#just realized this. kinda funny tbh

[heartbeetz]

Man, anton does kinda have a stαnley pines voice, huh...

[a-most-beloved-fool]

I'm thinking about Gillian Taylor, lesbian (in my heart), standing on that stolen bird-of-prey on their way back to the 23rd century, and trying to figure out the correct way to (tactfully) ask if Kirk and Spock are gay.

Back in the 80s, she'd just assumed that they were gay. I mean, dressed like that? She'd also, however, assumed that they were on drugs, probably a hallucinogen of some kind, which - turned out to be not quite true. So, really, anything was fair game, now, and she no longer knew if they were gay. Maybe that's just how men in the 23rd century were with each other.

She tried to watch, to analyze their actions objectively, but with how busy they were making sure that the ship didn't explode, they weren't really interacting all that closely with one another, and she truly couldn't tell.

So instead she just stood there, next to Admiral Kirk, trying to find the right words to use, words which wouldn't be heard as an insult if she was wrong or if the 23rd century was no more enlightened about these sorts of things.

And then Dr. McCoy walked in and, casual as you please, said, "Jim, where the devil has your husband run off to?"

Husband. He said the word so easily, like it was - normal. Like it was safe and accepted, for a man, an admiral, even, to be gay. He didn't even glance at Gillian as he said it, never even seemed to consider that someone might react poorly. Maybe no-one ever did, in the 23rd century.

Everything sort of faded out of focus for Gillian, after that. She didn't hear another peep until McCoy, concerned, put his hand on her shoulder, and asked if she was alright.

She just smiled in response and told him that, yes, she was doing very well.

Because if Admiral Kirk could have a husband... that meant that she could have a wife.

Oh yes, she thought she'd be quite happy in the 23rd century.

[mamawasatesttube]

the geoff retcon is just so poorly done in so many ways. when i think abt it i just rly do have to roll my eyes because it wouldn't even be that hard to be like "actually, paul westfield was duped by agenda under orders from the contessa" and have that as the explanation for the introduction of luthor dna instead of paul westfield's, if you MUST include it. like that way it doesn't blatantly contradict the entire luthor plotline with mae in reign of the supermen, and it could've been a reveal to luthor himself, too. that couldve been fascinating ESPECIALLY in the context of lex having baby lena in that era, until the y2k event.

but fuckign. why do that when we can directly contradict kon's entire origin story which explicitly states he escaped before they were able to put control codes in his head. and when we can also just completely dismiss the ethics of "they [wanted to] put control codes in his head" in favor of "what if... some genes... make you BAD..." which is just very thinly veiled eugenics that the narrative entertains, for some reason. frankly, imo, lex was far more interesting as a character in every plot other than this, because he became so one-dimensionally evil in a very boring stock "manipulative" way. and we didn't even get a single mention of lena in all of his "my son" bullshit. using the contessa wouldve been such an easy and perfect way to tie it all together!!!! but sure. why do anything like that, right geoff.

[thegreatyin]

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-

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.

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.

[wolfwarrior142]

My guy don't describe the random lost scientist guy that way to Rayla of all people. That literally just describes Callum.

[oh-meow-swirls]

happy no yo-kai watch announcement ig. uhhh.

take more yo-kai watch/persona 4 crossover art (i wanted to draw more but this took like an hour alone)-

[primarinite]

Carracosta and Dalia, 13 (roleswapped)?

became way too attached to this au lol

[oceanwithouthermoon]

saiki is such a fucking loser when it comes to romance (and also in general shh) that no matter who it is hes trying to date, he ALWAYS waits for THEM to confess. he will NEVER be the one to confess first..

i dont think he even CONSIDERS the fact that he could confess first, even though he can read their mind and knows exactly how they feel about him.. he waits and waits for a confession and when he doesnt get it, he gets really frustrated and is like 'i guess they just arent serious about me 😒🙄' BRO YOU HAVENT CONFESSED EITHER ?? YOU HAVE THE CAPABILITIES TO DO IT TOO WHY ARE YOU A HYPOCRITE ??

[mugzymiik]

my tpc headcanons bc why not :D

SOME CHARS I DONT HAVE TOO MANY FOR (IF I HAVE ANY FOR THEM AT ALL) :sob::sob::sob:

[last updated: January 24, 2025]

main chars:

caretakers:

Cube:

trans FtM

has a pretty good tolerance to the cold. all cubes do (in my headcanons anyway) but his is especially great

back when he and Lythorus started dating he tried to rest his head on top of Lythorus's as a way of affection and he proceeded to get stabbed by the spike

Iris:

has a really deep voice. but at the same time he somehow also sounds like a really tired teenager who works retail

Pentellow:

has a british accent

also knows a frightening amount of very unsettling fun facts

shes the tallest out of the non-monster caretakers (so herself, Iris and Cube). why? fuck you. fuck you is why /HEVJ/VSILLY

Pyrare:

he has pockets in his robe and its like a "time-out area" for Gold (but sometimes Gold chills in there anyways)

he named Barracuda and Gold after his pet fish. like, genuinely. with how big monsters are, barracudas could practically be goldfish and actually goldfish could be like guppies or something to them

has multiple medical degrees. yes, stacked on top of each other.

heroes:

Cyan:

likes to follow people around!!! and also doesnt like being left alone for long periods of time

he and Cyanide somehow get confused for each other a lot???? literally nobody knows how but it very much happens

Orange:

Tsavorite and him are each other's impulse control. ofc its mostly Orange whos keeping Tsavorite from walking straight into a landmine (/j ofc) but they keep each other out of trouble (most of the time at least)

if bored enough, he can and will find ways to fit into places that will have everyone wonder "HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET IN THERE- HOW DO WE GET HIM OUT???" and he somehow manages to squeeze out flawlessly every time. he has never gotten truly stuck

will drink straight mayo (<- stolen headcanon (hi Tea /SILLY))

im self projecting kind of when i say he got asthma

more of a "this is how i draw them" but his bandana ends kinda look like bunny ears

Tsavorite:

genderfluid and uses any pronouns. :3c he? yes! they? yes! she? yes! literally any neopronoun(s)? HELL YEAH!!!

constantly compares Orange to an actual orange (teasingly ofc)

very alert, but "backwards". like. he'll be able to notice a cool beetle from 5 feet away but wouldnt be able to tell you where Orange headed off to despite being right next to him just a few seconds ago

shows affection thru hugs and pokes. basically just. physical touch!!! but if he cant be physically affectionate they will just give random ass gifts :D

knows a lot abt physical weapons to the point where its honestly a littol unnerving because hOW DOES HE KNOW ABT ALL THIS-

can hold intense eye contact for extended periods of time without blinking (and has intimidated multiple people with it on complete accident)

HATES the snow. and all the other Heroes tease them (/aff) abt it ever since they all found out bc "we thought you loved EVERYTHING"

does NOT care for formalities. like. at all. like say if he met a "King Guy" he wouldnt say "King Guy" hed just say "Guy"

he has been caught eating weeds from the front lawn on multiple occasions

REALLY doesnt like mayo. its literally the ONLY thing they wont eat and if he even SEES it she straightup gags

Gold:

trans FtM

tall. tall fuck. everyones confused asf bc hes not physically related to Pyrare so he couldnt get those kinda """genes""" but hes still REALLY fuckin tall (when matured ofc)

VERY SNAKE-LIKE!!! he can hiss. he has fangs. and hes more sensitive to chilly weather and the cold than most other shapes

back when he was saying Literally Nothing he WOULD speak occasionally but in only one word sentences. those single words were unintentionally very vaguely threatening 9 times outta 10

↓

i know its literally not possible in any way BUT that fluff on his jacket? whenever he's angry/frightened/defensive/whatevertf, that fluff poofs up like a cobra's hood

his bandana used to be around his neck like Cyan's, but it was moved to his leg a little while after he was birthed because his leg got hurt. anyways yeah the bandana was the only thing that could potentially be used at the moment so it was moved to his leg by Pyrare as a makeshift bandage or smth. and afterwards he just kept it there, it was fucking w his sensory issues anyway </3 that leg is a little more fragile because of the past injury

allergic to tomatoes i am Not selfprojecting i swear /j

Cyanide:

has multiple songs pirated on herself. i do not take criticism/j

tall for an unmatured hero :3c

whenever she's trying to "hide something", she uses very detailed language,,for example, if she did something like sneaking out or smth she'd say "greetings" instead of just "hi" or "hello"

"lags" more whenever its hot out

being ANYWHERE around her at ANY point in time is a BIG fuckin risk because she can play Never Gonna Give You Up/Whistle/that stickbug gif on herself on command /SILLY

sometimes she gets so angry that she starts yelling and her filter kicks in BUT she is so angry that it gets kinda fucky and. instead of her yelling. funky town or smth like that will just start playing at full volume and in microwave quality

groups:

chipzel:

Purpex:

i dont have any for her as of rn D:

Marcle:

really likes chicken nuggets. its really random but she LOVES chicken nuggets

Squadril:

is CONSTANTLY called short by Purpex and Marcle + everybody in all the other groups (teasingly ofc)

bossfight:

Cintagon:

Round <3

is absolutely dating Circumsphere

bisexual and also polyamorous :D if he was given the choice between getting his dead wife back or staying with Circumsphere he would choose both with ZERO hesitation

Circumsphere:

i dont have any rn :[

danimal cannon:

Quintagon:

very strong for a pentagon (once when she n Hexagram were younger she hit him and he had a big ass bruise for a few days)

Hexagram:

has a very bad obsession with vikings, which is why his corrupt form has a "viking"-ish look

Polyhedron:

i got none rn :<

big giant circles:

Circumuscle:

doesnt swear very often so when he does its a shock to everyone/lhj

a big softie!!! only to those he deeply cares abt though

he has to be gentle whenever he hugs someone bc hes gonna break someones back someday if he isnt😭🙏

Rincle:

IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF CIRCUMUSCLE SWEARING-WISE if she is given a single chance to say Fuck she WILL absolutely take it with zero hesitation at all/lhj

Spheer:

they and Circumuscle have an "older brother + younger sibling" dynamic

has a british accent as well

Cirtunda:

i dont got any for her either D:

other:

Lythorus:

very distractible

aquatic flower (explained further in the world-wise "shape related" section)

has a VERY bad fear of insects

hes 6ft. and he and Cube have a running joke with this using his name as a measurement. something's exactly 12ft tall? its 2 Lythoruses tall actually/j/lhj

Heli:

nonbinary!!! and uses he/she/they pronouns :D

he and Ketches r like,,partners. take that in any way possible

has the ability to form a body beneath her, buuuut she prefers to fly

a sweetheart through and through. but when/if they do decide to get silly and start teasing people sometimes he accidentally takes it way too far

Ketches:

absolutely has a "pirate" accent r u kidding me/lhj

also has the ability to form a body like Heli

is an uncle figure to Gold

can honk. not like a duck i mean like a boat. "WOOAOAOAOAORRRR" <- that kinda honk

corrupts:

Dub:

he can purr. i dont take criticism sorry /lhj

he and Barracuda were gay as FUCK i will DIE on this hill istg

took guitar classes before he and Cuda went pinksauced

left a seat in the tower's "main room" just in memory of Barracuda. little does he actually know--/lhj

Barracuda:

is actually a ghost rn!! after Dub escaped from the seal he just roams around the tower and also occasionally chills next to Dub (even if Dub cant see him at all + has no idea he's even there)

Cubic:

bitch

he and Lycanthropy have BEEF for some godforesaken reason

Ajaceare:

idk rn D:

George:

his spikes are different from other flowers'; most flower's spikes are pretty sharp, but his never sharpened from childhood, and thus are a little "dull-ended"

Hexacrigon:

idk for her either rn

Cintagram:

manipulative as FUCK. the only person he hasnt ever lied to is Circumcannon

speaking of which. he and Circumcannon still kiss <3

Circumcannon:

no ideas,,again

Hexadic:

same as all the others😭

Lycanthropy:

the only thing keeping he and Cubic from fistfighting each other every time they see each other is that they both know that 1) Dub WILL somehow find out and WILL get their asses and 2) Cubic is strong enough to actually kill Lycanthropy if they fight too hard. and Cubic doesnt wanna fling himself into boiling hot water (not literally ofc) + Lycanthropy doesnt wanna die to THIS bitch's hand

a lot of the other corrupted flowers see him as a "general"/"commander" due to Lythorus being leader of the (uncorrupted at least) flowers

should NOT be trusted with any kind of powertools ever

he can go fuckin insane on the drums

Circubit:

pretty close friends with Macabre

would absolutely dj in his spare time

world-wise hcs:

shape related:

spheres are the speediest out of all the shapes

cubes have a natural resistance to the cold

some flowers have the ability to live entirely underwater, its kinda like a "subtype" for them; theyre often referred to as "aquatic flowers"

flowers have fangs :3c chompers even!!!

spheres are the most likely out of any other shape "species" to be able to grow hair

flowers are naturally tall as shit!!!

flowers' spikes arent as "sharp" when theyre young- they "sharpen up" quite a bit as they get older, though

adding onto the last one, aquatic flowers' spikes are a little more on the duller side

other/unrelated to anything else:

some shapes dont have a "combat ability"

all of the group members of a certain area have meetups sometimes, and occasionally ALL of the groups meet up as a whole (pretty rare considering the size of Paradise, but it still happens at times!)

all the heroes have an odd obsession with going in and out of windows instead of doors. there could be an open door right next to a window and any one of them would still open the window and go right out of it

after Dub is defeated, every year on the anniversary of that day the Heroes get in a circle and chant "its not over til its over" to each other for exactly an hour straight. the caretakers were VERY worried initially, and debated calling an exorcist or something- but theyve grown used to it after like the first 3 years. but it still scares the shit out of anybody else who's unfortunate enough to witness it

in terms of the Trees creating the Heroes, creating and birthing are two different things. initially, the Tree creates the Hero BUT they aren't immediately taken out of the Tree– instead, theyre in a kitten-like state for like a week and then they lose that state afterwards. and a week after that they are FINALLY taken out of the Tree by their caretaker

[mylowmilo]

There’s something so insane about matching with someone on hinge who’s like, yeah I’m looking for friends, not really wanting a hookup, it takes time for me to like someone enough to get physical

And then a week later getting a tap & message from the same person on Grindr saying hey you have a great body, wanna meet up?

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[faunandfloraas]

okay but following rockstar which had (in my opinion) some of the best and coolest concept pictures with the magic school and toy world stuff which, again in my opinion, are some of the most aesthetically displeasing is so 😭

[risingsunresistance]

sometimes i forget some guy even exists and i get reminded of them bc of an old clip and i cant help but wonder like. what are you even doing now. do people still follow you like do you have an audience

[al-mayriti]

btw after four years i finally finished all data from my iberian-inspired fakemon region. if you even care

[skrunksthatwunk]

mannnn ok i've been waiting for the yyh fixation cycle to put me back on (!!!!!!!) rather than (thing i am so normal about but it's dormant) and it's taken a little longer than i expected and i was worried it was going away but i am happy to announce that WE ARE SO BACK BABYYY

[tittyinfinity]

why is it that my doctor pissed me off so much yet I'm suddenly bawling my eyes out over the fact that I won't see him again after 8 1/2 years