#mostly expanding on canon stuff

[mighty-ant]

The Man from F.O.W.L, Part Three

part two

ao3

Steelbeak once spent twenty-three days in solitary confinement. 

Assault and disorderly conduct were the offenses. The brother of some unfortunate schmuck he once faced in some smoky backroom posing as a boxing ring, who left with more broken bones than he came in with, ran up to him in the prison cafeteria wielding a shiv carved out of a toothbrush handle. Talking things out was never his strong suit even before the damage to his beak that landed him in a hospital bed for two months, so Steelbeak slammed the guy’s head into a couple of tables in lieu of conversation. 

He spent twenty-three days staring at four identical gray walls, reigning in his mind as it wandered, stretching his sanity thin. He could’ve asked for books, but reading wasn’t his thing. Letters, entire words even, tended to rearrange themselves before his eyes, flowing incomprehensibly like a river so deep he had no hope of ever reaching the bottom. Instead he slept, unsuccessfully played tic-tac-to, and bounced a rubber ball back and forth against the wall. 

It was mind-numbing, even terrifying to be so utterly alone and powerless for the first time in his life. Steelbeak still wasn’t positive he hadn’t cracked in there. After a certain point he lost count of the days. 

He only knew it had been twenty-three because Heron told him so. 

It was night when she appeared, or at least Steelbeak thought it was. Time had long since gone screwy for him, and he slept a lot more toward the end. Even so, when he was awoken by the prolonged creak and thud of his cell door opening, he knew that not enough time had passed since the guards slid him his latest tray of mystery meat and soggy carrot sticks. 

Steelbeak sat up sharply, immediately on edge. 

The prison guards didn’t bother him much—unlike the idiots trapped in here with him, they’d read his file and knew perfectly well what he was capable of. Steelbeak was one of the few inmates who wasn’t worth messing with; he cut an intimidating figure even before the scars that twisted his beak into a permanent scowl, and pain didn’t slow him down like it might other birds. The last time a guard tried to jab Steelbeak with a taser, the schmuck found himself pinned to the wall with it. 

It was always possible that some newly hired high school flunkie wanted to prove his mettle and didn’t believe the stories about the rooster with the messed up face fresh from a bloody, underground fight club. In which case Steelbeak was more than happy to teach him a lesson. 

But when he turned toward the door, there wasn’t a guard standing there at all. Framed by the harsh yellow light of the hallway was a woman, her features thrown almost completely into shadow. Wearing a form-fitting dress and knee-high white boots, she was as out of place in his cell as sunshine at a funeral. 

“What abysmal security,” she muttered in a precise, delicate accent he didn’t recognize. It sounded posh, though. “A child could break out of this place.” 

“Who the hell are you?” he said, too confused to remember to stand from his cot. 

She fixed him with a deep, dark stare, the white of her eyes catching in the yellow light. “You may call me Black Heron.” She extended her right hand to him but it looked all wrong even in his cell’s poor lighting. The movements of her arm were too smooth and the silhouette had lines and ridges that an arm shouldn’t. 

Still, Steelbeak supposed she hadn’t given him a reason to be rude so he rose to his feet and accepted the handshake. Her palm was so cold against his that it stung and the pointed tips of her fingers dug into his skin. A metal prosthesis, the kind people paid good money for, went up to her shoulder. 

“Uh, sure,” he said. “Nice to meetcha.”

Up close, Heron was older than he’d first thought, with deep crow’s feet and a throat lined with age. She quirked a long dark brow at him. “And I presume you’re Mr. M—”

“Ah ah,” he said, raising a hand before she could finish. “The name’s Steelbeak.” 

What had started out as a nickname in the ring had become ubiquitous with his identity—even the guards knew it. It stung a little now, what with his beak warped and chipped and an overall eyesore, but he had no desire to go back to a name picked out for him by people he never knew. 

Heron tilted her head, looking amused. “You certainly have the face for it.”

 “Uh huh.” Steelbeak smiled with all his teeth, which usually made people shudder. When that didn’t get him so much as a blink, he backed down and folded his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Her brows rose slightly, the barest indication of surprise. “Quick to the point aren’t we?” 

“I know the look of someone who wants to make a deal,” he said, trying not to sound too smug about it. Phineas Sharp was a gnat of a man, but he’d managed to own Steelbeak longer than any other boss until the police raid. With him, Steelbeak practically had front row seats to the performance of every kind of sleazeball under the sun, from the truly pathetic to the cleverest of connivers. He knew enough to know that Black Heron was making little to no effort to disguise her intentions here. 

Her smile returned, just this side of sly. “Very well. How would you like a second chance at life? Outside of this cell? This prison?”

Steelbeak leaned back against the wall. “I’m listening.” 

His answer was as redundant as her question was rhetorical. Before she opened her beak again, he knew he would agree to whatever she asked, whatever her terms. He was no fool; he’d pay any price for freedom. 

Heron’s eyes gleamed like she’d read his mind, not that it mattered. Even if she knew his answer, she still had a role to play, lines she’d rehearsed. Two-thirds of making a deal was just scripted theater, and as its actors they were responsible for reaching the finale. 

“Walls have ears,” Heron said. “And my employers were listening. I work for a powerful, covert organization that could use a man of your skills.” 

Steelbeak grinned. With the damage to his beak, it more closely resembled a sneer. “And if I take the job, what then? Are we talking reduced sentence? Time off for good behavior?” 

Heron swept her prosthetic arm behind her, motioning toward the sickly, promising glow of the hallway light bleeding into his cell from the open doorway. “If you accept, we walk out of that door right now.” 

Now that got his attention. 

Steelbeak dropped his arms, practically falling out of his purposely casual lean. “Seriously?” he demanded, with none of his practiced restraint. “What’s the catch, lady?”

“No catch,” Heron replied. “We just couldn’t help but notice that you’re serving a fairly sizable sentence. The man I work with is patient, but not that patient.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. This was….well. It was the stuff of dreams. The sort of dreams only the very pathetic or the very insane ever had. Abruptly paranoid, he pinched himself above the crease of his elbow, the movement hidden by the bulk of his arms. The pain told him he was awake. But his mind said it was too good to be true.

“You’re not seriously considering turning us down?” Heron said, incredulity winning out over her snake-oil delivery. “You’ll die in this cell. You’ve no allies in this place, and the guards either despise you or are too terrified to go near you. But with us...well.”

He knew the game she was playing. Still, Steelbeak raised his gaze to hers. “Yeah? With you what?”

She’d caught him. A hunter sauntering up to its prey, she made no effort to hide the satisfaction in her smile. “With us, you would be an agent of F.O.W.L: the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny.”

Steelbeak allowed himself to imagine the picture she was painting. He found he rather liked the end result. “Agent, huh?” 

.

He had never raised a hand against Black Heron before. 

Steelbeak stayed on his guard in the early days. Everything was unknown, from the hoards of faceless Eggheads to the lighthouse base pulled straight from a James Pond film. Heron had been a constant that, while not reassuring in of herself, was his one source of familiarity in an increasingly alien world. So he forcibly tamped down the instinct to deck her when she grabbed his beak without warning on his second day, examining his scarred face with her clinical, dark eyes. 

 “Steelbeak, was it?” she said. “We’ll see about that.” 

He agreed with her that his beak was beyond saving. Agreed to the twenty hours of surgery to replace it with a maw of sharp edges and steel because it would increase his worth in the eyes of High Command. Agreed, not knowing that the anesthesia would keep wearing off, making him awake in an inferno of pain so intense he’d black out before she could put him back under. 

The end result was a weapon and shield in one; blows to his face broke bone, and his bite truly became worse than his bark. He ignored the weight of the metal, how it was sometimes difficult to raise his head in the mornings. He ignored the phantom pains of his original beak being shattered, the sensation of it being removed. Once the initial tests were complete and there was no risk of infection, Heron continued to grab his beak, now to silence him and steer him and he allowed her to because violence was the language he understood, knowing that words were useless without force behind them. 

Words were cheap until Steelbeak was the one wielding them. He couldn’t lay a hand on Fethry but that didn’t matter when his words cut deeper than any knife, bloodless but just as lethal. Words were cheap until Heron was spitting his respect back in his face, holding a gun he didn’t understand as she prodded him in the chest with a talon so sharp it pierced him through his suit and drew little pinpricks of blood. 

“Partner?” she repeated, as if he’d uttered the world’s most pathetic joke. “You are a stooge. A low-level flunky, you bird-brained, idiotic, stupid—”

He’d never considered how small Heron was compared to him. Steelbeak had seen her spar before, seen her take down Eggheads practically five times her size. To him, it was second nature to respect strength, to respect power. It made her look bigger to his mind. Stature had no bearing on skill, but where Heron was deft, Steelbeak was blunt in his ruthlessness. It was a small matter to wrestle the Intelli-ray out of her hands and knock her to the floor with a solid jab to the ribs. 

Steelbeak pointed the gun at her face and relished in her utter bafflement in the second before he pulled the trigger. In that split second it didn’t matter that he only had the skeleton of a plan, that his last ally in this place had been prepared to stab him in the back (metaphorically and maybe literally). 

In that split second he was returning to what he knew, what he was best at: threats of violence and the will to act on them. 

“Not so smart now, are ya?”

.

Steelbeak woke up when an Egghead dropped him on the floor. 

He lashed out before he was even fully conscious, delivering a blow to the solar plexus that had the burly henchman doubling over with a wheeze. Before Steelbeak could bring his linked fists down on his head, a dry, familiar voice barked, “Enough.” 

With his hands still raised in midair, Steelbeak turned to acknowledge Bradford Buzzard. The old vulture’s bushy brows were furrowed in a thick, straight line above an uglier-than-usual scowl. 

Steelbeak lowered his arms as another Egghead delivered Black Heron, who was still babbling inanely. He didn’t say a word, all too aware of Buzzard less than ten feet away, but he couldn’t resist a smile. Steelbeak, the stooge, the idiot, reduced the high and mighty Black Heron to this without even trying. His slipshod plan might’ve failed, but failure didn’t sting as badly as it otherwise might’ve. 

Still, no good thing could last forever. 

He scowled when another Egghead appeared with the Intelli-ray, handing it to Buzzard. He fiddled with the settings for a moment before firing at Heron, who was examining the fingers of her prosthetic hand with rapt fascination. Steelbeak idly hoped that she would poke her own eye out. But the blast from the gun immediately knocked her out and Buzzard gave it back to the Egghead with his beak curled in distaste. 

“Dispose of that, please,” he ordered. 

The Egghead nodded before slipping out of the conference room as soundlessly as they had appeared. 

He and Buzzard were silent as they waited for Heron to regain consciousness, which was just fine with Steelbeak. He wasn’t in any hurry to get chewed out, and the burns from his out of nowhere electrocution ( by Heron’s lab rats? ) were starting to twinge. The pain was worse around his beak, the burns at the seam where metal met flesh sharply stinging. 

Heron began to move, groaning under her breath while Steelbeak looked on in cross-armed distaste. Buzzard approached her, gait slow and sure, and leaned down so that his sharp beak and acid yellow eyes would be the first thing she saw. 

And they were—Heron opened her eyes blearily at first, before the shock of Buzzard’s proximity could register. That lasted for about a second before he snapped, “Wake up.” 

Steelbeak leaned back with a smile as Heron startled, and Buzzard wasted no time in tearing into her. The gun she had been so proud of was sitting in an incinerator somewhere while her oh so genius plan was flatly ridiculed. And Steelbeak, who had never learned to quit while he was ahead, was unable to resist one last pointed jab at Heron, dropped on the ground just like him, elite spies turned into a pair of chastised children. 

“Ha! Who’s stupid now—”

He nearly bit his tongue in half when his beak seized, clamping shut of its own volition like a bear trap being triggered. 

Steelbeak reacted instinctively, violently, and punched the side of his beak to force it open. It remained sealed and his heartbeat pounded loud in his ears, ratcheting up into his throat, fit to choke him. He punched his beak again, and again, and again, his furious scream trapped behind its serrated edges. His knuckles began to ache and bit by bit they began to bleed.

Distantly, he was aware of Buzzard setting some sort of remote on his desk as he walked away from them. He continued to speak over Steelbeak’s garbled rage as he rained blow after blow upon his beak.  

As Steelbeak beat his own face, Heron was dismissed. 

She rose slowly, face averted, her pride stunted beneath Buzzard’s ire. But she was free to leave because her own body hadn’t been turned against her and for a split second, a single, swift, solitary instant of time, Steelbeak was almost desperate enough to reach out to her. Almost . He kept that shred of dignity intact, even as he resorted to clasping his hands around the top and bottom of his beak in an attempt to pry it open by force. 

The door closed behind Heron before Buzzard acknowledged him again. 

“Ah,” he said dryly, yellow eyes flicking over him with little reaction. “I almost forgot about you.” 

With the press of a button, he granted Steelbeak his freedom. 

He couldn’t help the deep, gulping breath he took as his aching jaw dropped open, relief nearly making him lightheaded. But that relief swiftly gave way to rage, pure and unbridled, that made his breath and every inch of his body quake. His hands curled into fists so tight the cuts on his knuckles began to weep. 

Buzzard turned his back on Steelbeak like he was nothing. Like he was less than nothing. 

It would be a matter of seconds to get up, cross the room and wring Buzzard’s neck. To raise his fist and exact retribution for this latest humiliation. But stupid as Steelbeak might be, he wasn’t that stupid. Nobody as frail-looking as the Buzzards controlled a global spy ring without powerful countermeasures against mutiny. 

That didn’t stop Steelbeak from snarling, low in his throat, as he pushed himself to his feet. 

Buzzard glanced over his shoulder, a rare smirk stretching across his narrow beak. “Good. You’re learning.” As quickly as the amusement appeared, it dropped from his face, tucked behind an emotionless scowl as easily as shuffling papers. “Now, I trust we won’t be seeing anymore of your half-cocked schemes?” 

“Half-cocked?” Steelbeak bit out. “I took out one of your top agents without even trying! If you gave me some actual resources, or my own missions, instead of foisting me on Heron all the time, maybe I could actually get something done around here!”

He took a step forward without thinking.

Buzzard scarcely had to move to press the same button on the remote, to lock his beak shut with another damning clang . Steelbeak immediately wrapped his hands around his beak, fighting the instinctive, panicked urge to try and open it by force again. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Buzzard sounded bored . “You don’t want to know what the rest of these buttons do. I’ve been assured the results aren’t pleasant.” 

He stepped out from behind the conference table, folding his hands behind his back. “It’s become increasingly clear to me that you’ve misconstrued the reason behind your recruitment. You are an agent, yes, but only in name. You are our muscle, cannon fodder, a blunt instrument to be wielded at the will of your superiors.” Buzzard stopped less than two feet away from Steelbeak, unconcerned by the way the rooster loomed over him, trembling with rage down to his stupid, fancy designer shoes.

“You, Steelbeak, are here to follow orders, not issue them. And if you can’t do that then I’ll just drop you back in the hole where we found you. Is that clear?” 

Buzzard lifted the remote. Before he could stop himself, the small, weak part of Steelbeak that feared pain, the part he thought he’d killed years ago, took a step back. His flinch did not go unnoticed.

 The slow smile that spread across the old vulture’s weathered face made Steelbeak’s stomach turn like someone stuck a shiv into his guts and twisted. But despite his posturing, all Buzzard did was deactivate the lock on his beak.

“Now, I believe you have a job to get back to.” 

.

Some nights, Fethry dreamt of the ocean. 

He would remember lapping waves on a cold, gray shore, the cling and give of wet sand beneath his feet. The only source of warmth were his parents’ hands wrapped around his own, his mother on one side and his father on the other, giants to his mind. They led him forward, swinging his arms between them, but whenever he tried to crane his head back to see their faces, all he saw was gray sky. 

He dreamt of an unending horizon, a world of undulating blue no matter which way he turned. He felt a refreshing, salty breeze ruffle his feathers, tempering the heat of a midday sun, his legs swinging over the balcony of the lab pod as he spoke to the crudely drawn face of Arturo in the golden sunshine. 

 He dreamt of sinking into a void, alone and utterly blind save for the ribbon-like phosphorescence of the creatures he studied and named. But they were all of them silent and his own voice stunted, his throat filling with water whenever he tried to open his mouth. 

Fethry sometimes woke up from these dreams unable to rise from the tangled sheets of his bed, weighed down by every ounce, every mile and grain of salt he had lived under those four years. 

When he did manage to sit up, flexing his cold fingers to try and regain feeling, he would look out the window to ground himself. He always slept with the curtains wide open for this reason—to see the sky and the flash of passing cars and the individual beacons of streetlights in the dark. To remind himself that he wasn’t in the lab anymore, miles of ocean poised over his head to crush him. 

Returning to Duckburg was a challenge.  

Seeing his family again was part of that, even if having Della back was the best surprise he didn’t know he could ask for. 

Having all his cousins in one place, at least until an errant breeze swept Gladstone away to his next all-expenses-paid vacation or a new adventure caught Della’s eye or Donald got too annoyed with him, reminded him of the summers they spent together at Grandma Duck’s farm, balmy days in the orchard and cozy nights around the fireplace. He hadn’t been to the farmhouse in almost ten years, not since Grandma passed. Cousin Gus was running it now. Visiting always seemed moot if he was doing it alone. 

And anyway, he was eager to reconnect with Huey and Dewey, to see Louie again for the first time since he was a toddler and meet Webby (he still wasn’t sure where she’d come from but he was more than happy to have a new niece). 

But the world was bigger and louder than he remembered, and after the chaos of the Moonvasion it was difficult to leave his dingy Hookbill Harbor motel for anything other than visiting Mitzy, who had made a home for herself in Duckburg Bay. The sound of waves knocking against the wooden pilings of the docks, that ageless rhythm, salt air and seabirds calling, were more familiar to him than honking cars or what felt like a hundred different voices speaking at once everywhere he went. 

But Fethry was in no hurry to become a recluse (again), accidentally or otherwise, so he allowed Huey to cajole him into visiting Uncle Scrooge’s laboratory under the Money Bin. The lab hadn’t changed much since the last time he stopped by, almost five years ago now, the first and last time he’d asked Mr. McDuck (not Uncle Scrooge) for a job. 

The McDuck Sublab of the Future had already been a few decades old by then, but it was well-maintained, with crews rotating out every six months. Fethry had asked if there were any openings left, anything at all, he’d even be a janitor if that’s what it took to see the ocean in a way he never had before. Mr. McDuck, hardly glancing up from the tower of expense reports on his desk, summoned a secretary who led Fethry down to Gearloose Labs, where Dr. Gearloose pointed him toward a stack of waivers to sign and informed him of the 4 a.m. departure that following morning. 

Fethry thought he’d be gone for six months. 

It was going to be an educational getaway, a tantalizing excuse to indulge in what’s been his special interest for as long as he could remember. Since he was ten and first watched a humpback whale breach in a spray of water and rainbow fractals, pet the silky back of a netted stingray, and picked at barnacles latched to the side of the boat during the few fishing trips Abner took him on before their parents died and he lost any incentive to be a big brother or socialize with people at all. 

But six months turned into a year. The old crew, real scientists, explorers, and engineers, left but no one came to replace them. Budget cuts, said the pilot who continued to deliver food and supplies every 3 months but never stayed long enough to share a cup of tea or a game of checkers. “Old McMoneybags is downsizing, they say.”

And so one year became two. 

But Fethry couldn’t leave; he wouldn’t abandon his team, not like they’d abandoned him (so what if his new team was made up of krill!). If he left, who would keep the sublab running? The giant sea worms in the Tully Observatory would starve, not to mention all the carefully caught specimens in the lab rooms. Besides, Uncle Scrooge would check in sooner or later. Fethry would let him know that the McDuck Sublab of the Future was in dire straits and he would send someone to help Fethry keep it all afloat. 

But two years became three. 

Then four. 

In the present, Dr. Gearloose looked up from his tablet at the sound of the elevator doors opening, and before Huey could launch into what surely would’ve been a lovely pre-prepared speech, he blanched and pointed at Fethry with all the vitriol a prosecutor would give the accused. 

“ You. What are you doing here again?”

Fethry couldn’t help laughing, just a little. It had to have been almost five years since he saw the guy, and Dr. Gearloose was acting like it was just yesterday that Fethry last stepped through these doors, tripped, and knocked over a glass canister of metal-eating mites that ate through the wire frame of Dr. Gearloose’s glasses while they were sitting on his face. 

“Good to see you again, Dr. Gearloose.” Fethry shook the hand that the scientist was still pointing at him with. 

“You know Dr. Gearloose?” Luckily, Huey seemed more surprised than disappointed by the interruption. And maybe a little uneasy. Dr. Gearloose’s temper was infamous, after all, and Fethry didn’t exactly come across as a pillar of strength to most people. 

“Oh, we go way back, Hue.”

Seeing that his glare was having no effect on Fethry, Dr. Gearloose pinned it on Huey instead. “Intern! What is the meaning of this? You know only scientists are allowed in the lab during business hours.”

“But-but Boyd’s here!”

“Boyd’s a creation of science, he doesn’t count. Duh.”

Huey’s little friend waved from the ceiling, where he was sitting among the support beams—just hanging out, it looked like. “Hi, Huey! Hi, Mr. Fethry!”

Fethry waved back. “Hey there, kiddo. Am I gonna see you at the troop meeting this Saturday?”

Huey got excited enough to withstand the force of Dr. Gearloose’s glare too. “Boyd you have to go! Uncle Fethry told me there’ll be a new knot-tying lesson.”

One of the ways Fethry decided to reenter society was by rejoining the Junior Woodchucks. While his study of the JWG hadn’t lapsed, his tenure as a troop leader certainly had. With Launchpad’s help he was able to renew his membership and get back into nature. 

Four years living under the sea had turned the smell of dirt and the play of sunlight through the trees into alien things, and he was an eager explorer all over again, rediscovering a land he thought he’d forgotten. He barely slept a wink the first night he went camping, kept awake by the sound of the wind through the trees, nocturnal friends rustling in the undergrowth, other campers turning in their tents. 

He hadn’t been alone in the sublab, not in the technical sense, but the ocean was silent for someone who wasn’t born to hear its songs. On the surface everything spoke, everything called up to the top of the sky in a voice all their own, “I’m here!” 

It was a language Fethry had all but forgotten, but he was relearning it now. 

When he joined Launchpad as a troop leader, that put him in charge of Huey’s troop. After initially fearing that Huey would request a transfer to a different troop altogether (he was used to family members being embarrassed by him, not that it hurt any less), it turned into the best thing that could’ve happened for them. They’d gotten off to a bit of a rocky start back at the sublab, and it was nice to have a common interest to build off of as they got to know each other better. Fethry stopped thinking of the kids as Little Donalds and they started calling him ‘Uncle.’ 

It was a relief to find out that Huey had a friend (a best friend) who operated on a similar wavelength as him. Fethry knew what it was to be alone among peers—even the Junior Woodchucks weren’t perfect—and Boyd was just what Huey needed to get out of his shell. 

Fethry didn’t stop his nephew from running to join Boyd, the little robot boy jetting down to pick up Huey and carry him up to the rafters so they could continue their conversation. He and Fethry could pick up their tour once he was done. 

When Dr. Gearloose got tired of yelling and nobody listening, he stalked away. As little as he might want Fethry there, he probably (just barely) stopped himself from having him bodily tossed out because of his connection to Scrooge, tenuous as it was. It was a courtesy he doubtlessly wouldn’t have extended to anyone else.

Fethry wondered if he should feel grateful or not. Being associated with Scrooge McDuck wasn’t always a good thing. 

“Doctor-Intern,” Dr. Gearloose barked as he climbed a set of steps and disappeared further into the lab. “Deal with this idiotic interloper.”

The scientist that scrambled out from a bathroom-turned-office was much more Fethry’s speed. Messy-haired, short, and harried, the brown-feathered duck shot him a smile that was only a little tight at the edges. 

“Hey! Hi! Sorry about Dr. Gearloose. How can I help you, Mr…?”

Fethry took the offered hand much more happily than Dr. Gearloose’s accusatory one. “Oh, I’m no mister! Just Fethry. Fethry Duck. And you must be Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera, Huey’s mentor! He talks about you all the time.”

Often in the same breath as Gizmoduck but Fethry felt that wasn’t his secret to share.

Some of the tension left Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera’s face as he chuckled, taking his hand back to sweep it boyishly through his hair, only messing it up more. “Oh, well um, I’m honored! Huey’s a great kid. And it’s just Fenton, Mr…Duck…”

A familiar prickling sort of dread settled coldly over Fethry as he watched realization dawn on Fenton, his expression shuttering like smoke rising to block out the sun. 

Fenton glanced over at Huey and then back to Fethry, maybe taking in their similar red hats, or the fact that they arrived together. Maybe he heard Fethry being called ‘uncle,’ a blessing that was sometimes curse now. Getting recognized hadn’t been a problem in years past, when he lived outside of Duckburg. There were a thousand Ducks in Calisota after all, nevermind the world. But with one of the triplets in tow, it was too big of a coincidence for anyone to miss here. 

“You’re one of Mr. McDuck’s nephews?” Fenton blinked, looking him up and down. He probably wasn’t doing it to be mean. When someone heard the name ‘McDuck’ in association with you, they usually expected someone glamorous like Gladstone or and tough and no-nonsense like Donald. 

By contrast, Fethry knew he was a little more hardscrabble and goofy, and that was a nice way of putting it. Not exactly “nephew of the richest duck in the world” material. 

But Fethry still smiled and gave his now-typical answer, because Fenton was cute and he’d been nice so far. “Only through marriage, but yes!” He’d never claim to be something he wasn’t, and Donald had ownership of the McDuck name in a way Fethry never would. 

“Huh. I hadn’t heard of you.” Fenton seemed to remember himself, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous little smile. “Not to be rude or anything! I’m still not sure how this family works.”

Behind him, Fethry saw Boyd fly Huey back down to solid ground. Ah. He must be ready to continue the tour.

“You and me both!” Fethry nudged Fenton with a wink, moving around him to meet Huey halfway. 

Fenton followed, surprising him. “So, what do you do, F-Fethry?”

“He’s a marine biologist!” Huey had joined them, grinning proudly and his tone, while upbeat, brooked no argument. 

Fethry’s heart skipped a beat, touched by the support of a family member who’d once had so little faith in him. He wouldn’t soon forget Huey’s horror just a few months ago when he learned Fethry wasn’t a “real” scientist. The turnaround was almost overwhelming. Still, he decided to be honest. 

“ Amateur marine biologist.” 

Huey sent him a look, like he knew what Fethry was trying to do. “He’s taking care of the kaiju-sized krill in the bay,” he bragged, not one to be outdone. 

Fenton’s thick eyebrows almost flew off his face. “What—that sea monster?”

Fethry gave in with a laugh. “That’s Mitzy!” He tugged Huey into a little sideways hug as both an apology and thank you. He wasn’t used to anyone defending him, much less family. 

“In that case, what’re you doing here?” Fenton tugged nervously on his tie. “You’re not, ah, you’re not here looking for a job, are you?”

The thought of walking up to Dr. Gearloose and asking for a job was hilarious. But the thought of going to Uncle Scrooge again and asking for a job was more nerve-wracking than anything his new employers at F.L.O.W might have in store for him. 

Fethry reassured Fenton with a grin and a wave of his hand. “Oh, no thanks. I already have a job with a research lab nearby. Now, I believe Huey was going to treat me to a tour! Would you care to join us?”

.

 The McDuck Sublab of the Future had been a relic of the past. Years of only his inexpert maintenance kept everything running: solar panels, life support, the aquavator. The electricity was buggy, there were hull breaches, and the hydrothermal vents grew in intensity every year, undoing what few repairs he was able to make. 

But the sublab did its best to warn him of hidden dangers, creaking and groaning its displeasure in the darkness. He learned the difference between the sounds of the hull settling and an imminent hull breach and had the timing of the vent eruptions down to a science, at least until they mutated past his understanding and demolished the sublab in the end. 

Working for F.L.O.W was like learning a new language. He wasn’t familiar with the rules or the dangers at first, couched as they were in social interaction and plain obfustication, which he’d had little practice with in his last four isolated years. 

He wasn’t a spy like Mrs. Beakley. He wasn’t rich, or lucky, or a pilot. He wasn’t even an adventurer, really, just someone who got caught up in the periphery of them. He made up songs for his krill for Pete’s sake! 

But he was patient. He listened. He watched. He learned. Especially when nobody expected him to. 

F.L.O.W wasn’t what they seemed. Fethry wasn’t sure what they were but the Federation of Leading Ocean Wayfarers they were not. 

His recruiter, a bubbly red headed duck named Pepper, disappeared after his first day and no one would tell him where she went. He was the only scientist on staff half the time, or so it seemed until Dr. Heron apparently got tired of him cluttering up the corner of her lab and had him moved to his own space, where he worked alone all hours of the day (and sometimes night). So much of F.L.O.W headquarters was off limits to him, and what he did have access to already looked like a monotone cross between the hallways of a Star Destroyer straight out of Galaxy Wars  and an office from the ‘60s. 

Fethry wondered what would happen if he tried to leave. He hadn’t made plans or anything—hadn’t thought much about it, really—but there was an air of menace permeating this underground facility that he couldn’t ignore. 

It was more than the clicking claws of Dr. Heron’s prosthesis, or the way she eyed him like a stain on the bottom of her platform boots. More than the faceless security guards that patrolled the drab hallways (Eggheads, he heard whispered around corners that were empty when he rounded them). 

More than anything, it was the way Steelbeak, handsome and proud and utterly incongruous, wouldn’t look Fethry in the eye when he lied. That, more than anything, warned him against trusting F.L.O.W. After all, the only thing blind trust ever got him was four years at the bottom of the ocean. 

And maybe it went against his better judgment, but he did trust Steelbeak. 

Though it had been a few weeks now since Fethry last saw his friend (ex-friend?). Two weeks, six days, and fifteen hours to be exact, but then he was used to counting his lonely days, used to people abandoning him.

Fethry’d never had much of a mind for romance. The back-and-forth dance of flirting eluded him and kissing and…other stuff hadn’t held much appeal. He knew he talked too much about things most people probably didn’t care about, he was spacey, and boring. No one had ever shown an interest in him and he’d never shown an interest in anyone, so he figured that was that. He had his team and he had Mitzy (and now Huey and the Woodchucks), and that would have to be enough. 

But then Steelbeak, with his sharp face and sharp voice and sharp suit, listened to him ramble and didn’t leave (not at first). 

Steelbeak, with his nice shoulders and his tallness, which Fethry hadn’t thought he cared about until now, who laughed at Fethry’s fish puns once he explained the joke, and what an incredible laugh it was—nasal and ridiculous and genuine, it flustered Fethry every time he heard it. It was almost a foreign concept, laughing with someone instead of being laughed at .  

In the amphitheater, over a month ago now, Steelbeak had saved him from a painful fall. Fethry still thought about that moment, dreamt about it even—a handful of seconds stretching into eternity. Steelbeak’s grip around his wrist, his hand so big it swallowed his wrist entirely. Their bodies flush, sharing breath, sharing warmth. Steelbeak’s expression, made fearsome by the gunmetal gleam of his beak, softened in his surprise. 

Fethry wasn’t completely clueless, despite all evidence to the contrary. Studying creatures of the deep was his life's work. And that included the deadly ones. So Fethry knew what a predator looked like. He knew how predators hunted, how they moved through their environment. Some were subtle and unassuming, like the man-of-war. Others were obvious in their intent; the barracuda was sharp and sleek, all streamlined silver, with a grimace of jagged teeth ready to snap a fish in half. 

Even though he’d grown up on the periphery of great adventures, Fethry still learned a thing or two from them. He learned about spies and assassins and pirates and what have you, nevermind that he rarely encountered them. He learned about the dangers of the world that went beyond the everyday.

He knew, for all intents and purposes, that Steelbeak was the barracuda. 

He’d been to prison. His prosthetic beak was more intimidating than practical. He carried himself with the casual, loping grace of a trained fighter and his hands bore the calluses and scars of years of broken and poorly healed skin. 

Maybe all of that meant Fethry was supposed to be afraid of him. Donald would certainly think so, and before the sublab there was a time that Fethry would’ve done anything to get his favorite cousin’s approval. But Fethry had seen worse than a big bruiser with a bad attitude. Silence was scary. Darkness was scary. 

Steelbeak, who stuttered when Fethry complimented him, was not. 

Steelbeak, who stalked through F.L.O.W like there was a target on his back, like he’d been given a stay of execution but he didn’t know for how long, was not who Fethry should be scared of. Even when he yelled and sneered, threw Fethry’s friendship back in his face like a rotting fish. He wasn’t afraid. Just worried. And sad. 

Then something happened one day that had never happened before. 

A strange alarm went off while he was in the middle of listening to the three heartbeats of Octavio, his giant Pacific octopus. A pair of Eggheads ran into his lab, told him there was an emergency and that he had to stay inside. That was the last thing they said before stationing themselves by the door, motionless as statues and just as blank faced. They ignored everything he said, whether it was a joke to cut the tension or a question about what was going on.

Fethry wasn’t sure if they were meant to keep danger out or keep him in. He decided not to find out.

The lockdown only lasted about an hour. 

The Eggheads didn’t say anything to let him know it had been lifted—they must’ve had radios built into those helmets of theirs because, without warning, they turned in unison and marched out the door. 

“Is everything okay?” Fethry called as they closed the door behind them, not expecting an answer. 

He also didn’t expect to hear an almighty crash outside his lab, and the thud of a body hitting the ground. 

He rushed to the door but only opened it a crack. What if the emergency was still going on and that’s why the Eggheads had left so quickly? There could be something dangerous on the other side.

The first thing Fethry saw was one of the Eggheads on the floor, groaning but alive. The other Egghead, a brawny seagull, was pinned to the wall with an arm across his throat by a furious Steelbeak. 

His chest heaved with every breath, and he looked angrier than Fethry had ever seen him. He looked apoplectic. He looked hurt . 

His feathers and carefully pressed suit were singed and blackened at the edges, and his knuckles were red from small, bleeding wounds. The front of his suit was smeared with blood, like he’d tried to wipe his hands off on it. The contrast was jarring against his black and white ensemble. 

“Steelbeak!” Fethry threw the door open the rest of the way before darting out into the hall. “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

For a painfully long moment, Steelbeak wouldn’t look at him. He stared straight at the Egghead, his wide eyes seeing nothing, and his heavy breathing veering worryingly close to hyperventilating. He pressed harder against the Egghead’s throat and the seagull choked. 

“Steelbeak.” Fethry reached out, wrapping his hand around the wrist hanging tense and tight-fisted at his side. 

Steelbeak recoiled. He dropped the Egghead, who fell to the floor with a wheeze, and ripped his arm out of Fethry’s grasp. But at least he was looking at him now, eyes bloodshot and arms shaking with tension. 

Fethry took a step back, raising his hands in front of him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” He spoke softly, but calm, not wanting Steelbeak to feel patronized. Blood rushed through his ears but he ignored it. “Are you–are you okay? Your face—y-your hands. I have a first-aid kit in my lab—”

“What’re you doing,” Steelbeak bit out. 

Fethry’s mind blanked. “Uh…I don’t…I just wanted to—”

“What.” Steelbeak took a step forward. “Do you think.” Then another. “You’re doing?” He loomed over Fethry, crossing well into his personal space. At his sides, his fists shook and this close the burns and bruises on his face were thrown into sharp relief. Their beaks were only a few inches apart, and Fethry found he’d never wanted to kiss someone more than he did in that moment. 

Steelbeak wasn’t the barracuda right now; he was the tarpon, the fighting fish, swimming straight at its prey and daring it to move out of the way first. But Fethry wasn’t afraid, even if maybe he should be. There was something in Steelbeak’s eyes, some emotion he couldn’t place, that seemed on the verge of shattering. 

Fethry leaned back to look him in the eye. “Nothing,” he replied honestly. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Steelbeak flinched as though Fethry had struck him. He backed away so fast he almost tripped on the Egghead he’d dropped, and his fearsome face was knit with confusion and pain. 

“If I’m–why do you even care? After what I–”

Steelbeak slammed his beak shut tighter than an oyster, looking a little horrified with himself. He whirled to face the two Eggheads he’d choked and thrown respectively, and growled, “You didn’t see or hear nothin,’ am I clear?”

They nodded furiously. “Yes, sir. I-I mean no, sir.”

When Steelbeak turned back around he didn’t look at Fethry, gaze stubbornly fixed on some distant point down the hallway. 

Fethry tried to reach for him as he passed, but Steelbeak gave him a wide berth, shoulders hunched and a hunted look in his eyes. 

He dropped his hand, watching Steelbeak’s back until he disappeared around the next corner. The Eggheads rushed off too, ignoring Fethry again as he called after them, desperate for answers. Within seconds he was left alone in the hall, gray walls like prison bars around him and silence ringing in their wake. 

Fethry let out a very Donald-like huff. “Enough is enough,” he said determinedly to no one but himself. 

He refused to let himself be trapped again.

[creatively-cosmic]

introducing an mn character based on pre-existing pokepastas or media that are widely known and blorbofied feels like those corny old movie trailers where its like "THEY'RE BACK... IN A WAY YOU'VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE!" for how Far they get from the fandom version

[obseletrix]

osamu mikumo: World's Squishiest Wizard

[floorpancakes]

i think constantly about what doumekis inner monologue would be like cause its like the one thing we DONT know other than when he's clearly saying exactly what he's thinking. most importantly i kind of want to know HOW he self narrates when he's in freak mode cause we have seen his visual pov but never directly inside his head and id pay every organ in my body to see that. actually i don't need to do that i can just think about it myself. but like. sometimes it slightly changes depending on the day itd be nice to get a clearer mental image of how exactly he freaks the fuck out

[padfootastic]

I understand being critical of remus but there's a real lack of understanding for his lycanthropy that comes as a reason for it on your blog. Kind of weird considering it's often depicted as an allegory for disability and the discrimination that comes with it

i mean,,,,that’s fair i guess? but i’m also gonna have to disagree for a bit there.

i don’t really touch the allegory part of it for…reasons but i’m gonna argue that i’ve never undermined it either. i do not like remus, but most of that is kept in dms and rant channels. what u guys see here is a very sanitised, nUaNcEd version of it. most of what i criticise him for is very like. individual choices he makes.

and ofc i realise that personal actions don’t exist in a vacuum, that those are informed by the structural conditions around him, but at most they can explain what he did, not justify it, yeah?

there’s hundreds of blogs out there that are real sympathetic to remus for precisely this reason. the entire reason i even started being critical was because THAT entirely ignored the fact that his behaviour had consequences for others. perhaps i swung too hard towards the other side but i think i keep it remarkably even here, on my blog at least, considering how much i actually dislike him lol

[doomxdriven]

[shadow-pixelle]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: Make a new post and post the latest line in your WIP & tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

I got tagged by @shootingstarpilot for this, which is very neat. Never actually done one of these before properly, so I'mma share two different last sections; some from my current in-progress Big Fic, and then some from the last thing I actually wrote.

(Under a cut because two snippets is gonna be long.)

So first off, the last thing I actually wrote;

'“Jesus.” Tim muttered. “I sort of wish I hadn’t asked, now.”

Phantom flushed, going slightly green. “Sorry.”

“Hey, better to know than not, isn’t it? If there’s a chance of running into stuff like this?”

“I- well, yes, but it’s not your job to deal with them.”

“Yeah, well, the magic users in the League aren’t always gonna be around, and even if it’s your job to come grab them, they might still need delaying or whatever.” Tim shrugged. “So I’d rather know.”

“That’s fair.” Phantom admitted, shifting to lean back in his seat. “So. Anything else you want to know?”'

I'm not 100% sure what's going to happen to this, admittedly, but this is the end result of my attentive deficit muse getting into two new-old fandoms recently so there we go. It's DC/Danny Phantom.

Anyway, second off, the last little bit of my current main project, which has been going on-and-off for a while;

'

“Huh.” Fox says, after a few attempts that die before he manages to get a word out. “Ok. Right. Ghost let me go so I can go hug my vod, please.”

Ghost does not let Fox go, and instead after a moment the entire mass of darkness lifts up into the air and floats over the group to place Fox down next to Ponds. Then it vanishes, and Fox promptly grabs on to him while the rest of the batch crowd around.'

This one's a crossover too, the end result of me just deciding that Weird Eldritch Things Are Neat, Actually and starting writing without thinking. It's now 15 chapters and like, 60k words, not quite done, but also hit a roadblock recently in the form of the aforementioned 'falling into new-old fandoms again' thing. It's Star Wars/Hollow Knight.

checks my people list uuuuuh right I don't have many people to tag really... @kalicofox is my main writing buddy, so here you go, and then I guess anyone else who sees this and feels like doing it can go ahead as well? No pressure, of course, there's a lot going on.

[ahalliance]

me googling whether time lords are face blind to check if that’s a hc or actual canon fact

[dropespeon]

something that fascinates me is the different sorts of aus different fandoms are drawn to. like i see a lot of canon divergent aus for isat, but then with other things like orv it's mostly different settings (classic fantasy aus and such). and then there's whatever the bnha fandom has going on where they just make the protagonist a completely new character

[bonebrokebuddy]

Semi based on their canon music taste or what I think their music taste should be and trying to be dutiful to keeping a general similar tone to the playlist. That and what lyrics fit them.

also feel free to drop your character playlists here for show & tell

[tigressaofkanjis]

My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...

What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.

Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.

They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?

Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).

So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?

Thank you for reading my TED Talk.

[gumbootillustrations]

divine warriors loredump!

so yeah, the divine warriors! admittedly, i'm fascinated by them - i rlly rlly wish that we'd gotten to see more of them + their powers/domains/abilities in mcd, especially considering that they're a driving force behind the plot. so, i've gone ahead and done some redesigns for the sigils (above) and expanded on the domains and abilities of the divine warriors within the context of ashes, ashes.

more under the cut!

irene retains her matron title. for her domains, i rlly wanted to lean into her being a deity of life and family; as such, her official domains are  life, light, healing, childbirth and parenthood, fertility, marriage, tradition, beauty, and romantic/familial/platonic love. menphia also has domains over aspects of love (namely over sexual/carnal/manic love), but i wanted them to sort of have an aphrodite ourania (irene) and aphrodite pandemos (menphia) sort of vibe. in terms of the abilites that her relic gives its wielders, its a lot of what's seen in canon mcd: lots of healing and light abilities, but also some dimensional manipulation and time manipulation stuff thrown in there for the shits and giggles.

for shad, i rlly wanted to play into him being both a mirror and a foil for irene. where irene creates, he destroys; where irene brings life, he brings death. his official domains are that of death, darkness, chaos, the afterlife, change, rot and decay, the Nether, bloodshed, and madness. although he's also a war deity like menphia (and, to an extent, esmund and xavier), he's mostly associated with the worst bits of battle - the blood, the rot, the awful awful deaths, that sort of thing. his relic grants its wielders a lot of destruction-associated powers like disintegration and rot/plague/death stuff, but also some shadow and blood manipulation as well.

like a lot of other folks, i felt like enki was the best fit for a knowledge deity. he looks after scholars, librarians, witches, and inventors; officially, his domains are those of knowledge, air, magick, prophecy, the weather, winter, reason, and lightning. from here, you'll start to see pretty much all the warriors having some sort of like. elemental association? is the best way i can put it. i've sort of based it off of the minor arcana of the tarot; the suit of swords, which is associated with air, is the suit of knowledge and the mental realm, which i thought was fitting for enki. enki is also one of the four seasonal divine warriors (the others being esmund, menphia, and kul'zak); he gets winter, mostly because of his centre of worship being in gal'ruk. wielders of his relic get air and weather manipulation powers, as well as powers related to memory and access to witchcraft (if they aren't witches already). they also gain clairvoyance.

esmund! again with the tarot symbolism; esmund is associated with the element of earth and the physical world, hence the mountain in his sigil. his domains are those of protection, earth, wealth, autumn, boundaries, earthquakes, guardhood, and the harvest. the domain over the harvest might seem a little left field but it makes sense i promise! i sort of saw esmund's association with the harvest not only being because of him being an earth deity, but also because i feel like being able to provide is a form of protection, and given the setting of mcd, i feel like being able to provide a good harvest is a part of that. this is also why he is associated with autumn. regarding the abilities that his relic provides, there's a lot of earth manipulation and barrier/force field creation stuff in there; his relic wielders are also freakishly stronger and more durable than those who wield other relics, sort of playing into esmund himself being a tank.

i changed menphia's title to 'the conqueror' because i thought it'd be a bit more fitting for her, especially considering how i'm working tu'la in ashes, ashes (more on that later). i also changed her colour scheme to more of a blue/copper theme despite her being a fire goddess - i thought it was neat, considering that blue flames are those that burn the hottest. her domains are those of warfare (the glorious bits), fire, soldiers, political power, summer, passion and courage, festivals and celebrations, and sexual/carnal/manic love. i'm still not suuuper sure on the abilities that her relic gives its wielders, but there's definitely some pyrokinesis and emotion/heat manipulation, along with some combat-specific foresight in there. i'm open to suggestions!

nothing much really changes regarding kul'zak. he's a nature deity and watches over journeymen and particularly sailors, given that he's a water/ocean deity; he's often worshipped by pirates. officially, his domains are travellers, water, animals, the wilderness, the cardinal directions and navigation, hunting, and spring. i really wanted to lean into him being a man of the wilderness and not really having a home in urban environments. as such, his relic grants its wielders a lot of wilderness-based abilities, like shapeshifting, water and plant manipulation, and camouflage, with a bit of teleportation in there for all your wandering needs.

xavier is probably the divine warrior that i've changed the most. first off, he becomes a divine warrior in ashes, ashes where he isn't in canon mcd. i also really wanted to lean into him being the founder of the jury of nine, hence his title - the justiciar. he's associated with the domains of guardhood (along with esmund), loyalty, metal and metalworkers, justice, balance and order, peace, brotherhood, devotion, and artisans. where esmund looks after the more physical side of being a guard (being your lord's shield and spear, aka the protection side of things), xavier looks after the more emotional side of being a guard - the devotion to your lord and the comradery that you share with your fellows. his relic's abilities capitalise on that, with its wielders being able to both amplify and nullify the magick of the people they're fighting alongside/against. there's also a bit of metal manipulation and a lot of supportive magick in there too.

and, as a fun little tidbit - a lineup of the divine warriors! (the layout is inspired by @star-boi0720 - the way you lay out your drawings like this is mint as 🤩)

i'm still not suuuper happy w kul'zak or irene's designs but i'll get there in the end i guess :)

[picturejasper20]

Okay, this is something that i have avoided talking for a while but i feel like i'm going to have to address it because it is getting on my nerves: There is a recent trend i have noticed lately of younger-new people joining the Danny Phantom fandom and just... shitting on the fandom and fanon as a whole, like talking about how much fanon lore sucks and its terrible and yada yada

And it is genuinely starting me to make me feel angry because it feels disrespectful to an extent

The reason of why the Danny Phantom fandom is big and has been going for so long is because of fanon, because the series has many interesting ideas or concepts that were never properly developed in canon or were dropped in the same episode they got introduced. So the fans took those ideas and decided to do something bigger with it, expanding on them.

Around 90% of Danny Phantom fandom comes from this stuff, from how the fandom tries exploring these concepts and do something more with them.

It goes to the point that i had to leave one group of over 50+ people because i noticed how much some of these younger fans were shitting on fanon and the fandom. You know, something that was build by older fans over the course of around 15 years?

And i'm not saying the fandom is perfect because i have problems with it myself- but if you are going to participate in a fandom that mostly works around fanon concepts and fanworks and then constanly insult said fans and fanon... then what are you doing?

Why do you join this fandom for if you are going to go around insulting other fans and people like this?

I want respect other people's opinions but this for me is less about people having different opinions and more coming off as rude and insulting to other fans. This is like if i was invited to a friends' house, started insulting their family members, breaking their furniture and took a shit on the carpet. Not the best analogy but you see where i'm getting at.

It reaches to a point that these fans aren't longer just having a different opinions but it feels like they are disrespecting certain fandom etiquette along with being rude on the way.

And that bothers me.

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendations: Writers

I thought of making this kind of list for a while now, since in my notes I save writers when I like most/all their fics (instead of saving each work individually)

This list is going to be very long, I'm gonna try to add to each writer a little description of the type of work they usually write.

Should leave this as a disclaimer for all my fic rec posts, but always look at the tags and CW on each fic before reading!

As always, if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[This list will include both SFW and NSFW writers, since a lot of them do both]

thirteenbullets - Writer of Anytime You Need Me, basically the ultimate hurt/comfort series. [fun fact, part 6 was the first fic I read in this fandom, and I partially blame how good it was for how fast I got obsessed with cod lol]

mothbeast - Writer of Pattern Breaker, one of the more well known fics for ghostsoap (for a good reason!). Love their other fics as well [some are NSFW]

glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Non AU fics, where they put ghost and soap and various situations for angst! [some NSFW]

Red_Clegane - non AU and AU fics, some of the best non-military AUs I've read. All of their fics share a similar taste, but they're all equally good, so if you like that style you'll enjoy most of them [some NSFW]

sauceboss_yahoo - AUs with supernatural elements, and non-military AUs. Some a/b/o if that's your style [which obviously means there's some NSFW]

yourvaliants - AO3 account of valiants on Tumblr, I'll expand more when I get to Tumblr users, but this is just their place to post NSFW comics since Tumblr doesn't allow that.

wayfaredsoldier - non-military AUs, AUs with supernatural elements, and in canon universe [some NSFW]

MildLimerence - If you want smut with good plot, this is the writer for you haha. They have several soulmate AUs and fantasy/supernatural AUs, as well as canon universe [mostly NSFW]

Arodana - supernatural AUs and non-military AUs, very enjoyable long works [some NSFW]

crown_twist - a mix of NSFW and hurt/comfort oneshots, if you're in the mood for something short and good this is the writer for you [some NSFW]

ElizaStyx - mostly oneshots for a variety of pairings, a mix of NSFW and fluff [some NSFW]

Sillililli - Canon and non-military AUs, with just a pinch of NSFW [little NSFW]

Louffox - Canon and non-military AUs, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. A few longer works and a good amount of oneshots [some NSFW]

kcisbroken [previously artbykc0001] - Historical AUs, sometimes MCD, some non AU oneshots and NSFW [some NSFW]

Hochseeperle - non AUs, angst and hurt/comfort, with NSFW [some NSFW]

eggtimelads - Supernatural AUs, non AUs, oneshots that literally changed my brain chemistry (not clickbait) [some NSFW]

blackbird_flyaway - supernatural and non AUs, recently started a zombie AU (that I just discovered and go read it after finishing this lmao) [Some NSFW]

TheLastTheosaurus - hurt/comfort oneshots. Good ol' reliable [no NSFW]

Nuria123 - absolutely amazing non AU, non-military AUs, and fics so emotional they made me full on sob. A mix of oneshots and longer works [some NSFW]

AvaLoren - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fantasy, and medieval AUs, mostly oneshots with some longer fics [some NSFW]

WhisperedWords12 - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fun shifter AU, many oneshots that are mostly NSFW [a lot of NSFW]

Wheezing_Joe - non AU, oneshots with some onehsot series, hurt/comfort and angst galore. Very nice stuff [no NSFW]

coderaven - non-military AUs and non AUs, emotional hurt/comfort, a little supernatural AUs [some NSFW]

oh_ellie - non AUs, hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of smut [mostly NSFW]

headlocket - author of all that's said in the low light. I don't need to say anything else, if you didn't read it yet, you really REALLY should! [little NSFW]

Grangers_apprentice - [note: majority of works locked for users with no AO3 accounts] non-AU, supernatural AUs, some oneshots and some longer works with series. A bit of a/b/o if that's your style [some NSFW]

DarkMoonMaiden - non AU, hurt/comfort and smut. Mostly oneshot, some series [mostly NSFW]

merikai - non AU and non-military AUs, hurt/comfort and angst oneshots [no NSFW]

simcoehole - supernatural but military and non AUs, mostly smut [mostly NSFW]

Epifauna - non AU oneshots, a lot of fluff with some angst [little NSFW]

prettyunhinged - non AU oneshots (some as long as multi chapter works though), angst, fluff and smut [some NSFW]

oshikiri_toru - non-military and non AUs, with some supernatural elements. Very long oneshots with angst and smut. Very underrated writer imo! [some NSFW]

xEclipse - non AU, fluff and smut oneshots that can get very sweet [some NSFW]

unravelledorfrayed - non AU, misunderstanding hurt/comfort (the good kind) [no NSFW]

lkst - very unique AUs, as well as non AUs. A bit of smut and a lot of angst [little NSFW]

now, there are some blogs here that write a lot of little drabbles that are always a treat to read, so I'm also gonna add some of them.

cod-dump - mostly non AU, with the exception of the Teen!Ghost AU.

forestshadow-wolf - AU and non-AU, also has many downloaded fics for you to read (they're a lifesaver when AO3 is down)

valiants - as mentioned above, comic artist and occasional writer, honestly a huge inspiration for me, it terms of storytelling and art style.

ghcstao3 - also has an AO3, wanted to put them here because they post a lot of drabbles here that don't get posted on AO3.

captain-mj - also has an AO3, like ghcst posts a lot of fics here that don't get posted on AO3. Many are NSFW, as a heads-up.

That's all for now, in the future if I make fic recs for longer works, you will probably see some from these writers.

[relaxxattack]

Piggybacking off the last anon, what is it you like about Jane so much? I find my feelings on her kind of mixed but I lean towards positive.

okay i haven’t read act six in probably like 5 years so bear with me here. *cracks knuckles*

jane is sooo so interesting and it’s really a shame people miss like everything fun about her.

pre-scratch she used her detective work to literally succeed at tearing down the crocker cooperation, to the point that HIC has to fucking abandon ship and head into another universe to have another shot at her evil empire. pre-scratch jane is also fucking hilarious! if you didnt enjoy her antics with john as nannasprite you must just have no heart

meanwhile HIC breaches a new universe, and her FIRST fucking order of business is to NEUTRALIZE JANE CROCKER because of how goddamn detrimental she was to HIC’s plans the first time around.

not ONLY does HIC pump subliminal messaging and brainwashing into nearly every aspect of jane’s life, she also tries to straight up mind control her basically whenever possible! she ALSO sends assassination attempts after jane 24/7! (people will seriously try to say that jane lived a safe normal life… as if she wasn’t almost killed by walking into her backyard.) this is because HIC is fucking scared of jane, as she very well should be!

jane is also NOT a boring weepy annoying crybaby like everyone and their mother complains about. jane is literally the most fucking supportive friend and emotion-repressing dumbass you could ever hope to meet. jane combines john’s emotional repression and jade’s intentional cheerfulness together into one of the most fucked up cases of emotional repression in the whole comic

act 6 suffers from a LOT of shitty writing choices, but it’s not jane’s fault the whole act turns into a soap opera— and she’s ALSO not the only one who acts all soap-opera-y either! literally all of the alpha kids suffer from this, people just like jane the least so they project it all onto her. despite the fact that she did her very fucking best to NEVER talk about her feelings, to the point where she ONLY started telling people about shit when she was mind-controlled or took mind altering substances to make her do so! and you can say “ohhh that’s stupid she shouldn’t repress things in the first place how dumb” but, one she’s sixteen, and two, everyone eats that shit up when it comes from like. literally any other character.

people (cough hs2 writers) act like she would actually be “pushy” with a relationship on jake— as if she wasn’t literally the one who helped him make the decision to explore dating dirk?? because she thought it was the right thing to do???

jane is incredibly thoughtful and mature and people really throw all of those traits out of the window with preference for a version of the story where she Comes Inbetween Their Fave Gay Pairing as if she wasn’t, again, the one who got them together. jane is also extremely interesting in terms of queerness; she’s got the makings of a really interesting arc, not to mention she’s the only human girl that dresses mainly masc! there’s a lot there that people just don’t care to explore.

people just have less patience for the prospit kids in general. not to mention homestuck fans love to be misogynistic and berate jane for stuff they love the men doing, or claim she’s coming between them when she’s not, etc etc. and then because no one was writing fun meta posts about her, nobody ever rereads the comic to grab little scenes or lines to expand the online discussion about her! and then because there’s no discussion about her, people assume she’s boring and don’t go looking for bits to start discussing, which cycles on and on forever until we have the ripple effects we see of that misogyny today. which mostly consists of, “oh i hate jane because she was a villain is hs2”, or, “i know hs2 isn’t canon but i still don’t care for jane because she doesn’t do anything that interests me.” (and she’s only not interesting because of the cycle i mentioned before causing NO ONE to have meta discussion about her).

idk, it’s been a while since ive read so i could be talking out my ass but that’s what i’ve got.

TL;DR: jane is fucking COOL, she just suffers from intentional fandom ignorance. and she’s also a canonically hot, fat, masc woman, so i don’t know what else you could possibly want.

[evellynssocbrainrot]

This is mostly to speak in defense of this post made by @starsandscars81

First of all, my intention isn’t to gatekeep anyone else’s take or opinion on this subject matter. If you think differently that’s completely fine. It’s none of my business. 

Anyway, on to the analysis.

Kaz and the Darkling are, without a doubt, two of the most flawed characters in the Grishaverse. They’ve both done bad things and certainly aren’t good people. Even so, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: comparing Kaz to the Darkling is still… extreme. And just not it. By comparison, no matter how much awful stuff Kaz has done, it’s no joke that he is over a million times better than the Darkling. 

The Darkling definitely didn’t start off as an evil character, and all his intentions aren’t horrible either. His main motivation is to help the Grisha, his people who have faced years worth of discrimination. He worked hard and built the second army and the Little Palace, which became a kind of haven for Grisha to come together and exercise their gifts. And coming from someone who dislikes the Darkling, I can tell you now that that is wonderful. I’m glad that he’s doing his best and defending his people. That is great. But even then, you can’t deny that some of the things that the Darkling has done on that path are borderline disgusting. The first being massacring hundreds, if not thousands of innocent people. Even if he’s doing it for the sake of his people, killing so many people who are not at fault is not an act of a selfless hero, but pure villainy and cruelty. And what’s worse is that he did this several times. Not just once, and without second thought. Reminders that these innocent people included harmless children.

The rest of the horrible deeds he’s done all come down to his treatment of Alina Starkov (and a bit of Genya Safin, as well). Whether you like Darklina or not, never forget or sugarcoat the idea that he ABUSED her. He may have loved her, he may have understood her, but he hurt her. Over and over again. He lied to her and hid his true intentions. He placed a collar on her and touched her without consent. He stole her power and claimed her as if she was nothing but an object. He was possessive of her and emotionally tormented her even after she ran away. He killed the only mother figure she had and completely destroyed her childhood home. He was absolutely disgusting. There is nothing at all to forgive and redeem. He was already beyond redemption when he created the Fold. And once again, IT DOESN’T MATTER if he loved her. It doesn’t matter at all when he did nothing but hurt her to such extreme amounts and would have continued to if he ever won, or if Darklina actually became canon. 

And what makes the Darkling even worse is that he doesn’t regret any of it. This is where he truly can be labeled as a heartless and cruel monster. He doesn’t express so much as even a sliver of remorse over his inhuman behavior. He doesn’t feel bad. He doesn’t reflect on it or think about it. In fact, he still believes himself to be in the right. He doesn’t even realize how awful he is. Doesn’t show any sign of improving himself. I mourn the person he could have been. I mourn Aleksander Morozova. But I will never defend the person he is today. I will always believe that the death he was given was far too light and SHOULD have been worse. It’s what he deserves. 

He didn’t start evil, but he became evil. He had hundreds of years to rethink his actions but never did. He wanted to defend his people, but you don’t do that by expanding the Fold and causing further destruction. You don’t do that with pointless mass murder. He loved Alina, but you don’t express that by ruining her life. Once upon a time, he was a young hurt boy, but now he’s nothing but a revolting, monstrous and horrible psychopath.

With that said, now I’ll move on to Kaz.

He is not a good person. I’ll tell you that now. I’m not at all defending the bad things that he’s done. Neither am I ignoring his bad qualities. He is manipulative, cruel, and violent. When he freed Inej from the Menagerie, his intentions weren’t to save her, but to temporarily make use of her skills. I know this, and I’m not dismissing it.

But here are some things that set him apart from the Darkling.

The first being that almost everything Kaz does has reason. There is ALWAYS a reason. His rage is targeted at hyper-specific people. People who deserve it. He killed Oomen, but because he hurt Inej to the point that she nearly died. He dropped a man from a tower, but because that man blackmailed a Zemeni sex worker. He destroyed Van Eck and his empire, but because Van Eck was a bitch. He spent all his life trying to crush Pekka Rollins, and he did, but because Pekka ruined his life. “Kaz Brekker always had his reasons.” The Darkling had no reason to commit mass murder and hurt Alina. 

The second thing is boundaries. The Darkling didn’t have fucking boundaries. Kaz, on the other hand, no matter the amount of violence and destruction he commits, never crosses some lines. He never ever raped or sexually assaulted anyone, he never hurts innocent people, he never hurts children, and never actually spread firepox around the city of Ketterdam. 

The third being awareness. This is a big one. The Darkling, in his path of vengeance, hardly considers his environment, the people around him, who he should get mad at and who he shouldn’t. And even after the horrible deed is done, as I said before, there’s no remorse and regret. For Kaz it’s the opposite. He is hyper aware of where he is. Who he’s with. He’s careful and considerate. And for some of the horrible things he’s done, despite how understandable and trauma-inflicted they are, he regrets them. He feels bad. He knows he’s not a good person. He knows he is awful. He knows he isn’t worthy of Inej. When he was drowning in the waters of Fjerda, it wasn’t himself he was thinking of. It was his crew, Inej. He was worried for them. He blamed himself for the positions they were in and vowed that no matter what, he would save them. He would fix this mess. The same applies in the next book, when they were all trapped in the Geldrenner hotel. It’s himself Kaz blamed, nobody else. 

We don’t even need to tell Kaz that he’s awful. Because he already knows it and wholeheartedly believes it. And unlike so many other similar male characters in YA fiction, Kaz desperately wished that he could change. Perhaps he doesn’t say this openly, but you know deep down that he doesn’t want to be this way. He doesn’t want this life or the trauma. 

Speaking of the trauma, so much of what Kaz does is because of it. Does it excuse his behavior? Certainly not. But it does help with understanding why. And even now, the consequences he suffers from the trauma are bad, but still don’t excuse what he does. Kaz himself thinks so. 

Kaz was a boy who was hurt, like the Darkling was. He lost someone important, like the Darkling did. But the way he responded to that was immensely different. Even the desire for money is understandable when you realize that the lack of it was what made him and his brother end up on the streets. And the money he got, he literally spent a large portion of it to buy Inej a ship and remake the Emerald Palace into the Silver Six. And before that, he gave up the last of it he had left to pay off Inej’s contract.

AND, speaking of Inej. Only someone extremely stupid would say that the way he treats her is the same as the way the Darkling treats Alina. The dynamic is messy and flawed, but they are young. It’s understandable if they fail from time to time. But overall, Kaz respects Inej. He adores Inej. He’s devoted to Inej. He’s loyal to Inej. He wouldn’t betray or abandon her for all the gold in the world. He’s protective of her, but not possessive. When he sees other people get close to her, he’s jealous. But not because he wants to keep Inej to himself, but because he wants to be able to get close to her like that as well. He realizes the wrong ways he treats her, and then proceeds to claim that he isn’t so bad that he can’t pull himself together for her. He spends a good portion of Crooked Kingdom going out of his way to make up for his behavior and it shows. It doesn’t make him any better a person, but it does make him a far better lover. A worthy book boyfriend <333.

Outside of Inej, you can see how much he cares about his crew. He protects them, he the Parem from Nina, he refuses to give it to Jesper, he gives Wylan advice like a big brother, he gave them all time to rest and recharge in the Geldrenner hotel while dragging his aching body all the way to the Slat to gather more people for his plan. He gave his crew every single resource he had left and even then, contributed alongside them when putting his plan to action. The Slat and the Dregs themselves have become a safe space for young people who don’t have a family or a place to go. He may be selfish with the world, but with them he’s nothing but the most selfless person to ever exist. 

The list is endless, honestly, but this is why it doesn't make any sense to compare Kaz to the Darkling. If I were in a life and death situation, and I was forced to put my trust in one person, Kaz or the Darkling, I would choose Kaz in a heartbeat.

Damn, this took way too long.