I have no words, only screams. And also a question.
Did Bugsy just... destroy you? Body and soul? Half of these people take at least double bug-type damage. If a weedle mean-mugs Celebi a little too hard she's going to turn into dust. How did you survive? What horrors have you seen? What atrocities have you committed?
BRB googling how to start a challenge run of a pokemon game with this as my team.
TERMINAL DATA
ICARUS PRIME
TYPE: PRIME SOUL
DATA: [read more for a lil bit of lore]
Compared to the other Prime Souls, Icarus is incredibly young, having lived during the tail end of humanity, creating machines and mechanical augmentations, even going so far as to replace some of their own flesh with steel.
Humans weren't made to become more than they already are.
Icarus' father already toed the line between man and machine by creating armor for the soldiers they worked to assist, but without the necessary resources, only a few were made, laden with bugs and small errors that nobody had time to fix.
He was only supposed to be an assistant. Assisting with the final screws, making sure the wires were in place, making sure that everything was at least functional, usable. But there had to be a better way, right? Instead of just armor, why not make use of the machines that they've all been working on? Why not just mesh flesh with machine, make our own flesh and blood power the machinery that makes up our skin, become an immortal being.
When he ended up in Hell, he tried something similar. He couldn't die twice, right? So he searched through Violence, running through the wastelands, picking up bits and pieces of robots long gone, soldering the pieces together, placing it over his flesh, sticking small wires and tubes through the skin, feeding the metal his own blood. After all, he had plenty to spare, right?
The Angels took notice.
Husks shouldn't be trying to make themselves stronger. They should be serving their time in Hell. Doing their punishment.
Justice and Splendor carved through his body, slicing through both metal and flesh alike.
His blood was not enough.
Too many injuries, not enough time to heal, to pull it all back together.
He screamed- or at least tried to.
The Angels pulled apart his cut limbs, separating them into locked boxes, buried deep within the levels of Hell, keeping them from ever coming back together, from ever sewing his sinew back together.
His soul survived.
They didn't notice, paying more attention to his body, making sure that nothing- neither drop of blood nor shard of bone- could touch.
He ran back to the train tunnel to the labyrinth, dodging the beams of the spotlights, away from the eyes of the Angels.
aventurine believes he was promised kisses from a certain gentleman thief. he awaits them expectantly!
"Is there something you need, mon tresor?~"
Leblanc hums, batting his eyelashes in response to Aventurine's expectant gaze, but dutifully approaches him to give him what he wants.
To think he was only half-joking when he'd told Aventurine he'd give him a kiss every hour of the day once they moved in together.
Cupping Aventurine's cheeks, taking a moment to admire those mesmerizing dual-colored eyes (he's not ashamed to admit he's a weak, weak man for those eyes) before leaning in to give Aventurine the kiss he'd been expecting.
"You're like a cat when dinner's two minutes late." Leblanc chuckles softly after a few minutes of intense lip-locking, giving Aventurine's bottom lip a teasing, playful nibble.
And, because he can, he traps Aventurine in his arms and sits back down on the couch with the blond man secure in his lap, laughing softly at the other's surprised gaze.
"Didn't you want kisses?~" he hums, pressing his lips against Aventurine's once more.
“A bridge. Throw yourself.” @ papa — shit i heard at college ( accepting ) / @loyaltyson
" That was rude. Wow. Who taught you manners? " He chews on that thought for a moment, makes a show of it, makes a show of realization. " Oh, right, right. " He tchs his tongue, disappointed, and exhales a theatrical sigh, gaze shifting skyward as though begging for help. " The one who had to be taught not to bring his flaming sword to the dinner table, giving lessons in manners. Wonderful. "
Sometimes doing my research is fucking gutting. And when people are like yeah that's wasn't fucking genocide. Is it not fucking enough that it was fucking illegal for us to be able to bury our dead in the ceremonies our culture does? To fucking celebrate our relatives life? And you say that we fucking can't do that and you fucking arrested us for that? That we were fucking arrested and served time for giving gifts to those who attended a fucking funeral? When do you say it's genocide? Do you know the fucking grief of being unable to bury your dead properly and have to speak a fucking mamatlas tongue and bury them in the fucking mamatlas way under the mamatlas fucking god. And then not just that but during this time you were taking our fucking children away by force?
Bre, Bre, Bre, consider. "Explosions" by Ellie Goulding for Trigun Stampede. 👀
"And as the floods move in
And your body starts to sink
I was the last thing on your mind
I know you better than you think
'Cause it's simple, darling, I gave you a warning
Now everything you own is falling from the sky in pieces
So watch them fall with you, in slow motion
I pray that you will find peace of mind
And I'll find you another time
I'll love you, another time"