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bongo-clash · 2 years

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Peacock Au Part 1

Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:

And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D (Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)

There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place.

Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed.

Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem.

There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood.

…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually.

But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book.

His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try.

And then, the entity begins to form.

Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point.

The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility.

“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”

Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

“The pits. There are many pits.”

God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”

“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed.

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“…Will you fix it?”

The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling.

A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”

“Uh… cheers?”

“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”

This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”

He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“I know of your Bat.”

Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”

And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is.

And he owes it a favour.

Crap.

#I'll be posting the part two at some point soon since it's already written out so prepare for that lmao!!#Warning that there might be some mistakes in here since I literally just wrote this and the second part a couple hours ago #This is a Little bit of a thing about my hc on the Ghost Monarchy and how it isn't Actually a monarchy #It's just that the 'king' keeps the actual physical balance of the GZ (ie natural portal stuff) & the title originally had a different name #But when Pariah Dark took the mantle he decided it made him the ruler of the GZ and that's why the Ancients took him down #But I'll talk more abt that if I ever get around to finishing that GZ culture/history/evolution post thing I had planned lmao!!!!#Either way I Love Eldritch Danny sm and writing this was so so fun!!!#Part two will be from Danny's perspective!!!#I might colour those drawings and stuff at some point but for now I like them as they are!!!#Also before I forget I Am still thinking about that pizza delivery guy pt. 2 I just got stuck a bit!!! It'll hopefully appear at some point #dp au #danny phantom au #dpxdc #john constantine #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #danny phantom #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#Bongo's Art!!!#tw body horror #peacock au

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theminecraftbee · 1 month

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can i request three somehow forced into a fake dating situation

Three stares directly into Martyn’s eyes. They are blue and of an average size. It feels as though maybe this should be against the rules, but according to the book it had read, this was… normal. A normal thing to do on a date. Look deeply into someone’s eyes. It would not be suspicious at all, even though Three isn’t really sure how to look more or less deeply into anyone’s eyes at all. Eyes are not flat, but even when Three Looks, it isn’t as though there is anything interesting in there.

Martyn is sweating somewhat. He looks away first.

Three’s pretty sure this counts as a victory, especially given Martyn can’t see Three’s face behind the mask anyway. It is good Three has now won the game of ‘staring lovingly into its date’s eyes’, because that had been a strange, threatening mortal ritual. It would rather not do that again.

“Haha, thanks again for agreeing to this date,” Martyn says, very suspiciously looking around the small cafe in a bustling semi-private Origins server. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to hang out like this. Gods, do I sound stupid.”

“You do,” Three says.

“You don’t have to answer those,” Martyn says.

“Will comply,” Three says.

“Oh, for the love of—we’re on a date. A date!” Here, Martyn winks obnoxiously. “It’s not a mission.” He winks obnoxiously again. “Besides, you should lighten up!”

“Will comply,” Three says.

“You know, I had forgotten how obnoxious that was,” Martyn says cheerfully. “Anyway, I should order us some drinks! Have some conversation! Keep an eye out around us, yeah, for our waiter?”

“You are not very subtle,” Three says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martyn says. “Besides, honestly? I am really glad to just hang out with you. Because we’re dating! On this server for fancy couples. Yep.”

The problem is, of course, that a fancy origins server is a great place for the strangest of people to hide.

When Martyn had asked a favor, Three had been… uncertain. This was not because Three doesn’t care for Martyn—it does, greatly—or because Three didn’t want to see Martyn—they’d met up a few times before now, tentative and quiet and frustrated and all the things that were hard to explain, and then in all the ways they were okay again—but because Martyn, for all Three cares for him, is still an idiot.

Three is its own handler, now. It does not have to follow handlers that are morons. It had told Martyn this. When Martyn had stopped wheezing, he’d explained that it’d be fun. Not Listener business, he promised; he still hadn’t quite gotten out, but he wouldn’t drag Three in, Scout’s honor.

(Three believes him. It’s never been that Three doesn’t trust him.)

It was a friend of Martyn’s that had gone missing. Apparently, on some fancy modded server? And now, Martyn wanted Three to come help him do some recon because, quote, “Jimmy laughed at me until he cried and that hurt me a little bit, not going to lie, and I’ve used up the favors Ren owes me, and Oli was busy. Have you met Oli? You’d like Oli.”

(Three did not like Oli.)

Three agreed, despite its better judgement. The reason it thought this may be a poor plan was because—

“Ah, the lovely Valentines,” the waiter says. He gives them a plate of lovely heart-shaped calamari. Three wonders if they had belonged to heart-shaped squid. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful here with my beloved!” Martyn says.

The waiter and Martyn both look at Three. Three doesn’t say anything and sits perfectly still.

“Um,” the waiter says.

“It’s for a health condition,” Martyn says, which technically isn’t a lie.

“Very well, sirs, although it may get in the way of the kissing competition!”

Martyn, who had just started sipping some wine, chokes on it.

“I will win the kissing competition,” Three says.

Martyn chokes harder.

“I will see you to it!” the waiter says. “And of course, our patented species comparability exam is the highlight of the evening.”

“Oh. I am not sure I can produce viable offspring,” Three says.

The waiter stares at Three. Three stares back, although not into the waiter’s eyes, as to not cause any confusion. The mask somewhat prevents that from working, though.

“Very well then,” the waiter says. “I suppose just—do you need help?”

“It knows what it’s doing,” Martyn hisses.

“I did do research before coming here,” Three says.

“I’ll just head on,” the waiter says, in a tone that suggests to Three that maybe it did not do enough research before agreeing to help Martyn.

Oh well.

At least the mask means it doesn’t have to keep a straight face as it picks Martyn off the ground and, completely flat in tone, says: “Do not die. I would be sad if you died of something as stupid as choking on wine.”

“I asked for this,” Martyn says.

“Yes,” Three says. “You did. That is why I am here.”

(Beneath the table, it grabs Martyn’s hand. Martyn squeezes Three’s hand back. It had missed him, though. For all they do not see each other often—)

(Well. It had missed him, though.)

#answered #ask game #strifetxt #solving counting sheep talk #a bee fic #not going to fandom tag this one because frankly scs always confuses me on whether it’d be rude to ;-;#anyway lei your brain is so huge. this is such an inherently funny concept.#hermitshipping #trafficshipping #I MEAN. NO THIS ONE IS PLATONIC ACTUALLY BUT I FEEL LIKE PEOPLE WHO HAVE THOSE TAGS BLOCKED WOULDNT WANNA SEE THIS #so I am BEING POLITE.#anyway I love solving counting sheep I should write side stories for it #I still periodically rotate three in my head like a rotisserie chicken.#THIS IS VERY STUPID BTW.#set nebulously A. Few? years after canon #up to you to decide EXACTLY win but it’s implied here some rats and some third life equivalent happened #so do with that as you will idk if that’s canon in my head but since its post fic canon who cares

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lucydoodlessometimes · 26 days

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mattodore · 3 months

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pay attention to theo’s beautiful face and not whatever matthias’s arm is doing... i liked the lighting more here than against the wall

#these are the last screenshots i wanted to edit from the ones i took on the 22nd and had been slowly editing throughout the week #will finally be putting mattodore in their thirties to rest 🙏⚰️#river dipping #echthroi #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #a burning house to live in #ts4 #ts4 edit #simblr #ended up not doing much to these screenshots tbh… i was so into the audiobook i was listening to i kinda just. stared at the wall a lot...#my brain was telling me this wasn’t worth posting bc i’ve done so many mattodore edits recently and this isn’t anything different but.#like i did actually spend a few hours with these edits so. on one hand i’m like this isn’t really anything #but on the other hand i’m like. well they’re my ocs whom i love dearly and i’ll probably enjoy looking back at this #the same way i do all my other recent edits which i open my own blog up to stare at like. multiple times in a day #obsessed atm……..#anyway.#god… matthias is so huge he always takes up so much space i’m constantly having to crop him out of edits 😭#and these are poses that weren’t even made from me…. so he’s not even at his full 6’3’’ height and size like 😭😭😭#he distracted me but that aside... i'm waiting for my game to open up atm so i can get back to tweaking alessandria's sim #her face is gonna take me forever.................................#ik i don't talk about my other ocs on here much anymore but alessandria is my third favorite oc (mattodore obviously being my top two)#so... i'm seriously gonna agonize over every update i make for them now kjdhknjf #ocs with tragic backstories save me...................#i’ll probably spend a few hours with alessandria in cas and then i’m going back to google docs to write more abt mattodore

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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okay, this is a halfway to 7k unedited fantasy au snippet! Out Of Context as usual!

some warnings for this one: blood, gore, major character injury, graphic description of injury <3 i had fun w/ it not sorry <3

The front door slams open, stalling all conversation inside. A flash of lightning illuminates the two forms huddled in the doorway, one considerably larger than the other.

Barnaby staggers a half-step inside, dripping water all over the floor. That alone has Howdy putting down the glass and moving across the bar to better assess the situation. Eddie is struggling to support Barnaby’s listing weight, and both of them are clutching at Barnaby’s belly. They’re both soaked through.

Someone gasps, and the folks seated nearest to the door stand and back away, muttering in alarm. Howdy’s stomach plummets. Some of the water puddling on the floor is too dark to be just that. Barnaby’s front, under where his massive paw is clutched, is drenched dark as well.

Eddie catches his eye - he looks wild with fear.

“Out!” Howdy thunders. “Everyone out! I don’t care about your tabs or if you’re not done - if you have a room, go there, if you don’t, scram!”

Some people cast him and Eddie dirty looks, but they start to get up, grumbling all the while. Howdy couldn’t care less. Not when Barnaby is leaning so heavily on Eddie, his breathing so labored that Howdy can hear it amidst the shuffle and scrape of patrons leaving.

“What happened?” Julie yells, running across the room from the neighborhood booth.

“Make sure everyone gets out,” Howdy says, redirecting her. Julie doesn’t look happy about it, but she complies. The patrons start to clear out faster with her aggressive ‘assistance’. Howdy throws his drying towel off to the side and nearly vaults over the bar to help support Barnaby. He reaches to sling Barnaby’s other arm over his shoulders-

“Don’t!” Eddie cries. He doesn’t let go from the wound, and Barnaby cringes away from Howdy with a breathy echo - “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Howdy says, panic rising in his throat. He looks closer at the wound Barnaby and Eddie are holding - this time he has to swallow down bile. Glistening, blood-slicked pink pulses under their hands. Barnaby whines softly. He’s terribly pale under his fur.

“Everyone’s gone!” Julie announces.

Howdy snaps out of his horrified trance. He points at the bar. “Clear a spot on the floor for him on the floor, make sure we have room to work.”

Julie makes a frustrated noise but complies once again. Howdy slips around to Eddie’s side and trades places with him, but Eddie doesn’t let go of the wound. The sudden weight makes Howdy stumble, but he quickly widens his stance and starts shuffling them to the area Julie is clearing. They help Barnaby lower to the ground, and every pained whine and gasp is like an arrow to the heart. Eddie whispers apologies all the way down. Barnaby’s free paw leaves scratches in the bar’s cherry wood.

“Ed, I need you to get my supplies from my room,” Howdy says, rolling up his sleeves with quick, expert flicks.

Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy. “I can’t let go!”

“I’m here to take your place - four arms are better than two, now get!”

Eddie still hesitates, but slips away once Howdy puts all four of his hands where Eddie’s measly two were. It’s hot, and wet, and - and -

It becomes immediately clear that this is a wound they can’t fix, not without an extraordinarily talented healer.

“Julie,” Howdy chokes out, “get Poppy.”

“Okay,” Julie says faintly, right behind him. She slowly backs away, and all at once sprints for the front door. A burst of fresh, rain-filled air blows inside before the door closes again. The cold shock makes Barnaby flinch and gasp.

“Hold on, Barn.” Howdy forces himself to look at Barnaby’s face instead of the pulsing guts bulging from the gash someone sliced across his belly. The soaked fur under and around it looks purple. “Help will be here in a jiff, so don’t you go falling asleep on me.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby wheezes, and his voice has never sounded so much like music, “tryin’ not to. It’s - stars, it hurts, Howdy-”

“I know, but you gotta hang in there, pal. Poppy will fix you right up.”

“I…” Barnaby makes a wretched noise that sounds like a sob, “I don’t wanna die.” He whines, a leg weakly kicking out as his guts twitch. “M’ not ready, Howds, m’ not…”

“You’re not going to die,” Howdy insists even as Barnaby’s blood soaks his hands and sleeves.

He doesn’t want Barnaby to die, either, but who knows where Poppy is - there’s no guarantee that she’s home, and even if she is, her abode is clear across town. Julie is a fast runner, but in this weather… with such a distance…

Barnaby is going to die.

Howdy will do his damned best to keep that from happening.

Clattering precedes Eddie sprinting around the corner. He checks the bar hard, but doesn’t fall or flinch. He takes the hit and slides to his knees by Barnaby’s side and opens the pack. Howdy almost reaches out to rummage through it himself, but Barnaby’s paw starts to slip from the wound.

“No no, none of that.” Howdy nudges it back into place with his knee and tries to jostle Barnaby with the same motion. “Eyes open and paw up, Barn.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby whispers. His eyelids flutter in a vain attempt to stay open. His breathing rattles.

Howdy doesn’t need to tell Eddie what to look for, and thank the heavens for that, because Howdy doesn’t think he can look away from Barnaby’s pained features, much less form words that aren’t incoherent prayers to any god that will listen. Barnaby’s paw slips, and Howdy has to lunge to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. Just his hands aren’t enough - he needs to use his forearms. There’s so much of it.

Eddie scoots forward and holds up a potion, and Howdy nearly howls in anguish. “Not that one! The healing potions - the red ones!”

“I know that!” Eddie snaps just as viciously, which is enough of a shock that Barnaby gains a moment of startled clarity. Eddie uses it to coax him to drink the golden energy potion. “I have some healin’ powers of my own - I can buy him more time than your bruise busters, and you’re fresh out of those, anyway!”

Out?

Howdy stares at his pack in horror. That’s right. He hasn’t restocked - oh, he’s a fool! He allowed himself to grow complacent and reliant on Eddie and Poppy’s healing. He has no time to thoroughly curse his inaction, as Barnaby’s paw comes back up to the wound, and his back arches as he wails his agony. The potion kicked in. Eddie quickly shoves his paw away again and holds his hands to the corner of the gash, his palms glowing orange.

“Oh, oh no,” Barnaby sobs, his boots and claws scraping wood, “Ed, stop-!”

“I’m sorry,” is all Eddie says. He shoves Barnaby’s paw aside when he tries to pry Eddie away. Barnaby grabs for the nearest thing with his other paw, which happens to be Howdy’s thigh. Howdy bites back a pained hiss at the feeling of claws digging sharp through his pants. The cold water saturating Barnaby’s paw soaks the fabric in seconds, creating a contrast to the pinpricks of hot welling up under the claws.

Howdy eyes the healing glow and the strain on Eddie’s face. It won’t be enough - Howdy doubts it will give Barnaby any time at all. The thin corner of the gash slowly knits together, but the rest of it is too wide, too deep. The only reason Eddie can heal any of it at all is due to how clean the slice is. The blade that created this wound must have been freshly sharpened, or enchanted. Howdy can tell at a glance that it cut through Barnaby like a knife through marmalade.

Eddie heals the other tapered end. He and Howdy exchange a glance - Howdy sees it in his eyes that the healing is just a platitude. Blood continues to soak Barnaby’s pants, Howdy’s, their hands, Howdy’s clothes, the floor.

Abruptly, Howdy is keenly aware of how quiet the tavern is. Rain drums on the roof and thunder rolls outside. The fireplace crackles. How long will it take to scrub the blood out of the wood flooring? How long will Howdy spend staring at the scratches etched into the bar?

“How- Howdy,” Barnaby says. He isn’t gripping Howdy’s leg as hard anymore, but he gives it a weak squeeze. “Gotta tell ya - hng - somethin’. Shoulda… told ya sooner, but-”

“Save it for later,” Howdy says quickly. “You can gab all you want when you’re better.”

There likely won’t be a later, or better, and that’s half the problem. Call Howdy selfish, but he won’t let Barnaby make this hurt more than it already does. More than it will. He would rather live with a might’a than a could’a.

Barnaby knows it, because his eyes mist up and he nods weakly. “Yeah. When I’m… when I’m better. Can I ask a fa-favor?”

“Anythin’,” Eddie murmurs. Howdy had forgotten he’s there.

“Find Wally for me?”

Eddie lays a bloody hand on Barnaby’s arm, steely determination flashing in his eyes. “We will. I swear it on my patron’s light.”

“That’s a…” Barnaby pauses to grimace and swallow thickly, “a big promise, Ed.”

“I’ll make sure he keeps it,” Howdy says.

“M’ sure you will. But, but… if Wally really is gone… hey, I’ll say hi to ‘em for ya.” Barnaby manages a shaky half-smile. “At least that’d be one - one good thing ta’ come outta this, huh?”

Howdy’s composure cracks. He chokes down sobs as he slumps over Barnaby, uncaring of the awkward position or the insides sandwiched against his front, drenching his apron and shirt with blood. He hides his tears in Barnaby’s cold, waterlogged ear. Barnaby uses what little strength he has left to turn his head, weakly nuzzling the side of Howdy’s face. His breath is warm. Weak, but warm.

Distantly, Howdy hears Eddie curse and ask “Where are they?” The clink of his armor fades, and the door opens just enough to let in the scent of rain. Howdy hears more than feels Barnaby breathe it in. As close as they are, Howdy can hear the wet rattle in Barnaby’s chest.

Should Howdy do something to make him more comfortable? Would Barnaby’s herbs ease his pain? Even if it would, if anything would, Howdy can’t let go. That would hurt him more, and Howdy refuses to give up that tiny sliver of hope that something can be done.

The door slams open to let in a thunder of footsteps. Howdy snaps upright, and he’s certain that if he didn’t have a job to do, he’d collapse.

“Oh dear, oh-” Poppy squawks loud enough to make everyone cringe, her feathers fluffing up. “My feathers, that’s! Oh! That is much worse than what you told me!”

“One can hardly fault her,” Sally says before Julie can respond. She kneels by Howdy with Poppy right behind her. “Are you with us, Barnaby?”

No response.

Howdy goes cold. “Barn?”

Sally briskly taps Barnaby’s cheek until he twitches, his eyelids barely lifting before falling shut once more. “Still with us!”

If Howdy wasn’t already crying, he’d start now.

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks from off to the side.

Julie paces anxiously. “Of course she can! Poppy’s the best healer for miles, there’s nothing she can’t do. Right, Poppy? He’ll be up and joking in no time!”

“I.” Poppy’s feathers shake as she dances them over the open wound. “I will most certainly try, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s too severe for my magic to do much of anything. Sally, dear-”

“No,” Sally says immediately, her glow dimming. “You cannot be serious, I won’t - I simply will not-”

“You must. We all need to work together - Howdy and Eddie need to hold the wound shut. It won’t just be you.”

“We need to what now?” Eddie says, even as he settles on Howdy’s other side. “What’s going on?”

Howdy feels sick. “You and I have to make sure his insides stay inside, while Sally will-”

“Sally won’t,” Sally says. “As much of a nuisance as he likes to make himself, Barnaby is my friend! I could never-”

“Then you’re alright with losing him!”” Howdy snarls. “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with me and feel him die under your hands instead!”

Sally gapes at him, stricken. Her mouth flaps for a moment before she shuts it firmly and turns to the wound, lifting her hands.

“What does she have to do?” Julie asks.

Everyone ignores her - not out of unkindness. Poppy nods to Eddie and Howdy. Eddie places his hands in the spaces where Howdy can’t completely reach. They exchange a glance and push.

There was a time when Howdy received an overpacked shipment of linked sausages. He had no room to store it yet, but the sack it arrived in tore. Shoving them back in - even with all four of his hands - was nigh impossible. It was impressive how the sausages had managed to fit at all, because the sack was certainly too small.

Shoving Barnaby’s guts back into his stomach is a lot like that.

Barnaby cringes and moans in his nearly-unconscious state, feebly trying to get away from what is certainly agonizing pain. His brow bunches up, and he whines high in his throat.

Howdy can’t spare a thought to it. Blood and organs squelch as Howdy and Eddie rush to cram it all inside - there’s no time for caution. As soon as the last slip of pink is inside - it’s so, so dark and red past the blue - they squeeze the wound shut to the best of their abilities. Barnaby sobs quietly.

“Now,” Poppy says, and Sally’s palms burn hot enough to make Howdy’s skin itch.

She holds her hands to the sealed gash, and Barnaby starts wailing. Too weak to thrash, he just writhes softly and keens, tears freely spilling down his face and carving dark tracks in his drying fur. His paw twitches around Howdy’s leg, claws digging in again like he wants to grab or yank or something.

“Almost there, Barn,” Howdy lies. Part of him wishes Barnaby would fall fully into unconsciousness. It would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn’t feel this.

The acrid stench of burning fur and flesh fills Howdy’s nose. Sally and Eddie both gag. Heels rapidly click across the tavern as Julie sprints to the nearest waste bin, and she retches loudly into it. Howdy barely registers it - he’s barely breathing, himself.

“Well done, all of you,” Poppy murmurs as Sally cauterizes. She holds her wingtips to the cooked flesh of the wound as Sally continues, and they glow coal red. The wound glows with it, the angry blistered flesh smooths and pales, and blue fur starts to grow back before their eyes.

Barnaby’s paw falls from Howdy’s leg as he starts to slump, cries petering off into agonized whines. Poppy doesn’t seem alarmed, and Howdy just wants his pain to stop, so no one moves to keep him awake.

Soon, Sally has to shuffle in front of Howdy and Eddie to continue. They’re loath to move, so she awkwardly lies across their laps and reaches. As soon as she burns her way to the end that Eddie healed, Poppy gives them the all-clear.

Eddie lets go first, slumping back on his heels. Sally is still draped across Howdy’s lap with her head pillowed on Eddie’s. The three of them catch their breath as they watch Poppy brush her healing feathers across Barnaby’s stomach. Julie staggers over to them and kneels next to Eddie. She leans against him, sniffling. Howdy doesn’t have it in him to protest when Eddie not only loops an arm around her shoulders, but around Howdy’s waist as well.

Barnaby is finally unconscious, his features slack - Howdy places a hand on his chest to make sure, and the shallow rise and fall of it is more priceless than all the coin in the world. Howdy slowly sits. His hand trails down as Poppy pulls her wings back, and his fingertips dance on the silvery smooth line of a fresh scar.

“I’ve done all I can,” Poppy says with a gusty sigh. “So have the rest of you - again, well done. You all did splendidly.”

“I don’t feel splendid,” Sally croaks.

“Well… you are. Quite splendid. Let’s get him up and to a bed.” Poppy’s first attempt at standing fails. Sally all but leaps up to help support her, and she laughs nervously. “I’m afraid that took quite a bit out of me. There was more to heal than I expected, dear me.”

“Will he be okay?” Julie asks.

Poppy looks at Barnaby with a soft, sad look in her eyes. “I can’t say for certain. It’s up to Barnaby, now… all we can do is make sure he’s comfortable. A-and keep a close eye on him! There could be, ah… complications. Infections, and the like. Mh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. Sally’s fire should have burned out anything nasty.”

Howdy belatedly realizes that he needs to help carry Barnaby. He kneels on shaky legs and gently maneuvers Barnaby’s dead wei- unconscious weight to the side. Howdy slips his upper arms under Barnaby’s, using his lower set to help support his back. Eddie takes one side, Sally and Julie take the other. Poppy does her best to help, but she can only lift Barnaby’s unbloodied leg with her beak.

They shuffle their way to a ground floor room. There’s plenty, but Howdy once again chooses to be selfish and brings them to one near to his own. Near is subjective - Howdy lives on the second floor, but the staircase to his private suite is as close to Barnaby’s temporary room as it can get. Barnaby will be sleeping right below Howdy. If anything happens, he’ll hear.

They get Barnaby onto the bed, and all of them breathe sighs of relief - and mild pain, in Eddie’s case as he stretches his back. Poppy asks for Julie to stay and assist her with getting Barnaby adjusted.

Howdy doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He stumbles his way out of the room with Sally and Eddie in tow, his heart jackrabbiting. It feels like he grabbed hot coals, or swallowed a bolt of lightning. He’s shaky and ill and he just held Barnaby’s intestines in his hands.

Howdy leans over the bar and blindly grabs a bottle from underneath it. He uncorks it with his mouth, spits the cork to the side, and starts chugging. The alcohol burns as it goes down. It’s cheap, bitter, and easy to focus on. He comes up for breath with a small gasp and coughs, wincing at the aftertaste.

Cleaning supplies clatter as Eddie brings them out of the supply closet - Howdy wasn’t aware he knew where that was. It’s just a bucket of water and a scrubber. Not that he’ll do much good. He’s still caked in blood and mud. Dishes clink as Sally cleans up the ample messes that the patrons left behind. Howdy takes another swig and stares blankly at the shelf behind the bar.

The blank eyes of the Wally-puppet stare back at him. At least the real Wally wasn’t here to see that. Howdy doesn’t know what he would have done, or how he would have reacted… best not to imagine. In any case, Howdy hopes that by the time they find Wally, this whole experience will be nothing but another story.

Howdy goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - oh. Right. It’s still covered in blood. All four of them are. The blood glistens when Howdy holds out his hands. It’s warm and tacky, clinging to his fingers like sap as he spreads them.

It’s Barnaby’s blood.

These hands were inside of Barnaby’s gutted stomach, and Howdy can still feel the sickening heat and the way it all pulsed and twitched and-

Howdy copies Julie’s example and vomits into the nearest acceptable receptacle. The alcohol tastes better going the other way, even if it burns worse.

Once the dry heaving stops, Howdy sinks to the ground, shaking with silent sobs. His legs curl up and he presses the heels of his upper hands to his forehead, hugging himself with his lower arms. The crimson-soaked fabric of his shirt squishes and sticks to his skin.

Everything Sally carries rattles, and every few minutes something falls. Chipped cups, shattered plates, clattering platters. After each breakage, she picks up the shards and keeps clearing the tables. The constant swish, swish, swish of scrubber bristles on wood fill the silence between rattling dishware and rolls of thunder. Eddie scrubs at the one spot on the floor, where Barnaby sat. The water he pours and scrubs quickly turns pink, then red.

The door opens, letting in yet another gust of air. It slowly closes, and Frank’s shrill voice cries out, “What in the heavens happened in here?”

Anger rises sharply in Howdy’s gut - and vanishes as soon as it came. There’s no use in being mad at Frank - they didn’t explicitly go with Eddie and Barnaby on their day trip. He was gathering information. There was no way he could have known what would happen.

Frank belatedly notices the thick trail of blood on the floor, and sidesteps it before rushing to Eddie. “Is everyone okay? Who’s hurt? That’s not your blood, is it-”

“It’s not mine,” Eddie says, not looking away from his task. Swish, swish, swish. When Frank reaches for him, he waves them off. “Stay back, it’s a mess. I’ll take care of it - I’m taking care of it.”

He isn’t taking care of it.

Frank takes a step back, his eyes wide enough that Howdy can see the whites of them clear across the tavern. Frank looks over the trail of blood, the puddle, bootprints, the smeared handprints, and the sheer amount coating not only Eddie, but Howdy too. Sally doesn’t make a move to acknowledge Frank as she stacks wood platters and ceramic plates. More blood stains her from where she kneeled in it, and laid across Howdy and Eddie.

A scraaaaape precedes Julie backing into the tavern proper with a large tub of steaming water. Howdy makes a desperate sound and scrambles over to it. He thrusts his arms into the water and scrubs furiously at his skin and sleeves, ignoring the burn of the slightly too-hot temperature. Julie’s stare sears into him for only a moment before she takes a shuddering breath and steps out of the splash zone.

“Frank!” she says a touch too loudly, oozing false cheer. “You’re back! Did you find anything?”

“Did I - what does that matter! Julie, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Barnaby got a little hurt, but he’s resting now.”

Frank incredulously gestures to the tavern’s general state. “A little hurt?”

“Barnaby’s fine now,” Julie reiterates. “Poppy is taking care of him.”

“How did - why did - what -”

Howdy slowly stops scrubbing. His skin feels raw under his fuzz as he stands, water sluicing from his arms. He unties his apron as he returns to the bar and tosses it over a stool. He sits on the one next to it and snatches the open bottle of - whatever it is. It’s alcohol. That’s what matters. He rests his head in his hands between acrid swigs.

“Everything is okay! Poppy is the best healer around, it’s nothing she can’t handle,” Julie chirps. No one calls her out on the proven lie. She starts collecting straggling dishes alongside Sally. “We’re just helping Howdy clean up.”

In his periphery, Howdy catches Frank side-eyeing him. He chugs from the bottle for a moment and slams it back down, if only to make a point. Frank is the only one to jolt at the sharp bang.

Frank slowly crouches by Eddie, frowning deeper than normal. He mutters something too quiet for Howdy to hear from the other end of the bar. Eddie says something back - Frank lays a hand on his shoulder, and Howdy scowls miserably into his drink. His thigh itches.

Swish, swish- the scrubber finally stills. Eddie shoots to his feet, his armor clattering loudly, and he steadies himself against the counter as his other hand flies to his forehead. “Oh no. Oh, no…”

Everyone stills, and the tension in the room thickens palpably.

“What is it?” Frank asks.

Eddie looks at Howdy with horror in his eyes. “We lost Wormie. Barn dropped his hat when we were ambushed - there was no time to stop. We couldn’t…”

“Show me,” Howdy says, leaping off of his stool and charging for the door. Eddie follows hot on his heels.

The rain is freezing. It soaks Howdy through to the bone as soon as he steps out from under the tavern awning.

Howdy doesn’t dare go back to get a coat, even if all he has on are his thin work clothes. The cold nearly knocks the breath out of him, but he focuses on the alcohol warm in his stomach and plunges into the storm. He slows just enough to let Eddie - and, apparently, Sally - pass him. She carves a way through the pitch black night.

Mud saturates Howdy’s boots and the cuffs of his pants. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin and only worsens the chill as they run past dark buildings. Few windows glow orange, proving how late it’s gotten. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since Barnaby was injured. Even with Sally,’s light, it’s going to be impossible to find Wormie in this weather.

Howdy’s eyes burn as they leave the town’s muddy streets and plunge into the terribly dark forest. What if they don’t find her? The thought is almost too much to bear. Howdy doesn’t think he could face Barnaby when - if - he wakes up. They’ve already lost Wally, and that alone has had Barnaby in shambles. But if they lost his beloved little worm, too?

It feels like they run through the woods for hours. Eddie keeps slipping and tripping, but manages to keep his legs under him. Howdy’s mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes and hows and whys. Eddie and Barnaby were ambushed so far away - why did they come to Howdy’s tavern instead of going right to Poppy’s? How horrible was it to go all the way into town in that state, in this weather? What if Wormie drowned, or was trampled, frozen, taken -

“I think it was here,” Eddie shouts over the thunder and rain. A flash of lightning illuminates the ground through the waving treetops.

“You think?” Sally says. Howdy wishes he had said it first - now is not the time for Eddie’s navigational dysfunction!

“I don’t know, Sally! I wasn’t really paying attention on account of keepin’ Barn’s insides from spillin’ everywhere!” Eddie doesn’t say it to be cruel, Howdy knows.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling unsteady all over again, or stop Sally’s glow from dimming. He glances around like he expects to see more blood, though even if this is the correct area, the rain has washed any evidence away. Howdy turns in a circle, tangling his upper hands in his hair.

There’s no way of knowing. There’s no way of finding such a tiny, sweet little creature- lightning flashes, catching on leather outside of Sally’s glow.

Howdy lunges for the hat, uncaring of how his knees sink deep into frigid mud as he snatches it up. The hat is grimy, but undamaged. Even Ms. Beagle’s feather is intact. But when Howdy turns it over, his heart sinks.

Nothing inside.

Nothing on the ground around it either, even when he digs through the mud to make sure. Eddie hesitantly touches Howdy’s shoulder, and Sally’s warm glow envelops his back.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He sniffles. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve-”

“You prioritized our bard,” Sally says. “We can’t fault you for that.”

They can’t. Howdy… Howdy wants to, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s cold, he’s tired, he wants to go make sure Barnaby is being taken care of. He looks around a final time, blinking against the rainwater pouring over his eyes.

Nothing but muddy soil, bushes, trees, darkness.

Howdy clutches the hat to his chest and stands, stumbling slightly. His friends steady him, and his face pinches. He shouldn’t have drank so much at once. It’s finally getting to him, and soon he’ll be of no use at all. He can already feel the faint buzz in his head.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” Sally promises, tugging gently on his lower arm.

Howdy makes a pained noise. She won’t make it to morning. It’s too cold, she’s too small. All they’ll find is her little frozen body.

“Hold on.” Eddie holds out an arm to stop them. “Can you hear that?”

“It’s impossible to hear anything over this storm,” Sally says.

“No, no… I’m sure I heard something. It was a - a little, it was a little…”

Peep.

Howdy’s waterlogged antennae snap upright, and he whips around to stare at a nearby tree. A past storm must have nearly blown it over, as half of the base seems uprooted. Gnarled roots arc and tangle out of the ground. Howdy falls to his knees in front of the dark hole under the trunk.

Another peep comes from inside.

“Sal, I need your light,” Howdy says, fumbling for her. Her golden glow fills the space, and he nearly sobs.

Wormie squints up at them, curled into a tiny ball and shaking like the wet leaves she lies on. Mud covers her colors - if her eyes weren’t open, one could mistake her for a twig. Her harness blends into the rest of her. She peeps again.

“Hey, gal,” Howdy murmurs, reaching into the shelter. Her antennae make a feeble attempt at raising, and she stretches her neck out towards his fingers. He slips them underneath her and lifts her out, making sure to shield her from the rain with his body.

“Thank the stars,” Eddie says wetly. “For a moment there I thought we lost her.”

Howdy curls his fingers around Wormie, his heart breaking at how violently she shakes.

“Should I take her? She must be freezing, the poor thing” Sally says, holding out a hand. Howdy holds her out, and Wormie lifts her head as Sally’s warm glow washes over her. She blinks at the offered trade, then drops her head and nestles into Howdy’s palm. Sally retracts her hand. “Apparently not.”

Howdy hooks the hat over that hand, and Wormie lets out a mournful peep. He lets Sally and Eddie pull him through the forest, staying hunched over the hat and murmuring reassurances. He starts quietly crying again at some point. The rain washes away his tears and sounds. By the time they return to the tavern, he’s exhausted himself. They all stumble through the doorway as a soaked, grimy trio.

Julie and Frank flurry over to fuss over them, but Howdy staggers past their worries. All he knows through the cotton in his head is that he needs a hot bath. He leaves their chatter behind and makes his way down the hallway, only pausing to listen at Barnaby’s door.

Poppy is humming to herself. Howdy sags against the wall for a moment, taking solace in how calm she sounds. For a moment, he imagines going inside and resting at Barnaby’s bedside, but… later, he promises himself. When he’s in clean clothes and feels less like collapsing.

Climbing the stairs to his room is a feat in itself, but Howdy manages it without tripping over the steps. He closes his door behind him and sighs, tempted to just fall asleep on the floor and deal with everything later. But Wormie is still shivering in his hand, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone.

The hat is placed on the table for cleaning. Howdy hates to let go of Wormie, but he places her on the crown while he runs a bath. Not for the first time he thanks his past self for investing in this revolutionary tech called plumbing. All he needs to do is turn a valve, and hot water pours right into a fixed tub in the corner of his large, open room.

For a long moment he yanks at the valve, not understanding why it’s not working- ah. He’s turning it the wrong way. He blinks forcibly and twists the right way, and water pours out. He watches it drain until it registers that he should plug the tub.

Oh, the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up…

Howdy strips as he makes his way back over to Wormie, leaving unsalvageable clothing items strewn about. It’s a blessing in disguise that he was drenched by the rain - it kept all of the blood from drying, so his shirt and pants come off easily instead of sticking to his skin. He’s still stained red underneath them. Howdy undoes his ponytail and picks up Wormie. He carefully loosens her harness and slides it off, revealing a patch of spring blue and green bands underneath.

He holds her to his chest as he steps into the filling tub. Steam rises off of it, and it clears his stuffed sinuses. He inhales it grateful and sinks into the water, clenching his teeth when it laps over the punctures in his thigh. He closes the valve and settles with a groan.

Wormie peeps at him and looks over the side of his hand at the water with longing in her big eyes. Howdy carefully lowers her until the warm water pools over his palm. Wormie finally stretches out as he rubs his thumb over her. Mud flakes and sloughs off of her, and she wriggles happily. She dunks her face and thrashes a little to properly soak herself. He gently runs a soap bar over her until she’s nearly white from the suds, and lowers her into the water so only her head floats on the surface.

Once she’s clean, Howdy grabs a small hand towel off of a nearby shelf, soaks it, and piles it on the side of the tub. He places Wormie on it and she happily starts burrowing. It occurs to him that he could look for some sort of floatation device for her, so that she could splash around to her tiny heart’s content, but just the thought is exhausting. So, a waterlogged towel it is.

Before Howdy completely ruins the water by scrubbing more blood and mud into it, he washes his hair. The rain had already undone the ‘do, so at least he doesn’t have to scrub out the styling paste. He squeezes the water out as best as he can and slicks it back.

Watching the red caking his skin dissipate into the water is nothing short of a relief. He stops when he gets to the minor injury Barnaby left him - he can’t tell if he bled or not. If he did, it was overshadowed by Barnaby’s blood. He sits on the edge of the tub to better inspect it.

The wounds are shallow and nothing to write home about. They don’t need bandaging, though even if they did, the time for that has long since passed. Barnaby must not be dulling his claws like he usually does. Thankfully they weren’t entirely sharp, or Howdy suspects he’d have much larger holes in his thigh. Three punctures on the outside, one on the inside. Howdy opens the water valve a smidge just to wet a fresh towelette and properly clean the wounds. It would help no one to get them infected - Poppy needs to save her energy for Barnaby.

By the time he’s satisfied with his cleanliness - if he weren’t so tired, he’d have gone for a fourth round of soap - Wormie is dozing in her damp towel. He opens the drain before grabbing a fresh hand towel, this one dry. He carefully lifts Wormie out of it and wraps her in the soft fabric. Her eyes open for only a moment before she settles again, purring.

For a long few minutes, Howdy just sits and holds her, watching her antennae twitch as she falls asleep. He absentmindedly rubs the towel, and Wormie’s purring increases as she’s dried.

The sound of the last of the water draining pulls Howdy’s attention away from the tiny animal. He carefully gets out of the tub and puts Wormie back on the table, still wrapped up. Once again, he looks longingly at his bed.

Howdy dries off and dresses in loose sleep pants and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother with a shirt. He rarely sleeps with one on, anyway. Too much of a hassle. He slips Wormie out of her towel and brings her downstairs, once again having to move slowly with much paid attention as to not fall with his leaden legs.

Poppy emerges from the room as Howdy reaches the ground floor. She turns and startles. “Oh! Howdy, you startled me. You look much better… though your hair is still wet - you’ll catch a cold if you leave it like that.”

Is it? Howdy brushes his fingertips over cold strands plastered to his neck. Oops.

“Are you alright? You look quite unsteady…” Poppy comes over to him and squawks softly, her neck pulling back. “Is that alcohol? Howdy, are you drunk?”

Howdy shrugs one shoulder. Talking takes focus and time, but he manages, “I may be a little tipsy. No worries.”

“Many worries, dear.”

“How is he?” Howdy deflects as he walks past her, partially leaning against the wall. He nudges open the door and rests against the doorframe. The blankets cast over the small room’s bed rise and fall in stark contrast to how shallow Barnaby was breathing earlier.

“On the mend,” Poppy murmurs, following him inside. He slumps into the armchair already pulled up to the bed. “He might sleep for some time… he’s been through quite an ordeal. Anyone would be tired after so much healing, let alone after… well.”

Howdy carefully places Wormie on Barnaby’s neck. She stirs, and starts forcibly purring as soon as she registers the shade of blue underneath her. She doesn’t perform her usual party-seizure like she usually does when seeing Barnaby - she just burrows into his fur. Howdy has to wonder if she’s simply exhausted, or if she can tell that something is wrong.

“I don’t believe we’ll encounter any complications with his health, thank goodness” Poppy says. “By my estimates, he should be up and moving within the week. I’d like him to remain on bedrest for a few days more than strictly necessary, but I doubt he’ll want to stay put.”

If Howdy weren’t so worn out, he’d tear up yet again.

Of course he won’t stay. Barnaby will charge out the door as soon as he’s able, hellbent as he is on finding Wally. No one can blame him. The others will likely continue the search tomorrow, if not the next day. All Howdy can hope is they find something promising for Barnaby to wake up to.

He crosses his upper arms on the bed and pillows his head on them. He fights to keep his eyelids open, watching Barnaby’s peaceful face. He looks calm, his features holding no hint of pain. A warm weight drapes over Howdy.

He starts to lift his head, but Poppy says, “It’s just a blanket. Rest, Howdy, you need it. Barnaby will be here when you wake up.”

Howdy means to thank her, but the word comes out as a weary sigh. He lets his eyes slide shut, and slips into deep sleep a second later.

#I PROMISED CHAT I'D POST THIS SO HERE IT IS #tenderly kissing barnaby's unconscious forehead <3 #i do it out of a place of love and affection <3 #my favorite form of gore is gut stuff soooo.... its reserved for my fav characters <3 #love me some insides becoming Outsides!#snippets from the bog #wh fantasy au #alright not much else to say. im tired!#today was... a Lot. need to sleep... need to shower i forgot to do that...#wait no side note #i absolutely fucking love writing wormie. she <3 #actually i have a whole extra scene for when barnaby wakes up maybe ill rb this w/ the addition #At Some Point! when the mood strikes!#but yes i hope that those of you who read this enjoyed <3 #i certainly did!

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orcelito · 11 months

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i've seen ppl talking about Meryl & how little we know about her family, but the geo-plant arc of trigun chapters 10-12 gives us some really useful pieces of info, i think

first, we see her thinking of herself as Cold Blooded, just like the dude that wanted Badwick to kill his own parents

[ID: Meryl stands with her gun drawn and a troubled expression on her face as she thinks to herself, "Exactly as you described him... the cold-blooded type..." In the next panel, she closes her eyes and wonders, "Am I really... any different?" End ID]

at the start of this arc, Milly wrote one of her massive letters to her family, while Meryl mentioned not knowing what she would write to hers. then we see Milly get PISSED at Badwick after she learns he threatened his parents at gunpoint, which leads to this page:

[ID: Meryl, held back by Milly, tells her, "Milly... I envy you... My father would have wanted me to get justifiably angry at a person who points a gun at his parents. That is an important thing." She flashes back to the moment in the chapter before where Milly is attempting to punch the son, Badwick. Milly calls in concern, "Ma'am?" Meryl continues, "But I... I just stood there and took it all in without even budging. I am such a cold person. I chose this path of blood and tears without thinking about the rest of my life. All I can see is what is right in front of me." The page shows the face of the father, dressed in basic battle gear, who is watching silently. Now in tears, Meryl laments, "Why could I not see... that when I closed myself off to him, something was wrong? I..." In the last panel, Milly stares down at Meryl in surprise as Meryl slaps her own cheeks and exclaims, "No... Nevermind!" End ID]

this entire situation is obviously striking something in Meryl's heart. some kind of insecurity she has about her distant relationship with her own parents. she shakes herself out of it, determined to not fall into a funk, and then jumps into defense of the land.

after the battle's over & the father's fallen to his ass, we see these pages:

[ID: In the first page, the father, off screen, tells Meryl and Milly, "There are no words to express how thankful I am for your help." Meryl replies with a smile, "Ah. There's no need." The father goes on to tell her, "Ms. Meryl... I know it was rude of me, but I overheard your conversation earlier. Having raised that rebellious son, I don't know if I have the right thing to say, but... All people are different, but the bonds between parents and children are inseparable. It is a great burden, but also the most precious thing in the world..." In the second page, the father concludes, "... Choose your own path, and walk it with confidence. All of life... is connected. You must live your own life, and your parents will love through you." As he speaks, we see Meryl listening to him with a surprised expression. End ID]

this entire arc feels like a metaphor for Meryl's own situation. after these pages, we see Badwick turning in the deed, then finding out that his parents were entrusting the property to him after all. he's the problem son, someone who separated himself from his parents due to his disagreements with them (likely stemming from his dead younger brother). yet at the end of the day, his parents still love him and entrusted their life's work to him.

Meryl sees all this go down, hears these words, and it touches something in her heart. so we see her go from talking about writing to her family like this in chapter 10:

[ID: A single panel of Meryl with her eyes closed and a peaceful expression on her face. She tells Milly, "That would be the normal thing to do... especially when I've been away from home for so long. But I don't know what to write beyond 'it's dry'..." End ID]

to this bit at the end of chapter 12:

[ID: Meryl approaches a mailbox with luggage in hand. She slips a letter inside, then sighs with a smile. Milly yells, "Maa'aam! What are you doing?! We're already late!" To which Meryl replies, "Ok! Ok! Ok! I'm coming!" End ID]

the experience was enough for her to accept that she might not be the closest with her parents (or just father? considering she only ever mentions a father in this all), but it's still worth reaching out even if she doesn't have much to say.

this arc is the most we see about Meryl's backstory in the manga, but I think we can draw a few things from it. we have a definite mention of a father, but no others. no mention of siblings or any other family members. she's distant from her father, too busy following her heart & goals, but she doesn't have a bad relationship with him. just Distant. she feels disconnected from him, even Cold, for her focus on her work & the practicalities in front of her. but even with that disconnect, she still cares enough about him to feel guilty when she realizes she's been doing this.

and then considering later, when we see the flashback of a man giving her the gun... i'd assumed that was possibly a senior at her work (probably tristamp giving me that perception, from Roberto), but keeping all the rest of this in mind... it really could have been her father.

i went looking to try to find that part. did not find that one exactly, but i DID find this one from trimax chapter 34:

[ID: A nearly bald man with a kind face and what appear to be shooting ear muffs around his neck tells Meryl, "Consider guns delicate. Women, most of all, should make use of them. One shot will level the playing field between you and a big, strong man." End ID]

if this is indeed her father, it would explain why she knows how to shoot like she does. perhaps her father taught her as she was growing up out of the wish to help her protect herself. maybe they weren't incredibly close, but he still clearly cared about her & wanted what was best for her and her safety. the kind of father that's content to let her do whatever her heart wishes, since her happiness is his happiness.

and then chapter 12 ends with this page:

[ID: A black framed page with a single panel at the center. The panel shows Meryl from behind, running with her luggage in hand. The text boxes to the sides state, "All of life is connected by a river... And the beginning of the river... is now." End ID]

she continues on her own path, not looking back, but she is still connected to the ones in her heart... including her father.

(Manga panels referenced from @trigun-manga-overhaul !)

#speculation nation #trigun #meryl stryfe #fanny's trigun analysis #fanny reads trigun #oh god this got longer than i was planning on it being #also writing IDs is a little hard lol. tried my best tho #but YEAH we really know so little about meryl and her home life. but this really does give us some great context for it #im picking at fucking crumbs here lmfao but they're still pretty solid crumbs #this. is probably what i'm gonna be running under for my own ideas of meryl's backstory #single child raised by a single father. a gunman who taught her how to shoot so she could protect herself #a slightly distant relationship. but not a negative one.#someone she still loves and knows will be there for her should she ever decide to return #someone who wouldnt ever even dream of trying to stifle her. he wants her to follow her dreams.#it's... actually kinda really sweet lol.#meryl #<- for my own tagging purposes lol #long post/

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lynzishell · 4 months

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By the time Winter came, each day was starting to bleed into the next. As they got closer to the holidays, Dawn was putting together multiple events and working late into the night.

Often, she’d crawl into bed long after Phoenix had fallen asleep.

Due to her late nights, she’d start her mornings later, and Phoenix would be up early, doing his best to get ready quietly so as not to wake her.

For him, work had become so busy that he rarely got a day off.

However, they both finally got a break over Winterfest. It felt like it had been months since getting to spend a day together.

And with no obligations aside from their annual dinner at Julian’s, they spent every possible minute in bed, knowing they'd be back to their busy schedules the next day.

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carcarrot · 5 months

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'Spark-ling Russ Writes To You': A collection of writings from Russell Mael's weekly column in Mirabelle magazine, 1974, pt. 1 (pt. 2)

#thanks to the person in the sparks fb group who posted these from her scrapbook #i thought to collect them all in a little post. much to discuss #also the first pic is killing me he looks so silly #the second to last one another russell recipe!!!!!! his burgers actually seem ok. unlike that weird tomato dish <3 #was he really for real writing these. a fascinating glimpse into his mind if true #i love the one (i think its the 5th one here) where hes talking abt vibrating w excitement before a show like we know. we get it.#im studying him. im literally taking notes and observing #this was a wild era in the sparks career that i still cant believe happened #spars #russ #russell mael #sparks #sparks band

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2hoothoots · 11 months

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i was having a chuckle to myself last night about Gristol, and how his plans are basically:

Restore Ford Cruller's memory

Find Maligula

???

Profit

but then... of course they are, right? this is Gristol we're talking about. Fatherland Follies drives home again and again that he's still operating on a child's logic, a warped and reductive version of the world that he never bothered to grow out of. both of his memory vaults center on the images of his childhood, this idealized version of the past that he clings to no matter what. and that's still how he remembers Maligula, too - as this saviour figure, who rushes in to help him when he's in trouble.

[ID: Two slides from Gristol's memory vault, Glory to Grulovia! Left: Gristol clings to Maligula's back as she summons waves to sweep away his assailants. Right: Gristol and Maligula waving from a balcony as the people cheer. Gzar Theodore brandishes a dagger in the background.]

like so much else, Maligula represents a return to this idyllic childhood - to the peace and simplicity of his youth, when he was free from worries and responsibilities. in his mind, he doesn't need to make any further plans - once Maligula's back, everything will go back to normal. Maligula will make everything better.

...is what i thought, but then i remembered this line:

[Screenshot source. ID: Gristol, in Truman's body, bows on his hands and knees in front of the newly-awaked Maligula. The caption reads: "Yes, High Priestess! I am here to correct the mistakes made by my father!"]

and that's kind of interesting, right?

to be clear: this happens directly after Maligula sees Helmut-in-Gristol's-body, and recognises him. her line before this is:

"Little Gzesaravich! Have you come to pay for your father's sins?"

my first thought was that Gristol hadn't expected to still be in Truman's body by the time he managed to find Maligula, and this was him trying to placate her and buy some time until he could explain the situation. but watching the cutscene back, that's clearly not what's happening here. Gristol is answering as himself, and his response of throwing himself to his knees before her is, as far as i can tell, genuine.

so what is going on here?

in Fatherland Follies, there's this line in the ride narration that stuck out to me:

"Why didn't the Gzar help Maligula in her time of need? No one knows, but historians agree - it is Gzar Theodore's biggest failure."

other lines mention Gzar Theodore's "mistake", and it's wording Gristol himself echoes in the screencap above. evidently, he believes that his father abandoned Maligula, leaving her to her fate at the hands of the Psychonauts, and it was that mistake that lead to them being driven out of the country - that mistake which he seeks to correct. maybe he even feels like he has a debt to repay to her for his family turning their backs on her all those years ago.

the 'High Priestess' thing, though - that's kinda weird, and threw me for a loop the first time i played the game. it took me until my second playthrough to connect the dots, and remember how the room in the Lady Luctopus - Gristol's room - was full of Delugionist scribblings and symbols.

[Screenshot source. ID: left, the walls of the hidden backroom in Gristol's hotel suite, covered in scrawlings of eyeballs and Maligula's name. Right, the pinboard from the hidden backroom. On its surface are photographs and newspaper clippings connected by pieces of string.]

i mean, look at this stuff! he had a whole conspiracy board and everything!

we learn very little about the Delugionists and their beliefs as a whole during the game, but i think drawing the connection here suggests two important things. one: that Gristol was in deep with this stuff. i don't know how he linked up with them - maybe via old family connections, or just good old-fashioned digging (we know he's skilled at worming his way into peoples' good graces, after all) - but it seems likely that he's begun to internalise their ideas, maybe even warping his own memories of events. and two: the Delugionists themselves are, if you'll pardon the pun, pretty far off the deep end.

like... i understand why PN2 didn't go heavy on the "mass-murderer cult worship" aspect of things, in the end, but man this is such a tantalising glimpse into the wider mythos around Maligula. Gristol is proud and haughty and thinks himself above everyone else; the fact that his first reaction seeing Maligula is to throw himself to the ground at her feet says so much about the way he's come to see her. he's not just trying to bring back Maligula, his childhood bodyguard. he's trying to bring back Maligula, the High Priestess of the deluge, the semi-mythical figure whose supporters believe even death couldn't stop. he doesn't even flinch at the way she confronts him, and maybe it's because he's bought in so completely to this deified figurehead, this idea of Maligula; more a living force of nature than a person. and it all comes back to the same place: an abdication of responsibility, not just to the person who protected him when he was little but to this avatar of floods and destruction. Maligula will make everything better.

i'd write more about my thoughts on the Delugionists but that'd be taking a hard turn into speculation, and this is already kind of long and rambling so i'd better end it here. but what an unexpected and evocative line, right? it's some of the only stuff we have to go off of regarding the Delugionists as a whole, but i think it does such a good job of hinting at the wider story - at teasing another layer to the mythos surrounding Maligula, one whose ripples we see throughout the game but which never quite breaches the surface.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #bored waiting at the airport so you get more psychonauts meta from me #the delugionists have been on my mind recently (because i Might Just have an upcoming au lorepost about them and also cults are fun)#so tossing my thoughts up here because people seemed to like the last few times i did this #and also it's my blog and i like to talk :)#related vent i HATE drafting posts in the tumblr editor because if you hit crtl+z to try and undo a formatting change #it deletes like half the post you just typed out #(yes i did it again while i was writing this. yes i'm still salty. why do i even bother)#what else... this is just becoming a disconnected thoughts dump #but if you've seen my posts you knew what you were signing up for when you hit the button to expand the post tags #there's new art coming hopefully this weekend if i can get it finished! it's more mermaid au designs #i'm two and a half weeks late for mermay but it turns out starting a new job and moving house doesn't leave you with a ton of free time #but that's okay it's never too late for mermaids #omg and artfight's coming up next month too! geez #i gotta make refsheets for the fsau trio because i would LOVE to get art of them #and this year i don't have a thesis to crunch on so i might actually have time to participate #oh and then in august i'm having top surgery! will make a proper announcement post for it at some point #i say 'announcement'. it's just a life update but it's nice to share #i'm super excited about it :)#i might end up blogging the process and recovery but obviously it won't be going here lol. i'd put it on my main #idk if anyone would find it useful but when i first started looking into surgery i had like very little idea about the whole process #and it's only through joining a bunch of online support/discussion groups that i managed to find more info and resources #so hey it might be useful to share? we'll see #our flight doesn't land for another fifty minutes so now i'm just writing in the tags because i'm bored #alright i'll proofread this and then post it when i land and have signal again. peace out yall hope your pride month is going well

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