses the slang so offhandedly, except the connotations are a bit foreboding. "Pissed howso? At you? At Soundwave? At both?"

Swoop

"Dunno. Yes?" Swoop pushes himself to sit with his legs hanging off the medi-berth. "Soundwave FOR SURE. Him Grimlock doesn't like anyone but Him tell Dinobots what to do."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas sighs harshly. "Grimlock is in for an unpleasant surprise, then. As for you, though..."

If Swoop is repaired and comfortable with his upgrades, then Tarantulas is done now, right? He really should send Swoop on his way. For some reason he isn't inclined to let him go just yet though, and he doesn't know why.

Swoop

Swoop's feet dangle off the berth, swinging back and forth gently, as he looks up at Tarantulas with bright optics and puffed up cheeks.

"Him Grimlock going to punch me in the face."

Tarantulas

Oh, Tarantulas doesn't like the sound of that.

"And what are you going to do?"

Swoop

"Eat Me Swoop teeth probably!"

Tarantulas

No, Tarantulas does not like the sound of that at all. His reluctance to let Swoop leave is only increasing now.

"How rude. And after I just repaired you? Tsk. You'll tell him long-distance, then, to preserve the integrity of your teeth if nothing else."

Swoop

"No no no." He pushes himself off the berth. "Me Swoop need to back to Dinocave. Me Swoop tell Grimlock about Soundwave! Him know what to do."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas instantly grabs Swoop by the shoulders once he's off the berth, pinning him with an aggressive stare and not letting him move another inch. "You can tell him long-distance. He can convey his wonderful insights over comm just as well as in person, I assure you."

Swoop

Swoop grabs Tarantulas' wrists reflexively, but looks more confused than alarmed. "You Spiderbot being weird."

Tarantulas

There's a pang of discomfort in Tarantulas's spark, but he brushes it aside. "No, I'm being reasonable. Do you want to be punched in the face, then?"

Swoop

That earns a bold laugh. "Me Swoop a DINOBOT. Us not afraid of punch."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas shakes Swoop's shoulders with a jerk. "That's not what I asked. Are you really that foolhardy?"

Swoop

Swoop keeps his hold on Tarantulas' wrists, but leans a bit of his weight back away from the other mech and turns his head to look at him sideways. "It no big deal. Stop being a baby."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas scoffs, chittering. "You really are that foolhardy, then. So be it." He gives another shake as he lets go of Swoop, crossing his arms over his own fuzzy chest instead. What can he even do? He can't stop him from going without suffering some kind of downstream consequences for sure. Hrm.

"I'll send you home, but not quite yet."

Swoop

Swoop mimics Tarantulas' pose with his own crossed arms and puffed up chest. See? He can do that too.

Tarantulas

Agh. Well, that just cements Tarantulas's plan now. He's reaching out again, but this time it's to take Swoop's wrist and drag him along out of the operating theater and down the hallway.

Swoop

Swoop squawks but lets himself be dragged along. At first, he's a full arm's length away, but eventually he gets too curious and speeds up to run closer behind Tarantulas. "What you doing?"

Tarantulas

Tarantulas is glad when Swoop starts carrying his own weight, but he says nothing as he quickly navigates the Tor. Finally they're in a close, enclosed room where everything's covered in webbing, from floor to walls to ceiling to furniture. Notably, there's even a hammock made solely of thick ropes of spider silk.

That's where Tarantulas drags Swoop, hoists him up into his arms, and unceremoniously flops the two of them backward into the hammock. It's cuddle pile time now, whether you like it or not.

Swoop

Once they enter the webbed up room, Swoop immediately begins to look around at the various webbed up items in the room. It makes suddenly being off the ground a surprise. He curls up a bit reflexively, which only makes it easier for Tarantulas to bundle the pteranodon up in his many, many arms.

He's confused, Tarantulas, and squirms around trying to push himself up for a moment before twisting to try to see what the larger mech is doing. Is this a fight?

Tarantulas

Tarantulas tugs at Swoop's crest to keep it from smacking his face and fends off whatever limbs are squirming around too much. "Tsk. Hold still." The words are muted though, and the arms snuggling Swoop close to his chest are much gentler than the grasp that'd gotten them there in the first place.

It only takes a few seconds for it to kick in - a subtle wave of protectiveness that he'd barely been suppressing, a twinge in his spark, a flurry of fond and painful memories he thought he'd lost long time ago. No, Swoop definitely isn't Ostaros, but Tarantulas has to transfer his motherly affections somewhere. Currently those affections are manifesting themselves in the form of grooming and intermittent petting.

Swoop

Oh. It's nap time. The grooming is a dead giveaway.

Okay. That makes sense. Fight, repairs, nap pile. Swoop knows this routine. He has no explanation for why Tarantulas is doing it but no reason not to go with it either.

Swoop lets out a sleepy little sigh as he settles in. Once he relaxes, the energy of battle and excitement of repairs drains out of him rapidly. He's out like a light.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas can both hear and feel Swoop slipping off into dreamland, but he doesn't stop grooming or petting just yet. There's still grime and dried energon on the little Dinobot and still emotions to be parsed out in Tarantulas's head, so the two of them aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Eventually the attentions cease, and Tarantulas settles into a comfortable slouch in the hammock. He's not about to fall asleep, but he's more than willing to let Swoop snuggle up against his chest however long the dear dino-child wants.

#medicalmurdersaurus #(( this happened just before the whole tarantula hawk thing #so just IMAGINE what kind of impact that has #also this is cute af thanks swoop #i'm so sorry if readmores dont work somewhere RIP

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gyromitra-esculenta · 6 years ago

Text

Synchronicity 16

Notes: After hitting brick wall, restructure! So, that one’s a bit of Frankenstein’s Monster. Introducing: Remnant, references to past happenings that were supposed to be referenced much, much later, and morally (VERY) questionable actions (if you get the reference). Jack’s still high on morphine.

Previous parts under this one link: gyromitra-esculenta(.)tumblr(.)com/post/173374189022/synchronicity-15

Jack grimaces when from behind the APC a figure shambles out, a man in a stained dress shirt with a suitcase held in his right hand. Something unsettling in how strangely his neck twists to the left.

"I wonder, Sunshine," the Beast teases, "fight or flight?"

***

(…) And all I see is war path ahead of me Each and every step I welcome readily And if my lack of fear bring the death of me Let the spirits of my ancestors envelop me (…)

His fingers still grip the rifle, the knuckles white on the dark surface of the gun, and he still stares into dark crimson eyes. The last words reverberate between them – him and the Beast – the talk of ashes and charred bones left in their collective wake somehow does not sound like merely a pretty metaphor anymore. Jack swallows back another question and slowly lifts himself off the floor.

The walker is gone in the minutes that had trickled by and he tries somehow to justify its lack of awareness of his own position – was he shielded by the structure or was a single signature not worth the hassle, or, maybe, the interference had messed with the mech’s systems?

There is also a different possibility, one that now is not as far-fetched as one would imagine otherwise, and he knows it’s the morphine talking as he glances back to the Beast.

"I’m dead, aren’t I?"

"Now, what makes you say such a thing, Sunshine?" The Beast tilts its maw to the side, playfully contrarian – yet under the light timbre something darker lurks with the intensity of razor-sharp fangs biting into the nape of his neck.

"This is limbo. Tartarus. The ceaseless punishment," Jack shakes his head, picks up the pace.

"Do tell me, Sunshine, how does one escape from such a predicament?" The Beast now keeps his stride slinking forward at his side, the words simultaneously mocking and paternalistic.

"One doesn’t."

"One doesn’t unless one has their own guide," the Beast chortles.

"I don’t remember ever being so goddamn fucking vague."

"You’re learning yet, Sunshine. You're learning yet."

"Goddamn fucking morphine," Jack murmurs. His vision is focused and swimming at the same time. His breath coils around his tongue with a taste of rusted iron. "If you're my guide, I'm fucking lost."

"Oh, Sunshine, did I ever aspire to such a title?" The barbwire lull of the laughter pierces his ears together with the roar of the fire, and the smell of burning plastic and artificial fabrics suddenly becomes dominant. The plane.

One wing is broken off and missing, the other is buried deep in a collapsed building. The fuselage is smashed into three neat pieces - the tail rests sideways on the street.

The inside of the craft is still on fire and the asphalt is soaked by fuel. No bodies. No blood. The luggage is strewn around. No body parts. Nothing. There's a ripped in half pink suitcase in front of him with a small plastic hand sticking out of the bundled clothes.

"Who's there? Please!" A woman. Jack turns towards the voice and a greenish silhouette swivels there with its hands outstretched as if fumbling in the darkness. A child cries. "Please, say something!"

"They're all dead," Jack whispers taking a step back.

"Yes, they are, and it was us who killed them, Sunshine, or did you so conveniently forget?" The Beast seethes with smug satisfaction. "Only ash and charred bones, no evidence and no witnesses," it hisses as it focuses the glare of its crimson eyes on him, like he is a mere insect under its scrutiny, "this is what remains in our wake. This is," it bares its fangs in a feral growl as it punctuates every word, "what we are, what we were, and what we are to become yet again."

"No," Jack backs further, a stumbling step after a stumbling step, away from the encroaching darkness that swallows him only to spit him out in a green-lit hell. "No."

His fingers move over the panel covered with a delicate synthetic mesh designed to evaporate on blast. A child cries. The explosive arms without a sound. The goggles give him fleeting vertigo with a split-second delay of the processed image.

"Please, say something!" The woman moves in his direction, slightly off to the side, and Jack evades her. The carpet muffles his steps. "I know someone's here!"

The child is still crying. A man screams in anger somewhere down the corridor.

"One. Two. Three. Boom," the Beast intones with a static of bad reception raising in the background - its voice morphs into that of a newscaster, "...that Mehdi Benjelloun has just claimed the responsibility for the bombing for..."

White noise. Everything drowns in white noise. The clock is ticking. The hands do not move, do not even strain, and the room is white.

"Mr. Morrison," the psychiatrist whose name he cannot recall smiles, the kind of impersonal smile one could expect from a professional detached from the situation. "Did the change in the prescription have any adversarial effects? Any notable differences you have experienced regarding your frame of mind?"

The Beast stings behind his teeth, scrapes the sides of his throat, looks through his eyes.

"No. Can’t think of any. Can’t��" Jack turns his gaze to the tree in the painting hanging above the vibrant ficus to his left, to the maelstrom of the painted sky behind it. The rapid strokes of the brush give it an illusion of a slow deliberate motion. "Felt worse for the first week but I don’t think I really thought about killing myself since then."

"That’s good to hear," the man types something on the keyboard.

"You redecorated."

"Excuse me?"

"This picture, it’s new. It’s different from the one before."

The doctor looks at him quizzically, maybe even slightly alarmed. The Beast whispers of danger, a hissing kind of murmur seeping into his thoughts.

"And what do you see in the picture, Mr. Morrison?"

"Morbid landscape with a tree," Jack swallows, eyes darting to the other side, searching for a route of escape from some undefined peril that now sits heavy on his shoulders. Its claws dig deep enough below his collarbone to draw blood that seeps through and stains the fabric.

"Visual hallucinations. This merits additional evaluation." The man extends his hand under the desk and the Beast roars in fury, it roars as everything is white noise again.

The white room. The chair is covered in dark rust, no - not rust - old dried blood, cracking and flaking off. The infernal ticking thunders louder and louder until he wants to scream just to drown it away.

"Getting lost in your own head again, Sunshine? We can't have that, not yet," the Beast whispers. "Inhale." Inhale. "Count." Count to five. Count against the ticking. Don't lose focus. "Exhale." He exhales, slowly pushes the air out of his lungs. "Remember..."

"Remember my training," Jack repeats opening his eyes - when had he closed them? The plane is yet again in front of him but in the meantime, he must have passed it. The cockpit looks almost intact - if not for the missing panes of glass and something still sparking inside.

He's hunched behind a concrete barrier - it seems the street had been closed off to the traffic before. Jack leans to the side to observe the plaza. There are several cars and a bus, one unmarked APC lying on its side. Recreational area primarily. He can see a bright red restaurant umbrella halfway thrown through a display window. A lot of bodies on the ground he can safely identify as Blackwatch personnel.

Jack grimaces when from behind the APC a figure shambles out, a man in a stained dress shirt with a suitcase held in his right hand. Something unsettling in how strangely his neck twists to the left.

"I wonder, Sunshine," the Beast teases, "fight or flight?"

The man turns away and Jack mentally reconstructs the area mapping the best route. He licks his lips, runs his tongue over the chapped skin. Changes the grip on the Patten and moves hunched - eyes darting between the man and the ground - trying to find safe footing. Seconds he measures in breaths trickle by as he makes his way towards an overturned cart painted with happy pastels now greyed with settled ash.

Jack stops to take another look at his surroundings. Crumbled building blocks the nearest street - he could climb over the rubble but the prospect is risky especially if he wants to avoid meeting the civilian or whatever else the man with the suitcase actually is.

Slowly, as the figure disappears behind the APC, Jack raises. Maybe he can circle him. A blink, and the man stands before him in a cloud of swirling black ash. No. Not a man anymore. Something that used to be human. The lower jaw is missing, the eyes are white, the broiled skin sloughs off the meat.

The creature shrieks with an unearthly tone; the wave of sound hits with a multitude of stabs and knocks the breath out of him. Jack falters and almost drops the rifle, scrambles to regain his composure.

Twisting tendrils of purplish light lash out but not towards him, no, to the side, and with growing dread he sees a body dragged upwards with the entrails flopping from under the vest, and limbs swinging in disjointed tugs like a ragdoll shaken erratically by attached strings. It raises the gun and turns towards him. Jack ducks behind the collapsed decorative gazebo. Bullets thunder against the cement.

A shriek again, his vision darkness for a second, and another body joins in the puppet dance. Shots spray wildly in a wide swipe rising clusters of dust where they hit.

Jack emerges quickly from the side and aims at the closest enemy. Two shots send the helmet flying, the third one shatters the brow, and the glowing tethers snap as the body hits the ground.

It’s not enough, the strings spring out from the creature anew and latch onto the fallen cadaver, sink and dig into the flesh, and bring it upright again.

"A resourceful abomination, isn’t she?" The Beast rumbles with glee, its presence growing, enveloping him, and mucous darkness shifting against his skin. The taste of mildew and rot steals into his mouth. "She tests our patience. We will kill her."

"We will kill her," Jack echoes as yet another puppet joins the fray.

"We will grind down her bones between our teeth," the Beast purrs. Claws rest over his hands, and then he runs between the bullets sailing with deadly grace through the air.

The Beast keeps his pace; the loud empty thumps explode in the sudden eerie silence as its paws hit against the pavement rising up clouds of ash. It bares its fangs, its maw low to the ground, and then it jumps through the motionless air swamped in the iridescent afterglow.

The Beast’s jaws close around the creature’s neck with a nauseating crunch. It turns and twists thrashing its head from side to side until meat, tendons, and bones separate. Mutilated head rips off and freezes midflight in the air.

With a snap, the movement resumes. Hunks of meat hit the ground with wet squelches, the violet tendrils dissipate, and the risen corpses fall over once again.

The Beast roars triumphantly, and Jack, with his hands buried to the elbows in the creature’s clawed apart chest smiles mirroring its expression: all teeth and savagery.

#sometimes I write #fear!AU #r76 #reaper76 #violence #body horror #proper part #the beast is an asshole #it has reasons

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franeridart · 6 years ago

Note

Do you care for any of the dekusquad?

I care for most if not all hero-related characters in bnha! But if with care you mean if any dekusquad member is between my favorite characters/if I care enough about any of them to draw them more than once every blue moon, then my Todoroki tag might tip you off, there lol

Anon said:Will you ever draw Bakukamikiri again? I rlly loved how you did them!!

Thank you!!! And I think I will, though I don’t have any project to do so in the near future, sorry!

Anon said:Soo KyouHaba day (6/16) is coming up and was wondering if you could do some seijoh next gen stuff. Yahaba is often forgot about a and Kyoutani isn’t really included in a lot of Aoba Johsai stuff. Feel free to not do anything just suggesting something

Aw sorry anon but I don’t have the time to do day-themed stuff right now! KyoHaba is currently the hq ship I’m most likely to draw for, though, since they’re the only ones I’m still reading fics for! So I don’t think any will come around 6/16, but I don’t exclude I might draw them anyway in the near future! :D

Anon said:Omg your taking part in a zine!! I’m so excited! And it’s a BakuSquad one too! Ik I’m definitely going to be buying it when pre-orders open up!

I’m taking part in TWO zines, actually!! Both the @takemyhandzine and the @sixthwheelzine !!!!! I’ll be making comics for both, and if you do decide to buy either I really hope you’ll like them!!!!

Anon said:whats a zine?

In general, a zine is an amatorially published magazine! Specifically tho here we’re talking about fanzines, so magazines put together and published by fans for other fans! The ones I’m taking part in are both about kiribaku, and will include both fanart (fancomics included) and fanfics! Depending on how much you wish to spend on it, you can also buy a bundle with fanmade merch too, and the Sixth Wheel zine is gonna have a pdf version too, in case you’d prefer to buy it like that! They’re super cool projects I’m insanely happy I got invited to take part in!!!!

Anon said:Your art style is so pretty and I love to see your amazing bnha drawing on my dash

There is literally no way I could ever stop being into d gray man ever and I’m also still following hq’s manga, yes! I dunno if and when I’ll draw for either fandom next, tho, sorry! ;^;

Anon said:Everytime you draw kiribaku I gain 1 life,,,,, tysm I love ur art SM ur such an inspiration,,,💖💖💖

Oh my g o d s thank you so much ;^;

Anon said:Your Kiridragon is the cutest, I love him and want Katsuki to protect him forever. Thank you for sharing that last story with us!!! (Ps. Can we expect more Kiridragon adventures in the future? *puppy eyes*)

Thank you for liking him!!!!!! And if you’re talking about the fantasy AU in general, I’ll 100% for sure draw more for it! If you’re talking about them as kids tho I can’t say for sure - I definitely want to, tho, right now!! ;^;

Anon said:As a suggestion, could you maybe do Kiri*Deku, whether it be romantic, platonic, or misinterpreted by Bakugou and he takes Kirishima because that’s his sunshine boy thank you very much, get your own

Aw anon sorry but krdk is…………. really not my thing, so I don’t take suggestions for it ;-; I might end up doodling them in the future anyway since I have in the past, but that’s only gonna be if I find an idea I really really really wanna draw, I’m sorry

Anon said:Just wanted to say that I love your art and I just went through a majority of your blog. But I noticed you used to draw erasermic but haven’t recently and I was wondering if you still ship it??? It’s okay if you don’t or if you just haven’t gotten the inspiration recently, I’m just curious. Anyways, keep doing what you do and being amazing

Thank youuuu!!!!! And I’ve actually always drawn erasermic super sporadically! They’re one of my main ships in the fandom honestly, but since they’re sorta hard to draw for me I rarely end up drawing them? I do still love them with all my heart tho! You can expect to see more of them in the future, for sure ;u;

Anon said:I came for my kiribaku fix (it HAD to be him I’m dying all over again) but. God ur art always blows me tf away ur so good and skilled and ur improvement in like… everything inspires me SO much so bless u and I hope u have a WONDERFUL day

I’m so glad I can inspire anyone, oh my g o o o o o o d ;O; thank you so so much!!!!

Anon said:Wow your dragon kiribaku art is so cute! Will there be a sequel!

Not for the immediately after, for now! Since Horikoshi is yet to give me the official design for Kiri’s mom //sob - but as I said up there I do want to draw more with them as kids in the fantasy AU, so maybe, yeah!!!

Anon said:I absolutely love EVERY SINGLE facial expression that Bakugou makes in your Fantasy Babies comic strip. He’s such an unapologetic little shit.

THANK YOU!!!!! I was mostly trying to convey the fact that he’s too young to think about the consequences of his actions before doing stuff like calling the rage of a dragon mom upon his city l m a o glad you liked him!!! :D

Anon said:The way you draw the baby bois has me weak 💖💕❤️💗💞💓💝 That baby dragon Kiri 💯💯💯💖💖💖😊😊😊

Thank you so muuuuuucccchhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:EYYYYY! Love your art, the newest comic made me laugh so hard that I almost chocked to death :D (Jk, I just couldn’t breathe normally) God bless youuuuuuuuuu

I’m SUPER HAPPY it made you laugh!!!!!! heck!!!!!!!!!!!!! ;^;

Anon said:You content makes my heart go doki doki doki doki doki

THANK!!!! YOU!!!!! SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:the way you draw wings is so cool, i love it. your art is just amazing in ggeneral to be honest, like akjdjkhdlkdl

AAAAHHHHHHHH I’M HAPPY YOU LIKE THEM I have so much fun drawing them, honestly!!!

Anon said:I love the fact that mina and kiri are cannonically childhood friends (middle school counts as childhood right??) Like I love their friendship so much and they both deserve the world.

Real, they’re adorable and I wish Horikoshi would actually have them interact a bit more in the manga, since as for now their scenes together are pretty much non-existent aside from their backstory ;^;

Anon said:THEY ANIMATED IT!!! THE HAND GRAB!!! IT’S IN MOVING COLOUR!!!

HELL YES I DIED IT’S BEEN NEARLY A WEEK AND I’M STILL DYING WHAT A BEAUTIFUL TIME TO BE ALIVE

Anon said:You with your beautiful beautiful art and Chonideno with her beautiful beautiful writing about Kiri and Bakugou makes my heart so happy and warm and just… Thank you for existing and love Kiribaku! I don’t know, your art makes me so happy

Ohhhhhhhhhhh boy what an honor to be put at the same level as mag ;^; I love her and her writing so much, honestly !!!!!! thank you so so much for the compliment, anon!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Kirishima braiding his hair while he talks is both adorable and relatable. Thank you for that.

I’m!!!! mostly happy you caught it hahahaha thank you !!!!!!

Anon said:Hey. You seem insecure but your art is great. What kind of color scheme do you see for Hawks?

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I honestly don’t like thinking about stuff I think Hori will give me in canon soon enough? But out of instincts I mostly imagined him in shades of brown, I think - typical birds of prey and/or aviator colors, you know!

Anon said:I love ur drawings but i also love reading ur tag. They re so funny sometimes

lmao that’s good too!! As long as I can make people enjoy a couple of moments of their time I don’t really mind how I do it hahaha

Anon said:your art is beautiful anfndfnd

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Hello fran, just wanted to say i’ve been here for a long long time (since the h/q times :‘o) and today i was thinking about some of your old art and if you remember, you had a soulmates au for b/n/h/a that was super good and i really loved so i wanted to tell you!! You as an artist have such an impact on me and that au is my fave of yours!! ;0; have the nicest day ever!! -soulmates anon (4 future ref!!!)

OH MAN I’m so happy to hear you still remember that one?? It was such a fun experiment to play around with, I’m glad you liked it this much!!!! Thank you for telling me omg !!!!! ;^;

Anon said:Hi, so where did you go to watch Haikyuu (I’m assuming probably Crunchyroll but ya never know) and where might I find the dubbed version?

Aw anon sorry I don’t watch the dubbed version! Since I’m Italian, I don’t really have much use for the English dubs haha I’m pretty sure you can find it on kissanime, tho!

Anon said:could you briefly go through the process of making and completing one of your comics? I wanted to start some short bnha comics but idk where to start, thank you!

Sorry this took me an age to answer - I have answered this question a while back, I think it might be in my art tips tag! But to go through it fast, my process is something like

find a line or an exchange I want to deliver, or a topic I want discussed (usually happens randomly as I’m doing other things)

spend a million years just staring at a wall or at my ceiling or anything else as I build a whole scene in my mind to have the lines or topic take the form of an actual comic (might take two minutes, might take a month)

draw a rough sketch of the whole comic - I do this with all panels (and pages, when I separate a comic in pages) on the same canvas, so that I can look at the whole scene all together and get a good sense of the general flow of the storytelling. This process includes cutting panels, moving panels around, reshaping panels, trying different poses and angles for the same panels to find the right one, writing and deleting and re-writing lines till I’m sure the wording is what I’m going for*

line the panels - I mean the actual panels, the straight lines delimitating the panel, I line them all first and put them on a separate layer

line the people!! All the characters in every panel are lined in this stage

line the backgrounds! In case there are backgrounds and the comic is meant to stay in black and white, if not then color the backgrounds! (I always start coloring from the backgrounds cause they’re the boring parts and if I leave them for last I never do them ever #rip)

in case of black and white comics, we fill in flat, gray-scale colors at this point (or, as I’ve lately started doing, I only put down shadows and leave it at that). If it’s in colors, we color the people!

Write down the dialogue!! *at this point we change a lot of the dialogue again because enough time has passed since I sketched it that I changed my mind on everything, don’t be like me

you’re done!

All of it is done on one single canvas, unless it’s a comic with separate paneled pages in which case they’re all done on their own canvas but still drawn all together. That’s about it, hope it was at least a little bit useful!

Anon said:Hi! I just wanted to thank you for your art, especially your KiriBaku. I was exactly in the same situation than Bakugou in the post tagged “bakugou being blunt about his feelings” (except we are 2 girls) , so I used it to confess to her. She said yes! X3

OH MY GOD I’m so super happy to hear that!!!!! Congrats on your gf, anon!!!!!! *throws hearts at u*

#fran answers #im back to not answering asks i mean to draw for #if you never see those asks answered #im sorry im a f disaster #anyway about that first ask!!! todoroki is actually one of my main faves!!!!#i don't have enough ideas for him but if i did i'd always be drawing him t b h #oh also #art tips #cause there's something like that in this #tho it's just more or less my comic making process #which can be summed in 'think about something for a million years!!!' and then 'rush through it in half a day!!!!!!'#im #such an organized person am i n o t #:)))))))))))))))#anonymous

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sage-nebula · 6 years ago

Text

#Just Paradigm Shift Interior Design

A thought that occurred to me as I went to sleep last night (/this morning) is that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they decorate their living space. The Castle of Lions comes pre-decorated, and since much of the castle is a common area, it can’t be personalized by one person too much. But bedrooms can be, and while everyone’s room starts off looking the same, I started thinking about how each of the Paradigm Shift revolutionaries would decorate their rooms over time. So without further ado, given a few decaphoebs time to accumulate things and do a bit of redecoration . . .

Lotor:

Swaps out the standard twin bed that was in the room with a king-sized bed at some point. I’m thinking four poster, wooden frame, one with shelving built into the headboard so he can have books there to read before bed. (He reads books on a tablet as well, but some texts haven’t been digitally archived yet, so he has to read them as they are.) Has a sheer canopy up top, perhaps, but it doesn’t dangle over the sides. The mattress isn’t anything particularly special, but the sheets and comforter are soft.

Also built into the headboard, behind a slideable wood panel that is very easy to miss, is a monitor synced to the camera just outside the door so he can discreetly see who has come to visit him whenever anyone has. You know. Just in case. (There are no enemies in the castle, he’s sure, but . . . just in case . . .)

The headboard is pushed up against the wall, but there is free space on either side, so being on the bed doesn’t equate to being backed into a corner.

A knife is kept under the mattress, in the middle, near the headboard. This makes it easily accessible (for him), but is not an easily guessed hiding spot for others.

There’s a large desk in the back corner of the room with a very comfortable chair. The desk is neatly organized, but the surface can barely be seen beneath the computer, books, (neatly stacked but sometimes spread out) papers, et cetera. Every drawer on the desk is locked and can only be opened with both his fingerprint, and a specifically traced pattern (different pattern for each drawer).

There’s a board on the wall next to the desk that has a collage of different things pinned to it. Some of them are inspirational quotes pertaining to war or revolution, and others are cryptic clues or puzzles to things he’s been working on in his spare time (e.g. the Oriande riddle). Others are just words or turns of phrase that came to him and he decided to write down and pin up. You know, whichever. To pretty much everyone else on the team it looks like a gigantic mess, but Lotor assures them all it makes perfect sense. (To him, at least.)

There’s also a grand bookshelf in the room that stretches floor to ceiling and takes up at least half of the wall. It does have many books on it, but it also has various gifts and other mementos he has received from those he cares about. For instance, a single pressed nimbusilde flower in a frame from Acxa, or the tall, glass display case on a plainly visible shelf, inside of which is a series of tiered platforms, each one covered with a soft material, on top of which rests a die. The dice, a full set, were custom-made from malernite, an ore which was historically ever found on Altea, and were specifically designed after the die pictured in texts describing a historically important game in which Princess Fayli shattered the dice with a single throw and, in the act, successfully defended her peoples’ lives from the tyranny of her brother, Prince Indric. It was a piece of Altean history that Lotor had discovered and, in his excitement over learning something new, had shared with Keith in a conversation that Lotor soon after forgot having (so much was going on), but Keith had evidently not only remembered, but had managed to track down the ore, take the page from the text that Lotor had learned this from to show a smith, and had the dice recreated, after which he gave them to Lotor as a gift the following holiday. Keith had thought Lotor would want to recreate the experiment (and it was tempting), but Lotor had acquired a display case and put them on the bookshelf instead. Keith was embarrassed. To this day, Lotor still doesn’t understand why he should be.

Speaking of display cases, there’s also a tall display case across from the bed full of ancient relics and other artifacts Lotor has discovered over time. He intends at some point to return them to the people from whom they were taken (i.e. Lotor didn’t take them from the people; he found them in ruins or in Empire storehouses and liberated them), but untll he can, he keeps them safe in a display case where they won’t be ravaged by the elements or destroyed by Empire soldiers. (Also, tbf, they are nice to look at and study. He’s careful with them, though.)

Quite a few decaphoebs down the road, Lotor finds a vrensyr egg. Vrensyrs were draconic creatures native to the planet Daibazaal, and believed to be extinct. However, this egg somehow survived---and when Lotor finds it, he not only keeps it, but he hatches it. The newly hatched vrensyr imprints on him immediately, and as a result becomes his new companion. He names the newly hatched creature Erebus.

Vrensyrs look somewhat similar to what an Earth wyvern looks like. They’re covered in scales, have small, claw like appendages on their wings, and razor sharp claws on their feet. When born, Erebus is small enough to ride on Lotor’s shoulder (and he does). Give him a few centuries, and he will be large enough to raze cities with little effort should he so choose. Erebus can breathe fire (he is being trained on when it is appropriate to do so), and he can change the color of his scales on a whim. His eyes, meanwhile, are always a very vivid purple.

When Erebus is hatched, a stone basin is acquired for him as his bed, since Vrensyrs like to sleep on stone (and a particular type of stone, at that). He also has multiple perches installed along the walls and ceiling of Lotor’s room for him to use whenever he chooses.

Lastly, after their relationship does become romantic and Keith starts spending more time in Lotor’s room, sometimes Keith’s jacket, or his boots, can be found tossed onto the floor. It happens.

Keith:

Keeps the standard twin bed, but does allow Acxa to talk him into a memory foam mattress cover. It’s real comfy.

As mentioned in Revolutionary, he has a collage of photos of him and his team taped up on the wall beside his bed, courtesy of Ezor. Specifically:

There was one of him and Acxa simultaneously drinking pechaya juice while using their other hands to try and block Ezor’s camera; there was another of Zethrid lifting him off the ground in a massive, full-body hug as he gasped out that he had ribs she was breaking; there was one of him and Narti having fallen asleep on the sofa together, Kova curled up on his chest; one of Ezor herself pouncing on his back so she could take an impromptu selfie with him; one of him and Lotor playing a game of Crowns & Claws, Keith’s brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the board before him, and Lotor smiling at him from across the table; and other snapshots of the rest of his teammates, from one the many selfies Ezor took of herself dancing with Narti, to one of Acxa after she had fixed new barrettes in her hair to keep her bangs out of her eyes, to one of Zethrid arm-wrestling Lotor.

After Ezor spreads the word that Keith hadn’t decorated his room practically at all, the others started getting in on it, too.

Courtesy of Acxa, he gets a potted ticarius in one corner of the room. A ticarius is a plant pretty similar to our Earth cacti (it even comes from a planet that has a pretty arid climate), except that it doesn’t require sunlight, is very dark purple in color, and the spines (which are rainbow-colored) are actually very sweet tasting, and it’s good for your teeth and gums if you suck on them. The spines grow back relatively quickly, and the plant doesn’t require very much maintenance. The ticarius is nearly tall enough to touch the ceiling, and Keith likes to use the spines like toothpicks whenever he’s working on something.

Courtesy of Zethrid, he got a small weight lifting kit that he only sporadically uses (but that she got specifically for him to use to bulk up so that he’d stop complaining about her breaking his ribs with her hugs). It’s up against the wall on the other side of the bed.

Courtesy of Narti, he got double-reinforced screws over the vent in his room so that Kova would stop sneaking in during the night and pouncing on his face. He also got a painting, painted by her, specifically, which he put up on the wall above the weight lifting set.

And courtesy of Lotor, he had a feature added to his room so that he can, whenever he wants, have a display of what the galaxy looks like around them on his ceiling. Keith has spent enough of his life locked away where he can’t see the sky, so this was really appreciated.

He has a wardrobe pressed into the corner opposite the bed. The wardrobe is fairly large, because it’s split neatly into two sections: casual wear, and armor. Keith generally doesn’t care much about what he wears, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to have to spend time looking for his armor when there’s a fight to get to, so he keeps his wardrobe very organized so that he doesn’t have to think, he can just reach in, grab it, and go.

Likewise, he has numerous storage bins in the compartment under his bed where other things are kept. There’s one for books, one for clothes that don’t need to go into the wardrobe, et cetera. Anything he’s not actively using is always packed up and put away. (Unless, of course, it’s been left on the floor of Lotor’s bedroom.)

Speaking of things being left in Lotor’s bedroom, Lotor doesn’t tend to leave things in Keith’s on purpose, but one day shortly after their relationship became more intimate, Ezor was in Keith’s room when they went there to retrieve his tablet, and she sat on his bed while talking on about something, and fell silent mid-sentence. This was odd for her, so Keith looked over with a frown, and found that Ezor was holding up several strands of long, white hair. She looked at him, her eyes wide. He looked back at her, his eyes widening as he realized what she had found and the conclusions she was reaching, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Ezor---” But she bounded up from the bed and bolted through the door, shouting, “Oh mY GODS, NARTI!! ZETHRID!! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!” And Keith, swearing oaths and shouting her name, was left with no other options but to take off after her and attempt to take her down in a full body tackle. (This, incidentally, did not make things look any less interesting to the parties Ezor was determined to spread the gossip to.)

(Also incidentally, Narti already knew because she’s a telepath, so the moment she spent more than three ticks in Keith’s and Lotor’s presence after they kissed for the first time, she knew their relationship changed and was quite happy for them. However, she also has tact and manners, and so she kept quiet and didn’t share this news with anyone, because she figured they’d tell everyone in their own time. Ezor is quite miffed with Narti when she learns that Narti knew the whole time and said nothing to her, of all people, about it. Like, she’s not surprised that Acxa didn’t say anything to her even though Acxa knew about it as well because both Keith and Lotor told her separately, because of course Acxa wouldn’t tell her, but Narti?? Narti, how could you??? Betrayal of the highest order, tbqh. Anyway, this is off-topic.)

Quite a few decaphoebs down the road, Keith finds and befriends a teleporting, wolf-like creature. She was an orphan, left wandering and trying to fend for herself after her pack was killed, and after forming a bond with her, Keith decided to take her in. He named her Nyx, and once she comes along with him, she gets her own large, round, plush bed in his room . . . that she usually ignores in favor of sleeping on his bed, cuddled up with him instead, regardless of whether that leaves him squished into the corner or just barely hanging onto the edge of the bed or not. Okay, Nyx.

Everything is covered in her dander from that point forward.

Though Keith’s not really a fan of most of the “Earth culture” things Ezor tries to “teach” him with (namely, anime), he is a fan of the CD player she bought to “teach” him about Earth’s music, and over time has built up a respectable collection of CDs, which he keeps in a case next to the player (which is itself pretty big and on a table he put in his room specifically to hold it). He also has a smaller, portable CD player, as well as a large pair of headphones, that he likes to listen to and relax with when not in his room.

Later on down the road, Zethrid discovers that humans on Earth invented something called an MP3 player, and she gets it for Keith as a gift. After they figure out that he can put all of his CDs on it and then some, he tells her that she’s allowed to give him one (1) rib-crushing hug at any time of her choosing. She grins and chooses right that second.

He still keeps a knife under his pillow, and his bayard just under his bed. He also eventually has several swords that he acquires from around the galaxy that he thought looked nice up on display stands on his walls, also above his bed. Make no mistake, however: They’re there because he thought they looked cool, but he keeps them sharp and in good condition. He can, and will, use them if necessary.

Acxa:

As could be surmised, Acxa really likes plants, and flowers specifically, because her grandmother used to keep a tiny plot of flowers, and would teach Acxa their names and meaning when Acxa was a little girl. Obviously that time has long since passed, but Acxa has collected books on flower meanings from around the galaxy and tries to tend to whatever plants and flowers she can. (She does, in another room of the castle, have a little garden going.) In her room she has a vase of antiriums (which don’t require any sunlight), and she also has a very tall vase in one corner with celestaries in it (which do require sunlight, but she has a special light fixed into the wall above the vase to simulate sunlight during the day, when she’s not in her room and it wouldn’t bother her). A small amount of flowers, maybe, but important ones. The antiriums, which naturally grow on a planet that can’t sustain any other life for long, symbolize life even in the most damning conditions, and survival through the harshest of hardships. They represent living when literally everything in the universe says “give up.” The celestaries, on the other hand, are kept partly because they’re pretty, with their large, vibrant red petals, but also because they symbolize remembrance for the departed, and the belief that those that die can still live on and watch over those still living. Acxa keeps them mostly in remembrance of her grandmother, but also her parents and brothers.

The nimbusilde is an extremely rare flower native to the planet Stradozyx. It only blooms where lightning has struck the ground twice. Acxa found one, pressed it, and gave it to Lotor as a gift because it reminded her of him.

The ticarius isn’t a particularly rare plant on its home planet of Haridel, but what gives the ticarius its meaning is that it not only survives in extremely harsh conditions, but that it also has the nutritional properties mentioned before---that it sustains not only itself through adversity, but also others, despite what is perhaps an intimidating appearance due to its prickly spines. (In fact, those spines are a good thing; that ferocity, that tough quality . . . that’s good.) This reminded Acxa of Keith, hence why she gifted him one when she learned via Ezor that he needed room decorations. (Also, she cares about him, so the nutritional value is good, too.)

She has several albums full of pressed flowers from all over the galaxy, the names and meanings written out beside them. They’re on a bookshelf in her room, directly across from the bed.

She upgraded her bed to a full sized bed, with a memory foam mattress, a super soft quilt, and three large pillows. She never had a proper bed before the castle and so, as soon as she could, she took the opportunity to upgrade and get the softest things she could. She loves sleep.

On her nightstand, next to the vase of antiriums, she has a small music box that Narti gave to her as a holiday gift. The tune is a lullaby Acxa’s grandmother used to sing to her. Narti heard Acxa humming it, and had it recreated in a little music box. Acxa plays it on nights when she has trouble falling asleep.

Next to the bookshelf she has a dresser, and on top of the dresser is a jewelry box filled with earrings, rings, and a couple bracelets, because sue her, she likes sparkly jewelry, even if she doesn’t often wear it because it’s a liability in battle. She also has numerous hair barrettes, including a pair that Keith got her after she first discovered that, due to things that happened on Revender, her hair won’t grow out anymore. She was depressed about it, and he bought her the hair clips as a way to try to cheer her up (to show that, hey, short hair can be nice, too). To be honest, the barrettes he chose are kind of . . . not to her taste, but he picked them out in earnest and was genuinely trying to make her feel better, and so they’re honestly her favorite barrettes even if she rarely actually wears them.

There’s a rack resembling a coat rack on the wall next to her bed. It holds her bayard and holsters for her other guns. The door at the base of her nightstand also opens to reveal polish and other tools necessary for weapons upkeep.

Ezor:

Ezor’s room is full of “I saw this once and had to have it For Reasons” things.

Giant tapestries of all types of colors are strung up across the ceiling like canopies, hanging at various lengths. They obscure the lights and are just sheer enough so that a multitude of colors is thrown around her room whenever the lights are on. The tapestries remind her of the market where she spent the eight years of her life after losing her miralean mother, but before meeting Keith and the others.

Her bed has tons of stuffed animal plushes on it. Most are at the foot of the bed, but a couple of Ezor’s favorites are up near the front. (Her bed, mind you, is just the standard twin.)

It’s not uncommon to find a small critter of some kind crawling around the room. These critters are not always brought there on purpose by Ezor herself. Sometimes they are, but most of the time they’re not, and after the fourth time Kova ate one Ezor had decided was going to be a pet, she stopped letting herself get attached.

Her actual pet ends up being Kaltenecker the cow (not that she knows Kaltenecker is a “cow”) after she and Narti got her “for free” at the Earth store when Ezor was there buying stuff to “teach Keith about his heritage.” Kaltenecker puzzled everyone in the castle, including Keith himself, and ended up gathering a crowd of the primary team and all three Auxiliary Teams as everyone tried to figure out what she was. At one point she spontaneously mooed and startled everyone to the point where most reached for weapons just in case that was a sound of aggression and she decided to attack. (She didn’t attack, but she was glad the crowd backed off a little.)

Ezor’s favorite thing about having Kaltenecker for a pet is that this is one pet that Kova cannot eat. (Not, however, for lack of trying on Kova’s part.)

Keith never asked Ezor to “teach him about his heritage” and Ezor never even asked if he wanted to learn. She just decided that, once they knew that part of his heritage was human from Earth, obviously they had to teach him, so she went to the Earth store in the mall to buy materials. These materials consisted mostly of anime, which Ezor is 99.9% positive are realistic depictions of life on Earth and are also quality Earth cinema and art. However, she has also purchased numerous Earth musical records, toys (such as Super Soakers) and other things as part of his “education.”

Speaking of, her bookshelf is full of anime DVDs and box sets (the actual DVD player was something she also purchased at the Earth store since the castle did not come with one), as well as other assorted Earth things (she loves Earth waaaaay more than Keith ever will, particularly since he honestly . . . doesn’t . . . really care much about it at all).

It is one of her life goals to name a child Sasuke, because he’s her favorite character from her favorite anime (which she is also convinced is the absolute height of Earth art and cinema and thinks it’s beyond baffling that none of the team recognizes what a cultural, planetary treasure they have in the castle simply by virtue of her finding and buying the box sets, honestly).

It’s difficult to see her floor because of all the clutter. Most of the clutter comes from her laundry, which is spread everywhere, but also she has random assorted things all over (various weapons that she doesn’t even use; weird, creepy statues or trinkets, and that sort of thing). Roughly 80% of the things in Ezor’s room are things she stole simply because she could and she wanted to. The remaining 20% is either Earth store stuff (she respects that store enough to spend her money there) or stuff that Keith or Acxa caught her stealing, and then made her go back and pay for, because “it’s not the Empire that suffers when you do this, it’s the employees who are punished for your shoplifting.” Ezor always grumbles that this is why they’re known as the Fun Police.

Ezor is a prolific writer (of RPF that she posts on a GalaxyNet website known as Repository of Our Own), and as such she always has her tablet right by her bed, since she does her best writing (in her opinion) when curled up for the night. She also has a folder under her bed of printed out, positive reviews she has received on her fics, so she can have quick access them whenever she’s feeling down. (The folder is very thick, because she’s a---nay, the BNF for her particular RPF OTP, which she actually started shipping and writing for as a joke and also spite, but then got invested . . . it’s a long story.)

Zethrid:

Also upgraded her bed to a king-sized bed, because you know why? Because she deserves it, that’s why. No noticeable frame, though; it does have one, but no headboard or anything like that. Looks like a giant mattress when you walk in the door. She loves it.

All of her walls are covered in maps of whatever galaxy they’re currently in, with notes all over the maps marking out points of interest. Some things are notes from her days as a bounty hunter, others are more relevant to the mission at hand. Either way, she’s constantly updating the maps.

Has two large whiteboards, over which she has covered schematics for upgrades or tweaks she plans on making to either the Yellow Lion, the Sincline ships, or some new smaller ship she’s working on in her spare time. They’re in the back of the room, but they’re not pressed up against the maps on the walls.

She also has a large trophy cabinet, inside of which are some legitimate trophies or awards she’s won from various, spontaneously entered contests around the galaxy, and some of which are tokens or souvenirs she picked up at various places around the galaxy that are important to her. (For instance, she can’t really go back to the WcGoofy’s that Olliges owns, but she did swing by there once and took the drive-thru sign to keep as a memento. That’s in the trophy case.)

She also has a pretty large vanity table with a big mirror. The vanity table has various perfumes, but also a lot of make-up, because she doesn’t just kill in battle (if she does)---she serves killer looks, too. Her lips aren’t naturally green, that’s just her favorite shade of lipstick this phoeb. Those yellow splashes near her eyes? Eyeshadow. (She also, for the record, has a kit with luxury soaps and bathbombs that she uses whenever she gets time for a longer bath that she keeps on the vanity table so that none of the Auxiliary Team members (or Ezor) get bright ideas about sticky fingering them.) She lived a rugged life for a long time, so now that she has the opportunity to pamper herself some, she takes it.

On that note, armor aside, her favorite clothing item that she owns is a very plush bathrobe. On the very rare occasion they all get a day mostly off, she likes to take a long, luxurious bath, and then just relax in her robe. It’s amazing.

Related, but for her birthday everyone chipped in and got her a day at a spa planet. It was the best birthday she ever had.

Narti:

Narti swapped out the traditional twin bed for two alternatives.

The first alternative is best called a scoop bed, which is what she slept on for most of her life, back when she still lived with her mother. Narti is half-galra, half-espiridan, and the espiridan people sleep in little nooks (or “scoops”) that are built into the walls of their home. They essentially look like ice cream scoops that are built into the walls, with the wall carved out to provide an overhang to partially block the bed from view. They’re cushioned, and are naturally insulated so they’re quite warm and cozy. Obviously that’s not really possible to do in the castle ship, but everyone pitched in with trying to find a replacement, and while it’s not exact, they managed to find (and then modify) a bed so that it’s almost like a little scoop, and it’s placed up against the back wall.

Until they had the scoop, Narti had a beam that was hung from the ceiling. She would hang from the beam by her tail and sleep that way, kind of like an Earth bat. (She put the mattress from her bed under the beam in case she accidentally let go while sleeping.) Sometimes she still sleeps from the beam, if she’s having trouble with her scoop for whatever reason.

Kova has a cat tree in the room that is honestly ridiculous. It started in one corner, but now rings the room, with varying levels, little hidey-holes, and easy ways into the vents no matter how much Narti tries to stop him. This tree started as one Lotor bought him that Kova refused to use because Lotor bought it, was expanded on in a really haphazard way by everyone else, and now is something Kova loves because he can’t remember which part specifically came from Lotor. (It’s a small victory, but Lotor will take it.)

Narti has three easels in her room that she uses for her paintings. Each one is in a different corner, because each corner carries a different energy (according to her, but no one questions her on it).

There is cat hair goddamn everywhere. Even in Narti’s scoop bed, however much she tries to get the dander out of the bed.

She and Keith like to put puzzles together in their spare time, and the first one they ever completed was a 10,000 piece puzzle of the Alloran system. Because it was their first one, Narti framed it, and has it hanging in her room above her scoop, so she can see it (through Kova’s eyes, naturally) first thing whenever she enters her bedroom.

On the other side of the framed puzzle is a framed picture of pressed lyrdenia flowers that Acxa gave her. Lyrdenia flowers are actually singing flowers that will sing if you stroke their petals. Acxa gave them to Narti in a vase once, because while Narti is blind and mute, she is not deaf, and can appreciate singing flowers. However, Kova knocked that vase onto the floor. He then did it with the second and third vases, and so Acxa gave Narti the flowers pressed in a frame. Kind of ruins the singing, but it’s the thought that counts.

Her wardrobe is filled with various different hoods and cloaks of different styles and colors, because Ezor said she needed to branch out. This includes several in various shades of green to match her armor, as well as one with the Uchiha flag on it that Ezor thinks would be super cool if Narti wore, but Narti will not because no matter how much she adores Ezor, she just will not go out in public with that. (However, she has told Ezor this is because she doesn’t wish to get it dirty or torn, and this soothed Ezor’s feelings quite quickly.)

Narti keeps her stuff picked up, but Kova does not. He has no shortage of toys spread across the floor, along with pieces of kibble, and sometimes feathers or patches of fur from whatever little creature he has terrorized this movement.

#series: paradigm shift #at the end of it all the only ones without pets are Acxa and Zethrid #well - neither of them probably want pets anyway #but even so maybe they'll get some at some point #anyway there could probably be more details added but this is enough for now. at least i think it is #idk i had the idea and wanted to jot down some notes and ideas #also yeah I suppose that's how Ezor and Zethrid find out lol #sorry Keith but it's not their fault your boyfriend sheds so much lololol #also none of Ezor's fans know that it's HER - like they're not aware that a PALADIN OF VOLTRON is writing the fic they like so much #she strives to keep her fan life separate from her real life #makes things easier that way #anyway i really want to write those Revender fics at some point #so many important things happened there #just got to . . . clear my schedule . . .#but honestly there are things i had to leave OUT of this (as far as Keith goes) because they're Spoilers for the future #so this will be updated at some point #anyway #(oh and of course i gave Lotor a dragon. why WOULDN'T i give Lotor a dragon?)#(if the show won't do it i will)#(that's always been the motto and it holds true now)#(i wanted Lotor to have a dragon and so Lotor has a dragon)#(boom. done. and now we can move on with the world a little more at peace)#(a n y w a y. here's this.)

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