#just as a final fuck you LMAO
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
qoldenskies · 7 days ago
Note
This is that canon crossover anon again
First of all KJDLKHJGFDJHJFLKSJD YEEEEEESSSSS! It's such an awkward place for EVERYONE in the situation in so many different directions. seeing the ccminers trying to contend with Donnie being his old self---his old self from a WHILE ago---but also I'm anxious to see what happens with ccdonnie with the canon miners. Sure, he's definitely doing a lot better by then but also his brothers are acting, from his perspective, very out of character, which in his experience isn't exactly good news...
Second I think I'm going to go ahead and write that fic if that's ok with you, but it taking place in the middle of the story leaves me a little unclear on the timeline, especially with how Donnie's sense of time is so unsteady throughout the story. Do you have any kind of set up you use to keep that clear or anything? I know that the birthday happens during the time in the closet. Do you have any ideas as to what that date is, or can I just make shit up?
OMG YAY CC FIC IM SO EXCITED I CANT WAIT!!!!
CL starts roughly in mid-late july and ends early october (so technically it actually goes over three months, could probably even be rounded to four, but they dont know the exact day they were cursed, so thats usually what they estimate). i dont have a date for donnie's birthday, probably sometime mid-october roughly (oct15 would be funny because thats the date the chapter that WAS his birthday came out in). i keep dates loose because i have dyscalculia and i am BOUND to get something wrong if i stick to specific time, but based on provided information id say itd be like,,, early to mid september (2021, ngl i just kind of went with the idea that the invasion happens in 2022 because thats the year the movie came out even though itd realistically be 2020 probably?? who cares rise's time is weird anyway) when the closet happens.
the second chapter of CL takes place over the course of a month.
in CW, it's currently late-ish december, meaning that donnie has been going through it for like half a year now. rip
17 notes · View notes
tawnysoup · 13 days ago
Text
Found my fav Slay the Princess route recently. Dragon my beloved. Your horrifying beak mouth was an impossible-to-refuse lip syncing challenge 💖
Shoutouts to @blacktabbygames for making such a cool game!
28K notes · View notes
cozylittleartblog · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
"content creator" is a corporate word.
we are artists.
9K notes · View notes
arcanegifs · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x01 - “Heavy is the Crown”
682 notes · View notes
royaltea000 · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
I love Bai Long Ma he truly don’t gaf
Tumblr media
471 notes · View notes
sforzesco · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
WINTER BREAK
much like marriage matches, the stakes are pretty high for getting into the cardinalate. you might be a little on edge if the brother that's been earmarked for the role isn't really jazzed about the whole thing, in addition to trying to convince the pope that it's in his best interest to let this happen.
Tumblr media
A Renaissance Court: Milan Under Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Gregory Lubkin
eventually I'm going to get the whole cast of sforza siblings drawn. there's just. a lot of them.
160 notes · View notes
sp0o0kylights · 2 months ago
Text
Adopt a Jock Part One / Previous Part / Part 10.1 (you are here)
A03
Chapter 10 is complete and will be fully uploaded to A03 this weekend when I can get around holiday shenanigans. It's very long so tumblr gets it in parts. I'm sure I could make a Thanksgiving food pun there if I tried hard enough but alas I am not Steve nor Dustin.
Apparently, if you stumbled into supernatural shit, you were rewarded with a mountain of legal paperwork so absurdly thick that Gareth was almost positive it included a government-approved execution clause for anyone reckless enough to speak about things better left unsaid
So, here they were: barely a week past the lab incident, eating lunch, keeping their heads down, like their entire world hadn’t been turned upside down.
(He couldn’t even appreciate the pun.)
“She keeps looking over here.” Tiff’s pen tapped out a furious rhythm, her gaze fixed on one Nancy Wheeler, “And she’s been following us.”
“Well according to Steve she knows about--you know.” Gareth said, keeping things vague in hopes it would prevent any visits from men in black suits.
“I’m sure she just wants to talk.” Jeff said with a note of sympathy.
The fucking traitor.
“I’m sure we’re not allowed to talk.” Stewart muttered darkly, pushing his peas around his lunch tray with a fork.
“Only with people who don’t already know.” Grant tried to argue, and that rapidly dissolved into an argument regarding NDA’s and tricky legal language that Gareth tuned out in favor of his new found hobby--doing his level best not to think about anything beyond his lunch and what new D&D character he wanted to play.
His last one died in the prior game, and though Eddie had--weirdly and entirely out of character--offered to revive it, Gareth had waived him off.
They needed some normalcy right now, and if that came at the cost of Gareth’s beloved druid meeting her maker, then so be it.
Plus a new character was a great distraction.
(He was set on playing a noble elf known as ‘Gregg from Accounting’, but a second dwarf named Iron the Chef had been tempting…)
“She’s coming!” Tiffany hissed, slamming her pen down.
Mourning the loss of an easy, drama free lunch, Gareth sighed and prepared himself.
“Hi.” Nancy said, announcing her presence with quiet determination, books stacked in her arms and chin raised defiantly.
No one said a word back.
“Jonathan let me know what happened, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.” She paused, clearly thinking her words over, before adding; “Steve, Jonathan, and I used to practice.”
Nancy stopped again, this time blatantly waiting for one of them to say something.
She got more stares in return.
“Given that things sound a little open ended, and that there were injuries, I thought it might be good to start up again. Steve suggested if we do, you all should come too.” She finished, bulldozing right through her own awkwardness.
“Practice what?” Grant asked, confused and trying to cover it with suspicion.
“Defensive measures.” Nancy answered.
Seeing their unchanged blank stares, she gathered her books in one arm, formed a finger gun with her free hand, and mimed shooting in such a deadpan manner that Gareth almost burst into disbelieving laughter.
While he was haunted by visions of Nancy Wheeler holding a gun, Tiff loudly picked her pen back up, making enough noise that all eyes went to her.
“You beat my score on Mrs. Click’s practice test by two points.”
“Uh--yes?” Nancy said, blinking at her.
Tiff's eyes narrowed. “I’m kicking your ass on the final.”
Another dumbfounded blink.
“Okay?”
“Tiff’s coping, as are we--no…defensive measures necessary.” Jeff said, in a desperate bid to soothe things over, “We appreciate the offer.”
She nodded, seemingly placated by his response. “Actually, where is Steve? I wanted to talk to him too.” Nancy asked, changing topics with ease. “I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Ah-ha.” Tiff muttered under her breath, as if catching out what Nancy really wanted.
Stewart kicked her ankle.
“He’s with Eddie.” Grant said, covering the sound of their resulting scuffle.
“He’s been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.” Nancy noted, in that same neutral tone the Feds spoke in. All fake nice without giving a single thing away.
It was a little terrifying.
“We all spend a lot of time with each other.” Tiffany shot back, hackles very much raised and not bothering to hide it. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”
“Man, we are vicious today!”
“She’s really sore about that grade.” Stewart covered, offering a sympathetic pat to Tiffany’s shoulder (who looked an awful lot like she was going to bite his hand for it).
Did Nancy Wheeler even know about the weird academic rivalry Tiff had with her? Gareth took one look at Tiff’s gritted teeth, and thought better of it.
“I wouldn't be if I was able to properly finish that essay,” Tiff motioned to the now hopelessly crumpled paper underneath her pen, “ instead of rushing it because I had to pull someone out of a lab--”
“Nancy’s right.” Jeff cut in, in another desperate attempt to distract them all from eating each other. “I haven't seen much of Steve or Eddie today.”
He turned expectantly to his right. “Gary?”
Gareth frowned back at him.
“Why would I know where they are?”
“Oh,” Stewart said, far too innocently. “You haven’t realized you’re their assigned zookeeper?”
Wadding up his napkin was second nature. So was launching it at his friend's head, who expertly (and unfortunately) dodged.
“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Grant asked, a smile creeping across his face.
Gareth opened his jacket, fishing around for a moment as if he was searching for something, before pulling his hand back to show off his extended middle finger.
Pity he actually had the answer.
“They’re in the drama room. Steve sweettalked Mr. Barns into letting them set up early for Hellfire’s game.” He grumbled, ruining the entire effect.
“See?” Stewart said smugly.
With deliberate slowness, Gareth raised up his other middle finger before waving them both in a circle.
“Fuck you, fuck you--”
“Not in your lifetime.” Tiffany answered, to multiple chortles.
“Don’t bother them, Wheeler.” Gareth continued, ignoring the assholes he called friends to turn back to Nancy. “They’re setting up for the Hellfire’s last game of the year and Ed’s is a little…obsessive about it.”
As in he was known to be a complete and utter terror in the days leading up to his grand finales but Gareth wasn’t telling her that.
These games were a big deal for Hellfire as a whole. Precious things they looked forward to and the finale game was something they often worked several months, if not a solid year, to reach.
This year's game had more riding on it than any one prior. Hellfire’s shared sanity, for example, and a shining piece of normality they all found themselves desperately needing.
(Plus the problem of Eddie flunking again--and not telling anyone.
See--Eddie had been touchy the first time he hadn’t graduated and even with the appearance of monsters and government lackeys, Gareth expected this year to be even worse--but the Steve of it all added a rather explosive emotional element.
“You still have most of Hellfire.” Gareth had pointed out, when he’d hitched a ride home a few days prior and found the paper declaring Eddie’s super senior year a lost cause. “You know you’ll still have them after they graduate too, right?”
“Because they’re going to be looking forward to their old pal Eddie while in college, sure.” Had been the clipped response.
“They will.” Gareth said, with a level of assurance he hoped Eddie could feel. “And if that’s the concern, then you’ll definitely still have Steve.”
Who hadn’t gotten into college, and openly admitted to refusing to try now that monsters were back.
“I guess.” Eddie had said, looking like a deflated party balloon.
In typical Munson fashion, he seemed to realize he was giving away more “real feelings” than he’d intended too, and changed the subject with an energy that Gareth knew was fake.
He hadn’t called him out on it though, and equally, he had not called out the mania Eddie had slowly been succumbing to since that fateful day. He’d get over it--Gareth knew he’d get over it--if they could just make it past the point where Eddie’s own brain informed him the world was ending to prove it.)
All of them deserved a break, and a place to put aside all the stupid shit and simply have a good time, and heading off Steve’s nosey ex-girlfriend before she could cause problems would go a long way to help.
“I’m sure they can spare two minutes.” Nancy was saying, mid creation of the exact problem Gareth was hoping to avoid.
“No--uh,” He flailed about for a reason she couldn’t, and the longer she frowned at him the more his brain simply vanished all forms of higher thought. “Don’t?”
Nancy’s expression soured, mouth twisting in a line Gareth very much did not like. “I’m sure they--”
“Tell us what other things you practice. Besides, you know. The pews.” He interrupted frantically.
Under the table his foot struck out, and though he had no idea who he’d struck he hoped whoever it was understood what exactly he was trying to do.
“The pews?” Nancy echoed, after a painfully long moment.
“You know? Pews!” Gareth mimed a gun, and then made “pew” noises while firing it.
Besides him, Jeff gave a very Harrington-like sigh.
(He’d been doing that a lot lately, Gareth made a mental note to mock him for it.)
“You cannot tell me you guys only practice with guns.” Tiffany huffed. She had not been the kicked party, but thankfully, hadn’t needed the nudge to catch on. “What happens if you run out of bullets?”
Nancy gave her an odd, almost calculating look.
“We use whatever else we have on hand.” She said flatly.
Which just boded so fucking well for the rest of this conversation (and Gareth’s life, given he was uncomfortably aware of the things that went bump in the night.)
“Well, give us an example.” Tiff continued, and given the now increasingly concerned looks that the rest of Hellfire was darting between her and Nancy, Gareth knew the rest of his idiots hadn’t caught on.
On a piece of paper he scrawled--and the underlined twice, for good measure;
‘Go. Find. Byers!’
--and then chucked it at Grant’s head. Who thankfully opened it, even if he made a face while doing so, before proceeding to pass the note around as Tiff and Nancy traded increasingly pointed words about weapons training.
“When you’re in a situation, you use whatever you have on hand. I would assume you knew this, given what I heard happened the other day.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it make more sense to train and carry with backup weapons rather than just hoping you find something on the way? What if the--what if we’d been in the woods?”
Gareth watched the note travel from person to person, until it was dropped back in front of him.
‘You go find him.’ Someone had scrawled, followed by multitudes of doodles, two of which featured army-hat wearing dicks driving tanks.
Then and there, he decided that perhaps his friends truly did deserve death should a similar situation arise in the future.
Useless. They were all useless.
“You’re welcome to make a suggestion, Tiffany.”
“I will. I’ll make a list even.”
“Good.” Nancy smiled, with all her teeth.
“Fine.” Tiff returned, looking half feral.
Was this some type of weird mating ritual between academic types? God, they were scary.
‘Well, that definitely won’t come back to bite us in the ass.’ Gareth thought wryly as Nancy stormed off in the opposite direction of the drama room, tapping the note against the table. He glanced at the rest of the group, who appeared to be attempting to tempt Tiff out of her snit by way of asking her what dramatic bullshit she thought Eddie would be pulling in the finale.
If nothing else, he decided, they’d prevented ruining Eddie’s day--and possibly, their entire night.
Nothing, save more fucking monsters or equally evil government lackeys could manage that.
(Pity that Gareth had forgotten the third most powerful force on the planet when it came to wrecking plans.
Middle schoolers.)
xXx
The day had dragged but they'd made it, and Eddie in turn, had made that wait worth their while.
The lights in the drama room were low.
The entire table had been set up with such care and drama that Gareth almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Goblets lined both sides, each filled with a dark red liquid Gareth knew damn well could not be wine.
Candles--real ones, had been lit, casting shadows across Eddie’s face as he lounged in his throne, a master in their element.
A castle, meticulously crafted out of wooden sticks and painted a dark, forbidding gray towered in front of Eddie down at the end, with the layout of the insides crawling down the table atop carefully gridded paper.
Monstrous figurines stood in a row off to the side, like little soldiers, planted right in front of a plain, if not comically large, cardboard box.
It was elaborate, meticulous, and half the items had clearly been stolen from Steve’s house, if not outright decorated by the man’s own hand.
“Welcome, my friends.” Eddie purred, breaking the spell that had fallen over Hellfire.
“Oh my God.” Grant breathed, jostling Gareth’s shoulder as he pushed inside.
“Dude, you outdid yourself!” Stewart added, voice awed as he took it all in.
“He had help.” Steve confirmed, materializing at Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned forward, adjusting something in front of Eddie, ignoring the immediate angry swat and hissed warnings about “ruining the moment, Steven!”
“Glad to see you putting your mom’s party planning skills to good use.” Jeff teased, but no one missed the way he ran a hand down the table, staring giddily at the spread.
Steve gave him a shrug, but even in the dim light Gareth could see how pleased he looked.
It was magical, and Gareth felt something come alive in his chest that he’d privately thought the manticore had killed.
A childish sort of excitement, bubbling up as he realized he was about to have a damn fine time.
This, of course, is when the actual children came in.
“I made a timeline.” Dustin announced, shouldering his way in between Jeff and Grant to slam down a massive piece of paper.
“Oh my God where did you come from!?” Stewart yelped, started as more and more children suddenly swarmed Hellfire’s table.
“The middle school is literally next door. We walked.” Max rolled her eyes as she took a seat next to Tiffany. “What idiot let you guys light candles in here?”
El fell in right next to her, stealing what was clearly intended to be Grant’s chair.
Who looked like he’s about to say something about it until he caught sight of her delighted face.
Gareth would have laughed at the obvious way Grant’s shoulders slumped as he accepted his fate, if his own chair hadn’t just been usurped by Michael Wheeler.
“A timeline?” Steve asked, before Eddie could surge to his feet and kick the brats out.
(They all watched him jerk anyway, like he’d intended to do just that and barely caught himself.)
“Uh, everything?” Dustin scoffed, waving a beat up folder in the air. “We took it all the way back to when we first met El.”
Next to him, Lucas had stepped up to the table, running a hand down it in much the same way Jeff had. “We decided it might help us figure out where the manticore came from.” He said absently.
A riot of emotion exploded over Steve’s face, made all the funnier by the fact that it was entirely at odds with the setup he’d so lovingly created.
“I’m sorry, did we not hear the Chief of Police? He’s investigating this, our involvement is over.” Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, as if that would hold them all off.
(Gareth, who once watched all of these children fight each other over an arcade score for three consecutive days, knew it was a lost cause.)
Dustin made yet another scoffing sound in return.
Given how often he seemed to make them, Gareth wondered if he had problems with a sore throat.
“I thought we all widely agreed Hop’s investigation skills are terrible.”
“Hello?” Stewart said irritably. “We were about to get started?”
Eddie swung himself into a sitting position and made like he was going to stand up, likely to pounce on the opening Stewart had just given.
Pity Steve once again, beat him there.
“Yes, but he’s not investigating, is he? We,” Hellfire’s jock made another motion, this one a circular twirl of the hand. Gareth was starting to wonder if the gestures are directly linked to his stress level. “already did that part. He can now do the part he’s good at, which is fixing it.”
“He’s not good at fixing it, look at what happened with the demodogs!”
It was at this moment Gareth made his fatal mistake. In hindsight, he should have known better than to ask out loud,
“Okay, can someone please explain what the hell’s a demodog?”
Several protests, groans, and pencils are flung his way for it.
(“Do you know how often that word has been thrown around!?” He’d defend much, much later. “You guys keep saying it but not what they are!”
“If you stopped eavesdropping all the time maybe you wouldn’t be wondering about such things.” Eddie had responded snidely.
“It’s not my fault you keep talking about this shit when I’m right there you asshat--”)
“What, you didn’t think there were actually feral dogs in Hawkins did you?” One of the kids asks incredulously, like he can’t possibly believe anyone is so stupid as to buy into it.
“They were like the manticore, but small and more, well, doggish.” Dustin dismissed, this time with a Harrington flavored hand waive of his own. “Ask Steve, he was there.”
Gareth turned to do just that, D&D campaign be damned (He would not apologize for wanting to know what else might be out to kill them all even if the finale was technically on, sue him) to find Steve had slipped right into mother hen mode.
“No.” He spat, charging forward as he flapped his arms around, like the children are a flock of birds he can scare away. “You are not sucking anyone into this, and we are not getting involved! You heard Hop!”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a coward, Steve.”
“I’m not a coward, I’m someone who doesn’t need another near death experience! There’s not a reward if you have five in a row, dickheads.”
Seething and not bothering to hide it, Eddie picked up the massive gold goblet in front of him and took an obnoxiously loud sip out of it.
“I’m also going to remind you that Henderson here,” Steve stopped behind Dustin to rattle his, “is going to camp in a few days? I believe the rest of you also have similar engagements.”
It was Mike’s turn to scoff.
“Lucas is only in summer school until 3 and camp doesn’t start for another two weeks. We have plenty of time!”
“It’s not summer school,” Lucas protested, eyes darting to Max and back as if she wasn’t aware the kid was a nerd. “It’s a creative writing program--”
“Yeah, well, the rest of us are busy.” Steve fired back. “So any theories you have, you can take and shove right up your ass.”
“Why is it always the ass with you Steve? Do you have an ass fixation?”
Gareth watched as Eddie immediately choked on the dyed Mountain Dew he had been chugging down, hacking so hard tears welled in his eyes.
Jeff shared a pained look with Gareth over the table as Grant pounded him on the back.
“I do not have an ass fixation, Henderson--”
“Okay.” Tiffany clapped her hands together, the sound ringing out throughout the drama room.
“Here’s the deal. Summer break is two days away. Steve is right--most of us here are working, if not preparing to go to college. No one needs to go snooping around where we aren’t wanted, and we definitely do not need anymore injuries. Kapeesh?”
Henderson immediately turned on her. “So we’re just gonna trust the guys who fucking started all this!?”
“Given they also have better ways of handling it, yes. We are. Hopper told them about Stewarts goo, they sent some suits in to kill the manticore, and thanks to El’s heads up we caught things ahead of time for once. Can’t we just enjoy that?” Steve was beyond worked up now, repeatedly running his hands through his hair, only to fix it, pick at it, and then repeat the process again. “For fucks sake Dustin, Eddie just stopped limping!”
“I don’t think it’s over.” Mike muttered angrily, pushing a finger against Tiffany’s water bottle.
She grabbed it before it toppled over, glaring at him.
“El, do you feel anything?” Steve spoke like he was invoking a god and not an undersocialized twelve year old.
“No.” She admitted, after a long almost uncomfortable pause. “I do not.”
Steve pointed at her victoriously. “There you go!”
“But--”
“No more buts!” Steve shrieked, before seemingly to realize he’d done so. He coughed, and then said; “I thought you dorks would be storming in here trying to get Eddie to DM for you, not harassing us about the Upside Down.”
“You guys are playing D&D?” Lucas asked, as if he hadn’t been salivating over the spread for the last five minutes.
“I really like your cleric.” Will said quietly to Jeff, having leaned over to look at his character sheet at some point during the argument.
“Will, aren’t you a Dungeon Boss?” Steve asked, to the horror of those around him. “Why don’t you go sit by Eddie, I’m sure you’d enjoy seeing how he does stuff.”
A wince rippled through the members of Hellfire.
There was simply no way Eddie Munson, a man known to be possessive at best, would ever allow any of them to even glance at his notebook, let alone his entire spread laid bare behind his screen.
Those were his secrets--the result of too many late nights and an easy contributor to his failing high school yet again--and this was the grand finale.
Steve sitting next to Eddie had been miraculous enough--and that was with Eddie actively demanding he sit there, in a vain attempt to drag Steve out of his issues.
Fearing the worst, Gareth snuck a glance at their glorious--and notoriously ridiculous--leader.
Eddie sucked on his teeth, the noise painfully loud in the abrupt silence, eyes on Byers the Younger before they drifted back to Steve.
Who clearly had no idea he’d put his foot in it.
Tiff looked ready to break a pencil, eyes glaring a hole in Eddie’s head as if daring him to disappoint the group's golden retriever while Grant, Jeff and Stewart had all magically found something else to look at.
Gareth himself hunkered down, waiting to see how this would play out.
One more painful, pulsing second and then Eddie seemed to come to a decision, rolling out his hand and gesturing Will closer.
“Indeed Baby Byers,” He dropped into one of his many DM voices, something deep but alluring. “come closer and learn from the master of masters. Perhaps you’ll find something here to take back to your own campaigns. Something truly…terrible.”
He waggled his eyebrows at Dustin as Will’s Party groaned, though none of them put up much of a fuss once they saw the sheer smile that overtook Will’s face.
With the unique combination of embarrassment and pride, Will took his place next to Eddie.
Steve beamed in the corner, clearly pleased with himself and it was not lost on Gareth (or anyone else in the know) that Eddie preened only after sneaking an obvious look at Steve’s face.
“God he has it bad.” Stewart muttered, only to hiss when Jeff not so subtly jabbed him with a pen.
Gareth just shook his head, and gave Eddie a grin that said he would absolutely be getting shit for this later.
“Stevie, be a dear and fetch more chairs would you?” Eddie drawled, as he settled back into his throne, baby Byers happily checking out the items he had laid out behind his DM screen.
Which Gareth supposed was Steve’s punishment for inviting the kids along, but then, Eddie may as well have been bossing the jock around all day regardless given the look of the place.
(He’d certainly taken advantage of doing just that while his leg had been healing.)
That was their mess though, and Gareth happily put all thoughts of monsters, murder, men in black and every other awful M word aside to inside pull out his luckiest D20 die.
“Hellfire,” Eddie boomed as the all finally settled, “It's time to show the kiddies how it's done. Let’s roll!”
“And Dustin bitches at me for my puns.” Steve loudly complained as he came back into the room with chairs.
Eddie shushed him again.
121 notes · View notes
hayaku14 · 2 months ago
Text
pushing daisies kaishin au #2
pushing daisies au where shinichi has been able to revive dead animals, plants, even people since he was a child.
kudou "i can literally talk to the dead" shinichi
shinichi's parents didn’t exactly encouraged him to use this power. especially not in public. they’ve seen him revive and re-kill dead plants and animals in the same breath, it doesn’t take a detective to figure out what could happen near a human corpse.
but a young shinichi is curious, a young shinichi admired his father, and a young shinichi wanted to prove himself a detective. but most of all, a young shinichi wanted to help.
so when he saw his father struggle in solving a particular case, a young shinichi figured that maybe asking straight from the source would help give them a hint.
the complete horror in yusaku's eyes shinichi saw that day made him promise himself to never do it again.
shinichi realizes later on that reviving someone just for a clue on the whos, hows, and whys of their death only to touch them again, to basically kill them again, is sick and twisted and the realization leaves him feeling raw and dirty.
he then decides that if he’s gonna find out the truth, if he’s gonna bring justice, it’s not by making the victims suffer a second death. he will unravel the mystery not by magic but by logic.
the curious case of kuroba kaito
hakuba immediately contacts shinichi.
“he was...a friend. if i have to gather all the best detectives to catch his murderer then so be it.”
hakuba goes on to explain.
it was a kid heist. shots were fired. snipers. kaitou kid was caught on camera falling, as if he’d been shot, but he appears a minute later flying away on his glider with not a speck of blood on his suit. all should be well however, a few buildings away in an alleyway, the body of kuroba kaito is found dead. gunshots through the heart and chest.
a simple explanation would’ve been that the glider was a fake activated by kid’s assistant as a last ditch effort to save his legacy and this kuroba kaito was kaitou kid himself. he would’ve said it out loud but by the look on hakuba’s face, he can tell that he already connected those dots long before shinichi even stepped foot in the morgue. that wasn’t what hakuba called him for.
“can i...take a look at the body alone?”
hakuba raises an eye at him but moves to leave without questioning. "alright then. i have to check on another friend anyway. she's been...distraught ever since she heard the news and..." hakuba's words trail away as his eyes unconsciously drifted towards kuroba kaito's covered body. shinichi patiently waits through the quiet pain that he sees on hakuba. the pinch in his brows, the tenseness of his body. he must've been a really good friend.
hakuba shakes his head and turns his attention back to shinichi. "sorry, i...its been a long day. i'll leave you here then. call me if you find anything."
left alone, shinichi carefully zips open the body bag covering kaitou kid's upper body. he looked eerily similar to himself and imagining his own body cold and dead in the morgue sent a shiver down his spine. shaking his head, he pulls a chair close and reads through the file hakuba brought him.
"no witnesses. no camera. not a trace nor lead to anything. just some reports on mysterious gunshots in previous heists that lead to nowhere." they were professionals, whoever did this, shinichi thought. it was not going to be an easy case.
he takes another peek at the body. so this was kaitou kid, huh. too young to be the same as the one before his hiatus. perhaps a successor? motive could be related to his predecessor. his mother hasn't said anything of interest. does she really not know or is she protecting him? he runs his hand through his hair. there's too little information to go on...unless...
temptation rears its head. the source of information is right there in front of him. one touch and it could open up new leads to the case. an immediate disgust twists deep into his gut. he promised himself to never use it on people. to never kill. his father's haunted eyes embedded in his mind. he shouldn't. he really shouldn't. but he remembers the anguished look on hakuba's face. if he was going to do it, this might be the only good time. any longer and his touch would not revive kid. and gone along with him would be vital information to catch his murderer.
shinichi heaves a deep sigh. he has never used his abilities on dead people since that one incident as a child but he couldn't shake off the look on hakuba's face. it was now or never. shinichi reaches for kid's hand.
---
pushing daisies au #1
111 notes · View notes
lokh · 9 months ago
Note
what do you think toshiro's version of laios would've been like if he was still with the group during the shapeshifter shenanigans
there have been a few speculations in the tag and among the fans and they are all very good SO i am going to take this opportunity to insert a bit of my shipping bias as i like in my interpretation LMAO agdsfgdfgv
i noted that in actuality shuro seems to have a very good grasp on laios' character??? this is most obvious in the manga later on but even seeing how he criticises laios in their fight... iirc nothing he says is actually untrue or wildly exaggerated, and while he does express frustration over something he feels like laios Should have control over (noticing his cues), he is also aware that laios isnt being malicious and that hes Just Like That. what i mean to say is that while i think his version of laios may seem more pushy and in-your-face, i dont think it will be overwhelmingly so. if its post-fight, i think the idea of laios (and marcille) being willing to do anything to get falin back made a big impression on him, as well as the idea that they need to eat and rest in order to succeed in their goals, so those aspects would be prominent in his version. he seems pretty observant, so i think for the most part the physical traits would line up, but i think there would be specific things that stand out to him that would appear strangely striking on his version of laios (like. idk something about his eye colour or the subtle contrast of his armour and chainmail. he seems to have a weird sense of aesthetics if extras are anything to go by lmao). if hed actually been paying attention all those times laios had gone on about what the hell ever, then it might be even MORE hard to tell apart his version since he would also have a good grasp on what laios should know. so either his version of laios is pretty difficult to pick out, OR despite the character being accurate his appearance is too. stylised lmao (exaggerated features or something) OR!! they just get him to pull out his monster gourmet guide thing and are able to tell from there. iirc everyone was surprised at its appearance so its possible toshiro had also never seen it before
IN MY IMAGINARY SHIPPING SCENARIO............ lets say that his laios isnt able to be picked out immediately and that the monster guide thing also doesnt immediately occur to anyone. what the real laios Specifically notices is how close this other laios keeps getting to shuro. and hes like. ??? why is he getting so close to him, theres no way i get that close to him??? but no one else seems to be picking up on it as weird, so hes having a small crisis like do i REALLY get that close to him???? and now that hes on the outside he notices shuro subtly leaning away and he feels both a wave of shame and..... protectiveness??? (JEALOUSY??????) and he immediately steps in and grabs him like Hey!!! cant you see hes uncomfortable???? weve been through this already!!! and like. ok i cant believe im doing this again but i need to separate this into different endings
a) the whump route: i dont think shuro ever envisioned Actually Telling laios about his frustrations outside of being basically cornered into it. has he ever spoken up against what was expected of him?? has he ever been confrontational???? i think part of what held him back from expressing his frustrations, along with the cultural norms, could be fear of what the reaction would be. if he had done the same in any other aspect of his life (his family, his inheritance), i think he would expect disappointment, disapproval, more proof that he doesnt add up to expectation. to be honest i dont think he Truly believes that laios is the type of person to react like this. but it was strong enough to prevent him from acting and i think would be projected onto his image of laios. maybe fake!laios says something dismissive like Well if it really bothered him hed say something right? what, he cant even stand up for himself? cmon, shuro, prove that you cant handle it just like everything else. and thats pretty much the fastest giveaway that it isnt really laios. of course this would be a HUGE tonal departure from what the actual episode/chapter was, so:
b) the dumbass route: both laioses break into fisticuffs, and, yes.... barking. and so they speedrun the entire encounter as the shapeshifters true form appears and, after laios points out that thinking too hard about others versions of you can tear apart groups and peace of mind, they pointedly do not speak of it again. they think about it though. a LOT
c) the normal route: both laioses argue normal like and the group ends up being able to tell them apart because the fake laios goes on a little too long about how theyre all here for falin and everyones like ok its not like he DOESNT love his sister but.......... the rest of the scenario probably goes like canon, though then i would want to see what everyone Else thought of shuro
152 notes · View notes
lazycranberrydoodles · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
woe mundane monopoly headcanons be upon ye
follow for more of modern au hua cheng’s outfits
687 notes · View notes
shannonsketches · 10 months ago
Text
Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,
Anime:
GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)
VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!
Manga:
GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.
#dbtag#I do not understand this writing it's so bad aklsdlkasjd#Toei wants Goku to be Clark Kent SO bad and he SO isn't lmao#they're so good and dumb and rounded and complex in the manga what is the anime so afraid of#Toriyama said 'no no this man is a detached faux-immortal who has a dear pure heart but he's childlike and selfish even though he's kind'#and toei went 'got it goku's never done anything wrong ever in his life'#toriyama said 'Vegeta's gone through a lot and he's finally settling into his more mature leadership role with the confidence he's earned'#and toei said 'got it vegeta has the confidence of a high school bully except now he can interact with his family as a comedy bit'#girl hWHAT#Toei trying to group Goku and Vegeta as two people who would rather train than be with their families and Toriyama said NO Vegeta wants#to be HOME this is the first time in years that he's HAD ONE and it makes him HAPPY to be with his wife and children!!#Vegeta trains so that he can protect the things he doesn't want to lose again and Goku trains because it's the thing that makes him happies#They are NOT the same lmao And yeah Vegeta still wants to beat Goku but he also knows that Gohan could dogwalk both of them if he wanted#He also knows Trunks and Goten are going to surpass them it's not about being the best anymore he's past that he just wants to Not Need Gok#He just doesn't want to have to rely on Goku to save the day he wants to be Enough on his own he just wants to know he can be#because every time it's mattered he WASN'T and people he loved were lost to his inability to protect them and he carries that#Like Whis diagnosed him with anxiety and cptsd out in the open and Beerus said he was self-centered for feeling guilt#+ he lowkey enjoys the rivalry it keeps him goal-oriented so he can't get complacent and lazy which is what triggered his Buu Saga breakdow#realized how Fucked Up it was that having a home and loving family made him feel like he was failing and went 'wait no I won actually??'#now he's chill as fuck in the manga. cool confident leader.#and sometimes he is childish and dumb with Goku as a treat#you know what rocks about his rivalry with Goku in Super though is that it's Playful. Vegeta is learning how to Play.#You ever seen a shelter dog get introduced to a really playful dog and it takes a minute for the shelter dog to understand it's safe here#And then they're both running around the backyard playing hot potato with one braincell?? That's Goku and Vegeta's relationship#and the way the anime sleeps on that dynamic is so fucking criminal especially when it's literally canon it's in print it's out there#you had the playbook how'd you fumble it this bad#anyway that's my 25+ year blorbo thoughts I love Geets a lot okay#And I love Goku in the manga a lot I'd forgotten that he's actually a great character when Toei's not fucking up his whole vibe
153 notes · View notes
fadetouchedfennec · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
it beats for you
42 notes · View notes
thegreatyin · 15 days ago
Text
On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex
OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)
OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.
OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.
OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.
So.
In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.
Let's dive right in, shall we?
The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.
This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.
His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.
Cups- Cups needed to-
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Oh, fuck.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.
No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.
Tumblr media
For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!
And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.
He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.
Deserved to come back.
And. I mean. Well.
How hard could it be, really?
Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-
Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.
What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.
Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.
There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.
Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.
And the false-Noman twists.
It turns.
Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.
When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect
It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.
And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.
All he has to do is perfect the process.
The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.
"I'm alive.”
It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.
Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.
Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.
The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."
The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.
She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.
The Vake, huh. The Vake.
She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.
Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.
Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.
It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.
The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.
"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."
The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.
"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."
A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.
His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.
It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.
He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.
Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.
Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.
The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.
The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.
Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.
But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.
The Scientist has done it before.
He can do it again.
He will do it again.
And so Caeru works. And works. And works.
To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.
And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-
"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"
Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-
-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.
A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.
"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?
"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"
And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.
"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"
The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”
Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.
“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."
Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"
He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.
His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."
He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-
"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."
Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.
"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."
The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.
"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.
(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)
He has no other options. No other way out.
He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.
A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-
The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.
His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-
Run. Run.
Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.
Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.
The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.
The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.
On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.
The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."
And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”
He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.
"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."
A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.
Just like her.
"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."
The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.
"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”
She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"
The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”
The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."
He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.
"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.
"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"
He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."
A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."
🐈💙🐺
"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"
She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.
He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?
She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”
🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄
“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-
"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?
He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.
"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."
The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-
And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.
"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.
"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.
"What if I do this?"
The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.
For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)
The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”
Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-
His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.
"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"
And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.
He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."
"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."
She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.
"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."
The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."
She runs off, and Caeru can see-
The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.
He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.
He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.
Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.
He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.
If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-
He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-
He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.
"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"
The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.
Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.
But this was never about him in particular.
Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"
She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.
"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.
The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.
The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”
She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.
-
The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-
He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.
He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.
He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"
The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."
He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."
(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)
The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.
The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"
He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.
London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.
He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.
"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.
"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."
He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.
Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.
"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.
One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.
"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"
The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."
He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"
He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.
He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"
He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."
"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”
He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."
He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).
The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."
A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."
There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.
"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.
One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.
"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"
The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.
The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.
Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.
The Shadow gazes back.
He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.
Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.
He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.
Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.
Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.
It's a beautiful day to be alive.
46 notes · View notes
lacomandante · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Average sight during Wellington's mission debriefing
107 notes · View notes
genericpuff · 6 months ago
Text
there's definitely lots to be said about how "fired up" i get about LO and WT and all that, but frankly all the energy i give off here is healthy compared to the blind rage i experience when i'm playing project diva and miss a single note at the end of an otherwise perfect streak
"talking shit about LO and rachel all the time can't be good for your blood pressure" y'all hatsune miku has been bad for my blood pressure since 2010, LO doesn't even come close LOL
114 notes · View notes
lights-at-night · 25 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
paige duplass // mcr
35 notes · View notes