#did I get everybody

[uncharted-constellations]

Them, your honor

Anyways thank you echoes for giving poor a-ttp link a rest

[mikayesha]

Unecessary Feelings

[introspectivememories]

been watching mashle and oh my god, the eugenics???? the way lance's parents were so ready to give up their daughter??? no second thought???? just "why did this child have to be born to us?"???? um everyone talking in mash's face about how non-magic people are inherently worthless???? the triple line dude fucking making dolls out of people and somehow no one??? is??? checking him???? and then when questioned immediately jumping into "well humans are little more than mindless beasts and i will become a creator deity and reshape the world in my liking!"????? the, um, corruption in the government??? the way this story is so clearly "h*rry p*tter if it was actually funny"??? the slytherin coded characters are blood purists???? they took out hufflepuff??? one of the magia lupus' mage's powerset was just big shuriken???? another one is rip off kisame???? lance is a siscon and the first thing mash says is "that doesn't make it better"???? lemon is genuinely so fuckin funny??? dot is incel-coded but like in a funny way??? dot says that lance is playing life on "easy mode" cause lance has a good face??? dot likes tea??? dot has good manners??? everybody only has one spell they can use??? finn ames is like if you transported is regular human into this stupid ass world??? i think the old man and the cop have explored each others bodies.

[mbohjeezart]

[ WIP ]

Bring a goat to a courthouse...

[claraoswalds]

The sky's a burnt orange, with the Citadel enclosed in a mighty glass dome, shining under the twin suns. Beyond that, the mountains go on forever. Slopes of deep red grass, capped with snow.

The Legend of Ruby Sunday // The Sound of Drums

[starflungwaddledee]

alas, it seems the christmas mystery shall remain unsolved 🎁 happy holidays!

[eccentricmya]

The Valar's mistake did not lie in seeing a possibility of good in Melkor. Rather, their mistake lay in not seeing the equal possibility of him remaining evil.

[minhosblr]

Minho playing with kittens for 12 minutes straight (aka the kitten interview)

Bonus

[mikkeneko]

....now considering whether I want to write a 'Find the shapeshifters' fic for SVSSS too

[rocketbirdie]

kunsel dump

[sinnabee]

You do moons ass Mondays right

so do suns ass Sundays

your wish is my command, anon

everyone say hello to sun ass sunday. but of course, as the rule goes... suns out? guns out. >:3c

i will be barring the castle doors and fortifying my defenses in preparation for the uprising, but no, i am not sorry for this

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[spacedlexi]

i had the pleasure of working on the talanah path for focus on the heart 💗 youll have to give it a play if youd like to see the full res image for yourself :)

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when a character says the name of the episode

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part Two

Part One

-

Cellbit gets an email notification as Bagi is driving him home from the hospital.

As expected, Bagi is royally pissed about him ending up in the hospital again. She's even more upset over him getting to meet her criminal before she could. She's even more upset over the fact that Cellbit refuses to tell her anything about what he saw outside of an interrogation room.

"It can be off the record!" she offers, dangling the opportunity to gossip over Cellbit's head like a set of shiny keys.

But Cellbit just shakes his head and sighs, slumping in his seat; the seatbelt cuts into his throat uncomfortably, but he really feels like he needs the grounding right now.

Hombre Misterioso... the Federation's most recent nuisance, a bloodthirsty emo killer in a gas mask and a cape, and a goddamn fanboy.

Cellbit's stomach curls at the thought of Hombre Misterioso going through his stuff while he was passed out on the sidewalk. He already knows about his camera- it's been confiscated by Bagi to be used as evidence- but what about his wallet? His face?

Obviously, Cellbit's mask was off when he woke up at the hospital. The nurses removed it, or the paramedics did in the ambulance. Or. Or Hombre Misterioso did. They want Enigma on their side, of course they would try and find his civilian identity.

Bagi, frustrated, turns the radio up so she doesn't start arguing. (She has a strict 'no arguing after the hospital' policy.)

It's music. Bagi hates listening to the news. She isn't Cellbit, after all. She is the news, she doesn't hear it when she's not at work.

Cellbit looks down at his phone. There's a text notification from the man from the hospital. It's just a smiley face and his name, Roier, so his number went through.

Roier agreed to Bagi's request for testimony immediately. He set a time and a date to meet her at the station, and then he left... but not before making sure that Cellbit got his phone number and that he got Cellbit's.

("Just in case," he had said.

Cellbit had raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing at his lips. "In case of what?"

Roier just shrugged and winked, and Bagi, in the corner talking with a doctor, had gagged. Physically.)

And then there's the email notification: '1 New Email: Regarding Your Photos...'.

Cellbit turns his phone off. Flips it over so it's face-down in his lap and he doesn't have to think about it.

-

Late that night, Cellbit tries to sleep. But, every time he closes his eyes, he sees glass. Feels paper against his skin. Smells Isopropanol.

Richarlyson is with Felps for the next few days so Cellbit can recover in peace, so Cellbit isn't too worried about anyone seeing him as he rolls out of bed and drags himself and his phone to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Glass under the faucet, Cellbit scrubs at his face with his free hand. What time is it, anyway?

Glass filled, Cellbit sits at the table and opens his camera roll. Goes to the album dedicated to pictures of Richarlyson. Smiles softly into his water.

Richarlyson is... afraid of the cold. He always wears a knit hat to keep his ears warm. He wears long-sleeved shirts under his favorite jersey. He sleeps with five blankets on his bed even in the summer.

Even with Richarlyson gone, Cellbit's apartment is like a sauna. Hence the water: Cellbit would dehydrate otherwise.

One picture in the album is of Richarlyson doing a handstand in front of the judge at the family court Cellbit and Richarlyson's other parents all had to go to to get equal custody of him. Pac is making a peace sign, Felps is holding Richarlyson's legs so he doesn't fall, Cellbit is dabbing, and Bagi is dabbing in the opposite direction; Mike is behind the camera, unwilling to have his photo taken in a court of law.

Cellbit understands being afraid of the cold. He used to cry if he wasn't wearing at least two layers at all times; the orphanage beat that out of him quickly, though.

Richarlyson won't ever have that happen to him. He works on his own fear one step at a time, at his own pace, and in his own time. And Cellbit will be with him every step of the way.

Yawning, Cellbit accidentally swipes a bit too forcefully from the top of his screen and opens the notification center. And right there, once again, is the email notification: '1 New Email: Regarding Your Photos...'.

He stares at it.

He stares at it for a long time.

He's so focused on it that he doesn't realize that his water is spilling too far out of his glass until it's hitting his legs.

Swearing, he puts his glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose. (He is an adult.)

His thumb moves on its own. It taps the email notification and opens the email, and there it is. The email. From the email notification.

From Cucurucho.

Mr. Balanar, It has come to our attention at the Federation of Heroes that you have been attacked by a villain near our headquarters. We here at the Federation of Heroes offer our sincerest apologies. No citizen of Q City should feel unsafe walking the streets, and no citizen should ever be harmed so close to safety. Attached to this email is a $10 coupon for a Federation of Heroes-affiliated business of your choice. Take this as a sign of our apologies, and as a promise that we will keep you safe in the future. In addition to this matter, I would like to personally discuss the photographs taken by the villain on your camera. I would like to offer you a compensation of your choice in exchange for these photos as well as any you may take in the future of this specific villain. It would be of extreme benefit to Q City and to the Federation of Heroes. We must eradicate villainy from the streets of the city at any cost, and the cost is up to you. Monetary compensation for civilians can reach up to $50 per photo. Perhaps you could use this to take your family to the new Federation of Heroes: Avengers Assemble!! stage show opening in a few weeks. Thank you for doing business with us. C.B. Cucurucho, Civilian Liaison, Federation of Heroes

Cellbit doesn't even hesitate before deleting the email. His hands shake as he does, though, and his chest heaves with pained breaths, and his stomach turns and bubbles, and his blood boils.

Literally.

He doesn't mind the pain, though.

It just warms him up.

(He hates the cold.)

-

He gets a phone call a few days later as he's rewrapping the bandage around his hand.

Unknown number.

Before answering, he makes sure his super illegal recording app is, well, recording.

And then he accepts the call, putting it on speaker so he can keep messing with his bandage.

"Hello?" he greets, running through his professional monologue in his head. Just in case. It could be a client, who knows?

Silence.

Cellbit frowns.

"Hello," he repeats, firmer. "Can I help you?"

Nothing but a crackle from the other end of the line. Almost like popcorn, but slower. On a loop, as if it's breathing. FWOOSH-fwoosh, FWOOSH-fwoosh.

He's about to hang up when a familiar voice sends a chill down his spine:

"Aquarium," says Hombre Misterioso. "Saturday. Midnight. We need to talk."

"Oh, we do not," Cellbit scowls. He scoops the phone up, bandages be damned, and holds it close to his mouth so the bastard can hear every ounce of distaste in his voice as he continues, "I don't know you. You don't know me. We have no business with each other. At all."

Hombre Misterioso just laughs, slow and deliberate and... pained? There's a thin line of something seeping through their voice changer, what is it?

"Funny!" Hombre Misterioso exclaims. "I'll see you on Saturday, mi enigmito."

And then they hang up.

And Cellbit realizes that they did look at everything, after all. His camera, his wallet, his phone.

And him.

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

I am going to make maia arson crimew CEO of this webbed site, as it deserves to be. This is both a threat and a promise.