i reblog what I like and I like what I reblog. 27 years old with no money, and no prospects, but at least not a burden on my parents. fandoms - Merlin, Percy Jackson, DC, ATLA, Miraculous, Jane Austen, Doctor Who, and whatever else takes my fancy. side blog: https://www.tumblr.com/realistic-studyblr
We're auctioning off the guys' art of Lup and Barry's first kiss from yesterday's Clubhouse episode - all proceeds will go to the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, auctions are open until 7/31!
this is one of my absolute favorite parts of tazgn tour!! it is so so so cool to get to see all four of their different approaches and even more wonderful to get to see everyone trying out new things since we last had Carey's Revenge a couple years ago for suffering game.
everyone was SUCH a good sport about me assigning straight-up one of the trickiest things to figure out an approach to drawing and everyone handled it beautifully!! comics are fun!! drawing is FUN!!!
Help! My dog keeps hunting these little animals in my yard. I don't know if this is an endangered species. Anyone has tips on how to stop dogs from doing this?
WHY DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP POSTING GORE?!?!? I'M GOING TO BE SICK!!! THANK GOODNESS MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE WORKS FULL TIME KILLING THE FOUL HOUNDS OF HER KIND OTHERWISE I WOULD HAVE BEEN TURNED TO POWDER BY NOW.
We have just published the description of TWENTY new species of frog from Madagascar! A huge leap forward in Malagasy frog taxonomy! This was an enormous collaborative effort by our team of 22 coauthors—some 30 years in the making.
You can read about our magnum opus on the subgenus Brygoomantis here: http://www.markscherz.com/archives/5319
The paper is Open Access in the journal Megataxa: https://doi.org/10.11646/megataxa.7.2.1
Today my magnificent octopus magnum opus, a 126-page monograph on the genus Rhombophryne—Madagascar's diamond frogs, was published open access in the journal Vertebrate Zoology. In it, my colleagues and I have described seven new diamond frog species and provided detailed revised accounts of each of the now 27 species in the genus, compiling practically everything that is known about these curious and obscure frogs!
Allow me to introduce the new characters:
This piece of lint precious child is Rhombophryne maraorao, a little burrowing species from the northeast of Madagascar. It is very similar ecologically to R. coudreaui, a long-known species from further south. The name maraorao means ‘rough to the touch’ in Malagasy, referring to the rough skin of this species. They do a weird thing where they straighten all of their limbs and go stiff in self defence. Think pumpkin toadlet post-launch mid-air stiffness, but… in the hand?
This beautiful creature is Rhombophryne mavokely, a little leaflitter-dwelling species from the northeast of Madagascar. The name mavokely is the Malagasy word for ‘pink’ but literally translates as ‘small yellow’ (mavo = yellow, kely = small). I LOVE this bizarre etymology, and also this species is small and sometimes pink and sometimes yellowish, so the name seemed extremely apt. This species was the first Rhombophryne I ever saw alive—I caught the first ever specimen immediately underneath my hammock on Marojejy in 2016!
This shiny boy is Rhombophryne sonaliae, a rather well known species from eastern Madagascar that has previously been called R. alluaudi—until we showed in 2019 that the correct use of that name was for a Plethodontohyla alluaudi from southern Madagascar! We dedicated this species to Sonali Garg, in recognition of her fantastic work especially on Asian frogs.
This forbidden truffle is Rhombophryne anatiala, a very poorly known species very closely related to R. sonaliae but found further north and differing subtly. The name anatiala means ‘in the forest’ in Malagasy, referring to the forest habitat of these frogs.
This bumpy beanbag with his go-faster chevron is Rhombophryne kotrobaratra, an interesting species from northeastern Madagascar with rather unusual anatomy, especially its quite long and strong hindlimbs. The name kotrobaratra means ‘thunder and lightning’ in Malagasy, and refers to the inclement weather that seems to bring these frogs out (true for all Rhombophryne, really) .
This coffee bean is Rhombophryne quentini, an orange-thighed species from high-elevation forests in northern Madagascar that resembles R. ellae. Back in 2020 I named R. ellae after my partner, Ella, and I thus took particularly great pleasure in naming this new, closely related species after our four-and-a-half year-old son, Quentin. A little family of frogs. :3
This little pebble is Rhombophryne kilonjy, a small, poorly known and obscure species related to R. ellae and R. quentini but found in lowland forest close to the coast in northwestern Madagascar. The name kilonjy means ‘pebble’ in Malagasy because, well, just look at it.
Even way back in my tumblr posts from 2013 and 2014 I think you would find mentions of the work I had begun on this monograph. I had no notion that it would take more than twelve years to complete. But I cannot express my joy at finally being able to share these charming, round frogs with the world. I hope you approve of the names!
If you want to read a bit more about these frogs, you can do so on my website. I have even posted a couple short videos about them on TikTok and Instagram (which also will show you how to pronounce the names!). Basically, you can find me most places on the internet, and wherever you find me, you can be sure to find frogs and lizards and snakes and a good deal of enthusiasm.
ok so like “the secret life of x” movies tend to not strongly explore the actual reasons why, exactly, their life has to be secret… they don’t really focus on it within the narrative. They do usually have some small justification for why animals or video games or toys or whatever have never just revealed themselves:
There’s no stated reason. They just pretend to not be alive. We usually can suspend our suspension of disbelief here because when it’s something like a video game or an emoji because any odd occurrences is perceived as a glitch or something similar but the actual reason why they aren’t too hung up on this kinda shitty lot in life isn’t said
They get something out of their current relationship with humans (like in toy story)
They have some specific reason to hide that they’re alive, like they die if they’re seen (like in the christmas toy)
They perceive themselves as sentient, talking creatures, but humans can’t understand them. They just see a squeaking mouse or an inanimate hot dog or whatever.
and the last one is what most animal movies do, and it’s like, not devoid of weird implications but you can see where it mostly works.
but barnyard is the outlier here: it goes with tier one: the animals can talk and walk on two legs but just pretend that they can’t for unstated reasons.
in the history of the barnyard world non human animals, at some point, decided to just pretend to be unable to speak. a “cow” or a “coyote” or a “hen” do not exist as we know it in the barnyard universe. the baa of the sheep is false; the ewe doesn’t understand it either. they only made up that noise to hide the fact that they speak human languages. a dog barking and running on all fours is a facade. animals naturally walk on their hind legs and made up whole postures just to appear non sentient.
and for what? what do they gain from this? they have no rights and no voice by their own choice. at one point a donkey claims the farmer is a good person because he’s vegan and a pig mentions bacon - this is not a fantasy universe devoid of death and misery and meat. do animals, in hushed whispers, remind their children not to sob in their real voice as they’re taken away? do the dogs not beg for kindness when they’re tied up and hit? do cows and chickens not cry for their life in the slaughterhouses? does a rat not scream a human scream when the trap misses their neck and only breaks their spine? Why? what is the point? They loose so much and have everything to gain.
anyways does everyone remember this really awful cat. it only appears in one scene but i can just sense the porn of it that would pop up if i googled it’s name
This post is like being tied to a chair as a a joker-style villain monologues and presses a gun closer and closer to my head as he reaches the climax of his rehearsed piece on the flaws of society and when he finally pulls the trigger it’s a little flag that says “bang!”
spent forty-five minutes today helping an 87yo woman who does not own a computer or a cell phone try to set up an email account so that she could then set up a second account in order to access benefits. went with protonmail, because they don't require 2fa, but it turns out that while you can still make a protonmail account without authentication you can no longer use it to create OTHER accounts without it, and the benefits page she needed to get to required both an email and a cell phone to create an account anyway. asked if she wanted to try going in person to see if someone there could help her, and she said that she had, and they'd directed her to the website. she tried signing up with her landline, but of course that didn't work because you can't do SMS authentication that way. finally ended up writing up detailed instructions for how to log in and authenticate her account so she can drive to her severely disabled daughter's house forty minutes away because that's the only person she knows and trusts who has both a cell phone and a computer.
anyway i fucking hate mandatory 2fa and i think the people responsible for it should have to spend a year navigating their lives with no cell phone and no internet access beyond the public library pcs. fuck.
I feel like starfish are one of those animals that are treated as very “normal” by people but absolutely shouldn’t be. Like they’re a wheel of repeating heads connected by a central stomach. They walk around using thousands of tiny sticky hydraulically powered tentacles. They have an eye on the end of each arm. Instead of having a mouth they just have an opening where their entire stomach can be pushed out to engulf prey. And they’re just allowed to exist like this. It’s not illegal or anything.
Sudden, sinking dread fills Lancelot as he feels his necklace tearing like a heartstring.
The necklace was one of a pair. The others didn't question it, as they didn't question Gwaine's attachment to his own amulet (Merlin hid a knowing look, but Lancelot saw that one) and didn't question Arthur's own on-and-off relationship with his red one. If anyone noticed the same necklace on Merlin in the rare moments it wasn't hidden by his neckerchief, Lancelot didn’t mind the wagging eyebrows and knowing smirks sent his way, playing into them with an honest blush rising to his cheeks. They knew nothing.
It was one of a pair, the tiniest bit of magic Merlin had allowed into the open: if one were torn, the other would break too.
Merlin gave it to him a few months back, when Lancelot was about to venture on a border patrol where the warlock couldn't follow him. Lancelot let Merlin tie the string around his neck, then helped him with his own. He gave his word to tear it off if he were ever in danger, to let Merlin find him with the magic of the land. He never took it off, treasuring the gift, feeling safe and cared for with the amulet close to his heart.
It was always more for Lancelot's sake than for Merlin's: Merlin had once told him that he had his own way of escaping mortal peril, and Lancelot let these words calm him, even if his friend skirted around the details. (There was a lot he hid in the guilty cast of his eyes, and Lancelot saw that. He didn't press.)
Still, they've never had to use it. Until it tears on Lancelot's neck just a day away from Camelot.
Lancelot slows down his horse, chilled hands tearing unconsciously into the reins, as his brothers-in-arms gallop farther away. It was just Arthur and all of his Round Table knights, on some important route that couldn't be postponed, the details of it leaving Lancelot's head with the dread's arrival. They left Camelot behind them, and Merlin had to stay with Gaius to help with a disease outbreak.
They've left Merlin behind, and Lancelot's necklace falls off his neck, barely caught by his shivering hand.
A few paces ahead, the knights slow down, looking back at him. Arthur's mouth is forming words as he trots closer, but Lancelot can't hear him for the loud, panicked heartbeat in his ears, for the words breaking out of him with an urgency.
"I need to get back to Camelot."
~~~
He couldn't articulate what pulled him back, couldn't betray Merlin, neither in words nor in actions. He blamed a bad feeling instead, completely honest, and the knights had to believe him, for how pale he'd gotten, how he'd tried to walk off on his own when their horses whined in surrender with the night's arrival.
Someone's arms pushed him down, someone's words made him stay, as they haphazardly set up camp. He was left gripping the torn necklace in his hands while he stared into the dark woods.
He would never make it to Camelot in time on his own two legs, no matter that his heart urged him to try. The horses couldn't go through the night either, not seeing where they were stepping — it was bound to end in disaster, what with their field medic missing.
He grips the necklace tighter, trying to feel any bit of warmth in it, to hear magic's quiet heartbeat, but there is nothing: Lancelot isn't gifted with the sense; Merlin pressed too little magic in it, just enough to link, to break, afraid for both of them if it were caught. Lancelot holds onto a memory instead: just yesterday, Merlin was hale and happy, if a bit uneasy to be separated from Arthur; he was there to see them off on their journey and light-heartedly asked Lancelot for something from the local fair.
He has to hold onto hope, and once the horses rest and dawn breaks, they will run back to Camelot.
Merlin will have to wait just one night.
~~~
When the knights gallop into the courtyard, the fire's smoke rising high above the citadel, they are too late.
They say that Merlin went up in flames brighter than the sun, the wind screaming as it picked them up and flared them stronger, higher; that the sparks touched the sky itself.
When the fire let up, nothing remained.
Smoke remains in the air. It crawls through the town, choking everyone to tears at the memories of the clumsy servant's smile and his kind heart. The smell is nauseating, and there's no escape from it.
Gaius can't tell them anything, dead to the world in eyes, if not yet in body. Lancelot stays with him, and when they both fall apart in Merlin's room, for all his strength, Percival barely manages to hold them.
Gwen is let out of the quarters she's been restrained in, kicking and screaming at Arthur's chest, as he torches the guards at her door with a look. Choking on her tears, on smoke, she tells them what she's seen.
~~~
Arthur stares incomprehensibly at his uncle, barely hearing the wild tale he spouts. It was a good thing he'd left Gwaine with Gwen and Elyan, as Gwaine would have already run Agravaine through, and Arthur couldn't have it.
"I understand what you must feel, Arthur. The boy sneaked into your side, into your heart. This betrayal is truly unforgivable."
"I was a fool," Arthur agrees, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "To let a snake into the heart of the kingdom."
"I'm glad you saw the sense, then." Agravaine smiles at his nephew in a show of care — and how was Arthur this blind to the coldness in his eyes?
"Yes, I see it perfectly clear."
"I wanted to spare you the hurt of seeing to his death, the blood on your hands." Agravaine creeps closer in lieu of placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Arthur takes a shaking step back from the searing heat of it — remnants of holding the damning torch still clinging to the fingers.
"You had no right," he croaks.
But he did, Arthur knows. He himself left the kingdom in Agravaine's hands, pressing the royal seal into his fingers. He might as well have passed him the torch to light Merlin's fire.
"No right," he repeats obstinately.
Agravaine opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur has heard enough.
"You afforded him no trial," Arthur draws a sword with a hiss. "And I will not give you one either."
Leon stands guard outside the chamber, just as he did few years ago when Arthur had gone in to kill his father. This time, there's no Merlin to talk him down, to spare him the blood of his family on his hands. There's no Merlin to comfort him, as only he could, after the deed is done. Leon squeezes Arthur's shoulder in support and leaves to handle the rest — the news, the funerals, the investigations — things Arthur should not worry about right now, lost and unmoored as he is in the middle of the empty hall.
~~~
The news of Agravaine's demise spread quickly, the Citadel standing deathly silent in the face of the second murder of the day.
Gwaine paces his quarters, tearing at the clasp of his Pendragon cloak with shaking fingers. He throws it to the floor, and an amulet, getting stuck with it, falls to his feet. He stares bitterly at the memento. It was the only thing he had of his late father, and it should have been a reminder to him of the nobles' tyranny and of how loyalty to the Crown was rewarded. A reminder he did not heed.
In his own chambers, Lancelot's things lay strewn about — caught between urges to pack, to leave this place, and to crawl back to Merlin's room, to stay among his belongings. The necklace lies heavy in his hands, and he can't tie it around his neck to sit close to his heart. Each attempt to do so ended with it breaking, tearing, making Lancelot relive his loss again and again. He was supposed to protect him; he should have foreseen it: how sudden and terrible his home could turn to ashes. First his village, then Merlin. It all burned.
~~~
There are druids flocking to the city gates. Heedless of the danger, of smoke still in the air, they march into Camelot, with nothing left to lose. They come to bid their farewells, to pray.
They are let in.
Even if it turned out that Arthur never truly knew Merlin, never knew of his magic, Arthur believes that he still knew his heart, kind and caring, loyal to a fault. Arthur couldn't question him, couldn't pull the rest of his secrets out into the open, to hold and admire. But he knew his heart, and if Merlin had magic, then Merlin— then Magic couldn't be evil.
As the druids gather in the courtyard under his window to hold their vigil, Arthur can't look at them — the heavy guilt pulling him down to sit at the table.
He looks at his empty chambers. Merlin's body was eaten by the fire, his sins, if any, cleansed by the flame. Yet his spirit remained here: in scrawled notes on his reports, in carelessly made, untouched bed, in Arthur forever waiting for the door to open and let in Merlin's senseless chatter.
Picking at his mother's necklace, he lets hers and Merlin's spirit guide his hand over the parchment. As dawn breaks over the land, he welcomes the druids and magic's return to Camelot. Too late for his heart, but hopefully not too late for his people.
~~~
Everything is too bright, too alive. His skin flays with the touch of cool air, his lungs too filled with smoke to breathe, and so he doesn't, heart pumping fire through his veins, beating with magic's force alone.
The altar he wakes on is searing hot, and the burn is familiar.
Iseldir's face is the first one he sees.
"Emrys," the druid whispers, reverent, as he helps him to stand. The bright light of his eyes must blind the man, and he averts his gaze east, where Emrys knows his destiny haunts the halls of Camelot.
