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vilevenom · 4 months ago

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I'm still plugging away at the long!fic I've been working on for two damn weeks now, but I decided to take a little break to write something short for a character pairing/dynamic I haven't seen much of.

Also, a little bit of practice for dialogue heavy fics.

Good Luck Babe

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (no specific media)

Pairing: Gen, Shadow & Amy Rose, (unrequited) Amy/Sonic, (unrequited) Sonic/Shadow

Summary: Sonic likes to be as free as the wind. As such, it's quite difficult to catch his eye.

Amy notices Shadow staring and decides to have a little heart to heart with him

"Oh. I know that look."

Shadow startled, not having expected Amy, of all people, to suddenly appear at his side. Team Dark had run into Team Sonic on their way to a mission, which just so happened to coincide with an Eggman attack that Sonic and his friends were battling. The overall fight hadn't lasted terribly long, but it had still been a hard won battle, given how many Heavies were mixed in with the standard badnik fair. Thus, Sonic and his little band of followers were celebrating and chatting it up with Rouge and Omega, while Shadow watched from the sidelines, mildly irritated by the delay in their own mission for GUN.

"What look?"

Amy chuckled at Shadow, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. She turned slightly to watch Sonic as he laughed with Tails over a joke that neither Knuckles or Omega got while Rouge simply rolled her eyes at them. "The look of someone in love."

Shadow scoffed, his posture stiffening as his shoulders lifted defensively. "What are you babbling about, Rose?"

She shot him a look, a sad little smile on her face. "Oh, please," she sighed, letting her hands drop to her sides, "You've been staring at Sonic since the fight ended. Maybe since before that."

"That's because he's being a distraction and keeping my team from their objective," Shadow protested, folding his arms over his chest.

"Mhmmm. Then why don't you just go tell Omega and Rouge to wrap it up so you can go on your way?"

"I-" Shadow began, floundering slightly for an excuse. He could feel his cheeks heating up the longer his brain churned trying to come up with an answer, while Amy simply watched him with a knowing smirk on her face.

"That's what I thought," she finally said, letting Shadow off the hook, turning to look back to their friends. "It's okay, you know," she added after a beat, lacing her fingers together in front of her, "That you love him."

"I never admitted to that!" the hybrid snapped, ears pinning back as his increased volume drew the attention of Rouge. He waved her off quickly, turning to Amy with a scowl. "What are you getting at, Rose?"

Amy quickly lifted her hands in a placating gesture, waving Shadow off as his quills visibly bristled. "Just that, y'know, I'm not upset that you love him, too. He makes it really easy. I've been noticing, lately, a lot of people sort of falling in love with him. Not properly, not really, since it's more like hero worship? But, since I came to terms with the fact that he'll never love me back, it's been hard not to notice it in other people."

Forcing his quills to soften, Shadow let out a huff of air, flicking his gaze briefly to their friends to ensure they were still engaged in conversation, before turning back to Amy. "And, pray tell, what type of love do you think I have for him? I'm curious as to your perspective."

"Proper love," the pink hedgehog supplied with a little shrug, "The kind that starts as a tiny spark and grows through shared experience, victory and trauma. The kind that solidifies when you see the worst of someone, and still know you'd stay by their side as long as they'll have you. The kind that truly blossoms when that person shows you sides of themselves that almost no one else gets to see, in private little moments. The same kind of love that I have for him."

"You…how can you possibly know that?" The hybrid was flabbergasted by Amy's observation, not having realized that he was quite so obvious with his affection for the blue blur. He knew he had a tendency to stare, but surely his emotions weren't that easy to read?

"Like I said, it's the same way that I feel," she sighed, picking idly at one of her gloves, "So I find it pretty easy to spot in others. But, don't worry. I don't think any one else has picked up on it."

"That's reassuring," Shadow muttered, absently running his fingers through his quills to straighten them out. With anyone else he would begin threatening them with death, should they ever spill his secrets, but for some reason he'd always been a bit of a soft touch for Amy. Instead, he simply cleared his throat, hoping the flush in his cheeks wasn't noticible through his fur. "What about him? Does he…have feelings for anyone?" he asked tentatively, voice quiet and low.

"Oh, I wish," Amy chuckled, though it was sad, a wistful expression overtaking her face as she stared off past their friends, "I've been following Sonic for as long as he's let me, and loved him nearly as long. For a long time I thought simple persistence was the key, then I tried heroics to try and impress him. Gifts, food, compliments…Nothing catches his interest. He's rescued some of the prettiest Mobians on the planet from certain doom, many of whom have practically thrown themselves at his feet, and absolutely no one and nothing has kept his interest for longer than a fleeting moment. I'm surprised I haven't seen a spark of interest in you, if I'm being honest."

"Me?"

"Yeah," Amy hummed, nodding slightly, "You're the first person to keep up with him. When everything I tried failed, and I saw how you two ran side by side, I thought maybe that was it. Maybe he needed someone who could go toe to toe with him and keep up. Challenge him in a way no one else ever really has. Not without being a threat-"

"I'm a threat!"

"You know what I mean," Amy snorted, shooting Shadow a glare, the hybrid immediately deflating, "But even you, with your strength, speed, flashy quills and pretty eyes weren't enough to keep him looking your way for more than a few seconds."

"Are you telling me to give up?" Shadow asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, suspicion plain on his face.

"If you're asking if I'm telling you to back off or keep your distance or something, I already told you that it was fine," Amy said, rolling her eyes, "I know nothing I say or do will make him love me. I've come to terms with that. At this point, I'm just happy if he's happy, honestly. And, hey, who knows? Maybe you'll do something spectacular that I could never manage and make him see you."

"Knowing Sonic's short attention span, that seems like a tall order."

"Doesn't it?" Amy laughed, her momentary dour demeanor shifting back to her usual chipper attitude. "Stranger things have happened!"

"Hmph. Indeed they have," Shadow snorted, offering Amy one of his rare smiles.

"But, you know," she added quietly, taking a step forward and turning so her back was to their friends, "if he never does…if the call of freedom keeps him running with the wind forever…I'll be there. We can watch a bad romcom while eating ice cream and complain about how dumb he is. Yeah?"

Shadow blinked in mild surprise at the offer, before letting out a low chuckle and nodding slightly. "I think that sounds quite agreeable."

"Is that a laugh from Shadow, I hear?" Sonic's voice shattered Amy and Shadow's moment of camaraderie, the hero zipping up next to them with his trademark grin on his face to be met with a scoff from Shadow and a light giggle from Amy. "Hark! A miracle doth occur," Sonic called, slinging an arm around Shadow's shoulders, earning a grunt of displeasure from the hybrid as he was hauled into Sonic's side.

Shadow cast a brief glance to Amy, who simply gave him a reassuring little smile and a thumbs up. Perhaps having her to commiserate with over the blue buffoon would be nice.

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog fanfiction #sonadow #things that i wrote

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rosesgardenshenanigans · 8 months ago

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Like I stated in the previous post, I had one more goober that I redesigned and drew in my current style. And it's the OC I made when I was 11 - the first OC I ever made. Wraith has been an OC I've drawn time and time again for ages. I've tweaked his design, started from the ground up, and done all sorts of appearance shifts leading up until I tried to make them into something other than a Sonic OC. However, the original design never really got looked back on or got a chance to get properly spruced up.

Sooo, that's what I tried to do!

Since he was always an OC relating to death (he was the keeper of the Underworld back then in my writing), I ran with the idea of making him look more like a funeral director. I tried to have his spikes go back like those slicked back haircuts you might see a mafia leader in a video game with, along with a design that more closely tied with his character's connection with the dead. I gave him half of a Mobian skull that he can put over his face to try and hide it like in the original, and turned the skull on his chest into a lil skull medallion he wears.

I made him look disheveled and messy with his quills sticking up around his body, and tried to have his chest fluff and torso resemble a nice tuxedo or suit - the kind you'd wear to go mourning. I tried to make his eyes look jaundiced and sunken in, like he's sick but he's been around death so long he can't even notice it.

I'm really happy with what I was able to come up with! I feel like his OG design was given some proper justice and that I gave it the appreciation that I never really did before.

It's so fun to look at the progress and how far I've come since that little silly doodle back in MS Paint. I'm hoping I can continue to improve even into the future.

#my art #fanart #Sonic OC #old art #character redesign #Wraith the hedgehog

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doodlebless · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2: I fear your smile and the promise inside

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Blood, whump (13 whump), hurt/comfort Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Whittaker!Master, Dhawan!Doctor Summary: Two Doctors meet, one familiar face to another Chapter: 2/? Words: 1873 Ao3 link: archiveofourown.org/works/23595385/chapters/56678236

The Master hummed as she approached the boxes the convenient little trail of blood had led her to. She did love to let her prey know the chase was coming to an end. She took a more careful route than the Doctor, clambering over the boxes that were stacked more like steps than attempting to vault them. A victorious smirk plastered on her face, she looked over the edge.

Her face faltered.

She found no Doctor there; all that remained was her sword, as blemished with blood as the ground around it, and words roughly scrawled into the gravel. ‘IT’S ALL YOURS ’. Her lips pulled into a snarl.

The hunt was far from over yet.

The Doctor stumbled through the industrial estate, sticking to the back paths to avoid detection. She was pretty sure by this point she’d have stuck out far too much if she attempted to blend into any crowds. She leant her shoulder against the side of a building, furiously wiping away the blood that remained on her hands onto her trousers, ignoring the ache in her palms. They already looked a mess anyway, caring about them now was pointless. The sensation was awful; she was still forcing her body to recover much faster than usual, the energy seeping from her body, leaving her head pounding and freshly knitted skin to prickle and ache. She blinked hard, vision wavering as she pushed herself away from the wall and steadied herself. She drew in a deep shaky breath and continued onwards, fingers brushing against the building, just in case she needed support.

This place is a maze, she thought to herself as she carried on her way, eyes heavy-lidded and each breath a little more forced than she’d like to admit. But she’d been in mazes before, she could handle this. Probably. If her head was a little clearer, definitely. No time for ‘ifs’ though, she thought back at herself, brow furrowing as the long path ahead seemed to stretch on for miles, walls warping around her. Can’t wait for the stars to align to make the perfect escape, after all.

Oh, how she knew that to be true.

“Hey, you!” It was like a sudden injection of energy had been forced into her upon hearing a familiar male voice shout. Her shoulders hunched, eyes widened and hearts stuttering slightly in panic. Turning around slowly, she rested her back against the wall, turning her head the rest of the way to see the second sight of the day that had left her feeling like she’d just been punched in her already tender stomach.

Just like before, she knew the face well. She’d never forget the first time she saw it, the way he’d laughed as Barton’s plane was ripped apart, her fam’s lives almost cut short then and there. But she’d never seen such wide-eyed concern on that face. The suspicion also there, however, was understandable, if her feelings were anything to go by.

He was already close before her brains could catch up, but she couldn’t ignore the way his eyes scanned her up and down from a few metres away. The Doctor couldn’t help but smile slightly, letting out a small snort of tired amusement. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said quietly. “Scan me. You’ll see.”

He did so immediately, pulling out his own sonic and checking the diagnostics. And then a second time. Didn’t seem like the chatty kind. How strange.

“You can’t be,” he finally said, gaze flitting between his sonic and the woman looking back at him tiredly. “That’s not possible.”

“Said the same thing when I met her,” the Doctor managed, attempting to stand freely of the wall, but settling not-so-casually resting her shoulder against it. The man’s eyes widened, a brief roar of thunder behind them before he reined it back.

“She’s nearby?” He looked behind him, as if the mere mention would summon her. “I followed some strange energy readings, but I had no idea she was behind it.”

“Nothing to do with her.” She finally managed to stand on her own, as much as her body protested with exhaustion. “I just ran into her while searching for answers. Wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.”

“But how are you—?” He was cut short as the woman’s knees buckled suddenly, moving forward to keep her from falling. He shook his head. “Later. What happened? Did the Master do this to you?” Hearing him ask that in that voice was more than a little surreal, she would admit.

“Yeah. Messed me up a bit, I managed to accelerate the healing to get away—faster than I’ve managed before, but…” She scrunched her eyes shut as a wave of dizziness passed over her. “But I think I’ve just about drained myself for the next few hours. Bit of a catch-22.” She slumped further as he positioned her arm around his shoulder, his own arm around her waist and hoisted her properly to her feet.

“We should keep moving. I’ll take you to my TARDIS.”

“Yeah...TARDIS…” the Doctor mumbled hazily. “Sounds good.”

He placed her carefully on the floor at the base of the TARDIS console. She looked around as the details swam in and out of focus. It was a lot whiter than her own TARDIS, even if the lighting was bit gloomy, and a lot more simplified apart from the usual details on the console, she was sure. He seemed like a very straightforward, no nonsense kind of guy. None of the flourish she’d expect a man sharing his face to have, all things considered.

Her eyes drifted closed as she hung her head, thinking of her own TARDIS. Where had it—

She was dragged from her thoughts as she felt fingers brush against her temple. Wincing away, she nearly crashed sideways, planting her hand firmly onto the floor to keep her balance. The man— the Doctor, she had to admit by now—pulled his hand away. “My sonic detected remnants of a concussion,” he spoke with a slight stutter.” I’m sorry, I was—”

“S’fine,” she replied, wafting her hand lazily towards him. She fumbled into her pocket and pulled her own sonic out. His was a lot more…carefully designed? Not that she’d change hers for anything, but she hadn’t had the luxury of the TARDIS presenting her with a new sonic, back when she regenerated. She supposed this Doctor had. Scanning herself briefly, she gave herself a second opinion. “I’ll be all good.” She gave a sleepy smile and a thumbs up.

“The internal injuries have healed, I take it?” She blinked at the question.

“How did you—?” The man shook his head.

“The blood at the corner of your mouth. You’re not talking like you’ve bitten your tongue, so I would guess…” He poked at her stomach very lightly with his sonic. “...That your problem lay a little deeper.”

“Got me there, detective,” she said with a breathy laugh.

“Please, call me the—”

“The Doctor. I know.” She shrugs. “You know I know.”

The ‘Alt-Doctor’—or would that be her, considering this isn’t her universe?—let out a breath through his nose and stood up. “Very well, Doctor.” He moved to the controls, adjusting a few switches here and there, each one with a satisfying clunk or click. “So if your arrival here was purely your own doing, where is your TARDIS? I can take you back to her—”

“She’s gone. Threw me out.” She sounded so defeated at the words. “Don’t know what even happened, one minute I was there, the next...nothing. I’m just...here.”

“I see.” He fell quiet again, returning to his tinkering.

“Aren’t you worried she’s going to find us?” she asks suddenly, craning her head to look at him.

“She won’t get in.”

“‘S’not her getting in I’m worried about,” she mumbles. “If she’s anything like the Master in my universe, a little detail like that won’t stop her.”

“And does your Master look like..?”

“Yeah. He does.”

The silence that descended over them was heavy, both getting lost in their thoughts. The Doctor’s musings were a lot more muddled than usual as her body worked past the exhaustion. Speeding up her healing so much was like borrowing energy from her future self—too bad it was always needed when she couldn’t afford to be tired.

“We could…” She thought out loud, shuffling her position to get comfortable, trying to ignore the twinges from her stomach. “We could swap some stories? Get a feel for what’s the same or not.”

“Maybe later.”

“Got time now, haven’t we?” She leant forward and crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees and frowning at the blood smeared on her. She must’ve looked a right sight when he found her. Still did, really. She took the silence as a go-ahead. “So...any companions?” The brief freeze in his movements didn’t pass her by.

“Just one. Will.”

She makes a little ‘ahh’ in response. “Nice name. Is he around? Don’t want to scare him, all covered in blood like this.”

A brief moment passes. “No,” he replied, voice low. “He’s with his family.” He swallowed before clearing his throat. “And you?”

“Ryan, Graham and Yaz,” she replied, pride creeping into her voice. “But they’re back in their own universe.”

“Three?” he said disbelievingly. “Isn’t that a little much? Sounds more like a field trip.”

“Oh no, it’s brilliant,” she replied with a grin. “We split up, get so much more covered. They’re all fantastic.” He let out a quiet ‘hmm’, still focused on the console. A few minutes passed in silence. She never got on with silence very well. Even the humming of the TARDIS did nothing. It wasn’t her TARDIS, after all.

“A-ha!” The Alt-Doctor’s sudden exclamation had the Doctor jumping out of her skin, her lingering aches protesting from the sharp movement. “I do believe I’ve found your TARDIS.”

She sprang to her feet, grabbing hold of the console as the world shifted around her. Okay, she wasn’t as patched up as she’d hoped. Better, though. She’d give herself that. Looking over to the Alt-Doctor, the grin plastered on his face sent a chill down her spine. How could the same expression hold such a different meaning? She never really saw herself in action so the uncanniness of this universe’s Master’s expressions were somewhat lost to her, but this universe’s version of the Doctor? Oh no, she knew these expressions too well. Knew those eyes too well too.

It was honestly a bit frightening.

She swallowed it down. It must be the same strange swarm of emotions for him, too.That and she had little choice but to trust him.

“So where is it?” she asked, collecting herself as his grin faded to something more serious.

“That’s the bad news.” He pointed at one of his screens, indicating a small flashing dot. “As you can see, we’ll have to go by foot. I can’t afford to get my TARDIS close.”

“But that’s…” She looked directly at him. “That can’t be.”

“But it is…” He stepped back, as if it would give him some grander picture. “Doctor...you’ve torn a whole in this universe...and your TARDIS stands right at the precipice.”

#dw #doctor who #doctor who fanfic #whittaker!master #dhawan!doctor #thirteenth doctor #fanfic #so y'know when you let an idea run away from you? yeah #ain't a one shot no more!#gonna be fun seeing if this keeps going :D

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agamblersjunkpile · 5 years ago

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Rex the monarch butterfly

His name means king in Latin

https://www.deviantart.com/asguardiansilver/art/Rex-s-caterpillar-form-639428705

https://www.deviantart.com/asguardiansilver/art/King-of-the-sky-640528379

That was him from 2016, I've changed up his look when he was a child and his adult look. His coat before was a pretty bad looking bomber jacket (cause I didn't know how to properly draw one ) that was FAR to big for him along with his sweater, converse seemed to be the go to in the old Archie comics sometimes, and made him MUCH younger then he looks now. His shirt was sky blue and I gave him ski goggles cause it's the cliché scenario of a caterpillar whom wants to fly. Think tails but with no way to actually fly......... safely. His adult look was that of a monarch butterfly who FINALLY is able to fly! He kept his goggles and his sky blue sweater and bomber jacket. Now he's around tail's age (8 years) and height (around 2ft) when he's a caterpillar, but grows to about 2'9" after his metamorphosis into a full grown monarch. His bomber jacket is still big on him same with his now chrysalis colored sweater, but it actually looks like one and looks good on him now. I even changed his goggles up to look abit more like the kind a pilot would wear with monarch colors. His monarch form hasn't changed to much, his bomber jacket fits well now and his goggles have reverse colors from when he was as caterpillar. His hands are gloveless, with his main body being the same orange as his fluff, his shoes are abit more bright blue than the darker periwinkle his old shoes were. His scarf never changed. Because of the publishing change the comics had (Archie comics to IDW publishing) and the penders lawsuits the comics had to make drastically huge changes (the whole genesis wave that rewrote and ERASED more than hundreds of fan favorite characters from existence (the echidnas to name one) due to this only characters that were in the games survived along with new characters, so because of this I had to change up where my flyboi lived, he now lives in windmill village. I'd also love to give a big thanks to an artist who inspired me for years now on her awesome sonic art CHIBI-JEN-HEN !! Seeing how she drew her butterfly inspired me to make rex!

#before and after #monarch butterfly #monarch caterpillar #sonic oc #sonic archie #sonic archie comics #idw sonic #he's a good boi

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 6 years ago

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It’s a Long Way Down to the Bottom of the River

If you’re reading the session episodes, I’d recommend reading 5 before this. While the episodes are just edited versions of our hijinks during actual game sessions and largely in the style of scripts, this is a prose short story I wrote about my own character because the idea screamed to be written.

Warnings for, as per heckin’ usual these days, a suicidal character. And also a lot of murder. And some parental issues.

The ground was steadily approaching, a faint shimmer below him as his night vision struggled to pick up something other than the walls speeding past. Taveau estimated he was about ten meters above when he switched on his jetpack, trailing a fiery blast down the face of the rock wall for a few fractions of a second before he switched it off, dropping down gently in darkness to the stone pavement of the courtyard. The kickback had slowed his descent so that he made almost no sound, and his night vision showed him two guards, staring blankly upwards towards where the trail of fire had appeared. The first one was still staring as Taveau’s vibroblade ripped into skin just below the tilted-back helmet. The second had time to hear the first choking on his blood, turn towards the sound and scream as Taveau crashed into him, knocking the half-raised blaster aside and silencing him with another flick of the wrist. He fell, and Taveau paused to check that both guards were properly dead. They were, and he could see the rest of the courtyard from where he was standing: it was empty, no further resistance between him and the simple metal door set into the opposite wall.

Somewhere above was the sky, so dark with clouds that it was hard to see where the walls ended and the sky began. The fortress had lights, but they had flickered out a few moments before he’d started his descent down the wall, thanks to interference that the Vaal’ik family would hopefully attribute to the storm. The fortress was built into a natural crevice in the rock, and so the walls of the courtyard were unevenly shaped. It was, in fact, just a wider area in a snaky crevice running through perhaps half a kilometer of stone before it reached open ground. The steep, narrow passageway was lined with armored droid lookouts. It was well-defended, assuming, of course, that an assault was coming from that direction. Somehow no one ever expected trouble to come from above.

Taveau reached for the control panel on the wall and brought the siege gate up with a grinding crunch. Now there was about half a meter of solid alloy between him and the droid lookouts: another precaution which would have been useful, had an assault been coming from that direction. “Courtyard is clear,” he said, and heard a scratchy confirmation over comms.

Immediately after he’d said it he heard something thump down behind him. The sound was followed, so quickly that he didn’t have time to turn, with the screech of a blaster rifle discharging into his back at point-blank range. He spun, striking at his assailant’s arms, and the rifle clattered to the ground: they had an amateur’s grip. They snatched for something at their belt and he saw them, him, briefly, close enough to touch: a young male human, about his own age; with a patterned poncho draped from his upper arms, the cowl hiding his face almost to the eyes, which were wide and sparkling in the night.

The bolt from Taveau’s blaster pistol caught him under the chin and exited at the top of his skull, spattering brain matter against the alloy of the seige gate. He dropped silently against Taveau’s boots, and Taveau stepped away from the limp weight, moving his torso carefully. He’d bruised his ribs, and it felt like he might have a few burns from the bolt spattering below the chestplate, but he’d be alright. Looking up, he saw something he hadn’t seen before: narrow handholds cut into the rock, leading up to a natural indentation of some sort. Of course, the kid had been hiding up there. Stupid. He’d made exactly the same mistake the guards had made.

“Taveau. We heard blasters. Report.”

“Ah, kriff—I was wrong, courtyard wasn’t clear. It is now. Some kid was hiding up in a cave in the rock and jumped down on me.”

“You’re certain it’s clear now?”

“Unless there are more of them up there.”

“Check it. We’re heading down now.”

“Copy that.”

He started up the wall, hearing first one, then two, three, four jetpacks firing somewhere to his left.

He paused, getting his balance, just below the level of the opening in the rock, then came up over the edge blaster first. He was facing a smooth wall, close enough to touch if he leaned forwards. There was nothing else in the space but a half-empty bottle of some kind of fizzy and a dusty blanket.

“This is Taveau, we’re clear in front.”

“Copy. Stay outside and guard the door.”

“Copy.”

By leaning forward a little, he could see the whole courtyard. He watched the rest of his team blow the hinges off the door and charge inside, disappearing into a dark passageway. The lights still hadn’t come back on. They must have done a good job.

Taveau settled into a comfortable crouch, relaxed but ready to move if necessary. The hollow made an excellent lookout point.

He wondered what the kid had been doing up here. Did he not trust the guards to stay awake on their own? Or was he friends with them? Did he just enjoy sitting up here? Maybe some combination. A couple minutes passed. Taveau wondered what flavor the half-finished fizzy was. He shouldn’t risk taking his helmet off in the middle of enemy territory, but there wasn’t much going on.

He failed to listen to his wiser voice, and removed his helmet with a quiet hiss of decompressing air. He looked up into darkness, now unbroken by the green shimmer of night vision; the only sound a tired whisper of wind over rock and the now-distant comms chatter from his helmet. A breath of the cool night breeze ran its fingers through his hair and brushed his cheeks. He breathed it in, tasting the bitter-salt smoke of the explosives in the air, and lifted the bottle to his lips.

It was a flavor he couldn’t identify—some kind of fruit. He liked it. He took another drink, and just then he heard the siege gate start to move.

It took him a few precious seconds to set the bottle down and jam his helmet back on. Night vision eclipsed the yellowish glare that had appeared in his peripheral vision, and he saw the shapes of four humans with a lantern, followed by the three droid lookouts from the path. They had opened the gate from the other side. Apparently they had an override. And a secret exit. But why had they come back here? Were they trying to launch a counterattack?

He updated the rest of the team in a low voice, without moving. The newcomers didn’t appear to have noticed him yet.

“Davi!”

It was the tall man in the front. It was difficult from this angle, but Taveau thought he could identify him as Vaal’ik senior. Exactly the man they’d come to kill. He didn’t seem to be concerned with caution, at any rate.

There was a sudden blast from the dark entryway of the fortress. Taveau heard it twice, crackling over comms and thudding through the air around him, followed by swearing from his teammates. It sounded like they’d been ambushed by another party of droids. Vaal’ik had a small army, it would seem.

“Davi!” the man shouted again, and darted forward into the courtyard, dropping to his knees beside the dead kid. One of the humans shouted for him to come back, and he ignored them, gently lifting the limp body into his lap. “Davi, boy, it’s OK, I’m right here.”

Taveau felt strangely sickened. Was the man insane? Could he not see that the kid was missing the back of his skull?

“Sir!” One of the humans shouted, noticing Taveau. Instantly six blasters were aimed up at him. Taveau silently adjusted his position so they could more clearly see his own blaster, pointed at the man directly below him. Vaal’ik was still focused on the kid and appeared to be feeling for a pulse. Then, slowly, he realized the tense silence of his allies, and looked up at Taveau.

“You.” he said, quietly.

Taveau didn’t see any reason to respond.

The man put the body down—Taveau was surprised at the relief he felt—and stood, never taking his eyes off Taveau.

“Get down here.”

“Why?” said Taveau, and the man froze for a moment, face changed at the sound of his voice. He got over it quickly, whatever it was that had bothered him.

Perhaps he’d had exactly this discussion with the kid not long before.

“Come down here and fight me.”

“With what?”

He drew and activated a force pike, the tip sparking against the night, emitting a low hum of sonic power.

“You know I have a gun, right?” said Taveau with some humor. He’d probably die as soon as he shot Vaal’ik, but Vaal’ik should know he wasn’t afraid. He’d known that he might die tonight when he left. If not tonight, maybe tomorrow.

“Are you that much of a coward?” prodded Vaal’ik.

Taveau shrugged the shoulder of his off hand, careful not to let it affect his aim.

“Yeah, probably.” He didn’t bother pointing out that, if he did shoot Vaal’ik, one against six was hardly fair stakes either.

“Sir?” said one of Vaal’ik’s allies, and he gestured impatiently at them.

“Stand down. Let me fight him.”

“Sir, this is madness, we need to get out of here.”

“I said stand down. You.” he pointed the force pike at Taveau. “Fight me.”

Taveau sighed, holstered his blaster and drew his vibroblades.

“Step back.”

He could never decide, later, why he came down. Maybe it was just instinct, telling him that he’d be less of a target on the ground, especially if he could get Vaal’ik between him and the others. Maybe it was a sick sense of pity, or curiosity.

He dropped lightly to the stone pavement of the courtyard and dodged an overhead swipe from the force pike. It parted the air with an audible whirr. A couple solid hits from it would break through even this armor. The man was panting, wide-eyed, teeth bared like a rabid animal, but he fought with an intense focus. Taveau stayed on the defense, waiting for him to overextend, but even in his rage Vaal’ik was smarter than that.

Whatever emotion was sustaining him, Taveau didn’t have it; finally he misinterpreted, tried to dodge in the wrong direction and then to correct and, failing to do either in time, caught the blow directly across his thigh plate, and he heard something snap. But the impact had slowed Vaal’ik for a moment; he seemed almost surprised the hit had landed, and Taveau took the opportunity to close the distance between them while Vaal’ik was struggling to control the larger weapon. Vaal’ik dodged, but not quickly enough to completely escape a slash from Taveau’s vibroblade which opened the side of his throat. Blood spattered quickly onto his robes, but it wasn’t enough to stop him moving, and Taveau had to block another strike from the force pike with his arm. Again that snapping sound, and his arm went numb, but he grabbed Vaalik’s wrist with his other hand and spun so that he was holding Vaal’ik’s weapon arm in front of him, punching his elbow into Vaal’ik’s stomach. Blood spattered from over his shoulder. He lashed out again with his numbed arm and opened a wound on Vaal’ik’s arm; after another cut the force pike dropped from his hand and Taveau spun again, pulling Vaal’ik between him and his six allies, and held him in place with an arm around his waist. Two of the humans shot at him, but the others hesitated. Of the two shots fired, one hit just above the visor on his helmet and one went wide.

Then there was silence.

Taveau realized that he was breathing, and his heart was racing. He counted the bodies with his still-hot blaster. One of the droids was still sparking and fizzling angrily. He steadied his hand and put it down for good with a direct shot to the eye. Then he released Vaal’ik.

The man fell to his hands and knees, leaving a hot trail of blood down the front of Taveau’s chestplate. He still wasn’t quite dead. Taveau aimed for his head. He was moving, but not for the force pike, or any of the weapons scattered around. He was moving towards the body of the kid in the poncho, who was almost within reach.

“Why’d you do it?” asked Taveau suddenly, startling himself a little. He didn’t expect an answer. But it was a good question. Their plan had obviously worked; Taveau’s teammates were still trapped inside. The man and his allies could have been off the planet by now. Perhaps some of them were, he was pretty sure there had been more family than this. But these ones had come back.

Vaal’ik dragged himself towards the body, visibly fighting to stay conscious, and gripped the boy’s sleeve with slick fingers. A tremor shook his body. He kept himself propped up on his arms long enough for two breaths to lift his back, then all at once he collapsed, landing with his head pillowed on the boy’s stomach. A silent spring of blood began to spread on the ground beneath him.

Taveau kept the blaster raised for a few moments, then slowly lowered it. He walked closer—stopping, as the muscles seized in his leg, to examine his wounds; the plates of his armor had warped and the gauntlet had cracked, but he wasn’t bleeding, though he didn’t think he’d be able to walk without pain for a while. Carefully he limped closer. Yes, they were both dead. Why did it make him feel so strange? And why did he keep looking at them?

He remembered a river from the mountains, bitingly cold and foaming with the released energy of long-silent snow. He remembered a force too great to fight pushing him down into that whiteness, until there was no sense of light or direction, only the cold rush of the river, and he felt that he’d grown as cold and blinded as it was. Then somehow he woke to his father slapping him viciously in the face. He struggled up, choked, and twisted to vomit up cold water. Slowly the roar of the river faded from his body and he could hear other sounds. Birdsong. His own gasping breaths. “—can’t believe you DI’KUT I SAID be careful around the river you could have been KILLED or’dinii are you BRAIN DEAD do you HAVE two brain cells to rub together, laandur, ni'duraa—” his father trailed off into increasingly colorful swears as Taveau lay on his stomach shivering and trying to force up the last traces of water from his burning lungs. His cheek stung. His father seized him by the back of his light training breastplate, hauled him up to his knees and shook him. “That was stupid. I expect you to do better in the future.”

“..Uh...hhhuh..”

“Excuse me, did you say something?”

“Yes sir.”

His father slapped him across the shoulders, stood, and disappeared into the trees. Taveau, who’d been preoccupied until now, barely saw him at all; turning to look after him he saw him glittering in the light as if he’d been dipped in jewels, just before he passed into the shadows.

“On your feet, ad.”

He was gone, and Taveau let himself sag.

He’d called him ad. Son. Of course, he’d called him a lot of other things too, so he didn’t put much store by it. Still, it wasn’t a term he heard often, and it stuck in his mind. It was unusual. It didn’t fit. Neither did the sparkle he’d seen. His father had been wet, and there was a trail of water across the rocks leading from Taveau’s boots to the edge of the river, and Taveau knew that he hadn’t pulled himself out. But he was surpised his father would step in after he’d disgraced himself with such a foolish mistake. And yet, he had been there. Taveau hadn’t even known that he was watching him. It made him uncomfortable.

The roar of the river continued, and he forced himself up just to get away from it. His legs trembled under him. He dragged himself back to the camoflaged lean-to he’d constructed and collapsed there, too tired to hunt. Foraging was one of the things he could let slide in survival training: his father would check the construction of his shelter, the condition of his armor and weapons; food wasn’t as much of an issue, as long as he remained strong enough to move around in his armor.

He saw the texture of the branches in front of him moving slowly, as if he was watching them through waves. He stared at them for what felt like a long time until suddenly taken by sleep.

It wasn’t entirely by accident that he’d fallen into the river, though it hadn’t been intentional either. Sometimes he walked on the very edge of a precipice for reasons he couldn’t name to himself. Maybe he hoped the proximity to death would spark a zest for life in him. Maybe he hoped he would fall. That day, a rock had been loose and he had. It had been an accident that he fell. It was not an accident that he was standing on the edge. It was not an accident that, a few years later, he walked in front of an active blaster cannon rather than behind, an incident that solidified his reputation in Death Watch as a complete dumbshit. And yet he’d lived, and still he’d lived, and tonight he was inexplicably the only one standing in the courtyard, and he thought maybe the strange feeling was a realization that he was closer than he’d ever been to something he couldn’t understand. Something that showed itself in rage and grief and sometimes inexplicable actions.

His head hurt. He remembered that he’d been shot and took off his helmet. There was a deep charred dent in the brow, and a crack in the supposedly unbreakable material of the visor. He carefully reached up and brushed his fingers across his forehead. Nothing from the blast, not even a bruise. Unlike his other injuries. What was the setting on that force pike? The feeling was returning to his left hand, but only slowly. He flexed the arm under the shattered gauntlet and wiggled his fingers. Nothing seemed broken.

The blood was still pooling under the man, but slowly. A lot of it had been soaked up in the folds of the boy’s poncho. Taveau suddenly wanted to kneel down and touch them, and he wasn’t sure why. Instead he turned and walked further into the courtyard. The others met him at the door. One of them swatted at him with a hacked-off droid arm. He batted it away irritably.

“You’re still alive.”

“So are you! What happened out here?”

Taveau lifted his helmet, displaying the blast mark, then gestured with it behind him at the bodies. One of his teammates whooped, streaking off to examine the spoils.

“Taveau, seven! I don’t believe this. How’d you do it?”

“The old man let me use him as a shield.”

He laughed, “Classic.”

Taveau didn’t remember the trip back. His next memory was of sitting in the return ship, running a finger up and down the crack in his gauntlet, staring at nothing.

A/N: Title is a reference to a song that I found because @silverskye13 recced it, which is Bottom of the River by Delta Rae.

Taveau and Davi are similar names, especially if you consider that I got “Taveau” by changing one letter of the name Daveau, which means “of David”, and Davi is yet another form of the name David.

So in the Flannery O’Connor seminar I took last semester, we’d often discuss how, in her stories, characters would be presented with a “moment of grace” which they could either accept or reject. Taveau rejected this one, but it wasn’t a full rejection. And as long as you’re alive you get more chances.

I’m not sure how well I conveyed all that’s going on here, so I’d appreciate feedback. At the time of this story, Taveau’s almost convinced himself that he’s alright with this, because he doesn’t think he has any other choice. Almost, but not quite. But he’s definitely not at the stage of actual rebellion yet. No, that comes later. It develops slowly. ....it is also helped by the fact that he got frickin betrayed n left to die by his asshole murder bros, like, that was definitely the last straw, but he was having doubts before that.

ANYWAYS. feedback would be appreciated. also do you think this is worth posting on ao3 I don’t think anyone is likely to read it but it’s ~technically~ fanfiction

#fanfiction #Mandalorian OC #Star Wars RPG #personal #WOOOT actual literature for this thing #Taveau

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tinymixtapes · 6 years ago

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Feature: Insomniac Focus

Drew McDowall’s work extends well before Coil’s 1998 album Time Machines, but his major releases from that work to now is more than enough to explore. Coil fans, I know you’re set. It’s partly you who I had in mind when I welched on my assignment for his latest solo album, The Third Helix. You likely have alerts on this guy, and no amount of critical descriptors (“harrowing,” “cavernous,” “dreamscape,” “hallucinatory,” “bleak,” “trance-inducing,” etc.) are going to make any difference to you. And, as for neophytes, McDowall is not only an easy sell, but one who you likely have to get to ass backwards. And in these diffuse, cherry pick-enabling internet times, that’s something. We tend to keep our paths of discovery close to the vest against the snotty record store clerk in our heads. I say “we,” because I’m a newbie myself at 38. I did meet a classmate in my junior year of college who tried to help me with my post-NIN fan, small town ignorance, but it was to little effect. I don’t wanna admit I got into Blackest Ever Black and PAN artists before McDowall, but it’s true. There is no tomorrow, so allow me to show my ass in this regard. It took time — and a closer friend with a staggering record collection — to show me the way. I won’t blame blowing my assignment on anything but me, but I will offer the assertion that Drew McDowall’s music is alive in ways that language is not. Although McDowall, John Balance, and Peter Christopherson collaborated on Time Machines, you could hardly call it a conversation. It feels more like an unstable, massive hum, with the creative instinct of human interference put in restraints. It’s the sound of artists getting out of their own way, carving out a path for something that doesn’t sing so much as surge like blood or water or electricity (it resists analogy, so I’m inclined to reach for more elementary terms). If the intention was to induce the loss of a sense of time, it dissolved critical faculties in the process as well. It is sound happening to you. Whatever a train does to you when you hear it, before you even begin to get to the typical leitmotifs. Whatever a tuning orchestra makes you feel, before you remind yourself not to feel anything about it. There is suspense, sure, but there’s also the flat pulse of pure sensation. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. Of rote and unquestioning self-sacrifice to a sensorily consuming source. The tracks being named after psychotropic drugs and the perhaps unavoidable (there’s always “repeat all”) reality of their finiteness are the only things stopping this machine. It has you without a hello. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. It’s curious that this towering, uncompromisingly minimal work is collaborative, while his eventual solo material doesn’t shy from a comparatively genre-friendly, kitchen-sink aesthetic. But more on that in a bit. First, a decade-plus later, some more from the creative alliance dept. Having familiarized myself with Psychic Ills, McDowall’s collaboration with Tres Warren as Compound Eye was on my 2013 radar. Their music intrigued in ways that the sturdy psych rawk of Psychic Ills never did. I liked it enough to save it, but never got too deep. So McDowall’s presence didn’t properly register until researching him this year, even after the aforementioned friend gave me his free download code for 2017’s Unnatural Channel. Having familiarized myself with McDowall, it’s easy to see that the man never quite got triggering-then-getting-out-the-way-of-strong-currents out of his system in the intervening years. It contains that blissful, sci-fi pastoral modular babbling that is really nothing to turn off, but the album is balanced with the (watch me writhe, beset by stultifying magnetic poetry adjectives) vast, impassive coursings of McDowall’s high water mark material. The album title, Journey From Anywhere, reinforces the notion of not ruining vital elements of sonic procession with basic human shit. Both are men, with presumable communication skills, but never does conversation seem like an apt analogy. Their collaboration is a numb sort of cooperative sentience, toiling as a vessel for steady, sluicing flow. Destiny being God and human’s favorite crap joke alike, the void really deserves more credit. Compound Eye’s shimmering, delicate, 69-minute reverie comes across like a humble attempt to give the nothing its due. It simmers in rote bodily function reality, even as it attempts to merge with the least dense, most windless air it can manage to breathe. Another collaborative work, The Ghost of Georges Bataille (released on Bank earlier this year), is less of a curious animal, but enticing nonetheless. Hiro Kone (a.k.a. Nicky Mao) specializes in elegant digital snowdrift downtempo. She, like McDowall, is a friend to contemplative melancholy as a default mode. But similarly to McDowall, she’s careful to augment her traditional rainstreaked Aphex brooding with character-rich textures that teeter on the brink of encroachment. Here, McDowall pushes this bordering that much closer. Each haunted progression is enshrouded with warm yet disorienting clamor. Similarly to the post-Boards re-tooling of Dalhous, Bataille takes away the head-nod in favor of a swirled sort of distance. This blithe obfuscation renders that tradition of pastoral, half-remembered dream progressions that much more affecting. McDowall excels as a bit player as well. In 2015, he featured on Ben Greenberg’s (Sacred Bones engineer, Men) debut with Michael Berdan (York Factory Complaint) as Uniform. As much as the album is a scorcher par excellence and far superior (and I’m edging on apples/oranges territory here), what “Death Star” is to The Future of War, “Lost Causes” is to Perfect World. McDowall’s hermetic throb steals the show on an album of showstoppers. Then, ably displaying his adaptability to ambient techno, McDowall lent his modular chops to another album highlight on Hiro Kone’s 2017 album, Love is the Capital. “Rukhsana” is a shorter track, but it still bears the unmistakable fingerprints of McDowalls absorptive approach. With these drop ins, McDowall redeems the notion of the guest spot from mere name-dropping and seamlessly applies his methodology rather than his personal stamp. Now, back to 2015 and Drew McDowall’s first official solo release under his own name, Collapse. As I mentioned, McDowall wound up being decidedly less reductive once left to his own devices. Similarly to Prurient’s later output, there is a concerted effort to tacitly merge monophonic direness with monolithic earthen beast-sloughing reverbations, whelmed to the edge of over. Dark monophony has retained a lasting power, even if the grubby fingers of branding-obsessed metal aestheticians have rendered its keenings almost cute. These are the ones who cry “false metal,” which in and of itself is false. It’s no different than complaining about how football has changed or how a comic book adaptation oughta be. True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. By their unwaveringly limitless drive, we are able to imbibe the vast shimmering terror innate to existence. While Collapse may not be the most chilling thing out there, its black satin bug eyes affix you to where you are and evaporate your culture-soaked lunges for contextual asidery. Collapse by Drew McDowall True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. Things only seemed to get better with 2017’s Unnatural Channel, though it’s of a piece enough that “seem” might be the operative word. There are two tracks featuring words/vocals from Roxy Farman (of superb NYC duo Wetware, also a guest on the Hiro Kone album), but the key adjustment is a Vanity Records-like focus on the embracing of silent rests. Of course, the fidelity is higher, but the unrelenting hesitation of that legendary label’s best material (namely, Tolerance’s 1981 LP, Divin) is a curious early precedent. Even with the presence of a singer, Farman’s recitation of “this is what it’s like, sleep deprived” is just as innately infused as the “I convulsed” sample on the last record. And her whooping and schizo mutterances on closer “Recognition” are essential but unshowy bits of punctuation. All spaciousness aside, the tetanus textured throb of “Unnatural Channel (Part 2)” is a sort of head-nodder, but even this winds up being more of a cautious slink through a confusing party (boring? bad scene? twisted? brilliant?) than a departure. Although the bowstring bouncing on The Third Helix opener echoes Unnatural Channel’s “Tell Me The Name,” “Rhizome” initially feels like a proper departure. Not unlike the airy skittering of Actress’s R.I.P, this tune initially seemed like a wrong turn. It’s lovely, especially when the “Sinking of the Titanic” strings come in, but it feels almost lateral rather than expansive. The touchstones come too easy. It’s a fascinating track, the way it swells and glitches out abruptly, but it’s also strangely on-the-nose for this artist. Things get better and back to the same (“Proximity” sounds cut from the same cloth) from there, but one couldn’t be blamed for mistaking Third Helix for a Helm, Fis, or post-Virgins Tim Hecker album. Of course, he is a sort of godfather to said touchstones, but similarly to the atemporal realm of Time Machines, this sort of sine wave slippage reads more familiar than it actually is. And, for what it’s worth, why shouldn’t masters be genuinely influenced by their descendants (beyond tokenistic exaggerations)? Chances are, they are beholden to a lot of the same technology anyway. Taken another way, McDowall’s newest is a sort of long-distance collaboration with those who’ve been inspired by him and his rarefied peer group. Conscious or not, its blending with the aesthetics of younger, like-minded artists could be seen as a rejection of the notion of hierarchy in musical succession, one way or the other. The Third Helix is an endearingly solid listen, and it deserves a place among the heralded releases of 2018. Similarly to the previous two (all on Dais), the album’s tracks don’t stray too far past the five-minute mark. Despite this, they stretch out in the ears like ancient aural cobwebs, making one feel as lived-in as the planet itself. I’ve tried not to use the word “innovation” here. Too often, the notion of innovation is whittled down to novelty, and reinventing the wheel is not what makes McDowall’s third-act material so worthwhile. More so, it’s the sense of earnest drive. The deep affinity for life’s rich tangent. That it’s darkly fixated is no more material than that the blues are despondent. Actually, the best of that long deracinated-to-pilloried genre has much of the same turning-oneself-inside-out quality. Even if Drew McDowall never tops himself or others in this quietly industrious field of wide-eyed abstraction, he is set to remain a stirring essential to every cerebral wandering ear, regardless of prerequisites or lack thereof. http://j.mp/2RBEqkz

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snekthing · 7 years ago

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Another pic with the Disney snake and echidna princess, but with some tickles in the mix. This is a clear re-done pic of the first TiKaal doodle I drew back last year, just to show how much I’ve progressed and I just like these two together. Enjoy! :3 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alone was the casual state of the gorgeous echidna princess named Tikal the Echidna. Outside of her pudgy and sweet chao to look after and her grandmother who taught her the forgotten peaceful ways of the tribe and the mystical chants for the Master Emerald, the girl mourned by herself. She was burdened by the fury of her power-hungry and arrogant father who had a major influence at her home, hoping to be away from her worrisome life as she was on her own to think of the once happier and civilized lifestyle. To calm herself, the princess was strolling through the massive and wonderful jungle, letting the sights amaze and tame her, but nature’s efforts was no good for the troubled echidna. It didn’t help that a mischievous, lengthy python’s yellow eyes followed the beauty around as she walked alone, intrigued by her presence that he needed to see her, possibly even show her some fascinating and soothing sights.

With a sympathetic approach, this python who went by the name of Kaa slithered towards his majestic guest, surprising her by asking about her saddening aura. Tikal jumped and stepped back as she saw the large python getting closer, never wanting to be the target of predators so soon. However, the halt of Kaa’s slithering and he curiosity about her made the princess a bit more calm as she saw he didn‘t want to hurt her but rather comfort her. The echidna had no choice but to stay with the serpent and talk to him, letting her tears and thoughts rain down. Kaa was indeed shocked to hear of this wondrous and angelic girl being stuck in such a harmful place she was unfortunate to call home, feeling that she can be more to him than just a simple toy to play with under his coils. This Tikal character needed someone to provide splendor and teasingly blissful care, something he was known to provide throughout the jungle. He blocks her eyes with his coils, the princess noticing the snake toying with her as she didn’t really feel much in the mood. As she lifted the coils with her gentle hands, the magnificent and powerful spectacle of his mysterious swirling rings were all Tikal could see.

Kaa kept his smile, maybe even having it become a grin, telling Tikal that he can provide more than a peaceful residence in the vast jungle. He was a powerful hypnotist as well, letting his eyes take control of those who either oppose him or is in need of his company. Tikal was the definitive example of the latter, the python telling her that she can forever be in a life of comfort and love, tenderizing massages, and slumber if she lets her senses fade and let him watch over her for endless hours, for her to live in the jungle with him whether entranced or not. The dizzy mind of the lovely princess pondered to the best of her ability, the colorful rings reflecting from her eyes as the spell was taking a toll on her. Tikal felt the soothing bliss from Kaa’s hypnosis, feeling her worries erased and replaced with humble thoughts of happiness and ecstasy. She shivered feeling Kaa’s coils then loom upon her shoulders and stroking her chin, amazed by the silky and warm preview of the inevitable cocooning he had in store for her. They just met but the princess gave it some good thought and already felt the care Kaa instantly had for the girl. With a dear smile and a faint blush, Tikal made her decision, she wanted to be in Kaa’s coils and remain in the jungle that just the two of them can admire alone.

Kaa gave a small hiss, letting his tongue tickle her soft cheeks as he lets his coils grasp upon his new and pure companion. Tikal was already hazy by the exotic spell, giggling and gasping as the coils lying from the treetops slithered downwards and cocooned her from top to bottom. She shivered from the sudden touch of her serpent, feeling the soft squeezes as every loop of coils swallowed her petite body up in a cooing hold. Her arms were still and dangling as the coils covered up her chest and hips, her legs soon followed suit. As the tail circles and binds its princess into a loving cocoon of tenderizing squeezes, Tikal was finally wrapped properly, only leaving her feet exposed. Kaa couldn’t help but notice this, chuckling as he suggested that now the two would have some fun since Tikal decides to live here from now on. His tail held onto her sandals and gently took them off, letting them drop as the tip poked the soles. Tikal gasped as she couldn’t help but giggle, unaware of the snake’s intentions.

Kaa continues his playful torture, the tip of his tail stroking and poking the soft and gentle soles of his mate, wanting to see the surprising reactions from the princess. Tikal didn’t leave him disappointed, kindly asking for Kaa to stop as she tends to be interrupted by her cute and delicious giggles. Kaa loved the happy sight of Tikal being tickled and letting out her reliefs and stress from the laughs of this odd collection of teasing motions of the tail. He didn’t stop playing with her as the tail went on to wrap and brush over her feet, stroking each toe, and then brushing upon the ankles. Tikal giggled and laughed despite her want to resist, letting Kaa take control until she felt completely blissful and satisfied with his company. Kaa then stopped, letting the coiled beaut breathe for a bit, she was tired and glad to be more adjusted to Kaa’s charming, but also playful and mischievous ways. As the tail then coils around the rest of her legs and feet, Tikal heard the words of the serpent, telling her that she should rest as she was now home. The echidna sighed before letting her eyelids drop, sleeping beautifully thanks to the hypnotic snake as she was purely happy to be accepted in the jungle by Kaa, no longer having to be pulled back by her vicious fellow echidnas. From days on end, she was lovingly looked after and living peacefully in the jungle, teased but also treated like the princess she was by the charming and alluring snake. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Man, these stories are getting longer and longer by each passing minute. There are some differences between this and the old version. Obviously, Kaa's not in the doodle, wanted to keep the focus on Tikal just to show the emphasis on her expression and the tail. I also made Kaa in his 'JB 1' colors rather than 'JB 2'. Kaa the Python-Rudyard Kipling/Disney Tikal the Echidna-Sega/Sonic Team

Original version:

#tikal the echidna #kaa #tikaal #hypnosis #mind control #coils #tickling #tickles #doodle #re-do #waifu

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amongthesharks · 8 years ago

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Twin Stars, Twin Hearts 2 (Bodhi Rook/reader)

Read on AO3: Here

The first thing you notice is the massive pain running from your neck down your spine. You stir and it agitates it. There’s a muffled sound by you, in the darkness, then a cooling cloth on your cheeks and forehead. You feel your face twitch into a soft grimace and slowly open your eyes, blinking into the bright lights of what seems to be the cabin.

“Y/N…” The voice, Bodhi, says in confirmation of his own relief. “Kaytoo, she’s up.” He said into his comm. You turn your head to look at him. Someone wheezes, you realizes it’s you as your lungs burn with the large intake of breath. You try to move, but a hand steadies you. “Hey, no we are not doing that.” Bodhi softly, or is he talking normally and you just can’t hear clearly. Your eyes begin to slip close and he pats your cheek a few times. “Y/N, you have to stay awake. We’re almost back to Yavin. I think you have a bad concussion.”

“What…” The sound that comes through your throat is raspy and strained. Breathing stings and you start coughing and pain explodes through you. Bodhi mumbles to himself a moment and reaches out for a bottle and puts it to your lips. Gently, so gently, he lifts your head. You drink and the cool liquid seems to soothe you some. There’s a bit of silence, you feel like sleeping again but Bodhi begins to speak.

“We didn’t realize…” His mouth opens and shuts a few times. “We would have waited for you to be properly strapped… We found you crumpled in the gun well, smoke and blood. I only know so much about patching someone up... “ You look at him, trying to stay focused. Concern creases at his brow, he still seems a bit out of focus.

“Back…” More of a whisper than a question.

“Yeah, Looks bad. Not broken just.” His head tilts some and his brows furrow more, if that’s possible. “I’m just a pilot…” His mouth hangs and you smile, just a bit, and he softens.

“I’m tired, Bodhi…” You sigh, and let your head lull slightly to one side.

“No… no no. No sleeping.” He said in a slightly panicked tone. And you groan and try to move. “No moving. I promise, not much longer. Uhm…” he tries to push back his hair, nervous habit, but the cropped length keeps him from following through with it. “How’s your throat? Why… not tell me something…” You frown slightly, but talking might just keep you awake enough. K2 warbles over the comm, they must be coming out of hyperspace. You almost zone out thinking it over, looking at Bodhi’s hopeful face.

“In… Jelucan, I lived on a farm that raised muunyaks.” You smile at the memory. Your mother and you turning the munnyaks loose to graze when there was enough vegetation to do so. Helping you father with milking and birthing. “People used them… to go over mountains.” You swallowed thickly and began coughing again. You felt Bodhi’s arms around you, holding you still so you wouldn’t hurt yourself further. When the fit passed you slouched into him, a silence spreading through the room. Softly, his voice filled your ear.

“I was born on Jedha. Near the holy city.” You can feel sleep trying to take you, but though soft, his words hold a strange pain. Jedha. With the crater in half the world due to the Death Star. “My mother, she was beautiful. She wanted me to do great things and leave the planet. Do all the things she’d never be able to do.” He paused, easing you back down into a laying position. “She sold food in the market, the favorite stall of all the natives and pilgrims. Her hair always smelled of spices...” He trailed off again and blinked a few times, was he crying? No. But it was hard to tell, your vision was swimming a little.

“It’s okay…” You said giving his hand a limp pat. “It’s okay…” You don’t remember what happened from there as you seemed to slip back into darkness.

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You awoke in a panic, submerged in a bacta tank. Either the struggle or heightened heart beat bought a droid over to the tank. It went round the tank a moment, observing before draining the tank, releasing you from the substance. Now, you stand in nothing but damp underthings shivering as the droid takes your vitals.You’re mentally still in shock and you’ll still have some aches, but all the other damage has been healed. There had been damage to the lungs that the doctors were able to heal in enough time to not have lasting damage. There had been lacerations to your back, but the bacta healed that up well enough. That was the worst of the damage. It took two days in the tank, and they bring you up to speed on your health. The doctors help you to the med-bay sonic shower. You’d much rather have jumped in the river near by, you still feel like you have a film of bacta on you. Someone had brought a pair of your clothes over and you dressed in silence, testing your joints as you move. You thought you’d be leaving right away but instead, you find that you’re about to get a debriefing...from Cassian Andor who looks livid. He starts slowly, going over some parts of the mission, but it’s not long before he’s just exploding.

“What happened out there!” He seethes, his accent making his words more pointed. You realize now it’s less debriefing, more chiding.

“We made it back, with the information….” You start, though your mouth feels thick and cottony.

“You compromised the mission. You’ve never given me problems before, Y/LN.” My last name? He’s really pissed. You glance down but Cassian was unrelenting, his finger jabbed at your shoulder. “It was the easiest mission-”

“She wasn’t on the roster!” You clap back, finding your courage for a moment. “I can’t know if someone's there if the roster isn’t up to date!” A wave of nausea falls over you, making your body sway a moment before charging forward. “We didn’t stick around, we left, I shot some TIEs and we got home.”

Cassian tried to grab your arm as you drew past, but you snatched it away and froze in your tracks. He stared at your back a moment, He’s probably wondering if he should continue ripping me a new one, you think, but don’t turn to face him. It seems to be a nonverbal stalemate, but Cassian is the first to relent.

“I’m going to send you a datapad with the rest of the debriefing. You will come to me in the morning and report, Y/LN.” He said curtly. He was mad, he had a right to be. You should have never faltered during the mission, kept walking right past the group keeping in complete character. But you never thought the past would come back to haunt you like that. You straighten a moment and then turn your gaze on Cassian.

“Yes…Captain Andor…” You sigh and wander out of Medbay to find your bunk. You may have just woken up but sleep, real sleep, is what you wanted now. Your feet carry you out of the bay and turn you down the hall. Bodhi is there, sitting on the floor with his head resting back against the cool temple walls. He’s murmuring to himself with his eyes closed, you only notice because you practically trip over him. You catch yourself on the wall and Bodhi snaps his eyes open and clambers up to standing, moving to help you. But you wave him off and laugh just a little.

“What are you doing?” You ask trying to look less tired and more okay than you are. Bodhi gestures vaguely behind him.

“You were out for a few days. I had heard you woke and…” He trails off losing his thoughts for a moment, then he seems to jump to a new line of thinking. “I told them to hold some food in the mess for you. They just finished breakfast.” His smile is boyish, relieved to see you standing mostly hale and hearty. You waiver just long enough to see his smile wane, he tucks his head some and takes a step back. “You probably have oth-”

“Hey, no, let’s go.” You say, mustering some brightness to your voice. “I’ll rest better on a full stomach.” You swing an arm over his shoulders, feeling him sway with the motion. The ache of moving to that extent pulls at you, but this way you could almost lean on him. “Catch me up. Cassian was a downright ass in there.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen some. “You should have heard him when we landed! Kaytoo was no help. And I thought Saw was scary? Cassian being crossed is even worse.” He joked, which made you smile abit. He’s starting to make jokes. It’s good, or you hope it’s good. Bodhi didn’t talk about those days much, you only knew what happened from debriefings and rumors.

“I’m sorry, it was my fault, it seems.” You said as you both turn a corner, some pilots wave in your general direction, and you wave slightly back. “I was in charge, it’s my blame. I let my guard down. Put you and his droid in danger. I’m sure the datapad his left me is puts me in scathing light.” You roll your eyes some and look back at Bodhi who seems to have just been smiling while you chattered on. You give a short puff of a laugh. “Rook, you need to grow your hair back out. You look like you’re twelve.” He looks aghast.

“I do not.” He subconsciously rubs his face over his cheek. His beard had just started to slowly come back in, a short sparse stubble. You free your arm from around him and muss up the back of his head. You can feel the patches that are missing, where the scars from Bor Gullet were. He seems to notice and shifts away from your touch. Your thoughts from the trip resurface in your mind. The terrors he’s been through still are close to the surface of his psyche. He may be making jokes, but it still pains him, embarrasses him.

“A bit. Does make you look younger.” You say, trying to keep the levity going. Bodhi scratches above his ear in gentle thought as you reach the door. You thumb the code into the mess hall, the smell of food hits you. Where you didn’t think you were hungry before, you feel ravenous now. Moving to the whims of your stomach, you trip forward, taking lilting steps toward the serving area.

You don’t get a choice, though, in food. But Rin, a female Twi’lek, had saved a good portion off to the side, and an extra tray for Bodhi. You try not to frown, your plate had a lot of the food you tended to avoid. Rin catches the look and shakes a pale teal finger your way.

“Eat it, all of it.” Her accented tone was admonishing. Everyone had it out for you today. “I made sure I gave you all the things to make your strong.” She gave you a pointed look and you slowly withered under her gaze.

“Yes, alright, Rin. I get it.” You mumble and smile, just a bit anyway. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank your friend.” She pushed one her her lekku behind her shoulder, a Twi’lek version of a hair flip and walked to finish cleaning up. You take up the trays, and walk to where Bodhi had settled at. His leg bounced, his fingers drumming near his temple, anxiously working through something. You stride over, settling his tray down which startles him out of his thoughts, then your own. You have mostly greens, seems like that was the most left behind thing. Rin swore that these greens had more protein than the meat they served here but you were sure the meat tasted better.

“Thank you.” He said gently and you snort softly.

“No, thank you. I would have just gone to bed hungry.” You muse and push around the greens on your plate, finding the few bits of meat hidden in the meal.

“You were going to bed? But you just got out of the tank.” Bodhi noted curiously, leaning over his food some to eat, he didn’t care what it was, food was food and it was better than some of the food he’d get in imperial service. You would know. Pilots didn’t get the best meals, just fast ones.

“Yeah but I want real sleep.” You say tearing off a piece of the bread to sop up some juices. You don’t want him to worry about it or think on it long. “Tell me more. Was the data we got helpful?” You ask quietly and and stuffed the sopping bread in your mouth. Bodhi bobbed his head a few time, working through his bite of food before pointing his fork your way.

“It was. It got us updated base points, and we may be able to move bases soon. The Empire is still reeling from… from what we did.” He frowns a moment. You share that cold feeling too. There were people you knew, good people, on the Death Star when it went down. This was war, though, and it sometimes made you stomach turn. Both sides have done things they’re not proud of. You brush your fingertips over his. Go on, you try to say, silently.

“They are going to send out a scouting party to a few potentials. But I’ll be sad to leave all this. It’s so green.” He laughs a moment and you grin at him, sharing that sentiment.

“This Moon has been a good place, I enjoy how different it is from home. I don’t miss the dry cold of the mountains.” You snort at that. “I hope the new base is just as warm.”

“I don’t miss the cold at all.” He said excitedly. “I mean, home, yeah I miss home.” He said stumbling a bit over his words but he picked it right back up. “But cold desert nights? Terrible.” He waves his hand in the air as if shooing it all away. Then he’s laughing. And so are you as you double over a bit. You both see glimpses of yourselves before the war, a brief moment of being carefree. In your laughing you give a few ‘ow-ow-ow’s and rub at your sides. “You alright?” His voice still chipper, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, just a bit tender still.” You sigh and stab some more greens onto your fork. “Thanks Bodhi. Really.” You two both smile, a fall into a comfortable silence, and eat your meals.

#bodhi rook/you #bodhi rook #bodhi rook/reader #rogue one #star wars #fanfiction

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onestowatch · 8 years ago

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Q&A: How Dermot Kennedy Strikes A Balance Between Bon Iver & Drake In ‘Doves and Ravens’

Just like the rest of us, Dermot Kennedy strives for a healthy balance in life, love, and music--but he does so in a very different way. The Irish singer/songwriter strikes an utterly captivating equilibrium by thoughtfully merging two absolute extremes, both sonically and lyrically. It is a profound talent that has fueled his journey from his self-titled debut album to his upcoming Coachella 2019 performance, and this journey is one we are fortunate enough to have watched unfold before our very eyes.

Kennedy encapsulates notions of love and heartbreak, bliss and sorrow, life and death, and other fiercely opposing forces--often juxtaposing the two from one line to the next. Hence, his debut EP was properly titled Doves and Ravens, featuring the standout track “Glory,” in which Kennedy brilliantly proclaims he’s learned that “doves and raves fly the same.” While his lyrics maintain the depth of a poet and the composition of a seasoned singer/songwriter, Kennedy’s true flair comes in with the addition of unexpectedly urban-leaning production. The contrast between impassioned vocals, stripped back guitar chords, and hip hop beats allows for a highly universal appeal, and that appeal has certainly manifested itself in millions of monthly Spotify plays.

Following two sold-out headline shows in Los Angeles and New York City, we chatted with Dermot Kennedy about his emergence as a solo artist, the creative process behind Doves and Ravens, and his ultimate goal as an artist.

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OTW: Let’s get started! Does your name have any special meaning?

DK: It means “free man.” It’s an Irish name.

OTW: Cool! Do you resonate with it?

DK: Yeah, for sure. My mother was very aware of what it meant--there’s some big story about how Dermot fought and died trying to save some woman. That’s terrible knowledge of what it means, but the name Dermot means “free man” essentially, which I really enjoy.

OTW: Back to the early days, was there a specific moment when you realized music is it? What drew you into it?

DK: What drew me into it was when I was ten years year old. My cousin played guitar at a party, and he was very good, so I got a guitar and started playing. That was the very beginning. I started to fall in love with music by David Gray, Glen Hansard, songwriters, and it grew from there. Playing football was just as important to me. I was a kid thinking I was going to be a footballer until I was 14 years old, and then you realize you actually have to be very good to do that.

It wasn’t like, “I need music in my life and this is what I am going to do definitely.” I think that happened when I left school, which was when I was 17 years old--I realized I definitely was going to do it. We have a thing at home called CAO, which is the form you fill out with your intentions for college and what courses you are applying for and my mother did it for me, because I had no intention of doing anything college-wise. I just wanted to write songs and move forward in that way. I put one course on it and it was a classical music degree. Then it’s swiveled down to an exam and then after the exam swiveled down to an audition. Only 20 people get in...I got in but it was the only course I put down on the form! I’m glad I did it, but I was not the one who made me do it.

OTW: After college, what steps did you take to get started?

DK: Well the class turned out to be super classical and the people there wanted to be conductors and composers. So two of us started playing music together and formed a band while I was in college. Before college, I was doing things under my own name, doing gigs, releasing music, and we started playing together in college and it got weird, because we were nineteen/twenty, and it was my name on the poster, and we were all really good friends. The wheels were already in motion in that way. When I left college, in 2012, I kept doing it. Two years ago, the band split up and I’ve been doing my own thing since.

OTW: I read about how you had an encounter with Glen Hansard on the street...

DK: It was over the course of a couple years. He organizes this big busk at home every Christmas Eve. Bono’s played it. Glen’s the leader of it, and he’s an incredible person. He’ll be on the street for five hours on Christmas Eve just playing songs. Everyone comes together for that, and our main street is just rammed with people, because now it’s the thing that everyone knows about.

One of the first years I went into town, and basically a ton of people show up with guitars because they know it’s a thing and no one is going to stop you--and I was one of them. But he was a hero of mine so I was crazy determined to play with him and just spend time with him. We played a song together, this Bob Dylan song called “You Ain’t Going Nowhere,” and he played the first verse and I knew it because I learned his version of it, then he turned to me to play the second verse, and that was like a dream moment. And so I played it and that day just went on. We played music for a few hours. There were about 20 of us, but in every photo it’s me besides Glen, with my guitar, glued to him. I was like a leech to Glen Hansard that day.

And then a friend bumped into him at a venue in town a couple years later, and he remembered me. So he gave his number to my friend and said, “Tell him to give me a shout,” so we could talk or hang out. I was recording at the time so I wanted to invite him down to the studio to listen to what we were doing, and he couldn’t make it because he was on tour. We went back and forth over the course of two or three years. Finally he was like, “We’re doing a gig in Vicar Street,” which is quite a big venue, 1500 people I think, and he said, “Do you want to jump up on the stage and play during the gig?” So I played a song with his band. He’s a really special person and so that was really special, that moment.

OTW: What did you sing?

DK: I sang “After Rain.” It was funny because even when I showed up on the day and the band was like, “do you want us to play?” I was like, “we haven’t practiced or anything, but let’s give it a go.”

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OTW: What happened after that?

DK: Afterwards I was talking to Glen about how good it is that he gives people that opportunity and he was really passionate about it. He said, “the moment you think your name being on the poster and it being your thing is important, you’ve lost it all. It’s so much bigger than it being your show ever.”

OTW: Wow, what words of wisdom.

DK: Yeah, he’s a good friend.

OTW: So your most recent EP was Doves & Ravens. What’s the explanation behind the name?

DK: It’s not super complex. It was a line in one of the songs, “Glory,” and I often find it hard to pin a song under one thing, and it can alternative from verse to verse or even line to line. For me, there was some good and some bad in my life that took place, and I definitely drew on both for the songs. Sometimes I find, personally, there might not be a ton of consistency in terms of the idea because it jumps back and forth. It gives it a nice balance in terms of the light and shade, and in terms of good and bad. Even in the production, with it being pretty songwriting thing versus this weird urban production, that’s happening now. “Doves & Ravens” was a good representation of that idea to me.

OTW: So you said good and bad, but what is it that’s bad and good?

DK: To start with the bad, I just lost someone really close to me, someone passed away. Not to get too detailed, but it was someone who was close not just to me, but my family. So that was really bad. Then in the midst of that, not long after, I fell in love, very much fell in love. So that was a nice balance.

OTW: This EP is the first time you introduced urban and hip-hop elements--what inspired that contrast?

DK: I was talking to someone about it recently, and they were saying the hip-hop world is the happening thing right now. Like Kanye West says, “rap is the new rock n’ roll.” And for me those guys are the most creative, most exciting, and the most shocking at times, but at least they are being interesting. That’s what I listen to a vast majority of the time.

OTW: Who do you like?

DK: It started with Drake. I’m not ashamed to say that. It’s so good sometimes. I went to see him in Dublin recently, and songs like “Tuscan Leather” and “Worst Behavior” have really strong lyrical character--that’s why I think he is incredible.

I went into the studio with Kerry, who I work with in London--he’s like my guy. He’s really tuned in musically and he played me this X Ambassadors song called “Love Songs Drug Songs,” and it basically mixed guitars with heavy beats. I just thought it was a really cool sound. So we kind of worked off that.

I played him an acoustic I had written--“A Closeness” from the EP. We put this beat on it, and it was so exciting when it happened to mix a raw guitar sound with that. We continued to do the same thing in “Glory” and the other ones. I’m glad I did, and if I’ve done my job correctly, then the acoustic side of things hasn’t been lost, and the songwriting hasn’t been deterred by this production. That’s what I’m trying to do. Have the music be great and build a good track, and also not lose why I started music in the first place.

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OTW: Who are some Ones To Watch artists on your list?

DK: There’s a guy that I think is really great called Ciaran Lavery from Northern Ireland. He is a songwriter in its truest form. He just has a guitar and plays the keys sometimes and writes these really beautiful songs. He’s probably number one for me.

There’s another guy from Dublin called Eden. I remember a couple years ago, he tweeted a video of mine, and it turned out he was from Dublin, and I was like, “who is this person?” There’s tons of good music in Dublin, but a lot of it is quite contained in Dublin. So I was seeing this guy with this outrageous following, and I thought how come I had never heard of him before. I went to go see his show in Dublin, and he came to see mine. He’s a very talented man.

I could go on about bands in Dublin. There’s a band called Overhead, The Albatross. They are the one act from Ireland that I would make sure to see every time. They’re an instrumental band. The energy is very cool.

OTW: So what have you been up to recently?

DK: The first show in LA was a headline thing and it sold out, which is amazing. Then Bonnaroo, came back to play School Night, and headed to New York for another sold out how. Couple of festivals for the next couple months and then going to go from there.

It’s time to start thinking of an album for me, which is super exciting because I’ve got the songs, but I want to be in a scenario where I have space to do the best thing I can.

And we’ll do more shows because the London one was the best one, sold out real fast and it was about 400 people. Spotify is going crazy well, but until you do shows, you don’t really know if those people are people who are hearing it are people who are going to turn out for you at the gates. We don’t really know how far we can push it.

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GLORYYYY-OUS @dermotkennedy 🙌

A post shared by Ones To Watch (@onestowatch) on Jun 12, 2017 at 11:53pm PDT

OTW: Do you think it all started from Spotify?

DK: Yeah. In April of 2016, Spotify started playlisting, and it went from getting 10 plays a day to whatever it gets now.

OTW: What would you say is your ultimate goal as an artist?

DK: I’d find it hard to restrict it to one thing. To have a song used in a major movie would certainly be a “pinch yourself” moment. To be less specific about what it is, I think ultimate goal is to make music that is respected by everyone, to be “successful,” but not lose the respect of the super talented musicians I went to college with.

OTW: So not a sell-out?

DK: Exactly! But I don’t see that as potentially hindering things either. I want to do both--make stuff that is respected by music purists, but I also want to go do amazing things. I think both is possible.

You could go to a Bon Iver or Frank Ocean show, and the people are dying to see that person, and not necessarily the person, but to hear their music and form a connection is really special. I’m starting to feel it, like London with all those people there, and it felt weird. The words you wrote to mean things to these people, and to be packed into that room together, is so special.

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#dermot kennedy #alternative #glory #doves and ravens #eden #glen hansard #ciaran lavery #overheard the albotross #indie

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