#or whatever it is. is it a beak or a bill

[front-facing-pokemon]

#HEEEERE'S THE BIGGUN #everyone knows this guy from being the mailman in rescue team. and good on 'im for doing the job that no one else can #it's your game‚ pelipper! woooo!! cheering. clapping‚ even #see remember in wingull's tags when i was talking about it not having one thing it's super memorable for? pelipper is the beak. that bill #or whatever it is. is it a beak or a bill #it's a kangaroo pouch is what it is. for holding Mail……… #i'm trying out the new post editor for this one. normally i use the “legacy post editor” or whatever they call it but i'm trying the new on #just for fun. and i'm not sure how i feel about it #it's kinda objectively better but the font for tags is way bigger. on the old one i could kinda intuit when i'm abt to hit the character li #it. ← like that. but here i can't quite tell. bc it makes it look like tags are able to be way longer bc it wraps twice instead of just onc #because the font is so big. it's like better. it's more readable and it plays nice with my theme. but i dunnoooooo #tumblr users are notoriously averse to change and i suppose i'm basically the same way #this isn't about pelipper. here's pelipper. enjoy pelipper #pelipper

[extinctionstories]

Extinction is always accompanied by unanswerable questions. Absence makes mysteries of the simplest details: the Passenger Pigeon's weight; the Dodo's tail; the diet of the Thylacine.

We know more about some species' cause of death than we do about the life that preceded it. When its last refuge was clearcut in the 1940's, the biggest question about the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker’s disappearance was whether it was, in fact, gone. But another mystery nagged from the depths of the swamp.

Like the Ivory-Bill, the stronghold of the Carolina Parakeet had been old-growth wetland forest—rich with cypress nuts too hard for other birds to crack, and plentiful places to roost and rear young. Though extirpated elsewhere by hunting & the pet trade, the bird should likewise have been expected to persist in the wildness of the Southern swamps. Yet the common parakeets vanished 40 years sooner than did the woodpecker.

A cavity-nester, the Carolina Parakeet made its home not among tree branches, but inside their dead, hollow trunks. The Ivory-Bill was able to drill itself a new nest each year, but a beak made for cracking cypress shells was useless at excavating solid wood, and parakeets were dependent upon whatever hand-me-down hollows they were able to find.

There are other species that live in secondhand nests. And the fingerprints of human influence can be found far beyond the reach of a physical hand.

The honeybee was brought to North America in 1622, and the European imports quickly set off on their own New World conquest, heralds of the incoming tide. In less than 200 years, they were established throughout the lands east of the Mississippi River. Most often, feral swarms would build their buzzing homes inside of hollow trees.

There's no way to know for sure how large a part the European Honeybee played in the loss of the Carolina Parakeet. But we do know that swarming honeybees have been documented stealing nests from the vulnerable ‘Ua'u bird of Hawaii, leaving limp bodies welted with stings beneath their feathers.

We know, too, the impact that our current honeybee-centric system of agriculture has upon the 4000+ species of bee native to North America, 1 in 4 of which is threatened with extinction. Wild bees require diverse diets and habitat to thrive; they struggle to survive amid our sprawling, bug-sprayed monoculture, much less meet the demands of its pollination.

Without the honeybee, it’s often said, our industrialized foodchain would collapse. But, maybe it isn't too late to find ways to prevent everything else from crumbling at our expense.

The title of this painting is 'The Colonizers'. It is gouache on 18x24" paper, and is #6 in my series about the Carolina Parakeet.

#recently extinct #carolina parakeet #extinct birds #extinct animals #extinction #extinction stories

[skullsemi]

Very random but do you have any tips for drawing Daisy and Donald??

Mostly their bills/beaks?? There so hard to draw

I agree! to this day I still have some trouble getting it right. I'm not that good with tutorials, but here's one on my take to draw them:

1. Circle base and eyes are the first and most important to get the shape of the beak around it.

2. There's a wave line that goes up and down around the eyes that ends (and is) on the "cheek", sometimes far or close to the eye, depends on how you prefer

3. The tip of the beak tends do go slightly up and then goes back down in a curve to the bottom part.

4. The line of the mouth is kinda a "L" curve shape going from the tip to the corner/cheek of the beak (ending pointing up or down depending on the emotion)

5. Finally, the bottom part, it follows the mouth line and is a bit shorter than the up part.

6. From there, you can fit most of the disney ducks. (talk about same face syndrome)

(Oh I forgot to add up but you can also make a square shape base for the beak right away)

And depending of the style you're aiming for, it still kinda follows that same rule:

My style / Original style / Topolino style

In the end it's your choice to make it more square, round, curvy or whatever you'd like

And that's it! Hope I didn't make things too confusing

#inbox #disney #donald duck #daisy duck #gladstone gander #fethry duck #scrooge mcduck #professor ludwig von drake #art tutorial #art tips #my art

[jiubilant]

12 (candles) if youd like :)

12. candles

The lawman’s desk is a heavy old thing, hard-cornered, strewn with billets, bills, and bobs—and tall tallow-candles, pale and slender as a gentry-mort’s throat, standing in ship-shaped silver chambersticks. The urchin stands tippy-toed to stare at them. If she snatches them and bolts, she thinks, she could fence them dockside for a rum sum. Her hands twitch. Her own mug, blank with terror, stares back at her from the polished plate.

“The contracts are in order,” says the lawman, reaching for his quill. Then his hand stops. Through silver-rimmed spectacles, he sizes up the urchin: her togs, her scabby ears, the bald tip of her tail. The hard corners of his mouth turn down. “And—this is the child in question?”

The clerk to whom the urchin will be prenticed, unless she darts out with the chambersticks, drums two calm fingers on his cane. “Yes.”

Auntie, the urchin reminds herself over the hammering of her heart, had told her to mind him. She wouldn't disobey Auntie, never. But Auntie hadn't known, surely, that her turncoat-toff brother would march the urchin straight into a cunning-man's office, where rogues like her get their fortunes read—

"—right, hla?" the clerk is saying, for some reason.

He’d told her outside to bow to the lawman when addressed. Now they’re both looking at her—the clerk with furrowed brow, the lawman fitting her for a noose with just his eyes—and the urchin’s back feels like a wooden beam, and her tongue feels like something growing on it. She manages to nod.

“Well.” The lawman gives the clerk a pointed look, then scans the contracts again. “No bond of surety. No pension provided for the child’s upkeep. You understand that you are, therefore, obliged to provide for her out-of-pocket for the duration of her indenture?”

The urchin, half-listening, imagines the ship-shaped chambersticks sailing away: candle-flames flickering, silver prows carving the sea. She imagines herself in one. The clerk's curt voice drifts down to her as if through water. “Yes.”

“That you are, for said duration, liable for her in every particular—"

“Quite.”

“Well.” With an ironic flourish of his quill, the lawman makes his mark. “You Company people dredge up your prentices from the damnedest places. All right, Master Rano, she’s yours if you sign.”

She’ll do it, the urchin thinks, eyeing the silver glims. She’ll kick the stick out from under the old scribbler, so as he can’t grab her, and be out the door like that. She shifts her weight in preparation—

"My thanks," says the clerk breezily, and whisks the contracts from the lawman's desk. He blows on the ink to dry it—the candles sputter, as does the lawman—then drops the rolls into the wide-eyed urchin's arms. "Hold onto those, for now, and let's be off. Stuffy in here."

"Why—" The lawman, turning red, straightens his spectacles. "You've not signed!"

The clerk's cloak swirls about him as he turns. The look with which he fixes the lawman is one of perfect, polite concern. "Need I do it now?"

"A notary must witness the signature—"

"I'm a notary," says the clerk brightly, and billows out the door.

They're halfway down the street before the urchin realizes that her legs are moving. Wobbling, too. She hugs the contracts close and slows to a practiced stroll, keeping to the scribbler's shadow, because only the greenest dabbers get caught hurrying in broad daylight—

The clerk, she realizes, is talking to her again.

"—all right?" he asks, looking down his long nose. She's never seen such a beak on any bird. He doesn't look like Auntie at all, she thinks, her chest all tight. Auntie had never stared at her like that, brow creased, as though the urchin had been put together wrong.

Whatever he'd said, twice now, he wants her to agree. She swallows and drops her eyes to his boots. "Right."

The clerk studies her. Then he sinks stiffly to one knee.

"I asked if you're all right," he says, still looking at her in that odd, painful way. "It's a bit much, I expect, all this. How old are you?"

The urchin doesn't know. She wants to cringe away. She flicks her ears back instead, trying to come off fierce. "I were the biggest of Auntie's lot. Quickest, too. She"—her voice cracks, and she squares her shoulders to compensate—"she wouldn't have shipped me here if I weren't best."

It's true, she tells herself, trying not to breathe too funny. No lilligut would stroll into a lawman's office, swell as you like, and connive to nab his chambersticks besides. No coward would swimmer to far Haafingar to learn a dayman's trade, and be a prentice, and all. She won't run off. She can't cock this up, she thinks, peering over all the tickrum in her arms, or she's every sort of stupid.

She's starting to understand the look on the clerk's face. It's sad, somehow.

"What did you do," he asks, "for my sister?"

The lawman's isn't twenty steps behind them. The urchin's lie comes prompt and proper; not even a tail-twitch betrays her. "Errands."

"Really?" The clerk's voice is dry as ash. "When I was your age, she had me crawling down outlanders' chimneys to steal their limeware."

The image is so ridiculous—this spindly cove, Auntie's selfsame kin, folded up in a flue like a concertina—that the urchin barks a single startled laugh, involuntary as a sneeze. The clerk blinks at her, astonished. Then he grins.

"Hold onto those," he says again, and levers himself to his feet. "I shouldn't have hurried you to the hiring-hall straight off. At the end of the day, if you find the prospect of a Company apprenticeship, ah, amenable, give them back to me." His voice goes gentler. "There's a place for you to sign, too."

It's a lot of binnacle-words. The urchin blinks up at him, warily fascinated, and mouths one: men-a-bull.

"I know some already," she says hesitantly. "About the Company. About—stuff."

"Stuff."

"And fustian."

"Ah." The clerk's smile is canny as Auntie's. "Well, to supplement your knowledge—why don't we begin with the market rate for silver?"

[send me a number, and i’ll write a microfic using the word or phrase!]

#these two again to start. figured this scene would nicely bookend the last piece #skyrim #microfic #oc tag #shurri #ravi

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

It's the Perfect Time of Year (Somewhere Far Away from Here)

Fandom: Uncharted 4 word count: 6,705 Whumpee: Nathan Drake Whump tropes: grief, bar fight, beaten, choked, knocked out, caretaking

Read on Ao3

~~~

It’d been a rough few months, there was really no other way to say it. 

After the loss of his brother, it was like Nate lost the ability to care about himself. He poured everything into the search for Sir Drake, reading books and diaries day in and day out until he found something that pointed to a physical location that he could go investigate. Some days when he would get lost in his books it was like he would forget he had a body at all, only remembering to eat or drink when Sully placed something in front of him. He would fuss over having food or drink placed near some of the books and maps, worried that Sully would soil some of them with crumbs or water rings. At first Sullivan took offence that Nate would think he would ever be so careless, but whatever got his attention and brought him back to the present, even if it was only for a short time. 

Sully didn't usually hang around between calls from Nate, he'd be there whenever Nate needed him to be, and he did have other stuff he could be doing when he wasn't flying the kid around the globe. But after Sam, and then after Rafe… Nate didn't ask him to stay, but he didn't send him away either. And Sully wasn't about to ask first, knowing if he did Nate would insist he was fine even though he clearly wasn't. He could see the ever growing list of leads, but Nate never set a plan in motion to go after them yet. Was the thought of all that time to be undistracted during travel time daunting? Afraid if he didn’t have his mind distracted by books and maps he would fall headlong into the grief?

So they stayed put, and as long as Nate wasn't telling him to leave, Sully found stuff to do nearby. He found himself taking on the role of house-keeper, not that it got particularly messy since Nate rarely left the room he had claimed as his study in their tiny rental house near the beach, but if Sullivan didn’t sort through the mail every so often it would’ve been ignored until the lights went out and the water stopped dripping from the tap, not that it was super reliable even when the bills were paid on time. He kept the kid fed, nudged him to sleep when he would yawn so hard his jaw looked like it would unhinge, and not so graciously sent him to the shower when he started to stink to high heaven. 

Sully felt triumphant when he finally convinced Nate to leave his books, just for an evening, to stretch his legs and think about something else for a little while, to sit in the company of people other than Sully. Begrudgingly, Nate slumped in the passenger seat of the Jeep, his elbow braced on the window frame as he stared out at the greenery whipping past. He mindlessly rubbed his chin with his thumb and didn’t say a word the entire drive. Sully glanced over at him, getting the gist that Nate wouldn’t be that much of a conversationalist quite yet this evening before he flicked on the radio, upbeat Spanish music poured from the tinny speakers of the old Jeep and he tapped along to the rhythm on the steering wheel.  

Two songs later they were pulling up to the ramshackle building that was the local bar. The faded sign posted above the door depicted a caricature of a chicken with a comically large cigar clenched in its tooth lined beak. In the weeks they had been in town, Nate had never been there but Sully was a frequent visitor, on the nights he didn’t want to cook anything or was tired of being cooped up in the house and needed a buzz. Nate eyed the area sceptically, and the locals leaning against the railing of the roofed front porch eyed him back. 

“Evening, amigos!” Sully called to them, relighting his cigar as he swept past them. Several of the guys grunted a half-assed greeting or nodded in Sully’s direction, familiar with his presence, but kept their sights on Nate as he followed behind the older man. 

Sully shoved the front door open, holding it just long enough for Nate to catch it on the way in. Eduardo was in his usual spot behind the bar, pouring a line of drinks for the gaggle of people leaning on the bar already. He glanced up as the door slammed shut, his eyes lighting up with a grin as Sully snagged a pair of stools near the end of the bar. 

“Sully!!” the bartender yelled jovially. “What’s good?”

“Everything, Eduardo, look who I finally convinced to join me!” Sully jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in Nate's direction.

“Ah, is this the fabled Mr. Drake?!”

“The one and only,” Sully exclaimed, cringing as the wording hit him too late. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Nate’s lips twist into a frown. He flopped onto the stool next to Sully and crossed his arms on the bar. “My usual, Eddie, make it two.”

“You got it,” Eduardo gave a thumbs up and wandered off to the other end of the bar, grabbing a couple of glasses off of the bar mat as he went.

Sully leaned towards Nate, bumping their shoulders together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, I get it.” Nate shrugged, looking around at the decor of the bar. It was cleaner inside than the rundown exterior led one to expect. “It’s just a phrase.”

Sully nodded sadly, watching Nate as he looked pretty much everywhere except at another human in the bar at that moment. Neon lights that advertised various alcoholic drinks hanging on the wall above them cast his skin in a blue tinge and the blue-ish colour of his eyes appeared almost black. 

Sully saw when his eyes caught on something on the wall across the room and followed his gaze over the gaggle of other patrons to see what captured his attention. A large framed picture hung as a focal point above the pool table, surrounded by smaller framed photos of a variety of people, the backgrounds of many of them showed the ambience of the very bar they were hung in, heads tilted in laughter, glasses raised in salute. A viewer couldn’t help but smile at the joy that poured out of those photos. The large photo in the middle of it all showed two men, each with an arm wrapped around the other and clinking together tall glasses of frothy beer with the caricature of the cigar smoking chicken from the faded sign outside emblazoned on the glasses. The eyes of the man on the right were crinkled shut, his smile wide and you could almost hear the laughter he must have been emitting as the photo was snapped, the man on the left had a mischievous glint in his eyes and a barely controlled smirk moments from erupting into laughter as well. 

Sully smiled sadly at it, remembering the history behind the photo that Eduardo had told him just a couple weeks before.

“That’s Eduardo and his brother. They opened this bar together nearly twenty years ago.”

Nate's eyes flicked between the photo and Eduardo pouring drinks at the other end of the bar, vaguely nodding as he recognized the resemblance between the man and the younger version in the photo. He was the one on the right, captured in laughter.

Eduardo swept back towards them with their drinks, setting the glasses down with a satisfying thump on the solid wood bartop, rubbed smooth by decades of glassware and elbows sliding across it. He snatched a wooden bowl from further down the bar, one of several scattered around and plopped it between them, offering a selection of salted nuts. He glanced between the two men, measuring the mood between them until he saw Nate still vacantly staring at the framed photo.

“Ah, another patron captivated by my brother's charm?” Eduardo grinned, almost as wide as the photo, his eyes crinkling into a now familiar pattern of crows feet caused by decades of laughter. “Ignacio had that charm around him, he drew people's attention effortlessly.”

Nate focused on Eduardo and swallowed hard before speaking. “Had?”

“Fifteen years he’s been gone now,” he said with a smile, “I miss him every day, more than anything, but I cherish every memory I had with him.” Eduardo leaned his hip against the lower service side of the bar, folding thick arms across his broad chest as he gazed fondly at the photo. “I was the kid brother who annoyed him whenever he wasn’t working, and sometimes he had to travel far for his work and I wouldn’t see him for months, but he always came back for me.”

He shoved off from the counter, excitedly digging into the pocket of his black linen pants he produced a flat bottle opener. The scuffed red colour of the metal was only visible in small areas, the edges of the material worn and shiny down to the bare metal all the way around the rounded rectangle. He flipped it around lovingly in his hands. “He got me this when he went to Colombia when I was sixteen. He had so many stories of the places he saw, people he met. When we opened this bar he promised he would take me there, but he got sick before we could become even slightly financially stable with this bar.”

Sully glanced between Eduardo and Nate, worried how these stories might affect Nate’s already fragile grief. Nate seemed to be stuck, his head absentmindedly bobbing and his eyes glazed over, as though he were operating on autopilot and only half listening. Eduardo also seemed to have drifted off into his thoughts, smiling softly at the bottle opener in his hands. 

Sully cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you can make it there yourself someday, beautiful country, coffee’s great. Say, what is Isabella cooking up back in there, it smells amazing.”

Eduardo shook himself from his reverie and slipped the bottle opener back into his pocket and stood up straight. “Oh Sully, you’re going to love it, I’ll grab you a couple bowls right now!”

When he disappeared into the kitchen, Sully turned to Nate. “You okay still?”

Nate didn’t say anything, merely shrugged one shoulder and stared at the bowl of nuts in front of him. Sully put his hand on Nate's shoulder, squeezing tightly a couple times. 

“It’s hard, kid. I know it’s hard, but look at Eduardo. It’s a heavy weight to bear right now but it’ll get easier. It just takes time.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Nate’s face. He couldn’t see it yet and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“We-” Nate’s voice broke and he cleared his throat before trying again. “We never really had any pictures of the two of us. Not since we were kids. I can remember seeing some when I was really young but we didn’t really have much with us when we went to the orphanage, let alone pictures. And if mom had any, they didn’t end up with her books.”

Sully nodded sadly, looking down at the countertop. He had boxes of old photographs in storage back home, his mother had taken photos of everything, even the kittens that had been born to a stray cat under their back porch when he was barely 3 years old, so there were boxes of albums and even more shoeboxes of loose photos. Photos that were deemed precious enough to pass on, full of faces he didn’t even know the names of from when his mother was young, before his time. She had treasured them, and he kept them safe even if he didn’t necessarily understand the context of many of them. 

There were albums full of family vacation photos, from when they had packed themselves into his dads Studebaker Coupe and travelled through the southern states during the summer. Albums full of school photos, from the home shorn bowl cut in grade 2 all the way through to the regrettable mullet and barely there moustache he wore with pride in highschool. At the time he didn’t get it, he didn’t know why his mother insisted on taking photos at what seemed like every little moment and carefully preserving them in her albums.

He gets it now. 

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Nathan picked up his glass and swirled the amber liquid around, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass and shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

Sully picked up his glass and tipped the rim towards Nate’s. “To Sam.”

Nate swallowed hard but lifted his drink to clink against Sully’s. “To Sam,” he echoed. Together they thumped their glasses against the bartop and took a drink. It was the first drink Nate had had in weeks and he grimaced at the burn down his throat. “Awful stuff. He would’ve loved it though.”

“He had better taste than you, that's for sure,” Sully said with a chuckle, pleased to see a half hearted grin on Nate’s face.

“He would whip us both at pool too, but I think I could take you.” Nate said, tilting his head to gesture at the pool tables with his chin.

“I’ll take that bet. After we eat though, I play better with a full stomach. Isabella’s food is going to knock your socks off!” Sully shot back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass onto the counter before sliding off the side of his stool. “I’m going to hit the head while we’re waiting.”

He headed off towards the washroom at the back of the room, stepping past the big group of people gathered around the bar. A woman with long dark brown hair sat on a stool with her back against the edge of the bartop, gracefully holding the rim of a stemless wine glass between two fingers, her eyes following as he walked passed. Sully tilted his head towards her with a smile as they made eye contact. Next to her stood a big guy, leaning against the bar and draping his arm across her shoulders, pressing himself into her space and laughing obnoxiously at whatever his buddy next to him had just said. When he saw Sully smiling at the woman, his expression changed to fury.

“Keep walking, old man.” He growled and he pulled his arm closer to her neck possessively.

Sully gave a half assed salute and nodded, carrying on his way around the corner and down the narrow hallway. 

As he finished up his business in the washroom he heard loud voices from the front room, opening the door he paused to listen as the voices carried down the hallway.

“I said, are you looking at my girl?” Sully recognized the voice of the big guy with the girl under his arm at the bar.

“No?” That was Nate, sounding confused. “I wasn’t looking at her, I was look–”

“Oh, so you think she’s ugly then, is that it?”

Sully started down the hallway as Nate sounded even more bewildered. “No, she’s very pretty, but I wasn’t–”

“Oh, so you were looking at her, huh?” 

Sully made it around the corner just as the guy shoved off the counter, stalking towards Nate, who was leaning back with his hands raised slightly in front of him.

“Look man, I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have come here.”

Before Nate could react, the big guy swung at him with a hard right hook across the jaw, knocking him off of the stool and he hit the ground hard. The big guy stalked forward, towering over Nate as he scrambled on the floor, managing to grab the leg of the stool as he pushed himself to his feet and took a few steps back, wielding the stool like a weapon to defend himself. 

“Hey, leave him alone!” Sully called out and he pushed through the group, trying to get to Nate.

“Sit down, old man.” 

Someone behind Sully slammed their hands into his shoulders, causing him to stumble and he fell forward, catching the edge of the countertop just below his ribs and all the air was forced out of his lungs. He slumped to the floor, retching as his body automatically tried to drag in air that his lungs couldn’t remember how to deal with. People were stepping over him, kicking his legs as they tried to get around him, not paying him any attention as he struggled to breathe.

After an agonizing long time, he finally managed to take a productive gasp of air, his eyes watering as he took another heave that turned into a cough, which nearly turned into gagging. 

Another kick to his shin motivated him to gather himself together, grabbing the edge of the bar he pulled himself to his feet, bracing himself against it as he continued to try to catch his breath. 

A thin hand with soft skin settled on Sully’s shoulder and he turned to find the pretty girl from before looking at him with concern. “Are you ok?”

Sully turned his head away from her to cough into his shoulder before smiling widely at her. “I’m good, love!”

“Your friends not,” She said, tilting her chin in Nate’s direction.

Sully turned just in time to see Nate brandish the stool he was holding like a bat, swinging it towards the big guy's hip. The guy caught the stool, using it and Nate’s grip on it to yank Nate towards himself to pull him off balance.

Nate leaned into it, using the forward momentum to try to tackle the guy around the waist and pushing him back against the bar and sending drinks and plates tumbling to the ground.

Eduardo emerged from the kitchen, yelling loud and fast, so quickly that Sully couldn’t keep up but he caught “Carlos” in the rapid fire Spanish.

‘Carlos’ was clearly the brute that was grappling with Nate, yelling out as his spine hit the edge of the bar top. He clasped his big meaty hands together and slammed them down, driving both fists into the middle of Nates back. Nate grunted and his arms released, collapsing against Carlos’ legs. 

Carlos fisted his hand into Nate's hair, yanking his head back before driving his knee into his nose. Blood spurted out immediately as Nate fell backwards, hitting the floor with his arms splayed out, dazed. Carlos stalked forward and knelt on the floor, one knee on either side of Nate’s hips as he straddled him.

“Get off of him!” Sully yelled, rushing forwards and trying to grasp Carlos’ raised fist as the big guy grabbed the neck of Nate’s shirt with his other hand, lifting his head off of the floor. 

One effortless shove and Sully was sent stumbling backwards, caught before he hit the floor by Carlos’ posse, who latched onto his arms and forced him to his knees, pinning him in place. A front row seat as Carlos started whaling on Nate.

At first Nate weakly tried to fight back, becoming aware enough to bring his hands up and desperately trying to untangle Carlos’ hand from his shirt, trying to get his fingers in between Carlos’ fingers to try and pull them away but it was useless against the iron grip that he had. 

The big guys fist landed with a sickening crunch against Nate’s cheek, his head jerking to the side as blood from his nose spattered across the floor. He went limp immediately, his raised hands flopping against his chest uselessly and head lolling against the floor as Carlos jerked him into an upright position again, pulling back for another punch.

Sully could only yell as he struggled against the men holding him down, barely aware of what curses he screamed at Carlos and the other men as Carlos pummeled on Nate, who already hung unresponsive in his grip, his head limply rocking back and forth with every hit. Sully struggled against the men, trying to kick at them until his knee slipped out from under him and he was slammed face first into the floor, now stuck pinned to the floor and even more helpless than he started.

Finally Carlos released his grip on Nate's shirt and he dropped to the floor, his arms splayed out on either side of him. For a moment Sully felt relieved until Carlos' hand wrapped around Nate's throat instead. Sully could see how the pressure of his thumb across Nate's Adams apple immediately interfered with his ability to swallow, his head tilting back as he unconsciously tried to breathe. 

The discomfort roused him back to semi-consciousness though, his eyes opening to slits as his hands flailed for something to latch onto. 

He weakly tried to pry the hand away from his throat, to no avail yet again, before reaching out for Carlos's face or his throat, anything he could latch onto to try to fight him off. It was a useless battle, even being on the tall and lanky side he didn't have the reach that his much bigger opponent did and he was in such rough shape already.

Sully started yelling even louder, fighting like hell to get some sort of leverage against his captors as Nate's eyes rolled back in his head and his hands flopped to the floor again, succumbing to the lack of oxygen.

Just as he passed out, a pair of hard soled leather shoes hit the ground just in front of Sully, Eduardo joining the fray via a leap over the bar with more athleticism than Sully would've expected from the pot bellied proprietor. 

"Get off!" Eddie yelled as he delivered a powerful kick to the side of Carlos' ribcage. The force of the impact sent Carlos toppling over, his grip on Nate's shirt dragging the unconscious man over with him, rolling him onto his side. 

Eduardo jumped on Carlos, kicking him in the back of the knee as he tried to get up and wrapping an arm around his neck, capturing him in a chokehold. 

The resulting uproar from the posse was silenced at the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked. Straining against the weight on his back Sully turned his head to see the barrel of the gun poking over the top of the bar, aimed at the two holding him to the floor. He recognized Isabella's voice as she spoke, her voice a dare that any sane person knew better than to challenge.

"Get out." 

The men holding him down slowly moved back, clearly familiar with her no nonsense disposition. Eddie had the winning personality that brought the customers in and coming back, Isabella was the one that made sure they left when they were no longer welcome.

As soon as the hands were off, Sully scrambled towards Nate, tripping over his own feet and then Carlos' as Eduardo disentangled him from Nate and dragged him towards the door. 

"Shit, Nate," Sully muttered as he gently rolled Nathan onto his back. His breath hitched in his throat as Nate flopped against his leg. Sully snaked a hand under Nate’s shoulders and carefully lifted his upper body off the floor, cradling Nate’s head against his shoulder. “C’mon kid, open your eyes.”

There was a slight fluttering of Nate’s eyelashes but he didn’t wake.

“C’mon kid,” Sully muttered, gently tapping his fingers against Nate’s cheek. The skin on his face was already red and angry, Sully could tell that soon he’d be riddled in bruises and swelling up. The bottom part of his face was covered in blood leaking from his nose, following the call of gravity as it ran down across his cheek, pooling in his ears and wetting his hair. His jaw hung loose and Sully could hear the labour each breath took, catching in his throat. “Hey c’mon, Nate.”

Nate’s eyelashes fluttered briefly again and Sully saw a flicker of blue. 

“C’mon kid— Nathan!” Sully could feel the desperation building in his chest the longer the younger man remained unconscious and he raised his voice, his hand clutching onto Nate’s shoulder and shaking him.

Nate’s head lolled against Sully’s shoulder and his eyes rolled open. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment again before finally opening them. He blinked blearily up at Sully, his brow furrowing in pain and confusion.

“S-Sam?” Nate struggled to sit up, frantically looking around as he grabbed at Sully’s shoulder. “Sam, what happened?”

Sully felt as though his heart had dropped in his chest at the name. “Hey, take it easy, don’t get up yet.”

“Sam—” Nate faltered as he looked up at Sully and finally realized who it was leaning over him. Sully could almost see the gears turning in his head as he sought for an answer, heard the hitch in his breath as the memories surfaced, and felt the tightening of his hand on Sully’s shoulder moments before the anguish poured over him, his blood covered face crumpling when he realized his brother wasn’t there. That his brother would never be there again. 

Sully pulled Nate closer, wrapping his friend in a tight hug. Nate collapsed against him, exhausted and in pain, both physically and emotionally, surrendering fully to the support offered as sobs ripped through him. 

They sat there on the floor for a while, Sully cradling Nate against his chest with his back turned to the rest of the bar as Eduardo and Isabella escorted the rest of Carlos' group off of the premises. Sully felt like he could finally relax when he heard the lock on the deadbolt click into place and the neon bar lights in the windows flicked off. 

Isabella settled on her knees in front of Sully with a pack of frozen vegetables wrapped in a kitchen towel in her hand and offered it to him. He gratefully accepted it and encouraged Nate to lean back again.

“Hey kid, let me see ya,” He said quietly. “Your face is going to be big as a melon if we don’t deal with it soon.”

He pressed the cold towel over Nate’s eyebrow and cheek area, quietly apologizing as Nate winced at the contact. His hands fumbled upwards, feeling for the ice pack and taking control of it so Sully could let go, instead just holding Nate steady in the awkward halfway to seated position they had wound up in. 

Eduardo approached and Sully heard him and Isabella conversing in Spanish until Isabella stood and went back into the kitchen, while Eduardo took her place on the floor, laying a large hand on Nate’s shoulder. “My apologies, Carlos has never been a pleasant man to be around.”

“Are we going to run into trouble trying to get out of here?” Sully asked.

“No, Carlos is Isabella’s little cousin. He knows better than to mess with her, or his mother if she opts to tell on him.” Eduardo replied with a smirk.

Isabella returned with something wrapped in towels propped on her hip and held out her empty hand towards Sully. “Give me your keys, I will drive your truck. Eduardo will take you out the back.”

Eduardo leaned forward, offering to help Nate get to his feet as Sully fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over as he stood. Nate groaned as Eduardo pulled him up, his eye that wasn’t already swelling shut falling closed and his head tilting back as he slumped against his chest. The improvised ice pack fell from his fingers and hit the floor, which Sully quickly picked up, choosing to hold onto it until they got him settled in the vehicle.

“Take it easy, I’ve got you,” Eduardo reassured him. Nate grunted in surprise, his eyes flying open as Eduardo bent over and then scooped Nate into his arms, carrying him bridal style into the kitchen and out the back door. Nate hissed a bit at the pressure against his achy body, but didn’t outright complain. He looked exhausted, beaten down and ready to pass out at a moment's notice.

Sully pulled the door closed behind them and then jogged ahead to open the back door of the car parked right behind the kitchen, an old BMW from the 60’s. He opened the door and slid across the back seat before turning to help Eduardo lower Nate into the back seat, getting his arms under Nate’s to pull him close enough to rest his head on Sully’s lap. Nate whimpered at the jostling, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. 

“Sorry! Sorry kid, you’re alright, I’ve got you,” Sully tried to reassure him, running his hand through Nate’s hair. Nate clung to Sully’s knee as Eduardo finished manoeuvring his body onto the back seat, his legs awkwardly bent so that the door could be closed. 

“Here, let's get this back on,” Sully said as a warning before placing the ice pack against Nate’s cheek. He couldn’t be sure, but he might have heard a muffled ‘thanks’ from Nate as Eduardo’s door slammed and the car engine roared to life, a couple gentle revs needed to keep the engine from sputtering out before he shifted into gear and eased the car out of the alley, heading off towards their rental.

The Jeep was parked out front already when they arrived, the lights on the porch and front room lighting up the area so it was easy to see as the three of them worked on getting out of the old car. Eduardo offered to carry Nate again, which Nate rejected, resolutely attempting to put one foot in front of the other on his own. 

Which worked out for a few steps until he staggered and nearly fell before Sully got his shoulder under Nate’s armpit, wrapping his arm around the younger man's torso. Nate gratefully leaned against him as the pair of them slowly made their way up the short staircase to the porch.

Inside, Isabella was already working away in their kitchen. Sully recognized the towels from the package she had left the bar with haphazardly folded on the table and an unfamiliar pot on the stove that she was heating up. 

Nate lurched towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and Sully helped him along all the way to Nate’s room at the back of the house. Books littered nearly every surface in the room, including a few on the bed that they carefully avoided as Nate sat on the edge of it. When he felt half confident that Nate wouldn’t immediately tip over without support, Sully quickly gathered the errant books and stacked them on the edge of the small side table.

Nate started to waver, dully staring at the wall ahead of him as Sully bustled around him until he gently pushed Nate backwards, guiding his head to the pillow and then lifting his legs onto the bed. Nate sighed heavily as he settled into the bed.

Eduardo knocked on the partially open door, leaning in without waiting for a response to hand over a baggy of ice cubes wrapped in a towel and a damp face cloth. Sully gratefully took them and placed the cold package against the darkening bruises around Nate’s throat, causing him to wince. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone as Sully started to wipe the blood from Nate’s face.

“Sorry kid.” He was being as gentle as he could, but even the slightest touches seemed to hurt.

“I can’t remember what his voice sounds like.”

“What?” Sully paused, confused at the statement.

Nate took a shaky breath, the one eye he could open welling up with tears. “Sam. I already can’t remember what his voice sounds like.”

Sully took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it rush out. 

“It’s only been a few months and I can’t hear his voice in my head anymore.” Nate stared at the ceiling but Sully wasn’t sure just how much he could even see through the tears. He choked on a hiccup before he started to ramble on. “When mom died Sam said a few weeks later that he couldn’t remember what her laugh sounded like. I think I was too numb to think about it at the time, but he was right. I couldn’t hear her voice anymore.” His face twisted into anguish as a sob ripped through him. “And now I can’t hear him either.”

Sully felt his own heart break as his friend fell apart in front of him. It wasn’t something he had thought about before, and for a moment he denied it to himself. Of course he could still hear what Samuel sounded like. But when he tried to imagine it, he could remember conversations that they had shared, but the things that Sam said… they were just words in his head now. The actual sound of Sam’s voice wasn’t there anymore.

Nate started to curl into himself, one hand latched to his forehead and covering his eyes, the flesh of his fingertips turning bone white at how tightly he clenched onto his own head. The other hand pressed against his throat, the already sensitive and aching muscles feeling like they were going to be torn apart as he choked on the grief clawing its way up his oesophagus, rending a pain that he felt to his very core. He rolled to his side, towards Sully, curling into a ball as much as he could. His knees collided with Sully’s back and he blindly latched onto his friend, burying his face in Sully’s shirt as the tears and sobs continued. It felt like the tears would never end. There was no end to this ocean of anguish, he would never find the bottom and he would never find the surface again, never be able to take a proper breath and he would drown right there on dry land. 

All he could do was fall apart and see what there was left to pick up if this pain ever ended.

And all Sully could do was try to hold onto the pieces. He held onto Nate as best as he could, one hand rubbing up and down his back, the other carding through his hair as the young man trembled against him. He subconsciously tried to reassure him, murmuring platitudes of “It’s okay, it’s alright, I’ve got you.” He didn’t know what else to say, he’d never been good with words, but it felt more important to just say something even slightly reassuring rather than letting him wallow in silence.

He didn’t keep track of the time, it wasn’t important, but eventually Nate fell into a fitful sleep. Sully carefully extricated himself from Nate’s loose grip and gently lifted his head to stuff the pillow underneath him. He grabbed an extra blanket from the wardrobe in the corner, spreading it over Nate and tucked it in. 

He spotted the towel that had held the ice pack and tugged it out from under Nate’s arm, now fully melted but thankfully not having leaked everywhere and returned to the kitchen with it. Eddie and Isabella were gone, a note left on the counter in Eddie’s chicken scratch writing letting him know the food Isabella had brought was packed in the fridge and one of them would be back before lunch the next day with more and if they needed anything at all, to give him a call and then his phone number scrawled underneath. 

He flicked off the lights, grabbed a kitchen chair and carried it back to Nate’s room, where he settled in next to the bed with his feet propped on the foot of the bed, resolving to not let Nate wake up alone during the night.

~

Two days passed in near silence. Nate slept through most of it, only interrupted by Sully bringing him food that Eddie or Isabella delivered twice a day. Everything they brought was like magic, something soft or a soup that would be easy for Nate to swallow with his achy throat, but still hearty and filling, even with the small amount that Nate would manage to pick at before going back to sleep.

On the third morning, Sully was sitting in the living room, his back aching from spending the nights sitting next to Nate's bed, half heartedly working on a crossword puzzle in a newspaper that just wasn’t working out with the words he could think of. He was about ready to give up when he heard the shower turn on and he glanced at his watch. It would be a reasonable time for breakfast and Eddie’s new habit of stopping by with lunch wouldn’t be for another couple hours. If Nate was feeling well enough to get in the shower by his own volition, maybe he would be up to having breakfast.

Sully puttered into the kitchen and opened the fridge to see what he had on hand. It had been a while since he made it to the market in the next town over so there wasn’t much, but there were a few eggs, the last chunk of a block of cheese, and some milk in the bottom of the jar. Enough to make some omelettes, he supposed. He’d need to visit the market today and restock, they wouldn’t be able to rely on Eddie and Isabella’s kindness forever. Maybe he could ask Eddie to stick around and keep an eye on Nate while he slipped out for a bit.

This would be that much better with veggies, Sully mused to himself as he whipped the eggs into a slurry. On a whim he opened the freezer door and found the bag of frozen veggies that Isabella had given Nate to use as an ice pack at the bar. It was funny, but also absolutely not at all. With that mix of emotions, he ripped the bag open and poured it into the pan to mix with the eggs and cheese.

He had just plated the omelettes and set them on the small kitchen table with a pot of coffee when Nathan emerged from the hallway wearing a clean long sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. He held onto the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder, and in the other hand he clutched a small leather bound journal. He looked haggard still. The swelling around his eye had gone down so he could sorta open it, but the flesh was still black around the socket, the rest of his face mottled with shades of purple and green.

He looked surprised to see the spread on the table.

“Do I need to pack my bag or can a guy have breakfast before we hit the road?” Sully asked as he pulled out a chair.

“We can eat.” 

“Good. You know how cranky I can get without a meal to start the day.” Nate smirked at Sully’s comment as he dropped his bag and placed the journal on top before taking a seat at the table.

“Isabella brought this last night, freshly squeezed,” Sully said as he poured orange juice from a glass jar into cups.

Nate picked up his cup, swirling the pulpy liquid around. “Sam always hated pulp in his juice. Said it wasn’t right to drink anything with that sort of texture.”

“To each their own,” Sully said, picking up his glass. He was about to take a swig when Nate held his glass up, extending it towards Sully.

“To Sam.”

“To Sam,” Sully echoed. 

It took time, but eventually Nate seemed like he was doing okay. Sully never wanted to pick at that particular scab, not wanting to open up the well of grief even if he knew he would always be there to help Nate deal with it, so he waited for Nate to say something first if he needed to.

It was nearly 15 years later when Sully heard Nathan mention Sam’s name again.

#here's a thing I wrote #uncharted 4 #uncharted fanfic #nathan drake fic #title from a BNL song called Pinch Me

[heartfullofleeches]

may i request any of your ocs taking care of a hurt reader? like most of my body is covered into bruises and it hurts to move rn & it would be really appreciated

"Is right there alright, Y/n?"

You wince at the initial coldness of the ice pack that the doctor places on your skin. "Y-yes.."

Mal nods his head. If he had use of his lips, he'd give you a reassuring smile and a kiss to the temple. Instead, he pats your head with a gloved hand and rubs the leather cheek of his mask against it. You were in your bed, propped against the bed frame by a pillow. Many others were packed around you, water bottles and other necessities laid out all over the bed as neatly as possible. Mal lifts the blanket on your lap up further to your chest

"Thank you."

Mal waves your thanks off. "Nonsense, I must make sure that my bluebird is in a perfect bill of health. Think nothing of it, and get all the rest you require.

Mal presses the beak of his mask against your cheek before picking up the tray on the nightstand. For an undead birdman, his cooking wasn't half bad. He stops at the doorway to your room, looking back at you through those beady lenses.

"Don't hesitate to call on me, Y/n. I'll do whatever's in my power to make sure you're feeling better. "

He leaves. Later, after you've taken a nap, you can find the man at the end of your bed asleep as you just were. His notebook lays on the bed beside him, recording your recovery process and jotting down little notes on the other things he did that you liked for future reference.

#Mal my oc #Yandere plague doctor #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere teratophilia #yandere doctor #yandere drabble #Yandere blurb #yandere fic #soft yandere #yandere fluff

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: Donald’s International Houseboat of Pancakes (DuckTales)

READ NOW ON AO3!

Donald returned to reality from the gentle caress of dreamland and came face to face with a head of blonde curls attached to an elongated bill, staring intently as if he were waiting for him to wake up for hours. Donald quacked in shock and shot backwards right into the headboard. He grabbed his head and moaned in pain. It was way too early for a migraine, especially when the first goose he laid eyes on today, Gladstone Gander, was so adept at inducing them in him.

“Yeesh,” Gladstone winced. “Bad dreams, D-Money?”

“No, but I must be having one right now,” Donald grumbled as low as he could so Gladstone wouldn’t hear. He met his cousin’s gaze, the corners of his bill curled down. “What are you doing in my boat and why are you sitting on my belly?”

Gladstone shrugged. “Hey, can’t a guy have the freedom to drop in on his cousin whenever he wants?” He moved his hands behind his back innocently.

“Not when he barges into my bedroom at- what time is it?” Donald fumbled for his alarm clock, arm not quite reaching it.

“Breakfast time, Donny,” grinned Gladstone.

Donald stopped grasping at the air above his nightstand, looked at his annoyingly lucky cousin, and flopped onto the bed, sighing long and exasperated. “I shoulda known…”

“Shoulda known what?” Gladstone asked, obviously feigning ignorance.

“Shoulda known that Mr. Free Ride would only invade my personal sanctuary to grab a breakfast he didn’t have to cook himself.”

“Not true! Although since you’re offering…” Gladstone tapped his index fingers together.

Donald exhaled through his teeth. A moment of silence took hold, and then, “Whaddaya want, cuz?”

“Ooh! Pancakes! You make the best griddle cakes this side of Audubon Bay!” Gladstone licked his beak with hungry excitement.

Donald shook his head at Gladstone, contemplating briefly whether to grant his cousin’s request or to just kick the layabout loafer to the curb. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sadly, his greater conscience won out. “Okay, I’ll make you pancakes.”

He shoved Gladstone to the side, off his belly and onto the floor. Yawning a great yawn and stretching to the sky, he woke up as much as he could before scooting out of bed and away from his cousin.

Standing up and adjusting his green polyester suit, Gladstone shook his head. “Someone’s obviously not a morning chicken…” he mumbled, following his cousin out into the houseboat’s kitchen.

Taking a seat at the bar, he reacquainted with Donald at the far counter, who was grinding beans for the morning cuppa joe. The duck seemed to move with purpose despite his sleepy stupor as he popped into the pantry while the grinder made its racket. The noise died as Donald reemerged with a red plastic container marked “pancake mix.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gladstone began to protest, “I didn’t come all this way just to be fed some Betty Quacker hotcake-in-a-box.”

“It’s homemade mix. I make it ahead.” Donald set the container down and shot Gladstone a glare. “And who’s the cook here?”

Gladstone paused. “That a trick question?”

“No, it’s me. So hush.” Donald turned away and proceeded to pour the coffee grinds into a filter. He placed the filter inside his coffeemaker and topped it off with water. Replacing the pot, he switched on the coffeemaker. It wasn’t long before the air around them was filled with the soothing aroma of affordable national brand brown bean water.

Gladstone shifted in his seat as his sleep-deprived cousin dumped a cup of the mix into a plastic bowl. It left a cloud of dust hovering over the dry amalgam of powders. Donald then dipped into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of buttermilk and an egg.

“Pray tell, cuz,” said Donald, cracking the egg into a well he dug in the mix with his finger, “why make me cook for you when there are a thousand restaurants across town that’ll wine and dine you as their ‘millionth customer’ or whatever?”

“C’mon, Donny! That’s too easy! I could do that any other day. My cousin’s pancakes are one of a kind.”

Donald’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned away to pour out the coffee for them both. He handed Gladstone the steaming mug and said, “Next thing you’re gonna tell me ‘love’ is what sets my cooking apart, huh?”

Gladstone sipped. “Can’t be a cliche if it’s not wrong.”

“Flattery won’t getcha everywhere, cuz.”

“It’s gotten me here.”

“...touché.” Donald took a sip himself, then set the coffee down so he could pop the top off the buttermilk and pour a good glug into the mixture. 

He knew precisely why Gladstone had called on him this morning. It was his vengeful spirit against his lucky cousin that wanted the goose to say it out loud. So before breakfast preparation went too far, before Donald could be the good cousin he knew he was, Gladstone would have to pay the proverbial toll.

He took the whisk to the mixture with vim and vigor. As soon as it was just mixed, he set it down to his right and set his elbows on the counter, propping his head on his hands. “Bad day, cuz?”

The code phrase was out.

Gladstone’s beak opened slightly, and his eyes darted in opposite directions. No matter how cool and suave he was, his poker face was nonexistent among his family, and Donald knew it.

“What? N-nah! Everything’s hunky-dory! Why, heh, why wouldja...think that?” Gladstone was twiddling his thumbs. 

Donald sent him a knowing look. “Gladstone...I can read you like an issue of Lookie mag.”

Gladstone clutched at invisible pearls. “Ugh! Why must you hurt me so, dear cuz?”

“Dunno. It’s just my nature.” Donald narrowed his eyes and grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

For how uncomfortable his cousin made him in trying to keep this front up, Gladstone still felt safe and free to tell the truth to him. And that was the hardest part. He wasn’t worried about Donald. He could take it. He dealt with demons of his own. He would understand the most. But Gladstone couldn’t take it. 

His luck had brought him the highest of highs in life, but all too often, it was not enough to mask his inner sadness, an emptiness that couldn’t seem to be filled. And how pathetic was that? The struggle of reckoning with having everything and still being unhappy left him wallowing the day away in bed too many times. It had taken everything in him to get dressed and call on Donald today. And he still felt like he had to play his charming, upper-crust character to him. He felt he had to look like he had everything together to everyone, especially with his family. But Donald could see the cracks, and Gladstone knew it. Suddenly, he didn’t have the will to deny it anymore.

He slumped against the counter and sighed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “Not doin’ too good today, cuz.”

Donald looked him straight in the eye. “Thanks for telling me.” 

His comforting gaze brought some warmth back to Gladstone, and he found the energy to grin back. “Thanks for giving me the time o’ day.”

“That’s what family’s for.”

That was so very true, and Gladstone felt that fact truly made him the luckiest goose in the world.

Returning to the task at hand, Donald put a pan on the stove to heat. He removed the whisk from the batter and tossed it in the sink, a ladle taking its place. A knob of butter replaced the aroma of coffee with its sweet, nutty comfort as it sizzled in the pan. Swirling it briefly, Donald grabbed the bowl and ladled a heaping spoon of batter from it onto the pan. It cascaded in a thick stream to pool into a delicious, puffy circle, the butter crackling all around it.

Gladstone peered over the counter to see better. “Sooooo what’s the secret here, Don-o-Rama?”

“Love.”

Gladstone stuck his tongue out. “Sure, sure, we all love that ol’ cliche. What’s really going on here?”

Donald chuckled. “Well, you really gotta control your heat. Some people would demand you use a thermometer, but I’ve gotten pretty good at telling just by my hand. And it’s gotta be hot enough to cook the inside just perfectly while also giving you that diner golden brown color.”

The pancake surface was comparable to the lunar surface, with its bubbles, craters, and bubbles becoming craters. Donald removed a spatula from the drawer beside the stove and smirked toward Gladstone. The spatula slid easily between the pan and its cake, and when flipped, the cooked side was a gorgeous golden brown, even all over. It was a sight to behold. Gladstone could almost cry, but he held it in, as he knew Donald would never let him live it down. But then, Gladstone had so many ways he could tease Donald that maybe he almost decided to let him have this one.

For all the times they made their rivalry public, Donald vastly preferred these simpler moments. Sure, it was fun to get a leg up on lucky Gladstone whenever he could, but those were quickly forgotten, lost in the ocean of his general anger. The moments that always stuck around to become memories were these quiet, homey moments, where they could just be family, equals by blood. No matter what, that fact would remain.

The pancakes plated and syrup generously drizzled onto the warm beauties, Gladstone and Donald tucked into breakfast.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #donald duck #disney ducks #duckverse #fanfiction #gladstone gander #fluff #hurt/comfort #pancakes

[toonqueen]

Duckvember Day 5: Hypnotic Duck

So for Hypnotic Duck I guess I’m just going to explain a Mighty Ducks OC I really never used because she’s so branched off from the main stuff I used to write back in the day that I never got to her. 

Her name is Priscilla Decoy. Pretty much used Priscilla so she could be called Pris for short which is my fave Bladrunner character lolol. Her mom is Lucretia Decoy. Pris happened while she was in dimensional limbo. I have her being Lucretia’s second child. First being Maestro which is Lucretia’s kid with Canard.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Her father is a Saurien named Ricochet. His personality I had vaguely as being like Shaggy from Scooby Doo but not a coward, if that makes any sense. I GUESS I COULD JUST SAY I HAD HIM BE A STONER I GUESS THAT’S WHAT I WAS GOING FOR. Also personality bit like Nosedive so if they ever met Nosedive could gloat to Duke that he was more Lucretia’s type. Ha. I had him being a tan/mustardy colored with his species being duck bill dinosaur based because I thought that would be funny for him to be duck adjacent. But I’ve also thought of him as that one bearded lizard gif, that being his build also works too. HE WAS NEVER FULLY FLESHED OUT so the species of lizard/dino he has was never set in stone ha. 

Priscilla is tan feathered and dark tan haired, matching more her dad’s coloring. Her bill is also not a bright orange but leaning towards the more tan color of her dad’s scales. She also has scales on the outer edge of her beak cheeks but it is really hard to notice since wearing her hair down covers it and it is a pretty fine line of scales. Her build is like her mom’s but you wouldn’t know it because she’s always wearing baggy hoodies and pants. She has a monotone voice like Daria (from Daria lol). She also has brown/amber eyes that match her father’s eye color. 

My headcanon for Limbo is that the majority of the area's physical reality is warped and not stable. There are pockets where it is like normal reality and over the centuries cities have been built there. You can breathe fine in the wide open ‘unreality areas’ but there is lack of gravity and floating areas of land. Even though you don’t technically need protective gear to be out there, it’s considered bad to stay out there for very long periods of time (like weeks.) It can cause madness and other weird stuff. 

With Maestro, Lucretia and Canard had not heard about how being out in the untamed areas of limbo is bad so when Mae was young he was exposed to it a lot. It didn’t affect Lucretia but later down the line Canard gets some madness from it. (Another long store.) Maestro on the other hand gets some reality bending powers that he has to learn to control when he gets older. His abilities are a really wide variety. Stuff like the gun from Portal and to be able to make illusions and disguises. 

Once Priscilla was born, Lucretia knew better and did a better job of not having her being exposed  to whatever the open area of the limbo nonsense was going on. However, as Priscilla became an adult it became evident she had some bit of a power herself. Not as obvious and powerful as her brothers, but she did it without her even knowing it. She figured out on many occasions people could not say no to her requests and she could, accidentally, have some mind control over them. OOPS. I don’t think she would even realize until she was fully an adult. As a child she was spoiled which didn’t seem unusual because hey you’re a cute kid stuck in limbo of course people are gonna spoil you. And as an adult she just thought people had crushes on her like, “okay, this is the kind of shit mom went through so this is normal.”  It isn’t till some town she’s in gets attacked, and she tells the attacker to go walk off a cliff, and he does it, that she realizes OH SHIT. WELP. This explains A LOT. 

She learns to control it for the most part, but what she does best to avoid it is try not to be perceived. Pris is by no means shy but she just RATHER NOT BE NOTICED IN A CROWD. 

Uh, that's about it about Pris. Only duck I have close to hyponic. Ha. 

This sketch was so good I didn’t want to ruin it by coloring it so I had to draw again just to color and yet didn’t come out the same because that is how life is.

#duckvember #duckvember 2023 #mighty ducks the animated series #Lucretia DeCoy #mdtas #Priscilla decoy

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes List- F

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Faded-: "[adj] in the sense of discolored"

Fading-: "[verb] gradually grow faint and disappear"

Faith-: "[noun] complete trust or confidence in someone or something"

Falcon-: "[noun] a bird of prey with long pointed wings and a notched beak"

Fallen-: "[adj] having dropped or come down from a higher place, from an upright position, or from a higher level, degree, amount, quality, value, number, etc"

Fallow-: "[noun] a Eurasian deer with branched palmate antlers, typically having a white-spotted reddish-brown coat in summer"

Fawn-: "[noun] a young deer in its first year; [noun] a light yellowish-brown color"

Feather-: "[noun] any of the flat appendages growing from a bird's skin and forming its plumage"

Fennel-: "[noun] an aromatic yellow-flowered European plant of the parsley family, with feathery leaves"

Fern-: "[noun] a flowerless plant which has feathery or leafy fronds"

Ferret-: "[noun] a domesticated polecat kept as a pet or used, especially in Europe, for catching rabbits. It is typically albino or brown"

Fidget-: "[verb] to make small movements, especially of the paws, ears, and tail, through nervousness or impatience; [noun] a quick, small movement, typically a repeated one, caused by nervousness or impatience"

Fig-: "[noun] a soft pear-shaped fruit with sweet dark flesh and many small seeds; [noun] the deciduous tree or shrub that bears the fig"

Fin-: "[noun] a flattened appendage on various parts of the body of many aquatic vertebrates and some invertebrates, including fish and cetaceans, used for propelling, steering, and balancing"

Finch-: "[noun] a seed-eating songbird that typically has a stout bill and colorful plumage"

Fir-: "[noun] an evergreen coniferous tree with upright cones and flat needle-shaped leaves, typically arranged in two rows"

Fire-: "[noun] combustion or burning, in which substances combine chemically with oxygen from the air and typically give out bright light, heat, and smoke"

Firefly-: "[noun] a soft-bodied beetle related to the glowworm, the winged male and flightless female of which both have luminescent organs. The light is chiefly produced as a signal between the sexes, especially in flashes"

Fish-: "[noun] a limbless cold-blooded vertebrate animal with gills and fins and living wholly in water"

Flame-: "[noun] a hot glowing body of ignited gas that is generated by something on fire"

Flash-: "[verb] move or pass very quickly; [noun] a sudden brief burst of bright light or a sudden glint from a reflective surface"

Flax-: "[noun] a blue-flowered herbaceous plant that is cultivated for its seed and for textile fiber made from its stalks"

Flea-: "[noun] a small wingless jumping insect which feeds on the blood of mammals and birds"

Fleck-: "[noun] a very small patch of color or light; [verb] mark or dot with small patches of color or particles of something"

Flecked-: "[verb] mark or dot with small patches of color or particles of something (past tense)"

Fleece-: "[noun] the woolly covering of a sheep or goat"

Fleet-: "[adj] to be swift in motion, nimble"

Flick-: "[noun] a sudden sharp movement"

Flicker-: "[verb] make small, quick movements; flutter rapidly; [noun] an unsteady movement of a flame or light that causes rapid variations in brightness"

Flint-: "[noun] a hard gray rock consisting of nearly pure chert, occurring chiefly as nodules in chalk"

Flip-: "[verb] turn over with a sudden quick movement; [verb] move, push, or throw (something) with a sudden sharp movement"

Flood-: "[noun] an overflowing of a large amount of water beyond its normal confines, especially over what is normally dry land"

Flounder-: "[noun] a member of a group of flatfish species"

Flower-: "[noun] the seed-bearing part of a plant, consisting of reproductive organs (stamens and carpels) that are typically surrounded by a brightly colored corolla (petals) and a green calyx"

Fluffy-: "[adj] of, like, or covered with fluff"

Flurry-: "[noun] a small swirling mass of something, especially snow or leaves, moved by sudden gusts of wind"

Flutter-: "[verb] (of a bird or other winged creature) fly unsteadily or hover by flapping the wings quickly and lightly"

Fly-: "[noun] any of numerous insects that use only one pair of wings for flight but also have halteres, a reduced second pair of wings"

Foam-: "[noun] a mass of small bubbles formed on or in liquid, typically by agitation or fermentation"

Fog-: "[noun] a thick cloud of tiny water droplets suspended in the atmosphere at or near the earth's surface which obscures or restricts visibility"

Foggy-: "[adj] full of or accompanied by fog"

Forest-: "[noun] a large area covered chiefly with trees and undergrowth"

Fossil-: "[noun] the remains or impression of a prehistoric organism preserved in petrified form or as a mold or cast in rock"

Fox-: "[noun] a carnivorous mammal of the dog family with a pointed muzzle and bushy tail, proverbial for its cunning"

Foxglove-: "[noun] a tall Eurasian plant with erect spikes of flowers, typically pinkish-purple or white, shaped like the fingers of gloves"

Freckle-: "[noun] a small patch of light brown color on the skin, often becoming more pronounced through exposure to the sun"

Fringe-: "[noun] the border or outer edges of an area or group; [adj] not part of the mainstream; unconventional, peripheral, or extreme"

Frog-: "[noun] a tailless amphibian with a short squat body, moist smooth skin, and very long hind legs for leaping"

Frond-: "[noun] the leaf or leaflike part of a palm, fern, or similar plant"

Frost-: "[noun] a deposit of small white ice crystals formed on the ground or other surfaces when the temperature falls below freezing"

Frozen-: "[adj] having turned into ice as a result of extreme cold"

Furze-: "[noun] another term for gorse"

Fuzz-: "[noun] a fluffy or frizzy mass of hair or fiber"

Fuzzy-: "[adj] having a frizzy, fluffy, or frayed texture or appearance"

#warrior cats #worldbuilding #cats probably don't know what a fossil is but it's a cool prefix so onto the list it goes

[joezworld]

Life and Rebirth

Traintober 2022 Day 6 - Cat

Hey, remember how I wrote normal stories that made sense? Yeah neither do I. This one's about a cat and a duck. Surely nothing can go wrong, right?

-

Summary - Engines keep Pets. Or do Pets keep Engines?

-

Her eyes narrowed at the supine feline. “You aren’t funny, cat.”

The black cat didn’t bother to open her eyes. “That’s interesting. I think I’m hilarious.” 

“If you don’t want to tell me, then say it; don’t waste my day with your riddles and word games.”

That got a response out of the cat. “Riddles and word games?” She lazily opened one eye. “What sort of nonsense have the idiots in the Coastclan been feeding you?”

The white duck ruffled her wings in irritation. “What you said doesn’t make any sense, and you know it.”

The other eye opened, and Kitten slowly rolled over to look at the duck directly. “Aha. I see now. You think I’m lying.”

“Of course you are!” Dilly bristled. “I don’t even know why I came here. This is absurd!” Again ruffling her feathers, she spread her wings and made to fly.

“If it’s so absurd, then why did you come barging in here like you did? The little black cat asked, slowly but lithely getting to her paws. “I could’ve taken you as an intruder, and eaten you.”

The white duck wrinkled her bill, now both irritated and conflicted. “I don’t have to answer to the likes of you.”

The cat was next to her now, looking her over and sniffing quietly. “Oh but I think you do,” She said, in a tone that was somewhere between smug and curious. “Coal smoke, lubricating grease, just a touch of polish, and…” She sniffed much more deeply. “Sweaty twolegs.”

She looked at Dilly with an entirely too-toothy smile. “Oh my little duckling, you and I are much the same, aren’t we?”

“What?”

The cat continued smiling, wandering around Dilly in a way that made her tailfeathers raise instinctively. “I’m not in any clan, you know. At least, not one that really matters to the others. They all think I’m some coddled kittypet who gave up on the clans to live with the twolegs and their “monsters''...” She drew out the syllables like she was disgusted with the idea, the tag on the collar around her neck shining brightly in the lights. “They have no idea, and they never will.”

She turned, standing up straight on her thin legs to look Dilly in the eyes. “But you do, don’t you?”  

Somehow, despite the cat’s refusal to actually name it, Dilly knew exactly what she was talking about. “I do.” 

The cat turned, her tail whipping out behind her and smacking the duck on her beak. “Follow me.” 

---

“Rheneas…” Peter Sam said carefully. “Why is Kitten walking around the yard with a duck in tow?” 

“Hmm?” Rheneas lazily opened one eye and peered out through the shed doors. “I couldn’t begin to say. I’m sure it’s her business, though.”

“Her business?!” Sir Handel scoffed. “She’s probably going to lead it somewhere so she can eat the thing! The only business she has with that duck is Lunch!” 

Peter Sam went pale, and Skarloey and Rheneas rolled their eyes loud enough to be heard, the two old engines used to Sir Handel and his antics. “I’m sure she’s not going to eat the duck.” Rheneas said, loud enough to be heard by everyone. 

“She’s too good of a hunter to resort to subterfuge like that.” He said, quietly enough that only Skarloey heard him. As Skarloey choked and spluttered on his own surprise, Rheneas closed his eye and fell back asleep. 

Duke, on the other side of the shed, only heard Skarloey’s surprise, and wheeshed steam at Sir Handel sternly. “Now look at what you’ve done!” He hissed. 

“Ow! Whatever was that for?!”

“Don’t. Invoke. The. Cat!”

“Oh you cannot be serious Grandpuff! What nonsense are you talking about now..?”

----

They meandered their way across the many shining pathways between the worlds of the small engines and the huge ones. Dilly learned that cats called these things thunderpaths. Kitten was interested to learn that Ducks didn’t call them anything. 

“So, how did you find yours?” Kitten asked as the duck led the way towards a very large building in the center of the giant thunderpaths. 

“I hatched and he was there.” Dilly said, fluttering her way through an open window. “It’s funny, I thought he was my mother for the longest time. I made it through a few featherlosses before I realized that he must have found my egg.”

“Featherloss?” Kitten asked as she leaped from a pile of boxes to the windowsill, and from there to the ground. She pinned her ears against her head at the sudden amount of noise. “Yeowch. It’s loud in here.”

“Oh, I grow new feathers every few seasons. You get used to it, and the noise.”

“Now I know why I stay with my clan… who could hunt in here?”

“I think there’s a few here who do...” Dilly ruffled her feathers idly as they approached a giant version of Kitten’s clan-mates - this one colored blue. As she did so, Kitten noticed for the first time the hints of discoloration at the tips of Dilly’s wings. “What do we do now?” 

---

“This is an awfully poor time for a joke!” Dilly quacked, not sure to be indignant or frightened. 

“I’m entirely serious.” Kitten replied seriously. She barely paid any attention to what the duck was saying, instead keeping her eyes trained on the Duck’s mannerisms. Now that she was paying attention, she could tell that all was not well. Feathers were starting to grey, there was what looked like mottling on one webbed foot, and each movement wasn’t as fast as it should've been - goodness knows she’s chased enough birds to know how abruptly fast they could be - and all of a sudden, it was obvious that this one wouldn’t get very far. 

“You do know what that is? Right?” Dilly pointed a wing accusingly towards the Hole. Kitten assumed that there was an actual name for it in the twoleg language, but what it was she didn’t know. It was at the back of the metal creature, in the area where the twolegs could stand comfortably. Fire burned brightly inside the hole, the metal door opened ever-so-slightly, causing shadows to dance on the walls. 

“I do.” She said, staring at the duck. 

“And you know that nothing comes back out?”

“Not always.”

A distressed quacking sound met this. “You’re serious! You’re mad! Why did I listen to you!” She puffed herself up a little, trying to seem like the mature mother duck she was, and not some naive fledgling who’d been led astray by a cat!

“Because you’ve got a season left. Maybe two.” She said it as evenly and firmly as she could. “And you know it.”

Dilly deflated like a popped balloon. “What gave it away?” She asked in a suddenly quiet voice.

“It’s obvious if you know where to look.” 

“If I have any more eggs it will kill me,” She said after a moment. “I’m sure of it.”

There was a long silence, with only the roaring crackle of the fire breaking the silence.

“I’m not ready to leave yet.” She said at last, puffing out her feathers and squaring herself. “You’re sure this will work?”

“It worked for me.” 

“That will have to do.” Without another word, she took to the air, fluttering out the back of the cab and over the pile of coal in the tender, before diving back towards the flickering flames. 

Towards eternity. 

---

Had it taken that long for me? Kitten wondered as she stared into the roaring flames. It had been… a while, and there was no sign of the duck yet.

“Feathers?” She called into the flames. “Are you in there?”

No answer was forthcoming, and she gulped nervously. I do not want to have to explain this…

With hesitant movements, she slowly nudged the heavy door open, before taking a step inside.

Her paws slowly moved over the burning coals, the heat not registering, as she scanned back and forth for any sign of white feathers. “You still in here?” She called again, making for a pile of coals at the back of the metal chamber. 

---

Outside, as the last remnants of Kitten’s tail disappeared inside the firebox, two cats - one Calico, and one Tabby - of the WorksClan watched in amazement. 

“I thought she was a myth.” Said the Calico, quietly. 

“Explain that.” The Tabby retorted.

“I don’t want to.” Came the response. “Not to you, not to the elders. Not anyone.”

“I agree.” The Calico said. “We didn’t see anything.”

As one, the two cats turned and bolted for their home inside a disused storeroom. A few bemused workers watched them go, but they wrote it off as just ‘cats being cats.’

---

The afternoon sunlight eventually reached an angle sufficient to enter the windows in the works, and Donald's nap ended with a beam of light in his eye. "Ach, for tha' love a Christmas! Tern it off!"

He continued moaning and complaining until a few of the workmen came and moved him out of the light; his fire had built nicely over the afternoon, and they took the time to examine his cab for any obvious problems. 

Fortunately for Donald, they didn't; the works' repairs were up to the usual high standard. 

However, they did find something else… "There she is! Oi! Donny! We found your duckie!"

"Ye did? Where?" 

"In the tender, sitting in the coal!" One of the men came forward, an absolutely black Dilly quacking indignantly in his arms. "Nevermind us not finding her, she’s lucky we didn't toss her in with the coal!"

"Lands sake Quackaroo!" Donald exclaimed, immediately beginning to fuss over Dilly, who didn't stop quacking until she was put down on Donald's bufferbeam. "Ye need a bath something fierce! What where ye doin' in me tender?"

"Making a friend, it seems." The other worker came up, a black cat tucked into the crook of his arm. "They were sitting right next to each other, not a care in the world."

"Who is that?" The first workman asked. "One of ours?" 

"Nah. I think it's the Skarloey's shop cat. Must've wandered over here."

"And made a friend?"

"Seems that way. I think they've only got the one, so it must've been nice finding another animal that's used to engines."

"I hadn't thought about it that way. Yeah it must be."

"Ah hadn’t thought o' tha' either…" Donald said, mostly to himself. "Mebbe I should bring her back sometime, if they get along so well."

As if in answer to that, the cat squirmed its way free of the workman, hopped onto Donald's bufferbeam, and settled down next to Dilly. 

"Well," Donald said, somewhat surprised. "Ah suppose that settles that!"

---

A couple of hours later, Mr. Hugh, the CME of the Skarloey railway, came and collected Kitten. 

"Thank you for watching out for her." He said as the workers toweled Kitten down. He'd arrived just as some of the works' cleaners had finished washing off the dusty remnants of the black cat's latest adventure, and it both did and did not surprise him to see a little, white, honest-to-goodness duck paddling around the wash basin at the same time.

The only thing more unusual than that cat is the company she keeps. he thought to himself as the cat walked right past the open cat carrier he'd brought, and instead started walking back across the standard gauge rails towards the Skarloey Railway property like it was an everyday occurrence. 

-

Dilly watched as man and cat disappeared out of sight behind a building. What a day this has been, she thought to herself. And what a strange duck I am, going and doing all that.

She didn’t feel any different, but Kitten had said it might take a while before she noticed. 

Ugh, I feel all wet. Actually, she did feel a bit different. The workers had used particularly strong soap, and it had all but completely removed the oil from her feathers, leaving them soaking wet. This is going to take all day to dry!

She flapped her wings, irritated as drops of water flew off as she did so. I wish I could just get dry!

She flapped again, and generally tried stretching out everything, trying to find what was and was not wet. Preening this is going to take an absolute age!

She was actually quite irritated by this, and didn’t notice that she started to flex a muscle that wasn’t really there. Oh come on! My tail too?

As her temper reached its peak, she noticed, rather all at once, that the feathers on her wings were starting to steam. “What?” She quacked in confusion, before a tiny ball of flame emerged from the tip of her left wing. 

“What?” As she watched, the fire - and it was strangely cold as well - slowly spread up her left wing, reached her breast, and then quickly spread to cover the rest of her. 

In the time it took to blink, she was fully engulfed, a bird not of flesh and feather, but fire and smoke. 

Whoosh

And then, with as little fanfare as it had started, it was over. The fire went out with a quiet rush of air, leaving no trace of it ever having happened. The only reason she even thought it had happened at all was that she was now very dry.

Dilly, in a state of shock, began looking around to see if this had actually just happened. Looking up, her engine was back to his nap, and hadn’t even stirred. The other workers weren’t around, and there was no sign that the cats living inside the works had stuck their noses out where they didn’t belong. As far as she could tell, she was alone. 

Maybe I should stop doing strange things, for the rest of the day at least. She thought, settling down onto the cool metal to try and rest. She winced, almost in anticipation of the pain that would shoot through her left leg when she did so, and was shocked to find that it didn’t hurt. 

In fact, nothing hurt - something that hadn’t happened for a very long time. 

“That doesn’t make any sense…” She said, more to herself than anyone else. “I thought it would - oh…” 

She trailed off, remembering old legends, passed down to her by other, older ducks, once they realized that she had not been hatched by one of their own. 

A great soaring bird, tied to both the great Daystar, but also its spawn, Fire. Ageless, endless, forever cycling through youth, life, and death. Heralded by a plume of flame, they ride the eternal air currents for time immemorial. 

She ‘flexed’ the muscle she didn’t have again, and a tiny flame burst forth on her left wingtip. It took some careful doing, but she was soon able to roll it along her wing’s edge and through her feathers. It felt most unusual, but in a good way. 

Stretching her wings (with no pain!) she took to the air, and fluttered around the works. She found the large reflective glass on the far wall that the red engines often gazed into for many hours, and took in her reflection. 

As it turned out, she didn’t just feel better, she looked better. Gone were the grey feathers and mottled feet - she now looked like the much younger duck she felt like.

Her wings twitched, eager to fly more, and she indulged in some immature impulses as she soared out of the building through an open door. The sun was yet to completely go down behind the horizon, and as she flew out, she was hit by the sun’s rays. 

It felt like she just took a bolt of energy to her very soul, and with a raucous quacking laugh, she bolted off into the sky, eager to experience the first few minutes of her new eternity.

------

Eventually, the sun went down fully, and she returned to her engine. Cuddling up against his boiler like she’d done as a chick, she closed her eyes and soon fell happily asleep. 

I don’t know why that cat kept all this to herself! She thought as she nodded off. I’d have done this years ago!

------

Hmmm, Kitten thought to herself as she looked at her tail. I seem to be on fire. 

Her tail flicked back and forth, and the fire went out. She flicked it again, and the fire started back up. A few more swishes and flicks and she was able to transfer the fire down her tail and onto her feet, set her entire tail alight, and have the fire move to specific parts of her body. 

Correction, I seem to be able to set myself on fire. This is new. 

She would have pondered the question a bit more, but at that moment there was a horrified sounding squeak behind her. 

Turning around, she found the old superstitious one, that the twolegs had pulled out of the ground many years ago, staring at her with wide eyes. She didn’t understand his fear, but it was irrelevant to her, so she didn’t care. With a deliberate tail motion, she dismissed him and walked into a different room so that she wasn’t disturbed. 

Duke watched that damned magical beast walk away, swearing to himself that he should have just stayed in his nice shed on the old railway!

#ttte #sodor #sodor shenangians #fic #sentient vehicle headcanon #sentient vehicles #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #rheneas' cat #ttte duke #ttte donald #ttte dilly

[gingerteadragon]

Did I make a new TTR character simply so I could draw a duck? yes

Yet I couldn't comprehend their beak(bill?) shape so I just did whatever

#art #digital art #toontown rewritten #toontownrewritten #ttr #toontown fanart #digital fanart #my art

[kayssweetdreams]

Prim and Proper Problems Ch 14

The children felt joy come to them when they heard the chirp. That meant that Kuro Shiro and Fortie were alive! And they could help them. "Kuro? Shiro? Fortie? Can you two open the door from the other side?" Mei said. The response came in the form of a chirp, and a squeak. A small silence was heard, before Kuro opened the door, and was hanging from the knob. Rebecca managed to place him back on the ground "Thank you Kuro." He said, patting his head.

The kids locked the door again so that nobody accidentally walked in on them. "Search the room! Maybe there's something that can help Yuri and Kaylo." Mei said. The children searched the office for any kind of clue, or any kind of evidence they could use against the school, when Leo pulled out what looked to be a picture of...Aria's Family? However, Aria's dad seemed to have hearts around his face, while her mom was seen with Xs in here eyes, as well as the words "THAT STUPID IMPROPER PROSTITUTE!!". As for Aria herself, she was seem with a drawn on PPP uniform.

Leo was weirded out by the photo, until he saw what it was hiding. What lied underneath were a number of letters stating that Prim had a number of Restraining orders against children, as well as a few threats, and one note in particular that read "KEEP AWAY FROM THE STUDENTS AND STAFF." Cracking it open, he read what the note said:

"To Madame Prim of Prim Proper Perfection.

Good news! I have finally finished it! Soon, you'll be able to turn as many as those snot riddled brats into the most perfect children you have ever seen. Of course there are a number of things that may need to be worked out, such as possible side effects, ways that it can be reverse, etc, etc. But fortunately, it won't make the students comatose like last time. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to enforce it by using the old fashioned way. I will see you in a few days so that we may practice on a sutible child. And hopefully soon, we'll be ready to test it on other subjects."

Leo felt himself pale at the note, but he felt that this was connected to whatever happened to Kaylo and Yuri. He turned to Kuro "Hey bud. Do you think you can keep this in your bag?" He asked. The KosoKoso nodded as he stashed the note away. Mei was inspecting a large briefcase that was hidden in one of the cabinets. "Perfection cash?" She asked out loud, gazing at the stacks of bills that had Madame Prim's face on them "Why on earth would she have fake cash?" She asked. Next to it sat what appeared to be a restraining order, as well as what looked to be Madame Prim almost causing a ruckus in a court

Trisha Jane and Rebecca meanwhile were looking through what looked to be files of every child in Timeville, from the Taylor Sisters, to the Keller Children. "Why would she have all of these? It's not like every kid in town goes here...or would WANT to go here." She asked.

Rebecca found it odd as well until Shiro let out a loud chirp, and in her beak was a folder that read "Perfection Expansion Plan." Mei gently took the folder from the white Tim, and the kids looked inside of the files. They were terrified when they looked over the files, Inside contained blueprints that read "Male Classes (Make them Tougher for the opposite Gender)" and "Adult Classes (Just because you grow old, doesn't mean you can't be perfect.) There was also a map with various locations with the PPP crest on it. There were also blueprints for some odd machines that read "Memory Rewriter" and "Nightmare Trigger" and showed what seemed to be a kid chained to a chair, and and forced to endure what the machines showed.

The children paled at this, until they spotted some posters for PPP, That looked more like Propaganda, as well as a VCR Tape that had the words "Prim Proper Perfection advertisement" Haoyu popped the tape in, and a commercial started to play.

The screen shows two teenage kids spray painting, and wearing what looked to be 80's bad boy clothing, as Madame Prim's voice was heard "Is your child becoming a delinquent?" The scene changed to show what looked to be skimpy bikini girls playing on a beach "Are they doing what you KNOW would make you faint?" The scene changed once more to show a girl playing the electric guitar, while wearing torn up rock gear "Are you running out of ideas of where they would belong in society?" She asked.

The scene changed to reveal Madame Prim standing outside of the school "Well, Bring them to me at Prim, Proper, Perfection. The Only Boarding School know for maximum results." The scene shows the two graffiti girls from earlier learning about proper table etiquette "Where they will learn the Proper Way to do Everything." The scene then shows the skimpy girls now wearing more conservative clothing "Where they will be able to comprehend the right way of life from the wrong." The scene changes, and the rocker girl has now been completely transformed, wearing the PPP Uniform, and her hair now in a simple bun. "And Where they will be completely transformed to become respectful members of society.

The scene changes once mode to show Madame Prim and her students, all sporting perfect smiles "So come on down to Prim, Proper, Perfection. And grant your child a chance at Perfection. After all..." she started as the girls spoke up "A Proper Girl is a Perfect Girl." They finished.

The commercial ended, as the children gazed on in terror. "What. The heck. WAS THAT?!" Leo yelled out. Haoyu felt a shiver crawl down his spine "that was the scariest thing I have ever watched." He shivered.

The kids put the pieces together. The files, the note, the blueprints, the commercial, and the map...Madame Prim didn't just want GIRLS to be perfect. She wanted EVERYONE to be perfect. "She's doesn't just want the same thing happening to us...she wants the same thing happening to everyone..." Cass shivered. Mei gave the file to Kuro "We have to get out of here!" Haoyu panicked. Trisha Jane shook her head "But we still need a way to fix Kaylo and Yuri." She said.

Emma looked at her "But what did Madame Prim do to them?!" She cried out. "What you're going to go through." Said the headmistresses voice. The kids paled as she was now standing in her office, and half a dozen guards were standing near here "You sneaky little delinquents. You sneak into my office. Snoop through my documents, and you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here unscathed." She said in a scarily calm voice. The kids backed away as Kuro, Fortie and Shiro hid inside of another vent.

Mei glared at the older woman "We won't let you get away with this!" She said. But Madame Prim's eyes narrowed. "And I won't let you get away at all." She said, raising up her hand as she snapped her fingers

"Get them."

And just like that, the kids were in the Grasp of Madame Prim's guards, and taken away...

Mei belongs to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehypercutstudios/@thehyperrequiem

Trisha Jane belongs to @lovelyteng

Aria and her Family belong to @shadowqueen402

#Balan Wonderworld #Balan #Lance #Leo Craig #Emma Cole #Jose Gallard #Fiona Demetria #Yuri Brand #Haoyu Chang #Sana Hudson #Cass Milligan #Cal Suresh #Attilio Caccini #Iben Bia #Lucy Wong #Eis Glover #Bruce Stone

[fleshdyke]

can i ask your opinion on parrots as pets and if you think they can be kept as pets ppl who think they shouldn't be pets? if your comfortable obv. asking u bc you work at an aviary iirc? with parrots anyways and im trying to get perspectives (tm)

yeah of course! so sorry this took a couple hours to answer (i was in school lol) but i’m always willing to answer asks like these! this will be long and a little rambly but i’ll add a tl;dr at the bottom :)

i do work at an aviary, it houses almost exclusively parrots (we have a zebra finch flock of about 15, the rest are parrots), and have for over three years. birds are my special interest, and i was specifically fixated on parrots for a *long* time, so i’ve done a lot of research on this topic. i am by no means an expert, i am completely open to corrections and new info, i’m only saying i have a lot of experience when it comes to captive parrots, as well as seeing comparisons of wild/zoo-kept parrots. keep in mind throughout this whole post that i love the birds i work with with my entire heart, i wouldn’t trade them for the world, and i am immensely happy that they’re in my life. they are all captive parrots. anyways, to actually answer the question:

no, i don’t think parrots should be pets. they are wild animals. they are not domesticated. they are not ethical pets. parrots make *bad* pets; they are loud, and destructive, and messy, and they have a very specific diet, and they need an insane amount of attention and stimulation for their mental health, and they take up *so* much space, and these simply cannot be provided in most (most as in very very very few) households. parrots are *very* loud, as they have to be able to call to each other across noisy rainforests and to be heard over the noise of the rest of their flock. they are messy as well, as in rainforests and plains and any other habitat of theirs, they can simply drop whatever they don’t want anymore and it will fall to the forest floor and it will become useful to something else. parrots will meticulously groom themselves and are exceptionally clean animals, but they simply don’t care when it comes to their surroundings, since most of them won’t even return to that spot any time in the near future. they’re very destructive, capable of chewing through walls and metal (i’ve had to help repair a cage wall after a macaw bit through almost all of the bars and it was becoming a safety hazard) because in the wild, they need to forage to survive and chewing on tree branches is a good way to keep their beaks trimmed while also providing stimulation for them. chewing and foraging is fun to them, and they’re much more susceptible to destructive behaviours if they aren’t getting the proper stimulation they need, which is *much* more common than you’d think, and sometimes they may destroy things you don’t want destroyed even if they are properly enriched. many parrots are endangered because of the pet trade, and continuing to sell and traffick these fragile birds is certainly not helping.

parrots require an insane amount of money and time and space and dedication to keep. their proper diets are expensive, their cages are expensive, toys aren’t cheap and are constantly in need of replacement (though you can make your own), and vet bills alone can set you back hundreds, if not thousands, because birds are fragile and require a specialized exotic vet. you pretty much can’t have a job when it comes to a bird, you’ve gotta spend all of your time with it, but you have to be able to properly read the bird’s body language, as parrots are very susceptible to seeing their owners as mates and this can cause behavioural issues (this doesn’t apply to domestic birds like chickens, pigeons, turkeys, etc. that’s a common misconception and it’s fine if these birds decide to masturbate on your leg or something. yes, they do that). wild parrots, which, i cannot stress enough, are the same as captive parrots as parrots are not domesticated, fly miles and miles and miles every day. when not nesting, most parrots don’t really have a “sleeping site”, and they can sleep miles away from where they slept the night before. parrots need a *lot* of space to fly around, and it’s just not really feasible to be able to provide that in just a house. parrots are a lifelong commitment, as larger breeds are very capable of living 50+ years, and even the smallest breeds like budgies have an average lifespan of 12-15 years.

i see *way* too many birds that pluck their feathers and self-mutilate as a coping mechanism while dealing with abuse, and often they aren’t even being abused, and are just owned by well-meaning people that couldn’t provide enough, which is *not* a moral failure since birds simply are not domestic animals and it’s near impossible to provide that proper enrichment for them. birds will physically harm themselves to cope, and develop behavioural issues like biting or aggression or screaming for attention as well. birds work much differently than we do, which is where a lot of people go wrong in terms of taking care of them, assuming that what we understand is what they understand. parrots love attention, they’re very social animals, and they don’t know the difference between positive and negative attention, and all attention is positive to them, and they will do anything to get that attention. i personally work with a cockatoo that has learned to pretend to ask for pets, and when an unsuspecting visitor that doesn’t know her and doesn’t read the no petting signs sticks their fingers in the cage, she will quickly turn around and bite them. she loves this attention and the visitors that she bites are unknowingly training her to bite when they react to her aggression. parrots also often begin to see their owners as their mates, and as i said before, when their sexual advances are refused and their owner doesn’t start behaving appropriately for a broody bird (you can’t really do that as a human), the bird can get aggressive and antisocial and their mental health will be essentially ruined because their “mate” isn’t reciprocating their advances.

now, i do actually believe that there’s a handful of people out there than *can* properly care for a parrot. they’re absolutely few and far between, but there are a couple people out there that have the money and space and time and knowledge to keep a parrot properly. however, the pet trade makes parrots *way, way, way* too common and far too easy to get, and this is why parrots are so often abused. budgies are available at nearly every pet store for only a few dollars, and nearly every single one of those budgies is abused by someone who doesn’t know how to care for one. people will see parrots owned by people who know what they’re doing online, think it’s adorable, want one for themselves, without knowing just how much a parrot needs to be healthy. parrot supplies sold in every big chain pet store are also very, very bad. every parrot food bag is just full of seeds that claims to be a full diet for the bird because that’s what it eats in the wild; budgies may eat a diet of almost exclusively fatty seeds and grain in the wild, but they also fly miles and miles every day to burn off that fat. most parrot toys sold in stores are extremely unsafe, nearly every cage is too small, and pretty much everything sold to unknowing owners is terrible for the bird. the pet trade is extremely unethical and absolutely to blame.

honestly, captive parrots should be left to the zoos. even if i believe there is a couple people out there capable of properly caring for one, those few definitely are not worth the millions of birds that are abused by people who can’t properly care for them. even people like me that have experience with parrots, know how to properly read their body language, knows their dietary needs and health concerns and everything there is to know about a parrot shouldn’t always have one. i could never provide a proper home for a parrot because that simply isn’t a possibility for me. zoos are perfectly capable of doing so because they are zoos; they have the space and the funding and the knowledge and the manpower to be able to keep parrots ethically. it’s similar to animals like lions and bears and elephants, proper accredited zoos can absolutely house them without issue, but regular people should absolutely not be allowed to just have one in their home. there are other options for people who want a pet bird, though! chickens, pigeons, turkeys, ducks, quails, and geese are all domestic birds (obviously not all species, there’s a big difference between domestic and wild versions of these birds) that are perfectly happy to be kept as pets and are absolutely ethical pets, just like cats and dogs. also just like cats and dogs, there are breeds that are unethical, like oriental modern frill pigeons or egyptian morasalat pigeons being similar to pugs or scottish fold cats, as they’ve been so excessively bred that they have a reduced quality of life. always do your research into genetics and diseases when it comes to domestic birds to make sure a specific breed is ethical. and also, it is actually possible to ethically keep non domestic animals. european starlings can be a great pet, but only if you live outside of europe, where they’re incredibly invasive. i’m not 100% sure for other places but in turtle island, in both countries, you’re allowed to do what you want with european starlings because of how insanely common they are. it’s a great idea to get prepared beforehand and then go out during the spring and try to find starling nests and take a chick from it to keep as a pet; it’s just fine and they can make good pets. always check your local laws, but keeping european starlings is absolutely legal in turtle island and i’m sure in several other places as well. emus are also undomesticated birds that can be ethically kept if you know what you’re doing, you have to be a proper farmer and own a *lot* of land to have emus, but they do well in captivity when they’re properly cared for too! to keep an undomesticated animal is very situational and you absolutely have to know what you’re doing, but it’s possible with some species; just not parrots. there was actually an effort to domesticate raccoons centuries ago, but raccoons simply don’t do well in captivity so it was dropped, and it’s the same case with parrots. there’s also an attempt to domesticate foxes, with many people citing the russian foxes that have supposedly been bred to be tamer, which is *very much* not the same as domestication. foxes, raccoons, and parrots are all animals incompatible with captivity and domestication, unfortunately. we’ve just gotta leave it to the zoos and get pets that are actually domesticated. there’s domestic species of every animal class, including insects!

by the way, owning a parrot is not a moral failure. you’re not a terrible person if you own a parrot. they just aren’t good pets and are very abused by the pet trade. all captive parrots deserve a good life and a good owner, but i do think parrots as pets has to be stopped. if you own a parrot and are taking proper care of it, especially if it’s a rescue, good for you! just keep in mind, never buy parrots from pet stores or breeders. let them go out of business.

that got. so excessively long. and i could absolutely ramble on more and more but i hope this answered your question and i’m more than willing to elaborate on any points i made here! i also highly recommend checking out @is-the-owl-video-cute, they’re one of my favourite blogs for animal info and they’ve got a lot of hands-on experience with raptors and i learned a lot of what i know from them and their sources.

TL;DR: no, parrots are not pets, because they’re highly intelligent and undomesticated birds that simply don’t do well in captivity. try getting a chicken, pigeon, turkey, goose, duck, or quail instead.

#sorry for the tag owlvid #thank you so much for the question! i love being able to ramble on and on about this lol #asks #birds #infodump #parrots #parrot #parrotblr #petblr #pets #chickens #chickenblr #domestication #wildlife #long post

[poryphoria]

MORI IMPORTANT QUESTION WHAT TYPE OF BIRD IS CRACKPOT

OHO GOD BLESS AND SIT DOWN BECAUSE NOW YOU'VE GOT ME GOING. I HAVE OPINIONS ON THIS (I HAVE OPINIONS ON EVERYTHING)

so like to me he is like a garbage mix of every bird at once, sorta.

pre fall of nexus he reminds me most of a duck w the shape of the anti dissonance helmet, (which is funny bc waterfowl float on the surface of the water!!!) and as for a specific species ive pinned him down as a south georgia pintail due to them being the only ducks with carnivorous tendencies & their relationship with petrels-- these enormous predatory birds that hunt sick seals. pintail ducks will fearlessly toddle right up to them in the middle of dining on a festering carcass and take little ducky bites and the petrels just dont do anything about it!!! they eat together and its very dear to me and reminds me of birdphobe ✌️

post fall of nexus, he's a little more ambiguous 2 me and i think could really just be whatevers funniest given the situation. behaviorally he's a bit like a mix of a corvid and a parrot, but appearance wise his colors & beak shape invoke ibises, pukekos, smooth billed anis & kiwis- and thematically him being a vulture would also make sense (i have a special fondness for black vultures bc they're common where i live & they generally settle by the water, i like to watch them at the dam sometimes!! but condors and even the extinct argentavis could work too)

he doesn't really look like a songbird of any manner but i also associate him with those as a pet name phobos has 4 him, if i had to pick one though it'd definitely be a starling due to their long fur-like feathers and ability to mimic voices :D OH and i also associate him with cuckoos due to a hc someone posted here once that i reblogged where they mused he was literally a brood parasite from birth (ive adapted this into a kinda metaphorical understanding for my own hcs of what his childhood was like but i wont get into that unless you want me to bc this post is already long and rambly enough EJDBEKDHDODKRJRKD)

oh also just pigeons!! and emus!! their general vibes and the noises they make. coos and chirps and throaty rumbly barks

tldr-- it completely depends on whatever you're going for & i dont exactly have a definitive answer, he's like a mutt of a bird 2 me <3 if this was for an au design or something first of all im. So sorry for making you read all that JEBDORBDKDN but secondly id recommend ones with pointy or hooked beaks, muted brown-grey color palettes and longer feathers!! as i mentioned appearance-wise i think pukekos, starlings and smooth billed anis are the most fitting <3

hope this helps and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to chatter about my little man i will take ANYTHING

#pory turgles #dr crackpot #madness project nexus #project nexus #it said something

[stormbreaker101]

The Contest of Champions (Intertwined AU)

The Magnificent Seven have all joined their new captain, Owen, in piracy. In their journeying across the Spiral, the Eagles of Aquila strike at their pride, calling them not real heroes. The Seven resolve to do whatever it takes to prove the Eagles wrong, and maybe relive their true glory days as a team and family again.

I started writing this for @destiny-moonforge a little over a month ago (Owen is their OC in their personal Pirate101/OCverse, the Intertwined AU). i finished it last night and couldn’t post it to tumblr because I was on the verge of passing out.

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-atypical gore (descriptions of wounds, blood)

Word Count: 10332. Yea, it’s a doozy.

“CAPTAIN!” Billy the Kid’s voice burst from the docks of Nova Aquila. “THE EAGLES ARE SHITTALKIN’ YA!”

Owen put down their coil of rope and hopped from the ship’s deck. “THEY’RE WHAT!?” they shouted.

“SHITTALKIN’!” Billy repeated. He ran up to them, panting. “So, we’re in the tavern tellin’ the Eagles about our own escapades, y’know, trading stories from legend to legend an’ all that, and— get this— they say we weren’t any of us heroes! NONE!”

“No!” Owen gasped. They knew the Eagles of Aquila were rude, cocky, self-centered assholes, but this was a new low!

“YES!” Billy insisted. “You, me, us, Wyatt, none of us! All that we’d done here with their Trojan War, also nothin’! Why, if I weren’t with the others I’d whoop every one of ‘em turkeys for saying that!”

“They’d deserve it,” Owen muttered.

Billy closed his eyes and took a few breaths through gritted teeth. He was gettin’ too riled up about this. He’s gotta be a lil’ bit hinged if he wants to be a hero— and a good model t’ Owen and Timmy. “Wild Bill told me to get some fresh air so I didn’t direc’ly explode in the tavern. But the way I sees it, he’s gonna have to tell off Buffalo and Jane too. We’re all pissed! An’ rightly so. So! What’cha say we go an’ show those big-beaked ninnies what kinda heroes we really are?”

“You’re not thinking of starting a fight, are you?” Owen asked.

“HEAVENS no!” Billy burst. “I’m supposed ta’ be respectable. They already call us barbarians, we don’ need to be called taverntossers too! I’m jus’ thinkin’ the birds might listen to us more if all of us were there. Maybe they don’ believe we’re really the Magnificent Seven because in there we’re six- Five. We’re five cuz Wild told me to step out. God they’re gonna believe ‘em less now!” He stomped his hoof in frustration. Damn it, Wild! In tryin’ to diffuse the situation he only made it worse!

“Well let’s not waste a second!” Owen shouted. They grabbed Billy’s hand and rushed off to the tavern.

~

Billy kicked the door open. The rest of the Seven turned their heads at Billy’s loud entrance. The other taverngoers turned their heads as well.

“That’s the last of the Seven?” someone asked. “That’s hardly a child!”

Owen’s grip tightened in Billy’s hand. Gods dammit, they weren’t a child. They were sixteen and had hella babyface. Everyone’s judgemental gazes shot through Owen like bullets.

“I feel ya, bud,” Billy murmured, so just Owen would hear. They were crushin’ his hand now but Billy had come to understand the gesture as I need support. He wouldn’t deny Owen that support. He’s gotta be there for ‘em. He looked out to the rest of the Seven. Jane waved him over. Billy nodded. “Hey, let’s head over to the rest of ‘em, yea? I think Jane’s got an idea.”

Owen nodded.

The Seven were seated around a table in a small alcove. The tavengoers’ gazes burned at the back of Owen's head. “What’s going on?” they asked.

“Billy’s probably told you everything you need for context,” Wild Bill said.

“For obvious reasons, we can’t let their insults stand,” Buffalo Bill said. “Especially not that they insulted you to your face now! And they dare to call us the rude barbarians. Preposterity!”

“Nothing we say seems to convince them that we’re heroes, so there’s gotta be something we can do instead,” Jane said.

“But even helpin’ in Troy wasn’t good enough, remember?” Billy brought up to the group. “Their own damn happenings here in Aquila that we lent our hands to, and all the glory goes to one o’ their own instead!”

“It seems there’s no pleasing them,” Barklementizov worried. His mouth was in a strained little frown. He didn’t like leaving this unresolved, but he couldn’t see a solution himself.

Owen racked their head for an idea. “They refuse to listen… their standards too high… Why don’t we ask them what we could do to prove it? Get their standards right from them, and hold them to their word?”

The rest of the Seven looked at each other. Indeed, why hadn’t they tried to ask? It was such a simple solution, but one they all overlooked in the moment. Duck was the first to break the silence. “Why don’t we, indeed?” He stood on the table and cleared his throat. It was different from his usual coughs, louder and with more voice behind them, but he held his hand over his beak anyway. He spoke to the entire tavern. “Gentlemen, you’ve heard our tales-” koff- “and you deem us not heroic enough. Is there anything that we could do, so that-” koff koff- “my friends are heroic enough for y’all?” 

The tavern fell quieter than Owen imagined possible. Well, that’s their huckleberry alright. A skilled weaver with words, and gentle but sturdy in tone, even with his chronic coughs breaking up his sentences. An orator, that’s a word Owen’s heard floating around the marble and cobble central square of Nova Aquila.

“Well, there’s the Contest of Champions,” someone at a table Owen couldn’t see said.

Barkle gasped. “I’ve read of the Contest of Champions! It’s the peoples’ variant of the legendary Olympic Games,” he explained to the rest of the Seven.

“Are you kidding?” a second stranger’s voice asked. “There’s no way in Tartarus that Pindar will let them in!”

“And that’s the person we gotta talk to to get in,” Jane pieced together.

“The Contest starts at noon. It’s far too late for any new contestants to enroll!” a third Eagle added.

“It’s not noon yet, is it?” Billy asked the crowd.

“No, but-”

“So what you’re saying is there’s still time,” he finished up.

“Owen, do you want to do this?” Wild Bill asked. He didn’t want to force Owen into any sort of clout-chasing contest. He knew the Magnificent Seven were heroes enough; they didn’t need to prove themselves to people who wouldn’t appreciate them. But, he wouldn’t say no outright. Owen deserved to choose.

“Of course I do!” Owen answered. They appreciated Wild Bill checking in, but to suggest they wouldn’t want to prove how heroic their family was and to show these jerks up would be an insult to their character had it come from anyone else! “To Pindar we go!”

~

Pindar, an older Eagle with graying feathers and a heavier toga, was standing by the gates to Nova Aquila’s busy docks, looking out to the skyway.

Buffalo Bill called out to him, his voice running faster than the Magnificent Seven themselves. “PINDAR!”

Pindar turned around. He looked at the seven foreigners. “Yes? How can I help you, sirs?”

“We’d like to join the Contest of Champions!” Owen spoke up.

“The Contest of Champions?” Pindar repeated, tilting his head. “Oh, you haven’t missed it, yet. This year’s winners will be announced in but a few hours, and the play-by-play within the week. Partake in the city’s wonders in the meantime.”

“We’d like to join the Contest of Champions,” Wild Bill repeated. He emphasized the ‘to join’, in case Pindar’s ears were beginning to fail him in old age.

“What?” Pindar asked. He looked the group over. He saw them as a handful of birdfolk (though none Eagle), one person who seemed a blend of human and bug, a vampire immune to sunlight, and two particularly rude-looking people with fur instead of feathers. “Oh, you all must be quite new around here. Only the finest heroes of Aquilan blood, kin to the Immortals themselves, can compete in the Contest. They’re the only ones who would have any chance to win the Contest and bear its Prize. In fact, I suspect there’d be a rule against foreigners competing in the first place.”

“I see how it is. Hiding behind your uptight rules then, are we?” Buffalo Bill challenged.

“Why?” Billy goaded. “You scared we’d show you featherbrains up?”

“There should be a first time for everything, don’t’cha think?” asked Jane. “Why not let us try?”

“This Contest could be something extraordinary if we participate!” Barkle suggested. “Let us match our wits and hands against your best and brightest! It would be a spectacular thing to watch, a new marvel, perhaps on the level of the legendary Olympic Games!”

“And, if we fail as you think we’re destined to-” koff- “it would make your heroes shine even brighter in contrast,” Duck mentioned, appealing to Pindar’s preconceptions.

Pindar stroked his feathered beard. “I suppose exceptions could be made, rules could be bent, favors could be had.” He looked at the wax tablet in his hands. “Our victory wreaths are yet to be delivered from Sparta, I suspect the Vulture Raiders plundered them. If you could fetch them for us, it would be enough of a favor to let you in.”

“So we fetch your wreaths, and you let us compete?” Owen asked, to make extra sure they were hearing Pindar correctly.

“Yes,” Pindar agreed.

“Then it’s a deal,” Owen promised. “How many wreaths?”

Pindar read over his tablet. “Eight crates of them.”

“We’ll be right on it!”

~

The Magnificent Seven all went down to the docks, where Owen’s main ship, the Silver Moth, floated. “Can you tell the rest of the crew what’s up? Muster on the docks? I gotta find our other ship,” Owen asked as they climbed aboard.

A chorus of “Yes”s and “Sure thing”s and other agreements rang from the adults as Owen rushed to their cabin. The cabin was a bit of a mess, by most peoples’ standards, but it was a mess Owen could navigate as deftly as the many skyways they had sailed in. Eventually, they found the other ship, the Santo Oro, in its neat little bottle. Owen rarely used the Santo Oro for many reasons, but it was undeniably a good ship. If part of the crew ran the Santo Oro while the other part manned the Silver Moth, they could be twice as efficient in raiding the Vulture Raiders back. “Divide and conquer”, as the strategy’s called.

Ship bottle in hand, Owen flew out to the docks. The crew had all gathered, and though the Seven had told the rest of the pirates about what was up, they still waited for their captain’s word. There’s a situation, what’re the Silver Moths all gonna do about it?

Owen wasn’t the best at public speaking. They’d never be cut out for ambassador business; it’s a good thing they’re only a pirate captain. “So, we’ve gotta fight the Vulture raiders for something the Eagles want. It’ll let us get into the Contest of Champions. It might be quicker if we take both ships at the same time.” They held up the Santo Oro’s bottle, then tossed it down.

Subodai caught the glass bottle and handed it to Ratbeard in one quick motion. He didn’t even consider keeping the ship for himself. Owen knew why; Subodai's great at many things, but sailing wasn’t one of them.

Ratbeard popped the bottle’s cork and the skiff appeared next to the Silver Moth. “More grocery shoppin’ fer the blasted birds,” he kvetched.

“It’s either grocery shopping or not doing the contest entirely,” Wild Bill said. “And the second is hardly an option anymore.”

“Right, right, yer pride’s all been wounded, I get it,” Ratbeard said. He climbed aboard the Santo Oro. “But do ye really have to do this?! I say gettin’ the birds what they want’s more woundin’ than lyin’ down!”

“It’s been a while since we’ve done some good old raiding, Vermi,” Catbeard pointed out. “It’ll be fun pirating together again.” He hustled aboard the ship with Ratbeard.

“Yeah, yeah, th’only reason it’s been a while’s because we had to bust yer ass outta jail, kitty!” He rolled his eye at Catbeard and gave a crooked half-smile. So the banter was all in good fun, probably.

Jane nudged Billy in the side. “You know who they remind me of?”

“Who?” Billy asked.

“Duck and Big Bill.”

Billy made a face like he’d just eaten a lemon whole. “You’re kiddin’! They’re nothin’ like ‘em!”

Jane laughed. “Oh, they are, alright. Maybe you’ll see it when you’re older.” She patted him on the back. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do.”

~

The sun steadily climbed in the sky as the crew fought a handful of the vultures’ ships. Though the Silver Moths had just a fleet of two ships, their teamwork softened up the other ships like butter. Owen would board the other ships and ask to search for the crates of laurels. “That’s all I’m looking for. We can be chill,” they would assure. And when the vulture pirates decided to not be chill back and try to attack Owen, then the rest of the crew would get involved.

The crates soon began to stack up. By the time the eighth crate was recovered, the sun was firmly overhead. 

“That’s all of them,” Buffalo Bill confirmed, counting them up.

“Finally!” Billy exclaimed. “Let’s get ta’ competin’!”

“Say, Barkle, you seem to know more about the contest than the rest of us,” Wild Bill said. “D’you happen to know what’t’ll ask of us?”

Barklementizov shook his head. “I can’t remember. I only know the general layout; three events, and the competitors are scored on how well they do in them. The winner is the person with the best score after all three.”

“Three events under one Contest,” Duck realized. “We have signed up for more than we bargained for. Well-” koff- “let the games begin, I say.”

~

The Seven rushed to Pindar. Owen took the lead, their wings abuzz. Barklementizov and Buffalo Bill were right beside them, keeping up. Billy was right behind, constantly looking back at Calamity and Wild Bill (and Holliday too, as much as Billy still wanted to keep mental distance from ‘im) and telling them to keep up. The three slowpokes were reserving their energy; they’d need it for the coming events, why waste it on a short mad dash?

“PINDAR!” Owen called, waving their arm high so Pindar could see them from a distance. “We got the laurels! The rest of my family’s unloading them right now at the docks, if you wanna get 'em. It’s too much for us to carry to you directly.” As they spoke, they made it right up to Pindar himself. The rest of the Seven followed in 

Pindar nodded and checked off something on his tablet. “Well done. You lot may have the makings of a hero, after all.”

“More like the makings of your damn errandboys,” Billy scoffed, mostly to himself but still aloud.

“Billy, please,” Barkle asked. He understood that Billy was bitter and feeling disrespected, but he also knew that, as an outsider, standing up for oneself like that will only make one more hated. 

Billy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but canned ‘imself.

Pindar looked up at the sun. It was past its zenith. “The contest has already begun. Are you sure you want to begin at a disadvantage?”

“Are you being polite, or going deaf?” Buffalo Bill asked. “We’ve said time and time again-”

“We will take on the contest and all the disadvantages,” Wild Bill cut in. Like Barkle, he knew civility had to take center-stage when talking with the Aquilans. They

“So be it,” Pindar said. He was beginning to have his doubts, letting all seven of these outsiders compete as one team. They couldn’t even control their sharpest tongues without reprimanding. But, they had done him a favor, so he had to let them in. “All heroes have to excel at defeating monsters. The first Contest is the Great Hunt. Report to Orion, in Calydonea. He will tell you more.”

~

Orion was easy enough to find. He stood on a rock outcropping in the fields of Calydonea, overlooking the gates to civilization in Achaean Sparta. He saw the Seven and some others approaching (Timmy wanted to come with the rest of the Seven, and Bonnie Anne volunteered to keep an eye on the kid while the Seven were doing… whatever it was they’d end up having to do), and waved them greetings and well-faring.

Owen waved back. “Hey! We’re here for the Contest!” they announced.

“The Contest, you say?” Orion asked. “I bid you beware, for I fear only the mightiest can hope to succeed.” He pointed to the cliffs, the caves within them, and the hills around them. “The monsters that haunt these hills are fearsome.”

“Do we look scared to you?” Calamity asked.

“We’ve seen our fair share of monsters,” Barkle assured. “No need to fear for us.”

Orion chuckled. “You are bold, outlanders, I’ll give you that. Very well, then! The first Contest is to hunt down a dread manticore. They lair in those very caves over there. When you’ve defeated one, take one of its claws to Pindar as a token of your victory.” He looked the crowd over. His gaze landed on Timmy and Owen. “I fear you may be doomed, but the Immortals favor the foolish, or so they say.”

Owen didn’t like that Orion was singling them and Timmy out.

“I’m not gonna be fighting,” Timmy said. “I’m just comin’ along for the ride!”

Orion gave the kid a gentle smile. “Well, youngster, you’d best listen to your… parents, alright?”

“I will!” Timmy chirped. “And miss Anne!” He took her hand.

The group set off through the fields. They made sure to give the monsters out and about plenty of space. If a pack of the manticores decided to pounce on them before they were ready…

Bonnie Anne noticed a set of tracks in the ground. The tracks matched the manticores’ paws, but were significantly bigger. “Look there,” she said, pointing the oversized tracks out. “I think those are the dread manticores’ prints. We can track ‘em from a distance to one of the caves.”

“Why thank you kindly, Anne,” Jane said, giving the fox a smile. “Lead on.”

Bonnie Anne took the lead. She kept her eyes trained on the tracks. They eventually led to a cave burrowing into the cliffs. “Here we are.”

Jane whistled a tense little tune as she looked into the cave. 

All of the Seven, save for Timmy and Owen, tensed. They knew their friend’s song well. If Calamity Jane Canary was whistling such a worried warble, that meant this cave was trouble.

“Welp. Here we go,” Billy said. “Don’t’cha worry, Tims, we’ll be fine.”

“If you need an extra musket, call for me,” Bonnie Anne asked. “Your safety’s more important than the Contest.”

“We’ll call if it gets to that,” Owen promised. They hoped it didn’t.

“Y’all got this!” Timmy encouraged.

Owen led the Seven into the cave. Some regular manticores and one oversized one (no doubt the dread manticore in question) slept in the cave.

“If we’re-” koff- “stealthy, perhaps we can-” Duck tried to suggest. A big old bout of coughing seized him. Caves, dank and dusty as they were, were never good for his lungs.

The dread manticore woke up. It pushed itself to its paws and unfurled its wings. It let out a guttural, cranky roar. The smaller manticores woke up as well, seven of them in total.

“You were saying, Duck?” Buffalo Bill sassed.

“Come on! We’ve got a pack of manticores to take down!” Owen butted in. Now was no time for infighting, even if it were maybe teasing and lighthearted (though they really couldn’t tell, Bill sounded genuinely pissed to them). They readied their knife and pistol.

The rest of the Seven readied their weapons too. Even Barklementizov, who had no held weapon of his own, gathered his wits and magic.

“If we focus on the little ones one at a time, we defeat them quicker, and have less of them attacking us at once!” Owen strategized.

It was a good enough plan for most of the Seven. However, Buffalo Bill and Billy went against the plan. “We’ll soften the others up while y’all take out that one,” Billy said.

Duck had a feeling they were avoiding aiming for the same monster he was shooting down for more reasons than just strategy. The li’l gunslinger wasn’t one to follow through with a strategy like that.

The manticores were quite the threat! Eight vs seven. The dread manticore was all but unharmed as the smaller ones went down. The fight went on for far longer than Owen would’ve liked. The manticores’ claws were sharp, their teeth bit hard, and their tails stung like whips. Their healing magic couldn’t keep up.

The dread manticore was the only one left. It towered over all of the Seven, even Buffalo Bill. It reared onto its hind legs, standing even taller now, claws unsheathed and fangs bared. It brought its paws down on the nearest target-

“DUCK!” Owen shouted. 

Duck couldn’t back away fast enough. The manticore cut a nasty set of gashes over his face. His left eye was clawed shut.

Panic peppered through Owen. They flew up and stabbed the dread manticore at the back of its throat. It whirled around in pain, its wings slapping Owen away. They lost their balance and fell, distant from everyone else.

“OWEN!” Barklementizov panicked. He flew after Owen, but the dread manticore bit at his wings. He fell down too.

Calamity ran towards the manticore. It’s distracted- oh fuck it’s distracted by Owen and Barkle- she can try and save Duck in the meantime!

Billy shot at the manticore as Calamity Jane made her daring move.

“Jane! Look out!” Wild Bill warned.

As Jane got close, the dread manticore hissed at her and tried to swat her aside. Its claws tore at her, but she was steady. She helped Duck up to his feet and hurried him to safety. “Duck, we gotcha. Bill, shield him. Billy, let’s raise hell. It’s after Owen and Barks!” She picked her musket back up. She and Billy then ran towards the dread manticore, guns blazing.

Wild Bill stepped in front of Duck. If the dread manticore dared to come back here, ideally it would target him and not Duck, being the closer and bigger and brighter of the two birds. Bill kept an eye and ear on Duck as well. “How bad is your eye?”

“Out of commission till it’s cleaned up,” Duck responded, coughing from fatigue. “I hope it’s not lost for good.”

Buffalo Bill had been trying to keep consistent fire trained on the dread manticore. It wasn’t enough to stop any of what’d just happened. It just took his hits and focused on the more vulnerable! He had no hope but to charge headlong! He tightened his musket’s bayonet and rushed to the manticore. “Get away from my calf!” he roared.

The dread manticore whipped its head to him. He plunged the bayonet into the manticore’s neck, piercing its throat. The beast’s blood burst from the wound. It flailed and flopped and fell in fury, only tearing its throat further open. It collapsed dead on the dusty cave floor.

Barklementizov ran to Owen as quickly as his legs could manage. He tried to help them sit up. “Are you alright?”

Owen, shaking, was not alright. They nodded anyway. “Any higher, and that fall might’ve done me in,” they said. They tried to laugh the pain away, but… god damn they were scared. They looked at the manticore’s corpse. Manticorpse. What if it wasn’t dead? What if it rose again?

Billy hung his sparklocks on his belt and dashed to Owen. He helped them stand. God. They were shiverin’ in his arms. “We gotcha, kid. That kitty ain’t so bad anymore.”

Owen felt something in them break. They held onto Billy’s hands and leaned against him. They looked around. Everyone was some sort of battered, bruised, or bloodied. Buffalo Bill was absolutely drenched. If Owen were any more emotionally sound they’d make a milk webkinz joke. Milk is just blood with extra steps. But no, they were in no state to do that right now. They couldn’t see Duck from where they were. “Where’s Duck?” they asked.

“I’m right here, peach,” Duck spoke up. He wiped the blood from his eye and made his way towards Owen. He glanced at Billy. Billy, one of the two who’d been so loud about his old blame on Duck. Billy, who’d never forgiven him before.

Billy looked back at Duck Holliday. He, god, he could’a been blinded. Or worse, killed. The Seven lost one already, years ago. They really can’t afford to lose another. Not even Duck.

Duck got a bit closer. 

Owen pulled him into the hug. They cried into his shoulder.

Bonnie Anne and Timmy ran around a corner into the cave. “We heard the fighting get bad, is everyone-” Bon’s words dried in her mouth as she saw the battlefield. Manticores dead, the Magnificent Seven wounded, her captain and friend crying in Duck’s and Billy’s arms. “Oh, god.”

“Wh- What happened?” Timmy asked. He’d never seen anybody so… hurt. Let alone the Magnificent Seven! His idols, his family!

“We’re worse for wear, but we’re well enough,” Big Bill promised. “Please disregard the fact that I’m covered in blood.”

Owen lifted their head from Duck’s shoulder. When did Timmy get here? They wiped away their tears. “Hey, don’t worry about us, okay?” They gently pulled themself away from the hug, and grabbed their weapons from the floor; apparently they’d dropped them when they were knocked down. Knife in hand, they approached the manticore. “Let’s get this claw back to Pindar. We’ve got more Contests to win…” 

~

While sailing back to Nova Aquila, everybody got themselves fixed up. Duck had to check in with Nurse Quinn for his eye (Quinn said he’d have to keep it shut while the skin healed, but thankfully he wasn’t going to lose it), and everybody needed their fair share of bandages, but everyone seemed to do well enough.

Owen needed some time away from everything, a bit of quiet to try and decompress. They lied in their hammock, letting the ship’s rocking calm them down. They held the dread manticore’s claw in their hands, turning it over and over like Duck and his poker chip. So much pain and frenzy for just one itty bitty claw. For one blasted contest.

Was it even worth it?

Owen’s right hand dropped to the brass badge pinned on their vest. Wyatt Chirp’s sheriff badge.

“Of course it’s gonna be worth it!” Owen argued with themself. “If we win the contest, the Aquilans will finally respect the Seven.” Their family’s reputation mattered most in this. If they backed out now… it’d probably reflect so badly on the Seven as a whole. They couldn’t do that; they would not besmirch the Seven by association.

Pindar awaited the Seven where he always was. He saw them coming up the hill, and the various bandages decorating their bodies. “Ah, you’ve returned,” he said. “Hard day?”

“Not in the slightest,” Duck answered, his voice level with cool confidence and his expression not holding the slightest bit of pain (well, besides the fresh cuts down his face). “We’ve got your manticore’s claw. Owen?”

Owen nodded and showed Pindar the claw.

“Oh!” Pindar gasped in surprise. “You actually did it! Unexpected, but well done. Though, I must warn you, there are two more contests left, and they’ll only grow more difficult.”

“Difficulty is our bread and butter,” Barkle assured. “You’ve no need to fear for us.”

“As you wish.” Pindar clacked his beak. “For the second Contest, bring back the Golden Laurel from Sparta. It’s the prize for the Archery contest.” He looked up at the sky. “You’re very late for it. I suggest you hurry.”

Barklementizov was starting to regret feigning such confidence. He couldn’t hold a bow at all, let alone fire one. And nobody else in the Seven was all too familiar with archery.

Buffalo Bill, however, was cooking up a little idea. “Oh, we’ll bring back that wreath,” he promised. He went down to the ship with a real hustle to his bustle, and everyone followed

After boarding the Silver Moth, Wild Bill decided to check in. “Now that we’re outta earshot… you seem to be planning something.”

Buffalo chuckled. “Pindar never said anything about us winning any competition. Just that we have to retrieve the prize.”

“But how are we gonna get the prize without, y’know, winning the contest for the prize?” Owen asked.

“Easy. We get the winner to put it up for a bet.”

“Is it really gonna be that easy?” Jane asked.

“Pride is the Eagles’ greatest failing,” Duck said. He twirled his little mustache and fidgeted with his favorite poker chip. “If we stroke their ego enough, it’ll blind them.”

“Ooh, it’s been a while since I swindled someone!” Billy chuckled, almost nostalgic for his old outlaw days. Almost. “This’ll be fun!”

~

The docks of Achaean Sparta had become more crowded than it had been when the Seven had left it after fighting the dread manticore. “Looks like they’re all still hangin’ around after the contest,” Jane said, watching the crowd from the deck of the ship.

“Splendiferous,” Buffalo Bill said. “Our wreath-bearer is likely still in there.”

“Let us not waste another minute, then!” Barkle said. He flew over towards Owen at the wheel. The ship suddenly lurched under him for a second, then studdered to a halt.

“SHIT-” Owen yelped. “Sorry, everyone! Meant to drop anchor, not hit the gas!”

Most of the crew on-deck tried to stand back up. Subodai could only lie on the deck. “You’re starting to sail like me, Owen!” he joked, his booming laughter bubbling up from him.

“Gods, I sure hope not!” Owen laughed back.

The Magnificent Seven all got off at the docks. Tims came with, holding Owen’s and Billy’s hands.

Big Bill led the way. The crowds parted around him to give him and the Seven enough space to walk. He caught sight of an Eagle wearing the Golden Laurel Wreath. Jackpot. “Yo!” he called to her. “You, miss, with the wreath!”

She caught sight of him as well. “Oh, a fresh face!” She saw the rest of the Seven come out from behind him. “Have you all come for the Archery contest?” she asked. “I’d heard there’d be a group of seven barbarians competing. You’re too late, though. I’ve won it.”

“Oh, well if that ain’t a shame,” Calamity Jane said, with a slight Western belle’s pout in her voice. Completely for the act’s sake. “Still, I reckon it were for the best. Archery ain’t really our kind of shooting, y’see.”

“I wouldn’t be able to hold a bow in the first place,” Barklementizov added.

“Our skillsets are likely so wildly different from each other,” Wild Bill began, “that it begs the question on who’s truly the best shootist.”

The Eagle’s cocky expression faltered. She gripped her bow tightly. “You doubt my prowess?”

“Certainly not,” Duck assured. “You’ve earned that laurel-” koff- “versus the many other archers, fair and square. But I-” koff- “I reckon, why not give us a… fighting chance as well?”

“It could be fun, too!” Timmy chirped.

“A fighting chance, you say?” the Eagle asked. “Fine then. Surely barbarians like yourselves can fight, at least. I’ll duel the best of you, then.”

“What, just one of us?” Billy goaded. “Are you scared you can’t take us all at once? Surely you and your high-falutin Aquilan training makes ya think you’re the best of the best, yea?”

“Of course I’m not scared!” the Eagle snapped. “If anything, dueling only one of you is for your sakes than mine. It’s less of an embarrassment to you if only one of your group loses to me, rather than all of you at once!” She forced out a haughty laugh. She took an arrow from her quiver and pointed it at the group. “I’ll tell you what! I’m so certain I could beat you, no matter your skills and numbers, that I’ll bet my wreath on it! I’ll give it to you- if you can beat me.”

Owen grabbed onto the arrow’s shaft. Their cue in all this was clear as day. “You bet!” They and the Eagle went into the shooting range. “For extra fairness’s sake, let’s give each other some space. Start back to back, ten seconds of walking from each other, then we go all out.”

“A formality,” the Eagle said. “I don’t see why not.” She went back to back with them.

Timmy climbed up onto the fence. Buffalo Bill held him steady. “I’ll do the countdown!” he volunteered from a distance.

Owen and the Eagle nodded.

Timmy counted loud and steadily. “ONE! TWO! THREE!”

Step, step, step.

“FOUR! FIVE! SIX!”

The Eagle archer notched the first arrow into her bow.

“SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!”

Owen gripped their pistol and knife.

“TEN PACES! FIRE!”

Owen turned on their heel and tried for some quick shots at the archer’s shoulder. She can’t shoot if her arm’s busted.

She dodged the shots nimbly enough and let her prepared arrow fly. It nicked Owen’s ear, missing their shoulder by a fair margin. So, she had the same strategy as them. Incapacitation over straight up murder. The eagle wasn’t trying to kill Owen.

“You got this, Owen!” Jane cheered.

The eagle shot some more arrows, aiming for Owen’s leg. The arrow stuck into them.

Owen leaned on their good leg. They aimed for her nearer arm.

The eagle flinched at the shot, scattering her arrows from her quiver.

Now’s their chance! Owen rushed in, knife at the ready. They stabbed her side. Again, steering clear of any vital organs. Not trying to kill. Just wound. Defeat. 

The eagle grabbed a cluster of the arrows and tried to backhand Owen as she scampered to her feet. Owen blocked the cluster with their knife’s blade. It cut through the arrows’ shafts.

The eagle dusted herself off and rushed away from Owen.

Owen shot the eagle’s leg. A bit of true grit from them, bearing the pain and returning it equal. It’s not like they could heal the wound. No doubt the eagles would call magic in a nonmagical duel cheating.

The eagle fell. “Why, you barbarian!” she spat.

“You did the same to me! Fair’s fair!” Owen called out.

“Yeah, you tell ‘er!” Billy shouted from the sidelines.

“Stay steady!” Duck advised.

Owen twirled the pistol around their triggerfinger, a trick Billy taught em, and shot once more at the Eagle. The shot burst from the barrel, flashy more than real damage.

The Eagle reached for another arrow in her quiver. Her eyes went wide as she realized something that she hoped the kid wouldn’t pick up on. She’s only got one arrow left. The rest of her arrows were either cut in half or still scattered on the ground from her first fall. She aimed for Owen’s chest, desperate to not lose like this.

Owen’s eyes went wide. They tried to dodge the arrow. It dug into their arm. Better that than any of their guts or lungs or heart! 

“She ran out of arrows, Owen!” Wild Bill called.

The Eagle gave Wild Bill a furious glare.

Owen walked up towards the Eagle, calming down from the fight. “Well, ain’t that quite a predicament?” they asked. They leaned into a bit of a Western accent for funsies. “Like, golly flippin’ gee willikers, it seems you can’t do much to attack me anymore.”

Timmy gasped. “SKILL ISSUE!” Uproarious laughter came from the rest of the Seven.

Owen brought their hand to their mouth to tamp down their laughter. They were still talking with their opponent, they can’t completely lose face. “Meanwhile, I could keep attacking. I won’t, cuz that’s not fair, but… I think it’s clear to me who wins, yea?”

“Fuck you,” the Eagle spat. “This damn duel, this was your intention from the start, wasn’t it!? You, and your barbarian friends.”

Owen raised their knife. “Hey now.” Their voice dropped. Their playfulness gave out. “Please don’t call my family barbarians. Now, can I kindly have that wreath of yours? You did bet on it.” They glanced at the rest of the Seven. Buffalo Bill gave them a giant thumbs up.

With a huff, the Eagle unceremoniously put her golden wreath on Owen’s outstretched arm.

Owen put their weapons away, put the wreath on their head, and gave the Eagle a bright smile with a few too many teeth (for good measure). “Thank you!~” They skipped over to the Seven. 

Buffalo Bill picked Owen up in the air. “You were outstanding out there!” he cheered. “What phenomenal pugilistic prowess! A stellar show! I daresay I’m running out of words!” He put them on his shoulders.

“If you’re running outta words, I guess that’s how I know it must’ve been great!” Owen laughed from the pure joy of it all. Oh, they felt they were on top of the world! And in a way, they were. They were on Big Bill’s shoulders. “And you all were great too!” They looked down at Timmy. “Quick question, Tims. Skill issue!?”

“Billy taught me that,” Timmy answered, pointing at him.

“I sure as hell did NOT teach you that!” Billy protested.

“Are you sure you didn’t just-” koff- “say it in front of him, at one point?” Duck asked.

Billy opened his mouth to retort, but, yeah no that totally sounded like him lol. He didn’t remember everythin’ he said, let alone everyone who was around when he said said everythin’.

“Come on, let’s get back to Pindar,” Jane said. “We’ve got one more contest to get over with!”

~

“PIIIIINDAAAAAAAR!” Owen hollered as they and the rest of the Magnificent Seven rushed to him. They held the golden wreath against their head so it wouldn’t fall off. “WEGOTTHEGOLDENWREATH!”

Pindar looked up at the Seven. “Pardon?” he asked. He had already gotten news of the winner of the archery contest, and it certainly wasn’t the Seven.

“We got the golden wreath!” Owen repeated themself.

“Now wait a moment,” Pindar said. “You did not win it from the archery contest. I’m afraid such fraud must disqualify you all.”

“But-” Owen started.

Buffalo Bill put his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Allow me.” He stepped towards Pindar. The rest of the Seven took a step away from him. He lifted his musket and slammed the wooden end against the cobblestone path. “Now just one minute, Pindar,” he growled. He took a step closer to the Eagle, towering over him. “You never told us to win the archery contest. You only told us to bring back the golden wreath, and this we have done, by thunder!” He let his shout echo off into the distance before continuing. “Do you intend on keeping your word and playing this contest fairly, or do you only wish to bend over backwards so only Eagles can win!?”

 “I- er-” Pindar stuttered for an answer. Buffalo Bill was meaner than any man or beast he had ever seen before. “I-I suppose exceptions c-could be made, ag-again. Rules… bent. You all may n-not have the blood of Eagles, yes, but you are c-cunning as Ulysses himself. The terms of the Contest can still be honored.”

“There. Now was that so difficult?” Buffalo Bill asked, his demeanor becoming sunny as a paper daisy as if he hadn’t just been verbally storming over another man. He picked up his musket and held it safely by his side.

So this was what everyone meant when they said Buffalo Bill was meaner than a mountain lion, Owen realized. Holy crap. They had never seen that side of him before. Was that even another side to him? He seemed like an entirely different person. Not the Big Bill they knew and loved.

They didn’t ever want to see that side of him again.

“Certainly not-” Pindar gulped. He tried to “Anyway, the last Contest is a footrace all over Illios. Whoever can find the most golden apples scattered throughout the land by sunset wins.”

The Seven all looked at each other. Everyone except for Billy and Owen had a concerned look. They were old, and weren’t fit for something as strenuous as a race. Billy the Kid, however, just looked annoyed. “Oh bother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This’ll be fun.”

“Indeed,” Duck wheezed before coughing for five seconds on end. Wild Bill gave him a few sturdy but gentle pats on his back. “I can hardly contain my glee…” Duck continued his thought. “Thanks, Bill.”

“‘Course.” Wild Bill took a breath. “We’re in this deep into the contest. I don’t think our prides will let us back out now.”

“I just hope there’s another way to finish it besides running,” Barkle said. He swung his small taloned legs. “My legs are far too small…”

“We’ll find a way,” Owen promised. The way they had in mind was doing the race themself (they didn’t mind, they like running :D), but maybe something will come up and there’ll be a way for everyone else to get involved without hurting themselves. Owen could only hope.

~

In Illios, the Magnificent Seven found Atalanta, the Eagle managing the final event. She had a bow slung over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows at her hip, and a wax tablet and stylus like Pindar in her hands. She was managing this final event in the Contest. 

“‘Scuse me!” Jane called, waving at Atalanta. “Miss Atalanta, was it? We’re here for the Contest of Champions!”

Atalanta looked up from her tablet. “Another pack of runners? You’re very late, I’m afraid. Most of the apples had been taken. Why, I doubt there are any left in the regular course at all.”

“That implies there are some apples left-” koff- “in more unconventional places,” Duck mentioned. “If we were to press on against all wisdom, where would we look?”

Atalanta brought a finger (feather?) to her chin. “The only other place where I’d find the golden apples are in the Ettin caves, to the north.” She pointed out the way. “You’d have to fight them for it, of course.”

“And just how many do we gotta collect to beat first place?” Billy asked.

“The current leader, Philipides, has… six apples,” Atalanta answered, checking her tablet. “The event officially ends at sundown. I don’t envy the task you’ve set for yourselves, but the Immortals favor the foolish, or so they say.”

“Or so we’ve heard,” Buffalo Bill said. “Thank you. We’ll be well on our way.”

As the Magnificent Seven went northward to the Ettin caves, Owen couldn’t help but chuckle to themselves at the funny little coincidence.

“What’s gotcha so giggly all of a sudden?” Billy asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking, we gotta get more than six apples, which means we gotta get seven. One for the each of us!” Owen explained.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Barklementizov admitted.

“Well, isn’t that a fun coincidence?” Wild Bill asked. He couldn’t help but chuckle along too.

“Almost feels like fate…” Buffalo Bill remarked. Seven apples for the Magnificent Seven, The Seven were together again, sailing all over the Spiral… but it didn’t feel quite as whole as before Wyatt’s death. And, indeed, that gaping emptiness was his fault. He kept the wound open, still staying distant from Holliday. Closing the gap between them would be too painful and take too much effort now. Bill had to reserve his energy for this confounded contest.

But were they not doing this contest for the entire Seven’s sake in the first place? Not just each member’s individual pride, but for their collective honor. For their history as a team. They were heroes together, and this damn contest was to prove it to the Eagles.

Maybe to prove it to themselves and each other, too.

The namesake ettins in the Ettin caves were nasty, big ol’ brutes, with double the heads and half the brain cells. “Hey, listen up, ya two-headed turkeys!” Billy shouted. “We need your golden apples! If you give ‘em nice an’ quiet like, there’ll be no trouble.”

“We’ll even give them back if you’re nice about it!” Owen interjected.

One of the ettins readied their club. “CRUSH THE LITTLE ONES! CRUSH THEM ALL!” their heads thundered.

“You tried,” Wild Bill assured Owen.

“Yeah, I did…” Owen shrugged. “Guess we gotta do it the hard way.” They readied their weapons, and hoped that these ettins wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as the dread manticore.

Owen’s hope came true. The ettins were tough to defeat, but often their two heads wanted to do different things at once, which only made them weaker. If one head wanted to attack Barkle and Owen flying around their heads and getting what melee hits they could, and another wanted to charge at the rest of the Seven firing at them from all around, the ettin would flounder around and accomplish neither.

The metaphor wasn’t lost on Buffalo Bill. He stood by Duck’s side, protecting his blind spot.

Duck turned his head and looked up at Bill. His behavior confounded him. He had to wonder, what was Bill up to, choosing to stand next to him in all this?

Bill caught Duck’s gaze, and then immediately glanced away. He wasn’t ready to be quite face-to-face with Duck Holliday yet. An ettin was conveniently in his new line of sight, an excuse.

The tension and bond between the two didn’t go unnoticed. Between shots, Jane nudged Billy the Kid in the side. “Y’see?” she asked.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Billy gasped. 

The hours ticked down, the orange light of the sunset outside pouring into the caves.. The apple count ticked up. Soon enough, everyone had a golden apple in their pocket (or, in Barkle’s case, his talons). “Finally!” he cheered. “That’s all seven apples. Let’s get our prize, before it’s too late!”

The Magnificent Seven rushed from the cave. The lights from Owen’s antennae started to brighten the area around them, as the day darkened. As they all approached the camp, Owen hollered, “ATALANTA!! WE GOT THE APPLES!”

Atalanta’s eyes widened. She looked at the setting sun. “You’re all just in time. I’m amazed! I won’t be able to send the news to Pindar faster than you can sail. Take the apples to him directly.”

“Sure!” Owen chirped. “Thank you!”

~

While on the ship, Owen realized something. “I promised to return the apples back to the ettins, didn’t I?” they asked.

“You said you’d return the apples if they were nice about giving them to you,” Wild Bill remembered. “And they weren’t.”

“Oh yea, I forgot I said that bit. Thanks. I don’t feel bad about it anymore.”

“Always.”

~

Miraculously for the entire Seven, Pindar hadn’t gone too far from his usual perch. Owen ran to him as fast as they could while holding all of the apples themself (they’d gotten worried at the last minute that if everyone held one apple, Pindar wouldn’t count it as seven apples collected, but just one for each). “PINDAR! WE WON!” they shouted.

Pindar blinked. “Pardon?”

“We’ve finished the final contest!” Barklementizov explained, flying past Owen.

“Seven apples, more than the previous leader,” Jane announced. Her voice shone with pride. Owen tried to hold the apples further up in their arms to really show them off. The light from their antennae reflected off the apples’ golden skin.

“Atalanta told us to report to you directly,” said Buffalo Bill.

“I cannot believe it,” Pindar gasped. “The contest is won by a pack of outlanders this year!”

“We told you it was possible,” Wild Bill said with a proud little smile.

“So, about that prize?” Billy asked

“Yeah, the prize!” Timmy chirped, bouncing up and down in excitement while holding onto Billy’s hand. “Give them the prize! They earned it!”

“Ah, yes, the prize.” Pindar cleared his throat. He looked to Owen. “Child. Owen, was it?”

“Uh- Yes, that’s me, hi,” Owen said. They were very confused.

“Because you have presented all of the tokens for the three Contests, Owen, you have won the right to climb the peaks of Achaea and sacrifice yourself to Typhon the Terror. Your virtuous death will keep Aquila safe for another year.”

“WHAT-” the Magnificent Seven all shouted. Owen dropped their apples. Timmy clung onto Owen’s side. Wild Bill put a hand on Owen’s shoulder and his tail feathers rustled up. Barklementizov put his wing in front of Owen. Duck gripped his poker chip so hard his knuckles went white. Billy pointed his sparklocks at Pindar. Jane slammed the wood end of her musket onto the cobblestone. Buffalo Bill’s voice thundered.

“The fuck you mean that’s the prize?!” Billy stormed.

“This is a joke, right? This has to be!” Barkle begged.

Pindar shook his head. “That is the prize. If you refuse, Owen, you’ll be reviled as a liar and a coward through the empire.”

Owen shook their head. They put one arm around Timmy and held him close. They stared up at Pindar. “No. I refuse both options. I’m not a coward, I’m not gonna drag my family into that reputation with me, and I’m not going to die. I’ll… fight Typhon myself if I have to!” It was an outrageously bold outburst. Owen had no idea how they were gonna fight Typhon, they just knew they had to say something.

“You won’t be alone, Owen,” Wild Bill promised.

“We’ll fight Typhon with you,” Jane insisted.

Pindar could not believe the Seven’s determination. “It’s impossible. Typhon is invincible,” he warned.

“We’ll see about that,” Duck vowed. 

“Perhaps the inventor, Daedalus, may have an idea to better our odds,” Buffalo Bill strategized. “We should go see him.”

Owen was relieved that their parents were there for them, and could keep a cooler head than they themself could ever. They noticed Timmy was still tense against them. “Hey, Timmy, let’s go back to the ship, yeah?” they offered him. “We can chill in my cabin. I’ll stay with you.”

Timmy nodded.

Owen nodded back. They then looked to the rest of the Seven. “When y’all have a plan, come find me?”

“We won’t come back ‘til we get a plan outta the ol’ bird,” Billy promised.

~

It wasn’t terribly long until the adults of the Magnificent Seven came back to the Silver Moth. Jane knocked on the door to Owen’s cabin. “You in there, darlin’?”

“Yeah, we’re here,” Owen called from inside. They and Timmy were sitting on the floor of the cabin. They had a ukulele in their lap, and Timmy was nestled under their arm. “The door’s unlocked.”

Jane stepped in. “We’ve got ourselves a gameplan. Daedalus mentioned a magic charm that’d protect us from Typhon’s magic.”

Owen smiled. “Great! Thanks so much.” They then looked down at Tims. “See? I told you they’d come up with a plan.”

“Yeah, you did say that, didn’t’ya?” Timmy asked.

“We’ll have to make a quick stop at Illios to get it,” Jane continued. “Are you gonna take the wheel, or should I find someone else?”

“Someone else! Please?” Timmy begged, looking up at Owen with the sweetest eyes known to birdkind.

Owen chuckled and nuzzled their head against his. They then looked up at Jane. “You simply must understand my predicament. There is a child nested in my arms. There’s no way I can sail.”

Jane chuckled as well. “Makes sense. I’ll come back when we’ve docked.” She closed the door.

~

Soon enough, the Silver Moth docked at Illios. Jane knocked on the door again. “Owen? We’re here.”

Owen finished strumming their song. “Give me a minute?” they asked. Timmy had fallen asleep in their arms. They didn’t want to wake him up. They put down their ukulele, picked Timmy up, and put him in their hammock. Once he was tucked in, they opened the door. “Timmy fell asleep. I had to put him in my hammock.”

“That’s alright. You all set to go?”

Owen nodded. They glanced back at their cabin. “Should I tell him that we’re going? If something goes wrong…”

Jane shook her head. “Let him sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Owen snuffed the magic lights around their cabin and got off the Silver Moth. The rest of the Seven had been waiting for Owen and Jane on the docks. “So,” Owen asked, “what exactly is the plan? Where do we get this charm from?”

“The last person to have the Aegis- the charm we need to find- was last known to be in a cave system here,” Barklementizov answered. “He and his legion hadn’t come out. I wouldn’t be surprised to find their undead spirits there.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Owen agreed. “Give me a sec, I gotta get some gear really quick.” They flew back onto their ship and silently went into their cabin. From a lockbox in their closet, they grabbed a few items that they’d once been given by their uncle Thanatos: a cloak, a helmet (“head protection is key for meat jenga towers like yourself” Thanatos would always say), and a scythe. They donned that reaper-gear and came back out. “Alright,” they said to the rest of the Seven. “I’m ready now.”

Duck chuckled. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“Let’s go,” Buffalo Bill suggested. “The quicker we get the Aegis, the quicker we can be finished with this Typhon tomfoolery.”

The Seven followed a map that Daedalus gave them. The caves were a bit of a trek away from the docks, deeper inland in Illios than the Ettin caves were. Soon, they all came upon the caves Cadmus had disappeared into.

Barklementizov took a deep breath. He hesitated outside the cave. “Here we go…” he murmured.

Owen tilted their head. They hadn’t heard him so… apprehensive? Tired? Emotions are hard to name. “What’s up?”

“I’m just tired of all the caves, don’t worry about me,” Barkle assured Owen.

Owen frowned. They absolutely will worry about him. They went in, and everyone else followed them. Their antennae lit the way.

The caves were teeming with shade remnants of Cadmus’s legion. Jane whistled in shock. “Well ain’t this the sorriest cave I’ve ever seen?”

“Not as sorry as those undead,” Wild Bill remarked.

“Right… let me,” Owen offered. They held their scythe at the ready and approached the legion. They gently touched the shoulders of every spirit they could with their scythe’s blade. “I spare you all from this cave. Move on. Be free, gentle souls…” The shades dissolved into nothingness. Owen sighed heavily.

“Dang, you make it look easy,” Billy quipped. They really didn’t, Billy could see the emotion mounting on their shoulders, but he wanted to help them feel calm and confident. “How’d ya even learn that magic?”

“Oh, uh, Thanatos is my uncle,” Owen explained. Their own shoulders relaxed. Billy was always lighthearted about everything, wasn’t he? “He had a water allergy, so he made me a reaper to help out in Celestia.”

Billy laughed. “A water allergy? I’m not even gonna begin to ask how that works.” 

Owen couldn’t help but laugh along with Billy. The idea of a water allergy was quite silly, now that Owen thought about it out of context. They smiled.

“I see Cadmus’s spirit around the bend,” Barklementizov butted in. He pointed the way with his wing.

“Great. Lead the way,” Owen invited.

Barkle led the rest of the Seven around the bend. The light from Owen’s antennae filled the chamber. Cadmus’s spirit stood, shield and spear at the ready. He glowered at the Seven.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to reap him as easily as the others,” Owen worried.

“We’ll keep his attention on us,” Duck offered. He drew his pistol and shot at Cadmus.

The shade turned his head to Duck. His red eyes glowed with hatred.

Duck glanced at the others. “What’s with the holdup? We’ve got a spirit to pester.”

The Magnificent Seven fanned out into a line, Duck in the center, Wild Bill, Jane, and Owen to his right, which left Buffalo Bill, Billy, and Barkle to his left. The five musketeers shot at Cadmus, trying to get his attention with the damage and the brightness of their shots. Barkle and Owen ran towards Cadmus, flanking him. 

“CADMUS! OVER HERE!” Barkle shouted. It felt weird for Barkle to shout in combat, but it was his best way to serve as a distraction since he couldn’t fire a gun himself.

Owen silently rushed to Cadmus as his head was turned and his focus was shattered. They slashed through his shadowy form. He vanished into mist and nothingness. A necklace dropped from where he stood.

“We’ve got the Aegis now,” Jane said. She picked it up. “Typhon, here we come!”

~

They sailed to Achaea and climbed the peaks to Typhon’s lair. It was the dead of night by now. Only by the peachy light from Owen’s antennae and the reflection off of Barkle’s silver eyes could the Seven navigate through the wilds.

If Owen had a nickel for every undead-filled cave they had to venture into in the past four hours, they would have two nickels, which wasn’t a lot, but it was concerning that it happened twice now.

“Mercy!” Buffalo Bill gasped as he saw the undead. He brought his free hand to his heart. “It’s Miranda all over again!”

“Typhon’s victims…” Owen realized.

“So many people sacrificed…” Barkle lamented.

“We’ve come this far,” Duck said.  “Let’s get this job done. Owen, can you do the honors?”

“Of course.” Owen stepped forward and reaped all of the souls they could. They were starting to grow tired. They couldn’t tell if the exhaustion was all emotional, or if the day was dragging on too long for them.

Owen shook themself out. They had to stay strong. It was nearly the end of the quest now. They could feel it. “We’re coming for you, Typhon!” they declared.

Typhon’s growls echoed off the walls of the caves.

“Ooh, he’s cranky!” Billy jeered.

“He’s almost as bad as Buffalo in the mornings,” Jane joked.

“Hey,” Buffalo Bill said.

“Come on! This way!” Barkle said, following the echoes of Typhon’s roars.

“Wait up!” Wild Bill called.

The Seven ran down the twisting caves to Typhon. The great serpent, father of all Aquilan monsters, with blood as hot as the Titans running in his veins. Typhon rose upright. He stared down the group: six mortals, and one child in Thanatos’s gear. “Child of Thanatos,” he hissed, focusing his gaze on Owen, “your interference is futile. This band of Aquila’s champions will die by my fires, not by your scythe.”

“Nobody is dying here,” Jane insisted.

“Nobody besides you, that is!” Billy shouted.

“Now hold still, Typhon, and this won’t hurt a bit,” Duck promised.

Typhon unsheathed his swords and unhinged his jaw. Fire gathered in his maw, bright and boiling.

“HUDDLE UP!” Jane shouted. The Magnificent Seven huddled together.

Typhon spat fire at the mortals. His fires bent around them. Damned Aegis, protecting them from his flames! He had other weapons at his disposal, at least. He slithered towards them at breakneck speeds.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” Wild Bill shouted. He took some quick shots at Typhon, leaning to the side to not hit any of his friends.

Typhon raised his swords and slashed at the group. Buffalo Bill blocked one strike with his musket. He shoved the sword off to the side and rammed his bayonet into Typhon’s arm. The second strike cut into Billy’s arm.  Owen raised their scythe and hooked Typhon’s second arm down.

Typhon pulled his arm free from the scythe, but the pain kept eating into him.

“Now!” Duck called.

The Magnificent Seven tore into Typhon. Owen’s scythe, knife, and pistol. Duck’s revolver. Billy’s twin sparklocks. Jane’s musket. Buffalo Bill’s bayonet. Wild Bill’s rifle. Barklementizov’s magic.

Typhon was relentless, but the Seven overwhelmed him with their attacks. Mortal as they all were, they still chipped into him until eventually, he flinched away, unable to bear all the pain. “I yield! Damn you all!” he hissed.

Owen brought their scythe to Typhon’s shoulder. The blade curved around and behind his neck. “I’m gonna make one simple demand. Vow you’ll not take another sacrifice. Aquilans are rude jerks, but none of them deserve to die for your hunger or for Aquila’s ego.”

“FINE!” Typhon spat. “I swear upon the Gods I won’t take another sacrifice from their Contest of Champions.” He slithered out from Owen’s scythe and curled up into a disappointed coil. “Now get out of here, before I decide to kill you all for being here.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Billy teased.

“He would,” Wild Bill warned. “We should leave while we have the chance.”

The Magnificent Seven left Typhon’s cave and slowly trekked their way back to the Silver Moth. The sun began to rise, peachy pink above the Achean mountain range.

~

Ondeck, Owen asked the rest of the Seven, “Should we tell Pindar what we’ve done, or go to sleep?” 

“Eh, fuck Pindar,” Billy said.

“That Contest was-” koff- “bothersome, tiresome, and tedious. I will take any excuse to be done with it,” Duck admitted. 

“But, we did so much for it,” Owen said. They were confused. “Shouldn’t we get credit?”

“We don’t need their credit,” Barklementizov said. “It’s no use bending over backwards to gain the approval of people who try so hard to kick you down.”

“Wait, did y’all… not want to do the Contest?” Owen asked.

“We wanted to do it to salvage our own prides, but I think we all got something more important out of it,” Jane said. “I promise, it wasn’t a waste. We’re just tired.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pass out for sixteen hours,” Buffalo Bill said. As he went down to his cabin belowdeck, he raised a peace sign up. “Goodnight. Love y’all.”

#pirate101 #the magnificent seven #duck holliday #buffalo bill #billy the kid #calamity jane canary #wild bill peacock #bat masterson #<- it feels so weird tagging his canon name. #pittyober 2022 #pittyober2022 #i wrote a thing! #intertwined au

[dodo-in-wonderland]

Starter for @cxnscience​

It hadn't really been the best of days for the Dodo.  All of his antagonizing Bill only resulted in him him being hurled down a well and forced to pull himself up before he drowned.  His feathers were soaked as he shook off the residual water.

If he weren't a bird of the land he'd be even more perturbed by the ordeal.  It didn't help that he also got laughed at - a sting to his usual haughty and prideful nature.  

The irritated bird shook his pipe about before eyeballing it.

"Oh, sod it," he mumbled to himself and fluffed up his feathers, shaking them dry.

Not only would he have to dry out, his precious pipe had been waterlogged.  No smoking for him for a while.  He couldn't even take the edge off of being angry.  Whatever had caused him misfortune also reminded him not to indulge in his bad habits.

Dodo turned around to be and lifted his foot, not even noticing the small being in his way. Before his talons reached the ground he jumped back and released his pipe, fumbling around he finally managed to catch it as it danced around in his feathery hands.

"By jove! I almost killed a man!" His tone one of utter shock, being lowering an octave as he place a hand beneath his beak and eyed the cricket.  "A very.... small man."

#cxnscience #i hope this is okay