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duckapus · 6 years

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So a longish time ago I posted a series of drawings on Deviantart depicting the main Fairly Oddparents kids as superheros post-series. These are those drawings, along with some explanations for each.

Guardian(note: needs a better name): Every three generations, a child of the Tang family line is chosen as a mystical guardian of light. Each guardian is approached by a spirit animal on the fourth day of the fourth month after their twelfth birthday, who will grant them their spirit vessel (a magical body designed specifically for fighting evil spirits) and act as a guide and partner through their many battles. Beatrix “Trixie” Tang was destined to be the latest iteration of the guardian. This is Veronica Star, who is very much regretting putting on her wig today. At least her new mentor Derek has the decency to look sheepish about the mix-up.

For those wondering, I only noticed how similar Veronica’s magical girl form is to Galacta Knight after drawing her.

Deep Toot: After Cleft became Dimmsdale’s first full-time superhero, Tootie was inspired to redesign and re-purpose her Deep Toot persona, taking inspiration from The Question in particular. As Deep Toot she is incredibly subdued and grounded in reality, acting as a foil to Cleft’s quick wit and comic book-style methods.

Ringo: Since Veronica ended up with the powers Trixie was supposed to have, I decided to have the April Fool take her under his wing. Her powers are a kid friendly version of the ones from The Mask, and she’s rarely seen without her smiley-face mallet.

Professor Fist: Basically, a bunch of robots were rampaging across the city and AJ strapped on part of a Mech Suit he was building so he could deal with them. No-one in Dimmsdale realized it was him because it’s Dimmsdale, the media gave him a stupid name that stuck, and he decided to keep going with the whole hero thing. He doesn’t really care about his secret identity, since he doesn’t have one outside of Dimmsdale.

Matter Muncher Lad: “KND Research File Project Codename: B.R.A.C.E.R. (Biological Restructuring Advances Combat Effectiveness Radically) Project Purpose: Replicate effect of "Supersoldier Syrum" compound on Captain Steven Rogers during World War 2 for use on Kids Next Door Operatives. Project Status: Success, exceeds expectations, currently unrepeatable due to time travel. Notes: Project Bracer originated in an alternate timeline where a person known only as Marianne took over the world during World War 1 via a combination of Fairy Magic and information provided by a magic-based clone of herself from the modern day. The Nazi splinter group Hydra still managed to form under these conditions, and began Project Bracer in an attempt to dethrone Marianne and take her place. This was noticed by both Marianne's followers and the Resistance Next Door, our counterparts in that timeline. Both sides tore Hydra apart and seized what resources they could. This is when Project Bracer as we know it truly began. Closer to modern day, two boys with knowledge of the original timeline appeared; Chester McBadbat and Albert "AJ" Johnson Jr.(Codename Professor Fist) The duo quickly encountered and joined the RND, regaining their memories of aiding their friend Timmy Turner on his adventures in the process. Now armed with the knowledge of how Marianne's rule came to be, Chester and AJ were sent along with a strike team to take Marianne's primary fortress and utilize the same Time Machine her clone used. The strike team consisted of Sector V itself, Phineas Flynn (Codename The Beak) and Bubbles Utonium (Codename Agent Bullet, and the last surviving Utonium in that timeline). Chester's lack of combat experience and unique equipment compared to the rest of the strike team was remedied by becoming the first successful subject of Project Bracer. In addition to the overall enhancement intended, Chester gained a near-bottomless stomach, teeth and jaws that could chew through any material at incredible speeds, and an unusual effect on his braces, permanently fusing them to his teeth and turning them into biomechanical excavation equipment, augmenting his already unprecedented chewing ability. He took the Codename Matter Muncher Lad after discovering these new abilities as a reference to one of his previous adventures. The plan was to free Cosmo and Wanda, Marianne's Fairy Godparents -Particularly Cosmo, as he was the Fortress's power source- and have them lead the way to the Time Machine. The plan worked, albeit with a few complications, and the team even got two new members in the form of invader Zim and GIR, who had been captured soon after landing on Earth two years earlier and researched by Marianne's scientists. The group managed to get to World War 1, where things get fuzzy. What is known is that Bullet died at some point (despite being a Powerpuff Girl in a time where most weapons shouldn't have been able to bruise her), Chester managed to become a war hero in the eyes of that time period's Kids Next Door, Marianne gained the same powers as Chester as a result of a wish, and both Chester and Marianne were lost at sea, only to be frozen until, in Chester's case, his team found him again in the modern day. Chester has agreed to let us study his abilities and DNA in hopes of restoring Project Bracer, though he insists on his work as Matter Muncher Lad be strictly as an independent vigilante. Still, he has been, and likely will continue to be, a great ally in the fight against adult tyranny. This is Number 17, signing off. Kids Next Door Rules.”

Cleft and Catgirl: This one’s pretty simple. Timmy decided to become a full-time superhero after realizing his battles with the enemies he’s made over the years, Chloe wanted to help, they redesigned the costumes they had on hand and started fighting the good fight.

The Masked Magician: So, Elmer is one of my favorite characters. Because of this, I've made him the most potentially powerful of the superheroes. His powers are a book-themed actalike of Doctor Strange, his hero identity is my second favorite of Timmy's transformations, and he has direct access to Maginary World/ the mindscape/ the dream realm/ whatever you happen to call the collective subconscious of every being in a particular universe. And his partner is NiGHTS, one of the best underused video game characters of all time. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm going to assume it involves some greater destiny-type stuff. He doesn’t have his Boil because Bob gained a body of his own, which I’ll explain some other time.

Polterpunk: Due to an incident where he got caught in the middle of a big fight, Sanjay ended up becoming roughly twelve percent ghost. As a result, he can turn intangible, almost invisible, create energy weapons out of ectoplasm, and has glowing purple eyes. unfortunately, he can't fly, there's no strength boost, and he has no transformation. He also can't get his eyes back to normal and shows up on ghost tracking equipment. Currently he's being trained by Dani Phantom and Cleft, since his condition was partially their fault.

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mintchocolateleaves · 7 years

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Law Unto Themselves (1/??)

And so I’ve started a whole new fic. Because I can. An AU in which people’s alignments are switched. The GB are members of the Black Org, and the BO members are police investigators. [ @bakathief look I wrote it.]

Summary: There are many words people would use to describe Kudo Shinichi and his associates. Crow, is not one of them. And yet he’s still a figurehead in a mass organisation, wearing the colour black. Dark ! AU

For every action there is a reaction.

In the case of Masuyama Kenzo, a police investigator who's been investigating an organisation swathed in black for the last ten years, the action is research. And the reaction – well...

He takes a deep breath – he's too old to keep investigating like this, but well, it's the job he'd been working on before retiring, and retirement itself had been a good cover to try and learn more information. At seventy-one, he feels almost like it's too much to keep actively searching for more clues.

Working alongside the FBI has made things easier, even if it's made it harder as well. He's not sure he can keep sneaking into bars any more under the premise that he's meeting an old friend. His bones are too frail for that, and maybe he's retained a higher level of fitness compared to other men his age but, well, he's still not as young as he used to be.

“I'm going in,” Masuyama says, forcing himself forward as he glances at a warehouse through a pair of binoculars. He's spent days trying to get information on one of the Organisation's smuggling operations, and he's not sure whether it's the trade of drugs or weaponry, but either one is going to bear fruits if the police can narrow in on them.

He doesn't know who he's talking to – there's no one around, and he's not expecting any urgent calls. He's waiting for a call, although his phone's on silent and he knows that he's probably not going to answer. He's promised to phone the head of their unit if he finds anything concrete, but Masuyama hopes that he doesn't. All of this talk about conspiracies within Japan...

Sometimes he doesn't want to believe that there's another organisation pulling the strings. If they can get proof that it's just the Yakuza causing an influx in crimes across Japan... but well... It's not just Japan. According to the information he and the FBI have put together, this organisation is transnational.

“Okay,” Masuyama says to himself, and steps down from the metal staircase he'd been leaning on, onto gravel and pavement. The pier is dark tonight, the moon hidden, unable to illuminate anything. All that lights the sky are stars, some of them dead but still shining, the others alive yet dull.

It's the perfect night for illegal happenings. There is little light; The evening air is crisp enough that every sound echoes, drifting towards the ears of anyone standing near the sea. Sometimes a light shines from a passing car, illuminating the space between Masuyama and the warehouse he's heading towards.

They've planned for this, Masuyama knows they have. Those he's tracking, well, he'd be stupid to think no one would try to listen in on their dealings, they've not become so hidden, so prosperous, without being cautious.

He creeps forwards, pushes himself nearer until he's certain that he's going to be able to make it to the warehouse without light illuminating his path. Each step he takes is composed, and he's glad that he's worn the shoes with rubber soles and not the steel toe-caps he'd thought of putting on this morning when he'd left the house.

Only years of police work keep his footsteps from echoing in the night.

He makes it to the back of the warehouse without being seen, and Masuyama rubs at his moustache, attempts to think of the best course of action to take now. There are steps around the back, metal, but it shouldn't be too much work to climb up them and convince those inside that any creaking sounds have been caused by the wind.

From there, he's sure he'll be able to climb in through one of the broken windows, scoot across to a spot where he can hide. And then, if he's lucky, he'll be able to film the deal going on without anyone noticing him.

Masuyama isn't stupid. He knows what the chances are. But... well, he's been working this case for years now, and frankly, he just wants it to be over. If that means taking a few risks... well, it's not like he's going to be missing out on decades worth of life. He's already lived – sometimes he thinks he's running off of fumes.

He decides to climb the stairs. They complain under his feet, quietly, as if they too, know what's at stake, and Masuyama bites his tongue to keep from cursing the stupid metal as he reaches the first window. It's not broken, and a quick tug against the window shows that it's locked.

The second window is locked as well – as is the third.

It's impossible to suppress the sigh of relief that rises from his throat when the final window is unlocked. Well... it's not unlocked, per se, but it has been broken, shards of shattered glass remaining on the sill. He leans forward, glad that he's worn gloves, and pulls himself forward, trying not to wince in pain when glass digs through the material into his skin. Luckily, it's only a single shard, and he pulls it out as his feet crunch against glass.

Masuyama crouches down, crawls towards the side of the balcony and takes a moment to simply listen.

“The amount of trouble you've caused me in these past few days...” The voice is familiar, one that Masuyama recognises, and he's not sure where he's heard it exactly, but it's a lot colder than he remembers. Chilling, almost emotionless.

He shuffles forward a bit more, notices the faintest crack in the balcony and leans forward to look through it. He bites his tongue again, pressing his face against the wall so that he can see the largely lit room below. There's a van inside – painted black, the number plate one that Masuyama has seen show up on that of a missing motorbike.

The van isn't the important part, Masuyama tells himself, and tears his attention away, gazing at the people milling about instead. It's difficult to see faces, three men are facing away from him, and he's fairly certain it's one of them who've spoken.

There are three others, standing opposite, appearing as if they're from overseas. They're slightly tanned, southern European at a guess, although he supposes they could be from Northern America. It's not like they're the ones who're speaking.

Others move around from behind them, moving small crates from between the six higher-ups, hauling them towards the van and heaving them into the back. If Masuyama can count correctly, then there are at least eight crates, plywood sheathed, with pallet-like bottoms, and he's certain that they're at least a metre long, with a depth of at least half a metre.

Guns then, he concludes. In his experience as a police officer, drugs have always been transported in smaller crates. It's easier to hide them in groups of cargo containers, because if there are more crates, then it's harder for police to check every single one.

“I think that it'd be in your interest,” the voice from before continues, and it is callous, heartless enough to force a shiver down Masuyama's spine. “if this thing finishes here, now, today, you understand?”

Below, the foreigners give sharp nods, looking almost fearful. Not that Masuyama can blame them, simply hearing the voice sends shivers down his spine, he can hardly imagine the face that it belongs to.

“Sir...?”

“I want the three of you on the next flight out of Japan.” The voice says, and it really is recognisable, Masuyama just doesn't know from where. And then, a small piece of the puzzle clicks into place: He's heard that voice when he's been inside the police station.

Does this mean... No...

He reaches into his pocket, for his phone, but freezes when he feels a presence behind him. Seconds before, he'd not heard anyone moving, hadn't felt even the slightest shift in the air. Now he feels it, feels the breath on his neck as he closes his eyes.

“What's this,” comes a masculine voice from behind him, playful, filled with a mutated form of cheer. “we've got a ghost in the rafters?”

Masuyama opens his eyes, turns to face the man. He doesn't have the time to focus on his face in the dark however, because within an instant, there's a blunt force thwacking against his skull, knocking him unconscious.

He slumps forward, and doesn't have the time to wonder whether he will wake up again.

Somehow, he does.

He opens his eyes and he's laying face down against concrete. All he can see are shoes, some shined, the others dull and caked with mud. His brain pounds against his skull, but somehow Masuyama is still alive.

He's not sure whether this is a good thing. If he's alive, they can extract information from him, torture him in ways he can't quite fathom.

And then two shoes step forwards – the shinier ones, more classy, one of the higher-ups, Masuyama assumes – each step loud, echoing within the warehouse.

“You've woken up,” comes the voice from before, and it sounds only the slightest bit annoyed. Masuyama doesn't move, decides to try and play at being unconscious. “Oh please, you don't think I'd fall for that do you? Time to look up.”

Masuyama does. And his eyes widen at what he sees.

“Oh yes,” Kudo Shinichi says, and his eyes are as cold as ice, his gaze almost staring through him. How hadn't he recognised that voice before? “That's the expression I so wanted to see.”

There is a moment where all of Masuyama's thoughts fail him, and he's not sure whether he knows how to breathe, not really. Instead, he stares across, trying to school his expression into one of calm. Trying to act as if he'd known, at least suspected.

(He hadn't.)

He tears his gaze past Kudo. Behind him are three men – one he doesn't recognise, probably just a random worker who offers protection during deals. The second, looks scarcely similar to Kudo himself, except, with messier hair. Where the others are wearing suits, he wears a shirt, and a black jacket, looking almost informal compared to the others.

And the third: Hattori Heiji. Kudo's partner in the Tokyo metropolitan police department, the two of them some of the best homicide detective's he's ever met. He hadn't thought that their best detectives would be... members of an organisation.

His stomach churns.

“You were rather quiet,” Kudo continues, and he crouches down in front of Masuyama, looking the part of intimidating organisation member purely because of his frown. “You know, when you were hiding up there? Kind of like a ghost up there, weren't you?”

Masuyama swallows, nervousness sweating out from his pores. He doesn't say anything.

Kudo continues, “you see, we've got our own phantom who watches over the warehouse. Aren't we lucky that he managed to notice you on your way in?”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Masuyama pushes himself up, stares across at the man, having bitten into his tongue. His eyes flicker to the man who looks a lot like Kudo, and he notices almost faintly that there's blood on the butt of the gun he's holding in his hands.

His blood.

“You're one of them.” Masuyama says. He sounds dejected, almost as if this shock overrides any other emotions he could feel on the matter. “I can't believe you two are...”

He trails off when he feels the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. It's loud enough that the others notice it too, and Kudo leans forward, slides his hand into Masuyama's jacket pocket to retrieve the phone that's inside. Masuyama doesn't move an inch – how can he when everyone seems to be armed but him?

“Oh, you seem popular,” Kudo says, as he glances down at the phone. He reads the caller ID, nods to himself. “Ah, it's Gin.”

Gin?

Kudo glances back at him, and for a moment, he looks almost disappointed that Masuyama doesn't understand what he's talking about. He lets out a sigh, shakes his head. “All you investigators, you've got nicknames, don't you see?”

Masuyama bites his tongue, tries not to ask why exactly Gin's is... Gin.

“Like you, you're Pisco. Gin's stupid helper, that's Vodka.” He pauses, looks down at the phone again, turns back to Masuyama with an almost... bored expression. An alcohol theme... Pisco almost wants to ask why, but it seems a stupid thing to ask.

Kudo beckons his look-alike closer, and the man takes several steps, one after another until he's standing just beside the other man. His gun is cocked, and he points it directly at Masuyama.

After another second, Kudo answers the phone. His fingers click against the volume until it's loud enough for everyone to hear Gin's voice on the other side of the phone, without them having to press answer-phone.

“Masuyama. I need you to give me that disc you promised me–”

For a moment, no one talks. And then, Masuyama watches as Kudo's lips lift into the smallest smirk, alive, but not fully. There is something frozen there, the dark expression of a killer, of someone not afraid to harm others for his own personal gain. Kudo sends a sharp nod towards his look-alike.

Into the phone he says, “if you want your friend to hear you, you'll have to talk a lot louder than that.”

Then, there is a flash. And a bang as a bullet leaves the chamber.

Masuyama Kenzo – Pisco – slumps to the ground, dead. Blood oozes from his skull, a deep, thick red that pools around his head as his forehead crashes against the pavement.

Kudo Shinichi hangs the phone up without another word. He glances towards Hattori Heiji, points back at the newly-formed corpse and takes a step towards the exit to the warehouse, not even bothering to watch the body drop. “Get a cleaning crew for that, won't you?”

In the end – every action has a reaction.

And there's no reaction, quite like a Kudo reaction.

[Next Chapter]

#New fics!!#It's gonna be a dark fic just warning you now #I feel like this was a necessary contribution to fandom #please tell me what you guys think #DCMK #Detective Conan #Kudo Shinichi #Kuroba Kaito #Hattori Heiji #Pisco (Detective Conan)#Gin (Detective Conan)#black organization #fic: Law unto themselves #mywriting

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