#Time Bomb fic

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

Time Bomb

Words: 2119 (AO3)

Originally Posted on 8/9/2022

Summary:

Case #XXX1812: Statement of Bakugou Katsuki, regarding a classmate's impossible quirk. Original Statement given 18 December, 2XXX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

My eighth bad things happen bingo entry! Prompt: Confrontation

The tape recorder is clicked on.

Statement of Bakugou Katsuki, regarding a classmate's impossible quirk. Original Statement given 18 December, 2XXX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

I didn't always look like this. I mean- obviously I didn't, nobody pops out the womb with burn scars that take up half their damn face and neck. I'm used to it, though, used to the quick glances as people pretend not to stare, used to the too-invasive questions, used to the looks of pity that people have when they're forced to look at me.

That's the worst part about it. Not having to relearn how to move my face and how to even talk, not the permanent change to my voice, not even the phantom pain it still gives me sometimes. No, it's the pity that's the worst, as though I'm so pathetic for what happened to me.

I saw the look the secretary gave me. I have every confidence that you would be the same, so this one's going on paper. Besides, who knows if my voice would give out before I'm done? It probably would, in all honesty. I can't even really yell anymore, of course I can't talk for extended periods of time.

At least I already knew sign language.

I looked normal until about four months ago. Everything was normal until then- well, as normal as it can be, when villains attack our class every other month. Everyone seemed to be- normal.

Nobody can have multiple quirks. Nobody. That's pretty much the first thing you learn about quirks, when you're three years old and waiting for yours. Unless you have some kind of meta-quirk that's specifically designed to hold multiple quirks, your body just can't handle the strain of more than one. That's probably why Noumus are so braindead, it's too much power for their minds to handle.

So even if it seems like somebody was born with multiple quirks, it's usually multiple facets of a singular quirk, like the production of fire and ice both being auxiliary parts of an advanced thermoregulation quirk, if you want to get real technical about the mess Half-n-Half's got going on. Those two facets are related, they have to be, if it's one quirk.

So how do you scientifically explain the correlation between having a tail- a completely normal, run-of-the-mill tail- and being made of molten wax?

Ojiro Mashirao was normal. He was one of my classmates, and though we didn't talk much, he seemed alright. He was dedicated to martial arts, which I can respect, and he was overall less idiotic than most of the extras in our class. He kept to himself, pretty much, which I didn't really blame him for, considering our peers and their... everything.

He handled everything with a weird sort of calm about him, and I honestly thought that he was just that skilled in the art of not giving a shit, which, again, I can respect. He kept a level head through multiple villain attacks, many instances of people's bullshit, and pretty much anything that UA threw at us. He only really reacted to anything with shock or surprise before calming down and doing what needed to be done. It made him a decent person to be around in a disaster, but by that point in the year, most people's natural reactions to major events was becoming something similar.

So, all in all, he was pretty fuckin' boring.

Maybe if I was closer to him, I'd have noticed the signs sooner. He must have shown them, right? Something like that... it couldn't have happened without some kind of warning.

Maybe what started it wasn't the argument, not really. Maybe it was that battle simulation when the building fell on him, or the rescue simulation where the gas somehow ignited in the building he was in, causing it to explode- we'd actually thought he'd died, for a moment, before he came out covered in ash and no worse for wear.

Maybe it started even earlier than that.

Thinking back on it now, I do remember a few comments that he made, on occasion, that might have led to worry if everybody else wasn't ten times as unhinged. Just... wondering aloud why the League of Villains hadn't been raided with all their things burned to ash, asking if anybody else was going so stir-crazy in the dorms that they wanted to set fire to the place, asking if being more destructive would actually get him noticed like everybody else.

Thinking about that... yeah. He probably bottled shit up. Nobody knew that he was going to do- that, though.

In hindsight, there were a few other things that didn't seem to quite add up. The way that the temperature used to rise around him sometimes, even when IcyHot was nowhere nearby, the way that he stopped eating most cold foods- I know because the ice cream in the freezer that had his name on it went untouched for ages, even in summer- and just... other things.

His tail started reminding me of a torch, actually. I don't really know why. It just- it started looking like a small fireball at the end of it, instead of the tuft of hair that it really was.

So maybe there were signs. But they were subtle, and subtle really isn't anybody's thing. This class jumps from one major crisis to the next, there's no time for emotional detective work between people who weren't friends, and Ojiro and I... we weren't friends. I had my own people to deal with. He had his own people to deal with him.

So all of this- it all happened before the argument. The big one. It started because of something stupid, really- he was using my cast-iron pan, and I had no way to trust that he actually knew how to clean cast-iron cookware. So I yelled at him for it, told him not to use other people's shit without permission.

I expected him to back down. He generally did, unless he thought someone was being really unreasonable, at which point he might argue. He'd never yelled back at anyone before. I'd never heard him swear before, either.

"Why the fuck do you care?" He sharply asked the moment I took a breath- not quite a shout, not quite matching my volume, but certainly louder than anything I'd heard from him before.

"Because it's my pan, asshole! Do you even know how to clean it?" The thing on the stove was still sizzling, though it started getting louder at the same time the kitchen started getting hotter. I didn't really take note, at the time, since I was too busy being pissed off.

He stepped back from the stove and fully faced me, showing set shoulders and a tight jaw. He must actually be mad, huh, is all I thought to myself when I saw it.

Not once did I think I was in danger.

"Do you actually think I'm so lazy I can't even clean a pan?" His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides, and I stepped back, just slightly, so that I wasn't in front of the stove at all.

I didn't even really think before I opened my mouth.

"Yeah, I do. So wh- " That's all I could get out before I was interrupted.

I saw it in slow-motion. The balling of his fist, the pull back, the execution. All of it. I knew I couldn't dodge it in time, so I expected to just roll with it and knock some sense into the fucker.

That's not what happened.

The second it landed, all I knew was pain. It wasn't the dull pain of impact, either, no.

It was the sharp sting of a burn.

It blossomed up my jawline, right at the point of impact, and as he moved his fist for the follow-through, it started to angle downward.

Ojiro was shorter than me, by a good margin. He could punch me in the jaw, yes, but that meant if I didn't dodge or roll with it he'd be hitting my neck pretty quickly, given the angle he was working with.

I didn't dodge. I was in too much shock to roll with it.

Have you ever felt your skin melt in real time? I felt my cheek sloping down as the heat crawled up my face, I felt my throat warp and twist with the impact. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't even scream.

Just as soon as it started, it was over. I nearly brought my hand up to my face, before I realized that the new smell in the air was my own burning flesh. I considered that touching it might have been unwise, so I didn't.

Ojiro, for his part, just backed up, staring at my face like a slack-jawed idiot. He looked down at his hand, so I did, too.

His fingers were dripping. It looked absurdly like he was melting, somehow, but then I saw the way the light reflected off his hand. It wasn't skin, couldn't have been.

It was wax.

He looked back up at me, with a panicked look on his face. I wasn't going to help him. I couldn't, not when half of my head felt like it was aflame, not when my vision was darkening at the edges from the pain, not when my legs felt like they were about to collapse from under me.

He backed away, and ran out the door. I slumped against the counter, and then everything went dark.

I woke up in the nurse's office.

Apparently I'd been found on the kitchen floor when the smoke alarms went off. The skin on my face had already cooled enough that it was going to scar no matter what Recovery Girl did, not to mention the damage to my throat.

My voice will never be the same. I can't yell, I can't talk for a solid period of time, it takes effort to be audible at all. It sucks ass.

The teachers didn't even believe me, not at first. They thought I was embarrassed about fainting while cooking, or some horseshit like that. When I kept signing about that bastard, they said something about how Ojiro had gone outside for the smoke alarm, though when I kept insisting that they go find him, he was gone.

Nobody could find him anywhere, he'd just vanished. Exactly like I predicted, actually. I knew he'd vanish after a stunt like that, of course he would, considering the proof that he's working for the League is carved into my fucking face.

Getting a second quirk must have been the boon that he wanted in order to join up, right? The teachers finally caught on, and they seem to think so too. They're convinced that Ojiro was the UA traitor, which is a sentiment I don't disagree with.

It would be impossible for him to do that naturally. So, either the mysteriously vanishing asshole's a medical miracle, or he was working for the League. I know which one I believe. I just- I just don't know how the hell he was still functional, like that.

Statement ends.

- This Statement, though originally written in Japanese, is the first in a large batch that got sent over from China, along with English translations. The audio recording is of the English translation, so it may not be entirely perfect or accurate to the events recounted in the original Statement, but I've been assured that if concerns should arise about the quality of the translation, we do have some translators on staff, including some for Japanese-to-English and the inverse.

- That being said, from what Sasha was able to find, this Statement does seem to hold up to scrutiny. I would actually wonder why it was made at all, considering that this seems to be more of a scientific mystery than a paranormal one, if the boy in question- Ojiro- wasn't so adept at remaining sane while his body was likely straining quite a bit with the power of multiple quirks. In addition, this "new quirk" sounds vaguely familiar, I believe that there has been a Statement on people made of wax before, what was it... Case number 0121102, I believe.

- Nobody at UA, the high school that both boys attended when this Statement was given, was available for comment, and Bakugou himself left no contact information. From what I can tell, he seems to be attempting to move on from this incident, and is recovering from his injury as well as can be expected.

- End recording.

The tape recorder is clicked off.

[giantkillerjack]

Me: hm, I want something to put on the TV as background noise... Huh. Looks like YouTube is recommending something called The Last Unicorn. That's perfect, it's probably some old shitty animation that has aged poorly! I can watch it ironically!

Me, 2 hours later as the credits roll: *crying, cheering, buying the book, composing the songs*

Me, 2 weeks later: So I have compiled all of the quotes from the book that I think could make good tattoos, and also, HOW HAVE I NEVER LEARNED ABOUT HOW THE LAST UNICORN FUCKING SLAPS??? This gay-ass little fairytale fed my soul! Watered my crops! Transed my gender! Can't believe I heard of this story from youtube recommendations, of all places!!

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmate AU: First Words + End of the World ; requested by @justwannabecat!

Duke has long since accepted that he doesn’t have great luck. Most things in his life tend to go wrong very quickly, or complicate situations he was already struggling in (see: being a meta and getting his powers in the middle of a fight). Having an incomprehensible soulmark is an unpleasant discovery on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, but not entirely unexpected.

He had been hoping for something simple, a common one like hi it’s nice to meet you or sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you.

What Duke gets instead isn’t even words. 

Scrawled across his left hipbone is a string of symbols glowing a faint green. They’re not in a language he recognizes, and the symbols seem to move, shifting ever so slightly so they look different every time he blinks.

“Well,” he says after a solid five minutes of staring into the mirror, unable to rip his eyes off his soulmate’s words, “I hope theirs looks nicer than mine.”

He spends his birthday in a bit of a daze, enjoying time spent with the Waynes and his friends. It’s hard to be fully present when he’s all too aware of the soreness on his hipbone flaring up each time he moves. It’s hard to keep his mind off of it, wanting nothing more than to search for answers, unravel the mystery of his soulmate’s first words.

“Something on your mind?” Jason asks, as the attention shifts off of him for a brief moment as Harper and Cullen get ready to leave and everyone rushes to give their goodbyes,

Duke shrugs, carefully keeping his hands still so they don’t drift to where his soulmark is hidden beneath his clothes. “Yeah. Nothing you need to worry about, though.”

Jason looks him over critically, then nods. 

Duke resigns himself to being investigated by the rest of the Bats. If he’s off enough that Jason had to comment on it, then that means everyone’s noticed and are trying to figure out what’s happened. They’re not going to ask him, because they think he needs space to work through whatever’s got him so distracted, but they’re also not going to just do nothing. 

This won’t be the first time they’ve done this. Duke expects it. Frankly, it would be stranger and much more concerning if they didn’t try to dig up all his secrets the moment they caught wind of him hiding something.

He’ll tell them about getting his soulmark soon. Soulmarks can appear on any birthday between the ages of thirteen to twenty five; they might suspect he got his, but they won’t be able to confirm.

For now, Duke can keep his soulmate’s first words (whatever that gibberish means) to himself.

He makes the decision then and there, as his birthday party winds down, to tell them in a week.

And because his luck is abysmal, a world ending threat hits five days later and suddenly there is no time for soulmarks and first words.

Duke is the last to arrive at the Fortress of Solitude, hitching a ride from Superboy to get there. The biting cold and the harsh winds keep the place far from the reaches of the rest of humanity, surrounded by nothing but deadly white. 

Desolate as the landscape is, it’s still in better shape than the rest of the world.

Things would be better if it was alien invaders. It would be more bearable if some sort of cosmic colossus tried to eat their solar system. At least then there would be something physical that they could fight.

Instead, the world is breaking apart, the sky and earth both fracturing to reveal glowing green faultlines. Timelines are getting mixed up and muddled; just yesterday, Duke had to evacuate a building that had been demolished forty years ago, then stop a gang leader who wouldn’t be born for another eight years from taking over a neighborhood block and holding the residents hostage. Strange creatures are appearing out of nowhere, crawling out of shadows and tide pools and from beneath the roots of trees, all horrible, monstrous things that go after people with teeth and claws. 

The Flashes and the rest of the speedsters are nowhere to be found. The last time anyone get communication from them, it had been Impulse sending Red Robin a glitchy, barely audible video chat saying something along the lines of “trying to fix—unstable—keep us here—never been alive before.” All things that are very concerning to hear, made worse by the fact that no one had been able to contact them at all. 

The quiet loneliness of the Fortress of Solitude is a welcome change from the constant screaming, death, and destruction that’s taken over Gotham as well as the rest of the world. Last he heard, even Justice League China was at the end of their rope. 

“In here,” Superboy instructs, guiding Duke through the halls. There’s no time to look around at Superman’s secret base. All his focus is stuck on staying conscious for another few hours to see if this gathering of heroes is able to find a solution to the world breaking apart.

Batman stands besides Superman. Both nod at Duke when he enters the room. Wonder Woman is watching over John Constantine as he writes something on the floor, muttering under his breath. The rest of the Justice League lean against each other, visibly exhausted as they wait for Constantine to finish up what he’s doing. A few other heroes are here too, and Duke goes to join them where they lean against a wall, fighting to keep their eyes open.

“Hey,” he greets, voice low. “Hanging in there?”

Wonder Girl sighs. “Somehow. I don’t know how much longer we can do this. There’s just too much…”

“We’ll get through this. I mean, even without us out there, plenty of civilians have formed rescue and relief groups to help with keeping things under control,” Speedy says, gently knocking her arm against Wonder Girl’s. “We just gotta keep going. No giving up.”

“What’s this plan, anyways? I just heard that they needed me here to some attempt to fix things.”

“Well, without the speedsters, you’re kind of the only one who can help with time and power related stuff,” Speedy says.

“That’s definitely a stretch. My powers don’t really have anything to do with time. It’s all just light and shadow.”

Speedy shrugs. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Too late to complain about it now.”

Duke doesn’t get a chance to say anything else when a loud clap catches his attention. The entire room goes still and silent as Constantine stands up and surveys the circle and symbols he’s written, taking up an entire corner of the large room. 

“Alright,” he says. “Time to get started. Remember, let me do the talking. If you have to speak, it’s only to back me up or when a question is directed to you.”

Batman nods to the other Justice Leaguers, and suddenly everyone is falling into formation behind Constantine. Duke hurries to join them with Wonder Girl and Speedy, taking a place on the edge of the group where he’s a little closer to the circle than the others. 

Constantine begins chanting. His voice is steady though none of the sounds make any sense, refusing to form themselves into recognizable words, and the air the in the room feels heavier. The chalk circle glows a blinding white and Duke can see magic swirling through the air, his power kicking in the let him watch as reality tears and a glowing star in the shape of a boy comes out of it.

Duke blinks, forcing his power down. The hypnotic swirls of magic fade from sight, but the boy still glows, bright and terrible as he floats above the circle and surveys them all. A crown engulfed in blue flame hovers above his head and the fabric of the cosmos is draped over his shoulders as a cape. 

Just from presence alone, Duke can tell that this figure is now the strongest existence in this universe. He hopes this boy king is kind; no one, not even Superman, would be able to beat him in a fight.

The boy king opens his mouth and speaks, but it’s not words than comes out. A strange static like sound emerges, but light and almost melodic. 

His left hipbone burns.

Duke gasps, hand flying down to it, and the boy king’s gaze snaps to meet his.

The world stands still. No one moves. No one dares to breathe.

And then the boy king drops to the floor and walks out of the circle.

“I thought you said that would hold him!” Batman hisses at Constantine, who is looking more and more distressed.

“It was supposed to! I wrote it specifically to hold the King of the Infinite Realms!”

The boy king glances at Constantine. This time, when he speaks, it’s in smooth English. “Did you name the king in your circle?”

“Yeah, I named Pariah Dark… Bloody hell, you ain’t him, are ya?”

“No,” the boy king smiles, “I’m Phantom.”

The cape and crown fade away, and suddenly it’s not an all powerful, terrifying king standing before them, but a young man with white hair and green eyes who looks Duke’s age. Like he could be any other new generation hero in the room. 

“Phantom,” Duke repeats lightly, just under his breath, but it makes Phantom look at him again.

He walks forward, ignoring the other heroes’ aborted attempts to stop him, coupled with Constantine’s frantic back off motion happening behind him. Phantom leaves the circle and the Justice Leaguers behind to stand before Duke, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says softly, “I dreamed of you.”

“You—what?”

“I dreamed of you. I have for years now. To think that being summoned was what made us meet—” Phantom breaks off into a breathless laugh.

Duke swallows, then drops his had from where it had been pressed against his hip. “So we’re really—? You have my first words too?”

In the corner of his eye, he sees Batman stiffen up. Maybe he should have just told them the day after his birthday, but in Duke’s defense, this is the definition of extenuation circumstances. 

“First words?” Phantom repeats, “Is that… Do we have different soulmate connections?”

“I think so. Here, everyone gets the first words their soulmates say to them appearing somewhere on their body.”

Phantom’s gaze darts down to Duke’s hip, then back up. “Oh. I get dreams. Where I’m from, we dream of our soulmates, and the closer we get to meeting them, the more we remember the dreams.”

“And you dreamed of me.”

“I did.”

“As touching as this is,” Constantine interrupts, and Duke gets to watch as Phantom rolls his eyes, “We summoned you here for a reason. Our world is falling apart at the seams and we need someone powerful, from the Realms, to help us fix it.”

“Okay.”

“...What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I’ll help,” Phantom says.

“Just like that? No deal to be made, no price to be paid?”

“Just like that. I’m not one for deals anyways. If I can help, then I will. But I do want to see what the problem is with my soulmate by my side, if you don’t mind.”

Batman steps in, fixing Duke with a steady gaze, a barely noticeable tilt of his head. “Signal?”

“Yeah I’ll go with him. Of course I will. The sooner the better, in fact, because everything’s gone to shit.” Duke turns to Phantom, taking hold of one of his hands. “It is really bad out there,” he warns, “If you need help—”

“I’ll ask for help from others in the Realms,” Phantom says. “No offense or anything, but if it’s really that bad, I doubt living mortals will be able to do much to fix things. It’s why I was summoned, right?”

“Right. Let’s get to it, then.”

There’s a flash of mischief in Phantom’s eyes, and cheeky grin stealing across his face for a moment, before he says, “Aye aye, captain!” and picks Duke up like he weighs nothing and flies up through the ceiling.

Duke is able to hear everyone’s surprised, panicked shouts before they’re outside the Fortress of Solitude and Phantom is flying them away. He only needs a few directions from Duke before he finds the first of the large fractures in the sky.

“Yikes,” is all he says, which is not a great thing to hear. “I think I know how to fix it, though. We’ll need to do a little investigating as to who, exactly, started messing around with reality, but once we find the source, it’ll be an easy fix.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“Even better than meeting your soulmate?”

“I haven’t slept for more than four hours all week. Knowing there’s an end in sight beats everything else.”

Phantom laughs, throwing his head back and Duke can’t help but drink in the sight of him, so ethereal and bright and full of life. “Fair enough! Got any ideas as to where we should start?”

“I’ve got an entire crew of detective vigilantes,” Duke replies. He’s not taking any more chances. No more waiting to talk about important things; he messed up by keeping his soulmark to himself, so he needs to make sure everyone meets his soulmate before shit goes south again. 

“Let’s go find them, then!”

They take off again, soaring through the skies that are barely holding themselves together. 

The world is still ending, and every hero is being stretched thin, but held carefully in Phantom’s arms, racing head first into a solution, Duke can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be alright now. 

He’s had enough bad luck. Now, his soulmate with him, bearing the title of King with grace, things are finally starting to look up.

[monkiinart]

onewing nation rise up

[mooncalf87]

Just a reminder: when Snakes shed their skin, they go blind for a couple days.

Be free my fanfic writers be free

[screamingwiththewolves]

If the lodgers don't forgive Jekyll, for something that is debatably his own business, then I riot.

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday ✍️

It’s Sunday for me so here’s a small eight sentence tease of a snippet from the ladder truck bombing from Rival Firefighters 🚒 (I’m pretty sure it’s eight sentences … I don’t want to recount so we’re going with eight).

Gosh I really really really want to share everything I’ve written for the bombing because your girl needs validation, but I don’t want to share everything haha. The struggle is real 😅

Prev snippet here.

Collateral damage.

Freddie says the words with a shrug like he’s not talking about a fucking life and the fury burning inside Eddie grows hotter. This guy doesn’t give a shit about the people he’s hurt, so blinded by his stupid quest for revenge. Eddie isn’t aware his hands are clenched and shaking, nails digging into the skin of his palms, until there’s a hand on his wrist and Hen’s voice is drifting into his ear, soft and gentle like a trickling stream.

“I know you’re angry, I am too,” she slides her hand down from his wrist to slowly pry his hand open, “but Buck needs us to be calm and in control of ourselves right now, okay Eddie?” Her hand slips into his and she squeezes gently. Eddie can feel the stickiness of blood between their palms from his fingernails. “Trust Bobby, he hasn’t let us down so far, I don’t think he’s planning on starting today.”

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @malewifediaz @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @mellaithwen @nmcggg @steadfastsaturnsrings @shitouttabuck @sibylsleaves @bekkachaos @captain-hen @loserdiaz @rewritetheending @rainbow-nerdss @tizniz @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @fortheloveofbuddie @fcntasmas @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @glorious-spoon @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @puppyboybuckley @princessfbi @vampbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @buckactuallys @prettyboybuckley @starlingbite @athenagranted @fallingthorns and anyone else who wants to play ❤️

[giggly-squiggily]

The Great Escape (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Hehe, thought there wasn't gonna be a fic today, did ya? >:D This is a sequel to "A New Kind Of Mystery"; I won't lie- originally I wasn't planning on writing one (do I ever plan sequels? Not really jlkrejarjeajraejkrjka) but after being encouraged by the ever wonderful @intheticklecloset here we are! :D I hope y'all like it!

Taglist Peeps:

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart

Summary: Poe's getting ready for his and Ranpo's vacation and makes the bold decision to leave his notebook behind. Surely he'll be fine without it, right?....Right?

“Oh…which should I bring?”

Poe was once again at a crossroad, brows furrowing as he looked between too well loved hardcovers. Ranpo and his holiday was just around the corner, and while the important things for their trip were already packed- if not a bit messy on his boyfriend’s end- he now had to decide on reading material.

“Gggggr?” Karl was curled up on the nearest suitcase, watching Poe stress with lazy eyes.

“I know I won’t be reading the entire time, Karl- I just want a few things for when things settle down.” He flipped the books over, scanning their synopsis. Oh, they both sounded good! And then there were those new books he recently purchased…

“Poe!” Fingers jabbed his sides, making him squeal with a spasm. “Surprise! I’m here!”

“R-Ranpo!” The author turned to his boyfriend, or at least tried to. Those dastardly fingers were still prodding and poking at his sides, making him curl up and giggle. “Rannananapo, pleahahhahase! Iihihih’m trihihihihying to pahahhahack!”

“Still? I thought you had everything?” The detective looked over his boyfriend’s shoulder as he kept on tickling, humming at the books. “Didn’t you read both of these like- several hundred kajillion times?”

“Huhuhuhush! Thehehehy’re clahahhahahssics!”

“Just like you! Hehehe!”

Poe felt his cheeks burn- a combination of the tickles and Ranpo’s teasing compliment. “Ahehahahahha Rahahahn!”

“Hehe, okay okay.” The detective released him. Soon after he grabbed both books, tossing them in Poe’s remaining suitcase. “When you can’t decide, bring both! That’s how I go about my snacks.”

“Hehe..heheh..I suhuhpose thahaht’s fahahair…” Pushing his bangs back, Poe reached to zip up his bag, pausing when Ranpo quirked a brow. “Whahat is it?”

“You’re not bringing it?” The detective asked. Poe knew instantly what he was talking about.

His go-to notebook; what he used to scribble down outlines and ideas for his next big mystery. It was rare for Poe to let it out of his sight- even rarer for him not to bring it. 

Poe raised his chin, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not bringing it. I promised you a holiday, and I intend to keep it.” Nodding, he finished zipping his bag, finalizing his decision. “No working for me. Nope, none at all.”

“Are you sure?” Ranpo raised a skeptical brow. Poe hoped the smile on his lips wasn’t too frozen.

“Absolutely.”

Ranpo watched him closely before shrugging, reaching out and poking Poe some more. “Okay! In that case, let’s get this vacay started!”

“Rahahhan!”

~~~

“Look at that! Oh, and that! And that!” Ranpo was lying half-on top of him, nose and hands pressed into the foggy glass of their train compartment as they watched the scenery go by. Their destination was a cozy little cottage not far from the main attractions in Yokohama. The owner of said cottage was none other than Fukuzawa himself- only mildly panicked upon hearing Ranpo’s plan to “Find a cheap motel and pray.” It was a joke of course, but he insisted upon them taking it.

If anything, it guaranteed their safety. Though Poe wouldn’t be against the idea of a haunted hotel room…

“Poe, look! Look! Are you looking?” Ranpo’s gentle but insistent prodding brought him back to current time, turning his gaze out towards the pamphlet in his boyfriend’s hands. “They’ve got a zoo around where we’re heading! And lots of gardens and-” Ranpo went silent, eyes glued to the paper.

“What?” Poe couldn’t take the anticipation any longer!

“They have a cup noodle museum!” Ranpo all but breathed, eyes lighting up like a child on christmas. “Poe, we have to go! We have to! Cup noodles are the ultimate snack! The staple of childhood- are you laughing at me?”

Poe was in fact giggling in his hands, barely hiding a smile. “I'm sohohorry! I’m sohohrry- just; you’re so cute!” The author giggled against his shoulder, shaking with barely repressed mirth. “I nehehever knew how excited you were abohohut noodles!”

“As the god of snacks, I am mildly offended.” Ranpo replied, his deadpan expression breaking into a smile when Poe snorted. “As punishment, you get tickles!”

“Ah! Ahhehahahhahaha! Whahahit, wahhahahit- Rahhahahan! Whehehe’re in puhuhuhblic!” Poe squeaked, sinking as much as he could in his chair as he tried muffling the sound. Ranpo had decided to take full residence in his lap however- making it near impossible.

“Don’t worry- no one’s looking!” Ranpo teased in his ear, keeping his tickles just light enough to keep Poe snickering. “Even if they were, you’re cute! They’d love you.”

“Shuhuuhuhush! Aheahhahaha, Raahhahahan!” He squeaked, clinging to the detective’s jacket with barely any strength. He didn’t feel eyes on him, so Ranpo was speaking the truth.

Even if they were being watched, part of him simply didn’t care. Let them witness their love on this train going nowhere.

Huh- that’d be a good idea for a horror story. Two lovers on an endless train in limbo. He should write this down-

…Ah, right.

At some point Ranpo must have stopped, for when he came back to the Detective was once again reading his pamphlet, leaning into his shoulder and getting comfortable. Poe smiled, pressing a hand against his boyfriends.

He pretended the small ache in his chest was something else.

~~~

“CANON BALL!” Sheets and pillows flew everywhere as Ranpo landed in the bed, sprawling out like an octopus as he wiggled about. “This is the BEST! I’m so glad we came- that cup noodle exhibit was amazing!”

“It was rather..unique. Who knew there was so much to learn about snacks?” Poe smiled as he sat down, resting his aching feet. Their vacation seemed to fly by- the day they got there to now has been nothing but exploration and adventure. “I also enjoyed those racoon dogs- they reminded me of Karl.”

Said racoon made an assortment of clicking noises as it curled up against Poe’s pillow, snoozing once more. Ranpo grinned as he stroked his fur, cooing gently.

It was all so fun, and Poe was having a great time. However…somewhere deep down, he felt like such a failure.

Wherever he went, wherever he turned- he couldn’t turn off his brain from work. The sights and sounds of Yokohama’s beautiful gardens and zoos made him imagine the perfect settings for his books. The secrets within the city gave him inspiration for mysteries, and Ranpo…

Oh being with Ranpo made him think of a genre he never thought he’d write. Romance.

A hide and seek tale, maybe? A man is trying to find his lover but they’re so far away. He searches high and low, following the sound of their voice as it calls out to him playfully. He crosses the oddest of people and the most breathtaking sights to find them-

Everytime it happened he reached for his notebook, only to not find it there. It caused a small panic until he realized he left it home.

Then that panic turned to shame at how disappointed he felt not having it.

It was like a betrayal, only he was holding the knife aimed at Ranpo’s back.

“Poe?” Ranpo was standing before him now, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

The author blinked, suddenly unsure. “I…erm..”

“Poe?” Ranpo’s eyes widened suddenly, his hands reaching out to the other’s shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Again, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until he blinked that he realized he was crying. “Ranpo…I’m failing you.”

“What? Come here, come here.” The detective pulled his boyfriend to his feet, leading him to the bed. Once there, he pulled him down, down, down some more until they were laying against the warm sheets, Ranpo’s arms around his torso as he pressed gentle kisses against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I made you a promise, and yet- here I am breaking it. I promised you I wouldn’t work but yet- here I am longing to write. I shouldn’t be thinking about all that- I should be spending time with you.” Poe blinked a few times, willing the tears to dry. He shouldn’t be crying- he didn’t deserve to. “I’m sorry, Ranpo.”

The detective was quiet against him, the arms around Poe strong as ever. Then he was sitting up, just enough to look down at Poe’s face. His expression…

“You know what I love the most about you?” He asked, eyes soft and lips curved in the gentlest of smiles. “It’s that you care so much about others. You want to give them your best self, even if it comes at sacrificing yourself.” He reached up, gently brushing Poe’s long bangs from his forehead so he could look him in the eye. “I know you, Poe. I know you’ll never quite turn off your brain even when on vacation. I know you’ll always be thinking about books and stories and writing- and you know what? That’s okay. It’s a core part of you, and another part about you I love with my entire heart.”

Poe wanted to argue, but Ranpo pressed the softest of kisses against his cheek, silencing him.

“I love how your mind is constantly running on creativity. I love how you find inspiration in things I wouldn’t even think about. I love how you’re so devoted to the craft it becomes real.” Each statement came with another kiss, stamping them into Poe’s heart permanently. “I love the fact you willingly came with me on vacation. I love you walked through an entire noodle exhibit you likely didn’t care for just to make me happy. I just- I love you. Even if you’re thinking about books and whatnot- you’re here with me. You’re with me right now. That’s all I want.”

Poe couldn’t find words. His throat was constricted with a lump the size of a baseball as he looked into his boyfriend’s eyes. Even if he could speak, how was he supposed to voice how much he loved him? Words aren’t enough.

Instead, he breathed out a small “May I kiss you?”

Ranpo grinned, nodding. Poe pulled him down into himself as he kissed him, putting everything he felt into it. Warmth spread across his body, curling his toes and setting into the deepest crevices of his heart for all eternity.

Beneath his hands, he could feel Ranpo’s heart racing just as fast, syncing up with his own and playing the same melody.

When they pulled away, they were both slightly flushed and breathless, Ranpo’s eyes bright against dark hair. Poe reached up, gently brushing it out of his face with a small smile.

“Hey..I love you.” Poe whispered, making Ranpo light up.

“I love you too.” He fell back into Poe’s chest, snuggling his face into his chest with a content sigh. “We should go on holiday more often.”

“Definitely.” Poe surprised himself by saying it. He surprised himself even further with how real the words felt.

“Oh?” Ranpo sat up with a grin, fingers scritting against Poe’s belly. “Did I hear you right? You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Aheheahahha! Oohohohof cohohohoure I ahahhaham! Ahehahaha- nohoohow you gehehehhet toohohoho!” With a boost of strength he didn’t realize he had, he managed to push Ranpo on his side, going for all the spots that he knew would have the detective squealing for mercy. “Tahhaek that!”

“AH! Aheahhahahhha, Pohohohohoohe! Ahehahhahhahaha!” Ranpo flopped like a fish against the sheets, sending them flailing off the bed. At some point Karl jumped for safety, landing on the nearby bed table as his humans wrestled about the bed, laughing all the way.

~~~

“Surprise!” Ranpo pulled out a small notebook from his snack bag, holding it out to Poe with warm yet nervous eyes. “I know it’s not your preferred notebook, but I saw it while snack shopping and thought of you.”

Poe stared, seemingly frozen at the gesture. For a moment, Ranpo was sure he messed up.

Then the author took it in his hands, tears misting his eyes as he held it close. “Thank you…it’s perfect.”

The detective grinned, jumping forward and kissing Poe’s with reckless abandon. “Do you love it? I know you love it, you love it don’t you?”

“Ahehaha! I do! I do!” Poe giggled, pulling the smaller man into his chest. “I do. Thank you Ranpo. In fact- I already know what I’m putting in it.”

“Oh?” The detective raised a brow but didn’t push, settling on snuggling against Poe’s chest instead. It wasn’t long before he was sleeping away.

~~~

Poe’s new notebook was not used for notetaking. Nor was it used for outlines.

Within the pages were an assortment of things- photos taken on a polaroid of them smiling, Ranpo giddily next to a giant cup of noodle, Karl staring at the Racoon dog- all various parts of their holiday.

Between photos were little blurbs- Poe’s sprawly handwriting detailing each event and his favorite moments from each activity. Some were softer- a secret photo taken of Ranpo snoring against his chest kept in the “Treasures” section. Wrappers of snacks his boyfriend insisted on him trying and he ended up liking were stashed inside as well- taped in with care and cute racoon washi they found. Pressed flowers from the garden trip were carefully added, a picture of Poe with a crown of them on his head nearby.

They only took so many pages- the rest of the notebook was far from full. Poe smiled as he pressed it closed, tucking it away in his desk.

He couldn’t wait for their next adventure.

Thanks for reading!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (X)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here and this is part ten oh gods this was gonna be short at some point oh fuck

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bath boy took a bath! It was only a little gross! ...Ok JK it was quite gross.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Gifts from Medical, coming through!”

Wally barely feels the way Bart whacks him with a spare pillow case, but the whiffing noise is kind of a clue that the teen wants him to slow down. Or, in all actuality, Impulse probably wants Wally to buzz off, but Wally’s got boxes and boxes of tinker toys in his arms and nowhere else to put them down, so there really isn’t an alternative but a direct route to his destination.

“Go away!” Bart complains, and whacks the back of Wally’s head with the pillow case again. Wally hopes it’s one of the clean ones. He’s seen the ones that Bart’s favorite patient has…used. “No adults allowed! Bats said so!”

That's true. Batman had said that. “Well,” Wally says, dodging his way to the curtain to Bart’s clear dismay, “Medical said it was alright, and we all have to listen to them. They also packed gifts for your bud, so…”

Bart grabs onto the back of Wally’s suit and digs his feet into the tile. “Thatdoesn’tmeanyoucanbargeinhisspace!” the kid protests, teeth gritted, as Wally drags him across the floor with nothing but a determined gait and a tiny bit of the speedforce. (Just a little.) “It makes him nervous!! And then he’ll bite you!”

Oh, yeah, the biting. Wally stops at the edge of the curtain, hands on the gross gray fabric. Hrm.

“Uh.” There’s gotta be a solution to that. He looks down at Bart’s weird mop-head hairstyle. “Will he stop if I bring gifts?”

“Nah. He’s going to eat you.”

…Great.

“Bossy,” Wally decides, even if this is, in the end, for the alien-kid’s sake. Bart squawks. “Oh well. I gotta deliver these anyway. Hey, stranger; I come bearing gifts from your medical team! Uh…hiss if you get mad, I guess?”

Wally bumps the free-flowing curtain to the side with his hips, showing off the aforementioned pile of toys in his arms before poking his head in.

The cluster of darkness on the bed, being largely a mass of black in the vague shape of a humanoid, says nothing.

Bart crawls underneath Wally’s outstretched pile of deliveries so that he can go straight up to the bitiest occupant of the Watchtower proper. The teen kneels down on the floor, put his chin on the entity’s cot mattress, and leans up on the bed up at the shadowy mass of teenager up above him. “I can tell him to go away if you want me to,” he tells the entity, who sort of…turns? Towards the speedster. “I could beat him up.”

Wally snorts. No he couldn’t.

“…I could get Superboy to beat him up,” Bart immediately amends, which, hey! Not nice!

…True, maybe, but not nice!

The shadow-kid doesn’t get up and leave, and he doesn’t start hissing or throwing things—both things Wally is pretty sure he’s capable of. And, well, Wally has a job to do, and unless the alien entity teen actually discourages him from doing it, Wally’s going to do his best to help the kid out on this one.

“Bart, if you really want to help him feel comfy when I pop this on his bed, get between him ‘n me, please.”

Impulse, thankfully, holds off on sulking. He hops onto the alien kid’s medical cot-bed, carefully tucking in a blanket beneath him as to stay…sanitary.

Wally’s got to admit. It doesn’t smell so hot in here. Maybe he ought to have let medical wrestle him into some hygienic gear instead of zipping straight down. Eh. Too late now.

Wally carefully releases the pile of presents from the kid’s medical team onto the bed— snatching one or two bouncers out of the air before they fall onto the floor.

Bart and the nameless alien kid lean in closer to inspect the colorful packages. “Oh, sweet!” Impulse exclaims, eyes wide. “Hey, look, you got new stuff!”

New stuff is right. Finance lets medical essentially decide their own budget; purchase orders of new physical therapy tools are consistently approved even with oversight. In this case, it looked like the team was more than happy to take advantage of that goodwill with a run to the local children’s educational shop.

There are boxes upon boxes of colorful children’s toys on the mattress. Bart looks like Christmas has come early. The alien kid looks—at attention? At least? His claws gently rake over the rainbow-bright cardboard boxes, turning them this way and that so that he can see.

Wally zips away and zips back with a chair for himself. The cot is gross, yes, but more importantly, Wonder Woman has made very clear in her notes that the bed is part the kid’s perceived personal space. Violating that trust with the alien-entity-kid is largely a non-option. If they want to hold themselves up to the standard that J’onn was able to impart in their brief conversation, they have to be kind, careful, and considerate of his personal space.

The Flash (the second) hops into the chair. “Want to help the kid open the stuff, Impulse? Might be hard with his. Uh. Hand claws. Claw…hands?”

They both look at the aforementioned being’s hands. The claws look like hands and sometimes they look like claws, but they mostly don’t look like anything. If Wally stops paying attention, he legitimately thinks he’s alone in the room with Bart and a stiff breeze. 

“…Fingers,” Bart finally decides on. And then he beams. “Yeah! Okay. Hey, look! Let’s open this one!”

The kid-alien-thing mostly seems to respond to the brightly-colored and waving object in his vision and Bart’s cheery tone. Still, react he does. The amorphous form gets closer, tilts forward, and shimmers ever so slightly with attention as Bart begins to narrate his unboxing of colorful grip-shaped silicone toys, with little suction cups on the ends so that they can stick to things.

Bart sticks one to the kid’s side table. It takes the kid a second to observe, come to a conclusion, and then—fumblingly—claw the bright blue sucker off with his fingers until it comes free. The wobbly form of a teenage alien tries, misses, and then tries again to get the suction cup to relatch onto the table. The purr at his own success vibrates quietly through the room. It…the sensation shivers through Wally’s body.

It feels very, very weird. A little too personal. Like…the sound is embedded beneath his skin. Wally carefully scratches at himself, but the sensation of fingers on his suit doesn’t get rid of the feeling brushing against his muscle layer.

Bart doesn’t even react to the feeling, even if he can tell that Wally’s getting twitchy. “Tim thinks that most of his being is extradimensional. That’s why I can tell what he’s up to more; he zings in the speedforce.”

Wally slowly pushes himself up in his chair. “Wait, really?”

Bart doesn’t look up from his new project: unwrapping the cling wrap from dry erase lapboards. They look like they have the alphabet dotted along them in little spots of blue ink. “Mmhm.”

That’s… “Does Barry know?”

“I dunno.” Bart shrugs. He’s too busy watching his friend watch him unwrap preschool toys to give a clearer answer. “You can text him I guess. I think it’s just a theory, but he’s not biting you for being in his space right now, and he’s hissed at like everyone else who’s been here. Hey, look!! This one’s slime!”

Wally half gets up out of the seat. “Okay, okay, I think that one—“ He’s gone and back in a couple of nanoseconds, a plastic cafeteria tray clutched in his fists. “—That one needs a tray, I think. Don’t mess up the sheets with your new goo just because you’re excited.”

Impulse, teen speedster from the future, and a so-far nameless, bodiless alien teenage entity, share a vaguely textured cafeteria tray as they smush purple and yellow sensory beads around in rough circles. There are other toys that get opened, but are left largely untouched: a clock puzzle with insertable shapes serving as the numbers, and a 3D drawing pad with reusable cords on a velcro backing. The winner of the batch seems to be the colorful sensory beads in little tubs, considering that the two recipients of the stuff seem to gravitate back towards it with every new unboxing.

Of course, the favorite has to be the messy toy. Honestly, Wally should have guessed. Whatever. The plastic and wrapping trash is gone in seconds, leaving the kid’s space nice and clean, since apparently Wally is hanging around to be adult supervision. He might as well help out a bit.

And, apparently, the alien kid has something of a heart in his not-quite-present body; when Wally’s done throwing the trash out, the kid’s projectile of choice to chuck at Wally’s torso is a red block of floam putty sensory beads, matching the red of Wally’s suit.

…Wally’s going to take it as a nice gesture. The kid is purring and playing and generally disarmed, so this is probably an attempt at bonding.

The kid has a toy. Bart has a toy. Wally has a toy.

“Thanks,” he says, and unwraps the plastic on the stuff.

The alien might not have words to respond, but he purrs, and he purrs, and he purrs, and Bart hums right along with him.

And they knead putty together.

💚👻👽👻💚

Toys for injured ghosts:

Squigz™ Master Set

Squish & Squeeze Sensory Beads

Double-Sided Early Writing Skills Lapboard

Shape Sorting Clock

Rainbow Cord & Picture Pattern Maker

Yes I used real toys and went on a fake shopping spree; I used a combo of Lakeshore and Melissa & Doug, mostly looking for stuff that either aided with fine motor skills, language acquisition, or both. They know Danny doesn't speak English and they know he has trouble with his hands, and at least one of the Medical team has to have or has young kids, and this is what they came up with collectively. Do they resent that Wonder Woman got to him first? No, definitely not. :( They did try to find toys that weren't outrageously condescending, though; no dolls, no fine motor toys meant for, like, ham-fisted babies. The fact that the toys are, like, equally interesting to Bart, is, like...unique to Bart. Maybe Kon, too. I feel like Tim gets to watch Cassie, Bart, Kon, and the alien play around determinedly with the Squigz while he's defrauding Lex Luthor from his laptop nearby lol

[aquafire2008]

Preview of an upcoming fic...

Wild was giving Red a cooking lesson when Red accidentally spilled the soup the two were making. That's when it happened.

"F*ck! I'm sorry, Wild!" 

The entire camp freezes. Time is the first one to speak up.

"Red... where did you learn that word?"

[kusukeslab]

i can't imagine how annoying it would be to watch a movie with kuusuke

like imagine kurumi just shunning kuusuke from family movie night because he'd constantly spoil it, especially with murder-mystery type movies.

"its the guy in red, i know he did it."

"the movie just started, kuusuke."

[wikiangela]

last line tag

tagged by @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz 💖💖

___

It’s a good few weeks, and it feels like everyone’s back on track, settling into their lives again, figuring everything out one day at a time. Buck’s happy. He has his awesome girlfriend, his best friend seems finally more at ease, even if the divorce is adding some stress, and his other best friend is happier than ever with his mom around. Everything’s finally starting to go great.

And then it all gets disrupted again.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns

[hello-eeveev]

Beau had half a mind to march over to the Candles and kill Ludinus Da’leth herself, if only so she didn’t have to spend another day looking over the same documents, trying to find something they could use to get him out of power. She didn’t trust him—hadn’t from the start—but the more she walked in similar circles, the more she had to deal with the Assembly’s bullshit, the more she was convinced that whatever Ludinus was up to at any given moment, it couldn’t be good. But he had spent centuries navigating Dwendalian politics; of course he knew how to cover his tracks well.

She was halfway through plotting out the assassination when Caleb, who was sitting at the desk across from her, closed his book and looked up at her. “It’s five o’clock,” he said.

“Finally.” Beau sagged in her chair, taking in a deep breath. As she exhaled, she let thoughts of work fade from her mind. Once she felt suitably non-murderous, she slapped her hands onto her desk and stood. “Let’s get going then.”

She and Caleb fell into their routine as easily as they fought side-by-side. Caleb collected all the files and documents and organized them as he saw fit, while Beau stacked the books in the order that she knew would be most convenient for whoever reshelved them. Then they switched. Beau ran the papers back to her tiny office and locked them in her desk drawer, and Caleb passed off the books to the nearest archivist to be put away. When they met back up, Caleb walked Beau all the way to the teleportation circle on the other side of the Archive. Outside of going home to Yasha, this was Beau’s favorite part of the day, because regardless of what they ended up talking about, they made sure that, for at least these fifteen minutes, neither of them had to think about their country’s corrupt systems and the horrible people running them.

By the time they arrived at the teleportation circle, her half thought-out plans of murdering the Martinet had been shoved into the back of her mind by Caleb’s fond tales of the kids he tutored and the progress they were making.

She really hoped he would take the Soltryce job, if not for the good he would do there, at least for himself. He seemed so happy when he talked about teaching, almost as much as when he was nerding out about spells with Essek or Veth.

The caster in charge of the circle beckoned Beau into the center of the room, and she jogged into position as they began drawing the sigils for the Zadash Archive circle.

“Hey, so tomorrow night, Yasha’s trying out a new recipe that she got from Martina,” Beau said, turning to face Caleb who lingered at the edge of the casting space. “It’s a stir-fry sorta thing that she learned on a trip to the Menagerie Coast. I think it’ll be really good, especially if we use some of your green beans. You down?”

The invitation was more of a formality at this point. Caleb joined them for dinner almost every weekend. But Caleb shifted awkwardly, looking down at his feet.

“Ah, I would love to,” he said, “but I already have plans for tomorrow. Maybe another night.”

“Eating a boba and reading all night doesn’t count as dinner plans.”

Caleb huffed a laugh. “No, it is a, um…” He picked at some fuzz on his coat sleeve. “A date.”

“Wha—” Beau blinked. Shook her head and blinked again. “What? With who?”

Caleb caught her gaze, expression completely neutral except for a growing redness on his face. “A friend,” he said.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m gonna need a little more information than that, dude.”

He glanced down at the runes being drawn beneath her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him run his thumb over the ring on his index finger—his Ring of Telepathy, it looked like—and his voice entered her mind.

“Essek.”

Beau’s eyes widened, but then the bastard smiled and waved like nothing happened. “Have a nice evening, Beauregard.”

Faster than she could run over and punch that smug look off his face, the chalk on the floor flashed and suddenly she was back at the Zadash Archive.

She fumbled for her Sending Stone. “Fucking piece of shit—I’m gonna—” She yanked it out of her pocket and activated it. “Caleb!” she shouted. Some poor young monk tried to greet her while an older expositor threw a stern expression her way, but Beau paid them no mind. She was already running out the door.

“The fuck kinda timing was that? What do you mean you’re going on a date with—” Shit, she couldn’t use Essek’s name in the middle of Zadash. “—with him? When did this happen? How? Who else knows?”

“You are the first, unless someone else has figured it out already,” he replied. “Unfortunately Sending is limited to twenty-five words, so I cannot say more. Goodnight, Beauregard.”

“I know for a fact that’s not how these Sending Stones work, you asshole!” She did a quick count of Caleb’s message in her head. Twenty-six words.

She could practically hear his shit-eating grin in the silence that followed.

Forget Ludinus, she had another wizard to kill.

Before long, Beau was sprinting up to her house. She waved off Martina’s sickeningly sweet hello and threw open her front door.

“Yasha!” she yelled. “Babe, you’re not gonna believe what Caleb just told me. Can you message Jester today?”

[tactax-art]

Hey! I loved your art of god of explosions soap and alb ghost. Do you have a post going into any of the lore/world building? I love creature aus! If you don't already have a post, I'd love to hear more about it! (Also what's an alb?)

I've not shared anything anywhere yet! Just the two drawings. Not super solid on the world building yet, so I'm gonna wait with sharing that for now until I have a better grip. Do intend to write a fic for these two when I've got some scenes together though!

Ghost being an Alb is generally inspired by the german "Nachtalb". I'm not aiming for him to be precisely that, but it was my jumping-off point. Also I grew up on the 'Alb' spelling, but that might be a regional thing? No idea why in english they quote it only as 'Alp'.

Ghosts abilities aren't something I've completely settled on yet (gotta keep my options open for plot and angst, you never know *rubs hands*), but he's a kind of fear entity.

Alb's are myth's answer to sleep apnea, sleep paralysis, nightmares, and night terrors. As such he sustains himself on consuming dreams (rare) and breath, and causing fear (more effectively when it's during people's rest but also when awake), nightmares etc. I'll probs keep some of the mischief Albs are known for, not that anyone would believe it's Ghost which he finds super funny, and also some shapeshifting.

His body is sand based, as a nod to the sandman (folklore), golden sand being dreams he consumed and black his base being from nightmares/dear. His bed's full of sand. His gear is full of sand. He prefers knives to guns cause guns and sand don't mix and having to keep it all together is so annoying. It's rumoured Ghost can control shadows, but it's actually his own black sand he moves around.

I'm pretty sure the skull mask is his actual face, and him making it gold is bragging about eating dreams (not that anyone would know, but it's enough that ghost knows, and considering that there's a god of dreams they're not exactly easy to get ahold of).

The tag is: #tactax mwii creatures au

[violent138]

I haven't seen it anywhere, but I really want to see a fic where the Batkids/batfam pull an all-nighter together planning something? As you can tell, this is heavily vibes over the plot, I'm more interested in them keeping each other awake, dressed half in gear, half in comfy clothes, snapping a little, brainstorming and working together to try to break in somewhere/figure something out/fight some shared enemy.

One of them needs to be injured enough to get to boss the others around/kind of beg for snacks and sustenance, balancing a battered laptop on a leg cast, while the others can be in a various state of disarray, having freshly lost/been bested by their enemy.

[user1286]

A collection of sketches that are pr much all an amalgamation of the shit loads of Atreus and Kratos caring for each other fanfics that I can’t stop reading.

Also if anyone who sees this ships these two fucking block me

Anyway here are my favorite ones that Ive taken some drawing material from (keep in mind, these sketches are heavily inspired, not direct draws of specific scenes from the fanfics):

My absolute fucking favorite I fkn scream and screech over it especially the first chapter:

The top left sketch:

Top right:

Bottom left:

Bottom right: I just wanted to draw Mimir he’s funny