#i mean i guess ?

[catastrophic-crow]

manipulate all forms of silica? a casual Tucker Foley Shatterbird AU is not what i was expecting to read, but alright. Slaughterhouse 9 inspired Tucker!

Warning for a bit of the ol' implied ultraviolence and also murder. so much of those things are implied. here we go, i guess:

(does this count as dead dove? i think this counts as dead dove)

Tucker floated in the air twenty miles outside of Amity. Above him, stretched dark skies. Though it was the morning, the sun did not shine; clouds hung low and heavy—but it wasn't raining yet. Below him, lay a sprawling complex belonging to the Guys in White, built up over months as they reacted to the rush of occultists to the area following Amity's disappearance, and subsequent reappearance.

They hadn't gotten Danny yet—

"Sorry about this," his friend slurred against his shoulder as Tucker dipped the needle into his flesh, ecto-treated surgical thread pulling taut as Tucker hummed inquisitively.

Tucker held the curved needle in a hand, pulled back a little to glance at Danny's face. His eyes were pressed shut. "What do you mean?" Tucker wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"F'r... makin' you do this."

"This—"

His speech resonated with the windowpane, below the human range of hearing, and Tucker cut himself off. He paused for a moment, and only when he was certain he had control of his voice, did he speak. "This isn't your fault," he said softly.

He kept his voice calm, soothing. Tried to distract Danny from the pain with meaningless chatter, all the while hiding his seething rage.

—but they'd gotten too damn close this time.

No more.

He'd needed twenty-six stitches.

Tucker refused to sit idly by, when the Guys in White were shooting at someone he loved; when he could do something about it. Sam wouldn't want him to do things this way; or, at least, would've wanted to go over the plan. Made sure he knew what he was getting into.

Tucker knew.

Bearing him aloft, the stained glass wings, of an Ibis.

Silicakinesis sounded like the punchline to a joke, maybe. Danny had thought so, at least. "'Controlling sand'?" Danny had teased, "look out ghosts! It's the beach superhero!" And Tucker had smiled and ducked his head bashfully, like he wasn't thinking about how many people wore glasses.

No, his powers weren't great for fighting ghosts, and it made sense that Danny's mind would go there first.

A ghost could turn insubstantial, allow matter to slip right through them.

Tucker knew that very well. How could he not? It was why they needed to use treated thread for Danny's stitches.

So no, silicakinesis on it's own wasn't well suited to ghost fights. Tucker accepted this.

The thing is, Tucker didn't come here to fight ghosts.

His powers let him control sand, it was true. It was also true that there was a surprising amount of sand in modern urban environments.

But even still: that, on it's own... tossing around sand could be useful, but it was highly situational. At least, it would be.

Tucker could do a lot more than toss around sand.

If you asked him to describe his powers, he might say that he had perfect control of sand in an area around himself.

That was true.

It was also true that he would be omitting some pertinent details, if he were to say that. Not lying, just... incompletely disseminating knowledge.

See, "sand" and "around himself" would be doing some very heavy lifting, in that sentence.

If he were to say it.

Danny knew about his powers, and ribbed him for a bit about not being able to fight ghosts with them, before moving on. Tucker let him; he wasn't sure how to phrase "I could violently shatter every piece of glass in this city," without sounding like he was planning to do so.

As it happened, modern urban environments had a lot of silicon.

Windows, sure; but mirrors, too. Cups, computer screens, eyeglasses, ...integrated circuits.

See, those fancy ghost-hunting weapons the Guys in White fought with? Full of silicon. Their computers? Their on-site servers? Irrecoverable. Any security system more sophisticated than a physical bolt or latch? Wouldn't you know it, computer controlled.

Tucker happened to know that the Guys in White had, to be generous, borrowed heavily, from the Doctors Fenton's designs, when creating their own versions of anti-ghost technologies.

A common element of those designs, when it came to anything more complicated than ecto-treated materials? Digital regulation of the power supplies.

There was no such thing as an analog ghost hunting weapon, not unless the Guys in White planned to start outfitting their goons with knockoff Fenton Anti-Creep sticks.

All their guns, their shields, their transportation, their communications...

An earpiece tucked into an ear canal turned into a bomb. If you were lucky, you would survive with hearing damage. If you weren't...

Tucker could sing at the edge of a city, and every window in several blocks would transmit and retransmit his voice, cascading out over the rest of the city and only stopping when it ran out of city to spread through.

And then he could scream.

So Tucker let Danny go with a joke, instead of pressing the point.

Sam...

When Tucker told Sam about his powers, about controlling sand with sound, she cocked her head, thought for a minute, and then walked over to her window and flicked it, looking back at him.

He nodded, once.

Sam tsk'd, and walked back over to him. All she said was,

"Guess Danny's not the only one with a killer voice."

Later, when she left to get them drinks, Sam brought back his poured into a tall glass.

He loved that about her, but Sam wasn't here right now. Sam was running around losing sleep trying to cover things up and harassing the shabby occultist that had showed up and started poking his nose into things with more insight than the rest.

Danny was sleeping off the injury, assuming another ghost hadn't dragged him out of bed this early in the morning.

It was a good thing it was the summer.

So Tucker was here alone, divested of his technology, if only to make things slightly simpler for himself.

He was wrapped in a suit of shattered glass, nestled against his skin like the warm and soothing sands of a beach.

Or a desert.

Behind him, spread the outstretched wings of an Ibis in flight.

The complex, Tucker knew, was far enough from anything—or anyone—else that no innocents would be harmed here today.

He also knew that even if his range didn't cover the complex in its entirety, his song would spread throughout the whole of it, carried as far and as deep as it needed to be until every corner rang with the sound.

If the Guys in White knew what was coming? If they were quick on the uptake? When Tucker started singing, they could throw aside their weapons, dig out their earpieces and get as far away as possible from anything with silicon in it.

It was a moot point. They didn't know about his powers.

Tucker knew that this would change that.

He also knew that the lesson would come too late to make a difference for some. For others, it would be remembered well.

From this day on, they would know that when the glass started to sing, they should throw down their weapons and run.

Run, somewhere without any windows, without any screens, and tuck themselves away in a corner with covered eyes and ears. If they were lucky, it would be enough for them to survive with only minor injuries.

As Tucker knew, and the Guys in White would soon be learning: exploding glass carried a lot of force.

A single raindrop landed on his cheek, below his eye, and Tucker knew that it wouldn't be long, now.

It was funny, Tucker reflected as he ran through his vocal warm-ups, that the Guys in White all wore sunglasses at all times, even on a morning that was as gloomy as this one.

...even indoors.

The organization didn't cheap out, either; not when it came to outfitting its goons. Tailored, spotless suits; shiny and impractical dress shoes; and of course, when it came to their ubiquitous and stupid fucking eyewear: real glass lenses.

No cheap plastic here.

Tucker had a feeling that would be changing, very soon.

He took a deep breath. It was time.

The heavens opened, and Tucker started to sing.

What if?

What if Pariah Dark getting out set off fireworks all across the supernatural community?

What if Danny was able to take care of things before anyone else that would have been able to do anything about it showed up?

Now Amity is crawling with supernatural types that want a piece of what ever was used to shove Pariah back into the sarcophagus, not realizing that it was the ghost kid that keeps play fighting with the other ghosts (and doesn't realize that the other ghosts are playing)?

Except John Constantine. He figures it out in ten minutes and started having a panic attack about how to keep the others from having the same realization.

[technically-human]

I delivered

[payasita]

Tracked quest: Kill Shamura in Silk Cradle

i just didnt want to do the fucking enemy wave again

[upsidedownlurker]

GUYS GUYS GUYS!!!!! I totally just figured out the lip-sync leak!!!1! Mike and Eleven have a very deep and romantic conversation together, and they completely debunk byler!!! so cute and slay <3

[Turn your sound on I promise it's better]

...

inspired by @will80sbyers lovely twilight interpretation :D

[zevkisser]

okay thats like. okay. if you're gonna go there-

so i did this quiz and-

[gothic-mothic]

Wake up, Stanley! It’s me, The Narrator! /ref

[theminiartblog]

Okay, we are going to learn a new word today: 

Indigestion.

[ohsleepie]

getting more tsc thoughts outta my head

[131-vr]

[zethdoesart]

"Dont you have a sister to go kill?"

"No. I have a sister to walk beside."

"...I feel like I set you up for that."

[hisbucky]

Bobby to the crew: Once again, I will remind all of you that I love you all equally. Hen: That is bullshit if I've ever heard it. Chimney: What did I eat for breakfast, cap?! Tell me what I had for breakfast!!! Buck: Huh? Didn't Bobby make some chocolate blueberry pancakes for everyone? Eddie: No, babe. That was just for you. Ravi: It's true. I was there, man.

[chucleclerc]

wait a minute-

i think i’ve seen this film before…

[exocynraku]

do i have any sort of positive hope for changing skies and moonpaw's story? nnno. do i fucking love the idea of the chimera embryo absorbed in the womb becoming another voice/consciousness/spirit in moonpaw's life? yyyes. if her story doesn't pan out in a well-written makes-sense way will i be 100% stealing the idea? aaalso yes.

[hazmatmaid]

What are your current thoughts on Gaster’s motives with the Secret Bosses, if you had to give your best guess?

To be completely honest, I'm of the mind that he doesn't necessarily have malicious intent with breaking their senses of reality (if he is the one doing it), but he severely misjudges how they're going to take the information he gives them.

So he's less of a villainous force, and more of a cryptid that flits in the corner of your eye, and as soon as you turn your head like "What? What was that?" your croissant has gone missing.

[voidedjuice]

Vampire twink i saw in a dream. He lived in this dilapitated castle absolutely full of mold, and really wanted me to come inside to hang out with him. However the mold concentration there was so high i felt like i would keel over from even a minute inside, so that made things awkward for us.

[nthflower]

Yeah I saw that tiktok and needed to redraw

Btw would be very happy if you also visit this post you should absolutely do it ☺️

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