#I wasn't thinking- I just wrote man

[hallowsden]

Danny doesn't know that he reincarnated back into his original body- in his original universe, but the moment he opens his eyes in this new old life, whilst his mind may not recognize the frozen man who's smiling yet crying in relief, his soul- his core (no matter the fact he's fully human again, his soul physically remembers his time as a Halfa- his time that he's dead, that he was a ghost- forever having a predestined core, baring the powers he gained from his previous new life the moment death welcomes him back in its embrace), recognizes this mourning man who lost so much and trying his best to fix things to go back to what it used to be.

This is his Vati- his father. And just like that, something clicks in him. Something he knew was lost was finally found.

He's home.

Even if he has to adjust and relearn his new old life again. (Not to mention the curse of growing up all over again- including puberty)

And if he somehow retained his ice powers from his previous new life in this current old life despite not being dead? Who's to say this sort of Paradox wasn't meant to be?

(The linking of 2 separate universes bonded together by one person- one whose soul is marked with both life and death equally. The being of balance.)

But at the end of this beginning, a father is reunited with his son. And so starts the slow process of healing, growth, and change.

Mr. Freeze has two people he wants to save.

His wife, Nora, and his 5-year-old son who was almost taken from them far too soon. As you know, his wife is terminally ill but his son is stuck in a coma.

Or at the very least, that's what Mr. Freeze thinks.

The truth is, his son's body was nothing more than meat suit at the moment. The boy's soul? Gone. His body still... functions, but the boy would never actually 'wake up'.

Enters one Danny Phantom.

Recently reincarnated (thereby losing his halfa status because, you know. His biology turned entirely human because reincarnation) and thrusted into said 5-year-old son's body.

Safe to say, even though it would turn into ice. Mr. Freeze cried tears of joy upon seeing his son open his eyes after so long.

[calamitoustide]

jegulus microfic | 622 words

"Stop moving," Regulus shoves James' shoulders back down, his palm laid out wide against his back.

James sighs, moving his neck regardless trying to look over at him, "I want to see!"

"It's not done yet," Regulus grumbles, reaching forward to move his head back to staring straight. Not before James caught a glimpse of him with a paint brush tucked between his teeth.

They've been sitting here for almost an hour, with James' chest pressed into blankets that don't do much protecting him from the hard wood floor, and Regulus straddled over his back. It was James' idea, after he spent too many nights with Regulus pretending to paint against his back while they were lying together before they slept he suggested Regulus just do the real thing. James could sit all nice and Regulus could use his body as a canvas. And it was nice. For about ten minutes before James remembered how impatient he is especially when Regulus is so close and he's only been able to get small glimpses of him over the past hour.

Regulus let James pick out the playlist thinking it would help with him getting fidgety but it went rough too many songs ago and his phone is much too far away for him to reach now. Plus Regulus is far too in it now for James to ask to take a break.

"How much longer?" James asks softly.

Regulus doesn't answer at first, and James thinks he's ignoring him on purpose. He wouldn't be surprised and it certainly wouldn't be the first time. When Regulus gets in a passion like this he's normally gone to the rest of the world. James could have entered his studio and been sitting there for an hour and Regulus wouldn't know a thing. He falls out of it eventually, and then jumps out of his skin when he sees James sitting on the couch watching him and demands to know how long he's been in there. James never finds himself answering, he just smiles softly at him instead.

"It's done," Regulus murmurs, completing one more brush stroke before getting off him and sticking the brush in the water right beside him.

"Wait, really?" James goes to move before Regulus pushes him back down.

"You're gonna smudge it," Regulus tells him.

"I want to see it!" James repeats, looking behind him to catch Regulus rolling his eyes before he grabs his phone.

"Lay back down," Regulus demands, but it doesn't really come off that way, he's soft around the edges, James swears.

Wordlessly Regulus hands James the phone to reveal what he's done. As expected it's a landscape. Regulus has gotten really into them lately, there's at least a dozen half finished ones sprawled around their apartment. This one is of the sea, with the sun creeping over the horizon. It mixes with the water, becoming one with the tide. James thinks it's the most beautiful painting he's ever seen.

Carefully he sits up to face Regulus properly, "It's beautiful."

Regulus hums, indifferent, as he always does, "My canvas wasn't very cooperative. It could've been better."

James just smiles at him softly, cupping his cheek to pull him forward. Regulus goes easily, giving in to his kiss. When James pulls away he says, "I don't think I'll ever be able to wash it off."

"If you refuse to take a shower I'll break up with you," Regulus says, getting up and grabbing his paints with him.

"Hey!" James exclaims, turning to follow him with his gaze.

Regulus glances back at him before dumping out his cup in the sink.

James sighs, before he sits up straighter, "What if you tattoo it?"

Regulus' silence is an answer in itself.

[starry-bi-sky]

realizing i have. a lot of untapped trauma potential for clone^2 danny because i just Fully Processed Four Months Late the fact that his parents were capturing and torturing ghosts in the basement before he became Phantom. and the fact that he was on house rest for 2 weeks. during that time period. and he wasn't really leaving the house. he could hear their screaming through the floorboards

*points at clone danny* i can give you suuuuuuch a bad time babe ahaha. i've got two untouched years before you meet damian what fucks you up before then

[add1ctedt0you]

What a plot twist you were. [x]

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

I HATE HATE HATE IT!

started as a redraw of this old thing but then ended up being a bit different

[britneyshakespeare]

Pretty sure my work crush was checking me out today

[brutal-nemesis]

ok siiince you asked for requests for demon boy castys… the tongue cut out + gag seemed like such an adorable situation for him <33

Giving you that and a little extra because I wanted More Whump 💕

←Previous - Castys & Terror AU Masterlist - Castys Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: manhandling, a lot of unsexy noncon touching, slight dehumanization, partial nudity

Castys wasn’t sure if he slept at all that night, but after what felt like an eternity, Neteri reappeared wearing different clothes under her white coat.

“Good morning, Castys!” She sat on one of the stools from last night and motioned for him to do the same. “Get up, I’ve got wonderful news to share!” 

Castys opened his mouth to retort, but he found he couldn’t form the words. His tongue was still…he looked away, swallowing, and sat up while remaining on the floor. 

“You’re going to have to start listening to me, you know. Because,” she broke out into an excited smile, “I get to keep you!” Upon seeing Castys’s glare, she just laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t be excited, but trust me,” she held up a finger, “you’ll be much better off in my hands than if you were sold as a pet to some bored aristocrat. I’m sure they’d beat that personality right out of you, and I don’t plan on doing anything of the sort. As long as you cooperate with my experiments, you’re free to be yourself. You can even hate me as much as you like!” Castys raised an eyebrow at her final statement. He’d see about that.

After rummaging in her bag for a moment, she pulled out a little silver medal and moved to crouch next to him on the ground. “Hold still now,” she ordered as she started to bring it towards his neck. Castys wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but after a moment, it clicked, and he decided he’d rather not listen, leaning back. Neteri just sighed. “You’re not off to a very good start.” Well, it’s not like he wanted to be.

Suddenly, Neteri changed tactics, shoving him down on his back and straddling his waist before he could try to sit up, pinning his arms down with a knee on each elbow. Castys cried out, the wounds on his back from the whip lighting up in pain, and that combined with her full weight on him kept him from moving. He bared his teeth as her hand came closer, daring her to get within range, but she just curled her other hand in his hair, yanking it back and keeping his head firmly in place. Great. He was once again powerless against this tiny lady, forced to keep still as she attached that dumb little tag to the collar and sealed the metal shut with the same spell that kept him from taking it off.

“There,” she said once it was on. She tapped the tag, cold against his throat. “Property of Neteri Crozien. Whether you like it or not. Now,” she grabbed his chin, “are you going to let me put some new restraints on you or should I call the guards to manhandle you? Your resistance is pointless and only delaying the inevitable, exactly like every other time. Just nod if you’re going to cooperate.”

Did he want to get manhandled again? Not particularly. He’d had more than enough of being grabbed and held still while chains were taken off and put on. And it’s not like he was resisting out of pride or something stupid, he just fought back when it was something he really didn’t want to happen. Which was most things in the past couple days, but, hey, if new restraints meant he got to leave this boring-ass cell, he was okay with it. Her grip on his hair had loosened enough to allow him a small nod, so he gave one, praying she’d get the fuck off of him now.

Neteri smiled brightly at his cooperation. “Great! Although,” she got off of him and stood, thinking, “maybe just stay laying down. I don’t really trust you not to try and run at the moment, so just roll on your stomach and I’ll take the chains off.” Castys sighed in annoyance but complied, gritting his teeth as his weight went from his injured back to his burned chest. The cold stone floor felt a little good on it, at least, but it was a small consolation as he watched Neteri walk back over with a key and a coil of rope. 

She squatted down and-fuck, that was a knee on his back, not her full weight but enough to make him gasp in pain. Paying him no mind, Neteri unlocked the manacles around his wrists, and he could barely enjoy the feeling of not having anything around them for a moment, just wishing she’d tie him up and get the fuck off of his back. It didn’t feel like she was going particularly slow as she pulled his arms behind him and wound the rope around his wrists, but the seconds still dragged by at an agonizing pace. 

Finally, she finished tying the knot and took her knee off of his back as she stood. “There we go!” Castys just groaned, rolling on his side. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I was hurting you.” Castys’s glare deepened, and he awkwardly used his bound hands to pull up the back of his shirt enough to expose the bandages wrapped around his torso. Neteri’s jaw dropped slightly, and she just stared at him for a second before worry took over her features.

“I…I’m so sorry I…I completely forgot. That you were hurt. I wouldn’t have done that if I remembered.” Her head hung slightly. “I’m really sorry, Castys.” Her apology seemed genuine, but how the fuck did she forget he got whipped and branded yesterday? She looked back at him again. “Let’s just hurry and get you to your new home so I can heal you up, okay?” Wait, new home? She was taking him somewhere else? At first the idea was scary, but then Castys remembered that he’d never particularly loved living in the castle, so whatever. It was probably just going to be a different prison cell, anyway.

With ridiculous difficulty and a lot of groaning in pain, he managed to sit up, using his elbows to help him do it since his hands were kind of useless. By the time that was done, Neteri was standing above him with…a chain? He was already tied up what the fu-no. No fucking way. He growled as her hands moved towards his neck, baring his teeth once more.

“Seriously, Castys? You said you weren’t a dog yesterday, but you sure are acting like one.” Yeah, sure, whatever, but since he couldn’t fucking talk, he was forced to resort to other means of protest. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure where the growling came from himself, and, yeah, it was a little animalistic, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get put on a leash. “This is happening either way, so just give it up already.” Her hand was moving closer, closer, the clasp at the end of the chain open, ready to-

Once again, instinct took over, and before he knew it, his teeth were buried in the flesh of her hand.

Neteri cried out, jerking her hand back and dropping the leash. “Lyte! Seriously?!” She winced as she dabbed the wounds with what smelled like the stingy liquid from yesterday and used her magic to close them up, during which Castys couldn’t help but smile smugly. Once she was done healing, she pulled on her leather gloves and grabbed a couple rolls of bandages from her bag. “I figured you were going to be difficult to keep in line, but this is just ridiculous.” Castys took pride in being ridiculous, so he’d take the compliment. What he didn’t want to take were the consequences of his actions, but he was a little bit helpless at the moment, so there wasn’t much he could do as Neteri shoved a wad of bandages in his mouth and tied a strip around his head to keep him from spitting it out.

“There. You’re just about the only person who’d need to be gagged when they can’t talk.” Castys just looked away, feeling his face grow hot as she clipped the leash to the collar. She gave it a tug, but he didn’t budge. Now he was just resisting out of spite. Neteri’s expression grew even more frustrated, and it looked like she was about to say something before she stopped herself and took a deep breath, calming herself down. She crouched down to look Castys in the eye.

“Look, I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, so I’m not going to punish you for biting me. We’ll just call it even.” She paused and held up a finger. “The gag stays until we reach our destination, though. Just for safety’s sake. But I’ll tell you something about my plans for you. If you come with me, you’ll have a tongue again by the end of tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

Castys could be stupid and stubborn and petty and shake his head and sit here and then end up getting dragged off to wherever, or he could just suck it the fuck up and get the ability to complain back. Complaining would be nice...After weighing his options he nodded, and Neteri broke into a smile. “Good. Let’s go, then.” She helped him stand, and she seemed to do her best not to pull on the leash as they walked along. Soon enough, they had reached the teleportation stone, and Castys…he couldn’t help but be a little excited to leave this stupid place. He knew he was a fucking prisoner now, but he was basically a prisoner in his old life, too, minus the chains and plus a comfy bed. 

At least he was going somewhere else.

The other palace was pretty cool, at least, the short glimpses he got before he was pulled into the lower levels, down halls and through doors until they arrived at his lame little prison cell. It did have a bed, though, so that was an upgrade. And a private bathroom?! Why did the prison cells in his family’s dungeon have to suck so much ass? He only spent two nights there, but still. If he was ever in charge of a dungeon, he would make sure it was at least a little comfy in case he got thrown in there.

Neteri clamped a manacle around his ankle, which was whatever, because that meant she untied his wrists and took that stupid leash off. And then, true to her word, she healed his wounds. The brand scarred, of course, which was…the symbol was kind of cool, but since it meant he was “property” or whatever he wasn’t too excited about it being on his chest for the rest of his life. At least shirts existed.

After that was done, Neteri instructed him to clean himself off and left him alone for a bit. He wandered into the bathroom, chain clinking with every step, and paused in front of the mirror. He looked pretty much the same as always, just a little more tired and blood-covered than usual. Oh, and the stupid collar around his neck. Neteri was fucking delusional, it didn’t look the slightest bit “cute” on him, it just looked…He didn’t want to see it anymore.

Once he was clean and dressed in some slightly comfier clothes, Castys tried out his new bed. It was nowhere near as nice as his old one, but it was way better than the floor, so he’d take it. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Neteri poked him in the face.

“I’m back, Castys, get up and take your shirt off.” Castys sat up, but didn’t take his shirt off, instead just crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. His wounds were healed, so what the hell did she need it off for? “Come on, I’m just going to examine you and take some measurements. Nothing painful, I promise.” Not painful, sure, but probably still not pleasant. Even so, he didn’t really have much choice but to listen, so he pulled off his shirt and stood, hoping this wouldn’t involve too much touching.

His hopes were in vain.

It started off fine, her measuring his height and a few other things with a strip of leather, but then she started running her hands all over him, poking at him, moving him this way and that. He couldn’t help but flinch every time since he hated being touched, and Neteri was clearly getting annoyed by it. His full-body recoil after she ran a hand down his spine was the final straw. Wordlessly, she clamped a manacle around one of his wrists before shoving him down onto the bed. He tried to stand back up, but she basically fucking tackled him, pinning him down on his back for the second time today. And, to top it all off, she managed to loop the chain around the top of the cot before cuffing his other wrist, leaving him pretty much helpless.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just kept still,” Neteri sighed, seeing his frustration. Well, it was a little fucking hard to be still when someone who’s basically a stranger is running their hands all over your bare skin. He considered trying to kick her, but she’d probably just chain him up more and keep going, and he’d rather this bullshit just be over with already.

Being chained down on his back somehow made this infinitely worse. There was nowhere to run, nothing he could do, Neteri looming over him as she put her hands all over him, touching his chest, his brand, squeezing his arms, grabbing his chin, pulling at his eyelids, gloves on now, hands in his mouth, poking at the stump of his tongue, feeling his teeth, gripping his hair to turn his head from side to side, his skin was crawling, crawling, his muscles tense, breaths coming short, fast, he just wanted her to get off stop touching him examining him taking notes reducing him down to just numbers just a body not a person not someone who got boundaries or personal space no just someone who gets touched and touched and touched-

“Castys! Hey, hey, just breathe.” Neteri was standing over him now, fiddling with the cuffs on his wrists, releasing him. Castys hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating, but he tried his best to calm down as he scrambled to the other end of the bed, as far away from her as he could get. Neteri watched him sadly. “I…I was making you uncomfortable, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, I just thought you were trying to be a nuisance.” No shit he was fucking uncomfortable, how the hell did she misread that?! At least she looked upset by this, but it was way too late for that. Castys still felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. 

Neteri reached out a hand in a misguided attempt to comfort him, but after seeing how Castys flinched and bared his teeth, she backed off. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. Well, I’ll go get you something to eat, and then I’ll leave you alone. Until tomorrow, and then you’ll have a tongue again and you can complain all you want and yell at me, okay?” Castys would rather never have to see her stupid face ever again, but that’s not how this was gonna work, so he just nodded silently, not relaxing until she’d left the room. 

He almost wanted to take a shower again, just to wash the feeling of her hands off, but it was starting to subside, so he just pulled his shirt back on and hid under the covers. What was that, exactly? He knew he didn’t like being touched, and he’d never let anyone do it remotely that much, so maybe being touched for so long in such an invasive way had been too overwhelming. Castys had thought he’d be a little tougher than this, since the thought of pain didn’t really scare him, but apparently being pinned down and touched was too much for him? Kind of…pathetic. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he could talk, protest, fight back a little bit with his words. Maybe he’d be okay once he could talk again.

He just hoped Neteri wasn’t lying about giving him his tongue back.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 13 - Team as Family

title: if all your friends jumped off a cliff...

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Impulse senses it a moment before it happens.

It’s in the way his stomach swoops, feeling like an elevator dropping from his throat to his knees. It’s in the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his shoulders tensing.

He slips.

His heel lands funny on some loose gravel and he slips.

Then stumbles, trying to catch himself.

Then windmills.

Then falls.

-

“We should go hiking.”

Impulse suggested it, thinking of his new hiking boots he had yet to break in. He loved a good day of hiking, and it sounded like a perfect group bonding activity.

“Oh, yeah, I love hiking!” Mumbo said, perking up in his seat. “That would be great.”

Grian snorted. “Would you even show up?”

“I—of course I would! Just because—”

“You haven't come to a single team bonding activity yet. Isn't the line manager the one who's always supposed to be there?”

“I—look, that isn't—”

“Hiking sounds fun,” Pearl interrupted. “Impulse, did you have somewhere in mind?”

-

The fall is bad.

The side of the trail is a steep cut-off without any sort of fence in place, and when Impulse slips, he feels a breath-taking moment of terror as he knows what awaits him if he falls the wrong way.

Which he does. Of course he does.

It doesn’t happen in slow-motion, like the movies. If anything, it’s sped up, a brief moment of being airborne before he crashes into the ground and starts rolling faster than he knew he could.

He tumbles down the side of the mountain, and his world becomes a blur of green and brown and pain. His ears are assaulted by a barrage of crashes and thuds, over and over as tree branches and underbrush whip and crack under him—

He keeps trying to grab onto something, to get his feet under him, but he's falling too fast for it to happen.

Until he slams into a boulder.

-

“Grian, did you bring snacks?”

Grian sighed. “Right, I already divided up everyone's snack bags,” he said, putting on an affect of weariness. He set down his backpack, dug through it, before pulling out several ziplocs.

“Cookies for Scar, trail mix for Impulse, pringles for Mumbo, apples and caramel dip for Pearl. And I've got a ton of beef jerky and carrot sticks in my bag.”

Scar snatched his ziploc of cookies, already tearing it open. Impulse chuckled. They hadn't even stepped onto the hike yet.

“I was looking at it online,” Mumbo said, tracing his finger along the map at the entrance. “The blue trail is easiest, but the red one has the best view.”

“I've only hiked the blue trail,” Impulse said. “It was pretty easy. But you know Skizz, from the development department? He hiked the red one last week and he said it wasn't hard at all.”

“I do love the color red,” added Grian.

-

Impulse blinks open his eyes, the fuzziness in his vision barely dissipating with each blink. There's static in his ears, a slight hum behind it. His mouth tastes like metal. He licks his lips, swallows drily.

His head hurts. His head—his back—every part of him—

He was just falling, right? Why isn't he falling? What happened?

“Impulse! Impulse!”

The sound of his name being shouted distantly breaks through the static, and Impulse scrunches his eyes shut, then forces them open again. Everything's still kind of blurry and black-spotted around the edges, but he looks as far up as he can, until he can kind of see the figures of his friends far above him, up the steep mountainside.

Did he really fall such a long way?

“Impulse, can you hear us?”

That's Grian.

Weakly, his body trembling, Impulse raises his right hand in a wave. Even from this far, he hears their sighs of relief.

“How are you feeling?” Grian calls down.

Impulse winces. His head and neck are up against something hard and unforgiving, pain blooming out from the base of his skull.

That might explain the issues with his vision. Concussion.

Or possible spine damage, he realizes with sudden panic.

Impulse spits out blood (his bitten tongue bleeds sluggishly against his teeth). “Uh,” he croaks, as loudly as he can manage. “I hit my neck.”

If possible, the others become even more worried. “Okay, we'll call for help,” Mumbo says resolutely. He gets out his phone, takes a step away.

“Is that rock on your leg?” Pearl says, and for the first time, Impulse looks down at himself.

His fall had dislodged a boulder next to the one he hit neck-on, and his leg is partially under it. It's enough that he can feel the weight (which surely means something good for his neck that he can feel it), but it isn't pressing down so hard that it's super painful. It hurts, but he's fairly certain it's not broken.

Impulse decides not to move. Not at all. He knows you shouldn't move with a potential spine injury, and he's afraid that one shift could entirely crush his leg.

“Yeah. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I don't have service. I don't—Grian—”

Grian checks his phone, too, his scared expression morphing into one of panic. “Me neither. Okay—Mumbo—”

“I—oh, dearie me, I don't—”

“Mumbo,” Pearl interrupts, placing her hand on his arm. “Walk back down the trail until you get in range. Then call emergency services, okay? We'll keep Impulse awake.”

“Impulse, don’t go anywhere,” Grian says. Impulse makes a vague effort to flip him off.

Mumbo starts scrambling back the way they came. Grian sits down, scooting as close to the edge as he dares.

“Do you think you’re good until Mumbo gets back?”

Impulse takes stock of himself. Between the pinned leg and the pounding head, he’s got a ton of bruises and scrapes. His arm feels funny, his shirt is torn all over the place. There’s a twig digging into his back, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and get rid of it.

“He should hurry,” he says, avoiding the question. He really just hopes he doesn’t pass out. Everything hurts a lot, and the black hasn’t cleared from his vision, so it’s all he can do to hang on.

He trains his focus on Grian’s face. He has to stay awake. Mumbo will be back soon, and then the paramedics will show up after that.

What if they can’t get down to him? There’s got to be too many trees to call in a helicopter. How long would it take to try and climb up to him from the bottom of the mountain? Would they even be able to?

“Hey,” Scar says, taking a careful step off the path, about ten feet away from Impulse’s clear slide marks. “This part looks way more even! I bet one of us could go down and give Impulse some water, or something!”

“Scar, absolutely not—”

Grian isn’t even able to finish his sentence before Scar’s foot slips.

Impulse sees it almost in slow-motion—the way Scar’s eyes widen, the way his arms flail out to grab Grian, who reaches forward too-slow—

With a comical scream, Scar falls.

-

“We all know hiking safety, right?”

“Yep!” Mumbo responded. Nobody else said anything.

Impulse sighed. “Okay. Well, first off, never go off the path. Got it?”

Pearl nodded. Grian did as well, rolling his eyes. Scar didn’t do anything, crouched down to toss one of Impulse’s peanuts to a squirrel.

“Scar?”

“Aw, look at you! Isn’t he so cute? Look, Grian, he’s so cute!”

“Scar,” Impulse said again. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, now look at this squirrel! His tail is crooked, look!”

-

Scar’s fall, if anything, looks worse than Impulse’s had felt.

He seems to hit every part of his body with a resounding crack against the ground, and his scream cuts off near-instantly when his head hits a rock but he keeps going. He slips and rolls and barrels down past Impulse, where he finally hits a fallen tree and his body uses its last bit of momentum to roll over it.

The only part of him visible is his foot, propped up on the log, his boot half-off in a way that totally obscures whether or not his foot is bent at an impossible angle.

Impulse stares, his breath caught in his throat.

“Scar! Scar!”

Grian’s shouting does nothing. 

The foot on the log doesn’t move.

“Impulse, is he okay?”

“I—I can’t see him,” Impulse manages. None of them can properly see Scar, he could be dead for all they knew, if it’s possible that Impulse broke his neck who’s to say that worse didn’t happen to Scar?

What if he needs resuscitation? Can they wait until the paramedics arrive? They’re already an hour into the hike, how long would that take?

“Scar, c’mon! Scar—be okay, please be okay—”

Impulse ignores Grian’s frantic words. Somebody needs to check on Scar, and he’s the only one already down here.

Scar isn’t close enough to reach. His foot is about ten feet to Impulse’s left, which might as well be ten miles. He scrambles briefly for something to throw, but there’s nothing at hand.

Impulse looks again at his leg. The boulder really isn’t resting too heavily on it. If he’s careful, he might be able to get out from under it. Then he could crawl to Scar, at the very least, check his pulse and start on CPR.

He shouldn’t move until he can get his neck scanned, but he can’t leave Scar like that.

His right leg isn’t too badly injured, so Impulse places his right foot on the boulder, takes a slow breath.

He’ll push with his right as he pulls his left leg out. Quick and easy. No problem at all.

“Impulse, don’t—”

He pushes.

He pulls.

-

“Have you ever had an emergency while hiking?” Mumbo asked, glancing around nervously. “Like, what if one of us passes out?”

“I resent that!”

“I—Scar, I wasn’t talking about you. Just—just generally, you know?”

Impulse chuckled. “Nope. I mean, once Tango tripped and scraped up his knees real bad. We ended up heading back early, carrying him on our shoulders.”

“I knew someone who went missing while hiking,” Pearl interjected. “They found her remains last year.”

“That won’t happen,” Impulse said firmly, as Mumbo’s eyes widened. “As long as we pay attention and stay on the trail, we’ll be fine.”

-

He doesn’t get out.

The boulder rocks back, and he has a moment of freedom—

But it comes crashing down before Impulse can move, utterly crushing his leg with an audible snapping noise.

Impulse gasps, his vision sparking red.

Then black.

He drifts for a moment in painful blackness, feeling utterly incapable of even breathing. The agony steals through every part of his body, through his lungs and stomach and brain, his head pulsing angrily in time.

He’s dying. He’s sure of it. He’s dying, it’s so terrible, he isn’t going to make it—

It isn’t Grian’s voice that rouses him this time. It’s Pearl’s, but she isn’t talking to him.

“—can’t just leave them! Scar could be—”

“There’s no way possible you can get down there, both of them tried—”

“I know how to go down steep hills, I learned this technique once!”

“Pearl, I can’t let you.”

“Mumbo hasn’t gotten back, it could be hours before someone’s here to help them. We don’t even know if Scar’s alive—the window for bringing him back is shrinking! I—I have to try.”

It takes more effort than Impulse has, but he opens his eyes.

Through a red haze and double the black dots, he sees Pearl, adjusting her backpack. She waves when she notices him looking.

“Heya, Impulse! On my way down!”

Impulse groans.

-

“Do you think someone could climb down the side?”

Impulse glanced off the path, shuddered. “Doubt it. See how steep the drop-off is?”

“Right, but it’s only a sheer drop for about ten feet,” Pearl replied. “After that, it becomes more of something climb-able.”

“I mean . . . maybe if they had poles,” Impulse said dubiously. “I wouldn’t try it. It’s really not worth the risk.”

-

Pearl’s method of coming down the hill involves sliding the first ten feet of the steep drop on her backside, then stopping herself before she gained serious momentum by grabbing the grass. After a moment of dusting herself off, she stands. What follows is a strange hopping-jog, her gait short and staccato, jumping down the hill like a hare. It’s kind of working, but it’s clear about halfway down that she’s losing control of it—Pearl tries to stop but it’s too late—

She stumbles, falls, somersaults—tries to get back on her feet, but pulls another somersault, tries again—

Impulse doesn’t notice until her body jerks to a stop, a small shriek tearing from her throat, but Pearl’s foot gets caught and won’t come free.

She’d clearly tried to stand, putting all her weight down into a rotting tree stump. Her right foot had sunk in to the ankle, and the abrupt stop of her descent hadn’t been enough to pull her free.

“Ow, okay, ow,” she gasps, pushing herself up onto scraped forearms. 

“Pearl! What did I say—”

“I’m all right,” she calls over her shoulder. “I just—I did something to my ankle, sprained or broken or something. But I’m fine!”

“I—a broken leg is not fine!”

Impulse closes his eyes, swallows. His mouth still tastes like blood. His teeth hurt from gritting them so hard.

He feels a little floaty, actually. Less pained than before. Maybe that means he’s about to pass out.

“Pearl,” he manages, wrenching open his eyes. “Scar. Can you see him?”

Pearl pushes herself up farther, then more, making small sounds of pain as she manages to bring herself up to standing. “Um . . . yeah! Yeah, I can see Scar!”

Impulse waits.

Grian, still going on about injuries, falls silent.

-

“Scar, stop pretending you’re asleep and get up,” Grian said, nudging Scar with his foot. “Come on, we said five minutes and it’s already been eight. We need to get a move on if we want to finish this hike any time soon.”

Scar continued to fake-snore.

“Come on, Scar,” Impulse laughed.

“Scar, we all have your fake-snore memorized. We know you’re awake,” said Pearl.

Mumbo glanced at them. “What? Does Scar pretend to be asleep a lot?”

Pearl nodded. “He pretended to sleep through bowling last month.”

“And paintball the month before that.”

“And at the Taylor Swift concert before that.”

“I—sorry, you all went to Taylor Swift?” Mumbo demanded. Grian just shrugged.

“Yeah. The company paid for it, it was a team-building exercise.”

Mumbo sputtered incoherently. Scar fake-sleep-mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the chorus of Shake It Off.

-

“He’s breathing,” Pearl confirms after several harrowing moments. Impulse lets out a sigh of relief.

Scar’s alive.

It isn’t pressing danger, not anymore. Well, Scar definitely needs emergency help, and so does Impulse, but everyone’s alive.

“Hey, Grian,” Pearl calls up the mountainside, easing herself back down to the ground. “Looking a little lonely up there, all by yourself.”

“I am not joining you,” groans Grian, burying his face in his hands. “I—no!”

“Come on,” Pearl wheedles. “It’s fun!”

“Absolutely not. You know what—here.”

There’s a bit of rustling from above. Impulse looks up as Grian pulls a bag of carrots from his backpack and tosses them down to them, aiming for Pearl.

It soars, down, down, past Pearl—

Scar’s foot jerks as it lands. Pearl bursts into laughter.

“Square in the back!”

“I hope Mumbo gets back soon,” Grian says. “I cannot be the responsible one right now.”

“Just come join us!”

“If all your friends jumped off a cliff!” Grian says, chucking a bag of beef jerky. That one misses as well, landing well out of anyone’s range. “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, and they said it’s fun and cool and called up to you from the deadly cliff, would you jump? Would you jump too!?”

“Don’t be such a party pooper!”

“I’m gonna pass out,” Impulse mumbles, swallowing. His vision is getting darker by the second.

“No, Impulse, hold on—”

“Impulse, can you reach your water bottle?”

He can’t. His backpack is under him, and possibly what created such an awkward angle for his neck to hit the rock, anyways.

Impulse blinks. Then again. Then again.

They’re speaking to him, but the buzz in his ears has gotten so loud as to drown them out entirely.

It drowns everything out.

The pain drowns him out, too.

-

“New announcement from corporate,” Mumbo says, sitting down at the table. “All team-bonding must be in a safe and controlled environment. Specifically, hiking, paintball, and ziplining have been banned.”

“Come on, that was next on the roster,” complains Pearl.

“And it has been suggested to me in particular that we maybe play getting-to-know-you games for our next team-bonding,” adds Mumbo. “The rest of the teams are kind of mad at us for the ban, honestly.”

“What? How did they know it was us?” Grian demands.

Impulse looks between them all—his own neck brace, shoulder brace, and broken leg; Scar’s double-casted arms and knee brace; Pearl’s crutches.

Yeah.

That makes sense.

“At least we had fun,” he tries.

Mumbo raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You—Impulse, you have to relearn how to walk.”

Silence.

Pearl’s the one who starts laughing first. Grian cracks soon after, then Scar (with repeated, “Ow, ow, my ribs”), then Impulse, and finally, Mumbo joins in.

“Right,” Mumbo says once the laughter dwindles out, wiping a tear from his eye. “Does anyone know any getting-to-know-you games?”

“Truth or dare,” Scar suggests immediately.

“No. Instant veto. Absolutely not.”

[nero-neptune]

not to be black on main, but i don't think racism and/or right-wing 'leanings' are minor inconsequential things worth ignoring in the name of Working Class Solidarity™. like this isn't so much about luigi and whatever he (allegedly) did as it is about the response from (alleged) leftists. unlike many of you making posts like that, i live in the real world (while black). and in the real world, the politics of SO many americans start and stop with hating non-white (or specifically black) people, wherever they personally fall on the class ladder. this is why millions of poor and working class white americans will happily cut off their nose to spite their face if it means millions of nonwhite americans (of Any social class or income) are kept in 'their place'. this is a Big reason why reconstruction failed and the southern strategy succeeded. so, no, it's not something i can afford to look past for the Greater Good, actually. whole time, y'all are talking around it like it's a mild inconvenience, a teeny-tiny bump on the road towards some utopic class unity or whatever, as if racism isn't Fully Baked into politics isn't Fully Baked into classism in the U S of A. once y'all figure that out, something (like fixing this bullshit healthcare system) might actually get done lol

sorry if this complicates your easy 'this is how working class solidarity can still win' narrative, but life is complicated!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

also hi. me and jess ended up binge watching iwtv s2 yesterday.

[cowboyskeletons]

and sparrow's son loves the world so much and loves everyone around him and how can sparrow tell him that the world is cruel? how can he tell him that love will be punished and that cruelty is the only way to survive? normal's love scares him, he loves his son so much but that love scares him. he would do and has done anything for his son but he knows that it has led to his own ruin. and he loves his son but too much love has only ever harmed him and maybe he can take a model from his own dad and multitask.

maybe he can love his son but he hates him too, hates that normal can love and hates that normal can be loved and hates that normal can be so oblivious to the cruelty around him in a way that he himself lost when the world ended. he wants his son to have everything but loathes that fact that normal'll never try. that he just accepts life as it is. the way his dad did, when sparrow saluted henry and went along with the world's end and turned a blind eye to his wife's infidelity.

he sees himself in normal, maybe. maybe he hates that. because he lost himself, that day he lost his father's care and his mother's respect, and he can't bear to see himself lost again. normal needs to be cruel because otherwise he will be crushed and sparrow can't do that again. can't let himself be crushed again.

[beyondskai]

Has anyone ever done a computer Mumbo Jumbo AU? If not, allow me...

Mumbo K. Jumbo, a genius computer engineer, he knew his hardware like his own soul. He was good because he loved it! With each project, each burn from an overheating pc that he refused to let go and shock from still bare wires, made him want to be closer to his inventions. He wanted to be like his machines- No... he wanted to be one with them.

We all know where this is going. Uploads his conciousness to a computer, gets found years later by someone(I was thinking Grian, or maybe Zedaph, Martyn would be a good choice as well, maybe all of them), tries to use that person to gain access to the internet and rule the world, etcetc.

This might already be a thing, but I'll probably write it either way.

[thatlittledandere]

Alright, you definitely should have listened to the village elders this time. Wandering too deep into the forest was a bad idea. They could have been more specific about what “too deep” meant though.

All you wanted to do was see if there were any valuable herbs in the area. You had heard rumors that if you went slightly beyond the usual reach of the villagers, a little to the west, you would find ingredients for most potential of healing potions. You didn’t think heeding the advice would cost you much; it was supposed to be only a little further, right? But which way was west again…

Before you knew it, you had gotten lost. Of course, forests always looked somewhat the same, but after 20 years of living in the same village, you came to recognize the areas you had always played, worked, and relaxed in. A tree that bent a little to the left; that boulder that looked like a fist without a thumb; the lightning-struck tree trunk, too heavy to be moved, blocking what used to be a path. You knew when you were near your home by the atmosphere alone.

And now you recognized nothing you saw.

It wasn’t dark yet - wouldn’t be for a long time - but you were still getting the shivers of being outside at night. This part of the forest was creepy. You didn’t know how else to describe it - threatening? It felt like something was out to get you. Or for that matter, anyone foolish enough to disturb the peace of whatever dwelled inside.

You stopped. Turned to look back — had you seen wrong? You must have — and turned back ahead. There was... It was like there was a line drawn on the ground. A border.

You looked to your right, then left. No, it really was… as strange as it seemed, it was clearly a huge circle. You were standing just outside it.

And everything inside was dead.

The grass was sickly, pale yellow, almost white, like after a scorching hot summer with too little rain. Trees gray and bare, bark flaking, crispy leaves lying sadly on the ground. Thousands of insect carcasses everywhere, a couple of dead birds and — oh no — a lone rabbit. All completely lifeless. How could this be?

You took a step back. Was this maybe… The work of magic? A fiendish warlock wielding dark sorcery?

You didn’t know much about magic; there weren’t many capable of using it in your tiny village, and the mages you knew were neither malicious nor the tiniest bit adventurous with it. But it was the only explanation you could come up with. Nature couldn’t do this on its own.

You felt a rush of excitement at the thought. Magic had always fascinated you. With nobody around to teach the craft, you had abandoned the idea of pursuing it years ago, but… It was exhilarating seeing its impact. Foul as this magic was, it drew you in - and if nothing inside was alive, it couldn’t do you any harm either. You had come so far; why not investigate a little?

You had barely taken two steps on the lifeless grass when you heard a soft voice plead: “Don’t come closer.”

You froze. Had there been a person around? Was it a bandit? Or, wait, maybe they could help you find your way home-

“Please get away from me,” asked the stranger again, even more desperate this time. Their voice was getting raspier, breaking towards the end of the sentence. Whoever it was must have been either sick or grievously injured. Perhaps you would have to help them more than they could help you.

You squinted your eyes, and finally caught a glimpse of a figure behind two trees.

He looked around your age. But not in such good health, as you had suspected. He was holding onto the tree, hunching, and the distance between you wasn't enough to hide the tremble of his hands or the hollowness in his eyes.

"Please, " he repeated, each word weaker yet more fearful than the last. "I can only bring misery. You must leave while you still can!"

His fear was contagious. You couldn't fight the shiver running along your spine nor the cold sweat erching your brow. It was like even the Sun knew better than to approach this self-proclaimed harbinger.

But you had always been too curious for your own good, much to your mother's chagrin. Weren't you an apprentice in the art of medicine? Wasn't this stranger in clear need of help? You couldn't just leave him alone to rot in his miserable circle of decay.

You forced a smile - sort of - and took a step closer. The stranger grabbed his face, screamed, and collapsed on his knees. You saw white and felt a strong gust of wind knock you off your feet.

And then there was nothing.

[lexicog]

traitor to the cause forgets national holiday every year KILL HIM

[yellowocaballero]

what stuff can't you forgive batman beyond for? :o

Ugh OK. Disclaimer that none of these things make Batman Beyond bad. None of this is bad writing. I just don't like it. It's fine, actually, I just hate it.

I know Batman Beyond had to justify its existence somehow and answer the question "why is the ONLY PERSON who could become Batman a random teenager off the street?". There had to be some sort of reason why Bruce was completely isolated from Dick, Tim, and Barbara, and why Dick or Tim wasn't Batman.

The ways in which it got rid of them though!! Dick's like 60 and he hates Bruce and never speaks to him! Barbara's a cop, which she would never do, who had a thing with Bruce. Superman's infected by Starro so all of his friends at the League are out. And freaking Return of the Joker, oh my god. Putting aside the fucking sadness of Tim also never speaking to his dad and living an entire life pretending Batman and Robin never happened. COME ON. I really didn't like the "Terry is Bruce's secret kid" thing either, but that's less of a moral and more of a personal stance.

Sometimes a work is the most influential work in your writing completely against your will and without your permission. Return of the Joker traumatized me as a kid, and for some reason although I hate it SO FUCKING MUCH, it's permeated a lot of what I write with Tim. His death in the Reverse Robins thing was directly what happened in ROTJ, except he killed himself instead of the Joker. And I never even get into much detail on Tim's death there because it makes me sad.

Batman Beyond, you did not stop to consider those of you who were watching every DCAU cartoon sequentially, and who had come fresh off watching the most adorable small child run around doing Robin things in the final season of BTAS. You did not stop to wonder if he was a baby only a week before in my own mind. And now this.

DCAU!Batman had always been a lighthearted, kind person who had a robust support network. He had shipteasing. With Wonder Woman. It was really sad to see every good thing in his life stripped away and turn him withered, bitter, and old. Showing Batman in that light isn't bad in and of itself, but I was attached to this guy :c. Why hadn't they just set up another continuity where these characters didn't exist so they didn't have to worry about depressingly shoving them aside?

Oh, and. Just kidding. I can forgive them for all of this. I hate it, but it's fine. What I actually cannot forgive them for is for fucking Bruce and Barbara having an affair. Oh my god. Oh my god. Bad. So bad.

[katierosefun]

making original characters and watching them grow is so cool and also so funny because i really thought one of my original characters was bisexual but then i realize no. no he’s gay. he’s gay. this other character? i thought that she was straight. she is bisexual now because no straight woman looks at another pretty woman like that. one of my characters has barged into my room and gone, “btw. my mentor figure has a weird ass relationship with the diner owner btw. yeah i think they’re lovers.” and i’m just. “he couldn’t tell me that himself?” and this other character goes, “no. i’m just telling u for him. because you know he won’t tell you himself.” and that’s just. that’s just how it be