#or to send one of his people instead

[sophieswundergarten]

What I want to know tonight is where did Curtain get the golf cart from? Because I refuse to believe that any sane, normal person that presumably sells golf carts watched that man walk up to the counter and said "Yep, that looks like a guy I'd trust with a golf cart".

Did he order it from somewhere? Did he just happen upon it and then get it fixed up? Did he send Jackson/Jillson/Jeffers to go and get it for him?

Can you imagine being a person who sells golf carts and being approached by a strangely similar young man and woman that stared at you with highly peculiar intensity while they not at all suspiciously asked about purchasing a cart? Or having a rather nervous and gruff man in an all-gray suit mess up his question a couple of times with needlessly complicated words before sighing in defeat and just asking how he could buy one of the things? Or even delivering an order to a very odd location where a whole staff of gray-suited people received it and proceeded to interrogate you/look over the cart like they thought you might have bugged it?

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[dye-it-rouge-et-noir]

"For particularly important things, it's always more reassuring to write them down like this." - Zhang Beihai

[ID in alt text]

[fuchsea]

.

[poor-ciceros-voring-again]

I really need some gravity falls friends I think :(

[brutal-nemesis]

YWDaC: Turns Out, Forever Is a Long Time

Ayo we have FINALLY arrived at the end of Castys's lil pirate misadventure I hope you have enjoyed all of the delicious lore

←Previous - Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: storm at sea activity, mentioned stabbing, suicide for "convenience" (it's not quite the usual level of he doesn't care but it's still not like bro wants to die yk), a little self harm (once again, out of practicality)

What Castys really wanted was to have something for breakfast, but responsibilities came first, so here he was, delivering a message that he could have ordered anyone else to relay, just so he could go back belowdecks and hopefully grab something on the way back, which made him wonder if he should have been given responsibilities in the first place, but oh well, he didn’t put himself in charge. Now, to get this done so he could eat. Castys knocked on the door in front of him, and upon hearing a noise that sounded like a word, he entered. Captain Izogie was sitting with her shirt partially off and her back to him, exposing the bold patterns of white fire ink curling around her dark shoulders. Alfyn was standing behind her with his hands on her bare back, clearly concentrating. It was a sight he’d seen before, but he always felt a little awkward stumbling upon it. 

“Uh, sorry, didn’t realize it was woman magic day.”

Izogie laughed a little as she turned her head to look at him. “Is that what you lot call it?”

“Less of a mouthful than whatever Alfyn says.”

Alfyn just sighed. “Estrogen production stimulation?”

Castys nodded. “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Anyway, Captain, just thought I’d let you know the sunrise is red this morning, and given the clouds now, we’re all pretty sure it’s gonna storm. And yes,” Castys held up a hand, “preparations are already underway. Just wanted you to be aware.”

Alfyn, finished with Izogie’s treatment, stepped back. “In that case, I have a few things to secure in the med bay. If you’ll excuse me, Captain.”

Izogie nodded as she buttoned her shirt. “Thank you, Alfyn, you’re excused.” He gave Castys a smile as he left. “Thank you as well, Castys.” She gave him a thoughtful look as she pulled her coat on and stood up. “You know, when you first arrived, I wasn’t sure if you were going to last here, but here you are, my first mate, of all things. You’ve grown quite a bit.”

Castys rolled his eyes and smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, yeah, a scared tied up kid rarely looks like he’s gonna amount to anything. And it took you a few years to get that mouth off of me,” he laughed.

“You say that like it’s gone completely,” Izogie said with a glint in her eye, coming up to stand in front of Castys. Despite more than a decade passing, she still towered over Castys, the passage of time only showing in the lines on her face and the gray streaking her hair. He hadn’t grown any taller, but he’d at least gained some muscle and quite a few scars, which was well within the realm of expectation for being a pirate. “Well then, let’s go help out, Castys. This isn’t our first storm, and we need to make sure it won’t be our last.”

“I’d prefer to go down to a sea monster, at least. And I can’t imagine anything short of a hurricane taking you, Captain.”

“I’d like to see one try.” 

The storm that night certainly did.

The rain came down in sheets, driven to needlepoints by the harsh winds. It was more difficult than ever to hear the shouts of the crew as reports and orders were passed around, and Castys’s throat was raw from relaying directions to the men at the helm. He was glad for the storm sails, because even though they hadn’t had time to put all of them up, they were still making good progress through the crashing waves. At least, he hoped so. 

The ship’s bow pierced through another wall of water, and it was all Castys could do to stay on his feet, holding tight to the rope tied around his waist. Shit, one of the men at the helm had collapsed, and there was no one else to take his place. Castys ran up, grabbing the wheel alongside the others as he continued to keep an eye on the angle of the bow and the oncoming waves. It was fine, he could keep this up even as his arms burned from the strain, the hairs that had escaped from his ponytail blowing in his eyes and sticking to his face, making it even harder to see, the ever-louder thunder overhead drowning out the sound of his own voice. Didn’t matter if things were only getting worse, they had to keep-

CRACK

Everything was too loud, or maybe too quiet, roaring and buzzing, he was pressed up against the soaking wood of the deck and there was a ball of dense, sharp agony buried in his chest, making it hard to breathe, he kept coughing, couldn’t stand, couldn’t see, the blackness was coming, fading in and out, and all of a sudden he was belowdecks, blood and rain puddling around him, hands on his chest, pulling up his shirt, the words muffled, his chin moved up, Alfyn’s eyes were gray and full of fear, he hadn’t seen that expression before, or maybe he had, and maybe he was going to die, here, because of the storm, because he couldn’t breathe, time was up, that was it, those thirty-four years were over and done he wasn’t getting that time back no more tries he was satisfied with that right he had to be he couldn’t have any regrets because he wasn’t supposed to but it would have been nice if…if…

Castys woke up to a vast expanse of yellowish-white, which was not the color he expected the afterlife to be. Upon further inspection, though, it turned out that it was just a sheet over his head. After tossing it off and sitting up, he was greeted by a shrill scream that should have come from a young girl but actually came from Alfyn. 

“Chill, dude, you shouldn’t have put that over me if you’d healed me.” Castys narrowed his eyes a bit as he talked. Did his voice always sound like that? Maybe whatever injuries he’d had had damaged his hearing or something. He wasn’t in any pain now, though, so that was good.

“C-Castys you-you’re-how are you-” Alfyn ran over, nearly tackling Castys as he pulled up his tattered shirt to reveal a rather bloodstained but otherwise perfectly fine torso. Castys gave him a weird look, leaning away.

“Uh, you’re the one who fixed whatever it was, weren’t you?” He brushed his wet hair off of his face as he stared down at himself. Why the fuck did he grow his hair out, again? It was annoying as hell like this. 

Alfyn shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t heal you, Castys. You-you were…both of your lungs had collapsed and I-I couldn’t fix it but-” He looked Castys in the eye, frowning. “You…you look different. Younger.” He ran a hand over Castys’s ribs, and Castys was very glad that he was more than used to the medic touching his bare skin. “There’s no scar from what just-” 

“Hey, what are you-” Castys yelped as Alfyn forced him to lean forward, pulling up his shirt even more to expose his back.

“You still had scars from your first day, didn’t you? When you were flogged?”

“Uh, I think so? I don’t really make it a hobby to look at my back, so you’d probably know better than me.” 

Alfyn sighed, letting go of Castys and standing up. “Well, if they were there before, they’re gone now. You…” He looked around at the patients lying on the cots on the other side of the room. “Do you feel alright, Castys?”

“I think so? I’m not in any pain or anything, but…I dunno, does my voice sound weird to you?” There were a few other things that were bothering him, but he couldn’t really get a solid hold on what they were. He just felt different, his thoughts more scattered, his arms less muscular than he remembered, the persistent ache in his left knee from a battle wound a few years ago completely gone now.

Alfyn nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, it does seem a little…off.” He frowned again. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, Castys, but I have more urgent patients to attend to, and I’m going to ask you to stay put until we can get this sorted out.”

“But the s-”

“Fine then, I’m not asking, I’m ordering. Doctor’s orders supersede everything else, you know that. And the storm has almost passed. So stay. Put.”

Castys grumbled and crossed his arms, but he didn’t move to get up. He knew all too well that Alfyn wasn’t above restraining disobedient patients, and he’d rather avoid that today. Bored, he peeked at his chest again. It was very bloody, but there were no injuries anywhere, and poking his ribs didn’t hurt like a bitch, so they weren’t broken or anything. What was weird though was that he still had some scars, just not all of them. The twisted one on his tummy and the clean line over his heart were still there. He slapped a hand on his right cheek and tried very hard to smile, finding that, yup, he still couldn’t really do it on that side, so the remnant of the gash on his face was still there. But the one on his knee, on his arm, and apparently the ones on his back…gone. It didn’t make sense. Unless…

He put a hand over his heart. Every scar he still had now, he’d gotten before…before that day. The day he still didn’t want to believe had happened. Just as he was about to dig up that lovely little box of buried memories, Captain Izogie rushed in, worry etched in her face. 

“Alfyn, is it true Castys is-” she laid eyes on Castys and the tension visibly drained from her body. “Oh thank Mydnar.” She walked over and crouched down in front of where he was seated on the floor, eyeing him suspiciously. “What…what did Alfyn do to you? You look like a kid again.”

“Not my fault!” Alfyn called from where he was working on someone’s fucked-up arm.

“Uh, yeah, I, um,” Castys laughed nervously. “It’s my fault. I think. But I’m okay! All the breathing is happening fine.”

Izogie shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. Laias said a broken piece of the mizzen top yard poked a hole through your chest.”

“It did,” Alfyn said, wiping his hands as he walked over. “Both of his lungs were punctured. I worked as quickly as I could after I pulled it out, but…” he swallowed. “Your pulse was gone, Castys.”

“But I…I’m fine. I’m…” He swallowed. Everything was so cold all of a sudden, that was the only reason he’d be shaking like this, right? Had to be. Unsure if he even wanted to know the answer to this question, Castys lifted his shirt, poking at the scar on his stomach. “Alfyn…what if a person was…was stabbed right here. And the knife was dragged and twisted a bit before being pulled out. And then it went,” his finger was over his heart now, “right here. Would that person…would they die?”

Alfyn looked at Castys in slight horror before slowly nodding. “Without medical attention, in a matter of minutes. Possibly less depending on how much the stomach wound had bled and how much damage had been done.”

Every worry line in Izogie’s face stood out more than ever before. “Castys, you-what are you saying? Are those scars-”

“I think so.” Castys dropped his shirt. “At least, from what I can remember. So maybe I…I already died. Before this. All this time I just thought I might be remembering things wrong, but if what Alfyn said about earlier is true, then…and it might explain why I’m…different.”

“So you think you’re some kind of…” the furrow in Alfyn’s brow deepened, “immortal?”

Immortal. The thought was sort of exciting, as ridiculous as it seemed, but it was also sort of terrifying. Why the fuck was he one, anyway, if it was true? He was just Castys, a random pirate with incurable amnesia about his childhood and hadn’t done anything special besides the whole…maybe this was some kind of fucked-up reward for finishing his mission? But then where had-fuck, okay, no more of that, his brain hurt too much. Why think about things when he could get some results?

“Hey, Captain, could you stab me or something? I wanna see what happens.”

Izogie, who was still clearly trying to process whatever the hell was going on, gave him a very concerned look. “No, Castys, what-even if you think you’ll-you’ll come back what if-”

“Well, I should have died twice now. So I feel like I’ve already gotten a second chance if I was going to be dead anyway.” He glanced over at Alfyn. “Could you-”

“I’m a fucking doctor, Castys. My hands aren’t-I can’t. No.” The other pirates cursed pretty much every other word, but coming from Alfyn, that word might as well have been a cannon blast. Seeing that neither of his friends were willing to stab him for science, Castys dropped the idea and let them examine him for a bit before finally getting cleared to go back to his quarters. The crew gave him odd looks as he passed by, just hammering it in even more that he was different somehow. Either that or they’d heard he fucking died and was now walking around perfectly healthy, which was also probably cause for concern.

Once he was alone, he pulled out his sword and looked at his reflection in the blade. From what he could tell in this shitty makeshift mirror, his face did look a lot more youthful than he remembered. The scruff on his chin and his longer hair did make him look a bit older than the age he supposed his body was now, but the beard was itchy and long hair was a pain in the ass. Part of him wanted to hack his ponytail off right now with his knife, but he’d rather not look like a total mess on top of everything else, so he could wait to ask for a haircut tomorrow. He could shave, however, and he felt a lot better once it was done. 

Turning the razor over in his hands, Castys wondered if he really would come back to life again if he slit his throat or whatever. Well, only one way to find out. His clothes were already super bloody, anyway, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Here goes nothing, then.

Why were his hands shaking so much? It was just dying, he’d apparently done it before, it was fine, he’d come back, he wasn’t leaving anyone behind, just a quick swipe of the blade and then…then…he’d come back, right? Right. A-and if he didn’t, he’d already cheated death before, so it was only fair for things to end now. Deep breath maybe his last-

The blade moved a little more slowly than he would have liked, a flash of pain before-

Castys opened his eyes. He was still in his cabin, lying on the floor, razor still gripped in his hand, fresh blood warm and sticky on his neck. S-so then…he’d died. And come back. And wasn’t in any pain. 

Some sick fascination drove him to slice a deep gash in his arm before turning the blade on his neck again.

He woke up just as healthy as before, no cut in sight.

That settled it, then. Castys…he was immortal. A deep feeling of freedom unlike anything he’d ever known washed over him. He could do anything, go anywhere, not having to worry about wasting his time or being in danger, because fuck that he was immortal nothing would ever stop him again. 

Lying in a puddle of his own blood, Castys couldn’t help but laugh.

He got slapped and lectured the next day for testing things out on himself, sure, but it was nothing in the face of his infinite future. He could go on with everyone forever and e-

Kamon left. 

Alfyn died. 

Izogie retired.

And then, one day, Castys was standing on the deck of the ship, his ship, and he realized he didn’t recognize a single face looking back at him. Well, he recognized them, but he didn’t know them, didn’t remember any of them from his life before the years felt like minutes. There was a divide between them, and he wasn’t sure who put it there.

Immortality was…lonely. Isolating. 

Someone else like him had to be out there, right? So he’d look all over, chase down every lead, even an immortal monster or something would do, he just needed-

Castys felt as alone as he was all those years ago, trapped on that deserted island, the passage of time impossible to follow. 

But no matter what, he’d find that ship on the horizon. 

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen��​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ @painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds @whump-queen​ @whumpedydump @theelvishcowgirl​

[naturally-elegant]

Pelipper mail!

Its a black and red calling card, the front featuring a red logo of a top hat with a mask, white flame spreading outside the right eyehole. Under the logo are the words "Take your heart."

The back features text cut out from various newspapers.

"O Psychic Prick,

Fuck you. You're a spoiled little bitch who threatens people over extremely stupid things. I'm coming for your heart and possibly your kneecaps. Maybe some other things, too. I haven't decided. From, Joker."

@chaos-cousins

"...Tch, what a waste of my precious time."

(*He pulls a disgusted face, proceeding to ball up the letter and throw it in the trash without so much as laying a finger on it, almost as if he may contract a disease if he does such a thing.*)

[screechingfromthevoid]

I made myself mad thinking about Dorian and Cyrus again.

Do you think Cyrus knew? Do you think Cyrus knew that Dorian was in love with Orym? Because I don't think so.

I'll back up because there's a reason why this pisses me off.

Dorian and Cyrus were never super close. They'd beat the shit out of each other and then, what? Pretended like it didn't happen? Dorian has no positive things to say about his brother. Not even when he's compelled to help him.

Then Dorian, being the good and loyal brother that he is, helps Cyrus out. (After Cyrus ruins his life) They go on to travel together for months. In close quarters. This is probably the longest they've ever spent together.

And at the end of it Dorian says "I've known him my whole life. He's always been there. Now that he's gone, I can't imagine what he would want me to do."

Which means in all this time. In running for their lives together. They never got closer. They never truly got to know each other. Cyrus spent his entire life not knowing his brother for who he really was.

Part of that is on Dorian for not opening up to his brother. But can you blame him if his brother never made him feel like he could? I've already gone on about how Cyrus doesn't change throughout his time abroad.

So if Cyrus has not changed. He has not learned a lesson. Why in all the realms would Dorian tell his brother about himself? Dorian has been Brontë since the ball episode. Dorian slipped back into that role for the ball and could not come out (AH) until his brother was dead.

Because Cyrus never showed the capacity to accept Dorian for who he was. (Again i don't think it's fully just homophobia.) Dorian has always felt the need to hide who he was from his family. He always made himself small, because it was never about him. It was about Cyrus. The heir. Dorian shrunk himself and compartmentalized and put on an act all his life.

And his brother never noticed. His brother never asked why he felt the need to change his name. His brother never decided that as the older one, he should be the one taking care of Dorian. His brother never did anything to be a fucking leader like he was born to be.

SO it pisses me off that Cyrus didn't know that Dorian loves Orym. Because it pisses me off that they never bonded. They never got close. They never got over the way they grew up. Now he's dead and those things will never happen.

And I blame Cyrus for this because he never made the effort to prove to Dorian that he changed. Or that he cares enough about him to not care. Or made him feel safe enough to confide in him.

They're brothers for fucks sake. They should have more than blood that holds them together. But they don't. Because Dorian has been afraid of being who he is in front of his brother his entire life. And Cyrus was too stupid to fucking notice

[oculusxcaro]

(If she ever gets patrons who tend to make frequent 'appearances' on the news, how often does she recognize them, and how awkward are those interactions? Does she ever report them to the GCPD or feel tempted to do so?)

send me questions you have about my character!

You'd think a waitress in a demanding job would at least have a somewhat decent memory when it comes to recognizing faces but honestly? Khare has a horrible memory and isn't likely to start remembering faces unless they are REALLY distinct (or have visited enough times for their appearance to register in her brain). Seeing the Joker himself strolling in and ordering up some pancakes is the most you can expect for her to acknowledge there's a serious fucking situation on hand but after that? Forget it, she's not likely to make the connection.

However, this is Gotham so chances are that at least somebody's going to rock up at the diner in their costume. Khare may be so preoccupied about getting their order right that... you know, it's going to take a minute or two to catch on that something's not right about their appearance, but she can't quite put a finger on it. Alexa, play the Jeopardy! Think Music! It's probably more awkward for the patron visiting that everything is so calm - The waitress isn't screaming bloody murder or jamming the silent call button beneath the counter to alarm the police that trouble is there, she's just smiling and doing her best to remember their order, just as they want it but on the off chance she does recognize somebody... she really, really doesn't want to call the GCPD and cause a scene, because really, nothing's happened.... yet, and the thought of police taking her statement and asking awkward questions is a far more frightening prospect than the Mad Hatter asking for a pot of tea, because... you know, she's an illegal immigrant at this point, and if she calls the police, who's to say she's not joining them in jail after her shift ends? Having a bad memory makes life difficult but in Khare's case, it might have saved more than a few potentially dangerous situations from blowing up as a hungry rogue gets a tasty meal without any screaming or overhearing any hushed calls begging the GCPD to arrive, because even criminals need to eat and boy, do most people feel a lot better after getting a proper meal inside them!

[musubiki]

dark academia oscar!!! does he wear those shirts with the frill collars too and the high waisted pants lol?

HES GONNA LOOK SO GOOD WHEN I HAVE TIME TO DRAW IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was thinking those fancy plaid pants with the high socks and fancy brown shoes with like. a long coat and maybe like a fucking insufferable sweater vest over button-up shirt vibes......im sure madam springs tried to put him in the fucking poofy shirt and he went "this isnt the 8th century anymore madam" followed my a whack on the head

[quietlyblooms]

the color schemes in a.tsv are so pretty but also so smart and they scratch my brain just right every time i watch this movie :' )))

[damianosismyking]

truth is SOME BITCHES OUT THERE are boring as fuck.

I miss the old days when we were all fucked in the head and down for whatever novelty take/approach we had to these characters in this DARK FANTASY trilogy we adore.

not..... you know. who is the nicest character doing the nicest things in the nicest way.

[bylertruther]

mike is the healer out of the two btw. he's been the healer / medic literally since s1. mike is the one that applies pressure to your wounds, that puts his hand to your injured head, that tells you to please show him your wound, that snakes an arm around you and carries you or helps you walk when you can't do it on your own, that stays by your side and dotes on you when you're ill, that is the first to notice when something isn't right, and that warns you to be more careful next time because he doesn't want to lose you / thought that he lost you. those are things he's actually done in canon on screen right before our eyes. repeatedly. it's mike that's the nurturing healer, it's mike that's the medic, it's mike mike MIKEEEEEEEEEEEE

[dutybcrne]

From a very young age, Kaeya held such a fondness for handholding. Whether it was his father clinging tightly to him to make sure he didn’t get lost, Adelinde’s gentle, grounding hand closed over his to comfort him whenever his nerves got the better of him, Crepus’s rough-palmed, firm yet comforting grip as he brought him back home, or, as it was most often of all, Diluc’s warm, yet at times uncomfortably tight hold as he dragged him anywhere, everywhere, determined to always keep Kaeya close and eagerly show him all there was to see, Kaeya treasured the gesture greatly.

Of course, being as shy as he was, initiating it himself was always the harder part. So much so, he would tend to hold pinkies, rather than outright take a person’s hand in his own. Eventually, it would become his most common way to go about the gesture of affection.

[fingertipsmp3]

No one:

Me: does anyone want to hear what my sims family did today

[stairset]

Watched the story for the new Suicide Squad game on Youtube and I gotta honest it was kinda complete dogshit. Like genuinely left a sour taste in my mouth when I was done.