#the bishop is for fish

[sinnabee]

heeyyyyy. i made a lambsona and ive started drawing some of the followers from my stream run! yippee!!! here's most of my assorted doodles so far :D we also FINISHED the pngtuber to have up while we play cotl, and its SOOO FUUUUN AAAA. think im gonna add more expressions for her :D ALRIGHT. might have accidentally streamed for 12 hours so its lunch and then bedtime. nighty night! ^^

[tow-bees]

snapple knees

[voltaical-art]

they gotta stop looking at each other like that, or else they might be in love for real

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[All right, so who came up with the freshwater bitch fish quote? It's the most quoted line for me]

I wanna say that's, that's scripted. However, it's hard to tell with when Max goes off script it when you think, when you think about it. But that is indeed in the script. The freshwater bitch fish. He just makes it seem so fluid and loose. -Lamorne

[briefbestiary]

A fish of the cloth, often discussed alongside the similarly themed sea monk.

[joezy27]

HAWKEYE - "Oof-- Classic Clint."

Season's Beatings (2018) #1 "Holi-La-La-Days" By Jason Latour & Veronica Fish

[jackgoodfellow]

Don't Starve is the only game I know that somehow senses my HUBRIS.

I was 2 MINUTES AWAY FROM THE FINAL PORTAL IN THE FINAL LEVEL OF ADVENTURE MODE WITHOUT CHEATING OR ANYTHING. I had spent DAYS working to win the game, 2 MINUTES away from the end! I had Chester! I had a billion pierogies! I had two activated touchstones! I had it all, baby!!!!

I even bragged to my wife that the game was almost easy now!

Big mistake. The Hubris Sensing Technology (TM) of the World's Most Unforgiving Game sensed my complacency and the next thing I knew I was barraged by more Clockwork Bishops than I have ever seen in a single place in my hundreds and hundreds of hours playing this evil evil game!!!

I got through more killer bees than I'd ever seen, and a huge dense forest of 1,000 spiders! All that I could handle!!

But I have NO IDEA what I was supposed to do about a bottleneck that involved 60 ranged attacks hitting me within 5 seconds and stun-locking me to death. I have never been so Humbled by a game, and I've been playing this game for so long!

I have made this art piece to commemorate the occasion.

DISCLAIMER/CREDIT:

To make this, I cut out sprites from the game and from other official art by Klei Games, and then I added all the lighting effects and arranged it all together.

The only other thing I actually drew for this is Wigfrid's hand holding the torch.

Normally, I illustrate every element of a piece I do; but for this, I just wanted to quickly communicate the High-Pitched Silly Screaming Horror of running into this monstrosity in the "all-darkness" level of Adventure Mode!!

EDIT: Someone confirmed for me after making this post that the *Impossible Bishop Gauntlet of Doom* was, in fact, a glitch. -- OR IS THAT JUST WHAT THE BISHOPS WANT ME TO THINK????

[fishsticksloser]

Okay. Liam. Kiss. Hm?

Embrasse-Moi Doucement

Liam x gn!reader

Warnings: fluff, kissing, short and sweet

A/N: Hopefully I'll be more motivated now... Think I had just stared at those requests for way too long and couldn't function...

Anxiety, need, patience... All things coursing through him. You looked so perfect, smiling, laughing. What he wouldn't give to reach out and pull you to him, kissing you until you're breathless.

But he held back. He shouldn't interrupt this moment of joy for you. Hearing your laugh is music to his ears, his heart swelling at the sight of your smile. No... Not yet.

His hand slips into yours, gently tugging you along. Liam wanted to make sure you saw as much as you could before the fair closed. His fingers thread between yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

He never considered himself a romantic, but this threw him for a loop. Standing at the edge of the pier, away from all the games and food. He did behind you, letting you lean on the railing as both of you looked at the dark water, the moon and stars reflecting on the surface like a mirror.

God you were perfect. Liam leans down, kissing your shoulder. He didn't speak, though he hardly did to begin with. His hands rest on your hips, his lips moving to your jaw. Liam blushes slightly when you turn around to face him, your face lit up by the fair lights behind him.

His hand hesitantly cups your cheek, he leans down, making sure to bump his nose with yours, loving the sound of your giggling when he does. With a soft grin on his face, Liam's lips meet yours.

It's a slow, soft kiss. Your lips molding to each other's, his hand sliding back to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape. Liam doesn't rush, his free hand on your waist.

He rests his forehead against yours when he pulls away, his thumb caressing the side of your neck. "I have been wanting to do that all evening, darling..." He sighs contently, kissing your nose with an embarrassed smile.

[thestudyinglesbian]

to-do list

2nd September 24

(I can't believe it's September! I love September so im very happy)

urgent (due tomorrow):

french vocab

french phrases

french grammar

maths questions (there's 25 of them 🙂🔫)

business notes

irish learning 1

important (due wednesday):

irish learning 2

biology notes

biology questions

personal:

prep bag

prep tracksuit

read chapter of book (when the coffee gets cold)

pilates workout

shower

dinner

[evolutionsvoid]

The sea holds many secrets in its depths, and the sea folk have no shortage of odd tales to share on long voyages or at the docks. Strange illusions upon the horizons, ghostly ships that vanish into fog and sea, strange shadows beneath the waves that fit no fish, and nights when the starry sky and glowing sea seem to beckon to one another. One favorite tale or spooky story they whisper is of the sounds that can be heard on a dark night in a calm sea. When the water is perfectly still and one is adrift in this blackened void, the water below seems to hum and waver. It is a dull and droning sound, more so felt in one's bones than heard in your ears. Crews shall search their ships in vain, thinking it a trick or one of their own, but no culprit shall be found. When they look to the sea, they will know the source, and fear what it could mean. 

Above the surface, this droning hum is difficult to decipher, though it may raise and fall in odd patterns. But some claim that the noise can be better heard when immersed in the ocean, dunking one's head in for a better listen. Obviously, most sea folk believe this to be foolish, almost suicidal, yet tales speak of few who have done this daring deed. As the stories go, some "brave" sailors take the dip, lowering themselves down to the ocean and dipping their heads in to learn more. Once they go in, however, they do not come up. Even as the seconds turn to a minute and past, they remain under, barely moving as they listen. Hopefully, other crew members are around to pull them back up, as some stories say that the men will drown in mere inches of water and yet never flail or fight. Those who are rescued before they calmly drown themselves will snap to, as if roused from a dream, and babble on of singing and reverent chants. They will go fearful of the ocean, and desperately try to escape the sight of it. They hide in the bowels of the ship, rocking themselves and murmuring sounds not made with lungs. Yet, when morning comes, they will be gone. They will have vanished in the night, and every whaler knows where they have gone. It is the go-to explanation for all who disappear at sea without a trace: "The ocean called to them, and they returned."

While many would believe these strange ocean songs to be myth or classic sailor superstition, there is no denying that there is something down there. The myriad of odd beings caught in trawling nets or washed up dying on shore are proof, their mere image showing they are more than simple fish. And sometimes, these aquatic entities appear on their own volition, like those of the Saints and their leviathans. There are others that have been encountered upon shore and on sea, and these run ins tend to create more mysteries than they solve. One of these odds creatures are the Bishops, strange fishy beings whose silhouettes are both similar and unnerving. 

The Bishops are typically encountered at sea, sometimes appearing besides small vessels out of nowhere, and sometimes hauled in by accident with their nets. Every story notes the unsettling aura of calm they exude, remaining still and silent even as their bodies are tangled in nets and hooks. Those who show up next to ships also remain quiet and serene, emerging from the water with sluggish ease despite the waves and weather. When the fishermen realize their company, they are quick to untangle them or give them their rapt attention. It seems the moment they gain all as witnesses, the Bishops perform their task. Of course, this is all guesswork, as no one truly knows what they intend with these appearances, or what they think of their sudden abductions. Their mouths move with clicking teeth, yet no words are formed. Their odd tendril hands slowly form holy gestures, moving in deliberate patterns that feel like silent speaking. But as baffling as they are, meaning is often delivered to the minds of the watchers. The tales talk about the odd sensations that occur to the body as the Bishops "speak." They speak of the creature's head pulsing and throbbing, and soon the fishermen's flesh tingles and their hair stand on end. The mind is confused, frantic, as if waves are rolling over one's brain, but then suddenly, it will strike them like an epiphany. Meaning from out of the blue, understanding of some alien tongue dropped directly into their minds. And often, this moment of understanding blinds the crew, and by the time they regain their senses, they will see the tip of the Bishop's tail vanish elegantly into the depths. 

The messages given to the witnesses are indescribable, as human words cannot convey their meaning. The best folk can give as explanations are feelings and odd urges, wariness of some things to come or confidence in an event that should never happen. Some have spoken of absolution, of this feeling of weight taken off their bodies. Past failures and trauma are suddenly numbed and faded, as if the scars have truly been healed. But then others come back with haunted eyes and unnerved minds, acting like condemned prisoners on the way to the chopping block. What was "gifted" to them is never shared, but their untimely ends shortly after speak volumes. 

There is no doubt that their appearance is holy: the visage similar to members of the Church, the calm demeanor they always carry and the artifacts they clutch in their tendrils. Some groups consider them truly sacred, on par with the Church itself, though these sects tend to not be favorites in the Church's eyes. They think that the Bishops are the holy who have reincarnated into this new form, to live in the calm serenity of the depths. The messages they bring are blessings or damnation, given to those who deserve such judgements. They are leaders of the flocks of the deep, speaking sermons in tongues that know only water, and chanting prayers that hum throughout the very seas. Visions of the depths have painted a world of billowing spires, of churches built from leviathan bone and writhing worm. Down there, where darkness and pressure wipes away the senses, faith is the one thing that remains strong.

Of course, some always have to wonder and ask: do they truly hold sermons down there, and if so, what do they speak of? To the folk upon dry land, these are beings free from any known humors or godly liquids. To what do they pray to? What do they worship, and what do they think of the world above? Surely in these times of chaos and war, they would abandon such a violent land, yet they still appear. Perhaps these eyes that know only abyssal darkness still see something within our rotten souls. Perhaps they still arrive at our shores to deliver things we have lost along the way. Perhaps, despite it all, there is still hope for us.   

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

"Bishop of the Sea"

[alihsi]

Monstober Day 20: The sea monk is a Danish creature with possible origins from the descriptions after capturing a monkfish, squid, or guitarfish. The typical depiction is of a monk head on top of a scaly body, with squid tentacles. I pulled some elements from depictions of the version called the sea bishop as well as embellishing with some of my own elements. Pentel brushpen, Windsor & Newton fine-line marker, and Prismacolor fine-line marker on Canson mixed media.

[thepotentialof2007]

For, not only is he scarily ambitious, in fact, but also he is remorselessly combative, and the senior lieutenants whom he has gathered around him are of like mind. Winning means everything to them. It is why they have been so successful. Their only mode of defence is attack, and that approach comes from the top, which means Horner, yes, but also Helmut Marko, Red Bull’s autocratic 80-year-old ‘adviser’ (the inverted commas are my own, intended to indicate the extent to which such an apparently innocuous job title underplays his enormous influence on the organisation).

. . . .

The last time I spoke to him was on the afternoon of Friday November 24 2022, in the Abu Dhabi paddock. I was by that time working as Aston Martin’s comms chief, and I had escorted our team principal Mike Krack to the FIA press conference, in which his fellow panellists had been McLaren’s Andrea Stella and, yes, Horner. As we all filed out afterwards, by chance I fell into step alongside the Red Bull boss. “Congratulations on a great season,” I said to him. “To win 16 grands prix [which would become 17 two days later], well, that’s impressive.”

He stopped dead, turned to face me, and shook me by the hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. You’re literally the first person from any other team who’s said that to me.” I had not been expecting so florid a reply – a muttered “Cheers” was probably more like what I would have been anticipating, had I been minded to hazard a guess. So, now, reflecting on our exchange, I reckon the explanation for his unusually generous reaction to what was a pretty humdrum compliment must surely be that the ruthlessness with which he and his cohorts have achieved what they have achieved has made his rivals unwilling to extend such normal courtesies to him.

Or, to put it bluntly, not many F1 people like him very much.

_ Matt Bishop, excerpted from "Christian Horner's 'scary ambition' that was obvious the moment he entered F1" Motor Sport Magazine, Feb 28, 2024

[i-am-worm]

Inktober 52 2024 - Week 18 - 'Spirit'

This week's word is 'Spirit' and it's also Mer-may! So my first thought was maybe to a tie in to an existing fish spirit, and I was surprised to find there isn't much info on real concrete fish spirits. There are plenty of water spirits (...that are often people or horse shaped for some reason) but not many that out right resemble fish.

Some places suggested the salmon as a 'Native American' or 'Celtic' spirits, but sources looked super dubious (the 'healing crystals' and 'Celtic zodiac' kind of dubious. And if real, I didn't feel right doing a 'salmon mermaid spirit' lest I attracted the wrong ideas).

A few fish came up as part of legends (that inevitably get eaten) but yeah, not a lot of out right 'fish spirit'.

But my research reminded me of some so called 'spiritual' (see what I did there) fish people, and that's the legends of the 'Sea Monk' and the 'Bishop Fish':

And I felt more safe having fun drawing them. I imagine them tending the much overlooked fish spirits of the vast waters that cover our earth. Maybe people can suggest some ones they know of if they know of any.

[bowbow-the-clown]

... Oh Silly Little Jelly ... .. What Sweet Little Thoughts Do You Have ..

[metamercury]

Took my fish husband on a date to anchordeep last night, as per the new update. And i gotta say. Y'all don't fucking deserve kallamar, alright? You don't.

[justarandomlambblog]

resisting the urge to *isekai/time regress* the game of cultist lamb